The dwarf frowned. "During the day? Won't that lead to all kinds of problems? Like witnesses? Witnesses are a big problem."

The Inquisitor laughed. "Just makes it more challenging. Why do you think I had Leliana get those special tools made? My hands are not as steady as they used to be with the lockpicking. Why do you think I brought you along?"

"For my stunning good looks and great personality," said Varric, dry and flat. Bianca went into her holster at his back.

Dorian grunted and held a hand before the light. He seemed drained. Dark circles surrounded each eye, giving them a bruised, haunted cast. "Can I not just stay here? I'm hungover and pretty sure I'm going to be useless in a fight."

Tir'alas stamped her foot, and shook her wild mane of hair. "No, you cannot just 'stay here.' I need your brains. You and Solas. Besides, after the shit day we had yesterday, let's do something fun."

Solas commented, "Crime is ... fun?"

Varric laughed. "You'd be surprised."

The Inquisitor grinned a wicked grin and said, "Look, you both showed me what it's like to be a mage. Now come and I will give you a taste of what it's like to be a rogue."

How could he deny that grin anything? Solas snorted and said, "Lead on."

Dorian groaned and stood. "What I wouldn't give for some kaffa."

And so they made their way dockside, where a locked house stood. A whiff of blood magic tickled Solas's nose. He and Dorian exchanged dark looks. The market and square filled with people with morning business, shouting orders and hawking their wares. The docks held fewer numbers, but still teemed with passersby.

As they approached the intended building, Solas watched with interest as Tir'alas's stance changed. Her steps grew lighter and more balanced. Instead of her normal direct walk and gaze, both started to edge and dart. He'd seen one state, or the other, but never the transition itself.

Varric seemed to pick up this stealthy pace as well, surprising Solas with his nimbleness.

The apostate smiled and emulated, with Dorian at his back doing his best to do the same. Four shadows crept along the stone walls of the dock, avoiding places people congregated, pausing to let guards patrol by. They stopped near an upended boat, skulking alongside it.

A lone woman stood near the door to the building, blond-ish in peasant frock. It seemed odd that she would just stand there. What was she waiting for?

Tir'alas growled, and the primal sound wound deep into Solas's core. She said, echoing Solas's thoughts, "What the hell is she doing?"

Varric hummed. "Maybe she's a lookout."

"Well, this is hopeless. Can't break in with her just standing there. Come on, let's go find some breakf—" started Dorian. He made to stand straight, but a slender elven hand yanked him back down by the front of his shirt.

"Shh!" said the Dalish owner of that hand. Tir'alas continued, "Forty seconds til the next guard comes by. Maybe another minute after that til those fishermen haul in their catch and come ashore. If we're going in, we need to do it fast. Varric, have you got those clever fingers ready?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Here I go." Tir'alas pulled a rag from one of her many pockets and doused it in a liquid from one of her flasks. Using uncommon stealth, the elf slunk forward, staying behind the woman, deadly intent in every measured step.

Dorian frowned, and whispered, 'Is she about to kill that woman? Should we be concerned?"

Solas shook his head. He didn't know.

Varric started out as well, keeping several steps behind the Inquisitor. Tir'alas shot the two mages a look over her shoulder, jerking her head toward the building. Solas and Dorian slipped out of cover and sprinted for the door.

Then, in a fleet move hard to follow, Tir'alas leapt forward and wrapped her one arm around the woman's throat as the other hand covered nose and mouth with cloth. A moment of struggle from the peasant and then she slumped in the Inquisitor's arms.

Tir'alas dragged the woman to the door, where Varric already worked at the lock. She hissed, "Varric, hurry!"

"Damn Fereldens and their five-tumbler locks!" He grunted.

"The guard is coming," whispered Solas, pointing down the dock.

Dorian, eyes alight with interest, crouched low. "A diversion? Solas?"

The apostate smiled. "Yes."

Reaching for his magic, Solas let a trickle flow to Dorian, who took it and added his own. They bent their wills to stabilizing the Work.

The guard stumbled in shock. A small, fluffy gryphon sat at the shore, preening itself with hooked beak. Then it, in complete indolence, rolled in the grass like a big cat, purring. The guard, nonplussed, ventured closer, hand outstretched to touch a legend.

At the last moment, the hybrid animal leapt up and flew, wings beating as it banked up and over the inlet. Shaken and pale, the guard turned this way and that to try to track it, but it had disappeared, seemingly into thin air.

By the time the guard wandered back to his route, convinced he'd hallucinated, no one stood outside the building for him to discover.

Inside, Dorian wheezed a breathless chuckle. "Bet he'll turn that story into high legend before the day is through. I've never crafted an illusion that solid before." He looked at Solas with wonder.

Solas smiled, Illusions are better with the weight of memory. He remembered well those beings who loved the sky. Out loud, he said, "It seems we make a good team. Why a gryphon, Dorian?"

"Really, I was thinking about that statue in the town square."

"Ah." Then Solas had seen what was taking form and added his own intent to make it more real.

Meanwhile, Tir'alas had set the woman down. Now Solas could see that she still breathed. Her chest fell and rose in drugged slumber.

Varric called from the back of the building, "Uh, Sticks. You should come see this."

The dwarf's voice held a tight, worrisome note. As a group, they went around corners and through doorways to see stacks of those wood plinths strewn about. Beyond them, shelves adorned the walls. And on these shelves, rows and rows of skulls. Each and all with a crystal lodged in one eye-socket. They glittered at the party, both sad and eerie.

In one corner, a smokestack, charred black from use. All of them could see the shards of bone that littered the ceramic bowl of it and draw the same abhorrent conclusion. A morbid, but efficient means of body disposal.

Tir'alas's gloves squeaked under the strain of her tightening fists. Solas had no love for the Tranquil beyond pity, but even he felt the writhing whip-snap of anger in his gut. The sheer number of people sacrificed to this … horror astounded him.

The Inquisitor stalked back to the front room and crouched in front of the drowsy peasant. A loud smack filled the air as she struck the woman across the cheek. She hissed, "Wake up!"

Eyes blinking in confusion and pain, the woman sat up, rubbing her cheek. "Oh! Where am I? Who are—By the blessed Maker, you're the Inquisitor!"

Tir'alas grinned, menace in the curl of her lip. "Who are you working for?"

"What? I'm a—"

The Inquisitor grabbed her by the chin. "If you lie, I will cut your lying lips from your fat, stupid face. Now tell me who you are working for."

The woman mewled in terror. Tir'alas gave her a shake. Then the peasant said, blubbering, "I'm the baker's apprentice, I swear! In the castle! I don't know what this is all about!"

"Varric, bring me a skull," said the Inquisitor, lilting voice deadly soft. The dwarf scrambled to obey and brought her back what she asked for, dropping it into one upturned hand. She showed it to the woman, who gagged and reeled back. "See this? There is a whole room full of these in the back. Think, woman. Building full of human and elven skulls. Locked. And you, standing outside, watching, like someone's faithful mabari. So, whose bitch are you?"

The peasant quailed under Tir'alas's pitiless gaze. Her hands came up to cover her tear-streaked face. The Inquisitor slapped those hands away, relentless. The woman said, "I'm not—I've never been in here before. I just come here to meet my lad! He's a journeyman-tanner. I thought this was a tannery!"

Varric grunted and said, "That would explain away any … unpleasant smells."

"Inquisitor, look at this," said Dorian, moving to the fore with a book in his hands. He handed it to her.

Flipping through the first few pages, Tir'alas stopped and read in silence the bookmarked one. Her glower darkened and she shook the book at the cowering peasant. "You know what this is? A damned ledger. The rutting venatori kept records of the people they slaughtered. How many. Where they were taken. The number successfully made into one of these. They didn't even bother to note the failures, but if one does the math …. Would you like me to read it to you? Would you like to hear what your lad has been up to?"

The woman sobbed. "I didn't know. I swear!"

"You mean you didn't want to know," accused Tir'alas, snapping the book shut and handing it to Solas. He opened it again to read the marked page. "Convince me that you are not an accomplice."

With that, the Inquisitor stood and looked down with chilly malice on the weeping woman, who blubbered, "He were nice to me. C-comely. A little foreign, but not too strange. He come in with the refugees. He … he listened."

"So I'll bet you filled his ears with lots of interesting little things. Gossip, news, things like that," Varric said, voice gentle with persuasion. "Nothing important, right? Just whatever sprang to mind."

With a relieved sob, the woman nodded, clinging to the lifeline the dwarf dangled in front of her. Solas had to admire the devious tactic. The peasant said, "He said he'd take me with him."

"Where?" demanded Tir'alas, cold fury snapping. The peasant went white with terror, struck dumb by it.

Varric knelt down next to the girl, holding a hand up between the Inquisitor and her. "Now, hold on. She's cooperating." He turned to look at the peasant. "You are cooperating, aren't you?"

The woman nodded, with vigor and emphasis. Her sodden eyes latched onto Varric in entreaty.

The dwarf squeezed her shoulder and pitched his voice to the friendliest rumble Solas had ever heard, "Take a minute and just breathe. In ... and out. There you go. Now, where was he going to take you?"

"He said-he said some oasis out west. He said it was beautiful." Clutching at the dwarf's sleeve, she broke down into more tears. "I thought he loved me."

Solas spoke, gentle, "What is his name?"

"Nessuno."

Dorian barked a laugh, then when the Inquisitor shot him a questioning look, said, "Apparently, 'Nobody' has been wooing this girl."

"Really? Well, pity he wasn't fool enough to give his slattern his real name as he was prying secrets from between her thighs," said Tir'alas, with a heavy sigh. She looked back on the peasant. "You will tell no one of this, not your family, or your friends, or whatever comely cock comes striding through the door. I will lock this place so the Inquisition can investigate further and put those poor souls to rest. If you see this … Nessuno again-"

"I will tell the Inquisition immediately, your worship!" said she, lunging to her feet. The depth of her bow nearly took her back to her knees.

"Go!" the Inquisitor said, with a tired wave. The peasant scooted off, skirt flying in her haste to be away. Then Tir'alas sighed. "Well, this confirms Leliana's intelligence and Enchanter Renaud's reports."

"An oasis out west? The only true desert out there is the Hissing Waste," said Dorian. "And I don't recall an oasis on any map of the region."

"It's there," said Tir'alas, firm and certain. Solas looked at her. He'd been just about to say the same. Under their curious stares, she said, "I've … been there before."

Solas said, "Really? I'm sure that would make an excellent story."

She shot him a glare. "One that I'm not telling ... yet." Her lips curled on the last.

The apostate gave her a look that said he looked forward to it.

Tir'alas gave Varric a pleased grin. "Good work."

"Oh, me and Hawke wrote the book on the ol' good guard, bad guard routine." The dwarf looked pleased nonetheless. "He brought his brand of scary apostate madman, and I the friendly, short, harmless guy act."

Dorian said, after a moment of silence, "Well, it has been an exciting morning. Crime, interrogation, the smell of a new mystery in the air. Can we please go back to the inn now? I want food and I want sleep. Not necessarily in that order."

Varric laughed. "And I could use a beer."

Tir'alas frowned. "It's not even noon yet."

"Yeah, well, I had to abstain last night so Sparkler here wouldn't get kidnapped. I have to make it up to my liver."

"Well, then, let's just sneak our way out of here, lock the door and I'll get some of our local boys to watch the building, in case those venatori bastards come back."

"Sounds like a good plan, lethallan," said Solas, with a smile to the Inquisitor.

She grumbled, "Don't sound so surprised."

They soon strolled about town as though they hadn't just broken the law or terrorized a citizen of Ferelden. Dorian, eyes starting to gain their old sparkle, laughed. They all looked at him. He said, "That was fun, actually. Skullduggery and threats and whatnot. Well, everything but finding all the skulls and things. So, when's our next big caper?"

Tir'alas snorted over Varric's chuckle. The dwarf said, "Caper? One easy little 'B 'n E', and you think you're a master thief?"

"Well, we all have to start somewhere, Ser Tethras. What about a robbery? Or a heist? Or … cat-burglaring?"

"Look at me, Sparkler. Do I look like a second-story man? I'm a little too stout to fit through most windows." Varric shook his head. "No. I usually work the back end. You know, fencing, brokering, that sort of thing. How about you, Tir'alas? I've seen you scramble over the walls at Skyhold. You've done some work. Miss the ropes and pinchy harnesses?"

She laughed, though Solas thought he detected some discomfort in her eyes. She said, "No, I do not."

"Steal anything I might have heard about?" said the dwarf, fishing. Solas could see the urge to pry riding high in Varric's expression.

She hesitated, then said, "Nothing heavy. Nothing I needed a … fence for."

Varric gave a snort. "Right. Spying. You know ... someday, I'll get you to tell me about it."

"So you can write it down?" she asked, wary.

"Pfft. Of course. Someone has to chronicle all this crazy shit. Might as well be me."

"Somehow I doubt the Chantry will let you print things like that about their Herald," said Solas, sour. "After all, look at what they did to Shartan. Perhaps they'll even dock her ears in future portrayals."

For a moment, Tir'alas seemed shocked, then she shook it off with a shrug. "Does it really matter? We're only here to stop Corypheus. Once we do that, the Inquisition will have done what it was created to do. It'll end."

Dorian smiled. "Perhaps that view may be little naive? You can't throw a boulder in a pond and not expect ripples. For a long time."

Clearly unsettled, Tir'alas lapsed into pensive silence.

A/N: And there it is. Some fun roguey stuff. Well, fun until you find a whole room full of Tranquil skulls. And illusions! Why isn't there more illusion-y stuff in DA? Illusion is one of my favorite schools of magic in D&D. It's so versatile and whatnot. Anyway, comments and critiques are always welcome. I'll try to respond to each one as I'm able. Cheers!