Hundreds look on in horror. Their saviour. The reason they now live. Murdered. In cold blood. The sky spat cold, harsh rain onto the Inquisitor's once beautiful face. A wave of terrified cries rippled through the crowd. A strange mix of shock and hysteria seized the masses so that no one noticed the dark, solitary figure stalk away from sight.
Later, in a lavish, golden chamber, a single candle emits a dim glow across the desk where a famed madman sits. He trembled and jittered with wide eyes as he effused his delirious scrawl. The ink bleed into then sweat that dripped from his hand onto the paper. With heavy breaths and racking sobs, he does not know himself whether he is laughing or crying. Chewing nervously on the end of his quill, he recounts the crime that history will remember throughout the ages.
/ BARON BEAUCHAMP: Day 10 /
Oh, Inquisitor! I pray you will not hate me forever! I only did what had to be done, you see. You affected me more than was acceptable. You took advantage of a delicate man! Do not blame me entirely, my darling, for I cannot be blamed for you corrupting my morals so-! If anything, it was fate that thwarted you in the end, dearest, darlingest dove. And have no doubt, that fate shall feel the fury of my fiery fist for many years to come. For as many years as you will rest, Inquisitor. For eternity, it seems.
Be at rest my immortal love.
For you never know, fate may prevail over my attempts to trample him.
Then, only then, can we be together purely, totally and without fear. Forever.
I'm coming, my love, as they are coming for me.
/ CULLEN RUTHERFORD: Entry 1 /
The world is in mourning. As am I. I still can't believe it. Our liberator. Gone. Today's hysteria was not easily suppressed. No one knows what direction we must take. But we must make a start. The personal grief that overcomes us, however crippling, must not impair our ability to come down swiftly on the barbaric bastard that took our future from us. And my love from me. My heart has not been broken. It has been crushed and shattered . But I must go on. I must find who did this. And punish him in the worst way imaginable.
I have spoken with Leliana. We may have found a lead. One of Leliana's scouts has found pages from a journal that belonged to one of our visitors, Baron Beauchamp, in Val Royeaux. He speaks of the Inquisitor in the most disturbing ways. We will follow this up. He will not get away with this.
10 days earlier, before the Baron's life had taken such a devastating turn and his mind was not filled with quite as much poison, he arrived at Skyhold. Like many nobles of this time, he was intrigued by the world's saviour. He was intrigued to see if she was even truly worthy of the title. However, being the man he was, he could not shake the expectation that he would be swiftly swept into a wasteland of utter boredom. Little did he know that his life would change forever.
/ BARON BEAUCHAMP: Day 1 /
As to fully unstandardised my situation, reader (I refer to you as such as I expect this journal will not stay hidden forever), you must understand who I am and what my life is. Look upon this perfect nightmare!
It will come as no surprise that I, the cultured and discerning Baron Beauchamp, have always played the role of the keen observer. Nothing escapes my honed vision. Even at those tedious parties I am perpetually obligated to attend, I sip at my wine, enjoying the bitter taste of fabricated wealth and I leer. For instance, as Lady Piaffe talks to some purple faced monster of a man, her face tells all there is to know.
A twitch at the corner of the mouth.
A flare of the nostril.
A smile that teeters out too quickly.
A huge mistake, Lady Piaffe, letting your disgust show so openly. A disgrace to The Game (her particular choice of shoes evokes a similar disgust).
None of the tiniest twitches go unnoticed by me, an exceptional player. Oh, dearest reader! Do not think I am being arrogant, for the opposite is true! It is not wrong for me to acknowledge my superior skill at The Game, I am simply a confidant man! I absorbed politics from my mothers breast. However, I cannot express enough how much I bore of the monotonous affairs I must partake in night after night. It's all the same. Count Du Delorme is tactically positioned to take advantage of the endless canapés while pretending to listen to Lady Le Vau. Said Lady sneaks a glare at Marquess Sauvage whom bedded her husband the night before. Lady does not know, however, that Marquess Sauvage already has a contract on her life.
Oh, it may not seem banal to some, but after encountering the same plot twists over and over, they cease to be twists! Such behaviour has begun to be expected, and thus, the thrill has slowly died.
All this was a world away from my dearest inquisitor (Ah, yes, I'll get to her soon).
I had to find ways to make The Game interesting again, you see. I found great pleasure in leaving a fake trail. By manipulating my words and movements, I could lead people to the wrong conclusions, I could shape my own identity! Because of this, I remained an enigma to the other nobles. My motives and preferences were shrouded in mystery. I overheard Lady Piaffe (yes, that graceless fool) say that she was quite certain that I was a bastard and my real father was an apostate fishmonger from Rivain! "I can tell by the way his knuckles ripple, Sauvage..." she whispered. Amazing! The reader can only imagine my delight when I, Baron Beau, manipulated that very same Piaffe into thinking I had a secret love-child with one of the elven servants! She, and many others, just simply cannot comprehend my elegant skill went it comes to such matters. Alas, I am always observing. So it should come as no surprise when I tell you that I could sense my love's grace immediately.
The moment I laid eyes on her!
Never, never have I-
Never have I seen such grace! Immediately! I was bewitched by her velvet skin- the soft wisps of hair that fall onto her freckled cheek! The matted brown eyelashes that hooded her lingering eyes!
Never, never!
Transfixed! When we were first introduced, for once in my life I was lost for words, reader! Like some letcher, my mouth hung ajar. How uncharacteristically undignified! But she was ethereal! Hazy round the edges! I managed to collect myself enough to remain respectable in front of her advisors, however. Returning to earth, I bent down and took her dainty hand in mine and brushed my lips against her hot skin.
My heart nearly burst.
After some pleasantries she was obligated to return to her duties. With a smile, she turned away.
I have always been a watcher.
Which is why I watched you then, my elven beauty! Out of the window of my room (near the fragrant garden you so tenderly cultivate, dear), I watched you, with your fey grace, bring a redolent flower to your cute little nose to inhale the scent. I watched the waxy petals brush against your painted lips. I watched the contented smile emerge on your sun-browned face.
Lavellan, I watched you in fascination.
We are truly on the same level, you and I.
