Of the various abuses dreamt up by the Chantry in the name of safeguarding the world from magic, the Right of Annulment was the final extremity that could be inflicted upon a Circle of Magi, invoked only when a Circle was deemed corrupted beyond all repair. Following the explosion in Hightown earlier in the day, Meredith Stannard – templar Knight-Commander andsteward of the city of Kirkwall – had invoked the right for the first time since the incident at Kinloch Hold during the Fifth Blight. In a heartbeat, every mage-born man, woman and child had been declared an enemy of the city.
The fighting had broken out shortly afterwards, when a squad of junior templars returned to deliver word to the Gallows. The makeshift market the mages held was ablaze with talk of the implications of what they had seen, although the only indication they had of the coming slaughter was when the templars began to usher the citizenry out of the courtyard and sealed the gates behind them.
Chaos quickly washed over the Circle. First Enchanter Orsino was missing and, without his guidance, the younger mages scattered, relying upon their own inexperienced abilities to keep them alive long enough to locate any of the senior enchanters. Corvexis was one of the first of the elder mages they had found, having stumbled across several apprentices. Recognising the dangers of panic, he tried to calm them down as best as he could.
"They're going to kill us all, aren't they?" Edran, a young elven apprentice, asked him, his terror clearly etched across his face. "How can we hope to stand up to them? We're little more than rats in a cage!"
"That may be," Corvexis replied, keeping his tone as calm and collected as his own frayed nerves allowed, "but remember that we are not without defences of our own. Their anti-magic abilities require lyrium but most of them will rely on their swordplay. Keep your distance, keep your head, and remember your training. If we avoid a direct assault, we can survive long enough to try and group together with any other survivors. If we can co-ordinate with the others, we stand a chance of getting through this." He had almost convinced himself.
The situation was not quite so clear cut. The small group had barely made it to the steps of the central courtyard when they stumbled into the crossfire. The templars were not the only enemy the Circle faced; into the fray were a mix of unholy monstrosities – abominations, shades, revenants and other twisted, misbegotten atrocities – clashing with both sides of the conflict with equal bloodlust. It was known that the Veil was frayed in Kirkwall, thinned through the long years of blood and torment the city had seen; the sheer loss of life it had seen today must have peeled it back altogether.
It took seconds for the violence to engulf them. Edran was plucked from where he stood, suspended a dozen feet into the air. A creature resembling a skeletal warrior held its arm out towards him. The tatters of its skin still clung to its skull, shrivelled and desiccated, as if ready to slough away. Its armour was worn and rusted, and was thick with rot and decay. Corvexis knew from various descriptions that it was a revenant, and, knowing they favoured telekinetic control of the battlefield, knew what was going to happen. As powerful as he was, he wouldn't have been able to react in time to save the helpless apprentice. The revenant pulled back on the gravitational bond between them, yanking Edran down towards it, whilst at the same time thrusting its savage blade up to meet the screaming mage. The blade tore through him, killing him almost instantly. It was over in a matter of seconds.
The loss of one of his charges galvanised Corvexis to action. Summoning raw mana and charging it into elemental power, he began to focus it into a retaliatory strike when he observed a templar, silver armour painted in crimson, stride up to the creature and cleave its rotting head from its neck. The decayed thing dissolved into a scattering of black dust, leaving poor Edran hanging in the air for a second before collapsing into a thickening pool of his own blood. The templar nodded at the mages, a sign of acknowledgement that they had a common enemy; the Right of Annulment had been side-lined, for now.
Re-directing the charged spell, Corvexis began to aid the fighters below, the remaining apprentices following his example. From their vantage point, they began to unleash a furious barrage of magic onto their enemies, the battle high heightening their concentration and strengthening their will. Ice, lightning, fire; the elements roared as the demonic invaders began to fall under the combined strength of the beleaguered knights and the few remaining mages. Whether hostilities would re-commence between the two factions once the Fade dwellers were dispatched was another matter, but templar and mage alike focused, for the moment at least, all of their collective might on greater dangers.
So intent were they upon the forces in the courtyard that they neglected to guard the exit behind them; had they done so, they might have stood a chance against the abominations that advanced upon them. Mages fallen to the whispering temptations of power the demonic host offered, they were masses of warped, distorted flesh grown to heights beyond normal men. With nothing but anguish and chaos in mind, the abominations stalked the halls for any prey to subjugate. Having found the survivors, one of them called upon its reserve of power and hurled a fireball towards the mages on the landing. Chaveau – the last of Corvexis' apprentices – took the brunt of the spell, calcined immediately, but the subsequent explosion sent the flames spreading, engulfing Corvexis and launching him into the air. Spiralling towards the ground, his nerves screamed as his flesh bubbled and scorched. Such was his agony that it was a mercy when his head crashed against the courtyard stone and the battlefield simply became engulfed in black.
Rain had begun to fall sometime before Corvexis regained consciousness, and each small drop that fell on the smoking cinders of his exposed flesh conjured a fresh wave of agony. His right eye was all but useless and his left was failing him. He could see very little, but the absence of any strong light told him it was night. His hearing was relatively unscathed, though what he heard chilled him more than he could have imagined: nothing but silence.
Questions whirled through his mind. Was the battle over? Had the templars' cull succeded? How many mages had managed to escape? And the demons – did they still linger in the shadows? There were no answers to be had, though; just a deathly silence, and the cloying stench of death around him
I may be able to provide you with the answers that you seek, my sweet. The voice whispered its way into his mind, as gentle as a summer's breeze. It was soothing, clearly female, but it also held an unusual cadence that he couldn't quite place.
"Wh…who…" Corvexis wheezed, trying to speak in spite of the damage he had sustained.
Hush, my sweet. Worry not about voicing the words you long to say. Your desire is as clear to me as the rainfall; simply give it thought and I will hear its call.
That had been the giveaway, that one word: desire. Little wonder he had been so enamoured by the telepathic voice in his head; weakened as he was, Corvexis knew enough of demons to recognise his visitor was a scion of Desire.
The demon gave a mental shrug, sighing gently. How very narrow-minded of you, my sweet. Such terms have always been distasteful to the Sisters of Longing. It paused a moment before continuing. Seeing as you have already gleaned my nature, my sweet, there is little point in remaining hidden.
In an instant, the demon revealed itself. Corvexis couldn't see it with his own eyes, but the recession of whatever magic hid the demon from view seemingly allowed him to perceive it with his mind. She – for Corvexis could not think of her as sexless – floated gracefully above the corpse-strewn battlefield, and had skin the colour of lilacs. The demon was recognisably feminine, possessing a lithe, toned body draped in the thinnest of threads. Gold bangles adorned her wrists, and jewelled necklaces dangled from her neck onto her heavy bosom. Two twisted horns curled from her temples and, in lieu of hair, a crown of purple flame burned ceaselessly around her head. She was simultaneously the most beautiful and most disturbing sight he had beheld, perfectly exemplifying the exotic allure of the realm beyond the Veil.
He sensed her pleasure at his mental appraisal; for a moment, he had forgotten she would be able to hear his every thought. I'm glad you approve, she told him.
I know what you are, demon, he replied, his thoughts reaching to hers, and I know your ways. If I was you, I'd find someone else to tempt; I don't think I have very long left here.
The demon hovered above him, her tail furling around her legs. That isn't a proper way to treat a guest, my sweet. Why, I haven't even introduced myself! She bowed gracefully before him in a mocking display of etiquette. Smiling, she continued their mental conversation. Seeing as your kind places such emphasis on names, you may simply call me Desire; it's as good a name as any. As for my visit, well…I was drawn by your predicament.
Groaning, Corvexis strained to move upright. Mine or the Circle's?
They are one and the same, my sweet, Desire replied. I confess, I did not know of the workings of your world when I first arrived. All I knew was of desire; of lust, and longings the like of which I had never experienced before. But it was your fellows' desire to be free that sang to me louder than any other. And my heart broke… The expression on the demon's face was one of absolute empathy. Corvexis couldn't tell if the tears in her violet eyes were genuine, or an attempt to prove that her intentions were altruistic. He emptied his thoughts and simply watched as Desire continued her dialogue. I vowed that I would help fulfil this most noble of goals. That is why I am here, my sweet: to break this Circle of Tyranny and give you the means to free your brethren from the oppression of their captors.
Corvexis was dubious, to say the least. Demons never offered anything for free; everything came at a price, one which a mage would usually discover to be too high, too late. Desire evidently heard this stray thought, and he cursed himself for his lack of concentration.
I do, indeed, possess power to help you, my sweet. I can make you more powerful than any other mage who lived, powerful enough to lead the mages to victory. I ask only one thing in return…
And that is? Corvexis inquired.
A smile crept across Desire's face, a predatory smirk that betrayed her noble intent. I simply ask that you allow me to linger with you for a time, to sample the desires of a world full to bursting with want and need. Such sensations are milk and honey to me, my sweet; would you deny me succour? Would you deny yourself freedom?
You mean possession?
The demon's distaste was obvious, but she did not deny the accusation. Such an ugly word, my sweet. We would be as one.
Even knowing the risks, it was a tempting offer. How many times in his life had he suffered the abuses of the templars, as so many other mages had? The rapes, the beatings, the endless harassments; violations that would normally shock and disgust were carried out almost daily within the Circle, and not just in Kirkwall. Power to change the world, to free the mages from their servitude…how could he refuse?
Thinking on this, the realisation hit him. If he were to accept Desire's offer, how would that be any different from the Circle? The Gallows had been a prison for most of his life, ever since his family fled from Tevinter, but, if he was to accept the demon's offer, he would be a prisoner in much more than his body; his mind would be enslaved, his very soul forfeit to the honeyed lies of a demon. Worse still, he would have proven the templars right, that the mages cannot be trusted to govern their powers. Though many others were willing to compromise themselves, Corvexis had always chosen not to; he would not let his resolve waver now.
He made no attempt to mask his feelings from Desire. Recognising his intent, the demon shed all pretences to nicety. She bore down on him closer, her expression darkening, baring fangs that could shear through steel. "You would deny me, mage, broken as you are?" she said, her voice dripping pure venom. Her breath smelt of rancid meat and, in that moment, Corvexis thought she would kill him purely out of rejected spite. She must have still been monitoring his thoughts as she simply cackled at him. "No," she hissed, "I have no intention of killing you, elven cur. Why should I bother to exert myself when you won't even last the hour? I could have healed you, made you strong beyond compare. But there are others who linger, whose hearts are as desperate as yours. They may prove more pliable, whereas you...have nothing I desire."
With that, the demon was gone. The mental image of the courtyard her presence had afforded him was gone, clarity replaced by his own ruined vision. He had no doubt as to the veracity of her words; his body was failing fast. The flames had burned him too deeply and the simple act of concentrating his will to summon even the weakest healing spell proved too taxing. Within moments, he would be dead.
Yet strangely he was at peace with the situation. His had been a hard life, littered with trials and adversities that would have broken lesser men. He had emerged the better for it, though. When all hope was lost, he had remained steadfast to the principles by which he had lived his life, even when despair could have so easily claimed him. He had denied Desire, rejected the demon's empty promises. Most important of all, he had proved that the world was wrong about his kind; not all were weak or without resolution. It was enough to give him hope for a future where the mages of Thedas would no longer be captives to fear and ignorance, where they would be free to live their lives the way they choose to.
It was a small victory, but, for Corvexis, it was more than enough.