The murky, dimly lit corridor echoed with three distinct sounds. The first to be heard was the double pairs of resounding metal boots. The second was the distinct sliding of dragging feet. The third sound was that of a dwarf's ragged breathing. He was being hauled by two human men in shining armor. Their breastplates were of fine and freshly polished wear. The insignia on their chests branded a single eye with fire escaping from its lidless pupil.
The dwarf, by comparison, bore tattered and worn leather clothes the colour of sand. The dusky brown vest was opened wide and belts snaked his lower torso. He had long, straight hair the same pallor as his clothes with the top half tied back with a leather band. He had a high, beaded necklace with a shell hanging from the center and he adjourned exactly three earrings; one on the left, and two on the right. They were gold, same as his eyes, which were at this point trained on the stone ground in front of him, most likely contemplating his escape options.
He was a crafty dwarf, to say the least.
Eventually, the men and their prisoner reached their destination. One iron-clad man kicked a wooden door open into what the dwarf first believed was an empty room. It was dark save for a dim ray of light coming from a lonely window many stories above the ground. At its center was a large wooden chair. It was only when he was shoved into that very uncomfortable seat did the dwarf finally speak.
"I've had gentler invitations," he grunted. His words ended in a dry cough and he had to clear his throat loudly. If he had just sit quietly, he would have heard the gentle rustle of pages and the slow breathing from a woman standing just shy of the dim light. The dwarf shook his head irritably and squinted into the endless darkness in before him, sensing her presence. The woman stepped forward, her boots made dull thuds on the floor.
"I am Cassandra Pentaghast, seeker of the Chantry," she spoke clearly and with confidence. She bore the same armor as the men standing guard on either side of the dwarf's chair. Except her clothes were more elaborate, symbolizing her standing among the men. She had short, dark hair and glowing amber eyes. They seemed to be searching for something in the dwarf's gaze and he blinked hard, feeling a prickle of unease. This woman wanted to peer into his soul. She turned that steely gaze from him and nodded at the men, who abandoned the dwarf to his fate, closing the door on the way out. The dwarf forced nonchalance, referring to her introduction with a chuckle.
"And just…what are you seeking," he inquired lazily. She was not to be brushed aside, he would soon learn.
"The Champion," she answered curtly. The dwarf's breath hitched. That did not go unnoticed.
"Which one?" he examined his fingernails, avoiding the woman's stare. She rushed forward and hit his smirking face with a leather bound book. It fell open on his lap, forgotten for a moment because the woman's blade was at his throat.
"Time to start talking, dwarf!" she ordered. "They tell me you're good at it," with her venomous words, she turned her dagger down and stabbed it through the pages of the book. Dubiously, the dwarf lifted the book in his hands to observe the damage to the tome as she returned to her standing position a few feet from him.
With the woman's back to him, he said with a chuckle, "What do you want to know?" his voice was breathy from the near death experience. She turned back to him.
"Everything," she demanded simply. "Start at the beginning," the dwarf stroked the pages of the book lovingly, with the blade still implanted in its heart.
He did enjoy a good story…