Chapter II: On Ominous Wind…
(The Stone Prisoner Part 2 of 3)
Three days earlier…
"Are you certain this was the work of darkspawn?" Asks the elf, his hands clasping his waist, taking note of the particularly gruesome ways in which darkspawn kill their victims. He's never seen it before, these methods, the sheer chaos these wounds evoke. There is no grace in it. He thinks that if these darkspawn were in the presence of his teacher back at the Crows, he'd be most displeased. "Killing is an artform… this is just insulting."
"What? Not one for impressionism, are we, Zevran?" I taunt, and a foul expression appears on his face, as I continue to pack up the things from the collapsed wagon of some other poor soul.
"Impressionism? This is heresy! If you're going to kill, at the very least you can do it in a fashion that can be understood by the viewer! This…" he gestures to the body of the dead horse and man below him. "This is just mutilation."
"Well, elf, I'm certain that your concerns can wait. In the meantime: help us with these materials." Sten orders, walking by with a cloth roll-up of materials. Knives, better tenting equipment, even some edible grain. This was a score.
Zevran begins walking over to the destroyed wagon with his own large section of cloth, laying it down flat and putting anything he thinks could be useful on it. "So… we rob the dead, now, do we?" he asks, looking at me, who slowly walks around the murder-scene, observing every inch carefully.
"Does it look like he'll be needing it?" I retort at the elf, realizing that this line of questioning would only lead him down the very annoying path of moral superiority, a path I sorely hated.
"Oh, please, don't get the wrong idea. I'm not judging… just seeing where we stand as adventurers."
"It's not like I rob people who are obviously in need of what they have—refugees and the like. But this man is dead. He's been rotting here for days, that much is certain."
"I was not in agreement with this at first." Sten interjects. "He was not our enemy, and so taking his things was did not do well to aide my conscience. But upon hearing the mage's argument... I am ready to lend my hand."
I quickly take the opportunity to follow-up on Sten's testimony. "Look, see it this way: There's no real alternative. If this man had made it to wherever he was meant to be, that's fine, but he didn't. He's dead, and that's the reality of things. So, are we really going to let these things go to waste? Let the perishables rot away and the weapons be picked up by scavenging highwaymen who couldn't give a shit less about what happens to Ferelden? Or are we going take these things and put them to use, furthering our own cause." I pause, and give everyone a moment to get through my line of reasoning. And I realize why I hate being the team leader. They don't respond, but they don't disagree, either. "Right. So, let's grab these things and go."
Zevran folds-up the cloth around the things he gathers and ties it together, trying first to lift it, and finds that he is unable to. And so, he sighs and begins dragging the bag to the back of our own wagon.
"It seems you are not as strong, nor as manly as you would claim, elf. Be faster so that we might leave this stinking place all the sooner." Morrigan taunts from the bench of the wagon, cranking her head just so far as she needed to make sure that Zevran could spy her guileful smile.
All the blood had rushed to his head, and he was out of breath. And Morrigan had pulled the last straw. "I'm going… as fast… as I… can… you stupid she-devil. I don't see you… helping."
She merely smirks, and her gaze does not shift, and if not telling. No one would know all the many ways she was imagining torturing the elven man for insulting her… unless she wanted it. But in the interest of time, she domesticates her reaction. "I'm not exactly built for manual labor. Now come, you have almost got it in the back."
With my help, he lifts the bag and throws it in the back, as far as he can. I look around and brush off my coat, looking around, I don't immediately see Sten.
"Mage." I turn around and see that he's crouched down by the cart, examining something. I walk over and see he's a, rod of some kind. It is a faceted cylinder of solid crystal, deep blue in color and cool to the touch in which runes of some kind are engraved on it. Wrapped around the middle is what looks like a piece of paper, tied to the rod with string.
"What is it?" I ask, coming down to his level.
"I do not know, but it is cold. I figured you would know something."
"Morrigan." I beckon, and her attention I grabbed easily away from her Mother's Grimoire. "Come here, there something you need to see." She closes the book harshly, and sets it down. Walking over, it would take a blind man not to see the obviously perturbed look on her face.
"What is it? " She snaps at us.
"This." I respond simply, taking the piece of paper off and tossing the rod up and she grabs hold, nearly dropping the thing as soon as she felt the unnatural cold coming from it. "What do you make of the runes?"
Her mind visibly calms, and she inspects it. "Hmm… These do not appear to be elven, but based on the nature of its construction, I say it was dwarven in nature."
"Yeah, I thought something similar." I pause, taking a long look at the paper, and what was written on it. "'My name is Felix de Grosbrois. And if you have come into possession of this rod, either by purchase or some other means… you must know that it is a control rod…'" I pause my reading and look at the three others around me, making sure they heard, and their questioning glances seemed to confirm that fact. "'…for a golem. I, myself, came into possession of this rod in Jader, and thought—foolishly-that the rod was all I needed to have a golem of my own. Not so… turns out you need a golem to actually control with the rod. I wouldn't want a paying costumer of mine to go unsatisfied, and so I will tell you what I know of the golem that is supposedly bound that the control rod. It, and let me disclaim truly, now, supposedly, exists in a village in Ferelden known as Honnleath… Should I have forgotten to tell you, or that you have forgotten I have written the command phrase used to activate the golem, as it was told to me by the man in Jader: Dulef gar'" I'm shocked, but I quickly smile. "Well, that just works out perfectly, doesn't it? Food, supplies, and a golem… Maybe I should rob the dead more…?" I muse to myself, walking back to the wagon, covering the rod with cloth and gently placing it in the back. "Well, let's give this poor sod a proper burial before we move on, shall we?"
#
Present Day…
Dusk.
At the hollow village of Honnleath, Southern Ferelden.
A white half-moon is already shining overhead. It seems like the mid-Winter wind blows us in this night, spinning and dizzying from the eight corners of the world…
It is a bitch-wind. Knife-sharp and cutting, and it blows bad and cold, and we come with it. Scurrying and skittering, like brown, crisp, autumn leaves on smooth stone, or old pieces of parchment. Unsure of our direction. I feel I've just been a thousand different places, and I come here from all of them, and nowhere at all. We come in our coats and furs, carrying our weapons and tools, and food and water and liqueur, in the case of myself. All of us, muttering and humming, and silent as the night. It seems like the bitter Winter wind brought us here… perhaps it did.
-WARLOCKE-
We look around, the light of the moon illuminating the land and makes our investigation possible. The light is pale white, surreal almost, with no noise—not a sound other than the crunch of the untouched snow beneath my feet. The rest spread from me, walking with a certain expectation in their steps, as if something is bound to jump out at them if they do any different. I knew this place—but—it's no longer that place anymore. It's been a little over a month since I've been back. Last time… I was chased-out by a band of Templars and hunted through the forests of Ferelden on the suspicion that I was a rogue apostate. Which, to their credit, was correct. I look about, and observe the thick snow coat that blanketed this town and makes equals of everything. All covered in powdery white.
"It looks abandoned. Lifeless." Sten points out, carefully opening the entrance to a home, and with a creek, the door obeys… showing nothing but a deathly cold kitchen.
"No light… not even a candle inside… Some old food and plates, though…" I pause to open up another door to another home—nothing. "Something's happened here."
"If it we're my guess than I would say it was darkspawn." Morrigan chimes-in. "It could very well be that the horde has already torn through here."
"Could be… Let's keep moving." I say, as we continue somewhat aimlessly through the town, and always keenly aware of our surroundings.
We make our way to what seems like the town square. I look around at the buildings on its perimeter and I am reminded of the tavern I came to when I'd first encountered this town, not long after escaping from the Circle Tower. In the center of the square, a man catches my eye. It is a stone man, frozen in time—looking quite… ethereal standing there. Covered in snow, an equal of everything else, the pale moonlight shining down, giving the snow and the sharp crystals that protrude out from its body a beautiful shimmer. It gaze is turned to the sky, eternally watching.
Zevran picks up what looks to be a straw basket, but I'm unclear on his reasoning as to why.
"Zevran, what-?" I question.
"A basket with seed… not much left, though. Probably used for the birds if I had to guess." He replies, continuing to observe it.
"Put it down, elf. We're here for the missing pages, not bird food." Sten interjects, causing Zevran to give him a deadpan stare and drop the basket unceremoniously into the snow.
Yes… the aim of this mission to this backwater village… the golem was merely a bonus, should we get it to work, that is. My real objective was the pages. The missing pages of the manual Azra willed to me. It's my guess that the real spells are in those pages… the powerful ones. As to why he'd do this…? I think that perhaps he wanted his experiments and their findings to remain in my hands, and not the Templars'-should it come to that. If he truly saw my future like I think he did, then… Then he'd been preparing for years at this point, knowing him. These pages were probably spread around by his many contacts on the outside, likely with the bare minimum in the way of knowledge about what these mystery couriers actually had in their possession. My late mentor was nothing if not well-connected.
"This, I assume, is the golem?" Morrigan inquires rhetorically.
I touch the cold stone, and half expect it to flinch. It doesn't move.
"Sten, you have the rod on you?" I ask, turning to face the muscle-bound qunari.
"I do. Here." He hands the rod to me and I carefully unwrap it from the cloth, pointing it at the frozen stone figure at the center of town.
"Dulef gar!" I say, with a sternness I feel is proper when reciting incantation like this.
Nothing. Not even a twitch. And I realize that either the rod must be broken, or the command phrase is incorrect. I lean towards the latter, as the rod still has magical energy flowing through it—curious energy—but energy nonetheless.
"So, it's a fluke?" Zevran asks, as if waiting for a delayed reaction.
"I… guess so." I look around myself, like a lost puppy, not sure where to go. "Look, come on, let's keep moving—no one keeps a magical slave in their garden and has no information on it… we just have to look in the right places."
"You mean root around in these abandoned homes, don't you?" Zevran replied quickly, bypassing me subtly.
I smile widely, a fox grin. "Of course, what'd you expect?"
#
"What was that about not killing them all myself?" I ask, wiping tainted blood from my black shadow-sword. "You say that, and then try to hog them all?"
"There's more, you know there are," Morrigan shoots back. Only a few moments later that we run into another clutch of darkspawn deeper into the cellar system. I spot a glittering barrier separating the darkspawn from a group of panicked survivors. Then, a charging hurlock smashes the edge of its shield into my temple. First, I felt the metal, then the heat and the pain of my head, but I'm not able to put my hand to it—I am toppling over. Gravity fights against me as my eyes blur, and my eyes shutter and I feel like sleep is easiest.
#
Sten saw his comrade drop like a sack of dirty laundry. Two genlocks approaching the unconscious man with axes as Morrigan's bolt of lightning turned the hurlock that had knocked him out into a lump of charcoal. The large vanguard bellowed a challenge and barreled forward; sword ready to cleave. Dragging his sword across the length of the two genlocks, he was able to dispatch both easily, their bodies now separated into two.
"What is wrong with him?" Sten asks, wiping the blood from his sword.
Morrigan steps over to the three men to examine Adrian, and spies his chest still heaving. "He is not dead, simply unconscious." She pulls a small glass vile from her belt and uncorks it. It is filled with what Zevran thinks is grain… or perhaps salt. The witch puts the small vile to Adrian's nose and after a couple of seconds, his eyes shoot open he scrunches his face in irritation.
"Wha—what happened?"
"A hurlock punched you," Zevran replies.
"So what?" Adrian asked, rolling onto his back. "That happens."
"With a kite shield," Zevran added.
Adrian blinked a few times in confusion. "I... I need a pint. And to reconsider my choice of career."
"Saw some brewing vats back that way," Zevran muttered, watching as Sten chops the last darkspawn into easily movable pieces, kicking the head away. "On your feet. I think that was the last of them."
#
Adrian clapped his hands together, stepping over the still-smoking body of the hurlock that had attempted to tenderize my skull, approaching the survivors. "Now then, on to business. You there! I can see you; we are here to help!"
"By the Maker, we're saved!" one of the women beyond the barrier exclaimed."
"No, by a mage, but all right," He grumbled. "There don't seem to be any more, you can disable that magic." Adrian approached closer, making his intentions clear. "I'm looking for whoever owned that statue...er golem...or whatever it is, outside," Adrian said, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder.
"You...you weren't sent here by the bann, then?" A blond man with a ponytail asked. "To save us?"
I shake my head. "No, and it's a ruddy long story why we are here, mostly because of how many of us there are, but isn't there some proverb about not looking a gift horse in the arse or something?"
"In the mouth, Adrian, in the mouth," Zevran said tiredly.
"Right…"
The blond had been watching them in a state of growing confusion. "Well, I'm not typically one to question help when it saves our village, you know, but I have to ask – if you weren't sent by someone, why are you here?"
"I'm looking for whoever owned that statue...er golem...or whatever it is, outside," Adrian said, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder.
"Oh...I think I see," the man replied, his lip curling. You bought the control rod, didn't you? You came here looking for Shale." Reaching out a hand, he dragged it down the barrier, the magic dissipating quickly.
"My name is Matthias," the blond explained. "My father Wilhelm was a mage for King Maric, he fought with him during the rebellion. So did that damnable golem."
"You seem...less than fond of it," Adrian replied.
"As well I should be," Matthias said acidly. "One day my mother found it standing over my father outside the tower, with so many broken bones she could barely recognize him! My mother sold the rod years ago, and good riddance."
"I'm...sorry to hear that," He replied, looking queasy at the mental image.
"My father deserved better than that," Matthias sighed. "But if you really want to wake Shale up... well, it's yours now."
"Not quite it isn't, the rod doesn't work," Adrian mutters. "But I have some questions. What is this place?"
"This was my father's laboratory, beneath his tower...or it was, anyhow. You said the rod doesn't work?"
"Admittedly it's my first time using one of these but I didn't see any sort of movement or signs of life," He said.
"Tricky, mother..." Matthias mumbled distractedly, glancing down the hall behind him that led deeper into the cellars. "She must have given the wrong phrase to the merchant. Probably hoped Shale would never be activated again."
"Do you happen to know the correct phrase?" The Magician asked hopefully.
"I do, but there are more pressing matters," Matthias pointed out. "Look, I know you probably have more important things on your mind, but I really need your help. I know you already saved my life, and I'm grateful, but my daughter Amalia is inside the laboratory." He gestured at the hallway in question. "She was afraid and ran too far in before I could stop her. I don't know how she made it past my father's defenses. One of the men tried to go after her, and he was killed. But...you could find her, couldn't you?"
He groaned, thinking of the missing pages Azra pointed him to, and the golem that sits waiting outside. "Matthias, I...we...oh, bugger it, all right, we'll see if we can find your daughter."
"You will? Thank the Maker!"
"But if we find her!" I went on, holding up a hand. "You give me the correct activation phrase for that golem." He thought for a moment. "And put us up for the night. I'm tired of having my people sleep in a cart." He extended the hand. "Do we have a deal?"
"We can do that," Matthias replied, shaking I hand. "This may seem a little harsh, but after the attack...there are quite a few empty houses. My father's laboratory is just through this hallway, I think. She has to be there!"
After a brief regrouping, the party pushed down the hallway, stepping over a badly burned corpse at the first room. Adrian blew a layer of dust off a bookshelf, noting a few titles on the Circle's banned list and several rarer books he expected Irving would be willing to at least contemplate murder for. Lamenting the lack of time, he gestured to the others and the group moved on, but not before pocketing a leather-bound journal.
"Where are these defenses Matthias talked about?" Adrian whispered. Several shades ripped from the shadows, darting towards the group. "I...he..." the Magician trailed off with a sigh. "Oh, fine." A moment later, the shades screeched, dissipating into the thick layer of dust on the ground as a Mana Clash took effect.
"All right, what kind of court mage uses shades like that?" Zevran asked.
"One who served during a rebellion," Morrigan said quietly. "Rules tend to be relaxed, during such times. As they should be…"
Adrian was leafing through the journal he had picked up. "I think this is Wilhelm's journal, at least one of the volumes. A handful of pages fell out from the book's age, and I found the most recent pages. "Oh, not good."
"What?"
He cleared his throat, reading aloud. "Wilhelm writes, 'the interrogation of the demon is going well, and is rather fascinating – provided what it is saying is true.'"
"I concur, not good," Zevran agreed. "He captured a demon and tried to interrogate it?"
"It gets worse," Adrian replied. "I read on. 'I have sent all my research so far to First Enchanter Arden, and while he is concerned about my safety, he does not think there is a reason to stop just yet. All I hope is that the Templars do not discover what I am doing. How will we ever find another way to deal with demonic possession if the Chantry does not let us research it?'" He looked up. "At least he had some semblance of a good reason."
"Arrogant to think that he could safely contain it," Morrigan commented.
"I don't think he was possessed," Adrian replied. "An abomination against a golem would almost certainly come out in favor of the golem, but from what Matthias said, Shale hasn't been moved. No fight like that would leave a golem so undamaged. Besides, there are more entries." He skimmed the rest of the journal. "The next entry says he was going to dismiss the demon, as it was becoming too dangerous, and he thinks it or his experiments may have had some influence on Shale. He was going to deactivate Shale and then deal with the demon. Don't think he ever got the chance…" He continued flipping through. "Here!" he points a lone finger on the page. "He'd been communicating with Azra! And the this is documented at… twelve years ago. If the pages are anywhere in this village, they'll be in this lab." He closed the journal, setting it back down on the table where he found it. "We'll come back for it after we finish our business here."
"So a live and very angry demon could still be down there, with Matthias's daughter?" Zevran asked.
Adrian grimaced. "Oh, yes. Let's say we get down there and finish this man's work?"
Luckily, no further shades were encountered on the way down, and the party found themselves in a surprisingly large room with a domed ceiling. The Magician and the Witch could feel the ambient magic in the room, straining inwards to contain something. Adrian just hoped it wasn't another Pride demon.
#
"Oh look! Someone's come to play!" I looked over for the source of the voice, hoping it wasn't a possessed child. One of those in a lifetime was enough. Spotting a little blonde girl in pigtails, I approached, noting the orange tabby cat that was sitting next to her. Behind them, a field of moving tiles with mana leaping from tile to tile occupied most of the room.
"You have come to play, haven't you?" the girl asked. "We're playing a guessing game. It's better with more people."
I paused, choosing to keep it calm an atmosphere, the girl could very likely be possessed. "You are Amalia, right? There isn't some other little lost girl around here?" The girl nodded. "So who is 'we?'"
"Kitty and me, of course! You don't see anyone else here, do you?" He looked closer at the cat and felt a chill go down his spine as he realized where the room's prisoner was. "Anyway, you should go if you're not going to play," Amalia went on. "Kitty finds you distracting."
"The cat...finds me distracting?" Adrian asked carefully.
"Kitty is clever," Amalia replied. "She says you'll want to take me back to my father, but I'm not going. She would be lonely!"
"I would not suggest leaving in such hostile company anyhow, Amalia," the cat said, a female voice with the typical demonic echo to it issuing from the cat's muzzle. "Look how they act."
"The cat... talks…" Zevran said flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I should never have left Antiva."
"You're going to want to step away from that kitty, Amalia," Adrian urged.
"Nothing you say will convince Amalia to go with you," the cat chimed in, stretching. "She loves only me now. I am her friend, while you are just a stranger."
"I'm not leaving without the girl, cat" Adrian said flatly. "I made an agreement."
"Are you sure it wasn't a promise?" The cat jabbed
Adrian chuckles, "I don't make promises. I do deals, love."
"It seems we are at an impasse," the cat replied. "So let me propose a compromise, of sorts."
Sten spied the eager light glimmer in Adrian's eye at the word, 'compromise'.
"Adrian…" Sten warned lowly.
Adrian shot her an irritated look. "I'm listening. No promises—" He said with a shit-eating grin, "-but I'm listening."
"Release me, mortal, and let me have the girl. Let us return to her father and leave this place forever."
"Let you have the girl?" The mage echoed. "You mean possess her?"
"That's such a crude way of putting it," the cat drawled. "I do not wish to harm Amalia. I merely want to see your world through her eyes. Is that so wrong?"
He grunted noncommittally. "Very well." Even Morrigan had a flash of surprise in her yellow orbs at Adrian's lack of hesitance regarding the cat-demon's request.
"Thank you," the cat said. "You are very gracious. The mage's wards hold me within this chamber, and only a mortal may approach them. There is a trick to disarming the wards, but I do not know it."
"Oh, this is so exciting!" Amalia said. "Kitty is going to be free!"
"Zevran, stay with Amalia," Adrian ordered as he eyed the tiles. "Sten, Morrigan, let's see if we can sort this out."
"Mage, are you planning what I think you're planning?" Sten asked as I fiddled with a few of the tiles, watching how the mana flow changed direction.
"Of course," I replied.
It only took a few minutes for them to sort out the puzzle, and I briefly wondered how intelligent the demon must have been to be unable to figure it out. "That's got it," Morrigan commented as the mana jumped from one end of the puzzle to the other. "Interesting lock."
"Yes, I can feel the magic fading," the cat remarked. "I had forgotten how it feels to not be caged!"
"Kitty?" Amalia asked, concern creeping into her voice. "What's happening?"
"A wonderful thing, my dear, for both of us," the cat said victoriously.
"Sorry to say, but the girl's off-limits, love." Adrian spat. "You have a choice. Go back to the Fade or die here and now. Either way, you don't get Amalia."
"For all you're talk of agreements, you are quite the backstabbing snake. You agreed to let me have the girl."
"No. I agreed to set you free. It was you who failed to specify the terms… Now: Run on home."
"Betrayal!" The cat hissed. "You will not take the girl! She is mine!"
"Kitty, you're scaring me!" Amalia cried. "I won't let you inside me, I won't!" The child sprinted out of the room, and as the cat began to transform back into a demon, two separate Mana Clashes fell on the demon like hammer blows. The demon screeched, evaporating under the magical assault.
"You never intended to let her be possessed, did you," Zevran said as I dug around in the room, finding a Grey Warden-style helmet and hanging it off his belt.
"Of course not," the Mage scoffed. "Give me a little credit, Zev."
The group dug up some dusty lyrium potions and little else of value before heading back up, finding another set of shades on the way back up. When they reached the basement level, they found Matthias and Amalia reunited. "You did it!" the blond man cheered as they emerged. "You freed her! Thank you so much!"
"I'm sorry I ran away, Daddy," the girl chimed in. "I was so scared."
"It's all right, butterfly. You're safe now," Matthias said soothingly. "All the bad creatures are gone." Turning to me, the man nodded his thanks. "You'll need the phrase to activate Shale. It's 'dulen harn.' I wouldn't want the thing, but it's obvious you can handle yourself just fine."
"Is the village going to be safe?" Adrian asked.
Matthias grimaced. "Some of my father's spells laid rune lines around the village that could be reactivated. He used to say they would stop anything short of a giant. I'll look into getting those turned back on."
The Magician nodded. "Those would stop further darkspawn attacks quite nicely."
"I can't thank you enough," Matthias said. "We'd be happy to put you up for the night, as you asked."
The group moved back to the ground level, straightening out what they could as they went. "We may have a problem," Zevran announced, looking out the window of the house.
"Now what – oh, Maker's balls," Adrian groaned, seeing heavy snow falling.
Zevran eyed the mage warily "You have the worst luck."
"Why," Adrian implored, looking up at the ceiling. "Why is this necessary? What did I do to you? When did I piss in your porridge? Just tell me what the issue is and I'll do my best to rectify it!"
"Looks like we're staying for a few days," Zevran sighed.
#
For a long moment, there was silence, and the others could hear Adrian's teeth grinding. Then light began to emanate from the golem's eyes and the symbol on its forehead, and the group took a step back as years of dust and dirt fell from the golem's outstretched arms. The golem moved, jerking one arm forward, then the other, before stretching, the sound of stone scraping together issuing from the golem's joints as it shook itself.
"I knew that the day would come when someone would find the control rod," the golem said. The voice that issued from it was raspy and deep, with a note of deep, world-weary indifference. "And of course it is another mage. That is what it is, yes?" Adrian nodded. "Yes. Just my luck."
"How do you know I'm a mage?" The Magician asked, idly toying with the control rod.
"It thinks these crystals are simply for show, I see," the golem remarked, gesturing at the crystals dotted along its shoulders. "It thinks I cannot sense the energies it commands." The golem gave a derisive snort. "I stood here in this spot and watched the wretched little villagers scurry around me for, oh, I have no idea how long. Many, many years."
Zevran spoke up, "You've been stuck here for thirty years? That must have been... really, really boring."
"Has it been that long?" The golem asked.
"Best as we can tell," I confirmed.
"I was just beginning to get used to the quiet, too," the golem went on. "Tell me, are all the villagers dead?"
"Not all of them, no," Adrian replied. "Few are still alive and kicking."
"How unfortunate," the golem grumbled.
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Not a fan of the locals, I take it?"
"Familiarity breeds contempt, as they say, and after thirty years as a captive audience, I was as familiar with these villagers as one could possibly be. Not that I wished their fate on them, no, but it did make for a delightful change of pace."
"I'll bet," Zevran jibed.
"Well, go on then," the golem prompted. "Out with it. What is its command?"
"Do you have a name?" Adrian asked. "I'd rather not just refer to you as 'golem' or 'oi, you with the broad shoulders.'"
It shrugged. "I may have forgotten after all the years of being called 'golem.' 'Golem, fetch me that chair.' 'Do be a good golem and squash that insipid bandit.' And let's not forget 'golem, pick me up. I tire of walking.'"
Adrian winced. "Oh, that would get on my nerves something fierce."
The golem's head tilted slightly. "It...does have the control rod, doesn't it? I am awake, so it... must..."
"It certainly does, right in its hand," Adrian said, before shaking himself. "Got me doing it."
"I see the control rod, yet, I feel..." The golem paused. "Go on. Order me to do something."
I blinked, holding up the rod. "All right. Walk over there. Stretch your legs a bit."
The golem remained stationary. "And...nothing? I feel nothing. I feel no compulsion to carry out its command. I suppose this means the rod is...broken?"
"I suppose that means you're free," Adrian commented. "I mean, if you can't be commanded, yet you're choosing to talk to me, you must have at least something nearing free will. I would be happy about that."
"It is simply...what should I do?" the golem asked rhetorically. "I have no memories, beyond watching this village for so long. I have no purpose. I find myself at a bit of a loss."
"Well, I imagine you wouldn't want to stay around here," I mused, glancing around the half- destroyed village.
"What about it? It must have awoken me for some reason, no? What did it intend to do with me?"
"Well, I could think of many uses for a personal golem," The Magician mused.
The golem seemed unconvinced. "May I ask what sorts of things it gets up to, for which I could be so potentially useful?"
"I'm a Magician," I replied. "I mostly woke you up because my companions and I are in need of aid against the Blight… and specifically to find an artifact by the name of the Skeleton Key."
"I am not familiar with this, 'Skeleton Key', however, the Blight… It refers to the darkspawn, the very creatures that destroyed this village," the golem surmised. Adrian nodded. "The darkspawn are an evil that must be destroyed, it's true. Though not as evil as the birds. Damnable feathered fiends." Nobody commented on that one. Most likely due to the creaking that came from the golem's fists as it spoke. "I suppose I have two options, do I not? Go with it, or...go elsewhere? I do not even know what lies beyond this village."
"Well, we could give you a map, should you choose to go your own way, you are not my prisoner." Adrian offered, sounding more tender than normal "What do you want to do?"
"I watched this village for so long, unable to move or act," the golem said softly. "My memories of anything before are...vague, at best. So I have no idea what I want to do. I am glad to be mobile."
"If you do come along, are you going to keep calling me 'it'?" Adrian asked.
"Yes," the golem said flatly. "Very likely."
A brief pause as I thought that one over. "Well, I've been called far worse. You're welcome to come with me."
"Are you certain you want to bring that thing with us?" Zevran asked. "It could be dangerous. And large."
"This is what we came for—this, and the pages. Once the snow lets up, I'll head back to the lab and rummage around for them." Adrian pointed out. "Think of it as a portable battering ram."
"Good point," Zevran acquiesced. "Better it than Sten, anyhow."
"I will follow it about then, for as long as it amuses me," the golem said. "I am called Shale, by the way."