The clock in the centre of the village of West Hill struck 9 with a resounding, disjointed clanging noise. The barmaid of The Torn Veil pub opened a window and looked out into the grey morning; strange weather for northern Ferelden. She looked down. Then she started screaming.

***
9:30.

Commander Weathers examined the body laying outside The Torn Veil, using one heavy boot to lift the corpse slightly off the dirt path. The body had been split entirely up the middle, navel to neck. The assailant wasn't exactly delicate about it either; the edges of the wound were jagged with strips of flesh gleaming sickly red in the watery sunlight. He looked up, attempting to hide his nausea to see the few guests of the tavern looking at the grisly scene from the dark stairs within the pub. One, a dwarf, grunted as he pushed past a woman on the stairs, who looked at him indignantly and swore. The dwarf took his place at the bar and gestured for a pint of ale. Weathers felt his lip curl in a xenophobic sneer. He would make sure to question ALL of the Torn Veil's guests today.

***

Meanwhile, in a nearby coastal valley the Keeper of a clan of Dalish elves bent low over an obviously feverish elven hunter and listened to his laboured breathing. His skin glowed brightly with sickness and he shone all over with sweat, his eyes wide and bloodshot as he struggled to breathe. A second hunter, female, stroked the hair of the first while humming a soothing dirge to settle his spirit. The Keeper looked up at the female and shook her head sadly.
'Da'len, I am afraid this sickness is beyond our powers to cure,' the Keeper began, sitting upright and pushing away a lock of red hair from her tired face 'You'll have to go to the nearest human town for some medi-'
At this, the female hunter stood upright, dropping the longbow she had clutched in her free hand 'A shem village? Do you know what they would do to me on sight?'
'Lyna, please.'
The girl, Lyna sat back down.
'Ma nuvenin, Keeper,' she said, lowering her eyes as she spoke. She did not pick up her bow again, a sign of submission.
'Ma serannas, Lyna,' the Keeper 'The nearest town is West Hill, about an hours walk from our current location, although you may take an aravel if it suits you...'
'No thank you, Keeper' said Lyna meekly, collecting her bow and bowing slightly.
With one last, hopeless look at the dying boy on the ground, Terwynn left the aravel and headed towards the scene of the crime.

***

From under the stairs at the Torn Veil darted a skinny figure in purple and blue robes. It ducked behind the bar and crawled along the dusty boards. Luckily, most of the patrons were still distracted by the dead man on the dirt outside to notice one apostate behind the bar. All but one.
'Hey, Twinkles,' came a grunting voice 'Fill 'er up, eh?'
The mage slowly raised his blonde head above the bar and eyed his questioner. He had a long braided beard and a bald head. He was stocky and stout and clearly still a bit drunk from the night before.
'You... Know... I'm a mage?'
The dwarf laughed and banged his tankard on the bar, causing the blonde mage to flinch.
'Course I did,' he chortled 'Andrastes tits human, if you would wear feathery shoulder pads...'
The mage scowled at the blaspheming but took the tankard and filled it.
'Cheers, Twinkles.'
'It's Garrett.'
'Gesundheit.'
'No, my name is Garrett,' replied the mage, standing up straight behind the bar at last 'And you are?'
'Tired.'
'Your name, dwarf?'
The dwarf laughed heartily and extended one stubby arm over the bar, using the bar stool for a little extra reach.
'Lairwulf,' said the dwarf with a belch 'Formerly of Orzammar.'
The mage shook the strong hand, wincing a little as the dwarf crushed his fingers.
'Formerly?'
'Now that, Twinkle Toes,' said Lairwulf, leaning back with his ale 'Is a long story...'

***
10:40

By 10, more guests had started to filter into the barroom of The Torn Veil. This included a hulking, silent mountain of a man who immediately went to the bar, ignoring the astonished faces of those around him and the attempts of a guard to stop him and drag him into the questioning area set up by the door. He had skin darkened from outdoor work and a face obscured by a thick black beard. He was an Avvari hillsman and he moved with the melancholy of a man who has suffered a great loss. He took a place next to Lairwulf and waved at Garrett for a drink. Shrugging, Garrett served him a large ale.

***

Outside, Lyna had arrived, sweaty and panting from her desperate run. Thoughts of the painful fever gripping her brother pushed her onwards, until she glimpsed the disturbingly empty village. She broke into a jog and saw the guards outside the tavern, the body on the ground and stopped dead. A young guard next to the tavern door spotted her. He looked far too small for his heavy plate armor and had a sprinkling of acne across his greasy face. Lyna, even from her distance across the village square, watched his eyes slide from her short stature to her pointed ears to the swirling tan tattoos around her eyes and cheeks. His face hardened and he beckoned her over with one ill-fitting gauntlet. Swearing to herself, Lyna obeyed, and was dragged into the Tavern.
Inside, a few women stared at her and men glanced defensively, as though she was a threat alone. A tall, broad chested man turned around and looked at her, as did three people at the bar: a dwarf, a skinny mage and an enormous human male. The first man, who wore the same armor as the young guard that gripped her arm, sneered as he took in her appearance in mush the same way as the rest of the tavern. He started towards her and Lyna noticed the large man at the bar stand slightly, as though to intercept him. The tall man, who was a Commander from the look of his heraldry, looked Lyna dead in the eye then reached out his arm and slapped her on the behind.
Shocked, Lyna pulled her arm away from the young guard and notched an arrow. Before she could aim, the commander was knocked sidewards by a huge, black blur.

***

The Avvari hillsman pinned Commander Weathers to the wall.
'Weathers, you filthy bastard,' he growled, shaking the commander in his ridiculous shiny armor 'I believe you owe the lady an apology.'
Weathers looked over the hillsman's shoulder and laughed sarcastically at Lyna, who had not lowered her bow, despite the young guard grabbing her shoulders.
'Lady? She's nothing but a knife-ear, Rogar.'
Rogar, the hillsman, shook Weathers again.
'Elf or not, she is a lady and you.. frisked her.' Rogar growled.
'Ah, but frisking her is exactly what I was doing,' said the commander with a smile 'Private, would you be kind enough to check the, ah.. lady's back pocket? Left?'
The young guard released Lyna's shoulders and with a confused look on his face, reached into the pocket. She lowered her weapon and watched over her shoulder as he drew out something she didn't even know was there.

It was a long, thin, bloodied knife.