Ellana
To her chagrin, and an insult to her personal pride, Ellana had had more trouble than expected sneaking away from her unwilling entourage. Due to Lord Benhail's nagging and incessant propensity for making sure he was ornate down to the toe rings, she'd been stuck assisting Mersa and Headmistress Aleena in personally dressing the obese man, who stunk despite the baths he so coveted. This delayed the striking of the camp, all the while the Lord himself complained about what the hold up was. But finally, finally, the Temple was in sight. And what a sight it was.
I expect a sketch of it when you return, her father had said with a knowing smile as she had left the Dalish. He had always fueled any and all of her creative desires, always seeming to pick up on her passing comments on how wonderful it would be to document her travels to the exotic places that northwestern Thedas offered, whether it be the verdant and lush prairies of the Green Dales, or the towering parapets of Ostwick. Ellana had to wince and grimace at the thought of that place.
Ostwick. She had been so ready to see civilization in its fullness as she knew it, but came to know only a crushing of dreams. But enough of revisiting of what killed her grandiose idealism, and replaced it with grim determination to see her people never experience tragedy again. She was now known to her people to be of the Vir Assan, The Way of the Arrow. Fly straight, and do not waver. This was her charge. And now her work began. Although her father would get that sketch.
The traffic was staggering less than a league to the Temple, but the gentry were almost magically given the right of way to tread the main road, no pun intended, probably helped by the sickening efforts of Lord Benhail himself leading the entourage, who was swatting anyone that even remotely looked lowlier than him in class with his riding crop as he urged his war nug at a haphazard pace through the crowds. Fresh snow had impeded much of the path up to the Temple, but for once the Lord didn't seem too lackadaisical in his energy to reach the goal.
"Faster you fools! The Conclave begins in two hours!" he was shouting, causing everyone's pace to quicken as they huffed and puffed, minus Ellana, to keep up.
"Andraste's beautiful soul," Mersa whispered through her labored puffs as they crested the final hill and crossed herself in some sort of Chantry invocation Ellana hadn't bothered to learn, and saw what she was muttering about. It was beautiful. Five stories tall, the Temple was nestled against the mountaintop, holding its own against the ages.
Reaching the gates minutes later, they entered after Benhail gave the guards a mouthful for reading his documents too long. "Find the mistress of affairs, and give her the Lord's list of necessities. Return immediately, no sightseeing," Headmistress Aleena commanded as they entered the main hall, full of murals detailing Andraste's life in vivid detail, handing the stalky elf a couple of rolled up parchments with instructions.
Ellana bowed to the scowling and red-in-the-face headmistress, smirking inwardly as she did so. The "Lord's necessities" would never be taken care of. This was her opportunity to break away and slip into the inner workings of the Temple, listening to the general discourse that could be discovered when around people with loose lips, thinking they were safe around the help. She was still dressed in her scullery rags, thus projecting a harmless facade to those around, but all of her personal effects were hidden beneath - slim and utilitarian, yes, but intrinsically effective, and all she needed. Following the path several other elf folk were taking with sullied garments and dishes, she descended into the depths of the Temple, grandeur being replaced with drab and rudimentary tunnels.
That's when she saw it, barely several moments into her goal. She could notice it anywhere, being from a region that bordered the northern reaches. And it immediately set her from her natural readiness to outright alarm.
There were Tevinters here. The Southern Chantry was very averse to the Imperium, the history between the two being caustic at best. After all, the pagan northern peoples had been the ones not only to breach the Golden City with their arrogance, but then burned the patron saint of Thedas at the stake. Two strikes. And both sides were simply waiting for the third for all-out conflict to begin at will. So, seeing Tevinter garb so blatantly on display in the servant halls? Something terrible was inevitably at play, and Ellana would not not be privy to it.
The multi-colored patterns of the Tevinter's dress was easily followable, as the man slipped familiarly here and there as if this place was his summer home. Ellana had changed her foot coverings on the fly to be more conducive to silently & stealthily following her prey, staying on the balls of her feet to remain deftly quiet, the man unaware of her presence. Finally, the bald-headed man reached a door for what looked to be a supply room, opening it and closing it behind him. Ellana, making sure no one was in proximity, knelt at the keyhole, hearing two voices speak.
"The sacrifice will begin soon. Most servants have either been waylaid or paid handsomely to turn a blind eye. She is isolated. Have your men prepare a defensive perimeter so the Elder One can be undisturbed."
She did not like that title. It sounded full of pompous arrogance that only one with full assurance that they would succeed in their mission would hold. Hearing footsteps suddenly approach the door once more, she withdrew to the shadows, seeing the Tevinter leave. She had to settle her breathing before she continued. She would not follow the Tevinter, realizing it would take her farther into the belly of whatever beast this was, knowing she would be found and surrounded by those in the closest circle of this conspiracy easy enough. She was not prepared for a lengthy battle, considering her assets. Rather, she would see how she would infiltrate this "guard" and gain access to the machinations of the plan that way.
She slunk to the now open door, sliding her short blade into her trained hand, then peered around the corner, the man the Tevinter had been speaking to having his back turned to her, but Ellana was able to notice a few things by dim candlelight. He didn't have a helmet, but was otherwise armored, with chain mail and an outward breastplate, so she had to be ginger with how she knocked him out. She was adept at many manners of stealth, not combat. She kept her blade loose yet ready in her left hand, just in case he turned around before she could have the potion ready, but he seemed busy with a transcript on the desk in front of him, and she easily slipped towards him with the solution.
Things went awry within a second. She was silent as a hawk diving in for her catch, she knew this was not it. Without turning, the man's arm extended towards her, some sort of staff wreathed in a greenish ether suddenly in his grip, before the energy was blasted point blank into her, slamming her backwards with abandon into a table behind her, making her see stars. She had no time to recoup, as the same green energy, spirit energy, her brain managed to mumble, much like that of her clan Keeper, lifted her off the ground and held her in place as the man turned towards her finally, a scowl on his face. This observation was by far the least important, as she managed to decipher the rest of his uniform through hazy eyes, noticing the blue tunic he wore with now apparent silver armor, a sigil of a griffon on his pauldron.
A Grey Warden.
Her sheer shock at the lunacy of the situation unfolding left her grasping even for the measliest of words, or some sort of countermeasure to break this man's hold over her.
"What's this? A servant that thought they could take me unawares? What were you planning, hmm? Have a special love for that Divine that has done you no favors? Maybe I will take you to see the demise -"
The man's diatribe was interrupted by a clinking sound as something round rolled into the room, Ellana looking down to find a cylindrical pot with something sparking out its top had come to rest at the Warden's feet.
"What in Dumat's name -"
Poetic, she had to say. The next thing to happen, not so much.
The pot exploded, blinding her for a second, and she collapsed to the floor, no longer held by the Warden's magic. The room had become choked with a corrosive smoke, causing her to cough profusely, but her mind was already kicking into gear. Mask, now, her father instructed, and she fumbled for the cloth covering he had fashioned for her years ago.
Riots are a nasty affair, her father had remembered as he had given her one of the many tools she'd acquired as countermeasures over the years. It was simple, really, but effective. She sprung straight to her feet off her back, doing a front flip with her superior ancestral biology to assist her to hit the ground running, as she heard sounds of grunting and struggle, two forms, one bulky, and the other lithe and small, trading blows back and forth.
She joined the fray, recognizing the former as her enemy, delivering a swift kick to the back of his closest leg, enough to snap bones, a cry from the man telling her she was correct as he collapsed, though this did leave her open to a last ditch attempt on his part to take her down as he grabbed his staff off the floor and the spirit energy coalesced - only for it to be knocked away prematurely by the other combatant before she delivered a powerful kick to his face, with enough power to knock teeth loose and render him unconscious. The unknown form, still wreathed in the toxic smoke, then advanced towards Ellana, who, still in a sense of adrenaline and heightened instincts, saw it as an aggressive move, parrying an outstretched hand, which led to a flurry of jabs and counterattacks from both, until a thick voice said, "Stop, I am not your enemy!"
Bounding backwards on the balls of her feet, breathing heavily, Ellana stayed wary as she shouted, "Who are you!"
The smoke was beginning to dissipate, leading to a more clear picture of who she was dealing with. It was another elf, a female elf, her face also covered in a mask, her startling green eyes squared in determination, though her apparel was not one of a servant, rather, someone used to a sense of wealth. Intensely rare, Ellana thought.
"Clever," the elf finally said, sounding amused, yet respectful, as she gestured to Ellana's own mask, only getting silence from her fellow elf, causing her to go on. "I am Briala. I am curious how you are caught up in this mess, much less attempting to stand toe-to-toe with a Warden."
"I am just a servant for Lord Benhail. I...he does not treat us well, and we are wanting for common necessities. I thought I might borrow from this man, and return later," Ellana answered swiftly, adding the correct bashful and guilty tones to her voice to be convincing, even rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly to sell the farce, but she only heard a chuckle from the opposing elf, who stood a full foot shorter than her.
"Well played. Any common laymen would no doubt believe your sob story and send you to the stockade as punishment and nothing more, but I am a player of the grand Game, my Dalish friend. Your confession is full of holes, just by witnessing your dress, stealthy attitude, and satchel full of assets. Now, if you wish to stop being a hindrance and actually join me in our collective objective to stop this conspiracy, show me why I can trust you," Briala said with an intense stare, and for the first time in a significant amount of time, Ellana knew she was outmatched.
Regaining her composure, she straightened. "I am of the Lavellan clan, one of the Vir Assan. I came to seek what fortune lies for my people in the scheme of Thedas, and will not be impeded, by you or anyone else in my path."
Chuckling again, Briala crossed her arms. "Well well, the Dalish finally have a champion - or one that considers herself as such. Still, you have skill, though it seems no counteraction to magic. A rogue then. It seems you are caught in a silk spider's web, friend, that you were not expecting. The only way out is to cut yourself loose with what you have, and kill the spider. What say you?"
She couldn't believe she had acquiesced to this absurd idea. She was now dressed in the unconscious Warden's garments, but discarding the hefty and clunky breastplate, because that would be the main giveaway, her stumbling around with what was a deadweight to her unconditioned body in front of the Wardens. She was now on her way to meet with the other guards, which Briala had seen mixing with Tevinters, providing the trigger to realize something was amiss, to provide the distraction.
"Be convincing, as you almost were with me," Briala had said with a smirk, drawing a huff from the opposing elf. "I'll watch from the shadows. Do not worry."
She was now traversing the main halls of the Temple, doing her best to exhibit the natural poise of a Warden as she passed dignitaries and others, towards the personal chambers wing. So much for no sightseeing. She passed a consortium of different types, from sisters of the Chantry chanting in sync with each other as they passed, heads down and hands supplicant, and a dwarf with a wicked scowl speaking to a Templar, and...was that a qunari chatting amiably with a Warden? She quickly changed her direction, just in case she should be recognized by the man who could've been a compatriot of the Warden captain. For the upcoming guards, she was relying on spontaneity in the moment, combined with surprise. She needed to avoid any debacle till then.
Finally, she was there, the double doors entrance to the personal chambers for all the heads of state to grace the Conclave with their presence. And, true to the word of both the Tevinter & Briala, a guard of both Wardens (here as "third party arbiters of the hearings", Briala had explained) and regular Chantry guards were on display, blocking off entrance. Taking up a post behind a pillar before advancing, Ellana gave herself a steadying breath. How did she get here? But, she was her father and mother's daughter, trained to a fault for a day like this. Whatever this Warden and Tevinter plot was, it was for the good of none. She would see this through to completion. With that determined thought, she rushed out towards the guards, drawing the captain's sword. Such a heavy thing.
"Wardens! Our captain has been attacked below in the storage rooms! There is a plot afoot!" she shouted, the men assembled there looking startled at her exclamation in the otherwise tranquil surroundings.
"What in the Maker - identify yourself, fellow Warden," the bulky one in the middle said, halfway drawing his sword at the declaration. The others echoed his motion.
"Warden Lavollas. From Weisshaupt. I fear -," she came in close to the man who seemed to be the guard commander, whispering, "-the Elder One is in danger of being discovered."
She was taking an immense gamble here, not knowing if this man and his contingent were part of the conspiracy, but both her and Briala had agreed that there was most likely no other way to get into the heart of the machination on good terms.
There was a silence for a terrible second, before the man answered, "Indeed. Inform the Elder One of this development. I will take my men and investigate." With a snap of his fingers, the commander said, "With me," to his compatriots, though the Chantry guards stayed where they were, opening the double doors for her, ushering her into a dark interior. She was now truly alone as they clinked shut behind her.
The way forward was dark, a single hallway forward with torches along it, single doors sprouting out to each side, she assumed to be dignitaries' rooms. At the very end was a massive door, almost as large as the entrance to the wing. Assuming this is where the "ceremony" would take place, she began walking towards it. Getting closer, she began to hear a deep baritone mumbling emanating from it, unconsciously sending chills down her spine, as it was the only other sound that could be heard.
Halfway there, one of the smaller doors to the side suddenly opened up, a familiar huff and muttering coming through, and then she saw the last person she needed right now. Headmistress Aleena walked out, saying obscenities no doubt under breath, until their paths almost collided, Ellana dodging at the last second, and drawing the servant's attention to her face.
"How...what in the Maker! Where have you been girl, and what is that on - you thief! Get back here!" the red-faced woman screamed after Ellana, who had no hesitation in escaping the woman's presence.
Loathing to use one of her potions on this irritant of a woman, but needing her in Mythal's name to be silent, she prepared it on the fly, throwing it backwards as she reached the end of the hallway at the unsuspecting woman, making the headmistress yelp in surprise as it exploded in her proximity, causing her to fall.
Not sparing a glance backwards, and trying to make herself scant from the commotion lest others investigate, she flung open the final massive door, and immediately stopped dead in her tracks. In front of her could only be considered a horrifying site. Several Wardens surrounded a towering monstrosity, the only thing telling her she was seeing was relatively human was his face, contorted in an evil grimace, one grisly, spindly hand pulsing with red strength gripped a staff with an unimaginably bright green sphere attached to its top, while the other grasped a limp human figure, apparel regal and adorned with gems, the face that of a motherly woman, her eyes barely open, but seeing Ellana.
"Help me," she said with a weakened and terrified whisper, sending chills down the elf's now trepidatious frame.
"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" The monstrosity spoke, and she recognized the deep baritone voice from earlier.
Frozen solid, Ellana could only hold the figure's gaze, until suddenly several doors at the other end of the room burst asunder, and -
Cadash
"You're an idiot," she said close to a growl, staring a searing hole into the Templar sitting in front of her, who only gave her a lopsided smile that was forever irritating.
"My Cadash friend, I did the best I could do, considering the circumstance. Security is at its paramount, and there is little tolerance for…"outside" elements to influence the proceedings, hence the...rudimentary ways of communication," the man answered, not losing steam at all with her declaration. "I assure you, there's no -,"
"What is that."
Her sudden interruption drew an eyebrow raise from Randford, as did her tone. Something red was beginning to glow in the back part of the captain's room, and what was more, it immediately set her on edge. It couldn't be. There was no way it could be here.
Before the Templar could provide an explanation, she was jumping out of her chair, landed on the study desk, and had a dagger to his throat, drawing a bit of blood. "What have you done?" she whispered with lethality, daring him to lie to her. But, to her genuine surprise, his smile grew.
"My Cadash friend, I was getting to that. The Seekers, and in extension, the Templar Order will be undergoing a...transformation in the coming days, one that will shake Thedas. A new authority has presented itself, that will remake this land in His image. No more conflict between mage and templar. No more Chantry excuses for bloodshed. Peace, in absolution."
"There is no peace with those things," she growled, pointing to the jagged red crystal that had only increased in intensity since she had first noticed. Something was happening. "What. Have. You. Done."
"I have aligned myself with the Elder One," Randford answered confidently, though his eyes briefly glanced down to her dagger that was dribbling blood, "And, I wanted to offer your people a place at His side as well. Your...services, will be needed by Him, and He will be generous in return."
Stone be damned. She was at a very thorny crossroad. There was obviously a grand conspiracy here, and she should've seen it. She always did. That's what she was adept in. Discerning the dark hearts of those she dealt with. There had been signs in this situation, as well. Randford's request on the arcane secrets her family may have on the Blue Blood, as far back as when her lineage had been accepted in the halls of Orzammar. Of course, she hadn't given away trade secrets, but he still paid a handsome sum for the tidbits she dropped that was simple history of old locations in the Deep Roads where the Blood had run free. There was no chance that anyone would brave those dark tunnels and catacombs, not even her, with the darkspawn so prevalent. But now, she had second thoughts. This "Elder One" had such a self-righteous sound to it, one of confidence borne either of ignorance, or relative intelligence, or maybe a smattering of both, considering the heinous construct glowing in front of her. It was evil, she was sure of it, and this "Elder One" was on the path to it, if he was considering such a malformed thing. She would get to the bottom of this.
"Take me to him," she commanded, still holding the dagger in such a way that she could easily cut the main artery in his neck before he could even form an attack - or scream.
His expression suddenly changed, to one closely reminiscent of fear. "I - I cannot, he does not want to be disturbed -"
" I. Said. Now." She opened her side-vest, displaying several pots of explosives she had kept on hand, as distractions if nothing else, "or I blow up his supply," she nodded to the red crystals, "and get his attention that way."
Looking truly miserable now, the captain put his hands up in a placating way as he stood up, saying, "As you wish," heading to the door, but not before she made sure he was not carrying any sort of counteraction, roughly manhandling him in the process.
They were on there way now, through the narrow side-corridors of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, both her daggers now drawn, briefly coming into contact with servants, who nearly screamed as they saw the spectacle in front of them, but stopped short as she scowled at them as she showed off her explosives, saying curtly, "Silence." They promptly ran the other direction, and the two continued on their way.
"Who is the Elder One," she asked flatly as they went on, Randford silent for a second silent, before it sounded like he gulped, and answered, "He is a being of immense power. I have only seen Him at a distance, and only as an apparition at that. He is...not compromising on His terms of absolution, and will not tolerate your threatening."
"He will listen to me, in the least," she asserted, silence dwelling after this. The problems started as they rounded the final bend, entering the personal chambers. Two Templars were guarding the door, and instead of not being an imbecile, Randford cried out, "Templars, to arms! Help -,"
She knew treachery would come at some point, and so was the reason she was already moving at his first utterance. Parkouring off the side wall, she slammed into his back, doing what she should've finished earlier - slitting his throat.
Gurgling from the blood flowing freely from his gaping neck, he fell to his knees as the other two reacted. One drew his bow, eyeing her small form still hanging onto Randford as he began his descent. Instead of hitting the designated target, the Templar only managed to bullseye his fallen comrade's right chest with his arrow, missing as she ducked beneath the limp body of Randford, using it as a convenient shield, and preparing her main arsenal.
The other man drew his greatsword, looking to charge, but stopped abruptly as two fizzling pots rolled towards him. The two men screamed as their armor was piecemeal in its attempt to block the gaatlok-based explosives, something she was glad she invested in, causing them to fly in different directions as stone exploded, and the structural vulnerability of the hallway - the door, also exploded into tinder, her form already rushing towards it, going into a combat roll through its ruins, and being almost blinded by an ethereal light as she straightened up, and saw...him. If it was a him.
The being, monstrously tall, was covered in an amalgamation of tortured and twisted skin, all glowing with a deep red luminance, contorting his form with its growth. The Elder One. And then there was the claws. One carried the source of the ethereal light, a sphere of green light attached to a staff, while the other contained a limp woman in regal wear, her face terrified. That's when she noticed the others. Grey Wardens. And...an elf, who looked frozen in place and mouth open, though she also had the garb of a Warden.
"I GROW TIRED OF THESE INSOLENT INTERRUPTIONS," came the heartrending voice from The Elder One, as he glared spitefully at her, raising the staff. All this had occurred within several quick seconds, when suddenly an opposing door also burst open, and -
Adaar
His day was getting better and better. Not only had they reached the Temple in record time, but he was now talking to a Warden! The Shokrakar, referencing that he'd been a "good sport", had introduced him to Warden Amaril once Lady Ames was situated, and he couldn't stop beaming.
The Wardens to him were the ultimate paragons. Each time Thedas was at the brink, at the mercy of a Blight, they were there. Anyone was accepted. Anyone was allowed to make a difference. And the rumor mill had it that there were still live griffons somewhere in the bowels of Weisshaupt, just waiting for the call to swoop in and take their talons to legions of darkspawn. Of course, he wasn't planning on voicing his foolish boyish thoughts to the man in front of him.
"Your Shokrakar seems to think that you are an admirer of our work, boy. The Warden life is not all the bard's tales say of it," Amaril, a tree of a man, and could only be an inch shorter than Oren, said with some grit and a thick Fereldan accent, though there was a slight smirk across his face as he said these things. Oren wasn't a complete fool, and he wanted to make sure this man understood this.
"I understand! Being Tal-Vasthoth and Valo-Kas has taught me many things, like the fact this world is not pretty. I've been in several scuffles with those who assumed they could be cruel and get away with it."
The Warden chuckled as he crossed his arms, but a piercing look came to his face as he looked at the young Qunari. "A 'scuffle' is not the same as facing down darkspawn that have no remorse, and give no offer of surrender. A Warden's life many times is not voluntary, but an escape, boy. That escape carries with it what some people would consider a curse -,"
"The Taint," Oren interrupted impulsively, immediately regretting doing so, but Amaril simply nodded.
"Yes. Eventually it consumes you, and you must heed its call. Our life is not one of glory, but of necessary sacrifice." The Warden sighed, and went on. "And yet, we still have a good sum of those that join, desperately seeking a purpose. Many of those lost their lives in the last Blight. All I considered brothers and sisters. If you were to join, this is what you'd have to face."
Oren blinked. Though he admired the Wardens, he'd never thought of actually joining. The Valo-Kas had always been his home - even more than his mother and father had provided. To him, the Wardens provided a bar that the rest of the world could follow - one of selfless sacrifice, and unrequited acceptance of each other in the face of a foe that constituted absolute evil. They had never flinched, never surrendered to the tide of fate. They had made their own. Including this man in front of him, who was now chuckling.
"But enough of an old man spouting doom and gloom. You're young. The odds of another Blight happening in your lifetime is slim. Perhaps I could show you some ways to defend yourself against darkspawn? Your Shokrakar seems to think you could use some 'outside tips'," the man said with a grin. And so began Oren's misfortunate adventure. Though this would not occur to him until it was far too late.
The next half hour was a flurrying blur of exciting prospects, with Oren following the Warden to where his organization had been given lodging in the Temple, and meeting some of Amaril's fellow Wardens, all smiling and slapping each other's backs, as if they were long lost relatives reuniting. Which, he guessed they were.
"Give me a moment, boy, and we'll go to the sparring ring. Some of my brothers will join so we can really run you through the ropes," the man said with a wink, before closing the door to his room that Oren was in. Several long moments passed as Oren examined the small amount of keepsakes the Warden had brought with him, though much of it was utilitarian. That's when he heard the shouting.
"What is the meaning of this?" came a yell definitively from Amaril, before sounds of a struggle ensued, as Oren stood stock still, wide-eyed. The door of the room suddenly burst open, Amaril's sweaty face urgently appearing. "Boy! You must leave! There is betrayal! Go to your Shokraka-,"
A whizzing noise with an impact sound suddenly erupted behind the Warden as he grunted, his face grimacing, before reaching an arm behind his back, and with a painful yelp, pulled out a bloodied arrow. "You bastards! You cannot be my brothers!" the man exclaimed with surprising rage as he drew his sword and turned as Oren could now see what was unfolding. Several bodies adorned the floor, all wearing Warden armor in varying states, while several more still stood, and confronted Amaril.
"You will submit to the will of the Elder One, Amaril. This is the only way forward," one of them uttered, wearing a griffon-winged helmet, as they all circled him.
"To hell with that. You killed those who were your brothers in cold blood. I will not let this stand," Amaril spat, before he struck first. And strike he did.
The man was the definition of fluidity, using everything in the environment to his advantage. Within two seconds, the man had grabbed a cup off one of the dinner tables, thrown it like a curveball at the man who'd spoke, disorienting him, then followed up by mounting the table and slamming into the man as he plunged his sword into the "chink" of any armor, the neck area, causing a gurgling sound to come from his victim. Then, showing off his immense strength despite his injury, thrust the now limp body at the aggressor's compatriots, causing them to instinctually grab the body as Amaril was already moving again, crashing into the attackers, causing a struggle to ensue that Oren couldn't follow, before one by one the attackers screamed in pain before they lay still, Amaril unsteadily trying to rise above the corpses, causing Oren to rush over and support him.
"Warden! What - what is this?" The soldier suddenly let loose a dribble of blood from his own mouth, stuttering as he spoke.
"I - do not know. You must go though, I can hear - more of them, I will hold them off. Maybe send a message to this 'Elder One' and tell him to shat off," he said with a weak chuckle as he used Oren to push himself up.
"No! I will not let them hurt you!" Oren almost shouted in reply, readying his staff as he heard the boots and shouts get closer.
"Boy! Listen to me," Amaril grunted with authority, making Oren looking at him with startled eyes. "This is not your day to die for a cause that is not yours. If you give a nug's arse, you will go warn everyone. Avenge me," he said with a clasped arm and determined look at the qunari, who finally processed the message through teary eyes. Here he had finally met his heroes, and they were butchering each other. But, he would listen. He would avenge this one.
With an almost imperceptible nod, he turned away, hearing in the distance Amaril cackle and say, "Come on then, you cowards! You call yourself Wardens, you pieces of shite?"
Everything else became unintelligible as with shallow breaths Oren ran, lacking a direction in these unknown halls, just knowing he must go. He had to find the Valo-Kas, and warn them, or anyone else he came across. But that was the thing. Not only were these halls unknown to him, as it had been the Warden who had brought him through, but they were empty. A foreboding silence hung over the Temple's corridors, before suddenly a Warden stepped into Oren's path, making him yelp as he cast a frantic spirit attack at the man, decking him with a groan.
"Oh Maker, sorry!" he shouted as he ran, not knowing if the man was friend or foe. Hearing more footsteps and shouts, he ducked in and out of ornate rooms that he would've balked at just an hour before, adrenaline and fear dictating his perception. However long it was later, he didn't even know, a door larger than ones before greeted him, making him assume he'd reached the main hall. But no, he would soon be greeted by his fate in its entirety with the hesitant decision to go through. Thrusting open the door as he readied his staff, he was completely ready to shout at the top of his lungs about Wardens, conspiracy, and the Elder One, but instead was greeted by a blinding sight, both in brightness and horrific measure.
Aden Trevelyan
"Damn it's cold."
"Mother!" exclaimed Uncle Clarence as Aden let out a snicker. The old bat was growing weary of the travels, just as everyone at the Conclave likely was, she wasn't wrong about the cold though. Everywhere Aden looked he could see scarves wrapped around necks, hands stuffed in mittens, boots laced tightly.
It was easy to point out the Fereldans from anyone from further north. Even in the snow, some of the natives could be seen in simple garb. Must be a day like any other. Though it was anything but. There were easily a few hundred of the most important people in Thedas, or at least their advisors circling around or getting escorted to the rooms available for the most important of dignitaries. Aden could even recognize some of his parent's friends from Starkhaven, and some of the Chantry Sisters looked a bit familiar too, although they all looked familiar. Most Chantry Sisters looked the same. Though it was easy to tell which of the Sisters were determined and experienced than the others. Age had nothing to do with it either. Those in their finest robes and saying prayers, they were those here for show. The ones with a steely resolve, staying silent as they lead others into the chambers of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, those were the ones who had real power here.
Influence. He supposed that was what most of those here were really after. They had no real stake in the war of Mages and Templars, some likely didn't even care about the loss of life in recent months. It was all senseless. The Mages were like caged animals. Certainly, they were bound to bite back at their captors. Although it's not often that a bite can blow up an entire Chantry.
Aden looked over at his uncle who was helping Gran-Gran get inside the Temple. Father had made reservations for them to stay in one of the lowest rooms in the Temple. It cost a small fortune but the Trevelyans weren't known for their frugality. It also made the small envoy look much more important than they actually were. Father had spent a couple of summers advising some friends in Orlais, perhaps he had traded a few favors to secure his family's spot in the peace talks.
As Aden walked behind his elders on their way to the rooms under the Temple, he couldn't help but notice all of the Templars. "I wonder where all the mages are," He thought aloud.
"I don't believe it matters," his grandmother chimed in. "They'll be back in their towers soon and if they aren't they will likely be annulled."
Aden sucked in a breath and furrowed his brow. "What a cheery thought. What about Alessa? You would have her killed?" Aden didn't mention his younger sister often. He hadn't seen her in years. But the memory of her being escorted away was still emblazoned in his mind. "I don't think she would be too happy to hear that you won't fight against that."
"I didn't say I wanted her dead, I said that they would likely be annulled. And what do you know about how she feels? When is the last time you ever wrote her a letter?"
Aden conceded in silence. Partly because he knew she had a point, mostly because he was exhausted and would rather not have to deal with this. The first talks would be starting soon, he thought he should rest now so he didn't fall asleep during the event. He couldn't imagine the first night was going to be anything interesting.
The Maker once again proving that if He existed was an ass when just as Aden laid his bow down, a large commotion started outside.
"Andraste's tits, what could that be?" he swore as he crept towards the door. His uncle scolded him for the language but was cut off by the sound of a spine chilling scream from outside the door. Aden commanded his family to the back of the room and peeked out the door. A garbled sound of shouts, hard steps, and doors being frantically thrown open accompanied a blur of people all pushing to get out of the deeper corridors.
"What is it? Mages?"
"No, Gran, I don't know. Templars would subdue them, wouldn't they?" The beating in Adan's chest was starting to get painfully sharp. "We need to leave. Now. Leave your bags." He pushed the door open a bit further to try to get a better view.
"We just got here! We're in a temple that has stood for ages and even housed a dragon, I think we'll be safer in here."
Aden dropped his head and replied, "Fine, you two stay in here. I'm going to go see what's happening. Be ready to run if I say we need to." Without looking at his family, he grabbed his bow, quiver, a small knife, and turned for the door.
He felt a shaky hand on his shoulder, his Uncle. "Adan, please be careful."
With that Aden bolted out of the door. Most of the crowd had moved past the corridor they were in but the noise was still disturbing. What's worse was the spots of blood on the floor and a lone woman sitting against the wall, grasping her side and noticeable pale. Adan rushed to her and asked what was happening.
She coughed a bit, but was finally able to sputter out, "Wardens!"
Puzzled, Aden asked her to clarify. She repeated, "Wardens… coming from the bowels of the temple. Killing…" her eyes started to fade a bit. Adan looked away from the woman. Clearly, she was a young initiate based on her robes. Wardens killing Chantry sisters? This made no sense!
After seeing the young woman in front of him have her head slumped, he stood up and considered his options. Wardens wouldn't do this. Aden had met a few Wardens up in the Marches, even became friends with a couple of them. The idea that they would start killing the Chantry sisters on a day like today? He could hardly wrap his head around it. After taking a breath, he decided to run towards the inner levels of the temple. He'd have to see the Warden's treachery firsthand.
As Aden ran through the hallways he had his bow drawn and an arrow ready just in case. He gripped it tighter and tighter as the occasional spots of blood turned into occasional dead bodies. Eventually his fears were confirmed in the most dreadful of ways. A Grey Warden, wearing the beautiful blue and silverite armor, stood with his sword plunged into the throat of a Templar. Adan sucked in his breath and winced. This was horrible. Wardens were supposed to be heroes. They were supposed to protect people. This wasn't right. This was evil.
Aden pulled his bow up and aimed quickly from across the length of the corridor. Just as the Warden noticed Aden, the arrow flew and sunk deep into the man's face. The squelch was enough to turn Aden's stomach. He hadn't ever killed a man before. He'd beaten his fair share in tavern brawls, even shot a few. Never fatally though. Never like this.
He moved to the bodies across from him and stooped down, the blood was not as nauseating as he feared it would be, which was a comfort. A disturbing comfort, but still a comfort. He searched the body of the Grey Warden to maybe get an explanation for all that was happening. In a small pouch on the man's hip, Adan found a small vial of deathroot poison, the same kind that he had seen his friends use to coat their weapons and hunt vermin to kill them quicker, along with a note simply saying "The Elder One Will Rise". The poison indicated that the Wardens weren't taking prisoners, and the note suggested that there was more happening here than Aden could fathom.
Before he could process what this all meant, the sounds of armor clanking together further along the hallway made Adan shift into full survival mode. He grabbed the arrow out of the Grey Warden and raced back to his room to tell his family to leave, once there, the door was open and the room empty. Hoping that this meant that they ran instead of something worse happening, Aden sprinted out of the inner hallways and made it to the grand entrance where the peace talks were to happen. Looking for his family, he couldn't see them anywhere. His brother's words echoed in his head. Keep them safe.
Aden wasn't sure how he was supposed to keep that promise. This was chaos.
As he realized that the footsteps that chased him out of the hallway were quickly approaching, he ran up the steps of the entrance. Hiding might be his only chance to get out of here now. He slipped through door after door in hopes of finding a suitable hiding place. He entered one room only to hear what sounded like a lot more commotion than usual. An eerie red light glowed through the crack in the door as well. He thought about turning back but he could hear more movement from behind him. This wasn't going to end well. He pulled out the vial of poison and covered a couple arrowheads with it. This was now survival at any cost. He kicked the door down as hard as he could only to be confronted by a horror that somehow made this horrible day even worse.
Alessa
The cut on her arm was wet and warm. Holding it close to her body Alessa gripped her staff with her non-dominant hand. It took extra focus, but she was able to summon a wall of ice between her and the figure firing arrows and herself. This was madness. Not even two hours ago she was studying up on the history of the Circle, specifically the events of Lake Calenhad ten years ago, and now she was defending herself from assailants she could barely recognize. She had never even used her magic offensively before but after seeing the Senior Enchanter get ran through with a blade she quickly had to adapt. She was certain she hadn't killed any of the attackers, only freezing hands together or pushing on the Fade to knock them down as she ran from one room to the next trying to stay alive.
The pain in her arm started to fade as the fear began to settle in. Fear for her life, but upon seeing the dead body of a Chantry Sister, she feared for the Divine's life as well. Surely this attack had to be orchestrated by the rebel mages, it's the only thing that made sense. They figure that if they can kill the Most Holy, they can destroy all Circles. That must be it. But why aren't they using magic?
As she crept through an empty hall, Alessa slipped into a room hidden away from the main hallway, by the looks of things it was once an armory. She calmed her mind as much as she could and ducked under a table, holding her knees. She prayed prayers forced out of trembling lips and carried by weak whispers. Was this really what the rebels wanted? To strike fear in the heart of all of Thedas?
She sat, frantically grasping at ideas on ways to get out of her situation. It wasn't until she saw what looked like snowflakes fall around the table that she was hiding under that she realized she was losing control of herself. This was bad. She quickly sucked in a breath of cold air and wiped her tears. Crawling out from under the table she kept telling herself that she couldn't just stay here. She had to leave, she had to run. The assailants seemed to come from the lower levels of the Temple, so she must go up.
The main meeting room was up, where the Divine was to be.
She couldn't bear the thought of something happening to the Most Holy. Seeing as to how the Templars were elsewhere, or worse, she felt it was her duty to rescue the woman. There was no one else, there was only chaos. Alessa steeled her nerves and started up the temple.
She felt the fear begin to leave her body as she had walked up to the final levels of the building. Her wound was throbbing but the pain was subsiding. Hearing commotion down the hall only strengthened her resolve. This was now a Holy mission. But the Glory of the Maker was soon questioned by the young woman as she saw a man creeping into a room with a red glow emanating from behind the door. The man looked familiar, but his drawn weapon as he entered the room was too distracting. Hearing a booming voice from behind the door only bolstered her determination all the more. She charged in after the man to confront whatever was behind the door, and -
The Five
There was a standstill for but an infinitesimal second. All this was shattered when the Divine herself, assumed helpless, provided the pivotal moment with a simple sweep of her hand. Diverted by the intruders, the self-proclaimed Elder One forgot the courage of his victim in that moment. The staff with the orb was in close proximity to venerable Justinia, and with a simple motion of her hand, the staff was disposed onto the floor, and time snapped into play.
Cadash moved first, throwing her last gaatlok grenade at the pack of Wardens, causing them to scatter. Adaar, with surprising rage, screamed at the Warden turncoats, sending out a strong burst of Fade energy, decking even more of them, as elder Trevelyan swiftly knocked his arrows and sent them into the Wardens he could see through the smoke, at least incapacitating them as the younger sibling froze the rest of them in place as she screamed with a desperate voice, "My Divine!" Lavellan was like a wraith, darting through the smoke, first looking to disable any Wardens in her path, but then saw the ultimate goal. The staff with the orb lay unattended on the floor. Her eyes darted to and fro, noticing the Elder One turning, red crackling energy sprouting from his twisted hands as he dropped the Divine, eyes hateful as he sought to slay the unwelcome guests. Her course was set then. But so were the others.
The younger Trevelyan, at first looking to reach the Divine to save her from this calamity, found her path blocked by the monstrous Elder One, making her redirect her gaze to the staff and orb. Her kin noticed her direction, his eyes finding the gleaming object too. Adaar's magic itself was drawn to the orb, causing him to redirect his focus. And then finally Cadash, her keen eyes strategically centering on what she knew was the ultimate prize.
They moved.
One by one, they dove and grasped onto the staff with the orb, struggling to obtain the source of power for themselves, but this would not be what they expected. The ethereal energy of the object was channeled through the staff, and without a handler that could be an acceptable conduit, the energy would be dispelled in a catastrophic way.
The five figures as one gasped, as the orb crackled and increased in intensity, the staff they grasped in a death grip gaining green veins, and then fissures throughout as it became unstable, sending screams of pain from each of them as they were fixed in position, the magic working its toll, the scream of rage from the Elder One almost indiscernible as he in vain reached for his usurped power, and the orb finally broke, casting the room in a blinding white light, and then everything with it into oblivion.