In order to tackle the issue of both the high dragon and the wyverns at once, Ellethir had reinforcements called from Skyhold, the Iron Bull and his Chargers by far the most enthusiastic to face down the dragon. While half of her team was out raiding the wyverns' nest, which had established itself far too close to Crestwood's already tenuous farmlands for comfort, she and the rest of the reinforcements went out to the old ruins to confront the high dragon, a vicious Northern Hunter which spat bursts of lightning at anything that moved within its range.
From scouts to soldiers, every Inquisition agent in Crestwood skilled with a bow was called upon to fire at the dragon on its perch atop the ruins, and it was a slow, draining fight. Eventually it grew impatient and descended onto the field, lashing out with claws, teeth, even its tail, until it finally began to slow down, overwhelmed by numerous injuries. The Iron Bull managed to snag the final blow to his great satisfaction, great-axe swinging upwards and lodging itself between the creatures' neck and chin.
Bolstered by their victory, what Inquisition forces that did not remain to hold Caer Bronach returned to Skyhold exhausted and sore, but feeling like proud heroes of old, showing off dragon scales, talons, and newly-formed scars. To those who'd been present at the cave with Stroud, however, the success felt hollow in the face of what was ahead of them. The plans for making the journey to the Western Approach were already well underway when Fae entered the war room, where everyone inside was poring over Stroud's map, tiny in comparison to the map of Thedas which covered most of the vhenadahl-wood table.
"Welcome, Seer," Stroud said, looking up briefly.
"Sorry I'm late," Fae apologised. "I got held up." By an overly eager Orlesian dowager who was convinced I could make contact with her long-dead pet peacock, she wanted to add, but she thought better of mentioning that part.
"Not at all, you are just in time. Sister Leliana was about to go over our finalised travel route."
Leliana placed a gloved finger on the map. "You will go directly through the Dales- Scout Harding has already taken her best to carve out a path that will avoid as much contact with either side of the Orlesian civil war efforts as possible. The Deauvin Flats shouldn't be an issue either, but if anything goes awry up to this point, Josephine has received word from Comte Guillaume that the Inquisition has leave to take temporary sanctuary in Val Firmin. After that, you are on your own until you reach the ritual tower, which stands near the beginning of the Abyssal Reach, from our direction."
"Are there no other landmarks nearby where the Inquisition could take shelter?" Cullen asked, squinting at the map. "The Western Approach was the site of many battles during the Blight. Surely there are other ruins?"
Stroud placed a small tower figurine over a marked spot further along the line denoting the Abyssal Reach. "There should be an old Warden outpost here, Griffon Wing Keep. The Wardens had it built to watch over the chasm- that is, the Abyssal Reach, from where the darkspawn emerged to destroy the area. The land never recovered, and the weather conditions made it a highly undesirable outpost, until it was eventually abandoned altogether. It was dwarven-made, so I expect it would still be standing, but having not been there myself, I cannot say for certain how far away it is from our primary destination. If it is close…it is likely the Venatori have already claimed it for themselves."
"In that case, it may be something better considered later," Cullen conceded.
"Indeed," Leliana stood up straight, hands behind her back. "The Inquisitor's party will set out tomorrow at dawn. Good luck."
The first part of the journey went smoothly, but when the party reached the area where dirt road became endless dark sand dunes, it was easy to understand why the Grey Wardens so readily abandoned the area long ago. It was hard to believe that the barren desert they now traversed was once verdant and plentiful. Only the toughest of shrubs and the occasional cluster of wiry trees managed to survive out here, and the same went for the native fauna. Hyenas stalked these lands for whatever they could find, which more often than not were giant spiders, aggressive and relentless in their own hunting. There were also phoenixes, quillbacks and varghests known to prowl the area, although the party never saw more than an errant feather or scale dropped here and there, sticking out of the sand like needles.
The Western Approach's landscape was not by any means welcoming, but by far the most difficult aspect of its environment was the wind; hot, constant, and whipping sand along with it so fiercely that everyone took to covering as much of their faces as they could, their hands always hovering protectively over their eyes. They knew the tower was close by when they came upon a recently abandoned campsite, which was hurriedly repurposed for their own.
As soon as her tent was up, Fae dived in, grateful to no longer be in the immediate firing line of the wind, and drank, her waterskin drained in seconds. She only mildly regretted it afterwards, when she remembered that their current water supply was limited to a number of barrels they'd brought by bronto-led cart. Rest was temporary, as well; the party was only stopping here to give a handful of scouts, led by Stroud and Hawke, time to find and get close enough to the ritual tower to assess the situation. Fae wasn't even sure she'd actually fallen asleep when the scouts returned, reporting a much smaller Grey Warden presence than expected, apparently following the orders of an unidentified mage.
On their approach, the Inquisitor's party could see that the tower itself was a ruin, once part of a larger structure. Now, it consisted of a final remaining archway, which led to a now open corridor, still partially walled on either side in the jagged architectural style of ancient Tevinter. At the end of the corridor was a long, steep staircase, which judging by the spiky pillars high up in the distance, opened up onto a wider platform. A familiar, haunting stench permeated the hot air more intensely as they grew closer.
Stroud and Hawke were waiting for them, hidden by the archway.
"I'm glad you made it," Stroud said, batting away a fly. "We've seen lights coming from the tower ahead- I fear they've already started the ritual."
"Blood magic, I'd wager," Hawke added. "Whatever lies inside won't be pretty. You take point, Inquisitor. We'll guard your backs."
With Fae on one side and the Iron Bull on the other, and the rest of the party in formation behind them, Ellethir moved forward. At the top of the flight of stairs, the Iron Bull raised a hand, motioning for everyone to halt. Directly ahead of them, on the platform, was as Hawke predicted, a grisly scene. A pile of corpses in Grey Warden attire lay slumped on one side, while several other Wardens stood by and watched. Standing in between these Wardens were several demons, hissing and snarling impatiently, and on a raised stage at the back stood an exquisitely-dressed mage. In the centre of the area, a Fade rift crackled, and below it one of the Grey Wardens cowered, backing away from another who was gradually advancing, dagger in hand.
"Wait...no…" the first begged.
"Warden-Commander Clarel's orders were clear," the mage behind him said sternly.
"This is wrong!" the Warden implored.
"Remember your oath," the mage said drolly. "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance, in death…"
As he spoke, the Warden backed away from the mage, and the other Warden stepped behind him. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely, and as the first turned to look at him, the second's dagger sank directly into his chest.
"…Sacrifice," the mage finished. As the first Warden fell, the second pulled out the dagger, and a wave of blood spilled from the wound in an unnatural kind of steam. The blood floated onto a point on the ground, which flashed as it absorbed the blood, momentarily revealing the glyph placed there. From this point a demon of rage rose, shrieking angrily.
"Good," the mage nodded. "Now bind it, just as I showed you."
Ellethir had seen enough. She marched forward angrily.
"Inquisitor," the mage noted sarcastically as he bowed with a flourish. "What an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service."
"You have no right to command these men. You are no warden," Stroud growled, stepping in beside the Iron Bull.
"But you are," Erimond sighed. "The one Clarel let slip. And you sought out the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?"
"Wardens! This man is lying to you," Ellethir appealed to the group of Wardens who still stood. They stared hollowly back at her. "He serves an ancient Tevinter magister, one of the original darkspawn! He is your enemy- whatever promises he has made, I assure you he has no intention of fulfilling them!"
Erimond cocked his head. "That's a very serious accusation. Let's see what the Wardens think. Wardens, hands up." The mage raised his hand, and the Wardens followed suit, each raising their hand. "Hands down." Each hand was lowered.
"Corypheus has overtaken their minds," Stroud hissed.
"They did this to themselves," Erimond clarified. "You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked everywhere for help."
Stroud scowled. "Even Tevinter."
Erimond smirked. "Yes. And since it was my master who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan…Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake."
Ellethir paled. "Corypheus marching across Orlais with an army of demons? That was part of that…terrible future I saw, at Redcliffe."
"And now you know how it begins," Erimond raised his hands in a grandiose gesture. "Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They're now my master's slaves. Today's ritual was merely a test. Once the rest of the Wardens complete it, our army will conquer Thedas."
"You claim the Warden-Commander is allowing this to happen of her own free will," Hawke called out to him. "But Clarel is a mage, she knows the danger of dealing with demons. Why would she risk trying to use them?"
Erimond shrugged. "Demons need no food, no rest, no healing. Once bound, they will never retreat, never question orders. They are the perfect army to fight through the Deep Roads. Or across Orlais, now that they are bound to my master."
"And if the world falls to the Blight as a result? What would you get out of ruling a dead world?" Stroud challenged.
"The Elder One commands the Blight, he is not commanded by it, like the mindless darkspawn," Erimond rolled his eyes. "The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is simply a tool."
"He's a tool," Fae heard Sera mutter behind her.
"As for me," Erimond continued. "While the Elder One rules from the Golden City, we, the Venatori, will be his god-kings here in the world."
Ellethir's eyes narrowed. "Release the Wardens from the binding and surrender," she commanded. "I won't ask twice."
"No, you won't," Erimond sneered. He raised out an arm, and from his hand a light similar to Ellethir's mark began to form, only this light was an eerie red. Ellethir's mark activated in response, the way it did just before she closed Fade rifts, but this time the Inquisitor winced, the apparent pain enough to make her lurch forward to her knees, clutching her wrist.
"The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again. That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master. He's been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade."
Ellethir clambered back to her feet, and lifted her marked hand towards the Fade rift which still hovered ahead of her.
"When I bring him your head," Erimond bragged, "his gratitude will be—" Ellethir pulled her hand away from the rift, and it closed with a loud snap. Somehow it affected Erimond too, who fell back with a cry.
The mage stood back up shakily, and began to hobble away. "Kill them!" he shouted, clambering over a wall and out of sight. The possessed Wardens and their demons charged at the party, although it was the demons who put up more of a fight, while the Wardens batted weakly at their opponents with their staves; it seemed that the demons had some trouble with the unfamiliar sensation of controlling two physical bodies at once, with the added pressure of defending both against attack. When it was over, everyone gathered around the Inquisitor.
"We were correct," Stroud said solemnly. "Through this ritual, the Warden mages are slaves to Corypheus."
"And the warriors are being sacrificed. What a waste of life. What fools," Hawke panted.
"Erimond lied to them," Stroud insisted. "They were trying to prevent future Blights."
"With blood magic and sacrifice?"
"They've made a terrible mistake, Hawke," Fae acknowledged. "But they clearly thought they had no other choice. The Grey Wardens have all sworn on their lives to defeat the Blight, and they must have believed this was their last chance."
Hawke shook her head. "There is always a choice. No matter the justification, they chose this."
Ellethir turned to Stroud. "Erimond said today was a test for more rituals to come, and the bulk of the Grey Warden forces are clearly not here, so where are they?"
"Erimond fled in that direction," Stroud said, pointing. "There's another abandoned Warden fortress that way, it's called Adamant. It stands on the very edge of the Abyssal Reach."
"Then that is where we must go," Ellethir said firmly. "Corypheus must not be allowed to acquire his demon army."
"And the Wardens cannot be allowed to fall," Fae added.
Stroud nodded. "Hawke and I will scout Adamant first, to confirm that the rest of the Wardens are indeed there. We'll meet you back at Skyhold."