Chapter 2 - Shock

Just wanted to thank the people who took the time to read this story and leave a review. This story will be AU in that great creative license will be used for the history and existence of Old Gods and their relation to the Dragon Age history/world.

As always, I do not own any content/ideas of Dragon Age - Bioware does.

Dust settled peacefully around the man's slumped form, it was quiet now – very still and hushed. Razikale frowned as she rubbed her temples and let out a pained breath. It had been so many centuries since she had last used blood to absorb the memories of another; she had forgotten how taxing it could be when ones' mana was so low. But that was the thing, wasn't it? She should not have had to do the sacrifice herself, attendants were supposed to be there for her awakening – eager to smooth the transition from sleep to awakening.

What was even more confusing were the strange images which flooded her system. They made no sense, how could so many things be so different from her last slumber? She was only supposed to be resting for fifty years – enough time to avoid the mess surrounding the overreaching politics of the Magisters' ambition on entering the fade. But from what she could tell the language had change as people seemed to speak a weak and stripped version of Tevene. The cadence was all wrong – flat and without inflection. A language could not possibly change in such a short amount of time.

There was more, but try as she might the memories slipped out of her grasp – she needed more mana, she needed more blood. And while she no longer felt faint, she could barely feel the thrum of her power. It rested deep within her and she would require more sacrifices if she ever hoped to access it. This would not have been a problem, had the appropriate protocols been observed – she would have at least five offerings waiting for her.

Razikale sighed and gathered her straight hair into her palm. She twirled it and flung it around her neck and over her shoulder like a scarf. It was time to leave, obviously something was preventing the priests from returning and it was time she discovered the cause.

She scoffed, as she peered down at the bedraggled dead mage. 'What a pitiful offering' she thought, but she supposed it was her only saving grace this man was a mage and she had been able to take is manna through his blood.

The pathway was dark as she made her way through the lower temple. It was a good thing her eyesight was as superb- if not better, than an elf's at night. She wove through the silent halls, as quiet as death itself. As she travelled, the humid air slowly gave way to dry air.

Suddenly, in the upper levels, she could hear faints shouts of men. Her dark hair slipped off her shoulder as she sharply gazed at the ceiling and cocked her head to the side. Her mouth lifted in a slow smirk - it seemed at least her senses were working properly. She slowly slipped her chamber key into her silk robes as her nostrils flared while she sniffed the air - she could smell the humans' sweat mingling with the achingly familiar scent of incense her followers favoured.

Her smirk bloomed into a full smile, her opalescent eyes shifting in the darkness. Razikale's steps quickened towards the Temple proper. Perhaps she would catch her followers in prayer – she so loved a dramatic entrance, and what better way to do this then just step out from behind the main alter.

The twinning path stopped suddenly and she knew that she was now just under the main altar. With practised ease she pressed the hidden sigils painted on the wall, and watched with satisfaction as the thick stone ceiling slid open. She squinted at the evening light as she waited patiently for the platform she was standing on to rise up past the trap door.

The platform did not move.

Impatiently she pushed on the sigil again – and waited. She considered the distance above her head – certainly too high for the average human or elf to jump, but still within her physical limits…she hoped. This slumber seemed to have left her bereft of most of her energy, and she grudgingly acknowledged that her limitation were still unknown to her. She crouched and took a slow breath in. On her exhale she sprung up and landed silently on the upper floor. As she righted herself she stumbled and braced her hand against the altar.

The men were close now, she could hear them talking and smell them stronger now. Her head hurt with the strain of trying to comprehend the new language. But she had to push herself – she had to at least be able to communicate with the people around her. The mage's memories were full of these new words, and she tried to fill her mind with this new vocabulary.

She ran down the steps towards the courtyard. In her haste for answers, Razikale failed to see the neglected state of her temple. She did not notice the greasy dirt which now covered her hands from simply touching her alter.

Once she rounded the corner, Razikale spotted fifteen men loitering outside her temple. Their dark spikey amour glimmered in the moonlight like obsidian. Swords drawn and faces grim, they looked both impressive and intimidating. This group hinted of great danger, but in her haste Razikale failed to properly take stock of her surroundings. She was beyond impatient to have some questions answered and her arrogance led her to feel no fear.

One of the men spotted her and pointed to her in astonishment. In a purely aggressive male move, the other men turned and rushed forward. Shocked by the unexpected animosity, Razikale stepped back in astonishment and her adrenaline spiked dangerously – this was not at all how she expected to be greeted. Her body automatically responded to her anxiety, she could feel her black nails elongate and sharpen and they cracked as she flexed them.

She tried to manifest her mana out of her core and focused on her creating her most glorious form. To call upon the protection of her dragon form would be taxing, but Razikale needed the assurance of safety. Only…nothing happened. Instead, her mana violently bounced back into her the like an over stretched band. The force of this backlash sent her reeling backwards into the dirt.

The men slowed as they circled her. One laughed as he pointed, "Looky here boys, our little thief is a mage."

It was difficult, but she planted her hands to stand, "I am no thie-," She never got to finish her sentence as the man closest to her slapped her across the face. With a sickening smack her head whipped to the side. She felt her lip split at the strike as her blood dribbled down her chin.

"Shut. Up."

Razikale lay there stunned. How had this situation even happened? These were mere mortals and should not even be able to even touch her. Was she so diminished that a group of glorified thugs could beat her? Unfortunately she found the answer to her question as she was rewarded with an awful burning sensation at her second hasty attempt to shift forms.

This second failed attempt left her winded and angry. Her eyes flashed as she regarded the men, "How dare you! Who do you think you are?" Razikale spat, "Do you have any ideal who I am?"

The men looked at each other in disbelief and then broke out into mocking laughter. Their condescension made her blood boil.

"Oh, we know exactly who you are, thief." The guard took a step forward as the grip on his sword tightened, "You best hand over what you took."

The only possession she had on her was the chamber lock.

"This?" she pulled out the keystone from her robes and regarded it, "This rightfully belongs to me" she hid the object back into her inner robes and sneered at the men, "Now, I am done arguing with you. You are going to tell me exactly where the high priest is and why you have retained me!" She tried to lace her words with power, to drive her will onto the others, but like before her magic bounced back and caused her to wince.

Someone shifted and another man moved position. She quickly turned towards the closest guard and jumped up, hand outstretched to gauge out his eyes. A vehement oath was uttered and someone behind her pushed the blunt end of a blade into her kidneys. Crashing down, she was pushed further into the dirt as bodies settled over her. She dug her fingers into the ground to find some purchase to push the offending men off her, but something cold closed around her neck.

A started gasp slipped through Razikale's lips as she fell limply to the ground….it was like a fog had been placed over her and what little mana she had recovered was swiftly cut off from her. With a sinking realization she understood that these men must have done something to her magic. Her rage would have been an inferno of magnificent proportions. She would have set these men and their world on fire, but she had no energy and found little will to hold onto the indignation – sleep beckoned her like the arms of a waiting lover.

Through her dazed state she could feel someone petting her hair, commenting on what a pretty thief she turned out to be. Razikale could do nothing as her hands were bound behind her back and she was thrown over one of the men's shoulder. She could do nothing as wondering hands grasped more flesh then was required as she passed though charred ruins.

The antechamber she was unceremoniously thrown into was both opulent and unimpressive. There was wealth certainly; one could see it in the many mirrors and gold gilded walls. Not only was the wealth displayed by gold trinkets, but so too in the number of slaves which waited patiently at every corner. The sheer number of them bespoke of their owners status. Yet, even with all this finery, the overall decor felt juvenile and ostentatious in equal measure. The door to her resting chamber had more refined elegance, more tasteful symmetry then the entirety of this room.

Razikale's silent observation was broken when the grand doors opened. A tall man glided through them, smoothly taking the stairs to her kneeling position. He ignored everyone, the slaves and bowing guards and instead his piercing grey eyes studied her, sweeping across Razikale's dirty and wrinkled cloths.

She shifted, tried to square her shoulders and meet the probing gaze with her own. However, one of the guards had other plans, and forced her head down in reverence. Despite the steel grip on her neck, she twisted to get a better look at this new person. He was curiously calm and collected, and what was more intriguing was that Razikale could sense his magic undulating under the surface. Definitely not near her equal when she was at her strongest, but the most not worthy since her awakening. If she could get even a fraction of this man's mana, then she could most likely reclaim her previous abilities.

She planned then – had to come up with a way to get this man alone in order to access his mana. But first she had to get the wretched collar off her neck. But from what she could see, he was well guarded at surrounded at the moment. Perhaps there would be a way for her to earn his esteem or at least plead the removal of the infernal device tampering her strength.

She continued to scrutinize him, never flinching even as he narrowed his eyes at her. Despite his shrewd look, a hint of a smile graced the corners of his cupid's bow lips. Even given her precarious and somewhat hazardous situation, Razikale could not deny this was an impressive specimen of a human male. Tall and broad, he cut an imposing figure as he moved gracefully in his black silk robes.

He circled her, and with a lazy wave motioned over her form, "You are prettier than I thought you would be."

Obviously this man held significant authority, if the stiffening of the guards' shoulders was anything to go by. Razikale knew that if she wanted to get out of this unfortunate situation she had gotten herself into, this man had to be on her side. And from centuries of witnessing men such as he, she knew he would much appreciate a witty and flirty remark more than a barbed retort or submissive attitude.

Razikale opened her mouth to speak, but the man dismissed her, looking instead to the guard holding her in place, "I was under the impression the thief was male."

She could practically taste the guard's fear at the question. The one closest to her spoke up, "My Lord Archon, we were…..the slaves did say that they saw a cloaked man scaling the walls earlier this evening."

So she was in the presence of the Archon, how interesting. She as a rule had avoided politicians and their various machinations, but it looked like she had no choice now. Razikale only hoped this Archon was not nearly as stupid as the last one she had dealt with. The previous one had been much too lenient and arrogant – letting the magisterium play with magic beyond their understandings. The court chaos and instability had been the main reason why she had even gone into her extended Rest.

The Archon stepped closer to her, bending down to peer into her face. His dark hair, streaked with grey at the temples, sparkled like in the candle light.

"And yet…You bring me a woman."

Another, braver guard chose that moment to speak up, "she had this, My Lord," Razikale watched as he pulled out her keystone from his bag. They must had taken it from her when they incapacitated her.

The Archon twisted and snatched up the item. He let it rest in his palm as he considered it. She wondered what he was thinking. Despite the rather bland look on his face, his irritation was evident by the clenching of his jaw muscles.

A few moments passed and then the Arhon snapped his fingers. A short elf hurried over to him and tentatively took the item from his grip. With regret she watched the little slave scurry off with her only possession – the only thing familiar in this very different world.

His eyes were much cooler as they considered her for a second time, "It seems you have a problem." He narrowed his eyes, "stealing from a Magister is punishing by death," his voice was a deadly whisper as he brought his face down into her own, "stealing from me is publishable by something far worse..."

Razikale tried to stand, "I am no thief! I tried to explain –,"

He roughly grabbed her chin, far less charismatic then moments ago, "Come now my lovely woman, My artifact was clearly in your possession. There is simply no point in perpetuating this lie of yours."

Cool fingers traced the restrictive collar around her neck, "I am not surprised a mage would steal from me. After all who would not want something of mine…"

She sneered at him, and in response he tightened his grip. She would most likely have a bruise come morning.

"But you're not much of a mage are you? At least not from what my men tell me of your failed summoning attempt. I really cannot fathom how you got past my guards…or my slaves. I expected someone of greater means…. not someone so young and with such diminished mana reserves."

His assessment rankled her. She had to clench her jaw to keep in her ire – to prevent herself from educating this ignorant fool on just who he was dealing with. How dare this short-lived mortal compare himself against her – to see himself as an equal was laughable and to see him above her was simply inconceivable. He would quake in fear if he understood the things she was capable of – of the atrocities she had taken part of.

But he was right regarding one thing; she was, at the moment, greatly diminished. Unable to summon magic and unable to use her strength, she was no better than a mortal woman. The only thing she had were her words – she had best use them well.

Shifting, Razikale leaned into his harsh hold on her chin. She slowly pushed her chest up and quivered her lower lip, "Please…" she barely contained her sneer at her supplicating tone, "understand that I had no idea this was yours – it was given to me as payment and when I figure it was stolen, I tried to find some help."

The Archon stepped back from her then, "What do you mean by 'payment', what were you being paid for?"

Razikale quickly racked her brain for something she could use. What could she say? With a sly smile she remembered the most common occupation for beautiful yet low-borne women of her day. And Razikale knew she was captivating enough that this fabricated profession would be believable.

She flashed a seductive smirk at the Archon, "I…keep lonely men company."

He laughed loudly and the guards startled at the noise, "You are a whore?"

Razikale shrugged, "I prefer the term courtesan, but the end result is the same."

Something sparked in his eyes at her admission, "And what pray-tell, brothel lets their very beautiful and captivating asset wonder around a dirty temple?"

"I am not associated with a brothel – my reputation is enough to garner interest…and more importantly enough money to avoid such restricting establishments."

Suspicion was clear in his eyes –but so too was fair amount of lust; she could smell his interest across the room, "I see. Yet how do you explain having possession of my most treasured item?"

Razikale morphed her face into that of a woman scorned, "My last client…" She word with an appropriate amount of venom, "was a man who contacted me two days prior. He said he had watched me from afar, eager to have me in his bed, but had been unable to pay my price. He swore that if I gave him but some of my attention, I would receive the most coin I could ever hope to obtain."

At her pause, the Archon waved for her to continue, "I am no fool – a promise of coin is not actually coin. I told this poor soul that I would only ever lay with him when the gold was in my hand. He asked that I meet him at the old temple – swore that full payment would be ready the next night. I thought, 'why not?' If he spoke the truth, then I would be making much money and if he were to be false, well…I would simply leave. The next night I waited at the temple, watched as the sun gave way to the moon. I was going to leave, when all of a sudden the man from the day prior, showed up looked positively harassed. He was sweating and kept mumbling about people being after him, he quickly shoved something into my hands and then ran away. It was so shocking and so fast that I did not see where he went."

Arms crossed the Archon considered her, "What did you do after that?"

A pause and then Razikale continued her web of lies, "I was so confused that for a time I simply stood there. Next thing I know, I hear voices coming from outside. Thinking it was that strange man from before, I ran outside hoping to confront him. But instead your guards were there. I tried to explain that I was no thief, but never got the chance."

Grey eyes stared down at her, his lips thin in contemplation, "So… you are nothing more than a common whore. Stuck in the wrong place –,"

"And at the wrong time…" she whispered.

For a time the room was utterly silent. The Archon had turned to stare at the opposite wall while the guards maintained their silent existence. Razikale knew this was a pivotal moment for her. Either this man believed her lies, or he ordered whatever punishment he had planned. For once in her very very long life, Razikale felt fear.

Finally the silence was broken "What will you do if I decide to let you go?" the Archon questioned.

She sucked in a breath, perhaps her story was working, "I will go back to my work and hope that the money I lost tonight can be made up some other way."

"Perhaps your funds can be made another way."

Startled, Razikale replied "Pardon me?"

"I find myself without companionship. My wife is quite busy with her affairs with my young heir. Her attentions are leached away by the young child, and I could not be bothered to visit brothels in the city." He turned and considered her, "You see, it is just too much preparation and security required for a quick moment of respite."

He came over to her and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, "but you are so beautiful, so exotic in your looks. I would retain you as my own concubine."

Razikale just barely managed to keep the victorious smile off her face. Being his concubine would come with the promise of uninterrupted time with the man. Eventually she was positive she could get him to drop his guard. It was no great sacrifice on her part to play this role. The man was attractive, and Razikale knew she would probably enjoy the arrangement as much as he would.

With a coy smile she answered his question, "I graciously accept your offer."