Chapter 25 In the Forest of Spirits and Demons
AN: I received a review from someone named hotrod 333 comparing Conrí to Agent Gibbs from NCIS. I would have answered you personally, but you came up as a guest on FF so, sorry. In all honesty, I did draw a lot of inspiration from Gibbs, so he or she was right. XD. I got some inspiration from Mark Calloway as well. If you know who that is awesome, if not, look him up. You might recognize him by another name.
They entered the forest and Tira was left with a feeling of unease in the silence. The only noises were the sounds of leaves and seeds falling from the trees and the distant sound of running water, brief interruptions in the deathly silence. She looked around, and he could tell the others were just as uneasy about it as she was. Xolana was shifting uneasily in the robes Varathorn had provided for her, though she excused this with the fact she wasn't used to them. Despite this, they couldn't afford to let uneasiness stop them: they had a task to complete.
They'd met Shale on its way back to the camp, asking the golem to wait with those left to keep an eye on things. The golem agreed, lumbering back the way it had come.
Conrí motioned the group on until they reached a waterfall tumbling into a river. In the water was a small island connected by three bridges, one on each side. As they crossed the bridge, they noticed that up ahead were three werewolves running towards them. Leading them was an unusual brown werewolf that was distinctly bigger than the other two and had two wide scars over its left eye. As the Wardens approached, they noticed many more werewolves appeared from above, waiting to attack, but were held back by the orders of their leader, the brown werewolf.
As they came onto the island, the werewolf leader spoke to them, "Hrrr. The watch-wolves have spoken truly, my brothers and sisters." The werewolves around him growled in response before their leader continued to speak, "We have humans, dwarves and a Qunari, all things, along with their treacherous kin to repay us for our attack on the Dalish, to put us in our place. What bitter irony."
Conrí's eyes widened in shock. These creatures can speak? He thought. He shook his head to clear it. If they could speak, they could be reasoned with. "Who are you?" Conrí asked.
"You speak to Swiftrunner," the werewolf introduced himself. "I lead my cursed brothers and sisters." Swiftrunner then growled before it barked out, "Turn back now, go back to the Dalish, and tell them that you have failed. Hrrr. Tell them we gladly watch them suffer the same curse we have suffered for far too long. We will watch them pay!"
"Can't we just negotiate?" Tira asked while holding her bow tightly.
"Was it not Zathrian who sent you?" Swiftrunner asked with a growl. "He wishes only our destruction, never to talk!"
"Is there no way this can be solved peacefully?" Erin asked.
"The time for peace is long past," Swiftrunner stated. "There will be no peace between Zathrian and we who are cursed."
"Is Zathrian responsible and how are you able to talk?" Tira asked Swiftrunner.
Swiftrunner snarled in response, turning to the others. "You know nothing, do you? None of you do, not even the Dalish Elf you travel with. You know nothing of us and even less of those you serve. You are fools, and we are done talking." Swiftrunner then got in a combat stance to yell, "Run from the forest while you can. Run to the Dalish and tell them they are doomed."
Conrí didn't move a muscle as he stared Swiftrunner in the eye. The forest was silent as Swiftrunner gazed into the eyes so like and yet unlike his own. "We don't want to fight, but we will not retreat either," Conrí stated.
"I do not wish to fight you, either, but we cannot trust you," Swiftrunner admitted as he turned to his fellow werewolves to bark out, "Come, brothers and sisters, let us retreat. The forest has eyes of its own, and it will deal with intruders as it always has." Swiftrunner and his fellow werewolves then turned around and retreated deep in the forest.
They continued across the stream, pressing deeper into the forest, encountering danger at every turn. Not only the werewolves, but rabid wolves and bears. Most were dropped with an arrow to the throat or heart by Tira, Erin or Conrí long before they got close or sent beyond the Veil by Morrigan, Tristan or Xolana's magic, while the few that did manage to evade the arrows and blasts of sorcery were hit by Koun, Kiba and Tsume, the pair of mabari and lone wolf knocking the beasts aside and tearing out their throats before they could recover. This left Sten, Serena and Alistair with little to do, but there were few complaints from the warriors.
In death, the werewolves regressed, returning to the individuals they had once been before the curse consumed them. Many times, in death, they became elves of both genders, bearing the tattoos and marks on their flesh that marked them out as Dalish elves. No doubt members of Zathrian's clan infected in the attack and consumed by the curse before they had arrived.
But the most unsettling danger, even more so than the rabid beasts and werewolves, made its first appearance on the other side of the barrow as they began to descend into a shallow, tree-filled valley. There had been a blood-curdling roar from either side of the group and Conrí had looked around to see what he'd taken for an oak sapling lunging at him, branches extended like claws, the bark of its trunk shifting and contorting to form a leering, monstrous face that snapped and roared angrily. Long, slender branches reached for his neck, scratching his face and drawing blood, but before they could close around his throat, Conrí heard the tree-creature lunging at him screeching in pain as flames came into being from the air around him and lashed the thing's wooden hide.
Chancing a look behind him, Conrí saw the mages were laying into the wooden creature with streams of fire and ice leaping from the palms of their hands, while Tira remained at a safe distance, shooting flaming arrows into the creature's wooden hide. Erin, realizing her sword wouldn't do much against the monstrosities, reached to her he belt and seized the haft of a wood axe she had been using that very morning for firewood. She struck out, severing one of the creature's flailing limbs in a spray of sap. The tree creature shrieked in pain at its injuries, its thrashings growing weaker as Xolana's flames burnt through it and Serena and Alistair hacked it into little more than flaming kindling. When Conrí finally put his sword through the center of the shrieking face formed in the bark of the tree creature's body, it finally fell silent and still, the only sound coming from the crackling of the flames as they completed the destruction of the creature's oaken form.
"What in the Void was that thing?" Erin rasped as she planted a foot on the smoldering heap of wood and wrenched the axe free.
"A sylvan," Tira answered. "A tree possessed by a spirit, inevitably one that has gone mad from finding itself imprisoned in what amounts to little more than a wooden cage. The madness inevitably leads to a berserk rage, driving the sylvan to kill anything that crosses its path, purely to alleviate its anger."
"We should be careful," Xolana added. "The stories say the Veil that separates us from the spirit world is thin in the Brecilian Forest, and such entities are rife here. Who knows how many more mindless monsters lie in wait among the trees?"
Conrí nodded in agreement and they continued down the hill, coming into a small clearing where five more oak saplings surrounded one large, ancient oak tree. Conrí suspected all was not as it seemed, and his suspicions proved right when the five saplings sprang to life and reached for them with claw-like branches, howling in lunatic rage, but now they were ready for them. Xolana, Tristan and Morrigan blasted them with a torrent of fire and ice, after which Alistair, Serena and Erin attacked with axes, hacking the burning sylvans into piles of smoldering kindling as they desperately tried to put out the flames eating their bodies. In a few moments, the battle was won, and the only sounds were the sputter and crackle of flames as they completed the destruction of the tree spirits.
And then the ancient oak at the centre of the glade began to stir. The group readied their weapons, waiting for the possessed tree to throw itself at them with unthinking ferocity. The bark of the tree's trunk began to twist and shape into the form of a wizened face, its branches contorting into long arms that extended towards Conrí. He raised his heavy blade, waiting for the inevitable attack, ready to hack the tree creature apart, though he imagined, given its size and age, this would be somewhat more of an arduous battle. Behind him, he heard the creak of bowstrings being drawn back and the crackle of flames, and knew that Tira, Erin, Morrigan, Tristan and Xolana were also ready. But to their surprise, the sylvan didn't attack; it merely cocked its head slightly and regarded them quizzically, as though unsure what to make of them. To Conrí's amazement, the creature began to speak. "Mmm… What manner of beast be thee, which comes before this elder tree?"
Considering that the other sylvans they'd encountered had thrown themselves at the group without a single warning, the fact that this one was speaking in a calm, even voice and regarding them with curiosity rather than hate caught Conrí off guard, so he lowered the sword, uncertain as to how to proceed. "So... is it not going to try to kill us?" he muttered to the others.
At this, the old sylvan nodded to the burning forms of its fellow creatures. "Thou speaketh of the sylvans, how filled they are with hate? I apologize on their behalf; they cannot control their fate." At this, the sylvan gestured to itself and continued. "Allow me a moment to welcome thee; I am the Grand Oak, sometimes the Elder Tree. And unless thou thinks it far too soon, might I ask of thee a boon?"
"First, in answer to your question, I am a human," Conrí replied. "But I would like some information, before you ask something of me. For a start, what are you?"
"I am an Elder Oak and nothing more, though once I dreamt of a time before, when I roamed the world and howled in pain; not of this world, but twixt and twain. Perhaps I was a spirit then, a wandering thing drawn to this glen? But then that spirit joined with a tree; since then, a tree is all I be."
"But you seem different. The others were not as… friendly," Garik pointed out.
"Of the sylvans, this is true; they are quite mad, their virtues few. A spirit trapped within a tree, no eyes to see or mouth to scream. A cage of bark, a prison wood, a thing of rage, where nature stood," the Grand Oak agreed.
"But you are not like them," Serena countered. "You are calmer, you are reasonable… and you speak in rhymes! How did that come about?" To her surprise, the Grand Oak spread its branch-like arms wide and gave an almost human shrug.
"I do not know. Why does thou not? Thy words seem plain, a mundane lot. Perhaps a poet's soul's in me; does that make me a poet-tree?" the Grand Oak offered, finishing with a soft chuckle.
Conrí's eyebrows shot up. A small incredulous laugh forced its way out. "Poetry! I get it!" Erin giggled from behind him. The others either laughed as well, or stared in amazement.
The Grand Oak chuckled again. "It was but a simple jest, a jibe to entertain my guest."
"Can you tell us anything about this forest?" Tira asked. It had been her home for years, but even she didn't know all its secrets.
"I can only say what a tree may see. It may not help you, but it is enough for me."
"We seek the creature known as Witherfang, the Great Wolf," Tristan told the Grand Oak, speaking for the first time since they had entered the forest. "Do you know whereabouts the beast makes its lair?"
"In the centre of the forest the weres do dwell, or so go the tales my fellows tell. But they cannot be followed there; the forest doth protect the weres," the Grand Oak rumbled.
"How can that be?" Serena asked, confused. "Why would the forest protect those savage animals?"
"Perhaps weres use magic to command the trees?" the Grand Oak replied uncertainly. "All I know is the weres move as they please."
"If you know where they are, is it possible you might know a way to penetrate the enchantments that prevent us following them?" Xolana asked.
"Perform the boon as I ask, and I shall reward you for the task. I have one desire: to solve a matter most dire. As I slept one early morn, a thief did come and steal an acorn."
"And you want your seed back, I take it?" Morrigan enquired, raising an eyebrow.
The Grand Oak nodded. "All I have is my being, my seed; without it, I am alone indeed. I cannot go and seek it out, yet I shall die if left without," the tree finished, almost pleadingly.
Serena folded her arms across her chestplate and replied. "We could look for your precious acorn, but it could prove an arduous task; the thief you wish us to find could be long gone. What can you offer us in exchange for our aid?"
The Grand Oak rubbed its chin thoughtfully, and then clicked its fingers in realization, pointing to the many leafy branches that adorned it as it spoke. "My wooden skin has some magic, see, and part of it I can give to thee."
"And what good would a piece of your wooden prison do us, spirit?" Morrigan snapped.
"The forest would see thee as a tree, and so no harm would come to thee," was the sylvan's answer.
"And this would allow us to breach whatever defenses prevent entry to the centre of the forest..." Conrí realized. "Yes, that sounds like it could be useful..."
"Wilt thou then perform the task? Wilt thou save me as I ask?" questioned the spirit with a pleading edge in its voice.
Conrí gave a smile and a brief nod; considering that the spirit had been quite fair with them and informed them what they were likely to face in the forest, it seemed only fair. The spirit nodded and gestured into the deeper reaches of the forest. "We will do as you ask, Spirit."
"Go to the east to find this man. I shall await, do what thou can," the spirit's voice faded away as it retreated back into its wooden home, becoming once more as still and lifeless as the tree it inhabited.
"Well," Tira cleared her throat. "That was interesting, to say the least."
"No kidding," Xolana breathed.
"Let's go," Conrí called. "We have a promise to fulfill."
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Back in the Dalish encampment, Blair was wandering around the outskirts. She was a bit disappointed by the aloof nature of many of the Dalish. It was as if she barely qualified as an elf to them. A few had been very kind, including the clan's crafts master, who had been more than willing to set her up with a new set of armor and a bow that wasn't just a step up from firewood. But most, including the Keeper, seemed to be more condescending. She'd almost stabbed a hunter who'd referred to her as a flat ear.
Thankfully, the mouthy young man noticed Blair's angry expression and how she was fingering her new daggers. Deciding to avoid her Dalish counterparts, she strolled around the perimeter of the camp. She came upon a bunch of rather lovely purple flowers. She knelt down to examine the blossoms, admiring the beautiful shade of royal purple. As she reached out to touch one, a voice spoke from behind her.
"I would not do that, carina," Zevran chuckled when Blair whirled around. "While rather lovely, Wolfsbane is a deadly beauty."
"Oh… this is Wolfsbane…" Blair felt rather foolish. Her mother had warned her not to be too curious about flowers in the forest.
"Indeed," Zevran knelt next to Blair and grabbed a stick to gently lift the flower. "Even touching the plant could give you a lethal dose of poison. But it does have its uses. Legends even say this seductive killer is a potent poison again werewolves."
"Did the Crows teach you all this?" Blair asked, honestly curious.
Zevran smirked ruefully. "And much more. Take for instance, that beautiful plant just there," he pointed to a stack of white tube-like flowers growing under a tree not far away. "While not as potent as Wolfsbane, Foxglove is still a useful poison as well as an ingredient in heart medicine."
"Any way I can convince you to teach me more?" Blair asked, immediately continuing when a lecherous grin spread across Zevran's face. "Besides sleeping with you?"
"Ah, well, I suppose," Zevran sighed, his disappointment obviously over exaggerated. "It would give me an excuse to spend more time with another lovely woman."
"Xolana not enough for you, Zev?" Blair chuckled.
"Our lovely mage companion is more than enough for any man or woman. I am merely keeping my options open, as it were."
For the next several hours, Zevran helped Blair harvest many poisonous plants, showing her how to mix them with other components, such as distillation and concentrating agents to create even more potent toxins. While no good for hunting, for combat, they would prove invaluable. After the lessons in plant toxicology, Zevran demonstrated how to coat Blair's arrows in the deadly Wolfsbane paste. With the addition of the concentrator agents, a single arrow was likely to drop a large bear within seconds. And who knew what I could do to Darkspawn or Werewolves?
"So…" Blair started as she swirled the arrowhead in the glass jar of the now syrup-like Wolfsbane. "What do you think of the Dalish?"
"I know little enough of the Dalish other than the fact my mother was one, or so I am told," Zevran sighed. "She fell in love with an elven woodcutter and accompanied him back to the city, leaving her clan behind for good. And there the wood cutter died of some filthy disease and my mother was forced into prostitution to pay off his debts. Oldest tale in the book."
Blair's eyes widened. She was all too familiar with this sort of tale. It happened often in the Alienage. She was saddened, but knew Zevran would hate anything that smacked of pity. "And yet you're oddly cheerful about it all."
"It could have been much worse," Zevran shrugged. "Surely your life has not been so idyllic."
Blair sighed. "True enough. While it was better than a lot in the Alienage, it wasn't an easy life. I lost my mother a few years ago. A bunch of guardsman killed her during a protest in the market."
Zevran nodded, understanding but much like himself, he knew Blair wouldn't welcome pity so he didn't offer it. "I didn't know my mother either, of course. She died giving birth to me. My first victim, as it were. We were all raised communally by the whores. It was a happy enough existence, ignoring the occasional beating, until I was eventually sold to the Crows. I brought a good price, so I hear." Zevran shook his head. "My original point is that my mother's Dalish nature was always a point of fascination for me. Through all the years of my Crow training, the one thing of my mother's that I possessed was a pair of gloves. They were Dalish make, I knew that much, and beautiful. I had to keep them hidden as we were not allowed such things. Eventually, they were discovered and I never saw them again."
"But you don't think of yourself as Dalish," Blair prompted.
"Not at all," Zevran agreed. "I think of myself as Antivan, as you no doubt consider yourself Fereldan."
Blair chuckled. "A fair point."
"Come now. Enough talk of the Dalish. I still have much to teach and we do not want to seem as if we are gossiping about our hosts."
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Deep in the forest, the group who had sought to find Witherfang came across a rather decrepit campsite with an old tree stump in the middle. The mad mage that had stolen the Grand Oak's acorn called it home. The old man agreed to trade something of value for the acorn. Conrí reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small silver ring, stamped with the emblem of House Cousland.
Erin spied what Conrí was fingering. "Brother no…" she whispered. "That's your signet ring!"
"I know," Conrí muttered, running his thumb over the symbol. "I probably should have left it when Duncan recruited me, but I wanted something of Highever to remind me of home. But, its silver and may be enough to get the acorn."
"We must have something else," Erin insisted.
"If it's a ring he wants," Serena broke in. "Give him this," she handed them a simple band of silver engraved with runes. "I found it the ruins we passed on the way. Figured it would fetch a decent price, but this will work too."
Conrí took the silver band. "Thank you, Serena."
Serena shook her head. "No need. I understand," she said, thumbing the iron ring around her middle finger; her own signet ring.
"How about this?" Conrí asked, extending the ring to the mad hermit. "The ring for the acorn."
"Ooh, shiny," the old man cackled, reaching into his stump and pulling out a fist sized acorn. "Deal!" he said tossing the seed to Conrí and snatching the ring. "There, now that's done, I must examine my new trinket."
Conrí nodded and led the way back the path to the old Sylvan's glade. As they rounded a bend, they found yet more ruins, littered with bones, both humanoid and animal. Sitting near a derelict wall in the north west was, of all things, a gravestone. Conrí knelt down and examined it. "Xolana, I think this is Tevinter script. Do you know what it says?"
The dusky skinned mage approached, brushing aside the sides of her new robes to crouch next to Conrí. "Hm. It's an old dialect, but I've seen a lot of it in the Tower. 'Interred here...Scipio, lieutenant to Alaric, general of Minrathous in service to Archon...' something. Its rather worn, I can't quite make out the name. Hold on, there's more at the bottom..." Her amethyst eyes widened. "Be careful. Those feel like warding ruins. This is as much a prison as a grave."
"Perhaps if we clear away the dirt, the runes might say more..." Conrí suggested as he gently knocked away some of the dirt obscuring the runes at the base of the stone block with his hand. An explosion of dirt, was Conrí's answer. A hand encased in a gleaming metal gauntlet burst from the grave and wrapped itself around Conrí's throat.
Conrí immediately clutched at the hand, beginning to choke as the metal fingers closed around his windpipe. He struggled to pull away but the hand of whatever creature was now emerging refused to relinquish its grasp. As the group watched, the creature's upper body began to push the soil aside, the earth of the grave parting to expose the withered skeletal form of a warrior, clad in eroded metal armor and a winged helm. Unholy red lights burned in its empty eye sockets as it tightened its grip around the Wardens neck, slowly choking him.
In a fit of desperation, Conrí drove the point of his elbow into the weathered joint of the undead's arm, doing enough to free himself. He fell back, gasping for breath as he quickly drew his sword. "Another blood revenant?!" he wheezed.
"Indeed!" Morrigan called. "It seems a demon was bound to this warrior's corpse to defend the site. Be wary. Revenants are possessed by demons of pride, making them amongst the most lethal risen creature."
"If I remember correctly fire still work on them, no?" Erin asked, dodging the revenant's enormous sword.
"Naturally," Morrigan snapped her fingers and their weapons were once again wreathed in flames.
The revenant hissed as it drew its long bladed sword and massive shield. Conrí gripped his own blade firmly, growling back at the undead beast before charging like an enraged bull. The creature seemed caught off guard by this audacious attack and wasn't fast enough to put up a guard before Conrí rammed a shoulder into its upper chest. Taking advantage of this, Conrí shifted his grip on his sword and slammed the pommel into the revenant's belly, causing the undead to slouch forward, as though gasping for breath. The de facto Warden Commander reared back his sword to strike the final blow.
But before the blow could land, the revenant recovered and used its shield to bash Conrí off his feet and back about a dozen feet. The warrior landed hard on his back, knocking the breath from him and causing his sword to skid from his grip across the cobblestones.
Before the revenant could follow the downed Cousland, an arrow and a crossbow bolt struck it in the chest. The beast hissed as its hellish eyes found Sten and Tira. Its hiss became a roar as fire from Morrigan and Xolana engulfed it and a Stonefist from Tristan staggered it. The glowing red eyes narrowed in hatred, as it reached out with a clawed hand and yanked it back. The archers and mages were pulled forward, landing painfully in front of the revenant. It reared back its sword to slaughter its helpless foes, only for Alistair to slide in, shield raised to stop the blow. The sword struck the wooden shield, shattering it to splinters. The revenant, sure of its victory now, started to swing, but suddenly paused, a look of shock on its weathered face. Suddenly two feet of shining steel emerged from the revenants chest piece.
The undead warrior had forgotten about the other Cousland. Erin yanked her sword out and swung the other, decapitating the revenant. The creatures body slumped forward, rapidly decaying to nothing but dust, leaving behind only the shining gauntlets and an ancient but sturdy shield made of slightly rusted red steel.
Conrí got heavily to his feet, grabbing his sword and making his way to what remained of the undead warrior. He knelt down with a grunt and picked up one of the gauntlets. "Makers ass… Silverite," he breathed, amazed to find such a rare metal rotting in a grave. He examined the inside, spying engravings near the cuff. "Juggernaut…"
Xolana perked up from where she and Wynne were examining Alistair's arm. "Did you just say Juggernaut?" she asked, glancing at Wynne, who nodded. Xolana got up, dusting off her robes and quickly trotted over to Conrí.
"A word you recognize?" Conrí asked.
"It's an old Tevinter legend. The Magister Harach brought an army to this forest, led by Alaric, his friend and general. For Alaric, Harach fashioned a suit of the finest armor, infused it with lyrium and his own blood magic, and named it 'Juggernaut' after the unstoppable giant golems guarding the gates of Minrathous. Thus armed did Alaric win many victories against the Clayne tribes. When defeat came, it came from within. Alaric's own lieutenants rose up against him, envious of the fine armor. In a fury, Magister Harach voyaged to the outpost and slew the last three lieutenants. Harach used the last of his own life force to cast a spell of blood magic that bound demons to the bodies of the three dead lieutenants as well as Harach's own lifeless corpse. These bound revenants hid the pieces of the Juggernaut armor. The Juggernaut armor's legend lives on, and more than one brave soul has ventured into the depths of the Brecilian Forest in search, never to return."
"So, that revenant was guarding these," Conrí lifted up the other gauntlet. "Maybe there's more nearby."
"It's worth checking," Xolana agreed.
Conrí slipped his hand from his own gauntlet and replaced it with the Juggernaut. "It's a little loose…" he muttered before the metal grew warm and seemed to mold to his hand. "Or not… Magic, I take it?" he chuckled. "Anyway, it's too heavy for me at the moment, but maybe later on, I could use it."
"Well, it would be fitting for a future legend to wear such a mythical set of armor," Erin teased.
Conrí scoffed. "Legend. Right. Like that'll happen."
The group continued back to the Grand Oak's clearing, finding another revenant with a piece of the Juggernaut armor. This time, the group was ready and quickly routed the undead beast. Sten exerted his presence by pounding the revenant's bones to dust with his maul, allowing the group to add the greaves and boots of the legendary armor to their collection.
They quickly moved back to the Grand Oak's glen, the ancient Sylvan waiting silently for their arrival. When Conrí presented the large seed to the creature, the Grand Oak took it gently, as if it were made of brittle glass. "My joy soars to new heights indeed!" the sylvan proclaimed, the delight in its voice clear to hear. "I am reunited with my seed!" The Grand Oak reached up behind the crown of leafy branches that surrounded its head and pulled one free from its back, stripped it of its leaves and shaped it into a long staff. The tree then handed it over to Conrí, who took it and bowed to the sylvan in thanks.
"As I promised, here it be; I hope it's magic pleases thee. Keep this branch of mine with thee, and pass throughout the forest free," The Grand Oak held up its acorn and tilted itself forward as it tried to bow to him, nearly uprooting itself in the process. The gratitude in its voice was clear as it continued. "I wish thee well, my mortal friends; thou brought my sadness to an end! May the sunlight find you, thy days be long, thy winters kind and thy roots be strong..." its voice faded away as the spirit retreated back into its wooden home.
Conrí examined the wooden staff briefly. It seemed sturdy and even he could feel the immense magic pulsing through it. He wordlessly turned and handed the staff to Xolana.
"Amazing…" Xolana breathed. The Grand Oak's Branch made her own staff seem like a poorly enchanted hunk of wood.
"It is a fine piece of magic," Morrigan agreed, examining the surprisingly smooth texture of the wood. "A staff given by a still living sylvan. My this would make for an interesting tale. The staff's magic is at its peak even without manipulation."
"Figured you were due for an upgrade, Amell," Conrí commented. "Anyway, the sun is starting to set. This seems as safe a place to sleep as any. We'll gather some wood and set up camp for the night."
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The next morning, they made their way to a barrier of white mist. Recognizing it as a defense set by the trees or perhaps spirits, Xolana raised her new staff. A pulse of magic emanated from the tip causing the swirling fog to slowly dissipate. Once it was clear, the group continued, finding yet another tombstone marking the grave of a Tevinter lieutenant. Sten won the honor of dispatching this revenant, coming back with a massive silverite helm with a plume of blue feathers and a hinged visor. "One piece left," he said, handing the helm to Conrí.
"Seems so," Conrí agreed. "Let's take a quick rest for lunch. I'm starved."
Erin gripped her rumbling stomach. "The joys of being a Grey Warden," she snarked, digging into her pack for a half loaf of elven bread and a few strips of venison jerky. She sat down between Tira and Serena and took a large bite of bread. "You know… this elvish stuff is not bad."
"Better than lichen bread," Serena agreed before taking a bite of her own.
"I only wish we had some blackberry preserves to go with it," Tira sighed. "Master Varathorn didn't have any in stock and I've only seen a handful of blackberry bushes since we entered this part of the forest."
Conrí tore a chunk off a strip of jerky with his teeth. "We'll talk to Bodahn when we finish up here," he said after swallowing. "I'm sure he could find us a few jars."
"I'd appreciate that, Commander," Tira nodded.
"We can afford small luxuries," Conrí grunted. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have any tobacco left. And then I'd be cranky."
"Wait, so this is you content?" Garik snickered.
Conrí rolled his eyes and finished his meal. After everyone had eaten as much as they dared, they continued deeper into the forest. A familiar growling voice echoed from the brush. "The forest was not vigilant enough, it seems. Still you come."
With a roar, the red-brown furred form of Swiftrunner leapt from a position in the branches of a nearby tree above them and landed in front of the group, blocking their way forward. The werewolf gave them a scrutinizing look. "You… are stronger than we anticipated. The Dalish chose their tools well… but you do not belong here, outsider! Leave this place!"
"Why do you protect the source of the curse that afflicts you?" Alistair questioned. "Surely if Witherfang dies, it will set you free?"
"What lies have the treacherous Dalish told you?" the werewolf spat in answer. "What falsehoods has Zathrian told you to have you do his bidding?"
"You still call the Dalish treacherous! You're the ones who attacked them!" Serena protested. Swiftrunner glared at her, his red-rimmed eyes burning with fury.
"And they deserved nothing less!" the werewolf roared defiantly, before waving a dismissive hand at them. "Bah, it matters not! You have been sent by the treacherous Dalish to kill Witherfang, but I will never allow that to happen! Here, Witherfang protects us! Here, we learn our names and are beloved! We will defend Witherfang and this place with our lives!"
Conrí drew his blade. "Stay together!" he barked. "Don't let them separate us! We'll be easy pickings otherwise!"
Serena raised her shield, axe at the ready as one of Swiftrunner's kin rushed her, snarling and foaming at the mouth. Right before the beast could hit her, she lashed out with her shield, smashing it into the face of the werewolf. The beast was stunned long enough for Serena to lodge her axe into the side of its neck. She wrenched the bit out, letting the dead werewolf drop to the forest floor.
Erin and her opponent, a slender tan werewolf, circled each other, patiently waiting for an opening. When the attack came, it was the wolf who initiated the flurry. The werewolf was able to avoid the twin blades of the youngest child of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, but the speed of her follow ups did not allow for counter attacks. Finally, the werewolf got impatient and swung wildly. This proved to be a fatal mistake as Erin ducked and at the same time, swung her off hand sword, letting the edge bit into the muscles of the beast's thigh. The werewolf collapsed, yelping in pain. Erin slipped behind the werewolf, and with a careful thrust, drove the point of her main sword into the back of the wolf's neck, severing the spine at the base of the skull. The werewolf went silent and limp instantly.
Tristan grit his teeth and swung his staff horizontally, letting loose a wave of ice that froze three wolves in their tracks. Once he was sure they had been stopped, Tristan slammed the butt of his staff into the ground, summoning a trio of Stonefists to shatter the werewolves. At his back, Xolana had one hand wreathed in flames and the other in sparking lighting. She lashed out with both, one after the other, burning and shocking the beasts in front of her before combining them and increasing her mana flow. The trio she was facing was enveloped in fire and lightning.
Garik, the daring rouge he was, leapt on the back of one of the werewolves circling Xolana and Tristan, wrapping an arm around the creature's thick neck and began squeezing. What the dwarf didn't expect was the beast to begin thrashing, trying to dislodge him. After several long moments, Garik began to get dizzy and air sick. Before he could be ill, he repeatedly drove his dagger into the chest of the werewolf he was currently piggybacking. The beast fell forward, a last thrash managing to catch Conrí's ankle.
Conrí, who had been keeping Swiftrunner at bay with his quick swings, felt his leg twist from under him. He collapsed to one knee and this was all it took for Swiftrunner to take advantage. The reddish-brown werewolf immediately leapt at the kneeling warrior, intent on ripping his throat out. But Conrí managed to get his forearm up in time. Swiftrunner began biting and jerking his head amidst the sound of crunching metal and Conrí's agonized screams. Just when Conrí was convinced Swiftrunner would tear his arm clean off, the wolf let go, pawing at his face while he yelped and whined in pain. With his unmangled hand, Conrí drew his belt knife and drove it into Swiftrunner's exposed side before pushing the beast back.
It suddenly clicked in Conrí's head. Somehow, his blood had become almost like acid to the werewolf. Perhaps a side effect of Avernus's potion, he mused. Thinking quickly, he coated his knife blade with his own blood and moved in to finish Swiftrunner, once and for all.
That's when a large, white shape slammed into Conrí, knocking him back. A large wolf with a snow white pelt lined with grey markings reminiscent of vines stood before Conrí, barking and snarling. This had to be Witherfang, but before Conrí could capitalize, Witherfang howled and led the remaining wolves deeper into the forest. Conrí made to follow but was suddenly made aware of his wound again when he noticed it was burning like fire. He cradled his arm to his chest for a moment, gritting his teeth against the pain.
He wrenched his gauntlet off, eyeing the injury. Several lacerated puncture wounds lined both sides of his forearm, all of them already surrounded by black and blue bruises. "Sod..." he grunted before giving a dry chuckle. "Fitting, I suppose…"
Erin came to her brothers side and gasped when she saw the injuries. "Conrí... that... that looks terrible...!" it slowly dawned on her, and her bright grey eyes widened in abject horror. "Oh Maker's breath is that a BITE!? Wynne!"
Conrí hissed as Wynne grabbed his mangled arm. "How long did Zathrian say this takes?" she asked, worry evident in her tone as her hands began glowing with ethereal blue light.
"Days," Conrí grunted as his skin began to nit back together. "I'll notice symptoms within the hour. Since I won't be in any condition to lead, Tira, you're in charge."
Tira nodded hesitantly, caught a bit off guard. "But, Conrí... We need to get you back to the camp. Even if we carry on without you, it would be dangerous to take you along if you start being affected... most of all for yourself."
Conrí pulled his gauntlet back on after Wynne finished healing his arm, leaving only a few scars. "I'll be fine. I think I can hold it off for a while at least," he said, tightening the buckles.
Tira looked like she wanted to argue the point, but then saw most of the group giving her a look and quieted down, looking most displeased.
"He's right, Tira," Xolana sighed. "Bringing him back will only waste time, and who knows what might happen in the meantime... Besides, the best chance of actually finding a cure is to press on."
"Not to be disagreeable," Morrigan sighed wearily. "But I thought we had established there was no cure."
Alistair immediately threw his hands in the air in annoyance. "Thank you, Morrigan," he snapped. "We needed a voice of reason. Thank the Maker we had you with us."
"Tira," Conrí rumbled before the pair could star bickering. The Dalish elf quickly head slapped Morrigan and Alistair. "You'll be fine. Worse comes to worse, chain me to a tree until you find Witherfang."
"Sten..." Xolana looked to the Qunari. "If my books weren't lying to me... your people have a history of... "watching" your mages, don't you? Perhaps you could spot our commander?" she looked around the group. "Would everyone feel more comfortable moving on if we handled it like that? And would you two mind?" she added to the pair of warriors.
"So long as he doesn't sew my mouth shut," Conrí grumbled, flexing his fingers. The pain was more bearable but it hadn't left.
Sten nodded. "Come, Warden. We must make haste."
Tira agreed, more certain of herself this time. "Let's press on. Good thinking, Xolana."
"I thought you read only your horrible smut, Amell. Seems I was wrong," Tristan tried to lighten the mood, but drew no smiles. Xolana elbowed the elf lightly, but without much humor due to the situation.
Conrí moved to follow with Sten. The rest of the day was quiet, all hoping the worst wouldn't come to pass. Erin could barely keep herself from trembling in fear. She couldn't lose her brother. Not after losing her parents.
She endeavored to keep a close eye on him, and was the first to notice him begin to sweat, despite the cool weather and the slow pace. Not long after the sweating started, Conrí began to tremble and the color rapidly left his face. Nausea must be setting in, she thought. Her suspicions were confirmed when he stumbled off the path and vomited violently.
To many around him, seeing Conrí in this state was like a kick to the stomach. As naïve as it was, they had almost begun to think the young man invulnerable. Now he was clutching a tree in a stubborn attempt to keep from collapsing. "That's far enough for one day," Tira ordered after Conrí finally finished emptying his stomach in the foliage.
"We still have time before sundown," Conrí argued, his voice scratchy. He quickly took a swig from his canteen and swished the water around in his mouth before spitting it out. "I can keep going," he insisted, taking a pull of whiskey from his hip flask.
"No," Tira said firmly. "You need rest. And don't forget, you put me in charge, Cousland. Now, we'll make camp in the clearing just up here. Take your sleeping bag and lay down."
Conrí scowled but did as he was told. He didn't see Tira's shoulders sag in relief. She'd been afraid his stubborn streak would rear up even worse, but he was already setting up his sleeping bag in the shade of a tall Dragonthorn tree. He'd removed the heavy plates of his armor, leaving him in his chain-backed leather chest piece. He fell asleep quickly, despite his protests.
His slumber however was not peaceful. Barely an hour after closing his eyes, Conrí's sweating intensified. He began trembling and muttering in his sleep. But perhaps most disturbingly were the feral growls that would come from his throat when one drew too near. Erin didn't care. She grabbed a small basin from her pack and filled it with water from a nearby stream. She dunked a rag into the cool water, rung it out and brought both it and the basin over to her sleeping brother. The growls quickly quieted as she dabbed her brother's forehead with the cool, wet rag.
He woke briefly during supper, but only stayed awake long enough to drink a single bowl of broth before passing out once again. "I hope he can keep that down," Erin sighed. She grabbed her own bedroll and set it up not far from her brother, close enough to be of use, yet far enough away to avoid any thrashing in the night. She leaned against a tree, content taking first watch so she could watch over her brother.
Tira soon sat next to her, her bow leaning against the tree. "Are you alright?" Tira asked.
"Well, let's see," Erin droned. "I'm stuck in the middle of a haunted forest doing yet another chore for a group we have a treaty with, my brother's been bitten by a creature that should only be legend, and we're looking for the leader of said creatures to kill and take its heart so our 'allies' will live up to their end of a bargain. I'm wonderful, how are you?"
Tira took Erin's sarcasm on the chin. "Not any better, if I'm honest."
Erin sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just… I can't lose Conrí too. Mother and Father were horrible enough. But to lose my brother… I couldn't handle it."
"He's strong, Erin," Tira insisted. "He'll get through this. We just need to have faith in him."
Erin groaned and leaned against Tira's shoulder. "Faith is something I have a small supply of these days…"
Tira slipped an arm around Erin's shoulder. "To be honest, it's one of the few things that has been keeping me going. Ever since I had to leave my clan, I've had to keep faith in what I was doing was for the best. I didn't want to leave, but I'd be dead or worse if I hadn't."
"Is this something the Dalish have over humans?" Erin chuckled. "Do they train their hunters to be annoyingly wise?"
"Consider it something I picked up along the way," Tira smiled.
Erin rested her cheek on Tira's shoulder. "Thanks for dealing with my idiot drama. I appreciate it, Tira."
Tira swallowed hard. "There… is a way you can make it up to me…"
"Oh?" Erin looked up. "And what would that be?"
"Don't... don't run," Tira whispered, leaning in and gently kissing Erin's lips.
Erin's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly relaxed into the kiss. Tira, emboldened by Erin's favorable reaction, deepened the kiss and pulled the tie from Erin's hair so she could run her fingers through it. Erin sighed happily into the kiss before pulling Tira onto her lap. Tira squeaked slightly, blushing at her reaction to Erin's movements. Erin didn't seem to mind as she pulled the Dalish elf closer, nipping gently at Tira's soft lips, all the while tracing the designs on Tira's checks with her callused fingers.
Tira quickly lost all sense of time in the kiss, eagerly sucking on Erin's tongue as the warrior's hands moved to the exposed skin of her belly. As they began to venture higher of their own accord, Erin realized what was happening and broke the kiss. Tira, breathless and disappointed, pouted slightly. "Why did you stop?" she whined.
Erin, equally breathless, kissed the corner of Tira's mouth. "As much as I would delight in continuing, love, we have to keep watch. Don't want anything nasty sneaking up on us when our commander is down."
Tira's pout intensified. "Now who's being annoyingly wise." Erin chuckled, not moving to take Tira off her lap. "So… how did you learn to use two swords? Are you ambidextrous?"
"Oh, no," Erin shook her head. "My story is much more mundane. I was originally being trained to use a sword and shield. When I was training with one of the castle knights, he shattered the training sword I was using and broke my arm. I couldn't use a shield on my right, so I learned how to use a sword again in my left hand. Oh, that was fun."
The pair talked late into the night before the next shift took their place. What the pair didn't see was Conrí watching through heavy eyes. As he drifted off again, it was with a small smile on his face. Despite the werewolf disease in his system, Conrí's dreams were less horrific.
AN: Well, that didn't go as I expected. Erin and Tira, I mean. I was planning on putting them together but not until later. But, as I was typing this, it just felt right. :P I know chapters are coming quicker than usual, but that's mostly because I had much of this and the last few done ahead of time. My brain is like a stray balloon. It kinda goes where it wants. The Chapter 26 should be completed fairly soon, even though I have more to write than what I already have. So look out for it.