The interior of the ruins reminded Right of the ruined temple where they'd found the Urn of Andraste. Not quite so big, but with the same sort of grandeur to the architecture. And where the temple had been overcome by ice and snow, here it was the forest that was slowly taking over, shafts of bright sunlight streaming in through fallen areas of ceiling or wall, vast tree roots and vines snaking in and cloaking the hard stone in tangles of woody growth and soft greenery.
The ruined temple had been dead, silent save for when the sounds of battle echoed through its halls; this place was filled with the sounds of life. Dripping water, the rasping of some insect, peeping frogs, even the twitter of birds nesting in the cascading greenery.
Right wasn't surprised to find the ruins supported larger wildlife as well; more of the giant spiders they'd encountered elsewhere. He hated the things, making expressions of disgust as he picked remnants of their sticky webs off after they'd killed the last of them.
As they proceeded further into the ruins, they heard a reverberant growling sound, and came to an abrupt halt, looking around nervously.
"What... was that?" Alistair said in a hushed voice.
"I don't know," Right answered, equally hushed, "But I don't like it."
They waited, but the sound didn't reoccur. Slowly, nervously, they moved forward again, weapons in hand, trying to keep watch in all directions at once. Which at least had the benefit that Zevran and Right caught sight of the numerous traps just inside the next large room they came to before anyone inadvertently stepped on any of them.
While the others hung back, Right carefully disarmed the traps, one by one. He was on the second last one when a large form detached from the ceiling and dropped down, cupping wings to glide to a halt nearby. It roared, spouting fire. A dragon! Thankfully only a small one, not much bigger then the drakes they'd encountered months before at the ruined temple; nothing like the full-grown monster they'd seen on top of the mountain. And not significantly harder to kill then those drakes had been, though the necessity of dodging its blasts of flame made the fight a little more exciting then they could have wished.
They were winded and in need of a short rest by the time they had it dead. While Alistair and Oghren sat down and caught their breath, Zevran and Right poked around the chamber, pleased to find that the legends that claimed dragons liked to hoard shiny things were true; tucked off to one side of the chamber they found a satisfyingly large pile of assorted coins, gems, and other things. The coin alone totalled almost 20 sovereigns in value.
It was obvious from the presence of the dragon – and several well-roasted, gnawed-upon corpses – that this way couldn't be the route the werewolves used to access their dens within the ruins, but as it was the only unblocked way further into the ruins that Right had been able to find, he decided they might as well press on, and hope it would eventually link up with wherever it was the werewolves were.
They continued on, down a long sloping tunnel and further into the ruins.
The lower ruins proved to be haunted in more then one way. As they emerged from the earthen tunnel that had brought them down to this lower section of the place, Right caught a glimpse of a pale, ghostly figure fleeing before them, right before they were attacked by a group of reanimated skeletons. It was not the last ghost they were to glimpse in their exploration of the ruins, which proved to be swarming with undead creatures and yet more of the giant spiders. Many of the worst attacks they came under happened after glimpsing one of the ghostly ones; Right wasn't sure if it was just coincidence, or if the ghosts were somehow rousing the undead against them.
This section of the ruins seemed to have been some kind of burial area; they found many old sarcophagi and coffins in the side rooms. In one particularly grand chamber they came upon a very large sarcophagus on a central dais, broken open in some long ago disruption to the chamber. Another of the ghostly elves paced near it; as as they approached it seemed to grow more agitated. It seemed aware of them, and then, angered or frightened, he was never sure which, it summoned two demons to its aid, and attacked them. Both demons and ghost died as easily as everything else they'd encountered so far. Though perhaps died wasn't quite the right word for what happened to something already dead. Discorporated? De-animated? Disassembled?
The elven remains within the broken sarcophagus had been reduced by time and the elements to a few shards of bone, but the armour it had been wearing gleamed as if new-made. Right carefully lifted a gleaming silverite gauntlet, looking it over. The leather fittings of the armour were long gone, crumbled to dust, but those would be easy enough to replace...
"This is too good to just leave here," he said. "Armour like this should be used, not... buried away like this."
"But... it's grave robbing..." Alistair hesitantly pointed out.
Right snorted. "And plundering usable weapons and armour from the tombs in the Dead Trenches wasn't? Better we take it and use it then leave it for the undead or darkspawn."
"Now you're starting to sound like Bodahn," Alistair said dryly.
"He's a practical man. So am I," Right said, and started carefully removing all of the bits and pieces of armour, gently returning any remains within them to their original resting place.
"Zevran? What do you think?" Alistair asked. "You're an elf..."
"And also a practical man. I agree with Right, this armour is too good to leave to rust. Not that I think it would – rust, I mean. Whomever made this was a master craftsman," he said as he crouched down to help Right, looking over a bracer admiringly.
"Fine, plundering the dead it is then, I suppose," Alistair agreed with a sigh, and started finding room for the assorted pieces in their packs. Right noticed him giving an appreciative look at the helmet before packing it away, and hid a smile. It was about time they got Alistair some better armour anyway, he judged; the set of King Cailan's armour he was in was very good of its kind, but it had been made more for show then for long-term wear, and was showing the effects of months of near-continuous use; it was badly in need of refurbishment. This set they'd found only needed the leather work replaced to be far superior.
They continued on, fighting more of the undead. The things were almost ridiculously easy to kill; like darkspawn, it was more their numbers then their skills that made them dangerous. A lone adventurer here would be in serious trouble; a full party like Right's had no great difficulty.
Of course, merely thinking that served to jinx them. The next door Right threw open proved to lead into a sizable room, well-lit by streams of sunshine streaming in through vine-wrapped clerestory arches along one side of the high ceiling. After the dimness of the tunnels, it made his eyes water; he'd taken a step in before he noticed something moving in the shadows beyond the streams of light, and heard an arrow whipping by his ear. It was his flinch away from it and resultant overbalance from the heavy pack on his back that saved him; as a pressure plate grated under his foot he was already falling over backwards. The jets of fire triggered by the plate missed him, though they passed close enough that he could feel the heat of them, even through his leathers. He yelped, and scuttled backwards out of the room, keeping low as more arrows whipped by overhead, tall gaunt figures emerging from the darker corners of the room and advancing towards him.
Skeleton archers, and quite a lot of them. And from his low angle, he could see that there were more traps in the room then just the one he'd triggered; a lot more.
He quickly ordered his group back down the hallway and around a corner into a side hall; the archers, who would have been extremely difficult to deal with when spread out in the well-trapped room, mindlessly followed, clustering at the bend of the hallway. Right and his group waded in to the group of them, Right, Zevran and Oghren spinning like whirlwinds, their blades shattering the skeletons in a nearly explosive fashion, bits of bone and destroyed weaponry showering down around them.
Right commanded everyone to wait in the hallway while he entered the room and dealt with the traps. It was tedious work, locating each pressure plate, then carefully jamming or wrecking the mechanism that would have allowed it to trigger something nastily lethal at them. Finally he was done, and signalled the others to enter. "Let's take a break here," he suggested. "I'm feeling half-starved,"
Alistair nodded agreement to that, and they quickly set up a temporary campsite there, building a fire from some of the woodier parts of the massive vines that wrapped the stonework in the sunlit half of the room. Zevran threw together a simple lunch for them – tea, well-sweetened with honey, and toasted cheese on thick slices of soft crusty bread, making seconds and then thirds for the two Grey Wardens without even having to be asked first; he was well aware by now of the extent of their appetite. And of Alistair's love of cheese. He had a fourth helping.
Right was glad he'd taken an opportunity for a break when they reached the next big room; it started with a moderately large melee versus a bunch of undead, then as the fight moved down the stairs he realized there was something even worse in the room; an abomination. As they struggled to fight it, more skeletons and undead poured into the room, and every time they tried to close with it, it transported itself to a new position in the room, filling the air with crackling steams of stinging energy. Finally Right shouted for everyone to retreat to the stairs, and try ranged weapons instead; that proved effective, and in a surprisingly short time, the abomination was dead, and all that remained was to finish off the last few remaining undead.
There were side rooms off to either side of the bigger room – and that was it. They appeared to have reached a dead end. Right stood a moment, muttering a string of curses, then started to turn away, to lead the way back out of the ruins and seek another way in.
It was the darkness of the small, half-collapsed chamber they were in that betrayed another path; as he turned, he glimpsed a nrighter area in the pool of dark water occupying much of the floor. Taking a second, closer look at the pool, he realized there were steps leading down into the water, and a tunnel leading off to one side, light from some open area beyond just barely visible through the arched opening.
Shale was volunteered to scout the route, since being submerged made no difference to her. She walked down under the water, and disappeared into the tunnel, returning just moments later.
"It's very short," she reported. "Even you squishy creatures should be able to travel it safely."
After a short debate, they piled most of what they were carrying off to one side; anything that would be harmed by being submerged, or that wasn't of immediate use. They'd have to come back and recover it all later.
The room they emerged in was thankfully free of opposition; they had a chance to dry off and re-equip all their gear before proceeding. The room after that was not so simple, it had started as a large, open room but the werewolves had erected barriers across it, restricting movement through it to a narrow trapped path. And they'd no sooner entered it when the werewolves became aware of their presence, attacking them in number from out of the shadows. In the close confines, with the traps, it was a rather desperate fight at first.
Alistair was down, a werewolf ripping feverishly at him, saved from being disemboweled or having his throat ripped out only by his heavy plate armour. Right sunk his weapons into its flanks and side, finally killing it, only to have another werewolf send him flying to the ground in turn. For a moment his vision was filled with japing jaws, lined with sharp fangs, then the werewolf yelped and went flying away through the air, ribs caved in by a blow from Shale.
Oghren was shouting something – probably something obscene – as he hacked away at another werewolf. Zevran was in the doorway between the two rooms, defending it from all comers, Wynne crouched behind him, firing bolts of energy around him as she could. Right scrambled over and joined him, the two keeping the lightly clad healer protected while their more heavily armoured companions dealt with the waves of attacking werewolves.
Finally the last fell dead, and they were able to catch their breaths, Right and Zevran disabling the traps so they could proceed deeper into the ruins.
The next room they entered was also full of werewolves; but these, rather then attacking, stood well back from the door, watching Right and his group, growling menacingly but staying where they were. An older male, its fur silvered with age, stood in the middle of the room, watching them intently.
Right hesitated, then slowly walked forward, hands well away from his own weapons.
"We do not want any more of our people hurt," the werewolf suddenly said. "I ask you this now, outsider – are you willing to parley?"
"We are talking right now, aren't we? So talk," Right told him.
"Not with me. I have been sent to you on behalf of the Lady. She believes that you may not be aware of everything you should be. She means you no harm, provided your willingness to parley in peace is an honest one."
"If you were willing to talk, why didn't you earlier?" he asked.
"Swiftrunner did not think it would matter. The Lady disagrees, and since you have forced your way this far, we must acquiesce to her wishes."
"Then take me to this Lady," Right agreed.
She proved to be in a second, much larger chamber not far away. The room seethed with werewolves, gathered along the walls and on a circular dais at the centre. They were clearly unhappy about the presence of Right and his group, growling warningly, pacing back and forth, clawed fingers flexing as if they longed to rend flesh.
The Lady walked out of the shadows and joined the werewolves on the dais, her presence seeming to calm them. She looked vaguely human, overall, though her skin was a grey tone no human or elf would ever have, and her limbs were wrapped in the same strange woody vine-like growths as the white wolf they'd encountered outside the ruins. Apart from the vines and her long black hair, she was naked.
"I bid you welcome, mortal. I am the Lady of the Forest," she said.
"Thank you. I am glad we have this chance to talk."
"Do not listen to him, Lady! He will betray you! We must attack him now!" Swiftrunner demanded.
The Lady reached out and touched his mane, soothing him. "Hush, Swiftrunner. Your urge for battle has only seen the death of the very ones you have been trying to save. Is that what you want?" she asked softly.
Swiftrunner frowned, then lowered himself submissively to one knee. "No, my lady. Anything but that."
"Then the time has come to speak with this outsider, to set our rage aside," she told him, then turned to face Right again. "I apologize on Swiftrunner's behalf. He struggles with his nature."
"As do we all, Lady."
"Truer words were never spoken. But few could claim the same as these creatures: that their very nature is a curse forced upon them. No doubt you have questions, mortal. There are things that Zathrian has not told you."
Right gave her a curious look. "How do you know what he has or has not told me?"
"Because there are things that he would not tell. Things that you should decide for yourself whether you need to know. It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer, the same curse that Zathrian's own people now suffer," she said. She took a deep breath, twisting her fingers together, looking unhappy. "Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest. They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man then. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly, and while out hunting the human tribe captured them both..."
She trailed off. Swiftrunner spoke up. "The humans... tortured the boy, killed him. The girl they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but she learned later she was... with child. She... killed herself."
"So Zathrian cursed them, I take it?" Right asked.
Swiftrunner nodded. "Zathrian came to this ruin and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great wolf. So Witherfang came to be. Witherfang hunted the humans of the tribe. Many were killed, but others were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures..."
"Twisted and savage just as Witherfang himself is." the Lady said, softly.
"So the Dalish leader misled us?" Shale interrupted, sounding displeased.
"You are not surprised," Sten commented to Shale.
"No, just trying to picture his little elf head... squishing... ah, there we go." Shale said thoughtfully.
The Lady of the Forest ignored the byplay and continued her story. "They were driven into the forest. When the human tribe finally left for good, their cursed brethren remained, pitiful and mindless animals."
"Until I found you, my lady. You gave me peace," Swiftrunner interjected.
She smiled fondly at the great werewolf. "I showed Swiftrunner that there was another side to his bestial nature. I soothed his rage, and his humanity emerged. And he brought others to me."
"Why did you ambush the Dalish? For revenge?"
"In part," she reluctantly admitted, then raised her head, speaking firmly. "We seek to end the curse. The crimes committed against Zathrian's children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those who are long dead. "Word was sent to Zathrian every time the landships passed this way, asking him to come, but he has always ignored us. We will no longer be denied!"
"We spread the curse to his people! So he must end the curse to save them!" Swiftrunner agreed.
"Please, mortal... you must go to him. Bring him here. If he sees these creatures, hears their plight... surely he will agree to end the curse!"
Right frowned. "I think he just wishes to cure his own people, nothing else."
"We... cannot know that. Surely his rage does not run so deep he would endanger his own clan!" the lady exclaimed. "If Zathrian comes, I shall summon Witherfang. I possess that power. I also have the power to ensure Witherfang is never found. Tell Zathrian this. If he does not come, if he does not break the curse, he will never find Witherfang, and he will never cure his people."
Right nodded slowly. "Very well. I will go to Zathrian and tell him this."
The Lady had the werewolves open a shortcut for them, a single long rising staircase that led back to the upper ruins. Right asked Sten and Shale to go back via the flooded passage, and bring their gear back out from the lower ruins the long way; with them having already cleared out the vast majority of the undead and spiders and traps through there, those two should be capable of bringing it all out on their own.
They went up the long stairs, eventually emerging in the first chamber of the upper ruins. Right was surprised to see Zathrian there, looking some of the corpses of the werewolves they'd been attacked by there earlier that day. He looked up as they approached, and rose to his feet.
"Ah. And here you are already," he said.
"Zathrian? What are you doing here?" Right asked cautiously.
"You have carved a safe path through the forest... safe enough for me to follow, anyhow. There was no way to tell what would happen once you reached this ruin, so I decided to come myself."
"We need to talk, you and I," Right told him grimly.
"Yes, yes, there will be plenty of time for that," Zathrian said dismissively. "Did you acquire the heart?"
"No, I didn't."
"You didn't? May I ask, then, why are you leaving the ruin?" Zathian asked, cocking his head to one side.
"I've been sent to bring you back to the Lady of the Forest."
"Oh? Is that what the spirit calls herself now? And what does she want with me, if I might inquire?"
"It doesn't matter. Come with me now," Right told him.
"Hmm. I send you to kill Witherfang, and now they have turned you against me? Interesting. You do understand that she actually is Witherfang?"
The assertion didn't surprise Right; the similarity in form between the Lady and the white wolf he'd seen was too obvious to be ignored. "Yes, I thought as much."
Zathrian continued talking, admitting that, yes, Witherfang and the curse had been his creation; justifying it to himself by the torment and death of his long-dead children. Right could almost have felt sorry for him – if his curse had only ever affected the people who'd actually harmed them. Instead, the curse had lived on for centuries – as had Zathrian – causing torment and death to hundreds more, many of them likely completely innocent of any wrong doing. He folded his arms, listening patiently until Zathrian ran down, ending with a demand that Right kill Witherfang for him.
"I'm not going to help you do that," he answered, bluntly. "You're going to come with me and at least meet with them; that's what I propose."
"And what if it is revenge they want, and not talk? Will you safeguard me from harm?"
"I will, unless you attack first," Right agreed.
"I fail to see the purpose behind this... but very well. It has been many centuries, now. Let us see what the spirit has to say."
They returned to the chamber where the Lady of the Forest and the werewolves waited. Right wasn't surprised when Zathrian remained adamantly opposed to ending the curse voluntarily; his hatred had run too deep, for too long, and he seemed unable to give it up.
In the end he attacked the werewolves, and Right and his companions had to step in on their side. It wasn't until he'd been beaten, and had no choice but a death that would save no one, and a death that would save both his own people and the werewolves from the curse, that he bitterly agreed to end it.
He released the spell binding the Lady to the great wolf; it ended the curse, and his life. The white wolf died as well, having lived far beyond what would have been its natural lifespan as well, and the Lady disappeared, once more nothing but spirit, gone back into the Fade or the forest.
Following the instructions he'd been given by the Lady, Right cut out Witherfang's heart. Its touch removed the lingering effects of the curse from the werewolves, returning them to human form. Saddened by the loss of the lady, but happy to once more be human, they quickly scattered from the ruins, longing to return to human lands and try to resume human lives.
It was a quiet trip back to the Dalish encampment, where the heart also removed the curse from the injured hunters. Landria, now the Keeper for the elves, promised their aid with the blight, in fulfilment of the ancient treaty.
Even though it was already early evening, he elected to move on immediately, not feeling like camping anywhere near the elves; they could get a good few miles away before they had to camp, and the more distance he'd put between him and the elves, the better Right knew he would feel.
