Every inch of the Western Approach was an oasis compared to its neighbouring lands to the north. The Hissing Wastes earned its name by the sheer size of the barren desert, and its constant whistling winds, with few structures besides its broad cliff faces to absorb the sound. Inquisition scouts arrived to intercept the Inquisitor's party and lead them to the forward camp, already set up. The camp itself was an unusual arrangement; with the sands shifting as constantly as they did, it was impractical to set up full tents as usual, so instead they'd tied the fabric walls of would-be tents to various short brick pillars that jutted stubbornly out of the ground, the last remains of whatever structure it was once meant to be.

"Inquisitor!" Scout Harding manouvred her way around the pillars. "Welcome, welcome. This place is the worst. Remember when I said the Western Approach might be the worst place in the entire world? I stand corrected. This is the worst place in the entire world. It's sandy, dark and cold, and this space is nothing but…space. But, Corypheus wouldn't send his Venatori here if he didn't think there was nothing to find."

"It's good to see you, Harding," Ellethir greeted, and looked around at the nothingness surrounding them. "Have you had much luck charting all this space?"

"I did find something for ya. Old ruins, some as bad as the one we're technically in. The others are being excavated by the Venatori. Well, by their slaves. We managed to snipe a couple of Venatori on the move, no slaves with them, but they had a map. Isobel?"

An ebony-haired dwarven woman with the facial tattoos of the casteless brought a frayed map over and unfurled it, holding it open wordlessly for lack of a table.

"Thanks, Is. We think its pointing to the ruins of an old tomb. Really old, considering nothing's been built here since before the Second Blight destroyed the area, so that's what…eight hundred years ago, ish?"

"Tevinter?"

"Well that's the thing! Isobel here is from Orzammar. She's told us that judging by the architecture, these ruins are dwarven. On. The. Surface," Harding emphasised. "Impossible, but there ya go. Trouble is, without knowing where we are now, it'll be hard to find where this tomb is. Your best bet is probably finding Venatori and following them, seeing as they seem to know where they're going. My last report had them sighted them northwest of here."

"Thank you, Harding, and Isobel," Ellethir nodded. "We'll do it this way. When we find Venatori, if they have slaves with them, we prioritise getting the slaves free and away safely first. No slaves, and we try to stay out of sight and let the Venatori lead us to wherever they're operating. Whatever they want, we must beat them to it. You're right, Harding. If there's something out here important enough for Corypheus to send his people out here, then it's important enough for us to make sure he doesn't get it."

It didn't take long to find their first Venatori. "Are those lights in the distance? Someone's made a fire," Varric scoffed. "I guess they either don't know the Inquisition is here yet, or no one's bothered to keep them updated."

"Stay low," Ellethir ordered.

The entire party kneeled down by the edge of the short cliff, praying it would remain stable while they were on it.

"On my word, everyone who can fire at range, fire. Take them down by surprise before they can use that slave wagon as a shield. Now!"

There were only four Venatori, and a series of arrows, ice shards and lightning strikes had them slumping to the ground almost in synchronisation. There was a jolt of movement from the slave wagon.

"Did anyone misfire?" Ellethir stood up, and the rest with her.

Sera shook her head. "Nah, they're alive in there, I think we just scared the shit out of them though."

The Iron Bull shot her a quizzical look. "You can see that far away?"

Sera gestured to her bow in response.

"Right."

"Can you see how many there are?" Ellethir was already up and half-sliding down the cliff towards the camp before Sera could answer.

"Well, I can see one guy moving."

The one living slave in the wagon was a greying elf with wiry muscles, who scrambled away as far as he could, tripping over several unmoving forms. "I am yours, I am yours!" he held his hands up placatingly.

"No…" Ellethir put her hands up as well. "I'm sorry we scared you. But we didn't kill these Venatori to kidnap you. You're a free man now, hahren. Cole?"

Cole was already working at the padlock on the wagon. "We are not runaway slaves, and we are not mercenaries. We are the Inquisition," he answered the man's unspoken question. "The Venatori steal things and people. We are stopping them."

"The Inquisition? The masters were talking about you…" the man climbed carefully down from the wagon with some assistance. "They knew you were coming, they were in a hurry…" He looked back at the wagon. "They didn't even bother chaining us. Knew we were too tired to run."

"Maker…" Ser Jean wiped his brow. "One of my men will escort you to the Inquisition's camp. With luck, you may journey to Skyhold to recover before long."

"Oh? Alright. Thank you…" They watched the man leave slowly, leaning on the accompanying chevalier for support.

Ser Jean noticed Sera scowling at him. "May I help you?"

Sera snorted. "Acting the noble hero? Just because it's against the law doesn't mean there's no slaves in Orlais. You seriously think people don't know that?"

"I beg your par—?" He started indignantly, but Cassandra shut it down immediately. "We have work to do. Let us continue."

The next camp they found had only one Venatori soldier, who immediately surrendered the second he saw the sheer number of people in the eccentric-looking group surrounding him. A young man huddled on the ground beside the wagon, chained to it.

Dorian went towards him, and the man panicked. "Please don't!"

"He's shaking like a leaf," Dorian hesitated.

"Of course he is," Ellethir moved to take Dorian's place, but Fae put a hand on her arm. "We're mages. We'll only scare him too. Blackwall, can you bring him back to the camp?"

"'Course I can. Come on lad, you're under the protection of the Inquisition now, but you're a free man."

"But, I…"

"We can talk it through over supper, but no one's going to hurt you anymore, that's a promise."

"If you're sure…?"

"Our magic alone?" Ellethir asked under her breath as the two left. "I didn't think Tevinters would be afraid of elves at all, even if we were mages."

"I have a friend, Orana," Fae whispered back. "A slave rescued by Hawke and the others on one of their jobs. Everyone she knew, including her family, were sacrificed for blood magic in a ritual the crew had interrupted outside the city. Orana was the only survivor, and Hawke gave her a job to have somewhere to stay. I was staying with Hawke too, at the time, and Orana was relieved to find another elf in the household. But, eventually, my being an apostate came up. She didn't speak to me for two weeks."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, but she wasn't angry. Just scared. We worked it out in the end."

"Is she alright, now?"

"I think so. She's with Merrill's camp. Plays the lute."

"Inquisitor?"

The Inquisitor and the Seer both looked around to see the Venatori on his knees with his hands behind his head, Cassandra's greatsword aimed at his throat.

"So, what can you tell us that will hold back the great Cassandra Pentaghast's sword?" Dorian asked blithely.

"I have papers! In the satchel over there!"

"Good start!"

Varric rummaged through the satchel and presented the papers to Ellethir.

She read the first one. "This one is signed by someone called… Harmmomum. Harnomum. Harmmonum. Anyway, something about giant spiders pouring into the canyon, and the haughty Red Templars of the south. So, the Venatori also have willing volunteers for labour among their number. If you can call Red Templars willing." She handed the note back to Varric and went through the next few. "These are all like the drawings Harding gave us. More tombs?"

"Yes, Inquisitor," the Venatori said breathlessly. "There's half a dozen. One of them is in the canyon. I found another ruin over that way," he pointed with his head. "But I don't know if it's a tomb. I don't believe so."

"What are you looking for in the tombs?"

"I'm not sure exactly. Some kind of treasure, I think? Or a weapon, maybe?" the Venatori rambled. "Something to make up for Alexius' failure at Redcliffe."

"Do you know anything else?"

"No! I swear, I swear by all the old gods of Tevinter that's all I know."

"Fine. We'll head to this unknown ruin nearby first. Everyone, follow me." Ellethir turned to begin the march, but Cassandra called her back.

"Inquisitor?"

"Yes?"

"The Venatori prisoner?"

"Oh. Bring him with us. Watch him, Cassandra. Leliana can help me decide what to do with him when we return to Skyhold."

"She'd hand him over to Sister Nightingale? Maker, I thought Andraste's Herald would be more, you know, gentle, like Andraste," Blanchet murmured.

"Andraste also led an army," one of the other chevaliers shrugged.

"The Inquisitor was trained to lead a Dalish clan," Varric pointed out. "If she wasn't already gentle compared to other Dalish, he'd already be dead."

"So it's true, the Dalish really can be terrifying…"

The ruins they found were only a little better preserved than the ruins currently being used as a forward camp, but it at least had one covered chamber. It looked like anything of value had already been looted, save for several inscribed panels with unfamiliar writing.

"Don't suppose you can read Old Dwarven, Varric?" Fae asked hopefully.

"Nope! Luckily for us, someone can. Or at least he was trying to," Varric held up a battered-looking journal he'd found on the floor. "Something about several Houses leaving their thaigs centuries ago, to settle under one leader. Apparently, they were fleeing from a war, or a potential war, he's not sure."

"Does that mean there could be a fallen thaig somewhere underneath us?" Fae glanced down at the ground suspiciously.

"Maker, I hope not. Falling into a darkspawn-ridden thaig by means of surprise quicksand is only something I want to entertain as a fictional plot, not a lived experience," Varric shuddered. "Let's get out of here. The sooner we poke through all these tombs we're looking for, the sooner we can leave. Which one should we try for first?"

"I'd say this one," Ellethir held up one of the maps. "It's marked as Colossus Tomb, and it's supposed to be directly under the Colossus of Orlais- that's the statue of the late Emperor Florian."

"Ok, do we know where that is?"

Fae looked around. "Probably that massive statue over there that's taller than all the cliffs around it."

"Ah."

"Do you think I could get it on the nose from here?"

"Please don't, Sera. We just made an alliance."

"Spoilsport."

The Venatori either hadn't reached this tomb yet, or they had been through it and already left, though that seemed unlikely. Even more unlikely was the set of wooden stairs that had been set in to allow access to the almost, but not quite, underground chambers. The architecture vaguely reminded Fae of Orzammar, and Varric just about confirmed as much. "This place isn't technically part of the Deep Roads, but it might have been. Looks like it was. Smells like it was."

In the central chamber, there were four pillars, one at each corner of a slightly raised dais, and each with a separate stone embedded and inscribed with more Old Dwarven writing.

"Too bad we don't have the author of this diary with us to translate."

"Perhaps one of our dwarven scouts can translate them for us? Like that girl from Orzammar who had the first map. Isobel, right?" Ellethir suggested.

Varric shrugged. "We might have someone, but Isobel is unlikely; casteless folks don't usually know how to read, and she didn't strike me as having been a surfacer for long. Bit skittish for the Carta. But, we can take some charcoal rubbings of these inscriptions and see what we can do with them."

With their new un-decoded messages in hand, the party returned to the forward camp to rest for the evening- or, what they assumed was the evening; unlike the rest of the Approach, the Wastes seemed to be shrouded in a perpetual gloom of a cloudy sky, only without the clouds. After confirming the arrival of the newly freed Venatori slaves, Harding studied the sketches while Ellethir filled her in on what they'd found.

"Can you read these, Scout Harding?" Ser Jean asked.

Harding chuckled. "Nope! Born and raised in the Ferelden hinterlands, me. Isobel can, though. Isobel?"

The young woman was by Harding's side in an instant.

"Can you translate these?"

She nodded seriously, leaving momentarily and returning with a large leather-bound book, some blank papers, a quill and an inkwell. She sat down cross-legged on the ground and set up her writing station, balancing the book on her lap to use as a table, and began to write out the words in the Trade tongue, one at a time.

"Well I'll be damned," Varric whistled, impressed. "Not even many Orzammar nobles are that familiar with Old Dwarven. How'd you learn?"

Isobel looked up sharply, her expression as dark as her eyes for a moment. Then she sighed, and moved her papers to one side, placing down a new piece of paper. She scribbled quickly on it, ignoring the small ink blotches made in her haste, and held it up. "My husband."

"I see."

She added something more to her paper. "He was Lord Jarmaro of House Parten."

"My condolences."

She shrugged, and added to her notes. "Thank you. He loved me."

"And he taught you to write, because you can't speak?"

Isobel frowned. "I can…speak," she corrected him, aloud.

"Oh. Sorry."

Isobel shrugged again, then returned to her translations, using a new piece of paper for each tablet of writing. When she was finished, she handed them to Harding, who passed them to Ellethir.

"The strife that destroyed thaigs, sundered houses, from weapons that clan used against clan," the Inquisitor read. "Strife that destroyed thaigs, that has to be the Blight, right?"

Harding shook her head. "As far as I know, the thaigs never used Blight against each other, how would they? Maybe they're talking about golems? The stone warriors? That was their main weapon against the Blight, for a long time."

"It's weird that it says 'clan used against clan,'" Fae added. "Dwarves have always had Houses, not clans, right? Dalish elves have clans."

"Maybe it's the same word in Old Dwarven?"

Isobel shook her head, writing down two different symbols on her half-used paper, and a small translation above each one, "House," and "Clan."

"Ok, so far, weird. What's the next one, Inquisitor?"

"The surface, where they would hide from the war that took their home. Does this mean the first surface dwarves might have fled up here from the Blight?"

"Now that is an interesting theory," Dorian mused. "It would also explain why they thought it more appropriate to bury their dead here, as opposed to some of us humans burying the dead in the ground. But the Tevinter Imperium has had established contact with the dwarves for centuries, even at the height of the empire. Contact which may well pre-date even the First Blight."

Harding hummed. "But if it was because of the First Blight, that's when the thaigs started losing contact with each other. Maybe the dwarves of the thaig closest to Minrathous didn't know how bad the Blight was yet. It was the first one, no one could have known what it would mean for the dwarven empire. What does the next one say?"

"Fairel, Paragon, fled from the strife his brilliance created," Ellethir read.

Varric shrugged. "Never heard of him, but I doubt anyone outside the Shaperate knows the name of every Paragon to ever be named. But it is starting to sound like the Venatori might be after whatever he created. Wouldn't have been golems, though, that was, uh…"

"Paragon Caridin," Fae finished for him.

"Right. Is that all of them?"

Ellethir read out the last translation. "His own clan and his two sons followed Fairel to the pitiless surface... Oh. That's all of it."

"It's a curious tale," Vivienne said. "And now we can guess who is responsible for this creation the Venatori seek, but not yet what it is. Or why the stones were there. We saw no signs of a burial."

"Was there anything else in the chamber?" Harding asked.

"There were fire brackets on the other side of each pillar," Solas remembered. "Unlit, of course."

Isobel gasped, flipping her page over and scribbling furiously. She held it up. "It's a Story of the Stone! It must be remembered correctly, or not at all! Light each one in the correct order, to tell the story."

"That sounds like magic," Dorian said suspiciously. "Otherwise, how would the stones know if we'd lit the fires in the right order?"

More scribbling. "Fire runes! They will be attuned!"

"Oh, that is clever."

"Isn't it?" Varric chuckled. "I think it's some kind of compensation thing. We can't spit lightning or freeze anyone's asses off, so here, have a rune that unlocks hidden doors with fire."

"Would you come back to the tomb with us to try, Isobel?" Ellethir asked. "If it works, we'd work a lot faster having you translate inscriptions at the tombs themselves than to have us come back here with each one we find."

Isobel nodded, already shovelling papers, quills and other knickknacks into a bag. She slung it over her shoulder and looked to Harding for confirmation. "Easy there," Harding laughed. "Even the Inquisitor has to eat and sleep. You can all head out after, when you're ready."