With a sigh and a crack of his neck, a nineteen year old set his Xbox 360 controller down and shut both his television and his console off, having finally beaten Dragon Age: Origins on the Hard difficulty. After a break of a day or two, I might try for Nightmare, he thought as he stood, took the battery pack out of the controller and placed it on its charging dock.
The controller was placed on his desk, fitting into the one bare spot shaped suspiciously like an Xbox controller. The rest of the surface was covered, much like the floor, with various books, game manuals, and printed fanfictions such as Vox Corporis, Life on Thedas, the Masses to Masses series, and the Mass Vexation series. It was a wonder that he didn't trip and fall as he walked to the door of his bedroom, though years of walking through such messes gave him a good sense for these things.
A glance at his clock told him it was rather early, only eight PM. More than enough time for him to fit in a quick run before his shift at the 24-hour grocery store in town. He'd skipped the run earlier since he had been at the bottom of Fort Drakon and he was eager to finish the game for the third time.
Within a minute, he'd gathered his work uniform, his running shoes, a sleeveless workout shirt, his iPod, headphones, and the two five-inch long, inch-thick dowels he carried as defensive weapons.
He put on all his gear, his iPod fitting into the forearm sleeve he'd made to keep his hands free during workouts, rather than spend more on a regular armband. He slipped the twin impact weapons into two loops hidden at his waist with one hand as he tied his shoes with the other.
A practitioner of Tae Kwon Do since he was fourteen, he'd learned several weapon types, including arnis stick fighting, bo staff, katana, kama and sai. The last two weren't in his curriculum, so his cousin, heavy into Karate, had taught him to wield those weapons.
He left his apartment, locking the door behind him and jumped down the stairs. It was a habit he had started since he was eight, using as few steps to go as quickly as possible without exceeding the maximum speed. He'd started out going up stairs two at a time, then increased as his legs became stronger. He now could do four or five up and seven or eight down.
His record for reaching the bottom of the stairs from the tenth floor was fifty-five seconds, three milliseconds. Today, he did it in fifty-six point two, so he was within acceptable speed parameters.
Shifting his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet, he relieved the pressure caused by his impact, jogged to the doors of the building and let himself out, attaching his keys to a lanyard that hung about his neck.
With everything shut up tight, he started running, a smooth lope that he'd become accustomed to when running to work. It was either that or run full out for a minute and walk for three.
After five minutes, he'd run a quarter of the distance to his workplace, approximately a mile. His legs burned, not exhaustingly so, but an ache that showed he was within his regular pace. Fire by Scooter rang in his ears, number two on what he called his 'Running' playlist.
He nearly tripped over his own feet as he heard a shrill scream, like the ones you would hear from the main actress in major horror movies.
He skidded to a halt, his shoes sliding on the pavement despite their usually heavy grip as he strained his ears to pick up any other sounds. Usually, a scream this late at night was not alone. Another would soon follow it.
He took a few steps to begin running again, thinking he had been hearing things, when he heard the scream again, closer and louder than the last one had been. He ran at what he hoped was the origin of the scream, adrenaline giving him a welcome boost to his speed. A woman's scream, this late at night meant few things, none of them good.
His suspicions were proven correct as he turned the corner to find a woman running on the opposite side of the road, a trio of men following on her heels.
Women shouldn't walk around after dark alone like this, he thought as he quickly ran across the street, watching as the woman turned left down an alley. The men followed her, a slight unsteadiness in their steps as if drunk. They probably are… now I know the reason I drink among friends.
He turned the corner to find the woman at the end of the dead end alley, her back against the wall as she faced her tormentors. A bare bulb hung from the wires above, framing her in a pool of light.
The men approached the trapped woman, unaware of the impending danger that entered the alley behind them, their retribution at hand. Things were not looking good for them, should the shadow that tailed them get an edge.
One was slower than the others, leaving him in the perfect position to be taken out quietly, shifting the odds in the would-be rescuer's favor. Using his impact dowels to play the man's spine like a xylophone was tempting, though the result may be a few cracked vertebrae at least.
His right hand was strong enough to smash through two boards, so focusing the impact with the dowels was probably too much for the man's bones to handle.
Luckily, he had a great alternative.
His hands snaked out, snapping tight around the man's neck in a rear choke hold, effectively cutting off the man's air flow before he could react. From experience, he knew that his opponent would be out of the fight in less than ten seconds.
The slightly drunk man struggled weakly for a few seconds, fingers scrabbling at the offending limb with no success, before slumping in the attacker's arms, the lack of oxygen to his brain causing him to black out.
The temptation to hold on the several extra seconds to cause brain damage was strong, though that would leave the woman at the men's 'tender mercies' for far longer than necessary.
She would understand why he didn't kill him.
He dropped him, not caring if he smacked his head on the unforgiving concrete. Rapists were at the very top of his list of most hated people.
He left him there, reaching for his waistband as he approached the other two, drawing the wooden dowels he carried, the worn pieces of wood fitting into his hand perfectly.
The other two had closed in as the man had dealt with their friend, pinning the woman to the wall with their bodies and holding her hands above her head with one hand as they pawed at her with the other, fumbling to tear open the blouse she wore.
Her tear stained eyes widened in surprise as retribution incarnate stepped into the light, his fists clenched so hard that his very arms were shaking. A dark glower was on his face, his brows hiding his eyes as the bare bulb threw light on his face.
The two men paused in their attempted rape as the woman gasped, drawing their attention away from the black bra she wore, now revealed between the torn pieces of her blouse. They turned their heads to see where their friend was, only to meet a pair of hard wooden circles that slammed into their jaws with strength born from untamed fury.
Both stumbled back a few steps, seeing stars as they tried to remain on their feet. Neither succeeded, both falling to their knees as they tried to regain their equilibrium. Each bore a circular mark on their jaws, already swelling and coloring a bright red.
"Run," said the man, pointing back down the alley towards the road and escape. He stepped out of the way as she made up her mind.
The woman needed no other urging, wisely vacating the alley, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. All that mattered to her was putting distance between her and her would-be attackers.
The man turned back to the pair of would-be rapists, seeing that one had made it to his feet. The drunk tried to follow the girl, despite the fact that the man who had just laid him out with a single hit was currently in his path.
He charged, roaring like a bull with his fists swinging wildly. In his drunkenness, he obviously didn't notice the muscles that bunched and coiled beneath the man's skin as he shifted his weight.
A quick block with a knife hand, his dowel held between his palm and thumb, had the young man inside the drunk's guard, close enough to smell the man's breath, laced heavily with alcohol. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, the young man slid his hand up the drunk's arm, slamming the impact weapon into his jaw line for the second time that night, giving him a second red circle on the opposite side of his face.
As the drunk's head reeled back, the man slammed the other hand's dowel into his gut, forcing his opponent to reflexively curl up over his fist. As the man began to bend, the attacker planted the first dowel in the drunk's jaw, effectively knocking him out, his body undergoing so many different stimuli that he was knocked out before his brain could catch up.
The drunk took a half step back, stumbled as his brain began to shut down, and fell into a dumpster, the foul refuse cushioning his fall.
The young man heard the scuff of shoes on the pavement, which caused him to turn as the noise signified the movement of the other man, who had apparently recovered from his fist induced dizziness.
The young man turned, raising his weapons to defend an attack…
And felt a white hot lance of pain spring up on the right side of his chest.
Looking down, he saw the second drunk's hand clasping the hilt of a switchblade, the blade of which was now buried up to the hilt in his side. The nineteen year old slumped, falling to his knees, partly glad that the drunk didn't hang on to the knife hilt as he fell. Had he held on, the blade would have torn out of him and caused a deep laceration all the way up his chest. As painful as the stabbing was, he didn't want to add the pain of deep cuts to the mix.
He fell on his side, coughing in a vain attempt to clear his lungs of the blood that now flooded his airways. The blade remained in his chest, an abnormal growth jutting from his side, blood leaking out to stain the shirt he wore and the pavement beneath him.
The standing drunk ran for it, leaving his buddies lying in the heaps the man had left them in, his sense of self-preservation leading him to leave the scene as quickly as possible.
All was quiet in the dark alley, marred only by the ragged coughs that the young man used to spit out more blood, further staining the pavement.
A third scream had him pause in mid-cough, making him think that the woman had returned and been caught by the third drunk. He rolled over, agony ripping through him at the action, though he shoved it aside. Pain meant little to him now in the grand scheme of things, especially when it was a young woman's virtue at stake. He would rather die than stand by and let anything happen to a woman against her will.
Chances were that he was going to die anyway…
He was surprised, to say the least, when he found himself not three feet from what looked like a rip in the air. Despite the blood pooling beneath him and the metallic tang of blood on his lips, he was interested to see such a thing, a rip in the space/time continuum.
At least, that's what I assume it is, thought the man as he coughed up more blood and let his head fall to the ground, his muscles finally giving out.
His head met the unforgiving concrete, the pain barely even registering in his mind as the world began to darken. He struggled to keep his eyes open only to discover that it was not his eyes closing that brought upon the darkness, but that it was his vision itself that was failing.
With a final cough and a last sigh of air escaping his throat, the man lay dead upon the pavement.
Hours later, police cars with their flashing red and blue lights were parked at the edge of the alley, the officers taping off the area. A pair of ambulances sat nearby, the pair of drunken men being cared for by the paramedics, kept under close watch by the police.
One officer had noticed the pattern of the bruising around one's neck, noting that only a well trained man could have pulled off a choke hold with that amount of skill.
Being trained as a cop gave him a lot of hand to hand training, though he preferred to rely on his Karate when faced with a single opponent.
The prior martial arts training had him recognize the circular marks on the second man's face, which had him looking at the dead nineteen year old. A pair of wooden dowels had been found near his corpse, cementing the theory of the John Doe taking out both the drunks.
"Hey, Taggert!" he yelled, looking to his partner. "What's the drunk's story?"
Taggert walked over, holding his notepad in one hand, the other placing his pen behind his ear. "The drunk with the marks around his neck says he and his buddies got a little drunk and started to walk home. Says they were attacked as they passed the alley. That's all he knows."
"His friend?"
"Same thing. Exact same thing."
"Don't buy it. John Doe's dressed for running. Probably for work, judging by the uniform in his bag. He's trained, too."
"Hmm?" his partner questioned, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at his partner. "What do you mean?"
"Look at his knuckles. They only get like that when you're a brawler or a martial artist. Those dowels give it away, too. Those are impact weapons, meant to focus the force of an attack to a smaller contact area."
The pair of cops looked to the corpse, which the EMTs were placing in a body bag.
"I wonder who he was…"
He looked around, seeing nothing but white in all directions.
"Strange…" he said, looking down at himself. The blade in his chest was gone, as was the blood and any type of mark that would be associated with a stabbing.
~Your time has not come, warrior.~
boomed a voice, sending him to his knees. The voice was not heard in his ears, but rather his whole being. The voice rippled through him, much like the vibrations that go through someone when they stand too close to a speaker set on max volume.
~You still have work to do.~
The world began to fade, leaving him to sink back into the darkness once again.
~Much work to do.~
At that moment, the recently deceased man awoke to the feeling of being kicked in the leg. Odd… unless God greets souls with a kick in the leg, I shouldn't be feeling anything.
He rolled over, at once noting the absence of pain in his chest. He breathed deep as he rubbed a hand over his chest, feeling nothing but unmarred skin beneath his fingers.
As he breathed, he was overwhelmed by the amount of different scents he was picking up. Meat was roasting not far away, if his nose was to be trusted, the trees natural fragrance filling the air, the smell of deerskin leather and the metallic tang of steel close by.
Not only did he smell a lot of different things, he heard them as well. The subtle rustle of tree leaves, the breathing of some person, and the tiny squeaks of leather as it stretched filled his head, making him wonder where the hell he was.
He opened his eyes, squinting against the bright light that now invaded his brain with a stab of pain. He placed a hand over his eyes as he propped himself up on one elbow, noting that he felt something akin to dirt beneath the blanket he now sat on.
He pulled his hand away, letting his eyes get used to the bright light filtering down through the treetops.
Wait a second…treetops? I'm dead, he thought as looked down at his body. His eyes confirmed what his fingers had felt: unmarked skin on his side, no evidence of a blade ever entering his chest. Or… I should be…
Shifting his gaze, he noticed a pair of legs in standing right next to him, leather boots planted firmly in the grass. He looked up, jerking with surprise as he recognized the face of the man who stood before him.
Perhaps the word 'man' is not the most appropriate at this point in time, he though as he stared up at the face of Tamlen, a Dalish elf from Dragon Age: Origins.
"By Falon'Din's bow, Ronin, you've never slept in so late before! Usually you chide us for not waking with the sun," said Tamlen, a smile upon his lips. The tattoos he wore were thrown into contrast with his skin as a beam of light fell across his face. Brown lines and swirls formed branches at the center of his brow and stretched toward his hairline, others starting at the corner of his lips and tracing to the back of his jaw.
The elves practice Vallaslin, in which they are tattooed with symbols for one of the nine gods when they come of age, thought Ronin as he stared at Tamlen. Where did that spring from?
"Come on, get up. We're wasting daylight and the Keeper has asked us to hunt today," said Tamlen, nudging Ronin again with his boot.
"Fine, fine. Let me grab my gear," said Ronin, rising to his feet. If this is the afterlife, or even just a dream, I may as well play along, he thought as he stepped away from his bedroll. And if it's not a dream…I'm in for one hell of a ride.
Assuming that I sleep under this tree, these weapons and armor are mine as well, thought Ronin as he pulled the armor towards himself.
The armor was fashioned from deerskin leather, embossed with designs of hunting hawks and serpents. Ronin wrapped the armor around his torso, buckling it firmly to his skin. Much to his surprise, it fit rather well once he rolled his shoulders a few times, the leather conforming to his body.
A pair of boots was next, made from soft deerskin as well, which were perfect when on the hunt as the soft leather would not make as much sound as regular boots or shoes, making it much easier for a hunter to stalk his prey. Ronin pulled the boots on, marveling at how comfortable they were, and wrapped the binding leather straps around his calf, securing the boots to his feet.
A pair of bracers that looked like they completed the set sat next to where the boots had been. One bracer had a glove on the right hand, which Ronin noticed that the deerskin leather had been cut thicker for the index and middle fingers, made for heavy use from an archer. They, too, were slid on, the edge of the glove ending at the elbow; ironbark dyed dark brown acting as the armor for his forearms. A quick clenching of his fists informed him that, though the glove was made for an archer, it would not impede him were he to use blades rather than bows.
After the armor was strapped on, Ronin turned, the feeling that he had forgotten something tapping him on the shoulder.
He looked around, trying to see something, before his eyes fell on his bedroll.
The pillow was not, in fact, a pillow. More like a rolled up piece of material.
Acting on a hunch, Ronin unrolled the makeshift pillow and found himself holding a hooded cloak in his hands, the greens and browns of the forest dyed into the material.
He swung it about his shoulders, a sense of completion running through him. He slowly drew the hood over his head, feeling like Ezio from Assassin's Creed when he put on his father's garb. The hood probably made him look like Ezio and Altaїr as well.
He then turned to his weapons, which were lying within easy reach of his bedroll:
A quiver of black shafted arrows sat by the tree he had been sleeping under, a longbow made of pale blue wood lying next to them, unstrung with the bowstring coiled at one end. It was simple in design, a recurve four feet tall. An experimental draw had him nodding slightly to himself as the draw weight of the bow was within his limits.
A pair of sheathed dar'misu was attached to the quiver, hilts down. They didn't follow the game's look, following the design of a simple guard less wakizashi rather than having that funny hook just after the blades were simple, well used and razor sharp, as Ronin found out by drawing a fingertip over one blade, cutting with little pressure. Blue ironbark was obviously used in their construction, much stronger and lighter than regular ironbark.
How do I know about blue ironbark when I barely know anything about regular ironbark? At least, I assume that's ironbark, thought Ronin as he strapped on the quiver, his hands buckling the straps with practiced ease, something that unnerved him slightly.
This is weird…I know things from the game like the story line and such, but I never studied the codex or wore such armor…
These thoughts were brushed away as he approached Tamlen, who had patiently waiting, leaning on a tree, a strung bow leaning against it. "Well, lethallin, shall we hunt?"
"May Andruil guide us in our hunt," intoned Ronin, instinctively saying the lines as if he had for all his life. Things are growing weirder and weirder…
Tamlen laughed as he turned. "Of course she will. My Vallaslin are a tribute to Andruil. I've never came back without a kill."
Ronin rolled his eyes, smirking at his clan-brother as he pulled on the hood of his cloak over his head. It's like I know him… like I lived with the Dalish all my life, he thought as he followed Tamlen, both of them becoming part of the forest.
Both turned and entered the forest, passing the dog statue of Fen'Harel, the 'Dread Wolf' that served as a reminder to all Dalish, telling them to be wary outside the boundaries of the camp.
Tamlen crouched low, weaving around the natural fauna with the ease of a skilled hunter. Ronin followed, pleasantly surprised as he found the way of moving silently through the forest quite easy. Perhaps I'm giving myself these skills, my dream self providing for me, he thought, following Tamlen with an arrow notched to his bowstring.
After a moment stalking through the forest, Tamlen held up his fist, freezing in the underbrush. Ronin halted as well, crouching beside him with his bow at the ready. "What is it?"
"Look," said Tamlen, pointing at the ground as he sniffed the air. "Shemlen have passed this way."
Ronin examined the tracks, noting the three sets of footprints in the soft earth at their feet. A cautious sniff filled his nose with a familiar scent, memories surfacing in his mind, filling it with images of shadowing humans as they entered the forest, keeping an eye on them should they wander too close to the camp.
Tamlen bared his teeth as he scowled, his dislike for the shems plain on his face and in his voice. "They are close… too close to the camp."
"Agreed, lethallin," said Ronin, tightening his fingers on the arrow still notched on his bowstring. "Split up. If you find them, give me a hunter's call."
"Very well, Ronin. If you find them first, wait for me," said Tamlen, moving off to the right, disappearing into the forest, ready for the encounter with the humans.
"Interesting," Ronin said to himself, silently making his way through the forest. "If these are the same three humans from the game, Duncan will be here soon."
Ronin moved faster than he thought he could while crossing the terrain silently, making it very easy to cross the forest floor in little time without disturbing the wildlife. He assumed the boots he wore helped; though he was sure that they, like other things, only helped so much.
His path took him to a stream, a herd of deer grazing quietly on the opposite bank. The tranquility was inspiring, making him pause for a moment at the bank, enjoying the gentle trickle of the stream and the soft hoof beats of the deer.
He leaned down to take a drink, hands cupped to bring water to his lips. He paused, however, as he caught sight of his face.
His face was tattooed, like Tamlen's, though to a much greater degree. His face was marked with vines that snaked from his jaw line to the center of his face, other lines doing the same from his forehead. One half of his face had only the black ink forming the vines. The other half was the inverse; the branches left the color of his skin but the rest was inked in black.
Hm…if Tamlen's Vallaslin is in tribute to Andruil, I wonder who mine is in tribute to, thought Ronin as he proceeded to drink, lifting the cool water to his lips.
His silent contemplation of his blood writing was cut short by the call of a bird. Normally, one would not notice such an insignificant detail. But Ronin noticed that the call repeated itself twice in a row. That was the signal Tamlen was using. The call was three bursts: one long warbling call with two short ones following behind.
Ronin folded his hands together and replied in the same fashion, blowing across the hole in his hands to reproduce the same call, opening his fingers to change the call like a real bird.
With his signal sent to his clan-brother, Ronin made his way through the forest, approaching the point where Tamlen's call had originated from.
He crept over a hill, his pointed ears easily listening to the heavy footfalls of a trio of humans, to find one of the three humans skid to a stop, Tamlen standing a few feet away, his bow drawn with a sneer on his face.
"It's a Dalish," exclaimed the downed human, pointing out Tamlen to his friends, who appeared a second later to help him up.
"And you three are somewhere you shouldn't be," said Tamlen, sighting down his arrow, likely aiming for the heart of one of the shem before him.
"Let us by, elf," said one of the humans, acting arrogant, as if Tamlen was beneath him. The situation was humorous, seeing how the shem bore no armor nor carried any weapons. "You have no right to stop us."
Tamlen grinned, finding the shem's act of arrogance funny for a man whose face was pale with exertion. "No? We will see about that, won't we?"
Ronin sidestepped down the hill, a pair of his black arrows notched to the string, his bow held parallel to the ground. Tamlen smiled at the sight, knowing Ronin was one of the few who could fire multiple arrows at once and still manage to hit his target perfectly. The last he checked, Ronin could accurately fire at three different targets at once.
Ronin himself didn't even realize it when he had laid two arrows on his bow, both arrows caught between his fingers. I reflexively placed two arrows on my bow? Maybe... just maybe... I'm absorbing the memories of the Dalish Warden?
"You're just in time! I found these... humans lurking in the bushes," Tamlen said, drawing back on his bowstring, his aim never wavering. "Bandits, no doubt."
The second human, the one who had helped the third to his feet, reacted accordingly, denying the charge, waving his arms around frantically, just as he did in the game. "We aren't bandits! I swear! Please don't hurt us!"
Tamlen and Ronin drew closer, their arrow points never wavering more than a half an inch in either direction. At this range, it would be very hard to miss, even if Ronin had a more difficult shot.
"You shemlen are pathetic; it's hard to believe you ever drove us from our homeland."
"W-we've never done nothing to you Dalish!" stuttered the human who had taken a fall in the dirt. "We didn't even know this forest was yours!"
Tamlen sneered at the humans, scaring them with his glare. "This forest isn't ours, fool! You've stumbled to close to our camp," said Tamlen, maintaining the tension in his bow line. "You shems are like vermin... we can't trust you not to make mischief."
He looked sideways at his clan brother, indicating the humans with a jerk of his head. "What say you, lethallin? What should we do with them?"
Ronin smirked over his bow at the humans, embracing the Dalish within. It seemed natural as tightened his fingers, drawing the arrowheads back another half inch. "Kill them... what do I care? The other will never know."
Tamlen laughed, delighted. "I like the sound of that! Anything to say in your defense, shems?"
"L-look... we didn't come here to be trouble. We just found a cave..." said one, nearly soiling himself as the three arrowheads pointed at him glinted in the sunlight.
"Yes, a cave! With ruins like I've never seen!" chimed in another, adding to his compatriot's nervous chatter. "We thought there might be, uh..."
Ronin and Tamlen raised an eyebrow as the human trailed off, his voice losing volume before he fell silent, looking sheepish as he stood with his fellows.
"Treasure," deadpanned Tamlen, sounding bored with the conversation. "So you're more akin to thieves than actual bandits."
"We know this forest. There are caves, but no ruins," said Ronin, raising his bow, now aiming to send an arrowhead through their heads rather than their torso. "You lie..."
"I... I have proof! Here... we found this just inside the entrance," said one, desperate to get the arrows pointed away from him. He withdrew a small statuette from his pocket, holding it out to Tamlen.
Tamlen looked at Ronin, who nodded as he loosened his bowstring for a few seconds, adding a third arrow to the rest.
Tamlen then lowered his bow and stepped forward, snatching the stone figure from the shemlen's hands. He examined it, talking out loud as he did so. "This stone has carvings…is this…elvish? Written elvish?"
The human gestured back the way they came. "There's more in the ruins. We didn't get very far in, though…"
"How do you know that's elvish, Tamlen?" asked Ronin, watching his clan-brother redraw an arrow from the quiver on his back and notched it on his bowstring. The tension on his bow made him feel at home, the burn in his muscles as he sighted down the arrows becoming very familiar, a sense of déjà vu filling him.
Tamlen pulled back his arm, drawing his bow again, covering his target as Ronin flicked one of his arrows off his bow into the dirt. He smirked as he settled in to his stance, his attention now divided between two targets rather than three.
"I've seen something similar on the keeper's scrolls…" said Tamlen, his thoughts miles away, the implications of what this could be startling him. He snapped back to the present, fixing his drifting aim back on the humans. "And this is all you found? Why didn't you look for more?"
"There was a demon! It was huge, with black eyes! Thank the Maker we were able to outrun it!" said the human, gesturing with his arms to indicate the size of the beast.
Tamlen and Ronin scoffed, not believing the human in the slightest.
"A demon?" asked Tamlen in an amused tone of voice, humoring the shem. "Where is this cave?"
"Just off to the west, I think. There's a cave in the rock face, and a huge hole just inside," said the shem.
"Well?" asked Tamlen, speaking to Ronin. "Do you trust them? Shall we let them go?" "So they can bring a mob to drive us out?" asked Ronin, scoffing at the idea. "Kill them all."
"Yes," Tamlen agreed. "One could expect no less from a shem. This will not take long."
Tamlen opened his hand smoothly, releasing the arrow from his bow. The arrow jumped the narrowest margins: the gap between a Dalish archer and his target.
The shemlen dropped like a stone, an arrow through his heart. The other two turned to run, presenting a perfect target for Ronin to hit.
He unclenched his fingers and released his arrows, striking both the human in the back, nearly simultaneously. They fell, one screaming as the arrowhead bit deep into his body.
Tamlen shouldered his bow and walked forward, looking over his shoulder at Ronin. "Well, shall we see if there is any truth to their story?" asked Tamlen, beckoning for Ronin to follow. "These carvings make me curious."
Ronin slipped the bowstring around his quiver, hooking the longbow across his back. "Sounds like a good idea," he said, walking to stand side by side to Tamlen.
"And if we find anything, the keeper will want to know," said Tamlen, smiling as he walked into the forest with his best friend.
They walked down the forest path, moving silently in the hunter's way, as to avoid any attacks from a forest predator, such as a bear or wolf.
Ronin smiled, marveling at the forest his clan, as he now thought of it, had chosen to stay for the time being. This particular part of the forest had many springs and small waterfalls, perfect for easy water access for both the clan and the halla that provided the clan with transport when it was time to move on. The forest was also full of wildlife, deer, hares, songbirds, wolves and bears, which made hunting rather easy.
Ears trained with years of hunter experience heard a faint growl. Ronin and Tamlen shared a glance, both knowing that the smallest of signs could indicate big and perhaps dangerous problems if not handled correctly.
They crept around the bushes to find the source of the growl that had been heard over the forests natural background noise: a pair of wolves feasting on the corpse of a dead halla.
The pair silently drew their weapons, Tamlen drawing his longbow, a razor-sharp arrow in hand. Ronin followed suit, his black arrow already nocked on the taut string of his pale blue longbow.
Both shot in unison, planting arrows in the heads of the two wolves. They dropped silently, the twin shafts ending the lives of the wolves faster than they could realize. The two hunters bowed their heads, muttering a prayer to Falon'Din to guide the souls of their kills to beyond the Veil.
"Let's remember to bring them back to camp afterwards," said Ronin, pulling his arrow from the wolf with one hand as he closed the eyes with another. "We should not waste them."
"Very true, Ronin," said Tamlen, placing his hand on the wolf's side, feeling a twinge of regret at having to kill such a marvelous animal. "It would be disrespectful to leave them to rot."
Tamlen moved the wolf corpse from the path, placing branches over it to shield it from sight and hopefully mask the scent. Ronin did the same.
They both approached the halla that the wolves had taken down.
"Another of Ghilan'nain's children goes to meet her," said Tamlen, shaking his head. "Such a waste."
Ronin looked over the halla's body, checking for any sign of the clan markings that were painted on the halla's shoulders, marking them so that if any hunter were to find them, they could report the death to the halla keeper in the clan.
"She's not one of ours," said Ronin, not finding the marking that signified his clan, nor did he find any other markings. "That's a good thing, at least."
"We'll bury her when we get back from the cave," said Tamlen, replacing his bow across his back. "Let's go."
The next half an hour was uneventful, the forest silent. This unnerved the two elves, seeing how the forest was regularly a cacophony of sounds. The birds were silent, no wolves prowled the underbrush, and there were no critters to be seen.
Finally the two came in front a large cave in the side of a hill.
"This must be the cave," said Tamlen, looking up at the entrance to the ruins. "I don't recall seeing this before, do you?"
"No, I don't," said Ronin, a look of concern on his face. "Let's check it out."
"My thoughts exactly," said Tamlen, a mix of concern and expectation across his face. "With luck, we'll find something that will make us clan heroes."
They entered the cave, finding the ruins at the end of a long hall, hewn out of the limestone.
"It… looks like the shem was telling the truth," said Tamlen, looking at the ruins with something akin to worship. "But these ruins look more human than elven."
Ronin nodded, walking slowly into the ruins, Tamlen following behind.
A rustling from above was the only warning as a pair of spiders the size of humans descended from the ceiling. Compared to the pair of elves, the spiders were looking very, very big.
"Mythal protect us!" shouted Ronin, drawing his dual dar'misu in a flash of steel. Tamlen drew his sword and lifted the shield from the leather straps keeping it bound to his back, quickly strapping it to his forearm.
Both Dalish charged, their blades whirling through the air as they hacked at the many legs of the spiders. Both dodged back and forth, keeping themselves out of reach of the mandibles of the spider, venom dripping from them as the spiders lunged in close, trying to inject their lethal poison into the pair.
It was the lunge that was their undoing.
Tamlen raised his shield, blocking the spider as he thrust his blade into the soft underbelly of the spider.
As the spider Ronin fought lunged, he dropped to the ground and slid along the stone floor, his blades held in reverse-grips, the blades slicing the spider open from head to tail.
Tamlen pushed the spider corpse off his shield, sighing as he noticed the spider blood that now covered his shield, not wishing to spend hours cleaning it like the last time he spilled blood against it. "Ronin?"
Ronin stuck his head out from behind the corpse of his spider, an eyebrow raised. "So…let's not do that again."
"I agree," said Tamlen, slumping against a pillar as he panted, trying to catch his breath. "Let's rest for a moment. Those damn things are fast."
"They have eight legs, lethallin. Of course, they're fast," retorted Ronin, cleaning his blades with a rag as he sat against the wall. I really wish there was more background on Tamlen… he seems to be a good guy…er…elf.
"I can't wait until we get back," Tamlen said, a dreamy look about his face.
"Oh? Why's that?" Now Ronin was confused. This was never mentioned in the game. There was no dialogue that covered this, no way for him to know what this conversation could be about.
"Didn't I tell you? I've asked Merril for her hand," said Tamlen, a smile playing about his lips. "And she said yes!"
This had Ronin turn his head in surprise. Okay, thought Ronin, putting a hand to his chin. Now… I know Tamlen doesn't survive this, assuming I follow the origin story…perhaps there is another way?
Ronin pondered this as he finished rubbing the spider blood from his blades, eyeing his reflection in the mirror-like surface. I will change fate…regardless of the consequences… I will make things right…
They waited a few minutes more, recovering from the short but brutal fight with giant sized arachnids, before they stood and began walking down the halls.
"This place makes me nervous," came Tamlen's voice, a tone of unease in his voice.
"What do you think of all this?" asked Ronin, watching his clan-brother out of the corner of his eyes.
"I'm not sure," answered Tamlen, looking around at the dark corridor and the ancient stones that made it, a few of the blocks laying on the floor as tree roots had sent them tumbling ages ago. "This looks like a very old human place… why would they build this? Why would Elvin artifacts be here? Maybe some of our ancestors lived here, in caves like the dwarves.
"I'll stick to roaming the lands myself," he said as he flashed a grin, amused.
Ronin glanced at him, smiling in agreement. Memories of traveling in aravels, setting up camps in the heart of the Brecilian Forest and the Korcari Wilds, hunting with his clan-mates, and guarding against human interferences rose up from his subconscious. This raised more questions and answered others, further increasing both his knowledge of the Dalish and his curiosity of where the memories were coming from.
But, as with the game counterpart, this doesn't seem like a home, he thought, looking around. "This doesn't feel like anyone's home."
"I don't know… I have this odd sensation that we've… disturbed something, like we just walked into a dragon's lair," said Tamlen, looking over his shoulder as if he felt someone's eyes upon his back. "Well, whatever it is, it won't stop me.
"A Dalish hunter fears nothing," he proclaimed, feeling a bit braver at his own words.
"I remember differently, O Great Dalish Hunter," said Ronin, a new memory flashing through his mind: the two of them running for their lives as the Keeper ran after them, covered from head to toe in honey. They had taken Paivel's lessons in trap-making and used them for their own devious plans, setting a trip-wire to a bucket precariously balanced over the doorway.
"Remember when we trapped the Keeper's aravel?"
"Funny…"
"It was worth the three weeks of cleaning we had to do, wasn't it?" asked Ronin, smiling as Tamlen threw a suffering glare at the rogue.
"I suppose so… say! Weren't you supposed to be assisting Master Ilen today? How did you end up coming with me?"
"Actually, it's a punishment."
"Typical…" said Tamlen in an exasperated tone. "What did you do? Nevermind, I can just imagine. Let's just find whatever's here and get out, we can talk later."
If I remember correctly, we turn the corner, fight a trio of spiders, and then find the statue of Falon'Din, thought Ronin as he walked through the dark corridor, one of his blades in hand should he need to fight.
"It's quiet…" said Tamlen, walking slowly beside Ronin, his shield and sword held at the ready. Hopefully all that training he's been going through will help us get through this place without getting ourselves killed, he thought, idly shifting the heavy shield on his arm.
"Almost too quiet, lethallin?" asked Ronin, a hand snaking behind his back to grasp at the hilt of his second dagger. Spiders around the next corner…if the game holds true, he thought, reaching for his second blade as he approached the corner.
"Tamlen… be ready."
A quick look at Ronin was all that Tamlen had time as they turned the corner.
A trio of spiders charged them, their pincers dripping with venom, legs tapping a rapid tempo against the stone floor. Ronin's hands flashed as he twirled his blades in a defensive pattern, forcing the spiders to back off for a moment so he could enact his plans. Good thing I know how to use 'Stealth' in 'real' life.
"Mind their webs!" Ronin called to Tamlen as he drew both blades and he circled left, leaving to Tamlen to draw the attention of the spiders so he could outflank them. He embraced the shadows, making himself even harder to see, especially to the spiders, who did not share the elves' ability to see in the dark.
"Ronin?" asked Tamlen anxiously, bashing aside a leaping spider with his shield while blindly slashing at the other two, keeping them from joining the first in attacking. The spider he hit flew back into a column, allowing him to turn and focus on the other two.
"Could you hurry this up a bit?" said Tamlen as he swung around, shield raised to block any charges from the two in his blind spot as he twirled his sword into a ready position. He rolled his eyes, however, and returned to the stunned spider as he witnessed Ronin jump out of the shadows and impale both of the spiders, each blade spearing a spider through the head and pinning them to the floor.
"Someone called?" asked Ronin nonchalantly, removing his blades from the spiders as Tamlen slammed the edge of his shield into the spider's head and finished it with a sword thrust.
"Took you long enough," Tamlen growled out as he swung his sword to remove most of the spider blood, sending a crimson arc into the wall before he shifted his shield to his back straps.
"Fine… you be the one who sneaks about," retorted Ronin, smiling as he took several steps forward, making nary a sound, already walking down the hall. Tamlen looked down as his heavier armor, which had several segments of chain mail that jingled as he walked.
With a look skywards, Tamlen followed Ronin down the hall, stopping him at a T-junction.
This looks familiar, thought Ronin, coming to the statue that Tamlen always talked about in-game. Tamlen saw the statue, his eyes widening in astonishment. Cue dialogue.
"I can't believe this!" exclaimed Tamlen, sheathing his sword as he hurried over to the statue. "You recognize this statue, don't you?"
"It's worn, but looks vaguely familiar," Ronin replied. Technically, I would know it anywhere, seeing how I've seen it before, he thought, hiding a smirk.
"Back when our people lived in Arlathan, statues like these honored the Creators," Tamlen explained. "When the shems enslaved us, much of that lore was lost. This looks like human architecture, with a statue of our people. Can these ruins date back to the time of Arlathan?"
"It's interesting. So much of our past is lost to us," said Ronin, looking at the statue. It looked like an elderly elf, its arms held open in welcoming.
"I'd never have guessed that ancient elves might've lived here… with humans!"
"That was probably a long time ago… Arlathan was founded some eight thousand, four hundred and thirty years ago, right?" asked Ronin, remembering that one fact he'd read about: the events of the Fifth Blight occurred in the thirtieth year of the Dragon Age or eight thousand, four hundred and thirty years after the Founding of Arlathan.
"Close… eight thousand, four hundred and twenty years ago."
This brought Ronin up short a few feet from the pressure plate before the door to the Tainted Mirror. Ten years? I'm ten years early? thought Ronin, beginning to panic. If this is ten years before the Blight, maybe Duncan's not going to be here! I won't get a place with the Grey Wardens! I'm gonna die!
"Ronin?" asked Tamlin, stopping just short of stepping on the plate. "What's wrong?"
"Uh… I have a bad feeling about this place."
"We've come this far. We might as well see what's behind this door," said Tamlen, taking that last step forward.
"Tamlen, stop!"
Ronin's warning came too late. Tamlen's foot landed on the plate.
With a clank, the pressure plate activated, releasing poison gas into the air. Tamlen backpedaled rapidly, raising a hand as if he could ward off the gas.
"Tamlen, get out of there!" shouted Ronin, already turning to face the way they came. "Back to the last chamber!"
Tamlen ran, easily catching up to the rogue, making it back to the room with the trio of spider corpses. Gasping for breath, Tamlen placed his hands on his knees and spat in the dirt. "Let's not do that again, either."
Ronin managed a weak smile from his slumped position against a column. "Agreed."
"You think the poison will last long?"
"Not too long, I think. It will dissipate into the air enough that we can continue, if we use masks."
They waited a few moments, letting the gas spread out thin enough so that, with the use of makeshift masks torn from Ronin's cloak, they could approach the door.
"You owe me a new cloak."
"Who said we needed masks?"
"I didn't mean tearing my cloak to get them."
"Fine. I'll ask Master Ilen if he's got anything in stock. If he doesn't, we'll talk with the next clan we meet," said Tamlen, rolling his eyes. "Come on, we're almost at the door."
Here it comes, thought Ronin as he approached the door. Cue walking corpses.
As soon as Tamlen was a foot away from the door, the corpses started rising. Ronin noticed that while the game only had two walking corpses, reality had provided him with a full twenty.
This is not good…
"Walking corpses?" questioned Tamlen in a higher than normal pitch. "This place is haunted!"
"Less talking, more killing!" Ronin said shaking his head as he thrust one blade into a corpse's chest and used the other to remove its head.
Tamlen drew his blade and shield, quickly joining the fray. He wound up back to back with Ronin, using his shield to block any blows coming for the rogue's blind side while using his blade to hack off any offending corpse's limbs that entered his range.
Ronin turned left, flipping his offhand blade into a reverse grip and slashing it across a corpse's throat, neatly beheading it. He followed through the motion, spinning in a quick circle to slice out a leg with his main dar'misu. A quick stab with his left blade sent another corpse to the Fade.
A third corpse tried to land a swing with a rusty, wicked looking mace, which was promptly dodged and retaliated against. Off balance, the corpse had no time to defend against a snap kick to the stomach, which then led to a blade entering the top of its skull.
The next corpse tried a stab, aiming for Ronin's chest. A quick-step around the thrust had the corpse receiving a new hole in its back. Ronin smiled as he withdrew his blade and charged the next, leaving death in his wake. Double kill…Triple kill…Overkill…Killtacular…I'm Batman!
Tamlen and Ronin quickly finished the fight, owing to the fact that, while able to fight, the corpses walked forward slowly, allowing the duo to take care of them easily.
"Okay… that's a new one," said Ronin, dropping his blades as he slumped against the door. "How could walking corpses be here?"
"Hahren Paivel once said that in places where many people died, it can become Setheneran, a land of waking dreams. The Veil becomes weak and spirits slip into our world… then they possess corpses and walk around," said Tamlen, shivering at the last part.
"You think many elves died here?" asked Ronin, looking at the bones that had recently tried to kill them.
"There's certainly enough bones. Maybe no one was left to bury them," Tamlen said, thinking aloud. "Let's press on. I want to know how are people were involved with this."
"Let's go," said Ronin as he grabbed his blades and stood, already looking towards the door. How am I going to do this? I don't think I can convince him to leave me alone with the mirror. This may prove problematic.
Ronin stood in front of the door, hand on the latch. Tamlen tapped on his shoulder, signifying that he had his shield ready should they elves be in an ambush situation upon opening the door.
With a twist of the handle, Ronin threw his shoulder into the door, making it fly open. Tamlen charged into the room, shield held protectively in front while his blade positioned to swing or stab at a moments notice.
What was in the room made both of them stop and stare.
A giant mirror sat in the center of the large circular room, supported by a pair of human men holding longswords. A set of stairs led up to it, made of the same white stone. Words in some strange script were inscribed around the mirror's edge. Despite the age of the ruins and itself, there was neither a speck of dust nor faintest hint of a scratch on it.
This mirror, however, was not the reason that the elves paused. It was what had been prowling around in front of the mirror that had them frozen.
It was a bear covered in blood, various spikes protruding from its back, legs, and jaw. By the looks of its skin, large chunks had been torn out of it, leaving bone, veins, and muscle visible in some places.
Lucky for the elves, the beast was as surprised at their sudden entrance as they were at the sight of it.
Quickly overcoming his fear at seeing a Bereskarn up close, for real, Ronin slid his blades into their sheaths and unlimbered his bow. "Tamlen! Draw its attention!"
The other elf looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Sure… while I'm at it, allow me to find the lost city of Arlathan."
"Good idea! Len'alas lath'din… " he yelled back, muttering the insult at the end as to avoid Tamlen hearing it. He had two arrows already at full draw, aimed for the beast's eyes. The beast looked between the two elves, its maddened state not helping it choose which one was an easier target.
"I heard that!" shouted Tamlen, dancing close to the tainted bear to swing at it. He connected, adding a new wound along the bear's blood spattered flank.
With a roar, the bear chose its target and swung a heavy paw at Tamlen, sharp claws seeking his flesh. Tamlen danced back out of range, using a backhand swing to inflict another injury on the pad of its paw.
"Anytime now, Ronin!" shouted Tamlen as the bear roared in pain and began to approach, slowly driving him into a corner.
"Damn it," Ronin swore as he released the two arrows. He had abandoned his attempt for the eyes, aiming for the body in an attempt to draw the bear off Tamlen.
The two arrows punched into the bear's hide, but did not make it waver in its direction. With its uninjured paw, it batted Tamlen's shield with enough force to send him flying into the stone wall, about six feet behind him. Tamlen hit the wall with a thud, his head rapping off the stonework with a thwock.
He slumped to the ground, sword and shield falling from his grasp as he slipped into unconsciousness.
The Bereskarn let out another roar and approached the fallen elf, ignoring another pair of Ronin's arrows to its hindquarters like they were flies.
This is not good, thought Ronin, drawing another pair of arrows. He's going to marry Merril someday…I'm not going to stand here and let him be eaten!
Ronin launched himself at the wall beside the Bereskarn, using an out-of-place stone as a makeshift step to jump onto the thing's back. Ronin wrinkled his nose as he nearly slipped on one of the blood smeared spines growing out of its back.
It paused for an instant, its crazed mind trying to figure why it felt a sensation of weight upon its back. This hesitation allowed Ronin to draw his bow to full.
With a dull thrum, the pair of arrows, nearly parallel to each other, punched through the Bereskarn's skull and pierced its brain, ending its life before the conscious thought to rear was sent to its body.
It slumped heavily to the ground, its forward momentum sending Ronin tumbling over its shoulders to land heavily on his shoulder, a foot away from where Tamlen lay.
Ronin groaned as he pulled himself to his feet, replacing his bow on his back and looking over the dead beast and unconscious friend. "Well… that solves my problem."
With a grunt of effort, Ronin pulled the sleeping elf over his shoulders into a fireman's carry and walked back down the corridor, heading for the entrance of the cave. He should be clear of the taint's reach from here.
He set Tamlen down at the mouth of the cave, hoping that no wolves would come along and try to eat him as he slept. His shield and sword were placed close at hand, should he awaken surrounded by predators.
Ronin quickly ran back to the Eluvian chamber, mentally preparing himself for the only thing he knew to do: touch the mirror.
Of course, I have to hope I won't get sucked into the mirror or tainted so much that I become a ghoul… and that Duncan is still out here…this can't be good, though Ronin as he trudged up the steps, stopping a foot away from the mirror.
A nervous smile crossed his lips as he looked over the writing surrounding the mirror. "Heh, do not touch the glass."
He quickly rapped the mirror with his knuckles, sending ripples through the surface as if it was water rather than glass. Then he turned his back on the image that was appearing, preferring not to see whatever it was that Tamlen saw.
A glow began, building in intensity until a force struck him, sending him flying off the raised platform. If there's any Creators watching over me right now, help me be a Warden, he thought as he flew.
He met the floor headfirst, sending him into the blackness of unconsciousness.
~Your task is not over.~
~In peace, vigilance.~
~In war, victory.~
~In death, sacrifice.~