Obviously, I don't own either Dragon Age, or Final Fantasy: Crystal Chronicles. So enjoy this terrible piece of fan fiction. (Hey, at least I admit that I'm bad).
Dear Mother,
When I was younger, I remembered the ghost stories you used to tell me during the first of the autumn season. Of the tales of miasma seeping through the northern mountains and into the southern lands below, giving breath to monsters. The stories of lunates stealing wayward children, to never see their families ever again. I even remember the legend of why everyone locks their doors on the night of the first full moon. Looking back, I understand your worries of the northern air, and the death that crept beyond our crystal's gaze.
But we were wrong…
We were so, very wrong…
Since our eyes have only peered on the northern skies, we neglected to watch the southern seas, and the people who came from the other side…
The first were the Qunari, ox-men so ridged and cold that order seemed to be their only purpose to exist. They claimed Tipa as their own as we ran to Port Gales from their gleaming blades and iron juggernauts.
The next were the Orlesians, who promised us protection. At first we thought of them as saviors, but they soon became our tyrants. Their chantry burned our libraries, their nobility took away our homes, but the worst were their Templars, who stole those from their families for casting spells.
Most of us who came from Tipa were captured and called heretics, but a few others and I managed to slip away.
We ran to the north to Marr's Pass and warn the others of what had occurred in our southern land, but as the legion of Lilties came to retake our home, it was no more.
What used to be Tipa is now Meraad.
What used to be Port Gales is now New Orlias.
What became of our home, the Peninsula of Tipas, was now the frontier of two oppressive regimes.
I am glad that you could not see this day, for if you did, you may have felt the same fear I did. The fear that every small thing we have kept safe within the crystal's shine, will come to ruin under hatful eyes.
Fey O'Awel
14th of Shevet, 1009 S.F.