Arcane Warrior
Prologue
The girl opened her oceanic blue eyes, only to see a small area of barren landscape around her, lit by a single, narrow sunbeam. She looked up, squinting, she could barely see the sun through the all encompassing darkness shrouding the area like a blanket.
Suddenly, the sunlit area began to narrow as the darkness crept toward her, closing in on her like the walls of a prison. Her heart began to race in fear as the claustrophobia set in, she did the only thing her anxiety addled mind could think of.
She ran.
She ran as far and as fast as she could, but the darkness was always just a step behind her. All the unwanted shadows and memories that she was so desperately running from sprang to the forefront of her mind, causing her to fight back tears as she ran faster, ignoring the burning in her legs in her terror.
Then came a noise, quiet, far away, but looming closely like whatever it was was just outside of her range, but she didn't want to find out what it was as she just closed her eyes and ran harder, but she almost stumbled and fell when the noise exploded into a cacophony of screams, pained, agonized screams.
The sun was all but gone now, and the light with it, and the screams from behind were only exacerbating her paranoia and fear, and it was all she could do to try to shut it all out as she desperately ran away from it all, trying to find some safe haven in this nightmare world where all of this would leave her alone.
As if reacting to her thoughts, there came a great roar that all but eclipsed the screams, and her own scream joined the noise, though she could scarcely hear it as she jumped forward to escape whatever it was that made such a terrifying sound.
She fell.
Her heart was beating so hard she feared it might burst forth from her chest, and she could only cry as she fell down the sheer cliff face. The darkness was rapidly approaching her now, and as tears traveled down her face in rivulets now, she frantically prayed to the maker to save her.
The darkness caught up to her, after what seemed like an eternity of falling, and started to devour her. Her eyes widened in panic as she discovered that she could no longer feel her feet after the darkness had encompassed them.
Her legs, then her hips, her hands and arms, all were taken away by that terrible darkness, until only a single eye was left, terrified and wet with unshed tears.
Just as it was, when all hope had faded, that a light shown down upon her. A bright, warm, heavenly light, silencing the screams and the roaring, chasing away the darkness until she could see and feel herself again. As she floated there, seemingly suspended in place by the light, she looked up and saw a figure.
She could not make out the person's features, it was silhouetted by the the light, save for its large, canted deer-like eyes which were shining with the same heavenly light that hid the rest of its features from view, but it was obviously an elf due to its thin, willowy body and pointed, leaf-shaped ears. The one feature she could make out was its hair, it was very long, indefinably so as it was swaying in a nonexistent wind.
The figure came closer to her, opening its arms in a welcoming embrace. The figure, obviously male due to the notable lack of a swelled chest, wrapped his arms around her lovingly, protectively, as if to shield her from all her worries and fears. She hugged the man tightly in return, clasping her hands behind his neck, closing her eyes and resting her head in the crook of his neck as her tears poured forth anew. But not of terror, these were tears of happiness, pouring forth from the unbridled love that she felt flowing through her.
A gentle smile made its way onto her face, and her eyes opened again, only to widen at the revelation that, even though the light had not lessened in intensity, she could now see the person holding her so lovingly in perfect detail. He was naked, as was she, though she didn't notice until now, and as she backed away slightly she saw his nicely formed chest, his skin was a dark shade of olive that nicely offset her own alabaster tone.
Her gaze rose slowly to see a silver chain necklace, the pendant a round disk with a chantry sunburst emblazoned on the cracked and broken face, upward still past his well formed neck to his face. Such a wonderful face, she thought, for it drew her in instantly. He wasn't conventionally handsome, as there were deep tear troughs under his eyes, and his cheeks and sharp jawline were marred by scars, some jagged and some clean.
Still, she was drawn, like a moth to the flame, to this elf's face. His jawline was sharp and well formed, his ears were long and tapered to a very fine point, and his hair was long, thick and white as snow. He had thin lips, a straight elegant nose, thin and aristocratically arched eyebrows, and large royal purple eyes ringed by long feminine white eyelashes.
She gazed into the beautiful eyes gazing back at her with such warmth and love as to make her knees tremble with weakness, and started to lean in. He responded to her advance by leaning in as well, and just as their lips were about to meet...
She burst forth on her bed, her eyes opening wide as she gasped for breath, quilt pooling around her waist. 'Quilt?' the asked herself, clenching the aforementioned piece of cloth gingerly, she had just been been bout to kiss a beautiful elf and now...
'It was just a dream' she thought with mixed sadness and relief.
Sighing, she got out of bed, made it, and put on her red, white and black habit.
She walked down the chantry stairs to the cobblestone path that led through the gardens, her eyes were not on focused on the garden though, her mind was afire with thoughts about her most unusual of dreams. Most dreams she had were just passing memories, forgotten as soon as she rose from her bed, but this one stuck with her. Why?
So lost in her thoughts was she, that she almost crashed into the village chanter, a kindly man by the name of Devons, it was only due to her reflexes, though rusty from years of disuse, that she was able to twist out of the way and avoid a collision. Bowing to each-other in greetings, the two went their separate ways, though she was more focused on what she was doing now.
A spot of blue registered out of the corner of her eye as she made her way through the garden, and when she remembered where that spot of color was, she froze mid-step.
She turned slowly, and approached in amazement. There, in front of her, was was a dead, gnarled rosebush, the grey vines twisted and tangled with each-other. But it was there in the middle, a single, beautiful deep blue rose, the same shade as her eyes. She teared up at this intensely spiritual experience.
Light within darkness, beauty within ugliness... life within death.
She rose to her feet and ran to the doors of the chantry to tell the revered mother of this dream... this vision from the Maker.
If one were to travel along the shores of Lake Calenhad, one would inevitably catch sight of the imposing tower fortress called Kinloch Hold, a relic of the once mighty Tevinter Imperium. If the traveler were to look more closely, they would notice the remnants of a massive bridge that was never fully rebuilt, several small docks lining the shores, all closely watched by armored sentinels.
Most travelers didn't notice any of this, however. They turned their heads down and away, pulled their cloaks tighter about themselves, and fixed their thoughts on more hospitable places like Denerim or Amaranthine. Places not touched by the curse of magic.
Within the tower, quiet usually reigns. Aside from the occasional explosion, there is only the soft murmur of conversation between mages, or 'robes', and the clinking of the soldiers stationed at regular intervals along the curved halls constantly on watch for anything out of the ordinary. At night things became even more silent, as the inhabitants settle down to dream, and the guards' watch even more closely in this deceptively peaceful time.
This is the home of the Circle of Magi of Ferelden. Some called it a haven, others a prison. It was the only place in the kingdom where mages can legally live and practice their Maker given powers of magic, under the watchful scrutiny of the Chantry's Templar order. It is the duty of these feared religious warriors to watch for and slay apostates, maleficarum, and abominations.
Apprentice mages, almost always taken in youth, must learn to control their powers in preparation for the ultimate test.
The Harrowing.
"Wake up."
Alim Surana's purple eyes snapped open, and he was on the verge of casting a shield spell before his mind caught up. The templar standing over him would probably "mistake" the action as hostile, and take action were it any other than Cullen, with whom Alim had formed a tentative friendship.
"Rise, apprentice, you are to come with me," Cullen said quietly. Alim slowly got up, noting his friend's oddly formal tone, and pulled his unadorned apprentice robes on as he looked around the barracks that apprentices were stuffed into to see if anyone else was being woken. He was the only one, which could only mean one thing.
'It is time, then,' he thought, pushing his waist-length white hair behind his ears and styling it into an Orlesian braid, a style he was well-practiced at as he had done it every morning since arriving at the tower some fourteen years ago, before turning back to the waiting templar, who turned and left the room.
They started making their way up through the tower, through the libraries that held so much knowledge on all things (Chantry approved things, at least), past the laboratories used in the creation of various magical potions and the study of creatures. They moved up into the Templar quarters, which apprentices were forbidden from entering, before finally reaching the Harrowing chamber at the very top of the tower.
There were three more templars and a mage already waiting in the massive, empty room. Though old and wizened-looking, the mage still radiated a sense of power, and with good reason, for he was First Enchanter Irving, widely considered one of the most talented mages Thedas had seen in many years. Alim's grandfather figure and mentor stood straight-backed and tall, with forest-green eyes set within his wizened face, with long salt and pepper hair with a matching beard, wearing the first enchanter's signature black robes and carrying his silverite staff.
A short distance away, flanked by his helmeted underlings, stood Knight Commander Greagoir, the final authority of the Ferelden Circle. Though no youngling himself, he still had a severe aura about him as he stood ramrod straight. He wore the shining silverite armor restricted to knight commanders, and carried an enchanted silverite arming sword on his belt with a kite shield on his back.
Cullen led the young elf over to the gathered assemblage.
Alim stood be Irving as his guide abandoned him to stand behind Greagoir, and the old Templar stepped forward and took a deep breath.
"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him," Greagoir quoted from the Chant of Light. "Thus spoke the Prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin." He began to pace dramatically.
"Your magic is a gift, but it's also a curse, for demons of the Fade are drawn to you and seek to use you as a gateway into this world." He stopped and glared at Alim, who nodded to indicate he was listening. Graegoir was really trying his patience with his ranting, Alim already knew this even better than the knight commander did, and the constant reminders did not sit well with him.
"This is why the Harrowing exists." Irving continued, stepping forward and putting a sympathetic hand on Alim's shoulder. "The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will."
'So it's sink-or-swim at its finest then.' Alim nodded. "I am ready."
"Know this, apprentice, should you fail, we Templar will perform our duty. You will die." Greagoir warned, making the templars behind him, Cullen and a woman with blond hair peeking out underneath her helmet, shift uncomfortably.
Perhaps attempting to blunt this stark statement of intention, Irving spoke up. "The Harrowing is a secret through necessity, child. Every mage must go through this trial by fire, as we succeeded, so shall you. Keep your wits about you, and remember the Fade is a realm of dreams, the spirits may rule it, but your own will is real." Alim nodded, he had heard all of this many times before, but the comforting tone in Irving's voice calmed his nerves somewhat.
"The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter." Greagoir cut in, sounding annoyed.
'What, did something happen?' Alim thought, as the Knight Commander and First Enchanter were long-time friends, true their friendship was a bit strained from something that happened in the past, but overall they got on pretty well. Irving shook his head sadly before gesturing Alim forward.
"You are ready."
Alim nodded, and approached the small font at the center of the room. A soft blue glow emanated from the mercurial liquid, and Alim sensed the power radiating from the refined lyrium within. Though potentially addictive and dangerous if overused, lyrium was the essence of magic, and Alim took a moment to just bask in the flow. Finally, he let his magic flow into his hand and gently dipped it into the lyrium. The liquid stuck to his hand and started crawling up his arm. He panicked, lyrium had a tendancy to sink into flesh like water, so with a burst of magic, he banished the liquid off of his hand and back into the font. Suddenly, he was engulfed in a flash of light.
The last thing he saw was Irving catching his body before his head could crack on the floor as the templars surrounded Alim's sleeping body and waited to see what would happen next.
