It is said that if you feel you are being watched in the Brecilian Forest, you are.
-Leliana
Every land had its lawless region, its frontier where outsiders and bandits found sanctuary away from civilized society. Ferelden's just happened to mix a hefty dose of the spirit world with ancient ruins and dense vegetation. It was more than an enchanted forest, it was an opening to the beyond. It was a popular destination for ambitious magic users who hoped to consort with elements of the Fade. For templars willing to hunt these mages, it was usually a death trap.
Max hoped there was safety in numbers and experience. The scouting team he was a part of consisted of a half-dozen templars and recruits; most of them had braved the Brecilian Forest several times. These were not typical, full-metal armor templars who stormed maleficar strongholds, performed holy smite then cut through the enemy until victory was theirs. No, these were templars who traded heavy plate for flexible leather, and might for cunning. This was the only way to survive a mission through the forest.
Castor, an adept ranger, was in his element, but the mighty defender, Maximilien, felt out of place. His party had entered the forest a day ago, and only by the Maker's grace had he lived through the first night.
It was midday, and an unnatural greenish-yellow light shone through the woods, turning sallow the complexions of the templar scouting party. Max thought perhaps they actually were sick; he certainly felt queasy about wading through the haze of spirits mingling with nature. Every step Max took seemed to land on ground that sighed and shifted under his weight. Branches from trees he brushed against felt more like hands pushing him in the directions they chose, with no regard to his own plans. The vegetation wailed as he hacked away at it and carved a path for his fellow teammates. The wind whispered a long-forgotten elven poem and clouded Max's mind with alien language. Once the group entered a small clearing, he took in a deep breath to cleanse his senses, but the caustic air cut his breath short. He clutched at his chest and coughed, lurching forward.
Castor put an arm out to catch Max from falling to the ground.
"There's no need," said Max, straightening his posture. "I just breathed in a-a…"
"Demon?" asked Castor, looking warily at his surroundings. "I know that feeling. I think I'm halfway to becoming an abomination already."
"Hush!" Another scout entered the conversation. It was Ser Roseen, a seasoned templar who was reaching the end of her service… and her sanity. She grabbed Castor's upper arm and glanced about, flinching. "They can hear you, and worse, they understand you! If Ox is possessed, then we must pray for him immediately." She pulled Castor to kneeling in front of Max. Castor looked up at Max, who shrugged back and smiled. Castor rolled his eyes before bowing his head along with Roseen.
Max looked down at Roseen. Her mousy brown hair was piled into a messy knot on top of her head. Years of lyrium consumption had drained the color from her eyes and skin, so that she was ghastly even without help from the sick glow of the forest. Her uniform was old and disheveled; its straps hung slack and Max had helped her straighten her shoulder and arm guards three times already that afternoon.
Once a brilliant, determined knight, Roseen was no longer keen with large blades and mostly wielded small weapons, like stilettos. She talked incessantly of her past but confused the dates of everything and added history lessons into her timeline. Sometimes she sounded like she knew Andraste personally.
Her true asset presently was her divine ability to sense magic. She would begin to hum and shiver the closer she got to it, until she was belting out full refrains of her favorite chants and convulsed like a madwoman. Despite her diminutive weapons and lack of focus, she was a scary presence during battle, a wild X-factor that would sing hymns and recite the Chant as she felled her foes in pure, chaotic fury. It was only her fear of being so close to the Fade that kept her in line while traveling through the forest, but only barely.
"O virtuous Maker," prayed Roseen quietly, "we give Thee-"
Ser Einar, a younger templar, pulled Roseen from the ground and shook her gently. "Snap out of it, Roseen! There is nothing wrong with Ox other than a bad case of nerves."
Max looked away, embarrassed.
Roseen pushed Einar away and pulled some of her unkempt hair behind her ears. She pointed at Einar. "You don't have to respect the wood, but you must at least recognize its power. It knows who we are, that we do not belong, and it will feed on our weakness." She looked around nervously.
Max spoke up. "I assume you are talking about me, Ser Roseen? I will be fine. I merely… swallowed a bug. Yes, a nasty little thing. At least I am rid of it."
Castor stifled a laugh, while Roseen narrowed her gaze at Max. "You may believe it was only a bug, but-"
Einar interrupted. "All right, I think we've had just about enough of these distractions for today." He looked up at the sky. "Maker, but why did the Knight-Lieutenant insist the old bat come along?"
Castor tapped Einar's shoulder and directed his attention to the rest of the scouting party, who were just about caught up with Einar's group. "Maybe you could ask her yourself."
Einar sneered at Knight-Lieutenant Ivone as she stepped into the clearing. She shook her head and laughed.
"Your expression is unbecoming, Ser Einar. Unless there's a demon standing behind me… let's see… hm, no, that's not it. I take it I've done something to offend you?"
Einar continued to glare at Ivone as he snapped a branch off a tree at the edge of the forest. "No, Ser, but I am tired of playing nursemaid to two recruits and a lunatic."
Max stepped in front of Einar. "I beg your pardon, Ser, but I seem to recall Ser Roseen and Castor tracking the witches all this way without your assistance. And if you are unhappy with the path I blaze for our team, please speak to me directly."
Einar's face grew red, and he looked away. He sighed and ran his fingers through his dark red hair. He began cursing under his breath. Max wasn't mad at Einar. He knew the forest was getting to Einar just like it had already gotten under his own skin. Einar had been clutching a small pouch for the last two days, juggling it and milking it in his hands when he wasn't occupied with Roseen's outbursts or his other duties. Max knew exactly what was in the pouch. He knew that soon enough he would be in Einar's shoes.
Ivone cleared her throat and cast a stern look at Einar. "It's time for a break, to clear our heads. We should be fine in this glade as long as we stay close to the tree line. Einar? I need a word with you." She pulled the angry templar aside.
The rest of the group began unpacking for their afternoon meal. Max and Castor sat under a tree a short distance from Roseen and the last templar of their party, Ser Godred. As a recruit, Max didn't feel comfortable socializing with the knighted of the group, and Castor seemed to follow Max's lead most of the time.
Max pulled out a small loaf of barley bread from the bag he shared with Castor. He and Castor prayed before breaking off pieces for themselves. Ser Godred, a usually stoic man, invited himself and Ser Roseen over to the recruits' sitting spot and regaled the group with a tale of his time in the Free Marches. Max felt welcome at last.
Halfway through the break, Castor became restless. He packed up his shared bag without asking Max and walked into the clearing. Max stood up, straightened his armor and called to Castor.
"Where are you going?" asked Max. "You shouldn't be out in the open like that."
Castor shifted his gaze to the tree the group was resting under. He readied his bow, alarming Max. "I don't think so, Ox. I think we're safer out here than near-"
The tree cracked and the earth shook. Max and the rest of the group scattered from their places as the tree appeared to be falling right on top of them. Max scurried to Castor's side just in time to witness the tree not fall, but unfurl into an enormous wooden beast. It bellowed as it uprooted, uncurling long, spindly limbs and fingers, razor sharp and poised to lash out at the party of holy warriors. Max unsheathed his sword. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to fight a giant, walking tree, but he would do whatever it took to protect his party.
Castor lowered his bow and stared with mouth agape at the monster. "That… I was not expecting."
Max looked at his friend, astonished. "What? Then why did you act like you were about to shoot it?"
"There's a person hiding in the damned thing! I saw flashes of light while we were eating and finally looked up to see a suit of armor." He pointed at the high branches. "See it there?"
Max squinted, looking for signs of shiny metal. "No one climbs trees wearing a full suit!"
The tree cocked an arm back then swept it in front of its body, batting Einar into the field. As Einar struggled to his feet, the tree locked the templar in a magic prison of roots that sprung out of the earth. Einar screamed in pain as the roots began to crush him, but his scream was cut short as the roots bound him like a serpent squeezing its prey.
"And trees don't attack people, yet this one is going to turn Einar into templar pulp if we don't move our asses!" Castor pulled a special fire arrow from his quiver and aimed. He fired; the burning arrow arced then landed among the tree's branches. Leaves quickly spread fire to much of treetop. The beast howled and thrashed.
Max taunted the beast, which turned its attention to him, rather than Castor. It captured Max in its tight roots, just as it had Einar. Max was paralyzed; he couldn't even move his arms to slash through the prison. He attempted to breathe, but the roots were quickly collapsing his midsection.
Lieutenant Ivone waved her sword in the air and chanted, cleansing the area of magic and freeing Einar and Max from their prisons. Ser Godred helped them to their feet, and after catching their breath, they rejoined the fray. Max stayed by Castor, challenging the beast to attack him and not his friend. Castor continued to punish the creature with devastating fire arrows.
Ivone, Godred and Einar performed holy attacks on the tree, crippling it from using magical effects. Roseen, however, was barely visible to Max. She had rushed the beast with poison-tipped daggers and used them to grip the tree and swiftly climb its trunk, leaving a ladder of daggers in her wake. Max could still hear her, cursing the demon within the tree. He could only imagine she was somewhere among the blazing branches, snapping them off in her fit of fury.
The tree, flailing, struck the templars on the front line and tossed Roseen from its branches. Max watched in horror as his teammates were knocked unconscious. He gritted his teeth and charged. With all of his weight behind his shield, he bashed the burning, lurching tree. It fell to the ground, snuffing out its fire. Max jumped on top and ran his sword through the trunk again and again, unsure where the heart of a demonic tree was. He could only hope one of his plunges would connect with its core.
Less than a minute later, a final, hopeless moan escaped its body and it reverted to a lifeless piece of charred wood. Max sheathed his sword and wiped his brow, hopping down from the trunk. He and Castor helped their fellow templars to standing, and the group assessed their injuries. Einar and Ivone helped dress a gash along Roseen's arm, while Godred looked the tree over.
"You wouldn't find these in Starkhaven," he said, poking his sword at a branch.
There was a clank as his blade hit metal. The rest of the party turned their attention to the unusual sound. Max recalled what Castor had claimed about armor earlier.
"What in the…" Godred speared the tree and came up with a battered spaulder looped to his blade. Castor and Max rushed to Godred.
"I knew it!" exclaimed Castor. "Well, I guess the fire took care of whoever was about to ambush us."
Max crouched and pushed aside branches and leaves to reveal the rest of the body. He could tell that fire had not been responsible for the person's death. It was apparent that the corpse was old and that it belonged to one of the Order.
Godred gasped. "Maker's breath! This… this beast was a templar collector!"
"A demon with a grudge, I take it." Castor scratched his chin. "Any way we can identify the body?"
Max carefully searched the templar, wary he might break its brittle remains. Around its neck he found a gold chain and an amulet in the shape of Andraste's holy flame. Many templars wore these symbols, but this one was especially intricate. On the back of the amulet was an engraving. Max read it aloud.
"Andraste watch over and protect you, my dear Ambrus."
Roseen screamed. Max turned around just in time to see her break free from Einar and Ivone, bandages flying through the air as she ran to the tree and pushed Max aside. She collapsed next to the body and grabbed the amulet. She ran her fingers over it and wailed.
"Ambrus! Oh, Ambrus. I told you, told you, to take me with you! Why didn't you let me come?" She fell into the templar's breastplate, cried and mumbled his name repeatedly.
Max backed away to give Roseen room. She was lost in her embrace. Ivone and Einar joined the others next to the tree, rolling up a trail of gauze on their way. Max was surprised to see hints of sadness—perhaps sympathy—in Einar's eyes. Ivone was the first to speak, looking down at Roseen. She spoke softly.
"Ser Ambrus's last mission was to Lothering. That was nearly a year ago. We never heard if he made it to the Chantry. There were several rumors about possible desertion, but it appears that he made a bold—and fatal—move to take a shortcut through this forest."
"That's how it appears, yes," said Einar, "but it could be a cover-up as well. I wouldn't put it past any maleficar to make it look like the forest did him in."
Ivone cocked an eyebrow and smirked at Einar. "Dear boy, you're starting to sound like Roseen."
Einar grunted.
Max watched Roseen, and a pang of understanding flared in him. There were pyres in his mind, flashes of burning bodies and the sting of smoke in his eyes. He felt the release of souls rising to meet the Maker. It was bittersweet. It was unfair.
People believed templars were incapable of love, or at least unwilling to let it get in their way. However, templars were people, too, and nature was inevitable. Roseen and Ambrus were inevitable. There wasn't enough lyrium in all of Thedas to cancel out love. If the Chantry truly wanted apathetic warriors, they would build golems.
Max turned to Ivone. "This man deserves a pyre. Roseen deserves closure."
Ivone nodded. She bent down and put a gentle hand on Roseen's shoulder. "We've traveled far enough today. Let's start a fire before it gets dark."
She stood up and bowed her head. For several minutes the only sound from the group was Roseen's soft crying. One by one, the group left her side and gathered kindling.
Ashes we were, and ashes we become…
