There is one thing I'll never get used to, and that's dealing with the religious types. I just don't get on with them, just because lots of people have the same imaginary friend doesn't make it any less ridiculous. The elders would go on and on about how the Great Matriarch, her hair like fire and her soul filled with the 'Otherrealms' Power, the Fade to the Clan, blah blah blah. Honestly it drove me up the fucking wall, but I suppose my magic and in turn my connection to the Fade was my saving grace, between training, sailing and fishing I learnt a lot from the ancients that inhabited the realm of spirits. From Spirits of Valor I learnt how to conduct myself in a manner befitting one who was of 'High Blood' as they said, Spirits of Wisdom and Knowledge that wished nothing more than to jam as much knowledge into my head as they possibly could, so that I could see the world as they do, even Demons of Desire and Pride came to me, mostly during puberty when my blood was hottest. Ladies of Desire taught me a lot about human sexuality and how easily lust could cloud ones judgment, I spent more than a few days trapped within their grips because of my own lust, not exactly something I regret, I was lucky however they were creatures of desire, but also of Love and Compassion who were more clingy and possessive of me than ready to devour my soul and inhabit my body.
Pride's taught me a lot, mostly about hubris and how it could lead to my downfall though I did learn a reason Pride demons are considered the most powerful, on more than one occasion other Spirits had to mend my dazed mind so I could leave the Fade.
Though I will always hold one close to my heart, both literally and figuratively, the Lady of the Sea. The blue maiden who was at my side throughout most of my life, watching over me and guiding me into the path I walked to this day, originally a mere Spirit of Joy that met me when I still had my head in the clouds, my will changed her, but fortunately not into some grotesque abomination, instead into a gorgeous nymph of water that bonded to me and urged my enthusiasm for Piracy. Gosh she was just the best.
Menma closed his journal with a snap, sealed it with magic and slipped it into his pack, he missed his darling little crow who currently was off to the fleet, bearing a message of their new directive. He sighed in discontent, he liked Haven as a place, but not what it held. A collection of Zealots, or at least a good chunk of those gathered were. Too many bloody Clerics for his liking. The problem was that not having faith in the Maker seemed to be the strangest fucking thing to these simpletons.
It was a bitter pill he'd always had to swallow, none really shared his logical outlook on the world, seeing is believing unless it doesn't make immediate sense then it was the fucking Maker. Abyss he wanted just wanted to burn those fucking temples down.
A cluster of blue wisps left his form and floated around the room, he smiled at the sensations they gave him, this was the Lady as she appeared in the corporeal plane. There was a knock at his door and he called out for the person to enter, it was Varric the dwarf without a beard smirked as a greeting. The Lady retreated back into Menma's form and quivered at the unexpected visitor.
"What can I do for you Varric?" Asked the Herald with a smile, he was bored senseless whilst Cassandra was getting all the camps and such established, Cullen was directing the troops to their temporary homes, and all that jazz. He wasn't really needed at the moment, so he was just sitting about. Yes he could try and interact with people but cute little Harding was off as a scout at the moment and Solas looked to be concentrating super hard whenever he thought about visiting the fellow, so he didn't want to disturb him.
"I just thought I'd come and get the juicy details on what you've been up to since we last saw each other in Kirkwall, Hawke was a little sore you disappeared so soon." Informed the amused, Varric. Menma mirrored the mans smirk, ah the little Hawke and the adorable way she seemed to be quite smitten with him. He'd stopped in during the Hawke families second year in Kirkwall and had a mild interaction with the rambunctious group but he had to leave due to... well mostly due to how he pissed off the Arishok so much the fucker tried to blow his ships up.
"That's what happens when you steal gunpowder from the Kossith." Their name for it was stupid, so Menam dubbed it gunpowder and stuffed his cannons with the stuff, it was part of the reason he was feared so intently by those who saw the black flag flying high on his darling ship, the Raven. He liked birds, what of it?
"How is little Kleo by the way?" Asked the dwarf, ah Kleo. His darling first mate and staunchest of allies, she was another part of the reason the Arishok hated him so much, poor little darling had to put up with a right bastard of a watcher, she was a mage you see, Serabaas to the Qunari and so was chained, masked and all manner of terribly unsavory things. Long story short, he found a broken and battered ashen skinned, horned woman with lips sewn shut. He took her under his wing, let her feel herself out and in turn got possibly the most dedicated lover/soldier he'd ever had the pleasure of having around.
She didn't have a name, so he named her Kleo. It fit, for some reason.
"Little isn't exactly the word I'd use in your position, Varric." Barbed Menma with a grin, getting a snort in return, "She's doing well. Finally making small decisions on her own. Still can never decide what to wear outside the stuff I buy her." He said with a chuckle, "Though I have no doubt the fleet will arrive much quicker due to her insistence. It'll be amusing to see skeleton crews on the largest fleet of mercenaries in the seas." He thought idly.
"Who know's maybe she'll smack you in the face for leaving her alone, you know how she gets." Proposed the dwarf.
"I doubt it, the poor thing is still too worried I'll up and leave her, a little grating I'll say but at least I can take a piss without having to assure her." Grunted the Pirate, sinking into his chair before he ended up sliding out of it, "Come on, let's go get a drink. All this talking is making me thirsty."
"That's the Prince I know."
"I still blame/thank you for starting that nickname."
Later
Menma, Varric and Solas sat in the pub having a drink, it wasn't exactly the largest Inn in the world but it was big enough to serve the trio and whatever soldiers were loitering about at the moment, rush hour would be a bloody nightmare though.
"So Solas, tell me about yourself mate. I've been meaning to ask the enigmatic elven magus about himself." Said Menma, sipping from his tankard with a pointed look. Varric following the movement with gusto.
"What would you like to know?" Solas replied amicably. He was a little hesitant to join in on the merriment with the Pirate Mage but the same sensation the spirits of the Fade gave him, resonated with Menma quite a lot, this mean either he shared his body with a spirit, or was a secret abomination.
There was also the chance he was a spirit who thought it was a human, but that was quite a lot less common.
"Well, when did you notice you had magic. That's always a good one, I nearly drowned a girl who kept kicking sand in my face by having a wave coil around her." Menma informed with a chuckle, oh how he hated that little bitch, even after all these years. She was fine, god no need to get your panties in a twist.
He couldn't punch her the fuck out because the Elders would have flipped their dusty old tits at him for striking a girl but he got out of almost drowning her pretty well.
"That explains so much about you." Said Varric, with a chuckle.
"It wasn't like that, I was frustrated and she just kept pushing me." Dismissed Menma, looking back to Solas, who was thoughtful for a moment.
"I suppose the first impression of my magic was during my first lucid dream, I was young but I was fortunate to run into gentler spirits. I had no preconception of what spirits were so in turn they did not shift into dark atrocities of the mind." Informed the Elf.
"Oh? You're a Dreamer as well? What do you use it for?" Asked Menma, leaning forward with a grin on his lips, this seemed to surprise Solas.
"Ah, you travel the Fade as well then? That is refreshing, many are too tempered with fear to venture into the Fade. I dream in ruins, battlefields, places on history. I watch and listen as the Spirits press into the barriers separating out worlds it is amazing, watching history unfold before me." Solas smiled at this, it seemed he did have more than aloof and slightly amused when it came to expressions.
"That sounds pretty amazing, I'll admit. I usually just spend time speaking with the spirits that drift along the seas, not much history above ship battles out there, though seeing a Leviathan was probably the scariest moments of my life." He shivered at the memory, the bloody thing was enormous.
"Leviathan?" Asked Solas, curiosity peaked.
"Oh yeah, imagine a mix between a whale and a squid, then make it the size of a city. It's docile, harmless as a baby bird, but doesn't make the fact that I've never felt as vulnerable as I did in the moment I stared into it's eye." It didn't help that he'd been thrown overboard. Menma shivered at the memory, rubbing his arms as he thought about it.
"Ugh." Grunted Varric at the thought of it.
"That does sound rather daunting, but somewhat majestic." Solas admitted, a thoughtful look on his face.
"I'm sure it would be to someone else."
Another Short While Later
Menma had been called up to the chapel, and was formally greeted by the heads of the Inquisition. Cullen, of course was there as the leader of the military force. Leliana as the Spymaster, Cassandra as... Cassandra. And finally the lady who would be kissing noble ass for them, Josephine. She was nice enough, if you liked Antivan women.
That and he just didn't like putting up with noble's shit, he fucking despised Orlais because of this. They were a melting pot of pathetic mice pretending to be better than they were.
That was just going to make him mad thinking about it, so he didn't.
"So what's the plan stan?" Asked the Pirate with a risen brow.
"We need more power to put into your Mark, with it we should be able to close the Breach. We must go to the Rebel Mages for help." Menma hummed at Cassandra's words, tapping his chin in thought.
"What we need are Templars, they can suppress the Breach. Weaken it enough to seal it for good." Rebuked Cullen with a firm tone.
"Pure speculation." Leliana cut off with a shake of the head.
"And unleashing a bunch of Mages to charge up something we have no idea how to control is a better option?" Shot back Cullen with a frown.
"Better than allowing zealots to nullify the magic within the Mark." Interjected Menma, getting looks. "We do not have Templars on the islands, but we do have warriors like them. Able to suppress and nullify magic, whatever sits within the mark has been bound to me, like my own veins. Any interruption to magic in the area would only serve to cause more trouble."
"The mages it is then." Said Cassandra with a nod.
"Not just them either, I'm not saying we don't collect the Templars, they'll be useful frontline soldiers. But what I am saying is they are not the answer to the Breach." Said Menma, nodding to himself.
"No matter what path you choose, we do not have nearly enough influence to approach either side for help. With the Chantry condemning us and the sheer lack of resources, we simply cannot do it." Interjected Josephine. Menma hummed for a moment.
"Resources won't be an issue, with my fleet's backing this fledgling organization will be a full force to be reckoned with." Assured the Prince of the Black Fleet.
"That would certainly solve one issue but would cause many more to pop up in it's place." Said Josephine, getting a risen brow in response, "We are already branded as heretics, and renegades. Adding a fleet of pirate mercenaries would show us to be nothing more than brigands."
"So?" Asked Menma in response, "Who gives a flying fuck what people think of us, if we can amass the gold, the resources and the people. Why do the opinions of those outside matter?"
"It's that kind of thinking that allowed the Mage rebellion to start." Warned Cullen. Menma frowned, but before a discussion on that could start, Leliana steered the discussion back onto point.
"There is something you can do, a Chantry Cleric, by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to see you nearby, she is more informed on those who could aid us within the clergy, than I." Menma frowned but nodded.
"While you're there try to garner more favour, earn us more supporters and the like." Said Cullen, once more gaining the dark haired man's ascent.
Menma looked over the maps laid on the table before him and resolved himself.
"Right then, we need a leader." said Menma, suddenly. Whilst Cassandra and Leliana expected something along these lines, the other two hadn't. It was like the idea hadn't even really crossed their minds. "As I said to Cassy and Leliana, an organization of this caliber needs a leader or we'll end up fighting and squabbling like bloody nobles." Cullen saw Menma's reasoning, Josephine looked a little affronted by the analogy but couldn't exactly argue with his point.
"And who would you suggest, Menma." Asked Cullen, a smirk on his lips.
"Myself, I've lead the Black Fleet for years now, we don't loose. We've fought in wars, skirmishes and done everything from smuggling to protection. And if he want to be pedantic about it, I've got the marking that can seal the rifts that will be popping up and if you want to be even more bloody delicate about it, if people think the leader of the Inquisition was chosen by the fucking Maker and his wifey, it'll appeal to the masses." He said, it make perfectly reasonable sense to him.
"And placing you at the forefront would advertise we aim to be seen as renegades... more so than we already are." Interjected Josephine.
"Ok then how about this, someone has to do it and none of you fuckers are willing." Snapped the man with a scowl, they jumped at the quick switch, it wasn't out of the realms of understanding that this was beginning to grate on him.
"That doesn't make you the best to lead." Was Cullen's diplomatic response, Menma almost tore his hair out and let out a frustrated growl.
"Everything else I've said does though!" He bellowed, "For fucks sake you people are driving me insane!" Throwing up his arms, "I'm not trying to have you prostrate yourselves before me, I'm just the more reasonable person to take the job."
"What Cullen is trying to say is that to lead the faithful you have to be one of them." Input Leliana. "And you are not."
"It's called lying." Shot back Menma with a frown.
"You would lead all these people, give them hope, and adhere to their beliefs, on a lie?" Asked Josephine, a little surprised. Not by the fact that one would lie, the fact he'd be willing to go that far.
"If it were up to me, I'd tell them all outright that I was ripped here by the Fade, that the woman behind me was more than likely a Spirit, and that what we do, what we must do, needn't be directed by something as trivial as faith. But yes, I'd be willing to lie to them all to get it done." He spat the word faith like venom.
"Why do you despise it so?" Asked Cassandra, with a curious/narrow stare.
"Because it's pointless to ponder what could be when what is, carries so much more significance, you people think your Maker left you, but you still pine for his attention. That's pathetic, it's like an abusive relationship with an absent father figure. The fact that someone decided to tear open the Veil and begin bleeding the Fade into the world takes precedent to something that may or may not be." He shook his head. "We're getting off topic, theological debates can wait for another time, when we don't have potentially hordes of demons to deal with. So I'll just end on this note, let me lead and we'll get this done quickly, and efficiently. Or bicker and argue amongst yourselves, and get every one of the people who came here killed." With his piece said Menma turned to leave.
"We'll be going to the Hinterlands soon... make sure you've got everything you'll need." Said Cassandra, he nodded but remained silent as he closed the door behind him.
"I don't think I've ever met someone with such a negative disposition to the Chantry." Admitted Cullen, thinking back.
"I suppose living life on the seas, or on a chain of secluded islands... I do not know. But at the moment it doesn't matter. We have bigger problems." Muttered Cassandra.
A Couple Days Later, Inquisition Camp: Hinterlands.
Menma had received word from the fleet, and in turn collected his communication crystal from his quarters, slipping it on he opened the locked and touched the crystal. "Finally!" Said a familiar voice, a strong but feminine voice.
"Yes Kleo, hello to you too. Has the Fleet made headway?" Asked the Captain of the largest mercenary company on the seas.
"The scouts with your trident have made it to Redcliffe and are awaiting your arrival, Sir. The majority of the fleet will at Haven within a few days." Informed his second, Menma smiled and sighed in relief.
"Thank you, Kleo. How are you? I hope I didn't cause you any grief."
"Of course you did, I thought you'd left us all behind... but when Karasu came back to us with your note, the crew celebrated your not-death for hours." Kleo informed, Menma chuckled and shook his head. "I will speak with you again, soon. The fleet needs someone to direct them." Menma bid her a good day and closed the locket, Karasu sitting happily on his shoulder.
He turned to Cassandra, Solas and Varric. "To Redcliffe we go, my friends." He grinned, the dwarf and the elf were more than happy to go along with whatever, if it ended up helping their goals, Cassandra rose a brow as they left the camp, Scout Harding waving them off. Menma had to remind himself to stop back in and have a chat with the little lady at some point.
"Should we not be heading to the Crossroads, to meet with Mother Giselle?" Asked Cassandra.
"We'll drop in on the way, it's a crossroads after all. We would have to go through it anyway." Was the curt response.
"You two have an argument or something, this tension isn't exactly great for your complexion, Prince." Varric asked.
"There needs to be a leader for the Inquisition, I've put my name forward, no one else has. Without a leader, a spearhead, we're a blunt stick. We need someone to keep us on task and in the right direction." Informed Menma as they began walking through the lush green lands of the Hinterlands, through a rocky, natural path towards the Crossroads, thankfully it wasn't exactly far, the scouts picked a good spot with able vision and access to the most useful part of the Hinterlands.
"I think that's a splendid idea." Said Solas with a nod.
"At least someone see's reason." Said the mage with a yawn.
"We are not having this conversation again." Groaned Cassandra.
"I don't have to, the more responsibility you all inevitably put on me will end up with you all oh so graciously naming me the Inquisitor. It's not hard to predict." Said Menma, the sounds of battle reaching his ears. "C'mon, gotta save the plebs."
Such was the heroic words he led them into battle with.
Templars and Apostates lashed out at one another, Inquisition soldiers and villagers caught in the crossfire, Menma's desire to get shit done fueled his movements as he dashed forward into the fray, with a slide to a halt Menma pulled the Lady to the surface of his skin, she glittered with joy at his 'touch' and fueled his magical abilities.
Rain began to pour down on the small area the Templars and the Mages inhabited, a few drew their eyes skyward at the conjured storm, with a flick of his wrist the Pirate sent a barrage of lightning towards the line of Templars, blood sprayed from the gaps in their armour as their bodies were reduced to mush, water rose up under the Mages and strangled them, orbs of carnivorous waters chewing their heads to bloody stumps.
The battle was over in seconds, the rain abated and the corpses of the warring factions reduced to soggy piles of meat. The Pirate was pleased, the element of surprise had never failed him. The Lady retreated back into was 'warmest' part of his form, resting comfortably in his heart as she cuddled against him from within his body and soul.
It was an interesting flip compared to when he was younger and sought after her touch, and comfort.
"Impressive." Said Solas, though his gaze lingered on the dead mages for a moment he turned to Menma with a nod of respect, if nothing else than for the talent and skill of what he just did. "Would your Lady have anything to do with the storm?" He asked, the pair had exchanged a brief moment over their interactions within the Fade. And their time with Spirits.
"Indeed, the Lady is my better half, she works with the... brighter side of my mind to create simple things with magic, like rains and such, I on the other hand use the conductive powers of electricity and the manipulation of water to murder more efficently. She doesn't seem to mind as much as I had originally thought she would." Menma admitted, the waters, without blood in them, rising from the ground and spreading themselves over a dry crop of wheat that lay before him.
"She is a kind Spirit indeed. I would not think joining to a human host would leave her with this characteristic. You have shown me much, Menma." Solas was a nice guy, Menma decided. A little serious but nice. A good drinking buddy to be sure.
"You can meet her, if you so desire."
"I would like that very much."
Redcliffe Gate
Menma met with the Mother, fed her lines and lies that he had to as 'the Herald'. And told the troops to spread out around town, collect food for the hungry people by killing the mountain goats within the area. One man needed someone to fetch a potion from his son, who joined up with a cult in the higher hills. Menma asked the Lady to just heal the woman, in doing so gained a very happy couple of informants for the Inquisition. No one ever expected the gentle old couple.
Menma directed the soldiers stationed outside the Crossroads to come within it, to set up their camps within the towns borders and act as a bulwark until the Hinterlands could be purged of dangers and idiocy.
For now though it turned the gentle and abused people of the Crossroads into the first foothold of Inquisition presence within the Hinterlands... Menma idly thought if conquering the free cities would ease his path, but then countered that thought with who he was working with, he would have no great conquest no. Instead he would be working with soft-handed flower children, with no mind for cutthroat results.
It mattered little, what did matter was the strange magic exhibited by the Rifts around Redcliffe, whilst Cassandra was in his ear about going to Orlais to try and convince some of the faithful, Menma had a much more objective mind, he needed mages, so he was going to get mages. No need to kneel to a bunch of clothies.
Menma stood before a contingent of men and women, elves, humans and a few sparse kossith stood within their ranks, all bearing a similar style to himself, donned in black coats with a black raven emblazoned upon their shoulders.
One of them stepped forward, a length of cloth holding what some may assume to be a staff, Solas, Varric and Cassandra looked on with a mixture of intrigue and wariness. Menma unwrapped the cloth revealing a trident, Neptune was it's name. And aptly so was it named after the ancient god of the sea, the weapon was a fine piece of craftsmanship, the trio of barbs looked more akin to horns framing a spearhead but nevertheless it was a mighty beast of a thing. In the centre of the metal head was a dark blue teardrop shaped stone, a magical catalyst.
This weapon was both his staff, and his spear.
Menma thumped the pommel on the ground and pounded his chest, the scouts of the Black Fleet doing the same, "Your orders, Sir!" They all snapped into a straight backed stance as the Lt. amongst them asked this question.
"For the moment you will go to the Crossroads, there you will find a dwarf woman named Lace Harding, she is a scout for the Inquisition, you will bolster her forces until we leave for Haven in a day or so." Ordered the Black Prince with an until now unforeseen, by those he now traveled with, serious expression.
"Sir!" They all snapped another salute and left for the crossroads.
"You have Quinari in your employ?" Was the first question, this came from Solas.
"No, I have Kossith. The species isn't the faith." Menma said, fondly looking to the trident loosely held in his hands. "You have nothing to fear from them, Solas. Most of the Kossith in the fleet were Tal Vashoth who craved order once more, but could not return to their people. They accept me as their leader and in turn I accept them as my brothers and sisters on the seas. They will not attempt to cage you." Menma assured.
"I gotta say, Prince. You sure can pick 'em." Said Varric with a chuckle, Menma shrugged and fixed his weapon onto his back, the familiar weight making him sigh with content.
"Come on, there's a large concentration of Magic in the pub, we can get smashed and get info."
An Hour Later
Menma sat next to an elven woman, Fiona. The Grand Enchanter, or ex-Grand Enchanter, depending on who you asked. She was a strong woman, if nothing else. She led the mages, she and Menma were currently in talks.
"So, here's what I offer you, Miss Fiona." Started Menma, adjusting himself and looking her in the eye, she appreciated the way he spoke to her, like an equal. It was so rare to find nowadays. "Safety from the rogue Templars that want your collective heads, and amnesty from the Chantry. All I ask is that you help me seal the Breach and stick by the Inquisition until we get all this mess sorted out." Said Menma, he smiled when she breathed a sigh of relief, "Expecting something worse?" He asked in humour.
"I will be blunt, Herald. We are a desperate people, it humbles me that you chose not to exploit this." Menma chuckled and placed a hand on her shoulder, his other hand flickering with wisps of mana, "Oh, you are a Mage yourself?" She asked with surprise.
"I am, and if nothing else I like to look out for my own." He pat her shoulder once or twice before retracting his hand, "Now I should tell you though, Miss Fiona I do intend to bring the Templar order into the fold to act as vanguards for our front lines, but I swear to you, on the blood of my Clan, that they will not regain dominion over you, I cannot stress this enough." Menma said, Fiona smiled and nodded.
"You are a good man, Herald. I can see that in you, the Inquisition has a noble goal and a noble leader. the Mages would happily pledge ourselves to you, shall we work out a contract?" She offered, Menma nodded.
"Aye, best to get it in writing, eh? Cassandra." Menma called the black haired woman over, "Would it be terrible of me to ask you to find a paper and something to write with, Solas might have something he's always got that bag of his." Cassandra smirked and nodded, idly tapping his shoulder with her knuckles.
"I'll admit, you've surprised me, Menma." The Prince mirrored her expression and returned his gaze to the mage before him.
"May I ask how you have surprised her?" Asked the woman, curious about her new leader.
"I've been grilling the others that we need an Inquisitor, but since the organization is still quite new they haven't felt the need to announce a single leader. At the moment it's myself, Cassandra and a few others who are doing most of the leading. Don't worry though, they'll come 'round." He said with an easy smile, Fiona, unbidden, relaxed. This young man had charisma to be sure, and had that aura on sincerity that she'd grown unaccustomed to.
"Here you are, Herald." Said Solas, coming up beside them and producing a roll of parchment an inkwell and a quill. "A pleasure to meet you, Grand Enchanter." Greeted Solas, whilst they had exchanged pleasantries before he felt the need to greet her once more, now as a member of the Inquisition.
"And you, Solas."
"Cheers mate." Thanked the Pirate with a grin as he pat Solas on the back, pulling the parchment to himself he began writing it up. "Alright let's get this bad boy outta the way, and get back to Haven to get you guys settled, eh?" Asked Menma with another grin, an expression Fiona felt herself gaining easily.
End of chapter.
A little display of the potential arguments that could have occurred if one were able to have a greater influence over the conversation at the war table. And the inevitable frustrations that it could cause any sane person.
Raxychaz!
