DRAGON AGE 2 - D A W N B R E A K E R S
SERIES I - DUEL OF THE FATES
PROLOGUE (first draft)
RATING: MA+
Location: Cave of the Unknowing on Minanter River's Great Bend, Starkhaven
Date: 23rd day of Frumentum/Harvestmere (10TH), 37th year of 9th Age (Age of the Dragon)
Cold and filthy were the cave's bowels. Deafening was the river running above them. Deeper down these cave sores he gave chase until they reached her lair. Loud scratching tore his eyes away from hers to search the misty floor for movement.
Down in the Cave of Unknowing, rotting bodies heaped up in piles produce an 'optical phenomenon' at the height of putrefaction. It is said that once steam from the decaying corpses mixes with the elements in the cave, a cloud of light backscattered towards the pile is produced creating an illusion of both movement and divine, pulsating light. Eccentric mystics, ascetics, and saints from all over Thedas chose the Cave of Unknowing as a mystical womb for last rites meditation.
The smells, the spikes of heat emanating from the decaying piles, and the throbbing light are believed to heighten attainment of Great Knowledge. Upon reception of this Truth, the Seeker would descend into darkness where he or she must confess the Truth before the Nineteen Winds, or Bastions some called them, and upon approval, these Ancients would catapult the seeker up to the Plane of Utter Silence - where he or she would remain forever basking in the light of the Maker. Such radiance, they say! Those few who enter this Plane experience the fullness of eternal life - living on top of time but never under it.
"Bathers in the Maker's Light know no suffering and are more alive than anyone born into this world," he was told once by the Divine. He wondered how many Tomes of Truth littered the cave's floor. How many seekers attained enlightenment. A hunt for witness stones and the parchments underneath them barbed his back and he searched the areas around around the perimeter for large upright rock sets. If enlightenment was gained, the seeker would write down the revealed Truth on vellum written in his or her own blood and set under a rock. The seeker would perform his or her last rituals, consume a mysterious purple dye called Sainthood (it was the preferred dye for religious and royal robes) which was a fast acting poison in the body but also enhanced the lighting for an aurora-effect.
A brilliant silver and red magenta pyre near the cave's entrance/exit caught his eyes and he gasped, "A mystical fire." The pile was surrounded by rows and rows of witnessing stones. And then the heap's stench reached his nose sucking breath from his body. He shudders uncontrollably as another wave of revulsion rips through his guts. 'Not yet!' his mind screams. He cranes his neck to gulp slightly fresher air until the seizures subside. plain the Truth to prove their understanding, the Seeker would descend into darkness and then ascend enter a great plane and bring the seeker into the Maker's presence.
"Why this place?" he asked, wondering why she chose this cave as a residence. A short span of eternity passes with no answer from her, but his breathing is improved and he's able to again look into her eyes.
"So, he isn't dead. That's what you're telling me now?" Sebastian asked, sending foams of spittle into O'dessia's stony face. He wanted to plunge the point of his coveted Blessed Beads of Prayer dagger into the grimy, hairy throat of this filthy smelling, would-be assassin. 'Temptress whore!' he wanted to scream at her but the words would not enter his mouth.
"She will never give you her heart as I had. It isn't free to give, Sebastian" she whispered, locking his gaze. "And you know what they will become!" The words were unexpected, but acknowledged. Her words were too soft now. The doors to his memories were now open. "You know what must be done, my king."
Heat crept into his groin at her softness, and he groaned against the gathering passions, companions to the memories they shared of those nights. Those nights she would come to him beautiful and shining. He was helpless against desire, what felt like fire under his skin until he sated himself inside of her. He felt himself trembling. Hot tears burned his eyes as the memories filled his mind's eyes. "No! Don't look into her eyes," the Voice said in his mind, "or she will feed on it. You will die and Thedas will be lost"
The Voice rang clear in his mind, she always did. Who was this in his mind? Reason. Andraste? No. It was the Voice of the Wisewoman. Since his childhood, he had heard the voice but never told anyone. When he turned the age of responsibility, he asked the chantry and was told it was the voice of Andraste, but he later learned it wasn't. The Wisewoman revealed to him a path chosen for him by the Maker. A path O'dessia somehow understood but could not look beyond that to know its scope.
'Poor O'dessia,' he thought. 'Her intentions were good but so limited in design.' O'dessia only sought to destroy Flemeth's power play, but this was bigger than their inner family struggle. This would engulf the entire world. If only she was more receptive of the offer! 'Ha, Sebastian!' he said to himself, "You would have married and made a home together in Starkhaven? You and this… abomination?"
He bit down hard on his bottom lip until he could taste blood. Against his will, his eyes looked into her orange-ringed ones, behind which a fire was glowing. 'Did she love me?' he asked himself rhetorically.
"Feelings soften steel, Oh King," the Wisewoman answered, "Gird yourself! This is the least of your labors. If you are not strong in this, you will surely fail what's coming."
'Feelings soften steel' echoed in his mind. He routed his gaze onto his dagger. A beautiful secondary weapon for any skilled archer to have, the dagger blade was crafted from nickel and steel, infused and coated with an especially potent blend of quicksilver and hemlock, and contained a double-helix of mini-beads made of lignum felicitatis ("Wood of Bliss"), a special ironwood found growing on or near chantries of Thedas. The handle was made from some kind of clear crystal and encrusted with sea-green cobalt stars. It was a beautiful item – probably the most beautiful in all of Thedas, and rare. These blades were made by elder crafters who chose to end their lives on their own terms taking professional secrets to the grave.
'Not yet,' he thought, calming the embers under his skin as he released the visions from nights and nights of broken vows with her. And her. "Where is he, Maker damn you!" he swore, digging the point deeper into her skin.
The Old Woman's daughter gulped loudly on her crossroad between living and dying. Would that she disclosed the slave's location, her life would end. But O'dessia knew instinctively that her failed assassination attempt on the Champion of Kirkwall would lead to her death anyway. Once her mother knew, her sisters would be dispatched to exterminate her. 'Morrigan!' she screamed in her heart. 'Beloved sister mine.' O'dessia hated Flemeth with an unquenchable passion, but she venerated her youngest sister and would sacrifice herself again to save the girl.
She wrapped her mind around an image of Morrigan laughing which only happened when O'dessia put Songbird - the girl's talking spider, in her mouth. It was a game they played when Morrigan wouldn't leave her hiding place except to see if O'dessia would make good on their threat to eat her pet. The spider would tickled the inside of her lips and the spider would emerge between them screaming, "Eww! Dirty mouth!"
It wasn't that harrowing for Songbird, who would later joke that suffering had a definitely smell and location. The spider was a good pet, one they all loved, but lived only as long as spiders could. When she died, Morrigan became as rapacious as the rest of them. It was the last memory O'dessia had of her sister laughing.
"Against my nature I cared for you once, Sebastian," she rasped. "Sinceritas. En totalis. En amore. Did you know it, my king? My l-"
"Where? Where is he, Maker damn you!" he screamed again but lower and into her face, their lips almost brushing. The spicy smell of sea oranges seeping from his lips reminded her of the time he fed her slices of this, his favorite fruit, after a morning of vowbreaking and lovemaking. In that moment, she wanted to confess her heart to him, something her mother would revolting behavior of a seasoned witch and member of the Commune, especially when the lover has a dagger at your throat and murder in the eyes.
"Damn her anyway," she muttered to herself. "He's waiting for her in Kirkwall and you're not the only one looking for him," she erupted coldly before stifling further confessions with her normal hand.
He exhaled loudly, like one underwater too long. She knew then it was over and she was glad her heart had not won possession over her mouth. It was over. He squeezed his eyes closed as he punctured her throat and buried in it his blade. She gurgled, spurting incoherently as blood filled her mouth and lungs. He did not see it but felt her clawing at the lignum felicitatis in her neck. He rode her lithe body as it rolled and quaked with death throes. He would not watch her die. He chose to remember her for how she appeared on their nights knowing it would always be the lie behind his vows.
He did not see her dark orange eyes, engorged from shock, glaze over with a silvery frost of film. However, he felt the last gasp leave her body and knew she was dead. Her last gasp signaled death, and he quickly removed the blade, wiping it on what had been her right arm but during her failed transformation into an spider, became three legs.
Spider was not O'dessia's specialty – hers was Aquila Dominae, the Great Eagle Lord. She had been downed by several of Sebastian's enchanted arrows called 'Reapers', arrows that sapped life force from its victims and could easily penetrate thin armor. She was only wearing clothing when he found her although she knew he was in pursuit. She couldn't transform into the bird, so she chose Songbird and failed.
He allowed himself to look at her but the silver film and frozen appearance made her appear grinning and grotesque. He wondered if her blood had compromised the coating on the blade until a third wave of revulsion rippled through his guts. This time, he gave in to the violence and leaned over to vomit.
Whether it was lightheadness or coincidence, he didn't know and would not venture beyond, the phenomenal lighting created patterns on the walls of the cave that reminded him copulation. He shook his head between waves to free his mind from it. Then, his ears focused in on the echoes and his mind, harmonizing the sounds of retching, undertow and regular sounds of the Unknowing constructed words that went:
"A missive for the King! A missive for the king. 'Here was love truly'."