A/N: I've got a question for all my lovely readers. Yes, that means you. So, I've actually written three or four chapters ahead of what I've posted, and I've decided to send some of our friends back to Ostagar, which got me thinking - how much original storyline would everyone like? I figure we'll have two, maybe three chapters in Ostagar, and the Orzammar questline is going to take several chapters, but it's because I'm adding LOTS of my own stuff.
Basically, would you prefer to read something totally original (like this chapter, which completely doesn't occur in-game) or is it alright to spend four or five chapters in a revamped Deep Roads? (Just for a minute, forget that you hate the Deep Roads.)
Or even, if you don't mind an extremely long story, I could do both? Ultimately, I'll be writing whatever Fiah asks me to, but I'd love your opinions!
Hi, Andraste. It's me, Fiahrel.
You know, the one who accidentally threw up on the Revered Mother during that nasty bout of sickness ten years ago.
So, yeah. It's me. Hi. How are you? I'm doing great, just in case you were wondering. Well, actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. See, I've got some friends who are trying to save Ferelden from the Blight, and you're probably really busy helping them, but could I get your complete and undivided attention for just a minute?
The thing is: I don't want to die.
So, if you could just use your magical holy powers to smite the hell out of these darkspawn, that would be great. Thanks in advance.
"Die, dammit!" Nocking another arrow, Fiah trained her sights on the creature at the base of her tree. Already, she'd embedded two arrows solidly into the skull of the darkspawn, but it showed no signs of giving up; the third arrow seemed to do the trick, and it fell dead on the ground.
One of the four remaining creatures, taller than the rest—were they hurlocks?—arced its sword through the air, catching the limb that Fiah was crouching on. She escaped the attack unharmed, but the clang of the sword caused a violent tremor to quake through the wood. Nearly dropping her bow, Fiah grabbed the branch and held on for dear life. One of her feet lost its grip, and she fell over the side, her feet swinging free as her hands clawed deep into the limb. With a desperate, frantic gasp, Fiah pulled herself back onto the branch, scrambling to regain her footing.
Hello! Andraste! You're doing a really shitty job, you know.
Once she'd righted herself again, Fiah reached for another arrow. In a succession of quick, precise movements, she was able to take care of the rest of the darkspawn, with the exception of the hurlock. Grimacing, Fiah nocked one of her two remaining arrows, and waited.
The hurlock danced around the base of the tree, searching for an opening to attack. Fiah crouched on the branch, eyes narrowed in concentration. She watched the darkspawn's movements closely, waiting for the inevitable moment when it tensed…
And she let the arrow fly.
As the hurlock had moved to raise its sword in attack, it had left its skull wide open for Fiah's arrow to find. Knowing it wouldn't be enough, Fiah quickly followed her shot with another.
It still wasn't enough, and now she was out of arrows.
"I did not come all this way to be eaten by some sort of darkspawn scum," Fiah growled. Steeling herself, she tossed her bow to the ground below and slid her daggers from their sheaths. With a feral cry, Fiah dropped from the tree, landing on the balls of her feet and letting the momentum force her knees to bend. From her crouch, she lashed out at the hurlock. The dagger in her left hand caught in the darkspawn's decaying armor, but with her right hand, she sliced through flesh and recoiled, preparing for another attack.
She gripped the dagger in both hands and raised it, but as Fiah was about to plunge it into the creature's chest, her leg exploded in pain. Without looking or thinking, Fiah struck at the darkspawn, driving her dagger into its flesh over and over until the adrenaline flooded from her body and left her acutely aware of the bloody gash in her left calf.
Tossing her dagger aside, Fiah collapsed to the ground amongst the corpses and dug through her pack for some bandages. Gingerly, she began to work the boot off of her foot, slowly separating the shredded leather from her tender skin.
The rogue hates this. Hates it. She hates—Oh, sweet Maker! Damn you!
Her curses began to slip through her lips in long, breathless strings as her vision began to swim from the pain. Fiah wasn't sure if she could make it back to the city by herself, but she had no choice. She quickly covered the wound with one of the bandages, not bothering to secure it completely or wipe off the blood from her skin. Fiah looked back towards the road, which was obscured by several feet of forest, and felt her shoulders droop.
That's it. I'm going to die here.
"Oh, don't worry, Fiah," she quipped in falsetto, attempting to impersonate Andraste, "since I forgot to save your life earlier, I'll do it now." Fiah clenched her teeth down on her bottom lip, trying to drown some of the pain out. "I could use a bloody miracle," she seethed.
No, her mind chided, you need to stop chasing after excitement. Just because you promised Soris that you'd hunt doesn't mean you have to voluntarily attack darkspawn.
"Shut up," she mumbled to herself. If she was going to back at the Alienage before nightfall, Fiah knew she'd have to suck it up and walk. So, she slung her bow over her shoulder and stood.
And promptly slithered back to the ground.
Ow.
Seeing that there was no way for her to put weight on her left leg, Fiah crawled along the forest floor, searching for a stick that was long and thick enough to support her. When she found a fallen branch that looked sturdy enough, Fiah leaned heavily on the stick and used a nearby tree to help pull herself to her feet. She limped towards the road, half-dragging her bloody foot behind her.
I've never, ever donated to the Andrastian Chantry, she thought through gritted teeth, but if I don't get a miracle between here and the city gates, I'm not even going to feel guilty about not donating. Hell, I'll steal from the donation box. How do you like that, Andraste?
Leliana would kill me if she knew what I was thinking right now.
As Fiah slowly limped down the road to the city, thoughts of her former companions filled her mind. If she'd had Tanya or Alistair with her, she wouldn't have been caught off-guard by the darkspawn. Or, if she were with Wynne or Landon, or even Morrigan, she could be walking properly on a healed leg.
Fiah sighed. She missed them. After all the years she'd spent in the Alienage with Faelid, she hadn't even once thought about missing him, but after only a few days away from the Wardens, she missed them all terribly.
Well, most of them. Landon, Leliana, and Tanya, mostly. Morrigan, too. And Alistair was good company, she supposed. Wynne was too pushy, though.
With another sigh, Fiah admitted to herself that if the ragtag crew ever came back through Denerim, she'd practically be begging to rejoin them, despite her better judgment. Groaning, Fiah forced herself to focus on the slightly more important issue, consciously keeping her weight shifted to her right.
She reached the city gates just as the sun dropped below the trees. Once she was within the city walls, Fiah felt her pace increase at the prospect of being so close to healing poultices. Pausing at the edge of the market district, she patted the coin purse strapped to her belt to ensure she still had coin left. Fiah began to walk towards the market stalls, but a young boy ran past her and nearly knocked her off her makeshift crutch.
"You get your slimy little ass back here!" Fiah yelled, both in anger and in pain.
The boy turned, his eyes wide with fear. "Y-yes?" he stammered, obviously not used to being berated like this.
Deciding to make the best of the situation, Fiah slipped a sovereign out of her coin purse and wiggled it at the boy. "You do me a favor," she bargained, "and I'll forget about that little incident, plus I'll give you this."
He looked up to Fiah with bright, expectant eyes.
"Take this over to market and buy me a health poultice. If you come back, I'll give you twice as much coin as it costs." She flipped him the coin, narrowing her eyes to make sure he understood that she'd be watching.
The boy was fast, rushing from one stall to the next until he found a merchant with health poultices. He raced back to Fiah, a little red vial in one hand. "Here!" he exclaimed, holding out the poultice and dumping a few silver coins in her waiting hand.
"Thank you, ser." Fiah dug out a pair of sovereigns and tossed them to the boy. Plopping down in the middle of Denerim, Fiah unwrapped her left leg and used the clean edges of the old bandages to get some of the blood off of her calf. She bit her tongue until it bled, trying to ignore her mind's protests against the pain. Grimacing, Fiah spread some of the thick medicine on the gash.
That stings. Oh, it stings. Maker! Damn it, this hurts!
Gradually, the fiery throb of the poultice faded, replaced by a cool, soothing thrum that Fiah had come to associate with healing. Already, the swelling and redness around the gash was beginning to lessen. Fiah pulled another bandage from her pack and wrapped the wound, taking more care than she had the first time.
After a few more minutes, the poultice had nearly numbed the wound, so Fiah took a deep breath and grabbed the makeshift crutch, using it to pull herself to her feet. Walking was easier, now, though her feet were clumsier from the poultice's effects.
When Fiah made it to the Alienage, she found Soris waiting expectantly. He rushed up to her, demanding a dozen different things at once.
"Slow down," she instructed. "I'm fine, but don't you dare touch this crutch. I didn't get any meat, mostly due to an inconvenience involving a certain shredded leg. I'll go buy something from the market, so don't worry."
Soris looked relieved for a moment, but it was quickly replaced by concern. "Are you sure? Food from the market is pretty expensive these days."
Fiah's mind grumbled in protest, but she nodded. "I've got a bit of money to spare. Help me to the house, please."
Nodding, Soris moved to Fiah's side, replacing the temporary crutch. She leaned heavily on him, and together they limped to Fiah's house. Once there, she motioned for him to stay outside, while she shuffled to where she'd hidden her coin purse under the bed. Grabbing a generous handful of sovereigns, Fiah tucked the money into the pouch on her belt. She shed her weapons, then rejoined Soris outside.
"So, has anyone tried to get outside help?" Fiah asked as they made their way back to the market.
Soris shook his head. "There's no use. The arl's been busy with complaints from the humans. There's no way he has time for Alienage elves." He paused thoughtfully. "Do you know about the new arl?"
"No. Maker, tell me it isn't Vaughan?"
"No," Soris snorted. "I've heard that bastard got locked in his own prison. The arl's name is Rendon Howe."
Fiah scrunched her nose, digging through her memories to try and figure out why that name seemed familiar. Not just familiar—important.
"Supposedly he's being rewarded by Loghain. I don't know, though," Soris shrugged. "It's still the same in the Alienage, no matter who's arl."
Loghain… Loghain. Again, another name that seemed familiar. Ah! Loghain, the murderous bastard! "Do you know anything about Howe?" Fiah asked, craning her neck to search the market stalls as she and Soris drew closer. "Anything along the lines of a murderer or traitor?"
Again, Soris shrugged. "I know he's from Amaranthine. People seem to respect him, I guess."
"Good. Then I'm going to speak with him tomorrow," Fiah decided. If there was one thing she'd learned since she'd met the Wardens, it was that a good weapon and a sharp tongue could open all the right doors.
"He won't listen."
She cocked her head defiantly. "I'll make him. Now go talk to that guy over there and see how much food we can buy with ten sovereigns." Fiah gave Soris a light shove towards the merchant, then ducked behind the stall. She'd noticed a locked chest earlier, no doubt filled with all sorts of expensive little delights. As soon as she was sure that Soris had the merchant's attention, Fiah whipped out her lock picking set and fiddled with the lock until it clickedopen. Most of the chest's contents were useless—papers, quills, and other business-y things—but Fiah snatched a small coin pouch and a thin dagger, which looked elvish, and would therefore be both dependable and expensive.
As she stood, she tucked the coin away and slid the dagger into her belt at the small of her back, carefully readjusting her pack so that it hid the blade from view. Her calf was beginning to ache from kneeling down, but Fiah just leaned against a table and shifted her weight off her left leg. As she did her best to look uninteresting and innocent, she caught sight of an elf on the other side of the market. She squinted a bit, unable to get a good look at him in the fading light, but she swore he grinned at her.
Gah! Bad! Look busy… look busy. Soris, get back here!
Too late. Dammit.
As the elf drew closer, the orange glow of the setting sun glinted off a pair of daggers strapped to his back. Fiah made a mental note that his armor matched hers, with the exception of her one useless, hurlock-shredded boot. He seemed to sense her curious stare, and his grin grew wider.
Fiah took a deep breath, glancing frantically over at Soris. If it weren't for her leg—which was beginning to burn—she would've moved over to where her friend was doing his best to haggle with the merchant, but Fiah wasn't sure she wanted to leave the comfort of leaning against the table. When she looked back for the elf, he was gone.
Her rogue instincts kicked in, and Fiah reached for the dagger she'd just tucked away in her belt.
It, too, was gone.
"Looking for this?"
"Ah! No! Yes," she corrected, her flustered thoughts comprehending the strange elf that stood to her right, dangling the twice-confiscated blade between them. Slightly incredulous, Fiah patted the small of her back again, checking that the dagger had really been taken. "You give that back!" she insisted, her pride flaring.
The elf just chuckled. "What does a beautiful woman like you need this for, hmm?" He tucked the dagger away and flashed her a grin identical to the one he'd given her from across the market.
Fiah narrowed her eyes, unable to place his accent. "To teach a lesson to creeps like you, that's why."
He raised his hands in surrender. "I understand. I know when I'm not wanted." With another suspicious grin, the elf turned to walk away.
She may have missed his hands when he took the dagger, but Fiah was keenly aware of the elf's touch when he stealthily reached for her pack. Whirling around, she grabbed his wrist and glared straight into his eyes. "You aren't a pickpocket by trade, are you?" she mused, pursing her lips.
"No," he admitted with a little shrug. "The pockets I pick usually belong to someone I've just killed. Strangely enough, they've never been able to catch me."
Assassin.
"Well, I suggest you work on your live targets before coming back here," Fiah suggested lightly.
"Ah," the elf crooned, "you are a rather experienced thief, I presume?"
Stifling a smug smile, Fiah did her best to smother her need to brag. "You could say that, yes."
"Then perhaps you would be willing to show me some of your techniques," he purred, lowering his voice and leaning closer to Fiah. "A private lesson, of sorts."
Fiah used her grip on his wrist to push him away. "Don't even think about it," she warned, not missing the innuendo. With one last glare of warning, she hobbled over to where Soris was, praying he was having better luck.
You've got one last chance, Andraste. I'll I'm asking for is one itty bitty miracle—just one thing that goes right today.
Remember—I will steal from that donation box.