"Can you at least warn us when you yawn, Murmur? It feels like you're sucking us in."
It was a slow day in the Fade. Weather reports would say that it was partly cloudy with a chance of Rain That Magically Appears As Puddles of Water On The Ground, and 100% chance of Flying Rock up ahead.
Murmur walked, or rather, dragged his form along the ethereal holdings.
"I do not answer to you, Crowley," said Murmur in a hushed tone.
Grey smoke came out of Crowley's nostrils. "I will file a Report against you for creating a hostile work een-vironment."
"Work," said Murmur, as if he was about to laugh, but couldn't. His eye-orb made a circular motion. "Sitting on your behind and enjoying Retirement is not— hush—work."
"You are disturbing my Retirement, den," said Crowley with a foreign, coarse accent. "I will file a report right after I finish writing dee one for sexual harassment."
Murmur stopped and seemed to be calculating something in a managerial way. "Ravina sexually harassed you?"
"No," said Crowley.
Murmur's eye-orb lowered. "I—hush… truly do not wish to know then. The report may go straight to the top."
Crowley laughed. "As if I need to go through you to change thingz around here. You take your job too seriously, you slimey shit."
Murmur's orb veered upwards. "This is not a job."
"No?" said Crowley, looking down at him. "Carrying your ghostly weight around to and fro, peering at us with your bigass pearl, delivering reports and greeting newcomers is not…what you would call work?"
Murmur stood silent.
"Well?" said Crowley.
"Mistress doesn't like me sitting around," he said in a plush velvet tone. "She says sitting—huh, hush—around is too In My Element."
Crowley shrugged with his arms crossed. "Well… she's not wrong."
"Newcomer," said Bucky in a thick, but different accent. They moved their eyes towards the glowing gate underneath a flying Fade-rock.
The newcomer was a dark figure of occultly fearsome proportions, in spite of which he fell off and bounced from one rock to the next and, finally, from a diagonal plain, his solid form sluggishly soaped downstream and face first to the ground.
"Hello," said Murmur from above, his eye-orb reaching its lower extremities.
Fenris picked himself up in a lethargic manner, and was greeted by a hated deva-ju. He immediately assumed a straight position and lit up his lyrium markings.
"Hoh—hush," muttered the demon, and his now blue orb made a looming motion. "This one has Magicks on the outside."
"Away with you, Demon," Fenris commanded.
Murmur's eye seemed to flatten. "We humbly welcome you into this Secret Place, Newcomer. You may state your past positions, Damnations or ownerships of Dark Constituencies, although you shall be informed that all titles and ownerships are now fully and eternally void as per you're here Residency. Furthermore, they will never under any circumstance make you gain access to cushier facilities. You have an option between a red-glowing cage, a blue-glowing cage, our new transparent "False Promise" cage, or a Solid Iron Cage if your normal attire is too revealing."
"What?" Fenris said, outraged.
The eye became spherical once more and looked up at him. "Please state your origins for our Equality and Diversity report."
At this point Fenris's arteries could be heard clanging in disbelief.
"What a curious assumption to make despite all evidence before you," said Hawke from behind the demon. As he heard her, his eye-orb lowered and flattened as if he was a cat caught licking the butter.
"My apologies, Mistress. What shall I make it for? Elven Spirit?"
She was about to laugh. "Make it out to Visitor."
"Visitor," said the demon as he stared in awe at Fenris, as if with a kind of spectral envy. Visitors sounded priviledged.
"Yes, Visitor, or would you rather Guest—"
They made conversation for a minute.
A thick vein was popping out on Fenris's forehead.
They continued to make what sounded like managerial conversation.
"Hawke," he said. She didn't hear him.
"HAWKE!" he shouted over her, and she flinched and blinked at him. He moved past the Sloth Demon. "Explain yourself in thirty seconds, or I slay you."
"Slay me?" she said with a smile. "You can't slay me. We're in the Fade. Calm down."
The thirty seconds were up. He struck at her with his bare lyrium claw.
He could barely see when she disappeared and reappeared a few inches away.
He struck at her again from above. She appeared ducked before he struck, and then all of sudden, his fist was caught in her hands.
"What in the Void is going on here?" he shouted helplessly.
"I'll need more than thirty seconds..."
He said nothing, and let the contracted muscles in his arm go.
She let his arm out, and he brushed over it in pain.
"So…" she said, as they both looked at the myriad of cages and its residents. "Meet my... captives."
"Your captives?" said Fenris with a scowl. "Demons?"
"Greater Demons, Lieutenant and higher," said Hawke as if she just said she was going to serve tea and cookies for dessert.
"A little further clarification would go a long way, Hawke," said Fenris in outrage.
She put a hand over the back of her neck. "Remember when I said I eat demons for breakfast?"
"Don't tell me you literally eat them."
"No, not literally," she said. Then she lowered her head in a sort of unworthy manner. "I can... absorb them. I don't want to, but sometimes it's either that or die. Some demons are of such ancient lifespans and strength they are too hard to kill."
"As with Feynriel's short-lived roommates, I presume?" said Fenris grumpily.
"Indeed," she said. "Greater Demons seek greater magic-wielding hands and, you know the rest. But those two weren't a problem, in the end."
"I was her First," said Crowley with a grin and a kind of pride. He assumed being the first fallen convinct to the…. Demon Police or whatever… was still something to revel in as a Pride Demon.
"I don't understand," said Fenris with little expression but lots of tone. "Your harbour an army of demons?"
"Army," she said as she broke into laughter. Crowley started laughing too.
"We are no army, err… whatshisname… Visitor," said Crowley with an amused tone, if a demon's tone could ever suggest amusement. "At best, we are pensioners. At worst, you could call us moocherz."
"But that is neither here nor there," said the Sloth Demon, his eye-orb slowly dragging itself from left to right for effect. Then the orb flattened. "We are prisoners. We are family. We are somewhere in-between."
"Who—What…How—" Fenris started, and lost his breath under too many bombarding questions.
"Would you like to sit down?" said Welcoming Officer Murmur, apparently. "We provide… (he looked behind Fenris)…boulders."
"No," said Fenris flatly, and then ignored him. "Can't these demons possess you?"
"Not really."
"Not really?"
"I've been doing this a long time, and I have no plans to merge with anyone."
"What about… I don't know," he said, and seemed all too motivated to think about this. "What if you're in great emotional distress? They witness it firsthand, don't they?"
For the first time in a while, Hawke's expression became one of sorrow. "I'm safe, believe me," she said in a low, weak voice.
"I find it hard to believe anything at this current moment," Fenris sighed. He seemed entirely honest as he looked at her.
She saw this as her eyes rose to meet his, and she quickly looked at the Pride Demon.
"You don't believe me?" she said. "I'll convince you right now. Hey Crowley," she said towards the demon. "Give me knowledge of Magister Danarius of Minrathous and the nature of the ritual he performed on Fenris, as well as everything before he lost his memory. Once you help me slay the son of a bitch, you can have my body."
Fenris's blood curled. His heart pushed up his throat, and quite suddenly, he felt like he was going to faint.
The demon, however, stared at her as if it smelled rotten eggs. "I… will pass, Mistress," he said in a sweet voice. "But thank you for an offer of such High Significance in accordance to my Rank."
Hawke looked back at him with a serious expression. "See?"
Finally, Fenris regained his ability to breathe, and the skin on his face started to become less purple.
"Are they bound to your will or something?" he said, thoughtfully frowning. That implied Blood Magic, didn't it?
"And how could one bind demons inside The Fade?" said Hawke in amusement. "I don't see any blood around, do you?"
"Plus, zat would defeat Dee Whole Purpose," said Crowley.
"I…" said Fenris. He looked very tense. "My head is spinning."
"Maybe I can help," said Murmur calmly. "I have been told I have a soothing voice."
"Away with your trickery, Demon," said Fenris angrily.
"He can't do anything to you," said Hawke. "He's not himself anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"He, they—all of them—are not exactly Demons, anymore. Not in the same way, and not to the same degree. They are not Spirits either. They're…"
"A little human," said Crowley. "Mistress's ways are… contagious, you see."
"Excuse me?" said Fenris, trying not to blow up. "You infect them?"
She shrugged innocently. "I don't know everything about the Fade, but they seem to be less demonic in my presence. Maybe it's me, or maybe it's co-existing with one another. I don't know."
"No… no. No," said Fenris, shaking his head with a tense smile. "That is impossible. That would be crazy."
"Crazy or not, I do quite enjoy my job," said Murmur calmly.
"I thought you said it wazn't a job," said Crowley.
"Hush," whispered Murmur, his orb flattening. "Things change."
"Alright…" said Fenris, who by now had to receive a medal for keeping a stable blood pressure. "What of you, then?"
"I am Murmur," he said in a velvety whisper. "Former Duke of the Silent Plains and Disputed Earl of The North East Dark Constituency of Val Foret due to a clerical error involving Dermer of Lydes, first Dread Cousin twice removed."
Fenris stared at him and blinked. "What?"
Murmur veered his head towards Hawke. "This one knows not of our Dread-Revered Hierarchies. Hummm," he cried lazily. "What a waste of breath."
"I am Fenris of Seheron, Slave to Tevinter once removed." He couldn't help feeling a bit sarcastic in the face of such absurdity.
"Huuum," said Murmur, swaying his head idly. "And Disciple of Lesser Wit, I see."
Fenris scoffed and crossed his arms. "I'll take that any day over Greater Moron Who Fell In Hawke's Prison."
"Murmur not so much fell as saunter vaguely downwards," commented Crowley.
Murmur gazed at Crowley and Fenris, and his orb bent in a crescent moon. "If I could laugh, I—hush— really would."
"I'm sure you never laugh so much as whimper in a slightly amused fashion at our misery on the 'Other Side'," said Fenris sarcastically.
Crowley covered his horned forehead as if an age-old thing was about to happen.
"Many phenomena—wars, plagues, the occasional Blight—have been advanced as evidence of the hidden hand of the Old Gods, Demons, the Dread Wolf and doesn't-matter-what in the affairs of Man," said Murmur. His eye-orb danced lazily. "This, of course, is wrong. The Old Gods are awakened by Darkspawn as a result of Man, Fen'Harel was just an elven cack, mythologised as a God to inspire fear into Dalish children, and as for Us…" he said and carried his weight slowly towards Fenris, "We are no hidden hand. We do not whisper unholy things to Those Who Want To Listen, so that they may do our bidding on the Other Side," he hushed. "We speak to Those Who Want To Listen only to merge with them, and do what We want, once We are in control, given to us By Man…" he said and moved around Fenris. His shimmering orb appeared next to Fenris's head from behind. "… Willingly." He then walked away. "Otherwise, we are summoned against Our Will." Then Murmur, with his back turned to Fenris, moved his head to the side. "And that, too, By Man." He turned around and spoke lazily: "I suppose at that I could gather some force of will to … how did you say… whimper, in a slightly amused fashion."
"And how did that turn out for you again?" said Hawke with a smile, her arms crossed.
Murmur wobbled his head indolently. "Yes… well. This one can thank my Dread Cousin for that." He walked away from her too and haunted around the Fade aimlessly. "I don't even like Orlais," they heard his spectral cry in the distance.
Hawke and Fenris met eyes afterwards. He then looked up to his right, where the great figure of Crowley stood, all but bothered by his presence.
"'Suppose it is my turn to be interrogated?" said Crowley in his thick accent.
Keenly, perceptively, Fenris thought better than to behave rationally with this creature. It seemed a lot wittier than the others. He also entertained the faint idea that Crowley was, at least in appearance, the only one not all too upset with being Hawke's prisoner.
He turned to the demon and said, "You from Kirkwall?"
"Bah! Hahh-hahh-haaaaarghhh," he boomed and held on to the cage for balance. It shook with his demonic cackle.
"Well, this one can laugh," Fenris said flatly.
"This one can also understand things like sarcasm and irony," said Crowley. "Although I disagree with the notion that they are of Lesser Wit."
"They clash over it heatedly and violently at their Daemonic Dread & Debate Club," said Hawke.
"Well, we need to do something here," said Crowley. "We can't be watching you attempt to learn Qunlat in the bathtub with a floating toy nug every day," he said and laughed monstrously.
"Crowley," said Hawke sharply.
"Or Tevene, BAH-hah-harghhh-harghh," he cried and tapped his knees. "Ever seen that? Baaaah-hah-hah. 'Si vis ma doloria rapidae finalare, para mordem'."
To her surprise, Fenris's shoulders started shaking with laughter.
"What's so funny?" she asked, now quite intrigued and outraged. "If you wish the pain to end quickly, prepare to die. I don't see what's funny."
Fenris laughed again. "What you said was 'If you wish my pain to end quickly, prepare to masturbate."
"Oh," she said, a little embarrassed. "I know what to say when I bed you then."
Fenris's amusement died and he shot her an annoyed glance, as Crowley started laughing at him.
"Hooh, ahh, ooo-ho-hoooh." Crowley tried to breathe. "Ah… anyway, no, Fenris, I am definitely not of Kirkwall."
"I suppose major ranks over the Dark Constituencies of Kirkwall are plenty filled already," said Fenris grumpily.
"Very much so. Too bad we are invisible to them."
Fenris seemed skeptical. "Why...?"
Hawke was lying on her back on a Fade-boulder, watching nugs and fennecs chase each other over the air-suspended Fade-rocks in the sky. She pressed her chin onto her neck to look at them and mumbled, "Whut?"
Crowley looked back at Fenris. "A Veil within a Veil. It makes it hard to see inside. Greater Spirits have ambition, and they would rather find someone willing and accessible, while dee Lesser Spirits wonder around, lost and tactless, often unable to remember What they even Are."
Fenris listened with a blank expression. He simply frowned and rapidly shook his head. "What?"
"Ergh," mumbled Crowley as his shoulders sank. "I don't have all the answers. Try Mistress."
"Stop calling me that," they heard Hawke say from a distance as she lay there. "I don't have the answers either."
"I am talking to a demon," said Fenris. He crossed his arms. "That alone says more than I could imagine."
"Yes, well," said Crowley in his coarse yet polite accent. "I am not that good at explaining things. Would you like to hear a joke about elves instead?"
Fenris opened his mouth, nothing to come out but a truly baffled expression. "I must be dreaming," he said.
A velvety laugh could be heard in the distance.
"By Zazikel, dis one made Murmur laugh," said Crowley in awe. "Can we keep him, Mistress?"
"If you help me find more Greater Demons in Kirkwall, we can," shouted Hawke from afar.
"I apologise to disappoint you, Mistress, but dat seems like quite dee conflict of interest."
"You don't want more of your little friends 'round here to squabble with?"
"Oh, but of course," said Crowley in a kind tone. "However, I know Mistress well enough and She would Destroy Them on the spot rather than Retire Them in dis Secret Place."
Hawke turned her head towards him and smiled. "So you mean to say there are no demons of your rank or higher in Kirkwall. Good to know."
Crowley growled. "Dread Wolf take you."
"What's that?" she asked in a calm, disciplinary tone.
"Ehm"—he cleared his demonic throat—"Nothing, Mistress," he said in a sweet, reverent tone. "Dee month of Verimensis is Soon Upon Us, we all say Things We Don't Mean t'wards the end of the year, a time much better used for Counting Our Damnations instead."
"That time of the month, huh?" she said and laughed.
"Well," said Crowley, as if that was a thing he said when he didn't have a comeback. "How are you liking Kirkwall, then, Fenris?"
"It's great..." Fenris said sarcastically, looking at Hawke.
"It is," Hawke said, winking.
"It is a cursed city," said Crowley. "Nothing good will come out of it. Mark my words."
"Demons lie," Fenris said.
"By Falon'Din, I cannot lie," said Crowley in a soothing voice.
"And the Sloth Demon promised he couldn't laugh, yet we heard its blighted hooting bouncing off the walls."
"He did not lie… hmm… much to my amusement," said the demon. "Right, Mistress?"
"Hawke," she said in an annoyed tone. "But yes, Crowley's right. He can't lie."
Fenris uncrossed his arms. "I thought that was your kind's one good talent."
Crowley looked back at him. "Yes, well—" He paused. "Deception does not work Here," he said flatly.
Fenris lifted an eyebrow.
"Not with Mistress," he said. He looked at Hawke with a sort of grin. "She can lie to Us plenty, however."
"Yep."
"Yes."
"Da."
"Indeed."
"Oh, yes."
"Hmph."
At this point Fenris needed to sit down.
Crowley gave a satanic cackle.
"And you thought Tevinter was crazy," the demon said between laughter.
"I…" said Fenris, his voice weak and tired. He brushed a hand through his hair as he stared at the ground. "I think I've lost the ability to vomit."
"Want to see Murmur in Ravina's lingerie? Dat'll work like a charm, I promeese," said Crowley. Several demons started making disgusted noises.
Fenris looked at them and said to himself out loud, "What have I gotten myself into...?"
"Ah, he is So Negative," said Crowley in the direction of Hawke. "He is in no danger from Us, and he complains! A bit ungrateful, are we not?"
"I would beg to differ, Demon," said Fenris sharply. He banished the image of Wryme immediately, lest the demons catch on to his thoughts.
"Yes, well—" said Crowley again. "Dat was an unfortunate coincidence. It's not Our Fault there, as Murmur would say. Kirkwall is not so bad, if not for dee mages residing in it. Who would pass the opportunity to merge Dreamers, eh?" he said, looking at Hawke.
"I am not a Dreamer," she said from afar.
"Potato, po-tah-toh," said Crowley.
"I will agree on the mages," said Fenris. "And, from what I gather… Templars."
"Yes..." said Hawke, as her arms came out from beneath her head and got up. "It's always bloody people, isn't it?"
"Literally, no?" said Crowley with his arms crossed.
"A cursèd land sought by many living souls with so-called… Free Will," said Murmur, butting into the conversation after a while. "Where they go wrong, of course, is assuming that the land of Kirkwall is evil simply because of the—huh, hush—incredible bloodshed and frustration it engenders every day."
"I need to sit down again, don't I?" said Fenris grumpily.
"In fact, few on the Other Side know that the very shape of Kirkwall forms the sign Eleutheria in the language of the Black Proto-Order of The Archdemon Toth and means… 'Hail the Great Dragon Lusacan, Destroyer of Worlds.'"
Crowley peered at him. "You fart. It means freedom, in Ancient El'vhen."
"Mmyes," said Murmur, his orb moving upwards. "An interesting transliteration, don't you think?" he said, the orb now resting gently onto Fenris.
"Ardet non consumitur," said Fenris.
"Ah, yes—hush. The gilded words that lay hidden from the naked eye on the dragon in Tevinter heraldry," said Murmur. "Burned, but not destroyed," he said ominously.
"Or in Old Arcanum," said Fenris, "'Stealing shit and rewriting history'."
Crowley gave a satanic giggle.
"I can see why you like dis one, Mistress," said Crowley.
"Shut up, Crowley."
"My name is not Crowley."
Now Hawke was the one sighing and covering her forehead as if something age-old and annoying was about to follow.
Crowley's horns tripled in size, as well as his other body parts, the crags and spikes on his skin becoming bigger and sharper, his eyes red and black and not so much blowing, as squirting flames out.
"I am Glasya-Labolas, mighty President (and Earl to other authors) of Ephytichia Silvae, otherwise known to the perfidious Human as the Brecilian Forests, Commander of thirty-six legions of Daemons, Author and Captain of Manslaughter and Bloodshed, Teller of All Things Past And To Come, Shapeshifter of Many Forms, Knower of All Sciences, Gainer of minds and love of Friends and Foes, Inciter of Homicides and fear-provoking Crossword Enthusiast."
Fenris looked at him with an expressionless figure. "Okay."
"I can also maekke a Man invizibel," he said.
"Right," said Fenris. "Nice to meet you. I am Fenris, Napper of All Seven Days."
"Stop referring to every race and gender as Man, Crowley," said Bucky in a rough, liquid accent. "You were told this in our last Equal Opportunities For Possession Meeting, 9:13 Dragon."
Fenris looked at him.
Bucky stared up at Fenris.
This one was a lizard-like six-legged demon with a brooding expression. He had gnarled claws and spikes coming out of his spine. He had slimy dark blue skin and a long tail.
"The Elf is looking at me, Mistress," said Bucky in a disturbingly calm tone.
"Be nice, Bucky," said Hawke.
"I am always nice, Mistress," said Bucky calmly in his seated position. He sounded somewhat Chasind. He peered up at Fenris. "How may I help you, Visitor?"
"Identify yourself," said Fenris.
Bucky shifted his weight and four of his legs came up around the cage, the better to face him.
"I am Bukovac of Srem, Lieutenant of Terror and Water (Rivers, Swamps and Creeks™). I spent my glory days reigning over the dread Lake Fherkev of the Korcari Wilds, the Black River Kúðafljót of the Frostback Mountains, and the South-East Dark Constituency of Lake Calenhad, striking terror in souls and devouring their nightmares for millennia."
Hawke lifted an eyebrow. "You lived in a swamp and jumped out to strangle alligators."
Bucky squinted at her. "I was on vacation," he hissed.
Fenris seemed all too unimpressed, until a moment later, when his eye was caught by the Desire Demon who was staring intently, albeit nonchalantly, at him in her cage.
"Uhm—" Hawke interrupted and scratched her head. She pointed. "Don't stare too much directly at it."
As he ignored her, her pointed finger died and her forehead came down into her other hand.
She had gleaming blue skin, with black hair of vast and wavy length over her small, naked breasts. Her dark mouth was small and lustfully shaped. She had violet almond-shaped eyes, and beneath her naked hips she had a long siren's tail.
"Hello," she said with a little smile.
"Hello," he said. "I am Fenris."
"Ravina. My very own pleasure to meet your acquaintance," she said in a charming feminine voice.
"Fenris," he said.
Ravina gave a little giggle. "You said that already."
Hawke, Crowley, Bucky and Murmur rolled their eyes and/or orbs in the background.
A warm fleece of air engulfed him as she looked into his eyes. He resisted it.
He looked back. "Caught a fish, Hawke?"
"Don't be mean, Fenris. Whales are not fish."
Ravina growled angrily. Several moments later, she resumed a nice composure and regarded Fenris once again.
"What's wrong, Fenris?" she said, her voice quite an amazing sound. "May I help you with something you lack?"
"I lack the absence of a headache," he said and got close to her cage. "Got anything for that?"
She giggled all-knowingly and pushed her breasts against the iron bars. "Plenty."
Not one eye moved downwards. "I'm spoken for," he said in a deep voice.
"Awwwwwwwww," he heard Crowley say farther behind.
"Commitment is the enemy of Experience," she said with a sigh. "You enjoy the Small Things, do you not?"
He furrowed his brows. "Even so—"
"Even so?" she asked eagerly, hands on the bars.
"You're not really my type."
She sniggered lowly. "A problem which many Living Souls may face, however I am not one," she said with her deep feminine voice. "Or… I could be."
Her figure suddenly shifted, and before he knew it, he was looking at a naked elven woman much smaller than he, with straight long blond hair and beautifully sharp eyes… and even sharper nipples.
Fenris's eyebrows rose, and he laughed suddenly.
"Is there a problem I can solve, My Love?" she said in a different, higher-pitched voice.
"'My love'," he said and laughed. "Okay."
"Truly, I wish to know what I do to upset you," she said in a submissive voice, looking up at him through the bars.
He tried to stop laughing. Hawke was watching him very curiously.
"What am I to do with that?" said Fenris from above, scoffing in between. "Skin and bones and an even smaller ego?"
The elven girl grinned. Not a second later, she turned into something not far from the general appearance of Hawke, although with a lot less clothing. The very white skin on her curvy hips seemed to wink at him.
"Do you like me now, Whimp?" she said with a quick silver tongue.
Fenris said nothing, although if he was being truly honest, he'd rather the hair and the bars didn't block out her private parts.
In fact, he was going to say something rather charming, if not for a spirit bolt charring her arse.
"That's enough, Whalevina."
Her form resumed to the original blue-violety Demon, except that now it had some rather scary horns. "I was only trying to help Mistress," she said.
"You can't lie, but you can certainly hallucinate truths that fit your narrative," said Hawke, ignoring her. "Such is with desire."
She didn't know this, but those words went to Fenris's heart in a curious manner. He thought about this as he sat down, and soon the anger he kept beneath seemed to dissolve.
Was this why she would show him even the darkest of her secrets that a mere mortal like him could scarce understand? (If there was an even darker secret than this, Fenris was certain he would suffer spontaneous elven combustion). So that he may not construct some phony notion of truth about her, with only his own experiences of her? Or better yet, with only what he wanted to see?
He seemed to nod to himself, about nothing in particular as far as the others were concerned, and decided if—and only if—Hawke was not a mother who abandoned her child and/or some Archdemon Spawn of the Underworld, he would tell her everything.
Everything.
The rock he sat on started to move furiously with him.
"Kaffas!" He got off of it, and soon a red and rocky figure emerged from where his butt sat not a moment ago. "What are you?"
Its one eye was a suspended rock moving towards Hawke as if to ask for permission.
He was right. Hawke gave him a wave of approval.
"I am Ygdag, Eater of Magicks."
Fenris closed his eyes and his eyebrows rose. "Wha—"
"I was created from the breath of the great Titan Ygdel at the End Of Days along with twelve other brethren: Ygthir, Ygthomu, Ygvek, Yg—(at this point Hawke waved her hand for him to skip the family introduction). Upon our Awakening, our Great Father Ygdel was asleep and we were filled with a Colossal Hunger, a Hunger so starving that we started eating Ygdel Himself. Ygdel shouted 'Dorkhsathas!'…hum… 'Protect me!' in a… manner of your understanding, and The Maker came to His aid, banishing us to the Other Side. We are to be known as Dorkhsathas, after Our Father's cry for help."
"Dorks, for short," said Hawke.
"He's the demon from the Deep Roads," said Fenris perceptively. "I thought we killed it," he said and scowled at her.
Hawke looked down and sighed. "He proved to be unkillable in our current formation."
"Preposterous," said Fenris flatly.
"Uh, didn't you hear what Dorky said not two minutes ago?" Hawke said in annoyance. "He is an ancient demon, perhaps five thousand years old or more if what he says is true. I'm not sure how a Demon of Hunger can twist the truth to such vast extents. And…you were there, you know we were overwhelmed. Anders and Varric were as good as dead, and we were being sucked into his red warp. It was either that or die."
"So you sucked a five-thousand year old demon into your brain," said Fenris in a monotone voice.
"In my defence," said Hawke. "He looked at least ten years younger in that dim lighting."
"He is a creature lesser than All of Us. Creature driven by Hunger for Rocks and Minerals. Not even for a lowly sheep's Hunger for Plants. He is of Nothing Important," said a great black Pride Demon with three eyes on each side. Bits of emerald seemed to grow out of its skin.
"Oh… kay. I will not sit down anywhere anymore," said Fenris.
"Why don't you introduce yourself to our standing friend?" said Hawke.
"Our Name Is Belleth," it said in an unnatural set of voices. "We are the Terrible King of All Dark Constituencies of Perivantium. Commander of seventy-two legions of inferior spirits, and Hated Ambassador of the Imperial Daemonic Commonwealth."
"Impressive title," said Fenris. "Just a title, I gather?"
The demon's voices did not seem all too happy with that.
"There must be some truly amusing reason as to how a Demon King ended up here."
"We were summoned," he hissed.
Fenris stared at Hawke in disbelief. He looked like he was about to blow up.
"I didn't summon Bellend. Your hunters did. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't bother with all the complicated crap you need to do to summon him."
Belleth raised a straight, craggy finger. Black smoke came out of his spine. "When summoned, Belleth appears fierce to frighten the Conjurer," he said, his eyes shimmering emerald smoke now. "The Conjurer must be brave, and holding a hazel wand in his or her hand, must draw an Arcane Triangle by striking towards South, East, and upwards, and command Belleth into it. For Belleth to obey, the Conjurer must be respectful and pay homage unto Belleth—"
"He's the only damned demon I've met who speaks in the third person and uses the Royal We. You can see why I call him Bellend," Hawke interrupted him.
"—must be respectful and pay homage unto Belleth due to Their Rank," growled Belleth as more black smoke came out of his back, "and hold a silver ring in the middle finger of the left hand against his face, as it is the use of hellish kings and princes before Dumat."
"Ugh, fine," cried Hawke. She produced a silver ring, and got up. Belleth was ready to Regard Her with His Presence, but was all too occupied to watch the ring as it was thrown in the air. The demon's many eyes fell down, along with the ring, which landed around the straight middle finger of her right hand.
"Haaaah, hah-hah. Dat never gets old," said Crowley.
Hawke grinned and looked at Fenris. "With Bucky you only need to cover your eyes and shout 'Buka!' as you uncover them."
"And you?" said Fenris, as he approached one small lizard-like demon which seemed to keep to himself.
The demon appeared not to have heard him.
Hawke kicked his ethereal cage and it wobbled around with him.
"Surgat," he said flatly. "I open locks."
He said not so much as another word after that.
"What about Wryme and Caress and whatshisname Sloth Demon?" Fenris asked.
"They hurt my friends. I killed them," said Hawke. "Plus, if there was another Sloth around here, Murmur would be very upset."
"Noooooo! Wryme, my old friend, you greedy idiot, and oh, Caress, her beauty and wickedness that matched the very beauty and wickedness of the First Daemon Daughters Lilith and Merediana," cried Crowley.
"Lesser spirits," said Belleth.
"Yeeees," hissed Crowley in a sarcastic tone. "For unlike us, Belleth is not a prisoner in the Mistress's Realm, He is but a resident in Hawke's Hotel For Renegade Daemons."
"Is that A Thing?" asked Belleth in a multitude of voices. "Belleth is Prince unto Dumat, Deserter of Dumat, Deserter of Perivantium and the Imperial Commonwealth, Outranker of All Of You, Refugee into Mistress's Dark Asylum."
"W-what now?" Hawke said.
"We should at least get pillows for Our Throne," said Belleth monstrously.
Murmur swayed his head lazily and his orb ping-ponged in rhythm with the syllables: "What-a-prig."
"What say you to Us, Lesser Spirit?" demanded Belleth, Duke of a Multiple Personality Disorder.
"Butthurt, My Lord?" said Murmur calmly. "May that be the reason you wish pillows for your…" His white orb peered at the boulder inside Belleth's cage which looked violently scratched at into the vague shape of a chair. "… Throne?"