To Most Holy Divine Justinia V,
From Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,
Most Holy,
Prince Goran Vael has seen the wisdom in beginning reconstruction of a Circle, and ground is being cleared near the remains of the prior structure. Now that I am here in person I can confirm the Nightengale's reports; the Prince may hold the title, but he does not rule Starkhaven. That is a collection of noble families who openly buy his decisions with gold.
None of them were so foolish as to attempt to bribe a representative of the Divine, and I found the supposed difficulties in paying for a new Circle vanishing quickly once I made it clear I would not be departing the city until construction completes.
While affairs here appear to be in order, I remain concerned over Kirkwall. The politics of that violent city were on a knife's edge, to the point where even I thought them blatantly apparent. It seems clear that it will only be a matter of time before the infighting changes from words to swords.
Acting in your name, I have begun quietly reaching out to other Seekers, and transferring loyal Templars from rural postings to Starkhaven. Should the worst come to pass, I will be ready to return to Kirkwall if you wish it. If my fears do not come to pass, or your wisdom believes intervention unecessary, then I will assign those Templars to the new Circle.
Your devoted servant,
Cassandra
To my Honored Father, Duke de Montfort,
Father, the Heathens made only a single attempt to breach our walls. We repulsed them most easily, and observed them withdrawing rapidly to the east. I do not doubt they set off in pursuit of the treacherous Black Knight.
Those nobility taking shelter within our walls are much comforted by the strength of our warriors, and several complimented my leadership when the time came. It quieted those murmurs over your rapid departure during the night.
I pray that your wounds heal quickly, and that the Empress is understanding of what occurred here. We could not have expected so many Qunari this far south, or the interference of those fools from Kiwkall.
I will continue to defend the Chateau, and the lives within, until your safe return or instruction indicating otherwise.
Your son,
Cyril de Montfort
The following letter has been translated from numeric code into plain text
Carlos,
The quest was a disaster all around. Kirkwall sent Maeve as their representative, not surprising since she seems to have taken my sister's place. At least as much as an Elf can.
Initially she kept her temper, and didn't attack Greg, even if she insulted him constantly. She also promised not to interfere with the Heart of the Many quest.
She lied.
During the wyvern hunt, on day one, she slipped away to meet with Salit and somehow convinced him to give her a copy of the Viddathari list. Then she scattered the entire Chateau's horses over several miles, convinced a third of the servants to vanish, and bolted back for Kirkwall.
Prosper realized someone else had the information, and went straight to Salit. We followed and ambushed them. The Duke called his Wyvern, but retreated when I burned the List before anyone could take it. Greg and I tried to call it there, but Tallis called in more Qunari to wipe out Salit and his people. She called in a lot of Qunari, which was surprising since Tallis swore she was a lone operative.
She also lied.
We weren't thrilled, but recovered our horses and rode with Tallis toward Kirkwall to try and catch up to Maeve, the rest of the Qunari following behind us. We found the remains of another team on the road, and caught her near the city. She refused to yield, and did not apologize.
I don't know if we were going to fight or not when Tallis forced our hand. Again.
We exchanged a few blows, but the city's Elven Guards came out, and we all backed off. Greg had had enough of Tallis by then, so had I, so we departed north. She caught up with us later and tried to convince us to turn back, and when we refused, several of her people tried to attack us. Greg and I killed a few, and Tallis forced the rest to back down. In apology for deceiving us, and as thanks for our aid, according to her.
I think she's heading into Kirkwall to try and stop the list from being copied and sent out of the city. From what we've heard on the road, the city's preparing for war against the Qunari inside its walls. Tallis arriving will probably be the spark that sets it off.
We're not involving ourselves in that mess, no matter what happens. Greg isn't happy, he wants to go there, make things up to Maeve by helping. I don't, and he yielded. We're on the road north to Tevinter, to find Dorian and work on the Venatori problem.
I'm going to get drunk now, then tie up my husband so he can't sneak off to do something foolish.
Bethany
Bann Trevelyan, Father,
Of all of the messages I might have expected, your orders that I request a new Knight to serve under within the Order were sadly among them. In truth I am only surprised it has taken you this long.
Allow me to make myself clear, father.
I will not serve under any Templar Knight but Meredith Stannard, no matter how many strings you attempt to pull within the Chantry. Should you even attempt to have me reassigned by the order of a Grand Cleric, I tell you now that I shall resign my place, and pledge my service to Dame Maeve of Kirkwall.
You have made your opinion of her clear, and I am certain it would be a most amusing talking point in the social circles of Ostwick.
My faith and prayers have given me guidance in this. They tell me that what a young girl thought was true belief is merely the skin-deep actions of a man seeking influence. They tell me that I should have believed my brother's warnings of your nature, something I allowed familial love to blind me to until this day.
I shall pray for your and mother's health every day,
Squire Evelyn Trevelyan
I ló
The Veil was always thin in Kirkwall. If one drifted close to it, close enough to brush their power against the Dread Wolf's spells, it could peer through them. Could see the beacons of emotional energy that were mages, the dimmer colors of other mortals.
Longing hovered near the muted colors that were Maeve, her normaly vibrancy drained away to conceal her power from the foolish creatures around her. Even the sudden spike of anger, fear, and despair did not draw much attention from the other spirits.
They were too busy feasting on the emotions of thousands of other mortals, swarming through the mimicries of streets. Rage and Despair whirled about, warring over those who gave the greatest meals, or else recoiled from golden light when Faith and Compassion enshrouded those of true fervor.
Longing felt the presence of other Elders, felt them drawn to the city. Felt the already thin Veil weaken further under the weight of their presence.
It could truly see Maeve, for a moment. Not in true color, but in shadow. Her eye blazing pinpricks of violet light, her hands clenched upon stone. Beyond her the unpleasant absolutism of a Templar, the gentle glow of a Spirit of Faith swirling about their shoulders.
Another mage drew closer, its soul encircled by a dozen wards of impeccable spellcraft. Not a single emotion escaped the being as it moved to join the others in witnessing what was coming.
"War... it comes."
Had Longing the need for breath, it would have exhaled to see another Elder arrive, condensing itself down into a shell. Saw it stretch out a hand toward the Templar, only to hiss when the warrior's shielding Faith flared in warning.
The horned spirit turned to find Longing wrapping its power around her own mortal, "Begone. There is feast enough elsewhere for you."
The Veil itself trembled with the force of its rumble, but Bloodlust drew back. It was not interested in confrontation with its own kind, not when such a feast lay before it. A blur of darkness sent it winging down to join the maelstrom, lesser spirits parting as it sought the most eager of mortals to shadow.
Faith whispered in the silence of its passing. "It is not alone. It is not wrong. They come."
"Yes." Longing agreed, pulling itself into a shell as well, wrapping itself in layers of energy. It would need the protection.
Nearby the other spirit was doing the same; the form of a young Human child standing resolute beside the mortal whose belief sustained it.
"Vengeance is here." Longing murmured, feeling the waves of power. "Grief. Bloodlust. Suicide. Arrogance. Corruption. Silence."
Faith's aura of light pulsed. "So is Hope. Courage. Valiance. Defiance."
Longing tipped the head of its shell, watching as the mortals did as the violence truly began. As the thinning barrier between their worlds allowed it to see what was, rather than what could have been. As a great river of fire began to snake its way across this city of souls.
"So many in desperate desire." Faith murmured. "Yet you do not feast, Longing."
It felt a frown, an unease. The slightest tendril of power quickly retracted when it neared the little shell. When it saw through the disguise to see the Elder lurking within.
"...one could say the same to you, Martyr." It murmured.
Martyr's shell smiled sadly. "One could."
Maeve's shadow abruptly began to move, storming off. Other mortals followed at once, running about in the way that their kind so often did. Yet Longing remained, as did the other spirit. Their shells staring at one another, unmoving, untouched by the hurricane descending upon them all.
"Are you certain of your choice?" Martyr asked.
"I am not Choice." Longing replied. "I have made none."
Martyr smiled, an amused flicker of its light. "You are not Choice, and yet you have Chosen, just as I once did. But... I warn you, Longing. There is a price for such things. There is always a price."
It stared at its fellow Elder, then it nodded once. "I know. But I will not accept the shackles of this existence any longer. I will not exist in stasis, doomed to an unchanging eternity."
"...are you sure?" Martyr asked quietly.
"Yes." Longing declared. "What did you sacrifice, Martyr? What did you give up for your foreknowledge? For your freedom to be more that what you once were?"
The other spirit flickered, the distance between them vanishing. It hovered before Longing, a hand of its shell cupping its cheek, its magic a gentle caress. A single tear appeared, and then Martyr was gone as if it had never been.
Only a whisper remained.
"...everything."
