The Arrival
After several days of traveling deep within the dense, shadowed expanse of the Brecilian Forest, the group—Alistair, Zevran, Leliana, and Cullen—began to find their first traces of Dalish elves. Scattered signs of abandoned camps lay in their path: charred fire pits, broken tent frames, and footprints vanishing into the underbrush. The Dalish, ever the nomads, seldom lingered long in one place. Zevran, with his assassin's instincts honed for tracking, led the party, deftly following the faint trails that hinted at the elves' direction.
Night had fallen, blanketing the forest in an eerie stillness, when a sharp, piercing scream shattered the silence. It came from behind the group. They stopped, startled, and turned their gazes toward the source: Tamlen.
The group had left Tamlen tied to a tree on the outskirts of Honleath. As they returned they took him back with them. He was bound in chains around his arms and legs, so if he succumbs to the taint completely, they were safe form him. But Tamlen's condition had deteriorated with each passing day. His words, once coherent if rare, had dissolved into guttural, animalistic noises. His voice now resembled the agonized cries of a beast—or something far worse.
The scream that had just torn from his lips caused Cullen to wince, his patience visibly fraying. He turned to Alistair, his voice sharp with frustration. "If this doesn't stop soon, I'll put him down myself."
Alistair's gaze darted uneasily to Tamlen, concern clouding his expression. Tamlen had collapsed to the ground, clutching his sides as though his very flesh pained him. His fingers—if they could still be called that—had become claw-like, the nails thick and jagged. Veins of black ichor spread across his pallid skin, a grotesque mark of the Taint.
"Mirror…near…Aaaargh!" Tamlen rasped, the word barely discernible before another anguished scream escaped him.
The group instinctively clutched at their ears to block the agonizing sound. But before they could react further, a sudden whoosh cut through the air, and an arrow embedded itself into the ground just inches from Tamlen's feet.
Leliana, ever quick, drew her bow in response and scanned the forest ahead. Her companions followed her gaze, their weapons at the ready. Then, from the shadows of the dense foliage, the sound of rustling leaves grew louder, surrounding them.
One by one, lithe figures emerged from the underbrush, bows drawn and daggers glinting in the faint moonlight. Dalish elves.
"Well, if I'm not mistaken," Zevran quipped with a sly grin, raising his hands in mock surrender, "I believe we've found the Dalish. Or perhaps they've found us."
The lead elf, a stern-faced man with piercing green eyes, stepped forward, his bow trained on Leliana. "Shemlen," he hissed, the word heavy with disdain. "You'll do as I say if you value your lives."
"Easy now, we're not here to cause trouble," Alistair interjected, motioning for Leliana to lower her bow. His tone was calm, though tension hung in the air. "Quite the opposite, really. We've come to ask for your help."
The elf's eyes narrowed in suspicion, his grip on the bowstring unwavering. Another elf approached him, whispering in Elvish while gesturing toward Tamlen. The leader's gaze shifted to the afflicted elf, his expression hardening.
"What is that creature you've brought here?" the lead elf demanded, his tone cold.
Tamlen, though clearly in pain, pushed himself to his knees. His head hung low as he muttered a single word, shaking his head in despair. "Brother."
The Dalish exchanged uneasy glances. The leader's stern expression faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of doubt as he leaned closer to one of his companions to confer in hushed tones.
Zevran, sensing the tension, couldn't resist a playful jab. "I do believe they're warming up to us," he said lightly, though his smirk faded when Cullen shot him a glare.
"If you want to keep that silver tongue of yours, elf, I suggest you hold it," Cullen growled.
The Dalish leader turned back to the group, his expression guarded. "We will take you to our Keeper," he announced, his voice firm. "But be warned—one wrong move, and you'll have an arrow in your back before you can draw your next breath."
Alistair nodded, keeping his tone respectful. "Understood. Lead the way."
As the group began to move, flanked by the Dalish, Alistair leaned slightly toward Leliana and whispered with a faint smirk, "What a charming welcome. Do you think we can hope for warm tea and cozy blankets next?"
Leliana returned his smirk with a soft chuckle. "Oh, I'm certain, Alistair. And perhaps they'll even sing us a lullaby—right before they throw us out into the cold again."
The lead elf shot them a sharp glance, silencing any further banter as the tense procession continued deeper into the forest.