Chapter Eight: Tower of Terror

After a long and arduous journey, the Motley Band of Adventurers™ came upon a little village with a sign out front.

"Welcome to Yet Another Dock on Lake Calenhad, population 3," Elissa read. "Why so few?"

"I can answer that," a helpful villager piped up. "You see, Teyrn Loghain and his men came marching through here a few days ago, right at dinnertime, and found most of the village at the inn eating burgers and Orlesian fries. He demanded that they change the name to 'Freedom Fries', and when they refused, he decided to execute them all."

"How'd you manage to escape, Kester?" Neria wanted to know.

"They left me alone. I'd ordered onion rings, the villager replied cheerfully. "But enough about me. You're looking well, Neria." He looked her over curiously. "Say, where'd you get that fancy robe from? You weren't wearing it the last time I saw you."

"Oh, you mean the Vestments of the Seer?" She shrugged sheepishly. "Honestly, I'm not exactly sure where they came from. I woke up one day, and they were just floating around my pack like they'd always been there."

"You too?" Duran exclaimed. "Thank the stone, I thought I was going crazy!" He pulled an ornate dragonbone mace and edgy silverite dagger out of his own pack. "I got these the exact same way!"

One by one, the Wardens began pulling ancient elven bows, royal shields, lost dwarven helms, and other priceless relics out of their packs. "All right, what's going on, here?" Lyna demanded. "These things didn't just pop out of thin air."

"So what are you suggesting?" Faren demanded, his voice suddenly louder and higher. "Are you insinuating that some well-meaning kleptomaniac swiped a bunch of priceless magical artifacts, then panicked and planted them on you guys in order to avoid getting caught?" He choked out something between a laugh and an asthma attack. "Because that's crazy talk!"

"Whatever," sighed Neria. "Kester, can you take us to the tower, please?

"Sorry, but no. A Templar confiscated my boat. He claimed that there was trouble at the Tower and he was trying to keep visitors away, but I think he was really just on a power trip."

"Great. What are we supposed to do now?"

"You could try bribing him," Kester suggested.

"There's an idea." Neria glanced back at Alistair, who was giggling boyishly over the new G.W. Joe Lyna had given him. "Templars' loyalties seem to come pretty cheap these days."

They marched over to the dock, where a young knight barred the way imperiously. "Sorry, but I can't take you to the Tower. It's off limits until we finish killing all the mag—uh, spraying for termites."

Darrian rolled his eyes. "Termites? The Tower's not even made of wood, you stupid shem."

"Okay, then I just don't feel like it," the Templar sneered.

"Screw this!" growled the city elf. "The tower's not far, and we're all strong and healthy. Let's just swim for it."

"You can't," the Templar retorted smugly. "Lake Calenhad's full of flesh-eating piranhas. Why do you think people around here are always throwing corpses in it?"

"Because they're a bunch of Viking wannabes?"

"Nope. Piranhas."

"Fine, then!" Darrian snapped. "We'll just kick you over the side of that dock you're so precariously perched on and take your stupid boat!"

"Now, now, I'm sure there's no need for that," Neria intervened gently. "As an honorably discharged Circle mage, who has known all the Templars in the Tower for years, I bet I can reason with him."

"You'd think so, but no," the Templar replied serenely. "Now, if you wanted to hand over one of those cookies, on the other hand…" He eyed the fudge-covered Oreos in Sten's hand greedily.

"Oh, fine," grumbled the enormous warrior, grudgingly forking over the cookies. "Lousy shem—I mean, filthy basra!" he corrected hastily, cheeks flaming.

The Templar waved them all into the boat. "All right, hop in. Just tell the giant elf to watch his language."

Somehow the twelve of them, including the armored giant, managed to fit into the little rowboat without any trouble. Morrigan, however, hung back with a frown.

Duran looked up at her, concerned. "What's wrong, my love?"

Morrigan glared at him meaningfully, and his beard suddenly burst into flame. "Ow! Sorry, I meant, what's wrong, my emotionally-crippled tent-buddy?"

"This is Circle Tower, Duran."

"What's your point?"

She whacked him over the head with her staff. "I've spent my entire life trying to stay out of this hellhole, you moron!"

"I know how you must feel, Morrigan, but we might need your magic in there."

"Then you could at least give me some proper clothes so my status as an apostate mage is less obvious! Between the staff, the robes, and the magical amulet, you may as well wrap me in bacon, put me on a platter, and throw me into a freaking lions' den!"

"Sorry, Morrigan," Duran apologized. "I'd really like to help, but nobody in this country seems to sell any clothing without mage-specific enchantments. Trust me, I've looked. In case you haven't noticed, I've been wearing the same prison rags since Orzammar, and they're really starting to get funky."

"At least you've got some proper clothes," Lyna sulked bitterly. "All I was able to bring from home was this stupid leather bikini. Do you have any idea how cold this thing gets?"

"You poor dear!" said Leliana sympathetically. "Here, you can have this drakeskin suit that magically Apparated into my backpack." She held out a slightly less skimpy leather cuirass.

"Aw, isn't that nice of—whoops!" Alistair surreptitiously snatched the armor and tossed it into the lake. "Oh, darn!" he cried insincerely. "Clumsy me. I seem to have knocked your new armor overboard." He eyed his girlfriend's neckline appreciatively. "Ah, well, I guess you'll just have to stick with the bikini for now. Tee hee."

Lyna watched in dismay as a school of piranhas descended on the armor. "Alistair!"

"Sorry, honey." Alistair meekly offered her his G.W. Joe doll. "Here you go, are we cool now?"

"That doesn't work on me!"

"Rats!"

The little boat pulled into Kinloch Hold, where an elderly man was hanging out of a fourth floor window. "Well, if it isn't my prize pupil, Neria Surana!" He waved brightly. "Good to see you again. Nice robe, by the way."

"Don't go there, First Enchanter."

"Suit yourself. I'd love to come down and give you a hug and a lemon drop, but I'm sort of stuck up here."

The sorceress was alarmed. "What? What's wrong?"

"Well, you remember that creepy senior enchanter, Uldred?"

"The one who was always talking to snakes and researching Horcruxes?"

"Yeah. The Libertarians liked his ideas about small government and decreased taxation, so they put him forward as a new candidate for First Enchanter. But when the Templars all laughed in his face and said voting for a third party candidate was pointless, he went a little nuts and started killing people. He's
got us all locked up here in the Chamber of Secrets, and he's forcing us to watch one campaign commercial after another.

"Oh." Elissa turned and headed back to the ferry boat. "Then I guess this was a wasted trip. Thanks for your time, First Enchanter." Alistair, Sten, and the rest followed her to the dock.

Neria blinked. "What? Wait up, where are you going?"

"You heard the man," Elissa replied. "The Circle is in a severely weakened state. Even if we could convince them to ally with us in their present condition, I doubt they'd be any help. No sense wasting any more time on this treaty. Let's just cut our losses and try—"

"Arl Eamon," Alistair supplied insistently. "Or else."

"Fine, whatever."

Neria was horrified. "I can't just leave! The Tower was my home for years! These are the people who tore me from my parents, locked me up like a criminal, and spent my entire childhood brainwashing me with threats of demonic possession. I owe them so much!"

Her comrades stared. "Uh, Neria?" Faren asked gently. "Have you ever heard of a condition called Stockholm Syndrome?"

The mage glowered viciously. "Look, Professor Irving taught me not to use my magic for evil, but he never said anything about not using genlocks." She gave Snugglebug's glow-in-the-dark leash a tug. "Now boy, I want you to disembowel the first person who tries to set foot in that boat."

A few seconds later, the Templar ferryman returned from his bathroom break. "All right, time for me to get back to the village, so all ashore who's going ash—AAAAAAAH!"

When it was over, the Wardens eyed his mangled remains queasily. "Er, on second thought, maybe it is our duty as Wardens to resolve the situation, in some convoluted way." They proceeded through the front door, and found the entryway full of frightened Templars. One of them was standing in front of the inner door with how sword held high.

Annoyed, Knight-Commander Greagoir tossed an empty grenade flask at his head. "Fred, that door's been sealed without incident for days. You can put down the freaking sword now!"

"Spoilsport," Fred sulked. "I was just trying to look knightly."

"Save it for picture day, kid. We've got company." His eyes flickered with recognition. "Neria Surana? You picked a convenient day for a visit. The Tower—"

"We know, Uldred and his third-party zealots have led a rebellion, locked everyone into the Chamber of Secrets, and are forcing them to vote Libertarian."

"Actually, I was just going to say that it wasn't safe here. How did you find all that out?"

"I talked to Irving through a window. You mean you never thought to give it a try in all this time?" Neria snickered. "What kind of strategist are you?"

"Cut me a break. Our order doesn't exactly encourage thinking outside the box."

Neria grimaced. "Do I even want to know what your plan of attack is?"

Greagoir shrugged. "We're going to raze the Tower, of course. We're just waiting for the delivery of some nukes we ordered from some kid named Feddic."

"You're going to blow up every mage in Ferelden in the middle of a Blight?" the sorceress shrieked. "Along with a bunch of wounded men and innocent children? That's your solution?"

"Do you have a better one?" the Knight-Commander sniffed indignantly.

"Uh, here's a novel thought. Maybe you could actually try fighting the evil mages? You know, the one thing you stupid Templars are supposed to be good for?"

"Are you crazy?" Greagoir cried. "Some of those creatures breathe fire! They might singe our fancy skirts! And that's a risk I'm not willing to take this close to picture day."

"I can't believe this," said Morrigan. "It's starting to look like Alistair is the most useful and intelligent person the Templar order has ever produced. Honestly, how sad is that?"

"Er, thanks?" said Alistair uncertainly.

Duran sighed. "We're going to have to single-handedly butcher another army of monsters, aren't we?"

"Bingo," Greagor replied, "but it won't be for nothing. Once you've killed off all the mages, my Templars and I will help you out with the darkspawn."

"Thanks anyway, Commander, but we've already seen how much 'help' you are," grumbled Neria. "Hey, Fred! Quit preening for a second and open the door for us."

Fred, who had been checking his reflection in the polished blade of his sword, shrugged. "All right, it's your funeral, but I won't be able to open it back up for you until all the mages are dead."

"Yeah, yeah, just do it."

The adventurers walked bravely through, and the heavy wooden doors slammed shut ominously behind them. "All right then, everyone, let's get down to business. We—" Neria tried to lead her comrades down the hall, but found she couldn't move her legs. "What the—aw, nuts! My robe's caught in the door." She banged impatiently on the door. "Fred, open up for a minute, I'm stuck!"

"Neria, I already told you, I can't."

"But my robe's caught in the—"

"Sorry, but rules are rules. I can't open back up until you've killed all the demons."

"Fine!" Neria snatched Alistair's sword and banged it against the floor a couple of times, then shot a fireball at the wall. "Okay, they're dead. Open up."

"Even I'm not that stupid," came the reply.

"Here, Neria, I'll help you." Lyna pulled out her miraculous knife and cut her comrade loose. When she was finished, there was a large slit up the side of Neria's skirt.

The mage surveyed the damage with dismay. "Aw, my spiffy new robe's been fanserviced!"

"I feel your pain, sister," Lyna soothed, "but it could be worse. We could be dressed like Morrigan."

The group pressed on through yet another set of ornate hardwood double-doors, and found a flame-wreathed rage demon advancing menacingly on a little old lady. Alarmed, Neria flung a bolt of lightning at the creature, and it vanished into thin air.

The elderly mage rounded on her furiously. "Hey, I called dibs on that one! How am I supposed to impress you now?"

"Nice to see you again, too, Wynne."

"No time to chat now, kid. The Libertarians have taken over the tower, and they're trying to repeal the Federal income tax."

"Gah!

"NO!"

"It's more horrible than anything we could have imagined!" screamed the Wardens.

"I agree." Wynne looked straight at the Wardens. "Somebody should really get in there and save the day." She coughed pointedly.

"Then why have you been standing around here for Maker-knows how long?" snapped Neria. "You're one of the most experienced mages in Ferelden. Get in there and kick some butt, already!"

The elderly mage just laughed. "Me? Defeat a fantastical archvillain? No, no, I'm not nearly young enough, attractive enough, or angst-ridden enough. You kids, on the other hand…"

Neria's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine. We'll singlehandedly and unexpectedly save the day. As usual."

"Oh, no, I'm coming with you. You'll need someone with you who knows the Tower."

"But I've spent my entire life in the—"

"No more backtalk, missy, or you're grounded!" Wynne scolded.

"Pathetic Circle mages," Morrigan snorted. "I'm sure I'd never be so weak as to have to ask someone else for help defending myself against a murderous blood mage."

Wynne frowned. "Wait a minute. You're a mage, but I don't recognize you from the Circle." She recoiled in horror. "Holy Maker! A mage who doesn't share my religion?! You must die! All your friends must die! Your traveling companion's dog must die!"

"Wynne," Neria interrupted mildly. "Don't you think you're overreacting just a tad?"

"NO!"

Neria sighed. "Morrigan, would you be an angel and go wait for us in the next room?"

"Sure."

The moment the door closed behind her, Wynne dropped her weapon and smiled cheerfully. "Shall we get started, my dears?"

"Man," Neria muttered under her breath, "this lady's got some serious mood swings going on."

They fought their way to the third floor of the tower, where Faren took a sudden interest in some large statues. Neria frowned. "Faren, if you're thinking of stealing those, we're not helping you carry them."

"No, that's not it. It says here that we can use them to summon a demon made of pure thought."

The elven sorceress was perplexed. "Why would we want to do that? Don't we have enough demons to fight right now?"

"Because it might have some cool stuff to steal." The casteless dwarf paused. "Although, if it's made of pure thought, I don't see how. Oh well!" He gave the final statue a pat on the head, and the floor rumbled ominously under their feet.

"Uh oh. I sense a disturbance in the Force," said Wynne.

They ran back down to the room where they'd met Wynne. A fiery abomination, wearing a nametag that read "Hello, My Name is Shah Wyrd," was pacing impatiently. "There you are!" it roared. "I was getting bored. I guess I could have simply eaten these frightened and vulnerable young apprentices, but that just wouldn't have been sporting."

"Don't worry!" cried one of the aforementioned apprentices. "We'll help you!" She and her classmates began blasting the battlefield with fireballs. The fire-breathing demon shrugged them off like a gentle breeze, but the Wardens fell on the ground, screaming and smoldering.

"Ah! Cut it out, we're dying, here!"

"Yay, I'm helping, I'm helping!" giggled an apprentice obliviously.

"Gah!" Elissa howled, dumping a health poultice on her char-broiled face. "What the hell is wrong with you guys? Wynne, order them to stop!"

In desperation, Neria fired a column of lightning at the drooling, giggling spellslingers, but it bounced off them harmlessly. "Maker save us!" she moaned. "Wait, Shah Wyrd! Can we make a deal?"

The demon, who was basking contentedly in the middle of the inferno with a tanning mirror tucked under his chin, looked up absently. "Hm?"

"Give us that silverite sword you never seem to use in combat and eat those indestructible idiots over there, and we'll go on our merry way and let you get back to sleep."

"Deal."

"Neria!" Wynne cried in horror. "You can't be serious. They're innocent children!"

"Who are killing us all in the most gruesome and painful manner imaginable!"

"But—"

Neria grinned evilly. "If you want to take their side, I'm sure our friend Shah could go for seconds." An apprentice screamed in the distance, and a spray of blood hit the wall behind them.

Wynne cringed. "I'll be good."

By the time they dragged themselves back up to the fourth floor stairs, the adventurers were sweating like apostates in a Chantry. "Isn't there…an elevator…we could use…in here somewhere" Duran gasped, laboriously dragging his small legs up the final stone step.

"Sure. It's right over there." Neria pointed at a large freight elevator a few feet from the stairwell.

"Why didn't you say something?!" the bedraggled prince screamed furiously.

"Because if we'd taken it, we'd have missed out on all the experience from fighting our way through the demons."

Nobody could argue with that.

A/N: For the record, I love Wynne and Alistair, but they're just so fun to laugh at!