Moss hung down in thick, frayed ropes, tinting the anemic sunlight of the Wilds green. Raviathan gingerly touched one of the many gnarled roots that were slowly breaking the ruin apart. Perhaps the roots were the only thing keeping the roof from collapsing. Not that anyone would miss this ruin once it was gone. This wreckage had been left for two hundred years in the care of a swamp that existed to devour corpses. Nature would will out in the end, especially here. Vines insinuated themselves in every fissure, pushing, forever imposing, twisting until the stone floor was nothing more than a suggestion of where Wardens once trod.
Was this Tevinter design? Not that Raviathan knew much of anything about architecture. This did have pointed arches like he had seen at Ostagar, but that's as far as he could compare. The passages twisted or turned about without rhyme or reason. Part of maze was design; the other part was the inevitable breakdown of the old fort. Corridors fractured like bones as the treasonous swamp below shifted its support. One passage had been sheared in half, the floor jutting out into air followed by a five foot drop to the decrepit path below, a crevice which housed a nest of rats as long as Raviathan's forearm.
Shafts of tepid light from the cracked ceiling were the only things that kept Raviathan going down the tunnel. There was some light, some air to give him the illusion of escape from this trap should the stones suddenly decide to crumble. Something about the heavy dust turned muck, the smell of rotting, wet bog that suffused the air that set him on edge. Raviathan had never felt claustrophobic before. He had heard other elves talk of the sensation when they were stuck cleaning dungeons for extensive periods. They spoke of weight, of being able to feel all the stones above them, pressing down, pushing down on them, turning the rooms they working into crushing, lightless, traps. Never before had Raviathan been able to feel this sense of weight, the dread of stones compressing his lungs, breaking bones, no air except for a few, desperate, painful wracks before his body gave out.
The cloying dust did not help. All around him was stone ready to squeeze him into pulp. Raviathan wanted out. At the mere sight of a tunnel running further underground, deep into the lightless bowels, he was overcome with an unshakable sense of lurking danger. His imagination was turning this expedition into a horror story that wasn't there. Just fear of the dark, he told himself. That darkness was not the same as the night, even cloud filled nights where the stars hid their austere points of hope. Here, the very air was stolen from him.
"Buck up, elf," Daveth whispered near him.
"I look that nervous?" Raviathan was surprised. His mother had taught him to make a mask of his face when needed, but he had been out of practice. Raviathan resisted nibbling at his lip as he mentally reviewed his mother's mantra. She had spent hours with him, teaching him to become aware of his facial muscles, how each felt when pulled, her fingers as light as a spirit on his face as he gradually learned her arts. Raviathan wondered for a second if that discipline had disappeared so quickly.
"Heh. Not that I'd want to play wicked grace against you anytime soon," Daveth said, a crooked grin on his easy face. "But your sword jerks at every twig snap. Ain't nothing in here except them rats."
The glint of mischief in Daveth's face told Raviathan that the thief knew elves regularly ate rats. If Daveth made a joke at the expense of his starving kin, Raviathan would have punched him, but the thief seemed to know he was pushing his limits.
A voice called from the front, "Is there a problem?"
Having been caught at letting his emotions show, Raviathan resisted the impulse to clench his jaw or glare at the templar. The knights were far enough ahead that they probably didn't hear the words of the conversation so much as wanted the thieves to be silent. However, if silence was so important, then that son of bastard just ruined it with a loud question. Not that the knights' clanking armor didn't alert everything in a half mile radius.
Trapped underground. Trapped with that templar.
Daveth was about to retort when Raviathan tapped him on the arm with the flat of his blade. After a quick flick of his eyes to the dark hall behind them, Raviathan held Daveth's eyes. The human gave the barest nod that he understood. The thieves continued down the mud slicked ruin, the knights left wondering at the change of attitude.
"Now!" Raviathan and Daveth twisted back, their blades striking forward. Sparks flew in the dim light, steel scratching steel, a spray of black blood, and a deep groan of pain. Taint pressed against them like a sudden burning wind, ashy and choleric. More clangs of metal rang, the sound loud in the small space, as the two thieves parried and struck at the party of genlocks. Three more appeared to join the first two, Daveth's kill already dropping.
"Help us," Raviathan shouted to the stationary knights. The death rattle of the genlock sent a shiver down Raviathan's spine. His skin felt like it wanted to jump off and crawl away. The back of his throat itched in a red burn from the oily blood in the air. Maker, how could such creatures exist? Unnatural, as if they bent the world in wrong angles.
Raviathan spared a glance back at the knights before another assassin could take the place of the one he felled. That damned templar was slipping on the sludge that coated the stone floor as he scrambled for purchase. At least he was trying. Jory had turned a sickly pale green, struck as dumb as a statue. Useless. Raviathan glared at him for only an instant before returning to the foray. He snarled at the next monster to rush him.
Though disgusting, these weren't simple, stupid creatures. They had armor, weapons, wielded their blades with skill. Savage, yes, but not untrained as children fighting with sticks would be. How smart were they? Raviathan dropped to a knee, his dagger locked against the genlock's jagged blade, pushing it to swing high while Raviathan's sword struck deep in an unarmored spot. A sword whistled over Raviathan's head, slicing the genlock's neck open.
Raviathan backed out of the melee, rising to his feet as he did so, only to bang his head against Alistair's shield. A brief, bright blast of light blocked his vision for a second. Genlocks moving in the shadow, vague but predatory, death stalking him. Damn stupid templar! Raviathan cowered, covering his head as a tendril of magic worked to repair bruise and shock. Fighting clamored above him, beside him, all the worse for his vulnerability.
Trapped in the cave. Trapped by the templar.
Vision cleared, Raviathan struck a rotted boot, the genlock buckling to flail into his waiting blade. Black blood steamed on the stone, mixing with the slick mud. Alistair slipped, legs going wide, arms flailing for balance when the edge of his shield smashed down into Raviathan's back.
"Ow!"
"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean that."
Oh for love of the Maker! Which was the worse enemy? Raviathan grabbed the templar by the knee, pulling hard so Alistair spun sideways and landed on the remaining genlock, pinning the thing down. Raviathan leapt, his knee in Alistair's chest, and jabbed his dagger in the startled genlock's eye.
Stillness descended, broken only by ragged breathing. Raviathan heaved to his feet, hearing an 'oomph' from the templar. The thieves exchanged hard, darkly triumphant grins.
Shocked, Alistair stared up. "You… what was that? You could have killed me!"
Raviathan snorted. "Looks like you're not so dead after all." Pity.
Without a second look, Raviathan shouldered past Jory and continued down the corridor. Daveth followed not bothering to hide his smirk. "Very brave, Ser Knight."
Jory gaped before flushing. "Now see here. I have a claymore. I can't wield it in this space."
"So, if it weren't for us, you'd be completely defenseless, then? Aww, poor, brave Ser Cumference with his too big sword and too small..."
"Stop it!" Raviathan frowned as he stalked down the crumbling hallway. It was their choice to follow or not. He heard the footsteps of the others though he didn't acknowledge them. At least they had stopped sniping at each other for a time. These were going to be his fellows? Would the Wardens give additional training to integrate them? How did Duncan manage?
When the corridor divided, Raviathan ordered Daveth and Alistair to explore the section that continued to dip down while he and Jory took the section that spiraled up. Jory and Daveth needed to be separated, and anything to get that templar away was a blessing. The others seemed surprised by the order, but this way the teams were balanced.
"Duncan said he found you at a tourney?" Might as well try to make nice. If this was to be his comrade, continued ill will would not serve either of them. Besides, more allies would help distance himself from the templar.
"Yes, indeed. In Highever. I originally hail from Redcliffe."
"I met Arl Eamon. Briefly. Did you not like serving him?"
"The Arl is a noble man in every respect," Jory said, his chin lifting. "I asked for leave in order to…"
At Raviathan's raised hand, Jory quieted. Raviathan listened intently, watchful for any sign. After a moment he nodded that all was clear.
"If I may ask, how did you know about the darkspawn before? I saw nothing."
"Thieves' trick. It's a method of bending the Fade to hide. Surely you've heard of it."
"Heard of, but I've never seen."
"Haven't you been taught what to look for?" Raviathan turned back to regard the warrior.
"Only the castle guards are trained to look for thieves. A knight doesn't need to know such things."
Raviathan cocked his head in thought. A fortnight ago, shems with weapons all looked like shems with weapons—a threat to him and his people. As with rulers, he was learning there were differences, and with differences came specialized learning. "I could see their tracks forming in the mud. The trick is useful, but there are limits."
The hall dead ended in a crumpled mass of stone. Instead of returning, Raviathan ascended a broken staircase using both hands and feet to keep his purchase. The stairs were almost vertical after centuries of shifting, but Raviathan found them easy after so many years of climbing upon the alienage buildings.
"Shouldn't we wait for the others?"
"Just looking." Chips of stone crumbled under Raviathan's light weight. Trapped. Stone overhead, and if it fell, they would be gone from this world. Raviathan took long breaths and fought the rising panic away. At least in the little chamber above there was a missing wall that lead to open sky. Raviathan stood at the edge, breathing in freedom, and gazed over the remains of the fortress that had long succumbed to the Wilds.
The sun would set in a few hours. Unless the other two had found the treaties, this mission would be a wash. What had been here was picked clean long ago either by barbarians, scavengers, or darkspawn. Only broken stone remained, burying whatever treasures remained. No force in Thedas was going to make Raviathan dig through stone. Let dwarves who understood such things have a go.
Hadn't Duncan sensed darkspawn? Didn't he say that all Wardens could? How had that templar not noticed the darkspawn sneaking up on them? Could templars sense magic? Raviathan had always wondered, and so had Solyn, but they never knew. Mages were supposed to be able to hide as long as they didn't display their gifts, but what did he really know about templars? Had Alistair known the darkspawn were coming but chose not to give warning? Let the darkspawn take out the apostate for him? The others would be witnesses that it had been a sneak attack and therefore an accident. Raviathan nibbled his lip, growing cold at the idea.
Alistair had seemed harmless enough at first, but the man had also demonstrated a cruel streak. The court jester turned rambling idiot had to be a ruse. The way Alistair had stared at him back at Ostagar… had he known then? Humans stared at him all the time, so Raviathan hadn't thought much of it. Elves were often the subject of human curiosity. And lust. But what if the templar had known?
Voices sounded from the hall below. Best not to let his guard down, Raviathan decided as he returned to the stairs. Survive this expedition. Talk with Duncan. Raviathan wasn't hopeful, but perhaps something could be arranged so he wouldn't have to be around the templar much.
"Find the treaties?" Raviathan called. If at all possible, he would not be going back into the ruins.
"Naw," Daveth said. "It's all swamp down that way. If they're underwater, ain't no help for it. No use swimming with eels or leeches for a rotted note."
"There's a way out up here. We'll have to go back without them."
Jory need a boost from below and Raviathan hauling him up in order to get his mass up the near useless steps. Raviathan made sure he kept his face neutral. Like many shems who focused only on strength, Jory was all muscled fat with no grace. Daveth and Jory helped Alistair next, then Daveth came last with a smirk at the knights' uselessness.
"So we're just going to leave? The treaties." Alistair glanced around the party, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"Duncan said they're a formality." Raviathan leapt out of the room to a landing then proceeded to make his way down with a series of hops along what was left of the keep.
"I thought you said this was a way out!" The whites around Jory's bulging eyes were visible, even down two stories.
"Well, obviously it is," Raviathan said with a shrug. He let the shems grumble and Daveth laugh as they figured out their own way down. Idly, Raviathan checked around the ruins so that they could at least say they were through. Except for some overgrown lizards, there was nothing but crumbling stone. Raviathan still felt weighed down. The fog was like another oppressive ceiling, too close, clinging all around him like wet cotton, stealing his heat, suffocating.
"Hey there," Daveth said quietly as he caught up. Raviathan looked passed him to see the knights fumbling their way down. "You see any stones set in a circle? Be up high around here."
"Circle? A mark of buried treasure, trap, or Chasind sign?"
"Eh? None of that. Just a marker of sorts."
Raviathan glanced at Daveth's retreating back, but then shrugged his shoulders. Shems were odd sorts. The knights were still lumbering down, Jory's too loud complaints muffled by the fog. Would a chest survive for two centuries out here? Raviathan checked around crumbled walls, prodded rubble piles with a boot, but didn't take his exploration further than that.
Now that he was away from the others, Raviathan could reach out with his senses to get a better feel of the area. He dare not extend too much with the templar about, but the moment of quiet meditation gave him some insight to the swamp. The Fade felt strange here. To be more accurate, the Veil that separated the worlds was different. The Fade was always the Fade, a chaos of abstraction and emotion, but the barrier was thinner, brittle, like wire stretched too tight and ready to snap.
What had happened here? There was the story Daveth had shared with him. The fog was a curse that had originated from a Chasind woman who had found her sons butchered, then, in grief, plunged a blade into her heart. Such tales sounded good, but Raviathan doubted the truth of such fancies.
Some spells could be permanent, but they needed a material object to anchor the Fade energies to this realm. A similar anchor would exist in the Fade, the spell linking the two like a bridge across the Veil. Exceptionally strong symbols needed to be used, like mirrors or fire, images that would remain powerful throughout generations and cultures or the anchor used in the Fade would weaken and die out.
The fog here was more than a trick of weather. No matter the geographic conditions, a clear day would happen on occasion. The thinning of the Veil corroborated that magic was involved, but how this was accomplished, Raviathan could only guess. The story involved blood magic, which Raviathan thought was probably true. Given Daveth's other stories of the Chasind, blood magic would be common practice here.
A whoosh of wind near Raviathan's head was followed by a thud. Jory cried out, a sound followed by the crunch of heavy armor hitting stone followed. Raviathan leaped for cover behind a wall, his heart clogging his throat. Maker's ass! A few inches closer and he would be dead. He hadn't even a clue there was danger near.
"Jory! Are you injured?" Raviathan stayed low behind the scant ruins as he made his way back to where the knights had been.
"He took a tumble," Alistair called back. "I think he'll be okay though."
"Daveth?" Raviathan flattened when another arrow thudded into the uneven rock above him.
"I don't see him."
The hilltop full of ruins a scant minute ago seemed to desert Raviathan now that he needed them. The walls were too short, too full of holes and gaps. He risked exposure running from one set to the other, arrows following his wake as he raced for shelter. Alistair and Jory stayed camped behind their wall, Jory struggling for breath.
"Not shot?" Raviathan examined the warrior as best he could with the load of heavy armor in the way.
"Not that I saw," Alistair said. "No blood anyway."
Raviathan met Jory's eyes. "Had the wind knocked out of you then."
Jory gave a nod as he continued to gulp.
"Easy, Jory. Just work on breathing." Raviathan didn't turn to look at Alistair when he asked, "Can you tell where they are?"
Alistair shook his head. "Unless the darkspawn are doing that hiding bit like earlier, but I don't sense them."
"At all?"
"No."
Raviathan nibbled his lip. No thief could hide and fight. Their concentration would be wrecked. "Could it be a scouting party?"
"Scouting party?"
"The King's men. Maybe they think we're darkspawn or Chasind."
"No," Alistair said with a frown. "Not supposed to be any scouts out this way."
More arrows made the three cower away from the edges.
"C-cov…" Jory coughed. "Lay-ing c-cover." He gestured as he tried to explain. "Ad…vance."
"You mean they're getting closer?" Raviathan asked as he forced his panic down. Jory nodded as he looked between the two.
If only he could see his attackers. They had the high ground, but the area was unfamiliar. The darkspawn in the ruins underground could have been a scouting party. How many were advancing? The three of them could be easily outmaneuvered in this maze of swamp and abandoned remains.
Raviathan grabbed Alistair's helmet and held it half over the wall. A second later a metallic clang sounded as the helmet popped out of his hand.
"Maker's breath," Alistair said, taking his helmet back. "We can't even see them. You think they got Daveth?"
"Haven't heard him. He's either staying hidden, maneuvering for a better position, shot and can't talk, or dead. Three out of four means we shouldn't expect help from him."
"Ooh, you're an optimist," Alistair said.
An unknown, uncounted enemy was approaching with open hostility, and he makes jokes? Raviathan barely stopped himself from yelling at the fool templar. I'm supposed to be in my alienage, happily married, working to build a career as a healer, busy trying to add more pointed eared babies to this world. And this son of a bastard templar is making jokes. "Can you carry Jory? We need to move back."
"Back where? Into the ruins? I won't be able to get him far. Not with all that heavy… armor. Hey, can't you do that disappearing trick thingy?" Alistair waved his hands like a child who was pretending to be a mage might cast a spell. "See how many there are?"
Thingy? "No. Can't concentrate like this."
Another volley of arrows had them shrinking down. Raviathan stared at an arrow stuck quivering in the stone. His vision blurred as he tried to figure a way out of this situation. At least in the ruins they would have walls to protect them rather than these ruins to be used against them. Even if he and the idiot could get back to the ruins without getting shot, they couldn't haul Jory there. Can't leave Jory, but he was like a lead weight pulling Raviathan underwater. Raviathan was already floundering.
The arrow stilled, pulling Raviathan's focus—dark green feathers for fletching, runes carved in the deep mahogany of the straight shaft. Eyes going wide, Raviathan whipped off his backpack and started rummaging through it. Alistair watched the elf flip madly through a ragged book then play a little song on a wooden pipe.
"What is that?" Alistair asked, annoyed.
Raviathan ignored him as he shifted back and forth between pages then played three more short tunes. To the knights' astonishment, they heard the faint sound of notes returning from beyond the ruins. The elf kept his ear cocked, listening, his breath stilled.
After a moment, bird song played soft in the muffling mist. Grinning, Raviathan flipped through the pages, trilling out more notes.
"You know what's going on?" Alistair asked.
"Quiet." Raviathan sat on his heels, the little book propped on his backpack as he and their attackers piped at each other. Finally, Raviathan pulled the arrow out of the chipped wall and waved it, fletching high, over the wall. "I think we're safe."
"What happened?" Alistair glanced between Raviathan and Jory. "What did you do?"
Raviathan ignored him as he settled his equipment back into place.
"Well?"
A wildling, tall and long limbed, stepped out from the other side the ruins. The man's hair hung in tangled ropes like thick twine down his back and gathered into a loose knot. Dark green paint under his eyes and along his jaw made him look more animal than man. Dirt streaked his face, the bright white of his eyes practically glowing like an elf's from the contrast. Foxtails swayed with his movements. Despite the cold, the wildling's thighs and upper arms were bare, showing off patterns made of scars and ink.
Calm, Raviathan approached cautiously with his hand out in greeting. They clasped at the wrists, the wildling giving him a nod before retreating a few steps.
"Chasind," Alistair whispered, hunkering down next to Jory.
"Aye." The wildling's savage gaze fell on the two knights before returning to the elf. The tenor of his voice rasped low, more familiar to whispers or battle cries rather than speech. He whispered now, as if his voice was part of the indistinct fog. "The black of under is boiling from the deep earth. Warnings we had been given, though some stay. Fools they be."
"We're here to try to stop the darkspawn's progress north," Raviathan said. "The King's Army and Grey Wardens together."
"Don't trust him!" Alistair was crouched protectively over Jory, his attention focused on the wildling. "They're moving into position as we speak."
Raviathan's jaw clenched. Bloody moron was going to ruin everything. Typical templar—never took time to understand people or situations. Just kill it, destroy it, then turned their backs to the damage they wrought, the broken people left in their wake.
The wildling's eyes narrowed, his already sharp focus turning dangerous. He slid like a snake, sinewy and hypnotic, deceptively relaxed but ready to strike. "What is the true of your means?"
Before the wildling could continue, Raviathan spread both hands out to show peaceful intentions. "He spoke out of turn. Our truce holds."
"Truce?" Alistair kept his defensive stance over Jory, his shield and a dagger ready.
Raviathan kept his gaze steady on the wild man. "On my honor."
After a moment's consideration of the northmen, the wildling regarded only Raviathan as if he alone were worthy of conversation. "You are not of your elfkin. Not here for that fire god's words?" The wildling was always in motion, always looking about, listening, shifting, but not in a way that drew extra attention. He was like a tree swaying in a breeze, part of the movement of the swamp. "Not to war on us?"
"No. Our only duty is to stop the darkspawn. That is all." Raviathan watched him, fascinated by the otherworldliness of this human. This human respected elves, an oddity in itself.
A grunt from the wildling. "Faith then. Leave, elf of the far tribe. The northmen know not the black of under. The false sun king will fall in pride. This is known."
"Known? Known by whom?"
A rumble issued from the wildling's throat. "The Old Ones see signs. Hunters see the remains. The black of under brings plague. Brings madness. No way back."
"Have you seen the horde? Do you know how many there are? Where they're coming from?"
"Know their number? Count the shadows at night. Even the witch makes plans."
"I've heard tales about new darkspawn. Very large."
"Aye. Horns thick as trees. Move as if the hills took legs upon them. More. Our Seer speaks of sorcery. Breaking nature, the black of under magics.
Raviathan opened his mouth to reply, but a low whistle from the swamp cut him off. The wildling whistled back using the same small flute Raviathan had. The wildling eyed him, a brow raised. "Safe passage to be?"
"Yes. The King's scouting parties are to the south and west."
"A fairness then."
Raviathan gave him a nod.
"Word with you." The wildling stilled for the first time. "Follow the elfkin. Find passage with the witch. Come with us. But leave."
"I cannot," Raviathan said. "I have been called to fight."
The wildling approached, slow and skittish as a curious deer. Reaching out slowly, he felt a lock of Raviathan's hair, pulled it gently between his fingers. Raviathan stared, wide eyed, but did not dare break their tentative truce. "Wolf of Beyond watch your path."
A moment later, the wildling had disappeared into the mist. The only mark that he had been there was a small sack he left behind. Raviathan added the sack to his equipment without letting the others know. There would be time to examine its contents later.
Behind him, Raviathan heard Alistair helping Jory to his feet. For a moment he wondered if he should have it out with the templar. Though he played the clown, that man was a cold blooded killer, to be sure. Rash, arrogant, and just as chilly as the winter wind. Would any attempt at reasoning help? No, Raviathan decided. Can't turn a tainted heart.
Where did that leave him though, Raviathan wondered. Would there be a way to avoid the templar? There weren't enough Wardens that he could keep his distance forever. Raviathan sighed. He'd have to hope Duncan would understand and have a solution. Why would Duncan recruit this idiot anyway? Surely there were better warriors, smarter warriors at the very least. Raviathan rubbed his forehead to ease the coming headache.
Why this templar!?
With a force of will Raviathan pushed down his flash of temper. His building irritation and exhaustion would make him do or say something he would regret if he wasn't careful. Now was not the time. Later, when he was with Duncan, they could talk. This situation would be solved. Raviathan took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, easing the tension from his mind. Be calm. Be patient. A solution would come.
"I am Gazarath!" The words echoed eerily through the mist from beyond the ruins, carried over water and vibrating off cliffs and half walls.
At a frightened yell that sounded suspiciously like Daveth, Alistair and Raviathan ran through the ruins toward the sound. Jory plodded along, his heavy white puffs of air bellowing out before him.
Breaking free of the crumbling walls, they saw Daveth running down a slope with a shade following after. The thief's legs pumped high, his momentum carrying him dangerously fast along the stone strewn hill. A long, spindly fingered claw swiped at his back, swishing through air.
What new shit was this?
"Get moving!" Raviathan yelled at Alistair, trying to get the blighted templar in motion. Startled out of his surprise, Alistair rushed along the hilltop after the thief. Jory huffed afterwards, which impressed Raviathan considering the knight had the breath knocked out of him.
After two arrows missed their mark, Raviathan slung his bow and headed down the hill to head off the shade. He couldn't turn his back on any of these shems for a even minute. What mischief had Daveth got himself into? A shade no less. Raviathan heart beat for more than the impending fight. All the years his aunt had spoken of creatures from the Fade, demons and spirits, shades of shadow and ash, and he was finally seeing one for himself. Such a pity the shade was hostile. Raviathan would have gladly watched the shade attack the templar for a few minutes… for academic purposes of study, of course.
"Here!" Daveth turned at the sound of Raviathan's voice. He slipped in the wet grass but hurried toward the path towards Raviathan.
Impossibly thin arms whipped towards Raviathan's face, taloned fingers slashing a finger's breadth away from his face. "Maker!"
Raviathan raised his sword in a flash of steel, instinct and muscle memory guiding his arm. The shade advanced as smooth as wind over the rock strewn hillside. Raviathan backpedaled under the creature's onslaught, his blades working fast to keep the shade from shredding his face. Fire of Andraste!
Beneath the instinct for survival, Raviathan was aware of his brain taking in every detail of the shade, committing these moments to memory. Fascination overrode any fear he felt. The shade trailed wisps of shadow, like rags that disappeared as if made of ash. A mouth of sorts, a hole with sharp cat's teeth framed in rings, reached for prey. The teeth flexed, strained to reach him. It's eye…
Hitting a stone, Raviathan stumbled back. He tucked his head to roll with his fall. Leather armor dulled a rock that hammered his shoulder blade. Raviathan twisted, somersaulting back to his feet, his blades ready. A howl issued from the shade, from a voice that was never supposed to exist on this side of the Veil. It rose up, screaming to the fog coated sky. Raviathan saw Alistair's blade poking through the shade's twisted chest. Taking the moment of vulnerability, Raviathan thrust both his blades forward, deep into the sentient shadow.
The shade warbled, and odd scream as its essence was destroyed from two realms, the sound echoing back and forth across the Veil. Raviathan wasn't sure, but he thought he heard, "At last, my wish granted." Shadows fragmented like ash, floated away before fading into mist.
Jaw set, Raviathan turned to Daveth. The thief backed away from the elf's glare. "What?"
"Explain yourself," Raviathan demanded. His weapons were still out, gripped so tight they wavered.
"Ah, well, there's this story, see. Legend, really. We'd all heard it growing up, but I never actually thought to find…"
"Where were you?" Raviathan had to hide his own surprise at the vehemence of his shout. The others all drew back a step. "When we were attacked by Chasind. Where were you?"
"Chasind?" Daveth scanned the little valley, though there was little to see beyond mist slicked grass and stone remnants. "Here? They've come this far north?"
"Don't tell me you just took off after we left the ruins."
"Ah, well. Had to um, rain on a lizard, then, I spied the stone circle. Honest, I didn't think you all would get in trouble so quick."
Raviathan turned on his heel before he said something he'd regret. Like his fellow elves before him, he'd have to learn to swallow his natural responses in order to get along with shems. It hurt though. He'd hidden parts of himself, his magic from his friends and family, his mother's training from the alienage, but he hadn't had to smother so much of his genuine self behind a stoic mask before. Adaia trained him well, and he could relax his face so his feelings didn't show, but it was like killing part of himself.
He sat on a rock facing away from the three and sipped at his waterskin. After some loud popping from his flexing neck, Raviathan started concentrating on his breathing, forcing himself to relax. He could hear the others behind him, their voices muffled from the fog, but he tuned them out. They all needed a moment to regain their equilibrium. Raviathan let his breath out on a slow exhale. He lived among shems now. He would adapt.
While he meditated, he thought of the shade. Though Solyn had tried to describe Fade spirits to him, he didn't understand until now.
The shade's eye, one singular eye to show its soul, was like looking through the Veil, directly into the Fade. It's soul glared out a chaos of empty, cold light. No fire, not even the faded touch of a winter moon, could create a light so devoid of life. A soul light of the dead, light that could echo only the hollow, lonely void when life had slipped away. Had it been a demon? An ancient spirit lost? Forever stuck in between worlds, the shade had been bound by rules of flux and fixed realities, two incompatible existences.
This was the division. The shade thought, acted, attacked, reacted, had a soul, but there was no fire, no life to the creature. The darkspawn had no soul even as they acted, but there was an essential difference between the soul dead spirits of the Fade and the blighted monsters that slithered forth like a plague made flesh.
Raviathan had always thought the Fade spirits were living. If they could think, have feelings, understand concepts and form identities, how were they different from what made a soul living? He had wondered at the incompatibility of hunger demons when the Maker himself was supposed to create his new children with an unending hunger to create. Seeing the shade, Raviathan understood his aunt's lectures. His very soul connection to the Fade had taught him the essence of creation.
His first magic was a healing fire, a glorious paradox that his aunt had never seen the like before. Fire destroyed as it renewed. More than a heat source against the cold or light to fight back the dark, fire was creation in its own right. Fire cleared stagnant growth away so that new life had a chance to grow. Ashes became nutrients. On a grander scale, fire moved the earth, tilled tired soil with volcanic pressure, pushed mountains to their groaning heights. Fire cleaned. In fire, creation started with destruction.
This boggy swamp was another side of that creation magic. Raviathan thought of the fox corpse he had seen on the trail down to the Wilds, how it had disintegrated but turned into fuel for maggots and mushrooms. True, the swamp was renewing life in a pattern Raviathan found repugnant, but the cycle turned here nevertheless. Water's own slow power, destruction that led to creation.
The power of creation in living souls was in ideas, and from thought, to transform the world they lived in, not just rearrange it. The power of creation did not exist in the souls beyond the Veil. The spirits beyond the Veil could not transform in any meaningful way. They could latch onto concepts to form their identity, but those concepts were created by the Maker or His children on this side of the Veil. Every thought a demon ever had was created by a living soul's malice, a living soul''s greed. The spirits became these ideas, but they could not originate them.
Now that he was centered, Raviathan stood, stretched, and considered what to do next. They had a few hours before sunset. By all accounts the battle would start after dark, but there was no reason to chance being caught out when the battle started. They still had the initiation ritual as well. How long would that take? Should they look for the treaties again? Nibbling his lip, Raviathan decided that with the treaties being a mere formability, and the battle was not a mere formality, they had best return.
A woman's ringing laughter ended his reflections.
"Chasind," Daveth whispered. The man had gone pale, his unshaven scruff stark black against his paled skin.
The woman crouched on a bolder above them. The feather decorations and stylized tatters she wore gave her the appearance of a raven watching prey. She was beautiful in her own way. Exotic yellow eyes and a full mouth like a plump, purple rose bud added to the inquisitive raptor persona. She grinned at Daveth, her eyes too reminiscent of a snake's cold observation for any to relax. "Worried the barbarian hordes will swoop upon you?"
"Yes," Alistair drawled, hand on hilt. "Swooping is bad."
"Witch of the Wilds, she is," Daveth continued to ramble. "She'll skin us alive then boil our eyes for soup."
"You there, elf," the woman called. Her tattered clothes and crouched position disguised much of her frame, but she was slight for a human. Despite the cold, her thin arms remained exposed much like the Chasind they had seen earlier. "You're not like these others. What do you think?"
"Don't listen to her," Alistair warned. "They've probably been gathering us together. Now they have the high ground."
Raviathan raised an eyebrow. Interesting how paranoid the templar was. Always seeing danger in the shadows. "And why not take us out when we were separated and Jory incapacitated?"
"I don't know." Exasperation made Alistair's voice high. "But don't you think her sudden appearance is just a little suspicious?"
"Sudden?" The woman cocked her head like a raven. "I was here for the world to see had you sense enough to look."
"You… you're just some kind of sneaky… witch-thief!"
Witch-thief? Raviathan wanted to tell the shems to go wait by the ruins while the adults talked. "We're looking for treaties left in the ruins."
Her laughter was rich without being mocking, more amused. "Have you not noticed you are in the ruins no longer?"
She was strange to be sure, but Raviathan gave her an easy smile. Not only was she familiar with this place, she was willing to talk. "A spirit was attempting to get a kiss from my comrade here."
"Indeed. 'Twas quite the show." Mischief animated her face.
"Do you have the treaties," Alistair demanded.
Tension rose as the woman lost her smile. Raviathan glared at the templar. The Maker's punishment was cruel to saddle him with this idiot shem.
"I do not have your treaties." Raviathan's small hope fell at her words, but he hadn't expected much from the woman.
"Stole them," Alistair muttered.
Her chin rose as she looked down at Alistair. "Stolen? From a ruin long ago claimed by this forest?"
Alistair glanced around at his fellows. "Was it just me, or did she not deny being a witch-thief?"
Restraining a sigh, Raviathan started back to Ostagar. "Come on. Let's get back before sunset."
"But… what about…" Alistair glanced between him and the woman.
"Do you have nothing better to do than bait her?" Maker! You'd think the templar had never seen a woman before. He was like a boy poking a lizard with a stick.
"To begin, my name is Morrigan. And while I do not have these treaties of yours, I know who does."
That brought the party up short. "She's lying," Alistair said.
"A trap." Daveth shrunk behind Jory.
"Who has the treaties?" Raviathan asked.
"My mother."
"Your… mother?" Alistair's face puckered at the incomprehensible idea.
"Yes. Did you think I was spawned from rock and snake?"
Raviathan punched Alistair in the shoulder before the templar could say anything else. "We need the treaties and soon. Would you help us?"
The woman raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing about her lips. "Such things may be possible."
~o~O~o~
The sun touched the far horizon lighting up the mist in scarlet. Nerves started to worry at Raviathan. How far away was Ostagar by now? Would they make it in time for the ritual? Before the battle?
If Daveth hadn't already emptied his bladder, Raviathan was sure the shem would have a wet spot. He wondered about the shem. The man could face darkspawn without hesitation, but the Chasind and witches put him off his balance. Raviathan supposed everyone had their fears. To the man's credit, he stayed with the party even though he was terrified.
Shadows bent and swayed in the low light, the movement made eerie by the still air. A decrepit hut stood on thin stilts over a silent pool. The stagnant water reflected the last of the sun, rippling as the hut swayed and creaked. The stilts looked as fragile as chicken legs. Given the uneven building and odd placement of additional stories, Raviathan thought the hut would fit well in an alienage.
"Hello, mother. These are the Grey Wardens you wanted." At the statement Daveth moaned like a dying thing. Morrigan gave him a slight smile as satisfied as a cat with a trapped mouse. "And this is Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds."
The crone guffawed, a creaky sound like tree limbs breaking in a storm. "Witch of the Wilds? Has she been telling stories? Did you know she likes to dance naked under the light of the full moon?"
Pink flushed Morrigan's cheeks, as did Alistair and Jory. Daveth seemed too far gone for to do anything but clutch his knife as if it could protect him as a shield. Raviathan wondered at the woman, why she would be so cruel to her daughter. This whole thing had apparently been planned. Hadn't Morrigan done as she was told? Or was it outing Flemeth as a witch? That the two wielded magic was as obvious as red spots covering a shem boy's face. Only an idiot would be surprised.
"I knew it!" Alistair glared at Morrigan. "You are a sneaky witch-thief."
Maker help me. "Morrigan said you had the treaties we need?"
In the low light of the swamp, Flemeth's eyes gleamed, her golden irises as inhuman as elven eyes. Though she wore rags, her hair hanging in dirty grey clumps, there was strength to the woman. Half her teeth had gone black. "Perhaps." Her voice was warm and rough as whiskey as she drew out the word.
"So you do have them." Alistair stepped forward, his chest out for authority. "Those are Grey Warden property. You've no right to steal them."
"Steal them?" Flemeth's head shook, a condition that sometime afflicted the elderly and could be made worse by emotion. "What a silly boy you are. I was protecting them. Do you really think they would have survived all this time on their own? That protection spell wore off long ago."
"She's got the treaties," Jory said. "Let's take them and go. We waste time here."
Flemeth patted Alistair's cheek none too gently. Raviathan could finally see the resemblance between the two women. They looked nothing alike, but they both had the cold smile of a hunting moray eel. Why did this bloody stupid shem keep poking at them? Granted he was a templar, but these women were in their element. The four of them might have a chance if they could count on Daveth, though he would probably run at the first chance, but why tempt what would be a painful and unnecessary fight? Templars: all viciousness and no sense.
Alistair glanced between Flemeth and Raviathan. "You don't believe her, do you?"
As much as Raviathan loathed to agree with the templar, he was right that this was set up. Not a trap to harm them, but the templar's instincts hadn't been completely wrong. Raviathan reminded himself to be cautious. Ignoring the threat of this shem by thinking him an idiot was a mistake.
The crone smiled as she walked forward, her unwavering focus on Raviathan. "And what do you believe, Warden to be?"
Addled witch or not, they had to hurry back. The eerie light in the witch's predatory eyes kept Raviathan from retorting with a smart remark. They studied each other, and he was sure she knew he was a fellow apostate. How she knew, he couldn't tell. Her power was obvious, her otherness as much a part of her as the mist was to the Korcari Wilds. The witch was watching him closely, so he knew his answer would be important to her. He weighed his words before speaking. "Belief is not the certainty of knowledge. Belief can be powerful, and it can be dangerous. Belief is the gap between what we understand and what exists without understanding, and yet belief is what guides our actions."
A smile spread across the woman's face, as indulgent as a satiated cat watching a mouse scurry across her path. She chuckled. "Will that be your calling then? Choices, choices, choices we make. So many paths we have in our youth. Go down this one or that and everything turns narrow, winding, and certain. Freedom becomes such a tricky question, does it not? You did not choose and easy path, dear one. Let us hope you survive long enough to make something of it."