The very existence of Fanfiction authors is a pretty weird concept, once you think about it.

We pour countless hours of our lives into writing stories for complete strangers, for little gain but the response we get that others have enjoyed what we wrote, and with no possibility of ever actually making a living from the works we've writtten. I'm pretty sure, all the same, that every writer reading this will agree that, strangely, merely knowing we can bring enjoyment to others is well worth all the strain we're subjected to when toiling away before the screen till we get eyes just as square.

Even more is the joy we can feel when we can respond to those who take the time to offer an opinion, be it good or bad, on what we've made. There's a strange happiness to the whole process, and not one I'm really sure I know how to put into words. It's a bit like a Youtuber who continues to make videos, even if everything they put out is immediately demonitized by a glitchy algorithm. They still do it, because it makes others happy.

I've personally got a bit of an agenda behind my writing, of course. Maybe we all do, I don't know. I want to be good enough to one day publish works of my own, and not just fanfiction written over universes and worlds crafted by others. I look at the first time I started typing down a story, way back in 2012, and I can only accept that I've improved (after resisting the urge to commit Sepppuku when realizing how bad my writing once was) and that mostly, that's because I've had people who read what I wrote, and commented on what they liked and didn't like. Sometimes that's been in less generous terms than others, but all the same it's helped me improve.

Now, all that's out of the way, let's get on with the show, yes-yes?


Invicta Imperii


Amaranthine Arling was one of the wealthier in Ferelden, and it was proudly displayed in every village and hamlet they'd crossed through it.

Talia had to admit, even as they drew closer to Vigil's Keep, that she felt a strange sense of nostalgia when seeing the obvious prosperity of the settlements and their people. Amaranthine Arling had grown rich and fat off its benevolent Teyrns, and the trade with the Free Marches and Antiva, and to a lesser extent even Orlais itself.

"It's a different sight when you're off the Highway, isn't it?" Aedan mused, a small smile playing on his face as they rode. Pebbles pranced underneath her as she nudged her up closer to him; "Amaranthine's always been wealthy, even before the Orlesian occupation it was one of the richer areas in Ferelden. Aside from Nathaniel's father, the Howe's have done well with the land. It helps when half of Thedas wants our fur and timber, too."

"And Nathaniel's in charge of that now?" she couldn't well imagine such a scrawny, dour-looking kid presiding over such an operation, but...on the other hand, the whole thing probably almost ran itself at this point, and he'd only have to give it the occasional nudge or kick in the direction he'd like; "Dunno whether I envy or pity him."

"Brelyna's in Amaranthine right now, isn't she?" Aedan asked, bringing her attention back to the other reason she was going there. Aside from Alma's directions, which at best could be called vague, they'd heard people on the road speak of a grey lady in Amaranthine, healing the ailments of those within the city. Unless there were more Dunmer in Ferelden she didn't know of, that'd be a pretty good bet on Brelyna being in her usual, charismatic mood; "City's not exactly the most...lawful, I've heard."

"You're worried she'll kill someone?" Talia asked, half-joking. Because, really, it wouldn't be that big of a stretch to imagine her friend trying to help the city by vaporizing some half-corrupt clerk or alleyway mugger. It'd probably also bite her in the end when people got so afraid of her they'd sic what Templars remained on her; "...actually...maybe we should go there first, after all."

"Alma warned you something was going on in Amaranthine, and Vigil's Keep is where every report on anything important will be gathered." Aedan argued, visibly still uncomfortable with speaking the old crone's name; "Plus, Nathaniel owes us, and you, his life. I'm fairly sure he'll do whatever he can to help, and better to have the Arl in our back than not."

"...that's true, I guess." She wasn't exactly a fan of it, but Aedan was right. And it wasn't like she disliked Nathaniel, she just didn't really know him. In hindsight that might be a pretty shit excuse for wanting to skip past Vigil's Keep and go straight to the provincial capital instead.

All the same, she longed to see her friend again. J'zargo was, she assumed, still in Highever, doing gods knew what to pass the time, but Brelyna she had at least managed to pin down to Amaranthine. Spending the better part of a month away from the Dunmer only made Talia realize how damn much she missed her. And unless something insane went down, like the city blowing up or a Darkspawn horde attacking, she felt confident about this.

Amaranthine was going to be a good time.


"General."

It was Centurion Pullo again, pushing open the doors as he was at this point so wont. Belisarius had little time to stop him, and had not exactly instructed the guards to keep messengers away. And so the bald-shaven officer entered into the middle of a meeting with the monarchs, stopping dead in his tracks upon realization.

Fergus, at least, seemed almost amused. The king was an odd sort, the Legate had come to think, a man of a far too grounded mind for the higher balconies of royalty, and yet seemed well able to handle the duties that followed.

"...Centurion Pullo." Still, there was no berating the man for his entrance, and Belisarius knew as much. Especially as it was clear the centurion understood his presence to have been uninvited, and seemed hesitant on whether to even proceed; "I assume you have news?"

"Yes, General." The man nodded, taking it as his cue to approach. A scroll was in his hand, bearing the black, unopened seal of great urgency. And yet, despite it being unopened, the centurion's expression was enough to betray his knowledge of its contents, at least to some degree. Intelligence indeed..."It's from General Cauthrien, and there's also a message from Legate Constanta, verbally relayed by messenger from Highever."

"Verbally relayed?" he frowned, unsure of how to react to that, in particular because of its source, that the overtly meticulous woman would choose a method so easily corrupted to relay a report; "From Legate Constanta?"

"Yes, General." Pullo nodded, stepping back; "Although...I think it best to leave it for last."

There was a moment of silence, wherein the General wondered what the man could mean with such a cryptic response. Still, all the same there was a black-sealed message in his grasp, signifying an event of greater importance than whatever could have been relayed by mouth and messenger. He tore the seal open, quietly enjoying the small triumph it was over the Divine bitch to have regained use of the hand and arm he'd retained.

"There are different colors depending on the importance of the message?" Queen Anora asked, both of him and of the Centurion. The contents of the message, however, left Belisarius too distracted to answer, and so instead it was Pullo.

"Yes, Majesty." The man nodded; "Blue seals and ribbons are standard messages and reports, usually of readiness or the state of equipment. Red and black seals signify something of greater importance than usually, and are often reserved for matters of urgency."

Belisarius, meanwhile, had finished the report, his body shaking with fury.

"That son of a painted Aldmeri whore..." he couldn't even raise his voice enough to shout, such was the anger in his soul and mind; "Gaspard assassinated the scouts at Kincaster crossing, and has already made it as far in as Portsmouth, with at least ten thousand men."

"...what." King Fergus breathed, his face paling; "What? How? You can't sneak past Mabari, that's why we used the Ash Warriors as scouts in the first place!"

"But...but this leaves Gherlen's Pass completely exposed." Anora whispered; "He can strike them from the rear and crush the entire Legion in one blow!"

"The Legion is aware, Majesty." Belisarius scowled; "But General Cauthrien has refused to evacuate the Pass with the Fereldan forces and fall back to the Dane crossing or Redcliffe. Doing so would at least allow for some tactical leeway, and we can't take Legate Constanta's forces to the Dane until we've dealt with the Chantry's ships...damn it all."

"So...what do we do, then?" Fergus was the first to ask, his voice something near defeat.

"General, the report from Legate Constanta..." Pullo spoke up, earning a sour look, though inwardly Belisarius knew the man did not deserve it.

"Unless she's reporting it decided to ram itself into the cliffs..." he sighed, closing his one eye; "Fine, then, what is it?"

"It's the Chantry's fleet, General..." the Centurion seemed as if he feared the next words. Had it already destroyed Highever, and the Legate's forces, or bypassed them entire to reach Amaranthine before their own ships could muster; "It's...been destroyed."

Belisarius knew he was called a great many things, but neither gullible nor overtly optimistic had ever been among them. As such, the stare he leveled onto the Centurion, as were those of the monarchs in his company, was one of disbelief and confusion.

"...come again, soldier?"

"Legate Constanta reports that...the Chantry Fleet was destroyed in a storm, by...the Thu'um." Pullo looked like the very notion would have made the hair stand upon his head, had they been long enough; "She claims that a Tongue appeared as if out of nowhere, wearing the Legion's armor, and shouted the skies into a furious thunderstorm that shattered the Chantry's ships."

"A Tongue appeared?"

"Yes, General. That is what she claims."

"A Tongue." Belisarius repeated the word, itself bordering on the mythical. The very notion had what few hairs he still had, standing straight on goosebumps, and a shiver ran his spine; "Appeared in Highever, and shattered the Chantry's fleet?"

"Yes, General." The Centurion seemed to share in the reverence of the word, though it was clear neither Anora nor Fergus understood what it meant, only what it had done to the ships. And yet still, he found it bordering on the impossible to even contemplate as, well, possible. There hadn't been a Tongue in the Legion since...well, disregarding Ulfric Stormcloak, Tiber Septim himself; "The Legate has mustered her forces and now makes for the Dane crossing, at behest of the Tongue, though one of the local knights recognized-"

"Sweet Akatosh, Arkay, Stendarr, Mara and Kynareth!" he would have jumped, had he been able, but yet still the jolt of his scaled body betrayed his relief. He almost laughed, and in truth found it hard to resist such; "By the gods, by every Pantheon and all the divines, that I should live to see such come to pass."

"General...Belisarius, if I may..." Anora was the first of the monarchs to speak up, her husband currently chewing on his fist, though he failed to fully force down the stupid smile behind it. The General knew he likely wore one of his own; "What exactly is a tongue, bar what we all have? A mage of some sort?"

"I..." he paused, swallowing air before he could speak. It forced a hiccup, if nothing else it helped calm his mood when it stretched the sore skin of his throat; "It's...It's hard to explain."

Harder still to imagine.

"A Tongue...I'm barely even certain of how to put it but to compare them to the forces of nature, a storm in the shape of mortals. They can flatten forests and crumble walls with mere words, their voices of such power that to hear them used in anger is to hear Akatosh himself." He blinked, wishing he could gesticulate better than one arm would allow for; "They are...they are people, mortals blessed with the affinity to speak the words of power, to use the...the Voice. The Nords call it the language of Dragons, but...beyond the Dragonborn, I thought..."

He chuckled, at last, a sound he'd not heard from his own mouth in ages. And what of it, then? What did it matter, in truth, if the Fereldans understood the significance of this blessing or not? Before the Centurion had entered, he'd thought the war a losing one, and yet now he could only see victory ahead. There was a Tongue in Ferelden, demonstratively set against the Chantry, and logic would dictate against Gaspard as well.

"...I thought us all consigned to death, if I am to be earnest." He sighed, leaning back as he allowed himself to close his eyes and breathe; "I had planned for your evacuation to the Anderfels, for if the Chantry broke the blockade at Amaranthine, or the Orlesians broke through Gherlen's Pass. You...you do not plan for a Tongue to just...appear."

"So, this means the tide has turned?" the King had managed to calm himself down, it seemed speaking now with what almost could be taken for his normal tone of voice, if not for the eagerness betrayed within.

"First, we need to find this Tongue." Belisarius held up his only hand to stall the monarch; "And considering whomever it is seems to have been hiding within my forces for who knows how long, it might not be an easy task."

"...General?"

"...You're still here, Centurion?" in truth he'd forgotten all about the poor man, in all the eagerness and rejoice. Pullo had remained where he was, as if there was yet more news to come, or if he was simply awaiting dismissal; "Send a message back to Legate Constanta. We have to know who the Tongue is, where the hell he came from, and then send him here straight away."

"...Sir, I was about to mention that before."

"Mention what? Before what?"

"Before, Sir." The Centurion repeated, as if that was an answer; "Legate Constanta reported that one of Highever's knights seemed to recognize the Tongue by name. It's...I'm not sure how to interpret it."

"Speak, Centurion." Belisarius said, and it was not a suggestion, nor a request; "Do we know the Tongue's name?"

"...Alma, General." Pullo said, and for a moment the General was damn sure he could hear the assembled Daedric princes laughing their asses off at his behalf, or expense. There was also a curious little sound, like the snap of his sanity; "Almost certainly the same Alma as the one at Gherlen's Pass..."

Belisarius' chuckle became an outright laugh.

This was simply too insane.

"Alma?" Fergus was the one to ask, a frown on his face as he turned towards the Centurion; "Who did you say recognized this woman?"

"It was one of Highever's knights, Majesty." Pullo replied, standing straighter than he'd do with Belisarius, likely still uncertain of how to act in the presence of actual royalty. The General was common-born, and so did not exactly carry the same air of inborn authority.

"Just Fergus, please." The King waved his hand; "I was born in Highever, you see."

"Of course." There was no 'Fergus' to follow that up, though no 'Majesty' either; "According to the messenger, it was the knight Ser Roland Gilmore who addressed the woman as 'Alma' "I think the Legate might have implied that he knew her, or at least knew of her, but the message did not specify."

"Do you know if she was armed in any way?" Fergus continued, his question making little sense to Belisarius. Whether or not a Tongue carried a weapon was borderline irrelevant, as there was no greater weapon than the Voice. The power of the Dragonborn was a testament to that.

"I'm sorry. There was nothing in the message about her state of arms, only that she wore the Legion's plate." Belisarius nodded, waving the man off. He'd served well, to bring them such news, and could go rest.

"Still, it's almost too much of a coincidence..." the King muttered, drawing his wife's attention, which he seemed aware of, as was he of Belisarius' own; "Back during the Blight, when I acted as scout during the battle of Ostagar, my men and I were ambushed by Darkspawn."

"Yes, I've heard the story from Ser Teagan..." the General nodded; "How is this a coincidence, though?"

"...I was to die, by a Hurlock's axe that night." Fergus gained a look in his eyes, as if he was very far away indeed; "I was the last man left alive when they finally caught up to me, I'd run I'll admit it but to little avail. Then, out of the darkness came this old woman, and I did not in truth believe my ears when she spoke, as she cut through the Darkspawn with her glaive. I'd seen the weapon before, as a child exploring the castle and ended up in my old Nan's quarters..."

"Her name was Alma?" Belisarius frowned, to which the King merely nodded; "...and she was your nan?"

"I know, when all this has been revealed it seems an impossible thing." He chuckled; "All the same, I'd think the similarities enough to wish to meet with this 'Tongue', of yours, and see for myself."

"I must admit I find the notion hard to believe, yes..." Belisarius muttered; "That a Tongue has hid away here as a nan for...how long?"

"I was born before she came to Highever, but she helped bring my brother to the world...maybe twenty years?" Fergus said, scratching at his chin; "You seem as if the name means something to you as well, General?"

It did, and he supposed he could return in kind knowledge shared. It was hardly so secret that he could or would keep it from a Cousland, of all people, nor the Queen herself. And there was a levity to his soul now that hadn't been there before, as if news of the Tongue alone had taken all the weight of the war from his shoulders.

"For the past few months, the Legion has been keeping an eye on your sister-in-law, Talia Aulus." He began, earning a frown from the king, but a mere nod from the queen; "Not for anything nefarious, mind you, we simply keep track of all powerful mages, especially if they're Imperials."

"Talia is a Breton though." Anora remarked.

"Imperials aren't only the people of Cyrodiil, Queen Anora." Belisarius explained; "It also extends to all its subjects, including the nobility of provinces such as High Rock. The Aulus House, to my knowledge, has always been one of the Emperor's strongest and most loyal supporters, and enjoy his favor for it. The Legion kept an eye on her, in case the need should come to request her assistance in the defense of Ferelden."

"Except she's a Grey Warden." The Queen remarked again; "They're entirely neutral."

"That'd not be relevant, as it'd be the Legion, not Ferelden requesting her aid. We're not bound by your political restrictions, and we'd be asking her as a member of Imperial Nobility, not as a Fereldan." Not that he could not respect the institution for what it was, and understood well enough the need for its neutrality; "Roughly at the same time we started paying close attention to her, we also noticed someone else doing the same. My reports would come in, speaking of an old woman in the background. At first I just thought it paranoia by my men..." he turned to Fergus; "...but then she went to Oxford with your brother."

"Yes, I've heard..." the King mulled; "Though I've yet to find out why, when they were to follow the northern Highway back to Highever."

"Apparently she was to meet with someone." Belisarius said; "The potioneer of Oxford seemed to expect her, but was averse to the presence of your brother, as was he to hers it seemed."

"Then it can't have been Alma..." Fergus shook his head; "Aedan loved Nan even more than I did."

"All the same he seemed to know her well enough." He muttered; "She went by the name of 'Leliana' in Oxford, a name we suspect to have been forged to draw Aulus' attention, given her deceased comrade."

"Leliana?" the King frowned.

"The Orlesian girl." Anora explained; "She was romantically involved with Alistair Therein, I think, but both were lost in the battle for the city."

"I don't suppose this could still be a coincidence?" Fergus sighed; "Still, what exactly is your point?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself." Belisarius admitted; "The last hour has entirely changed my perception of where the Empire stands, if a Tongue could appear decades before we even knew of your people's existence. What I do know, is that there is a Tongue in Ferelden, and that for now at least the Exalted March has been destroyed. What remains now is to deal with Gaspard's forces, though even without the March to worry about, without the Tongue we're still at a loss."

"Optimism sure does come and go easily with you, doesn't it?"

"I like to think it helps keep me from the greater disappointments in life." he could have smiled a little at the frown on the King's face; "Considering the Empire knew nothing of Alma's existence as a Tongue, her loyalties to Tamriel are hardly guaranteed. Nonetheless she defended Highever from the Chantry, so at least we can use that."

"She did not defend it against Howe, though." Anora remarked, and a scowl settled on the King's face; "I do not believe we should so easily believe her loyal to us either, at least not without further investigation."

"Meaning?" Fergus asked.

"Husband, much as I understand if you feel some ties to this woman, especially after what we learned today, we know far too little, and I barely even understand what she is supposed to be." Anora said, putting her hand on her husband's; "If...Alma, was going to do anything we said at all, why would she not have come here herself? Were she loyal to anything but her own emotions, do you not think she would have come forth and offered her services? All we know is that she seems interested in Talia, and I care not for it."

"I suppose..." he muttered, turning to Belisarius; "What do you propose then, General?"

There was a moment's silence, in which he weighed his options. Today, indeed, seemed a day of the unexpected. He was uncertain of how to best take advantage of what was being offered.

"For now, we let Legate Constanta hold the Dane Crossing, provided she makes it there before Gaspard." He sighed, eying the map between them; "When the Aviatorii arrive at Soldier's Peak, they will be redirected to support Constanta. Provided Gaspard's mages do not go much above and beyond what I understand as the abilities of Circle mages, they will rout his forces, and join up with General Cauthrien to drive back the army besieging Gherlen's Pass..."

"And then?" Anora pressed, reminding Belisarius that he had slipped up in the exhaustion it was to direct a losing war, and left them unaware of the Tenth's arrival; "Gaspard will not be likely to merely accept defeat, especially not when his forces so greatly outnumber ours."

"...forgive me, I've neglected to tell you of this because of the stress, but there is a plan in motion to end this war." He shook his head, though it was an action he regretted almost immediately, the sore skin burning with strain; "The rest of the Tenth Legion will soon arrive in Laysh, in the Anderfels. General Gratianus Tullus has been granted the privilege of Legio Primus, and has ten thousand men under his command. He's a great tactician and leader of men, you'd like him I think."

"Ten thousand won't win a war with Orlais, General." Fergus' expression was somber.

"No need to win a war" Belisarius allowed himself a smirk; "Rather just one battle."


Legate Kratorius stood at attention, as did every man and woman of the Sixth Cohort, and every single recruit of the garrison.

His armor was polished and shone, and his helmet's crest carefully combed so that every hair upon it stood straight and smooth, as if on the day it was taken from horse's mane. His sword was sheathed, its pommel gleaming with the camel-fat he'd meticulously rubbed it with to better make the steal shine, and not a speck of mud or dirt was to be found upon him, neither on his armor nor his face.

Likewise, the rest of the officers of the Cohort, from Centurion Mallin and down to the lowest of Quastors, shone and stood straight with pride. He understood their pride, for what they had accomplished in Laysh was worthy of it, and more. They'd turned the town on its head in the span of months, and transformed it into a place worthy of actually living. Soon enough, it would have proper industry, better fields and better sanitation.

His men might be proud, but he was damnably prouder of them still.

The lead ship was a Hexareme, a massive galley that spanned half a hundred meters in length, and could likely have carried the entire Cohort upon its upper deck alone. The name was misleading, as it stemmed from a time where such vessels had propelled themselves on the backs of oarsmen, whereas now it was the sails that did the pulling. Yet the name had remained, and none saw with to change it.

The wood seemed brighter than most ships he'd served on, and the sails bore stronger colors, betraying that it probably was a rather new vessel. Each sail bore the Imperial Dragon in its stylized image, and a simple, black X underneath. At its head, an ornately carved dragon spread its wings on both sides of the bow, rising above a thick, bronze-plated ram that rose up, just enough to be visible above the waves. Cannon-ports stared back from underneath both the dragon's wings, betraying the ship's armaments even before he could see its broadsides. Towers rose across the ship's deck, and he could make out dozens of regularly spaced cannon-ports on the side of the ship as it neared.

"By the gods, what a ship..." he muttered to himself, taken aback and in awe of its presence. That such a vessel was dedicated to this campaign, if nothing else it cemented the Emperor's will to see this war won. It was no mere Hexareme, he realized, but damn well a dreadnought worthy of name. He'd have liked to see what warships of Orlais could match themselves with such a monster.

When General Gratianus Tullus, General of the Tenth Legion and seasoned commander and veteran, pirate hunter and law bringer, stepped foot upon the piers of Laysh, it was to the resounding, uniform cheer of the Sixth Cohort.

"INVICTA TULLUS! INVICTA IMPERII! INVICTA IMPERATOR!"

While it was indeed tradition to welcome generals of the Empire in such a manner, it being tradition made it no less genuine, as the sons and daughters of Tamriel welcomed their supreme commander to Thedas. The man's beard hid whether he smiled or remained stoic at such a greeting, though his powerful bulk seemed to suggest the former, his posture that of a father proud of his sons and daughters. For, in earnest, they were indeed just so. Good generals became more than mere superiors to their men, and Tullus of Bravil was one of the best.

"Legate Kratorius." Veruin stiffened and straightened himself when the General, each step a heavy stomp of steel and leather and muscle upon the freshly laid stone, stopped before him. Veruin was not a small man, yet Tullus easily towered a head above, and had led men to gossip that his ancestors were Orcs.

"General Tullus, Sir." He clasped his hand before his heart, the blood singing in his ears with rejoice at this reunion. It was as if a parent had returned, even as he was the General's senior in years. Tullus mirrored the salute, his own helm held in similar manner; "Welcome to Thedas, General."

"I hear you've done good work, Veruin." He could have had a heart attack right then and there, as the General's hand clasped him on the shoulder; "It is well to see my faith in your competence validated."

"Thank you, Sir." He swallowed, doing his best to retain composure; "I am honored."

The General nodded, glancing to Veruin's right, where Idoria Mallin had become a statue, standing at attention yet seemed to want to hide away her metallic prosthesis, as if it reminded her of the mess she'd become entangled in. Tullus made his way to her, his steps slow and measured, until he came to a stop before the comparatively tiny woman.

"Sir." She was forced to salute with the metallic arm, and Veruin was not blind to how his superior's eyes tracked it; "Welcome."

"Centurion Mallin, I'd presume from the arm?" Tullus asked, his voice the embodiment of calm neutrality.

"Yes, Sir."

"I've heard quite a few stories about you" The General continued; "Tribune Mallin, for your ceaseless endeavors in the service of the Emperor, your self-sacrifice in battle against overwhelming foes, and your admirable work in forging bonds between the Empire and the Anderfels, I promote you as such befits."

It was a good thing the General turned to regard Veruin again almost immediately. Mallin seemed about to drop where she stood, but was caught by the soldiers behind her before she actually fell. The Legate had to admit he as well was shocked, having at best expected a demotion of his subordinate. To instead have her promoted to the highest rank a field officer could achieve, left him somewhat barren for words.

It was half an hour later, when the General had finally met and greeted the various officers of the cohort, as well as the officials of Laysh and its Grey Wardens and Chantry, that he returned to where Veruin yet remained, at ease but in the same spot still.

"General."

"Legate Kratorius, how is your horsemanship?"

"I...have not ridden in a few years, General, but I'd dare say I still remember how." He would admit the question was a strange one, and he was uncertain if his answer was satisfactory; "May I ask why?"

"I've got twice the men I'm normally commanding with me, since the Emperor granted us Legio Primus, but I didn't get twice the officers. I'm scraping by as it is, but especially with cavalry commanders." He looked Veruin in the eye; "I need someone who's actually sat a horse more than once to lead the left cavalry wing. Two hundred horsemen, think you're up for it?"

He wasn't, but damn it to Oblivion anyways.

"Yes, General."

"Good." There was a smile behind that thick beard, he could tell; "I'll find you a good one, better get used to her. We march south in three days."

"We're taking Val Royeaux, General?"

"And putting it to the torch." Tullus' voice was like gravel and thunder; "It's high time Orlais was taught not to pull the dragon's tail."


I do like General Tullus.

As a funny bit of trivia, you can thank OfficiallyDevin for that (He's a Youtuber). His playthrough of Roman Britannia in Attila really endeared me to a character that before that was just another general to throw at the enemy. That guy's playthroughs are also a brilliant example of historical fiction writing, as the stories he weaves over the campaigns are often damn touching, and can actually leave you genuinly depressed upon completion.

If Devin ever stumbles upon my comments in his videos, or even this story, I hope he's happy that he inspired me to make Tullus the way he is here.