The Inquisition Wants You!
So the Chantry was no longer a threat, and the templars were a no go. And it seems that the Rebel mages might be willing to come to the table, but may have an agenda laying under it. So far this trip has been quite informative.
"Come, let us return to Haven." Cassandra insisted.
Once again they turned to leave, and once again were interrupted by someone. This time some stuffy human in a fruity mask. Literally. His mask was adorned with a basket of actual and artificial fruit attached to it. He just stood there with a vacant expression that made Rajmael think he was touched in the head.
"I…uh, think he has something for you." Varric pointed out. The man was holding some kind of letter in his hands.
Rajmael cautiously took the not from the masked weirdo's hand, who then bowed stiffly, turned on his heel and walked off like someone broke a stick off in his ass.
Rajmael looked at the letter and read it aloud.
"To his holiness, The Herald of Andraste…." Rajmael groaned in dismay as he that title he hated slipped from his own mouth.
You are cordially invited to my salon, to be held in your honor tonight at the chateu of Duke Bastien de Ghislain.
Yours, Vivienne De Fer, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchanter of the Imperial Court.
He finished and gazed at the letter with quizzical look. "Who the fuck's this bitch?" Orlesian titles always gave him a headache.
"A very powerful mage." Cassandra informed forebodingly. "And not just because she's skilled in magic. From what I understand, she is a formidable player of the Great Game. Unlike most mages, she is given free rein to walk amongst and associate with the nobility of Orlais without the scrutiny of the Chantry."
"If she's so powerful and influential why wasn't she at the Conclave?" Solas inquired.
"I do not know, though I imagine Leliana might." Cassandra answered. "If she is inviting you to meet her, be cautious. It is because she seeks to benefit from you for herself, but it's better to have someone like her for you than against you."
A mage that was influential enough to rub elbows with the nobility of Orlais in the heart of the Chantry's power, yet not she didn't show up to the Conclave? If she was as pretentious as her titles sounded, Rajmael would need to keep his guard up. Orlesians were a people who treated honor like an accessory: wear it when it looks nice, but discarded it when it was no longer a convenience.
Rajmael sighed deeply and decided to make his way to the Duke de Ghislain's little soiree and meet this Madame de Fer, but was stopped by a soldier in foreign armor.
"Excuse me, are you with the Herald of Andraste?" The soldier asked.
"That's what people have taken to calling me…ser?" Rajmael didn't know what to make of this soldier. The armor was obviously from the Free Marches and the sword and shield were Neverran, and the accent was very foreign to him, like from the far north. But the most confounding part was Rajmael couldn't tell if the soldier in front of him was an effeminate man or a masculine woman. He, or she, had smooth features but short militaristic hair and stood with a sense of power.
"Cremisius Aclassi, first lieutenant of The Bull's Chargers mercenary company out of Neverra, ser!" The androgynous mercenary saluted with full gusto. "I was sent here by my commander with a message."
"A message concerning what?"
"We've got word of Tevinter mercenaries hitting the Storm Coast, and from what we've gathered their not here for sight-seeing." The lieutenant answered. "My company commander, Iron Bull, offers this information to the Inquisition. Free of charge. If you'd like to what The Bull's Chargers could do for the Inquisition feel free to join us there and watch us work."
Well that's odd. "Why would a mercenary out of Neverra want to work for the Inquisition?"
"The chief thinks you're doing good work. And from what it looks like, it seems you'll be having some damned good fights ahead. The chief's the sort of man who likes a good fight."
"And just what sort of man is your chief?"
"He's one of them qunari, or Tal-Vashoth, I guess. You know one of those big guys with the horns." That word caught both Varric and Cassandra's attention like it was on fire. "He's a frontline commander, he's tough, pays well, and he's a helluva lot smarter than the last bastard I worked with. And best of all he's a professional. Never breaks a contract once an offer's been made. But you're the first he's ever gone out of his way to meet."
This sounded interesting. A veteran mercenary company that wants to join with them so badly they're willing to open the bargaining table? How could he refuse, especially when he needed more men? "Tell your commander that we will meet him at the Storm Coast and see how he fares."
"Thank you, ser. You won't regret this." Cremisius promised. "We're the best you'll find." The soldier gave perfect salute, turned about face and marched away.
Okay. So he had to attend an Orlesian salon, find a wandering Grey Warden in the wilderness, and now he had to interview a company of mercenaries being led by a Tal-Vashoth mercenary. So now he was solving other people's problems and getting cozy with people he never met and probably won't care for. He was starting feel like a politician.
Then out of nowhere a red arrow flew out of the sky and right in front of Rajmael.
Cassandra drew her sword and shield and got in front of The Herald, scanning the air for possible assassins. But there was no one. "What's that? An arrow with a message?" she observed.
Rajmael grabbed the arrow and unraveled the note wrapped around it. The message was written in the worst, sloppiest chicken scratches the passed for handwriting that he had ever seen.
Favors for Favors for Friends,
People say yer special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone. There's a baddie in Val-Royo, who wants to hurt you. Hava search for red things 'round the market, the docks and the café and maybe you'll meet him first. Bring sorwds.
Friends of Red Jenny.
Attached to the note was a crude, grease smudged drawing of the locations he was supposed to follow.
"Find the red things?" Rajmael repeated suspiciously. "This is fucking Val Royeaux! There's red all over the fucking place! And I hate scavenger hunts!" Someone obviously wanted their attention and was able to shoot at them without being notice and disappear without a trace. That was someone who could either be an asset or an annoyance. May as well find them, how hard could it be?
At an Abandoned Mansion
The map that was drawn for them was about as useful as wheels on a boat. It took them hours to find where the drop points were and each time they stood around looking like idiots trying to find out which red item had the secret message.
It was dark now, and they were finally able to make sense of the freaking clues and were able to follow them to a vacant mansion. Or so they thought. They entered through a back gate and were surprised to find masked inhabitants lurking inside.
"It's the Inquisition!" One of them shrieked.
"We've been discovered!" Another yelled. "Get them!"
What in Sylaise's sweet grace was going on? Who were these idiots? They came at them with swords and bows, so…bad guys? Oh, well.
Two of them tried to bull rush Rajmael but he laid down an ice glyph in front of them. The instant they stepped on it they froze solid and were shattered into pieces when Varric loosed a couple bolts into them.
Cassandra and Solas easily dispatched their assailants as well. Cassandra beheaded hers before he could even draw his sword, while Solas chucked a stone-fisted projectile from his staff that caved his opponent's skull in. This fight was so easy that it would be sad if it weren't so funny.
Rajmael went further in. As he pushed the next door open, a clumsily thrown fireball went past his head and missed by a significant margin. Even if it made contact its power was so weak it wouldn't do anything except evaporate against his shimmering shield.
"Herald of Andraste!" A scrawny, well dressed, Orlesian noble in a mask cursed whilst standing with utter arrogance. "How much did you expend to discover me, I wonder? No doubt it has crippled the Inquisition to find an enemy as tenacious as I."
Rajmael had no idea what this guy was even talking about. "I'm sorry, who's this asshole? Hey, asshole, who are you?"
"You do not fool me! I am too important for this to be an accident!" The pompous stranger blustered. "My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!"
One of his guards screamed in agony as he fell dead to the floor and a blonder haired elf emerged from behind, with an arrow pointed at the masked ponce.
"Just say 'What'." She smiled.
"What is the—glrrghk!" They all watched the arrow fly straight into to his mouth and stick out the back of his head as he gurgled his last breath.
"Eww!" The blonde elf groaned as if the sight of her own handiwork grossed her out. She skipped over to the now dead noble. "Squishy one, but you heard me right?" She asked openly. "Just say 'What!'. Rich tits always try to get more than what they deserve."
This was this oddest looking elf woman Rajmael had ever seen. For starters her hair was rather short, but her bangs looked like they were cut by a seven year old with a meat cleaver. She wore some kind of light leather armor with pied patch work pants and slippers. Did this woman not own a mirror, or was this some kind of city elven style? Judging from her accent she was from Fereldan, one of their cities at least. But that had to be the most annoying accent he ever heard.
She pulled the arrow out of the man's head. "Blah, blah, blah. Obey me. Arrow to the face!" The elf finally turned her attention to Rajmael. "So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you're…. And you're an elf. Well, hope you're not too…elfy."
Rajmael didn't like the way this other elf said that. It woke something he wanted to keep buried. "You see these tattoos on my face, bitch? I'm as elfy as you can get!"
"Hey, it's all good, innit?" She replied. "The important thing is you glow, yeah? You're the Herald?"
Sweet Mythal, this woman's voice was annoying. "Look, all I know is that I followed a random fucking trail and into an abandoned house full hostile Orlesian pricks. What is going on?"
"No idea. I don't this prick from manners." The elf blurted. "My people just said the Inquisition should take a look at him."
"Your people? What, elves? Fereldans?"
"Ha! No. People, people." She looked over and pointed to a nearby stack of crates. "Name's Sera. That's cover. May want to get round it. For the reinforcements. Don't worry, someone tipped me off about the equipment shed. They've got no breeches!"
"There they are!" another guard yelled. He and his fellows were all bare-assed, well-armed and pissed.
"Butt, butt, butt!" Sera laughed maniacally.
"Why didn't you just take their weapons?" Rajmael asked dumbfounded.
"Because…Breeches! Nya-ha-ha!"
Sera knocked her arrows at the half-naked guards while Rajmael loosed balls of fire on them. Cassandra finished them off with her sword. They were dead under two minutes.
"Whew! Friends really came through that tip. No breeches!" Sera chortled a throaty laugh almost like she was choking on it. "So, Herald. You're a strange one. I'd like to join you."
After following a nonsensical trail to wind up in an abandoned mansion full of homicidal pricks and then being forced to listen to a flat-ear whose voice gave him a headache, Rajmael was understandably short on patience. "I'm going to count to three. And by the time I get to 'two' I want some real answers. Or I swear to fucking Mythal, there's going to be one elf walking out of here without a head. One!"
"Easy! Jeez. No need to get all huffy." Sera interjected. "I sent you the note to look for thing hidden by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That's me. Well, I'm one of them at least. So's a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall, and I think there's three brothers in Starkhaven…."
"Get. To. The Point."
"It's just a name, yeah? It lets a bunch of little people, 'Friends', be a part of something while they stick it to the nobles they hate." Sera finally answered. "So, here's me, Sera. The Friends of Red Jenny are sort of out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows."
"So...what you're spies?"
Sera went on a longwinded rant about nobles, little people and sexual innuendoes about how the people she works with are mostly servants, day workers and whatnot who wanted payback against the nobles who oppress and abuse them. It might've sounded noble is Sera didn't seem so immature about it.
"This sounds more like a group of thieves trying to get their kicks by harrying the nobility."
Sera just gave him this little shrug and immature smirk.
"I wouldn't discard these Red Jenny types, Lavellan." Varric piped in. "Back in Kirkwall, Hawke and I got some pretty good stuff by helping out this…enigmatic and somewhat clandestine little group."
"Oh, that' the Champion, yeah?" Sera beamed. "That guy did lot'sa good for my Friends over there in Kirkwall. Wish I knew their names."
The Herald looked at the dwarf who just tilted his head with an urging look. Rajmael really didn't want to have to put up with Sera's voice, but still, having a group of people watching the nobility and giving them information that could be vital was just too valuable to lose.
Rajmael sighed deeply and hoped there was a lot of aspirin back in Haven. "Alright, Sera. You and your Friends can assist the Inquisition."
Sera's face lit up like a pyre. "Yes! Get in good before you're too big to like, yeah? That'll keep your breeches around you butt. Speaking of, you now a good merchant who'll buy pants, 'cause…Breeches!"
Rajmael could already feel an aneurysm growing in head. Is this how he made Keeper Deshana feel? Hopefully being around this girl won't give him a stroke before he finished his mission. He whispered a prayer to Mythal that the next person he went to go see wasn't such a pain in the ass.
The Chateau of the Duke de Ghislain
While most noble manors in Orlais were vastly lavish, with all the nobles trying to be more extravagant than their peers, the Duke de Ghislain's house was particularly luxurious. Marble walls with magically lite fires blazing from golden braziers and candle sticks. The halls were adorned with rare, priceless pieces of pottery, no doubt the only ones of their kind. And the manor was so big it could fit all the inhabitants back in Haven.
The Orlesians gave out titles like they were candy, so it was difficult to determine how highly ranked he was on the noble social standing. But from what Rajmael was led to believe, that didn't actually matter, all that really mattered was how well the nobles played "The Game." Either way, they weren't here to see the duke, they here for this Madam de Fer. This Enchanter Vivienne.
"Cassandra, what do you know about this Madam de Fer? This Enchanter Vivienne?" Rajmael inquired.
"She is one of the foremost players of the Game." Cassandra answered stoically. "She is the first mage outside the Tevinter Imperium to openly wield true political power within the Empire without Chantry scrutiny. And her association with the Duke de Ghislain gives her much leeway."
"And who is this duke?"
"A member of the Council of Heralds. The Council consists of the best players of the Game and wield much of Orlais' political sway. They are the ones in charge of granting greater titles to the Orlesian aristocracy, and to those who would join the aristocracy" Cassandra's face became more serious than usual. "Be careful, Herald. If she is asking for, then it's because she is looking to gain something by aiding us. Still, it would be better to have her with us than actively working against us."
"Keep our friends close and our enemies dead?"
"Exactly." Cassandra chuckled.
The doorman at the gate wrinkled his nose at the very sight of Rajmael and his group. "Ugh! What are you vagabonds doing in this part of the city? Go back the way you came or I'm calling the guards!"
Rajmael kept his cool, he didn't need to get all worked up for a guy who kisses ass for a living. He pulled out his invitation and handed it to the foppish prick. The man's demeanor quickly changed. "Oh, please forgive me, messere. I didn't realize the Herald of Andraste was an elf. Please, the lady is waiting for you."
"Thanks. You ass-kissing cock-socket." Rajmael said smilingly.
As they made their way up the steps, the man made the mistake of turning his nose up at Cassandra. "Feh. Neverrans." He snorted.
Cassandra planted her fist into the guy's arm and knocked him off the stairs without a word. Rajmael was pretty sure he heard the man's arm break on contact.
They entered the grand ball room, and it was pact with members of Orlais' high society.
"Now, presenting…" The chamberlain called. "Rajmael of Clan Levellan, representative of the Inquisition and Herald of Andraste."
Rajmael felt completely out of place here. These humans had more wealth than they knew what to do with, and did nothing with it. There was a civil war going on and all they could do was drink and talk with each other over fashion while men were dying on the frontlines and peasants were starving to supply the war effort.
The Herald was approached by a masked lord and a lady who weren't repulsed enough to see an elf walking amongst them.
"A pleasure, ser." The lord greeted politely enough. "It is so rare to meet someone new at these events. It is always the same crowd at these parties. Are you a guest of the Duke of Madam de Fer?"
"I am here for Enchanter Vivienne." Rajmael answered. "Is that some kind of title of hers? And who is this duke?"
"Madam de Fer is a…nickname of hers." The lord coughed. "That the court has given to our lady host. And Duke Bastien de Ghislain is member of the Empress' personal court. He isn't here tonight, however. His personal business with the Council of Heralds often takes him away for long periods of time, it cannot be healthy for a man in his years."
"Are you here on business, Lord Herald?" The masked lady asked excitedly. "I have heard the most incredible stories about you. Is it true that you walked out of the Fade walking hand in hand with Andraste and slew a Pride demon where the Holiest of Holies once rested?"
Rajmael rolled his eyes at the exaggeration of that story. "Yes, I fought against a Pride Demon, but I never saw Andraste in that Temple. Those stories tend to exaggerate."
"Oh? That's a shame." The lady said disappointedly. "It would do so much to illuminate the legitimacy of the Inquisition."
"Bah! The Inquisition? What a load of pigshit!" Another masked noble on the balcony above them spat with disgust. Judging from the sword and pomposity, he was definitely a chevalier. He walked down with the stair towards them with arrogance in his stride. "Crazed sisters and washed up Seekers. You can't take them seriously! Everyone knows it just a bunch of political outcasts trying to grab at power." The noble was now invading Rajmael's personal space. "And you dare to claim the name of our Lady Redeemer to legitimize your false cause."
Rajmael's sword hand twitched with this human wearing too much cologne standing to close. "I never claimed to have been sent by your dead Prophet. I have gods of my own, thank you very much."
"Ha! And now you admit to being a pretentious usurper as well as a Maker-forsaken heathen in front of all these witnesses?" The chevalier mocked. "We know what your Inquisition truly is. If you were a man of honor you'd step outside and answer the charges." The chevalier's hand went for the sword on his back, and Rajmael's reflexes kicked in.
Blood sprayed across the room as a severed arm flew into the air, followed by the shrill screams of the people of the guests and the victim. Rajmael cut the chevalier's arm off before his antagonist's hand even touched his sword. The chevalier fell to the ground clutching the spot on his shoulder where his arm used to, screaming in terrible agony as blood spurted from his wound.
One of the marquis actually puked beneath his mask at the sight of so much blood. Rajmael loomed over the maimed knight with a charge of lighting crackling in his hand. Several ladies and couple lords fainted as Rajmael discharged his spell into his screaming victim's face and made his head explode. Bits of his brains, skull and mask flew into the air as his head was reduced to a stain on the floor.
Many of the guests made for the door, emptying the room. All was quiet except for the sound of applauding hands. Rajmael looked up the stairs to find his admirer was yet another woman in mask, but this one was distinctly different. For one, her skin was dusky, the color of mahogany, was she Rivaini, or from that region? The second was the magic that Rajmael could sense in her. Like Fiona's it was strong, but not as wild, more vibrant.
She didn't wear enchanter robes, only the latest fashion. A white garb the clung to her figure like a glove with silver, floral embroidery lined around her waist, shoulders and sleeves. On her head she wore a divided hennin in a shape that was reminiscent to horns but had white gold plated bird motifs on it. And like all Orlesian nobility, she wore an extravagant mask. Hers had water-like patterns flowing down her face with a lyrium gem glowing brightly on her forehead and cheeks. How many mouths could she feed with all the money she used on that much finery?
Vivienne ceased her amused ovation to the lively, albeit messy distraction. The marquis warranted his own death when reached for his sword in her house. If the Herald didn't kill him, she would have. Vivienne took a moment to observe the fabled Herald of Andraste. Hard to believe this barefoot, blood-spattered, tattooed elf in drab robes was the supposed favored chosen of their Lady Redeemer. After that little display, coupled with the fact he's an elf from the woods, she could see that he had no idea how to maneuver around this larger world he stepped into, and was in obvious need of guidance. As he was now, he was nothing more than a blunt instrument with the right name attached. But blunt instruments, like hammers, were capable of creating great and wonderful things with the right hand to guide them. Perhaps she could be the proper hand to guide him in this larger world he stepped into, and together they could make wonderful things.
"I take it you are my host?" Rajmael addressed.
"You presume correctly, my dear." Madam de Fer curtsied. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Madame Vivienne, First Enchanter of the Circle of Montsimmard, and Enchantress to the Imperial Court."
"Well, sorry to have spoiled your soiree, Madame Vivienne." Rajmael said half-truthfully. He hated Orlesian titles.
"Oh, think nothing of it, darling." The Enchanter waved off. "If you didn't kill him, I certainly would have. Really, a marquis and a chevalier being crass enough to insult my own guests in my own house. I'll be sure to get the servants to clean him off the floor."
"Prissy-bitch!" Sera coughed.
"Oh, my dear Herald, what good fortune it is that you've come to me." Vivienne lamented sympathetically. "With such distasteful company, it's a wonder the Haven hasn't gone up in flames."
"You wish to aid the Inquisition?" Rajmael asked hesitantly.
"My dear, I wish to do more than aid. I wish to join." Her answer caught Rajmael off guard. "With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore order and sanity to our frightened people."
"Our people?" Rajmael questioned. "I'm sorry, but you'll need to clarify that. Our definition of 'Our People' might be different. Who are you loyal to?"
"Why the people of Thedas, of course. An as the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel that it is only appropriate that I lend you my assistance. We have not forgotten the commandant lead down to us by Andraste that magic exists to serve man, unlike some."
"But you forget that I'm a Dalish elf. The commandments of your god and the people you serve are nothing to me." Rajmael informed sardonically. "And in case you haven't noticed, we are not sanctioned by the Chantry. In fact, I spit on the Chantry."
"The Chantry is leaderless, my dear. They are in no position to be leading anyone. And if there is one virtue that the Chant of Light teaches us, it's forgiveness. And I'm sure once the Inquisition has sealed the Breach, I doubt the newly elected Divine will care little for official permission. "
"And are you a member of the faith? Don't you support the Chantry?"
"I was a great admirer of Divine Justinia. She was a visionary, and had she lived she would have accomplished much. At its best the Chantry unites the disparate peoples of Thedas and looks after its most vulnerable."
Rajmael felt that thing inside me stir again, wanting to pound its way out into the world, but he ignored it. "Well, speaking as someone who was amongst the most vulnerable, I have to say that's bullshit, and you're deluding yourself if you say otherwise. But theological allegiances aside, what do you get out of this?"
"Why, the same thing everyone gets by fighting this chaos: the chance to face my enemy, to decide my fate. I will not wait quietly for my destruction."
Rajmael snorted angrily. "You would demand to have the right that you would deny your fellow mages? How hypocritical."
"My dear Herald, my fellow mages lost any right to anything when they proved the Chantry's fears by becoming terrorists." Vivienne answered earnestly. "They have proven why this Inquisition is necessary, and why you need mages like me to aid you. Magic needs a firm, steady institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows magic won't find it on its own."
"Oh, is that what the Circles were doing?" Rajmael sneered. "Such loyalty is touching. And what use could I possibly have for such loyalty?"
"I can provide you with mages who will be loyal to you and you alone." Vivienne answered. "I am well versed in Orlesian politics; I know every member of the Imperial Court personally. I am also a mage of no small talent. Surely you can see the benefits of having one such as myself?"
This woman had an agenda and Rajmael knew it. She was acting under the guise of loyalty to a cause she actually had no stake in, being as wealthy and well connected as she was. Why the courtesy? Why the loyalty to a man who was an obvious heathen? Her high and mighty attitude irritated the fuck out of him. Still, with her connections and resources she could be a useful asset to the Inquisition. For now.
"We will accept your request to join the Inquisition, Enchanter Vivienne." Rajmael answered as cordially as possible. "I am eager to see you in action."
"Great things are beginning, my dear." Vivienne beamed through her perfect teeth. "I can promise you that."
Rajmael didn't know who he disliked more. The pretentious mage who rubs elbows with Orlais' notoriously corrupt nobility and all the humility and integrity of a vain peacock, or the scatter-brained elven thief with a dislike for anything elven and hatred for authority. If this was Dirthamen's idea of favor and fortune, then he was a sadistic deity with a crappy sense of humor. Hopefully this Tal-Vashoth mercenary and Grey Warden recruiter would be more pleasant company.
The Storm Coast
From Val Royeaux they all took ship and landed on the aptly named Storm Coast. The frigid winds whipped across their faces while the freezing cold rains beat down on them like a million stones from the skies, and the very air bit them like a dog. They were definitely back in Ferelden now. And as luck would have it the winds blew their map away. Their ship dropped Anchor a few leagues away from where they were to meet this Iron Bull.
Varric clutched his duster closer to him, the water on his chest hair was practically frozen into icicles on his chest. "Wounded Coast, Storm Coast, is there any kind of seaside that isn't foreboding and dreadful. Like Beer Coast or Naked Lady Seaside?"
Vivienne tried to pull out an umbrella but the turbulent winds blew it away, and almost took her hat off. "Oh! This Fereldan weather is deplorable! For anyone to want to willingly live in such dreadful country in beyond me."
"Sera, you're from Ferelden aren't you?" Cassandra asked. "Do you by chance know this landscape?"
"Pbbt! Sorry, but I'm not an 'elfy' elf." Sera retorted. "I don't spend my days outdoors like a tit. Try asking Solas."
Solas grimaced at Sera's cheekiness, but ignored her. "I'm afraid I've never spent much time on the Wounded Coast, Seeker. Normally, I've found that the Dreams to be discovered near the sea are hardly worth the effort."
"The Iron Bull and his company are about a hundred and twenty yards east!" Rajmael yelled over the whipping winds.
Did he memorize the map?
"How do you know?" Cassandra asked.
"Just head towards the giant horned guy and those others killing that group of mages over there, I guess." Rajmael pointed west and sure enough there was a Qunari and his men engaging a group of foreign mages.
They all ran as fast as they could, but by the time they arrived the Tevinter mages' numbers had already been reduced, and they were getting smaller. In fact. Rajmael didn't even feel the need to engage, he signaled his party to watch and enjoy the show.
The Iron Bull was big, even for a Qunari. He stood at least seven and a half feet tall and was a mountain of solid muscle. His most distinguishing feature, other than his large draconic horns, was the elaborate eye patch covering his scarred left eye. And despite the fact that it was freezing cold and raining, the qunari wasn't wearing a shirt. Just some kind of harness strapped over his shoulder and his boulder-like pecs.
He swung a massive axe with stunning force and alarming speed for someone his size. With one horizontal swing he killed three Tevinters; two were chopped in half and one was split open. A spellbinder tried to summon some kind of glyph around the qunari, but the gigantic behemoth charged him down and stomped his head in. Within minutes the Tevinter mercenaries were dead in the surf, their blood washing into the sea, while the rain washed the blood off the victors.
"CHARGERS! Stand down." The Iron Bull ordered with a very booming voice. He turned to Lieutenant Cremisius. "Krem! How'd we do?"
"Five or six wounded, chief. Zero dead." The officer answered.
"That's what I like to hear." The Iron Bull grinned. "Have the throatcutters finish up, then break out the casks."
"Iron Bull?" Rajmael finally decided to address their new hired hand. Elgar'nan's flames, this guy was tall.
"Ah, you must be with the Inquisition? The Herald, right? Come, have a drink with me." The Iron Bull invited him and the both sat on some rocks on the beach. Lieutenant Aclasi approached and saluted the bull. "I assume you remember Liuetenant Aclassi?"
The androgynous liuetenant nodded respectfully to Rajmael. "Good to see you again. The throatcutters have finished their work, chief."
"Already? Have 'em check again. I don't want those sneaky Vint bastards getting away. No offense, Krem."
"None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother is. Puts one up on you Qunari, don't it?"
Rajmael had to admit he didn't expect this mercenary to seem so chummy. From what he heard even the Tal-Vashoth were as grim and quiet a gargoyles and twice as ugly.
"So…you've seen us fight. We're expensive but we're worth it…and I'm sure the Inquisition can afford it." The Iron Bull finally stated after chugging down his whole mug.
Rajmael looked at the scene of dead bodies and eviscerated corpses that were now washing out to sea. "I have to admit, you and your men can certainly make a mess out of living creatures."
"Heh. Anything that walks, crawls or flies." The Bull laughed. "But you're not just getting the men, you're getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard? I'm your man, whatever it is. Vints, giants, dragons? The bigger the better."
A massive, well-trained killing machine with a hard-on for combat wanted to fight for him with the eagerness of a puppy. This was way too good to be true. "Right. Now what's the downside? I get that you're here to make a living, but mercenaries don't willingly sign up for causes. Unless they have an ulterior motive."
"Heh-heh. You caught me." Iron Bull admitted. "You, uh, you ever hear Ben-Hassrath?"
"Yes." Cassandra answered vehemently. "They are the enforcers of the Qunari. Charged with watching for signs of sedition and enforcing the Qun. They are also spies."
"Hawke and I once went on a caper with a Ben-Hassrath agent named Tallis." Varric piped in. "She…uh, she really got on Hawke's bad side."
"Yeah, that's them. Or us I should say." The Bull admitted. "The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control can cause problems everywhere. I have been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports back to my superiors."
A violent scowl appeared Cassandra's face as her hand slowly went for her sword while Varric quirked an eyebrow. Rajmael stayed calm. "Why would a spy for the Qun willingly confess to what he is and what his objective is?"
"Well, if your spymaster is worth a damn she'll find out who I am eventually. I figured it'd probably be best if I just played it straight with you."
"She?" Cassandra asked. "How did you…?"
"Heh, yeah, I did a little research. Plus, I have a thing for redheads." The qunari spy admitted.
"And what do we get out of this arrangement?" Rajmael inquired.
"I also get reports from other Ben-Hessrath agents from all over Orlais. You sign me on and I'll share them with you. I'm sure you can use all the assistance you can get."
"Last question, and please, be honest with me, 'cause I'll know if you're lying to me." Rajmael warned. "Why would the Qunari give two steaming shits about what happens to the South?"
"The Qunari don't like out of control magic, and the Breach scares them." The spy answered. "They want to know if they need to launch an invasion to keep the whole damned world from falling apart. I let them know you're doing good work to put their minds at ease, and they won't send the Antaam. That's good for everyone, don't you think?"
Rajmael took a moment to think. A spy's job was to gather information and stay hidden. This one not only admitted to what he was, but says he's willing to share information on what his fellow spies have learned in the hopes of keep in the Qunari army in Par Vollen. Rajmael wasn't sure how straight-forward qunari spies could be to outsiders, but as it is, they cannot afford to have another Qunari invasion on their hands.
"All right, Bull, You're hired." Rajmael answered. "On the condition that you run every report through Leliana. You send nothing she doesn't approve. And if I learn that this is some kind of trick, or your reports compromise the Inquisition, you'd better hope that Cassandra gets you first, because she'll only eat you alive." Rajmael's eyes began to glow, which put the Qunari off a little. "If I get you first, I'm going to pieces off of you and sacrifice them to my gods. Starting with your balls."
"HA! I think we're gonna get along great, boss!" The Iron Bull laughed. "Hey, Krem! Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired."
"But what about the casks, chief?" Krem complained. "We just opened them. With axes."
"Seal 'em up." The Bull answered. "You're Tevinter, right? Try using blood magic."
Rajmael rolled his eyes and walked over to the aforementioned casks. He raised his hands over them and the broken, shattered, flew back on to the rest of the cask and reattached themselves back on. The elf waved his hand over it, and the cask stopped leaking.
"Bwa-haha-ha! Now that's some magic I could get used to!" The Iron Bull laughed heartily. "I think we're going to get along great, boss!"
In the Hinterlands
The Herald's ever expanding group of elite individuals made its way southward back to the Hinterlands. Leliana told him about possible meeting with this Warden Blackwall, and learn about what is happening with the Wardens of the South.
With the chaos of the Mage-Templar War gathering information was difficult. However, when they asked around some of the farmsteads about this Warden recruiter, they were told about how this valiant Warden stood his ground against the local bandits that were raiding them. Strange that a Warden recruiter would take the time to stop and defend farmers, but a worthy deed nonetheless. According to the farmers, this Warden Blackwall had taken some of their younger men and was teaching them how to defend themselves.
Rajmael led his group over to the valley where Blackwall was training his conscripts, they could hear him shouting orders from yards away. The Warden was a big man and solidly built, like he'd spent his whole life lifting weights. The Warden wore simple platemail of Grey Warden issue with insignia of the Order stamped on his chest. He had long black hair and a big, but well-kept beard that covered most of his face. If "Blackwall" wasn't his name, Blackbeard would have sufficed.
"Remember how to hold your shield, otherwise it's useless. Plant your feet and raise it from thigh to neck. And remember, you're not hiding, you're holding." The Warden commanded with the voice of a veteran officer. "They have to come to you, not the other way around."
"Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?" Rajmael called.
The Warden turned and approached the Herald, sword drawn. "You're not-! How do you know my name? Who sent…?" He raised his shield and an arrow flew right into its face. A large group of bandits screamed wildly and charged the valley. "That's it!" The Warden cursed. "You! Help or get out. We're dealing with these idiots first."
"You're DEAD, bastard!" one of the brigands screamed.
"It didn't have to be this way!" Blackwall yelled.
"Too late for that!" The bandit leader charged, screaming like a psychopath.
The Warden charged the bandits with a shield bash that sent them flying. He used his foot and body weight to crush a nearby, downed enemy. Another charged in from behind with a giant maul, but Blackwall ducked beneath the attack and shoved his sword through the man's gut and out his back. And a third attacker came at the Warden with a hand axe and managed to plant it in the face of the Warden's shield. Blackwall head-butted his attacker so hard his forehead and nose caved in.
The conscripts formed a tight shield-wall and marched towards the charging bandits, while the Warden charged ahead to soften them up. Rajmael and the others joined the fray. The mages unleashed their spells while Sera and Varric launched accurate shots into the bandits' skulls. Cassandra and Iron Bull charged in with their weapons. Within minutes the bandits were dead in the dirt.
Blackwall stood over the one of the bodies of the slain with a most sympathetic look on his face. "You poor, stupid bastard. It didn't need to be this way, men. They could have…well, thieves are made not born. They made their choice." He sighed sadly. "Conscripts! Good work. Take back what they stole, back to your homes now, and know that there isn't an enemy you can't face now."
The farmers all left with a renewed sense of courage and strength in the spirits.
Blackwall turned his attention back to the Herald. "Now, you. What do you want? Who are you?"
Rajmael nodded his head respectfully. His Keeper always told if there was ever an institution worthy of respect it was The Order of The Grey. "I am an agent of the Inquisition, Warden Blackwall. And I'm investigating as to why it seems your Order has disappeared. I was hoping you could shed some light on the situation."
"I haven't seen any Wardens for months, I better off recruiting on my own." Blackwall answered calmly. "But that's not so strange, is it? The Archdemon is ten years dead. Blight over, job done. Wardens are always the first things forgotten. My question is why does the Inquisition care what the Wardens are up to?"
"We're investigating whether their disappearance and the Divine's murder are connected." Rajmael answered honestly.
Blackwall never heard anything so ridiculous "What? Maker's Balls. The Divine's…? You can't possible think….No you're asking so you don't really know. No, I don't know anything about the Wardens and the Divine, but I can tell you this. No Warden killed Her Most Holy. Our purpose isn't political."
"Well, then where have they gone? An order such as yours isn't made of smoke and mirrors. How can you not know?"
"I'm a recruiter, I spend most of my time alone in the wilderness going from place to place looking for recruits." Blackwall answered. "And I have no idea where the others went. Perhaps an order was made in Hossberg and they've returned to the fortress of Weisshupt."
Rajmael asked for answer but instead got more questions. "What purpose could you possibly find in aiding farmers who'll probably never even see a darkspawn?" Rajmael inquired. "These people will never serve no function for your cause."
"I don't need a cause to help desperate men fight off thieving bastards." Blackwall replied. "As a Warden my job is to save people. Not all monsters are darkspawn."
That was a satisfactory answer, one worthy of a Warden. "You fought well here, Warden. I wish you luck in the days ahead, may your Order find victory."
For a moment Blackwall thought of just turning around and going back to the wilderness and what he'd done before. But something told him that this Inquisition was the higher path. "Wait…Rajmael, was it? The Divine is dead and the sky has been ripped asunder. The world is going to shit and no one except you seems to be doing anything. Its times like these that you'd expect a Warden to come to your aid. Maybe I'm that Warden."
That was a surprise. "Admirable, but what could one Warden possibly do against all that?" Rajmael asked pointing towards the ripped sky.
"Last I heard Warden-Commander Cousland was only one man, and solved a civil war and slew an Archdemon in single combat." Blackwall chuckled. "And besides, what Warden who's ever lived didn't serve to save the fuckin' world? I may not know shit about demons, but I do know how to charge the enemy and take a hill, and I do a damned good job of it."
A wide grin spread across Rajmael's face. "Warden Blackwall, welcome to the Inquisition. We are honored to have a member of the Order of The Grey in our ranks."
"Thanks. You won't regret this. I swear it."
So. A scatter-brained thief with the attention span of a flea. An Imperial Enchanter with a stick up her ass and an ulterior motive, who thinks mages should be leashed. A Qunari spy who actually liked laughing, drinking and fucking, and was here to spy on them for the Qun. And now they had a lone Warden who didn't seem to know what the fuck his own Order was doing. Rajmael couldn't help but laugh at how cruel the Creators' sense of humor was. Ladies and gentlemen, here were the saviors of the world.