UPDATE AND SPOILER ALERT: I began writing this story before the Trespasser DLC, and I feel a bit vindicated about Cole's ability to find a girlfriend if he goes human. I knew Patrick Weekes wouldn't let me down! Let's just say that in the universe of the official game, Sinead never made it to Skyhold, for any of a number of reasons presented in her life. Meanwhile, in the universe of this fanfic, Sinead is safe and sound (relatively) and making waves as much as any head archivist makes waves ;)
Howling, hurting, hungry, heaving its limbs at its attackers, mad with loneliness, loss, despair.
Cole ducked and rolled as the sylvan swept its misshapen arm at him. Panting, he sprinted to the back of the giant creature and out of its line of sight.
"Watch out, creepy!"
He had only a split second to look behind him and duck again as Sera, atop a small hillock, released a barrage of arrows at the sylvan's back. It roared and swung around, took sight of Sera and rushed her. Cole tumbled out of its way.
"Oop, time to scarper!" Sera jumped back and disappeared behind the hillock.
"Quickly, Cole!" The Inquisitor and Dorian stood on another hillock to his right, conjuring something that rippled with heat. "We can't old the spell much longer!"
Cole nodded and ran at the rampaging sylvan, jumping and reaching for two of Sera's arrows. He caught them deftly, his body slamming against the hard, twisted wood, then scrambled up the sylvan's back. The creature barely noticed his ascent, so caught up was he in his pursuit of Sera. It crashed at the trees below the hillock that she had jumped into, shaking their limbs.
"You can light up this arsehole any time!" she cried, hanging on between two branches for dear life.
A burst of flame engulfed the sylvan's legs. It stumbled back, stamping at the ground to kill the fire. Dorian and the Inquisitor kept up a steady volley of fireballs to feed the flames. Again the sylvan roared, stomping toward Dorian, right arm lifted.
Cole moved quickly – he unsheathed one of his knives, shimmied over to the sylvan's right shoulder, and slashed at the vines and branches attaching the arm to the sylvan's body. The knife cut through the wood as if it were sinew, and the arm dropped slightly.
The sylvan stopped it's advance, confused, as Cole climbed a little higher and chopped at the rest of the joint. The arm fell from the sylvan with a crash. It snarled and slapped at its back with its left hand. Cole dropped down the sylvan's back and scrambled to its left joint, hacking away with precision until its left arm fell.
The sylvan spun around, moaning, trying to shake Cole off. He held on so tight that his pale hands grew white.
"Drop, Cole!" Dorian cried. "I've got your back!"
Cole closed his eyes and pushed off the sylvan's back. He crashed to the ground, but barely felt the impact, his body surrounded by a barrier.
Dorian and the Inquisitor fired rivers of flame at the sylvan, lighting it up from the inside. It moaned again and crashed to its knees, then grunted and toppled over. The mages let the fire crackle for a bit before the Inquisitor unleashed a blast of cold wind over the sylvan, smothering the fire in ice.
"That thing was a right bugger," Sera said, sidling up to the silent sylvan and giving its smoldering leg a kick. "I hope killing this thing was worth the trouble."
"It was hurting, helpless, angry. It's better this way." Cole pushed himself to his feet, sheathed his knive and placed a hand on the creature's side.
"It will also be worth it to us," the Inquisitor said, brushing frost from the wood. "The Ortholae clan will be pleased that we killed the beast that's been plaguing their hunts. And they've already said they're happy to grant us the wood. We'll have to get the scouts out here…"
The sound of the Inquisitor's voice slipped away from Cole. The sylvan wood tugged at his perception, feeding him memories, emotions, and behind these a tangled web of abstract lines and the metallic tinge of magic. The spirit within the sylvan had been trapped for generations, unmoving, unable to reach its home, trapped to infuse the wood in which it was imprisoned with its power – horrible creatures, the two-legged things with the pointed ears, why did it want to hurt it so? Did they care? Did they know what they did, the torment it felt in this unmoving land? What –
"Cole," the Inquisitor said sharply. "We're ready to go."
He took his hand away and looked around the little party. "It was so sad," he said, his voice low.
Sera snorted and crossed her arms. "Whatever. Seemed more 'angry' and 'killy' to me."
"The wood feels strange," he continued, ignoring Sera's comment. "It sings a song that smells like silver." He cocked his head. "It reminds me of you, Inquisitor. Or Sera."
"Really? How odd."
Sera threw up her hands. "Nope! No. Don't you dare start letting him go on about elfy things," she snapped at the Inquisitor.
"It might not be elfy," Dorian said, his interest peaked. "Perhaps it's the magic?"
"Even worse!" Sera grumbled.
"It is and it isn't," Cole said, trying to twist the feel around in his mind, trying to understand. "Your magic doesn't feel like this. It does feel similar, the way it pulls at the fade, but the smell is wrong. The sound is wrong. It's…hard to explain." He brightened. "It also reminds me of Sinead."
"Hm. Well, that cuts out the elfyness. Could be a Tevinter variant in the use of power that makes the magic 'feel' different," Dorian muttered, stroking his chin. "Perhaps Sinead's early exposure to the Brecilian forest –"
"All right, I'm going to camp." Sera marched off into the woods. "I'll see you crazy people there. Or not. Who cares?"
"I'd also like to get back to camp, if you don't mind," the Inquisitor said kindly, patting Cole on the back. "That spell wiped me. And I'm starving."
"Oh, very well. If no one is curious about the mystical wood from an elder sylvan, far be it from me to stop you from filling your tummies." Dorian's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Come along, Cole, not everyone appreciates the more fascinating aspects of the arcane."
Cole was barely paying attention. The sylvan wood still drew him…something about those lines…
He unsheathed his knife and hacked away a sizeable chunk from the sylvan's shoulder.
"Oh, your poor knife," the Inquisitor exclaimed as he worked. "There's no way the edge isn't notched now. We'll have to replace it."
"It's not my favorite knife," Cole explained good-naturedly, pulling on the hunk of wood until it cracked away from the sylvan.
"Do I want to even ask what you're planning to do with that?" Dorian asked.
"I don't know yet." Cole turned the wood in his hand. "It feels like it wants to be…something…"
"I hope it's worth more than your knife," the Inquisitor muttered. "Come on, let's head back to camp."
Cole nodded, following behind Dorian and the Inquisitor, not joining in with their pleasant chat. The wood sang in his mind – even when he closed himself to it, it pushed through and needled his thoughts. Memories inside memories inside emotions. It made him wonder who the spirit that became the sylvan once was.
It wanted to hunt, to kill, to know the end of those who hurt others.
It wanted revenge.