Dragon Age/God of war: Of Dragons and God's
Chapter 6: Fool's Rush In, Finders Keepers, The Plot Thickens
…
In the dimly lit room, Kratos sat on the edge of the meager bed, his thoughts a whirlwind of concern and frustration. The room was in Hawke's slum house, a far cry from the rugged homeliness of his cabin in Midgard. The simplicity of the surroundings only served to highlight the stark difference between his world and this unfamiliar one.
In his hand, he turned over the Bifrost that Freya had given him. It was a key to the realms, a tool that had once offered him the ability to traverse the World Tree at will. But now, it was a reminder of his predicament. He didn't know where on Yggdrasil this world was, or how to access it with the Bifrost.
More than anything, he was worried about Atreus. His son was alone, without his father. He didn't know how much time had passed in his home realm since his arrival in Thedas. Time, it seemed, didn't operate the same way here.
His thoughts drifted back to his encounter with Flemeth. The witch had told him that Mimir, the smartest man alive, had arrived in Thedas only a short while ago. Yet, Kratos himself had been here for over a year. The disparity was jarring.
Could time be flowing differently in Midgard and Thedas? Was it possible that only a short time had passed back home? The thought provided some comfort, but it also brought more questions.
His heart ached at the thought of his son, wondering where he was, waiting for his return. He had to find a way back, and quickly.
But how? The Bifrost was useless without knowledge of where this world sat on Yggdrasil. Even if he knew, how would he access it? He didn't have the unity stone, and the Bifrost couldn't open a gate without it.
A sigh escaped him, a rare sound from the stoic Ghost of Sparta. The weight of his predicament felt heavier than any beast he'd fought or burden he'd carried.
He didn't have the answers. But he knew he wouldn't find them sitting idly. He had faced countless trials, overcome insurmountable odds. This was another challenge, and he would not let it defeat him.
He set the Bifrost down and stood, his resolve hardening. He would find a way back to Atreus. No matter what it took, no matter how long.
The thought of his son, waiting for him, gave him strength. He had a purpose, a mission. And Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta, never failed in his mission.
His thoughts briefly drifted to Atreus, the boy's laughter, his curiosity, his stubbornness. They were echoes of a past that felt both close and far away.
And with that, he made a silent vow. He would find a way back. For Atreus.
He would seek answers, he would seek guidance. He would find a way to make the Bifrost work. And if he couldn't, he would find another way. Because he was Kratos, and he would not be defeated. Not by gods, not by fate, and certainly not by the constraints of an unfamiliar world.
Kratos looked down at the Leviathan Axe resting next to him. The weapon was an extension of himself, a tool he'd wielded through countless battles and trials. It was a symbol of the journey he'd undertaken with Atreus, a journey that had changed them both.
Upon the handle of the axe was a new addition. A lightning rune, its intricate design glowing faintly in the dim light of the room. It was a gift from Bodahn Feddic's son, Sandal, who despite his eccentricities, was undoubtedly talented in his craft.
Kratos had initially been skeptical. Dwarves in his world were master blacksmiths, known for their unrivaled skill and precision. He'd seen their work, had their work embedded in his very skin. But this dwarf, Sandal, was different. There was an oddness to him, a sort of simplicity that seemed to mask an immense depth of knowledge and understanding.
His skepticism had been unfounded. The rune was more than just ornamental, it was functional. The lightning it imbued his weapon with had proven to be a formidable addition to his arsenal. It was a powerful tool, and one he had quickly grown to appreciate.
Kratos ran his fingers over the rune, feeling the faint hum of magic coursing through it. His thoughts drifted back to the dwarf. Sandal was not what he had expected, but he had shown himself to be capable. His work was good, and that was all that mattered to Kratos.
The Ghost of Sparta didn't care much for pleasantries or social norms. He valued strength, skill, and honesty. And Sandal, for all his peculiarities, had proven himself in that regard.
Kratos found a certain respect for the dwarf. In his own way, Sandal was a warrior. Not in the traditional sense, but a warrior nonetheless. He fought with his craft, his skill shaping the tools that others would use in their battles.
Yes, Sandal was indeed peculiar. But he was also talented. And in the end, that was all that mattered. He had given Kratos a gift, a powerful tool in his quest to return home. For that, the Ghost of Sparta was grateful.
He looked again at the lightning rune, his mind whirring with thoughts of battles past and battles yet to come. He would face whatever lay ahead with determination and courage. He was Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta. And with his axe in hand, he feared nothing.
As the possibilities started to form in his mind, a thought occurred to him. Could this lightning rune, this powerful addition to his weapon, actually counter the lightning of Thor?
Thor, the God of Thunder, was a formidable foe. Kratos hadn't yet encountered Thor in his own world. His knowledge of the Thunder God came from stories and legends, from warnings given by allies, and from the dread that the Aesir god's name invoked in others. But Kratos was no stranger to gods and their powers. He'd toppled Olympus, after all. The thought of another god, even one as reputedly powerful as Thor, didn't intimidate him. It merely presented another challenge, another obstacle to overcome.
The addition of the lightning rune to his axe brought an unexpected consideration. Could this new power give him an edge if he were to face Thor? The rune had definitely made his weapon stronger, the energy crackling off it tangible and potent. If Thor's power was indeed tied to lightning, it was possible that this rune could help counteract it, or even turn it against him.
Kratos mulled over this, his thoughts a mix of anticipation and strategic planning. The rune was a powerful tool, and he intended to make full use of it. Whether it would be enough against a god like Thor, that remained to be seen. But Kratos was always prepared for a challenge. He would face it as he had faced all others: with unyielding determination and brute strength.
For now, he was trapped in a different world, a different realm. His priority was to find a way back to Atreus, to ensure his son was safe. But thoughts of what awaited him back in his own realm lingered in the back of his mind. The rune was a promising development, and he'd be sure to test its full capabilities when the time came.
Until then, he would continue to adapt, to learn from this new world. He would face whatever threats this realm threw at him and grow stronger with each encounter. If the gods of this world thought they could stand in his way, they were sorely mistaken. Kratos was a warrior, a god-slayer. No god, not even the mighty Thor, would deter him from his path.
The sound of a knock on his door drew Kratos out of his thoughts. Turning his gaze towards the door, he saw it open to reveal Bethany, her face friendly and inviting. She had a comforting presence, one that reminded him of the quieter, more peaceful moments he'd had with his family.
"Dinner's ready, Kratos," she announced, her voice gentle. "We managed to get some ham, courtesy of the Viscount's generosity. We thought you might want to join us."
Kratos studied her for a moment, his features softening. His instincts as a Spartan, as a warrior, always pushed him towards solitude, towards training and preparation. But there was a part of him that yearned for companionship, for the shared warmth of a meal, for the sense of camaraderie and family that he'd been missing since he'd arrived in this world.
And there was something else – a glimmer of hope. This meal, this gathering, was a sign of better times. They'd suffered a lot, but they were now on the path to recovery. The Viscount's gift, a symbol of gratitude for their sacrifices, allowed them a moment of respite, a brief taste of normalcy amidst their trials.
"Alright," Kratos replied, a gruff acceptance of her invitation. He followed Bethany out of his room, the thought of dinner – a simple, warm meal shared with his newfound allies – bringing a moment of peace to his troubled mind.
As they joined the others at the table, a sense of camaraderie filling the room, Kratos realized that he could find moments of peace even in this unfamiliar world. That, despite his worries and his longing to return to Atreus, he could still find some semblance of home here, with these people. It was a comforting thought, one that would help him face the challenges ahead.
…
The next day.
Hawke and Kratos made their way to The Hanged Man, a bar notorious for its raucous patrons and a favorite among the city's less than lawful citizens. It was the perfect place to pick up rumors, information, and leads. Hawke was fairly well-known around here, and Kratos…well, his towering presence alone was enough to gain attention.
As they entered, the clamor of voices and clinking mugs filled their ears. Hawke navigated the crowd, scanning for anyone who might provide useful information. Kratos, meanwhile, was on the lookout for anything or anyone who might match the description of his lost companion, Mimir.
As they wove through the crowd, their attention was drawn to a commotion near one of the tables. A woman with dark hair, dressed in a sailor's outfit, was being confronted by a man named Lucky and his gang. She had two daggers laid out in front of her on the table, and she regarded the men with an amused smirk. It seemed she was being harassed for money, but she didn't seem particularly concerned.
"Seems to me it's not very polite to gang up on someone in a public setting," Hawke commented, approaching the group. "Isn't that right, Kratos?"
The Spartan only grunted in response, his eyes focused on the scene unfolding before them.
Hawke then turned his attention to the woman. "Do you need a hand with these fellows?" he offered, his tone amicable but firm.
She looked him up and down, then glanced at Kratos. Her grin widened. "I think I've got it covered," she replied with a confident wink.
And, as if to prove her point, she suddenly leapt into action. With lightning speed, she disarmed Lucky, sending him sprawling onto the floor. The rest of his gang backed off, suddenly wary.
As the dust settled, she sheathed her daggers and turned back to Hawke and Kratos. "Thanks for the offer, though," she said with a chuckle.
Hawke smiled in return, while Kratos regarded her with a raised eyebrow, clearly intrigued by her abilities. "You handle yourself well," he commented.
She gave him a cheeky salute. "I do my best."
As the crowd returned to their own business, Hawke introduced himself and Kratos to the sailor-clad woman, who revealed her name as Isabela. Little did they know, their search for Mimir had just taken an interesting turn.
Isabela took a swig from her mug before looking at the two men again. "Now, since we're all friends here," she began, leaning against the table and crossing her arms. "I've got a little proposition."
Hawke raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on."
"There's an old acquaintance of mine hiding in the Chantry," she said. "Stole something from me, the bastard. An artifact that's very valuable. And he's planning to auction it off to the highest bidder in a week."
Kratos, who had been silent until now, suddenly looked alert. "Can you describe this… artifact?" he asked, his voice tinged with hope.
Isabela crossed her arms and tapping a foot thoughtfully. "I know about the first one; that was mine to start with. He's the one who stole it from me. But this other thing…I haven't seen that."
She took a thoughtful swig from her tankard. "Rumor has it that it's some strange creature or artifact. Came out of nowhere, just fell out of the sky one day."
Kratos' attention sharpened at this. "That could be Mimir," he said, an undercurrent of urgency in his voice.
Hawke met his gaze and nodded, understanding the significance. "Then we'll help Isabela retrieve her stolen book and check out this other object. Two birds with one stone."
Isabela flashed a grin at them, raising her mug in a mock salute. "Just be warned, my acquaintance isn't known for playing fair. We'll be walking into trouble."
Hawke smirked back at her, while Kratos merely grunted, seemingly unphased by the prospect of danger. This was their best lead yet for finding Mimir, and they weren't about to let it slip away. Whatever awaited them in the Chantry, they were ready for it.
…
As night descended on the city, Hawke, Kratos, Aveline, Merrill, and Bethany made their way to the meeting spot in Hightown's central square, right before the imposing structure of the Viscount's keep. The square was eerily silent, the usual bustle replaced by the occasional rustle of wind sweeping through empty streets.
"It's good to see no more pretenders strutting about as guardsmen," Aveline commented, her eyes scanning the area with professional scrutiny. As the captain of Kirkwall's city guard, she had recently had to deal with impostors sowing chaos in the city. The silence of the square was a welcome relief.
They were joined shortly by Isabela, the pirate rogue sauntering towards them with a confident smirk on her face. The plan was simple: retrieve Isabela's stolen book and investigate the mysterious artifact that could potentially be Mimir.
But as Isabela joined them, the stillness of the square was suddenly shattered. A dozen armed figures emerged from the shadows of the nearby buildings, led by a burly man – Hayder's men.
As the battle raged on, the adversaries found themselves drawn towards the imposing figure of Kratos, their numbers encircling him in an attempt to overwhelm him. Seeing their comrade's precarious situation, Hawke and Isabela acted in unison, each tossing a concussion grenade on opposite sides of the circle of men surrounding Kratos.
The grenades detonated almost simultaneously, the forceful explosion causing the men to stumble and falter, their formation disrupted. Seizing the moment, Kratos gripped his axe with both hands and channeled the power of the new rune he'd recently added to it.
Suddenly, a whirlwind of frost erupted from him, spiraling outward and enveloping the men. Their movements were instantly hindered as they began to freeze solid, their weapons dropping from numb hands, their bodies encased in thick ice.
The spectacle didn't end there. Kratos released another burst of energy, this time the crackling energy of lightning. It surged through the frozen figures, the sharp, electrifying crack echoing across the square as it shattered the ice, sending shards flying and leaving the men stunned and incapacitated.
As Isabela hurried over to retrieve the note from the incapacitated leader of the men, Kratos took a moment to reflect on the attack he had just unleashed. The merging of the frost and lightning had been unexpected, yet powerful. He'd only intended to call upon the icy gust of the frost rune, but the lightning had surged forward on its own accord, intertwining with the frost in a spectacular display of power.
"Hm…" He murmured to himself, looking down at his rune-imbued axe. The electric energy still lingered on its surface, crackling slightly before fading away. This new development was intriguing and promised more potential for his combat abilities.
If he could combine these elements, what other attacks could he manipulate? It was an idea worth exploring, a new avenue for him to exploit in his battles. But such thoughts were for later. Now, they had a mission to focus on, a friend to find, and adversaries to defeat.
Kratos stowed his axe, his mind already plotting and strategizing. The unexpected twist of the rune's power was promising indeed. But for now, the immediate task at hand demanded his attention. He joined the others, his eyes falling on the note in Isabela's hand, ready to continue on their pursuit.
…
Moving further into the city, the group arrived at the grand doors of the Chantry. Carefully, they pushed the doors open, revealing the grandeur of the inner sanctuary. While Hawk and Isabela cautiously checked for traps, the others kept their weapons ready, their senses alert to any impending danger.
Surprisingly, they found no traps, and the group proceeded to the main hall, where a sight that no one, save perhaps for Kratos, had expected met their eyes. In the center of the hall, Hayder stood overseeing a couple of men who were busy restraining a… severed head.
The head was adorned with intricate tattoos and a beard, with branch-like horns protruding from its bald scalp. It was a bizarre, even grotesque sight, but what was even more startling was that the head was very much alive and not at all happy about its predicament.
"Let me at 'im! I'll bite his head clean off!" The head roared, its eyes flashing with a defiant rage as the men forced a gag over its mouth, effectively silencing it.
The declaration drew the attention of everyone in the room. All eyes turned towards the spectacle, with mixed reactions of shock, confusion, and in Kratos's case, a profound sense of recognition.
In the midst of the spectacle, the severed head—Mimir—managed to let out a muffled sound that only Kratos recognized.
"Brother!" he attempted to shout through his gag.
Hayder, upon hearing Mimir's attempt to communicate, turned around. His gaze traveled from Mimir to follow his line of sight. A look of surprise, followed quickly by calculation, crossed his face as he saw Kratos standing there, the small band of allies arrayed behind him.
He assessed the group, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Kratos, the mighty stranger who now threatened to foil his plans. There was a tension in the room, a spark of impending conflict that had everyone on edge. Kratos locked eyes with Hayder, his stance firm and challenging.
The sound of steel sliding against sheaths echoed as Hayder unsheathed his two greatswords, gripping one in each hand. The sight was intimidating, but the group stood their ground, prepared for the battle to come.
As Kratos engaged with several of Hayder's men, a flicker of movement in the shadows caught Hawk's attention. There was someone there, hidden in the darkness, poised to strike at Kratos from behind.
Instinct and quick thinking took over. Without a moment of hesitation, Hawk sprang into action. He darted forward, propelling himself into a midair flip over Kratos' figure. His dual blades slashed out, their gleaming edges catching the scant light.
His attack was precise and swift. Each blade found its mark, cutting through the concealed assassins before they could make their move on Kratos. Their bodies crumpled to the floor, taken out before they could pose a threat to the Spartan god.
In the midst of the battle, Hawk had just shown his impressive battle instincts and prowess, displaying not just his capability as a fighter, but his keen eye and awareness in the thick of combat.
Kratos' head swiveled around, his sharp eyes landing on the fallen assassins behind him. For a moment, surprise flashed across his stern face. The assassins had managed to get close, too close, without him noticing.
He shifted his gaze to Hawk, giving the rogue a nod of acknowledgement. He didn't need words to convey his gratitude; the gesture was enough. Despite being a warrior of exceptional skill, he knew when to recognize the abilities of others.
This moment served as a stark reminder of the danger they were in and how much they needed to rely on each other. Even with all his strength and experience, there were still things he could miss, dangers that could sneak up on him. But with allies like Hawk, those risks were somewhat mitigated.
And so, with renewed vigilance, Kratos turned back to the fight, ready to continue the battle alongside his newfound allies.
The battle scene was a maelstrom of chaos and fury. Aveline, her face twisted in determination, was battling fiercely against Hayder. Meanwhile, Isabela, ever the opportunist, was darting in for a swift and lethal strike. But Hayder proved to be a more formidable foe than expected. With a forceful shove, he sent Aveline sprawling backwards, his intent clear as he raised his greatswords for the killing blow.
Isabela could only watch in horror as the deadly arc of his blades swung towards Aveline. She was too far, her own momentum carrying her the wrong way. She wouldn't make it in time.
But a blur of motion and a crackling sound shattered the impending silence. The Leviathan Axe, imbued with lightning, cleaved through the air, the power of the rune visible in the arc of electricity that followed. The impact of the axe hitting the hilts of Hayder's swords was deafening. It shattered the blades as if they were brittle glass, the explosion of fragments followed by a jolt of electricity that traveled through the remains of the hilts.
Hayder's triumphant sneer turned to a look of utter shock as the force of the attack hit him. The electrical shock stunned him, causing his body to convulse, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Everyone paused for a moment, absorbing the stunning turn of events. Hayder, their formidable opponent, was down. And it was Kratos, with his trusty axe and the power of his rune, who had turned the tide of the battle. The relief that washed over them was palpable, but they knew better than to let their guard down. The battle was won, but their mission was far from over.
The tension in the room began to dissipate as the last of Hayder's men fell. Aveline, winded but unharmed, pushed herself to her feet, dusting herself off. She looked over at Kratos, who was withdrawing his Leviathan Axe from a fallen opponent. Her face was stern as ever, but her eyes held a certain softness.
"Thanks for that, Kratos," she said, her voice quiet but filled with gratitude. The Spartan merely nodded in response, his stern demeanor unchanging. Despite his gruff exterior, Aveline could tell that he was more than just a ruthless warrior. He was someone who protected his comrades, even if he didn't express it in words.
The group took a moment to catch their breaths, checking their wounds and reassuring each other that they were alright. Even though they had prevailed, the intensity of the fight had left a lingering adrenaline. They had faced a dangerous enemy tonight, and had come out victorious. It was a victory that wouldn't have been possible without their combined efforts… and the timely intervention of Kratos and his lightning-imbued axe.
Isabela set to work swiftly, securing Hayder with a rough length of rope that she produced from her pack. The unconscious man didn't so much as stir as she tied the knots tight, ensuring that he wouldn't escape anytime soon.
Meanwhile, Kratos moved to the cage that held Mimir. The severed head was oddly calm despite the recent chaos, his eyes holding a hint of gratitude as Kratos reached forward and removed the gag.
"Thank you, Brother," Mimir said once his mouth was free, his voice sounding a bit muffled due to the fabric of the gag still in his mouth. Kratos didn't respond verbally, but his actions spoke louder than words. His large hands reached into the cage, carefully extracting Mimir from his confines and setting him gently on the ground.
Isabela's eyes flicked between Kratos and the sentient head he was holding, a multitude of emotions flashing across her face – surprise, confusion, curiosity, and finally, acceptance. She knew that Kratos was an enigma, and now, here was further proof of it.
Despite the surprise of seeing Mimir for the first time, Isabela was quick to compose herself, her shock fading into curiosity. She was no stranger to the oddities of the world, and while a talking, bearded, and horned head was definitely a new experience, she took it in stride.
She took a step closer, peering at Mimir with interest. "Well," she said, an amused grin spreading across her face. "You certainly know how to keep things interesting, don't you?"
The head, Mimir, chuckled at that, his eyes twinkling with good-natured humor. "It's a talent, lass."
For a moment, they all shared a brief laugh, the tension in the room dissipating. Despite the strangeness of the situation, they were all alive, and they had managed to rescue Kratos' friend. That was something to be grateful for.
Kratos turned his gaze towards Hawk, considering his words carefully. There was a practicality to the man's suggestion, one that Kratos couldn't ignore. His presence in this world was already drawing attention, and the addition of Mimir would certainly amplify it. And the last thing he wanted was unnecessary confrontations with this world's authority figures, like the templars.
"Very well," Kratos said after a moment of silence. His voice was gruff, but there was a begrudging respect in his tone. Hawk's leadership and strategic thinking had proven valuable in their previous encounters, and he had earned a measure of Kratos' trust.
Turning towards Mimir, Kratos said, "We'll need to let them know about you, Mimir. It's for our own safety, and yours."
Mimir, hanging on Kratos' hip, nodded his understanding. "A wise decision, brother," he said with a chuckle. "It seems this world is full of surprises, but we don't want to shock them too much, do we?"
With a plan in mind, the group prepared to leave the Chantry, to inform the necessary people about their unusual companion. This new development would undoubtedly bring more challenges, but they were prepared to face them head-on, together.
…
After a long day and night of encounters, conflicts, and revelations, Kratos and his new companions – Aveline, Merrill, and Anders – gathered in the Viscount's Keep for an important meeting. Their aim was to unveil a significant piece of the puzzle: Mimir, Kratos's talking severed head companion. To say they were nervous would be an understatement. Mimir was a sight to behold and a concept difficult to digest for the citizens of Thedas.
However, they knew the alternative – to conceal Mimir – would only raise suspicions and potentially ignite more altercations with the Templars, an entity they were trying to maintain a peaceful relationship with. So, with a deep breath, they stepped forward to present Mimir to the Viscount, Sir Thrask – the Templar Commander, and the revered Mother at the Chantry.
Kratos cleared his throat, his gaze steady on the three influential figures. "We ask that you remember he comes from a different land. He might be a bit… odd, but he's just like us."
With that, he revealed Mimir, the head hanging from his hip, complete with intricate tattoos and branch-like horns. The talking head blinked, as though understanding the gravity of the situation and looking directly at the individuals in front of him.
The room fell into stunned silence.
The Mother, her breath hitching in her throat, managed to whisper a faint "Maker…" The sight was undoubtedly startling and defied everything they knew and understood. The Templar Commander, Sir Thrask, despite being a man of the world and having previously seen the destructive might of Kratos's strange blades, could only blink in response, muttering the same invocation under his breath.
The Viscount, though taken aback, maintained his composure. He took a step closer, examining the runes on Mimir's head before turning his gaze back to Kratos. "Well… He's definitely no demon, that's for sure." After a moment of silence, he seemed to draw a conclusion. "I must say we've never met anyone like this… Mimir."
Turning to Sir Thrask and the Mother, he advised, "We should keep an open mind. They hail from a different land… We may seem as strange to them as they seem to us." His words, while indicating his willingness to accept the oddity of the situation, also served as a reminder that the world was filled with wonders and peculiarities that they may not understand but were bound to encounter.
The Mother and Sir Thrask shared a look between them before turning their attention back to Kratos and Mimir. After a moment's contemplation, they both gave a nod of understanding.
"We'll make sure our people understand the situation and leave Mimir be," the Mother finally spoke, her voice steady but carrying a hint of awe.
Sir Thrask echoed her sentiment. "We have witnessed your deeds and your honor. We will instruct the Templars to act accordingly." The Templar Commander's voice was firm, signifying his agreement and support.
Kratos felt a sense of relief at their response. It was crucial that they were willing to keep an open mind and accept Mimir's presence. He appreciated their understanding, even though it was clear they were still taken aback by the revelation.
"Your understanding is appreciated," Kratos replied, nodding his head slightly in gratitude.
Mimir, who had been uncharacteristically silent, chose that moment to speak. His voice was calm and composed, but the gratitude in his words was clear. "Thank you for your hospitality and understanding. It's not often we find such open-mindedness."
The meeting ended on a somewhat positive note, opening a path for Kratos and Mimir to navigate through the realm of Thedas with fewer obstacles, and maybe, just maybe, gain acceptance in this new, strange world.
Cassandra Pentaghast, a Seeker of Truth and the right hand of the Divine, looked down at the book resting on the table between them. The book bore the emblem of the Inquisition, an institution she held dear. Her dark eyes were thoughtful as she questioned the dwarf sitting across from her.
"Just like that?" she echoed, her tone carrying a note of disbelief. "They accepted it, just like that?"
Her gaze was fixed on Varric Tethras, a well-known storyteller and author in Thedas, who was currently recounting the tale of the strange pair from another world. His stories were often filled with extraordinary details and unbelievable circumstances, and this one seemed to be no different.
"Yes, Seeker," Varric answered, leaning back in his chair. His tone was casual, but his eyes were serious as he held her gaze. "Just like that. They were a lot more open-minded than you might think. But then again, when you're dealing with a talking severed head and a god from another realm, you learn to expect the unexpected."
Cassandra remained silent for a moment, considering his words. She couldn't help but think about the implications of such a revelation, and what it could mean for their world. But the thought was quickly replaced by a sense of intrigue.
The truth was often stranger than fiction, and in this case, it seemed that the truth was far more intriguing.
…
Inside Hawk's humble residence in Lowtown, the room hummed with activity. The place had been transformed into a makeshift operations center, with maps, ledgers, and various tools of their trades scattered about.
"We're doing well," Hawk commented, looking over a ledger filled with numbers and notes. His fingers traced lines of ink, calculating the funds they'd managed to raise thus far. "Just a bit more, and we should have the 50 sovereigns needed for the expedition."
Kratos, standing next to Hawk, nodded in understanding. His mind was already moving forward, considering their next steps. Every bit of coin brought them closer to their goal. This realm had its own set of challenges, and they were gradually navigating their way through it.
Bethany, ever the diligent healer, was occupied with an unusual patient – Mimir. The talking severed head had taken everyone by surprise, but Bethany had approached the task with open-minded curiosity, checking the well-being of the uniquely embodied individual.
Sandal, meanwhile, was engrossed in his own world of enchantments. The dwarf had a remarkable understanding of runic magic, a skillset that had proven invaluable to their group. Now, Sandal was working on another rune, this time meant for Kratos' shield. The prospect of yet another enhancement to his arsenal was something that piqued Kratos' interest, diverting his attention from the ledgers momentarily.
Their team had evolved into a well-oiled machine, each contributing their unique strengths to their collective goals. Despite the odds stacked against them, they were making headway, one step at a time.
Mimir's eyes, sharp and curious, traced the runes etched onto the Leviathan Axe. He'd noticed the familiar markings on it before, runes from their own realm that dictated the weapon's inherent powers. But now, there was a new addition. A rune that felt alien, yet familiar – a peculiar blend of their world and this new one.
"Kratos," Mimir began, his voice both intrigued and hesitant. "I can't help but notice that your Leviathan Axe has an additional rune etched onto it. One that bears semblance to the runes of this realm."
Kratos, hearing Mimir's observation, looked at the axe and then at Sandal. He had anticipated questions regarding the new rune but had not expected Mimir to be the one to initiate the conversation.
"Yes," Kratos confirmed, shifting the axe in his hand so that the new rune was fully visible. "Sandal, the dwarf working there," he gestured towards the engrossed dwarf, "has an understanding of runic magic in this realm. He has been able to forge new runes for my weapons."
Kratos could see Mimir's interest piqued further. He knew the head had an insatiable curiosity, a thirst for knowledge that could not be quenched. This was another mystery for him to uncover, another story to be told.
"Mimir," Kratos said, his tone as straightforward as ever. "The rune… it controls the element of lightning."
Mimir's single eye widened with fascination at the mention of such power. "Lightning, you say? Interesting. A highly potent force, that. A combination of sky and storm… and destructive power."
Kratos gave a nod of agreement, his thoughts lingering on the new potential of the Leviathan Axe. "Sandal told me when he added it… he simply said, 'lightning' and then 'boom'. The rune grants me control over this power, enhancing the destructive potential of the Leviathan Axe."
"That's quite the enhancement," Mimir acknowledged. "Incorporating the runes of this realm with those of our own… the possibilities are astounding. With the power of lightning added to your axe, there is no telling the power you could unleash."
Indeed, the prospect of harnessing the power of lightning was not lost on Kratos. He already had the power to manipulate frost and now, lightning. This was a formidable addition to his arsenal, a weapon that could turn the tides in any battle. The inhabitants of this realm would have reason to beware.
Kratos accepted the rune-imbued shield from Sandal with a quiet nod of gratitude. "Spirit… protection," he repeated, tracing his fingers over the newly etched rune. He could feel a certain warmth, a presence that hadn't been there before. It was a subtle, comforting sensation that seemed to envelop him, like a gentle, protective embrace.
As he adjusted to the feel of the new rune, memories flooded back, reminding him of the enchantment of Odin in Alfheim. He remembered how Freya had been pulled through, how he'd nearly followed her if he hadn't let go. Could this new rune grant him some form of defense against such enchantments?
Turning the shield in his hands, Kratos considered the possibilities. Magic was a complicated force, one that he didn't fully understand. But with this new rune, he felt better prepared to face whatever magical threats that might come his way.
"Thank you, Sandal," he said, meeting the dwarf's eyes. "Your work is appreciated."
As the dwarf scampered off, Kratos turned his attention back to the shield, feeling the magic hum underneath his touch. It was a powerful tool, one he intended to use to its full potential. For now, however, he would have to wait and see just how effective this new rune would prove to be.
Hawk unfolded the letter, eyes skimming over the elegant handwriting. "Seems Isabela has a proposition for us," he remarked, his voice bearing a note of intrigue.
He glanced up at Kratos, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "She's offering us some work. Apparently, it's a lucrative job that should raise a decent amount for our expedition."
Kratos regarded Hawk with a stoic gaze, his mind quickly weighing the pros and cons. They needed the funds and Isabela had proven herself a competent ally. "When do we meet?" he asked, his voice as firm and decisive as ever.
"In The Hanged Man," Hawk replied, tucking the letter back into his pocket. "She'll be waiting for us there."
"Then let's not keep her waiting," Kratos said, rising from his seat. His thoughts already moved on to the task ahead. Every job, every mission brought him closer to his ultimate goal: getting back to his son, Atreus.
With a shared nod, Kratos and Hawk prepared to leave for The Hanged Man, ready to undertake this new mission for the sake of their goals.
Hawk turned back to Isabela, offering a smile of assurance. "We're with you, Isabela…till the end," he declared, his words resonating sincerity. Isabela seemed to appreciate the sentiment silently, nodding in acknowledgment.
With their course set, they moved towards the back room of the tavern where Martin had situated himself. The man sat comfortably by a roaring fireplace, his face lit by the flickering light. Upon seeing Isabela approach, his initial tension eased slightly.
After a few moments of deliberation, Martin got to the point. "I need some cargo retrieved from the docks. In exchange, I'll provide the information you're seeking." His eyes darted between the group, assessing their reactions.
Hawk, after exchanging glances with his companions, agreed to the terms. "Alright, we'll get your cargo. But we're doing this for Isabela," he warned. "And if we find anything illegal during this endeavor, the guard will be informed." His gaze bore into Martin, ensuring the message was clear.
Isabela seemed appreciative of Hawk's assertiveness, as did Aveline, their shared respect for the law resonating with Hawk's promise to inform the authorities if anything untoward was found.
Later, at the bustling docks of Kirkwall, Hawk, Aveline, Isabela, Varric, Kratos, and the ever-chatty Mimir found themselves on the receiving end of some bewildered looks from the common folk and passersby. News of Mimir had undoubtedly spread throughout the city, but actually witnessing a talking severed head with intricate tattoos and branch-like horns proved to be a whole new level of uncanny for many.
The city's Templars and guards, although slightly weirded out, held a more composed demeanor towards the group and their unconventional companion. They passed the team with no more than a curious glance or a raised eyebrow, a reaction that was considerably more muted than what Kratos had anticipated. This relatively calm acceptance was something for which Kratos found himself strangely grateful. It seemed that this city and its denizens were growing accustomed to the peculiarities that he and Mimir brought with them.
As they navigated through the docks, Varric, the ever-inquisitive dwarf, turned to Mimir and asked, "So, Mimir, what's the weirdest thing you've ever seen?"
The question made Mimir pause, a thoughtful look coming over his features. "Oh, that'd have to be Odin's eight-legged horse, Sleipnir. Just appeared one day, it did, fastest creature in all the Nine Realms. So swift it could sprint across the sky and water, even traverse realms," Mimir recalled with an air of fascination. "Last time I saw it, Odin hardly used it, and one day it just galloped into another realm and disappeared. No one knows why or where it went."
Kratos, listening to the conversation, found his interest piqued. While he'd heard of Odin's mythical steed through depictions and tales, this was the first time he'd heard such details from someone who'd actually seen the creature. He filed away this information, a new piece of knowledge from a world very different from his own.
Mimir then continued, "An interesting piece of trivia about Sleipnir – its parents were both horses, although one of them was remarkably intelligent for a horse. Strange, right? The details, however, remain shrouded in mystery."
This additional tidbit only deepened the sense of wonder and peculiarity surrounding Odin's eight-legged horse. The stories of the realms outside Midgard were indeed full of unusual and inexplicable phenomena, a testament to the vastness and diversity of the universe Kratos now found himself in.
Aveline, with her practical and disciplined mindset, found it hard to fully comprehend the fantastical stories Mimir told. She kept her focus on the task at hand, listening with a half-amused, half-skeptical look on her face. Inwardly, she was still processing the idea of a realm where gods and magical creatures were a reality, and not just the stuff of bedtime stories.
Hawk, always one for adventure and new experiences, was visibly intrigued by Mimir's tales. Despite the seriousness of their situation, there was a hint of excitement in his eyes. He could hardly believe that his new companion hailed from such a strange and wondrous land, unlike anything he'd ever imagined. It only reinforced his belief that there was so much more to the world, so much that remained unexplored and unknown.
Isabela, on the other hand, had a different perspective altogether. As a seasoned pirate and sailor, she had encountered her fair share of strange and unexplainable things on the high seas. She knew the world was vast and full of wonders, many of them far stranger than one could imagine. Mimir's tales did not surprise her as much as they fascinated her. But, more than anything, she saw them as yet another testament to the countless adventures that awaited them in this wide and wild world.
As the group carried on towards the docks, Varric turned to Mimir again, curiosity getting the better of him. "And the second strangest thing…?" he asked.
Without missing a beat, Mimir answered, "I would have to pick…the dwarf king turning into a mighty dragon due to his greed… That was a weird one, let me tell ya."
A low rumble of acknowledgment came from Kratos, a tacit agreement with Mimir's choice. The story was one that Kratos himself knew and had witnessed its repercussions first hand.
Varric, on the other hand, wore a bewildered expression at Mimir's story. He quickly jotted down a mental note of this tale. As a storyteller, such fascinating and strange stories from another realm were a treasure to him.
Aveline's eyebrows shot up in skepticism, trying to grapple with the idea of greed having such transformative power. "Turning into a dragon because of greed," she muttered under her breath, "Now that's an unusual form of justice."
Hawk leaned in, eyes gleaming with the thrill of a good story. "So," he asked, turning to Mimir, "did this dwarf king have any control over his dragon form, or was he completely consumed by it?"
Isabela, meanwhile, found the story more amusing than alarming. A broad grin broke across her face, her eyes twinkling with humor. "A dwarf king turned into a dragon out of greed, huh?" She chuckled, shaking her head. "That's a cautionary tale I'll be sure to remember next time I'm in a high-stakes game of Wicked Grace."
Mimir's answer was prompt and came with a significant look in Kratos' direction. "Eventually, a piece of his soul was locked away, and he had to be imprisoned in chains… However, brother here," he gestured to Kratos with a nod, "managed to reunite him with his missing part. So there is still hope for him, depending on how you look at it."
Kratos said nothing, but his eyes flashed with memory. He recalled how Atreus had pleaded with him to help free the chained king, a plea that he had eventually yielded to. It was another testament to the complexity of the land he hailed from, where avarice could mutate a king into a dragon and divine intervention could offer a chance for redemption. The silence hung in the air as they finally reached the dock, the words of Mimir lingering with them, adding another layer to their understanding of the stranger in their midst.
Upon arriving at the docks, Hawk approached one of the longshoremen, eyeing the bustling scene around them. "We need to talk to the harbormaster. It's urgent," Hawk stated, giving a subtle nudge to Aveline who stood next to him, her official guard attire visible.
The longshoreman hesitated, his gaze momentarily drawn to the head hanging on Kratos' side, Mimir. Shaking off his surprise, he motioned towards a nearby office. "Harbormaster's busy with clients," he informed them, "you should speak to his assistant."
Thanking the man, Hawk led the way, the rest of his companions following behind, their eyes alert for any signs of trouble. As they navigated the busy dock, the constant noise of trade, the chatter of sailors, and the cawing of gulls were punctuated by gasps and whispers from those who caught sight of Mimir. It was a reminder of how unusual their group appeared in this land, but they were focused on the task at hand. They needed to retrieve the cargo for Isabela's contact and find out more about her missing artifact.
When they reached the harbormaster's office, they found the assistant, a man named Aden, to be less than cooperative. He eyed them with obvious distrust and it was clear he wasn't going to share any information unless they were willing to pay for it.
Kratos and Hawk shared a brief, silent conversation, their expressions serious. Hawk gave a small nod before turning away from Aden. He walked a short distance away from the group, deep in thought.
Before Isabela had the chance to suggest they return under the cover of darkness, Hawk beat her to it. "We'll come back tonight," he proposed, looking back at the others. "When it's dark, we should be able to sneak in unnoticed."
The proposal was met with nods of agreement. It was clear that discretion was the better part of valor in this case, and if they could avoid causing a commotion, all the better. With a plan in place, they retreated for the time being, prepared to return once night had fallen.
…
Once night had fallen….
Hawk and his companions, including Aveline, Isabela, Varric, Kratos, and Mimir, first tried the direct approach, walking confidently up to the dock guards to negotiate their way in. However, it soon became apparent that the guards were not going to give them entry, particularly at this late hour.
Nodding with understanding, Hawk thanked the guards for their time. They retreated, back around the corner and out of sight. The companions exchanged glances, unsure of what Hawk planned next.
Then, Hawk pulled out a concussion grenade, not the first time he used one of these devices in their presence. Tossing it down the alley and away from anyone, Hawk shouted, "FIRE!" As the loud bang echoed through the night, confusion spread among the guards who began scrambling to find the source of the sound.
Aveline, realizing Hawk's intent, gave a grudging nod of respect. No one was harmed, no property was damaged; it was just a distraction. "Clever thinking, Hawk," she commended, and the others murmured agreement.
Taking advantage of the chaos, the group made their way silently into the docks, progressing their mission while the guards were none the wiser. This was a new side to Hawk, a strategic one that surprised them, but one they certainly appreciated.
Isabela, usually the one with the quick thinking and nimble fingers, was genuinely surprised at Hawk's diversion tactic. A small smirk graced her lips as she followed her friends quietly through the chaos, secretly pleased with the rogue-like turn of events. "Not bad, Hawke," she admitted, a hint of admiration in her voice.
Varric, meanwhile, was already crafting a new chapter for his book in his mind, 'The Night of the Phantom Fire'. "Hawk, remind me to never get on your bad side," he quipped, impressed by the unexpected display of cunning.
Kratos, although more used to direct confrontation, recognized the value of subterfuge. He remained silent, scanning their surroundings for potential threats as they slipped through the confusion, but internally he found a new level of respect for Hawk's quick thinking.
Mimir was more used to such tactics from his time with the wily gods of his realm, but this was the first time he had seen such an act in this world. "I must admit, brother," he addressed Kratos, "your friends have their ways, don't they?"
Even in the midst of the action, everyone had taken notice of Hawk's strategic maneuver, and the success of his plan only served to increase their trust and respect for him.
As the menacing growls of the Mabari hounds filled the quiet warehouse, the tension among the group spiked. Isabela instinctively reached for her daggers, Varric's hand hovering over Bianca, and Aveline raised her shield, preparing for a possible fight. Hawk remained in front, ready to step in should any of the hounds attack.
However, to everyone's surprise, it was Kratos who intervened. Letting out a low, rumbling growl that reverberated through the warehouse, he met the gaze of each Mabari. The hounds, after a moment, seemed to understand this language, their own growls subsiding as they tilted their heads and settled down, their heads resting on their paws in clear submission.
The group shared a look of shock, astonishment, and relief. Varric was the first to chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "I guess we can add 'dog whisperer' to the list of your skills, huh?" he teased.
Kratos didn't respond, his face unreadable, but he watched the hounds with a wary eye as the group continued on their way. He was no stranger to wild animals, yet even he hadn't expected the Mabari to be so responsive to his growl. However, he accepted this unexpected turn of events, grateful for the lack of bloodshed.
Mimir, hanging from Kratos' belt, couldn't help but chuckle. "And here I thought you were a god of war, brother, not a god of hounds. Well played."
In their own way, each member of the group silently appreciated Kratos' surprising talent, the tension of the situation easing significantly. Hawk let out a soft sigh of relief, gesturing for the group to move forward. This night just kept getting more interesting.
In the dim lighting of the warehouse, Hawk and Isabela noticed something glinting near the chest at the base of the steps. Upon closer inspection, they recognized them for what they were – traps, designed to deter or injure anyone attempting to access the chest.
Isabela gave Hawk an approving nod, her eyes gleaming with a mix of respect and mischief. They both moved with practiced ease, crouching down and carefully working to disarm the traps. Despite the urgency of their task, they moved with precision, taking turns in a rhythm born of shared understanding and common skill. The subtle sounds of metal clicking against metal echoed through the warehouse, the occasional whisper of advice or confirmation exchanged between the two.
Aveline, watching them from a distance, found herself appreciating the level of skill they both possessed. Their dexterity and cunning were traits she often found herself begrudging, yet in this instance, she could not deny their usefulness.
Kratos, despite his initial suspicions, couldn't help but respect the rogues' aptitude. He found himself observing their actions, their careful motions a stark contrast to his usual head-on approach. His gaze eventually drifted to Mimir, whose single eye was watching the scene with an inquisitive glint.
"Quite an intricate system they've got there," Mimir remarked. "Not quite the dwarven work I'm used to, but impressive nonetheless."
Soon enough, with a final click, the last trap was disarmed, and Hawk and Isabela shared a look of triumph. Their task was not yet done, but it was a significant step forward.
Navigating down the steps with cautious ease, Hawk and Isabela approached the chest. However, a sense of unease hovered in the air, which Hawk was the first to vocalize. "Something feels off," he murmured, reaching for the twin daggers strapped to his back.
Before anyone could respond, their suspicions were confirmed. The quiet of the warehouse was shattered as a group of raiders emerged from the shadows, charging at them from three different directions. The sudden onslaught didn't faze the experienced adventurers; instead, they fell into familiar battle stances, weapons at the ready.
With a smirk, Hawk drawled, "Told you so," before launching himself into the fray, his daggers becoming a whirlwind of steel.
Isabela, quick to react, drew her cutlass with a flourish, her smirk mirroring Hawk's as she too darted into the fight. The air was quickly filled with the clang of steel meeting steel, punctuated by the occasional grunt or shout.
On the side, Aveline drew her sword and shield, her stern face set with determination. She charged towards the raiders, ready to provide cover for her friends.
Kratos' reaction was swift and deadly. His Leviathan Axe glowed ominously, emanating an almost palpable aura of danger as he moved into the fight, every strike carrying deadly intent.
Varric, not to be outdone, unslung Bianca with practiced ease, providing much needed support from the back, his bolts finding their marks with lethal precision.
Even Mimir, from his spot at Kratos' side, couldn't hide a look of admiration. "Well, that escalated quickly," he commented dryly.
During the heat of the battle, Varric's voice echoed above the clash of weapons, shouting a warning to his companions. "Move away from the edge!" he yelled. His fingers worked swiftly, adjusting something on Bianca.
Trust in their friend's words was immediate. Each of them, from Isabela to Aveline to Hawk, managed to clear a path away from the perimeter of the conflict, herding the raiders closer together in the process.
Varric, having found the right angle, aimed Bianca towards the sky. With a loud twang, a single, thick bolt soared into the air. For a moment, there was a strange quiet – a pause in the chaotic battle. Then, the single bolt split apart in mid-air, transforming into a deadly rain of bolts that showered down onto the tightly-packed raiders.
The result was as immediate as it was devastating. Raider after raider fell, the raining bolts proving too much for them. The look of sheer surprise on their faces was almost comical, their last thoughts probably revolving around the dwarf with the deadly crossbow.
From the side, Mimir couldn't help but comment on the spectacle, "Well, that's one way to take care of things."
Meanwhile, Kratos looked over to Varric, giving a small nod of approval. After all, strategy and battlefield tactics were something the Spartan warrior could appreciate.
While Varric's rain of bolts rained destruction on their enemies, the other members of their motley crew were not idle. Aveline, the stalwart guardswoman, was a shield-wall personified. She stood steadfast, deflecting a strike from a greatsword that could have otherwise been deadly.
Isabela, always quick with her daggers, flung a smaller one with uncanny precision at the same assailant that Aveline was holding off. The raider grunted in pain, staggering back from the sudden sting.
Not far off, Hawk displayed his own set of skills. Moving with agility and finesse that belied his size, he leapt into the fray. In one fluid motion, he plunged his daggers into two raiders who had tried to sneak up on him. Their bodies went rigid at the sudden strike, then crumbled to the ground.
Meanwhile, Mimir watched the scene unfold with interest, commenting, "For a band of misfits, you lot sure know how to handle yourselves." The disembodied head then turned to Kratos, who, with axe in hand, was surveying the battlefield with a cold, tactical eye. "I'd say we're in capable hands, wouldn't you, Brother?"
Kratos merely grunted in response, already mentally preparing for the next wave of raiders. His mind was keen, his senses sharp. He was ready. And his comrades were just as ready beside him.
Upon their return to the Hanged Man, the group was met with a somewhat anxious Martin. The man was clearly on edge, waiting for the outcome of their little excursion.
Hawk, the ever-charismatic leader of the group, was the one to break the news. "We found your shipment," he said, a stern gaze leveled at Martin. "And we've brought it to you. But there are conditions."
Martin blinked in surprise but said nothing, giving Hawk the go-ahead to continue.
Hawk shot a glance at Aveline, then continued, "These supplies are… contentious, to say the least. We strongly recommend that you collaborate with the city guard in their use. The last thing you'd want is to get on their bad side."
Aveline nodded at Hawk's suggestion, approving of the idea. It was an approach that struck a balance between legality and pragmatism, allowing Martin to make use of his shipment while avoiding potential issues with the law. Martin seemed to consider this, and after a moment, he agreed, promising to work with the guards.
Hawk, Aveline, and the others sighed in relief. It was one thing to complete a job, but it was another to make sure it didn't lead to bigger problems down the line. This solution seemed to satisfy everyone.
As the tension in the room eased, Martin turned to address Isabela directly. His tone was grave, serious, as he relayed the information she had been so eager to hear.
"The artifact you've been looking for," he began, his voice steady, "is still in Kirkwall."
Isabela's eyes widened slightly, her interest piqued. He had her full attention now, and she leaned in slightly to catch every word.
Martin continued, "Preparations are being made to move it, yes, but those preparations will take time. It won't be moved for a while yet. There's still time to find it."
Relief flooded Isabela's features, her posture relaxing as she absorbed the information. She offered Martin a genuine smile of gratitude, a rare sight indeed. The others shared her relief. The artifact was still within reach, their goal still attainable. The night's endeavours had not been in vain.
Before the group left the Hanged Man, Martin produced a small vial from his pocket and presented it to Hawke. The liquid inside glowed with a soft, luminescent light that gave off an otherworldly energy.
"This," Martin began, holding up the vial for all to see, "is a vial of Mythal's Favor. It's a potent concoction that can revive someone from the brink of death. Consider it a token of my gratitude."
Hawke took the vial and examined it, his eyes wide with curiosity. Beside him, Kratos observed the exchange, recognizing the similarities between the vial of Mythal's Favor and the Golden Apples of Iðunn he had found in his home realm, both bearing the power to rejuvenate the fallen. This was a gift of considerable value, and it showed that Martin held a deep respect for the group and their cause.
After parting ways with Martin, Hawke and Kratos returned home, only to discover that the man had decided to set up his shop right in the Hanged Man. It was a smart move on Martin's part. The tavern was a popular spot in Kirkwall, a hub for travelers and locals alike, making it an ideal location for business.
Furthermore, it put him in good graces with the city's guard. By choosing to operate in broad daylight and in cooperation with the law, Martin was both legitimizing his business and ensuring his security.
Now, if Hawke and Kratos ever needed his services, they would know exactly where to find him. Not only that, but they could rest easy knowing that they had a reliable ally in Martin who was well-stocked with goods and embedded within the local community. The man they had helped had quickly turned into a valuable resource for them.
…
Late into the night, Knight Commander Meredith was sequestered in her office, the glow from her desk lantern casting long shadows over the stacks of reports and papers. She was familiarizing herself with every detail she could gather about Hawke, his companions, and the mysterious stranger named Kratos. The information she found was perplexing and, at times, deeply troubling.
Her eyes moved to the last report - an account on a creature named Mimir. The details were outlandish, something out of a fantastical tale rather than a soldier's report. A living head, possessing vast knowledge and the ability to speak despite being severed from its body. It was the stuff of nightmares, the sort of aberration that reeked of demonic influence.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied the description, her fingers tracing the words. The idea of such a creature in her city, associating with Hawke and this Kratos, was deeply troubling. If there were demonic forces at play here, she would need to act, and swiftly.
But as much as she wanted to believe this was the work of demons, something told her it wasn't that simple. These were beings from another land, unfamiliar and strange. Their methods and their creatures were alien to her.
Meredith took a deep breath, straightening her posture. She would need to keep a close eye on this situation. The safety of Kirkwall depended on it.
Meredith turned her gaze to the window, her eyes narrowed as she peered into the moonlit streets of Kirkwall below. The golden glow of lit torches painted a picturesque scene, but all she could see was the potential for chaos seeping into her ordered world.
"Even if that is the case..." She began, her voice a soft rumble in the quiet room. Her fingers absently traced the window's cool stone sill as she considered Cullen's words. "Their arrival marks a change. There's no denying it, not when the news is spreading like wildfire."
She turned to face her subordinates, her gaze stern but not unkind. "From the Arling of Amaranthine to the heart of Orlais, from the Imperial Chantry in Tevinter to the shores of the Anderfels... Every corner of Thedas has heard of this... Mimir."
The words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the magnitude of the situation. A change was indeed coming, and they would need to be prepared for whatever it brought.
Thrask gave a resigned sigh, rubbing at the creases in his forehead as he shared the space with Knight-Commander Meredith and Cullen. His gaze drifted to the city outside the window, the starlit silhouette of Kirkwall a testament to the many concerns on his mind.
"Even if that is the case, Knight-Commander," he began, casting a sideways glance at Meredith. Her usually steely gaze was etched with contemplation, a glimmer of uncertainty reflecting the flames from the nearby hearth. "Their arrival... it marks a change. There's no denying it, not when the news is spreading like wildfire."
He leaned on the table, the worn map of Thedas underneath his fingers serving as a stark reminder of their current predicament. "From the Arling of Amaranthine to the heart of Orlais, from the Imperial Chantry in Tevinter to the shores of the Anderfels... Every corner of Thedas has heard of this... Mimir."
A somber silence filled the room, the weight of Thrask's words settling heavily. Change was indeed coming, a wave set in motion by the arrival of these strangers. The only question was whether they could navigate the storm.
Cullen's words hung in the air, an unspoken question lingering with them. He held a detailed sketch of Mimir's horned head, runes etched along its face, in his hands, his gaze fixed on it. The world they knew had always been filled with surprises, but nothing quite like this.
"It's...bizarre to say the least," Cullen muttered, breaking the silence once more. "To think they existed in our world, right under our noses, and nobody noticed..."
Both Thrask and Meredith paused at that. The commander of the Templar Order finally broke her gaze from the window, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Maybe they did not originate...here," Meredith mused, her voice taking on a tone of deep contemplation. "They lack any understanding of the Fade... so, they did not come from there. Could it be possible...?" She turned to look at her fellow Templars, her icy blue eyes glinting with a new theory. "Could they have come from beyond the Fade? From another world entirely?"
Their gazes met in a shared moment of realization. It was a hypothesis they hadn't considered before. But given the extraordinary circumstances, it was becoming increasingly plausible.
As Meredith's words trailed off into a whisper, a thoughtful silence filled the room. Sir Thrask and Cullen shared a troubled look, each of them grappling with the implications of their commander's theory. The room was thick with an air of uncertainty, and the weight of their conversation felt heavy in the cold stone of the chamber.
"What... would that even mean?" Sir Thrask finally broke the silence, his voice laced with confusion and apprehension. His gaze flicked between Cullen and Meredith, seeking any kind of reassurance or clarity. "Are we suggesting they are akin to the Maker? Or simply inhabitants of these other worlds?"
Cullen, too, looked deeply troubled by the notion. "Either scenario... it's overwhelming," he admitted, his voice soft and edged with concern. The idea of other worlds, let alone other beings originating from them, was a concept far beyond their current understanding. It challenged the very fabric of their beliefs and understanding of their world.
For a moment, all three Templars remained silent, each one lost in their own thoughts. The implications were indeed terrifying. It meant their world was not the only one, and they were not alone in the universe. It meant that there were powers, entities, and knowledge far beyond their understanding. But most terrifying of all, it meant that everything they thought they knew was potentially only a fraction of the truth.