And for a while there, everything went as the champion had predicted. Mere Weeks after the incident at the circle, a chantry envoy appeared before the council. And just, as we had been told, the holy demands were nothing short of surrendering the city, and throwing everyone inside it at templar mercy.
After Meredith had proven what that meant, over and over again, can you really blame our foolishness? We freemarchers have always been stubborn folk. And that name had rung far too hollow in Kirkwall, for far too long.
After all, what claim did the chantry have, back in those days? Just as the champion predicted, the circle remained functional. There had been no surge of bloodmagic, of apostates running about, or even petty crime. Kirkwall had yet to be engulfed in chaos, and one could well mistake this new state of affairs for far more peaceful and orderly then Meredith' regime had been.
Of course there was unrest. When have the darktown scum ever acted civil. And the chantries behavior certainly did not help matters. No matter how many times the council urged the gran cleric to address a speech to the faithful, to take a stance, our pleas were met with nothing but silence. The grand cleric was indispensable, or so they said, and not a word more.
Many might have feared in these days, for their lives or for their souls. And I know, that all of Thedas looked at us, with held breath, waiting for Kirkwall to crumble. And yet, as much as we were the center of attention in these days, we had also become the eye of the storm.
The city had been a boiling pot on the fire under Meredith iron rule, but now the pressure had been relieved. For a while, anyway.
In the meantime, a steady stream of Ambassadors and envoys arrived. Even a number of Tevinter Magisters, some to speak to the council, some to the new Knight Commander. A good man, that Thrask, and working tirelessly through those month. A man, undeserving of his fate.
But I digress. It must sound like I'm trying to justify again. Like I'm trying to to make sense, of what must seem a jesters foolery to you.
But you see, to us, to the poor brave citizens of Kirkwall, things looked just fine back then. The Chantry send their messengers, and we rejected their demands, insisted that the circle operated in accordance to all chantry laws, that there was no corruption here. Eventually, the messengers stopped addressing the city council. Eventually their visits became rare, they went directly to the gallows. Probably regular inspections even.
We took it as a good sign, of progress, of reconciliation even. And when a month passed, and no more strangers arrived under chantry banner, we rejoiced. Imagine the Ignorance, we celebrated our victory in the face of the maker. In open defiance of all that is right and just.
But infinitely worse, this shallow success made us arrogant. We had resisted the chantry once, and in blissful overconfidence, we thought we did it with our own strength. And when the time came again, we abandoned all reason. And rather then being thankful for the mercy we had been shown thus far, we were all too eager, all too drunk with success. And when the Templars finally arrived, few and far between at first, but arms in hand, and ill intend in their hearts... we thought we could push them back. For a while we even did.
Maker, for all it has cost me, I still don't know why they came. Without warning. Without mercy. Before I pass on, tell me... what did those accursed mages do?
- Last words, taken from the memoirs of Friedrich of Reinhardt, 9:46 Dragon