Authors note: slight delays due to Open office doing weird random stuff (also, easter break). I've been wondering for a while, if I should write this chapter at all, and whether to stay true to the pattern or break it for one chapter. I decided to go for a route somewhere in between – lets see if it all turns out all right.
Subject: Elf, female, age approximately 30 – 35
Knight Captain Whyle leads the questioning.
-Subject has been captured along a group of refugees, and brought in for questioning after being found wearing the clothing of chantry personnel.
-Prior questioning has revealed that the subject has been an immediate witness of the events in the Kirkwall circle.
-Subject has regained consciousness, and has been ordered to describe the events immediately prior to her flight in greatest possible detail.
Subject: It was evening when it happened good sirs. I was to assist Ser Alrik in a scheduled rite Sirs, to tranquilize one of the mages, that was convicted. I was to clean the Irons, and prepare the fire and the ritual chalk good Sirs. Ser Alrik always insisted that everything was perfect, and I did my best good Sirs, I swear. Todays subject was a human female, with curled black hair. I swear I don't know more. I never ask about them or try to memorize their faces. They told me the tranquil aren't worth it. It usually happens in the courtyard, in the evening. But there are never visitors, just the Templar performing the rite, a few servants, and a couple of Templar guards. But that day was different. There were lots of people there. The Knight Commander herself with that large new blade of hers, at least five other templars, and another mage. A girl, with fiery red hair, two templars held her by the shoulders. And it almost looked like the remaining two templars where escorting the one in the middle in the same manner. And lots of people came to watch. I could see the faces behind the bars, in the second floor. I never saw that many mages in one pace before, servants like me aren't allowed in the quarters where the mages are kept, you know. But the Knight Commander just glossed over it, like she didn't even see all the audience. I mean, of course she noticed those down in the courtyard with us. Went to speak with them both. I swear good Sirs, I do not know what words the Knight Commander had for them, she did not raise her voice, and I stood far from her. But Maker, I was curious, for their effect was remarkable. From what I can tell, the Knight Commander was calm and friendly in her demeanor, but it must have been grim words, and neither recipient took them well. The Templar glared at the Knight Commander with barely contained rage, the two Knights flanking him actually had to hold him back, or he would have hurled himself at his superior. The mage on the other hand, the redhead, showed no signs of resistance. The templars guarding her took a step back, half letting go, half shoving her to the ground, sending her down to all fours. She barely seemed to recognize it, her fists clenched, biting her lip, fighting and loosing a battle against tears. The black haired mage, the one to be tranquilized, just knelt there, staring into the distance. Most mages do, at this point. In iron shackles, and inside the lyrium rune etched into the pavement, rendering their powers useless, most accept their fate. And everything went as usual, the way it should. I handed Ser Alrik the Irons, all properly heated up, and he started reciting the corresponding chants. I saw that dozens of times already. Until... Ser Alrik turned around one last time, to watch the audience, to await the Knight Commanders approval, and that's when... when it all went wrong...
Subject momentarily ceases her report, and requires additional motivation to continue. Pleas and irrelevant speech are not included in this protocol
When Ser Alrik glanced over the mage, the ginger one, she started to move, lifting herself up, head and shoulders still hanging, loose hair covering most of her face. She didn't speak up loudly, but her voice was cold and clear, free of the sorrow that had been shaking her just seconds ago. And Maker, until the day I die, I will not forget the words she spoke.
"You have taken much from me Knight Commander, you and your Order. More then I ever thought I could stand to loose. More then anyone should ever loose. But you will not take my sister. You may force me to give up the last bit of dignity I have been clinging onto, but you will not have her."
It felt like everyone in the courtyard was holding their breath. The mage, she opened her right fist, as she spoke these last words. A loose pebble fell out of her grasp, followed by a thin, wet stream of red, from the deep cut that the sharp stone had left in her palm.
That's when the screaming started. I've seen magic used once or twice before, but never like this. Never so fast, so powerful. The mage girl didn't even need to move, a blast of magic erupted in the courtyard, tossed the templars guarding her aside like puppets, knocking me clean off my feet. I might have even lost consciousness for a few moments. It was Ser Alriks screaming, that pulled me back into reality. I saw him on his back, just a few feet away. Screaming in a high pitched voice, desperately trying to rip of his chestplate. Searing flames licking from inside every nook and cranny of his armor. Only the Knight Commander herself was still standing on her feet, unsheathing her giant blade, and striking in one fleeting movement. The mage tried to dodge, tried to step back, a fruitless effort in the face of a battle hardened Templar. She'd have managed. Almost. The tip of the blade glanced over her face, yanked her head back, drawing a red crescent through the air, while the mage collapsed, her hands covering her face, now herself yelling of agony. And yet the Knight Commanders next blow, the blow that should have rightfully ended the mages life, was met by steel. Somehow the Templar, the one they held back earlier, had gotten to his feet, had obtained a blade, had rushed to the mad mages aid. And yet, even this attempt was futile. The young knight was no match for his commander. It took but two swift blows to bounce the stolen sword out of his fingers, the massive, skull shaped pommel of Meredith' blade connected to the side of his head, sent him staggered, tripping over one of the fallen knights bodies.
The mage, still flat on her back, threw her right hand in the air. A helpless gesture, yet enough to stall the Knight Commander momentarily, the mages blood sprinkled over her cheek. A snap of blood covered fingers. A light, brighter then the sun. And the side of the Knight Commanders head... it was... gone.
Subject suffers from yet another breakdown. Ser Whyles attempts to help her focus again proved futile. Subject deceased.