The Dwarves of Thedas seem to have a saying concerning their dead 'Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc' which roughly translates into 'May you always find your way in the dark, now that your duty is at an end'.
Death, for dwarves that is, is remarkably different from what the other races of Thedas view it as. To the Dalish, death is…confusing. I haven't really been able to get through the myths and legends completely, but as far as I understand it, they 'sleep eternal sleep?'… not a great many records exist on the subjects, and I have not met Solas again so that he could tell me.
Regardless, humans, elves and even the Qunari connect death in some way to the Fade. Humans especially, Qunari… less so…
Dwarves, I have found however, seem to have a distinctly odd connection to the Fade.
Similar to people from outside of Thedas, they do not visit the Fade when they sleep. In truth, they are said to not dream at all. It is strange thing then, that they can be affected by the Blight, which is inherently tied to the Fade.
I have asked the Orzammar Shaperate for any documents or scrolls on the subject, but apparently they do not seem overly fond of sharing details with associates of the Chantry…
I would ask Varric, but I can never really tell whether or not he is trying to bullshit me.
Morndas 24th, Evening Star, 9:40 Dragon
An addendum written in flowing Fereldan, though the hand evidently lingered and created a splotch. It does not appear to have neither name nor intended reader.
Kal Repartha, Talia-Urtok
With a scream, born both from exhaustion and grief, Alistair brought his sword down on his opponent, cleaving the Alpha's helmet in two. The head inside followed, splattering ichor and black puss. He kicked the Darkspawn away the moment his sword was free, and turned to face his next opponent.
Only, there was none left. Every Darkspawn around them was dead, multiple torn to shreds by claws and teeth. All the still breathing Darkspawn had turned and fled, only for Talia to storm after them.
"TALIA!"
She didn't react to his call – and when had she ever stopped? – let alone show that she had actually heard him. For all he knew, she might have worked herself into a blood-frenzy upon seeing Aedan's slain body. Shit, this was bad.
On the ground, Morrigan was already on her knees, hands flaring with magic as they ran across Aedan's body. Alistair forced himself not to look, for fear that he would collapse out of rage and sorrow. He was torn between taking off after Talia, and joining Morrigan by his friend's side.
"She will not return, regardless of however much you shout." The aforementioned witch stated, her voice carrying indifference rather than sorrow. Alistair turned on her, leveling the most heated glare he could muster. It wasn't hard.
"How…can you sound like that?!" he spat, pointing at Aedan's chest; "Aedan is dead, he's dead and you sound like it doesn't make the slightest difference in your own twisted little world."
"If you truly have the energy left to shout, then by all means, help me get that thing off him." Morrigan's reply only made him glare all the harder, and it was oh so tempting to hit her in the face. He wanted to, oh, how he wanted to hit her for sounding so in control and so indifferent to the scene before her; "I cannot break the spell if he remains like this."
What.
"What spell?" Alistair bit out, grabbing the handle of the Darkspawn's axe, if only to have something to subject to his anger and distressed state of mind. Morrigan did not immediately respond, grating on his already shredded nerves; "WHAT SPELL?!"
"As a Templar, truly you felt nothing?" the witch demanded, her tone condescending.
"What was I supposed to feel, Morrigan?!" he demanded through welling tears. He wasn't going to cry, not now, not where she could see it and would probably just mock him for it.
"Foreign magic." She replied simply, working her hands around where the axe was stuck. The metal started melting as she put her fingertips onto it, and allowed her to slowly, almost painstakingly so, peel it back one tiny bit at a time; "You do not feel it, even now?"
He grabbed the axe-handle with both hands and yanked.
He had expected the sound of tearing flesh and spurting blood when he did so. He expected the metal of the crude weapon to be glistening with the blood of his friend. He expected…so many nightmarish things, sights and sounds when he pulled the weapon out.
Instead it was the scrape, not of bone, but of stone.
"What in the name…" he muttered when he drew back the bladed end, and saw no more than a few droplets of blood on it. His heart was beating against his ribs, and his forehead covered in as much cold-sweat as from his fight. He couldn't understand what he was looking at, considering the axe had clearly been stuck at least a palm deep into Aedan's chest.
There should have been so much blood, spurts of it even. There should have been a puddle of it under Aedan by now, and yet there was no blood but the few stains on the axe-head. His friend should have started going pale by now, yet he still seemed like he was merely asleep. His face was still contorted in agony and shock, but not in the way one would see on a dead.
Alistair did not understand this at all.
"Aedan will live." Morrigan said as she stood; "However, you must take him back to the city. He needs a competent healer, and I am not so."
"Me?" he asked, unsure if he'd understood her, but he hoped he hadn't; "What are you going to do then?"
"Talia does not yet posses the knowledge of leaving her changed body." The witch stated, her tone implying that it was the most natural thing in the world; "I will need to find her, lest she could lose herself to the bloodlust."
Sorella Aeducan was, to put it in Trian's usual way of describing a bad situation, not doing particularly well.
What was supposed to have been her rite of passage into full adulthood, sponsored by Father, Trian and Bhelen, had become a fight for survival.
"My Lady, are you alright?" Gorim stepped through a Genlock he had just cleaved from head to toe, yanking his axe from the monster as he ran towards her. Sorella thanked the Ancestors he was still alive, where so many others had already fallen. Frandolin had been ripped apart, and the scout they had encountered in the Aeducan Thaig had disappeared.
Not that she cared, really.
"Gorim!" she called out, hefting up the Aeducan Shield. It was old, scared and pitted with enough claw-marks that she had been starting to doubt its ability to even stop a thrown knife.
It still stopped a Hurlock saber just fine, and allowed her to swing underneath and crush the nug-fucker's knees with her warhammer.
It was a one-handed, spiked weapon, and it worked wonders when your enemy didn't have the sense of self-preservation enemies normally had. Darkspawn might not be capable of 'bleeding out' from stabs or cuts, but as her current beating-bag found out, they were still very much susceptible to a case of 'hammer to the head'; "Where's my Father?"
"I couldn't see him, and there's more Darkspawn coming from the eastern tunnels." He spoke while fighting, burrowing his axe into the chest of a Genlock, then swiped back and decapitated another. The Warrior-caste's finest, alright; "How of your brothers?"
Trian was dead. It hadn't come as much a shock as simply a sad disappointment when she had found him, stabbed from behind with one of the crude daggers those Shrieks loved to use. She had returned the favor in person when she had seen it, pulping the deformed elf as a vengeance.
And yet, it didn't make Trian any less dead. She hadn't even had the time to grieve over him, an action she until that exact point had never thought she would actually feel the need to. There were just too many Darkspawn. Even if there were no Ogres just yet, it didn't change the fact that dwarves of the Royal Guard were dying all around them.
Blocking a fresh strike, Sorella repeated the same action as before, pulping knees before taking out the head. It was the same tactic she had used in the Provings, only this time she fought to kill. Still, in its own way, the Provings had ensured that she actually remembered how to hold a hammer. Maybe that was what had kept her alive so far.
"Prince Trian's dead." She replied hoarsely, exhausted from the ceaseless killing. Darkspawn didn't get tired, so if she did, they would only kill her that much easier. She wasn't even sure if Gorim could hear her, and didn't have the time to ask either. An Alpha was coming at her, and it was one of the big ones; "Oh…fuck me…"
In Gorim's company, that was usually either a jest or an invitation.
The axe came down, and she could feel the impact rattling her bones. Dwarves were thick-boned as they came, but the hit still felt like it at least sprained her forearm. What was worse, the Hurlock simply found it funny – who knew they had a sense of humor after all? – and stated hammering away at her shield like it was a toy. She couldn't even get a strike in, as every time she tried, the Hurlock simply kicked her back.
Sometimes being small really sucked.
She was saved, sort of, when another Darkspawn collided with the one hammering on her shield. Expecting it to be Gorim's work, she was instead surprised when she saw Bhelen retrieving an axe from the head of the Hurlock that her knocked her own attacker off.
"Bhelen!"
Her brother's armor was bloodied from boot to the top of his helmet, and one eye didn't seem to open inside it. The large rift in the metal above said eye didn't offer pleasant ideas of what exactly had happened, and his cheek from what she could see was a bloody mess.
Still, he was alive.
"We need to get out of here, Sorella." He said, not sounding very much like the little-brother who always did his best to avoid attention or trouble. He sounded a lot more like someone trying to stay alive, and hopefully not becoming an only-child while doing so.
"Don't need to tell me twice." She huffed, looking around. The battle had mostly died down or spread out, and given the chaos, she didn't even need to see her Father's corpse to know that he was dead. The Royal Guard would never have dispersed like this were their main charge still alive; "There are more Darkspawn in the tunnels."
The knowledge made her cringe with grief. Father was dead, Trian was dead, they themselves were probably dead too soon enough. Even with the amount of Darkspawn they had slain, the monsters had killed most of the expedition off. She could count herself, Gorim, Bhelen and four surviving guards still standing.
…make that three guards still standing.
"It's not- " her brother started, before an ear-hammering roar echoed throughout the corridors. Sorella stumbled where she stood, and Gorim visibly shivered at the sound. Even the Darkspawn seemed to pause at the sound, but only for the blink of an eye, before resuming their slaughter; "It's not just the Darkspawn. There's something else down here with us. And it's leading the Darkspawn right here!"
"What in the Stone's cold grip was that…?" Gorim whispered, almost as if he feared the answer. Sorella wouldn't hold it against him if he did, considering she herself could feel her hands shaking. She decided it was due to overuse, not fear. To prove that she meant this, Sorella took off for the closest Darkspawn, a Genlock sporting a crude saber longer than itself. It had just stabbed it through the stomach of a Royal Guardsman, and turned with a sneer even while the dwarf was still writhing on the ground.
Sorella came in hard, aiming her hammer at the Genlock's arm.
The arm was never the first thing protected when the enemy came at you, mainly because it wouldn't kill you to break it. Except, Sorella was very much going to kill the Genlock, she just needed to break said arm first.
The Genlock slashed at her, meeting only the hard steel of the Aeducan Shield. When it raised its arm for another slash, Sorella swung her hammer into its elbow-joint, ripping the entire forearm off in a spray of blood and torn muscle. The guard on the ground was dead now, so she sent the Genlock to the Stone with him, letting the man have his vengeance within the Stone.
When she looked up and around again, no one had survived but themselves. Bhelen was standing huddled over a Hurlock, clutching his side while Gorim wrestled his axe from the skull of a Shriek. Sod it all, were they really all that was left?
"We're all that's left?" Gorim echoed her thoughts eerily well, wiping some splattered gore from his shoulder; "My Lady, my Lord, what now?"
"We need to find Trian and Father-"
"They're dead." Sorella cut him off. Bhelen's one open eye widened, and she could see the child still very much lingering inside. Her brother wasn't ready for this kind of crap, and really, who was?
"S-Sod it…" he whispered, visibly biting his own lips as the tears started down his cheeks. Sorella didn't like it – right now she had that opinion on basically everything – but she was the older sibling, and with Father…dead, she had to take charge. The only way they would survive this was if they made it back to Orzammar. Bhelen was doing his best to hide the grief – he was that much a man, after all – and simply refrained from speaking.
"We still need to move before…whatever that thing was gets here with fresh Darkspawn." She grabbed the shaft of her hammer and stuck it down its ring. Then she thought better of it and simply kept it resting on her shoulder. Her thick armor had protected her so far, but she didn't want to take chances; "Gorim. Which way-"
A fresh – and closer – roar deafened her next words, and made her armor rattle with the impact of the sound. It was followed by noise, like stones and bodies being thrown around, and screams as creatures died violently.
"That's probably bad." Her bodyguard stated dryly, assuming a defensive stance where he was. The room was large, and there really wasn't much point in trying to run around and waste energy. She didn't have enough of it as it was, and Bhelen was not in any shape to fight as he was now. He was bleeding from the face, and one hand never left his injured side.
Now, they could only wait. Sorella put Bhelen in the middle so he could use his free arm to hold a shield before himself while she and Gorim handled the weapons. As whatever was in the corridor before them came closer – it definitely did not sound like an Ogre, and the steps were too fast to be on two legs – the screams of dying Darkspawn became more and more clear.
Whatever it was, something was driving the Darkspawn before it. Each of its steps rang out across the chamber, followed by roars or wailing Darkspawn. Normally a sound she would have cherished, the notion of so many Darkspawn fleeing something made her spine rattle. Whatever it was, there was no guarantee it was not going to kill them too.
"Should we… really be standing here?" Bhelen whispered in clear fright, keeping the shield firmly in front of him, while also covering the sides of his companions. He was right in that it was a stupid idea, but seeing as any other idea involved running further into the Deep Roads, it was also the only one they had.
"Prince Bhelen may have a point, my Lady." Gorim admitted, staring at the opening ahead. Bursts of warm colors could slowly be seen with increasing clarity, and it became obvious to Sorella that whatever was chasing the Darkspawn was also setting them on fire.
Suddenly standing in the open was looking like a very bad idea.
"Sodding Stone…You're right, we're dead if we stand here." She resigned, lowering her hammer as she glanced about. The first thought was to hide in plain sight, playing dead among the corpses. But Darkspawn were notorious for seeing through that kind of crap, meaning she scrapped the idea as soon as it was formed; "There."
They were still in the ruins of Aeducan Thaig's outskirts, meaning a few buildings yet remained from back then. One such was a single doorway carved into the rock, with just one window close by. It was probably a small storehouse or a guard-station back then, but right now it seemed like their best option.
Sorella's run broke off when Bhelen couldn't keep up. His injury was slowing him down, forcing him to stumble awkwardly after them. She turned, backtracked and grabbed her brother by his free arm, ignoring the shield that was digging uncomfortably into her armpit. She hauled him inside the old building, listening as the screams and roars got closer and closer. She could now hear the myriad of stomping feet from the Darkspawn, and knew she had to get her own ass in cover.
What followed then, as the three surviving members of the expedition peeked from the safety of their cover, she could only describe as mythical.
From the chamber's entrance to the Deep Roads, Darkspawn of both Genlocks and Hurlocks came running inside. They had abandoned weapons and shields, and were running like the Archdemon itself was after them. Immediately upon emerging in the chamber, the blighters started spreading out, grabbing at discarded weapons and shields on the ground.
"YOL! TOOOOOR!"
Even as Darkspawn were still coming out the Deep Roads, a wall of fire washed over their backs, consuming them in scores, and turning the ones yet confided in the corridor into dancing candles. The smell of Darkspawn could only be made worse by burning them, and the thing that had set them on fire seemed completely indifferent.
"YOL!"
A fresh wave of fire rushed inside the chamber, roasting whatever Darkspawn had not yet escaped proximity to its source. Then the source of all that death emerged as well.
"Stone preserve us, it's the Archdemon…" Bhelen whispered. Sorella briefly thought the same, fear spreading through her until she saw the dragon emerge fully from the entrance.
"No it's not." Gorim beat her to it. This dragon was far too small to be the Archdemon, as well as the fact that it did not possess wings, and the fire coming from it was red and yellow, not the sickly purple Archdemons were said to breathe; "It's too small for that, and it's not rotten."
He was right, on that last note too, Sorella had to admit. In truth, it was actually quite beautiful.
Whatever Darkspawn had managed to avoid being roasted alive now formed something of a semicircle around the creature, prodding at it with dwarven spears and Darkspawn pikes. Whenever one got too close, the dragon grabbed the spear around the shaft and sent the startled Darkspawn flying across the chamber.
Sorella counted at least twenty of those nug-fuckers. No wait, nineteen now. The dragon, for all it was larger and stronger than the Darkspawn, was covered in cuts and bruises. Each time it snaked its neck to spew fire, a Genlock would leap at it with axes, or a Hurlock would poke a spear at its neck.
"Who's…who's winning?" Bhelen whispered. His voice sounded more pained than before, and upon looking at her brother, Sorella could tell he was noticeably paler than before. She prayed it was blood-loss, and not something far more sinister. He had also sunken to the floor, out of sight of the fight.
"Dunno…" she replied in equally as hushed a tone. As she spoke, one of the Hurlocks managed to get in close from the side, spearing the dragon's thigh with a pike. The massive creature wailed in agony and grabbed the Hurlock even as the Darkspawn tried getting the spear back out. The Hurlock was then crashed into its fellows, breaking bones and snapping arms; "I really don't…"
Following through with its throw, the dragon turned on itself and lashed out with the muscular tail, breaking spines and knocking down its opponents. Some of the Darkspawn didn't get back up again. Most however, did, and took advantage of the red-scaled creature's blind angle to slash and stab at its sides.
The dragon shrieked with such an intensity that Sorella could feel the metal in her helmet vibrate. Every hair on her body stood, reacting to the agony she could hear in the dragon's screams. Blood was pouring red on black as it spilled from its legs and sides onto the pools and puddles of foul ichor.
When the dragon turned to enact its vengeance on the Darkspawn, its speed was slowed. The blood loss clearly was starting to sap it of its strength, and the legs were sagging even as one Hurlock was too slow and got caught in the dragon's claws. With a bestial snarl, the creature ripped the Darkspawn apart at the waist, then threw the remains at the others.
"…what happened?" Bhelen whispered as well as wheezed, holding his side while pain was etched into his expression. He didn't look good.
"The dragon got injured. I think…I think it's dying…" Sorella muttered, and could not help but find it disheartening. Dragons were supposed to be some of the strongest things alive, even worthy of the old surface Empire of Tevinter's worship. And yet, here she was, watching as a dragon was losing its fight with the enemies of Orzammar. And it'd still eat me if I helped it…Shite…
"How many…Darkspawn are left out there?" Bhelen groaned; "…c-could we take them?"
"Not in your state."
As Sorella spoke, the dragon's hind legs gave out underneath it. The Darkspawn took this as their chance and closed in, only for the dragon to swipe out, spilling entrails in a shower of gore and blood as the three closest blighters underestimated its reach. The remaining six Hurlocks seemed more cautious now, if that was even a thing, attempting instead to circle the dragon.
Every time one got too close, the dragon would strike down, flattening the creature in a smear of scrap-armor and blood. And each time it did so, another Hurlock would run in from the side, cutting at its legs or body. From where they were hiding, Sorella could see scales being torn from the huge body, and blood running from countless wounds. The red color she could see in the light of burning corpses might just be the creature's own blood, not the color of its scales.
In the end, the dragon's endurance seemed to win out over the Darkspawn's dwindling numbers. Only two Hurlocks remained, one on each side of the dragon. Likely they couldn't even see each other, and simply waited for the dragon to attack the other one. With its hind-legs crippled, the large reptile couldn't rise up to kick or slam its tail against one side while clawing the other, leaving essentially defenseless against whatever Hurlock it didn't target.
"Gorim, did you bring a bow?"
"…no, my Lady?" he answered, looking at her with confusion; "Who would you shoot if I had?"
"…dunno." In reality, both sides were equally dangerous. Herself and Gorim were the only ones ready to fight, while Bhelen was injured on the ground. If they shot the dragon, and the Hurlock's killed it, they would have to deal with them. If she'd shot the Hurlocks and saved the dragon, nothing would stop it from going after them next.
At some point, the dragon must have realized that the Darkspawn were simply waiting for it to bleed out. It likely rankled it to the core that such lowly cretins would get away with that. Yet it couldn't do anything about it. If it attacked one side, the other would attack. From what Sorella could see, the dragon was a few stabs away from collapsing completely, and likely wouldn't be able to strike back at all.
The dragon seemed to reach a decision. However, instead of lashing out at either side, it craned its neck and peered down, looking for all the world like it was glaring at the ground. Jaws hanging open, a fierce glow started gathering and growing in its maw. Somehow, Sorella knew what would happen, and stared at the twirling ball of fire somehow maintained in the dragon's mouth.
The Darkspawn had apparently come to the same conclusion as her. Yet, instead of backing off as would have been far the most intelligent plan, they ran forward, one raising a sword, the other an axe, both aiming for the underside of the dragon's throat.
As such, when the ground exploded in a veritable firestorm between them, both were thrown back with howls of pain. Each landed in smoking, twitching heaps. They were still alive, though likely only because they were Darkspawn. Sorella couldn't think of any other reason they could have survived such a blast.
The dragon glared at each, snapping its jaws and craning its neck again. Yet nothing more came out. The dragon's arms, the only pillars of support it maintained, trembled underneath its weight. With a snarl that seemed more desperate and sad than angry, the reptilian creature lowered itself to the ground more than it fell.
"…Is it over?" Gorim muttered, keeping a hand on the shaft of his axe. Sorella dared a nod, seeing how between the two of them, they could dispose of the Hurlocks if they were fast. The dragon seemed too exhausted to be of any threat whatsoever, which also meant it wasn't going to be able to kill the remaining Hurlocks. Or them, for that matter.
"Bhelen, stay here." She pointed at the ground as if her brother was a nug. He didn't offer complaints at all, instead just nodding and remained where he was. Sorella turned to Gorim, one hand on her hammer; "We should kill the Darkspawn before they get back up."
"And the dragon?" he inquired, even as they started out, crouching as they left their hide. Walking in a crouch while in armor hurt, and it was heavier than one might think. Yet, neither felt like walking straight, and kept at the awkward walk as they neared the first of the Darkspawn.
"Leave it." she muttered, yet keeping an eye on the monstrous creature. Now that she was closer, something seemed…off, about the dragon. Gorim cut down the Hurlock while Sorella kept her eyes locked on the dragon's head. There was something with the eyes – they were closed, thank the Stone – , something she couldn't immediately understand.
It was only when she took a step too close that she was truly stopped dead in her tracks. What stared at her from the scaled, ferocious head was not the usual narrow slit of a reptilian eye, but instead a green iris filling its entirety, with a far too humanlike pupil in the middle.
The immediate feeling she got from those eyes were frustration and anger, but somehow, it changed. Frustration became desperation, and anger became sorrow. Sorella didn't move, she didn't even make a sound. Gorim had not noticed her reason for stopping, but kept a wide arch around the dragon all the same as he made his way to the last of the Darkspawn.
Sorella's eyes remained fixated on the dragon's, however. She was trying to understand why a dragon would have eyes that were so inherently dwarven – and human and elven too, she supposed – when such creatures were supposed to be cold reptiles. Emotionless killer just did not match the storm of emotions she thought she could see within the emerald of the dragon's eye. It almost seemed like the eye itself was shimmering, glistening in the dimming light from burning Darkspawn.
She realized with a hair-raising start that the dragon was crying.
"…Gorim." He was close enough that he should be able to hear her. When he didn't respond, she tried again; "Gorim?"
"Yes?"
"Can dragons normally cry?" she whispered as he made his way towards her, again with a wide arch around the dragon; "I mean, with tears?"
"My Lady, you shouldn't be this close to…" he paused when he apparently saw what she did; "It's weeping?"
"…It's probably from the pain…We should…put it out of its misery…" She stepped closer to the pained animal, ignoring Gorim's unspoken protest at her action. When she hefted her warhammer in a better grip, the dragon's eyes widened and stared, fear seeping so intensely from them that it made her stomach turn. It somehow knew what she was doing. Somehow it had understood what she had said, understood what she was holding, and yet couldn't move; "I'm sorry, it's…it's the only thing we can do for you…"
The fear and grief in those emerald eyes was so human, so familiar to what she had seen in Bhelen's when he heard of Father and Trian's deaths. She stood still, unable to raise her arm at a creature so evidently intelligent. It felt wrong on so many levels that the only thing she could do for it was to put it down, and she despised that it would be a mercy. Darkspawn weapons rarely left clean wounds, and this creature had suffered so many, Sorella couldn't begin to imagine the agony once the corruptive poisons set in.
"My Lady, we should make haste before more Darkspawn arrive."
"…Right." She knew he was right, but didn't feel any better for it. It was either kill the dragon here and now, or leave it to an even more agonizing death. She gave the dragon one last look, trying to convey her regret. The dragon's eyes never left her, and she knew it was a sight that would haunt her. Dwarves didn't dream, yet she knew this would come to her as nightmares.
There was no way it wouldn't, not after everything that had happened today.
She gripped her hammer tighter, taking a careful aim at the dragon's skull where she hoped to kill at the first strike, and raised the weapon. When she had taken a breath and averted her eyes from the dragon's, she brought the hammer down.
Meeting enough resistance that the hammer stopped, Sorella looked back to check if she had connected in the right place. If she only increased the dragon's agony, she didn't know what she would do.
Yet the hammer had stopped a few inches above the dragon's head. It was only then Sorella realized that she couldn't move a muscle. Her entire body was trapped in a solid lock, and she couldn't explain how or why. Emissaries wouldn't bother with a stasis, or whatever it was called, and there had been no humans in Orzammar's Deep Roads since Duncan had attended Father's feast last year.
An interesting thing about dwarves and their resistance to magic, was that while they could theoretically shrug off those nasty bolts of magic mages would usually throw around, as well as most kinds of offensive magic, there seemed to be something of a loophole when it came to non-harmful magical attacks.
"That…was too close."
Sorella could only move her eyes, trapped as she was, and could only barely see the form of someone approaching from the same entrance that the dragon had used. The voice alone made it clear that the newcomer was a human woman. But she couldn't understand why she was here, nor why the woman had stopped her from ending the dragon's misery. Unless…
The dragon could be the woman's…something. Sorella didn't know much about the customs of surfacers, but knew that some kept odd pets and familiars. If the dragon was the woman's familiar, and used for hunting Darkspawn, maybe the woman was then a Grey Warden?
When she came into full view, Sorella was somewhat surprised that the potential Grey Warden wore little aside from some purple scarf hanging over her chest and a skirt of some sort. She was carrying a staff, but the bones dangling from her waist didn't exactly inspire belief that this human was from their Circle of Magi. She knew that much, at least.
"T'is for your good fortune that I arrived before you did…something regrettable." The human said, looking between them and the dragon. Said creature had shifted its attention from Sorella to the woman, and something that seemed almost like pleading shone from the emerald eyes.
Then the human placed a hand on the dragon's forehead, something Sorella had trouble believing even though she was seeing it before her very own eyes. No one spoke, but something changed on the dragon's…expression. Sorella couldn't explain what it was, nor how, but the grief seemed to lift from it, replaced with…could animals, even those so intelligent as dragons, feel elation or relief? Joy?
When the woman stood, Sorella hardly dared blinking. Obviously there was a bond of some sort between the human and the dragon, and being caught about to kill it, she doubted they were in the yellow-eyed woman's good graces now. Shit, this day just goes from worse to worst!
"You need not fear, Talia was never a danger to you, Aeducan." The human said, and Sorella wasn't sure which was more of a surprise, the name or that the human knew who she was; "I intend to release you, if you will refrain from attempting to kill my companion here."
Sorella simply blinked. She couldn't speak nor move her head, so blinking was all she could do. Next to her, Gorim seemed like he was trying to grunt, but only managed a choking cough. She just hoped this wasn't going to end with this human, whomever she was, killing them.
"Good." The mage-woman did something with her hand in front of them, shimmering the air and causing rivulets of tingles to wash over Sorella's body. When they had passed, and she could move again, the first she wanted to do was apologize for almost killing the Grey Warden's 'Talia'. But the woman held up a hand, silencing her before she could even begin; "Now, I do believe introductions would be the most civilized way to start our conversation, do you not?"
"I…yes, I agree." Ancestors, this was likely the least probable thing she had expected, but the woman already knew who she was, so…; "I am… Sorella Aeducan, second child to king Endrin Aeducan."
"Mmm… and your strapping companion?" it was almost funny to see Gorim grow flustered at the veiled…whatever. He usually didn't get that, unless it was from noblehunters. Somehow, she felt sure that the dragon was laughing as well, but decided against even contemplating it.
"Gorim." He replied tersely, meeting her eyes but without emotion. When the raven-haired mage raised a brow, his furrowed; "just Gorim."
"Very well, I am Morrigan." Morrigan stated politely, before laying a hand on the dragon's neck. Sorella hadn't realized it before, but many of the wounds had started closing up. She did a double-take when she saw one of the thinner cuts on the scaled neck simply heal before her eyes, and looked back at Morrigan, who seemed genuinely relieved, maybe at the same observation; "This is Talia Aulus, one of the Grey Wardens. I, as you might have guessed, am not one."
Yeah. This was more or less the single weirdest sentence that had ever been spoken to Sorella since…well, since that blonde Warden-apprentice had mentioned aloud that he was relieved dwarven women didn't have beards. Right in the middle of the throne room.
"Excuse us, it's not been the best of days, but…did you just say…" Gorim started, trailing off as the question seemingly became too odd for him to even give voice to it.
"This is not Talia's true form." Morrigan said, squatting down next to the healing dragon; "…she is a shapeshifter, albeit an inexperienced one, and does not yet fully understand her own powers."
"Right." What else was there to say? Although, and she'd be a Bronto if it wouldn't have been the potentially most disastrous decision she'd ever made, she had just almost killed a Grey Warden; "M-Morrigan, I mean…Talia, can she understand me?"
"She can, yes." The woman replied off-handedly, not taking her eyes off whatever she was doing with her hands. When Sorella glanced down, she could see blue threads of magic being weaved between Morrigan's fingers.
Shit. There were times she was glad dwarves didn't have to deal with that kind of crap. Still, she had more important things to do now than stare at pretty colors. She had almost executed a Grey Warden, and that more than anything demanded at the very least a royal apology. Shit, that's actually literal now with both Father and Trian dead…
"Warden Talia, I beg your forgiveness for my attempted action against you. I did not understand what you were, and thought I could only end your suffering." Dammit all, just because she was royalty it didn't mean she couldn't get on her knees and apologize. Well, unless one asked Trian, that was; "I understand that you may harbor ill feelings towards me, and I accept if you do not forgive me for my transgressions. Half of my family has just taken by the Darkspawn, and I fear the grief may have affected my sense of judgement."
"…are you quite finished?" Morrigan did not even turn her head as she spoke. Sorella, on her knees in apology, felt something like a desire to punch the woman. Talia, her eyes now focused on the princess again, let out a snort of amusement. Stone take it, Sorella hoped that meant she was forgiven.
"…yes"
"Good, then I can start reversing her transformation." Morrigan stood, and the web of blue energy between her fingers was cast into the air above Talia's prone form. Each tread seemed to split when it hit the dragon's…girl's…the Warden's skin, and each split thread then split again, in the end covering the shapeshifter in impenetrable light; "Gorim might want to turn around…"
"What for?" the man asked. Gorim was many things; loyal, strong, brave, smart when he had to, possessing of a charming wit and most of all kind.
What he lacked was an understanding of undertones in women's speech.
"Because I am not even certain if she will reappear dressed or nude." Morrigan deadpanned. Sorella couldn't help a small grin at the way Gorim flushed. No doubt he too was just as eager to see the kind of woman who could turn herself into a dragon.
"Oh."
Both then simply watched in silence – Gorim from over his own shoulder – as Morrigan's spell, whatever it was called, turned from a bright white to a flat blue. It was the color of Lyrium, that much she at least recognized. 'Talia's form was outlined as a single shape, and when the raven-haired human clapped her hands together, it seemed like the dragon's form would similarly compress.
Instead it changed. It shrank, for one, and lost the outline of a tail and long claws. Sorella hadn't ever witnessed much magic, mainly because few mages ever chose to visit Orzammar, and only three Wardens had been in the city throughout her life, all at once on her last nameday, of all times.
When the shape stopped shrinking and changing, its end result was a humanoid, human-sized shape lying prone on the ground. The form was just that, a form, until Morrigan's hands spread out again, and the person within became visible.
"T'is an improvement, at least, that you are dressed this time." Morrigan noted when a fair skinned, redheaded human girl appeared on the ground. She was dressed in the robes of a Warden mage – at least, Sorella assumed it was how Warden mages were usually dressed – and with heavy steel on legs and arms; "Still, you need more practice. Next time, however, I suggest we do so in a location without the risk of Darkspawn."
"…shudup…" Talia groaned, pressing her very own distinctly human palm against her very own distinctly human forehead. Her mind was trying to kill her, that much was definitely true, and it didn't help that she'd lost way too much blood over the last hour; "...my head."
But at least she was dressed this time. Being naked in the Deep Roads was not something she fancied.
"I do believe the words you sought are 'thank you'" Morrigan mused. She was so annoyingly satisfied with herself that Talia couldn't help but scowl. Or, maybe it was the migraine. But even that far paled in comparison to what Morrigan had told her, in the mental link.
Aedan was alive.
She didn't know how, or why, or if he was still in danger, but right now, he was alive. She had gone from mortal fear in the face of death, to a sense of relief she could barely even process at Morrigan's words.
"Thanks…" she muttered, pressing a pair of glowing hands against her temples. Healing energies surged throughout her body, dulling the migraine to a simple itch in seconds. When she brought down her hands, she became aware of two simple facts.
One, she didn't have her staff. Morrigan, on the other hand, seemed to be carrying it, so that wasn't really a problem.
Two, however, was that the pair of dwarves that had been about to cave her skull in was still standing nearby. Gods, she needed a drink. The woman-dwarf looked like a blonde Dela, and it was seriously creeping her out. What truly frustrated her, however, was what Morrigan had called the dwarf. Aeducan.
That was the name of the royal family in Orzammar, if she remembered that one right. Alistair had wanted them down here because he was worried something might happen, seeing as the whole blue-blood line was gathered in one place in arguably the least safe place this side of the Padomaic Ocean.
"You." she pointed a hard finger at the blonde not-Dela. Aside from the lack of brand – gods, she already despised that part of dwarven culture – and the slightly finer nose, this woman was an identical twin of the perky rogue; "Where's the king?"
She never got the answer, however, as a new figure stumbled from the doorway of the old ruin the dwarves had hid in. He was clad in armor similar to what the dwarf-girl before her wore, only with a lot more blood decorating it. One hand seemed almost glued to his side, where blood was slowly leaving a trail of droplets behind him. His expression was set in pain, and his skin so pale that the darkened veins in his skin stood out all the more hideously clear. There's always something, isn't there?
"W-Wardens…"
The hand not clutching his side reached forward as he walked, with the blonde girl already at a sprint towards him. He collapsed before she even reached him.
"BHELEN!"
I think I have lost count of just how many times I have rewritten the Orzammar-arch so far. It's reeeeeeeeeaaaaally annoying because I keep writing down one event-line, then suddenly an idea springs up that beats the Hel out of the previous one.
That is not the reason for the long break, however.
I have finally managed to get started on my side-project called 'rewrite a book longer than the F'in Bible!' which does take some time. Luckily it's only 60-some chapters, but that's still well over 600k+ words I need to go through. Needless to say, my fingers hurt. If anyone here has read the original "Aspect of Fire", I can only say that the remastered version is SOOOO much better.
And if you never read the original, the new version is a good place to start.
So...if we're quite done with the shameless selfpromotion, I would just like to wish the lot of you a happy summer vacation - whenever that is, I've kinda lost track of time down here - and hope you will bear with me once more screwing over the plot-line. I respect and love what Bioware did with the Dwarven campaign, it's just that I have different ideas.
Roku, out! :)