The Rift in the Sky:
Dorian liked to think of himself as a well-travelled man.
He had been to Nevarra, to Orlais, to the Anderfels in the North and Antiva in the east. He had seen many cities, many monuments, but as he leaned over the railings of the boat, dry heaving from sea-sickness, Dorian realised that he had always travelled by horse or carriage.
He had never taken a longer trip by boat and right now he regretted the decision to do so. Yes, he had been on a boat before, but as he continued to throw up over the side of the ship, he came to realise that he had only travelled on still waters.
Not that he'd had much of a choice in the matter; he couldn't safely take a boat from Tevinter to Ferelden without the risk of ending up a captive by the Qunari, nor could he take the shorter trip from Kirkwall to Ferelden after the accident at the chantry.
No, he had to travel all the way to Orlais and take a boat from there to Ferelden, which was a considerably longer trip than originally planned.
It didn't help that he had run out of funds on the way due to the number of palms he had to grease to ensure his travels went well, so he had been forced to sell his heirloom to a merchant in Val Royeaux for a considerable sum of gold. Not that it was a great loss; he considered it a "last use of his family name". One last bit of good it could do for him.
"Don't you worry, serah," a rather chipper-sounding man called out from somewhere behind Dorian, making Dorian roll his eyes.
"It won't be long now before we reach land! We're making good time, the wind is in our favour!"
"Wonderful," Dorian groaned before dry-heaving again, spitting into the ocean as drops of saltwater hit his face from the waves crashing against the side of the ship.
Dorian supposed he should count his blessings instead. He had escaped any major threat on his travels, and the worse of it had been the looks of distain due to where he came from. Dorian had quickly learned that people could just about smell it on him; he couldn't hide it because of his accent, his clothes or his looks. Everything about him screamed "Tevinter" and in a way, he wanted it that way. In a way, he wanted to show that he was harmless. Just another man on the road and not this evil Tevinter magister that breathed fire and devoured small children.
The fact that he could breathe fire with the help of magic and potions, well… that was best left untold.
It took another hour before the ship actually reached the shore, but as soon as the brow from the ship had been secured to the pier in Highever, Dorian was quick to get off. The sooner he could get secure ground underneath his feet the better.
He took a moment to recuperate before properly securing a modest sack over his shoulder, straightening up as he took in the new land before him.
Dorian had never been in Ferelden before, his parents always speaking of how rough and dirty the country was, but as far as Dorian could tell, Highever was as pleasant as any other town he had been to. Maybe a bit more modest and simple in size, design and build, and the smell left something to be desired, but it was hardly dirty. Considering it had been only five or so years since the blight had tore through the country, Dorian was impressed with how far they had come when it came to rebuilding.
As he passed through the harbour and headed into the main town square, he became painfully aware of the stares that were shot his way. He was aware that he looked foregin, but he honestly started wondering if it was because it was so painfully obvious that he was from Tevinter or if Ferelden were just a rude people that stared a lot.
At least he knew the common tongue so he could communicate with the people, though even that he tried to keep at a minimum. He already had gotten most of the supplies he believed he needed in Orlais, but figured a map of Ferelden would come in handy.
He didn't set off right away though. Instead, figuring it was the smarter approach to things, Dorian opted to stay one night in Highever and ask the locals about the best route to take to Redcliffe village.
What he didn't know was that everything would change that very evening.
The rumours were already circulating when he entered what he assumed was the local tavern; a meeting was happening at the barely known village of Haven.
Dorian had heard of that, of course; the Divine Justinia V had sought to end the fighting between the mages and the templars after the unfortunate event that had happened in Kirkwall some four years earlier. At least, that is what the rumours said.
Now it was apparently happening. Divine Justinia V had gathered several people in Haven, a small, unknown town in some backwater area of Ferelden, in order to talk about peace between the mages and the templars. It was history in the making and Dorian was kind of happy that he was nearby. Perhaps he would be witnessing a change in the attitude of magic in the South.
Or he would witness a new law passed for the restriction and imprisonment of mages.
Either way, it would be exciting.
At least, that what Dorian believed it to be.
When reality struck, he wished for a completely different outcome.
As the green rift tore across the sky, Dorian joined everyone else outside to witness the disaster that was unfolding, and with it, Dorian realised just how little time he had.
Naturally, he had no idea what the breach meant and how it played into his own quest, but he knew it had to mean something. Even as far away as he was, he could feel the power that came from the breach and he made him feel queasy. He just hoped Alexius wasn't involved in it, and yet at the same time, he knew this couldn't be a mere coincidence.
"Oh Alexius…" Dorian mumbled to himself as he prepared himself for a hasty travel to his last known location; Redcliffe.
The first part of his trip was simple enough; getting a ride from Highever to Redcliffe. He didn't have much to choose from thanks to his finances and the fact that he was a foreigner, but a friendly man offered him a ride on his cart, which Dorian accepted.
The trip would be long; ten days according to the driver and Dorian had never actually ridden a cart before. In Tevinter, he was used to stagecoaches and carriages, not these wagons that triggered allergies he did not know he had.
While he had heard a lot about Ferelden and the South in general, Dorian still felt ill prepared about the reality about things now that he was here, especially since whatever happened in the newly discovered temple of Andraste had sparked what could be described as a civil war between the templars and the mages.
It really hadn't taken long before that conflict had blossomed after the destruction of the temple; both sides were pointing fingers at the other, saying they were the guilty party.
Dorian would have loved to have properly investigated the entire spectacle, but he did not have the luxury of time to do so. The fact that he was a Tevinter mage only put a bigger target on his back and he had quickly discovered that he had to sell his mage-staff and replace it with something less suspicious. It broke his heart to part way with his staff; it had been a gift from Alexius many years ago, but he knew he had to make sacrifices. It wouldn't be the first one he'd been forced to make.
As the carriage reached lake Calenhad, Dorian was forced to leave and continue the journey on foot. He learned that the lake had once held the Ferelden's Circle of Magi, and it was currently a hot-spot for aggressive templars.
It wasn't ideal, but the man that had taken him this far offered him some directions, telling him that if he followed the Imperial Highway, it would be the best and most direct route to Redcliffe. He sadly couldn't offer Dorian his horse, but Dorian was already more than grateful for the help he had already been provided.
He had to admit, it was an almost alien feeling. Yes, he had received help in the past, but he had received it from people he knew were good for it. This man had helped him out of the goodness of his heart, simply because Dorian had been a stranger in a foreign land that needed help. This was not the kind of thing Tevinter would do, even on a good day.
Dorian allowed himself a quick stay at the inn located by lake Calenhad before he moved on by foot down the Imperial Highway. He had to admit, the irony amused him more than it should have and if any Magister could see him now, they would shit their smallclothes from shock. A Tevinter Altus, traveling the Imperial Highway by foot… now that was unheard of. The mere thought of it made Dorian grin with an almost perverse delight.
The humour left him rather quickly though as he realised the major task that was ahead of him; he had a long stretch of road ahead of him with no guarantee that he would make it or that once he did, that Alexius would even be in Redcliffe anymore.
Dorian would spend three days on foot before a passing wagon would take pity on him and his dirty appearance. "Hey there, serah. Heading down south?"
"Out of desperation," Dorian had replied, which made the rider laugh and offer up a seat in his wagon. It had surprised Dorian somewhat, especially since he had only been halfway joking, but he wasn't about to complain, especially considering the trip down to Redcliffe would have taken him roughly ten days on foot.
The rider, an elderly man in what Dorian assumed were farm-clothes, was a chatty man and thanks to him Dorian was able to learn more about the situation in the South.
Most of the roads were dangerous to travel thanks to the templars and mages fighting, and as with all desperate times, bandits were only too happy to take advantages of the situation. What was worse though was that rifts had started opening up and demons had started coming out from them.
Those news had Dorian very interested, and worried about the situation; if there were rifts in the veil and demons were coming out…
"Not all hope is lost though," the man continued, snapping Dorian from his thoughts.
"Andraste has sent us a herald, she has. A man who is said can close the rift."
"Truly," Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow at the news. "A man, you said?"
"Don't know much, but rumours travel fast. He's trying to close that breach in the sky, so he's gathering forces. Man's holed up in Haven, but he's been traveling all over in order to gain support."
"And has he been successful?"
"Yes and no. Chantry's not too helpful. I've heard them say it's all a lie and that he's just trying to throw shade at the Chantry. They especially don't like that people are calling him the Herald of Andraste. They say it's blasphemous."
"And what do you think?"
"I don't care," the man said with a shrug. "All I know is that he is out there, trying to help people and actually trying to do something about this whole mess here. That's why I am willing to travel in these dangerous times, to bring supplies where it's needed. It might not be much, but at least I am doing something while others are sitting on their arses, pointing their fingers."
Dorian merely hummed, rubbing his chin as he digested this new information. "The Herald of Andraste… What can you tell me about him?"