You Can't Run Away From You

by dragonmactir

Loghain Mac Tir and Elilia Cousland have a new world to conquer. Takes place immediately after Origins from the standpoint of the same origin as "The Return," only Duncan went to Orzammar instead of Highever. Crosses over into Dungeons and Dragons, other Final Fantasy titles, Harry Potter, and more.

1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age, Final Fantasy, etc, or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T+

Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Origins, Origins DL content, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling. May also contain spoilers for Final Fantasy XII, Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII-2, Dungeons and Dragons, and Harry Potter.

A/N: Totally AU, this fic starts out immediately after the events of Origins, and crosses over from the world of Thedas to the world of Ivalice, from Final Fantasy XII. The Dark Ritual was not performed, Loghain made the ultimate sacrifice, Anora is queen, and a male Warden Aeducan is Commander of the Grey. I will strive to make it so you don't have to be familiar with the various crossover worlds to understand the story.

---

Chapter One: Reborn in Rabanastre

"Well, there's a sight. Tied one on last night, didn't you? You'd better get along home, young man, before the city guard finds you. Going about the city starkers will find you in gaol for certain."

Loghain heard the voice, a woman's, but for a few moments more, he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. The darkness was comforting after the brilliant light of the Archdemon's soul, and he wasn't ready to see what came after.

He felt a not-too-gentle push on his shoulder. "Come on, young man, you can't lay about here. Get up, now. You'll catch your death, in that cold water."

Cold water? Maker's ass, he was in cold water. Shocked by the realization, he jerked and fell into deeper water, almost deep enough to close over his head when his bare ass hit the bottom. He struggled to get his feet under him and stand. His eyes took in his surroundings for the first time, a walled city plaza he did not recognize. How in the Maker's holy name did he end up naked in a strange city?

"Easy, lad," the woman said. "Rough night, wasn't it? You're not the first scoundrel to sleep it off naked in the city fountain, I'd wager. One of your good for nothing friends stole your clothes, didn't they? It's a long wet walk through the city streets for you."

Loghain looked around himself wildly, and finally his ice-blue eyes settled on the face of the woman who prodded him. She shuddered involuntarily, as if a goose had walked over her grave.

"Where am I? Is this Denerim? It can't be," he said.

She took a defensive step back. "I don't know where Denerim is, young man. This is Rabanastre."

"Rabanastre? There's no such city in Ferelden."

"You're not making any sense. You better get on home now. Go on, get. I haven't got time to stand around swapping nonsense with naked men." She backed further away from him and then turned and fled, not at a run but with a quick step regardless. Loghain climbed out of the fountain and dripped on the gray slate flagstones for a moment as he tried to get his bearings. To the east, or what he thought was east, the sky was pink but the sun was not yet over the city wall. He didn't know where he was or how he'd come to be there, but he knew one unassailable fact: he was naked. To stand around in the altogether and wait for the city guard to show him to gaol seemed not the best idea.

There was a narrow outlet or alleyway not far from where he stood. He headed in that direction, and his flat feet left triangular wet patches on the slate and yellow brick cobbles of the plaza. He did not know what he hoped to find; a towel, a pair of trousers, Denerim, or the Warden and his companions. Any one of those things would be welcome.

He should be dead. The fact that he was not troubled him more perhaps even than the dislocation. At least, he thought he was not dead. He felt very alive, and if this was the afterlife, it was a damned peculiar one. Could be a Fade dream, he supposed, like those dreams he sometimes had where he fought in pitched melee stark naked. Perhaps that final battle against the Archdemon was nothing more than another dream, and he was still in Redcliffe castle in wait for the morning sun to march to Denerim. The idea had its attractions.

The outlet led to a wider street lined with shops built into the city walls. He stood in the alley and peered down it, desperate to see something familiar, but everything was strange to him. Strange construction, strange signage, and what people there were, strange people. A few shopkeepers prepared to open for the morning, with brooms to sweep stoops and displays to tempt passersby, and one of them was a seven-foot lizard creature with red scaly skin, a thick tail, and four long, floppy ears, and another was a round-bellied porcine being with tusks. This couldn't be a dream. He'd never known the demons of the Fade to get particularly creative with him.

"Odds bodkins, man, what are you doing over there? Come inside before the guard catches you. What happened? Were you robbed?"

Loghain looked to see another lizard creature, this one blue and stooped with age, which stood on the step of the nearest shop and gestured him inside. He had but few options, so he followed the creature into the store. Glowing orange crystals hung on the walls and lit the shop inside. He wondered if it wasn't a sort of lyrium, and he wondered how people kept it from poisoning them if it was.

The creature continued to talk, its voice as growly and male as could be. "Come in, lad, come in. Let me get you something to dry yourself with, and a pair of trousers for you to wear. Here's a towel, lad. What happened to you? You don't look like you were beaten, so that's a mercy."

Loghain dried himself off. "I really don't know what happened, Ser," he said. "I woke up naked in the fountain in the plaza. I swear I was not drunk."

The creature disappeared into a back room and returned in a few minutes with a pair of buff-colored breeches made out of some soft, airy material Loghain didn't recognize. "Here, lad, put these on. So you weren't drunk, eh? Then how did you come to be in this sorry state?"

The creature handed Loghain the trousers and he pulled them on. The waist was too large by half, which meant he had to hold them up, but at least he was covered. "I don't know, Ser. I don't even know where I am. A woman in the plaza told me this city was Rabanastre. I know of no such city."

"I'll get you a belt for those, lad. So you woke up naked in a city strange to you? Odd circumstances, lad, and no mistake, though oddly familiar to me. What's the last thing you remember before waking?"

Loghain gave out with a humorless snort. "I remember dying. At least, that's what it seemed like."

The creature wrung its hands. "I think you'd better sit down and explain, lad."

"I suppose it warrants some explanation at that," Loghain said, and lowered himself into a chair. "Tell me, do you know aught of darkspawn here?"

"Can't say as we do," the creature said.

"Then you are fortunate. They are an evil scourge. My homeland was beset by these creatures, led by a tainted dragon called an Archdemon. I slew the creature, and its soul passed into my body. I was supposed to die. It felt like death, as near as I've ever come to it. That I seem to be alive now is worrisome. If I'm alive then perhaps the Archdemon is, too. If so, then my nation remains in grave danger."

"I confess I don't know quite what to say about a story like that, lad. It seems to me, though, that you may be right when you say you died. You could be Mist-born. It's a rare thing, but sometimes the gods pluck a soul from the realm of death and give it new life. That might explain why you ended up in the fountain. The energies associated with such things are drawn to water, and this is the desert. There isn't much," the creature said. "Why, just last year I pulled another poor soul naked from the fountain at daybreak. It seems to be 'the' spot for Mist-born folk around these parts, not that I've known it to happen more than twice before."

"Riordan said my soul would be destroyed by the soul of the Archdemon," Loghain said, doubtfully.

The creature laughed. "I don't know what an Archdemon is, but that seems a foolish thing to say to my ear. The soul is eternal; only the physical shell can be destroyed. You can't unmake the Maker's creation."

"That…makes sense," Loghain said. "It isn't like the Wardens could truly know what was happening when the Archdemon was slain, only that the Warden that did it invariably ended up dead. But I don't understand; what is it to be 'Mist-born' exactly?"

"I don't know that I'm the man to explain it to you exactly," the creature said. "I'll do my best. The Maker makes our souls, but He is gone from this world, they say. The other gods cannot create new souls. What they can do is take our souls from the realm of death and give them rebirth. Most of the time that happens in the natural way, with a mother and a father and a little newborn babe. Sometimes, though, the gods have a specific purpose in mind for someone. They take the Mist - the magical energy that infuses this world - and they shape it into a new physical form to house a soul. You could be brought back at any age, and I have to say, you look quite literally 'any age' to me. I can't tell if you're twenty or fifty."

"I'm fifty-four, but you can be damned sure I look every minute of it."

"You look very mature, but there's not a line in your face," the creature said. "Here, let me find a hand mirror, you can see for yourself."

The creature disappeared into the back room again and returned with a belt and a hand mirror. Loghain put the belt on before he looked into the silvered glass. The face he saw in the mirror was recognizably his, with the same sallow skin, the obstinate chin, the monumental nose, the thunderous brow. Nevertheless, it was as the creature said; there were no lines in his face, not until he put them there with a scowl at his own reflection. He laid the mirror aside, uncertain how to take what he saw there.

"If I died, if I was…reborn, here…then perhaps my death served its intended purpose, though I don't know what's to stop the Archdemon from coming back if I can."

"This Archdemon, you're afraid it's come back to life?" the creature asked.

"That's what happens, when the Archdemon dies. Its soul passes into a darkspawn and the creature is reborn. When a Grey Warden kills it, both die, and the Archdemon doesn't return."

"What's a Grey Warden?" the creature asked.

"A warrior, tainted by the same corruption as the darkspawn. I suppose, if I am truly reborn, then I no longer am one of them. I don't feel the sickness, though with no darkspawn about that may not be telling."

"What's your name, Sir?" the creature asked.

"Loghain Mac Tir," Loghain said.

"My name is Migelo," the creature said. "I have to open my shop soon, but you're welcome to stay here and dry off. Once I've opened, I can put some of the local children to watch the place while I help you find your way around. There are a few nu mou in the city, they know more about the gods and their purposes than most anybody, they could probably answer your questions better than I. The problem is finding them. I should probably also take you to the office of the City Registrar. I know this isn't your home, but you may well be living here for the foreseeable future, so you can't go unregistered. They won't ask too many questions."

"I'd appreciate the help. In all my life, I only left my homeland once. Finding myself lost in a strange new place at my time of life is…disconcerting, to say the least."

Migelo bustled around to get things in order for the day and Loghain got up and parked himself in a corner of the sales floor. He leaned up against the wall with his feet crossed at the ankles and watched the goings-on. Migelo talked while he worked.

"Tell me about your homeland, Loghain. Where is this place?" he asked.

"Ferelden, in the south of Thedas."

"Where's Thedas?" Migelo asked.

Loghain snorted. "You don't know? Then neither do I. It seems I may have come farther than I thought. Thedas was all the world I knew."

"Our world is called Ivalice, and it is composed of many nations. This particular one is Dalmasca. Tell me about Ferelden. What is it like there?"

"Cold," Loghain said. "But beautiful, in its way. Some of the finest farmland in Thedas."

"Dalmasca is very different. Here it is hot and dry, and little farming can be done. Do you have family?"

"A daughter."

"Grown?" Migelo asked.

"Yes."

"She won't feel the loss of you so keenly, then. She can take care of herself."

"Probably better than ever I took care of her," Loghain said.

"She'll miss you, though."

"Possibly true. My girl is a practical woman above all things, however, and she'll find a way to turn my death to her political advantage," Loghain said.

"She's a politician?" Migelo asked.

"Consummately," Loghain said.

"You must be proud of her," Migelo said.

"I am."

"What's her name?"

"Anora."

"That's a pretty name. Does she look much like you?"

"Not even slightly, thank the Maker."

Migelo chuckled. "I suppose no man wants his daughter to favor him too much in appearance. Were you involved in politics, too?"

"Not by inclination, but yes."

"You said you were one of these warriors, these 'Grey Wardens.' I still don't quite understand what they are. They suffer from a sickness?"

"The darkspawn corruption is virulent. Grey Wardens take that corruption in, and if they survive the experience, they become able to sense nearby darkspawn and slay the Archdemons. The sickness is always fatal sooner or later; Grey Wardens are merely those few who prove resistant to it."

"It sounds a terrible fate. Why would you choose to do something like that to yourself?" Migelo asked.

"I didn't."

"You contracted this illness accidentally?"

"No. I was sentenced to take the Joining when I was defeated in honorable combat by a Warden. I didn't trust the Wardens; I didn't see their purpose. I opposed them, and I failed. They treated me remarkably kindly, all things considered. They gave me the chance to atone for my mistakes."

"It sounds as if there's a lot to this story you're not telling," Migelo said.

"Sorry, I'm not much of a story-teller," Loghain said. "If you need the details I couldn't even begin to know how to give them to you. I suppose what you should know is that I left my king and half my army to die for fears he'd allow a hostile country entrance past our borders, and in trying to pull the nation together against the threat I perceived from that quarter I nearly tore it apart, and allowed the darkspawn to run rampant over the countryside for the better part of a year. I also sold poor Ferelden citizens into slavery to fund my campaign against the nobles who opposed me. So you see I'm not worthy of your kindness, Ser."

Migelo paused in his work, and hovered uncertainly over a display of embroidered handkerchiefs. "Well I…don't know what to make of what you've told me, Loghain. All I can say is that I can't really pass judgment when I don't know the whole story, and not from secondhand, so I'll remain kind until such time as you prove yourself unworthy of it."

"I…thank you, Ser. I'll try not to," Loghain said. "I did evil things, but I am not an evil man."

Migelo busied himself about the shop and spoke no more until a young blonde-haired human girl of perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age came through the door.

"Good morning," she said, all bright smiles and sunshine. "Need me today, Migelo?"

"Ah, Penelo! Yes, you're just the girl I was hoping for. I have some things to tend to this morning, so I was hoping you'd watch the store for me while I'm gone," Migelo said.

"You can count on me," she said. Her eyes flicked to the back of the store and landed on Loghain. "Oh, hello. Are you a friend of Migelo's?"

"Penelo, this is Loghain. Loghain, this is Penelo, one of the local children. Her parents are gone so I kind of look out for her. Loghain is new in the city and doesn't know his way around, Penelo, so I'm going with him to sort things out this morning and get him situated," Migelo said.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir," the girl said.

Loghain nodded at her, and hoped the gesture passed for friendly. The girl didn't look much like Anora, not in the particulars, but she reminded him of her all the same, and he felt the first true wave of homesickness wash over him at the sight of her. Her blonde pigtails made her look younger than her years, and put him in mind of the little girl who'd run to his arms after a long day. He swallowed the lump in his throat and affected to look nonchalant.

Penelo installed herself behind the counter of the store and Migelo gestured to Loghain. "Come, my man. The Registrar won't be open quite this early, but most everything else will be. I'll give you a tour of the city so you know your way around."

Migelo showed him the east end of the city, where they were. Amal's Weaponry was a shop of some interest, and then there was Panamis's Protectives on the other side of the street, down from Migelo's Sundries store. Loghain assumed that was an armor smith's, and it piqued his interests as well. Of course, with neither a weapon nor armor, he would be hard-pressed to earn enough money to buy either, but there must be some work for a strong back in this city. He wasn't too proud to turn his hand to manual labor.

"And there's Yugri's Magicks," Migelo said, and pointed to a building that sat in the middle of the street, where the road to made a jog. "Best place in town for spells and charms."

Loghain did a double take. "It's a magic shop? Selling real magic?"

"Of course. They don't have such things in your homeland?"

"Magic is dangerous."

Migelo laughed. "So is a knife. Most people are taught not to handle them by the pointy end."

"Do you mean to say you don't regulate your mages here?" Loghain asked.

"Of course we do," Migelo said. "You have to certify in each spell you buy before you can license it. Yugri's can take care of all that for you, they provide certification training when you purchase a new spell."

"You speak as if everyone can use magic," Loghain said.

Migelo laughed. "Everyone can," he said. "I take it it's not that way in your homeland?"

Loghain shook his head. "Mages are rare, and dangerous. They run the risk of demonic possession. You don't have to worry about that, here?"

"Can't say as I've ever heard of it happening," Migelo said. "Mind you, the Mist is dangerous. Where it runs thickest the gods shape it into some mighty fiends. But I've not heard of anything that can take over the mind of a person."

Loghain shook his head again, for a different reason. "What Ferelden could do if all her people could use magic and not worry about demons."

"You should learn some magic," Migelo said. "You're a warrior; it will come in handy, no doubt."

There was a laugh in Loghain's voice when he spoke. "I can't use magic," he said.

"Maybe you couldn't, but I'd bet good money you can now. You're made up of Mist, if you truly are Mist-born; you've probably got a powerful lot of it stored up in you. You might find yourself capable of working powerful magics. It all depends on the Mist, you see, and willpower. How much Mist you've got stored away inside determines how much magic you can cast and how powerful the spells you can use, and willpower determines how effective those spells will be."

Loghain grew thoughtful as he considered the possibility that he was now a mage. Magic had always made him nervous, even as it impressed him with its usefulness. The lack of demonic influence made it easier to accept, but he still felt a minor tremble of fear at the thought that he might now have the power to call forth fire from the air or other such nonsense. There were no people he trusted with such power, not even himself. Still, it was a tool. He would be foolish not to put it to use.

"I'll see about learning some magic once I have a job and can afford it," he said. "My first priority will have to be to purchase some clothes of my own, however."

Migelo laughed. "Yes, I can see that. Come on, there's much still to show you."

There was a young human man, maybe thirty years of age, outside of the next door, which featured a patio with tables and chairs set up in the open air. He put out a large green signboard advertising the day's specials. The man straightened up from his task and greeted Migelo by name.

"Ho there," he said. "What are you doing out of your shop this morning, Migelo?"

"Hello Tomaj," Migelo said. "Just showing our fair city to a new arrival. Tomaj, meet Loghain. Loghain, this is Tomaj. He owns the Sandsea, which you see before you. Best food in town, no question."

"Well met, Loghain," Tomaj said, and offered his hand. Loghain shook with him. He was a little surprised that the man made no sign that his bare-chested condition was in any way unusual. In Ferelden, a man not at hard labor with his shirt off was viewed askance. Tomaj and, he realized now, Penelo, seemed to take it as a matter of course.

"We've got fresh cockatrice in from Giza, Migelo," Tomaj said. "Perhaps you'll stop by later and partake?"

"Mm, that does sound good. Perhaps after our business is concluded this morning we'll swing 'round and stop for a bit," Migelo said. "Penelo is watching the store, and I trust her."

"I'll see you later, then," Tomaj said. "Nice to meet you, Loghain."

Tomaj went inside the tavern and Migelo waved an arm to the building across the street. "That's Batahn's Technicks. In there you'll find a selection of special magics that don't use up your Mist. I don't know much about them myself, but I know hunters and soldiers swear by them. They're generally more expensive than regular magics, and maybe a little bit harder to learn, but it might be worthwhile for you, eventually."

Migelo then proceeded to show him the north end of town, which was mostly high-class residences and city administration buildings, and the Muthru Bazaar, an open-air marketplace that already bustled with merchants setting out wares and early-morning browsers. Then Migelo proceeded to show him Lowtown, where the common folk lived. A miserable dark underbelly of an otherwise very nice city, in Loghain's opinion. Close to the sewers, the place had a stench to it, despite the fresh water and large canvas mill fans that turned in the middle to freshen the air. The stonework shocked him. Even down here in the slums, there was intricate tilework and stones were stacked with an eye to decoration more than pure function, with grand archways and ornate flying buttresses. Granted, down here, the stonework was in generally poor repair, but the initial effort and expense to build this city, even the meanest part of it, amazed him.

"Well, that's our city," Migelo said, as they climbed up out of the south sprawl of Lowtown to the fresh air of the Southgate courtyard. The sun was well up, and illuminated the desert visible at the open end of the area. "There's not much left to show you other than the gates, I suppose, and they all look pretty much the same as this, with gate crystals and chocobo corrals."

"What's a chocobo?" Loghain asked, but he could see the corrals and the large yellow birds inside them.

"That's a chocobo," Migelo said, and pointed to the birds.

"You mean to say people actually ride those things?" Loghain asked.

"Sure. A lot of other places in Ivalice prefer velocycles and such contrivances, but here in the desert, the sand clogs up the works and they crash. Plus there's the mimic germinate clouds, quite thick in these parts, that rust up metal left exposed to the elements. We stick to chocobos."

Loghain didn't know what a velocycle was, either, but chose not to ask. Instead, he nodded his head at a tall orange crystal that stood on the opposite side of the courtyard. "What's that thing?" he asked.

"Gate crystal," Migelo said. "That one's special, because you can use it to teleport. I suppose you don't have such things in your homeland. It's a little hard to explain, but if you've touched one of these stones, it will remember you forever. Then if you have something called a teleport stone in your possession and you fuse it to the side of the crystal, you'll be sent instantly to any other teleport crystal you've touched, just by thinking about it. It's a great way to get around, but you've got to do some traveling to find other teleport crystals. They're not as common as the ordinary blue gate crystals. Both of them will heal you of pretty much any wound or magic-induced ailment."

"Common magic and instantaneous travel," Loghain said. "I truly am in a different world. What is it made out of, that it can do such things?"

"It's magicite. Same stuff we use to make sunstones and skystones."

"Is it…poisonous? Back home, we have a magic stone, lyrium, that has the power to amplify magics, but it's deadly in its raw form and dangerous refined."

"Magicite is safe enough," Migelo said. "Though they say it was magicite caused the explosion that destroyed Nabudis and left the area a Mist-riddled wasteland. I don't know what kind of stone could have done such a thing, though. Oh, I should tell you about the one unique feature of the westgate courtyard, while I'm thinking of it. That's where you'll find the aerodrome."

"What's an aerodrome?"

"That's where our skyships berth."

"Skyships? Do you mean…flying…ships?"

"Yes. Another innovation you don't have back home? It's magicite, makes it possible. Skystones. They make things float. There's a whole continent, Dorstonis, that flies in the air thanks to the magicite buried in its mines."

"A flying continent? My imagination strains."

"You'll have to travel there sometime," Migelo said. "Bhujerba is the capital city. A beautiful place. Excellent wine."

Migelo looked up at the sky. "I judge the Registrar's Office is probably open by this time," he said. "We should head that way, get you situated. You should probably apply for citizenship. You were born here, after all."

"Not exactly," Loghain said, uncomfortable. "I'm not sure I'm ready to go so far as to declare citizenship."

"You don't have to declare an Oath of Fealty or anything," Migelo said. "It just opens up your options as far as employment. You can't join the army unless you're a citizen, and the city guard prefers to hire citizens as well."

"I suppose I have to be a citizen of somewhere," Loghain said, not without some reluctance. "Even if I could find a way home, I'm none too sure Ferelden would have me back."

Migelo clapped him on the shoulder. "I don't know if you'll ever see your homeland again, my friend, but this place you've fetched up isn't so bad. But surely, if you did manage to find a way home, they'd accept you back?"

Loghain sighed. "My daughter is queen; I'd not be an exile. But she's better off without me. I don't doubt that she mourns me, but I'd be very surprised if she didn't feel more than a touch relieved that I'm gone. At the very least, she's out from under my eye."

"Your daughter is queen? So then…were you a Lord?"

"Once. No longer. I can't say I don't prefer it this way. I wasn't born to it and I was always ill-suited to it."

"My Lord!" Migelo said, eyes huge. "I had no idea."

"Don't," Loghain said. "Just don't. I didn't carry the title with me into death: I lost it when I lost to the Warden. I am now as I was born: a peasant. I was never a lord of your land in the first place."

"Even so," Migelo began, but Loghain cut him off firmly.

"No. It's better this way. Let's find this Registrar. If I'm going to sign my body and soul over to this new place, I'd like to have done with it."

"I'm sorry if I've caused offense to you," Migelo said.

"You didn't," Loghain said. "I just…I never did get used to hearing people call me 'milord.' Now that it's no longer true, I'm quite happy to dispense with the title."

Migelo led him back to the north end of the city and they found the Office of the City Registrar just opening. Therein Loghain signed papers that made him an official citizen of Dalmasca, with all the rights and privileges thereof, and all he had to do was say he was Mist-born. The Registrar used a technick to prove that he was, in fact, no more than two hours old. And that was that. No muss, no fuss, no bother, and if he felt like a traitor inside, what of that? They branded him such anyway, for doing what he thought no more than his duty. And it wasn't as though he was signing away all hope of ever seeing Ferelden again. If there were a way to return, he'd find it, no matter to what he would go back.

The registrar issued him a license board. Loghain didn't immediately understand the purpose of it until he explained.

"In order to legally equip arms and armor, and to use magics, you have to have the proper license," the Registrar said. "You start out with two basic licenses, able to equip light leather armor and shortswords and daggers. You earn license points to buy new licenses by hunting. If you never hunt, you won't need more than the basic licenses, though you can train to use magics without hunting and it's always a good idea to learn a basic healing spell at least. If you are interested in earning more license points and equipping better gear, there's plenty of hunting in the region hereabouts. Mist-born fiends roam the desert, and they're bold and dangerous. Those who keep the caravan routes open by clearing out these fiends are always well compensated for their efforts. Most average game is worth only one license point apiece, but some rare or difficult beasts are worth a number of points on their own. There's also special equipment you can license that makes your kill worth double the license points, up here in the accessories section. Simple items, with basic natural enchantments, like wolf fangs and such, don't require licenses to equip as accessories, only special items with special high-grade enchantments."

"All right, but how do I prove how many license points I've earned before I purchase a license?" Loghain asked.

"The license board is magic, and will keep track of your points for you. Your number is up here in the top left corner, next to your name," the Registrar said. "As long as you have the required number of points, you may purchase any license on the board. A tip, if you intend to hunt: aim for the augmentation blocks. Each one you purchase confers some enchantment to you automatically, which will be active as long as you bear your license board in your possession. A tremendous boost to your strength and overall health."

"Thanks for the tip. I'll keep it in mind for the future," Loghain said, and he and Migelo left the office.

"Well, I don't know about you, Loghain, but I'm getting hungry," Migelo said. "What say we go to the Sandsea and have some breakfast? If you've never had cockatrice before you're in for a treat."

"I don't have any coin," Loghain said.

Migelo laughed. "It's my treat, of course. Consider it a 'welcome to Rabanastre' present, if you must."

"I…suppose I could do that," Loghain said, though it would always be uncomfortable to accept what felt like a handout. He was already beholden to Migelo for the loan of his pants. He followed reluctantly as Migelo led him back to the tavern.

There were a few early-morning breakfasters on the tavern's patio, who ate and drank from steaming cups of something Loghain didn't recognize that smelled strongly and pleasantly. Inside there were more diners, at tables set out above and below the bar. There were trees in the tavern, small palms in decorative planters. Loghain had never seen a tree indoors before. They found a table on the lower floor and Tomaj came over to take their order.

"Two of the day's specials," Migelo said, "and a cup of coffee for me. What about you, Loghain? Coffee or tea?"

"Is it coffee that smells so wonderful?" he asked. "I'll try a cup of that."

"Coming right up, gentlemen," Tomaj said, and disappeared through a curtained entry behind the bar.

Migelo folded his hands on the tabletop. "Well, I've been asking a lot of questions, but I expect you've got many of your own," he said. "You're not like the last Mist-born person I met, who was so shocked by the transition to our world she would speak not at all for the first few days. Ask away, and I'll answer as best I can."

Loghain could only think of one question for the time being. "Don't take this badly, but where I come from we have humans, elves, dwarves, and the occasional Qunari," he said. "I've never seen someone like you before. What is your race?"

"I'm a bangaa. I suppose I come as something of a shock to you if you've only ever seen peoples that look roughly hume. Dwarves and elves we have in these parts, though few elves in the desert, but I've never heard of a Qunari. We have many other races, though. Seeq and nu mou, moogles…the rare viera. A score or more of others, good bad and indifferent. You'll have much to learn about and acclimate to."

"It should be interesting, at least."

Tomaj came and set down two steaming black cups of coffee, turned a chair around at their table, and sat down. "Whence do you hail, Loghain?" he asked. "For, if you don't mind my saying, you're not much like other humes in Rabanastre."

"I was beginning to notice that," Loghain said. "Every human I've seen thus far has been rather…short. And blond."

"It's true. Dalmascans run very much to type, and a dark-haired man is a rare thing, let alone someone in excess of six feet tall. You look rather more Archadian to me. Or Rozarrian, though you're rather pale."

"I'm from a place called Ferelden," Loghain said.

"I've never heard tell of Ferelden. You must have traveled far," Tomaj said.

"I'm not sure you could say I traveled at all. I died, you see. They tell me I'm Mist-born, but I can't say as I fully understand it yet."

"Mist-born? By the gods! That's a rare gift. The gods have something special in mind for you."

"Wish they'd tell me what, so I can have done with it," Loghain said.

"You'll know when it's time, I expect," Tomaj said. "I hope you're here for good purposes. Some of the gods don't have people's best interests at heart."

"I honestly couldn't tell you what to expect from me," Loghain said. "I've been an agent of both good and evil in my day. I have every intention of avoiding any destiny, great or ill, that has been laid out for me. I think the world will run better without my interference."

"You may not be given the choice. You know where you could find answers? The Gran Kiltias on Mount Bur-Omisace. He's a dreamsage, sees visions in his dreams. Sometimes the gods speak to him. He may be able to tell you who put you here and why. It's a long and dangerous journey to the Holy Mountain, though. From here, you have to pass through the Golmore Jungle, and thanks to the viera that live there, that's nearly impossible. Bur-Omisace is in jagd, so you can't take an airship."

"What's yakt?" Loghain asked.

"Jagd. It's a place where the Mist is dense enough to rob airships of power. Skystones won't float."

"Well, I'm hardly kitted out for a nearly impossible journey just now," Loghain said. "Perhaps I should think about finding this mountain, though. What's a Gran Kiltias exactly?"

"The Kiltias are the priests and holy men of the Holy Mountain," Migelo said. "The Gran Kiltias is their leader. You would find much wisdom there, but it's not a trip I'd make without a strong and well-equipped party of hunters or soldiers."

"Well, it's something to keep in mind for the future, anyway," Loghain said. "Right now I don't own so much as a pair of smalls. I'll have to see to my basic needs before I can think about hunting down information."

"Speaking of," Tomaj said. "Do you have a place to stay tonight? I could let you have one of my rooms."

"I have no coin. After breakfast I intend to hunt down some work."

"What line were you in back home?" Tomaj asked.

"I was a soldier. I'm thinking I might do well to turn a hand to hunting now; it's about all I'm good for. But I've got a strong back, and there must be someone in this city needs a man to lift and carry for them. It will be awhile before I can afford a weapon."

"The hunt board is right on that wall," Tomaj said. "That's where folks in town post bounties on monsters they'd like to see exterminated. I'd happily loan you my dagger if you'd agree to hunt down my own bounty. You'd make three hundred gil just for one kill, more than enough to get you a room for the night."

"What's gil?" Loghain asked.

"Coin. We use copper pennies, silver gil, and gold galleons, but most of the time we just use gil. There's a hundred copper pennies in a gil, and five hundred silver gil in a galleon," Tomaj said.

"Gold is valued more highly here than in my homeland," Loghain said. "I can see why silver would be your base currency."

Tomaj stood up. "You go look at my bill, and check out some of the others that are posted. You may find something that interests you. I'll go get your meals."

Loghain stood up and walked over to the wall where a notice board advertised local bounties. There were a number of bills posted to it, each with a crude drawing of a particular animal appended. It was easy enough to find Tomaj's bill; posted most recently, it was on top of several others. It was a better-done drawing, too, than most. The creature depicted looked like a tiny man, with a round red head. The details left Loghain scratching his.

He sat back down just as Tomaj came out with two plates of food. Loghain took his first sip of coffee, after he judged it to be cool enough, and he set the cup aside with an air of respect. It was strong, but he rather liked it. There was a kick to it.

Tomaj set his plate in front of him. There were two large filets of battered meat fried golden and drenched in white gravy and a mound of hash with cheese. Two large eggs were fried sunny side-up on the edge of the plate.

"This is cockatrice?" Loghain asked, as he poked the meat with his fork.

"Domestic cockatrice. Ten times better than wild," Tomaj said.

"I've never eaten tame or wild," Loghain said. He cut off a corner of the meat and forked it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "Tastes like chicken."

"What's a chicken?" Migelo asked.

"You don't have chickens? They're birds. We raise them for meat and eggs," Loghain said.

"Sounds like a cockatrice, though not many people raise them," Tomaj said. "Perhaps they're two names for the same thing?"

"I doubt it," Loghain said. "I've never seen a chicken you could cut such a large slab of meat from."

Tomaj sat down again. "Did you take a look at my bill? What do you think?"

Loghain sawed another bite off his cockatrice filet and cocked an eyebrow at Tomaj. "This creature…is a tomato?" he said.

"You're not familiar with mandragora, are you? They're plant-creatures. They can walk around, but they're vegetable matter, not meat. Tomatoes are usually found far south of here, but this one's a rogue that's wandered up to the desert. Most fiends leave chocobos alone, but this tomato's been attacking caravans heading to town from the Outpost. It's damaged goods, hurt chocobos, even hurt one of the drivers. It's been making it harder and harder to get goods from Nalbina or off the Mosphoran Highwaste. I'm sure Migelo's felt the pinch. All the merchants in town have. I thought I'd post a bill; see if anyone can knock that nasty back in its place. It's not a monster you'd need special equipment to take on, and you won't have to travel far to find it. Just head out the east gate and strike straight off into the estersand. You'll find it somewhere before you reach the Outpost."

"Well, I suppose I can take a crack at it."

"Good," Tomaj said. He pulled from a pocket of his short trousers a hunting knife and laid it on the table next to Loghain's plate. Then from a pocket of his shirt he took a small, leather-bound book with a stylized boar or possibly one of the pig-beings on the cover. "This is a primer. It will key itself to you and keep automatic record of your kills, as well as provide you with information about the creatures you've slain. It's a good way to prove your chops when people want to see credentials."

A loud, beery voice broke over them from the direction of the bar. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Tomaj? You don't know nothing 'bout this guy."

Loghain instantly recognized the voice. His eyes landed on a stout, short figure seated on a barstool, with short, violently red hair and a long, braided moustache. His jaw dropped.

"He was a soldier, Oghren," Tomaj said. Loghain barely heard him. "I reckon if he wants to turn his hand to hunting now he'll do just fine."

"Maybe, but that's a pretty big risk to take, ain't it? Aw, shit. I suppose it's up to me to keep the clan safe. When you go off huntin' this tomato, Longshanks, I'll go along with ya. Got to make sure you're up to snuff," the dwarf said.

Loghain stood up so suddenly his chair nearly tipped over. He made two long steps over to where the dwarf sat and stuck out his hand. "By the Maker, Oghren, I never thought I'd say this, but it's good to see you," he said. "How did you end up here? You were alive last I saw you."

The dwarf peered up at him uncertainly. "Have we met?" he asked.

Loghain's hand dropped. "You don't…know me? You're not from Ferelden."

"Mister, I come from Mah'habara, in Gran Pulse," the dwarf said. "I ain't never heard of Ferelden."

"You look just like someone I knew," Loghain said, and sat back down.

"You knew an Oghren back in your world?" Migelo asked.

"Right down to the very note of his voice," Loghain said. "But that Oghren was from a place called Orzammar."

"You were friends?" Tomaj asked.

"Not exactly. Comrades-in-arms, more like, and that reluctantly. But he was a powerful warrior. Whatever I thought of him personally I respected that."

"Do you think the gods play tricks like that?" Migelo asked. "Split one soul into two people, identical but for their experiences?"

"It stretches my imagination too thin to think it could just be coincidence," Loghain said. "Oghren exists in two worlds, Thedas and Ivalice. I wonder how many other people I know have alternate lives here? I'm not sure I want to find out."

Rather morose, he turned his attention back to his meal. When he finished he stood, thanked Migelo, shook his hand, and took up the dagger and primer. "I'll be back as soon as I've settled this rogue tomato," he said to Tomaj.

"I'll have your bounty ready," that worthy said.

Oghren slid off his barstool and tossed a coin to the barkeep. He followed Loghain out into the bright desert sunlight outside. The heat struck Loghain like a blow. He shook it off, and headed down the east end to the southern plaza. He didn't shorten his steps to make it easy on the short-legged dwarf who followed. In truth he found Oghren's presence somewhat unsettled him. How far did one have to travel to find duplicates of people they knew? His return to Ferelden might be more complicated than simply boarding a ship.

The streets grew crowded while he was in the tavern; people bustled here and there on errands or at work, or simply at leisure. A startling percentage of the human men he saw were bare-chested as he was, and the ones that weren't typically wore only vests, generally left unfastened in front. No wonder no one seemed at all taken aback by his lack of shirt. The bangaa he saw were all bare-chested, though Migelo wore a fine blouse and waistcoat, and the pig-like beings too wore nothing on top and very little below. He didn't care to emulate the local fashion any longer than he had to, even though he understood the appeal in this heat.

Oghren was not bare-chested; he wore sturdy chainmail armor of a type not too dissimilar to the heavy mail with which Loghain was familiar. Loghain envied him the comfort; without a shirt and with pants too large, he felt ridiculous. At least he wasn't naked any longer.

East gate opened as they approached, and he wondered mightily how that worked. The two solid doors were massive, and he could see no mechanism, though it could well be hidden in the walls, along with the person or persons responsible for opening it when someone came near. Then again, he supposed the whole thing could be down to magic. Magic was in great supply in this world, and could do things magic back home could not.

The eastern courtyard was very much the same as the southern courtyard he'd already seen, paved with slate flagstones, walled with brick and crumbling plaster, open at the far end to the desert beyond. The gate crystal here was not orange but blue, and the landscape of the desert itself was different; red sand instead of hardpan. Loghain wondered if he would regret drinking coffee instead of water, but headed out into the desert anyway. As long as he could find this tomato-creature swiftly, it should not matter terribly.

Loghain expected to see his first cactus, a desert plant he'd read about in books, but he didn't expect that cactus to walk. A pair of them wandered about, prickly and incomprehensible. He stopped for a moment to watch them. They took little notice of his presence and went about their incomprehensible walking-cactus business.

"What's a' matter, you thirsty?" Oghren asked. Loghain started. He'd forgotten that Oghren followed him.

"No, I've just…I've never seen anything like that before," he said. "Where I come from, plants don't walk about."

"Most of our plants don't, either, but cactites are different. Half-animal. Like that tomato you're after. Most of the cactites mind their own business, smart enough to leave people alone, but if you're lost in the desert and you need water, you can kill 'em and cut 'em open for it. You want to stick to these nice fat little ones, though. Some of the others are poisonous, though a brewer can take some types and make some pretty nice liquor out of it."

Loghain set off deeper into the desert and spotted a doglike creature, white with an orange back and a black face, with batlike ears and red folds of skin between its fore and hind limbs. The creature saw him and charged. He readied his knife.

"Bold son of a bitch," he said, as he met the creature's charge with a knife to the throat and the monster crumpled. "Where I come from, wild animals typically avoid humans, unless they're mad."

"It ain't like that here," Oghren said. "Wolf was Mist-born. They breed, and after a generation or two bred monsters learn to be wary of people, but Mist-born fiends never learn. That's why we need a lot of hunters: in an hour from now, the gods will have made another damned wolf to replace the one you killed, and maybe two or ten more. If we didn't kill 'em they'd overrun us."

"I take it you don't have to be cautious about over-hunting," Loghain said.

"Some things you do. Wolves are common as dust, but some critters the gods don't make too many of. A lot of namby-pamby types say we should only take what we can use, but I don't hold with that. Some things just need killin'," Oghren said.

"Figures you'd say that," Loghain said. He gestured to the fallen wolf with his knife. "Is there any use to this thing? The pelt doesn't look like it has much value to it."

"You're right, but a furrier'll buy it all the same," Oghren said. "Then the fangs and claws have Mist in 'em, so they're worth a bit. Meat's no good, though. Leave it for the scavengers."

Loghain dressed out the animal and rubbed sand on the meat side of the pelt to dry it. He half-buried it in the sand, stood, and brushed his hands off.

"I'll come back for it later, once it's had a chance to dry out a bit," he said. He tracked further into the steep-walled arroyo. He caught sight of something large and green in the distance. "What in the Maker's name is that?"

"Wild saurian," Oghren said, with a grunt. "It's an ancient type of dragon."

Loghain took a better look at the creature. It stood perhaps twenty feet tall, with a massive head that was predominantly mouth. It had powerful hind legs and rinky-dinky arms that looked about useless. It balanced itself with a long, powerful tail that looked like it could do some damage on its own.

"I can't believe the watch allows something like that to exist within sight of the city walls," he said.

"They wouldn't, 'cept this one happens to mind its own business. Leave it alone and it'll leave you alone. If they killed it, another would likely be born to take its place and it probably wouldn't be so friendly," Oghren said.

"Seems like an awfully big risk to take. I hope no child ever comes out here and teases it."

"Any parent that would let their child run loose in the desert oughtta be horsewhipped," Oghren said.

"I suppose not many do, so there's that. Well, if it works for Rabanastre, who am I to say they're wrong?" Loghain said. He walked out onto a promontory of sandstone that rose up out of the loose sand and spotted the color red. A tiny bipedal creature, not more than a foot tall, wandered about in aimless circles beneath a spindly tree that blossomed in pink flowers. Its head appeared to be a large, ripe tomato. It had no eyes, but a large mouth opened and closed. Sharp white teeth flickered in and out of view.

The creature was comical. He couldn't see what fussed people about it. He approached, and the creature turned toward him. It made a sound, a high-pitched screech, and that was apparently a warning. One step closer and the creature opened its mouth and let out a jet burst of flame that set the legs of Loghain's trousers on fire. He swore a startled oath, jammed the hunting knife into the top of the creature's head and twisted it so that it fell limp to the sands, and then beat out the flames that threatened his lower body.

Oghren laughed his loud, chesty laugh. "Guess nobody warned ya 'bout the fire-breath, hah?" he said. "Still, that was a good job done. You dealt with the critter 'fore you worried about yer pants."

"These are Migelo's trousers," Loghain said, as he surveyed the damage. His pink knees and hairy legs peeked out through the singed fabric.

"Oh, haw haw haw! Migelo's pants! That's the funniest thing I heard in a dog's age," Oghren said, with a resumption of his beery laughter. "Come on, Longshanks. You've got a bounty to collect, an' I reckon you gotta tell ol' Migelo the bad news about his pants."

Loghain gathered up the little creature's body, pocketed the knife, and retrieved his wolf pelt from the sand. Oghren continued to snicker about Migelo's burned pants all the way back to the city. Loghain didn't see the humor in it, though not generally disposed to find humor in much, and he hoped his bounty was large enough to pay for a replacement pair.

"Well, Oghren, is he a hunter, or have I erred in giving him a primer?" Tomaj asked, as they came through the door of the Sandsea.

"He might be a hunter at that," Oghren said. He immediately relocated to a barstool and ordered up a round with a raised finger. "Dealt with the tomato before he worried about the fire in his pants. That takes some craw."

"I see you brought the little monster back with you," Tomaj said to Loghain. "I bet I could do something with a rogue tomato. I'll give you sixty gil for it. How does that sound?"

"Sounds fine," Loghain said. Tomaj opened up the pouch he wore at his belt and counted out three hundred and sixty silver coins.

"Your bounty, sir, plus the sixty gil for the meat. And I promised a couple of healing potions and a teleport stone as well. I'll go back and get them," he said, and promptly disappeared into the back room.

Loghain walked over to where Migelo still sat at the table by the hunt board and set the money down in front of him.

"What's that for?" Migelo asked.

"I ruined your trousers," Loghain said. "I hope that's enough to cover a new pair."

"Nonsense, those pants were old, ready for the rag-bag. You needn't feel obliged to replace them."

"All the same, Ser, I'd feel better were you to allow me to pay you their worth," Loghain said.

"Well they certainly weren't worth this much. Ten gil, for your conscience, and you keep the rest. You stand in far greater need of it than I," Migelo said, and counted out ten silvers.

"Well, if you're sure that's enough, Ser. I thank you."

Loghain pocketed his gil and went to look at the hunt board. He found a local bounty posted by someone who wrote that he'd be waiting in the tavern, and looked over near the door to see a turbaned man sitting dejectedly on the floor with a drink in his hand. Loghain crossed over to him.

"Are you Gatsley? You posted a mark for this thextera?" Loghain said.

"You're a hunter? Thank the gods! This thextera has been disrupting caravans coming through the westersand for days now, and nobody's done a thing about it. I've staked my entire life's savings on a shipment due through this afternoon, and if that beast wrecks it, I'm finished. Kill it for me, and you'll have my gratitude - and my bounty."

Oghren spun around on his stool. "Longshanks, you ain't going after no thextera with just a dagger in hand," he said.

"If it's too much for me, I'll turn back," Loghain said. "I need the coin."

"Well, don't say I didn't warn ya," Oghren said, and turned back to his drink.

"How far out into the westersand is this thing?" Loghain asked of Gatsley.

"Don't know for certain, but it's been attacking caravans close to the city, so you shouldn't have to travel too far out to find it."

"Still, perhaps I'd best get a drink of water while I'm able," Loghain said. He asked at the bar, and the bartender set him up with a free glass. He drank it down, and then headed back out into the desert heat alone.

The westersand was obviously west of the city, and the estersand was east. He wondered idly what they called the desert to the south and the north as he walked to the west gate. It opened before him and he passed through to a courtyard very much the same as the other two, with the addition of a large entryway set into the north wall that led, he assumed, to the aerodrome about which Migelo told him. The thought still boggled him. He would have to go there sometime and see these flying ships for himself. Right now, however, there was work to do.

The sands of the desert didn't hold prints well, but he found some pugmarks not far out into the westersand that told of a monstrous wolflike creature. One print was nearly as long as his foot. He looked at the hunting knife he held in his hand, shook his head, and proceeded with some misgivings.

It was easy enough to find the creature. Even without its tracks, it stood out. The size of a horse, and not a small horse, with brown and white striped hindquarters, yellow and brown-spotted forequarters, a red face, blue jaw and paws, a white ring around its neck, and a blue underbelly rimmed with red folds of skin between fore and hind limbs. It had brilliant blue eyes and two short horns on its nose, side by side. He saw it from behind a dune, and the wind was in his favor, so the beast did not see or smell him.

It was the ugliest, most magnificent thing he had ever seen in his life, short of perhaps the Archdemon. He found in himself a desire to allow it to live. Perhaps he could drive it off, instead. He likely wouldn't get his bounty, but there were worse things than a shortage of ready coin. He put the knife in his pocket and jumped out at the beast, completely heedless of the fact that it was, in truth, an exceptionally large meat-eating wild animal. He bellowed a war cry and the monster came at a run.

He struck it hard on the snout with his fist. The animal sat back on its haunches and sneezed, then growled and attacked again. Loghain struck it again, harder. "Go on, get out of here," he shouted. The wolf sat back on its haunches again and howled a loud howl at the heavens. Several small wolves ran up to attack. Loghain drew his knife and killed these without compunction. The giant drew itself together for another lunge, and he struck it two hard, fast blows right on the nose, below the horns. The animal yelped and cowered down on the sand like a whipped puppy, and then it began to wag its long, brushy tail.

"Go on, get," Loghain shouted again. The animal flinched back at the sound of his voice but only wagged its tail harder. It whined, low and loud, then stretched up and tried to lick his face. He fended it off with some difficulty. "What are you, someone's pet run feral?"

The thextera barked, as loud as an avalanche, it seemed, and crouched in a decided "play with me" gesture. It jumped up, cavorted in a circle, and crouched down before him again. Loghain reached out and scratched its head between its ears. He couldn't keep a dog, especially not a monster dog. He would be hard-pressed to keep himself fed.

But then again, the thextera might make one hell of a hunting partner, if it took commands.

"All right, if you're coming, come, but you'd better mind or I'll slit your gizzard," he said, and turned to head back toward the city. The thextera followed at a respectful distance.

"Odds bodkins," a guard said as they passed by him on their way through the gate back into the city. It was a sentiment shared by numerous passersby on the way back to the Sandsea. He didn't think much of walking into the tavern with the dog; in Ferelden, such was taken as a matter of course.

He found the petitioner. "Serrah Gatsley? I know it isn't what you asked for, but I don't think my friend will be bothering your caravan now," he said. The man stared at the dog with his eyes bugged out.

"What? Oh! Of course, of course. Your bounty, as promised. Five hundred gil, a headguard, and a teleport stone. Take it, with my thanks. Come by my stall in the bazaar and I'll give you a discount. I have some monographs you might be interested in, written by expert hunters. They tell you how to get the most gil out of various types of fiends."

"That's quite the monster you've tamed," Tomaj said. "You must be strong; it's the way of the world, the weak follow the strong. Lots of people tame wolves but it's rare to see someone tame something larger. That will be a good companion to you in your hunting."

"Where I come from, dogs are prized," Loghain said. "I had one once, myself, long ago, but after she died I didn't really care to have another. I suppose it's about time I changed that. I hope it's smart."

"It will be. There's a powerful, magic bond forged between a tamer and his animal," Tomaj said. "It enables even the dullest-witted creature to accept and carry out even fairly complex commands."

Loghain scratched behind the thextera's ear. He had to reach up to do it. "Smart enough not to talk, eh? Good. You're no mabari, but you're something."

"What are ya gonna name him?" Oghren asked.

"I think his name must be Odds Bodkins, judging by the number of people who've said it at sight of him," Loghain said. "I'll just call him Odd for short."

"Well, he is that," Oghren said, and turned back to his drink.

"You've got enough coin now to think about buying your own weapon," Tomaj said. "You should buy a bottomless satchel, too, to carry your spoils. The enchantment on them means you can carry an almost unlimited amount of items, meaning healing potions and unguents as well as pelts and stones. Learn a spell of reversible miniaturization and you can haul some huge things about with you 'til you've leave to sell them. Gatsley probably has one in his shop down on the bazaar. A satchel, that is; you'll have to go to Yugri's for the spell."

"That sounds like a good idea," Loghain said. "Already I have more things than I can carry in my pockets. Thank you for the loan of your knife."

"Not a problem, my man," Tomaj said. "Why don't you hang on to it for now? You might want to save your coin against a better grade of weapon, when you have enough points to license one. You should probably buy yourself a spell of healing as soon as ever you can. Might want to prioritize that above a weapon, honestly. Healing potions are wonderful things, but you've a disturbing tendency to run out of them when you need them most. It's best to have back-up."

"A good point, ser. I'll heed your advice."

He whistled to Odd, who had some difficulty turning around among the tightly packed tables, and left the tavern. He went to Yugri's Magicks and there purchased a basic spell of healing that the friendly proprietor trained him to use in just a few minutes. It gave him a thrill, not an entirely pleasant one, to cast his first spell.

"Now that you've received training, you can license that spell," Yugri said. "All you have to do is touch the license box for the basic cure spell and the board will purchase that square for you, without using up any of your available points. Might I ask, why haven't you learned any magic before now? You're more than old enough."

"Actually, I'm only a few hours old," Loghain said, intentionally flippant.

"Are you having me on? You're Mist-born?" she said.

"So it would seem," Loghain said. "People keep telling me it's a blessing, but I can't say it feels that way. I'm adrift in a world I know nothing about."

"Well, you can have a lot of fun learning, don't you think? Or are you not interested in new things?"

"I lived a fairly insular life and rarely encountered new things," Loghain said. "I will confess I seem to take some interest in this new place. Everything's so different to what I knew, it's fascinating."

"You come back here whenever you've a mind to learn a new spell," she said. "If it becomes known a Mist-born person frequents my little establishment business will go up tenfold, so I'll give you a discount."

"I suppose then you'll be telling everybody that I shopped here," Loghain said, with some sourness. "I'll take you up on that offer of a discount, though. Magic is a useful tool to know, now that I can manage it."

He left the store and headed for the bazaar, where he found Gatsley's stand. He purchased a satchel guaranteed to hold everything he would ever require, and he bought a spool of blue string for a few bits (pennies, he reminded himself; he had much to accustom himself) that he immediately put to use in his hair by plaiting a pair of wind braids. Now with his long hair kept back out of his face he felt more together, though he was still shirtless and wore burned-up pants too large for him. His last purchase was a coin purse, to hold what remained of his bounties safely. With his satchel over his shoulder and his coin purse tied on to his belt, he wandered the bazaar and looked at weapons. The available quality wasn't much. Perhaps he would be better off to save up for a weapon from a proper smithy, like that Amal. He could probably buy his own hunting knife here, and it looked as though he might be able to find a decent longbow at the bazaar as well, though he knew it would be some time before he had sufficient points to license one.

Well, there was no time like the present to get working on that. He returned to the Sandsea and looked at the hunt board again.

"What's a wraith?" he asked of Tomaj. "Sounds like a ghost."

"It is a ghost," Tomaj said. "You can't stick 'em with a blade, so you have to use magic. White magic, which means healing magic for most adventurers. There are some high-level holy spells that deal tremendous white magic damage."

"You can kill this thing with a cure spell?" Loghain asked, doubtfully.

"Not kill exactly, it's already dead. 'Make it cease to exist' is perhaps more accurate," Tomaj said.

Loghain looked back at the hunt board. "What's a marilith?" he asked.

"Giant snake," Oghren said. "Tough enough on its own, but it's down in the Zertinan Caverns, where strong men hesitate to tread. Powerful fiends down there, Longshanks. Ain't sayin' you ain't got a chance, but you'd better have more than a dagger in yer hand before you venture down there."

"And this 'ring wyrm' must be a type of dragon," Loghain said. "No going after that with just a knife and no protection. I suppose I can try my hand at the wraith hunt, but I have my doubts I can kill anything, alive or dead, with magic."

"If you want more opportunities, take that primer I gave you and show it to the bangaa outside the building in the north end marked with that symbol on the sign out front. He'll let you in," Tomaj said. "You'll find it worth your time."

"All right, I'll stop by later on," Loghain said. He left the tavern and headed down into Lowtown again, where he found the woman Milha in a squatting position near the door to a private residence. He spoke to her about the wraith hunt, and she explained.

"One of the local children was playing in the Garamscythe Waterway - the sewers that run under Lowtown. It's a trifle cleaner than it sounds. In any event, he came running back screaming, and hid himself in this empty house, claiming he saw a ghost. Well, I went down there myself, to humor him, see, and to my shock, I discovered that it was real! That's when I petitioned the hunt. The child refuses to come out of this house until the ghost is gone."

"Well, we can't have that. I'll see what I can do, but I make you no promises. I'm new to magic, and I doubt my ability to cast well enough to hurt this thing. I will try," Loghain said to her.

"Well, I thank you for that. The entrance to the sewers is one street over, through the door to Storehouse Five and to your right. The children are always picking the lock on the storehouse door, so you should find it open."

"Very well. I'll return and let you know how it went, one way or the other."

With Odd at his heels, he entered the sewer. He did not have far to go; the wraith attacked almost immediately. Though it was ephemeral it had the ability to inflict some damage, and Odd's powerful jaws were useless against it. Loghain found himself in a strange and unwonted position, and stood stock still casting cure spell after cure spell, at the creature, at himself, and at the dog, that at least distracted the ghost more than somewhat. It was hard to tell what, if anything, was happening, but after he cast approximately a dozen healing spells at it, the wraith shrieked and vanished. It left behind nothing but a strange glass-like orb that glimmered in the dimness. Loghain picked it up and put it in his satchel.

He returned to Milha and showed her the entry for the wraith in his primer. "I still can't believe I managed it," he said. "It truly didn't seem like it was working."

"You must be a powerful mage," Milha said. "Most hunters aren't much shakes with magic, which is why I think I had a hard time getting anyone to take this hunt on. You say you're new to it. You should think about learning more. It would surely be useful to you."

She turned to the door of the residence and knocked. "Deeg, honey, the ghost is gone. You can come out now."

A small blue head, one of the pig-beings, poked out through the door. "Th-the ghost is gone?" the creature, Loghain thought it was a boy, said.

Milha nodded her head. "It is. This kind man hunted it for us."

The creature came shyly out of the house. An adult male pig-being, tan in color, came up behind Loghain and Milha. "Well, there you are, my little Deeg. You had me worried."

Milha looked at Loghain. "I hope you didn't think it was my child," she said.

"I didn't. You said it was one of the local children," Loghain said. "I'm glad to see people looking out for each other. In my homeland, that didn't always happen, especially across races."

"It doesn't always happen here, either, to be truthful," Milha said. "Your reward, Sir. Well earned." She handed over a pouch of silver, a bottle of black liquid, and a sturdy pair of leather gauntlets Loghain donned immediately.

"What's this stuff?" Loghain asked, as he held up the bottle.

"You don't know?" the adult pig-creature said. "That's ether. Magic casters drink it to get a quick refresher of Mist when they're running low. I threw that and the gauntlets in to the pot for the bounty."

"I thank you; that sounds like it may come in handy." The pig-creature offered its meaty hand and Loghain shook with him. "I'm new to this region; forgive my asking, but what are you?"

The pig-being laughed. "I'm a seeq. You don't have seeq where you come from?"

"We have few races where I come from; only humans, elves, and dwarves." There was no sense explaining the unknown Qunari, though Loghain supposed it was possible they did exist in this world, and Migelo simply didn't know it.

The seeq laughed again. "Well, if you don't mind my saying, that sounds like a dull place to me. Where's the color?"

"There does seem to be more of it in this world," Loghain said. He bowed a short bow to the seeq and the lady and took his leave of them.

To cast so much magic used up a lot of energy, and Loghain found himself rather hungry. Since it was the only tavern he knew of, he decided to return to the Sandsea for something to eat. He found Migelo still there, and sat down at the table across from him. Tomaj came over to take his order.

"Something light," Loghain said. "It's not been that long since breakfast."

"Try the soup of the day," Tomaj said.

"Sounds good to me," Loghain said, and the tavernmaster left to see to it for him.

"How's the hunting going?" Migelo asked him. "Have you taken down anything else?"

"I just hunted that wraith in the sewers," Loghain said. "Strangest kill I've ever made, no question."

"You killed a wraith? With what spell?" Migelo asked.

"Just a basic healing spell," Loghain said.

"Odds Bodkins, man, that's quite the feat. Wraiths are powerful, and a basic healing spell tends to be weak. You must have a powerful will."

"I've been called willful," Loghain said. "I don't know if that's the same thing."

"It surely can be. Well well. I suppose I've no worries for you any longer. You can clearly look after yourself, so long as you know your limitations. I should really be getting back to my shop now. You take care of yourself, and stop by once in awhile, let me know how you're getting on. If you need any help, with anything, you have but to ask," Migelo said. He stood up and offered his hand. Loghain shook with him again.

"I thank you, Ser. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

"Think nothing of it. Don't be a stranger, now." And Migelo left the tavern. Tomaj came with a bowl in his hand and set it down in front of Loghain. The soup was red and steamy.

"Is this…tomato?" Loghain asked.

"Yes, sir," Tomaj said.

"Is this…the tomato?" Loghain asked.

"Would it bother you if it were?"

Loghain looked at the soup, then shrugged. "I suppose not."

He spooned up a mouthful. The soup was rich with herbs and savory. Tomaj turned a chair around backwards and sat down again.

"You haven't gone to check out that building yet, have you?" he said. "You really should, you know."

"I don't know about that. It's some kind of…social club, isn't it?" Loghain said.

"On my honor, it is not. Half the people there are utterly non-social. But it's a good source of hunting information, and there is someone there you should probably meet."

"Who is that?" Loghain asked.

"Migelo's other Mist-born stray," Tomaj said. "She came here last year around this time. There's only been three Mist-born people in Rabanastre, counting yourself, in the past three hundred years, and the third only showed up five, maybe six years ago. Three Mist-born people in not very much time smacks to me of destiny. You three should meet, though how you're going to get audience with the third, who was made an honorary Lord or some such and spends his days at the Royal Palace, is beyond my ken."

"What are their names?" Loghain asked.

"The man, the first one born, his name is…let me think…Mark. The woman is named Elilia. Elilia Cousland."

Loghain felt a jolt in his stomach that had nothing to do with the food. "Did you say 'Cousland?'" he asked.

"That's right," Tomaj said.

"I knew an Elilia Cousland, back home. Or rather, I knew of her. She was the daughter of a nobleman in my homeland. She died last year, defending her parents and her castle from an attack by a man I did not conspire with, not on that, but who I was in league with."

"You mean to say you and she are from the same land?" Tomaj said. "Destiny, I'm telling you. Go to the clan. Meet her. The gods will it."

"I don't much care what the gods will," Loghain said. "But I will meet her. If nothing else, she deserves an apology for what happened to her. Whether her father was in league with our enemies, as Howe claimed, or was not, she didn't deserve to die. She was young, and obviously courageous."

He finished his soup, paid his bill, and left the tavern with Odd at his heels. He headed into the north end and scouted around until he saw a sign in front of a building that bore the same stylized boar or perhaps seeq as the cover of his primer. As Tomaj had said, there was a particularly conspicuous bangaa standing out front. Loghain showed him his primer.

"Ah, new blood, ain't ya? Go on in, if yer goin'. Make yer bows to Montblanc," the bangaa said.

Loghain and Odd went inside. It was a bit like stepping in to the royal palace at home, though of course far smaller. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling in front of a grand double staircase that led up to a balcony, and in a minstrel's gallery above a string quartet played. The surroundings were at odds with the people gathered in them, who were mostly of the roughest type. The exception was a small, furry, mouse-looking creature in a green velvet doublet and orange breeches, which stood perched precariously on the railing of the balcony.

A yellow seeq sat on the floor near the entrance. "Excuse me, Ser; I was told to speak to a Montblanc…?" Loghain said to him.

"Ah, a new member, eh? Name's Bansat. Nice to meet ya. Montblanc is just upstairs, on the rail. The moogle."

Moogle. So small, furry, mousey-looking creatures were moogles. Loghain filed the information away in his memory and mounted the stairs. The moogle turned to watch him approach, and the pompom at the back of its head bobbed in the air.

"Er…Montblanc, Ser?" he ventured. The name sounded to him ineffably Orlesian, but he supposed this creature was not.

"Hello, kupo," the moogle said, in an appropriately squeaky voice. "Are you here to join our hunt club?"

"I…take it I am," Loghain said.

"First thing's first, there's a strict entrance examination you must pass," Montblanc said. He looked Loghain up and down. "You pass, kupo! Moogles are quick to make up their minds. I'll file all the necessary paperwork at once. Go on, have a look around. Talk to people. There's a lot of information floating around here."

Loghain looked around him. In his immediate vicinity was a tall, striking dark-skinned woman with tall, rabbit-like ears and white hair. Standing on top of a short wall was a short, toad-like creature with shaggy white hair and a long, thick tail. There were bangaa, there were seeq, there were humans, and there were a few other moogles. The toad-like creature climbed down laboriously from its wall and stumped up to him, with a long staff for a crutch.

"You are Mist-born," the creature said, in a wavery, ancient voice. "I am Mah'kenroh. I am nu mou. You are touched by the gods."

"You're a…nu mou?" Loghain said. "Migelo said I might find some answers to what happened to me from a nu mou."

"It is true, we are closer to the gods than most other races," Mah'kenroh said. "If you were hoping that I might tell you who put you here and why, however, I'm afraid I do not know."

Loghain had hoped that, but didn't feel terribly disappointed or at all surprised. "How does this happen, being Mist-born, exactly?" he asked.

"The Mist of this world is powerful. Magical. The gods can shape it to their will. In most cases they are content to form beasts and birds, soulless and without number. But at times, they feel the need to shape a being, and within that shape, coalesced from the Mist, they place a soul from the realm of the dead, to give their creation the truth of life and not merely the semblance. You are the third such being in Rabanastre within the past five years. I greatly fear that the gods are preparing us for something momentous, and probably terrible."

"Tell me: is there any way for me to avoid my supposed destiny?" Loghain asked.

"Unlikely," Mah'kenroh said. "It will seek you out, wherever you go."

"I was afraid of that. Still, if there is a way, I will find it."

Mah'kenroh stumped slowly back to his wall. "Good luck with that," he called back, in his wavery voice.

Montblanc touched Loghain on the shin. "Your paperwork is all in order," he said. "Allow me to present you with a small token to commemorate your joining." He handed over three bottles of green healing potion. "May I see your clan primer, please?"

Loghain handed it over.

"I see you've completed several petitioned hunts already," Montblanc said, after a moment to read. "That's wonderful. Earn a few more clan points through regular hunting and you'll gain a rank, kupo. Right now, you're a Moppet, and that's not something you want to stay for long. Each rank you earn earns you greater rewards, and the Clan Provisioner in the Bazaar will sell you better items and equipment. It pays to be upwardly mobile, kupo! In addition to rewards, the clan is contracted for special hunts you won't find on the hunt boards of towns. I have a couple at the moment, kupo. Would you like to hear about them? One is local, and the other is in Bhujerba."

"I'd like to hear about the local one, please," Loghain said.

"Ah, there's a fiend on the Giza Plains, south of the city, kupo. Dania, at the nomad village, petitioned the hunt. You'll need to talk to her to take the hunt on officially, of course. She's the cockatrice-keeper of the village, so she should be easy to find. The fiend is a cluckatrice, with chicks, and it's a substantial foe, kupo. You don't look well-equipped. You would be wise to bring a second along, just in case," Montblanc said.

"Perhaps Oghren will go with me," Loghain said. "Thank you for telling me, Ser. By the way, do you happen to know a young lady by the name of Elilia Cousland?"

"Indeed I do, kupo," Montblanc said. "She's one of our newest members. She would most likely be out hunting this time of day. Let's see if someone knows where she went."

Montblanc sauntered down the stairs, his walk a kind of quick-stepping waddle, and asked a blond-haired dwarf seated on the lower steps where Elilia might be.

"I heard she was heading for the Giza Plains, last I knew, boss," the dwarf said. "She's probably duking it out with werewolves in the Starfall Field."

"You hear that, kupo?" Montblanc said. "You might be able to catch her if you leave soon. If not, she's usually here in the clan hall during the high heat of midday. Hunts in the mornings and evenings. She's from a colder climate."

"Yes, she is," Loghain said. "Thanks for the tip; I'll see if I can catch her, though perhaps taking her unawares in the field is ill-advised. At least we'd have a bit of privacy to talk. Giza Plains is south of the city, correct? Is there any place I can purchase a map?"

"The cartographer's guild always has a moogle posted to the Southern Plaza to sell maps, Big Man," the dwarf said.

"Thank you."

Outside the clan hall, Loghain checked the position of the sun in the sky and guessed he had a good hour's grace before the "high heat of midday," though it was hard to imagine it could get any hotter than it already was. He went to the Sandsea and found Oghren, and told him about the cluckatrice hunt.

"Petitioned by the desert nomads?" Oghren said. "Won't be shit for a bounty on it, 'specially not split two ways."

"So you're not interested?" Loghain said. Oghren stood up and hitched at his pants.

"Nah, I better go along. You don't know many healing spells yet - you need someone with you knows how to cure stone-sickness."

"Stone-sickness? Is this a dwarven thing?" Loghain asked.

Oghren shook his head. "Cluckatrice spit's got this magic in it, inflicts stone-sickness on ya. Leave it go too long an' you can't move, like you been turned to stone. Leave it go much longer'n that an' it becomes permanent."

"Do you mean to tell me you can cast magic?" Loghain said.

"Course I can," Oghren said. "I ain't the hottest turd in the craphouse, but I know enough to get by."

"Back home, dwarves are incapable of casting magic. I suppose it figures that it's different here."

They left the tavern. Loghain began to walk south down the east end, but Oghren called him back. "Let's use the Moogling," he said. "It's quicker."

"The what?" Loghain said.

"The Moogling," Oghren repeated, and pointed to a moogle wearing a purple robe and a matching, pointy hat. "They'll teleport you to any other Moogling station in the city, and best of all, it's free."

"That's…weird," Loghain said. "What's in it for them?"

"Don't know. Don't care. Don't want to walk."

Loghain shrugged. "I'm willing to try it. Once."

"Southgate, my good man," Oghren said, and the moogle bowed, raised its hands, gestured, and quite suddenly the world disappeared.

It was a strange feeling, the sudden cessation of existence, only to be brought back in an instant, the interval almost too brief to be noticed - almost. Loghain stuck his hands out to his sides, certain that the earth was going to spin away beneath him, but the sense of vertigo left him and he stood steady with his feet planted on the ground - where they would remain thenceforward, if he had anything to say about it.

"I don't think I'll be doing that again," he said.

"Oh, don't be a wuss," Oghren said. "Come on; the nomad village is this'a way."

"I was hoping instead to go to Starfall Field," Loghain said. "There's someone there I'd like to meet, before she heads back to the city."

"Elilia, eh? All right, we'll track 'er down. Like as not she's fightin' werewolves."

Oghren led the way around the village, through the plains to the southwest. "You know, we had werewolves back home," Loghain said. "Dangerous foes, but they made powerful allies at the battle for Denerim."

Oghren chuckled. "Can't see anybody makin' allies outta these werewolves."

Odd's colorful presence kept the local fiends at bay while they walked. Loghain saw wolf-like creatures, brown with black spots, that had sharp-looking horns on their noses like sickle blades. There were also tall, flightless birds with vaguely owl-like faces, and a two-legged creature with no arms and a massive head that looked like nothing Loghain had ever seen. Comfortingly familiar in appearance, rabbits cavorted across the desert hardpan, though they too were different from what he knew, with feathery ears like a moth's antennae.

"Look: there she is," Oghren said, and pointed. His stubby finger directed Loghain's gaze to the figure of a powerful woman engaged in fierce melee combat with a tall, bipedal, wolf-like animal. Another lay dead on the ground nearby. Judging from her height against that of the creature, which had to be seven feet tall, she herself must have been six feet or a little bit more. Her golden head shone in the desert sun. She wielded a two-handed sword with an ease many men could not match, and blood slathered her chainmail armor. Loghain felt his heart turn over in his chest, and a decided rise in his trousers. He pushed the feelings aside with difficulty.

They waited for her to slay the beast. Loghain asked Oghren to stay back.

"What I have to say to her is private, you understand," he said.

"Sure, sure. Speak yer piece. I'll go stand over by the gate crystal over yonder."

Loghain waited until the dwarf was out of sight before he approached the woman who now dressed out her massive kills.

"Elilia Cousland?" he ventured, when he was within a few feet of her. She looked up, startled. Her eyes were huge in her face, and crystal blue. Cousland blue. She had a black tattoo over her right eye and low on her left cheek. "I'm sorry I startled you. I just want to talk."

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, and transferred a great deal of blood to her cheek. "Do I…know you from somewhere?" she said. "You look kind of familiar."

"You may have seen my face before, but we have never met. I'm Loghain Mac Tir," Loghain said.

She bounced up like a jack-in-the-box. "Loghain Mac Tir? The Loghain Mac Tir? That's incredible! This is an honor, Ser…an honor and a tragedy. If you're here, that means you died, doesn't it? What happened?"

"My death was no tragedy. Tragedy is the needless death of a young person," he said. "What you did…it was brave. But it was foolish. You should not have thrown your life away for your parents. You were young and strong. You might have escaped."

"Would you have run, when your father was dying and your mother was fighting?" Elilia asked.

"I did run. Because my father told me to. I would venture to guess your father told you to, as well."

She tossed her head. "Well, I guess I had a history of disobeying my parents that followed me into death. Is that why you came out here today? To rag on me for dying?"

He shook his head. "My apologies. My words were unintended, just a way to delay saying what I need to say to you. I couldn't have stopped him, for I did not know his plans, but I stood with him after, and for that, I am sorry. Whatever your father may have been messing with, you didn't deserve to die. Your mother didn't deserve to die. Your sister-in-law and your nephew didn't deserve to die."

"What my father may have been messing with? And what, pray tell, may my father have been messing with?" she asked.

"Orlais."

She appeared stunned. "My father wouldn't do that," she said, slowly and stiffly.

"I won't stand here and try to justify it," Loghain said. "There wasn't much evidence."

"What evidence was there?" Elilia asked, shrilly.

"Documents, that looked to be in your father's hand."

"Saying what?" she asked.

"Saying that Cailan ought to set Anora aside and take a new wife. Celene."

"The Empress of Orlais? No. No, I don't believe it. They must have been forgeries."

"It's possible, I suppose. Howe was a sneaky bastard and I knew it well enough. I didn't feel I could afford to take the chance they were real, however."

Elilia sank into a squat and hugged her knees. She hid her face against her arms for a moment, and then she looked up, with fire in her eyes. "That bastard Howe…is he still alive?"

Loghain shook his head again. "The Warden did for him," he said.

"Good. Who's the Warden?" she asked.

"Kaldon Aeducan."

"You didn't have anything to do with the sacking of Highever," she said.

"Only after the fact."

She stood up. "I won't fault you for thinking it may have been necessary. Knowing that Howe got what was coming to him in the end brightens my day, though I wish it'd been me did the bastard in. Well. It's not every day one meets a…not-quite-living legend. When did you…get into town?"

"This morning, 'round about daybreak."

She blinked, and then looked from him to the dog to his burned-up pants. "It seems you've made good use of your time," she said. "Where are you staying?"

"I'll be taking a room at the Sandsea, if I have coin enough," he said.

She flapped a hand at him. "Save your coin. I have a perfectly good divan you can make use of." She laughed. "Lucky thing my mother isn't here to hear me offer the Teyrn of Gwaren a couch."

"I'm not Teyrn of anything any longer, and a couch would do me fine, but I wouldn't want to put you out like that," he said.

"You won't inconvenience me, and I'm pretty sure there's room on the floor for the dog. Just don't expect food. I never learned to cook, so I don't bother with it. I eat out."

"That's fine," Loghain said. "Though you mightn't be so kind to me if you knew the full extent of the things I did."

"What do you mean?" Elilia asked.

"It would take some time to tell in its entirety," he said. "We shouldn't stand out here boiling our brains while it's told. My companion and I were about to take on a hunt in the area; perhaps I could meet you somewhere private after that?"

"I'll tag along and watch you hunt, if you don't mind," Elilia said. "Then we can go to my place in Lowtown and you can tell me everything you think you need to tell me. Is that all you've got for a weapon, that little knife?"

"Yes. Borrowed from Tomaj at the Sandsea."

"What are you hunting?"

"Something called a cluckatrice. It sounds comical, but I expect it isn't. I'm told it's a formidable foe."

"I've never heard of it, but I expect it is. Here, you'd better take my sword." She held it out to him pommel-first. He took it.

"My thanks."

"Let me finish dressing out these beasts and I'll be ready to join you," she said, with a gesture at the werewolf corpses. Loghain nodded. She returned to her work with a certain gusto. Oghren rejoined them.

"Looked like yer talk was done," he said. "Did ya say everything that needed sayin'?"

"For the moment," Loghain said.

"I see she give ya her sword. I reckon you can take out the cluckatrice on yer own with that, if yer any good with it. That way you don't have t'split the piss poor bounty. I'll just watch yer back, and send a little magic yer way if ya need it."

"Appreciated."

The dwarf fell silent, and that gave Loghain the leisure to study the young woman about her task. With the tattoo on her face and an ear full of dangling fang teeth, she was somewhat outlandish to his eye, but still he found her attractive. He recognized that another man might not. Though her figure was womanly, she had broad shoulders and strong muscles that were not, strictly speaking. Her face, too, had something of a mannish accent to it, with a strong profile dominated by a beaky nose (not as beaky as his own by quite a margin, but a beak was a beak), an obstinate chin, and a brow that peaked perhaps too prominently for a woman. There was no chance of confusion - a woman she was, and a woman she appeared - but she had a great deal of what a charitable person might call "character" in her features and many uncharitable people might have called her ugly. Loghain, for his part, did not find her remotely ugly. When she killed werewolves, she was downright beautiful.

She finished tucking her spoils into her satchel. She used a complicated-looking magical gesture to make large things, like the massive swords the werewolves wielded, small enough to fit in her bag. That must have been the spell of "reversible miniaturization" Tomaj had told him about. It was perhaps the most improbable thing he'd ever seen, short perhaps of the bag that held a nearly unlimited amount of everything, but evidently it worked. He would have to learn it himself.

She stood up and dusted off her hands, which did next to nothing as the dust and dirt on them was stuck quite firmly in the blood that covered them. "I'm ready," she said. Loghain nodded once.

"All set? Nomad village is this way," Oghren said, and took the lead again. The local fiends continued to shy away from the dog and Elilia had leisure to talk, of which she chose to make use.

"What's his name?" she said, with a nod toward the dog.

"Odds Bodkins," Loghain said. "Odd for short."

"Where did you get him?"

"In the westersand. He was attacking caravans and I tried to drive him off. Instead, he decided to come along with me. I expect he'll make himself useful."

"I had a mabari back home. Kiveal. He died defending me that last night. I miss him."

"I had a mabari once myself. I still miss her, and she died when I was no more than a lad."

"What was her name?"

"Adalla."

She fell silent then, and they came to the tiny nomad village. There were no men in the village, for they were all off herding. Only women and a few children were about. In a small corral surrounded by fat, brown birds, which Loghain assumed were cockatrices, he found Dania, the herdswoman who petitioned his hunt. She directed him to a place she called the north bank, and said that his quarry was shy.

"I don't know how you'll force it out of its nest," she said, "but you must do something. I haven't been able to walk the cockatrices in a week. Ever since its chicks were born, it's been in a foul mood."

"I'll find it," Loghain said. "If it's shy, then likely it'll come out of hiding when nothing's around to bother it."

Oghren led the way east out of the village to what he said was the north bank area. The north bank of what Loghain couldn't say, for the plain was as dry as a bone. Already he felt thirsty. He had a lot of which to acclimate himself.

He set himself to clear the area of animals. Odd was tremendous help in this, for nothing there was on the plain that could outrun him and his jaws made quick work of anything onto which they latched. Not lazy but practical, he allowed the dog to do the work of clearing up, for to kill rabbits and wolf creatures with a greatsword was ridiculous, in his opinion. He brought down the one tall humpbacked creature, one of the strange animals with no forelimbs that was mostly all head and powerful, hoofed legs. He cleaned up the carcasses as best he could to leave the area clear, and Odd helped with that, too, by eating a good portion of them, and then he and the others returned to the nomad village, where he learned the refreshment of touching the gate crystal that stood at the southern end of the little village. It didn't make him less thirsty, but he felt stronger and more alert the instant he placed his hand on it.

They waited for the half of an hour in the village, long enough, Loghain felt, that even a very smart animal would judge the killing spree to be over and done with. Then he led the way back to the north bank, his bare feet hot but silent on the hardpan of the desert. He saw a roly-poly yellow bird that rolled around like a ball. It was the size of one of the mid-sized cockatrices and probably weighed fifty pounds.

"That's one of the chicks," Oghren said, in a near whisper. "You'll have to get rid of 'em. When you do, mama bird'll come runnin'."

Loghain turned to Odd and pointed at the chick-atrice? he wondered idly. "Go get it," he said, and the dog immediately complied. The chick died with a squawk in Odd's powerful jaws.

Loghain heard a loud noise, a sound like a thousand pound chicken squawk. He looked to see a bird that might well have weighed that much barrel up to them. Two fat chicks followed close on its steps. Loghain readied his borrowed sword. "Odd, kill chicks," he commanded, uncertain that the dog would know what he said. He launched himself at the larger bird and swung the blade with both hands. Odd pounced on one of the chicks like a cat on a mouse.

The blade bit deep into the cluckatrice's flesh, but though grievously wounded, the bird survived and continued to fight. It squawked again and tried to peck at him. It might well have pecked clean through him if the beak landed, but the wound slowed the creature and he was able to sidestep. He swung the sword again. If the bird had a neck he could have cut its head off with the blow, but the creature's face sat directly onto its rotund body. Instead, he left another slash that hindered but did not slay. He drew back the blade for one more attempt as the bird gathered itself for another attack, and jammed the sword straight into its mouth. The weight of the bird's own attack pushed it farther onto the blade, and it fell to the earth with a crash. Odd had already dispatched the two chicks.

Loghain wiped the sweat from his brow. The day heated up. Each time he thought it could get no hotter he was proven wrong. At least the work was done and he could think about coming in out of the sun. He handed Elilia back her sword. "Thank you," he said.

"You did that pretty good, Longshanks," Oghren said. "I didn't have to break a sweat over ya."

"Look at all that meat," Elilia said. "I bet someone would pay you a lot of coin for a bird like that."

"I don't think I'd care to pack it out of here," Loghain said.

"I know a spell that makes it easy. I don't suppose you've learned much magic yet, being new here and all?" Elilia said.

"I know a basic spell of healing, but that's all thus far."

"You came to terms with it fast. I mean, you couldn't cast magic before, could you?" Elilia said.

Loghain's mouth curved in an unwilling smile. "No, I couldn't."

"It took me a long time to accept that I have magic now. I kept expecting to…I don't know, burst into flames or something. It took me a long time to accept any of this, really. I spent my first few days trembling on the floor of Migelo's stockroom. I certainly didn't go out hunting my first day in town."

"You had a traumatic experience. It's to be expected that it would be hard to get over," Loghain said. "And then to be thrust from everything you knew into a world full of strangeness…it's a wonder you didn't lose your sanity."

"You didn't. How was your death? Peaceful? I somehow doubt it."

"I was old, ready for death. It comes as no trauma to me. You were young."

"You weren't that old," Elilia said. "I crumbled. Like a stale cookie. I never knew I could be so weak."

"What do you want? Comfort?" he said. "I understand why you crumbled. Believe me, I do. I could curl up and cry right now. But what would that serve me? Life throws unexpected things at you, and it seems to me now that death throws even more. I could weep and wail and hope that some kind soul would take pity on me, but in my experience such people are few and far between. I couldn't get by without help - a pair of trou, a borrowed weapon, some advice, a place to sleep - because I am at sea and I don't know what I'm doing here, but the onus is on me to take care of myself, as much as I can, because it's damned sure nobody is going to do it for me. Beating yourself up over your mistakes serves no purpose. You already know you did wrong, or you wouldn't feel badly about it. Learn from it. Don't ever do it again. Pick your chin up and plod on."

For a moment, it looked as though she might cry, but then she squared her shoulders. "Right," she said. She knelt down beside the body of the cluckatrice and made that complicated gesture again, and the carcass shrank to a miniature size. She picked it up and handed it to him. "There you go. Bite sized. I can turn it back to full size when you want to sell it, but I have to be there. I can't teach you the spell so you can license it; you have to learn it from a professional."

"I'm going to have to learn that one," he said, and stowed the bird away in his satchel. Odd sat and panted next to his own kills, and looked carefully innocent and unconcerned with the meat laying about him. "All right, you glutton, eat your fill," Loghain said, and the dog barked once before it set to the task of cleaning up the chicks.

"You know, you were a little hard on her," Oghren said to him, in a low voice. "I mean, she died."

"So did I," Loghain said.

"Yeah, but she's just a kid."

"She's old enough to learn," Loghain said. And he would teach her. He saw strength in her. Physical strength, yes, she proved that by the way she dealt with those monstrous werewolves. But he sensed a strength of will and of character as well. He could hone those traits, turn her into something stronger. A pity they weren't home in Ferelden. She suffered a disturbing dearth of strength in her young people these days. Damn Howe and his idiot ambition: justified or un-, it wasn't worth this one young life. She might have meant something to Ferelden's future. Now she was, apparently, the future of Dalmasca, about which he cared very little.

He started back to the village, and the others followed him. He spoke to Dania, the herdswoman, and she handed over the bounty she'd posted. In addition to a pouch heavy with silver coins, she gave him a sturdy pair of jackboots several sizes too small for him and an egg of rainbow hues, the size of his two fists together.

"A thousand gil an' a rainbow egg?" Oghren said. "Damn, I'm wishin' now we had split that bounty."

"What's so special about this egg?" Loghain asked.

"It's an axebeak egg, and rare. Rich folks have a powerful taste for 'em. With the right connections, you could sell that for a bundle."

"I don't have the right connections," Loghain said.

"I know a guy," Elilia said. "Varric, at the clan hall. He knows all the lords and richest merchants. He could sell your egg for you. And you can get those boots fitted cheap at any cobbler. They do it with magic. I have to have everything sized specially, too. Human gear is too small and bangaa gear is too big."

"Just out of curiosity, are you planning to do anything with the meat?" Dania asked. "The village would be more than happy to take it off your hands. You could…probably get more in the city for it, though."

Loghain reached into his satchel and pulled out the miniaturized carcass. "If your people need the meat you're welcome to it. Make it big again, won't you, please, Elilia?"

They put the carcass in the middle of the village clearing and Elilia worked her spell over it. Dania said the village could raise an additional three hundred gil for it.

"You could get five hundred in Rabanastre, easy," Oghren said, in a grunt.

"Payment won't be necessary," Loghain said. "I don't need the meat and your people do. It should feed you well."

"Oh, we must give you something for it," Dania said.

"No. The meat is yours."

"Well, that's very kind of you. Thank you very much," Dania said.

"Pray don't mention it."

"At least take the three hundred," Oghren said.

"If you want a say in the disposition of the carcass, throw a hand in next time," Loghain said.

"Fine, fine. Do what you want," Oghren said.

They returned to Rabanastre. In the Southgate courtyard, Loghain turned to Oghren and offered his hand. "I thank you for coming along, Oghren," he said. "It may have been a waste of your time, but it is good to have backup."

Oghren shook with him. "Yer welcome, Longshanks. Now if you don't mind, there's a pint at the Sandsea with my name on it."

"I doubt there's just the one," Loghain said. Oghren laughed his beery laugh.

Elilia pointed to the large, round freight door set into the east wall of the courtyard. Loghain remembered coming up from Lowtown through that door with Migelo. "You can reach Lowtown and my place pretty easily if you take this door," she said. "If you still want to have that talk. You can put your egg in my ice chest."

"Oh, a little 'afternoon delight,' eh? 'Put yer egg in my ice chest;' I hadn't heard that one before," Oghren said.

"His rainbow egg. In my ice chest, where I keep my ice magicite," Elilia said.

"Sure, sure. You kids have fun. Name it after me, won'tcha? Tee hee." Oghren sauntered over to the Moogling attendant, said "The Sandsea," and disappeared in a flash with a wave of the moogle's paw.

"There's a thought," Loghain said. "A child named Slimy Drunken Greaseball."

Elilia gave no sign that she heard him. She looked at him, and on her face there was a definite uncertainty.

"If the clod has got you worried about propriety, don't," Loghain said. "I presume you have a front door. We can leave it open."

"No, it's not that," she said. "Never mind. It's this way."

She led him down into the dark and cool. Perhaps there was something to be said for Lowtown after all; after the heat of the day, even the stench didn't seem like too much to put up with. It was nearly noon now, and the Lowtown "streets" were crowded with people whom clearly only sought to escape the heat of the day. They lounged in doorways or right out against the walls. It looked like a splendid place to be robbed. Loghain kept a hand on his coin purse and the other hand on his borrowed knife.

"Right in here," Elilia said, and opened a door in the North Sprawl that was close to the slowly rotating fans that feebly stirred the stale air. Loghain let Odd enter first. Elilia came in after Loghain and, though she evinced some hesitation, closed the door. "There we go. Now we have some privacy."

She led him into a small and obviously virtually unused kitchen, where they were able to sit at a tiny dining table designed for two people only. Elilia washed her bloody hands at a small basin that had running water, much to Loghain's surprise. She dried them off on a towel and put coffee into a percolator on a stove that seemed to burn no fuel. "Have you had this stuff yet? It's wild."

"Coffee? Yes, I had a cup this morning. It's got quite a kick to it."

"I can't drink tea anymore," Elilia said. "They don't make it right around here, anyway; it's bland."

She sat down across from him. "All right. You…had something you wanted to tell me."

He shook his head. "I don't want to, far from it. But I need to. You need to know who it is you're dealing with."

There was an empty cup on the table in front of him. He looked down into it and spun it in his hands. "I'm not much of a talker," he said, with a rueful smile. "I've probably said more today than I've said in the past few years put together. Something about this…lunatic situation I've found myself in seems to have unhinged my jaw considerably. But it's hard to say what I have to say. You grew up on stories of Loghain the Hero, even though I was lowborn and the nobility mostly hated me."

"My father didn't," Elilia said. "He had great respect for you. My tutor, Brother Aldous, spoke your name with greater emphasis than that of King Maric."

"You see? You have some image of me riding in to save the day. That's the job I was tasked with, long ago, though I fought to deny it, but I did try to do it, to the best of my ability, at all times. But I'm not some hero of legend. I'm just a man, and I make mistakes. I've made some terrible ones."

"Maybe this should wait until the coffee is ready," Elilia said. "Hard words need something to wash them down with."

He smiled a rueful smile again. "They do at that."