So, yeah, a lot of you probably thought to yourself that this break has been way too long. And for that I would like to offer the lot of you – because honestly, you deserve that much – an explanation.

Since starting VUC – a sort of extra educational course – my time has once more become incredibly limited. I have to keep working on papers for both chemistry and math, as well as make sure I actually get enough sleep to survive the next day. Add to that that, since I still do live at home, I also have chores and cooking to do, plus the fact that if I get caught writing, I'll be chewed out unless I can prove beyond a doubt that I have done everything for the next week. Yeah, it's kinda awkward like that.

In the end, that leaves me with roughly three-four hours a week to write. That is time I have to split between Talia, Incursions, Helheim and the rewriting of Interventions. Believe me when I say, if I could spend more time writing, I would.

I work in a cycle, meaning that following this update, the next chapter will be Aspect of Fire, Incursions, followed by another chapter being re-released in Interventions, then Helheim and finally this again. It's the only way I can prevent neglecting a story.

Golems, as they are commonly referred to, are autonomous constructs much like the lumbering Centurions found in the larger Dwemer ruins.

Primarily made out of either stone or steel, these guardians are the epitome of Dwarven might, and are believed capable of tackling Ogres in single-combat. Whether or not this is true, however, is up to debate, as very few Golems still exist. All but a few were lost when the Thaigs were overrun in the beginning of the first Blight, and those that remain are kept far from harm's way. It seems the Dwarves ascribe to the old philosophy of not fielding what one cannot afford to lose.

The making of a Golem is, at best, shrouded in enough secrecy to make the Cynod appear openly informative. Realistically, if that were a term best used here, nothing at all is available about the making of these artificial, yet sentient war machines. Their maker, Paragon Caradin, disappeared ages ago into the Deep Roads, and has not been seen nor heard from since.

- 'Observations on Orzammar', 37:1 Dragon. A signed scroll found in the library of the Circle of Ostwick.

Gemstones under Diamond

Aedan's world returned with the smell of braised pork, ale and scented herbs, as well as a stinging pain across his chest.

At first, confusion over all these things was what filled his mind. The last thing he remembered was feeling the Alpha's battle-axe rip through his armor and body both. The pain had been excruciating, worse than any wound he'd ever received before. He had felt it as his ribcage was cracked and cut open, had seen the world vanished into darkness.

So why was he still here? As much as he believed in the Maker's afterlife, he doubted it would come with such worldly smells, and he doubted even more so that his chest would still be causing him pain had he died.

"You are awake."

It was not a question, but the voice at least was familiar enough to cement his survival. Opening his eyes, Aedan found himself staring first at a richly decorated stone-tiled ceiling, then tilted his head to the left and found Wynne there, gazing at him with an indistinguishable expression. One of her hands had just let go of a wooden mug.

So, that was the ale-smell down, at least.

"I…" there was so much he wanted to know. Talia's whereabouts chief among them.

"-need rest." It was an order if he'd ever heard one, though far more gentle in its delivery. Wynne released a tired, weary and yet relieved sigh as she leaned towards him and lightly placed a glowing hand on his chest.

This was when he became aware of being shirtless.

"How do you feel?"

"…hungry." He didn't mean it as a joke: He really was hungry; "And…confused. I mean, I thought I'd…I'd be…" the word, that one word somehow wouldn't pass his lips. Aedan slumped his head back on a remarkably comfortable, if roughspun pillow, staring at the ceiling while Wynne hummed.

"Your survival is, once more I believe, due mostly in part to Talia's magic, and how little I truly understand about it." the old enchanter admitted, not a hint of shame as much as resignation in her voice; "How does this feel?"

He became aware that she was pressing a finger onto his chest, but almost couldn't feel it. If it was where the axe had hit him, maybe he'd lost the ability to feel there. It was always better than being dead, however.

"…faint. Like there's something in the way." He muttered, trying to lift his head enough to see his own chest. When he succeeded, bandages was all he saw. Surprisingly few of them were stained red; "Talia?"

"Talia is…physically unharmed." Wynne seemed to hesitate with the words, as if there was something to hide; "She healed herself of any injuries she sustained. Which, I suppose, brings me back to what she did to you."

"Is she here? Nearby?" By the Maker, he wanted to see her. To hold her and kiss her and never let her out of his sight. Ironic really, seeing as he was the one who'd almost gotten himself killed, not her. It was probably his sense of manly responsibility, something she'd never ascribed to; "what do you mean she 'did to me'?"

"I am still not sure…Neither is she, for that matter, but, and this is only the best assumption we have been able to reach so far…" he wasn't quite sure if he liked the way Wynne hesitated. Usually hesitation meant something bad was going to come out; "I- We believe that what she did to you on the night of your Joining, somehow reacted with the magic in the ritual itself, and created a…bond, of some kind. When you were struck down, the part of your body where she touched you hardened on its own."

Somehow, thát didn't make him think of the Joining at all.

If Wynne noticed his blush, she didn't let it show; "Talia called it 'Stone flesh'. It is a defensive spell much like self-petrification, commonly referred to as 'rock armor'. When the axe struck the part of your chest where the scar formed that night, that part of your body briefly turned to stone…It was not permanent, and you will most likely have a scar, but it certainly saved your life."

Aedan, for a while, didn't speak. His mind often felt numbed when people discussed magic around him, especially if it entailed how different and yet alike the magic from Talia's homeland was to the magic of his. And now, with even Wynne unsure of what exactly had happened, he felt no less confused and overwhelmed than usual.

"So…I am alive, because…I almost died at the Joining?"

"Simplified, but yes, that is most likely the case." Wynne nodded, the wrinkles in her face creasing slightly with the faint smile on her lips; "Personally, my recommendation would be for you to remain in bed. You should refrain from any and all strenuous activity for a while."

"…okay."

"There is also…" Wynne put a finger on her lip in a quite girlish musing. Its oddity briefly threw him for a loop; "Well, I suppose Talia would need someone to brighten her mood, so if you feel comfortable receiving visitors?"

Aedan could have sworn there was a hint of youthful…something, in the old enchanter's eyes. A glint of something thought left behind years ago. She most certainly said what she said knowing full well that he would agree.

"You haven't told if…Is she okay?" he realized as he spoke that she'd already told him once. A lot of the things she'd said didn't exactly stick, leaving his mind something of a haze; "I mean-"

"I know what you mean." Wynne told him kindly; "I would imagine too much is going on right now for you to remember much. I will go examine the others, then. Talia should be here shortly."

"…thank you." Aedan replied, resting his head back down with a sigh.

His chest didn't sting as much as before, so Wynne must have been healing him while she was talking. If anyone was, Aedan was certain that the Senior Enchanter would be the kind of person to make Talia realize that at least not all the Circle was as stuck-up as she believed. Not that he didn't see where she was coming from, as her homeland had never had a need for templars, as far as he understood her.

Magic…There were times he was really glad he was born without it. And not just because it would have had him stuck in a Tower for the rest of his life. That was at least a part he understood perfectly why Talia despised.

Talia. What had she done, or thought, when he had been struck down? The last time he remembered seeing her was when she shapeshifted and started tearing into the Darkspawn. Had she just continued, unaware that he had nearly been killed? Or had she somehow felt the 'bond' Wynne mentioned, and discovered what had happened?

Eyes closed with exhaustion, he hadn't been aware of Wynne leaving the room until he heard the door open again. The footsteps he could hear weren't of the soft boots Wynne used, but instead the familiar rattling of steel sliding against steel on armored feet and shins. And even if Alistair had somehow come to visit him, the steps were much too light, as if the person wearing them was attempting to sneak. Aedan raised his head a bit, bringing the sound of footsteps to a stop.

Talia stood next to his bed, still wearing all her armor. Her hands, both still in their protective steel-gloves, had frozen mid-air as if interrupted in their movement. Her eyes, he noticed, seemed like they belonged to the kind of person who should be in bed, not walking around. How long had she gone without sleep? How long had he been sleeping?

"…Hey, Talia." He wasn't quite sure what else to say. She didn't look like she was in the mood to even talk. And she smelled like alcohol; "I'm glad you're safe."

Without him noticing when it had started, tears ran down her cheeks in silent streams. Talia didn't even seem to notice them either, locked on his as her eyes were. Then, wordlessly, she shrugged off first her gloves and bracers, then the boots as well, leaving her barefooted on the tiled floor.

And Aedan was left dumbstruck. He often was, he realized, when it came to how Talia reacted to a lot of things. He had not expected, for example, that reuniting after he'd almost died would make her take off her boots.

It was only when he felt her weight on the bed, her arms draped over his chest like a desperate child, that his mind even processed how quickly she had moved. Briefly stunned by her actions, Aedan soon felt warmth spreading through him from her embrace. The chainmail in her protective vest did not feel cold at all, and only dimly did he realize that she had shrugged the uniform as well. Her body was against his, clinging on as if for life itself, with just their underclothes separating them. He could feel her heartbeat through the arm she pressed herself against.

And then he felt her tremble. A great, wracking sob escaped her lips, coming out as raw as had she been yelling and screaming for days. Ignoring the stinging sensation from his wound, Aedan turned so that he could face her, and returned the embrace for all he was worth, hugging Talia to his chest. She didn't stop crying.

"You…idiot. Do you have- a-any idea how scared I was!?" it was only seeing her, alive and unharmed, that allowed Aedan a faint smile, one Talia didn't see as she was pressing her forehead into his throat. She radiated so many emotions that he wasn't sure how to react to them all combined. She was indignant and relieved, as well as clearly pissed off at him while yet seeking his comfort. He just wasn't sure what to say, in a case like this.

"I'm sorry." It was an instinctive reply, and he felt certain more or less immediately that it had been the wrong one; "I didn't mean to scare you like-"

"W-well you did" she repeated, a growl mounting in her voice; "I've never been so fucking scared before and I thought I'd lose you like I lost Onmund and- Please, I don't want to lose you. I don't want to do this thing if it means you die. Fuck the Blight, if that's what it…if that's what it takes…Don't you dare smile at me like that, what's wrong with you?""

"I'm sorry." He repeated that same, stupid apology. He wasn't even sure if he could be blamed for any of what had happened; "I'm just so, so glad you're safe."

She didn't reply to that, only buried her face in his neck. He could feel her hot, shaking breath on his skin, and the tears running down her face ended up running down his neck until they splotched on the bed. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that there actually existed a fragile – or at least just soft – girl underneath the shell Talia so often put around her as a façade.

Her habit of swearing was definitely one of those reasons.

"…you're still an idiot, for losing to a Hurlock…" she muttered, seemingly not interested in removing her mouth from his neck. It brought back memories from their night together in Redcliffe. And with her snugged into him like this, all he had to do was close his eyes; "I mean who the fuck loses to a Hurlock?"

"…You know they're rather strong, right?" he attempted a laugh, and felt the increasingly familiar sting spreading from his chest. Right, he'd been chopped with an axe there. Easy to forget with a beautiful woman next to him.

"The cheesemuncher didn't seem to have problems."

"Ah…" what else could he say to that? Talia had her quirks – quite a lot of them in fact – and one seemed to entail her labeling Alistair as such. Luckily for Aedan, and perhaps for her as well, Talia's hand brushed over the center of the bandages, and her head rose as he gasped from the stinging sensation; "It…still stings, just a little…"

"I…I did that, didn't I?" Talia muttered, resting her fingers deftly around the actual injury, not upon it. Somehow, Aedan found his eyes were transfixed on her hand, and the way she moved her fingers, not the fact that she was in her smalls; "I…examined your wounds earlier, and I don't know what happened or how, but…the red skin, your scar, most of it seemed like it'd turned to stone when the axe hit it. Wynne thinks it's an…a magical c-connection, like…like, I'm not…I don't know."

What had begun as a faint crease of his lips became a full-blown smile as Aedan looked at the beautiful redhead getting increasingly flustered. She was normally either the extremes of snarky or aggressive, and so this shambling, mumbling behavior was as rare as it was endearing.

"What are you smiling at?"

"You." he said without a shred of shame, touching a hand to her reddening cheek; "You're really adorable when you get all flustered like that, you know?" his smile remained as Talia's own hand quickly came up to his, as if afraid that he would take it away. He hadn't been planning to do that.

"A-anyway, there's been some…some developments you should probably hear about." She stuttered as she took away his hand. Her expression became slightly less flustered, yer far more serious, and the haunting look returned. Aedan guessed that meant the developments hadn't been for the better. He sat, assisted by Talia until he was leaned against its end. Talia took a seat where his legs gave up room, fiddling with one of her armored vambraces; "Orzammar's in mourning. The Royal Expedition was ambushed in the Deep Roads, and King Endrin was killed, along with Crown Prince Trian and all of the royal guard…"

"Maker's shit…" Aedan groaned, palming his face; "Maker's shit! God!"

"On the…other hand, Princess Sorella Aeducan survived." She hesitated somewhat, even though what she said was what Aedan considered good news. But, hadn't there been three children of King Endrin Aeducan? "Her brother, the youngest Aeducan, Bhelen, he…we…We tried to…He got wounded and…"

"…Ghoul?" Aedan could see the answer in her eyes even as she remained initially silent. He bit down a swear, cursing the bad luck they seemed to face at every turn. Talia's eyes betrayed a deep horror, something she had seen that had shaken her to the core. He should have realized it the moment he saw her, the haunted look in her eyes that he had merely ascribed to a lack of sleep.

Aedan had never even seen a Ghoul, but he'd heard about them. Nan had used to tell him frightening stories about the ghouls that came in the night and robbed misbehaving children from their beds. And Alistair had more than once mentioned the consequences of the Darkspawn taint. Grey Wardens didn't get it, because they were by definition already tainted, but for everyone else…He'd seen what happened to rats around Ostagar. He didn't feel like seeing the effect on a human being.

"That's…what he called it. Alistair. I…I had to…I had to hold Sorella back while…while he…while…that…" her words came out slowly and with regret laced through every single one. Aedan could more or less imagine just what Alistair had done, since Talia had had to hold back the Aeducan princess. As far as he knew, there wasn't a cure for the taint when first the victim had fully succumbed.

And yet, there was something else going on. As much as he wanted to yell and punch a wall for the shit they were being put through at every turn, Aedan could still catch enough from how Talia behaved that there was something bothering her beyond restraining a no-doubt grieving sister.

"Shiiiiit…" he groaned, collapsing his face in-between the palms of his hands. Andraste, this was bad. The entire situation was more or less as wrecked as it could be, and all they had achieved was next to nothing. He'd almost been killed, and out of three heirs, just one had survived to ascend Orzammar.

"But…but at least Sorella Aeducan and her companion survived."

"Yes…Yes, that's…good, I know."

"It seems like…like it's just happening everywhere I go, you know?" Talia sighed, slumping down on him with his chest as her pillow. He didn't object, needing her comfort as much as she likely needed his. Grey Wardens on the best of days seemed to simply lead tiresome lives. This, right now, was not one of those 'best days'.

"What happens?" he asked her, running his right hand through her fiery-red hair. Even in the dimmed lighting of the room, it seemed to glister; "…everywhere you go?"

"Mmm…" he could hear and see it both as she bit her lip before replying, doubt etched into her expression. She still seemed ready to break under an invisible weight, one he wished dearly to help her shoulder; "Do you…remember I mentioned arriving in Skyrim, the province with the College, and that there was a man by the name of Ulfric Stormcloak there?"

"A few days before I arrived in Skyrim, while I was still at sea, Ulfric murdered Skyrim's High King. That's what started the civil war. Then I come to Ferelden, and Loghain gets King Cailan killed, and now Eamon and your mother want to start a civil war against him. Then we come here, and another king dies…It's just…I'm getting tired of people constantly dying around me, of civil wars starting when there's something far worse going on and…I'm just…sick of this."

"…you think we shouldn't fight Loghain?" he asked calmly. With a history like that, and actual experience with civil wars, he didn't hold it against her if so. Talia averted her eyes, looking it seemed at the center of his bandages.

"Aedan…Civil wars are horrible things. Eamon and Eleanor might not realize it because they're not going to do the actual fighting, but it's worse than an actual war. And a civil war in the middle of a Blight cannot be anything but even worse."

She was right, and he knew that. But Aedan also refused to believe his mother did not already know this. Eamon, he wasn't yet sure of, but his mother had to be aware of the consequences of a civil war right now. He'd assumed as much from the meetings he'd attended in Redcliffe…all two of them. There's nothing I can do about that from here anyway. Right now, all we can do is to attempt to find recruits in Orzammar, get the treaty verified by the dwarves and…and then I pray Alistair knows where next to go.

"…what do we do now?" Talia's soft, uncertain question drew him back from his thoughts. Her free hand was up, fiddling with the ever-present braid. He had come to know that gesture by now. She was uncertain and nervous, anxious for the future most likely. So was he.

"I…don't know." He muttered, drawing her closer. He wasn't sure what to do, or whatever to say that could be more of use than that. Even were he to be optimistic, he doubted they'd have much luck getting anything akin to aid from Orzammar now; "Let's hope Alistair does."

Alistair, Daveth and Jowan had now for the longest time been trying to get an audience with the soon-to-be queen of Orzammar. As it was, they were now awaiting said audience in the dim, torch-lit corridor between the Diamond Quarters and the Throne Room. The halls of Orzammar echoed with songs of mourning, each in equally grieving dwarven tongues.

It was downright depressing.

While he himself and Daveth both did their best at maintaining respectful stillness, Jowan was…less so. The young mage seemed incapable of relaxing, and had actually been like that since Talia had recruited him. At the time, Alistair had been very much against recruiting a Blood mage. Everything he had been taught in the Chantry repeatedly stated the evil and malice possessing every one of them. But he knew lingering trauma when he saw it, at least. Daveth seemed slightly more irritated.

"If ye don't stop skiddin', the guards'll throw you out, you know."

"S-sorry."

"What's wrong anyway?" the archer muttered. Orzammar seemed like one of the few places where Daveth was in a perpetual bad mood. Not that Alistair didn't get the reason.

"I just…don't really like closed spaces." Jowan sighed, visibly trying to still himself; "I'm sorry, I know it would have been better if Talia had been the one to be here, but I couldn't-"

"Yeah, she's not leaving Aedan if the soddin' Archdemon itself came down here…" Daveth grunted, shaking his head. Alistair remained quiet, trying to plan out what to say to Sorella Aeducan when he saw her again. Considering she'd more or less sealed herself off inside the Palace since returning, he wasn't even sure what her emotional state might be.

Probably not the best. Losing your entire family could do that to even the best.

Maker's smalls, but this day was going every kind of wrong. With all but one member of the royal family killed off, there at least was the silver-lining that the succession wouldn't be in doubt. And it wasn't that he doubted the young lady's capabilities as a regent, but…she was just that: Young.

Too young, for all this shit to rain down her shoulders. And thinking that made Alistair feel old. Not as old as Duncan had likely felt throughout half then antics Alistair had pulled on his mentor, but still.

"The Princess will see you now, Wardens."

Alistair hadn't heard the guard open the door, but he did recognize the gravelly voice. It was Aeducan's personal guard, the only other survivor from the Darkspawn attack in the Deep roads. He wasn't aware of the man's full name, only that he'd identified himself as 'Gorim' when Talia had encountered him and Sorella.

Before any could take a step towards the door, however, Gorim continued. His expression was as hard as the stone on which he walked; "I would implore you to exercise patience, with my Lady. She is not yet recovered emotionally."

"Of course." Alistair nodded in understanding. Maker, that she would even take visitors right now, so soon after the attack, was nothing if not a show of willpower; "Thank you."

Sorella Aeducan was, in spite of having agreed to seeing the Wardens already, clearly not in a state to see most visitors. Hunched forward on the throne and still clad in the blood-soaked armor of her family, her eyes regarded the incoming humans with indifference and emptiness.

Alistair did his best not to notice, and knelt as he stopped before her. Daveth and Jowan did the same, awaiting permission to stand again.

Minutes seemed to pass by, until Gorim finally gave an awkward cough from next to the throne. The princess blinked, as had she only just woken from sleep, and regarded the room again. When her eyes settled on the three Wardens, something seemed to pass before glazed eyes.

"…you may…stand…"

Her voice was low as a whisper, and raw from grief. Alistair could only imagine what she was going through, and likely not even then. The most disastrous loss he'd ever gone through was losing Duncan at Ostagar, but that had been his mentor and friend. Duncan had become something of a second father to him, but still, he had been only that, and not his true father, nor true brother. But Lady Aeducan, Sorella, had lost everything.

He couldn't compare himself to that.

"Thank you, your Highness." Alistair stood as the first, gathering both hands behind his back. He had managed to scrub the worst of the blood from his armor, though he could still have passed for a corpse on the field. Lady Aeducan, on the other hand, had a hard time passing for its survivor.

"I think I…know, why you're here…It's…Alistair, right?" he nodded; "The Blight, you're here for Orzammar's soldiers…"

"Yes. This Blight has so far claimed more lives than the two previous ones, and not only has Ferelden's main army been wiped out at Ostagar, but we also believe we haven't even seen the main horde yet." He couldn't help but notice that Daveth seemed surprised at this. Jowan as well, though he seemed far more distressed than simply surprised; "…as it is, the emergence of Darkspawn on the surface means there will be fewer of them in the Deep Roads. We need as many soldiers as you can spare."

"…we're already bound by the treaty, you know…" the princess sighed; "…even then, I can't… the treaty has to be…verified, by the king or queen of Orzammar."

"Is…there a problem, my Lady?" he was starting to sense that there would be, yet couldn't understand what. She did not have any competitors for the throne, did she?

"…Orzammar tradition, actually…" she muttered, eyes downcast at the floor. Alistair dared not say a word, waiting instead for her to continue. Gorim had said to be patient. He had been right in that; "…Orzammar, per tradition, has never had a ruling queen. As it is now, even as the sole surviving child of my father, the Assembly…probably wouldn't accept me…"

"Just another stroke of genius down here…" Daveth grumbled. It was probably intended to be under his breath, but Alistair heard it nonetheless.

"Does that mean Orzammar will be leaderless until, what, you marry someone from the Noble caste?" Jowan hadn't been allowed to speak, yet Alistair had to admit that the mage wasn't wrong. That was, as far as he understood dwarven politics, the way they did things. He also noticed Gorim shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

"I'd…prefer not to." Sorella muttered, looking at her knees. She drew them up and hugged them, something of a testament to the flexibility of dwarven armor; "…but, there could be…another way. If I do not become queen…odds are Lord Harrowmont will continue in his role as steward. Or you could call it 'king', if you wanted…same thing, really…But if he continues in his role as Steward, there is a possibility he will not let dwarven lives be lost in what he views as a surface conflict…"

"Yer shittin-"

"Daveth." Alistair hissed, glaring at his comrade. He knew all too well that little was needed for the archer to run his mouth at Orzammar's nobility. And it's warrior-caste. And its commoners. Really, the only people Daveth didn't seem to immediately hold a grudge against would be the Casteless.

"Harrowmont is Orzammar first…" Sorella continued as if Alistair hadn't just admonished the rogue; "My father liked and trusted him to carry on our ways…in case something were to…to happen to him. In that he…I suppose in that he is very much loyal."

"But why would he deny us the help?"

"…it's just what he'd do…Dwarven lives shouldn't be given for human lands…"

"That's…that's…" Alistair honestly couldn't come up with fitting words. Was Orzammar really this mired in backwater traditions that they'd abandon Ferelden to the Blight? "Okay, so if Harrowmont wouldn't help us…would you? in the event that you were crowned ruling queen?"

"…Are you truly that desperate for aid?"

"Yes."

"…then…it would probably take something…out of the ordinary." The princess muttered, standing from her throne. Almost immediately, Gorim was at her side, providing a pillar for her to latch on to, should she need it. There was more to that than simply a guard's dedication. Sorella led them through a door in the back of the room, opening up to a staircase that descended into the darkness. Only patches of lyrium-lamps brightened the corridor at all; "I suppose…you should see it…"

"Now I'm getting curious." Daveth said with little mirth. Nothing seemed to actually bring him from his foul mood in this place, and Alistair was frankly getting tired of trying.

"My Lady, are you certain…" Gorim started, only to receive an apparently rare look from the Aeducan heiress. Alistair couldn't see the look, but saw its effects; "I understand."

Good for him, because Alistair didn't – and had Morrigan been here, she would have called him stupid to his face – and it left him anxious and curious both as to where they were going. The air seemed undisturbed down here – wherever here was going to end up – leading him to believe they were going further underground than he'd initially thought anywhere in the Diamond Quarters led.

He did however realize that Jowan was growing increasingly hesitant with every step they descended. When he met the mage's eyes, Jowan evidently forced the smile out. There were a lot of things he wanted to say and do, seeing as he'd almost come to trust the Blood mage by now. A strange concept, really. And he definitely liked Jowan better than he did Morrigan.

"Here it is." Gorim declared as they came to a stop before a door that, contrary to Alistair's expectations, wasn't the same solid brass-like metal as most doors in the upper-caste quarters. Instead, it was an ornate wooden door, bearing the Aeducan crest; "Beyond this door rests the reason, the very foundation for the might of the Dwarven Thaigs. It is not a place surfacers are ever allowed."

"Ain't that just an honor?" Daveth shook his head; "so, what's in there anyway? Golems? Lyrium-bombs?"

It turned out to be nothing quite as grand as that. When Alistair saw what the room held, honestly he was almost disappointed. There were no hulking golems – on the other hand, how would they even have entered the room at all? – there were no stacks and rows of blue-glowing lyrium-bombs either.

Instead, five rows of pedestals stood before them, each holding its own, faintly glowing gemstone.

So, that's more or less it for this update. Rest assured that the time until the next one shouldn't be nearly as long. I'm just hoping I can keep doing this, the writing, as well as keeping up with my schoolwork without succumbing to a nervous breakdown. It's just me not handling intense work-loads all that well.

If you wanna help ease some of that stress, you know where the Review-option is. Yes, I know, shameless to ask, but reviews really are what makes my day sufferable. Or, suffer-ish-able, seeing as I'm not exactly some tortured soul or abused kid. Just an amateur writer hoping to get a little appreciation back from his work.

So if anyone here follows Incursions, that'll be the next story updated.