Chapter 1

The warm summer evening air was soothing, a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the day. As Theron carried the buck carcass he had downed it seemed to him that there was still a hint of the oppressive atmosphere from earlier. Their clan had barely arrived in Ferelden after traveling in Antiva, intending to spend the rest of the summer in Ferelden as the Halla migrated south to escape the northern heat.

The air was heavy with pollen, and while the summer warmth was no match to the northern heat, the clan still spent most of the daytime resting, to avoid heat exhaustion. Theron and Tamlen had not been able to leave until significantly later in the day than they were used to go hunting. Already the sun was setting, but it mattered little, they had caught dinner for the next several days. Possibly less if the other hunters were unsuccessful. Game was sparse and chances of the others returning empty handed were good.

Theron noticed Fenarel standing by the campfire, there was a distinct lack of butchered meat around him.

"No luck I take it?" Tamlen called out to their fellow hunter.

"No," Fenarel said. "I almost had a doe, but she managed to escape me. But I see you had luck."

Theron kept walking to where Junar was butchering a brace of rabbits.

"At least the traps worked," Theron said.

Junar nodded. "At least it's something," he said.

Theron set about skinning and butchering the buck, setting aside the fur and other inedible parts for later. He made certain that he kept the antlers. Some of the children had been begging him for some new toys, and he was all too happy to oblige. He was deciding what he would carve the antlers to while he cut the meat from the body. Carefully setting aside the stomach and innards while he worked on the actual meat. The insides would be chopped up and cooked inside the buck's stomach—after it had been cleaned out of course—to make a hearty meal that was always a favorite of his.

Theron made quick work of the buck, while Tamlen set to curing the skin. "This would make a good cover don't you think?"

Looking over at the pelt, Theron shook his head. "No," he said. "I want something more special. Like a wolf pelt, or better yet a bear pelt."

"Good luck with that," Tamlen said. "I haven't seen a bear in weeks. Merrill is going to freeze in the meanwhile."

Theron muttered. "I'm not having Merrill bed on a deer fur. I'm the best hunter in the clan, I'm not laying anything less than a bear pelt over our wedding bed."

"You know she doesn't care, right?" Tamlen said.

"I care," Theron said. "Any less would be an insult to her."

Tamlen sighed. "You're being too stubborn. The two of you could have been wed long ago if it weren't for your obsession with bear pelts."

"Tamlen," Theron said. "I refuse to start my marriage by letting my wife know that she wasn't worth my full effort. I want her to know that I'd do anything for her."

"Pretty sure she already knows that Lethallin," Tamlen said. "Speaking of which…"

Theron looked up from the carcass he was almost done dismantling. Merrill, First to their Keeper, and the love of his life, was walking through the trees to the butchering station.

"Ma vhenan you're back!"

Smiling, Theron stood up from his work. He made as to take her in his arms, but she laughed and danced out of his reach. "I am happy to see you too," Merrill said. "But you should get washed first, or I'll end up looking like a murder victim."

He smirked at his bloody hands. Not nearly as bloody as they would be if he was a less skilled butcher, but still too bloody to be touching Merrill.

"If I must," he mock sighed.

"I think that might be best," Merrill said.

There was a stream, downriver from the camp, where all the washing was done. The fast running water would wash the blood downstream, keeping their source of water pure. At least as long as there were no clans washing upstream. Theron ripped off his armor, leaving himself in his small-clothes. He had worked up a sweat throughout the day, so he could use the wash anyway. Stepping into the stream, he washed away the blood and sweat. Taking a deep breath, he dove under the water, trying to rub off as much of the grime on his back as possible. Once he could breath no longer he swam upward, breaking the surface of the water with a great splash.

There was a shriek, and then a giggle, as the waves his surfacing created splashed onto the shore. Theron grinned, casually splashing more water towards Merrill, who was standing on the shore with her robe mostly undone.

"Are you here to make sure I wash behind my ears?"

Merrill laughed. "And all the rest of you. I know how you think. Quick splash and you're good as clean you think."

She slipped out of her robe, a sensual smile on her face. Taking several steps back she took a running jump into the river, the splash completely covered Theron. As his head broke the surface of the water, he laughed, rubbing his eyes clear.

"If you're going for seductive, emma lath," Theron said. "I think you need some more practice."

Theron realized Merrill had not yet surfaced. In fact, he could not see here anywhere.

"Merrill?" He called, looking around. She was a good swimmer, so she would not be…

Bare arms snaked around his chest, he felt her body press against his back.

"And how about now?" Merrill whispered into his ear.

"Better," Theron smirked, turning around to face her.

—-

The air stunk of rotten fish and bad cheese. Or at least Kallian hoped it was cheese. This close to the alienage and the docks the shem didn't much care for waste management. Who cared if a few knife ears had to live with the stench? It was a sad fact of reality that none would raise a finger to help them. They couldn't even be bothered to clean their own messes.

So, Kallian felt somewhat justified when she took cleaning the mess into her own hands.

It was dangerous, so very dangerous. If she was found out not only she but her entire family would be put to death. But after years of scrapping and kneeling to Shem guards just so they would leave her family alone, Kallian had finally had enough. Besides, the danger was half the thrill.

The other half was the actual kill.

She wore a patched mixture of grays and browns, some greens and blues, all colors that would blend in to the dirty darkness of Denerim's dock district. Her hood and mask were made up of the same patches. There was no black on her, it would stand out far too obviously against the darkness. The night was not pitch black, it was a patchwork of dark colors, but never pure black.

Her clothes allowed her to escape unnoticed, but there had been times when she slipped up and was spotted. Hence the hood and the mask, which were the only reason no one knew she was an elf. The fact that she had been given a name, The Patchcloth Killer, was an added bonus.

Kallian strained her ears for any sounds, everything was slightly muffled under the hood, but the last thing she wanted was to uncover her ears and be spotted. There were only so many elves in Denerim, and the authorities would not care if they arrested the wrong person.

A sound. A muffled sob. Kallian crept through the shadows until she came across a revolting scene.

A sailor, clearly drunk, was forcing a woman against the alley wall. Judging by what was left of her torn clothing she was most likely a prostitute.

Odd, Kallian thought. Most of the prostitutes know to avoid this part of town after dark. She must be new.

Many women would come to Denerim from villages all across Ferelden, hoping for a better life. It was not an uncommon story that those without the funds, or those that weren't cautious with their money, ended up either working in the Pearl or walking the streets.

The woman tried to escape, but the sailor grabbed her hair, forcing her to the ground, exposing her pointed ears.

Ah, Kallian thought. That explains it.

More often than not elf streetwalkers that weren't cautious found themselves the targets of men that were unwilling to pay even their low prices.

Kallian slipped unseen behind the assailant. Her daggers, their shine dulled with paint, struck.

Once.

Twice.

She was gone before the sailor fell. Dead.

Kallian was up on the rooftops by the time the woman realized what had happened, and made the foolish mistake of screaming.

Shouldn't have done that, Kallian sighed. A dead human, found with an elf woman. There was no way anyone would believe her story. She would most likely be arrested for the crime, unless she had the sense to run. Or, if she was really lucky the murder would be linked to the Patchcloth Killer.

Kallian did not stick around to find out. The Shem was dead. The whore would have to take care of herself from here. If she couldn't, she would not last long in this city. Eventually she would be lying facedown in a gutter in some rancid back alley of this wretched Shem city.

Stalking off into the night, Kallian searched for more prey. The rage inside her demanded feeding. Killing Elf abusing Shems just wasn't enough. She would never be rid of this hatred until…

She was not sure what she was waiting for. Kallian knew that at some point it would be enough. But when that time was, or what she even wanted she did not know. She had considered running away, joining the Dalish, escaping Shem oppression. But her family would not hear a word of it. And so she stayed for them.

And so she killed. To protect them. To avenge them. To avenge her whole people. One dead Shem for thousands of years of oppression. It hardly seemed fair.

Deeper into the maze of the Denerim back alleys, Kallian found herself coming up to an interesting development. They were near the port, the men that she was observing. They were moving cargo of some kind. Kallian tried to make out what goods were being moved. But it hardly mattered. Whatever it was, there was only one reason to move cargo after dark. Smuggling.

One of the Shem seemed familiar, it was hard to tell in the dark, but there was more than enough light for Kallian's eyes to eventually adjust. Young Vaughan Kendels. The son of the Arl of Denerim.

Curious. What was a Shem lordling doing with smugglers?

It mattered not. Kallian saw an opportunity. Vaughan was known as a sadistic bastard in all of Denerim. And nowhere was that more obvious than in the alienage. He did not consider the elves as citizens. To him they were his property. There were rumors about his proclivities, but Kallian had never been able to confirm them.

Again, it mattered not. Vaughan was a right bastard, and no one decent would miss him. Especially when the poor lordling found himself at the business end of a smuggler's knife. Cut down in the prime of his youth because of his own recklessness.

Kallian slid a knife from her sleeve.

She was just out of the shadows when she heard the sound. Approaching footsteps. Heavy boots, bearing the load of a heavy suit of armor. Kallian froze. Vaughan turned at the approaching noise, and froze when he caught sight of Kallian, taking in the ragged cloak, made of patches and holes. Her face was covered by the deep hood, but Vaughan knew what he was looking at.

"It's him!" He screamed, as the light of the night watchman's lantern illuminated the scene. "The Patchcloth Killer!"

'Him'? Kallian frowned. Of course, it couldn't possibly be a women murdering all you shem scumbags. That would be unheard of.

The watchman, who had been approaching the smuggling operation, turned and froze at the sight of Kallian. It gave her just enough time to dive into the alley.

"Stop!" She heard the man yell. The heavy clatter of plate armor pursued her. Kallian ducked down an intersecting corner, leaping upon a crate and up onto the roof. She kept moving, jumping from roof to roof, further into the city. She dove through the window of what she hoped was an abandoned attic and waited for the sound of pursuit to die down.

She would be stuck up here for some time. The Denerim Watch wanted her bad. Not that she could blame them. At least one victim each week, that they knew of. Some of them high ranking citizens known for being cruel towards their elven servants. She had caused an uproar over the past several months. If they knew who she was, if they actually caught her, they would not stop at executing her. Her entire family. Her friends. Anyone she cared about. There would be retribution for this. Kallian considered it a fair trade. After everything the Shem had done to her kind, she thought her kills barely even made a drop in the sea of Elven blood spilled.

Once the sounds of pursuit had died down, Kallian risked standing up to take stock of her surroundings. The attic was abandoned, as she had originally suspected. If there was anyone living in the rooms below, Kallian was certain she had not made any noise. Old furniture littered the room, a few chests lay temptingly locked. Kallian knelt beside one, tempting her luck with a lock pick.

She had stolen the set on a whim, but without anyone to teach her how to use them she quickly found that picking locks was beyond her skill. With a sigh she abandoned the chests, forever wondering what may lie within.

The furniture looked like it was quite high quality, solid and old, still usable despite what the layers of dust suggested had been a long time without seeing any use. She wondered who the house belonged to, Kallian did not think she had wandered into any of the higher class neighborhoods. A great deal of this furniture could be worth something to the right buyer. Her family needed to eat after all. She mentally traced the route she had taken, standing by the window to take in the surrounding landmarks.

As she was about to leave, a chance glint of reflected moonlight off metal caught her eyes. Kallian stepped away from the window, kneeling down among the pile of what at first glance appeared to be rubbish. But a little digging and dusting revealed a silver locket hidden among the refuse. Rubbing across its surface with her thumb revealed the luster beneath. It was shaped in the the form of a feather. Kallian held it up to the moonlight, admiring its delicate form. Finally she slipped it into one of her pockets. Intending to sell it, but part of her could not resist the urge to keep it for herself.

With one last glance around the room Kallian turned and slipped out of the window.

AN: I've seen a lot of multi-warden fics around, but now it's time for my version. As per usual we all have our own opinions about which origin we like best, which one we prefer with which love interest (I envy those of you that can be more flexible with your pairings), so hopefully this story will be as good as those other multi-warden fics, but with my own twist that I don't see enough of out there.