This is my entry for the Dragon Age: Asunder Writing Challenge in which we had to write a story of 2500 words or less from a mage/templar perspective. I chose to write about one of my original characters, Anwen. This is a sort of prequel to her story. She first shows up in The Midnight Dragon. I don't know why I wrote in first person, because honestly, that was really hard. I haven't written in that point of view since I was a teenager in high school (circa eight years ago, I'm not that old, hehe). Reading over the story again, I wish I had taken more time on this challenge. But it was fun, I had fun, that is all that matters. Good luck to everyone else who entered, and congrats beforehand to whoever the winner and top 5 will be (probably not me, haha). Your comments are appreciated and welcome.
-artemiskat (BSN: thesnowtigress)

An Apostate's Lot

I escaped from my prison as the flames engulfed it and burned it to the ground. The chaos that night in the Circle of Starkhaven was the perfect opportunity for me and countless others to slip away unnoticed into the granite streets of the principality. I never much believed in the power of prayer, but that night, I realized that maybe, just maybe, the Maker had been listening to mine after all.

I was never good at casting. Other mages make it look so easy, but for me it is never so. My Harrowing was approaching and I wasn't ready. I knew I wouldn't pass. The enchanters knew it as well. I suspected they had me pegged for the Rite of Tranquility. And then the fire broke out. As soon as I made it to the street, out of breath, heart pounding, and hands shaking, I did the only thing I am good at – I turned into a wolf.

I fled the city and roamed the wilderness between Starkhaven and Kirkwall for months. One day I was wolf, the next girl. Sometimes I forgot that I was not born an animal. The freedom I felt in lupine form was exhilarating. I was quick on my paws, an expert predator hunting down the most delicious game, and I found myself howling at the moon in glee. But my mana sapped. It always did.

When I became me again, the freedom wasn't so exhilarating anymore, it was stifling. I shivered in my threadbare Circle robes, destroyed as they were from changing shape so often. I had always been a loner at the Circle, but now I found myself craving the company of people. I wanted to find my mother and ask her why she let the Templars take me all those years ago. I had no idea where to look, where to begin. I knew it was dangerous to return to civilization, but I realized I couldn't live like a wild beast forever, especially if I wanted answers.

So I stole some clothing which is much too large for myself from a farmer's homestead and took to the road. Maybe I was headed into the dragon's den, but it certainly couldn't be as bad as the prison I'd been living in since I was a child. My phylactery was probably destroyed in the fire, meaning I could go back to Starkhaven if I wanted to, but I don't. My mother must be long gone from there. She was always a wanderer.

Now, I find myself in another city – Kirkwall – less pretentious than Starkhaven, but no less frightened of mages. Perhaps I should have gone another way, for the Circle in Kirkwall rests in a place named The Gallows, and there are many fervently devout Templars around. But I figure if I keep to myself and avoid trouble, then I won't be recognized as an apostate.

Strange, that is what I am now, an apostate. Why can't I just be me? I never asked for the ability to use magic. I never desired it. Some call it a gift and are proud to wield it, much like a warrior brandishes a sword. And others, they call it a curse, a sign of disfavor from the Maker. Truthfully, I don't know what to believe. Perhaps it is both. Really, at the moment, I don't care. All I want to do is find my mother. And a nice pair of shoes would be great, for my feet are wrapped in strips of my old Circle robes. If somebody were to see me, they might just shrug it off as an elf thing, but even though I am elvhen, I always had shoes.

The marketplace is crowded with stalls. Merchants lay out their wares for all to see. There are a lot of people around, and I grow uncomfortable. My shoulders hunch forward in a protective gesture and I stare at my feet. It is a habit as old as I am. I've always been shy. Maybe ridiculously so, but it's how I've always been, even before the Circle. It has allowed me to memorize so many pairs of shoes and etch them into my memory.

I back against a wall, eager to keep away from the people milling about the streets. I don't trust anyone, because if they knew who I was, they would cry wolf, so to speak. Out in the wilderness, I may have wanted company, but now I am not so sure. The last thing I want is to be marched off to the Gallows and locked up in another prison. The thought of becoming Tranquil sends fear right down to my bones. I take a deep breath and send my fears to the dark recesses of my mind, locking them away for now. They will return, I am sure of it, but at the moment my throbbing feet are begging for a comfy pair of shoes and I cannot deny them any longer.

From the corner of my eyes, I spy a pair of boots sitting atop a cobbler's display table. They remind me of the pair I wore as a child, before the Templars wrenched me away from my mother. Those were made of the softest leather, were a faded blue color, so comfortable it was like walking on clouds, so perfectly worn in, and even though the left side had a hole that made my big toe stick out rather awkwardly, I cried when the Starkhaven Circle took them away and gave me standard issue shoes. Those shoes were ugly, giving me blisters for the first few days, intensifying my utter confusion, my complete sadness at being placed in that horrible prison.

The boots I eye now are so very tempting. If I am to remain as a woman and search the land for my mother, I would need good walking support. But I don't have any coin, not a single bit, silver, nor sovereign. Apprentices are not allowed to have coin, for what do we need them for anyway? Even if I did have coin, I have no idea how much a pair of boots go for. I'd been living in a prison, separated from the real world for so long, that I don't even remember how many silvers make a sovereign.

Keeping my eyes on the ground, I scoot closer to the table. I consider reaching out and pilfering them when the cobbler's attention is elsewhere. Besides the shapeless, too large clothes I am now wearing, I've never stolen anything before. I'm not sure I can do it. But I need those boots. Just as I extend my arm and brush my fingers against the soft leather boots, I recoil in fear, not because I'm afraid to steal, but because I hear the all too familiar thumping and clanking of Templars marching by.

I melt into the shadows of the stalls, frozen with fear. Though I know in my heart that they cannot know just by looking at me that I am a mage, my cowardly mind tells me that one look at me, and they will know me for an apostate. Their eyes will meet my own and they will see an abomination waiting to happen.

The sun reflects off of their polished uniforms as they pass in front of me and I have to wince or risk temporary blindness. They walk casually, indifferent to their surroundings. Perhaps they are off duty. But I know better – a Templar never lets down his guard, not when there are witches and demons to hunt down and tame, or blood mages to kill. Some Templars are good, it is said, but I've yet to meet a kindly one, and these I do not trust.

When their footsteps have faded, I find I am able to breathe again. I don't know how much of this I can take. Will my life always be thus? Will I always cower in fear in the shadows? Will I never be able to be myself? All thoughts of boots forgotten, I walk away from the marketplace, slowly at first, but as I round corners, I begin to run through the winding streets. I don't stop, I don't look back. I keep running, not even knowing how I put one foot in front of the other, until I find myself deep in the bowels of the Undercity. I don't even recall how I got there, only know that I am there.

The urchins of Darktown watch me with large, hungry eyes as they play in the dirt. Soon, they forget I am there. After all, I am just another lost soul seeking refuge in the darkness. I make myself unseen to the adults, drawing up my hood and covering my once golden locks. They are dirty now, having spent months in the wilderness. I imagine I must look not like a woman, but a gangly, dirty boy. It matters not to me, for the less people look at me, the more likely I am to stay free. I briefly feel a pang of regret at hiding my femininity, of wearing a mask and betraying my own identity, but I have made my bed, and now I must lie in it. It is an apostate's lot, after all.

I find a corner where I can be alone, hidden from prying eyes. My lids flutter and feel heavy. I am tired and soon I find myself drifting off into sleep…

"Anwen…" a voice calls out. It is at once familiar and unrecognizable. My eyes flash open in an instant so quick, I hardly know if I am awake or still sleeping. The edge of my vision is blurry, but I attribute it to my sudden awakening. A woman stands before me, the spitting image of myself.

"Mother?"

She nods and beckons for me to arise. As I do as she wishes, I realize that I am no longer in Darktown, but in the old hovel I shared with my mother years ago in Starkhaven. How could this be? It cannot be.

"I have missed you so much, my dear Anwen."

I shake my head, refusing to believe what is standing before me. I must be dreaming. I must be in the Fade. "You are not real."

"Don't be silly, child."

My mother closes the distance between us. I shudder as she places her arms around me in an embrace. I remember my mother smelling of herbs and flowers. This mother smells of something else entirely, something I cannot put a nose to. And then I see it, the Black City in the sky, floating in the distance. There is not even a roof over the hovel. This is most definitely the Fade.

In a panic, I push her away. Knowing the charade is over, my mother's double transforms into her true form. She becomes a terrible sight – her body is purplish gray in colour, with ghastly, twisted horns extending out from her brow, and naked but for a necklace of chains covering her nipples and a loin cloth covering her nether areas. She runs her claw-like hands seductively over her body and her tail slithers in the air like a charmed snake. She is a desire demon, and she is everything they warned me about and more. She is terrible. She is beautiful. Now I know she is going to try to befriend me, all the while trying to possess me. She is a vile creature and I want to run away, to wake up, but she is holding me here, in thrall.

"You are a clever girl, Anwen," she says, narrowing her eyes at me, studying me intently. I feel like a million cockroaches are crawling over my body. Yet, I cannot look away.

"W-what do you want?" I stammer out.

"It is not what I want that matters, but what you want." Her voice echoes across the Fade. An empty, grassy plain replaces the hovel before my eyes as she outstretches her arms.

"You don't know me." I say. She is mesmerizing and I cannot look away. I desperately want to look away. I need to break the hold she has on me, but I don't know how.

"I can give you what you want. Perhaps you would like a nice pair of shoes. Or I can bring you to your mother. You need not be afraid. Just embrace me…" She smiles at me, expecting me to accept her proposal. And oh, I do really want to accept. It would make things so much easier. But… the Circle warned me about these things, about these demons. There is a price to pay in making deals with them. I'm not sure I can afford it.

"No!" I finally look away. The desire demon's spell is broken. I am free again. "Demon, be gone!"

"You would only have to let me see through your eyes, and you could have everything you ever wanted, Anwen."

I hate that she uses my name, as if she knows me. Yet, she does. She has reached down into my soul and taken what I most desired to use against me. Well, no more. "I said no, demon!"

She cackles. Her laughter turns into a piercing scream. I cover my ears at the deafening noise, but it does nothing to help. When she halts, I look up to see that she is casting something – a purple mist of energy bursts forth from her hands and careens towards me. I have just enough time to duck and roll. It seems I will have to fight my way out of the Fade.

It takes everything I have to do that, to muster up the courage to cast, to not fail in that effort. I cast, I dodge, I cast, and I dodge again. Until finally, I have gained the upper hand and the desire demon lays dead before me. Everything fades to black.

I awake to find that I am not alone in my corner of Darktown. An urchin child stares at me curiously, his face dirty and hair tangled beyond repair.

"That's some dream you were having." He ventures forward carefully. I don't blame him, I wouldn't trust me either.

"It was a nightmare…" I whisper back.

The child takes fright at my grim expression and runs off. I feel a tingling in my palms and when I look down I realize what the child was really afraid of – magic. A blue aura surrounds my palms, threatening to spill out completely. I snuff it out with a shake and arise onto my feet.

Kirkwall is no place for me. I have to find another way to stay free. I will never find my mother, I know that now. Desire demons tempt you with what can never be. As an apostate, I will always be alone. A prickle down my spine tells me what I already know.

I want to be a wolf again.