A Place Of Old

The gates of Tombigbee creaked open, revealing a bustling village that sprawled across the valley like a living tapestry. At the entrance stood an older man draped in long robes of deep green and brown, his figure bent with age. A gnarled staff supported his weight, but his warm smile and sharp eyes gave him an air of vitality that belied his years.

"Halmares!" the man called out, his voice rough but filled with warmth. He shuffled forward as quickly as his bent form allowed, embracing Nira's father with a familiarity born of decades of friendship. "It has been too long, old friend."

"Far too long, Falven," Halmares replied, his usual stoic demeanor softening. "I see the Wilds haven't managed to take you yet."

"Nor you," Falven said with a chuckle, stepping back. His eyes shifted to Nira, lighting up with recognition. "And this must be your daughter. You've grown, child. I remember when you were no taller than my staff."

Nira offered a polite smile. "It's good to finally meet you, Falven. My father has spoken of you often."

"Only good things, I hope," Falven said with a wink before turning his attention to Fergus. His gaze lingered on the outsider, curious but not unkind. "And you bring an outsider, Halmares? That's a rare sight. The Wilds must be stirring indeed."

"They are," Halmares said grimly. "I sent you my message for good reason, Falven. I fear our tribes face annihilation if we do not act."

Falven's smile faded, replaced by a somber expression. He nodded slowly. "I feared as much. Your message reached all the tribes. To my surprise, every chieftain has arrived."

"All of them?" Halmares asked, his tone laced with surprise.

Falven's eyes darkened. "Even the most stubborn among them. The Blight has left none untouched, it seems."

The elder motioned toward the village's center. "The great temple awaits. That is where the meeting will be held. Make your way there while I gather the others."

As he began to turn away, he glanced back at Halmares. "It's good to see you again, my friend. I only wish it were under better circumstances."

Halmares inclined his head. "As do I, Falven."

With that, the old man shuffled off toward another part of the village, his staff tapping against the cobblestones.

The group began making their way through the heart of Tombigbee, and Fergus couldn't help but marvel at what he saw. The village was alive with activity, its people moving about with purpose. Sturdy wooden huts with thatched roofs lined the streets, their walls adorned with intricate carvings of animals and spiraling symbols. Smoke curled from cooking fires, and the air was thick with the scent of roasting meat and herbs.

In the center of the village stood the temple—a towering structure of weathered stone that seemed to defy time itself. Its walls were covered in murals, their faded colors depicting scenes of women cloaked in shadow and flame, surrounded by animals and the twisting trees of the Wilds. Great statues of serpents and crows flanked the temple's entrance, their eyes seeming to follow the group as they approached.

"This place," Fergus murmured, his voice tinged with awe. "It feels… ancient."

"It is," Halmares said, his tone reverent. "This temple predates even our oldest stories. It is dedicated to Flemeth—the Witches of the Wilds. Many Chasind believe she shaped the Wilds themselves, and this place honors her legacy."

Nira paused to study the murals, her eyes tracing the painted figures of women with glowing eyes and hands wreathed in magic. "I've heard the stories, but I never thought I'd see this place myself."

"It's your first time here?" Fergus asked, glancing at her.

Nira nodded. "Talmorath is far from here, and Tombigbee is a place of legends. It's where the tribes gather in times of great need, but I never imagined I'd come here for something like this."

Halmares slowed his pace, gesturing toward the temple. "This is where the meeting will take place. It is the only place the chieftains will deem sacred enough to set aside their grudges, if only for a time."

As they approached the temple, Fergus's gaze lingered on the murals, his thoughts drifting to Flemeth. He remembered the eerie power she had exuded, her words heavy with truths he had barely begun to comprehend. To think this place was dedicated to her filled him with both unease and respect.

Nira, walking beside him, noticed his expression. "Thinking about her?" she asked quietly.

Fergus nodded. "It's hard not to. Seeing this… knowing what she told us…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "It's overwhelming."

"She's not a legend anymore," Nira said, her voice tinged with awe. "She's real. And if her words mean anything, what happens here will decide the future of all our tribes."

Halmares stopped at the base of the temple steps, turning to face them. "You both must be ready," he said. "The chieftains will be stubborn, proud, and slow to trust. They will question everything you say, especially you, Cousland."

Fergus straightened, his expression hardening. "Then I'll make them see reason. Whatever it takes."

Halmares studied him for a moment before nodding. "Good."

As they began ascending the steps, the weight of their task pressed heavily on them. The future of the Chasind—and perhaps all of Ferelden—rested on what would happen within those ancient walls