Wow. Um, I hadn't realised it had been a month. I swear I thought I had updated sooner than that. My bad. Got distracted by work and Uni and other stuff.
Dwarven Negotiations
"So bossman, what're we waiting for?" Asks one of your temporary workers.
"We should be meeting with a dwarf who will be exchanging the wood we have cut for armour." You explain. "Incidentally, I thank you for your assistance in bringing the wood this far."
"Ain't nothin' y'lordship." Another of the workers supplies. "Ya pay us fair, an' ya girls cook a dream."
"Shame they're elves." A third mutters. "Woulda proposed elsewise."
A quick glare at him sees him regretting his choice of words, then you turn your attention back to the road. It would be wrong to say that Azeral is late. Strictly speaking, no time was agreed upon beyond 'this week'. However, it is already two days into the week and he messaged you to expect him today. His absence is worrying.
"This whole thing feels sketchy." A woman mutters.
"No laws of Ferelden are being broken." You state flatly. "Let Azeral worry about what happens within the dwarf holds."
The only response from the crowd of humans is stunned silence. You resist the urge to pinch your forehead and sigh. It seems you have responded to something you were not supposed to hear again.
The silence proves useful, because you hear the sound of cart wheels, and dwarven voices.
"I can't stand it! It's so, so big! And it goes up and up and never stops! I'm freaking out!" A dwarf with a significantly higher pitch than standard shrieks.
"Then stop looking up. Stone, I swear, why're you even here anyway." A more dwarven sounding woman replies.
"Because he owes me a favour and owns a cart." Azeral snaps back. "Now shut up! You two have been fighting the whole way here and I won't have it in front of the customer."
"Finally." You mutter.
It takes some time for the dwarves to emerge from the trees. The cart is being pulled by an animal vaguely reminiscent of a rhinoceros. It has the same heavy build and small eyes, but far more horns, including a ridge of spines. The poor thing seems wildly confused by the trees and is being gingerly led by two dwarves on foot.
On the cart's driver's seat is a third dwarf, who is covering his face with his hands and cringing from something above. Habitually you turn your eyes skyward seeking some danger there, yet you find none. Unless that raven is much larger and further away anyhow.
"Lord Russandol! How punctual of you." Azeral cries in greeting.
You will grant him this much, he does an excellent job of concealing his irritation and impatience. Even you would have struggled to find it if you did not know it was there.
"Azeral. As you can no doubt see, I have fulfilled my end of the bargain. Have you yours?" You ask.
"Indeed." Azeral smiles widely. "Ten sets of the finest dwarven armour. I even managed to find ones that'd take a rune. Or so my contact says anyway, not really a magic type myself."
"Excellent. Then let us take a moment to each ensure that the goods meet the standard of quality we are seeking, then we can exchange and depart." You state.
The two of you walk past each other. You turn your gaze upon the armour, inspecting it carefully. Largely it is composed of various plates of metal, including the ingenious strap system that sidesteps much of the careful fitting such things should take. You inspect them carefully, testing them with the guard of your sword.
You find no defects or flaws, though the workmanship is not quite what you would expect from the finest of dwarf work. It is certainly a high standard, but hardly their best. However you are well familiar with merchants' habits of what they euphemistically refer to as 'exaggeration'. So it is as you expected.
"Seems to all be in order." Azeral states.
"Indeed. A pleasure doing business with you." You state.
"You too. Come on you two, let's get this switched over. Come on, move it! We're burning daylight." He snaps at his companions.
While the transfer is made, you think about how you are going to deal with the farm construction you have planned.
With the armour in your possession, your attention turns towards the new land that has been cleared. You have been dangerously close to not having enough food for people for a while, and you do not want to run out during the Blight. Fortunately, upon reviewing your records this morning, you noticed the elves you had earmarked as farmers for the future, saving the need for a recruitment effort.
Now all that remains is to settle remaining accounts with your temporary hires and send them on their way.
Truth be told it is reasonably simple. You had intended to pay them weekly, but after an incident in the second week you had suspended pay until the end of the logging. Surprisingly they were quite understanding, it seems to be common practice with this type of worker.
They line up with minimal shoving and yelling, and you hand out their outstanding wages. Admittedly, you get in some trouble when you begin with gold coins and they insist on silver, but it is not as though you lack the latter.
Getting them to leave is a slightly more delicate operation, especially when they decide to harass some of your workers. Fortunately, seeing live steel and being 'gently encouraged' by spear butts gets them away from your home.
From there you head over to the cleared land to discuss your farming with those who will be working it. The land is largely cleared, so the only thing that remains is to go over the land, check it for stones and the like and generally make it suitable for farming.
Things start to go wrong almost immediately. There is a real lack of coordination between the various groups of farmers. People spend a lot of time coming up to you and asking questions.
"Are tree roots a problem?"
"Should we be ploughing now, or do we do that later?"
"What are we going to grow?"
"I found some plants, are those a cover or should I pull them up?"
You try not to get angry at the questions, everyone is uncertain when they start something new, and it would be churlish to hold their inexperience against them. However, answering the questions eats up valuable time, which is not something you have an overabundance of right now.
Then there comes the further revelation that the workers you hired had not been dealing with the stumps of all the trees. Some yes (usually when you were watching) but not all. Which means more time consuming inspections.
Ultimately you do not get the work completed this week. You are simply too short on time due to other things also going wrong. As a result you have to make a decision whether you allow your workers to continue unsupervised or whether you should dedicate your own time to fixing this.
It is tempting to put this off and decide to oversee it yourself next week. However, events are accelerating, and you have a feeling that you will soon be very short on time. Therefore, it is wise to allow people to learn by doing.
You will entrust the creation of these farms to those who will work them.
The first step is to find Wesley. He is, unsurprisingly, busy proclaiming his love for Crowsfoot. Softly, at least for a human, but persistently. It is in all honesty somewhat nauseating to listen to.
"Wesley." You state. "I wish to speak to you."
"In a moment boss." He calls, then whispers to his love. "It seems that I must leave you for a short time, but know that not a second shall pass that I do not think of you."
"To part, even for a single heartbeat shall be as an eternity." Crowsfoot replies. "Yet, I shall count each one until you shall return."
Truly, you do wonder if there is something wrong with the pair. It says something that they contest your parents for exaggerated proclamations of love.
"So boss, what do you need from me?" He asks you.
After discarding the all too tempting thought of mocking his behaviour, you say, "The land for the farms is prepared. Have you spoken to the farmers on the matter of preparing them?"
"Not yet." He answers honestly. "I've been pretty busy. All the work doesn't leave much time for anything besides my beloved."
You steadfastly ignore Crowsfoot swooning behind him. "I see, perhaps you could make some time to discuss the matter with them. I am largely trusting them to establish themselves, but some guidance never helps."
"Uh, do you want me to supervise them?" He asks hesitantly. "I don't know if I can keep up with everything else…"
"Hardly anything so taxing." You reply. "Speak to them at meals, provide direction and guidance and answer any questions they have. I am not asking you to oversee them, merely speak with them on occasion so they do not get too lost on what to do. I too, shall be available and you can direct them to me if you are busy."
He sighs in relief and nods. "Yeah, I can do that. They going to be making anything unusual?"
"No. Thank you for your assistance, you have been a valuable ally ever since you first came here." You praise him.
He scratches his cheek embarrassedly. "Thank you. I'm just glad that I can be with the most beautiful, radiant, vision of loveliness…"
You tune out his usual litany of praises for his love, mind already on the next task of your week.
The Grandest of Oaks
Xandar sets off into the forest. He is determined to keep his streak going. He's recruited Herman, now he's going to try and recruit the Grand Oak! Or at least find out if he's one of those ents.
The young human knocks on his head lightly. He was such an idiot! He'd had plenty of time to speak to the Grand Oak last week and he just hadn't. And the Oak was so lonely and funny with its rhyming. Even if nothing else happened, Xandar would really like to be the tree's friend.
Finding the Oak is easier said than done. The tree has moved again! Which was rude of him, not telling Xandar where he was going. Or maybe he wanted to but since Xandar didn't talk to him he couldn't. Oh no.
Xandar clasps his hands together in front of his face. He's sorry Mr Oak, he shouldn't have run off without asking where the tree lived.
Xandar clenches his fist in determination, this makes it much more important that he finds the Oak, so he can apologise! With renewed vigour he resumes his search.
Finally, after way too long searching, he finds the Oak.
Running up to the tree he throws his arms around its trunks and wails, "I'm sorry!"
"It is a surprise to see thee, but why dost thou embrace this tree?" The Grand Oak says, sounding bemused and concerned. "I cannot ease thy remorse, if thou shall not share its source."
"I didn't stick around to find out where you were going." Xandar explains, sniffling. "And so you couldn't tell me where you went, and you must have been so lonely."
"Thou need fear it not, for only joy is my lot." The Grand Oak replies, joy in its voice. "Thou hath eased my troubled heart, for my acorn and I are no more apart. For bringing my sadness to an end, I would count thee as a friend."
"Really?" Xandar asks, looking up at the tree with wide eyes. "I've never made a friend all by myself before."
"It seems strange that that should be, for you seem quite the friend to me." The Grand Oak replies. "Kind in word and heart and deed, what more should a good friend need?"
"I don't know, I make people nervous sometimes." Xandar says, finally letting the Grand Oak go. "They don't understand why I do what I do, and it makes them want to stay away."
"Much like you I cause fear, for few would trust a Sylvan here." Mr. Oak commiserates.
"Well I'm not afraid of you." Xandar reassures the tree. "And it's not all bad. I have Teacher, and Herman and Merrill and everyone in the Watchtower. It's why I felt bad for leaving you alone."
"I am not alone while I have my seed. No other thing do I need." The sylvan pauses for a moment. "Though you I do not mean to scorn, but I am never alone with my acorn."
For a moment the two lapse into comfortable silence. Xandar turning over his plans in his head. He's not quite sure what he wants to do, really. He's glad to have made a friend.
At this point Xandar springs to his feet to thrust his fist into the air in triumph.
"What are you doing there? Why do you raise your fist into the air?" Asks the Grand Oak.
"Oh, it's to show that I'm feeling excited because I achieved something." Xandar explains. "Do you want to try it?"
The Grand Oak looks at its hands for a few moments, and the slowly extends one into the sky.
"Yes, that's it!" Xandar exclaims. "Now, next time you need to make it a bit more explosive, like you're really filled with energy that's going to burst out of you if you don't get rid of it."
"I will try to do as you ask, but it seems strange to move so fast." The Grand Oak grumbles.
The two spend some time working on the Grand Oak's success gesture, to little avail. Still, it gives time for Xandar to make up his mind about what he wants to talk about.
One good thing about talking trees is that they're very patient. Most people would probably object if Xandar suddenly stopped talking and stood there in silence. The Grand Oak just asked if he was alright and then fell silent himself? herself? itself? What gender was a tree anyway?
"Hey Grand Oak." Xandar says. "Should I call you a boy tree or a girl tree, or are you neither? I mean, you sound male, but I just kind of realised that I don't actually know."
There is a long silence that makes Xandar feel somewhat uncomfortable. Still, the Grand Oak let him think, so he feels obligated to return the favour.
"Hmmm, whether male or female I be, such things matter not to a tree." The tree says at last. "Call me whichever thou desire, I shall not name thee a liar."
"Ok Mr. Grand Oak." Xandar replies, internally resolving to ask Teacher about it to be sure. "I have another question."
"Ask away little man, I shall answer as best I can." Grand Oak states with an amused tone.
"Can I call you Oak? Or Grand? Or GO?" Xandar asks rapidly.
The Grand Oak sways slowly. Bizarrely, it almost looks like it's trying to tilt its head, but the end result is more like there is a gentle breeze blowing.
Which there isn't.
"I do not wish to be addressed in such a way, The Grand Oak I wish to stay." Said Oak proclaims.
"Really? I mean, I'll obviously abide by your decisions, but why don't you want a nickname?" Xandar asks.
"Perhaps a name is a changeable thing to thee, but it is a matter of great import to me." The Grand Oak states gravely. "The Grand Oak I am, and the Grand Oak is me. It is all that I am and wish to be."
"That kind of sounded like something Teacher would say." Xandar muses, more to himself than the tree.
Actually, he was pretty sure it was something more like 'each name represents me, and part of who I am. I would not forsake any of them, thus you may choose whichever you please. It is why I have three.' Or something along those lines, Teacher talked strangely.
Speaking of Teacher. "Hey, Grand Oak, are you an Ent?"
"I do not know the word 'ent', might thou tell me what thou meant?" The Grand Oak asks.
"My teacher told me about them." Xandar exclaims. "They are great creatures, tree herders who were created to look after everything that grows. They looked like trees, but they walked and talked and even fought monsters!"
"Your teacher thought I was such a being? Does that match with what you are seeing?" Asks the tree.
Xandar shakes his head. "No, he just described them while we were talking about the creatures of his homeland. We also talked about eagles with wings as long as a tree is tall, and a giant dog that killed a spirit."
"I fear that you have been misled, I am a sylvan as I have said." The Grand Oak says slowly, almost ponderously.
"Really?" Xandar asks. "Because I thought they all got banished when teacher sent that light around."
"Those who were banished were those most insane, others less mad yet still remain." The Grand Oak states.
"Really? I haven't seen any of them." Xandar remarks.
"Those who remain embrace their fate, they are in a most treelike state." The Grand Oak says sadly. "Slow to move or think or act, and no longer waiting to attack. That you have not seen them is no surprise, they have a most treelike guise."
Xandar frowns. "So you're saying they're slow, don't think much and just look like normal trees? Or something else."
"The first is what I said, I had thought for some time they all were dead." The Grand Oak explains. "Instead it seems as though they are cursed, into their new forms so deeply immersed."
"Ok. So are they changing? Like becoming a different spirit like the Lady or is it more like they're just tired?" Xandar asks with a frown.
The Grand Oak's great shoulders shudder in an attempted shrug. "I know not, they are not a talkative lot."
Xandar chewed his lip in thought, deciding what to say next.
"So, I have a question." Xandar blurts out. "What's it like being a Sylvan?"
"How is it to be a man? Explain it to me, if thou can." The Grand Oak replies.
"Uh, well, it's kind of like. Huh…" Xandar trails off slowly.
"To identify that which is experienced every day, it is not quite so easy to say." The Grand Oak observes. "If thou art unable to do so, then neither is there a way that I know."
"I guess this kind of explains why Teacher doesn't talk about himself much." Xandar muses. "He seems to know people pretty well so he can compare, but even so it's probably still hard."
Xandar's not really sure what to think or feel at the moment. He's never really had a problem with talking to teacher, or this tree and for the first time it really strikes him that neither of them are human. Actually, now that he thinks about it neither is Merrill.
How different are they? Are they making allowances and do all elves have to do it? Is that why elves and humans don't get on, because they're so different?
Xandar doesn't have the answers to these questions and he does not like that fact.
"Can you tell me why you're not mad? Or why the ones who went mad did?" Xandar asks at last.
"Hmmmmm. That is a most difficult thing to tell. I had first thought it the result of a spell." The Grand Oak rumbles. "Yet now my kin lie stilled by song, and I must say that I was wrong."
"Stilled by song?" Xandar asks suddenly. "What song?"
"Do you not hear it? It lingers still." The Grand Oak tilts its 'head'. "It came with the light, from over that hill. It sings of soil and rain and sky. I find it peaceful, though I know not why."
"I remember dreaming about a green place that one time I borrowed it as a nightlight." Xandar offers. "That might have something to do with it."
"Perhaps indeed, but we have wander from our conversation's start. Let us return 'ere too far we part." The Grand Oak ends the conversation. "You asked why my kin were mad or sane, and I would not have that question be in vain."
"I am conversation ready!" Xandar exclaims, saluting. "Hit me with your knowingness ness."
"The madness is no spell nor art of mage. It is nothing less than a spirit's rage." The Elder Tree explains, voice sombre. "Thy world is stiff and cold much like stone. Rather unlike the world of our home."
"We call it the Fade. Or the Beyond, but Fade is easier to say." Xandar supplies
"The Fade, as you call it, is quick to change, a world we cannot shape we find quite strange." The Grand Oak continues. "When things are strange, then some grow mad while others instead grow quite sad. A spirit is as a spirit feels, and so the source of madness is revealed."
"So basically some spirits get angry because they don't understand the current world? And the ones that don't become sad instead?" Xandar asks.
The Grand Oak shakes its head. "Sorrow too swiftly grows anew, into hate their emotions skew. To stand alone within this wood is more than any spirit could have stood."
"Oh! That's why you're fine!" Xandar cries. "You have your acorn!"
"My acorn soothes my weary heart, and I should die if we were apart." The tree confirms.
"So the ones that stayed were the sad ones?" Xandar asks
"Sad no more, but restful be. More than a simple tree." The Grand Oak rumbles. "Less than I, asleep they lie."
"I wonder if they'll ever wake up." Xandar wonders aloud.
"I know not of any art that could reach a wooden heart." The tree says sadly.
"Don't worry Grand Oak." Xandar pats the trunk of his friend. "You have your acorn, and I'll come visit too. Maybe I can even convince Teacher to come. He made the light with the song you know."
"I look forward to meeting the mage who could quiet a spirits rage." The Grand Oak replies warmly. "I will look for him to accompany thee to meet with this poet tree."
A Long Neglected Hoby
To say that your week is busy is something of an understatement. Between three meetings, scouting the forest and putting out the literal fire the Hermit started, you have had almost no time for yourself.
The door to the library closes silently, the hinges oiled especially to allow you to do so. The shelves are bare and the fire is all but out. It creates an eerie atmosphere, one that likely features in scary stories around the world. Well, wherever writing has been invented anyway.
You walk to the one shelf with contents.
"Hello old friends." You whisper. "It's been a while."
You reach out and pluck The Family Amladris from the shelf.
The book must be handled delicately, it is old and worn in a manner that you find irritating. Some people do not know how to treat a book, and it annoys you.
Carefully you take it to a nearby table, and place it down. Then, with something to rest it against, you open it. A decision that proves wise when several pages fall out at once.
Resisting the urge to rebind the whole thing, you begin to read.
Herein lies enclosed a brief account of the significant members of the Magisterial house Amladris. Accounted such that lineage might be traced, and the youth might know the heights of glory they aspire to.
Tiberius Amladris
Born 180 TE, Tiberius joined a Circle age seven after discovering his prodigious magical talent…
The book talks at length of the man who proves to be the founder of the house, how his service against the elves enriched him in plunder and slaves. How he leveraged that wealth and prestige to become a magister and entrench his family in the dynastic politics of his homeland.
Several times as you read, you must put the book down and walk away. The casual glee the author takes in the destruction and enslavement of your kin, however distant, fills you with white hot rage. Still, you force yourself through the rest of the entry, determined to know who you are dealing with regarding the Amladaris.
The entry on Julius Amladris, son of a slave is what finally stops you.
In mixed fury and disgust you end your reading session for that day. When you return, you flip through the book searching for the relevant information. The sooner you are done with this book the happier you will be.
Finally, after more time than you ever wanted to spend on this book, you find it.
Sethius Amladaris
Born 762 TE, Sethius Amladaris joined the Circle age 12 and proved an able student, if a not particularly impressive one. His hard work and dedication saw him join the ranks of the Magisters by the time he was 20.
Despite this achievement he was not held in particularly high esteem, but he proved an able and ambitious politician in the finest traditions of his house. He was part of the power block that created and passed the 785 reconstitution of land rights bill that saw House Amladaris acquire its current holdings.
Following this aged only 23 he joined the priesthood of Dumat (the most prestigious of the priesthoods I should not need to say, but alas many of my contemporaries sow lies among the people). Within two years he was the high priest.
Despite having proven worthy of his grand lineage, young Sethius was not satisfied and in the year 795, aged just 33, he heard the voice of Dumat himself commanding him to come to the Golden City itself to be honoured for his service.
Sethius, now known by the cognomen Corypheus
Here the voice suddenly changes in the writing, and you recognise markings that are used to indicate a note apart from the text.
This term seems to mean 'choir master' or perhaps 'conductor'. The usage is unclear as is the provenance of the cognomen. Perhaps due to his part in assembling the Magisters Sideral?
From there the text continues to list various deeds of this 'Corypheus', mostly mundane political dramas and some genuinely interesting magical discoveries.
The section ends with the following words.
In the year 800 TE, Sethius Corypheus Amladaris breached the Veil and entered the Golden City.
The rest of the book contains no further tales of the house, merely these notes.
The Magisters Sideral were supposed to have been transformed into the first darkspawn, but I can find no record of them. I do not doubt that records existed, but the Imperium is fierce in destroying any mention of this event. Even more so since they converted to this new religion.
However, not all hope is lost. There are records of Grey Wardens meeting darkspawn who could speak and think after the Blight, the First Blight as I suppose we must now call it, passed. I will seek them out, demand their records. It is clear now that these, events, will continue. There must be a way to end them, and the Magisters Sideral are our best hope.
Then the book ends. Curious, you turn back to the front, to the introduction you had largely skimmed. It writes with a rather different voice.
I found, among my mother's old possessions, a curious book. It was falling apart and written in the language of old Tevinter. Curious I set to translating it, and found it a most strange tome. Sadly, it was of incredibly poor quality, half moth eaten and with the cover falling apart. I have translated it as best I can so that it might not be lost to the march of years.
My mother's notes do not reveal where she found it, but she did include a tale that the man who sold it to her claimed it had once been accompanied by a scribbled note in the same hand as had written the book. Notably the name Regulan, which is all the bookseller could understand of the note. Sadly, I do not know if this is the husband of Andraste's daughter or not. Still I include the information as interesting
I hope whomever reads this finds the tales as intriguing as I did. Perhaps you can solve the mystery where I have failed.
The name is too blurred to read.
Interesting. If you are reading this right, you are at least two hands removed from the original author. The first is obviously in the employ of House Amladaris, the second looking into the work at a later date seeking answers as to these 'Magisters Sidereal', then the third who had translated the tome and notes both into the tongue of Ferelden.
You review your notes on the book and the book itself. You have learned frustratingly little in some ways, and so much in others. You knew that you needed to seek Tevinter already, and much of the politicking and magic tells you nothing of why he was so important.
However you have several leads, and the knowledge that he is related to the First Blight somehow. Perhaps even as a darkspawn. Your notes are short, little more than a list of possible new leads.
Dumat
Golden City
Magisters Sidereal
Origins of the Blight?
Idly you tap pen on page, before making one final note.
Sethius still alive?