Helloooo Dragon Age fans! I have long been in an affair with this series and I feel it is past due that I make my mark in the universe it has given us. A big thanks goes to Amymimi, my super beta who tolerated reading my convoluted description of the history of Thedas and the Circle. To all who read, I beg and plea to review as well. I'm not someone who is intolerant of criticism: I welcome it. I want to know what you like, what you don't like, and how I can be a better writer. So please, don't be afraid to have input.
PS: As a treat, this is the first chapter I did that is more than 4,000 words. I'm considering extending the length (one of the complaints my few reviewers have given me) of all my future chapters, but I may not if it's too much work (I consider submitting stories in a timely fashion important). Just wanted you all to know if future chapters suddenly seem teen- tiny.
PSS: Am I the only one with problems on this site? I've been trying to put this up for days but I keep getting an error message. It extends to some of my other stories (but not all) so I finally got around the error by posting this in a working category then switching it to Dragon Age. If you feel like reviewing, or sending me a PM, please let me know if I'm the only one experiencing these problems or if there is a site-wide thing going on here.
Anyways, without further rambling, I present you my story. Inner Fury.
It has long been common knowledge that demons seek to possess mages. However, for just as long, it has been speculated that the inverse is also true: that a mage can take a demon into himself and harness its energy for his own purpose, whatever that may be. However, in all the years the Circle has existed, and within all the dark records of the Tevinter Imperium, there has not been a single case of a magus successfully capturing a demon. True, there are other, similar phenomena: the arts of summoning spirits have long been chronicled by those brave mages who sought to learn them. However, the fact remains: any union of mage and demon has always resulted in an abomination: something the Templars exist to prevent. This is the purpose of our Harrowing, to weed out those mages who are too weak to resist the inevitable pull of the darker spirits of the Fade. –First Enchanter Morentine, Nevarran Circle of Magi, 8:22 Blessed
Pence knew his eyes were open. But all he could perceive was a gaping emptiness in all directions. There was no light, but neither was there any darkness. There simply wasn't. Slowly, however, the young mage began to gain his bearings, even in that vacuum. At first it was just himself; pointed ears, the black hair he hadn't bothered to comb this morning, green eyes that were just like his father's.
Next came the surroundings. Pence's robes seemed alive as they formed around him. The fabric slid across his skin like a soft, comforting serpent. His staff expanded out of the empty space in his palm, and he gripped it tightly in his hands for confidence. "A little light," he murmured. The tip of his stave began glowing: a soft, yellow light. It served no purpose besides casting shadows into the absence of existence, but at least now he could see something.
As soon as the light had appeared into the vacuum, it began transforming as if on queue. Solid ground formed beneath Pence's feet and began expanding in all directions. When it seemed to meet the horizon, the ground changed direction, shifting upwards to form a sky of sorts. And with that, Pence was able to get his bearings. As much as anyone could get in the Fade.
All around the elf, wisps of energy swirled in the air. The ground was a mess of islands separated by the same empty space he had just come from. What land existed was laced with lyrium veins, covered in sand, and spotted with some sort of white stone. In the distance, Pence could make out some other islands both high above and far below him. Beyond them, he could see the twisted towers of the Black City, where the Chantry told him the Tevinter magisters had tried to usurp the Maker centuries ago. But none of that really mattered at the moment; what was important was that he get moving before his time ran out.
Pence started off at a trot, moving further inland on the island he had come to. It was larger than some of the others he could see in the distance, possessing several hills and valleys that prevented him from seeing its entirety. Most were impassible, either too steep or choked by strange spiked growth that he was afraid to touch. The young mage was forced to backtrack over and over as he searched for a path that let him move beyond the fringes of the island.
After running through the same clearing for the sixth time, Pence was struck by the thought that he wasn't tired. He was in good shape for a mage, but all of this running and climbing hadn't even winded him. He stopped and took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of the air passing through him. It didn't tingle or taste sweet, but the feeling it gave him was invigorating, energizing. He looked around, and for the first time he noticed a cluster of miniature spires coming out of the ground. In between them the air shimmered, flashing purple sparks that showered down to the ground and disappeared. It was then he remembered a description from a lecture one of the enchanters had given on navigating the fade: portals often dot the landscape, ready to take adventurous mages deeper into islands and past obstacles. Pence trotted over to the portal and looked into it, wondering where he would end up. "Let's just get this over with," he mused aloud before slipping into the falling sparks.
He emerged into the presence of a glowing, humanoid being. Its presence pulsed in the ethereal air of the Fade, and Pence could sense its power immediately. Though he sensed no malice from the spirit, the mage readied his staff all the same. "Be not afraid," the spirit said as it noticed his defensive stance. The spirit's voice was like its presence, coming from everywhere at once. "I am a spirit of hope. I remain here at the behest of your mortal masters in order to guide the apprentices on their quest. I believe it is called a 'Harrowing', correct?"
Pence was more than a little relieved, and he hastily put away his staff. "Yes, I am on my Harrowing. I'm sorry for the suspicion, but I was told to suspect everything."
The spirit radiated a feeling that Pence believed was mirth, but said simply "you sense my power mortal. You know I would have no trouble destroying you. The fact that I didn't the moment you arrived should allay all suspicion. But let us not dwell on it; you must make haste to your true foe."
"Yes, please, I'd like to finish before someone decides I'm either dead or possessed," Pence agreed. "Those outcomes don't sound very appealing."
The spirit didn't respond, and instead gestured a long, golden arm to another portal. "Take this doorway, it will lead you to the foe you seek. Be wary: Stros M'kai is a powerful rage demon."
Pence thanked the spirit, then hurried through the portal before he could worry himself out of it. On the other side was a field of fire, stretching for what seemed like miles in all directions. The flames didn't burn him, but he could feel heat all the same. The air continued to grow hotter and hotter, and soon his skin felt like it would turn brown or spontaneously combust. But if this feeling wasn't from the fire all around him, then…
All at once, the searing air burst into open flame. In the split second before he was consumed, Pence pulled a barrier around himself. Within, the air was no longer boiling, and he was safe from whatever had just tried to kill him. Through the burning air, Pence saw a terrifying shape take form. The fire was coalescing into an amorphous being with twin-white flames at the center. The entire thing seemed to give off malice in hot, angry waves. "BEGONE!" it commanded, its words accompanied by gouts of fire that broke against Pence's shield. "THIS IS MY REALM! LEAVE OR BE CONSUMED!"
Pence's concentration didn't waver, and neither did the strength of his barrier. The terror he had felt at first was now replaced by a grim confidence: he was stronger than this demon, and he would destroy it. The moment its assault abated, he dropped his shield and retaliated with a volley of ice spells. His magic quenched the flames on the ground as they flew towards the demon. They struck the demon full on, freezing off chunks of the magma. For good measure, Pence summoned a localized ice-storm while creature was reeling from his first attack. "Oer!" he shouted, bringing the gale-force winds and freezing hail forth into the fade. The monster gave a cry of pain as it was assaulted by the elements. Then it somehow shriveled and sank into the ground. Pence sighed in relief. "That was easier than I thought," he said aloud to no one in particular. All around him the field of fire was dissolving in the wake of his miniature blizzard, further bolstering his confidence. Thinking that he would soon awake in his bed, Pence dropped his barrier in order to better transition back into the mortal plane.
Suddenly, the rage demon reappeared not a foot away from Pence, its body steaming as the snow nearby melted from the dizzying heat it gave off. "FOOLISH MORTAL! NOW YOU ARE MINE!" it declared as it shot toward him. Despite the snowstorm all around them, Pence still felt like he would suffocate or burn from the heat as his body was consumed-
-And then he was back in the dimly lit Harrowing chamber, his grip on the lyrium pool broken by a gauntleted hand. "Did it reach us?" a harsh, commanding voice demanded. A sword pressed to Pence's neck as he was surrounded by templars.
But all of this was in the back of the mage's mind as he grappled with the demon that was now within him. He wanted desperately to scream for help as the monster forced its way through his thoughts and took control of his body, but he knew that letting the templars know of the threat would be very fatal. All he could do now was struggle against the assault himself and pray to the Maker that he was successful.
But it wasn't that easy. He was being forced back, little by little, into the deepest recesses of his mind. Resisting the demon's invasion was like resisting a hurricane, and Pence was feeling more and more like a feather in the wind. There was no subtlety to its assault. The demon simply forced its way into him and slowly pried Pence from his own body. All he could really do was retreat; keep his mind together in the face of the demon's unrelenting assault.
Pence imagined that he was in some titanic struggle that was taking place inside his head over hours or days, but in reality it was lasting but a moment. His body was limp, his eyes closed as he was forced out of his physical self by the demon. In that instant, when Pence's body was no longer his, the demon struck at the templars that threatened its new form.
A wave of pure fire arched out in all directions from Pence's former body, knocking the knights back several yards. The demon stood its new home up and its flexed fingers experimentally. Sparks skittered across the pale skin, and some parts of the robes clothing it began to fall away as the seams were burnt to ash.
In Pence's mind, the demon's assault had subsided once it had control over his body. The helpless mage assumed that the demon would deal with what was left of him once it was free of the immediate threat of the templars. For now, Pence was trapped within his own body. He still had all of his faculties and senses, but he was without movement or control of any kind. He could only watch as the demon played puppet master with his body.
The seven templars assigned to this Harrowing and their knight-commander were rising from the ground to face the threat posed by the abomination. To its credit, the demon didn't seem to be intimidated in the least by the heavily armored mage-hunters. But Pence wasn't sure the demon knew what templars were. It kept Pence's body still as they formed a ring around it, cutting off any retreat. "Be cautious," the knight-commander warned them. "Do not underestimate it." Rahl, the knight-commander for the Starkhaven Circle, was a great boar of a man with a dark complexion and no hair. Pence had once seen him tear the arm off a mage for trying to hex him. The other templars in the room exchanged nervous glances at the idea of their commander was suddenly on his guard. None of them had actually faced an abomination before. It was in that moment of hesitation that the demon struck.
One moment, all of the templars were warily facing the abomination. The next, three of their number were suddenly burning alive. Their screams echoed throughout the chamber for another moment before the poor men were completely incinerated. Their armor, black and pitted from the intense heat, clattered to the ground. The abomination quickly moved into the gap it had created,turning its back to the wall and facing the five remaining templars. Two were already charging it, their swords raised high and their faces twisted in masks of rage over their dead brothers.
The abomination leapt forward to meet the templars head on, a guttural roar of utter fury coming from its throat. The first templar was dispatched with a hand through the chest. The demon ripped through his armor like it wasn't there. The body was thrown against the other attacker, forcing the templar back under the heavy weight of his dead brother. The mass of limbs and metal were then set ablaze with a blast of magic from the monster's hands. The living templar's screams lasted longer, because the abomination didn't use as much power for its spell this time. But the mage-hunter would still die, in agony, from the fires that consumed him.
The last three templars in the room hastily retreated to the door leading out of the Harrowing chamber. Rahl stared balefully at the monstrosity that had destroyed his comrades in mere seconds. The abomination was now a thing of fire. Its clothing was all burned away, and the sparks coalesced into veins of liquid fire that coursed across its skin. His eyes were now jets of white-hot flame, and his head was surrounded by a halo of fire.
The creature slowly approached the remaining templars, hatred pulsing from it in waves. Pence, from his bubble of self in his own mind, was powerless to stop it. He certainly didn't want to die, but that included both minding his body and consciousness. Distracting the demon would probably give the templars a chance to maim his body. And he didn't want to turn the demon's wrath on him while it was focused elsewhere for the moment.
Rahl stepped forward to meet the advancing monster. "Fight me, damn you!" he demanded, pulling his claymore from its sheath. The blade was layered in runes and crackled menacingly. The abomination crouched low and charged forward, growling menacingly. Both of its hands were lit with orbs of fire.
The knight-commander lifted his hand and was surrounded by a shimmering layer of power, just as the abomination shot a jet of fire at him without breaking stride. When the flames met Rahl's barrier they fizzled and died harmlessly. Then suddenly, the abomination was on top of the knight-commander. Startled, Rahl's concentration faltered, and the shield faded away. The monster's hand flashed high above them for an instant-open palmed and glowing with power-then it was pressed hard against Rahl's face.
The knight commander screamed in mortal anguish, and the smell of burning meat filled the air. The other templars watched in stunned silence as their commander's face sizzled under the abomination's grip. The templar stood straight, rigid from the shock of the agony that coursed through him. The abomination was balanced precariously on his shoulders, its grip on the knight commander's face the only thing keeping him from falling. Rahl continued to cry out as the abomination seared his skin. When he was finally released, the templar's face had been burned away in a perfect outline of the abomination's hand. The bone was laid bare, and there was no blood welling into the wound, as the veins had been sealed shut by the extreme heat.
The abomination didn't linger over the man he had just scarred. It leapt from his shoulders and charged toward the two transfixed templars as their leader collapsed in a heap before them. The first of them to recover and move to strike was also the first to die. The templar tried to land a blow on the monster with his mace, but the weapon melted into a puddle before it touched the creature. A hand of what looked to be pure fire was then thrust through the knight's gut, piercing steel and flesh like a knife through hot butter and coming through the other side drenched in blood and gore. The templar shrieked in anguish as he felt his intestines boiled from the intense heat, and the abomination's hand popped and sizzled sickeningly as the blood covering it was heated to steam.
The last templar alive tried to run. He had just watched his brothers get butchered by an unstoppable force, and was terrified of joining them. But the abomination would not give him mercy. Without removing the still-cooking templar from its arm, the monster turned and looked over the body's shoulder as the final man tried to unlock the large chamber doors. "Llosgi!" it barked in a disembodied imitation of Pence's voice.
The last templar was consumed in a ball of fire. The abomination closed his hand into a fist and withdrew it from the templar's gut. The body slumped to the floor with a disgusting hiss, smoke still emanating from the hole through its middle. The monster now looked up at the doors the templar had been trying to unseal. They were thick oak lined in silverite, and were probably reinforced with several layers of magical enchantment. As an experiment, it touched the wood, then immediately withdrew its hand, hissing in pain as the door's wards struck back at the magic in his skin.
A sound behind him made the abomination turn. Knight-commander Rahl was standing, his sword raised above his tortured face, and his hands glowing as he shielded himself from magical retaliation. As the abomination turned to face him, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Rahl's sword started to come down. It would cleave the monster's head in two, and that would be the end of this. There was no chance to kill him with magic while that cursed barrier was up, and that massive sword was already on its way down. There was no way to move that would avoid a fatal or crippling blow.
Pence wasn't sure what spurred him to act. Perhaps a survival instinct, some subconscious urge to fight for his life, or the survival of his physical body. Or perhaps the demon, after all the energy it had just expended, felt weakened on some level and he had been looking for a chance to fight back . All that the mage knew was that one moment he had been hiding in whatever part of himself that the demon hadn't claimed yet, and the next he was assaulting the its hold on his body with all everything he had left. The demon felt much weaker than before, and its resistance buckled over Pence's determined counter-attack. In an instant, Pence was back in control of his own body. Before the knight-commander's eyes, Pence's body returned to its normal, elven state. But he didn't stop his greatsword's decent.
"Rhwystr!" the Pence shrieked in fear as he falling to the ground. "Stop! Rhewi! Begone!" Rahl's sword slid to the side as if it had met an invisible barrier, striking the ground harmlessly to the side. Pence breathed a sigh of relief that whatever power the knight-commander had invoked hadn't prevented him from summoning a shield. The mage turned and scrambled away from Rahl, rising to his feet and sprinting towards the pool of lyrium in the center of the room. Dipping one hand in the liquid magic, Pence turned and pointed the other at his foe. "Mellt!"he commanded the magic power that was suddenly flowing through him. A powerful lightning strike lanced toward the knight commander, bolstered by the concentrated lyrium in the pool. Rahl's shield was strong enough to neutralize most of the power behind the spell, but it still had enough force to bodily lift him and send him crashing into the twin doors of the Harrowing chamber. The templar didn't try to rise again.
Pence took a steadying breath as he shook the hand he had thrust into the lyrium pool. The hand tingled oddly, but it was otherwise fine. In the silence that had fallen over the chamber, the mage gazed over the wrath of the abomination he had become. Four of the templars had simply been reduced to piles of ash and pitted, blackened metal. Two others were still burning , the demon's magical flames slowly consuming the long-dead young men. Rahl's face was pain incarnate: the skin had been burned away, the heat cauterizing everything down to the bone itself. But Pence was most distraught about the young templar with the hole through his middle. The mage could see the black remains of his insides, and gagged involuntarily at the thought of cooking someone from within. Acrid smoke was still rising from the hole in small whisps.
"Well well... what have we here?" a wizened voice asked. Spinning, Pence was astonished to find an old woman standing in the room with him. Her white hair was styled into multiple points, and she was clad in shining obsidion armor. "An abomination?" she asked, calmly stepping towards the young mage. Her eyes locked with his, and Pence got the feeling that she was seeing things about him that went far beyond the room they were standing in. "No? My, how interesting. "
"I- I took it back. My body, I mean," Pence said lamely, his eyes still trapped in the old woman's gaze like a hare in a steel trap. "I think it's gone."
"Gone?" She asked incredulously, before laughing. The sound unnerved Pence even further. "Not gone. Never gone! A demon will always have a some way back into its host once it's sunk its claws in... unless you killed it?" She asked, now more intrigued than before. Her stare seemed to intensify.
Pence wanted nothing more than to run, or shrink away from this woman. But he was rooted to the spot by the look in her eyes. It was like she was examining a particularly satisfying morsel of food. "I... I don't think it's dead... I... It's not trying to take over anymore," he insisted.
The old woman nodded, finally breaking eye contact. Pence immediately felt a sense of relief wash over him as she turned her back to him. "So much to consider..." she complained aloud. "The characters need to be assembled, the trail found, the rage smothered..." she suddenly spun and fixed him in another searching glare. "Do you wish to escape this place? Or would you rather take your chances with the templars outside the door?"
Pence was suddenly very tense. He didn't know this person, didn't trust her, and was certainly unnerved by her startling, unexplained presence, yet she was asking him to trust her with his life. The alternative at this point was foregone. When people saw what had happened in here, he would die, in control or not. After a moment's hesitation, Pence said said, with conviction he didn't know he had, "I need to get out of here. If there's a way for you to help me, I'd appreciate it."
The old woman smiled, the smile of a predator, then tossed him a glass vial. "You'll need that," she explained as he caught and examined it. "Don't drop it."
The vial contained a small amount of blood and had no conceivable opening. It was a phylactery. "Is this mine?" he asked in surprise. "How did you-?"
"Now then, before we go, we must cover our escape," she interrupted him. Before Pence's eyes, the old woman shifted into a massive black dragon and proceeded to breathe fire upon the stone walls of the Harrowing chamber. Somehow, even the granite walls, which was probably layered in dozens of ancient wards and enchantments, caught fire. The dragon covered most of the room with its breath, but left the wooden doors alone. As the heat in the Harrowing chamber became stifling, the dragon folded its wings around itself and shrank, becoming an old woman once more. Pence was speechless. He simply stared at this mysterious old crone who seemed to be the most powerful being he had ever encountered. "Come," she ordered, a slight smirk of superiority on her face. "Destiny calls. You would do well to listen."
Heat... smoke... there's a fire... Fire? The abomination! Get up! Fight! Where...? It's all on fire... have to get out... can't breathe... push... push... run... run... run, run run run run.
Hello everyone brave (or stupid, if it was bad) enough to read my newest fanfiction! I hope you enjoyed yourselves! A few things to clear up before we're done (if you will indulge me)
First, no, I did not copy the whole hand-through-the-chest thing from Fenris. That was written before DA:2 (as was most of this, I just wanted to be sure everything could still fit into cannon). But it's nice to know Bioware and I think alike.
Yes, I did copy off of Anders' perdicament with Justice/Vengeance, which is one of the reasons I held off posting until I knew more about what Anders was like as an abomination. I think I got a good idea, and I'm hoping to portray the part well.
No, I don't think it was weak to use Flemeth. Because she's saved all the other major characters, why can't she have saved mine? When (SPOILERS) she's resurected on Sundermount during the events of DA:2 (END SPOILERS) she does say she has an appointment and flies off. What better place than here? =) Also, the Starkhaven mages mention that their circle was burned down in a fire. This is it! =P (I do like fitting my stories into cannon =D)
Last! PLEASE REVIEW! I'M BEGGING YOU!