Aaaaand I'm back! SO sorry for the late update, just came back from holiday and had to crash for a bit so my mind could reboot. Anyway, here's the beginning of the Origin quest, so enjoy and review.
Dylan awoke to the sight of Templars entering the chambers. Well, 'awoke' was the wrong term. 'Forcefully dragged out of his bed in the dead of night and his face dunked in ice water' would have been a far more accurate description.
"Andraste's tits man!" he swore, spluttering as he shook some of the water out of his hair "do you have any idea what time it is?!"
Cullen grinned down at him before seizing the mage by his armpits and hoisted him to his feet whilst others dusted himself down, smoothing the creases out of his robe before getting his bearings.
"It's time, isn't it?" the words were out of his mouth before his sleep-addled brain could completely process them. Cullen nodded solemnly, his usually bright eyes sombre and subdued as he and another Templar flanked him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Damn, Dylan thought as he began the long climb to the Harrowing Chamber, they actually care. He walked quietly, not willing to wake anyone else at this Maker-forsaken hour, although the effort was ruined when you have two heavily armoured goliaths clomping beside you.
He glanced around as they entered the main hall, his mind dredging up a thousand memories of days spent here. He could almost hear the phantom voices, laughing and shouting as only children can, and pictured them running through the halls with bright smiles on their faces.
He sighed, feeling inhumanly tired and unnaturally old. This is what happens when you get woken up during the wee hours of the morning he thought, bewildered by how he could feel old at the tender age of twenty.
Is this how Irving feels every day? Dylan pondered, feeling a stirring of sympathy for his mentor as he felt heavy weights seep into his bones. They were quickly banished as he raced forward, eager to get this entire process out of the way.
"Damn Dylan, slow down!" came Cullen's amused shout from behind him, the two Templars thundering down the halls in order to keep up. Dylan just laughed and ran on, dodging through old hallways and cold, empty rooms.
It was at the base of the stairs leading to the Harrowing chamber, as he slumped against the wall, that the full seriousness of the situation hit him like a High Dragon tail to the face. There was a very real chance of him dying before the sun rose, of him never seeing the sun rise again, or the stars in all their mysterious glory. He had thought of death before, who hadn't, but the fact that he could die today was most disturbing.
Most people thought of death to only occur in their twilight years, or on some bloodied battlefield which would quickly fade from memory. But for Dylan, the fact that he could die in the next few hours- hell, the next few minutes- was like a dragon's talon digging into his chest.
He stumbled and fell, his hand shooting forward to slam into the rough stonework of the wall to prevent his face from connecting with bone-crushing force, his knees scraping against the rugs through the fabric of his robes, as tears began to build in his eyes. He savagely swiped them away, despite the tightness in his chest. One of the cardinal rules of the Circle that was drilled into every new apprentice by the elder ones: show no weakness.
So as Cullen rounded the corner, Dylan's face was his usual mask of humorous nonchalance, burying the fear and terror deep beneath. As they rose through the levels, Dylan began the lengthy process of preparing his mind for every possible situation that could occur. And so it was, with the air of a condemned man walking to the headsman's block, the young mage took his first step into the Harrowing Chamber.
The first thing that struck Dylan about the Harrowing Chamber was the sheer amount of light. Barely any torches lined the walls, instead vast volumes of moonlight shone through the many windows in the circular wall. The silver beams illuminated the room better than any number of candles or torches ever could. The next was the unmistakable bulk of the Knight-Commander standing tall next to the silhouette of the First Enchanter, before one of the great windows.
"Magic exists to server man, and never to rule over him" Greagoir quoted, striding forward with a determined gait. "So spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin. Your magic is a gift, but also a curse. Demons of the dream realm- the Fade- are drawn to you; and seek to use you as a gateway into this world." He looked over Dylan's shoulder and gave a slight nod, indicating a change in spokesman.
"This is why the Harrowing exists." the wizened and very much welcome voice of Irving resounded in his ears as he walked behind him to stand at his right shoulder, "The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will."
Dylan blinked owlishly, his mind going into overdrive to comprehend what he had just heard. Face a demon? With barely any preparation? It made sense, to some degree, as it recreated the most likely conditions of a possible demon attack, and when a mage would be at their weakest.
"What happens if I do not defeat the demon?" he asked, more out of a sense of morbid curiosity than anything else. The thinning of Irving's mouth and the tightening of the skin around Greagoir's eyes spoke volumes.
"Then you will become an abomination, and we will slay you where you stand." That was the only answer Greagoir needed to give, but the words still chilled him to the bone.
This was why Templars were universally despised and feared by mages; their apparent Maker-given-right to execute any mage they suspected of being possessed. But in this case, it was the only hope of salvation he had. He looked Cullen dead in the eye, catching the slightly terrified gleam in the Templar's iris, and sent a single message across the gap. Whatever you do, don't hesitate.
His gaze then drifted to the pedestal in the centre of the room, the turquoise glow making it an immediate eye-catcher. Greagoir, noticing the direction of his eyes, elaborated. "This is lyrium, the very essence of magic and your gateway into the Fade."
Dylan's eyes narrowed as he stared at the pool, then he noticed the hungry leers of some of the Templar's in the room. Poor sods he thought, remembering that lyrium addiction was how the Chantry leashed the Templars and kept them in line. All mages knew that, and the Templars knew that they knew, but each side pretended they didn't. Irving then seized him by the shoulders and turned him round so he faced the First Enchanter.
"The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity child" he explained, giving his protégé a soft but firm shake "Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you." He released his grip on Dylan's shoulders before continuing, using his hands to emphasise his points. "Keep your wits about you, and remember the Fade is a realm of dreams. The spirits may rule it, but your own will is real." Greagoir took a step forward, his disapproval plain to see.
"The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter." Irving may have been chagrined at being interrupted, but he gave no sign as he stepped away. Greagoir gestured towards the pedestal, stepped aside so as to grant clear access.
"You are ready" his words left no room for misinterpretation; Dylan either accepted the test, or he would be slain were he stood. Taking a fortifying breath, and one final glance at Irving, the young mage straightened his spine, pushed his shoulders back and marched to the pedestal. He glanced down at the light blue liquid, a sliver of hate emerging at the sight of the substance that had caused so much pain over the centuries, and slowly placed his hand on the centre.
A bright light engulfed his hand as the specially-treated lyrium infused his skin. He stared at it in mild confusion before the light grew in intensity, blinding in its brightness, and darkness claimed him, whisking him away from the world.
Dylan awoke with a pounding head, rising from the dusty ground, a hand clutching his skull. He blinked as his mind caught up with current events.
"So this is the Fade?" he asked rhetorically, glancing around the mind-bending landscape, soaking it in. "Not bad" a sly smirk slithered onto his face and his eyes began to twinkle with a familiar mischievous gleam "Not bad at all."
He noticed a path off to the right and turned to follow; barely hearing the slow, deep thuds off in the distance, like a great pair of wings in flight. He strolled through the Fade, observing everything with a critical eye and occasionally blasting the few wisps that attacked him. Yet the wing beats- as he referred to them- continued, and seemed to grow closer.
"Someone else thrown to the wolves, as fresh and unprepared as ever?!" Dylan immediately looked around for the source of the voice, before glancing down at…a rat? Yep, a talking rat. He was definitely going mad. "It's not right they do this, the Templars. Not to you, me, anyone!" the mouse exclaimed, in an oddly human voice, which made Dylan raise an inquisitive eyebrow.
"You're…a rat. A talking rat." Despite the obviousness of the statement, Dylan couldn't stop the words slipping out.
The mouse laughed before saying "You think you're here? In that body? You look like that because you think you do!" it sighed before continuing "It's always the same. But it's not your fault. You're in the same boat I was, aren't you?" the rat suddenly flashed with eye-stabbing brilliance, causing Dylan to throw up his arm to shield his sight. When the light faded, another mage clad in crimson robes stood before him, his arms open in greeting.
"Allow me to welcome you to the Fade" he said with a sarcastic drawl, dropping his arms as the deprecating smile fell from his face "you can call me…well, Mouse." Dylan snorted at the irony of the name, rolling his eyes before glancing pointedly at the spirit.
"Not your real name, I take it?" he asked, arms folded across his chest, using one hand to gesture whilst raising an eyebrow in query. Mouse shook his head, replying "No. I can't remember anything from…before." He began to pace, hands folded primly behind his back, as he explained. "The Templars kill you if you take too long, you see" his said, his voice slowly gaining passion as he built up his rant "They figure you failed, and they don't want anything getting out." He swept his arms forward beseechingly, his eyes pleading for understanding. "That's what happened to me, I think. Now I have no body to go back to!" Dylan blanched at the thought of never being able to return to his body, never being able to see any of his friends again.
Then Irving's words rang in his mind, back from one of his very first lessons: spirits and demons rule the Fade, do not trust everything they say or do. Dylan suddenly became very, very cautious, unsure if this was all an elaborate ruse. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion at his new friend. Mouse blinked, his mouth agape as though the answer was as obvious as the sun rising in the east.
"Are you so cynical that you would even think I would allow another poor soul to suffer through the same torture I did?!" the question was more of a distorted screech that clawed at Dylan's eardrums. He grimaced in pain, hands twitching at his sides to resist the urge to slam them over his ears.
"Can't really blame me" he grunted, shaking his head to eliminate the residual ringing "this IS the Fade, after all." Mouse stopped suddenly, every muscle in his body freezing before speaking, his voice curt and clipped. "There's something powerful caged here, just for you. That's your way out." With a flash of light he transformed back into his rat form, scurrying toward Dylan's boot. "I'll just stick around; make sure nothing does too badly wrong."
Dylan sighed as the rat crawled into his shadow, rubbing his temples with the thumb and ring finger of his right hand. Things were never simple, were they? He abandoned his musing in favour of continuing down the path, at a slightly quicker pace than before. He passed an enclosed arena, with flames flickering against the back wall. He ignored Mouse's comments in favour of observing with his own two eyes. Soon, he saw a spirit clad in what appeared to be Templar armour, with weapon racks surrounding it bristling with swords and axes, whilst it held a finely wrought staff in its hands. "Another spirit here" Mouse said with exasperation "it never lived up to its name, to me." Dylan ignored him as he strode towards the spirit. Noticing him, the spirit carefully leant the staff against one of the racks before turning to face him fully.
"Another mortal thrown to the flames and left to burn, I see" the spirit said conversationally, its voice seeming to echo across the Fade as it resonated in Dylan's ears, masking the sound of beating wings that had been diluted by the ambient noise. "Your mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill, then to be sent unarmed against a demon."
Dylan found himself nodding in agreement, saying "I agree, but didn't have a choice." The spirit nodded, replying with a quick "Indeed; that fault lies with those in your tower" The spirit's tone turned thoughtful, and it shifted back onto its heels as it continued "That you remain means you have not yet defeated your hunter. I wish you a glorious battle to come!" Bubbling with curiosity, Dylan asked "What virtue are you, spiritus bonus?" tilting his head in puzzlement, the Tevinter phrase sliding in unconsciously.
The spirit laughed, a deep booming laugh that rolled through the air like mist. "I am a Spirit of Valor, mortal" it replied, the humour never leaving its voice "It would appear that not all apprentices are of limited knowledge of the Fade as most would assume." Suddenly, Valor's head snapped around to look Dylan dead in the eye, all other sounds fading to almost nothing aside from one.
The beat of those infernal wings- their owners refusing to show themselves- seem to flood the air and pound against his eardrums. Then the sound of a mighty roar shattered the air, the noise resonating across the Fade and deep in Dylan's bones.
"You know that sound, do you not?" Valor asked, his tone knowing as his eyes bore into Dylan's skull. Dylan cocked his head to one side, listening intently. The sound was familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Listen well, burn it to memory." Valor said sagely, turning back to his staff "for when you here it again, it will be the day your life is forever changed." Dylan didn't respond, still deep in thought with placing the sound. He was dragged from his musing when he heard the shimmering sound of magic.
He glanced at Valor's staff, then at his bare hands, and asked "What would I have to do to earn one of your weapons?" The question came so suddenly that even Mouse squeaked in surprise. Valor merely blinked, saying "Defeat me in honourable combat, and you will have earned your staff" He then selected a sword from a nearby rack. "Are the terms understood?" the spirit asked as he began to circle the cornered mage. Dylan merely nodded, then dived to the side as Valor lunged at him to avoid getting gored through the ribcage. Summoning ghostly fire, he shot a stream of superheated flame at the spirit, watching as it engulfed his heavily-armoured form. To ensure the spirit was defeated, he threw a bolt of arcane energy into the conflagration, hearing a satisfying ping as it collided with armour. "
You have proved yourself, mortal" the voice of Valor echoed from behind him, and he spun around to see the spirit burn free, holding the staff in question in his hands. "Per the rules of our duel, this staff is yours." As his fingers closed around the haft, Dylan internally gawped at the sheer amount of power that coursed through it. He gaped for a few seconds before a strangled "Many thanks, noble spirit" emerged from his throat. He then turned on his heels and began to walk away from the spirit. Valor watched him leave, waiting until Dylan was out of earshot before muttering a quiet "Honor meus est, o Princeps Dracones" and disappearing back into the Fade.
Dylan, unaware of the spirit's final words, continued his stroll through the realm of dreams. He had to dispatch three spirit wolves when they got a little too inquisitive, marveling at the abilities of his new staff. Soon, he saw what appeared to be a Bereskarn sleeping near a wall.
"Careful, there's another spirit here, not the one hunting you, but still…" Mouse trailed, unable to finish his sentence. The point was clear enough; if it was another demon Dylan would have to be on his toes. As he approached the beast stirred, opening one amber eye to stare them down.
"Ah, so you, are the mortal, being hunted?" the voice sounded refined if weary, each small phrase followed by a slight yawn "And the small one? Is he to be a snack-" another yawn "-for me?" Mouse suddenly transformed into his human form, saying "I…don't like this. He's not going to help us. We should go." The hostility in his voice was almost palpable, which immediately got Dylan curious. The spirit sighed, lumbering to its feet with a mighty thud. "No matter. The demon will get you, eventually, and perhaps there will even be scraps left." The relish with which the spirit said that sent chills running down Dylan's spine and confirming his fears. But, like everything that ran through his head, he had to be sure.
"What kind of spirit are you?" It was Mouse who answered, much to their mutual amazement. "It's a demon." he said simply "Maybe even more powerful than the one chasing after you." Dylan sighed, his fears confirmed. The demon echoed his actions, before crying "Begone! Surely you have better things to do than bother Sloth, mortal. I tire of you already." As Sloth lowered himself to the ground, Dylan tried a different tact. "I need help defeating a demon" he started, fully aware of Sloth's most likely answer, yet still wanting to try and gain aid. Sloth yawned- predictably- before sighing "You have a very nice staff. Why would you need me? Go; use your weapon since you've earned it. Be valorous." Dylan snorted in annoyance, if there was ever an embodiment of laziness; it was the demon lounging before him.
Mouse cocked his head to one side, examining Sloth before saying "He looks powerful. He could teach you to become like him." That caught Dylan's interest. He had heard of mages that could change their forms at will, mages living far beyond the reach of the Templars, in the distant corners of the world. He had researched these 'shapeshifters' extensively, scouring nearly every book on the topic- both from the extensive library and those he…acquired, elsewhere- learning everything he could possibly find about them.
Many of these 'hedge witches', as they were known, had learned the art of copying the form of any animal they came across. To assume its form, they had to study it; it's lifestyle, its movements, its diet, how it thought, how it acted. They had to literally learn how that animal lived so as to create a near exact replica and interpose it over their own bodies. This gave them a plethora of advantages over their more civilised kin. They could traverse any terrain, provided they possessed a form better suited to it than their human one. They could quite easily survive in the wilderness, whereas others not trained in their art would most likely struggle. He had begged Irving to teach him, or send him to someone else who could, some of this seemingly lost magic, but each time he had been turned down. So the idea was not a new one, but the chance to actually try sent Dylan's heart a-pounding.
His hopes were once again dashed as Sloth chuckled, again lazily opening one eye to stare incredulously at them. "Why would a mortal change to another form? They seem too attached to their current one to even be inclined to." Dylan had to concede that much was true: humans were incredibly attached to their bodies, and it was very hard to convince anyone to let go of their own senses and see the world through the eyes of another, 'lesser' creature. Unless it's a dragon he thought wryly, imagining how many mages would jump at the chance to transform into one of those majestic beasts. Then another thought struck him, astounding in its simplicity, yet incredibly useful if utilized correctly.
"I may not be able to change" he suddenly declared, turning his gaze meaningfully to Mouse "but you can." A look of mild amusement passed over the mage's face, before being replaced by abject terror. It happened so quickly Dylan doubted anything had actually happened.
"Uh, I don't think I'd make a very good bear" he said quickly, his eyes darting to the shifting ground "how would I hide?" Dylan's patience had finally reached breaking point, Mouse's constant 'avoidance' of his problems were what had landed him in this mess to begin with. "Sometimes you can't run from your problems!" he snapped, his voice sounding harsher than he had intended, but his frustration overrode his common sense. It had the desired effect though; Mouse froze as he had before, every muscle going tense for a few moments.
"Alright, I see your point" his response was followed by his entire torso slumping forward. Sloth eyed him, not wary, nor overly excited. Simply curious. "Teach him how to change" Dylan said, his words more of a demand than a request, but he had little patience left. Sloth sighed, before giving a simple proposition. "I give you a test of riddles. Pass, and you shall have you seek. Fail, and I shall devour you both. Deal?" Mouse looked at Dylan in alarm, his eyes as wide as dinner platters. Dylan mulled the problem over in his mind. On one hand, he didn't know that the demon would keep his word and not simply devour them on the spot. But on the other, they really needed the help. "Very well" he declared "I agree to your terms, Sloth." Mouse started looking truly afraid whilst Sloth lay back down, resting his massive head on his paws.
"Truly? This gets more and more promising. The first riddle: I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns without people, mountains without land. What am I?" Dylan smiled at that one; that had been the most common riddle used in the mental dexterity tests Uldred often ran, to help mages increase the flexibility of their thinking.
"A map" he said confidently, certain that he had got the answer. There was a slight pause, where silence filled the air and tension grew. "Hmm, correct" was Sloth's slightly chagrined response, obviously feeling cheated of his meal. "The second riddle: I am rarely touched, but often held. If you have wit, you'll use me well. What am I?" Dylan paused, examining each and every part of the riddle, going over it word by word. This was tricky, he actually had to think about the answer. Better than becoming demon munchies he thought, still mulling over the answer. "My tongue?" he said slowly, his voice rising at the end so it sounded more of a question than an answer.
Obviously Sloth was used to such answers, and sighed with "Yes, your witty tongue. Fair enough. One more try, shall we?" Dylan smiled slightly in triumph, his skill with deduction and word play wasn't completely rusty it seemed. Sloth seemed to grow agitated, knowing he only had one last chance to trick them and gain his meal. "The last riddle:" this he said with a note of finality "Always will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee; I'll amuse you an entire eve but alas, you won't remember me. What am I?" Dylan stilled, as motionless as a granite statue, his mind working furiously to try and find some hint, some detail that he could use to find the answer. Moments passed, yet he could not find one. Sweat beaded his brow as his mind became a whirlwind of possibilities, each one nearly as ridiculous as the licked his lips, sensing his impending meal. Mouse looked on nervously, both fear and something else warring in his eyes, something decidedly not quite human, even for a mage.
Dylan screamed in frustration, little more than a very low shriek, the sound of his cry echoing unnaturally across the Fade, bouncing like a stone skipping over water. It was the sound of the echoes that gave him the thread he had been grasping for, his mind going back to Greagior's words before the ritual: Demons from the dream realms- the Fade- seek to use you as a gateway into our world. And what lasted an eve yet no one ever completely remembered but a dream?
"A dream" he said, spinning to stare Sloth straight in the eye "the answer is a dream." The silence that followed seemed to stretch infinitely, the tension thick enough to cut with a dragonbone knife. "Hmm, you are, correct" came the rather annoyed response "rather apropos here in the Fade, no?" It was all Dylan could do to stifle the urge to bounce around in celebration, something he hadn't done since he was seven. Sloth once again lumbered to his feet, his eyes burning with indignation. Although he may have lost, demons were nothing if not businessmen (business-spirits?) and so stuck to the original deal they had made.
Thus Sloth was bound to his word, teaching Mouse how to transform and utilize his new form. "Go then, defeat your demon" were Sloth's parting words as he disappeared back into the haze, his eyes boring into Dylan's whilst seeming to say: and good luck with that. Dylan shrugged, he'd gotten this far, no point stopping now. He strode back towards the arena he'd passed earlier, a now bear-formed Mouse lumbering beside him.
They encountered more spirit wolves on their way, dispatching them even quicker than before; Mouse's claws slashing through the wolves' ethereal forms like a hot sword through butter, whilst Dylan dispatched the others beyond the bear's reach with fire, ice, lightning and the odd boulder. But as they neared the arena the air grew hotter, like walking nearer to a dwarven furnace, sweat beginning to soak into Dylan's robes whilst the staff became slick in his hand. Mouse was surprising unaffected despite the thick layer of fur that coated his body, which Dylan found strange. The Fade is a place of illusion he thought, trying to rationalise the phenomenon this heat could simply be another. When they arrived at the arena proper, there was something already waiting for them. A creature of flame, shapeless yet not, nothing more than a blob with arms and burning orange eyes, crawled out of the ground, liquid fire spewing from the chasm left in its wake. "And there is a spirit of rage" Mouse explained, narrowing his eyes at the demon. Dylan swept his staff up into a ready position whilst calmly approaching the demon (he was inexperienced, not stupid.) As if sensing him, the rage demon swung its gaze to land squarely on Dylan, its eyes glared balefully and filled with hate. "Soon I shall see the world through your eyes, mortal" the demon said, its voice as malevolent as its appearance, low and threatening, and so full of certainty as to border on arrogance. Dylan raised a condescending eyebrow, probably not the best idea but at this point he really didn't care.
"If you want me" he challenged, baring his staff before him and setting his feet "come and get me." The demon narrowed its eyes yet further, reducing them to nothing more than mere slits in its head. "Oh, I shall" it snarled, glaring at him before noticing Mouse at his side, in human form this time. "So this is your gift to me Mouse?" it asked, gesturing to Dylan with a twig-like arm "I thought you could do better." Mouse bared his teeth in a savage snarl, apparently having gained some courage during their little jaunt.
"I'm not afraid of you anymore!" he cried, raising his hand in a 'come at me' gesture "I'm not doing anything for you any longer!" The demon quieted, saying only "Aw, and after all those meals we shared" before turning his gaze back to Dylan. The mage's mind swam, unable to comprehend what he had just heard. Mouse had been a thrall to a demon? The idea seemed absurd, almost impossible. But he had no more time to think, for the demon had decided to charge him. Sweeping his staff up and over his shoulders, he grew in every scrap of fire surrounding him, creating a small flaming wall behind him. It was a good idea, because not a second later six wasp wraiths appeared around them, four of them getting caught in the flames. Mouse charged the other two in bear form, trying to bat them out of the air as a cat might do to a sparrow.
Dylan had his hands full of rage demon, desperately trying to juggle both dealing damage and not getting hit, which is actually a lot harder than it sounds. The small number of ice spells he used seemed to have the greatest effect, but they took time of cast, time that right now he didn't have. The demon swiped at him with its claws, aiming for his abdomen and meeting the haft of the mage's staff halfway. It looked up just in time to receive a lightning bolt straight to the face, followed by a rather small ice blast. Dylan could feel the fires around him, each one like a beacon in his mind.
Fire, flames… rage?
His idea was ludicrous, but that would explain why the demon stuck out so clearly to his senses. It was like a walking furnace, churning out such vast quantities of heat you could have melted red steel in it. He tried to draw from the demon's fire, to try and separate at least a part from the original body. Hence his surprise when the demon all but screeched as one of its arms detached from its shoulder, falling to the ground in a puddle of liquid fire. The demon roared at him, trying to charge him before he could try anything else, sliding across the arena as fast as a man could run.
But before the demon could inflict its terrible and- most likely incredibly painful- retribution, Mouse blindsided it in a shower of sparks and cinders, dragging it to the ground as he tore at its face. Dylan stood panting, leaning heavily on his staff, as the demon slipping back into the fiery chasm from whence it came, and disappearing back into the ground. Mouse transformed into his human form again, standing in the middle of the arena, a small smile playing across his face.
"You did it!" he cheered, his smile transforming into a full-blown grin "you defeated your demon and proved your worth as a mage!" Dylan smiled, but couldn't help feeling he wasn't missing a rather piece of the puzzle. "I don't know" he said, doubt knowing at his gut "it seemed a little too easy." A flicker of doubt appeared on Mouse's face, but gone in less than a heartbeat, but it had been there. "That's because you are one of the worthy, one of the truly great mages." Then Mouse's expression turned coy, and Dylan knew that the demon he'd faced wasn't the true test. "And maybe there's a place for me somewhere in there? A little help, perhaps?" the statement was phrased as a question, but the entire idea sent a dangerous shiver down Dylan's spine.
"The people who trapped you, what were their names?" he asked suddenly, apparently out of the blue, which was his intent. Mouse mentally staggered, completely off guard by the sudden topic change. "I'm…not sure. I already told you, I don't remember anything from before!" the indignation with which he said it confirmed Dylan's hypothesis; every mage knew the names of the Templars that took them to their Harrowing, even if only in passing. Surely the Circle hadn't changed that much?
"I get a feeling that demon wasn't the true test." Dylan stated, his narrowed gaze fixed firmly of Mouse. His jaw dropped slightly whilst his eyes widened. "What? Of course it was!" Mouse shouted, outraged at the suggestion, "What else could possibly challenge an apprentice of you potential…" Mouse trailed off as he caught the triumphant gleam in Dylan's eye: the bastard had figured him out. "Huh, aren't you a smart one?" Then Mouse's voice changed, becoming lower, deeper and much less human.
"Simple killing is a warrior's job. The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust…Pride." And with that, Mouse transformed again; rising to over nine feet tall, his skin changing to purple scales, his head expanding and gaining extra eyes, teeth becoming sharpened fangs, until Dylan stood before the most dangerous of all Fade denizens: a demon of Pride. He staggered back, shocked at the change in size and appearance. Chuckling, it said "Keep your wits about mage. True tests…never end." and just as Dylan began to leave the Fade behind, he heard it warn "Beware the dark Call, Dragon Prince, lest it lead you astray from the path..." before returning to the waking world.
Review please! Box is waiting!