Chapter Nineteen: Nightingale

The ride back to Hearth was tense.

At first, I thought it was the dead. The great majority of my people were very far from veteran soldiers before the ambush, despite their initiation in the military science of my world. At best, I had a dozen people who had been in a real fight before they had been assigned to me by the Baron, and another couple with extensive hunting experience against dangerous animals. In short, the deaths of the others should have begun to affect them, as their blood cooled off with the march. That familiar feeling of collective sorrow was not what I saw on their faces as we made our way back home.

I know now the reason why. Death was everywhere in Thedas. Hunger, disease, crime, raiding and warfare were all rampant. If you hadn't seen someone die by the time you were eighteen, it was a strange thing. This was certainly not the experience of people in my world, at least not in most of my country. Places were that sort of thing was commonplace are considered aberrations.

It was a strange mix of fear, admiration and curiosity that followed me wherever I went on the column. I saw it when we loaded up the bodies of the chevalier and the mage, the latter in particular I wanted identified by Armen when he returned from whatever the hell he was doing. People made way for me much more readily as I carried the man, but contrary to my expectations, this was not because of the corpse.

I ignored the looks after a while. I was neither in the mood to confront anyone about it, nor did I think it wise in the first place. I was also too busy lost in my own thoughts. Trouble was coming because of what we had done, and I didn't think it would come from the Grand-Duke. I had hoped to find some documents, some record of who paid how much, but I knew that was a long shot. We hadn't given White Mask anything, and no one else had either. Their mission was simply to round up as much as they could, and seize property if people couldn't or wouldn't pay. This left me with a whole lot of money belonging to multiple others by right, but I had no idea how much everyone was actually owed. The potential for abuse was massive, not to mention the fact that if I gave back a single red cent, it would be open admission to what I can only imagine was a torture-then-death sentence crime.

To make matters more complicated, the person I would have turned to for advice on these political matters was God only knows where. I still don't know today what he was doing, but regardless, Armen was not with us. Ciara and Tam wouldn't know much, being Dalish and Qunari, which left one person.

When we made camp in a fallow field, as we were taking our time to return home, I waited until everyone was deep in their cups before quietly approaching Julie about it. She was sitting on a chest of gold, while rifling through another when I did so, a quiet smile on her face.

"Feeling rich?" I asked as I approached.

"Like never before," Julie replied, clenching a fist of gold coins in the air, "Do you know what we can do with this?" I chuckled, imagining living the rest of my days as a fat bastard noble. It wasn't entirely unappealing.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," I said, "There's no record of who any of this belongs to, and they'll want their money back once they hear we have it. It's going to be a problem." I had already imagined the barons and chevaliers turning up on my doorstep to claim more money than they had been forced to pay.

"That's not a problem," Julie said, letting the gold fall through her fingers as she watched it, "It's an opportunity." My eyebrows raised themselves at her suggestion. Take the money for ourselves. Maker knows we needed it. Of course, my mind immediately hit what I thought the big barrier to doing that would be.

"Doesn't that mean the peasants everywhere else will starve?" I asked, sitting down on another chest beside her, "The taxes were taken from them, weren't they?"

Julie pushed some of her hair out of her eyes, as they levelled themselves at me, finally moving from the raw wealth at her feet. There was a fire there, one I hadn't seen before. I was taken aback.

"The money they took from the other nobles was already stolen from the peasants," Julie said firmly, "We pay our people, the nobles take part of the harvest from theirs. The serfs will have enough to feed themselves, barely. We can use the money to feed them as well. And so much more." My curiosity peaked at that. Humanitarian aid fell right up my alley, and the more part was intriguing to me. Julie could tell.

"Gaspard will think Celene's nobles took back the money," she explained, "While Celene's will think Gaspard still has their money, as long as we tell the Baron that the convoy got away."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, understanding where she was going with it at that point. She wanted to drive a wedge between the nobles, and possibly between the loyal ones and Celene to boot. War would undoubtedly follow, at least in the Dales. At which point, we would intervene and win, because she had unshakeable faith in my own capabilities and the justice of her cause. The money would be necessary for it.

"Julie, there's a saying in my world..." I said slowly, "Revolutions eat their own children."

The woman frowned, displeased that I hadn't shown my immediate approval. She evidently had been counting on my support for the idea. She picked up a coin between two fingers.

"We took their money, Sam. We have a rebel mage with us. We're pretending to be nobles. We killed chevaliers," Julie said, holding up the gold, "Even before all this, we knew they were coming." She turned in her seat, rummaged through her bag and produced a book.

"There is no avoiding war; it can only be postponed to the advantage of others," Julie continued with utter conviction, "Those are words from your own world. They are wise words." I sighed loudly, as she held up Machiavelli's The Prince like it was a Bible or a copy of the Chant of Light. Surprising for an idealist like her to quote the ultimate pragmatist, but she had consumed every page of political science and history I had brought from Earth by this point. She had come to her own conclusions. The mixture would prove potent indeed.

"I guess I was fooling myself," I said, effectively conceding the point, "I shouldn't complain, I was at war before I arrived."

"And this will be a war to protect us from tax collectors," smiled Julie, happy to have gotten her way, "I'm sure your 'Founding Fathers' would have been proud." I snorted my amused doubt at that. As far as I understood it, most of them weren't all that happy with the idea of war to begin with.

"And I suppose if we win, people will write about you as a 'Founding Mother'," I replied. Appropriate for a world where God's saviour was female too, I suppose. Not exactly how it played out, of course.

"I can live with that," Julie admitted. She would in fact revel in it.

We sat in silence for a moment, as the blacksmith played with the coins a little more, possibly doing a mental count of the chest as only someone with her unique memory could accomplish. Before long, she wandered off, leaving me to my thoughts.

Not liking where they were going, I saw that Tam was standing a little way off with a sombre look. I waved her over to sit with us. There was another question I needed the answer to. She came over slowly, closed the open chest of gold and sat down on it as Julie had been.

"Do you think the mood is a little strange?" I asked, once I had her attention, "Are they still afraid of me?" I nudged my head in the direction of the campfires beyond, where the men and women were warming themselves. There was a biting cold in the wind that cropped up every now and then, so they were huddled closely.

Tam looked at me strangely.

"They are," said Tam, "At least three groups asked me if I knew anything as I passed." Given the reactions of my new 'family' to the same phenomenon, I had hoped the troops would get over it.

"What did you say to them?" I asked.

"That no magic could harm you, and that you could harm anything magical," Tam replied, "And that I didn't know how you gained those powers."

I myself didn't understand it, though I would hear a theory less than a day later.

"At least you didn't tell them I was from another world," I laughed, "That would have sent them into a panic." To say the least.

"They wouldn't have believed me anyway," said Tam, "Let's just get home, get to bed, and we can worry about how we're going to explain things later." I just nodded at that, more exhausted that I should have been. I was looking forward to bed, the opportunity to do absolutely nothing and deal with exactly zero problems for a little while. Once the funeral pyres had been lit and the chants sung, at any rate. It had been a hell of a way to spend a birthday.

Unfortunately, Armen was waiting back at L'Ambassade with another set of problems.

The wind kept up the next day, but was thankfully lacking in rain or sleet. Considering I had spent the months before in the dry oppressive heat of the Syrian desert followed by the humid chokehold of the Dales, the change in weather was still most unwelcome. It was the first day I really felt it in my bones, biting me. I drew the furs around me closely as I rode on Bellona at the head of the column, not really wanting to see the eyes on me as we went.

We finally made our way up the stony avenue to home at about five in the evening by my watch, as it was getting dark. The orange and yellow leaves were joined by a blazing red sky. I took a moment to appreciate the sight, as our tired soldiers filed through the gate and towards the armoury to deposit their weapons before being dismissed. Tam and Julie both leaned in their saddles beside me, looking up at the sky too.

"Beautiful," Tam said.

"I wonder if it's an omen," Julie added.

I groaned, knowing that it was simply because she had articulated the point.

"Now you've done it," I said, "Don't say things like that, you've tempted fate."

As if to make my point for me, Ciara appeared from around the corner of château, dressed in her hunting uniform augmented by a thick woollen cloak. She spotted us immediately, and gave a wide wave. Happy to see her, I rode over.

"So you're back!" the she-elf said as we approached, "Where were you? No one here would tell us."

"So are you," Julie replied, "No one here knew where we were going exactly. Is Armen here too?"

"Along with some scary shem who held a dagger at my throat before introducing herself," said Ciara, rubbing her neck, "They're waiting in his place."

Considering how low a threat a dagger was to me, I didn't really think of the guest in our midst as a threat at all. After all, I was wearing a bulletproof, stab-proof vest. Along with several far more lethal weapons than a dagger. I glanced at Julie and Tam for a reaction. The former just shrugged, and with nothing really to say, we all dismounted.

"Oh, I forgot," said Ciara, "Just Hunt. The woman only wants to talk to you."

"Well, that's tough shit for her," I objected, "Who the hell does she think she is?"

"Trust me, you don't want to cross her," said Ciara, looking sheepish that she had delivered the demand, "Armen was afraid when she approached us, she's dangerous and from the way she holds herself, she's a noble of some kind too. They talked for hours alone when we were up north, and he came out of the room looking like he'd seen demons."

I grumbled, and contemplating simply breezing in with the others in tow regardless of this mystery woman's desires, but a hand fell on my shoulder softly. I turned my head, and saw that it was Julie's.

"Go, see who it is," she said, "It's not like she can hurt you." Which of course, was a gross underestimation of the person waiting for us, but Julie couldn't know that. Tam threw her head sideways a little in obvious doubt, but remained silent. She always did have a sixth sense about this sort of thing. Regardless, I agreed to the condition, leaving Julie to organise the sad business of the funeral. Tam simply disappeared as soon as I did agree, which did little to comfort me. I quickly ordered the body of the mage to be brought to where we were going, and proceeded.

Ciara led me around the château to the south side, where Armen had his laboratories. They looked identical to every other building we had put up in the weeks since arriving. Standardisation made a lot of things easier. The only reason you would have to believe that there were great and terrible secrets hiding within was the door, a solid piece of steel with an intricate lock. Of course, the walls were reinforced with metal on the inside too, so it was no small matter to force your way into the place. Armen appreciated the need for secrecy around knowledge from Earth as much as I did.

Leha on the other hand did not, having no idea where it came from, and was presently leaning beside the entrance with a scowl on her face.

"Did you get my money back?" she asked in a low, threatening tone. She pushed herself off the wall and stood at her full un-menacing height, arms crossed. I felt a little cheered by the sight of her, as money-grabbing as she was.

"Your money, our money," I replied, "And much more besides. Go talk to Julie, she'll give you the details."

Leha's face relaxed itself, her surprise at our complete success evident. Oh ye of little faith.

"Armen locked himself in there with some woman a few hours back," she said, thumbing over her shoulder, "He looked annoyed, wouldn't let me say a word to her. Got angry when I mentioned you guys."

Not sure what to say to that, I shrugged. "I guess I'm going to find out why," I said, before banging on the door hard. I unbuttoned the holster of my handcannon at my hip for good measure too, as I heard footsteps approach. The door moved back onto its rollers and slide aside. What I saw was shocking to say the least.

Armen was the first thing I noticed. His robes were dirty from riding, mud-splattered from the knee down. Considering he left in a wagon, this was strange in itself. The man looked exhausted and deeply irritated, his eyes narrow and watery with fatigue and his customary smile nowhere to be found. His staff was missing as well. Alarm bells rang in my head, as my eyes moved to look behind him.

The laboratory itself looked like it always did. He had been involved in materials research, so chemistry and metallurgy experimental equipment were everywhere. All necessary for things we were making or planning to make at the time. The room was dominated by a small furnace, while the walls were lined with tables holding glass decanters, test tubes and beakers. All of which we had made ourselves from diagrams in chemistry books, but I digress. None of this should have been shown to strangers, yet there she was.

She wore a grey hood over her bright red hair, which framed a beautiful pale face, save for sharp eyes and a wary expression. Leather and chainmail covered her body, again in grey, embroidered with the symbol of the Chantry that I was all too familiar with now. Her hands were gloved and held two daggers, which accompanied the shortbow at her back. It looked like she knew how to use them, from her grip on the hafts. She stood straight in the middle of the room, well out of sword reach. Which would have been a sensible precaution against any normal opponent, but not against someone with firearms.

It was obvious to me that the woman was dangerous beyond anyone I had met thus far, save perhaps for the Iron Bull.

I took my own precautionary measure, putting my handcannon into my hand and flicking the safety off with my thumb. Sure I now had the absolute advantage, I walked inside and closed the door on Leha and Ciara behind me.

"Armen, what have you done?" I asked, my eyes still directed at the woman.

The mage groaned loudly. As if to waste time, he dragged a chair into the middle of the floor from a desk, turned it around and sat down across it backwards, leaning on the back of it.

"Actually, it is what you have done that got us into this mess," Armen said, before pointing at me and turning his head to the stranger, "He burned down the prison, not me. Ask him, he won't deny it."

The woman didn't move, but addressed me in Orlesian-accented Common.

"Is it true?" she asked, "And if it is, why did you do it?" The why being a necessary question, given that I was supposedly a noble. She didn't look like the kind of person to appreciate bullshit, and I wasn't sure how much Armen had told her either. So I decided not to lie.

"Yes, that was me," I said, "It happened when I was escaping, they had locked me up on false charges." I was suddenly grateful to Armen for leaving Julie and Tam out of it. They had been beneficiaries of the fire too.

The woman took a step forward, and I raised my pistol. The blades were now that much closer, after all. Surprisingly, she stopped dead upon seeing my action. She didn't know what it was, that much as clear through her anger, but she knew from what she had done that it was a weapon.

"Do you know what you've done?!" she said, "You've moved this entire world closer to a war with the mages!" I didn't know that, which would have bothered me more if it wasn't for her tone. Accusatory as it was.

"I had no idea what would happen," I complained rather fairly I think, "And you know nothing about me." I had an urge simply to squeeze the trigger. Not to kill her, you understand, but incapacitate her and get to work on a little Zero Dark Thirty as we call it around here. What stopped me was two particulars; the fact that Armen hadn't subdued her himself, and something she herself did.

She sheathed a dagger and put a hand in a pocket for a moment, interrupting my decision as to whether or not it would be safer to shoot her in the leg or shoulder. From the pouch at her side, she removed a crumpled piece of paper. She held it up, and unfolded it with her fingers.

The Statue of Liberty peered at me in full colour, New York in the background.

A falling sensation hit me. Why the hell did Armen have that with him? I made the sickening realisation that my immunity to magic wasn't the darkest secret to be revealed in the days just passed. That was practically trivial, something that could be waved away as simply a natural anomaly. Possibly even a positive thing, given the fear of magic out there. The same could not be said for my true origins. They would almost certainly brand me a demon, I thought.

I lowered my weapon, utterly defeated.

"So you know," I said, "Or at least, you've been told." She obviously had doubts before.

"Until you walked in, I did not believe him," the woman said, "I thought this was simply an excellent forgery, but seeing you... I can tell something is strange. Alien, even. You are not from Thedas, it is obvious. Nor are you from the Fade."

I glanced at Armen, who looked apologetic. I cursed under my breath. If I found a visitor from another world was on Earth, I would have insured that the information would get out should I not return from a meeting with him or her. It seemed entirely logical, if not inevitable, that our guest would have thought along similar lines. I couldn't kill her, in other words. I'd be inviting a war, when I already was facing at least two others. I felt like I was running around a minefield.

"I suppose I should introduce myself," I said, falling back on pleasantry, "Captain Samuel Hunt, United Nations Mission to Syria and Iraq. Now Marquis de Layaette, I guess. Who are you?" Hopefully no one important, I thought. Fat chance.

"I am Sister Nightingale," the woman replied, "The Left Hand of the Divine." That last part was said with an authority designed to insure I knew it meant something. She seemed entirely unperturbed by my military rank or the mention of the United Nations. Armen had probably filled her in on that beforehand. Of course, I had absolutely no idea about her. Confused, I looked to the mage for guidance.

"She's the spymaster for the leader of the Andrastian faith, or one of them anyway," Armen explained, "She was the contact I was working for in Halamshiral." Which explained why Nightingale had hunted him down and interrogated him. Without knowing our story, it would look to any outsider like he had deliberately set off the warning signs to force the mages in the Circle Tower to rebel and escape. Which fit Armen's agenda, given that he was a radical Libertarian. We had plenty of time to discuss such things before this point, and I needed to know if I was going to help the Rebellion.

"I suppose a better question is why is she here," I said, "If she didn't believe you, she should have no reason to keep you alive or to show up at all."

"The drawing was enough," Sister Nightingale said, "If you had simply been a liar or a madman, then I still would have needed to come to eliminate you for undermining our faith with this mage." I let out a chuckle at that.

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition," I laughed, "What next? I kill you. Your lackeys come to try and kill me. They'll need to get in line." Behind Gaspard's troops, Celene's sheriffs, Templars, Ben-Hassrath assassins and the Baron himself.

"Perhaps I shall kill you instead," suggested the Sister, "Perhaps you will just be hurt enough to take back to Val Royeaux in one piece."

"Not damned likely," I said, raising the pistol again, "Either Armen didn't tell you about my weapons or you're insane. I'll shoot you down before you can even use that knife."

It was a stalemate. Or rather, I was waiting to see what this Nightingale would do. I am less sure it would have gone my way if we were facing off in the forest and she had her shortbow in-hand instead, but it wasn't a problem we were ever going to have. Armen saw to that.

The mage rose, magic bubbling off of him, and surprised the Sister. Her dagger flew from her hand and stuck in the wooden support beam between the double internal doors. Nightingale moved to draw her other one, taking a step towards Armen, but halted. I holstered my weapon, and raised my hands to show I meant no harm. For all my bravado and posturing, I had no need for another set of enemies, and something occurred to me as I was watching her.

She was a high ranking official of the church of the land, with whom I had significant trouble. Revered Mother Brandon, not least. This was an opportunity.

"How about we don't try and kill each other?" I said.

She hesitated for a moment, but the contained yet angry expression remained. It was an opening.

"Why don't you tell him why you're really here?" Armen said, "Why the Divine is interested at all?"

Sister Nightingale looked at the mage with narrowed eyes, and for a moment I thought she would lunge at him. Instead, she took her hand away from her remaining blade and undid the step she had taken forwards. It struck me that her sense of duty to her superior was a deep one. That was good news, as I had no notion of stepping on the Divine's toes in my head.

"When Halamshiral's mages rose up, the libertarians tried to head west to join the others," Sister Nightingale explained, "But the members of the other factions were forced to escape into the wilds. Divided, both groups ended up caught."

I looked at Armen, and he didn't looked sorry in the slightest. He knew I was judging him for it too.

"The others were offered the chance to join the Rebellion, they refused," he said, "Insanity. They already helped to kill Templars, but apparently they want to sit out the war." It made sense to me. Why go running off to join a war that you might lose when you could flee.

"Of course they did, Fereldan is next door," I said, "You told me yourself that King Whatshisface is friendly to mages."

"The Templars of Halamshiral knew that as well as the mages," interrupted Sister Nightingale, "They alerted the border posts and staked out the mountain passes." Which could only mean one thing.

"They have them put away somewhere horrible, don't they?" I asked. The woman nodded, as she took her other dagger out of the wall and placed it back in its sheathe.

"It appears so," the Sister continued, "And now, it has become a sticking point between the mages and the Templars. The senior enchanters want them released, the Templars have sent away for permission to annul them. If the first happens, the Templars will reject Chantry authority. If the second does, the mages will formally separate from the Chantry and the Rebellion will have an army in every major country or city in southern Thedas."

Armen stood up and waved his hand flippantly. "In other words, you can't control your guard dogs," he said, "Proving we were right all along to want to separate ourselves from you."

"The Templars are going rogue because you agitate against them," the Sister retorted, "Or did the Kirkwall Chantry blow itself up?"

Irritated, I clicked my fingers together to turn their attention back to me. Their bickering was getting on my nerves, and the solution to me was clear.

"Where are the mages being held?" I asked, "How many are guarding them?"

"Sam, you can't hand them over to her even if we do rescue them," Armen objected, "They'd be put back in chains, just so the Templars can kill them in a few months or a year's time." Which was true but irrelevant. Giving them back to the Chantry wasn't the plan.

"The longer they are outside the Chantry's control, the less the Divine can protect them," the Sister replied, "There's a chance we can resolve this."

"I don't want it resolved, I want freedom like everyone else!" snapped Armen loudly.

I was losing control of them again, and I had reached my limit. My pistol left its holster again. I lifted it above my head and fired it at the roof. The flash bounced around the room followed by the boom of the nine milimetre bullet against the metal-reinforced roof. A soft pinging could be heard as the bullet itself dropped to the stone floor. The mage and the Sister both looked at me, the latter with a strange fearful expression before she got a handle of herself.

Satisfied I had the upper hand, I lowered my weapon, but kept it out.

"We will not be turning anyone over to the Chantry," I said firmly to the Sister, before turning to Armen, "Nor will we be handing unwilling mages to the Rebellion." Prisoners or conscripts, I had no intention of turning my hand to making them either.

Both opened their mouths to speak. I held up my finger to silence them, while still clutching the handcannon with the others. Both shut their mouths in unison, the Sister with a great deal more reluctance. She wasn't one to be cowed for long, so I resolved to explain quickly.

"We will break them out of whether they're being held," I explained, "And we'll bring them back here, where they'll be given the option of living under my protection and supervision. I'm sure everyone here agrees that I am qualified to do that much." I was gambling somewhat that Armen had told her about my ability to repel Fade works. In truth, it was barely a gamble. The Sister had almost certainly got it out of him. As if to confirm just that, she said nothing, passively consenting to my plan.

By contrast, Armen went from angry back to his old self in the space of a second. His grin returned, fighting through his fatigue. I was glad to see it, and slapped him on the shoulder with a grin of my own.

"That should make things more interesting around here," he admitted, "When do we go?"

"Unfortunately, after the funeral," I said, "All three of you, follow me."

The pair looked confused for a second, until Tam emerged from behind the experimental furnace's bulky mass with a completely unapologetic look on her face.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"You disappeared earlier," I replied, "Knew you'd follow me, though I'm not sure how you got in here."

"Window behind the furnace was open," Tam replied, as she was looked up and down by the Sister. The Left Hand of the Divine took a moment to complete her sizing up of the Qunari, before giving a curious motion with her face at me. I waved it off and opened the door again, finding Leha and Ciara attempting to eavesdrop at it. Unsurprising, given the gunshot.

We left and went to the wagons. There was still one small matter to take care of. The soldiers were busy as we crossed the plaza, the ones that had stayed behind at least. They were dragging wooden logs and kindling from the storage sheds to the middle of the parade ground, and stacking them. Building the pyres for the dead, in other words.

"Has someone died?" the Sister asked. She was sharp, I'll give her that.

"More than one," I replied, as we came to the wagons. Thankfully devoid of the chests of gold, which were in the basement by that time. Julie was nowhere to be seen though. Probably because of what was still on one of the wagons.

White Mask's mage lay dead, the blood in his robes diluted with some rainwater and splattered with mud as well as gore. I remembered his impressive lightning attacks for a moment, the cause of many wounds received by my men and women. He wouldn't be burned with them. He'd be dropped in a ditch, far into the forest where no one would ever find him. At least, after I was finished with him here.

I pulled down his hood, revealing short curly brown hair and the pallor that dead people have on their faces. The bullet wound from Julie's firelance at his chest was obvious, marked with a deeper red than the blood his clothing had simply picked up from the ground. No one seemed particularly perturbed by the sight, though I remember the bastard's face in vivid detail even today. I wonder if Julie does as well, sometimes.

"Do you know this man?" I asked Armen, stepping away so he could see properly.

A quick look later, and Armen's smile still hadn't disappeared. If anything, it grew wider.

"Dupont," he said, "He was a Loyalist, related to the Counts of Dupont. He got out a lot, and he was quite vocally against us." Us meaning those who wanted to get out all the time. I knew Armen would know who he was, the robes were too similar for anything else to be the case.

"Why?" asked Tam, "Why does it matter?"

"I thought we might have more trouble on our hands," I replied, "Or maybe that we had an opportunity." And it was neither. We were about to have more mages poking around regardless, and the idea to return the body for some extra kudos was a poor one if he wasn't rebel-leaning. I felt like I had brought the body back for nothing, but it had been worth the shot at least.

"What now?" yawned Ciara, stretching.

"We burn the dead," I replied, "Then get down to business."

Business that would eventually see us face off against two factions in the winter snows, one of which we couldn't see coming, one of which we would have had to face regardless.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: And we're back! The hiatus is over, full writing will continue in parallel with my ME stories, but I expect fairly regular updates to be ready as before.

So, Leliana. Not much in this one of her, but we'll be seeing a good bit more of her in other chapters, not least the next one. I'm sure you can tell that she hasn't exactly decided what to do about Sam yet.

great northern one: Hoplites have several disadvantages that rendered them obsolete. In Sam's case, it's their lack of flexibility that's the problem. They can't move quickly, they don't use ranged weapons, and they're only really good in open combat as opposed to hit and run strategies. Even in open warfare, they're bested by pike phalanxes, Roman-style infantry tactics, archery and horse archery. Not to mention mages, who are basically walking howitzers, and Qunari cannons, both of which could take a chunk of out of formations in an instant.

You'll see something like hoplite warfare later, but it's going to be in a different context and it'll be some time before those chapters are out.

5 Coloured Walker: Chances that Armen's coming along are high now, as you can probably see.

Ripper1337: The style of writing is inspired by several sources, most influential of these is probably the Ciaphas Cain series. Sam is a very different character to Cain though, so there are other influences too.

LordGhostStriker: He'll see one or two, but I can say no more than that without spoiling...

Guest: Cheers, I think. If someone can translate this guy's review from Spanish better than Google Translate can, I'd appreciate it.

KiraReaper: Glad to hear it, it's not all humour. We've no shortage of bloodshed on Earth ourselves.

Asahar: There won't be sex scenes in this, sorry lad. I considered it, but felt it wouldn't fit the concept of what is essentially an autobiography. There'll be talk about it, but no descriptions beyond the sort we've already seen, and only then when it's relevant.

Exillion: I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request. For three reasons.

One, this isn't harem. Sam won't be collecting any more lovers, and frankly, if the harem belongs to anyone it belongs to Julie. Not that you can call it a harem anyway, it's three people instead of two, it won't be getting more explicit than this, and the point of the whole triangle is entirely relevant to the rest of the plot. This isn't Lemon.

Two, you insulted me. Not exactly appropriate for a review in the first place.

Three, this isn't the first time you have insulted me in a review. I recall with amusement your review of my Battlefield 2183 story.

Let me spare you the trouble. Don't bother reading and reviewing my writings again. I doubt you'll see this, but alas, your arrogance and ignorance is mindnumbing. It required a comment. One. Good luck.