All New Apprentices Have Bad Dreams
She could hear it in the distance, crunching through the fallen leaves, whining with starvation between each heavy step. What followed her was formless and faceless, but relentless in its pursuit. Her feet were cold and despite having no shoes, they were leaden and sluggish. Had she been running through the mud, the effort she exerted might have made more sense, but the harder she ran through the naked trees, the slower she moved. Fear clutched at her chest and circled her throat as the dark shadow overtook her own. Its cold breath, tinged with a hint of decay, struck the back of her neck with sickening alarm. She would not look. She did not dare. Something inside of her told her not to, that she had to keep moving. But her feet were so numb, so slow. The tip of her toe caught in the brittle leaves and before she could regain control, she was on the ground, hands splayed forward, face first in the forest floor. A gnarled root wrapped itself tightly around her ankle and squeezed, pulling her back. She flailed, trying to free herself, catching a fleeting glimpse of the shadow from the corner of her eye. It touched her cheek with an icy finger, withered and clawed. A guttural grinding gasped in her ear. She squirmed, tried to scream and writhed forward … desperate …
… and she awoke after having landed on the cold stone floor.
"Are you alright, Neria?" It was Anders. He was the only one who had spoken to her since the templars had brought her here a few weeks ago. She rubbed her eyes, trying to push the dream away. When her senses returned, she realized he was lying under his bed, with a blanket over his head, like a hood. Another figure threw back the quilt he had been hiding under as well.
"All new apprentices have bad dreams," said the moon-faced boy with dark hair. She couldn't remember his name. "They're pretty normal. Eventually, they'll go away." He stuck out his hand to her. She looked at with suspicion and shook it awkwardly. "Owain. I've been here since I was ten. Five years too long if you ask me. Where you from?"
She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Denerim," she croaked, her voice still laden with sleep. Her heart fluttered and sank like stones down a well, as she thought of her parents, little sister and bevy of cousins, all of whom she missed in equal regard. Their absence ached like an infected wound. Just as tears threatened to brim, she noticed a wrinkled map between them. With her chin, she pointed to it. "What's that?"
Anders pushed it back under the blanket. "Nothing."
She glowered at the response, but neither boy seemed inclined to share their secret.
"Go back to sleep." Owain whispered, not unkindly. "Find us at breakfast in the main dining hall."
Neria crawled back into her cold bed and pulled the covers around her face. This marked the first time that she didn't have to eat alone and felt a smile pull at the corner of her mouth. When she went to thank them, they were gone and the dark space beneath the bed was empty.
And that was how she met Anders and Owain. The three became a familiar triad among the young apprentices; they ate together, studied together and spent all their free time in each other's company. Neria had a difficult time learning Circle magic—it was so foreign compared to how she was taught in the Alienage. Owain and Anders seemed levels ahead of her. When they were hurling fireballs in the practice halls, she could barely manage a spell wisp. But what Neria lacked in magic, she made up for in stealth. Both boys marvelled at her ability to slip past the templars and the instructors with little effort, when every time they so much as thought about sneaking away, they were caught by the scruff of the neck. Life in the Alienage obviously had taught her a thing or two.
As the weeks turned into months and the rolling green hills that lay beyond the tower changed to fire and rust, neither Anders nor Owain had made mention of the mysterious parchment map they had been reading under the bed—not until Neria was awoken by a large clap of thunder late one night. Lightning flickered through the high arched windows, turning the gloomy dormitory into blue and shadow. The shapeless forms beneath Anders' bed had returned, a dim light visible beneath the blankets. She jumped down and lifted up the blanket to find the boys studying the map by staff light. Both recoiled in relief when they saw her.
"If you don't tell me what you're up to, I'll report you both to that templar outside the door." She said with a smug grin. Both boys looked at each other and rolled their eyes in silent agreement. Anders held open the blanket and she wormed in between them, the stone floor cold against her slight body.
Anders spread the map open. "Last spring, I found this in the library, stuck between the pages of a book. It's an old map of the Hold."
She scanned the rough drawing, recognizing the rooms for every floor in the tower. It was so old that the templar's quarters had been labelled 'storage'. Owain pointed to a floor plan in the corner. It was considerably smaller than all the others.
"This here is an old dungeon. It's not been used for at least two Ages."
"What's so special about an old dungeon?" Neria asked, looking for a clue in the faded ink and parchment.
Anders pointed to a small feature. "This here is a door that leads to a tunnel beneath the Lake."
Neria arched a brow. "Are you crazy?" Her voice must have pitched too high, because both shushed her with angry hisses.
She returned her voice to a soft whisper. "The templars will turn you tranquil for sure!"
"Tranquility isn't a punishment, Neria", Owain said smugly. "And who says we'll get caught?"
She gave them a knowing look and sighed.
"I happen to know of an elf that's an expert in sneaking about." Anders said, elbowing her. Before she could answer, thunder rumbled, rattling the wood and glass in the hall.
She was about to refuse, but the interruption offered her a moment to think, and remind her of her little sister, to remind her of gatherings under the vhenadahl and all the weddings she had missed over the summer. Speed and concealment were her strength, and together, the three of them could survive outside the Circle walls until she could get back to Denerim.
"When?" she asked, at last.
The corner of Anders' mouth quirked into a deceptive grin. "After the midnight bell."
Slipping past the templars on the Apprentice floor was easy. She had been studying their patterns and habits for months and knew exactly how they paced the floors, where they stopped, in which direction they turned, and which templar had the keenest senses. It took no time at all for the three mages to dash from the darkened library to the stairwell that lead to the basement. Maneuvering through the basement was trickier, as the templars kept the room where the phylacteries were stored well-guarded. Weaving through shadow, Neria finally found the passage to the sub-basement and scurried to the bottom of the dark stairwell. The door handle did not budge when she pressed down on it. Butterflies bounced around in her stomach, suggesting that a templar might not be too far behind. Owain pushed her away with a wink.
He grasped the handle with both hands and bowed his head in concentration. Green fog gushed from his palms and mixed with the wrought iron. With a click, they entered the darkness, shutting the door behind them.
"Where did you learn that?" She braced herself against the door, too terrified to step forward into the void. She found it hard to imagine that any Enchanter would teach such a spell to an apprentice.
Owain's voice was further down the hallway, the scuffling of his soft leather shoes echoing off the flagstones. "Ironmancy is a lost art," was all that he offered.
A soft light sparked just ahead. The tip of Anders' staff glowed with a diffuse light, enough to illuminate his face and hint toward the dark-haired boy in front of him.
"Come! I thought elves could see in the dark."
She took a step forward, a tangle of cobwebs catching on the tips of her ears. "You read too many fairy stories."
She took a position inside the blue-silver halo of light next to her blonde-haired friend. Out of the corner of her eye, shadows moved, quick and fleeting and disappeared back into the darkness before she had a chance to question their existence. Neither Anders nor Owain seemed particularly nervous, as they strode with confidence down the narrow hall. She tried to untangle the sound of leather shoes, the swish of robe, the occasional clack of a staff from that other sound—that peculiar scratching that faded into the dark.
"The dungeon is through this chamber." Owain said, just beyond the reach of Ander's staff light.
"Owain! Wait up!" Anders called after him in a strangled whisper. They quickened their step, and found themselves in a larger room that seemed to stretch into infinite darkness. When their friend did not answer back, Anders hesitated again and stretched out his arm, illuminating more of their surroundings. "Quit fooling around!"
With both hands, Neria clutched Ander's upper arm, too terrified of losing him in the dark. To her left came a soft scuttling sound. She squinted through the darkness, trying to locate the source, but all she heard was the thrumming of her heart. It moved again, a thump of dull claw on stone. With a nudge, she directed Anders' staff to the source of the noise—a shadowy form scuttled from the light. Her breath caught in her throat and she could feel Anders shudder in her grasp, his staff wavering as he clenched it tightly. The noise returned, a sudden pitter-patter that neither mage could deny this time. They stood bone-still, the light aloft, not daring to breathe.
Something grabbed Neria by the shoulder. A scream erupted from her throat and she turned to find Owain standing with his arms crossed and an expression of self-satisfaction stretched across his face.
"You're an asshole." Anders said. "Come on, let's find the dungeon."
"It's over here," Owain said, pointing toward the source of the dull clatter. She sighed with relief and told herself that the dark had been playing tricks on her, that it was only Owain that they had heard up ahead.
It shocked her how close they were to the door and how the darkness obscured her vision.
Anders rattled the handle and stepped aside. "It's all yours, my friend." Owain performed another feat of ironmancy and the heavy door shuddered and swung open with a whining groan. Owain probed the corners with his hand, clearing the entrance from its thick veil of webs.
She stood at the threshold, as the boys explored the first few feet of the dungeon, their staff light reflecting off the rusty bars of the prison cells, revealing centuries of dust and rot.
"Looks like this place was forgotten a long time ago, I betcha it hasn't been used since the Divine Age." Owain said, his love of history apparent. He offered a bit of the Tower's early history, but Neria was distracted by a soft whisper across the stone floor from the chamber they had just left.
Anders turned to her, "Are you coming or what?" he scolded.
From behind, a dry rattle vibrated out of the darkness again, like a handful of bones tossed onto the floor. Too afraid to look, she lunged into the dungeon, feeling somewhat safer now that she was close to Anders. Between the rusty bars beside her, a set of dark, gaping eyes set in a ghostly face stared back. She recoiled with a gasp, sending Owain into fits of giggles again. She was starting to think that following these two was a very bad idea.
Owain held up his light to what she had seen. A manacled skeleton dangled from the wall, its rotting clothes hung in strips and tatters. Lidless and empty eyes gazed into eternity; a rictus grin offered a mute cackle.
"Don't look like he's going anywhere." Owain stated.
"What about our phylacteries?" Neria asked, thinking that she needed to focus on something other than her surroundings. Her back crawled with the badgering feeling that she was being watched.
Anders was inspecting the contents of another cell and did not bother to look up. "Too risky. You saw how heavily guarded the Phylactery Chamber is! And there is no way that we'd get through the wards either. Besides, no one is gonna care about some unharrowed apprentices. They won't even know we're missing I bet!"
Something tugged at her hair, right behind her ear. With a grunt, she flinched and flicked the spot frantically, only to hear Owain chuckle. His staff lit up again and he patted her reassuringly on the back. "Come on, stop your fretting. Our plan is fool proof. We're really close to getting out of here..."
She exhaled with relief, pretending to search the contents of the cells with him. They were all in the same state of decay, some contained the remains of some forgotten and indisposed prisoner, while others were empty of any occupant, save the odd spider that dropped from a string of silk, curious about the new source of light. At the far end of the dungeon was a nondescript stone wall.
"Hey Owain, any idea where we should look next?" Anders asked.
The boy had extinguished his staff again. A sharp prickle scraped the back of Neria's neck.
"Would you stop poking me like that, Owain! It's not funny anymore." She hissed in annoyance.
A light popped on ahead of her. As realization dawned that the boy could not be in two places at once, she found the courage to turn around. The wan staff light offered just enough illumination to reflect pin points of light from a row of bulbous black eyes staring directly at her. But there was something wrong about the eyes… there were too many of them. She stood long enough to see that they were rimmed in thick grey hairs and a pair of leathery pinchers twitched beneath them, clacking like dried bones.
"Back away slowly…" Anders whispered. Somehow, she found her feet and backed against the wall.
It chittered and clicked in response, inching each of its hairy legs toward her with predatory deliberation.
Something clattered on the floor and the light in the dungeon dimmed. Something raced by, and at the door, she heard Anders' terrified voice call out, "Run! Let's get out of here!"
Shaking uncontrollably, she groped at the damp bricks behind her, side-stepping toward Owain. With sudden, jerky strides, the thing sprung, pinning her against the wall with two long and spindly legs. Thick fangs, shiny and black, stretched wide and pulsated, dribbling a sickly yellow ooze that seeped to the floor nearest Neria's shoe. The smell was overwhelming. Having lived in the Alienage, she was familiar with the stench of decay, but there was nothing natural about this. Terror had seized her. The Circle had taught her nothing about these creatures and she knew nothing more than a basic healing spell and a wisp. One of its front legs retracted and skimmed softly across her cheek, as if trying to seduce her. She took a deep breath as she came to terms with just how massive it was. The bristles around its fangs twitched in response.
Suddenly, the clang of wood on iron shattered the dungeon's subterranean silence. The creature recoiled and with incomprehensible speed it flew at Owain. Neria fell to her knees, in equal parts shock and gratitude, and spied Anders' fallen staff. She crawled over to it, worming closer to the beast's swollen abdomen. How Owain was defending himself, she could not tell, and dared not look. She reached, stretching her arm to the point of pain and groped for the staff, but it lay just beyond the tips of her fingers. The creature backed up, each of its hairy back legs stepping on her. Like a striking snake, she darted forward, seizing the staff and backed toward the doorway, hoping this thing did not bring any company. On command, the staff ignited, spilling blue-silver light onto the dungeon's dark recesses.
Slowly stepping backwards, she called out. "Owain! Talk to me…"
Long, hinged legs that brushed the ceiling, twitched and the giant engorged belly trembled with spasms and tremors as it used all of its appendages to turn in the narrow space.
Owain hung like a rag-doll, the two fangs pierced either side of his eye sockets. His eyes burned with fire as the creature reared. He cried tears of blood and venom. Neria continued to back out with short, tentative steps, unable to look away. Owain's mouth twitched until it jittered open, threads of blood and spittle stretching as his lips parted. A long, drawn groan spilled from it, followed by a voice that did not belong to the moon-faced boy. His dead, luminescent eyes stared directly at Nuraya as he spoke.
"Too many years have passed since they have fed me. This offering is young and sweet…" the voice grinded.
His mouth did not form the words, it merely opened and shut on its master's command. Smoke now poured from the backs of the eye sockets, venom seeped down his cheek, searing his skin, leaving a trail of ooze and blisters.
"Another meal should sate my hunger for another age…"
Her heart pounded with such ferocity that darkness took her.
)))000(((
Weak sunlight filtered into her room and she awoke with a start. Anders was sitting at the edge of her bed, holding her hand. His grave expression told her that everything she remembered was not just part of a nightmare. She squeezed his hand.
"You're okay," she whispered. He nodded.
"And Owain?"
Anders bit his lip and pulled his mouth into a frown. He shook his head.
"He's dead?" She squeaked, feeling hot tears brim. Unexpectedly, he shook his head again.
She widened her eyes, searching Anders' expression for more information. He slouched in defeat and with a sigh, continued. "We're in big trouble, as you can imagine. But Owain's not right."
"What do you mean?"
"That thing down there, it changed him."
"One of the enchanters will heal him!"
Anders shook his head again. "The templars are with him now."
A/N Bioware owns all.