Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or Star Wars
Dragon Wars: The Force of Others
Episode 39: Battle of Val Royeaux part 2
Irving put a hand to his heart, everything seemed silent to him, even the rush of battle and the screaming of the templars in front of him seemed insignificant for a small moment. That moment dragged within his soul as he felt something, through the fade or through the force, he could not fully understand. There came a sudden explosion and a few of the templars and mages were thrown back. A body landed on top of Irving and he fell, feeling his old bones aching. In that brief moment of unconsciousness he could see and feel the pain of someone so far away. It was the pain of someone who mattered to him more than anything, more than the circle, than his faith, than his own life, even if he was too emotionally stunted to fully understand why. He saw in this moment of unconsciousness darkness, with figures ahead of him. One figure he recognised with his Templar-Commander armour, an old friend who looked over his shoulder and shook his head at Irving.
"Wake up Irving, your focus must be on where you are now, not some place far, far away," Greagoir chided him and yelled one last time:
"WAKE UP!"
The former circle leader's eyes snapped open. He looked up at the face of a young mage.
"Daylen," he whispered.
But when the dust in his eyes cleared, Irving saw no brown hair, no tanned skin but freckles and dirt. There were tears in the boy's eyes, a boy, so confident before and now so fearful.
"First Enchanter Irving, I'm out of mana, my spells are too weak," the boy said.
He looked over his shoulder in terror. Artillery had broken the Templar shield wall and pieces of broken armour and bones were spread across the ground. There was the screaming of the dying and wounded, and blaster fire. Then came the flames, followed by the agony of men and women having their skin burned. Troopers in red armour held flame throwers, using them against the rebels. There was a walker too, slamming its feet down on the floor.
"They brought out the demons, demons," the boy muttered.
Despite the boy's fear, Irving laughed; he could see again a boy he knew before. Not Daylen, just another mage of the circle who needed a kind but stern hand to remind him, that fear could be beaten. Picking up his staff, Irving leant against it to stand. Across from him, Cullen took off his broken helmet and looked to the First Enchanter.
"They're just walkers my boy, keep your wits about you, the last thing we need is to fall to madness," Irving walked in front of the boy. "We need to get through, and we will get through," the Fade began to flicker around him and he held his staff with both hands.
Energy passed through him, walls of mana appeared and blocked the fire from the flame throwers. Even the blaster shots from the walker were deflected back. But in time the Sith troopers reformed their ranks and began firing volleys at Irving's barrier. His feet began to shake, and sweat ran down his forehead. But still he held firm, maintaining his barrier, pushing back against the blaster fire. Still he endured as the imperial troop's unleashed barrage after barrage of artillery.
On the other side of the city, Marian led her own rebel cell through the streets, weaving between close quarters combat and exchanges of blaster fire with the imperials. She knocked back a few arrows, letting them fly, explosive bolts that damaged speeders, arrows that contained acid to melt armour, even arrows that contained the effects of Tempest potions. They were the inventions of Dagna, whom had been an amazing addition to the rebellion, working around the clock to adapt the imperial technology to Thedas weaponry and above that to evolve their own potions and explosives. When Marian fired her Tempest arrows, the potions at their heads shattered and coated her allies with flasks of fire and lightning. Archers fired faster, their own arrows coated with electricity, and Fenris moved surrounded by flame, moving briefly with an almost unlimited amount of Stamina.
He and his close range fighters brought their swords and axes down, taking blaster fire with their new 'fire armour'. But the affect was brief and some of the fighters fell to blaster fire as the Imperials struck back. Just when the imperials began to fight back, bolts from cross bows came down from the rooftops. Dwarves were sturdy and fast folk; it helped Varric that he was riding on top of a goat, one of nature's best climbers. Bianca released one bolt after another, piercing through trooper armour with tips made from the enhanced materials the imperials had bought with them. Varric pulled back on the loading spring, placing another row of bolts inside it. Dagna wanted to look at the crossbow, to mass produce it, but Varric would always value Bianca, always protect her. He knew it was selfish in a way, but he never had qualms about who he was, light side or dark side, to him those sorts of things were great for stories, but the world, no the galaxy was more complicated than that.
"INCOMING MORTAR STRIKE!" Varric yelled.
He pulled back the cocking mechanism on Bianca, just as Bethany raised her shield. Fenris and Marian dived for cover, avoiding the flurry of explosive rockets hitting the ground and the buildings around them.
"They don't care about the city," Marian said.
She fired at the troopers on the rooftops; Fenris pulled her away from their return fire, going into one of the houses. It was a pub and as Marian began preparing one of her bombs, Fenris quickly moved to the drinks.
"A bit early aren't we?" Marian asked.
"Explosive," Fenris said, holding up two of the bottles.
Marian nodded, taking off her shoes and pulling one of her sweaty socks away. She threw them to Fenris with a grin; he didn't seem bothered at all as he opened one of the bottles and stuffed the sock inside. Whilst Fenris prepared the Molotov's with any dirty rags he could find, Marian put her blaster back in its holster and took out her arrows. She specifically took her arrowheads that didn't have any kind of upgrade on them, and then reached into her equipment bag for her rope. Cutting the rope, she began tying the bottles onto the arrows. She nodded to Fenris, who took a pair of knives off of his belt. They ran out of the pub, Marian lightning the Molotovs and firing them at the rooftops, hitting the Sith shooters. Bethany finished replenishing her mana and created ice platforms for Fenris to jump up. He launched himself at the distracted and burning troopers, slashing one across the throat and stabbing another through the elbow. He threw the trooper on top of another, his lyrium marks glowing as he put his hand through their chests.
"We need to secure the mortar site, keep the Sith from reclaiming it," Marian said.
"I would be nice if the ORLESIANS HELPED US!" Varric yelled.
"Let it go, they're scared," Bethany said.
They watched as the dragon swooped downwards, breathing electricity through the streets.
"Looks like we don't need to worry about the mortars anymore," Varric chuckled.
Alistair maintained his focus. The dragon was a force of destruction; he was the force of control, light and dark had to balance one another out. One could get lost in either light or dark, as Alistair had learnt the hard way, buried by the darkness of the Sith rage and cruelty, whilst the light and comfort of the chant led him to inaction. He would use rage as a weapon, targeting his enemies, yet his enemies too were just men like him roped up into this conflict across galaxies. The dragon was a weapon, he was the man aiming it, so aim he did. Dodging a flurry of bolts, Alistair dived towards the palace gates and then swerved, dodging heavy gunfire. The cannons assembled around the gate were deadly, dragons were durable, but not as durable as the tanks the cannons could crush. He unleashed a storm from the dragon's mouth, decimating ranks of the troopers waiting to ambush Loghain's troops.
"Maintain our momentum, push forward," Loghain commanded.
His men raised their shields, blocking the flurry of blaster shots. Loghain grit his teeth together, unclipping a detonator from his waist. He pushed the activation button, counting down in his head. Then he removed the sling from his belt, originally used for rocks.
"GAP!" he yelled.
The formation broke for just a moment, creating gaps for the bombardiers to throw their bombs. One detonator was shot in midair though, blowing up in front of the group. Another of the soldiers failed to throw his bomb in time, the explosion made him stumble with the ticking detonator rolling between the feet of his allies. It was a mad scramble to reach for it as men bumped into one another, the grenade slipping through hands that tried to grasp it first. One of the knights smiled as he finally grabbed it.
Loghain suspected a mistake like that would be made. But an affective tactic shouldn't be scrapped simple because of the mistakes that could happen. Still, he thought as the explosion rang in his ear, breaking his formation, it would have been nice for it to have not gone wrong when my men were using it, he was launched into the air and came down head first.
Orsino saw the explosion that shocked the rebel forces. He was a young First Enchanter compared to Irving, and Orsino admired the fact that Irving did not break. The older man held the barrier firm, never wavering. Meredith supported one of her troops who had lost an arm, holding him as an apostate of all people cauterised the wound with fire. Cullen protected a mage from a stray shot, his shield bending from the effort. Orsino looked towards Irving, whose knees began to shake from the effort of his spell. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out the pages of forbidden magic. There were many dead around them, it would have been a shame to waste them.
'Magic is not evil,' Orsino told himself.
He remembered Kirkwall, he remembered the research he and a mage named Quentin performed. So many dead, so many, yet there was a practical use in mutating the flesh. The walkers were too powerful, but Orsino could create something to destroy them, a creature of flesh, a harvester of the dead. He looked at the runes cast in blood on the paper and began to focus, to meld his remaining mana to create what they needed. Suddenly, a spark shot through the paper, setting it ablaze.
"What have you done?" Orsino demanded, looking towards Irving.
The mage had one finger extended, as if he had been using it as a blaster. Despite his defence wavering, Irving grinned.
"We won't be using spells like that today Orsino," Irving said.
"There was no other way," Orsino said.
Irving went to his knees, feeling blood come out of his nose. Maybe that's what he needed, a little blood. No, he shook his head, that was not the way, not his way, and not the way he had to teach him.
'He's not here, none of them are,' Irving thought.
'No, they are with me,' he thought.
He slammed his foot down and again held his staff with both hands.
"FOCUS ALL OF YOU!" he yelled.
"Why have we not broken through yet?" the commander demanded.
"They've conjured a barrier, but that should be all they're able to do," one of the Walker pilots said.
"I am my magic, the earth I walk, the water I yearn for, the storm crashing above me, the fire within me, I am all of these and none, I am the Maker's Will and his regret. The force and the maker are with me as I am with them, and against me as I am against them," Irving chanted.
"Push forward and strike, hit those mages with everything, FIRE!" the Sith commander yelled.
They fired their cannons, striking the ground beneath Irving. Shockwaves that should have thrown him back instead stopped, the debris they threw up floated in front of Irving. Orsino saw one by one the mages and templars stand. Cullen pulled a mage girl up and nodded to her, both moved with the First Enchanter and his steadily renewed ranks of mages. Orsino and Meredith remained though, the Knight-Commander lowering her head for a moment.
"Magic is a cancer, but also the fire in which we must sadly use it to wipe it away and the Sith," she said.
"Astonishing," Irving smirked. "Everything you just said was wrong," he grinned and raised his staff over his head.
The staff began to shine with a bright light.
"Greagoir, Kinnoth, Petra, Jowan, Eadric, Owain, Niall, you are with me, I am with you, your will is now mine, your voices mine, and I am lost without them," Irving continued his chant. "For better or worse, we have been born as mages, but just as darkness and light exist, so too does the choice of fire and blood, they were not mistakes, we were not mistakes, we know now what our purpose is, all of us!" he opened his eyes, eyes that blazed with determination.
"Elthina my old friend…Amelia," Meredith whispered.
"Are with us in this moment Meredith, be what they could not," Orsino said.
Both looked to Irving and for a moment they could swear they could see Knight-Commander Greagoir standing with him, and perhaps others. For the briefest moment too, Irving became a shadow surrounded by light. But that moment passed and Irving stood, seemingly alone to them. But he was not alone, he looked to his side and saw an old friend and despite all they collided on, he could call that Knight-Commander friend.
"This seems like bad advice, but I've come to feel differently about things now Irving, let go, let go," Greagoir's image said.
"What are we waiting for, come on, help, stand firm," Cullen said. "TEMPLARS TO ME!" he yelled.
His shield was reinforced by magic, and many other templars came to his side, supporting the mages. Those mages who could not walk any more, were carried over the shoulders and backs of templars whom abandoned swords to become shields. A young mage girl looked up in horror at a templar that stood over her, his arms spread. But when she looked at him again, he could see the smoke rising from his chest. Meredith offered her hand to Orsino, who was left speechless by the act. Their fingers locked and she lifted him to his feet. He raised his dragon headed staff and began to chant.
"HOW HARD CAN IT BE TO KILL A BUNCH OF PRIMITIVE, DRESS WEARING, MAGES!" the imperial commander yelled.
Loghain coughed as he tried to get up. He grabbed his nearby sword and heard the swing of a sabre pike. A Shadow guard twirled his staff and cut down two helpless rebels with one swing. The red slit that was the guard's visor seemed to glow brighter as he looked towards Loghain. The shadow guard began dragging his staff across the ground, moving towards Loghain. He yelled, feeling a burn on his leg and what must have been a broken rib. Scrambling into his pack, he began pulling out poultices and potions.
'Where is it?' he wondered.
Medicine was probably the only thing Loghain liked about what the Empire had given them. Better antibiotics, better health care in general, there were some medicines that Loghain didn't see the point of at first, except for now. Just as the Shadow Guard was about to reach Loghain however, an Orlesian sword was swung towards the imperial warrior. Michel locked blades with the Shadow Guard, trying to push him back. But the Shadow Guard parried his many strikes, Michel was good, but he was tired, and the Shadow Guard had been killing the wounded all day. He blocked a flurry of blades, but the Chevalier never took a step back. The Shadow Guard caught Michel's arm with his sabre, then his thigh before shoving him to the floor. Michel reached for his sword, but the Guard sliced his fingers off. He stomped on Michel's hand, but just as he was about to drive Michel through, a sword burst out of the Guard's chest. Cauthrien shoved the Guard's body off of her sword and offered her hand to Michel.
"The fight isn't over yet Orlesian," she said.
Just as she pulled him up however, he noticed a trooper moving through the smoke.
"NO!" he yelled, grabbing Cauthrien and turning with her.
The trooper fired a blast that slammed into Michel's back. Loghain finally found it, injecting it through his thigh. Chemicals flowed through his body, giving him his second wind. Adrenaline, it was an idea to the people of Thedas before, now it was a drug. Loghain roared like an animal, taking up his great sword and an Orlesian short sword. He threw the latter into the trooper's neck and stood. The smoke cleared, revealing the second wave of defenders. Cauthrien cradled Michel's body for a moment, with a new respect, and then she grabbed her sword and stood with her commander.
Loghain and Cauthrien were outnumbered, Marian and her group were pinned down and Alistair was forced to dodge a flurry of blaster bolts from the castle walls. The dragon he rode began to howl and Alistair finally saw the scorch mark on its wing. Yet still it managed to fly by the castle, hitting the gunners with a wave of electricity. A final bolt hit the dragon's back and it span, cushioning its rider as it dived towards the castle. It crashed through the wall, just underneath where a cannon had been placed. The smashed wall robbed the cannon of its support, sending it onto the streets below.
"DIE! DIE! DIE! JUST DIE ALREADY! I THOUGHT THEIR MANA WAS LIMITED! WHERE ARE THEY GETTING IT ALL FROM!" the Imperial commander yelled in hysterical fury.
He was dominated by one single desire, to see the rebels fall today, or to at least break the seemingly impenetrable shield the mages had made. Irving however took a step forward as the shield cracked. He raised his staff with both hands, smiling as each pupil he helped in the circle disappeared, each templar he approved faded, and each friend and colleague he had lost offered a final goodbye.
'I suppose I could yell something like, 'WE SHALL PASS!' but this is already corny enough, I know, I'll take something from you Daylen!' Irving smirked.
Five years ago
Irving's beard was neat and his face proud that day; the tower had an imperial presence, but had not yet lost full autonomy. Students still prayed to the Maker and practiced their magic, all without the intention of becoming a Sith apprentice. The robes were blue or red, and were still made of the old materials. Yet there was still a joy in modernisation, children played with Mouse droids whilst Astromechs worked on heating units and Templars oversaw the visits of family. People could even send letters through a network now; Irving had exchanged several with Orsino. The First Enchanter came to the library and nearly knocked into Cera, one of the enchanters and teachers. Her face showed the remnants of a tantrum, though Irving felt perhaps it was justified.
"Why Cera what is the matter?" Irving asked.
"That blasted, wilful, disobedient little shite, I have had it up to here Irving, I didn't think they could be right, I thought it was just Sweeney's eyes playing tricks on him again when he said the boy fumbled with basic spirit spells, I thought Ines was overdramatic when she said he turned her plants into crystals, when Leorah said he blew up the laboratory I thought she was joking, even Wynn and Uldred have lost their patience, and the prissy former is practically a saint. I am a realist Irving, the boy has no talent for Rune craft, and I have no talent for teaching him," Cera explained.
She was walking away before Irving could even speak. He heard a thumping sound around the corner, and out of interest, walked around to see what it was. His eyes widened in horror when he saw a pile of books underneath one of the book cases. Climbing the case was a brown haired boy looking through some of the books. He seemed to be looking for something in particular.
"Books on the Arcane tree are two inches below you to your right young Daylen," he said.
"Oh thank you…" the boy turned his head, only for one of the books he was checking to slip out, costing him a grip.
He wavered clumsily and comically before he fell into the pile of books. Irving shook his head and sighed, whilst a few of the other students nearby giggled.
"What did I say to you Daylen, what did I say," he fumed for a moment before taking a deep breath. "The last time you climbed the book case, you ended up breaking your shoulder, persistence without progress is meaningless, mistakes are to be learnt from, not repeated," he explained.
"I know First-Enchanter, I (ouch)," Daylen grimaced as a book fell on his head.
Irving chuckled, clicking his fingers, using a little bit of mana to make the books levitate.
"You practice with the force?" Daylen asked.
"Force levitation is very different from force magic, force magic is the manipulation of gravitational forces, the force, well, many would have you believe it is everywhere, in everyone, binding them and penetrating them and etc, etc," Irving droned.
"Do you not believe in the force?" the boy asked as he got off of the floor, grabbing some of the books himself to clear up.
"Of course I do, just as I believe in the Maker, that strikes you as odd doesn't it?" Irving asked.
"I know I'm supposed to believe…"
"What gave you that idea child?"
"Nearly everyone in the tower chooses to believe something, the elvhan pantheon, even though they were proven to be just powerful mages at the right time, the maker, and lately people have been harping on about the Sith Emperor being a god. Whenever I tell people I don't believe in any of them, they look at me with disgust, almost more disgust than when they see my eyes," Daylen explained.
"Daylen, what you did even as a toddler was a taboo, yet in itself it was brilliant, using blood magic to heal is unheard of, even amongst maleficarum or apostates, none applied blood magic for anything besides offence, but you used it to save a life," Irving stated.
"For a few seconds," Daylen lowered his head slightly, but looked up when Irving touched his shoulder.
"But at least you tried," the First-Enchanter said.
"For all the good it did, besides, which ones was it who told me 'do or do not, there is no try?'" Daylen asked and Irving scoffed.
"Rhetorical nonsense, life is all about trying, though I think I get the meaning behind it…you may fail or you may succeed, there are those who go through life so sure that they can do something yet still they fail, and those who go through life convinced that they will fail, yet that is why they prepare themselves, so that they don't. Confidence can be both a gift and curse, the same can be for anxiousness, but you must not let either become self fulfilling prophecies. I myself have always preferred balance over choosing one side in particular," he explained.
"So I don't have to always succeed, but I have to have the confidence to at least try," Daylen said.
"And I for one lad, think you will do brilliantly if you try, so, botany and rune craft didn't work out, what would you like to try now?" Irving asked.
Daylen looked at the book on arcane magic and then spirit magic. Then he turned to Irving with an expression in his eyes that spoke of his determination, his willingness to try. Or rather, his willingness to do or do not. So he opened the first few pages, regarding the creation of bolts in the Arcane, and telekinetic weapons in spirit.
"I recently read about Arcane warriors, or Knight-Enchanters, the latter has to go through this gruelling resources gathering process to create the mage equivalent of a light sabre, but we are magic, so why does the blade have to come from an object?" Daylen wondered more than asked and for a moment Irving saw the watery effect of mana flow across Daylen's hand.
Irving smiled then.
Present
(Fate/Stay Night-Emiya)
And still Irving smiled as he raised one hand, energy gathering around it. Lightning flashed over his head, fire blazed in his eyes, and the ground itself seemed to shake. The mages of the rebellion, their morale renewed, struck back. Orsino threw his hand forward alongside his fellow mages of the Kirkwall circle. Force magic was a common specialisation taught there, and through the manipulation of gravitational forces, they sent the bolts of the tanks and walkers flying back at where they had been fired. Blue marks spread over Irving's arm as the apostates threw fireballs like catapults into the imperial forces.
"Passion must be balanced with peace, strength must be tempered with knowledge, through serenity we gain power, victory can only come from harmony…" Irving chanted.
'Expand the design, make it bigger, focus and form every gear, use your own soul as a generator, your mind, its processor,' he thought.
He extended his hand, and the markings passed to his face. His teeth ground together, and his eyes glowed. The same armoured golem that Daylen designed at Ferelden, appeared in front of Irving. But instead of one great sword, its hands were empty. Orsino walked to Irving's side and held in his hand a singularity.
"Through the achievement of harmony, we have no regrets, this is the only path," he said.
A foot slammed into the grass, a hooded mage stepping up. He opened the palm of his hand, a spark of blue energy crackling through it before it glowed with fire.
"Through the flames we create many weapons, yet these hands never truly hold anything," the mage said.
The golem of mana finally created its two weapons, a sword of force and wind, and a sword of fire and lightning. It flew forward, dragging the blades forward and creating vortexes that threw the imperial troops and vehicles into the air.
"This is our force, the force of others!" Irving said.
The mages of the rebellion held up their hands, revealing glowing symbols of the rising bird that represented the Amell family. Then came the hail of metal and bodies, vehicles crashed through buildings, but they also slammed into the imperial troops still on the field. Including the troops that were ready to execute Loghain and Cauthrien. With that distraction, Loghain was about to move forward when Gaspard and other knights ran past him. Gaspard brought his sword down on a trooper's head and he nodded to Loghain. The hero of Ferelden ran with his sword and ran it through the imperial commander's chest, and then another trooper, and another. He threw the bodies off and batted away the bolt of a trooper crawling across the floor. Cauthrien stabbed that trooper in the chest and the rebels struck back.
Marian and her allies rushed with the werewolves and elves. Sylvans made it over the wall, throwing some of the troopers like projectiles at the castle. Swift Runner ripped apart a trooper whilst Lanaya impaled a few others with roots. Bethany conjured an arcane shield in front of herself, Marian, Varric and Fenris, deflecting blasters bolts and giving Varric and Marian an opening to shoot back. Fenris threw a grenade through one gap, knocking some of the troopers out with concussive explosions. He then brandished his sword whilst Marian took out her dagger and bow, using the latter as a bludgeoning weapon.
(End OST)
In the castle however, troopers made their way to where the dragon age crashed. They saw its crushed wings and snapped neck, but still kept their rifles raised in case the rider survived. Suddenly, a force wave threw them against the wall. One got off of the floor, only for someone to grab him by the neck. Kargon squeezed until he felt the man's neck break. He looked towards the dead dragon and glared.
"Come out rebel, I'll not have this rabble still my glory," he said.
A shield and helmet clanged against the floor. Alistair sheathed his sword and removed his gloves; he undid his cloak and walked out of the study he had crashed into. All the while though he kept his eyes on the Sith apprentice, analysing his horns, the tension of his muscles, the shaking of his staff.
"I suppose it would be too much to ask if you're Asher," Alistair sighed as Kargon shook his head. "So that would make you the apprentice, a shame, I really want to get this battle over and done with."
"It's too late, either way your rebellions ends today, they're all going to burn whilst you OOOF!" the Kossith yelled as Alistair pushed him through the wall with the force.
Alistair broke off into a run through the corridors of the Orlesian castle, not taking time to adore the Orlesian decorations, carpets, floors and heraldry all designed to invoke the planet's medieval roots with the modern twist of automatic doors. No expense was spared on them or the guards in plastic Orlesian armour.
"To quote famous words everyone, it's a trap," Alistair spoke into his comm. Device.
"Of course it's a trap," Loghain grunted.
He rested on his sword, leaving Gaspard to lead the charge as he recovered.
"The nice apprentice said that everyone outside of the castle would burn, luckily we've got people outside of the battle," Alistair grinned.
Loghain lowered the device and took the receiver given to him by one of his soldiers, one who carried a radio on his back. Dagna truly was brilliant, creating new inventions from materials they could get without having to resort to stealing from the empire. Far, Far away from the battle in Orlais, where the new Elvhen homeland once stood, former Arl Teagan held the other radio Dagna had built, whilst the dwarf herself looked through a miniature telescope she had made.
"We can see it, six gunships, and they're on their way to you," he said.
"Good thing we have a plan," Loghain huffed.
"Yes, we do," Anora smiled.
She drew her sword, a signal for the stolen Tie fighters to take off from their landing pads.
"So all we have to do is find Darth Asher and the Divine and get Celene or whoever back on the throne," Alistair said.
(Duel of Fates)
Suddenly, the wall to his right was smashed open, debris hitting the Orlesian troopers before they could attack him. Alistair took the light sabre from his belt, igniting its white blade and cross guard.
"It won't be that easy," Kargon seethed.
He ignited the red blade of his sabre pike and held it out in front of him. Alistair took up his stance and set his gaze firmly. The two men rushed forward and slammed their blades together. The crackling energy beams slid smoothly away from one another, Kargon swung and Alistair blocked, moving his sabre to brush against Kargon's arm. But despite his size, Kargon was quick, so was Alistair, their duel became less about them blocking and more about dodging one another's strikes. Kargon was aggressive, but Alistair knew how devastating a light sabre could be. He didn't need to hit hard, the blade and his own discipline would do the work. He had learnt the sword before the templars, with Eamon before his estate was dissolved. He remembered those days as a boy practicing, before the shadow of an imperial vessel passed over Eamon's castle. The discipline he learnt in those days came first, and the force second, Kargon was all rage and no skill. Kargon yelled and unleashed a flurry of slashes that Alistair moved his sabre and easily deflected. Each time Kargon swung, his red beam was knocked back by the simplest of adjustments from his opponent's angle.
"Damn you, DAMN YOU!" Kargon roared.
His eyes flashed yellow as he thrust his pike forward, Alistair caught the blade with his cross guard and began pushing the Sith apprentice back. Kargon widened his eyes as Alistair knocked his pike aside, and finally unleashed the force. With a thrust of his hand, Alistair sent Kargon flying through the wall and into a dining area. He landed on top of a table where food had been placed, chickens, salads, ribs and bowls of soup were squashed as Kargon slid across the table, leaving the rubble of the fine wood and marble wall as well as the table décor behind him.
(End OST)
Darth Asher sat at the head of the table with Vivienne standing behind him. He smirked and began to clap his hands together. Alistair opened the double doors and glared at Asher. The Sith lord ran a hand through his dark hair, standing and lifting up his staff.
"Well done, truly well done, smashing your way into the city and my home," Asher said.
"This was never your home," Alistair retorted.
"Perhaps not this place, but welcome to it all the same, I would offer you something to eat but I think it's all spoilt now, I'll probably give it to any prisoners that might be taken," Asher explained.
"Might be, I thought your plan was to destroy everyone in the city," Vivienne said.
"Oh come now Vivienne, the time for being coy will be over just about…" Asher checked his Chrono as the doors opened. "Now," he grinned.
Panaka, Celene, Briala and their guards came into the room with their blasters ready. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan entered not long after, Orlesian guards falling at their sides. Alistair looked between Celene and Asher, the latter had nodded to her. He lifted his sabre up and Panaka fired, hitting Alistair with a stun bolt. Alistair fell to his knees and Asher ripped the light sabre from his grip. The two knights went back to back as the doors opened and black armoured Sith troopers came into the room.
"Always be aware of traps within traps," Asher said.
"Damn it," Alistair grit his teeth together before yelling in pain.
The pain came from torrents of force lightning from Kargon's hand. He wiped the food off of his face and kicked Alistair in the stomach.
"This was your plan all along wasn't it Celene, draw in Gaspard and Loghain, and anyone else who could rival you and then trap them," Obi-Wan said.
"It's much more complicated than that isn't it Celene?" Qui-Gon asked.
"More complicated than selling out the people who offered to help you?"
Celene scoffed at Obi-Wan as she put her blaster away.
"Which means Panaka was always pro-empire," the apprentice said.
"Of course I was, they've done more for Orlais than any queen can, it is about time Celene recognises that," Panaka said.
"I told you all, unity is a weakness, now you are all out in the open for our reinforcements to pick off," Celene said.
Alistair closed his eyes and shook his head, slowly beginning to laugh.
"What's so funny rebel?" Panaka asked.
"Do you believe this Briala?" Alistair asked. "How much have elves suffered under the yoke of the Orlesians alone, did the empire make that better. Sure you can freely love your woman now; genetic engineering could even give you children, but what about the people who aren't so lucky as the have the favour of the empress, do their lives mean so little?"
"No, they don't, I'm sorry," Briala said.
"We're doing what we have to my love," Celene said. "In time we can rebuild the Alienages, no, make them better, make things the way we want them to be."
"She's not apologising to Alistair Celene," Qui-Gon said.
Briala opened the palm of her hand, revealing a device of some kind. It was a receiver, much like what Dagna had designed for the rebels. Celene widened her eyes at her lover, stepping away from her.
Celene's voice echoed, echoed through the streets of Val Royeaux. It even echoed to the borders of Val Royeaux, where Lord Vincent Callier, an old ally of Celene held a device given to him by Loghain. A device also given to Ser Robert Chapuis, Gaspard's ally. There was also a third lord in Orlais, a lord whose voice echoed.
"Oh dear cousin, you were on thin ice as it was, clearly you learnt nothing from that fool Cailan," former Duke Prosper De Montfort said.
His thick beard was rough, matching the rough and dirty armour he now had to wear. Likewise the men and women behind him were also in smuggler and mercenary gear. All of them were on horses or Drasolisk mounts, but they were all towered over by Prosper's mount. The Wyvern named Leopard growled despite the sorrowful expression of his rider.
"How do you intend to restore order and lead them cousin, when your greatest rival fights for our people's freedom, whilst you sell it?" Prosper mused, looking towards the smoke rising in Val Royeaux.
They were fires lit by commoners, human and elf alike, all of them leaving their hiding places and taking whatever weapons they could to fight. It was also the sign for Prosper to choose his side, just as his son Cyril had.
'You had picked the right time to pursue your dream of piloting my boy, hopefully when you return, I can be a man whose name you are proud to have,' Prosper drew his sword and gave the order to charge, for the rebellion.
Next Episode 40: The Battle of Korvis part 2
I hope everyone enjoyed the returning chapter
Next time, Daylen's fight for his sanity continues whilst his copy begins his takeover of Korvis.