In entered two women. The first was Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker and former Right Hand of Divine Justinia. She was a brash woman simply because she needed to be. The world knew Cassandra was in line for the Nevarran throne – 78th in line, but in line nonetheless – and she had spent her entire life trying to ignore it. It was a respectful effort, even if her loyalty to the Chantry and the Seekers was a misplaced one. Her hair was raven black, cut short for ease and the symbol of the Chantry rested in the center of her breastplate. Eyes just as dark squinted at Parker, her face firm and it drew Parker's attention to the deep scar on her left cheek. Clearly from a blade, though Parker had had no intention of asking from whom.
The second woman was different but in a more unsettling fashion. Friends and acquaintances knew her as Leliana, others as Sister Leliana, enemies as Nightingale, and the rest of the world as the Divine's Left Hand. I had spent an uncomfortable year with her when she was simply a Sister to the Chantry. Like Cassandra, she had a sickening loyalty to the Maker and had constantly tried to convince me of his existence. I had learned to tolerate her, like one might tolerate a dog. But that was ten years ago. Now she had become far more ruthless, making me wish I had met this Leliana instead. Her advantage was her appearance, especially in how the world underestimated the pale, ginger-haired, Orleasian woman. She was deadly with a bow and deadlier with her band of spies at her side. But at this point in time she was a simple mediator. She was to ensure that Cassandra did not draw the sword on her hip and end the interrogation before it began. My surprise that the Templar had a temper was nonexistent.
"What did you do?" Cassandra demanded as Parker looked up, blue eyes squinting while emotional barriers drifted up with her hardened expression. A childhood of unfortunate experiences had created a habit of distrust towards authority members and almost an instant distaste. No matter whom it might be speaking.
She refused to break the glare with Cassandra, the two women looking like felines ready to duel. "I have no inkling of an idea of what you are referring to. All I remember walking in your Temple before waking up here! With this! Is this some sort of Templar torture device? Has the Chantry truly fallen this far?" Her words dripped with venom. Hatred towards the followers of the Maker. Life-long anger billowing in her chest.
There was a pause as Cassandra blinked at the outstretched scar and then to the blonde before her. "You remember nothing?" Leliana asked, arms crossed over her chest with a confused expression on her face. Ten years and her throaty and quiet voice still made my skin crawl. Parker simply lifted her chin, the small shift as much of a response as she was going to give and it was just enough to aggravate Cassandra.
The soldier lashed out at Parker, gripping the front of her uniform and tilting her back. Parker snarled as her tendons stretched in her knees further than the cold was willing. "Go on, then. Prove me right," Parker hissed as Cassandra growled between her set teeth, nostrils flared like a feral wolf ready to rip out Parker's throat. There was decades of hatred boiling in the woman towards the Seeker. Not personally, but as a whole it was clear some moment in her life had generated scorn towards the supposed protectors.
"The entire Chantry exploded and everyone inside perished. Including Divine Justinia. All of them, except for you." Cassandra's words came out in a hiss. The distaste hanging in the air, cracking at Parker's angered expression. In a matter of seconds the stoned glare melted into disbelieving sadness. Again the woman proved her independence from the common coincidental hero. Past grudges were weak to the pain of innocents. A quality I admit I have grown to appreciate.
"All those people…" she breathed, seeming to startle Cassandra as the soldier finally let her go and took a curious step back. Cassandra glanced at Leliana, the pair of them now confused with Parker's sudden change in mood. Parker glanced back down at her scar, another wave of pain forcing her to grit her teeth as she waited for it to pass. "How…how did it happen?" She finally asked, eyes returning to the women as Cassandra gave a tired sigh, nodding towards nearby guards. Swiftly they were at Parker's side, lifting her up onto her feet by her biceps. Her body tensed and then crumpled as weight was applied to her feet. A second passed and she was quick to catch herself, hands pulling at her bindings out of habit before she was lead from her cell and outside.
"It would be best if I showed you," Cassandra remarked as she opened the last door, the bright sun against the white snow shocked Parker's eyes. She squinted and blinked, attempting to adjust to the sudden change of light. Cassandra directed her attention skywards. Above them rested a swirling pit of clouds, mixtures of grey and green filling the skies with a beam of green light shooting down behind the mountains. It was an intimidating force, quite literally oozing with evil and darkness.
"What is-" Parker's question was cut off as pain slammed into her body and bought her onto her knees with a cry. Her entire arm shook as if someone was twisting it off, breaking it in a thousand places while Cassandra knelt next to her.
"It is a rift joining our world to the Fade. We call it the Breach and it was created by the explosion. For the past three days it has done nothing but bring demons into our world. Your mark seems to be connected to it somehow." For a moment there was a flash of pity on the Seeker's face, "And it is killing you." The Breach itself was like a massive door into the Fade and Parker's mark seemed to have come from a world not meant for the living.
Parker looked at the mark, feeling Cassandra grabbing roughly under her arm to pull her back onto her feet. "Leliana, we will meet you at the forward camp." The bard nodded firmly, signaling to a few nearby guards to follow as Cassandra continued onward. There was still more to show.
They walked along rows of tents, though few of them held soldiers. Instead they were innocent people, villagers affected by this Breach. "They say you stepped out of the Fade," Cassandra started, catching Parker's attention as soft waves of wind brushed her hair back from her face. "They say you were saved by a woman from the Fade. They say it was Andraste herself." Parker stopped just at the edge of the refugee camp, staring at Cassandra's back with somewhat annoyance. It was a foolish belief and I certainly agreed with her distaste.
"I can assure you it was not," her response was sharp, stopping the soldier in her place as she turned back.
"Then who was it?" A pause settled and Parker's attention shifted away, looking over the skyline of the mountains and watching the Breach ooze over the landscape.
"I do not remember…I just know it was not her." It could not be Andraste, not now. For so much of Parker's life and childhood the woman had tried the path of faith like so many others. She had tried to believe that her suffering was for a reason as told by members of the Chantry. They were truly moronic, believing that a young child deserved such punishment. Yet another reason humans have soiled the view of the world. And Parker quickly came to learn that if neither the Maker nor his wife would ever make him or herself present to Parker when she most needed them, then they surely did not exist.
Cassandra's face fell into a disapproving frown. She was a religious woman, and whether Parker truly was saved from the Fade by Andraste or not was not what bothered her. It was Parker's intense disregard seemingly to the fact that there was no Maker, full stop. I will conceive that one might only look up at the Breach and believe that there are higher powers at work. But even Parker seemed too unnerved and stubborn to believe in that.
"I will take you to the rift," Cassandra stated firmly, attempting to use her words to push away previous disagreements. Parker simply stood there, glancing back down as she was changed from wooden shackles to a far more "breathable" rope. It was thick and quickly started to cut into her skin as she slowly followed Cassandra, her mind drifting to the world around her.
Parker had grown up on the streets, a girl thrown to the wolves and forced to adapt quickly in order to survive. It might not have looked like the forests of the Kocari Wilds, but it was a childhood I related to. One developed the skill of constantly looking for a way out, for a stepping-stone in order to take advantage of the situation. She paid no mind to the glares from the villagers nor the echoes of fighting in the distance. Instead Parker took notice of how every five steps Cassandra would turn her head just enough to ensure Parker was still following. She noticed how every guard they passed would immediately shift to protect their blade but not their dagger on the other hip. A mistake Parker was quick to apply leverage to.
She forced herself to stumble, falling into one of the guards and startling him as he caught her. "I am so sorry," she breathed, her hot breath coming out in steam as she forced a sheepish smile. I certainly do not approve of lowering one's strong resolve (especially as a woman) for an advantage but she did not seem bothered. As swiftly as possible she slid the dagger free from the man's sheath and carefully up the inside of her arm guard. It nicked her skin but the small pinch was nothing compared to the ache in her hand. The man simply grunted that it was all right, righting the woman again as she received a curious look from Cassandra. He seemed unaware of the sudden lightness on his belt.