Twisted Oaths ~ Lake Celestine: 9:43 Dragon (in progress)

   

Collab between Myanna/Kali and Elaith




By late morning, Myanna was scouting up the forest path, alert for danger, but feeling alternately bored and anxious. There had been no sign of Templar activity aside from the tracks they were following, and the occasional bit of refuse thrown to the side of the path, none of which proved to be enlightening. She did not looking forward to finding the Templars without plenty of backup, but she also did not like the thought that they’d gotten so far ahead.

Elaith followed her with bow in hand. The girl had been uncharacteristically silent for most of the morning, instead concentrating on searching for ambushes.

“Hey, Kali,” Elaith whispered. “What were you and Ashara laughing about last night?”

Myanna eyed Elaith for a second, the use of her pseudonym sending a little jolt through her as it did more and more lately. She shrugged nonchalantly. “Telling dirty jokes, of course, nosey.”

Elaith giggled. “It was nice hearing you and Ashara laugh, especially after everything Ashara went through.”

Myanna smiled slightly at Elaith’s response, but her attention was again elsewhere. She paused to listen to their surroundings. A few birds trilled as the wind blew leaves against each other in the upper canopy. Kali had always found their soft clicking noises soothing. It was a beautiful morning, despite the fact that they were trailing a group of murderers. Or cultists. Or demons.

Myanna shook her head and continued walking. “So, who taught you about tracking?” she said quietly to Elaith after a moment.

“My father,” Elaith replied, “We hunted a lot so he taught me everything there is about tracking. Those skills served me well when I left him.” Elaith sighed. “I do miss my father.”

Myanna wasn’t sure how much she missed her own father, though she had no intention of explaining that to any of her new companions. It was complicated, as matters often were. Her father had usually been busy with one illicit activity or another while he’d been alive. Not that her mother and uncles hadn’t also been mired in their own...projects...but even among a family full of criminals, her father had been notable.

“You ever think you’ll…” Myanna trailed off and then stopped in her tracks, her head cocked to the side. She held out a hand to stop Elaith, the scritch scritch of her boots on the forest floor masking...something.

Wasting little time, Elaith immediately took out an arrow from her quiver, placed it close to the string of her bow, and awaited Myanna’s commands.

“You hear that? Up ahead. Wheezing, sounds like.” It sounded like a death rattle, if she was honest with herself, but she didn’t want to say that to Elaith.

Elaith nodded, and Myanna could almost hear the girl’s heart pounding in her chest from the expression on her face. “Lead the way,” she whispered. “I got you covered in case anything goes wrong.”

Myanna looked around quickly, assessing whether it might be beneficial to approach the Templar...or demon...from the deeper shadows between the trees, but decided she did not have enough experience in the woods to keep her steps quiet.

She readied a stunning grenade in one hand and her favorite knife in the other, and then looked at Elaith.

“Can you walk silently through there,” she whispered to the elf, indicating the deeper shadows, “while I stay on the path and keep the attention of whatever’s ahead of us?”

“Okay,” Elaith said, slowly approaching the shadows. With her bow lowered and her fingers rubbing against the feathers of the arrow, Elaith entered the shadows of the forest and hid against one of the bushes, watching Myanna carefully.

Myanna stood still for a moment, then swapped her stunning grenade for a stealth one. She threw it at her feet and watched as the shimmering illusion slithered up her body. Then she stepped forward quietly, one foot in front of the other, until the gasping figure appeared ahead.

Lying against a tree several meters off the path was a Templar, stripped of his armor and drenched in sweat and blood. A trail of mud led from the path where he appeared to have fallen -- or been dropped -- to his spot against the tree, as if he had dragged himself there. He seemed to have heard her and Elaith approaching, because his gaze, glassy though it was, was fixed on the pathway back the way Myanna had come. He had no weapons with him. Even though he was an enemy, Myanna grimaced.

Was he left defenseless because the Templars had disposed of him? Or because he was bait?

She had to make a decision soon, before the illusion wore off. She couldn’t get a message to Elaith, because the elf wouldn’t be able to see her any more than the Templar could. Not unless she stepped directly into a patch of sunlight while Elaith stared right at it.

If the Templar was bait, then that meant the Templars knew that someone was following them. But there hadn’t been any evidence of anyone other than their own group tailing the Templars, nor was there any indication that the Templars knew about them.

Not yet.

Stepping swiftly but softly into the shadow of the tree, in one fluid movement Myanna brought one foot down hard on the Templar’s nearest hand, and pressed her knife firmly against his neck. The action destroyed her illusion, but it made no difference for the Templar, who was far too weak to pull away from her.

“Wh-who are you?” he asked. The question ended in a sickening gurgle, and the Templar began to cough weakly.

Myanna glanced up where Elaith was hidden with an arrow drawn, and was able to make out her shape only because Elaith began to move. She hoped the Templar wasn’t looking too closely.

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Elaith stepped out of the shadows with her bow and arrow. “Don’t move!” she hissed at the Templar. She then turned to Kali, who was looking up at her flatly. “This Templar seems to be alone,” the elf said breathlessly “I’ve checked every possible flanking route and there doesn’t seem to be a Templar or mage in sight unless…..”

Elaith drew her arrow back and pointed the bow at the Templar. “Unless their mages turned them invisible!” she growled.

The Templar laughed, or tried to, though it quickly turned into choking. Kali ground her foot into his hand. “Where are the other Templars?” she asked him.

“M-maybe they’re...invisible,” he panted with a sneer. He huffed a single chuckle, cut short by Kali pressing her knife more firmly against his neck. He scowled.

Although she appeared angry, on the inside Elaith was afraid. What if the Templar was right? Maybe they are invisible and will ambush her and Kail any minute now. Still pointing her bow at the Templar, Elaith glared daggers onto the wounded warrior “Spare us the sarcastic shit!” the elf growled, although there was a tone of fear in her voice. “Where are they?!”

He coughed again, spurts of blood ending up on his rough tunic. “Waiting to come o-out --” *hack hack* “--the moment you k-k-kill me.”

Kali pressed her knee into his side, twisting him uncomfortably as he tried to lean away from her. “He’s goading us, Elaith. He’s not going to last much longer, no matter what we do. If he’s bait, then they were banking on us coming by real soon.”

Elaith frantically looked around while keeping her bow pointed at the wounded Templar. She tried to remember what her father said about trusting your senses. But if the mages are using magic to mask their approach, then all of that flies out of the window. “Fuck…..” Elaith said quietly more to herself than the Templar.

“What’s the m-m-matter, knife-ear?” the Templar taunted. “Go on, k-kill me.”

Elaith’s eyebrows furrowed in anger but said nothing, her bow still focused on the warrior.

Kali jerked her head to Elaith, motioning her to come closer. “Go back and get the others,” she whispered once Elaith was next to her, too softly for the Templar to hear even as close by as he was, “while I keep a knife on his neck. Maybe Edmund has something up his sleeve to help us root out anyone hiding around here.”

Elaith raised her eyebrows in shock. “I’m not leaving you behind Kali!” she whispered in a panic. “That’s probably what he wants, for us to separate, that way we can be easy to attack. My father taught me that that a lone wolf is strong, but a pack is unstoppable.” Taking a glance at the Templar Elaith turned to Kali. “Maybe we can drag back to camp,” she suggested. “He said if we kill him they’ll come out. Let’s test the Templar’s words.

Kali shook her head. “The bastard’s falling apart,” she whispered. “He may not survive being dragged down the path, and then he can’t tell us anything at all. I’ll be fine. If this really is an ambush -- which I don’t think it is, cause they’ve got no reason to suspect we’re trailing them -- they’ll wait ‘til we’re all here to slaughter us at once.” She winked at Elaith. “Go get that pack your father taught you about.”

The Templar began to cough again, inadvertently pushing his own neck into Kali’s knife. Blood trickled slowly down the blade. “Probably should hurry, though,” Kali whispered as she dug out a stunning grenade with her free hand. “The others aren’t that far behind, but this tit licker isn’t going to be alive to interrogate for much longer.”

Elaith was hesitant, but then nodded “please be careful Kali,” she pleaded. The elf withdrew her weapon and took off, running as fast as she can. Behind Elaith, the Templar began what might have been a laugh in someone who could breathe. “R-r-run, you knife-ear!!” he gasped, “my p-p-people are right beh-h-hind you!”

“Ah, shut it,” came Kali’s voice down the path, followed by the sound of a dwarven boot hitting soft flesh.

“Mythal please watch over Kali. Please protect her from harm……” Elaith sprinted to the camp, praying with all her might. “Audril please guide Kali’s blade if any Templar or Mage dares to harm her.”

After what felt like a long run, Elaith finally arrived back to the group, however, she tripped on a rock and fell face first on to the ground. Elaith slowly got up still breathing heavily, speck of blood coming from her lower lip. “Guys!” Elaith nearly sounding hysterical. “We found a wounded Templar!”

The deceased Templar pointed them north, and that was where they headed, Ashara and Kali riding at the head of their small group occasionally stopping to point out various signs on the ground or the nearby vegetation and whisper to one another. Edmund squinted suspiciously at a small bush Ashara pointed out to Kali, trying to understand what exactly it was that they were following, only to give up with a shrug a moment later. It was probably better to leave tracking to the professionals.

As time passed, and as the heavy feeling in his stomach refused to disappear, Edmund was forced to admit to himself that for the first time in a long while he was truly afraid. It wasn't the fact that they were about to face the enemies in combat, nor was it the possibility of all this being some kind of a trap. It was more about the information the Templar revealed to them.

Forcefully pushing aside the moral implications of the fact that they tortured the Templar in order to get said information - he would have to deal with that later - Edmund was forced to face the fact that unless he turned around and ran, there was a distinct possibility that very soon someone would use blood magic against him in order to rob him of his will, perhaps permanently.

At the beginning Edmund was considering the possibility that he might be able to resist such a spell, but as he considered the matter further, he realized with a sinking feeling that if this group had him at their mercy, given enough time they would inevitably be able to break him. Even if his will was strong enough to resist, all they had to do was to deprive him of food and sleep, and after awhile he would be too weak and tired to resist the sheer power of a spell fueled by blood-sacrifice.

He wasn't sure what was the most distasteful aspect of this situation: The possibility of becoming a mindless slave; the fact that his companions would be used to power such a spell - the mere thought of Ashara being held down, helpless, a ceremonial blade to her throat - was enough to send liquid fire roaring through his veins and tint his vision red; or perhaps the fact that after he became a slave to this group of zealots they would use all of his skills to get even more magical slaves and grow their power further.

Trapped between sheer terror and blind fury, it was only the rising cacophonous choir of whispers from the fade that managed to break him out of his reverie.

Taking a few deep breaths, he swiftly reasserted himself with a series of mental exercises, whatever happened, it wouldn't do to exchange one type of slavery for another.

Looking around, he noticed that the others have stopped. Something about taking a short break in order to water the horses and scout ahead on foot, to make sure that they were still on track and that they weren't walking into a trap.

Deciding to yet again leave the scouting to others, Edmund tended to his horse and tied it to a tree, and then found himself an empty space near their temporary campsite. He really felt like swinging his sword at something.

Disregarding the others, he drew his sword and closed his eyes, taking yet another deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, the runes on his sword were glowing and there was a barely perceptible shimmer around the blade.

Facing his unseen opponent he swung his blade in a vicious arc, which seamlessly flowed into a parry and then a rising slash. As he immersed himself in the deadly dance, he found his resolve again.

It didn't matter what the threat was, he knew what he was, what he stood for, and what he stood against.

He felt a grim smile spreading on his lips, if the worst came, there were still some ways to win the fight if one understood the power of blood and didn't mind sacrificing his life to save those dear to him. After all, that was the last lesson his mother taught him.

Ashara, Kali, Elaith, Thene, and Helen wouldn't die in order to make him a slave. No. If he didn't have the power to stop this plot in the usual way, he would at the very least buy them an opportunity to end it all themselves.

His companions certainly didn't seem like they lacked for resourcefulness.

Having found his balance again, Edmund sheathed his sword. There was no point in overexerting himself before a battle. Instead, he pulled a piece of cured meat from one of the saddlebags on his horse, and decided to use the wait in order to gain some much needed sustenance for the exertions ahead.

He waited until Ashara and Kali came back from their self-appointed scouting mission, and approached his gathered companions. "We need to talk."

And then he explained as simply as he could, everything he knew or suspected about the plot these rogue Templars were behind. He spoke about the dwarves that were used to power a spell that was to weaken the elves and make them an easy prey, he even mentioned that he suspected that the spell was Melcoth's Mystifying Miasma - a legendary blood-magic variant of the Death-Cloud spell, potentially capable of leaching the strength of an entire army given enough preparation, blood, and skill.

He mentioned the runes they found at the camp, and spoke about the implications of finding the sigil of the Dragon of Chains on the remnants of a spell of blood-magic.

And finally he addressed the Templar's boast, about his compatriots using Edmund's companions in order to "control" him. He explained the ability of blood-magic to bind, usually spirits and demons, but apparently also the minds of mortals.

And in a weary voice he told them that this was likely the reason this group of Templars required so many non-mages as well as mages - in order to power the bindings.

When he finished, there was only silence. He saw varying shades of horror and resignation in their stares. It was a reflection of what he felt not long ago. He was aware that perhaps he told them too much, enough for some of them to suspect that he knew more about blood-magic than would be appropriate for a mage who wasn't a blood-mage himself, but somehow he found it difficult to care at the moment, there was a very real chance that all of them would die soon.

And if they didn't? Well, perhaps it was time for a change of scenery. He heard some very interesting rumors about the Rivaini Seers, and about the Mages of the Avaar. And there was always Tevinter to consider, especially if there was anything to the rumors about a new faction fighting against the corruption inside the imperium.

He ironically wondered if perhaps Ashara would like to travel the world with a blood-mage...

He stopped himself from chuckling at the last moment, he suspected that the others wouldn't find that particularly appropriate considering what he just told them.

---

Thene was tired. Seeing that Templar after all this time . . . the others didn’t understand that she had to use every ounce of self-control she possessed in order not to kill him right away. He gave them some answers but she hurt, inside and out, after that encounter. Now, her body was going through the motions competently enough but mentally she was so withdrawn from the others that they were like ghosts. Or maybe she was the ghost, she didn’t really care. She needed some distance, not pity, not kindness, not compassion or understanding, but solitude.

When Edmund Magic Man said he needed to talk, she resigned herself to hearing more bad news. She crossed her arms and stood somewhat apart from the others, especially Elaith. Elaith had good intentions, but her emotions would jab at Thene like needles and the warrior didn’t want to risk saying or doing anything that would damage the rapport they had managed to forge. “Though, it might be too late for that,” Thene thought tiredly. “Maybe that’s a good thing.” She forced herself to concentrate on what Edmund was saying.

Against her will Edmund’s words engaged Thene’s interest. She raised an eyebrow and stared at him, wondered about him, and came to some conclusions. “Well,” she nodded sharply, once, “glad we’ve got somebody on our side who knows something about this stuff.”

Looking somewhat uncomfortable, Edmund nodded. “I suppose you're right. I did go up against blood mages and Templars before, though never at the same time. I saw some rather strange and terrifying things during my time, my encounter with a coven of cannibalistic hunger abominations was certainly… memorable…” Frowning, Edmund shook his head. “That’s probably a story for another time.”

Kali’s nervous fingers started dancing more quickly over her knives. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it and began muttering curses instead. Helen took a discreet step further into the shadows away from Edmund and his unwelcome revelations, or maybe to get away from Kali’s knives. Ashara became more still within herself and Elaith looked from one companion to another and visibly gulped.

“Too bad we couldn’t catapult some of them at Mad Mage Maven, bet that would distract her for a minute or two,” Thene muttered.

Edmund looked startled for a moment, and then snorted. “It would definitely make for an amusing spectacle.”

“Yeah, it would. Too bad we couldn’t charge admission,” Thene started to pace. “Do you think getting rid of Maven the Mad would cripple this group of jerks? I mean, it sounds like not just anybody could perform this magic tri- procedure, the Unraveling thing.” Thene frowned thoughtfully.

“Hmmm… I was wondering about that myself.” Edmund scratched his stubble thoughtfully, the sound was startlingly loud, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I think she’s… special… somehow, it’s a lot of small signs. I’ve never seen a Templar speaking about a Mage with stars in his eyes like that Templar did. I’d almost say that she was probably using Blood Magic to control him, but that doesn’t feel right, not with the sheer conviction I could hear in his voice, and not with that little spell he had on his chest to prevent him from talking.”

Sighing, Edmund continued. “And then there’s the magic we saw. To put it simply, a mage can either be good with Spirit Magic, or with Blood Magic, can’t be both. Which is why you never see Blood-Mages using top-tier Spirit wards to make Blood-Magic safer to them and prevent the magic from spilling out of control or tearing the veil. So either they have a bunch of fairly powerful Blood-Mages in addition to her, or perhaps she’s not merely powerful, but is somehow extremely good at both Spirit Magic and Blood Magic, which as I mentioned, should be impossible.”

Edmund shook his head. “But even without speculating too much, I’d wager that she’s probably very important to their group, maybe more important than any other single individual there.”

Edmund eyed the others, seemingly expecting reactions, however, when none came, he shrugged to himself and started walking slowly towards his horse, absently rubbing his throat.

As he walked, he was joined by Thene who kept pace with him silently. As they reached his horse, Edmund pulled a small yet thick glass bottle from one of his saddlebags. He pulled the cork, took a single sip of the amber liquid inside and grimaced. He then reached out and offered the bottle to Thene. “I don’t know its name, but it’s strong, like everything else made by the Qunari. Might make other things relatively easier to swallow in comparison.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“Thanks,” the weary warrior sniffed the contents first before swallowing. Her eyebrows nearly met her hairline but she counted it a personal victory that she didn’t choke or go cross-eyed. “That’s powerful alright,” she said in a raspy voice and handed it back to him. When she was sure she could speak clearly, Thene looked sideways up at Edmund, “So, Magic Man, uh, Edmund, I suppose you know a lot about demons?”

Clearly surprised, Edmund gave her a long look, his eyebrows raised as far as they could go. “Usually when a non-mage asks me that question, that’s my cue to start explaining that no, I’m not going to sprout wings and horns anytime soon, nor will I try to wear their skin as a robe, or eat their children for diner.”

Thene pursed her lips, “Wings could be a good tactical advantage. Assuming they weren’t just to make you look pretty.”

Edmund snorted. “Demons are all about offering you advantages, tactical or otherwise. Though, they never bother to mention the disadvantages.” He sighed. “Forgive me, I just didn’t expect that question. In truth I know about demons more than I’d care to. What would you like to know?”

She didn’t answer him directly. Instead, Thene flicked his metal-clad arm with her fingernail and asked, “What do you wear under your armor?”

Edmund blinked. Twice. “Assuming that this question isn’t what it sounds like, I usually wear leathers under my armor, at least the parts of my skin I don’t leave uncovered in order to allow for easier movement.” He pointed to his partially exposed arms. “Under the leather it’s usually cloth of some kind. I find that wearing a few layers helps with blunting an opponent’s blows rather significantly.”

“Not what it sounds like?” it was Thene’s turn to blink. Then she snickered, she couldn’t help it and it felt good, “Magic Man, I can promise you wouldn’t have any doubts if that’s what I was asking. I’m not good at subtle.”

Edmund looked away, a slight blush on his cheeks. “Well… that is… you can’t blame me for how it sounded…” He then shook his head. “But never mind that, you had a question?”

“Sorry, you’re right, I didn’t exactly phrase that right. It’s just, it’s too damned weird.” Thene scowled at the ground. “Let me explain, as warriors we take a lot of hits. You can tank but I’m too small to just stand and take them, so I have to be quick. And that means lighter armor.” Edmund nodded, looking at her intently.

“Thing is, it sounds like we’re going to run into demons, probably a number of rage demons. I have some balm that I use because chainmail and cotton aren’t much protection against their burns and um, this is the weird part, rage demons have a thing for me.” Thene glared at the mage, silently daring him to say something.

Edmund opened his mouth, a half-smile on his face, seemingly about to make a joke, but then frowned and remained silent for a while. Eventually he eyed her with a serious look in his eyes. “Could you explain what you mean when you say that they have a thing for you?”

“Hey, I don’t want to be fiery fuckbuddies!” Thene exclaimed more loudly than she meant, her words carrying to their companions. She closed her eyes and turned bright red, “Shit.” Edmund winced sympathetically. She kicked a clump of grass at her feet. “I was at Ostagar, you know, kicked around Ferelden a bit afterwards. Mostly beat down bandits, creeps, and a few darkspawn but I did come across an occasional demon. You know, the whole thin Veil thing,” she waved her hand vaguely. “I usually travel alone and never knew what to expect from demons.”

Thene looked up at Edmund, “Then they started coming from the sky faster than snowflakes in a blizzard and everybody was dealing with them. That’s when I noticed it. Rage demons act like any other demon around everybody but me. They come to me, drift towards me, but don’t attack me, at least not right away or I strike at them first. If I moved away, they followed. I told you, it’s weird.”

Looking pensive, Edmund absentmindedly took another sip out of his small bottle of Qunari spirits, only to grimace again. “That was a bad idea.” He muttered. He corked the bottle and stuffed it into the bag. “I must confess that this is the first time I heard about Rage demons acting like that. The idea that a creature that embodies Rage would become passive, possibly curious or perhaps even docile is practically unheard off.”

“N-o-o,” Thene drew out the word as if she were considering her words. “Definitely not passive or docile, curious isn’t quite right either. It feels more like anticipation, maybe excitement and a sense of recognition? Until I don’t act however they expect me to act and then they treat me like anybody else. It doesn’t make any sense.” She shuddered, “ I’ll be honest, it kind of scares me. So I hit ‘em.” She wrinkled her nose, “I’d bash them anyway, I’m not going to just stand on my head and wait to see what they might do. Demons need to stay on their side of the Maker-forsaken fence.”

“Ah, I see.” Nodded Edmund. “There are some stories about demons and spirits becoming interested in mortals, even non-mages. I remember reading an Avvar legend about warriors ‘blessed by the gods’.” He said forming air quotes with his fingers. “There are also tales about Grey Warden spirit-warriors, and whispers about Seekers and the origins of their powers.”

Edmund frowned. “It is somewhat likely that if you were to willingly allow such a spirit to connect with you, you would gain some sort of power from it.” He then smiled wryly at her. “Of course, given the fact that Rage Demons are anything but benevolent, it is likely that the consequences wouldn’t be as mild or beneficial as merely you gaining power from it.”

“Yeah, I heard demons are sneaky like that. Kind of like this merchant I met once. He never lied, exactly, but he was very tricky in the way he phrased the truth about his merchandise. Question is, why are the fire blobs interested in me?” Thene squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, braced for whatever unwelcome answer was coming.

Edmund sighed and shrugged. “Who knows. It’s not like we know exactly how these creatures think.”

He looked conflicted for a moment, but continued. “When I was younger, I had a close encounter with a Rage Demon.” He sighed again, a faraway look in his eyes. “A group of Templars came after my mother and me, there was a fight. I was frozen with fear, I could barely breathe while my mother fought against them. A few of them died, but not before some of their arrows found my mother.”

Another sigh. “I remember the world becoming red with rage, I’ve never felt as angry before or since. I felt the world changing, or at least that’s what I thought at the time. I knew with certainty that I was going to get up and rip apart the surviving Templars with my bare hands.”

Thene listened to Edmund and watched him closely, almost as if her sanity depended on it. When his hands started shaking, she wasn’t surprised. Whenever she dwelt too long on her father’s murder she did the same thing. If the shakes got too bad she usually hit something or someone. Trees were always good if no bandits were handy. Thene doubted that would work for Edmund. “If Elaith were here, she’d probably hug him, but I’m not Elaith,” Thene thought as she worried whether to say or do something.

Edmund was too engrossed in his memories to notice the sympathy and understanding that replaced Thene’s concerns. She barely started to put her hand on his arm when he paused for a moment. He stared at his shaking hands in surprise and recovered his control before continuing.

“Just before I attacked them I remember seeing my mother’s eyes, she was lying on the ground, blood flowing freely out of her mouth, but instead of pain, I saw in her eyes concern, and disappointment.” Looking away, Edmund surreptitiously wiped an eye. “Luckily for me, this was enough to give me a pause, despite the rage. Which in turn gave her just enough time to cast one last spell. The remaining Templars died, and we were thrown into the Fade, where she proceeded to annihilate that giant mass of liquid fire that was the source of my rage, before saying her farewells and passing on.”

Edmund took a deep breath. “The point of my story is that those creatures act like mind parasites. No matter how deep you bury your feelings and your secrets, if they come to you they will offer you your most desperate wish or connect to your strongest emotion. And if the Demon is strong enough it might even twist your mind - just a little - but perhaps enough to make you more likely to believe it.”

Edmund eyed Thene again. “The good news for you is that your mind doesn’t have a door they can knock on, unlike a Mage’s mind. So you don’t have to worry as much. If they wanted in they’d have to do it the hard way.”

“Thank you,” Thene nodded her head gravely, “I understand.” She hoped he understood that she meant more than the advice and information. “Rage has been my friend, or at least a constant companion, for more than half my life - since my father’s murder when I was sixteen. In some ways, it’s even kept me alive through some difficult ti. . . battles,” she substituted battles for times at the last minute, shying away from anything personal.

Hands on her hips, she faced Edmund, “So, Rage Demons ‘recognize’ my own rage and come to me, like calling to like. Best guess is that they’re trying to offer me something they think I want but because I’m not a mage they can’t just ‘talk’ to me. Instead, it sounds like, I might be wrong, that they’re hoping - do demons hope if they’re not spirits of hope? never mind - that being close enough physically, long enough, might open a link between them and my rage. I suppose if I were a demon I’d rather a like-minded and willing host instead of being summoned as a somebody else’s tool. However,” she jutted her chin forward, “I prefer to keep my rage just for me. Do you have any tips, Edmund, on how to deal with them?”

“Exactly.” Nodded Edmund. “I suspect that your guess is very close to the truth. And as for methods to keep demons away, as I mentioned, you aren’t in as great of a danger as a Mage. But in any case there are some methods which I've either used myself or heard of being used by others, which have proven themselves effective.”

His gaze becoming sharp and focused, Edmund forged on. “Personally, I think that the first and most basic principle is a simple one: Don’t believe anything a fade entity tells you, they might tell you the truth on occasion, but even when they do, it’s usually only part of the truth, or the truth from a very strange and inhuman point of view, and since it’s often hard to tell the difference between certain Demons and the few rarer benevolent spirits, it’s simply safer to treat them all with extreme caution.”

“I can do that.” She nodded. “I don’t trust anybody, no reason for a demon to be different. I expect lies.”

“And that’s a good attitude to have with these creatures.” Smiling thinly, Edmund nodded as well. “The second principle is something I've come up with myself over the years, and it is to have a strong core of belief that you can fall on. After all, there’s a reason why often the most fanatical Templars are also the most powerful, willpower isn’t necessarily about reason, but rather about conviction. It can be faith in the Maker, or it can be something else. Personally I find that using disdain as a shield is fairly effective. If I know with absolute certainty these creatures to be flawed and insubstantial parasites reduced to feeding on the mental excrement of mortals, and whose gifts are poisoned, then there’s no real reason for me to ever engage in discussion with them, much less accept their poisoned gifts.”

“And finally,” He frowned. “there’s the Litany of Adralla, which is something I know little about, aside from it supposedly being a special chant, known to some of the higher-ups in the Chantry and the Templar order, and possibly the Circle of Magi, which according to rumors can protect from mind-control and demonic influence.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully, “Litany of Adralla? Figures the Templars would keep that to themselves. No need for every merchant, farmer, or soldier to be able to protect themselves from some miserable maleficar.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

Humming in agreement, Edmund nodded. “It certainly seems selfish of them, though there might be other reasons.” He shrugged. “As for myself, I’m certainly very curious about a chant with such power over Demons. If nothing else,” He added with a humorless smile. “it might allow me to sleep more peacefully at night.”

Thene grunted in acknowledgement. “By the way, Magic Man,” she lightly punched his arm in a gesture of camaraderie, “in my opinion blood magic doesn’t automatically equal maleficar. Not that I’m saying you use it, it’s none of my business,” she punched him again and walked away, leaving Edmund speechless.

This is a colab between

Kali
and
Ashara

---

The signs of Templars and their prisoners of war were pretty obvious. The Templars hadn’t seemed to be hiding their tracks in any fashion. The arrogance of this carelessness seethed in Ashara, but at the same time, she was thankful. They’d be able to find this “womb” of Timmy’s, and its inhabitants, easily and quickly. Both Ashara and Kali seemed focused on the task at hand and were quiet, thinking their own thoughts about the events so far of the day. At least, that’s what was keeping Ashara especially quiet. She could only assume the same of Kali.

“They’ve got a day’s gain on us.” Ashara commented as she stepped across a deep muddy wheel rut in the ground. She wasn’t expecting a reply.

“We can move faster and catch up, though,” Kali offered, “if we can find a clear trail. The others are awfully lucky we’re here to help them out.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ashara replied, raising one brow as she followed the divots caused by horses hooves with her eyes. “These tracks are easy to follow. It’s just no one had apparently tried before now.” 'No need to question why no one had,' Ashara thought. 'They chose their targets carefully.'

Kali snorted. “I was just thinking, we’re the first bunch of lunatics in these parts to care about about any missing dwarves or elves. Leaves us a nice, clean trail. So...bright spot there, eh?”

“Eh? Yeah, I’d had a similar thought.” She paused, and sighed. ”But I’ve not the optimism for bright spots.”

A few minutes of silence passed between them, mood muted once more, as they continued their task.
‘you don’t have the stomach for it..’
‘look away if you can’t handle this..’
Choking and gurgling she could still hear even if she did not see…. ‘
Ashara broke the silence once more, to escape her own mind more than anything.

“The feeling in the group before we left was…” Ashara’s voice trails off.

“Awkward? Tense? Prickly as droppin’ trou in a thicket of rashvine?” Kali suggested. “Don’t ask me how I know that. It’d make me look bad.”

Ashara released a short huff, more an exhalation of breath, in amusement as she used the end of her arrow to lift the branch of a bush up. Nothing there. She eased away, the branch snapping back into place. She continued easing forward along the natural animal’s path through the trees.

Ashara spoke loud enough for her to hear as Kali trailed behind and right of her. “I’m concerned about Thene.”  She added to herself. 'I’m worried about a few of my new comrades, come to think of it…'

“About her feelings,” came Kali’s wry voice from behind, “or whether she’s mining through a darkspawn nest?”

“You mean to say, one halla short of a herd?”

Kali burst out with a giggle, which she quickly stifled, though she was still grinning when she turned away from the surrounding foliage to look at Ashara. Ashara’s eyes met hers with a hint of mirth across the space.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah,” Kali said, her knife spinning casually in her left hand. “Can’t say I’ve been in her shoes,” she continued. “Not exactly, anyway. But she’s pissed, and I get that. If she turns that rage on the whole pile of cavern monkeys we’re chasing...well, at least she’d be a good distraction while the rest of us make a run for it.”

Ashara had resumed their scouting walk. It was more traps along the path that they were looking for. So far, they hadn’t found any of those either, making it a less than exciting scouting trip.

“My concern is that she is wound that tight. We are a small team against many. The stakes are high. A controlled strike against our enemy is what it needed to succeed.” A memory trickled in, seemingly from another life. “I was part of a hunting party once, meant to take down a tainted bear that was frightening off the clan’s food prey. Had even caught one of our halla from the herd unawares.” She’d been fond of the creature, she recalled.

She continued her story. “We were a team of six then, even as we are now, but one of our number was lost. Banart was his name. He took it in his head at the last moment that the plan wouldn’t work and,” Her face was grim. “He died. At least it was quick.”

She met eyes with Kali once more, no hint of mirth remaining. “The stakes are higher now. We need cohesion, and we need clear heads.”

Kali nodded. “Right. Probably lucky that she got her revenge on...uh, ‘Timmy’...when we had the upper hand and not when he did. Might even help clear her head for the rest of this fiasco.” She stopped suddenly and used her knife to move aside a clump of underbrush. Taking a small step off the path, she peered between the leaves with narrowed eyes, then shrugged and let the plant spring back into place. “All of us have the nugshit of our ancestors with us. Thene’s is just...fresher. Stinkier.”

Ashara recalled immediately Elaith and Edmond’s concerned faces back at the inn as they related her “episode” to her.

“I agree. The mind can very likely renew old pains regardless of aroma. She has been steady enough the rest of the time, or has seemed to be, in the short time we’ve known her. We can only hope she keeps it together as we continue our own hunt.” Her voice went low as she spoke of the hunt. ‘Should I be judging Thene when my own thoughts turn to the blood of my prey so easily?’

The muddy grass and underbrush started giving way to small boulders and pebbles scattered through the thinning trees. Kali spoke up again.

“How much do you know about mages? You uh...you think there’s any chance that..curse, or whatever it was, could have grabbed on to Edmund?”

Ashara frowned and made a full stop. She turned round to speak more clearly with Kali. “The way Edmund described it, it seemed an intentional spell made by a specific mage. Done and finished before we’d even arrived at the Dalish Encampment. How would it have ‘grabbed’ onto Edmund?” She took a step closer, her gaze intense. “Have you noticed something specifically wrong with him?”

“Not exactly, no.” Kali was silent a moment, clearly thinking. Ashara cocked her head, waiting. “I don’t really know how magic works,” the dwarf continued. “I know mages got it, whatever it is. I know dwarves can’t have it, no matter what. I know lyrium makes it stronger. But I don’t know how it works. Still, I know when you clean an infected wound, the uh..the leakage has gotta go someplace.” She waved her hand, as if indicating something flowing away into the air. “So where did the spell’s leakage go when Edmund took it out of the Templar? Could it have gone to Edmund?”

“Oh.” Ashara relaxed briefly. “You’re not talking about--I was confused.” She let loose the draw on her arrow. “I’m no mage myself, although I knew and trusted our Keeper. But wasn’t it connected to the markings on that Templar’s chest more than anything? I suppose he touched them but…” she trailed off, uncertain. “I suppose there’d be no way to know for sure if the marks didn’t transfer unless we… ya know… stripped him of his clothes or something.” Ashara looked both perturbed and embarrassed at where the direction of the conversation had turned.

Kali waggled her eyebrows suggestively and grinned. “I’ll leave that part to you, or maybe Helen,” she said with a wink.

Ashara met her wink with a concerned and puzzled stare. Both suggestions sounded uncomfortable to her.

Kali’s grin faded and she raised her eyebrows as if surprised by Ashara’s expression, though she said nothing about it. “Would the markings have to be there for the magic to get to Edmund? It couldn’t latch on to something else?” Kali asked instead. “If it doesn’t, then shit...there’s no way to know if he’s got it or not.”

“Quite the uh...concern. And we have no other mages to confer with.” Ashara paused a moment, before coming to a conclusion. “He warrants being watched more closely going forward.”

Kali nodded, though she did not look satisfied. “I gotta be honest, Elaith worries me more than Edmund, almost. Not sure she’s cut out for this. She bought everything that Templar said. Didn’t even question it. She’s too gullible. Imagine if one of ‘em decides to trick her in the middle of a fight.”

They resumed their forward motion.

“I’ve not noticed that her gullibility translates into her fighting skills. But then again, I haven’t even seen her fight so... “ Ashara sighed. “We’re going into this with people we don’t know and skills we have yet to measure. We have no time to scrape up better allies with histories we can verify. We can only hope.”

“True, I suppose. Still, best to account for weaknesses we know about when we plan our attack. Elaith may need to be a lookout, or some such, if she can’t keep both her axes sharp.”

The edge of the forest suddenly cut off at a drop. The path carried onto their right down into a valley basin and on the other side of the basin was the start of a mountain slope, some portions sheer.

“Could be we’ve found our ‘womb.’” Ashara commented, as she eyed the path down and raked her eyes over the cliff face.

“Could be,” Kali agreed. “There’ll be no getting down this cliff before dark, though, and I don’t want to land at the bottom without seein’ it first. What do you say we go back to camp to see if the others are gossiping about us?”

In silent agreement, Ashara merely turned round and began heading back.

---

tagging myself and smilesja

Character Name: Myanna Tordra (current pseudonym, Kali Norek)
Race: Dwarf
Gender: Female
Faction/role: Ex-Carta, Freelance Knife-for-hire

At Myanna’s best estimate, she and Helen had about an hour left of their watch before they could wake the rest of the group for a quick breakfast. It was difficult to tell exactly, as a light cloud cover had rolled in while she slept, obscuring any skyglow she might have seen in the east.

Of course, it also served to block out moonlight and starlight, causing dense shadows to swathe the entire campsite. With thoughts of demons and evil mages lurking about, it made Myanna rather jumpy. She supposed she had her dwarven heritage to thank for the fact that she could see any damned thing at all.

Still, the night had been fairly quiet, the only sounds coming from Thene, who had been thrashing and muttering in her sleep. Myanna knew humans and elves often re-lived traumatic events in their sleep, and she could only imagine what Thene might be reliving now, after her encounter with that Templar. As a girl, Myanna had often felt jealous that dwarves couldn’t go on adventures or live out fantasies in their sleep. But listening to Thene now, well...maybe the dwarven way was better.

Not for the first time that night, Myanna approached the tent with the intention of waking the other woman and sparing her from whatever was happening in her head. But she stopped herself, again, before she’d crossed half the camp. Perhaps it was better for Thene to work out her problems in her mind rather than when they were awake and surrounded by enemies.

Hopefully, nothing would be drawn to their camp by the noise.

Helen seemed to have the same thought, because she briefly turned her head in Myanna’s direction and then started off in a wide circle around the camp, as the two had done several times that watch. With a last glance toward Thene’s tent, Myanna started off in the opposite direction.

---------------------

It was some time later that Myanna realized something was wrong.

She’d completed nearly half of her circuit around the camp. By now, she should have heard Helen’s light footsteps approaching. Or she might even have passed by Helen, owing to the other woman’s longer strides.

There was no Helen. There were no footsteps. There was no hint of the woman on the path ahead.

Myanna stopped walking and drew both knives -- there was little use for a stealth grenade in this darkness -- and looked around her. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. A surreptitious marker the group had left nearby to mark the path was still there, undisturbed as far as she could tell. Any subtler signs would have been invisible even to Myanna until the sun broke the horizon, though perhaps Ashara or Elaith would be able to see something.

Myanna decided it was best to keep going, through the path that Helen would have taken, and head back toward camp. Hopefully, Helen had simply seen something unusual and stopped to investigate, in which case Myanna would run into her soon. If Helen had been taken, it would take more than just Myanna herself to free her, anyway.

And if Helen were lost, well...at least dawn wasn’t far away. Helen was probably resourceful enough to take care of herself in the woods for an hour or so, traumatizing as all the dust and dirt would probably be.

Keeping her footfalls as light as she could, Myanna continued her circuit, alert for signs of struggle, unusual sounds, or anything else that didn’t seem to fit. It didn’t help that she imagined demons and evil Templars hiding beneath the boughs of every tree and behind every bush, making her heart race in her chest.

Perhaps, if she survived this, Myanna would change her identity again and then take no more jobs from Divine Deranged.

---------------------

By the time Myanna arrived back at camp, the sky had lightened noticeably, though thanks to the cloud cover, the forest itself was still dark. She hadn’t run into Helen at all, nor had she seen any obvious signs of struggle.

So Myanna had picked up her pace over the last quarter of her circuit, and had felt so sure that something was wrong back at camp that she’d practically broken into a run.

But the camp hadn’t been attacked, and everyone else was still there, fast asleep, snoring contentedly.

Except for one Orlesian princess, and everything she’d brought with her, including the nicest horse.

Gone.

“Steaming sack of Orlesian shit cheese,” Myanna muttered to herself. Where had Helen gone, and so quickly? She had to have had all her belongings packed and ready to go inside that tent to vanish in such a relatively short period of time, which meant she’d planned to disappear.

Why? Had the woman been struck by the savior complex? Was she going to find the Templars all by herself? Had she decided to abandon the cause altogether, deciding it was too difficult? Wouldn’t that make Helen wither away from shame? Was that why she’d been strangely quiet lately?

Myanna saw something flutter where Helen had been sitting earlier, which made her jump straight up like a startled cat.

“Shit,” she spat. “Get a hold of yourself.”

It was only a sheaf of parchment, though. Not Helen, not a demon, and not a Templar. Had Helen left a note?

Myanna put one of the knives away and went to check the parchment. And as she read, her eyebrows lowered further and further.

Yes, Helen was indeed gone, and she did not intend to be found.

Colab post between phoray and @tzeenchianapostrophe


Last time on Twisted Oaths:

Edmund exchanged a glance with Ashara. "Don't worry about us, we'll handle everything they will throw our way." He turned around and started walking, then stopped. He looked over his shoulder, "Before I go, prioritize taking down the mages. We might not have to kill all of them, but don't let them start casting, or we'll all regret it." He nodded, and followed Ashara, who was already prowling forward.

---

As Edmund followed Ashara, he mused that trying to follow an agile Elf quietly through the woods while dressed in heavy steel armor would have been a questionable premise without magic. As it was, he found himself cheating; a touch of mana to reinforce muscles in order to accommodate both speed and discretion. It wouldn’t do for the sound of armored boots crashing into the forest floor to reach the guards.

As he followed a few steps behind Ashara, he couldn’t avoid comparing Ashara’s flowing movements (through the tall grass) to his own rather clumsy wading, it was almost like comparing the stomping of a bull to the grace of a stalking cat. Surprisingly, the thought didn’t generate resentment or envy. Rather, he could feel a small smile tugging on his lips. Facing danger was always easier when one had good company.

Soon enough he managed to reach her, as she stopped in order to peer into the ruined village. “Do you have a plan?” Asked Edmund quietly.

She didn't answer immediately, and for a moment Edmund thought he'd have to repeat his question. “Yes. All predators have something in common.”

She took her eyes off the village to look at Edmund. “They can be baited.” Her expression turned dark. “And we know what kind of bait they like.”

She stopped crouching and simply stood up, no longer hiding among the dried corn stalks.

“Thene was right, no one is here. We won’t make good time to our location if we keep creeping at this rate. We’ll stay upwind, as it were. “

Edmund hummed pensively, and nodded. “You are right. They want mages, maybe if I lured a few of them away somehow, we’d be able to get rid of some of the guards quietly.”

Ashara huffed in disbelief, one brow raising. “Oh yes, a human male in full plate armor will be so enticing. They’ll really want to follow your musky buff self into the bushes with nary a thought of asking for back up from the others.”

With a startled expression on his face, Edmund opened his mouth to reply, but settled on a frown instead. Seemingly satisfied, Ashara turned around and resumed walking toward the village. Edmund followed behind, still frowning, and mouthed to himself: “your musky buff self?...”

“I’m talking about myself, Edmund. Female, elven, non magical- all the things that scream “easy body for the altar.” She nodded in the direction they needed to go. “ We can keep talking, quietly, but let’s pick up the pace.”

Grunting in affirmation, Edmund followed. “I suppose you are right, even a seemingly wounded mage might cause them to panic and call for reinforcements.” Hesitating, he added. “Though, I can’t say I’m too happy about the idea of you playing bait, a mage is never really unarmed, but if you were to play bait, it would leave you in an uncomfortably vulnerable position.” He hesitated again. “I… wouldn’t want to leave you at the mercy of those fanatics Ashara.”

Ashara stopped and turned so abruptly that she almost collided with Edmund. For a moment, they stood facing each other, suddenly much closer than either of them meant. Their eyes, green and blue locked unto one another. But then the moment was over and Ashara backed away. She looked toward the village and used her free hand to tighten her pony tail.

“I hadn’t realized you were right behind me.” She said quietly.
Edmund’s smile was audible in his voice as he replied. “I promised to watch your back, didn’t I?...” He took a step and ended up beside her, both of them watching the village.

Seconds passed by in a silence that spoke towards things not ready for words. Ashara took a step and shifted to tilt her self slightly towards him.

“I’ll not be at anyone’s mercy.” Ashara assured him. “It’s knowing you’re backing me up that I think this idea of mine will work at all.” Her words were confident, her golden eyes warm, but her body language implied uncertainty.

He held her gaze silently for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “I will certainly do everything I can. Just… be careful.”

“The others are waiting on us and there are many depending on us.” She said, ending the quiet moment as abruptly as it had begun.

“My aim is to get west of the building, disarm myself, and bait a handful of templars from a safe distance with a farce. I’ll appear to be injured and confused- easy prey. They may be tempted to call others so I’ll have to pressure them with urgency. Make them think they’ll lose me and potential other prey altogether if they tarry and organize.”

They stopped not too long from their destination, seeing a group of large bushes closer to the village proper, but hopefully further enough away to prevent the noise of a scuffle from reaching the others, Edmund pointed them out to Ashara. “This looks like a good location for an ambush.
Bring them in that direction, and I’ll do the rest.”

“This will have to do.” She leaned forward and propped her weapons just behind a tree.

Starting with the vambraces on her arms, she began undoing the straps of her armor off one piece at a time. Far more quickly than one could take human armor off, she was done, stacking the pieces next to her weapons. She stood before him in nothing but a gambeson so thin, it barely qualified. He’d seen her similarly undressed back at camp.

As Edmund stood there, his attention split between Ashara and watching out for any potential hostile company, he couldn’t help but feel his pulse quicken somewhat, Ashara’s thin gambeson was certainly a cause for appreciation and he wondered if she was aware of it. At the same time, she looked a lot smaller, it was hard to connect the skilled warrior she was with the slim, almost-but-not-quite dainty elf that stood before him. Suddenly, as he found his gaze glued to her form, he was having second thoughts about her idea.

“Oh yes.” She said, a tone of epiphany underscoring the short statement.

Leaning over once more behind the tree, she took the dagger that was usually strapped at her hip. Grabbing the hem of her shift, she cut it in two places to indicate tears. Then, visibly taking a breath, she moved the blade near to her throat on her left.

Wincing, Edmund made an aborted motion, as if he thought to interrupt her.

Ashara raised one brow at him even as she continued, blood welling up at the tip of her blade.

Gritting her teeth, she spoke. “There are no half measures.”

She whipped the blade through the cloth across her chest from left neck to right breast. Peering down, the blood was already welling up from her skin and soaking into the collar of her gambeson. She pulled at the edges of the cut cloth to fray it.

“I don’t think a bereskarn’s claws would be that smooth.” She said aloud.

Three more swipes and a bit of pulling and her gambeson looked pretty destroyed, although Ashara had been somewhat careful to maintain a bare minimum of modesty. Tucking her blade back into the pile, she pulled the string out of her hair. It fell loose around her shoulders, some of it immediately getting wet with the blood at her throat.

Crouching, she grabbed some grass and dirt, and started rubbing it onto her bare legs and onto the intact portions of her gambeson.

“This will have to do.” She said, looking once more at Edmund directly.

“You ready?” She stood up.

Eyes fixed on Ashara’s bleeding cut, Edmund nodded mutely. This was going to leave a scar, and she probably knew it. He could probably manage a weak healing spell, enough to close the cut, unless he resorted to some… less conventional spellwork, which likely wouldn’t work on someone else besides him. But he wouldn’t be able to do anything about the scarring either way.

The fact that Ashara didn’t think twice before doing it spoke volumes of her determination and character. He didn’t meet many young women in his travels with so little regard for their appearance, certainly not someone who looked as good as Ashara, watching her do it and not interfering was surprisingly difficult. Did he come to care about her so much in such a short time? Was it a good thing if he did?

Couldn’t they just charge in and take out the Templars where they found them instead?
Rationally, he knew the dangers. Irrationally, this just made him hate those fanatics a tiny little bit more. He tore his eyes away, suddenly wishing for it all to be over already, and nodded again. “I’m ready.”

Ashara closed her eyes, and became still. Her voice, just above a murmur, reached Edmund’s ears. “Andruil, Ir assan. Me ghilana hellathen.” [Andruil, I am an arrow. Guide my noble struggle.]

Her eyes snapped open and she turned swiftly to head towards the Templars. Her fierce expression was not lost on Edmund before she was out of sight.

---

tagging @tzeenchianapostrophe for the rest of the post

Elaith remained hidden, her arrow placed on the string of her bow, while the Templar came closer to the Elf’s position. Elaith’s hands were shaking uncontrollably, she never felt so afraid ever since she left her father. “I have never killed a person,” she said to herself. This wasn’t killing an animal for survival purposes. This was a living person. Even if he deserved it, it didn’t feel right for Elaith. “I have to,” she mumbled, cocking the arrow back. “My people and friends are in danger.”



But it still didn’t feel right.



The Templar came closer, as Elaith aimed for the small gap between the Templar’s armor and helm. She held her breath in an effort to calm her beating heart and let the arrow loose. A split second later the arrow found its mark and the Templar stopped walking as blood came pouring out from his neck. Elaith could hear the gurgling sound of the Templar as he tried desperately to remove the arrow that was placed firmly in his neck. But it seemed he was drained of strength judging by he fell to his knees and fell face first onto the floor still attempting to feebly remove the arrow.



For a moment, Elaith’s breakfast shot up to her throat but she immediately swallowed it. Her eyes stung with tears and her bottom lip began to quiver. “I did that…..” she wanted to utter out but her mouth was closed tight as though someone nailed her lips together. It was the first cold blooded murder that Elaith ever did. Nearly dropping her bow, Elaith stood behind the tree staring at the Templar drawing his last breaths trying not to cry but was failing miserably.

---

HIdden in the brush nearby, Kali watched the Templar with some apprehension. She hadn’t voiced her concerns in front of the girl, but she’d had her doubts as to whether Elaith would actually be able to kill the man. The ‘fweet!’ of the elf’s arrow surprised Kali almost as much as did the precise placement of said projectile, lodged soundly in the Templar’s neck.



Kali spared a moment to feel impressed.



As the Templar fell to the ground with blood starting to stain the grass, the remaining Templar, who had been keeping watch at what had once been the front doors of the chantry, whipped his head around.



‘Good,’ thought Kali. ‘Come closer, you ugly bastard.’



The second Templar raised his sword to guard his front and moved carefully to his fallen armsman, keeping his back to the chantry and his front toward Kali, though she was too well-hidden for him to see her. Kali gritted her teeth. If she had to attack from the front, then she would, but she did not want to waste a stealth grenade now if she didn’t have to. Why couldn’t the bloodsucker just turn around? All she needed was a second’s distraction to bring him down.



He leaned over his companion, who was lying very, very still, as if listening for breath or a heartbeat, still with his back to the chantry. He shook his head and then, after a quick look around, the idiot took off his helmet and leaned over his companion again. Kali felt a jolt when she saw how young he was. If she saw him walking down the street, she might not have even called him a man. How did he get roped into this atrocious mess? Were many of the Templars this young? It might explain why they were so easy to distract. Maybe they could even be bullied into leaving the battlefield. Fewer opponents to fight was something that Kali always appreciated.



She gripped her knives and felt her body tense, ready to spring. Young or no, he was an opponent, and she would kill him if she had to. If he would just expose his flimsy, skinny neck.



And then a noise from the other side of the chantry -- Thene? She hoped the woman was alright -- made him turn to look, and Kali took her chance. She sprang from the brush and threw her whole body weight at his back, using her own momentum to plunge one knife into the base of his skull. He crumpled beneath her.

---

Thene worried about the young elf while she found a good spot to wait. The noises from inside were getting on her nerves and she could only imagine what they were doing to Elaith. “I don’t know what she expected when she left Denerim, but as far as mercenary work goes this must be like learning to swim by jumping into the Waking Sea. Well, nothing to do about it now,” Thene thought.



Thene crept to the back of the broken chantry, out of the Templars’ sight. There was a promising group of brush and weeds that should hide her just fine. She settled in to watch and wait with a slight grimace; just her luck, the best place to watch for Elaith’s signal and be in a position to take out her assigned target was in the middle of a rashvine patch. When Elaith’s Templar went down it was a relief because now she could act. Unfortunately, she couldn’t completely stifle a sneeze. Fortunately, ‘her’ Templar was so intent on the ritual inside that at first he didn’t realize he had a problem.



“Crap,” Thene cursed to herself, “I hate rashvine.” She moved quickly, her knees creaking from being crouched and still for so long. The Templar didn’t have a chance. Thene may not have been as big as the Templar, but she was strong and agile. She leapt behind him and swept his feet from under him. Once he was down on the ground she grabbed his helmet and twisted his head until his neck broke. Maker, she hated that snapping sound, but at least he couldn’t sound an alarm.

---

Elaith didn’t hear the fight between the templars and Kali and Thene. She didn’t even look at them, the elf didn’t even feel the fresh tears that fell on her cheeks. Elaith’s reddened, crying eyes were focused on the Templar she just killed. Her fingertips were barely holding on to her bow Elaith remained rooted to the ground as though it was the only spot of land surrounded by a black abyss and the only other spot was the one in which the dead Templar was laying.



Part of Elaith wanted the Templar to wake up and stand. Maybe the Templar managed to find a way to breathe again sparing his life and relieving Elaith the guilt of having killed her first person. She prayed hard to Mythal for that to happen. “Please get up, please move……” she whispered her tongue feeling the salty tears that entered her mouth.



It was just Elaith and the Templar; everything else was irrelevant. Elaith just stared at the body as though looking at it would raise him from the dead, but the more time passed the more reality weighed in on Elaith. She killed a person, that would put a stain on her conscience forever. She knew her father killed people before from the drunken rants he would shout at no one. The elf never even asked if her father felt guilt for doing so…….



Elaith tried to move but her feet refused to obey. It was one Templar out of many, her friends needed her help. But if she was despondent about killing one Templar, how can she be of any use to the group now? How can she help rescue the people who were captured? “I’m sorry Thene, Kali……” she whispered to herself.

---

From the corner of her eye Thene saw Kali, but she didn’t see Elaith among all the greenery. She tilted her head at Kali, indicating she was ready for their next move. After giving her knife a quick wipe on the grass, Kali pocketed it and snuck around the two bodies to the corner of crumbling walls where the first Templar had stood watch. She pulled out a stunning grenade and hurled it into the ritual circle. Thene moved back when Kali tossed her grenade and tied a rag over her mouth and nose, ready to move in.



Thene gave Kali a thumbs up; so far so good. Kali grinned back at her and readied knives in both fists. The warrior took a moment to roll her shoulders. As soon as the the bomb dust settled, they could move in. Thene was looking forward to actually saving some people.



Thene stayed low and scuttled to the first victim. She began dragging the tied up dwarf to just outside the Chantry wall - where the wall would have been, that is - and next to one of the dead Templars. She smiled behind her rag, it looked like ser dwarf was breathing.



Kali, though, was frowning. Most of the Templars and mages in the ritual circle looked...confused? Stunned? But every last one of them were still on their feet. Her grenade had been potent, she knew. She could brew those concoctions while falling-down drunk and wrapped around a voluptuous distraction. She hadn’t screwed up. She’d expected to see at least a few Templars knocked to the ground.



Thene swore under her breath; it was going to be a lot harder to rescue any victims and keep their skins in one piece. Too many of the Templars and mages were looking for trouble, looking for them. Thene swiveled her head, where was Elaith? They needed her, NOW.



Elaith was standing and staring at the Templar she killed. She could have been a statue, except for the shudders wracking her body and the tears like waterfalls dripping down her face. “Elaith!” Thene hissed, worried when the elf didn’t respond. They didn’t have time for Thene to be delicate. She grabbed the Templar’s helmet from the ground and threw it at Elaith, banging her hip. Thene winced, that would probably bruise. “Elaith, snap out of it! We need you, the victims need you!” the warrior yelled.

---

Shouts of Elaith’s name filled her ears causing the Elf to break her gaze off the dead Templar. Who was calling her? “Who-“ Just then, a sharp pain was felt on Elaith’s hip and the next thing the elf knew was that she was down on the ground with her bow in front of her. The elf shook her head and rubbed her eyes. It was such a blur…… slowly getting up grabbing her bow in the process. Elaith saw the item that hit her, a Templar helmet. A Templar threw his helmet at her?



The elf heard her name again: a familiar one this time and turned at the direction at who was shouting at her. “Thene!” she said running towards the warrior, wiping the tears from her face. A rush of adrenaline filled Elaith’s body as she ran like she never ran before It felt as though Audril has used her body as a conduit. Perhaps her prayers were answered. “Forgive me!” she said struggling to breathe. “Where are the victims?!”



“In there, with a bunch of angry Templars and mages. See if you can get more of the victims, I’ll run interference as best I can. They’re tied up and can’t help you much. We need to move quickly, I know some of them are alive and I’d like to keep it that way,” Thene spoke rapidly. She turned to go back into the broken chantry.



Elaith nodded and did as she was told. She told Thene that she was willing to sacrifice her conscience to save people who were captured by the Templars She could not fail even if the elf still continued to feel the weight of her action on her.



“Good. We’ll talk more later, but we gotta act. Come on,” Thene yelled at Elaith but didn’t wait for an answer. She grabbed Elaith by the arm and began pulling her inside.



“Ah, nug scat,” Kali muttered as she moved to position herself for an attack that would distract at least a few of their opponents from Thene and Elaith. One mage and one Templar seemed to be fighting with full force. She hadn’t seen them before, and it seemed that Thene hadn’t either. Her grenade had missed them completely. Had the mage been able to buff the others’ stamina? She steeled herself and threw her weight at the mage, aiming to break his concentration.



Thene let go of Elaith when a Templar jumped at them. Thene slung her shield around and began bashing. “Didn’t I say something about bashing idiots when all this started?” she snickered, grimly amused. The warrior smiled at the Templar, disconcerting him. He slowed down enough for Thene to scuttle around him and knock out a mage before the stupid woman could finish her spell. Now she could tackle the Templar before he could attack Elaith.



Thene couldn’t see exactly where Kali and the others were, the curse of being short, but judging by their targets’ reactions they were successfully creating a hornet’s nest.

 Edmund
Original post date 12/1/2018 5:54 PM

Edmund woke up to the sound of chirping birds.

There was something hard digging into his lower back, it was distinctly uncomfortable yet comforting in its familiarity at the same time. Eyes still closed, he sent his hand back, blindly grasping and feeling at the offending object.

The abrasive sensation of bark under his fingertips was powerful and sudden, it almost brought tears of nostalgia to his eyes, he remembered that feeling. He spent much of his free time here in his younger years, there was something very relaxing about this place, it never failed to evoke a sense of peace in him.

Now though, there was something wrong about it all. Paradoxically, there was something oppressive and insistent about the sensations of peace that this place was evoking in him.

He opened his eyes and saw exactly what he expected to see.

There was a small house in front of the tree he was leaning on, there was a garden outside, where his mother grew some ingredients for her potions.

Speaking of mother, he could just hear her voice, she was quietly humming a song under her breath, the hum punctuated from time to time by the "thunk" of a knife chopping something on a wooden board.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with crisp air scented with nature's perfumes, and stood up. There was no sense in wasting his time sitting here all day, he had work to do.

Walking with purpose, he approached the house and opened the door.

Mother stopped chopping only long enough to send a brilliant smile in his direction that made his chest ache, but resumed working immediately.

He knew what he had to do of course, there was another chopping board to the right of mother's, there was also a knife, and a neat stack of Elfroot.

He walked slowly as if in a dream, and picked up the knife. Then he turned and stabbed his mother in the chest.

For a moment they both stood there, unmoving, she with a knife sticking out of her chest and expression of horror and pain on her face, and he with with his hand still holding the bloody knife in her chest, his face grim with resolve.

He was about to twist the knife, when "Mother" burst into motes of light and disappeared.

A moment later the house itself disappeared in an explosion of smoke, and Edmund felt his small childlike body growing into a more familiar size, cloth transforming into leather and steel, and bloody knife transforming into a familiar looking Bastard sword. He twirled the Sword experimentally, it felt better than ever in his hand - the weight and balance just right, it felt like the perfected idea of what his sword could be like.

Yes, this was most definitely the Fade, and not a mere dream either. He was being toyed with.

Slowly but surely the fog in his brain started to disperse, flashes of recent memories appeared, Templars, blood magic, and a great horned demon.

The scene around him shifted again, the dream-stuff of the fade reverting to its natural chaotic state for a moment, before it transformed again into yet another familiar scene, a ruined village with a Chantry at its center, including a bloody altar.

He kept silent. There was nothing to say. Any Demon worth his weight in Mana will merely use his words to find vulnerabilities in his resolve.

Instead, he called on his Mana to strengthen himself. Here in the Fade casting magic came easily. Almost too easily.

Spells of enhancement joined spells of protection, all of them requiring less effort than usual for him, it was almost as if it was enough to remember the idea of a spell in order to cast it, Magic itself felt eager, like a hunting hound pulling at the leash, raring to give chase.

He noticed a movement from the corner of his eye, and turned immediately.

It stood a respectable distance away from him, thirty-forty paces at least, her beautiful face twisted in displeasure.

The Demon was a creature of Desire through and through, he could smell her very essence leaking from her, the influence was a gentle and insidious thing, much more subtle than the dominating presence of Pride.

There was something incredibly captivating about the flowing movements and of the lithe nude form of this demonnette, even the frown on her, no, he corrected himself it's face was the sort of frown that would make most men and some women leap into a burning pyre to do her bidding, it wasn't just lewdness and base attraction, her very essence whispered sweet promises, she even didn't need to speak in order to make them, it was temptation incarnate.

Edmund wished he could claim to have dismissed her allure out of hand while offering the Demon nothing but contempt, but she, no it was a powerful specimen indeed.
He shook his head, and started chanting quietly. Tevinter may have gained their bad reputations fairly for the most part, but some of the knowledge they uncovered was highly useful even for those who wanted merely to defend their minds against the vultures of the Fade.

He could feel some of the pressure leaving, as soon as he started speaking the foreign words.

If the creature was fazed by his ability to push back its influence, its appearance was not showing it. It was shifting slowly, every glance showed a different face, every face appealed to a different desire, one moment she looked like his mother, her smile evoking painful longing in his chest, though when combined with the demonnette's nude body and the wicked invitation in that smile, he quickly found himself more unnerved than anything.

For a moment, an almost imperceptible frown appeared on its face before she changed again, this time it looked like Ashara.

For a moment he just stood there gobsmacked, she was in a word, perfect. Her stance, the defiant look in her golden eyes, her body was... he had to tear his eyes away, he could feel his metaphorical heart hammering in his metaphorical chest, he was reminded of an ancient Elven statue of a goddess of theirs, only Ashara made that statue pale in comparison. No, he corrected himself, not Ashara, the Demon.

She was literally perfect, and that was his saving grace. He knew the real Ashara, she was a mortal, she was flawed, her small imperfections made her unique, made her who she was.

This was fake. This was the ideal of Ashara, a fantasy, she lacked those imperfections, her face too smooth, her body's proportions too perfect to be real.

Where a mortal could appreciate moderation, could find comfort in imperfection, in the fade even the mere idea was an anathema, why settle for the mediocre when perfection was within reach?

Of course, now that he managed to dull the edge of temptation, it was time to channel the passion elsewhere, he focused on his memory of Ashara, the real Ashara, on the flagrant defilement of her memory by this vulture of the mind, this bottom feeder who preyed on mortal weaknesses and desires. It didn't take long before he felt the familiar burn of red hot rage pumping through his metaphorical veins.

Suddenly this creature didn't seem like Ashara at all. The fires of his rage and contempt serving as the perfect counter to the insidious web this creature spun for him, like the more mundane spider-webs they have proven highly flammable. He would need to remain vigilant of course, but he felt that he had the measure of this creature now.

He let it all build. All he needed was an opportunity.

"Ashara" moved slowly, sensually, and started circling him from a distance. The expression on her face changed into one of contemplation, her piercing golden eyes peering at him with intense curiosity, and yet at the same time, the expression was highly reminiscent of a large cat stalking its prey. He shuddered, revulsion and anger warring with remnants of Desire in his mind. Ashara would never look at him like that.

Deciding perhaps that it needed to change it tactics, the Demon suddenly stopped circling him and started advancing slowly towards him, it felt as though her Aura suddenly focused on him directly, she wasn't content with subtlety anymore it seemed. Edmund could feel the flames of his rage guttering, "Ashara" slowly advancing towards him, her body swaying invitingly, hypnotically, he felt his sword slipping from his fingers, his body starting to sway as well, dancing to the absent tune of her charms.

Like a puppet on strings. It was this particular thought that managed to reignite the fire in his mind.

"Ashara" managed only a brief look of surprise before he crashed into her, roaring his rage, sword forgotten, he pummeled her with his armored fists, again smashing the illusion into a thousand motes of light.

Snarling, he looked about wildly, searching for his opponent.

"Ashara" appeared again in a flash of light, seemingly unharmed, and looked at him curiously. "You are a fiery one, aren't you?" She giggled, the sound in itself requiring him to center himself again.

"You do know that your rage would have been felt by each and every one of my... less refined, more savage, brethren, right?" Her expression changing into one of intrigue, her smile positively wicked.

"Unless you desire more company?" Her hands slid across her nude body, slowly, invitingly, as she swayed and turned.

"Do you wish to hold me down and brutally ravish me? Do you wish to watch me being taken by my bestial brethren? After all, I'm here to accommodate your desires, no matter how... exotic..."

Edmund shuddered again, looking at "Ashara" like this was... Wrong. She was right at the very least about his rage inviting more attention in the Fade, she didn't feel like a common creature of desire, the more he interacted with her the more he realized that she was a much more dangerous opponent than he gave her credit for, not only was she extremely slippery, her every word, every movement was designed to tempt or provoke, he felt her mere presence fraying the edges of his mind, given enough time...

Time. That was it. The others were probably trapped as well with him. He felt a clarity of purpose banishing another layer of fog from his mind. Just how many layers were there?

He took a deep breath, centering himself again, and addressed her directly. "I don't want anything from you. You will gain nothing from me. Your gifts are poison and lies, either fight me, or begone."

Surprisingly, the creature looked almost offended. "You doubt the value of the boons I could offer? Naturally, I may aim to end a bargain in my favor, but how am I different from any of your mortal merchants?"

Edmund felt his mind starting to actually consider the implications of her claim, but then he remembered: Time. Time was of the essence.

He banished a dozen possible replies that stood on the tip of his tongue. "No." Before she could speak again, he continued. "There will be no more discussion."

"Ashara" pouted. He stared at her incredulously. The expression looked real, uncanny, what sort of a Desire demon was this?...

She sighed, such a simple sound still sending shivers down his spine. "Unfortunately for you my sweet Mageling, you cannot banish me with mere words."

Even as she spoke the scene around him shifted yet again, exploding into a thick veil of smoke, the ephemeral energies of the Fade twisting to accommodate her.

Edmund tensed, anticipating a possible attack. Her abilities were unknown to him. He had never seen a Demon change the the Fade around them as easily as she did.

He heard legends about Dreamers from Tevintar before, but they were supposed to be extremely rare, the idea that Demons could do something similar sent shivers throughout his body.

Was she unique somehow? A terrible suspicion wormed its way into his mind - was this the power of a Demon who managed to entrap and consume a Dreamer?

Was this why Demons had such an interest in possessing Mages?...

The fog of change started to dissipate again. "Ashara" looked at him knowingly, a self-satisfied smirk on her inviting lips, before she melted into the dissipating fog.

Was she able to hear his thoughts?...

When the fog lifted, it was clears that "Ashara" had changed her approach. For once, she wasn't nude anymore. Which paradoxically made Edmund feel both disappointment and relief.

She wore what looked like a tasteful silk robe in the same style that was worn by Circle Mages. He instinctively knew that only a creature like her could make such a robe to look as positively... sinful.

But the thing that drew his attention almost immediately was the familiar body that was lying on the ground at the exact mid-point between them.

He recognized those eyes immediately, it was the young bound mage he had killed earlier.

"Tell me Edmund, why have you killed her?" Surprisingly, there was a note of genuine curiosity in "Ashara's" voice.

He made to answer, but his mouth felt dry for some reason. "I..." He gulped, uselessly. "She asked me to..." He replied, eyes still fixated on the still body in front of him.

"Ashara" scoffed in derision. "Don't lie to yourself Edmund, what you saw in her eyes was nothing more than a reflection of what you wanted to see. Perhaps this is what you would've asked if you were in her position. No. What you saw in her eyes was a plea for help."

Licking his dry lips, Edmund looked at the body, desperately looking for an answer that wasn't there. The guilt felt like a physical pressure here, almost like a noose around his neck.

Some distant part of his mind was screaming about demonic influence and the effects of the Fade, but it was distant and vague compared to the weight of the guilt he felt.

"Ashara" stepped closer. "What she really wanted was for a Hero to save her. Here was a Hero in front of her, wielding magic and sword against her tormentors. In her heart she prayed for your success even as her hands were forced to cast magic against you, but, rather than find a way to save her, you struck her down."

The pain in his heart was a physical thing now. He could feel the guilt dragging him down, a force stronger than gravity itself. He fell to his knees.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, he barely manage to lift his head and meet those piercing golden eyes.

"Could you imagine that Edmund, to be so close to salvation, only for it to be snatched away from you at the last moment by those you hoped would save you?..."

He felt the gentle caress of her hand even through his armor. It was the only thing that countered the terrible pressure of guilt. Her hand was the only way to salvation.

Or was it?...

For a single moment Edmund's entire self was balanced on the edge of a sword. And then slowly, excruciatingly, Edmund barely managed to tip the balance.

"Ashara" recoiled, visibly alarmed by the change. Edmund felt the terrible pressure lifting, and then his rage trying to consume him again. Still on his knees and disoriented, he lashed out with magic.

It was sloppy, it barely had any structure, and it tore out of him with an incoherent scream of rage, but it still hit "Ashara" like the fist of an angry giant.

"Ashara" screamed as the intent and sheer malice of Edmund's magic stripped her of the disguise, and suddenly "Ashara" was no more.

In her place stood a naked androgynous horror that flailed its tentacles and gibbered and screamed from multitude of mouths as it was torn apart, before it lashed out with its own brand of magic, managing to free itself of the spell, and then disappeared in a flash of light, taking with it a dozen layers of mind-fog that Edmund wasn't even able to detect earlier.

Slowly, laboriously, Edmund pushed himself back to his feet, lifting his sword once again. His companions were waiting.

PART II

---

She’d already forgotten him and their entire conversation. He was a bit at a loss. He had woke himself from his own dream, shaken the demon off him only with honed experience of demon interaction. Ashara had never had to deal with demons and was quite absorbed in the misery here.

And what a misery it was. Her appearance was shocking as well. The temperature of their surroundings chilled even further. Edmund had the ominous sense that they were running out of time.

“Ashara.” He began, standing over her as she lay listlessly trapped in emotion on the ground.”As much as this may real to you, it is not. Your clan, you sister- I empathize with the loss of kin. The Year is 9:43 Dragon. Kali, Thene, Elaith? We’re alive. I’m alive. There has not been a war involving the Dalish for centuries “ He offered a hand out to her and leaned to catch her eyes with his own. “You are not the last, milady. Please let me help you, Ashara.”

Their hearts beat several moments as Ashara considered. Faltering only briefly, her ashen hand found his. He gently tugged as she shifted to her feet.

As she stood before him and he saw a shimmering to her appearance. An illusion, like a semi translucent shroud upon her and ever motion she made. She did not pull her hand out of his. Instead, she squinted her eyes and peered at him. It was disconfitting, to see both a beautiful woman as well as a tainted creature get so intimately close to him.

“You look...you’re familiar. I-- I know you. And you know me; you know my name...”

He seized on her perhaps reabsorbing her reality. “I’m Edmund, Ashara. We have known each other only a short while--” He was startled and confused when her other hand came to touch his cheek.

“So many regrets I have held in my life, Edmund. My mind tells me twenty years have passed, maybe more, and that all I care about is gone. That I have nothing left in my tainted ill fated life to do but do as many other wardens have done before me; die in the dark, underground, alone.”

She stepped closer and Edmund couldn’t help but remain still. The shroud was thinning even further. Her golden eyes clearing to their former brilliance and his desire for her well being held him from action. He didn’t want to interrupt what may be her breaking her own chains.

“If you’re not real, then it doesn’t matter.” Her sad eyes underscored such a curious statement. “If you are real..” She trailed off, and the hand on his cheek felt soft as it stroked down his cheek. She was as close as she could be without pressing her body against him.

“If you’re real, Edmund,” She said again, looking up at him, vulnerable, tilting her chin up. The nightmare shroud of her appearance was feather light as her true self shown through.

He was careful to quickly sense for whether the desire demon of his own nightmare hadn’t somehow slipped into this realm. But no, it was in fact Ashara. He tilted his head down towards hers to capture her lips only to be pleasantly surprised by her meeting him halfway.

---

Her kiss was not so much desire as a wish to feel something, anything, that wasn’t the heavy weight of devastation she felt she’d been living for years. At least, that’s how it began. AS it continued, and she had to move her lips against his, she could feel her body again. He was warm, and alive, and that meant. .

That meant all of what she believed wasn’t real.

She broke the kiss. She stepped back and watched as what she thought was her tainted flesh faded away to that of her true self; the self that had known Edmund. It was surreal and shocking.

She looked up at Edmund, who was closely observing her, and laughed, skittishly. The relief was unbelievable and wonderful and--

Something wrapped round her ankle pulled her from her feet. She fell face first into the ground, the air being knocked from her. She was swiftly dragged across the rocky ground. Distantly she heard Edmund shout as she grasped desperately at anything that may be nearby; roots of a dead tree, brambles that tore at her skin.

The dragging stopped at the same time as a rocking explosion rippled through the ground. The roar behind was so loud, it could have rivaled the roar of an Archdemon, if she’d ever seen one.

She coughed as Edmund helped her up. “Where’s my equipment?” She demanded, alarmed.
“You have it, you just have to-” Edmund waved his free hand as he held his sword toward the direction of the maw of a cave. “Remember you have it.”

Ashara closed her eyes to concentrate.

“Ashara,” Edmund warned.

Ashara looks and tendrils of darkness started wiggling out of the maw. Her eyes widened and she backed up. A warm glow fell upon the side of her face. She turned her head slightly to realize the glimmering portal to her dream world still existed.

“My memory isn’t acting so great so my alternative suggestion is that we--- uh, hop into that other place and see if that dark creature can’t follow.”

“Retreat?” Edmund asked.

“Retreat.” Ashara confirmed.

“You go first,” Edmond replied.

She turned her back on the cold encroaching darkness and made the short run for the portal. Uncertain of how this was supposed to work, she just increased speed, clenched her eyes, and hoped for the best as she encountered the barrier between the two realms. She encountered no resistance, and blinked her eyes at the sudden change from grey skies and warm golden sun. She turned back to the portal, already calling.

“Edmund!” And she could see him, striking at any tendrils that neared him with his sword.

Edmund sped through the portal only a short few moments later.

The tendrils neared but did not enter. They stood and watched, Edmond’s sword still raised. One of the tendrils smacked against the portal and a crack appeared.

“This isn’t a permanent solution.” Edmund stated aloud what they’d both been thinking.

“Where do we go from here? How do we find the others?” Ashara asked, looking around.

Edmund put his sword away for the moment. “We think of them and move forward. That’s how I found you.”

Movement caught her eye. She gasped at the appearance of--
“Tori,”
The name slipped from her lips. Her sister looked up from helping herself to a bowl of soup at the hearth and smiled upon seeing her.

“Ash! Care to join me? Smells as good as always.”

Edmund put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s not her, Ashara. It’s another dream.”

Ashara didn’t reply as “Tori” came near them.

“Tori”’s smile didn’t stop, even when another crack appeared on the barrier.

“You’re a spirit. Or a demon.”Ashara declared out loud, if only to remind herself.

A slight twist of expression shifted Tori’s features. “With you here, Ash, I could keep that,” And che cocked her head to the side toward the barrier, “from interrupting us.” She paused, and and uncharacteristic, from Ashara’s point of view, expression of hunger marked Tori’s features as she gazed at Edmund. “Especially with your friend.”

Ashara’s tone, when she finally spoke, was defiant.

“I know where I need to be right now and it’s not with you.”

Her “sister” sighed, a bored expression. “Suit yourself.”

Ashara turned to leave. “You said we just walk and think about them right? Let’s go.”

---

tagging smilesja for colab[/span][/div]

Collab starring:

Dragontartare - Kali aka Myanna
phoray - Ashara
Norstaera - Thene

---

Myanna crouched behind a retaining wall, slowly turning her vial of shadow and watching the starburst patterns the sunlight made on the wall as it passed through the potion. It was a beautiful, deep color...maybe blue, maybe purple. Hard to tell, but beautiful. She hadn’t realized that before.

The potion in the other vial, the one she held very still -- the one she dared not play with -- was a loud, unnatural green. It made her a little nervous just carrying it, knowing what it was capable of. Uncle Kash had even ordered special glass just to safely contain it. Myanna had not asked him whether the glass was simply thicker, or whether it had been enchanted. She didn’t want to know.

She risked a glance over the wall, through the shrubbery it contained. The berserker was searching for her, just out of throwing range, the bright sun glinting off his round helmet. He looked like an idiot, burdened as he was by a thick shell of metal.

Useless metal. Worse than useless, very soon.

‘Come on, you stone-cursed nug lover,’ she coaxed him in her head. ‘I need you juuuust a bit closer.’

The berserker obliged.

Myanna leapt up and hurled the unnatural vial at him, where it broke and splashed against his breastplate. She threw down the shadow at her own feet, waiting for the smoke to blur her from sight before tumbling behind another bit of cover.

And from there, she looked back.

The berserker was clutching his chest in a silent scream. The grenade worked fast, so Myanna didn’t have to wait long before blood spurted from the dwarf’s now open chest wound, and metal began to fall away.

Falling off the berserker’s body like wet clay, if wet clay could burn as it went.

Myanna grimaced. It was such a messy solution, but a thorough one. The berserker fell, a slimy pile of bone and flesh to join the others. He’d been the last one.

And that meant she could finally, finally stop running. Stop hiding. And go home.

She whooped and leapt onto the retaining wall, laughing out loud and not caring at all that she probably sounded like a crazy woman.

---

Back near ‘Ostagar’, Thene looked at Ashara and then at the demon bodies disappearing into the Fade ground around them. “I suppose it’s too much to hope we killed them,” she growled, hiding her fatigue behind her customary scowl.

“It’s good to see you,” Ashara said, and she realized she meant it sincerely. There would be so much to process after all this.

“Yeah, Maker’s mighty balls, but it’s nice to see a flesh and blood person!” Thene exclaimed.

The elf nodded agreement. “Elaith? Kali?” Ashara inquired.

Thene shook her head, “You’re the first. I guess you saw Edmund,” she ventured.

Ashara looked to her right and gazed into the distance. Her tone of voice was concerned. “He woke me up,” she said quietly, her feelings complicated. With a stronger voice, she continued. “The dream itself kept him from entering. Must have seen him as a threat and blocked him.” A wry smile teased the corners of her lips as she looked back at Thene. “Their mistake. But I thought he would have found his way here after dismissing your demon.”

“He’s tough and will probably come out of here better than any of us. Maybe he’ll find Elaith if we don’t; she’s got to be freaking out big time and she already was kind of shaky,” Thene frowned. She made a show of shrugging off her concerns and sheathed her sword but kept her shield out. “Ready to look for more trouble?”

Ashara nodded as the remains of their enemies began to simply dissipate.

“One good thing about the Fade,” Thene wrinkled her nose, “the demons fade away. In the real world dead bodies just stink up the place if nobody does anything.” That fast, they were surrounded by corpses, complete with smells of decomposition and other odors dredged from their memories.

Thene gagged and coughed.

Ashara’s nose wrinkled and she pursed her lips. “Not an improvement.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Thene and Ashara began walking. Under her breath the human chanted, “Roses, Elaith, Kali, daisies, Kali, Elaith, roses, daisies . . .”

Ashara couldn’t help but add her own wish to the warrior’s chant, though she did not say it out loud. ‘Edmund.’

Ashara and Thene trudged forward. Vague, almost shadows formed around them only to disappear. Thene had a sense of familiar people and places, but the moment she tried to focus they were gone.

After what seemed like hours but could have been mere minutes, they saw something in the distance breaking the otherwise empty flatland. Thene squinted and shaded her eyes against a brightening Fade glare. “What is that?” she asked Ashara. “Can you tell?”

“It’s a wall with someone on top,” Ashara said, her golden eyes squinting a bit. “It doesn’t appear to be flashing out of existence so I’m inclined to believe it as real as anything in this place can be.”

They began running. As they got closer, the wall looms higher and higher and on top was their companion. “Kali!” Thene shouted. More quietly, she spoke to Ashara, “What is she doing up there? That can’t be dwarven dancing, can it? Or is it a courting ritual, or maybe a hex? Maybe she just lost her mind. The Fade can’t be good for dwarves.” She shouted again, “Kali!!!”

“I doubt it’s--” Ashara began, but then Kali reacted to their presence.

---

Myanna turned sharply toward the newcomers and leapt off the wall, a knife materializing in one hand. But then she didn’t pounce, not yet. She stood still instead, watching them come closer. “Not Carta, I don’t think,” she said to herself. “This could be fun.”

“No ‘Kali’ here,” the dwarf said aloud with a wary smirk, “unless she’s uh...lying around here somewhere.” She indicated the bodies littered around the square, her eyes not leaving the two of them.

Ashara knew that look already too well, having seen it in Thene just a while before. But unlike Thene, the lack of awareness came with a threat. She put herself on guard as Thene took the lead.

“Um, you look like our friend Kali,” Thene said slowly, not wanting to alarm her. She looked at Ashara to see if the Dalish woman had any ideas. “We all got separated while we were fighting.”

Myanna frowned at the warrior, though she looked pensive and suspicious...not angry. “Only ones fighting here are me and these meat sacks. And I don’t think you’re with them. You’re not hairy enough.” She didn’t put the knife away, but her posture relaxed a little bit. “You do look a bit familiar though, both of you. Why are you here?”

“Stupidity,” Thene mumbled under her breath. “Five of us were tracking a group of whacked Templars and mages. Sound familiar?”

Myanna huffed. “Mages and Templars? Me? No, it doesn’t sound familiar at all.” She grinned, just a flash of a smile. “It uh, mighta escaped your notice that I’m a dwarf. We don’t deal with mages.” Lyrium, sure, but Myanna herself never had to deal with the end users in her trade, and that was how she liked it. Let the merchants handle that mess.

Ashara seized on a memory. “You’ve had your fair share of ale,” she somewhat blurted, then chided herself. That just sounded like she was casting a stereotype. She turned to a different tactic. “The woman we’re looking for--. She once told me that , ‘Us and Them aren’t always who we thought they were.’” She bit her lip, then added. “Such a wise woman you would not expect to grow from a child berated for being pantless in the town square?”

Myanna gaped. How did this elf know about…? Maybe she was just guessing, assuming Myanna had gotten blackout drunk sometime in her youth as so many others did? ‘Pantless in the town square’ was strangely specific, though.

“How drunk was I when I told you that story?” Myanna asked. She shoved her knife into its holster, which she could have sworn she didn’t have a few minutes ago. She blinked down at her hip and shook her head. She had drunk a bit of ale before...hadn’t she? Maybe she just forgot that she’d equipped the holster. “And why did you call me Kali? It’s gotta be me you’re talking about. I recognize you, and you know all about what a fun drunk I am. Who are you?”

Thene watched them closely. Kali might not remember them yet, but at least she didn’t seem ready to kill them.

Ashara shared a sympathetic frown, remembering her own confusion about reality too keenly. “You weren’t drunk at all. We were --” she fluttered her fingers, as she searched for a word. “--befriending each other as we rested after our first day traveling together.”

It all came back to Myanna so suddenly that, for a moment, her vision blacked out. The dead merchants. The demon dust in her pack. The note from the Chantry sister. Edmund the Mage. Elaith, the dinner thief, who still owed her some silver. Helen, who had vanished one night with only a mysterious letter left behind.

The bloody battle with the real live demon that she’d just been sucked out of.

“Balls,” she spat, squeezing her eyes shut and slapping her open palm against her face.

“Pretty much,” Thene agreed.

Ashara relaxed her guard, relieved. “I’m glad we reached you before you decided to sheath your dagger in one of us.”

“I thought these bastards were dying a little too nicely,” Myanna said. She kicked one of the corpses anyway, just because it made her feel better. “Where the hell are we, then?”

Thene blurted out, “We’re in the Fade. You gonna be alright? I mean, you’re not going to go all squirrely because dwarves don’t dream, are you?”

“Gotta be honest, I feel a little cheated here,” Myanna replied. “The things people say they dream about...I don’t get to spend every night surrounded by beautiful fake women who adore me or uh…” she looked around herself, “surrounded by the rotting corpses of my fallen enemies who I’ve mercilessly slaughtered, I suppose...but a demon can bring me here against my will.” She shook her head. “It’s just not right.”

“If it helps, you wouldn’t get to choose your dreams. They just happen,” Thene offered.

“Indeed, your ‘nightmare’ at least seemed better than the rest of ours from what I can tell.” Ashara chimed in, beginning to feel unsettled. The Fade around them had been calm which was unusual from her experience. “Perhaps we should--”

What Ashara thought they should perhaps do, Myanna wouldn’t get to find out. The ground dropped out from under her, and rocks seemed to fly in all directions as she fell. She was shocked that none of them hit her -- the demon didn’t want to stone her to death? She knew she had put on her lucky hair ribbons that morning! -- but she was nonetheless buffeted about like a fledgling in a thunderstorm and quickly lost sight of both Thene and Ashara.

She hoped they had put on their lucky hair ribbons that morning, too.

The falling rocks were joined by planks of wood and thick tapestries, and their chaos began to coalesce into a scene that was disturbingly familiar to her. She landed flat on her ass in the middle of her uncle’s kitchen, surrounded by dwarves she’d been sure she would never see again.

---

Thene and Ashara watched Kali disappear in a whirlwind of debris. Before Thene could finish saying “Oh, crap,” they found themselves in a fetid alley with no sky overhead. “Why do mages even want to come here,” she growled. Dilapidated buildings, shacks, and various makeshift shelters crowded each other. Some dwarves were listlessly feeding tiny fires while others hid in the shadows and glowered at the outsiders.

Ashara thought of the brief few minutes she’d spent speaking with her ‘sister’ before walking away. “Temptation features high in most warnings about the Fade.” She swallowed against the itchy sensation in her throat. Irritation caused from the refuse the inhabitants were burning to cook with. “It must depend on what demon we attract what one would experience here.”

“Well I’m tired of being a demon’s blow toy.” Thene examined the area, wondering what was going to pop out next. She also was curious, “I’ve never been to Orzammar, I’m guessing this is Dust Town . . . I think it’s worse than the Denerim Alienage, though I’ve heard that’s better than it used to be. Whatever, let’s try to find Kali before something weird happens.”

A rasping wail began, then faded into a coughing gurgle, emanating from one of the doorless hallows. It was both eerie, pathetic, and affecting. The Fade was only trying to reflect something Kali had heard, wasn’t it?

“Right. Generally moving forward seems to bring us to our destination, so let’s keep moving.” Ashara replied, indicating that she would follow where Thene led.

The human skirted a puddle of something and kept her hand on the hilt of her sword. The two warriors carefully strode through one alley and then another without any luck.They turned a corner and Thene stopped. “We started here, I was sure we didn’t move in circles, but we must have.”

Ashara scowled. “Let me...” She went back around the corner, leaving Thene as she was. Mere steps later, she could see the very place they’d left, and Thene herself. Both before her and behind. She backtracked around the corner again. “Did you see that?”

“Yeah, stupid Fade shit, like we don’t have enough problems,” Thene growled in frustration.

“Do you think every path will be the same?” Ashara asked, moving forward into the square they’d only left behind a minute before. A dwarven creature in rags, hunched over his mug, raised his head and offered a mostly toothless smile. He then shook his rusty cup in their direction. Ashara turned back to see Thene as they conferred.

“We have to try,” Thene sighed. She studied the dwarf a moment before shrugging her shoulders irritably and moving down a hopefully different alley.

Ashara followed, peeking over one shoulder as they went. They found themselves in a familiar situation, as again they were before a smiling dwarf, standing now, mug in hand, tipping it toward them in supplication. Ashara frowned, then coughed a little, as this path had taken them close to a cooking fire. Something looked different.

Thene looked at Ashara, “What do you think?”

She got close to Thene, wondering if whispering really worked in this place even as she was committed to keeping her words quiet. “Neither my dream nor yours had me traveling in circles. Something is keeping us here.”

“I think so, too,” Thene whispered back.

The smiling dwarf finally spoke, “Hey girlies, have I got a deal for you.”

“It seems to be speaking to us,” Ashara observed, perturbed at this turn of events. The only demons that had spoken to her lucidly so far were dangerous.

“It is, isn’t it? Why am I thinking that can’t be good?” Thene asked rhetorically. “But maybe we’ll learn . . . something?” Her voice trailed off, doubt clear in every syllable.

The two warriors moved closer together, keeping vigilant eyes on the approaching ‘dwarf.’ He spoke softly and seemed to direct the shadows around him and them, obscuring them from unknown watchers.

“Geras quenathra, spirit? We’ve dispersed our share today,” Ashara added, the threat succinct, as she reached for her bow.

A raspy sound Ashara realized to be some sort of chuckle escaped the creature, the borders of its appearance wavering from the movement. “Have ye enjoyed the rounds ye’ve been making round the courtyard so much ye can’t manage kindness towards a guide?”

Ashara aims. “A guide? Most likely you are the source of our spherical woes. Perhaps dispersing you--”

The creature held up one hand calmly then blinked out of sight. Ashara quickly turned, scanning the surroundings as she did so.

“You could test your theory, perhaps, if you succeeded. If you were wrong, however, and you certainly are…” It paused, grinning. “Then ye’d be doomed to circlin’ wouldn’t ye?”

Thene and Ashara consider, glancing at each other. Thene scowled at the sky. “I hate this,” she finally spoke quietly to the other woman, “but I haven’t a clue how to get out of here. Neither one of us created this,” she waved her shield around them at Dust Town and those dwarves - demons - she could see. “I mean, it’s not our memories, is it? I think we have to at least listen to his offer.”

The frustrated human took one step closer to the demon dwarf. “OK, Smiley, let’s hear this deal. But I warn you, I am running out of patience.”

“The price of two lady’s travelin’ would be met with the answer of one secret from each of ye.”

Ashara frowned. “A secret?”

The spirit clapped, and blinked out of sight again.

“Sounds like a child’s game,” Thene muttered.

“And you both already know what I speak of,” said the spirit’s voice behind them. Ashara spun round, irritation rising.

A secret. There were a lot of things Thene did not know about her, but what did--

The spirit grinned, its “dwarven” eyes staring into her and she knew. “Yesss, that one,” It said, pleasure from her discomfort leaking from the way it said it.

Ashara’s lip curled. Unpleasant, but if it would speed things along, and considering her mission…

Placing her weapon away, she stoically turned toward Thene. “I haven’t been one of the Elvhen since the Wardens tainted me thirteen years ago during the Blight.”

Thene raised one eyebrow at Ashara’s description of the Joining. “Okay, you’re a Grey Warden. Are you saying they kicked you out of all things Dalish because you’re a Warden? They perform some sort of ritual to ‘knock the elf’ out of you? Seems a bit harsh. I probably wouldn’t talk about it either.”

Ashara’s golden eyes narrowed as she felt irritation about being misunderstood. Her expression was harsh with disgust. “Once the Grey Wardens mark you, there is no returning to your people. You are another-- creature, that just bares a resemblance to what you used to be. I am no more Elvhen than you are, Thene.”

In the few seconds of silence, Ashara realized she felt… like the burden was lighter. She was just as disgusted by being tainted, but the bitter bite was now just an ache. She side glanced the fade creature, wondering if it had something to do with the ‘payment’. She didn’t know how she felt about that. She’d carried this feeling so long; what would she be without it?

The “dwarven” spirit looked gleefully towards Thene.

Thene curled her lip, “Oh, goodie. It’s my turn, yippee.” Maybe because Ashara was Dalish, Thene remembered her mother’s death. She looked up and caught the dwarf watching her with intense glee. “Ditch the grin, Slimey Smiley, or I’ll remove your face. I bet demons don’t need ‘em.”

“That’s rude,” he flashed back, but his anticipatory glee was not lessened.

“Yeah, that’s no secret,” Thene turned her back on him and faced Ashara. “Alright, here goes. You may have figured out that I don’t think much of the Dalish. They’re smug, arrogant, selfish, self-righteous, and full of disdain for anybody else. Haven’t met too many exceptions. What you don’t know is why. Darkspawn killed my mother but the Dalish could have prevented it. My father was an elf from the Denerim Alienage; he and my mother were traveling apothecaries. One day a wagon wheel broke. Mother took the opportunity to gather some herbs while Papa fixed the wagon. Some of your precious hunters, still with blood on them, came out of the woods near us. They were friendly to my father at first, but when they saw me they got very nasty. Not only did they refuse to help us, they didn’t even warn us there were darkspawn in the area.”

“I didn’t recognize it then, but later I realized the blood on their armor was fresh darkspawn. Nothing else smells like it, but you know that. It’s an odor you never forget.”

Ashara had been stoic at the start of her tale, but her calm demeanor melted slightly into empathy. “I cannot speak for the elvhen, I lost that right. I know what it is like to lose those you hold dear to the Darkspawn.”

With only a moment of inner hesitation, Ashara held out her arm, a warrior’s gesture to an equal. Thene nodded slowly and grasped Ashara’s arm near the elbow so they were forearm to forearm. “Papa was always telling me not to live in the past.”

The creature clapped.

---

“Myanna? Where have you been?”

Myanna scrambled to her feet and turned to face the dwarf that had spoken. Stout like any of her people, a bit taller than Myanna herself with a lot less gray in her hair, despite being the older one, and the expression of one who lived to nag.

Her sister. Magra, once Myanna’s life-long companion and thorn in her side, in equal measure-- well, more thorn than companion, if she were honest, but what were sisters for? Magra, who looked exactly like she had on the day they last saw each other eight years ago. She would admit it to no one, but she had missed Magra. Even her nagging, if it meant Myanna could talk to her again.

This wasn’t Magra.

For one thing, vain as the thought was, there was no way Magra wouldn’t have aged. Her sister was far too high strung to not have developed more gray hair and more lines on her face than Myanna herself.

‘Not smile lines, though,’ she thought perversely.

And as she stood there watching, fine lines appeared across Magra’s forehead and around her eyes, and her hair lightened to a raven-flecked silver.

Myanna winced. A quick glance around at the crowd showed her that they all had aged a bit more, too. How considerate of the demons to take her feedback.

There was concern in Magra’s face, and the emotion sent skittering insects up Myanna’s spine. It all looked wrong. She couldn’t explain why. Every instinct told her to back away from not-Magra, but that would only send her into -- she looked quickly behind her -- her mother’s arms.

Well, not her mother. As far as she knew, her mother was alive somewhere in the Free Marches, probably being nagged almost to death -- but not all the way there! That was very important! -- by Magra. If this place was an afterlife, then they wouldn’t be here.

Uncle Kash would be, though. She forced herself to turn a slow circle in place, looking at each new family member in the eyes. There was Uncle Kash, stooped and scowling at her over his enormous pocked nose. He’d been dead for years even before Myanna ran.

Was the demon...conjuring all these people? Did demons conjure? Or did it have the power to actually pull her family into the Fade, as it had done for her?

No, that didn’t make sense. Not that much of the rest of this did. This had to be a trick, an illusion, just like the slaughter in the town square.

“Myanna,” insisted Magra’s face again, doing a passable imitation of a screech owl. Myanna winced again. The demon had her tone right, at least. “I said, where have you been?”

“Oh, here and there,” she answered, forcing herself to smile. “Looking for work, you know how it is.”

“You wouldn’t have to look for work if you came back home, kitten,” said her mother’s face.

“Hmph,” Uncle Kash the Demon spat in agreement. “You’ve never been bright, but even you must see the wisdom in your mother’s words.”

“Yeah,” Magra’s voice chimed in again. “Stop traipsing through Orlais with those mage-worshippers and come home.”

Myanna ignored her and turned to shout at the ceiling. “And just how in the name of my Stone-forsaken Ancestors is my sister supposed to know I’ve been in Orlais? None of them knows where I’ve been. That’s the whole point. If this is the best you can do to keep me in the Fade, you might as well just let me outta here.”

In hindsight, Myanna wasn’t sure why she’d shouted at the ceiling, except that when Andrastians yelled at their Maker, they tended to yell at the sky, and maybe the demons lived up there, too. She probably should have kept her big mouth shut, regardless, because the demon heard her.

---

And with the smiling ‘dwarf’s’ clap, everything changed around Thene and Ashara in a dizzying fashion, sounds crashing over and shapes melting. A small wave of nausea struck Ashara as she reached out one hand to brace herself, only to find everything had stilled. The two of them were in a crowded dim room of strangers. She blinked her golden eyes. “Kali,” she stated, realizing they were not completely surrounded by strangers after all. The demon had kept his bargain.

---

Myanna felt her back tense as Ashara and Thene melted -- there was really no other word for it -- into existence at the periphery of the small crowd.

Her demon family, almost as one, turned to look at the newcomers. Mother-demon arched a disapproving eyebrow at her. “Don’t be rude, Mya. Introduce us.”

“Maybe another time. We’re in a bit of a hurry at the moment,” Myanna responded, ushering Thene and Ashara in the direction of the door that she desperately hoped led anywhere else.

“Who is Kali?” asked a demon wearing her favorite cousin’s face. Myanna ignored him, continuing to meander her way to the door. She needed to get herself and her two companions away from this bunch before they could...

Magra gasped dramatically. “Mya! You haven’t told your associates about your past?” Magra’s face said, with a look of faux surprise evident.

“‘Course I have,” Myanna lied. “But like I said, we…”

Though she’d almost reached the door, Magra was suddenly nose to nose with her, and gave her a little shove backward, into the circle of relatives that had crowded closer. Magra turned to Ashara and Thene. “She isn’t who she says she is. Her name isn’t Kali Norek, it’s Myanna Tordra.”

Ashara raised one brow at the information, but made quick judgement of it. “This means nothing to me.”

“Of course it wouldn’t,” said Kash, “if you run outside Carta circles.”

“But there is a bounty on my daughter,” her mother-demon added.

“A big bounty for anyone who leads to her capture.”

“You’d never want for coin again, if you turned her in. All it would take is a word to the right people. We can tell you exactly where to find them.”

“Even just a tip to the Carta as to Mya’s whereabouts would leave you rich. And you could keep your conscience clear. Mostly.”

“See, she changes her name, every so often. Last one was Eliza Dumas. That was her favorite.”

“Every few months…”

“...or every job, she takes a new identity.”

“Even changes her tattoos! She paid a mage once, to erase some of it, so she wouldn’t be recognized..”

“Cost a pretty copper, too.”

“Was that worth it, sis? You don’t even have the family tattoos anymore. It hurts, the way you’ve rejected us.”

Magra shrieked when Myanna’s fist connected with her nose. “You think I liked it, leaving my life behind? Even my harpy of a sister wouldn’t believe that.”

Ashara stayed silent but drew her dagger. Close quarters left no other option and she didn’t know how the demons would react to Kali’s--er--Myanna’s? strike. But the demon just smirked up at them from her position on the floor, looking like a chess player who’d just watched her opponent make an unrecoverable error.

Thene looked from one demon-dwarf to another, “She may be a murdering bitch for all I know, but if you think I’m going to side with a bunch of demonic dunderheads then you’re stupider than you look.”

“We might be dunderheads, kid,” said the Kash demon, with a thin smile, “but she can’t go back with you now, with what you know.”

Mother demon smiled broadly. “That’s right! She’ll need to stay here, with us. Going back now would mean getting caught for sure. Wouldn’t it be better, Mya, to stay with your family than to go back and be tortured and killed?”

“Blasted nug-loving…” Myanna muttered. The demon, regrettably, had a point. She’d spent eight years on the run, making damn sure no one knew who she was so that word wouldn’t get back to the Carta, and the demons had just destroyed it in one conversation. She turned around to finally look at Thene and Ashara. “They’re ah...not wrong,” Myanna said. “If either of you decides to turn me in to the Carta -- and I can’t trust that you won’t, not forever -- or if you tell Edmund or Elaith and they turn me in...I will be dead.”

Ashara’s golden eyes flicked between the demons and Myanna. “This still means nothing to me. You are the same person to me now as you were to me when we sat by the fire. Names are only as important as you make them.”

“That’s easy to say when your name isn’t a death sentence,” Myanna replied.

“Your choice,” Thene said finally. “Whatever happened in the past is none of my business; my business is what we’re trying to do now. Remember the twisted Templars and the kidnapped mages? The dwarves and others being sacrificed? We’re trying to stop them, that should count for something.”

“Sure it does, my professional reputation is important to me,” Myanna said sarcastically. “Never leave a job unfinished. And when I turn up dead, I could have a fantastic second career as--”

Ashara frowned. “Wait, you’re actually considering staying? I hadn’t thought you were serious.” Her fury raised, she took a step forward, crowding some of the demons into taking a step back.

“Many lives are involved in this, dwarf, not just a handful of mages. This isn’t a job for coin, this involves entire countries being plunged into war. If you are choosing death, and I don’t believe for a moment that this isn’t the choice you’d be making by staying here, then choose a death worth dying for!”

“And being hunted down by the Carta after one of you turns me in is worth dying for?” Myanna retorted. “Save me your moralizing, elf. I don’t want to stay in this shithole any more than you do, but if I leave and any of you rat me out, then that’s the end for me. Got that? Why should I trust that either of you won’t turn me in?”

“How long have you been hiding?” Thene retorted. “I don’t plan on telling anyone your business, I have better things to do. I can’t make you believe me. I will ask you to come back with us; we’ll probably die anyway but maybe we can make a difference first.”

“What about Thene, Edmund, Elaith, or I makes you think that we’d betray you for gold? The posting on the sign promised pay, but nothing we’ve been through so far will be covered by such an offer. Yet we all persevered and not because there was money to be made.”

Myanna gave her a considering, but dubious, look. “I’ve had people tell me before that they weren’t in it for the gold. That I could trust them. People lie. It’s part of what got me into this mess in the first place. Why are either of you different?”

Ashara set her jaw. “Believe me when I say, that if we were that sort of people, we’d be choosing to stay as well.” She tucked her dagger away and strode through through Myanna’s ‘family’ to the door, opening it swiftly, before glancing expectantly at Thene.

Myanna blinked and stepped out of Ashara’s way, causing her to step on her younger sister’s foot. True to reality, the demon was mute, just like her sister. And just like her sister, the facsimile started to hug her from behind. Myanna batted her hands away. “You...why? Why would you have stayed?”

Ashara’s angry expression softened into contemplation. “I’ve had an empty miserable shell of a life. I’ve wanted an end, more than anything.” She gestured to the walls, indicating the Fade. “What I’m looking for isn’t here.” She clenched her gauntlet. “All they offered was a pleasant lie.” She gazed at Myanna.

A lie indeed, and a disturbing one, whether staying here meant dying or leaving meant dying. She couldn’t afford to trust that Ashara and Thene wouldn’t get desperate enough to turn her in, or that they wouldn’t spill her secret to Edmund or Elaith. And no matter how genuine any of them might be, Myanna could imagine Elaith getting a little too drunk and telling entire taverns full of people about the dwarf she’d been on an adventure with.

But staying here? It was an impulse, one that seemed self-preservatory on its surface -- and maybe it would be, maybe she could find her own way out of this place! -- but it wasn’t a solution, or even a good place to hide for a while, if she had to share it with...these things. Myanna winced and shook her head. “Not such a pleasant lie, gotta be honest there. You don’t know these people. You don’t want to.”

Thene moved so she was behind Myanna, and between the dwarf and some of the demons, “I don’t want to meet most people, so no loss.”

Myanna glanced back at Thene and smirked. The way the woman moved between her and the demons. Was it protective, or possessive? Did it matter at this point? She probably wasn’t worse than a demon. “Thinkin’ of knocking me out and dragging me back, Thene?”

“Why didn’t I think of that earlier?” Thene smirked.

Ashara tilted her head in thought. “Would it work?”

“Whoa now, no need for that,” Myanna said. “I’ve had enough of being dragged around this place. I’ll leave on my own two feet, thanks.” She held up her hands placatingly. This place was making her insides itch. “Look, just...if you decide to go for the reward, give me a chance to disappear from the village first, yeah? You’ll still get your reward for the tip. You could even feed them bits of information spaced out, keep a steady stream of gold coming to you.”

Ashara huffed. “What a repulsive and bizarre idea.”

“I agree, but it’d be a lot more repulsive to send me straight to the troll’s den,” Myanna replied. “I’m just asking you to give me a chance to escape, once our job is finished. If that demon doesn’t kill us first.”

“Fine, as long as I don’t have to drag you around, we got enough to do,” Thene rolled her eyes.

Demon Magra locked eyes with Thene. “They’ll stay that way, you know,” she screeched.

Thene stared at her, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that?”

Magra shrugged. “Not enough if you’re still doing it! Keep it up, they might even roll right out of your head!”

Myanna pinched her eyes tightly. “Shut up, already. That can’t really happen.” Her eyes flew open wide, staring at Thene and Ashara in turn. “Can it? Can they actually make our eyes roll out of our sockets here? Dammit, I bet they can.”

“No,” Ashara replied outright, but then paused uncertainly. “I don’t...believe so,” she added.

“I can see it now, we end up chasing our eyeballs forever. Oh, wait, we wouldn’t be able to see them,” Thene knew she shouldn’t tease the others, but she couldn’t resist.

“Right. Let’s get out of here,” said Myanna as she leapt towards the door. Demon hands clawed desperately at her coat, her trousers, her boots, as if they suddenly remembered they were supposed to keep her here. Her dagger bit back at them. She glanced back at her companions. Thene bashed at a couple of the demons with her shield.

Soon...too soon, too easily, it seemed, they’d left Dust Town behind. The stone seemed to become more and more transparent as they walked toward a wavering image of the ruined Chantry in the distance.

“It’s good to have you back with us,” Ashara said quietly and sincerely. “I wonder if Edmund had this much trouble with Elaith.”

Myanna huffed a soft laugh and opted not to comment.

The sound of thunder cracking in the distance reached them. It was followed soon thereafter by a large ripple of the world around them.

Ashara smiled, one the others didn’t catch. She felt relief and a small bit of pride, which she was surprised to find herself feeling. “I suspect that Edmund is the cause of us getting away with just a scuffle.”

Thene shifted a little to keep her balance, “As long as we get out of here.”

Ashara raised her arm for balance as the ripples increased, and saw that she could see through her own limb. “I think it’s a foregone conclusion. We’ll be seeing everyone soon-- And the battle isn’t over.”