Interlude 27: Dreams Aflame
From the Journal of Ser Helyas Manning, Knight Commander of the Maferian Templars
The dream came to be again last night and it cannot be dismissed as mere illusion.
I was sweating in my sleep, for I was surrounded by flames. Just beyond the flames I saw Chantry sisters, dancing in their orange robes like they too were flames who had been set upon dry wood. They sang and gyrated and tempted me with false promises of forgiveness for obeisance. Their words rang and screeched; discordant to the ears, for their words were blasphemies that only I could recognize. I saw them suddenly as they were wont to be: shriveled hags, like weathered logs that were only good for burning.
They danced about me and I was bound, as if to a pyre, and they were striving to destroy me, to kill me. I attempted to scream but the words caught in my smoke parched throat. Others were also tied to the pyre, but they were unaware, almost welcoming their destruction at the hands of these harlots in Chantry robes.
When it appeared all hope was lost and I would expire in the blaze these false women kindled, a dark figure appeared in full armor, emblazoned with a red sword of mercy on the breast. His sword blazed green and wavered as if it were made from water instead of iron. The figure ran through the women in their wantonness and he used his blade to slice the bonds that held me, enabling me to escape from the trap that had been laid.
I watched in awe as he picked up the corpse of each of the false Sisters and threw them onto the pyre, as if they were logs to feed the flames, making them more frenzied, driving them to roar with a sudden passion. However, he made no move to release the others from their bonds and they perished as the flames climbed higher into the night sky, the light obscuring the stars.
"They were unworthy," he answered grimly through his visor, as if he heard questions I had not spoken, "they allowed themselves to be tied by the lies of women. In their destruction is their salvation. They had to be purified of their taint caused by the hands of the unrighteous."
"Am I yet worthy, then?" I breathed.
The figure turned to me and raised his blade, as if he would smite me with one downward swing. I could not even cringe from the blow, for I was overwhelmed by his air of righteousness. If such hands would end my pitiful existence then I would welcome it, for I knew he was from the hand of the Maker and wielded the blade of the Divine, for what else could cause such a light that pulsed from the sword.
The blade, however, was slowly lowered to rest on my forehead. The touch of the tip both froze my veins and made molten my core. It was as if I was being new forged on the anvil of righteousness, the impurities of my metal being purged through the heat, strengthening me.
"You have been chosen to be the Sword of Mercy to this broken land. Through blood and fire you will cleanse the wayward that have turned from the Maker, swayed by the lies of women's vanity."
I remembered all the times I had been held back by the women who represented the Chantry: when the Revered Mother stayed my hand from dispatching the dangerous young girl who called fire to dance at her fingers, claiming the waif knew no better and should be taught how to mold her "Maker given talent" to serve others, when the Sister reprimanded me for my harsh tone with the man who had tripped at my feet, delaying me from continuing on my way, when the Grand Cleric overlooked my contributions in nullifying the threats of countless mages to praise the acts of one Sister who ladled soup for the needy, as if her actions better served than all my strivings. They were all jealous, all simpering falseness and weak willed. They did not appreciate what was necessary to exalt the Maker and make safe the land for the righteous.
This had been why I had left, why I had abandoned the vows I had offered at the feet of these ridiculous women and gone into the wilderness, hoping to discover the Maker's true purpose for me. I had stumbled into the forgotten valley and found the ways of the wicked frolicking in the high places and I struck them down. For this I was given sanction, allowed to remain and reap the forgotten harvest, winnowing the sinful and separating them from the grain.
Finally, I was acknowledged by the Maker in the figure of the man before me and I took knee and lowered my head, "Instruct me and I will do as you bid."
"You must right the wrong, you must undo what has been done, you must recommit the land through the sacrifice of a vessel as I was once required. Only in walking my steps can you save what has been corrupted." The man spoke this gravely, and I quaked at the words.
"Give me your name, that I might recognize he who leads," I begged, "give me the direction that I might go in full haste…"
With this the warrior removed his helm and I was agog for a moment as he stated, "I am Maferath, husband of the false prophetess that swayed the world. I offered her in sacrifice so that she could not further corrupt the faithful, but I did so too late. Her influence had gone too far and the women swarmed like vultures, picking clean my bones to glut themselves. The Maker required my sacrifice, but it was not enough. She was vindicated and I was vilified in the eyes of men. They succumbed to her honeyed lies, even as she burned on the pyre and now the rest of the world burns with her songs and her words. We must make them see, to realize the mistake. We must burn again in order to exhaust the tide of the flames."
"How must I do this…?"
"Find a woman as a vessel, bind yourself to her in marital contract, then sacrifice her in the name of the Maker as Andraste was once, purify the corruption of the world with the spark. Starve the fire by burning the raw wood first, and then the lies will die."
I lowered my head to the ground and swore that I would see it done.
When I raised my head, Maferath smiled on me, nodding, "The Maker has chosen well. You are incorruptible. You will need fuel to sustain your resolve. The quenching river will be unearthed and you will have provision, your strength will be refreshed and renewed by what the Maker provides in the deep places. It will help to mold the world as the Maker had once purposed it before when first giving shape to all that lives and all that dies. It is the boon, sign of my truth in the mortal world."
With that he withdrew and I was left in the night. I was conscious that I was on my knees in my chamber, the stone cold against my skin and the stars winking through the one window.
Tomorrow I must accompany the arlson to examine the old dwarven entrance at the behest of my patron, but now I serve a higher patron than a mere man. I will look for the boon and I will find the sign. I shiver with anticipation for I am finally on a worthy quest; one that will bring completion and purpose to a soul that had once been cowed and cultivated for menial labor beneath the yoke of deceitful women, enslaving the world.