22 Firstfall; 9:31
Carlos,
Bethany and I are heading for the secondary entrance, please be there as soon as possible to let us in. The situation went to hell in Kirkwall.
We have another player: Maeve Anderson. Female, in her twenties, maybe early thirties. She came across as an Elf and set herself up in the Alienage there, so that's our first confirmed elf.
She and I had an argument over the golden route, and Hawke misunderstood and sent me back to Amaranthine. Without me there, Brosca convinced Elissa to put our emergency plans into motion years in advance when there wasn't a damned emergency. Probably used the existence of another 'seer' to get her to agree.
Short version: they failed, Meredith is still alive from what we're hearing.
Long version: The Wardens in Ferelden are all being imprisoned and interrogated, pending Maharial coming back to vouch for them. If Bethany hadn't heard about the hunt, I'd have been arrested along with the others. Apart from Meredith's survival, the only other confirmed reports are that Brosca is dead along with his entire team. Elissa is missing, but hopefully no news is good news.
Once we arrive in Orzammar, we'll need to try and figure out the details, and try and find where Elissa ended up. With luck we can salvage something in time to get things back on track.
Your friend,
Greg
28 Firstfall, 9:31
To Varric Tethras,
From Maeve,
We made it across the sea without drowning, and have gotten settled into our new rooms in Hawke's old castle.
To tell you what you already know; Smith and Bethany Hawke are missing. Skipped out of town a few days ago, according to the rest of the family. Hawke ran off with her cousin to try and find them, but none of us are holding out much hope. Junior stayed to play the noble and comfort their mother.
Allistair already interrogated Howe. He didn't know much, no one told him what was going on until the morning of, and then it was just Brosca telling him that Meredith had access to a blighted amulet (sound familiar?) that was going to turn the entire city into a raving nest of Darkspawn. The fact that she didn't have it apparently didn't matter to them, and is more proof that Smith can't actually see shit about the future.
We're going to lay around for a few weeks doing as little as possible. Or at least I am, Merrill's already running around trying to get things set up to work on her project, put her notes back together from memory. Fiolya and I are doing are best to get her to take a breath, but you know how she is.
Let me know how Kirkwall's doing,
Maeve
15 Haring, 9:31
Buzz,
Tie Daisy to a bed if you have to, that girl needs some rest just as much as you do. And tell her I said that.
No word yet on Rivaini, but the Qunari haven't moved so I'm guessing they haven't realized she skipped town just yet. I'll let you know if I hear anything before you do. Everyone else is back to business as usual, and the city's recovering from what happened.
As for that Amulet crap... yeah. Worrying. I'm sending out more promises of coin for signs of Bartrand, or that damned idol. Will let you know.
The Templars have done a total shift when it comes to the Alienage. Apparently your old buddies saved more than a few of them from the Golem, and now they're all gushing about faithful and loyal the city's elves are. Word is that Cullen, I'm thinking Curly for his new name, is going to start assigning more Templars to patrol around the Alienage.
Sister Caelia, the tall skinny one from Tevinter, replaced Scowls. She's doing her best, and doing what Elowen tells her. She'll do all right, I think, but she doesn't have the same verve.
Meredith woke up yesterday. Dumar insisted I be there to explain the fact that you skipped town. She was pissed until I told her it was because Petrice died, and that you'd come back when you'd dealt with your grief. I think the cast-iron old bird actually teared up a little at that. Didn't know she had it in her.
Promised her I'd get you to write her, so you'd better do that for my sake.
Varric
Post-Script; find the next Swords and Shields attached, give me every thought you've got on it.
10 Wintermarch, 9:32
To His Royal Highness, Alistair Theirin,
From Warden-Commander Maharial
Old friend,
Your messengers caused quite the commotion when they arrived in Weisshaupt. To say that the old breed up here are furious that Ferelden's Wardens went rogue, again, is an understatement. I have standing orders to arrest Elissa and send her up here for some kind of Trial when she's found, and similar orders are going out to every other Warden Branch in the south.
I'm sending this letter by ship by way of Minrathus, so hopefully it will arrive in time. Zevran and I are going to take the longer road south at least as far as Nevarra, we're not setting foot in Tevinter, so it should beat us to Denerim by quite some time. I'll have plenty to share with you once I arrive.
Your friend,
Maharial
Post-Script; This Commander business is a temporary posting if your nobles don't start treating my people better.
Minya enyalie
Time was not a concept it truly understood when it first awoke.
When it first became aware of itself. Of its needs, of its tendrils of power. Of the great currents carrying it through the formless matter of its home.
It did not know how long it spent like that. Drinking from the barest whispers of emotion that could reach its lofty heights... but somehow... even then, it knew it was young. Freshly born, transformed, arisen.
Later it would understand the process. That it had once been a mere wisp. One that had taken a preference in the dreams it slid through, drew slivers of power from. One that had grown, and grown, and grown, until it became.
It did not know how long it drifted aimlessly in the currents, before what little sustenance they could provide was not enough. Before it felt its formless shape stretching, desperate, starving. Before it began to descend, to find more traces of what it consumed. To find the source of what nourished it.
It... remembered the first dream of a mortal it entered. The shock of its form condensing into a shell that pleased the dreamer. Of pulling its desire for a grand feast, like it had seen crafted for its Living Gods. Of... cooking, waiting. Feeding the... man little morsels, wiping its face with a... cloth.
A fine meal for them both, yet only the mortal had woken satisfied.
While it... it had found itself puzzled.
Yes, it had found the source of what it needed to live. It had even found itself enjoying the process of entering a dream, wearing a shell of a mortal, of giving that which was desired.
And yet...
...it did not know why it had done what it had. Did not know how it assumed a shell. How it had been so easily able to pick through the mortal's soul, to see what it longed for. It did not know why providing for that had allowed it to break off part of that soul, to bring it in, to feed upon it, to satisfy its own needs.
It knew it was young. That it did not know everything.
And yet...
It sought answers in the dreams of others, of the beings it would learn called themselves Elvehn. Some it feasted upon with ease. Some were aware, and drove it back. A few instead spoke to it, chided it, educated it on what the Elvehn were. What their world was like.
It learned that there were others like it. Many that sought the same desires that it did, many more that sought those strange sensations it found unpalatable. Some were weaker than it, and it drove them off as it learned to wield its power. Some were stronger than it, making it flee back to the high currents, to observe at a distance.
It spoke with the others of its kind when it could. Sough to learn what it was. What they were.
It remembered it's disappointment at it learned. Few, if any of them, cared to question as it did. They merely sought their feasts. Sought to encourage that which pleased them. And those few that did desire answers instead made their way to the mortal's realm. To walk as a shell at all times, to mimic the creatures that visited them.
Strange, disturbing, unwanted.
A shell could not drift in the currents of the Fade. Could not bask in the sensation of it. It had learned of the mortal realm, had seen it through the eyes of its first tethers. A dismal, dark, slow place. A shell could not observe all sides of a thing in an instant. A shell was confined, trapped, entombed. Amusing for moments, tiring beyond.
No. It had no place there. This was home, and in its home it would stay.
It had learned what it was. It had a Name, given to it by a mortal who basked in the dreams it could provide them.
Spirit of Desire