Dragon Age: The Tales of the Heralds

by Unsated Explorateur

With the attack on the Grand Conclave, five people were thrown into the Fade, and five emerged. Witness the birth of the Inquisition through their eyes - the Council of Inquisitors, as they battle lurking unknown threats from near and far. Let the Game of Thedas begin anew. Inscribed by Scribe Indra Tethras (by Unsated Explorateur) & Scribe Caden Genitivi (by InvisibleWizard).

10. The Inquisition Of Old

The sensation of falling accompanied a horrid and distorted laughter meant to mock her, before she suddenly snapped into lucidity, sitting up as there was a crashing noise. Alessa Trevelyan, sister of the Ostwick Circle, glanced around hurriedly, believing she'd see the stone-cold room she was used to of her quarters, back "home", where she'd awaken many times with similar bone-chilling episodes.

Instead, a warm interior greeted her, a comfortable fire crackling in a corner, with many amenities that seemed much more close to Fereldan culture than Free Marches. And, directly in front of her, startling her once more, was an elf, looking completely horrified as they locked eyes, the woman's composure bent over as she attempted to pick up the box of goods she'd dropped.

"I did not know you were awake, I swear!" the woman spoke with a stutter, looking like she'd committed high treason in the process. Alessa attempted an assuring smile, though she did not know how it came off, considering she still felt fuzzy.

"Don't worry about it, I -"

The woman suddenly prostrated herself with abandon, shocking the young mage even further. "I beg your forgiveness, and blessing. I am but a humble servant. You are back in Haven, m'lady. They say you saved us! The Breach stopped growing, just like the Mark on your hand!"

Suddenly, full bearing returned to her with these words, recollection returning as she looked down, finding the green mark of considerable power still having its place in the palm of her hand, a slight humm emanating from it, as if in response to the elf's words.

Cold dungeon. Interrogation. Demons. Rifts, the Divine...Aden.

It all came in a rush, and almost made her keel over with the rush of so many unknown things suddenly made real. If she did not know better, it was all a fever dream, which she knew she was prone too, the Fade more than happy to oblige her. But, nothing was shifting or being distorted now, the elf staying bowed over, and hurriedly talking again.

"It's all anyone has talked about for the last three days! They say the danger was averted, 'cause all of You. B-but I'm certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you've awaken! She's in the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor, once you're ready. At once, she said, at once!" the woman said with urgent eyes, rushing out before Alessa could get one more question, or word in.

The young woman was left alone to her swirling thoughts, so many new stimuli seeking her attention. But first, with surprise she noticed she was dressed in a sort of casual, yet starched uniform fit for a noble - which, despite her origins, she was not used to, being more accustomed to the flowing robes of a Chantry sister.

Muttering at it for a second as she tried to adjust it to not be so stifling, she finally gave up and purposed to stand. She found as well, instead of meeting the cold floor, she was also fitted with thick boots, something also unbecoming of a sister. But, despite this, she was simply glad the room wasn't transforming around her and upending her.

Now, to get some answers.

She began walking as steadily as possible towards the door the servant elf had come through, still feeling a tad bit nauseous as she grabbed its hilt and pulled, but that all changed when the door much of its own volition blew open with a significant gust of starkly cold air, and ushered her out into the open, her eyes once more at a loss.

Haven. She'd passed through here on her way to the Conclave with First Enchanter Josephus, stopping to say their prayers in the local temple, as thanks to the Maker for an uneventful journey. But, this was not what caught her eye. No, it was first the dormant green maelstrom swirling in the sky, and then...the mass of people to each side of her path forward, held back by Templars, all looking towards her, some bowing and on their knees, just like the elf.

Speechless, Alessa moved forward along the path, hearing whispers as she did, such as, that's one of the Heralds of Andraste, and, Maker bless you, but some slightly dissentive ones as well, muttering, why didn't they close the Breach completely?

Too inundated though to process these things, she simply followed the course laid out for her, using the resolute top of the Chantry that towered over the rest as her guide, finding much more of "her" people in display directly outside of the holy place, and while arrayed in formal way, many of the sisters and brothers look too worried to give her heed, Alessa overhearing their discourse as she came close.

The Chantry wants nothing to do with us, says the Lord Chancellor, one said, but another rebutted with, that's not his decision, Sister.

Alessa gave them all a short bow as she entered through the doors emblazoned with the golden sun of the faith, finding four slightly familiar faces waiting.

"Alessa! Thank the Maker!" said someone she had never expected to see this side of heaven again, trudging over from the odd group and stopping in front of her with a smile. Aden Trevelyan. Her brother. While it seemed he was heaping praises on the Maker at the sight of her, she had to wonder why the cosmic timing was now for not only an upheaval of everything she held dear, but also a re-introduction to a life she never had any intention of embracing again.

The Chantry was the cause that the Trevelyans championed obligatorily, she realized that now, seeing that none of them had even stepped foot in the local Ostwick chapter to offer prayers, or even a word to her in passing to even acknowledge her presence. She had in essence been spirited away to the Circle because it was their civic duty. Not out of a belief it was best for her. Not even out of a belief of the Maker. And not one of them had offered a word of protest. Not Gran, not Uncle Clarence, not Asher - not Aden. In fact, if she could remember correctly, she hadn't even seen her oldest brother close to a month before that because he was off on some gallivanting trot, trying to sow his oats and prove he could be rebellious. Well, Alessa was not that. In fact, she was intensely thankful to the creator that she'd been rid of the petulant child she'd herself been, so caught up in dresses, decorum, and the frivolities of being a noble's child.

All of that was materialism, worth nothing to her anymore in the face of the real fight. She'd been shown that explicitly in her Harrowing. All that the Chantry spoke about was made lucid to her in that frightful experience, and centered her purpose. Thedas was a tenuous place, turned into a powder keg at a moment's notice, and recent events had shown that all the more, Alessa realized. She needed to focus, do what she could, what she knew she was capable of, as stated by those higher in stature than her that had believed in her, and she did not have time for elements that would only hold her back from that intent purpose, no matter the nice words they offered in appeasement. That did not stop such...forces from trying though.

"We...were going to get some answers, but I convinced them to wait for you. That blast was spectacular, wasn't it? Maker, the headache is going to stay with me for days. I heard you received the best lodging out of this lot, and I thought it was only suiting," he said with a quirky smile, but that quickly changed when he noticed the sour reaction to that last tidbit. She decided to take the reins on the dialogue at this.

"I am perfectly fine with anything given to me, brother. I have no need to want for anything that I do not deserve. But yes, by all means, let us find some answers." She immediately began walking, not wanting to give him any chance to respond with any sort of witty addition to a conversation she already believed had run its course.

"Good morning princess," a flat voice suddenly said to her side...and below her. It was the dwarf woman that had been captive with her. The perpetual flat face and indifferent air of the woman gave her a caustic demeanor, one that wasn't a favorable exchange for her brother's presence, especially with whatever had instigated the need to call her a "princess".

"Yes, can I help you?"

"No, I just want answers," came the blunt and short response, which sounded vague and like a paradox, something Alessa only enjoyed in her poetry, not from this woman.

"I'm afraid I am at a loss of how I can assist with that," she responded, realizing her voice was already bordering on terse as she neared the door near the end of the hall, starting to hear heated voices within.

"I want to know all the players. What is your game?" the dwarf...Cadash, Alessa recalled was her name, though that did not sound like her actual personal title, asked with a musing tone, causing derision to rise up full force in her. Game? What was this, some Orlesian parlor banquet? She finally turned on the other woman as they stopped short of the door, the other three following in their footsteps suddenly coming to a halt as well.

"Excuse me? Why would I have any sort of so-called game? It is not enough to be myself, I must be actively involved in smuggling and subterfuge?" she asked with pointed heat to her voice, bringing up Cadash's revealed checkered-past. But, to only add to the audacity of the small woman, she smiled, looking amused.

"Everyone has their intent. I shall find it," she said with a flippant shrug, drawing an immense amount of ire from her subject, who was on the verge of hitting the woman with a small chill spell for her already insufferable nerve -

"Ladies. Can we keep with pleasantries, at least until we know our situation, and each other, just a little better?" the voice of her brother interjected, a disarming smile on his face as he put out placating hands. She was on the verge of outright telling him she did not need any sort of intervention from him, but was interrupted as the elf woman, still no name for her, pushed past with a tired look, saying, "Yes, please, let's get on with it."

Ellana became the frontman for the group as the stalemate was broken and Cadash gave Alessa no more heed, as if nothing had occurred, catching up with the elf, the two of them pushing on the door to the interior, the people inside looking slightly taken aback for a moment. Lord Chancellor Roderick, Cassandra Pentaghast, and Leliana Nightingale were arranged therein, looking to be having a heated debate of their own, before stopping to regard the five.

"Chain them! I want these five to be prepared for travel to the capital for trial!" Roderick, not missing a step, ordered the two Templars arrayed to each side of the door, but was interrupted by the scowling woman to his side.

"Disregard that, and leave us," the Seeker ordered counteractively, and it seemed the soldiers would obey, as they gave a salute with a fist to their chests, and silently left, closing the door, the room being quite decently more crowded now.

"You walk a dangerous line, Seeker," Roderick said, undeterred apparently.

"The Breach is still a threat, and I will not ignore it," Lady Pentaghast answered with a scowl of her own, but this did not allay Alessa's still swirling thoughts with more questions than answers. In all honesty, she did not know who was in authority here. The Divine, as taught to her, was the ultimate authority, and with her passing, the Chantry was leaderless, needing direction. Grand Clerics had some sway, but Chancellors and Hands of the Divine? She knew, as a Sister of the Chantry, that she was to defer to those that were elevated in status above her, those who were inclined to the Maker's wisdom in greater capacity.

With this axiom embedded in her thoughts, she found herself wilting under the harsh words of the Chancellor, yet stayed by the Right Hand's blunt force, yet even-handed, alternate way. With this, she decided to go with the middle road, trying to reach some sort of willful compromise.

"I - ehmm, we, did everything we could to close the Breach, Lord Chancellor. The Maker was the Light to our path, leading to our success," she interjected with an even and optimistic tone. To her surprise, the elder man gave her a sideways, inquiring look in response.

"You speak as if you are a seasoned one of the faith, if not as part of the Chantry itself, daughter. What is your origin?"

Stark silence ensued as Alessa wondered if it was wise to completely expose her past, but realized she had nothing to hide, and some to gain. She straightened, as she drew on all the pride that she knew she had from her standing. "I am Alessa Trevelyan, sister of the Ostwick Circle -"

"And I am Aden Trevelyan, brother to her, and heir to House Trevelyan of Ostwick," a stalwart voice spoke up in a measure of confidence and noble air that made Alessa blink as she was interjected, drawing some level of irritation from her that he once again was interjecting himself into her affairs, but his tone indicated something else that she couldn't quite grasp as she refused to make eye contact with him, and instead looked to see the Lord Chancellor's response.

"Indeed. Well, if you are both truly who you claim to be, and true keepers of the faith, you should know the wisdom in submitting yourselves to the proper and righteous process that must take place to root out the conspirators of this insurrection!" Roderick replied, losing no steam at all with their individual declarations, causing Lady Pentaghast to roll her eyes as she replied tersely, "Have a care, Chancellor, the Breach is not the only threat we face."

"Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone the Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they have allies that still live," Lady Nightingale said suggestively, taking the reins of the inquiry before more fire could be added to it, peering into the Lord Chancellor's eyes with inquisitorial intent.

"I am a suspect?!" Roderick sputtered, looking bewildered, yet furious at the same time, Lady Nightingale responding cooly, "You, and many others."

"But not the prisoners?" the Chancellor returned with nigh-immediately, glancing at them with spite, but the Right Hand was ready.

"I heard the voices in the Temple. The Divine called out to them all for help," she answered evidently.

"So their survival? The Marks on their hands? All a coincidence?" Roderick pushed.

"Providence. The Maker sent them to us in our darkest hour," Lady Cassandra asserted, and with this the question that was on each of the Five's lips was first voiced by Adaar.

"So...you've changed your mind about us?" he asked, eyes holding a hopeful gleam, and while Roderick regarded him especially with scorn and a suspicious gaze due to his race, the Right Hand did not miss a step, not one to allow others to call her out on her slights before she did herself.

"I was wrong. Perhaps I still am. I will not pretend that you were exactly what we needed, when we needed it." She backed away from the table as Alessa noticed she was retrieving something from behind her, while Lady Nightingale continued smoothly where her colleague had left off. "The Breach remains, and your Marks are still the only hope to close it."

"That is NOT for you to decide!" Roderick said with gritted teeth, but all the haughty air was expelled out of him when suddenly the Seeker slammed down a hefty weight on the table, the young mage noticing it was ornate and large, the sunburst emblem of the Chantry emblazoned on its cover.

"You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act."

Most Holy realized a day like this would come? Alessa thought with some incredulity, but words more incredible than she never thought she would hear in her lifetime came next.

"As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn," the Right Hand declared, advancing on the Chancellor imposingly. "We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and restore order, with, or without your approval," she said with finality, daring with her composure for the man to defy her.

After a second of silence, Alessa herself quite frankly startled by the developments and gravitas this woman conveyed, the Lord Chancellor vacated the room, though the scowl did not leave his face, and possibly never would. This left the Five alone with the Left and Right Hand - the Left, unblinking, continued with what was showing to be a dyad effort.

"This is the Divine's directive. Rebuild the Inquisition of old, and find those that will stand against the chaos." She stopped for a second, looking her audience in the eye, her tone changing. "We aren't ready. We have no leader, no numbers - and now, no Chantry support."

Lady Cassandra stepped in with a measure of steel in her voice to balance. "But we have no choice. We must act now," she said, and then the pivotal words came to her lips, "with you all at our side."

Alessa's mind swirled with the declaration - Inquisition, and me? the two most prominent words in her thoughts. As a Sister, she had learned of the organization that had been the first catalyst to unite the Andrastian faith in Emperor Drakon's time under one common banner, but it was the uninitiated in this circumstance that asked the question, "What was the Inquisition of old?" Alessa realized it was the elf who'd voiced it, her voice now devoid of any tenseness from earlier, instead taking on a humoring curiosity.

"It preceded the Chantry. People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad, much like our present circumstances," Lady Nightingale responded concisely.

"After, they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order - but the Templars have lost their way. We need those that can do what must be done - united under a single initiative once more."

"But aren't you still part of the Chantry?" Aden spoke to her side, asserting his presence once more, his voice also betraying a slight amount of surprise. Lady Cassandra surprisingly chuckled with some mirth, replying, "Is that what you see?"

"The Chantry will take time to elect a new Divine, and then it will wait for her direction," Lady Nightingale responded informatively, Alessa confirming this in her head, but also realizing with trepidation what this meant, and having this confirmed with what was said next.

"But we cannot wait. So many Grand Clerics died at the Conclave. No, we are on our own. Perhaps forever."

"What if I refuse," Cadash suddenly challenged, peering into the Right Hand's eyes to see if there was still some inclination to keep them - or maybe just her, captive. She offered an even response, though it was laced with an edge.

"You should all know that while some believe you chosen, many still think you guilty. The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us. But you cannot say this experience has not changed all of you! Help us fix this, before it is too late." She looked at them all in turn, waiting for an answer.

Hearing all the variables being placed in front of her, Alessa faced an almost agonizing decision. On one path, she could return to Ostwick, and continue the journey of a typical Sister, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy. But how could she? She realized in this moment that she would never be able to forgive herself. She had been brought to the Conclave to make a difference - to ensure that the Maker's love and reach was felt through all of Thedas. Would that be possible if the hole in the sky suddenly began to grow again, and swallowed everything whole? And much still to this point, what would become of her with this Mark? Maybe here she could attain some answers, though entertaining the council of apostates did not seem the wisest. But, she acquiesced, she was in the presence of those that had actually had the Divine's ear and inclination, so she would leave her reservations till later. With all of this considered, she made the decision that in large regard sealed her fate.

Taking a breath to steady herself, she answered, specifically to the Seeker, "I believe I told you I would do whatever it takes to see this through to completion - and I will."

With surprise, and some sort of comfort, the woman gave a smile in response, and offered her a hand, which Alessa grasped, the Right Hand saying, "Thank you, Sister." Letting the grip go after a second, the woman looked to the others, becoming serious again. "And what say the rest of you?"

Aden

For the elder Trevelyan, it was a matter of two warring worlds. He was not welcome home - not that he ever considered it as such. But, Aden Trevelyan had never seen in his future something such as this. A place in an organization, much less one based around the Chantry's ideals - one that his family had always endorsed, albeit ceremoniously? One that had obviously warped his young sister's mind into ritual obedience? But, once more with chagrin, he had to call out his own bluff, and hypocrisy. It was not the Chantry, at least at first, that had with indifference sentenced the young girl to a life of servitude.

No, it was the fear of society that had been harbored in their parent's hearts that had done the deed. And, as Aden had swore to himself upon seeing his sister who was now a budding woman, he would protect her. He would intend to show her that she was cared for - because Maker knew, curse his name, that she had received most likely none, if the people she'd been embedded with were anything like his heartless parents.

And it did seem in all viewing that these two, the so-called Right and Left Hands of this Divinity character, were at least intolerant of bullshit. Maybe he could fit in here...maybe. And so, he offered his hand to the Lady, saying, "I will."

Fighting back a grin as he noticed the very intentional no-nonsense look Lady Pentaghast gave him as they shook, he realized he'd opened more than one can of worms with his fateful decision.

Adaar

Oren was still confused. He hated it. He hated it in concern to his parents, with the obvious enigma surrounding his past that his Shokrakar had also participated in, and now he had this blasted loss of his memory when it came to everything important. He was lacking in crucial detail to make any informed decision - as if he knew how to make one of those. Even being with the Valo-Kas had not been of his making - well, technically, something of his making - but he had not been of-age at the time to have a say.

So, here he was, being inundated with so many questions and new experiences that were on one hand thrilling, and on the other hand, sobering like he had never known before. And no one but him to make the decision for his future. He realized with a terrible chill and a raging heartache that it was most likely as the Templar woman had said - all had perished at the Temple. Including his people. Including the Shokrakar. The ones who had instructed him, laughed with him, gave him a sense of familial love. He was alone.

But, he realized in that moment, that he had a purpose, one rolled out like an ornate red carpet, really. And the Seeker was just waiting for him to say "yes". He realized, as a fire that he had never kindled began rushing up through his chest, much like his magic, that he would partake in this journey.

He would find a purpose. Starting now.

"I'll join," he said, stepping around the talkative man that had animatedly talked to him in the Chantry hall earlier in much of the same way that any of his compatriots would've, and shook the Seeker's hand. And so, Oren Adaar sealed his fate, and began the journey that would see him shake the pillars of Thedas.

Ellana

Once again, she was at a loss. All she had prepared for, trained for by those of her clan, was sideswiped by the events of the past two days. She'd been awoken in the most startling of circumstances - smelling salts being pressed rudely against her nostrils by a man who claimed he was a healer (something her clan keeper would've snorted at) - a "Master Adan".

You're back from the dead, again! He had proclaimed with deadpanned passion, something she wasn't quite the person that could appreciate it, especially considering the circumstances. He'd left then pretty unceremoniously, saying his job there was done, and told her to report to the Chantry when ready, leaving Ellana in the tavern lodging to piece together what had happened, and realizing she was in far deeper than ever expected. What a story she would have to tell. But, first, she needed to gauge the temperature of those around, remembering the derision she, and the other four that had been captive, had been treated with. And then there was the Mark.

Reaching back, she realized all the stories and records she'd combed before held no mention of its magic, whether in her hand, or in the sky. One reason to not simply retreat and try escape. And what was more, upon leaving her room, surprised in the fact she had even received that, she found the tavern staring at her - but not in a way she was used to. Rather, she was greeted with whispers of, it's a Herald of Andraste, in a reverent tone no less. This seemed to follow her all the way to the Chantry doors, where she found the rest of those she'd been captive with, and helped seal the Breach with. The look of bewilderment and slight confusion was with them too, and it unsettled her. The habits she'd been bred with, ones that said, seek, but do not be found, were screaming at her to dart into the closest dark space, and then to freedom - but her duty, and the allure of knowing more about this magic, kept her stuck in place, even making her impatient to get past all the pettiness being shown by the others so she could simply know. Know where she stood, and seek to know what in the gods's names what she should do next. And it had been laid bare to her in this room. There were still unknowns, so many of them, but this was who she was. She was a seeker, much like what this woman opposite of her, Seeker Pentaghast, claimed to be as well.

On one hand, she saw what they stood for to be corrupt and decrepit, but these two that claimed to be the remaining authorities in the Chantry seemed...different. They were purposeful where others of their faith seemed lost. They were decisive and blunt where others fretted about trivialities. Maybe answers could be found. And, maybe she could still be the arrow that flew straight into the target, finding truth and a way forward for her people. She couldn't deny that she was interested in this, and how she could make a difference - maybe even in some ways without having to slink in the dark. Though, she would not let her guard down around these people. Especially with the two from Ostwick. Of course the shem'len had to be from Ostwick. That was her bad luck rearing its ugly head once more. But, she would manage. She had to. And so, she stepped forward, and offered the Seeker a clasped hand.

"Good," was the all the woman said, but her gaze said more. There was no judgement in those eyes - or maybe just one built off the actions she saw from you. Ellana Lavellan could respect that, especially from a human. But her companion, the hooded woman with a gaze of a hawk, was much like her.

This will be interesting, Ellana realized, and couldn't help an excited feeling stirring in her at the fateful adventure in front of her.

Cadash

This wasn't good. But, it was good, too. A paradox. She loved those. It was a balancing act. One she was well-acquainted with. But, this situation was one of unknowns she had never encountered before. And that's what gave her pause. It wasn't often new variables and players presented themselves. Like the Mark on her hand. Whatever had happened at the Temple - she couldn't recall after entering the gates to meet Randford - it had been advantageous, in the most wild and unpredictable of ways. And it involved these four other characters beside her. She was already drawing up preliminary figurative sketches of each of them in her mind.

The mage girl - haughty, possibly a propensity for self-righteousness. Already exploitable, considering the exchange they'd had.

The ruffian, her brother - he kept his cards close to his chest, by presenting a charming facade. Weakness was his sister, who was oh so obvious about her disdain for him. Too easy, if necessary, to split that wide open.

The qun boy - naive. A boy still, in all sense of the word. Full of idealism, an easy crutch.

The elf - she would have to watch this one. She was wary, just like her. Distrustful. Could lead to issues between different styles of tackling problems. She would assert dominance, never weakness in the face of this.

And then, there were her captors. Or, former captors, it seemed. She realized that she'd met two equals the moment they had scanned her the way she knew she was scanning them. They would not be cajoled, and they'd communicated that succinctly with simply their eyes. Maybe this so-called Inquisition had a chance to get off the ground, then. Maybe she should stick around. After all, she was not looking to be attacked by a pack of zealots right outside the gates that claimed she, a Herald of Andraste, was abandoning her divinely-elected duty. Psh.

And, despite her losing her memory, which frustrated her to no end, she remembered why she had been chosen to go to the Temple, and that was to further the Carta's reach. With the hole in the sky, the future was in malleable peril, and this seemed the best place to influence events. She purposed to stay, and do what she did best. Being a queen of the underworld.

"I'll stay," she said out loud, but staying where she was, not moving forward like everyone else to shake hands with the woman. That was completely intentional. She wanted them to know that they did not hold her, and that she stayed because this was her decision. She would be under no one's thumb. Though this seemed to be a slight affront to the Right Hand, she only displayed it for a second before it passed, and she nodded.

"Then it is agreed. I thank the Maker you were all here in our time of need. Leliana, send the ravens." Cadash realized as the Left Hand left to enact the first steps of the Second Inquisition that she was feeling a thrill at the unknowns of the future that would fatefully change her future more than even her foresight could see.

---

Historical accounts can be scattershot with their attempts to humanize their subjects, and the era of the Second Inquisition can be considered no exception. The passage of time has given rise to myths and legends that attempt to glorify, and almost deify those of the past, to fit with our own personal narratives of persons we subconsciously wish we could emulate. And, despite this, my ancestor, one who was prone to romantical and exaggerative terms himself, deigned to describe those he served with in very lucid and revealing terms that exposed their faults and conflicting ideals. We used these accounts, as well as other eyewitnesses, tempered by the illustrious Scribe Genitivi's pragmatic writings to create a historical journey that has the best of both worlds.

This is all to say, dear reader, to reiterate our direction, and draw your attention to the importance of UNDERSTANDING these characters, and their motivations. Without this, we cannot fully obtain the whole truth, and learn from their examples.

Also, with this being said, we must recognize that sometimes the best we can do is infer. Our Five Heralds were not always in the public eye, and even when they were, were subject to the biased whims of such people, which can twist and contort accounts.

The next reliable reports we can look to are the beginning movements of the Inquisition that sought to build its rapport in the aftermath of the Temple incident. The Heralds were pivotal in this time, and were used to appeal to their old bases of origin for support and assistance - some more willing than others to participate. We see in these next several accounts - thought to have taken place over several months - the initial conflicts the Inquisition encountered in its infancy - not all of them external. The Heralds, after all, were from wildly different places of origin, even those of kin to each other as we see with the Trevelyan siblings having vastly different perceptions of the world. These "rifts", *ehem, in ideology and worldview, will be expounded on shortly. Alas, let us continue on dear friends, and see the birthing pains of the fledgling Inquisition.

- Scribe Indra Tethras

---

"Heralds, thank you for meeting us here again. I would like to introduce you to Commander Cullen Rutherford, formerly of the Templar Order, and Josephine Montilyet of Antiva, who will head the military and diplomatic efforts of the Inquisition respectively," Cassandra orated, gesturing to one slightly familiar figure, clad in red and silver, who gave a curt nod to everyone, though his eyes managed to linger on a certain dwarf longer than the others - as well as one arrayed in rich tones of gold across her flamboyantly puffed attire, a genuine smile reaching her lips as she greeted everyone with, "A pleasure, Heralds."

"And, of course you already know Sister Leliana," the Seeker said with an extended hand to her compatriot who nodded and spoke, "My position here involves a certain degree of -,"

"She is our spymaster," the Right Hand bluntly interjected, whether on purpose or not was not known to the Heralds, but Lady Nightingale's response was pointed and bordering on terse.

"Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra."

A silence set in for a brief second, before the elder Trevelyan answered for everyone with a semi-awkward, "Well...good to meet you all, I guess."

"I mentioned that your collective Marks need more power to close the Breach for good," Cassandra went on unfazed, straight to business.

"Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help," Leliana immediately offered, which was in quick succession rebutted by the Commander of the Inquisition's forces, as if this was a long-winded debated topic between them. "I still disagree. I believe the Templar Order is the best option."

"We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into the Marks -," Cassandra supported, which came as a surprise to at least one member of the Heralds, Alessa, who had completely expected all three to support the Chantry. While the Ostwick Circle had been relatively quiet in terms of the so-called mage rebellion, derision had creeped into those of her home for those that had been only weeks before their brothers and sisters of the faith. Not that she did not agree with them. The Chantry was the best hope for Thedas to know the Maker's blessings. But to resort to bloodshed to quell thousands of dissidents? That's why the Conclave had been so essential, and where she had purposed to make her voice, however small, be heard. And she knew she would be in good company. Divine Justinia had been a compassionate and benevolent heart, inscribing many works on the necessity for a tolerant future - all which Alessa had read voraciously. And, even if she was gone, her teachings lived on in this lowly Sister, and apparently in her Left Right Hands as well, who seemed to want to go even further on the path of reconciliation than even Alessa was considering. But, these two were balanced by the presence of the former Templar, who was interjecting, making the mage refocus.

" - could destroy us all! Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so -," he was saying, but was cut off by a retort from Leliana, who flatly denied that with, "Pure speculation."

"I was a Templar. I know what they're capable of," Cullen answered, sounding slightly affronted, a fire lit in his eyes very evident to Alessa that she could definitely understand. That was zeal. He was a true believer, despite departing from the Order itself.

"Unfortunately, neither group will converse with us at the moment," the fourth voice of the council spoke, Lady Montilyet. Her voice spoke reasonably - a diplomat, first and foremost. Her glance came to rest on the Five next. "The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition - and the five of you, specifically."

A small scoff could be heard from the elder Trevelyan, and a muttered, that didn't take long. Alessa also flinched as if hit, while Oren looked visibly confused, with Ellana not looking surprised, but not contributing anything, while Cadash emulated the Child of the Stone so attributed to her people in attitude. In the end, it was Adaar that spoke. "They still think we're guilty? Does...that matter?"

"That's - not the entirety of it anymore. Some are calling you - especially you -," she pointed to Oren specifically at this, "a qunari, 'The Herald of Andraste.' That frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we as heretics for harboring you."

"Chancellor Roderick's doing, no doubt," Cassandra offered with a scoff.

"It limits our options. While the former Circle mages are no longer beholden to the Chantry, left-over bias, and a skepticism for our new organization to make a difference serves as a non-starter with them," Josephine pointed out as it seemed both the Trevelyan siblings were on the verge of offering an objection or suggestion, but this stopped them in their tracks.

"Which is exactly why we should establish contact with the Templars. They are a known variable, and not prone to being tossed around like the wind at the moment!" Cullen pushed, but Cassandra was ready with a rebuttal.

"Need I remind you Cullen how flawed that statement is. Our brothers and sisters as well have left the Order in droves in order to carry out personal crusades to quell the mages! The Hinterland report we just received from Scout Harding that you read is hardly inspiring my faith in that course of action. Maker knows what is going through the Lord Seeker's mind at the moment..." Cassandra trailed off, looking positively furious, but not at Cullen.

"Screw it, let's go it alone. People are stupid," Cadash said with a small indifferent shrug, which Cassandra snorted at, and didn't seem all opposed to, but Leliana was the one to offer the middle road.

"Speaking of the Hinterlands, there is something we can do. A chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you there," she said, and her perceptive eyes caught the look of recognition from the resident Sister of the Five. "It is only a day and a half's ride, and she is more familiar with those at play more than I. Her assistance would be invaluable."

"I am familiar with Mother Giselle. I've actually shared correspondence with her before," Alessa spoke brightly, eagerness reaching her eyes, going on as her composure straightened and her voice became more pronounced, "I would relish the opportunity to speak to her personally about how our causes co-align."

The spymaster let a small smile reach her face as she inwardly chuckled. The girl was positively a believer in the Chantry, something she could not criticize, but that didn't stop the faces of the rest of the Five, bar the qun boy, from wrinkling in disapproval. This was going to be an interesting bunch to balance.

"We need to proceed with caution. While the Mother seems more inclined than most to open to reason at this juncture, my knowledge of her does not cover if she has...experience with outsiders to her world. She may not be so inclined to humoring us when she is face-to-face with those not of the faith," Cassandra caveated. She knew this was not what they wanted to hear, but she knew it was too true.

Justinia had believed in people's innate goodness, but this could so flippantly change, dependent on the company you were in. She knew, for instance, that Commander Cullen flinched every time he witnessed a mage display their power in public without an attendant Templar to watch over them. Beliefs, whether true or not, had a way of altering one's behavior to another, and too often this ended in bloodshed. And she was so tired of it. She would fight till she could no more to quell the evil and injustice in this world, Maker be her strength, but sometimes she wondered if it was enough. After all, she had not been able to foresee Justinia's demise.

But, it seemed the large portion of the newly-proclaimed Heralds were already used to prejudice, judging by their expressions in response to her declaration, though this did not lessen its sting, she knew. "Screw her then, too," Cadash dispensed again, possibly the most accustomed or jaded to such treatment it seemed, though she caught the slight nod and distant look of...was that hurt? from Herald Lavellan.

"It 'tis not the most ideal of circumstances, but the one we are dealt. I hope we can make light of it. I will do all I can to exhibit the Inquisition as a force for good," Josephine offered, and Cassandra had to admire her optimism, despite years of being a diplomat in the Grand Game. Already, the Antivan dignitary had dove wholeheartedly into her work, sending a dozen missives within hours to be dispersed among the divided lands of Fereldan and Orlais to those that mattered the most. She had been the one to suggest an appeal to the more laymen of the Chantry, though it had been Leliana's words sent to Mother Giselle, seeing the spymaster's more direct involvement in the Chantry's affairs of years past.

"Then we are agreed then? I will send a raven to the Hinterlands to inform Scout Harding of your arrival," Leliana said, when she saw no one object. It may be not ideal, but she could see that no one had a better option available to push forward.

"Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition's influences while you are there," Cullen added, though his gaze briefly rested more intensely on Cadash for a moment, as if to say, not illicit ones. The salty dwarf simply gave a barely concealed grin in response.

While suppressing the urge to foolishly laugh like a schoolgirl at the flustered look from the Commander as a result, she knew she would need to keep an eye on the woman. The Carta was not an influence she wanted rotting the Inquisition from the inside-out. One more reason to join the "diplomatic" mission to the Hinterlands. Not that it wasn't a foregone conclusion for her to go anyway. Cassandra Pentaghast was not one to sit idly by like a scribe and simply document what occurred.

The night before the first journey was lonely for everyone. For some, this was a well-acquainted friend coming back to call on them in an uncertain time. For others, it was a terrible shroud. Aden, in this instance, found himself at the local tavern, pondering recent events with the assistance, or lack thereof, from a bottle. The whispers and looks from those around proved to be a dampener on his mood, as it seemed they saw him as some sort of glorified messenger sent down from the heavens in their time of need, and not a simple fellow looking to process questions that continually proved to be over his head with the assistance of some mead. The barmaid, though, Flissa, unlike almost everyone else present, treated him like a normal human chap, barely blinking when he sat at the bar, his Mark even inadvertently crackling as he ordered, her eyebrows briefly raising, her only commentary being, "Quite a thing you got there."

After bringing his drink of choice, she moved off to attend to the others, which, Aden observed as he usually did, included in a dark corner his fellow Herald, Cadash, who looked unperturbed by all the attention she was getting, and instead was furiously scribbling on what looked like a journal.

Maybe a diary? Aden snorted at that thought, imagining the calloused dwarf needing to vent her pent-up feelings with a scribble of an ink pen. Sometime later, a couple drinks in, a man approached her table, Aden assuming that he was some supplicant come to receive her "blessing" as Herald, but instead the dwarf curtly ripped out the pages of her journal and gave them to him, speaking briefly, before he left posthaste.

Business as usual, Aden surmised in a somewhat drunken state, also forgetting to look away fast enough as Cadash's own wandering gaze caught his, a scowl being sent his way, but he gave a jolly wave in response, causing a very visible eye roll from his recipient, before she downed her tankard in one gulp and slipped out.

So much for dialogue between colleagues, Aden flippantly thought, before hazily remembering they were to leave at sunrise, and drunkenly stumbling to his assigned room.

---

Across the way, Oren Adaar was studiously packing his belongings for the journey, while simultaneously feeling a measure of trepidation. The Temple assault had provided a taste of what was to come, and what was expected of him as a Herald. A Herald of Andraste.

The Valo-Kas had been the farthest from being spiritual in any sense, impressing their often flippant attitude towards any sort of organized religion on him, but based off what he had seen from when his memory kicked back in, he was beginning to wonder. But that was all he could do. Wonder. The Maker, or Andraste he guessed, hadn't come to him in a grand vision, anointing him with their grand blessing, or even close to it.

And so, Oren was left with his form of existentialism, and guessing how he was to navigate the new company he held. It hadn't helped his worries when the diplomat lady, Josephine, had mentioned specifically his race as a key factor for the difficulties ahead, and to expect pitfalls and outright opposition. In a sense, he was used to this, but he'd always been in good company when such times arose. No one was going to spit in your face when a dozen other men and women stood behind you, armed to the teeth, sworn to protect you. But now, while he did have those that were on equal ground and predicament with him, he wasn't sure how he felt about them, and if they felt the same. Then again, first his captors, now benefactors, had shown some measure of benevolence towards him without second thought, so this was something.

And, like an epiphany, Oren realized his dreams were still on track. The Conclave, while destroyed, which brought a pang to his stomach, he was alive. He still wanted to change the landscape of Thedas to be more inclusive of all. The Valo-Kas, with its motley crew of all races, had been his first example that it was a feasible notion. The Inquisition could be the next. Then again, all this sounded swell in his head, but execution of an idea, as his Shokrakar had endlessly emphasized, was a different matter entirely.

Have your dreams, as they are the light to your path, but expect the wolves to come from outside your light, she had said once with a smirk. Oren would not forget. Not ever.

---

Ellana was on what the city folk considered a "midnight stroll". Well, more like a frenzied run.

She flitted beneath the trees, and through them, burning off her anxiety as she stalked an elk, her long legs giving her edge over almost any other race, her bow coming to full pull, before loosing in a downward spiral, but missing her target by a decent margin, causing her to curse as the beast ran off, having much more stamina than even her.

Breathing heavily as she settled in the pine tree, she could hear the gentle admonishment from her father, who had just begun to train her in earnest before she had departed in the ways of archery.

Do not sacrifice accuracy for the sake of speed, he'd reminded her, and it was something she was still lackluster on adopting. She acknowledged though that this jaunt into the forest around Haven had been more to clear her mind, and establish her feelings on her current situation, and it wasn't quite enough.

She'd been proclaimed a Herald of Andraste, and had stayed away from people ever since, if at all possible. She had no desire to mingle with those who had just yesterday called her a murderer, then christened her with praise just the next. What kind of outright hypocrisy was this? Her disdain for the Chantry being much of the cause of this double-minded nature had increased all the more, but she realized nonetheless that she'd chosen this path. She wanted to know more about the Mark on her hand, and no matter how much of her denied it, a small part of her remained a tad idealistic, and had remained slightly open with the show of benevolence by the four heads of the Inquisition.

Of course, this could be just a ploy to get more people to their cause, but she realized that wasn't the whole of it. She had a Mark, and that was useful. And what was to say that she couldn't affect what was at play because of her newfound station? Elves, more specifically the Dalish, had been disenfranchised for so long, and now she could do something about it. Her father, and, to a lesser extent her mother, would be positively giddy to hear of what had transpired, though would caution her in the usual ways. She was sure there would be an excerpt from her clan's Keeper added on too, advising her to be tempered in the face of the unknown. Easier said than done. She would keep most of those around her at arm's length for now, as she determined what in Mythal's name to do.

Oh, and that was another problem. Her vallaslin of the goddess was sure to cause a stir when someone inevitably took notice of it and spread the word to every gossiper. Well, they could take it or leave it. She would remain stalwart in the face of it all, she determined this as she headed back to her lodging.

---

Alessa was on her knees in the temple, offering thanks to the Maker and His Bride Andraste, for their providence. At first, she'd sought out the local Sisters to attend with her to pray and strengthen her resolve in the face of the unknown, but none had presented themselves, causing her heart to sink more than she'd expected.

The young Sister was starting to gather how divisive this whole situation had become, and their reluctance to even speak with her. While the common laymen had endorsed her title as Herald of Andraste pretty wholeheartedly, blessings being offered to her as she passed (she acknowledged these with a nod and smile), she could see some sort of derision in most of the remaining Chantry officials as she would walk by.

Nevertheless, she would make her supplications, and not forget the favor shown to her. What else could her survival, and the Mark of power, be a sign of? She was a Herald of Andraste now. This reminder struck the largest chord in her heart, as it seemed the Maker had finally begun to work things together, the spinning of the tapestry that was his creation finally weaving her into the fold. This, she knew, of course, did not come without its tribulations.

The first part had been separation from her family. Though, she was starting to believe this was for the best. She knew if she had stayed she would've been subject to the whims and frivolities that came with being of noble birth.

The second was her Harrowing, at fourteen no less. She resisted the urge to shiver, but even more than this, the propensity to sink into the miasma of swirling emotions she'd been almost instantly been hit with as she had stepped into the Fade. No, it wasn't real. All deceit. She'd already indulged this memory too much. She refocused her mind on one of thankfulness, that she hadn't fallen prey to the whiles of evil.

I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade

For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light

And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.

The third aspect of her trials was two-fold, and the current state she found herself in. She had been confronted with old wounds in the form of her brother, while undergoing the most pivotal change in her life - all without the guidance of the familiar Circle. For all she knew, it had disbanded in the wake of the Temple explosion as well, but she thought with some humor, yet chagrin that Senior Enchanter Doris would personally see to it any that thought that leaving was a novel idea, she would execute herself. The elderly woman was headmaster for a reason. She'd always been so derisive towards Alessa, for reasons relatively unknown. For one, the youthful mage had learned in the months after her Harrowing that Doris had been one of the most vocal voices for her trial to occur when it did. And she'd heard the rumors from her peers. The woman did not like Alessa, and had figured the trial would be a way of...dealing with her.

But alas, the Maker obviously had different plans. And so here Alessa Trevelyan was - alone, yet shown the creator's favor, questioning in prayerful form what the future held. After some time of reflection, she noticed that the candles had dwindled significantly in front of Andraste's statue, and she should be off to bed before the first leg of her journey to represent the Maker began. And she would with all her heart.

With a fling of ice she dispelled the candles and departed.

---

Cassandra Pentaghast waited impatiently with her horse at the gates of Haven as dawn crested. Granted, she was five minutes ahead of her own deadline to be at their rally point, but all the same. Did the others care as much as she did about the Inquisition's need to immediately reach out to those around?

"Hello, Seeker," came a measured voice from behind her, causing her to ashamedly jump slightly, and also bringing a scowl to her face as she turned, finding Solas there, reins in hand with his mount trailing not far behind. Maker, she understood the man was an enigma and knew how to be inconspicuous, but how did he manage the same attributes with his horse?

"Solas! Why...nevermind. It is dangerous outside Haven for an apostate," she settled on saying, going instead for a cautionary observation of the fact he hadn't come from his quarters next to the apothecary.

"I'm fully aware, Seeker, and fully prepared. My kind are rarely welcomed with open arms in any part," he said, voice neutral as always, making her wonder if he was referencing his ethnicity, or status as an apostate, as he continued with, "I decided to meditate at a ruin near here. The Fade is especially conducive in such a place as this."

Cassandra was only superficially knowledgeable of such matters if it did not concern her role in the past as a Seeker, and did not know why he would risk life and limb for what could be easily done on his knees in the place the Inquisition had given him, but she surmised as long as he was not conjuring a host of demons with blood magic and killing their investment in him in the process, she could only shrug.

"Very well then. I am pleased to see you at least here in a timely manner, unlike -"

"Me, Seeker? Come on, where's the faith after all this time?" came the voice she wished was halfway back to Kirkwall by now. Sure enough, she turned to see Varric Tethras walking towards them, holding the reins of his nug in one hand, and biting off a piece of jerky in another, causing an eye-roll that came too easily to her. At this point, it was what she was known for more than anything else, to her slight chagrin.

"Our party is already swelling to unsustainable numbers," she muttered, but the observant dwarf of course had to catch that.

"IIIIIII think we both know that our new saviors of Thedas are going to need as much backup as possible," he said as he stroked his chin and gave a smirk. She almost objected, wanting to insist that her, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana had it under control, but she knew that would be at least a half-lie, and the smutty writer would weasel his way into their company no matter what, citing his restless nature, and need to document the next chapter of Thedas.

All she ended up responding with was a small irritated huff, and restlessly tapping her foot, before catching a petite form coming through the gates, as Varric observed, "Well, well, speaking of one of our heroes…"

Cassandra allowed a small, genuine smile to come to her face as she saw Alessa Trevelyan, still struggling with the stiffer, more utilitarian clothes she now wore, staff in hand, blush coming to her face as she noticed them all staring. Despite this, she gave a very Chantry-like bow in greeting, and a smile. Leliana is pleased, I'm sure.

"Hello, everyone," she greeted, her eyes glancing at the three, her gaze briefly becoming scrutinizing with Solas, before she rested on the Seeker. "Are we ready to depart, I presume?"

"We are still waiting on your fellow Heralds," Cassandra answered with a sniff, and she noticed the mage's expression fall into something a little darker, and she could presume why. The whole group was already appearing dysfunctional, what with the mage herself and their resident dwarf already trading dirty looks, and her own brother, which she seemed estranged with, being present.

"I was not aware that all would be in attendance," Alessa said almost formally, and Cassandra could already see the walls going up. She was too familiar with such a move, knowing she herself was guilty of such.

"While I do not expect the blessed Mother to be aware of the...nature of the Heralds, or even if there's more than one of you, it would be useful to have all of you in the Hinterlands to spread the news the Inquisition is ready to bring order to the chaos," Cassandra answered measuredly, knowing that her position required her to be as diplomatic as possible, especially with so much more than she'd expected to juggle.

"She...was not told about us?" Alessa deduced, frowning at this, and Cassandra felt a pang of guilt as she understood the meaning of what she said.

"Leliana...wanted to project an even keel for the Inquisition. No misconceptions this way, until the Mother meets you. Granted, rumors fly faster than a crow, but this is inevitable -,"

"And dangerous," came a flat voice from the gates, Cadash appearing, and surprising enough, Adaar was right behind her, hurrying to catch up funnily enough, giving everyone a bashful smile, and wave as he did, greatsword and staff swung over his back noisily clanking together as he did so.

"Yes. I suppose so. I can assure you, that is what this expedition is for. Dispelling all the rabble, and -," Cassandra briefly stopped as she noticed the form of Ellana Lavellan, bow strung over her slim figure as she came close, the Seeker nodding to her, "-not adding to it. Actions will prove the loudest."

"No time to waste," Cadash asserted at this, guiding her mount forward, but Cassandra stopped her with an uplifted hand. "We're still waiting on your fellow Herald." She allowed some distaste to come into her voice at this, which seemed to allay the dwarf concerning the elder Trevelyan and actually make the younger of the siblings snort as she shook her head.

After several moments of awkward silence, here he came, muttering oaths as he did so, adjusting his breeches restlessly as he tried to get his pack on squarely, before he straightened up and gave a winning smile.

"Well, hello there," he proclaimed to everyone, projecting that stupid charisma that could only come from getting your way too many times.

"We're all here, good. Let us depart," Cassandra said, ignoring the ignoramus attempt by the man to save face, instead swiftly mounting her horse and leading the way forward, everyone following suit as she thought she could hear Varric say to him with a chuckle, nice try, better luck next time.

---

Cassandra guessed she should be grateful that their trip to the Hinterlands of Ferelden was mostly uneventful, with the added bonus that each of their party knew how to properly ride their mounts, and no fights broke out between the members, seeing that tensions were simmering. They will have to learn to work together, though, she thought, after noticing how the group had become almost immediately segregated into cliques, with herself and Alessa to the fore, then Ellana, Oren, and Cadash in an incompatible mix in the middle, and Varric with Aden, becoming quick friends, periodically belting out some crude tavern song at the top of their lungs, to the chagrin and dirty looks of the others.

Don't they realize that they are making us targets, she grimaced, and thought of the incident several hours before at the pass out of the mountains, going into the forests of upper Ferelden. Several supposed bandits, though she couldn't confirm this, had come screeching and yelling like some wannabe Avvar, riding alongside them through the trees, but had been scared off when the Heralds' collective Marks suddenly flared bright (was there a Rift nearby?), plus the more aggressive members of their party, consisting of Lavellan, Cadash, and Oren had hooped and hollered back and advanced towards the ruffians, scattering them. As a side-note, the Seeker had noticed their resident expert in the arcane and apostate looking unalarmed and even satisfied at the unexpected display from the enigmatic magic. Solas had also been the only one that had drifted between groups, offering snippets of conversation before going onto another. She would have to speak with him at length once they settled down for a second.

Her and Alessa's conversation was truly fruitful though. The mage and Sister of the Chantry (which Josephine and Leliana had double-checked) reminded Cassandra some of herself at the age - bright, full of idealistic passion - ready to dispense her lengthy and complex views on anyone willing to listen.

"This whole conflict must be a vast misunderstanding. The Templars and these mages worked in tandem for millenia, only for conflict to spill over as if it was destined to happen? I cannot believe this. In the Ostwick Circle our Templars were exceptional members of the Order, gentlemen even, and I cannot imagine them cutting us down, or vice versa. This has to be some enemies of the Chantry stirring tensions - I mean, don't you think?"

The young woman's speech became hitched at the end as her expressive motions became still and she glanced at her audience - at least the only one that was actively listening and engaging with her.

The Seeker shook her head mentally as she tried to think of her words carefully. It was obvious that the girl looked up to her, considering her position as Right Hand, or former Right Hand, an instrument in the hand of the Divine, her will in action. She did not want to destroy this impressionable girl's slightly naive outlook, but there was a reason for why the Inquisition had become necessary. Kirkwall, Kinloch Hold, among many others, had shown the established order had become decrepit, and rife in abuse of power. In all honesty, Justinia's efforts to modernize, even liberalize the Chantry and associated parties had been bordering on too late - they just hadn't seen it in time. But, the Seeker could already see the glimmer of hope in the mage's eyes that things could be restored to the "natural" order she was used to, and believed in fervently.

"In its essence, the Chantry is a beacon for Thedas. We are representatives of the Maker and Andraste. We are only human though. This leads to strife, and...less than ideal outcomes, such as this," Cassandra gestured to Alessa's Mark, which was glowing a dull green at the moment. This response didn't seem satisfying to the lay sister, who had probably heard the same answer in a different form a thousand times before, but Cassandra knew that experience would soon show the young mage this truth in greater volumes than she could ever tell.

---

"Heralds! You, uh, all have arrived. I've heard the stories - everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach," said the armored dwarf in front of them, slightly hesitant at the sheer amount of people in front of her, though this quickly faded as her voice became shrewd. "Some people might call it odd that a Dalish, qunari, and one of my own especially would care what happens to anyone, but you'll all get no back talk from me. That's a promise. Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I - all of us here - will do whatever we can to help."

"Harding, eh? Ever been to Hightown in Kirkwall?" Varric spoke up before anyone else could, the grin so easily heard in his voice.

"No, why?" the scout replied, slightly befuddled, mimicking most everyone else present, causing the writer to simply shake his head. "You'd be Harding in...oh, never mind." The scoff from Cassandra was more than noticeable.

The younger Trevelyan was the first to recover the main course of the conversation, eyes curious as new elements presented themselves.

"It's surprising to see the Inquisition coming together with such force and diversity so soon," she said with a smile, as she noticed the scout was already sporting a breastplate with The Watchful Eye emblazoned on it.

This actually made the woman blush as she responded, "I, uh, actually began only a week ago. The Hinterlands is my home, and I want to protect it, and the Inquisition seems to be the only rational force that wants to keep a semblance of order. I offered to be a guide to the area, and escort the Inquisition's representatives to Horsemaster Dennet, but the infighting between the rebel mages and rogue Templars made it impossible to get to him. Mother Giselle is at the Crossroads, a major highway intersection, a couple klicks south of here, helping refugees and the wounded. Our reconnaissance says the fighting is getting closer and closer to that area. Corporal Vale and the local detachment are doing the best they can to protect those there, but if attacked they won't be able to hold out for very long. Since your mission takes priority, Heralds, I, and the other scouts will foray around, though our number is still low -"

"I'll join you," came a soft, quick voice, from Herald Lavellan, her lithe figure stepping forward, eyes intense and ready. "I have experience with field work."

Though surprised, Harding gave a small smile and a firm nod. "We would appreciate your help, Herald. The more, the better." She noticed the flinch on the elf's part at the emphasis on "Herald", but assumed this was because of the gravity of the situation. I wouldn't want to be any of their shoes, she affirmed in her mind.

"We best get going - no time to lose."

---

Though this would not be the collective Heralds' first fight in any sense, it would be the first that exposed all five to the tragic and turmoiled circumstances of their selected conflict, and color it in a very anthropomorphic sense. No longer were they fighting demons or some detached and elusive enemy, but their fellow kin. The more hardened of the Five took this in stride, but the youngest were the most impressionable and unused to seeing such cruelty displayed with such abandon.

Oren, while used to a rough-and-tumble living, and dealing with unsavory types, never truly had to face another sentient that was blinded by rage, determined to see him sent into the Maker's Embrace, or whatever occurred in the afterlife. The Templar, while cloaked in heavy armor, was nevertheless a more corporeal enemy than any demon from the shattered Temple, giving him pause as the man lifted his greatsword, bloody from plunging it into an unfortunate mage's chest, and did not hesitate as he screamed and ran towards the qun boy.

His first response was to cast an impulsive spirit spell to bind his enemy that he knew his Shokrakar would've disapproved of, but it didn't matter as the Templar flicked it aside like it was nothing, dispelling the act with impunity. Barely drawing his own greatsword in time to parry the thrust, he cast the frenzied attack aside, saying desperately, "I am not your enemy! We're here to help!"

There was no answer as the Templar with a plated boot kicked at the qun's shin, causing him to buckle with a gasp, and leaving him mortally vulnerable as the man raised his weapon over his head, determined to thrust it deep into the boy's belly - but was stopped as an overpowered ball of ice slammed into his midsection, careening him back, the Templar not having time to deflect, before a small, squat figure dashed forward onto his body and slashed open the exposed neck.

Heaving with strained breaths, Oren looked to see his rescuers, the apostate mage elf who'd been nice to him, and his fellow Herald Cadash, the one who had landed the finishing blow.

"They don't care," she told him as she jumped off the limp body, wiping blood off her face with a grimace, and stared at him intently. The elf, Solas! - he remembered his name now, was the one to offer him a hand and a nod, affirming what she was saying. "They are driven mad. Such is this war, and many before it."

Alessa herself was coming to terms with what was transpiring as well. The group of Heralds and their supporters had been nearing the Crossroads when the fighting had begun, a large contingent of mages being driven towards the area by Templars baying for blood, soon sending the location into chaos.

The companions had been split as dozens of combatants flooded down into the flatlands, Cassandra initially uttering orders to stand their ground, but this was made null as the zealots began coming from all directions, as if drawn by a Rage demon. Alessa found herself, Aden, the Seeker, and Varric on the defensive as they were pushed back towards the Crossroads, the mage of the Circle initially calling out to those that held similar apparel to what she was used to, trying to stop them with familiar and comforting words, but this only seemed to add vitriol to the fire and ekk them on further, setting a pit of dread into her stomach as she deflected relentless attacks against her and those of her party.

"Templars, stand down!" Cassandra called out, but was in good posture for when they ignored one of their own's entreatments, her sword resting on top of shield, stance one of readiness. They came then, attacking with screams of rage that saw no reason, arrows immediately flying from the quivers of the older Trevelyan and Varric with his unique crossbow in retaliation.

Aden though was finding himself aiming for shots he knew would only incapacitate - unlike the others, he only felt only sympathy for those driven to these terms. It wasn't their fault. It was the Chantry's, and those that supported it. He realized with a grimace that this included his sister, who - Alessa!

He almost saw it too late - the Templar that was flanking them, and had his sights on his exposed sibling. The man charged, and Aden realized that stringing his bow would take too long, and so he dashed forwards, just in time blocking with his shortsword he kept on him just in case the blow intended for his sister.

He heard a gasp from behind him as Alessa realized the danger, but his attention was on the armored man in front of him, who let out a growl before unexpectedly backhanding Aden, sending him sprawling.

That hurt, his brain muttered, but he was used to that type of assault, regaining his wits quickly, seeing Alessa to no avail trying to stop the Templar with magic. Desperation was on her face, as he lifted his sword and uttered with malice, "Die, you cretin."

Rage suddenly filled Aden's body and he dashed forward, tackling the man, and stabbed into the man's breatsplate with all his might and a grunt, causing the Templar to lay still.

Seconds passed as the elder Trevelyan had the realization dawn of what he'd just done. He'd never killed a man before. He may have gotten close once or twice because of personal grievances and even some worse-than-expected tavern brawls, but...this was completely different. His mind, though filled liberally with adrenaline and fuzzy, played back the engagement, and he knew why he'd done it. It was because the man had shown sheer hatred to Alessa. He had no remorse in trying to ensure her demise. And he could not tolerate that. She was all that was anchoring him to any sort of tangible, solid foundation, and he could not let her be hurt by those that had no semblance of compassion, much less this dead man.

He looked up to find her face, hoping to see some sort of encouragement that what he did was right, and found her stock-still, staring down at him and the body. A sudden grip on his arm thrust him upwards and shook him, his surroundings coming back into focus, the shouting of those around reaching his ears as he took in the scowling visage of Cassandra Pentaghast.

"Get yourself together, Trevelyan. We must rally." Seeing his distant look in the direction of his sister, she looked, and then looked back at him, her voice getting a tad softer. If that's even possible for her, the damned woman.

"Be strong for her. She will recover. Show her you can handle this," she almost commanded, or that's how it was received at least. But he understood the merit.

Now was no time to display hesitance, or some sort of regret for his actions. She needed him. And so he stood, and gave as certain of a nod as possible in the moment to the Seeker, then a small smile to his sibling - and then the enemy was upon them again.

But it was in this moment that reinforcements came from the forested hills. A rumbling could be heard from around the Five as gigantic logs suddenly sped out of the canopy, cutting off the escape of the mages and Templars, and crushing many underneath the unavoidable obstacles bearing down on them.

"Inquisition soldiers, to me!" came a shout from the middle of the Crossroads from a helmeted man in chainmail and bearing the Inquisition's sigil, the half-dozen or so of his troop letting loose a cry of attack as they counter-attacked with the Heralds, catching the remaining rebel mages and templars in a pincer move, as it was revealed that the instigators of the flanking attack from above was none other than Scout Harding and Herald Lavellan, rushing downwards to assist as well. It seemed that most of the aggressors would rather fight to the last than surrender in that moment, attacking with rabid abandon, but being dispensed by the skillful and practical training of those of the Inquisition.

When the dust settled, the victorious party came together, looking around at the aftermath.

"Corporal Vale, Scout Harding, I commend you on your courageous actions. What is the status of Mother Giselle?"

"We made sure to keep her and other non-combatants as insulated from the combat as possible when the attack occurred, ma'am. You should be able to find her attending to the wounded up the steps," Corporal Vale responded with a fist to his chest as a salute, before departing to take care of the restoration of the area.

With this, Cassandra turned to those of her party, many of them still looking shellshocked from the events of just moments before. She understood this, and from her experience the best remedy to deal with this was to move forward, allowing more mundane things to ground you. With this in mind she said, "Mother Giselle awaits. I would prefer she see a relatable face first -"

"You mean human," she was interrupted, her eyes darting to the small dwarf casually cleaning her blade with a bloody cloth, a flat face returning her gaze, but the slight vitriol in her voice was evident. Cassandra berated herself mentally, realizing she could have phrased that more appropriately.

"No. Not in that manner. Simply, one that can illicit initial acceptance. I would suggest one versed in Chantry matters, such as Herald Trevelyan here - the younger," she answered evenly as possible, getting a stereotypical eye roll from the elder sibling. Seemed he'd recovered enough to go back to being annoying.

"Fenedhis shem'len," came a mutter from Herald Lavellan, her folded arms an indication of how she felt, looking irritated, and a bit restless? Her eyes were darting to and fro, like she wished she didn't have to endure this. Herald Adaar was looking like a corralled nug, his eyes still looking glazed over, as if he still hadn't processed the last couple minutes of events, and so he didn't give a response. Alessa, though, seemed to have come around at the mention of Giselle, her eyes more acute and focused now, which was encouraging.

"I am willing to talk to the Mother," she said, her hands clasped together, posture prim, a small smile broaching her face.

"Of course you are," came a mutter from Cadash, that was probably meant as almost indiscernible, but it obviously had its effect, as Alessa blinked - hard - and her faced morphed to something almost malicious, but to Cassandra's surprise it quickly was buried under a serene facade that she'd seen so many times from Leliana. The Chantry Sister breathed deep before saying, "I'm ready whenever you are."

"Good. The rest of the Heralds, hold here. We shall see the level of the Mother's ambivalence," Cassandra said with a layer of steel in her tone as she did her best to convey that she did not like this situation as much as them. She liked to think she succeeded more than she failed in being a peacemaker. If she truly did, then it was all to Justinia's credit.

---

"...don't let them touch me, Mother. Their magic…" Alessa and Cassandra heard faintly as they walked up the steps, finding a makeshift infirmary set up between two thatch roof huts overlooking the Crossroads, with several sisters caretaking the sickly, including one that stood out.

"...turned to noble purpose, child. Their magic is surely no more evil than your blade," came a gentle and sure response from the darkly complected elder Sister. Or rather, Mother.

"But…" came one final hesitant objection from the soldier, but was kindly swept aside.

"Hush, dear boy, allow them to ease your suffering," she said, and he finally laid down, allowing the accompanying mage to attend to him.

Alessa found herself feeling a mix bag of emotions at the sight, saddened and unsure why the man was so full of fear that he would rather pass on than receive healing, but also encouraged by the example of the Mother's character and amity towards the soldier's perception of things.

As the woman stood, Alessa strode forward, confidently speaking out to one of her own.

"Mother Giselle? Blessings of the Maker upon you."

"I am she. You must be one of those sent by Andraste for such a time as this," Giselle said with a nod and small smile.

"I am Alessa Trevelyan, Sister of the Ostwick Circle. I believe we had correspondence at one point - and, oh, ehmm, Herald of Andraste, it seems..." There was a pause as Alessa found the Mother listening intently, the smile still there, the woman not saying anything, as if she knew what the girl was going to say next. "...though it was not a choice of mine," came the reluctant caveat.

The budding woman was coming to more grips with the notion that this had all come about without any sort of consent in the slightest from her. If it was truly Andraste's wish for her to be her Herald, then why no forewarning message? The world had been upended, and she had been taken with it, then expected to mend it, all with simply what she had at her fingertips.

Before the frustration in her gut could rise too much, the Mother responded with, "We seldom have much say in our fate, I'm sad to say."

In that moment, it struck Alessa how much the Chantry Mother opposite of her was so much different than, say, the Mothers of her own Circle. In fact, in this situation they would have said the exact opposite, something along the lines of, Our intentional service to the Maker is what sets us apart. Do not waver from it. This woman, on the other hand, immediately was sympathetic.

"But this isn't just your path to walk, now is it?" the Mother spoke again, causing Alessa to surface out of her sudden introspection, and making her blink. Was she…?

Giselle, as it seemed to be her nature, gave a knowing smile, hands clasped in front of her, as she replied, "My daughter, your composure tells me you feel alone in this endeavor. I remember our correspondence, and how you remarked on this notion even then. But the Maker created not just you, or me, for a time such as this. We have those around us to shoulder the burden - and it seems he desired for a colorful tapestry of his sons and daughters to be apart of your journey, as fellow Heralds. We are all from the Maker's bosom, Herald Trevelyan, meant for each other."

Finding herself speechless for a moment at the woman's ability of perception, Alessa finally found her voice. "I - do not know the path forward, Mother," Alessa answered, her voice trying to cover its sudden waver as she fought her eye's urge to water.

Giselle chuckled softly, replying with, "Oh, my child, neither do I. We are given puzzle pieces to fit together, some that look more unfamiliar than others, but this does not mean there is not a divine plan. Being a Herald of Andraste means you are the embodiment of Andraste herself - her kindness, loyalty, and willingness to see all people ushered into the Maker's embrace. Are you willing to accept this call, and be accepting to all peoples, believing the Maker loves them too?"

Alessa found herself looking down, unintentionally taking too long to ponder the Mother's question. She knew what the Mother said was almost taken for granted for one of their order, but for some reason she found herself hesitating. Maybe it was the current conflict, or the derision she was facing from those that weren't traditionally seen as part of the Chantry's higher purpose, she did not know. But, she then recalled the scene that had transpired just moments before between the Mother and the soldier. He'd been so fearful of what he did not understand, and yet she had shown him a measure of amity. Was this not what the Maker stood for? His creation was lost, warring with each other, and assuming one was better than the other. Nothing that He has wrought shall be lost. The only ones that the Chant of Light said the Maker specifically accursed was those that thought they could ascend to his state by breaching with their unholiness the Golden City. All others...were his children, and accepted without partiality. Seeing this directive made apparent through this Mother only cemented the axiom in Alessa's heart and mind, even though some around her may make it...difficult to bear, more than others.

But no matter. She resolved to stay resolute.

And so, she nodded, wiping her now apparent tears, and answered, "I am, Mother."

Giselle smiled even more at this, responding herself with, "I am glad to hear it, child. Your knowledge of, and passion for the Holy One and His Bride will be crucial in the coming trials. But do not forget those around you. Speaking of them, will you call the others here?"

Feeling more grounded and assured through their interaction, Alessa nodded, walking back briefly to Cassandra, the woman asking, "How did it go?"

"She wants to meet the others," the mage answered quickly as she passed her, not missing the faintly shocked expression on the Seeker's face, something she could relate to.

The other four Heralds were still stewing on the steps, looking either impatient, uncomfortable, or a mixing of the two, eyes darting up to find Alessa approaching, looking expectant at her.

"She would like to see us all," she announced, looking at them interchangeably, giving all a small smile, but finding herself struggling to keep it when she locked eyes with both her brother, and then the salty dwarf staring daggers back at her, who also was coincidentally tossing a dirk in the air and catching it again. Little by little, she told herself, breathing in and out deeply.

Thankfully, the four did not need any more urging, though they also seemed faintly taken aback that they were being summoned, and followed her to the Mother, Aden even catching up to her, and saying in a humorous voice, "My sister, the diplomat."

She glanced at him then, annoyed feelings of old telling her he was caustically joking as he always did when she'd known him, but found an amiable smile gracing his face as he left it at that, leaving her side, bringing up the left as they approached the Mother, who was waiting expectantly.

"Heralds. It is a pleasure to meet all of you. Rumors reached me several days ago of a coterie of persons thrown out of the Fade with the sigil of Andraste. But, enough of that. You came here to seek what I know on the condition of the Chantry, and if it will support your cause."

She paused to let this settle and gauge their reactions, which was fruitful to say the least. It was as if they hadn't expected her to brush past what they considered to be everyone's misgivings on who they obviously were. Since there was no response to her opening greeting, she smiled and continued.

"I know of the Chantry's denouncement, and those behind it. I will not lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some, though, are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us."

Once again she stopped to allow for this to sink in, and see their reactions. This time, there was a predominantly negative reaction in their faces, bar Sister Alessa. So, these were mainly a group not of the faith, or at least ones lax in their attention towards Andrastian things. This did pique the Mother's curiosity in one instance, as it had been said the two humans of the group, the Trevelyans, weren't just distantly related, but the closest of blood - brother and sister. This meant, judging by this information and his reaction to her news, he was not on the same page as her, or even their family. But, while this parcel of information was interesting and helped her gauge her audience, it was of little consequence. They'd all obviously agreed to be apart of the Inqusition, and knowing that the Right and Left Hand of the Divine were firmly in control of its direction was reassuring, and would be enough for her.

"Do you call that an excuse to squabble and hurt those they supposedly protect?" Aden pushed with a tense voice, seeming to echo what everyone, bar his sister, were gauging the situation as.

"And do you support them?" Ellana added, her recipient noticing the barely veiled vitriol that was ready to spring up if she was not careful.

"Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason," she said measuredly, launching into her main reason for wanting to speak to them all personally. If she did not make the appeal directly to them, instead sending an endorsement through an impersonal missive, they wouldn't understand the humanity needed in this moment, and that there were those in the Chantry who did not care about the petty Game the grand clerics played. Giselle saw disaster in the future, even the end of the Chantry, if she did not make a stand.

"The Chantry is a sum of its parts," she continued with this on her heart, "and you are part of that now. Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demons to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe in. This is a time of opportunity. I see you before me - human, elf, qunari, and dwarven - a colorful work of the Maker's craftsmanship. A representation of what could be."

"Won't that make it worse?" the young, unsure voice of the qunari Herald asked, though the experienced Mother realized through his tone this query was not out of disdain like the others for the established order, but more of a fear that their efforts could be undone so easily by who they were. They needed assurance that this was not all for naught.

"Because you are not human?" she asked pointedly, noticing the scowls and nervous glances in response.

"That too," the dwarf said with crossed arms, chief of scowls.

"Let me put it this way: you needn't convince them all. You just need some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them, and you receive the time you need. I honestly do not know if you've been touched by fate or sent to help us...but I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us - or destroy us."

Resting a moment on that point, she finished with a show of action. "I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those of the Chantry amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do what I can."

"I am grateful for everything you can do for us, Mother," Alessa spoke, smiling and giving a formal bow, being the only one to give a positive response - if any, at that. But Giselle did not allow this to faze her. She was used to this reaction, one that could only be dislodged by diplomacy and kindness through action. She gave a bow as well in response, then walked away down the steps, planning her journey ahead. She would keep her end of the bargain. By the Maker she hoped they understood and did too. Andraste preserve her if not.

---

"That was the most ideal outcome, I expect," Cassandra said as she approached the group as the Mother departed.

"Umm, what next?" Oren queried, looking about.

"There are several things to take care of while here in the Hinterlands. To strengthen the Inquisition, we should first inquire of Horsemaster Dennet & his steeds. There may be some….convincing to be done though -"

"Diplomacy. Count me out. What else," Cadash refused flatly, causing Cassandra to frown at the immediate rebuttal. They would need to learn the importance of such trivial things as talking to people to support their cause, much less getting the Chantry on board. But, fortunately, there were other things on the table that necessitated a more...blunt approach.

"I believe Corporal Vale could use assistance with his goodwill mission here at the Crossroads - bandits abound, as well as hunting for game. If you are insistent on not speaking to Dennet, we -,"

"I'll take care of it," Cadash interrupted, already moving, slightly throwing her recipient off, and what's more a second later Herald Lavellan with a split second look said, "I will join you," catching up to the dwarf, who only scowled for a second, before almost imperceptibly nodding and continuing on her way.

"You know what? Bianca could use some practice against those riff-raff bandit bastards," Varric chimed in suddenly with a shrug as he rolled his shoulders and began following, increasing the level of incredulity Cassandra was feeling. And already, the Inquisition fractures, she said with a mental eye-roll and slight bit of worry coupled with irritation, but as Varric passed her and gave her a nod, an uncommon look came into his eyes, one she'd only seen sparingly from the swarthy dwarf. A sense of duty.

"I'll look after our Heralds, m'lady," he said with an additional bow and smile, but the look was still there, and as he caught up with the other two, she felt a slight measure of calm that shocked even her. With this in mind, she turned to the remaining three, as well as Solas, who was leaning against the nearest hut, legs crossed casually as he gripped his staff and watched everything play out with that erudite look of his.

"Well. I believe the Horsemaster awaits. Let us go," she motioned, and they went.

---

"Ah, I miss doing errands in the name of the greater good," Varric said with a dramatic sigh, breaking the silence as they walked up the cobblestone road on the way out of the Crossroads. The three had approached the good Corporal, who, though he had remained respectful and professional, had shown significant relief that he could pass on some of the pressing needs of the refugees.

In what had to be the most concise and short-lived conversation the storyteller had been apart of, Cadash had gleaned from the the soldier that that were several areas of need: bandits were indeed plaguing the roads, using the conflict to mask their presence as they preyed on travelers and refugees already displaced by the fighting, while there were also supply caches unaccounted for that could be put to good use out in the wilderness. There was also an abundance of game to be hunted in the area, in order to provide a steady supply of meat and usable hides. This seemed right up everyone's alley, the two Heralds looking actually eager to get going.

Cadash suddenly snorted, stealing Varric away from his momentary introspection, and he realized it was on what he had said, rather whimsically at that.

"What is the greater good."

"Oh, you know, saving damsels in distress - which! Obviously isn't referring to you ladies," he said quickly when they frowned back at him, "and dispensing of the ne'er-do-wells, while looking badass doing it."

"Has looking 'badass' ever gotten you almost killed," Cadash asked in what had to be the longest sentence he'd heard come out of that salty mouth of hers.

"Sure, sure, but it makes for the best stories," he parried with a grin, "and that's my area of expertise."

"Do your characters come alive as spirits and protect you from the unnecessary harm."

"Nope, that's what Bianca's for!" he said with a friendly backwards pat on his unique contraption. "But I wouldn't say no to -"

"Both of you! Ahead, twenty degrees northeast," came a sudden call-out from what had to be the treetops, causing Varric to raise an eyebrow as he looked upwards, seeing none other than Ellana Lavellan nestled firmly in the nearest pine tree, gesturing with an urgent look.

By the Golden Nug's arse, how did she get up there so fast, and without me noticing? Varric muttered in his head, resolving to clamp down on the copious amount of jokes and actually pay some attention.

Hurried by her words, the two dwarves crested the hill quickly, both immediately going wide-eyed at the large red crystalline formations dotting the forested valley below.

"Well, shit."