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'Dragon Age' Timeline Explained: From Dragon Gods and Zombie Invasions to Expecting the Inquisition
As cool as that sounds, however, the massive lore of Dragon Age and the hundreds of hours it can take to play just one of the games can be a daunting proposition. But fear not, because we, the Grey Lore Wardens, are here to guide you through the entire history of the continent of Thedas.
Before Dragon Age 4 comes out, we've put together a timeline of all the events in the Dragon Age franchise, from the many demonic invasions, to magic schools and, of course, dragons. Study up!
THE ANCIENT AGE
-7600 Ancient - The elven city of Arlathan is founded and becomes the capital of Elvhenan, the biggest civilization in Thedas at the time, embarking most of the continent. Elves are granted the gift of magic by the elven gods, who walked the Earth among their subjects and provided them knowledge and protection. The elves used magic to build their civilization, a true marvel of the ancient world.
-4600 Ancient - Elves make first contact with the dwarves. There is no record of any fighting, and the dwarves speak of this time as one when elves reigned over the land and dwarves ruled the underground in peace.
-3100 Ancient - According to Solas, the elven goddess Mythal was betrayed and murdered by the elven pantheon called the Evanuris. In retaliation, Solas, also known as the elven god of deception Fen'Harel, traps the Evanuris in the Fade (the realm of spirits and demons), and creates the Veil, a metaphysical barrier separating both realms.
However, the creation of the Veil also severed the connection between the magic-dependent elves and the Fade, causing the demise of Elvhenan, and the loss of the elves' immortality.
- The first human tribe, called the Neromenians, appears in Thedas, and begins to settle in the Northern part of the continent, eventually forming the Tevinter Imperium.
-2850 Ancient - Elves first notice their loss of immortality, and dub it "The Quickening."
-2800 Ancient - The draconic Old Gods begin teaching magic to the humans, and whisper ideas of a Golden City in the Fade where the Maker of the world resides.
-2415 Ancient - A second human tribe, called the Alamarri, reach Thedas and settle in what would become Ferelden. Part of the tribe eventually splots up to form the Avvar.
-1595 - Thalsian, a Neromenian with the ability to enter the Fade at will, becomes the first known person to wield blood magic, after he claims to have learned it from the Old God Dumat himself.
-1207 - Darinius, the high king of the Neromenians, begins to unite the different human kingdoms in Tevinter under his rule, and allies himself with the ruler of the Dwarven Empire.
0 TE (or -1195 Ancient) - Darinius forms the Tevinter Imperium after uniting the kingdoms of Qarinus and Tevinter, and declares himself the first Archon. The empire is a magocracy ruled by a group of powerful mages known as the Magisterium. According to Chantry texts, it was Thalsian who became the first Archon and used his blood magic to establish the empire. Darinius would die 15 years later.
25 TE - King Endrin Stonehammer moves the dwarven empire capital from Kal-Sharok to Orzammar in order to expand trade with the surface, which is becoming more important to the prosperity of dwarvenkind. Other sources claim that the internal turmoil in Tevinter caused by the death of Darinius informed King Endrin's decision.
- King Endrin establishes the Paragons, the elite of dwarven culture and the pinnacle of dwarven excellence. The title of Paragon is bestowed upon the winners of the Grand Provins — essentially gladiatorial matches to settle all kinds of debates in dwarven culture.
64 TE - King Endrin Stonehammer is made a Paragon on his deathbed.
214 TE (or -981 Ancient): The Tevinter Imperium declares war on Arlathan and begins sieging the city.
220 TE - The Tevinter Magisterium resorts to a blood ritual that doesn't create a Philosopher's Stone, but instead sinks Arlathan into the ground, allowing Tevinter to conquer the elven kingdom and enslave all those who didn't perish in the war, crushing both the elven spirit and their ancient culture.
300 TE - Following their victory against the elves, and with an army of slaves to use, the Tevinter Imperium starts expanding rapidly and conquering nearly all of northern Thedas, before setting their sights on uniting all human tribes under their rule.
503 TE - Archon Almadrius is assassinated, igniting a civil war in the Tevinter Imperium, with the magisters fighting for power.
575 TE - The city of Emerius is founded in the distant south of Tevinter as a slave and mining settlement. In time, it would become known as the "City of Chains," the center of the Imperial slave market. At some point, the city would become known as Kirkwall.
- Archon Parthenius claims the throne of the Tevinter Imperium and ends the civil war, after decades of in-fighting that saw heavy use of blood magic and demon-summoning for power.
800 TE (or -395 Ancient) - The Magisters Sidereal, seven members of the Magisterium and each a high priest to one of the Old Gods, conduct a massive blood sacrifice of slaves to breach the Veil and become the first humans to physically enter the Fade. Their goal is to reach the Golden City and have the Old Gods bestow godhood upon them.
What exactly transpired in the Fade differs depending on who you ask. According to Chantry lore (more about them later), the magisters' sinful pride tainted the Golden City and turned it black. As punishment, the Maker cast them down and then turned his back on humanity. High Priest Corypheus, however, says the city was already black when they entered it, and the throne of the Maker was empty.
What all sides agree on, however, is that the magisters returned to the physical world with the Taint inside of them, which turned them into the first "darkspawn," horrific and mindless monsters that carry a plague that essentially works as a zombie virus.
- The First Blight begins as the rapidly multiplying darkspawn go underground and find the Old God Dumat, freeing him from his prison and corrupting him into becoming the first Archdemon.
815 TE: The dwarven kingdoms begin to fall to the darkspawn, who attack the Deep Roads network of underground tunnels en masse. What was once a kingdom that stretched across the whole of Thedas was reduced to only two isolated cities surrounded by darkspawn. The darkspawn use these tunnels to quickly spread throughout Thedas, cutting communication between the kingdoms which get besieged by constant waves of attacks.
- The people of Tevinter pray to the other Old Gods for aid, but receive only silence, pushing the people to turn away from the Old Gods, believing they are being betrayed by the draconic creatures.
890 TE: The Night's Watch Grey Wardens are founded in the Anderfels to be an organization comprised of humans, dwarves, and even elves, united with the sole purpose of riding their mythical griffons into battle and wipe out the darkspawn wherever they appear.
In order to battle the darkspawn, the Grey Wardens ingest darkspawn blood in order to track and counter the darkspawn. The process doesn't make the wardens immune to the Taint, but simply slows it, and many easily fall to the call of the Old Gods and their corruption. Eventually, all wardens will succumb to the Taint, and so it is their duty to seek an honorable death by killing as many darkspawn before dying.
940 TE - The dwarves learn the secret of creating golems by turning volunteers into huge stone creatures using magic. The souls of the "volunteers" are trapped within the animated warriors. The use of golems helps the dwarves reclaim parts of the Deep Roads.
- Because of how efficient the golems are at killing darkspawn, King Valtor begins to force criminals and political dissidents into becoming golems. When Caridin, the paladin who created the golems, refuses to obey, he disappears along with the secrets of golem-making rather than accept his punishment of becoming a golem himself.
992 TE - Nearly two centuries after the Blight began, Archdemon Dumat is killed at the Battle of the Silent Plains by the Grey Wardens. The remaining darkspawn forces scatter, and the Grey Wardens become an officially recognized and independent organization.
- The prophet Andraste is born.
1000 TE - The last of the darkspawn hordes are defeated and driven into the Deep Roads. Though humans celebrate the end of two centuries of war, the dwarves continue the fight deep underground. The Blight left the once-mighty Imperium severely weakened, and the damage done to the Deep Roads essentially shatters communication between the surviving dwarven kingdoms, which split into two separate nations.
1004 TE - The Grey Wardens encounter Corypheus, a rare intelligent darkspawn capable of speech and of controlling the hordes despite Dumat's death. He is believed to be one of the original Magisters Sidereal, and eventually gets imprisoned in a tower using the blood of Dumat.
1008 TE - Andraste marries an Alamarri chieftain named Maferath. Andraste starts preaching of a single creator she calls the Maker, who had abandoned humankind.
- According to Andraste, the original sin was committed by the first mages who looked through the Veil and summoned demons, who took the form of dragons, and started worshipping them. The second sin was the crossing into the Fade and the attempt to enter the Golden City. The only chance for humankind to redeem themselves was to stop letting magic rule over humans, as the Tevinter Imperium had done for so long.
- The more Andraste speaks, the more her following grows, and the more Maferath uses her teaching to unite the scattered Alamarri tribes under his rule. Together, they launch a war of independence against the heretical Imperium.
1015 TE - Maferath and Andraste lead a horde of barbarians towards the Tevinter territory, accompanied by massive rebellions welcoming their advance. They also free the slaves they encounter, who see freedom for the first time in centuries.
- A young elven slave named Shartan starts a massive slave rebellion.
1024 TE - The Battle of Valarian Fields gives the Alamarri a decisive victory over the Tevinter Imperium, and Shartan's army of former slaves decide to join Maferath's side against their former oppressors. Andraste names Shartan her champion, and he converts to her religion. Though they keep winning battles, they fail to conquer the Tevinter capital of Minrathous even after a long siege. This city would become like Russia in winter, attacked by nearly every army in Thedas and beyond, with every army failing in their attempt — unless you are the Mongols. - Overwhelmed with jealousy of Andraste's popularity, Maferath makes a pact with Archon Hessarian of the Imperium.
1025 TE - Andraste is betrayed by her husband, and taken to Minrathous, where she is set on a pyre before the city gates. Shartan and a hundred elves charge the pyre to try and free Andraste, but they are all killed in the attempt. Andraste is killed during her execution by Archon Hessarian, who stabs her in the heart with his sword out of "mercy."
1030 TE - After the death of Andraste, Maferath is granted most of Southern Thedas to rule. He takes Ferelden for himself, and divides the rest of the land amongst his sons. These kingdoms would later become Orlais, Nevarra, and the city-states of the Free Marches.
- For their service in the war, the freed elves are given a new homeland in the Dales. Elves across the Imperium begin traveling to the Dales.
1035 TE - A cult starts spreading rapidly across southern Thedas, preaching the word of Andraste. Archon Hessarian converts to the Cult of the Maker and reveals Maferath's betrayal of Andraste. Maferath and his court are abandoned and then assassinated, bringing chaos and anarchy to Ferelden. The Tevinter Imperium abandons the Old Gods and converts to Andrastianism.
1065 TE - Andraste's disciples collect her story and teachings into a holy book — The Chant of Light. Numerous versions and interpretations are written over the centuries.
1070 TE - Archon Hessarian dies in his sleep.
1095 TE - The Inquisition is founded to "protect" the people from the "tyranny of magic," probably by a bunch of Hufflepuffs. Twisting the words of Andrastel, they start hunting down heretics and apostate mages in the name of the Maker.
1155 TE - The dwarves of Orzammar seal the Deep Roads connecting to the remaining dwarven kingdoms in a desperate attempt to avoid complete annihilation from the remaining darkspawn hordes.
1160 TE - The dwarven kingdom of Hormak falls to the darkspawn, and soon after, the kingdom of Gundaar is overrun.
1170 TE - A slave revolt results in the execution of all Tevinter rulers in Emerius. The city is renamed Kirkwall, and it becomes a part of the Free Marches.
1180 TE - The last of the Deep Roads are sealed, cutting off Kal-Sharok, which is presumed lost for millennia. The city still stands, however, and the surviving dwarves resent those in Orzammar for abandoning them.
1184 TE - As the Cult of the Maker spreads across the south of Thedas, the first great temple is constructed in Val Royeaux, the capital city of Orlais. A young man named Kordillus Drakon begins a series of holy wars in the name of his religion.
1192 TE - Drakon does not throw away his shot, conquers several neighboring city-states, and unites the Orlesian tribes under his rule, becoming Emperor of Orlais.
- The Chantry is formed by Emperor Drakon to spread the Chant of Light, effectively formalizing the Maker's cult into an official religion. History has its eyes on him, as Drakon commands that missionaries start spreading the teachings of Andraste.
THE DIVINE AGE
1:1 Divine (1st year of the 1st Divine Age) (or 1195 TE) - Justinia I is declared the first Divine of the Chantry, with the still unfinished Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux serving as the center of power for the Chantry and the Divine's residence.
- Magic is declared illegal in Orlais except for mages working directly under the divine supervision of the Chantry.
1:5 Divine - The Second Blight begins with the awakening of Archdemon Zaziken in the Anderfels. The darkspawn hordes slaughter the entire city of Hossberg. The Tevinter Imperium abandons the Anderfels to the Blight, the Anders never forget this betrayal.
- Emperor Drakon decides to have the mages use their magic against the advancing darkspawn. It's very effective.
1:20 Divine - The Chantry and the Inquisition sign the Nevarran Accord, and the Circle of Magi is created to regulate and monitor the practice of magic, with the newly-formed Templar Order working as a police force supervising the mages and hunting down apostates. The Seekers of Truth order is also formed as a secret police above the Templar Order.
1:33 Divine - Emperor Drakon saves the Grey Warden's headquarters from the darkspawn, and they convert to worshipping the Chantry. Together, both armies save the nation of Anderfels from annihilation, and Drakon absorbs it into the Orlesian Empire.
- The elves of the Dales refuse to provide aid during the Blight.
1:45 Divine - Emperor Drakon dies of old age. His successor is seen as incapable of driving back the darkspawn and calm the rival factions within the empire. The Anderfels declare their independence 20 years later.
1:95 Divine - After 90 years, the Grey Warden Cordin slays Zazikel at the battle of Starkhaven in the Free Marches, ending the Second Blight.
- Astyth the Grey is made the first female Paragon after sacrificing her life to save the dwarven king. The Silent Sisters become the first fighting order of female warriors, is formed in Astyth's memory.
1:99 Divine: Divine Hortensia I names the Glory Age, predicting the rebirth of the world, and an age free of evil and Blights.
THE GLORY AGE
2:9 Glory - Hostilities between elves and humans escalate, and elven forces attack and overrun the Orlesian town of Red Crossing. Humans across the land are enraged at the "atrocities" elves are said to have committed.
- Orlais immediately declares war on the elves of the Dales.
2:10 Glory - With the elven army moving fast on the capital of the Orlais Empire since their armies did not suffer nearly as many casualties during the Blight, Divine Renata I calls for a holy war against the elves. This war becomes known as the Exalted March of the Dales, a crusade named after Andraste's march against the Tevinter Imperium.
2:14 Glory - The elves sack Val Royeaux, capital of Orlais.
2:20 Glory - The combined human forces of Orlais and the Chantry push the elves back and conquer the Dale capital of Halamshiral. Elven settlements are wiped out and worship of the elven gods is forbidden. The surviving elves are forced to either live with humankind as second-class citizens in slums called "alienages," or venture out into the wilds as nomads calling themselves the Dalish.
2:30 Glory - The Winter Palace of Halamshiral becomes a retreat of choice for the Orlesian nobility.
2:80 Glory - A new Exalted March is declared on the city-state of Starkhaven in the Free Marches, and Orlais "liberates" it from the Tevinter Imperium.
2:83 Glory - An abomination is born when a demon possesses a mage in the Nevarran Circle of Magi, slaughtering both mages and templars nearby. In response, Divine Galatea grants the Right of Annulment to all Grand Clerics in the Chantry, allowing them to purge Circles of Magi and execute all mages within.
2:99 Glory - The Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux is completed, and its two massive towers serve as the namesake for the next age, The Towers Age.
- Archon Vespasian is assassinated the same day as the Cathedral opens.
THE TOWERS AGE
3:00 Towers - The shapeshifter Flemeth, also known as a "Witch of the Wilds" is said to be born in this year.
3:09 Towers - For the third time in history, the Right of Annulment is invoked in Antiva, and hundreds of mages are executed.
3:10 Towers - The Old God Toth awakens and the Third Blight begins. Even though the darkspawn appear in the strategically advantageous central parts of Thedas in larger numbers than ever before, the Grey Wardens are able to quickly organize a defense and push back the darkspawn.
3:18 Towers - After the darkspawn armies ravage the Free Marches, the Grey Wardens convince the Orlesian and Tevinter empires to send aid and join the fight.
3:25 Towers - Despite heavy casualties in the Free Marches, the combined armies of the Grey Wardens, Tevinter and Orlais, manage to destroy Toth and end the Blight in only 15 years.
- The victorious armies occupy the territories they liberated from the darkspawn.
3:87 Towers - A schism splits the Chantry, as the Tevinter Imperium is much more moderate when it comes to magic use, with mages allowed to rule as long as they don't use blood magic. They also consider Andraste to be not of divine origin, but a prophet with extraordinary magical talent. This does not sit well with the rest of the Chantry.
- The Tevinter Imperium establishes its own Imperial Chantry and elects a male Divine at the Minrathous Cathedral, often referred to as the "Black Divine."
3:99 Towers - The death of Divine Joyous II in Val Royeaux is celebrated by the Imperial Chantry, and the day is declared a holiday in the Tevinter Imperium.
- The Black Age is named as the Chantry calls for retribution against what they deem the "false Divine."
THE BLACK AGE
4:00 Black - Werewolves reappear in Ferelden, because that's apparently a thing that just happens.
4:22 Black - The king of Antiva is assassinated at the hands of the Antivan Crows, an organization of thieves, spies, and assassins who used to be an arm of the Chantry.
4:40 Black - The Chantry declares a series of four Exalted Marches against the "heathens" of the Tevinter Imperium. All four times, armies across the Chantry's territories would march against Tevinter, and all four times Minrathous would repel conquest attempts.
4:80 Black - The Orlesian Empire, not satisfied with their attempts at conquering Tevinter, crosses the Frostback Mountains and launches a campaign to invade Ferelden.
4:84 Black - The many Alamarri tribes unite, and push back the invading Orlesian army.
4:99 Black - Divine Justinia II names the Exalted Age, as the holy war against Tevinter persists.
THE EXALTED AGE
5:10 Exalted - The last Exalted March on the Tevinter Imperium ends in another retreat by Orlais, who failed to capture Minrathous. If only they had the Mongols with them.
5:12 Exalted - The awakening of Andoral marks the start of the Fourth Blight. Darkspawn overrun the Free Marches, Rivain, and Antiva. The Anderfels capital of Hossberg comes under siege by darkspawn.
- Orlais and Tevinter are able to drive back the darkspawn, then refuse to send any aid to the Anderfels or Free Marches out of fear of the other empire invading.
5:20 Exalted - The Grey Warden Garahel leads an army of Wardens that break the siege of Hossberg.
5:22 Exalted - Garahel gathers Wardens from all over Thedas and organizes an alliance between the leaders of the Free Marches. Their unified armies march against the darkspawn, with the Grey Wardens leading them.
5:24 Exalted - Garahel dies upon slaying the Archdemon Andoral at the battle of Ayesleigh, ending the Fourth Blight. So many darkspawn are slaughtered that everyone just assumes they went extinct and would never return. Of course, everyone forgets about the dwarves, who are still fighting the darkspawn underground.
5:25 Exalted - The Warden's legendary griffons go extinct due to heavy losses during the Blight.
5:42 Exalted - The Alamarri factions, always considered to be primitive, nomadic barbarians, are united under a single banner by Calenhad the Great. The nation of Ferelden is founded with Calenhad as king.
5:99 Exalted - Queen Madrigal of Antiva is assassinated after being stabbed in the chest by four steel swords. Horrified by this murder, Divine Theodosia I declares the Steel Age.
THE STEEL AGE
6:15 Steel - Dragons are hunted to near-extinction, most famously by the dragon-hunters of the Pentaghast family of Nevarra.
6:30 Steel - A race of horned giants known as the Qunari land in the far lands of Par Vollen, conquering it from Tevinter unbeknownst to the rest of the continent.
- The Qunari bring with them the ideology of the Qun, which believes that the concept of individuality must be abandoned in favor of devoting oneself to the betterment of society. Though they possess superior technology, the Qunari are even more reluctant to use magic than the Chantry, and they see it as a major contradiction to the teachings of the Qun.
6:32 Steel - The Qunari Wars begin as Qunari ships start landing on the mainland.
6:42 Steel - The Qunari conquer much of the Tevinter Imperium, as well as Rivain, Antiva, and begin to assault the Free Marches.
- As strong and effective as the Qunari are, they are not the Mongols, and they, too, fail to capture the Tevinter capital of Minrathous.
6:85 Steel - Massive rebellions break out across the Qunari-controlled territories of Tevinter, and the Imperium starts pushing back. Eventually, the Qunari start retreating.
6:99 Steel - Divine Hortensia III foresees a growing storm of violence and names the next age the Storm Age. Not a single person laughs at how ridiculous this naming system is.
THE STORM AGE
7:5 Storm - After the king of Ferelden dies without an heir, leaving two cousins with claims to the rule to fight for power: Sophia Dryden and Arland Theirin. Arland takes the throne, and Sophia joins the Grey Warden, eventually rising to the rank of Warden-commander in Ferelden. She then attempts a coup against Arland, using the armies of the Grey Wardens, but is defeated in battle and the Wardens are expelled from Ferelden.
7:25 Storm - The Imperial and Andrastian join forces for the first time and declare a new series of Exalted Marches against the Qunari. Mages from the several Circle of Magi under the Chantry rule prove essential in driving back the Qunari.
7:52 Storm - The second New Exalted March ends in disaster for the Chantries, as the Qunari were ready for it.
7:55 Storm - A third and final Exalted March on the Qunari is called.
7:84 Storm - After more than a century, the Qunari and the human nations of Thedas sign a peace treaty that ends the Exalted Marches after both sides suffer crippling casualties. Tevinter refuses to sign the treaty, while the Qunari retreat to Par Vollen to rebuild.
7:99 Storm - The end of the war with the Qunari, and the birth of twin sons to the emperor of Orlais ushers the Blessed Age.
THE BLESSED AGE
8:5 Blessed - Kirkwall becomes a free city after rebelling against Orlais.
8:21 Blessed - The Orlesian emperor passes away, and his son Reville Valmont is crowned Emperor.
8:24 Blessed - The Orlesian Empire launches its second invasion of Ferelden.
- King Vanedrin Theirin of Ferelden is killed in battle. His successor, King Brandel, fails to unite the country.
8:44 Blessed - The Orlesian Empire successfully sacks the capital of Ferelden and claims victory in their invasion, driving King Brandel into hiding.
- When Brandel dies, the people of Ferelden unofficially name his daughter Moira "The Rebel Queen," and she leads the Fereldan resistance.
8:47 Blessed - Emperor Reville, fearing that the Orlesian nobles would want to replace him with his twin brother, Gratien, orders the murder of Gratien's entire family — including his three grown children, and eight grandchildren. This act earns him the title of "The Mad Emperor."
8:51 Blessed - Emperor Reville Valmont dies after spending an entire year locked in his room, fearing retribution for the murder of his twin brother's family. His son, Etienne, is crowned Emperor.
8:55 Blessed - The Qunari reignite their war against the Tevinter Imperium and conquer the land of Seheron.
8:65 Blessed - Blood magic is once again on the rise in Tevinter, after centuries of it being forbidden by the Andrastian Chantry.
8:76 Blessed - An epidemic dubbed "The Hundred Days Cough" hits Orlais, leaving Florian Valmont as the only surviving heir to the throne.
8:78 Blessed - Birth of the Rebel Queen's son, Maric Theirin, who continues the bloodline of the legendary Calenhad Theirin.
8:96 Blessed - Moira the Rebel Queen is assassinated under orders from King Meghren of Orlais. Her son Maric escapes.
- Endrin Aeducan ascends the throne of Orzammar.
8:98 Blessed - Prince Maric leads an army of Fereldan rebels to rise up against the Orlesian occupation.
8:99 Blessed - The Fereldan rebel army is ravaged at the battle of West Hill and Maric is presumed dead.
- The Legion of the Dead, a formidable dwarven army not unlike the Grey Wardens in their dedication to annihilating the darkspawn, and their sacrifice (the name derives from the fact that Legionnaires consider themselves to be already dead the moment they join), join the very much alive Prince Maric and help him hunt down those who betrayed his mother.
- The first returning dragons emerge in Antiva and start wreaking havoc in Thedas, after they were thought to be extinct. When another dragon is sighted in Orlais near the Frostback Mountains, Divine Faustine II changes her mind in naming the Sun Age, and instead declares the beginning of the Dragon Age — predicting it to be yet another age of violence (which age isn't?).
- At the Battle of River Dane, Loghain Mac Tir leads the Fereldan rebels to victory against Orlaisian occupiers.
THE DRAGON AGE
9:00 Dragon - The Orlesian occupation of Ferelden ends after Prince Maric kills the usurper King Meghren in a duel at Fort Drakon. Three years later, Maric is crowned as King of Ferelden.
9:10 Dragon - The intelligent darkspawn known as The Architect attempts to kill the remaining Old Gods and let the Taint corrupt the entire surface world. It is rumored this darkspawn is one of the original Magisters Sidereal.
- King Maric joins with the Grey Wardens and stops The Architect. After two centuries of exile, Maric allows the Wardens to return to Ferelden.
9:12 Dragon - The Orzammar dwarves discover that the kingdom of Kal-Sharok is still standing. Though they try to reunite the two kingdoms, the dwarves at Kal-Sharok are still resentful for being abandoned during the First Blight and refuse to bow to the king of Ozammar.
9:13 Dragon - Dwarven scholars observe the destruction of the fortress of Bownammar to a horde of darkspawn, and believe this to be the first sign of a coming Blight.
9:20 Dragon - Empress Celene ascends to the Orlesian throne and officially makes peace with Ferelden.
9:22 Dragon - Cassandra Pentaghast is named Hero of Orlais and the Right Hand of the Divine after foiling an assassination attempt on Divine Beatrix III.
9:25 Dragon - King Maric is thought to be lost at sea during an expedition. In reality, he's imprisoned by Antivan Crows. His son, Cailan Theirin inherits the Fereldan throne and marries Loghain Mac Tir's daughter, Anora. Loghain becomes Cailan's biggest advisor, and the person in charge of Ferelden's defense.
9:27 Dragon - An apostate mage named Malcolm Hawke, responsible for resealing Corypheus in his prison, dies, leaving his family in the hands of his wife, Leandra, and his eldest child, the future Champion of Kirkwall.
- A coup in the Imperial Chantry replaces the current Black Divine with conspirator Urian Nihalias.
9:29 Dragon - Alistair, the illegitimate child of King Maric with an elven mage named Fiona, joins the Grey Wardens.
THE EVENTS OF 'DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS' BEGIN
9:30 Dragon - The Fifth Blight officially begins when The Architect accidentally corrupts the Old God Urthemiel into becoming an Archdemon, though it is believed by some that this took place 17 years earlier. He was originally performing a ritual on Urthemiel to free the darkspawn from the call of the Old Gods, which forces each darkspawn to devote their lives to freeing and corrupting an Old God.
- Crown Prince Trian Aeducan of Orzammar is murdered, and his middle sibling is banished to the Deep Roads, becoming a scapegoat for their youngest brother, Bhelen.
- Arl Rendon Howe murders Tryrn Bryce Cousland and Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, their son, Fergus, led most of the Tern's soldiers to Ostagar to join King Cailan.
- The Sabrae clan of the Dalish elves moves to the Free Marches to escape the Taint and the coming Blight.
- The Warden (that's you!) is inducted into the Grey Wardens.
- The armies of Ferelden are defeated and all but annihilated by the darkspawn at the Battle of Ostagar, as Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir betrays his king and deserts. King Cailan Theirin dies, as does Warden Commander Duncan.
- The Warden and Alistair are saved by Flemeth, a Witch of the Wilds.
- Loghain Mac Tir returns to Denerim and declares himself regent. This triggers a Fereldan Civil War.
- At this time, the Hawk family flees to Kirkwall with the aid of Flemeth, escaping an attack by darkspawn.
- The Warden goes to Redcliffe seeking the help of Arl Eamon, but instead has to try and save the town from undead attackers, and a child possessed by a demon. After finding the sacred ashes of Andraste, the Warden cures Eamon, who suggests an end to Loghain and the Blight by calling a Landsmeet with the purpose of placing Alistair on the throne.
- Several mages at the Circle Tower of Lake Callenhad become abominations, and massacre mages and templars alike. The Warden, seeking the help of the Circle of Magi, who are bound by oath to help in times of Blight, is confronted by the demon controlling the abominations. The Warden has to decide whether to carry out the Right of Annulment and murder all mages in the Circle, or declare that blood mages have been dealt with and save the remaining mages.
- The Warden may gain the allegiance of the Dalish elves after accidentally getting involved in a werewolf hunt — because a dragon, demons, the undead, and an army of darkspawn just aren't enough. You can choose between an army of werewolves, or the elves supporting you.
- After King Endrin Aeducan dies without a clear successor, and the Warden must support a new king before securing the aid of the dwarven troops of Orzammar. A big dwarven assembly, a bunch of side quests, and Mandalorian-like favors ensue, including the destruction or recovering of the magical anvil that creates golems. This all results in a new dwarven king who honors the Grey Warden treaties and pledges Orzammar's forces to join the fight against the darkspawn.
- At some point this year, Hawke — the future Champion of Kirkwall — arrives at the city of Kirkwall with his family. On the way, Hawke lost a sibling to a darkspawn attack, but they were saved by Flemeth. Upon arrival, Hawke is employed by either the Red Iron mercenaries, or Athenril's smuggling group in order to pay off the bribe to city officials to let the family enter the city, which is filled with Fereldan refugees escaping the Blight.
9:31 Dragon - The Warden and his allies take a quick break to attend a political rally, vote in the Landsmeet election, and perhaps even challenge the votes by storming the Capitol. You must choose between executing Loghain, or allowing him to join the Grey Wardens, and pick a new ruler between Alistair or King Cailan's widow, Anora — or have them marry and rule together.
- The Warden finds out the truth about how an Archdemon is defeated. When a Grey Warden strikes down the Archdemon, the Old God's soul possesses the Warden, and both die.
- Before you head out to the final battle, Flemeth's daughter Morrigan offers a solution to the sacrifice by carrying your child and make it absorb the Archdemon's soul instead — and figure out what to do with a demon god child at some later date.
- With The Warden's allies uniting under a single banner, and the final battle takes place on Fort Drakon in Denerim, where the Archdemon Urthemiel is slain by either the Warden, Alistair, or Loghain. The Warden becomes known as the Hero of Ferelden.
- The Darkspawn Civil War begins as The Architect starts a conflict with the leader of the darkspawn Broodmothers. This conflict ends when the Wardens purge all darkspawn in Ferelden and the Mother (leader of the Broodmothers) dies. The fate of The Architect is decided.
- The Circle of Magi in Starkhaven burns to the ground, and all surviving mages are relocated to Kirkwall, resulting in the city having the largest Circle within the Free Marches.
- Following a battle between Qunari and Orlesian forces, a large group of Qunari are stranged near Kirkwall and take up residence in a section of the docks.
- Anders, a mage, escapes the Circle of Magi at Kinloch Hold, gets captured by the Templars and sentenced to death, but is instead allowed to join the Grey Wardens. At some point, he rescues the bravest knight in the kingdom, a cat named Ser Pounce-a-lot.
THE EVENTS OF 'DRAGON AGE II'
- Word of the Hero of Ferelden's role in ending the Blight finally reaches Kirkwall.
- Hawke helps fund an expedition to the Deep Roads with dwarves Bartrand and Varric Tethras. Before joining the expedition, Hawke has to deal with a series of side quests for a Templar named Thrask, who is strangely understanding of mages. First, he helps deal with an elven mage and a group of slavers in Kirkwall, then deals with a group of apostate mages who escaped from Starkhaven and either killing them or letting them go, and generally get a sense of the political state of Kirkwall — from the increased tensions between the excessive number of Templars in Kirkwall and the mages they were exerting draconian rule over, to the brewing hostilities between humans and Qunari.
- Hawke heard from Varric that a Grey Warden is in Kirkwall, and that they should join the expedition. This turns out to be Anders, a former Grey Warden and a mage with an extreme hatred for Circles. Anders has a map for the Deep Roads and gifts it to Hawke in exchange for the rescue of his friend Karl, who they later discover was turned Tranquil (a punishment where mages' connection to the Fade is severed to avoid demonic temptation, but has the side effect of them losing all emotion). Angry at this revelation, Anders reveals he has merged with the spiritual personification of Vengeance, who fuels his anger at the Circles.
- With the help of Anders and his maps, the Deep Roads expedition finally begins. Hawke brings in his surviving sibling, and together, the expedition comes across an idol made of pure lyrium (a magical mineral) as well as a massive pile of treasure, which is enough for Hawke to buy his way into the Kirkwall nobility. Hawke's sibling contracts the Taint, and unless Anders joined the expedition, he dies.
9:32 Dragon - The Warden-Commander of Ferelden confronts Morrigan, who leaves using a magic elven mirror called an Eluvian. She is rumored to join Empress Celene's court in Orlais, possibly with her demon god child.
9:34 Dragon - Hawke's mother, Leanne, is killed by a blood mage named Quentin.
- Tensions between templars and mages worsen, as Knight-Commander Meredith enacts more restrictions and worse punishment for mages. Perhaps due to this, or simply due to the people of Kirkwall having lived in close proximity to a group of Qunari for a few years, more and more people start converting to the Qun, including the son of Kirkwall's viscount, Seamus, angering the Chantry.
- When Seamus is murdered, Hawke discovers a conspiracy involving Sister Petrice from the Chantry, and discovers she (who had already tried to set Hawke up to be killed by the Qunari) orchestrated Seamus' assassination to incite more violence against the Qunari. Of course, this works a little too well, as Petrice is killed by the Qunari, who decide to take matters into their own hands and launch a full-scale attack on Kirkwall to overthrow the city's rulers. The Qunari rate the Viscount's Keep and behead the viscount to quash any and all resistance, but Hawke joins forces with Knight-Commander Meredith and the First Enchanter Orsino of Kirkwall's Circle of Magi, and defeats the Qunari. The remaining occupying forces withdraw from Kirkwall, and Hawke earns the respect of the city's templars, mages, and the nobility, as Meredith names Hawke the Champion of Kirkwall.
- Hawke defeats an awakened Corypheus, but he transfers his essence to a Grey Warden through the Taint like the Archdemons do, and escapes.
- Meredith takes power and becomes a steward of Kirkwall, imposing even tighter sanctions on the city's Circle of Magi and turning the city into a templar-controlled police state. She also blocks all attempts at appointing a new viscount.
- Justinia V becomes the new Divine of the Chantry. She appoints Leliana, a companion of The Warden, as her Left Hand and Spymaster, and Cassandra as her official Right Hand.
9:37 Dragon - More and more mages turn to blood magic and escaping their Circles in desperation over the restrictions. Hawke uncovers a secret conspiracy between apostate mages and friendly templars led by Thrask, who are working to improve relations between mages and templars, and also remove Meredith from power. Hawk must decide whether to have all the conspirators executed, or plea with Meredith to show them mercy. Meredith and Orsino grow increasingly convinced that the other is planning to kill them.
- Hawke is summoned to the Chantry by its Grand Cleric, Elthina, who explains that Divine Justinia V is contemplating an Exalted March against Kirkwall. Leliana is dispatched, and after a brief fight with Hawke, warns that war is coming and Kirkwall is no longer safe. She also instructs Elthina to leave for Orlais.
- Anders decides that the time for negotiations has passed and there can be no more compromise. He triggers an explosion inside the Kirkwall Chantry, completely destroying it and killing everyone inside — including Elthina. Meredith decides to call for the Right of Annulment on all mages in Kirkwall, and Hawke has to decide whose side the Champion of Kirkwall is on. Whatever the decision, Orsino resorts to blood magic and is killed by Hawke. It also becomes clear Meredith had gone mad from embedding lyrium into her sword, and the power of the lyrium turns Meredith into a statue.
- Hawke flees Kirkwall, not to be heard of again.
- Morrigan is appointed "Arcane Advisor" to Empress Celene I.
- Anders' actions spark a rebellion that spread from Circle to Circle, with mages all over Thedas rising up against the Chantry. This launches the Mage-Templar War, with templars turning their sword on mages — whether they rebel or not — and mages turning to blood magic to fight back.
9:38 Dragon - The Templars disband the College of Enchanters, after they reject a motion to dissolve the Circle of Magi.
- If Alistair survived and becomes king, travels to Antiva looking for clues about King Maric.
- Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons' plans to overthrow the Orlesian Empress Celene I result in the start of the War of the Lions — also known as the Orlesian Civil War.
- Solas, the Dread Wolf, awakens after centuries of sleep, and tries to re-establish dominion over the Eluvian network (which is definitely not just a rehash of the Mass Relay network, why do you ask?). Horrified by what's become of Thedas and the elves, he makes plans to tear down the Veil and restore the ancient world.
9:40 Dragon - Cassandra and Leliada begin searching for the Champion of Kirkwall, as they form the Inquisition.
- Following a violent uprising at the White Spire Circle of Magi in Orlais, the leader of the Seekers of Truth cancels the Nevarran Accord, severing ties between the Seekers and the Chantry. He then declares the end of the Circle of Magi, starting the Mage-Templar War in earnest.
THE EVENTS OF 'DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION' TAKE PLACE
9:41 Dragon - Divine Justinia V calls for a Conclave to bring about an end to the Mage-Templar War at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, which houses Andraste's sacred remains At the same time, Corypheus, calling himself "The Elder One," infiltrates the Conclave to try and sacrifice the Divine to power up an Orb given to him by Solas and reenter the now-Black City and claim the Maker's empty throne. Before he can finish the sacrifice, a random bystander (that's you again!) knocks the Orb from Corypheus' hands, gaining the power of the Anchor and causing a massive explosion that destroys the entire temple, killing thousands and creating multiple tears in the Veil. The bystander is transported to the Fade, and witness accounts say he was saved by Andraste herself.
- Three days later, Leliana and Cassandra lead the bystander to the huge tear in the Veil above the remains of the temple, which they dub "The Breach." The bystander manages to calm the Breach and stop it from growing, after which they are hailed as the Herald of Andraste.
- Believing the Herald was sent by the Maker themselves, Cassandra and Leliana start the Inquisition independently from the Chantry, in order to find those responsible for the Breach. Both the Chantry and the Seekers of Truth denounce the Inquisition.
- The Herald is forced to take a side in the Mage-Templar War in order to gain the support of either side to properly seal the Breach, effectively ending the war. Whomever the Herald sides with, their faction is changed forever, and the remaining faction is corrupted by Corypheus.
- The Herald seals the Breach with the help of Solas and their allies, but Corypheus launches a surprise assault on the Inquisition while riding a dragon corrupted with lyrium. The Inquisition evacuates, but not before their headquarters is buried along with a bulk of the invading army under an avalanche. The Herald, having saved the Inquisition, is proclaimed by Cassandra and Leliana as its supreme leader, the Inquisitor.
- Corypheus corrupts the Grey Wardens in Orlais, causing them to get visions that a new Blight is nigh. They blood sacrifice their warriors to raise a demon army, with the plan of marching into the Deep Roads and killing all remaining Old Gods before they become Archdemons.
- The Herald joins Hawke and together they storm the Warden's fortress to stop the sacrifice. After being physically transported to the Fade, the squad defeats the Nightmare demon that was controlling the Grey Wardens, and the Herald decides to either ally with the surviving Grey Wardens or banish them from Orlais.
- The Herald takes some time off their busy schedule to attend a ball held by Empress Celene I at her winter palace in Halamshiral, and learns of an assassination attempt against her. The Herald effectively chooses how the Orlesian Civil War ends, as depending on their choices, Celene survives and keeps the throne, or Gaspard is crowned as emperor, or a third party is installed as a secret puppetmaster behind the new emperor. Whoever ends up ruling Orlais pledges their military support to the Inquisition, and Morrigan gets appointed as Orlais' liaison.
9:42 Dragon - The Inquisition pursues Corypheus to the ancient Temple of Mythal, the old elven god, in the Arbor Wilds. Morrigan deducts that Corypheus is searching for an eluvian to reach the nexus of all magical mirrors, and the Inquisition mounts an assault on Corypheus' remaining forces.
- Morrigan and the Herald chase Corypheus inside the temple, and ally themselves with the Sentinels, a group of elven defenders of the temple from before the fall of Elvhenan. They discover that Corypheus' true goal was Well of Sorrows, an ancient artifact that gives them the knowledge of every elven servant of Mythal before them, and therefore more knowledge than anyone on Thedas. Either the Herald or Morrigan drinks from the well, and whoever does so becomes forever bound to the will of Mythal.
- The Herald and Morrigan discover that Flemeth is actually the vessel of Mythal herself, and she is now in control of whoever drank from the well. Flemeth explains that Corypheus' dragon is actually a copy of an Archdemon, corrupted by red lyrium and infused with its master's own power. If the dragon is slain, Corypheus won't be able to jump to another body, and will die for good. If Morrigan drank from the well, Flemeth gives her the ability to turn into a high dragon just like her mother; if the Herald drank instead, they gain the power to summon a mythical high dragon devoted to Mythal.
- Corypheus uses the Orb of Destruction to reopen the Breach, and when the Inquisition's army arrives, he raises the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes into the air to simulate the Black City. The Inquisition's dragon ally fights Corypheus' own while the Herald fights Corypheus on the ground. Using the Anchor, the Herald takes the Orb from Corypheus' hands and seals the Breach permanently, before banishing Corypheus' very essence to the Fade.
- In the aftermath of the battle, Solas finds the Orb, which has been irreparably damaged, and bids farewell to the Herald, departing without explanation.
- Divine Victoria becomes the new leader of the Chantry, depending on your choices, Leliana or Cassandra can become the Divine.
- Somehow, Varric becomes Viscount of Kirkwall.
- A clutch of griffons are discovered in the Anderfels by Grey Warden recruits, the first in centuries.
- Morrigan leaves the Inquisition, never to return. Many grow concerns over the ever-growing power of the Inquisition.
- At some point, Solas finds Flemeth by an eluvian, and they greet one another as old friends. Flemeth recognizes the "Dread Wolf" and Solas apologizes to Mythal for giving the Orb to Corypheus. Although he recognizes that he should pay for his mistake, Solas argues that the elves need him, and then he seemingly absorbs Mythal's essence, leaving Flemeth to die.
9:44 Dragon - Divine Victoria calls for an Exalted Council to determine the future of the Inquisition. Before any decision can be made, the Inquisition is sent to deal with a Qunari plot called "Dragon's Breath" that would target and kill all of southern Thedas' nobility.
- Thanks to information and assistance from Solas, the Qunari plot is stopped.
- The Herald discovers that Solas is, in fact, Fen'Harel, and plans to destroy the Veil and bring back the world of ancient elves. Solas then severs the Herald's left forearm to remove the Anchor, and disappears fully in control of the entire eluvian network.
- Elves from across Thedas, whether servants, Dalish, or even members of the Inquisition, abandon their posts and follow Solas, their numbers beyond count.
- The Herald returns to the Exalted Council and announces what the fate of the Inquisition will be — either to serve as Divine Victoria's personal guard, to disband entirely, or to reform in secret without answering to anyone. This is done to root out Solas' agents who have infiltrated the Inquisition. Whatever the outcome, the core Inquisition leaders set their sights on the Tevinter Imperium to get new recruits, and on Solas as their enemy...
Let me just start off by saying, I read everything that’s posted on all my pages. It may not always be right at the same exact time that it has been written, but I do read everything. I write in three characters: 2 are in this verse, 1 is pretty much a multi-character as it stands right now and my preference is male characters. Now, I have already expressed to some people of which characters those are and I am pretty sure others can probably guess because its not that big of a mystery.
But the point is, the friends that I write with, they are good people. I have written with them –or known them—for many years only because we share a desire to write as our chosen characters and we make and keep long-term friendships over something that we enjoy. There is no “clique,” no secret group, no push to isolate others from their writing. In fact, in most cases the reason why people are usually removed from my page is because of their own inactivity or rules not being followed. However, I have been pretty slacking on this lately because I understand that when news of a favorite verse pops up, people would start creating pages of their own favorite characters (or Oc’s), in that verse, to give it a try –and I do like trying to meet new people and establishing new storylines. I have started to nickname this “Fad-Versing” and these pages get created and ended very quickly, because it is like chasing a fad. I have seen it happen in “The Walking Dead,” “Game of Thrones” (So often), “Resident Evil”, “Mass Effect” and sometimes briefly in “Dragon Age.”
The main three reasons that pages are ended quickly are usually: Smut, Inactivity, and literally -pointless and dumb arguments over who is ‘the true character’ or Love Interests.
Now, that we have come this far, let me start off with my issues of the smut—just to get it out of the way. I am a mature veteran writer. I try to apply as much lore as I can when involving cannon characters; however, and I try to stick with said-character’s behavior. However, I –honestly-- do not have a problem with writing smut in general so long as certain conditions are met. That it is kept hidden (my preferences is in messages); and more importantly – that there is chemistry in the writing. On rare occasions, I am willing to even cross my original preferences for certain characters if there is a writing history and a matching chemistry with it.
–And technically, I have only done that once.
So, as I said, I have no problem with this so long as I know there is at least chemistry between the characters involved and that there has been some writing history already involved. Even better, I would be hoping for the story to continue on/over an added genre. Because I do enjoy adventure storylines a great deal more.
With that out of the way, let me get to the inactivity issue. If a person requires time to finish their writing –and especially if they make announcements of doing so—I will give them all the time they need to finish this. Yes, I am one of those people that are “You add, you talk” – because I have added so many countless pages and given so many countless ooc greetings just to find it never responded to. I prefer discussions. I prefer a greeting after accepting an added page. After all, if my page is added then I would assume that someone wants to write with this character –and I, unfortunately have a lot I continue to have to maintenance from broken links to revising connections. (I actually, have yet to even start half of that and I still have other writing to do. Not complaining. I truly do love being this busy.) Even if the discussion is brief, and we just jump into it, that would be fine. But this is how I normally do things: ________ A greeting is received (or given, if I actually add the page) and a discussion starts. A plan to how a starter can be approached –so that I know how my character is supposed to react –unless its from a cross-over verse, and usually in those situations, I am already out of my element anyway. Roleplay begins. Pretty simple. _________
At times, I will drop off an ooc discussion during a time of that said-storyline continuing. By no means does this mean I am brushing off someone. It means actually, quite the opposite – that I am enjoying the current storyline. But if you feel stuck, or have a problem, or for any reason just want to give this old elf a poke, by all means go right ahead. I do like interaction. I do like talking to people. I do like sh!t -posting, especially in streams or discord! I have no real preference when it comes between role play in messages or comments or even blogs. However, the exception to this would be smut—in which case, that particular segment/snippet would have to be in messages for me.
(This is probably something I should be including in my rules but for now, it’s just put here. So, I apologize if there is any misunderstanding about either of these two issues.)
Lastly, I am addressing the petty drama. As stated in my rules, I do not care about doubles. Doubles are fine. Just do not write insults about another double in your own writing. I have had that happen before – to me -- and this is hurtful.
Love Interests: Pretty much the same thing. Its in my rules. My storylines are kept separate for sole reason of just wanting to write. If certain chemistry happens, it happens. I will not shy from it, nor will I isolate someone else. (Though, keep in mind that especially in Solas’s case, these …romances… will not be pleasant ones. It may sometimes seem like I will be going out of my way to make such a thing difficult, but I’m just staying in character. By cannon, Solas has multiple issues with intimacy and allowing himself to be with someone.) I cannot expect my friends to yield and accept pretty much of the same, but this is why I am speaking for me.
So, --majorly in conclusion, if you can excuse this being said from me, understand it and agree then I only ask: have patience, love others but most of all love yourself.
Disclaimer : At the end of the final battle, Solas remains lain at Serenity’s feet. Defeated, he looks back to his thoughts of what his life had become and of what influences lead him to his death. Willing to accept his fate, he urges her to bring his chapter to a close.
They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. A moment is summarized by a few precious minutes to seconds. So very little time wasted to anyone else except for the one viewing it and then in an instant it would be gone. Far too soon, would it be snuffed out forever. It said to be quick, for most people except for the one that is actually dying.
Solas had some time left to question things he may never find answers to: Had he done the right thing? Was his vision realised or would he be the last of his kind to see it? He recognized the attempts to have the world reshaped and other attempts to where it would have been in a sense, abandoned. Both ideals had their merits but neither had been something that Solas could accept. The death that clung to him refused for him to accept it.
That was what brought him to become this defeated mass and at the foot of a being more powerful than himself. Despite everything he had done. Despite all that he hoarded, stole, and regained the Dread Wolf was still not strong enough or fast enough. He thought he had taken everything from Serenity when they last spoke. His presumption made him hasty. It was a careless mistake and one that would cost him more than shame. Now, the blood that marked him and soaked into his armor was his own. He couldn’t even decide for certain if the final strike could have truly been evaded, or if Solas intentionally caught Serenity’s blade with his chestplate. Perhaps it mattered very little now to have made any sense to what already came to be.
“...Well done…” He closed his eyes and covered one guantlet hand across the injury. “Melin alasan nar. (The world is yours.)”
He could feel the blood flowing free to collect heavier in the soft pads of the leather textures he wore. Solas could sense that she had lowered her weapon for the moment; if for anything then it would have been to give his last moments a sense of comfort before passing. Perhaps then, there was a sense of honor to it because Solas did not believe Serenity would have chosen for him suffer to death. He didn’t believe himself to have been so convincing of a being that terrible for torture; nor did he believe that Serenity would ever resort to it. She was not that type of individual -- not even to someone like him.
It was a disgrace to have fallen in such a way, but it was also not the only time Solas had been shamefully defeated. The last time he was struck down, it was by Elgar’nan and his golden spear. The betrayal from that cultivated such a black and terrible hatred in heart that Solas vowed to remain numb to feel anything else. Yet over time, he found there became exceptions that managed to move past all of his defenses. Serenity was among the very few. She was the vessel of Shizukesa, who still awakened within her.
Solas remembered the times all too clearly; as if it had just been yesterday when he fell in love with the mask she had worn. He saw her dancing in the ballroom with Dirthamen. He saw the spell that Dirthamen placed upon her and the scorn Solas felt back then prickled upon his skin even now. Her freedom became a driving force for him. When he achieved it, Solas stole her away for himself. He could have easily lost himself in her, for in those days there were less burdens to carry. Solas didn’t have to hide. He could have marked her in every form of lust that he wanted and made love to her until they both ached in satisfaction. If only time had permitted her failing health -- or maybe if Solas could have seen past her charming smile to see where her suffering was to be with him, maybe there could have been a way to stop him from becoming what he was now. However, what Solas loved back then was just her mask and her illusion. The Dread Wolf was tricked and it was so very long ago to where they were here and now.
He loved her. He could never hate her, just as he could not hate his current defeat before her. Solas viewed her in a similar in the way that he viewed “Flemeth” as Mythal’s last vessel to a piece of her scattered soul. It rose a confliction of complications to his feelings but hatred and anger were never things that came to his mind. Not once. Even if he wanted to unleash such a wrath against Serenity, he couldn’t because there simply was no anger in him to show. it bled out of him when he last faced the Evanuris and all that consumed him afterwards was dismay.
He still believed that Shizukesa/Serenity was a mistake to Dirthamen, but a necessary one for this world to have been saved. Solas had noticed the change in Dirthamen long ago, but only recently came to terms of the changes within himself. After pledging himself to duty for so long and striving to please the Pantheon, Dirthamen began to take a slow turn from it all when he met his love. His happiness became his newest aspiration, and he chased it beyond the Gates of Oblivion and back. Solas was the complete opposite, because after seeking to please only himself for so long, the souls of the many he had damned along the way and the souls who prayed to his protection all began to haunt him. They clung to him and chained themselves against his conscience like a burial shroud. His duty was forced into recognition and it become something that Solas strove to maintain, in the small hope that the world could be made better… And maybe, he could find forgiveness in himself because of it.
“No sadness, lethal’lan…(bloodkin) Tel’dan’latha sulem. (Do not grieve for me.)” Solas attempted to reassure her with a smile, in spite of the pain that pulled at him. His head turned to look up at her then, and his smile faltered under the strain. “I have no fear for what’s to come now… All I ask--is… Please, don’t let the balance of power… drown into any greed… The struggle is… more real now... than ever.”
His eyes lowered and he looked back down to his wounds from where he continued to bleed out. A coldness was rapidly creeping up along his flesh, making it difficult move -- let alone even breathe. His right hand lifted away from the injury and closed itself into a tight bloody fist. The hitch in his throat caused him to cough; which sent more blood to fill his lungs and some of it to loosen from his mouth.
“Mythal and I could never accept this existence as our true reality... Nothing of it is home. I doubt...the… Evanuris would… feel any different…” His trachea tightened as his eyes became hazy. Solas could not turn his head towards her anymore but his words carried far more weight in their challenge even still.
“The Ancients… are a dying breed, Serenity, but… in some ways… there is eternity in us, even still… If I am just a means to an end, then let my end be so. Finish your mission. Banal’halam.” (A word without a true translation in English. Meaning the concept of souls and memories travelling onwards throughout history within the minds and hearts of loved ones, thus meaning that everything -- in a small way -- is immortal. Buildings will remain, clues will remain of lost cultures, dead loved ones live onward in our memories. Nothing truly ends.)
So, I’m kind of busying myself with this whole other project that I’m brainstorming on, between replies and discussions. It’s just a thought, but I don’t recall seeing the Elvhenan language actually written down. There were runes that the protagonist discovers in the game; similar to the Tevinter Runes that one would find in Dragon Age Origins. However, that’s more like hieroglyphics and not what I was looking to see. What I may have missed, is a strict alphabet; actual letters, used to make a sentence.
For example: How was “Skyhold” actually written? I know its a completely different elvhen word that Morrigan vocally translate into the name, (“Tarasyl'an te'las”) but do we see those actual letters carved in stone somewhere to read? Are there pictures of the written language in a codex? I don’t recall actually seeing any writing. There was just translated information, but not the original written work.
So, I’m deciding to go back and do a little obsessive compulsive “research” into how I could create/bend/borrow a written language. I downloaded an app, looked up the different terms of the languages available from it, looked back at the notes in Wikipedia about the Dalish in general, and returned back to my original language crutch that I’ve been relying on to perfect and practice for nearly two years.
It turns out, that the inspiration for the Dalish was actually Roma and Jewish and then later in inspiration conformed more towards North American Natives. As far as their dialect is concerned, I do not see where this connection in their accents are at all. However, I do see the pattern of nomadic behavior and cultures in general.
The fanwork that I have been relying on has gifted its readers with an entire Elvhenan Alphabet to use. I realize that this is a lot of work in itself. It was almost reformed from the common tongue to put an emphasis on just how ancient and lost that the language had become. It did this by taking notice while there were missing letters in the current alphabet, there were ‘new letters’ from the conjoining of two separate ones to replace them. Example : There are no consonants; “K” ‘W” “X” or “Z” in the Elvhenan Alphabet. In their place there is; “Ar - Ar” “Dh - Dah” “Gh - Ghih” “Sh - Shee” and “Th - Eth” (according to the Elvhenan Project)
The letters all have their own pronunciation examples and the author diligently expresses a given opinion on the tone of syllables used for “June” (pronounced correctly as “yoo-nay”) as a wonderful example of their speech. (This is; however, a speculation to imply that Tevinter and later generations of mislead Dalish must have unintentionally butchered the Elvhen God’s name.)
---- Divine Age ::
Tevinter : Their So-Called God, June-- Dalish : His name is pronounced “Yoo-nay,” Shem. Andrastian : It looks like June (Joon). Dalish : ….Whatever. ----
Without a doubt, I strongly appreciate the hard work and effort this author has done for Dragon Age fans and writers like myself. So, I have moved on to accept the given advice on to how the Ancient Elvhenan language may have actually been written, letter by letter. There were a few consonants written down to show it. However, I’d imagine that since this project was done on a word processor there would have been limited types of text that the author could use in order to show an original written version of the Elvhenan Alphabet Language. Instead, the author gave examples by using words like “flowery futhark” and “flowering ‘Lord of the Rings’ Tengwar.”
I am leaning more towards the Futhark because of my recent gameplay of ‘Hellblade’ but I do not want that to be my reason for choosing a written example for the language. Plus, there’s practically 3 different versions of Futhark on the app that I am using and I would not want it to get too confusing.
On the upside to this, it is a language that I could officially -- or so I think -- because its a language that is otherwise universal. I wouldn’t have to worry about stepping on someone else’s “Verse-Toes,” so to speak. I would have more freedom to work with the language instead of getting caught in the crosshairs about the definition of an elven term that is already expressed elsewhere.
However, the only “Lord of the Rings” kind of written language I have from the app is Cirth, and I’m not sure if that is close to Tengwar -- or if there is much of a difference to it at all. Plus, I would imagine that Dragon Age Ancient Elves and Tolkien Elves would be different even so. To begin with; they would have to be from completely different worlds. Their customs - culture - history --everything is so different and split apart that the only thing they have in common (to me) is that they are elves. So, to use this as a written language, there would have to be some generous forgiveness between the two on variations and meanings to certain definitions, slang and phrases. This may even apply to their separate pronunciations as well.
However, this does not mean that Cirth could not be used for the Elvhenan Written Language. There are plenty of examples where culture has changed its habits of writing something over a lengthy period of time. In Dragon Age, the world has been cut off from the connection of other possible realms. This means, that it could have once been connected to the realm of Middle-earth. They could have been neighbors to the Elves living in Aman and/or Mirkwood at one point. They could have shared things between worlds like magic, floral and fauna. So, naturally, they could have shared a common language at one time and possibly relied on it for trade or when they traveled among one another.
This means that I am stuck to choosing two different examples of the Elvhenan Written Language.
Cirth (Angerthas Erebor):
I would have rather taken a hard left to using something like Old Irish, but there just wasn't anything tangible in that selection for me to feel satisfied. As you can see here.
Ogham (Old Irish):
The other two that I had available were Seax Wica and Medieval.
I refused to use Seax Wica, because that felt more like a writing that the Aavars would use. It is -- in fact -- meant for wiccan / or possibly / witchcraft; and I find nothing wrong with that as a religious practice for someone! I just do not see it as something Ancient Elves of Dragon Age would have used. --Or rather, if they did, then they would not have used it often. Elves of Ancient Arlathan enslaved one another and went to war; and half the time they did so because they were bored or greedy. The Gods they worshiped were not necessarily those said to have been born of nature, but instead they Ascended into power. So, the worship and use of wica would be somewhat incorrect and uncomfortable for me. There could be one exception to this and that is if the slaves might have used Seax Wica as a separate language and maybe kept it secret from Elvhen Nobles and Elvhen Gods; however, this may also lead to a practice of heresy.
My reason for not choosing Medieval is far more simple. The apostrophe is used sometimes for the letter “s” and the Dalish Language often uses apostrophes. That could become far too terribly confusing. It gives me a headache to even think about it.
What will all this mean for me? Not much. I don’t really anticipate using a written version of the Elvhenan Language often. If anything, it may just be used for something fancy or otherwise just to add to the possibilities in storylines. To be honest, it would be extra work to do because anything that I would write would undergo at least two translations before presenting itself as a final sentence.
Example : Saying “How is the weather?” is translated into Dalish as “Ahn tarasyldear?” (for meaning - “What *is the* sky mood?”) and then would need to be translated into a written version of either Elder Futhark or Cirth. (Whichever one that ends up chosen permanently.)
So, there is my idea written down, and I am looking for opinions to it. I may make the choice on my own eventually---but for now, I am waiting to see if anyone else who is equally interested would like to share a viewpoint. As always, I thank you for taking the time to read. ~Ma serannas.
Disclaimer : This is a short story involving one of the brief encounters that Dirthamen (Elvhen God of Knowledge; Keeper of Secrets) has with Ghilan’nain (Elvhen Goddess; Mother of Halla) and tries to bring Falon’Din (Elvhen God of Death and Fortune) to his knees. Elgar’nan (The All-Father; Elvhen God of Vengeance) is there to aid Falon’Din and put an end to the fighting. When Fen’Harel (Elvhen God of Rebellion; Betrayal), makes his appearance what scale in the balance of power begin to tilt? And at what cost will Ghilan'nain be free?
Open my chest and colour my spine I'm giving you all I'm giving you all Swallow my breath And take what is mine I'm giving you all I'm giving you all
Walking down the dark cells to one of the many castles that Felon’Din possesses, the tall and dark haired Elvhen God walked. His boots covered only the top half of his feet while the bottoms were opened to feel the magic that still filled the world in an abundance. He strode tall in the signature armor of onyx, obsidian and crimson. It was far different than the traditional golden Sentinel armor that any agent of Mythal wore. However, he was not an agent of anyone but himself. --And here, he was trespassing.
He was searching for Ghilan’nain, the mortal-made Goddess and ex-lover of Andruil… Or perhaps she still claimed herself to have been attached? Dirthamen was uncertain for he never had much of a chance to keep up with the scandalous affairs among the Pantheon. He knew about Felon’Din wishing to impress Mythal with his might, and when she didn’t show him favor he turned his greed onto her own lands. The attempt was made so that Mythal would concede to her “son,” but Mythal was loyal to Elgar’nan The All-Father. Dirthamen knew of all this because he was under the pressure and responsibilities of keeping the scandal a secret. On more than one occasion, Dirthamen has had to live a lie to spare his brother from being caught in his pining for their All-Mother. Now, Dirthamen was here to push his own twin to a heel so that Falon’Din would finally leave Mythal alone.
However, he came for Ghilan’nain because Dirthamen did not believe that she deserves her current punishment.
She was once a mortal, who fell in love with the Goddess whom she served. Appealing to Andruil gained her rights to “god-hood”, and that was against the wishes of the All-Father. So, now, after Andruil’s punishment was to have been driven mad and to have her precious memories and love taken away from her. Mythal had been tasked to do this on Elgar’nan’s behalf; which she did bitterly but showed no remorse to anyone. Meanwhile, Ghilan’nain was thrown into the dungeons that belonged to the Elvhen God of Death, Felon’Din.
Rescuing her would be Dirthamen’s boon; which came as a surprise to him. Dirthamen would have reluctantly went to war with his own brother anyway; out of respect for their All-Mother Mythal. Now, he had an even greater concern and it lead him to search a dungeon that showed false cells and false walls. All he had to rely on to find her was a ring that was once given to her true love. It was a woman’s ring and Dirthamen certainly was not one meant to wear it. The feeling of the band around his right pinky finger felt tight and overbearing. It hummed and buzzed a tone from blended musical notes into his ears with each step. The closer he came to Ghilan’nain, the louder that it seemed to have gotten.
He stared at the ring as he walked. His silver eyes glanced cautiously from the ruby gem of the bloodstone and then back to the false walls. Finally, it felt that the ring had reached its plateau of its calling at the sight of a brick wall to his left. He turned to look at it and studied the wall closely. Dirthamen stared at the wall to find the seams of the wall to determine if it was really just a wall, or perhaps an illusion, or a barrier of some sort. He knew at least Ghilan’nain would have been behind it -- if he could figure out a way to break through it to reach her.
I'll be the blood If you'll be the bones I'm giving you all I'm giving you all So lift up my body And lose all control I'm giving you all I'm giving you all
There was no light in the cell that Ghilan’nain was trapped in. There was no windows or doors. It was just a box of a room--or so it seemed--carved in clumps of stone and reeking of condensation and biohazard wastes. The darkness and silence by themselves would have been enough to slowly slip anyone into madness but there had been things done far worse to her.
Stripped naked of clothes and armor, Ghilan’nain was chained down to the floor. The shackles on her ankles, wrists and neck were made of nullification metal to remove her from any magic abilities. Shards of hardened forms of pure lyrium protruded out of her legs and knees which also rooted her to the floor. The permanent position kept her cemented in a black sludge pool of her own urine. The lyrium had been an extra torture method; used as a drug to keep Ghilan’nain in a ‘magical high’ with no outlet able to find a release of its affects. What pleasure it did create drowned itself into an immense pain instead, like a million hot needles filled with a substance to burn her from the inside. Her hair was matted with clumps of filth and tangled into its strands.
She was malnourished and her bones were turning brittle; surrendering her physical form slowly more in favor to the lyrium crystals that planted her forcefully to the ground. No living being was meant to take on the shapes of non-living matter, but the lyrium breathed life and pulsed with magic. It was a close exception to the rule, but not entirely. Eventually, if fate willed it, Ghilan’nain would have been swallowed whole by it and turned into a large shard of hardened lyrium. Elvhen writing had been carved all over and into her pale skin.
Words like “Heretic,” “False,” Sinner,” “Liar”, “Scarlet” and even “Nullifidian” stained her in heavy scars.
For who was she, a born mortal, to indulge her physical love with an immortal Goddess? Her profound indecency to covet the very religious figure whom she worshiped was as appalling as it was abhorrent. For shame on all those who served Ghilan’nain as a risen Goddess out of nothing! For shame on her parents to have birthed her and upon any blood related to her! For shame on any who would present themselves as a friend of any kind to her! But she could not help who she loved...
Alone, she was crying and praying to an Elvhen Goddess who could not hear her.
Looking up, she felt eyes watching her -- or maybe trying to. There, she saw him. A member of the Pantheon, a God in every right that her people knew, and it was He who came to her. Not her beloved Andruil. All the same, she tried in desperation to stretch her arm out to him. To plead cautiously. She was not certain if it was too much to hope she could have been saved by someone, if not her lover.
You hover like a hummingbird Haunt me in my sleep You're sailing from another world Sinking in my sea, oh You're feeding on my energy I'm letting go of it She wants it
Dirthamen slammed his fist against the brick wall to test its density. His knuckles started to bleed from the abrasive contact. Gravel scraped into his skin as he pulled back his arm and swung again. He took notice that there had been no chips coming from the wall. At this point, he didn’t need anymore answers. The ring gave away the location of Ghilan’nain. Dirthamen could also hear her cries.
The obsidian finger-guards he wore turned to a single point of the brick wall and began to glow in a bright neon green color. His eyes narrowed in concentration to break his brother’s barrier; piercing it past the seams of magic. He pushed harder, dug deeper, and clawed his way past a tiny hole to pull, rip, and split apart. His arms were shaking as the sound magic crackled and popped against his ears.
But he could see past the barrier at last! His arms felt like they may have fallen off from forcing so much energy apart, but it was well worth it.
From the other side, Ghilan’nain looked onward and stared at the tall elf in front of her. He was ripping apart the barrier between his sheer will and physical force -- which had only been someone equal in power to Falon'Din to have done. She saw this and her eyes widened into a complete horror. Because Falon'Din and Dirthamen carried the same face. They were twins, after all. So, it was more than a natural reaction out of her to have cringed and trembled before the obviously more powerful being.
She knew her place well as a mortal -- or rather, an immortal who gained immortality through impure means. She was undeserving and for that could only face the wrath of those who would punish her for it.
However, Dirthamen had not proceeded much further, for the next obstacle that greeted him were iron bars. They would not have been much of a challenge to him, but it was the sight of how Ghilan’nain looked at him. She was the frightened golden halla of legend, now looking at him as if he had drawn a bowstring tight. It was as if she feared him to have aimed between those doe-like eyes. He knew the look of fear when he saw it and such a gaze was enough for Dirthamen to pause.
“Ghilan’nain…” He started to speak; uncertain if he should have began with any reassurance or to give a full fledged apology on his bretheren’s behalf. She would have been deserving of both.
Dirthamen lowered his hands once the barrier had fallen away and disappeared. He reached up in moments later to trace his hands across the iron bars in a test to see there was another barrier, but his hands hadn’t met any such similar obstacle. He would have proceeded to cut through the bars, but the sound of footsteps caused him to freeze in his actions. Dirthamen turned slightly and looked over his shoulder to see who was coming. He knew he would face the opposition sooner or later.
And I run from wolves, ooh Breathing heavily At my feet And I run from wolves, ooh Tearing into me Without teeth
Dirthamen saw the Sentinels of Falon’Din rushing down the stairs to see who the intruder to their Lord-and-God’s temple was. Hearty elven men dressed in the silver and purple shades of scaled armor were armed with staffs, warhammers, daggers, swords and bows. He gritted his teeth to the sight of them. Of course they wouldn’t fear him, for he was in his brother’s lair and thus lead them to believe that Falon’Din extended his reach to their full protection. Dirthamen would have to prove that this was not so.
The doors opening to the dungeon were nearly kicked down from the force that followed. Powerful arcane blasts and golden enchanted arrows were being hurled in Dirthamen’s direction, only to have been met by a barrier that he had placed soon upon himself. The long-raged attacks, he managed to deflect with ease. However, such shields did have a time limit to them and he needed to act fast. So, his wrists and hands lit up once more with the green aura to pull from it similar powers of the arcane arts. Fire pulled from his hands to burn the mages and bowmen alive; which came surprisingly easy.
The Sentinels with swords, daggers and warhammers charged at him next. Dirthamen’s right hand changed its color into a bright golden glow. It took the shape of a long spear of pure magical energy and the Godlike being used this as his weapon. He rammed the end’s tip into the first Sentinel to have reached him. Turning it upwards in his hands with both hands, Dirthamen sent the fresh body over his own in an aerial sweep that protected him from the next Sentinal with daggers. He jerked the weapon back to free itself from its first death. In a helicopter sweep over his head next and then across his body to fold and spin as he moved, Dirthamen was knocking back slicing into the soldiers that moved too close.
Once the Sentinels had all eventually fallen from combat, Dirthamen turned his weapon towards the iron bars next. He brought its bladed tip outward and sliced into the metal. He cut a line straight through it easily and dispersed the golden spear of magic away from his grasp. Raising up one leg, he then kicked the bars with a spell of force and his sheer will to cause them to fold downward. Stepping onto the bars and cautiously walking inside, Dirthamen looked down to see in his dismay at how Ghilan’nain cowardly shook beneath his march inside.
I can see through you We are the same It's perfectly strange You run in my veins How can I keep you Inside my lungs I breathe what is yours You breathe what is mine
Dirthamen frowned at the sight of her body carrying as many brands and carvings that covered her skin. Ghilan’nain couldn’t even move. She was pinned to the floor. Her fear shook at the very sight of him and she closed her eyes as though she was preparing herself for some painful contact. It was an acknowledgement and a warning to Dirthamen, that should he have ever loved to share his power in a similar way that Andruil had done for Ghilan’nain, then whoever he loved would have been given a similar treatment and he would have his own memories taken away as well. Such a frightening path was revealed before him then.
“Please… Forgive me, Falon’Din. Please--” Ghilan’nain muttered in between sobs.
In a glance downward, Dirthamen realized that his brother must have revealed his face behind his mask to her. It explained why she was so afraid of Him now. So, he spoke in a quiet hush to soothe her. His left hand extended towards her in a small hover but without contact. As the bright green glow moved its ambience over her scarred skin, it began to heal its wounds. As he moved it, starting from the top of her head as though to grant a symbol of a blessing and glided his hand down along the rest of her body to her feet.
The aura was healing and removing not just the scars, bruises, words and burns -- but also the chains and the lyrium that kept her trapped into the filthy floor.
Ghilan’nain gasped at the sore stretch of her legs. She moved them to find feeling returning to them. The first shudders were always painful but the sensation was awakening and welcomed. She started to scoot back just as Dirthamen’s hands returned back to his sides and the glow upon them began to dim away.
“I am not my brother, Ghilan’nain.” Dirthamen informed her.
He reached to his collar to unlock the royal broach from around his neck. In large waves, his black cloak fell from his shoulders and gathered to his right forearm. Immediately, Ghilan’nain started to recoil. She started to crawl away in fear but Dirthamen lunged forward to take her shoulders. He leveled himself down to her almost in a kneel and a desperate grasp at her attention with clarity.
“The lyrium is still pulsing strong through you--Ghilan’nain.” He paused tilted her chin to look back up at him once she turned away. “--Goddess of Creation and Guide to the Lost. See me for who I am. Know me. For, I am not your enemy.”
You hover like a hummingbird Haunt me in my sleep You're sailing from another world Sinking in my sea, oh You're feeding on my energy I'm letting go of it He wants it
Ghilan’nain winced and attempted to look away -- a small defiance she could muster after being weakened so much. His words were muffled to her mind; as though she were listening to him through the heavy turbulence of a hurricane. She winced and came close to screaming from the toxic high that coursed its side effects through her, but the feeling of cold steel and warm flesh covered over her lips to keep the noise from echoing too loudly around them.
Her eyes widened then to focus past her haze to see more clearly. The person in front of her did not share the twisted malice as Falon’Din even though he carried the same face as him. His hand was pressed over her mouth and she felt her urgency and fright to slowly fizz away. He didn’t appear ready to harm her; in fact so far he had only been there to heal her. Maybe even help, after all.
‘See me for who I am.’ -- He said moments ago and then Ghilan’nain narrowed her eyes in concentration until she realized a basic truth. Dirthamen and Falon’Din were twins; so of course it was likely they would share the same face.
Reaching up in her shaking state, Ghilan’nain took a hold of his hand and removed it slowly from her mouth. Taking in a breath, she dared whispered a name she’d never imagined to have come for her.
“Yes…” Dirthamen smiled a little in some small relief. Quickly, he turned the cloak from his forearm in a flare to wrap around Ghilan’nain’s body. He wrapped her secure and lifted her into his arms to carry her out.
“Where is Andruil?” She immediately asked and turned her tight clutches towards his armor.
Dirthamen took in a breath as he carried her out of the cell. He was about to answer her when shouts from further in the castle caught his attention. He turned with clenched teeth in the direction that his ears burned with sound.
“Another matter for another time.” He buffed away the question and turned towards opposite brick wall to run towards.
And I run from wolves, ooh Breathing heavily At my feet And I run from wolves, ooh Tearing into me Without teeth
The wall from outside exploded with a blast of energy that turned its opposition into a black smoke and dust. Dirthamen leaped out of the wall and fell from its high position as a tower. Ghilan’nain clutched onto his armor tightly and looked up towards the sky to see its bright emerald glow. Mountains were floating in the sky and twisting in a continued levitated turbulence. She felt something approaching them close from below, and turned just in time to see a boulder racing towards them.
Ghilan’nan screamed but couldn’t close her eyes to the fear of possible death. She was uncertain if she could even die but old habits in fear were difficult to forget. Luckily, instead of their bodies both landing in a crimson smear to its surface, the massive boulder impacted against Dirthamen’s barrier instead. The solid matter -- in response-- had split into two large pieces; of which they continued to bypass and land to the ground at the edge of a cliff.
Ghilan’nain breathed unsteadily while looking further below to two armies locked in a bloody battle. She saw elves killing each other and praising their glory to the Elvhen Gods that they served -- be it for either Falon’Din or Dirthamen. Clearly enough it was a Holy War being started, and all it really had done, was create a distraction just so that Dirthamen could free Ghilan’nain from the clutches of his vicious twin brother.
“So much blood…” Ghilan’nain frowned and looked back to Dirthamen in her increasing plead. “You have to stop this. Its a pointless slaughter.”
“Pointless?” Dirthamen looked at her in shock and quickly sneered with a shake of his head. “They are not your people! They would have you destroyed!”
He took her towards one of his large ravens. The bird named Fear had already grown to the incredible size. It was as large as a wild griffon but far more tame. Fear ducked his head down in a favorable bow while Dirthamen hurried to mount Ghilan’nain upon his back. This would have been the safest method of escaping Falon’Din’s castle because the enemy would have been hunting for a massive bear. Not large birds; which almost would have seemed to be a complementary symbol to this place.
“Have enough people not died? My namesake cannot carry the blood--” Ghilan’nain begged as Dirthamen placed her onto Fear’s back. “Dirthamen--!”
If only it had just been her namesake that would have been his motivations. However, there were things far more deep that pushed him to save her. So, Dirthamen promptly ignored her and smacked Fear’s backside in a motivation for him to spread his large wings to take flight. Fear leaped into the air to take flight.
And you can follow You can follow me You can follow You can follow me
Falon’Din flew over his castle in the form of a grey spotted owl. The roaring of the Dragon Elgar’nan echoing behind him called out in a ravenous rage. However, it wasn’t the All-Father that Dirthamen was even immediately concerned with. It was Falon’Din. Dirthamen saw the Elvhen God in his animal form of the Owl. Falon’Din was racing to take down Fear just so that he could catch Ghilan’nain once more.
Dirthamen gritted his teeth and ran to his second massive raven named Deceit. He climbed aboard and kicked his heels to her sides in the signal for her to hurry. The raven spread her wings and kicked herself off from the ledge. They soon gave chase in a race to reach Falon’Din and Fear.
You hover like a hummingbird Haunt me in my sleep You're sailing from another world Sinking in my sea, oh You're feeding on my energy I'm letting go of it She wants it
Flying above the gigantic owl, Deceit unleashed her talons to dig into the Elvhen God’s shoulders. The Owl squawked in his anger while claws dug and tore at feathers and flesh. The two large birds pulled back in flight to have continued into their fight; for Falon’Din was not going to allow his form to be torn to shreds. He took a dive downward and Deceit dove after him. Meanwhile, Fear continued to fly onward to carry Ghilan’nain to safety. She called to Dirthamen, but her voice had been drowned out from the screeching of birds, and the Holy Dragon-like Elvhen God who was fighting amongst the clashing of two Holy Armies at His feet. Elgar’nan roared his impatience. He breathed his dragonfire to melt the armor of the elves, making it seep to their skin in a state of torture to their deaths. He clawed deep into the ground as he demanded a sense of order but the numbers of Sentinels were still too large and so death would be their only other option if the fighting did not stop.
“No, Dirthamen!” She called to him as she was carried off. “Do not fight with your brother!”
Deceit managed to dive faster underneath Falon’Din. Her talons stretched for more blood once Dirthamen pulled at her feathers around her neck. This had given her the signal turn onto her back and latch onto Falon’Din’s talons; which turned into a tight match of clutching together, twisting in barrel rolls in the air, biting and clawing on another. More blood was torn from them and it rained down upon their soldiers in a crimson storm.
Back up, they began to fly. Their path headed towards the bright green center of the emerald sky. Dirthamen held on tightly until he couldn’t see anymore from the brightness they were headed into. He crawled and clawed his way around Deceit’s thick feathered neck.
“Deceit! Release him!” Dirthamen ordered to his pet just before taking the dangerous leap onto Falon’Din instead.
Deceit obeyed; twisting and turning her body in a false dive. She used that momentum of gravity to create more distance from herself and Falon’Din as she flew farther away. In turn, who caught her tail instead was Elgar’nan instead.
And I run from wolves, ooh Breathing heavily At my feet And I run from wolves, ooh Tearing into me Without teeth
Meanwhile, Fear had flown Ghilan’nain back to safety to the other side of the floating mountains. He flew her to a handful of Sentinels dressed in the golden armor that marked them as agents to either Mythal or Fen’Harel. She couldn’t remember which or if there had been much of a difference between them in regular service. She just knew that Mythal and Fen’Harel were still at a relative peace. Even so, she was still uncertain to slide away from the raven, Fear, once he landed.
Then she looked up to see the tall Elvhen God, standing amongst his Sentinels and yet still relaxed despite the fighting that was at a questionable distance away from them. He wore a wolf’s top jaw as a form of a decorative helmet of sorts. The leather straps it had been used to keep it in place was lost among the thick shaved and twisted strands of the proud Elvhen God’s dark brown dreadlocks. It was enough to make her shudder because she had never stood in his presence before --but it was certainly him.
The Dread Wolf.
“Th--The fighting--” Ghilan’nain trembled in her words before glancing back to see Falon’Din taking a plummet to the ground while Fear was being chased by the dragon. She turned then back to the Dread Wolf. “Fen’Harel-- You must stop this--!”
“Calm yourself.” Fen’Harel directed her with an outstretched hand.
The bright green coating of his magic caused Ghilan’nain to gasp; uncertain of what was to come. She closed her eyes as her body began to glow in a bright light in response. Ghilan'nain felt herself changing slowly. Her body regained a form she was once given from Andruil. Her stiff feet and hands turned more into hooves and her back was gradually folded downward without a struggle. The familiarity of it almost calmed her, (which was partially the intention of the spell) were it not for the worry of the fighting and the guilt of her almost unwilling escape. The Dread Wolf had turned Ghilan’nain into a large Golden Halla. It was the animal symbol that Andruil had blessed her with back when she shared her love openly with Ghilan’nain.
She was a beautiful animal, for the halla were deer-like creatures with mighty long horns of ivory. Their fur was commonly white, but the golden halla was one created by an Elvhen God, and it came from the natural beauty of Ghilan’nain’s own hair.
Ghilan’nain opened her blue eyes and flexed her ears back in sadness while Fen’Harel turned his fingerless-gloved hand to place onto her long forehead. He petted her; in a sense, and turned his hand then to rub underneath her newly shapened chin.
“The abuses you have endured shall continue no further, Ghilan’nain. You will be free.” Fen’Harel promised her.
However, it wasn’t freedom that she wanted. She wanted Andruil, her lover. She wanted Andruil’s memories of them being together to have been returned. She didn’t want to have been taken to some deserted land to wander aimlessly. She didn’t want to start over under a new rule or to disappear from the Pantheon, for that would have felt too close to being exiled! Freedom was not worth the cost to her. What Fen’Harel offered was not necessary and not wanted at this given time. What Ghilan’nain wanted was for the fighting under her namesake to stop -- as well as any fighting that would have involved her personally. She didn’t want to be a Goddess if it meant so many people would die because of her.
And you can follow You can follow me You can follow You can follow me
Rejecting this offer, Ghilan’nain turned away and bleated the animal noise that halla make when they were desperate for communication. She tried to call to Dirthamen, but it was no use. It was a sealed fate of silence when rope made of veilfire lashed around her elongated snout and jaws. Like a domesticated horse of some kind, she was muzzled and the force of the pull attempted to drag her backwards.
“You would defy the Will of Dirthamen? Disgrace his sacrifice?” Fen’Harel warned her in a bolstered scowl. He handled her like a beast to wrestle for dominance; which had not taken long to have Ghilan’nain fold at his feet. So, he guided her to walk with him. “If Elgar’nan or Falon’Din see you right now, I cannot protect you. Then all that Dirthamen had done will be for nothing! Do you want that?”
She didn’t. Then again, she didn’t want to have been saved if it required so many lives to have been lost. She didn’t want Dirthamen to carry the stain of freeing her. She knew he would be exiled from the Pantheon possibly, or tortured, …..or maybe even killed for this strike of treason. Ghilan’nain didn’t want any of that. However, She didn’t want to have been locked in a cell for all eternity either. There were so many things being done -- forced upon her -- that she did not want.
The struggle within her eventually had ended but Ghilan’nain still cried as Fen’Harel guided her away with him to leave the battlefield.
You can follow You can follow me You can follow You can follow me
Dirthamen had his spear of magical energy pulsing through his fingers and clutching tightly into his right hand. His left hand still had an unrelenting grasp of goosed flesh past the feathers of Falon’Din’s skin. The turn of the mighty owl’s head saw at last the one still riding on top of him. The God of Death had almost adjusted his flight by then but his right eye met with the pointed tip of Dirthamen’s grand spear of magic.
Falon’Din screeched his feeling of pain and betrayal as he learned in those split seconds that it was his own brother to blind him. Then his body crashed against one of the floating mountains; turning him and causing his massive body to tumble out of control. He came crashing down towards the ground and having his body knocked against other mountains to turn him as he sank like a stone. His wings broke from some of the crashes. His body bled from the sharp and jagged edges of the mountains.
Dirthamen dispersed his magic to hold on and pull himself up and along Falon’Din’s body each time the owl had turned; until he simply couldn’t move anymore. Time was his enemy and it met its end when Falon’Din crashed down into the ground at last. The land shook with a groan as the dust settled around the continued battle of the elves. Even with an Elvhen God reaching His demise, it seemed that there was an example needed to have been shown.
So, changing his form, Dirthamen grew to the enormous size of a mighty black bear. He stood as tall as the mountains around them. Any smaller elf that dared to charge in his direction to attack, Dirthamen could have knocked them several miles away with a simple flick of his paw. He roared at the soldiers under his brother’s command to strike terror to them while Falon’Din clawed into Dirthamen’s legs in a defensive position to stand. However, the Spotted Owl’s wings were broken and the Black Bear would have none of it. His snout lowered and jaws opened to bite down on the Owl’s large wings.
He was going to rip them off.
Then a massive dragon’s claw seemed to have came out of nowhere and knocked Dirthamen onto his back. Fear and Deceit had fallen in battle at last. The bear rolled quickly over and looked in a wide wonder to find that Elgar’nan had finally turned his fury and attention onto him. A quick glance to Falon’Din; who remained out of commission, then to the mountains -- where Fen’Harel was ‘supposed’ to have charged with the next attack -- and then back to the All-Father in all His scaled terror and glory. Elgar’nan was certainly not happy with this ‘family fighting’ and Fen’Harel seemed to have been nowhere in sight to give Dirthamen his needed support.
No. Dirthamen was on his own. He would lose, but he was not going to be seen kneeling into submission, even if it was before Elgar’nan. Gods never fell gracefully...
Disclaimer : This is a modern piece that takes place in the Modern Mortal Waking Realm. Hence, Solas has finished his confrontations in Trespasser and has moved on in search of the Idol (*Red Lyrium object from DA2) as well as what little magic he can cling to, in this new world. The struggle for a mage who pulls his elements from unknown sources --and still learning of those limits-- can be a challenging one. In a short summary to this, Solas is confronting his employer about some disturbing information that he has uncovered over the last month.
“He will see you in just a minute.” The housekeeper told Solas and closed the door to the study.
Solas was left to look around the room he had barged his way into. At first he wasn’t going to have been invited in but Solas was angry and he insisted to speak with Mr.Eisenhosfer on a personal matter. He threatened not to leave the premises until he had said his peace, and after some mild arguing over an intercom from the mansion’s door, Mr.Eisenhosfer had finally gave the housekeeper permission to allow Solas inside.
He followed the woman to the this room, where the very definition of a distinguished gentleman hung in broad colors of neutral and green. There were stuffed animals on the wall, deer heads, squirrels jumping in mid-air towards another branch, fish mounted in curved jumps, and ducks with their wings spread outward. It was a sight that Solas couldn’t look at without wondering if the souls of that wildlife had received any proper blessing. For some odd reason, the thought for a brief moment of Andruil, and of what she would have said or possibly done. What would a proud Huntress think such display. Would she approve? Would she sneer or laugh? Any outcome would have been probable coming from her because Andruil was unpredictable.
There was a fireplace at the far left side of the room from where Solas had walked inside and at the far right there had been Mr.Eisenhosfer’s work desk. Behind it were large windows that reached from the ceiling to the floor. The curtains were drawn back to allow the moonlight inside. Right across from where Solas had walked inside, was a large bookcase that nearly covered the entire wall. Books that only a pristine scholar from Harvard would have possibly read filled the shelves and mingled with political propaganda, mental disorders, and plagues from a generation Solas had never researched. From the wall next to Solas and leading towards the doorway had looked more like an opened bar. In contrast to the nose-to-grindstone study shelf, the bar shelf was filled all forms of alcohol,more prized trophies of jewelry, busts of people Solas did not know, and tiny sarcophagi that resemble miniaturized representations of ancient resting coffins to Egyption Pharaohs.
As he moved across the green carpet Solas could feel the energies of the room soaking in quickly through the holes at the bottom of his shoes. He could feel the soft carpet indentations from where furniture had been moved around the room often. The hard work of a man who spent his life chasing after fabled tales and struggling with living up to the expectations of his family. There was a similarity in that understanding Solas had not cared for in the slightest. He reassured himself quickly that he was nothing like this human. The thought made him sneer and he reached for the nearest interesting looking alcohol bottle and tumbler glass. Solas poured himself a drink and placed the opened bottle on the desk. Just as he was in mid-drink, he heard the door open behind him but Solas hasn’t turned around.
“Please! Pour yourself a drink, Solas. Care to prop your feet up on my desk too?” Mr.Eisenhosfer’s voice spoke practically dripping with sarcasm.
“I’ll stand, thank you.” Solas remarked and took another long drink before pouring the next one. He didn’t care for the taste, but he drank another anyway just to stake his claim that he wouldn’t be intimidated.
“Solas… It’s eleven thirty.” Mr.Eisenhosfer sighed as he stepped closer. “Whatever it is, can’t it wait unti--”
“Did you give her that option? To wait?” He questioned him looked back to the bottle to pour him another. “Or did you shove that syringe to her arm as fast as you could fill it?”
Mr.Eisenhosfer tilted his head, and turned slightly as he stopped a few paces away. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I uncovered everything. The tests, the threats--everything you did just to get her to comply to what you demanded--I know about it all.” Solas turned and slammed the empty tumbler glass down to the desk. “I was your friend, Hal. I stood by you, and you made me a fool. How much Red did you give her, Hal?”
He questioned and narrowed his eyes. His elbows pulled back, fists forming towards his sides and Solas snarled even in spite of his false human form. “How much Red did you force into that little girl? Did you even care what would--?”
“So, I took a few shortcuts. We were on a breakthrough.” Mr.Eisenhosfer started to explain and in return, his jaw had also stiffened. “In order to find a cure, it is necessary to study the effects of the disease--”
“There is no cure!” Solas roared much louder.
As if triggering from the shout, the glass along the trophy cases cracked and the pressure within the room had seemed to increase by tenfold. His shadow against the moonlight almost seemed to have grown, and was towering over in a silhouette of disgust.
Mr.Eisenhosfer started to stumble towards his knees. He clutched at his own throat in the desperation of something--to scream; perhaps--but there had been strangely a sudden slacked ability to even breath. It was as if the bubble of air around him had been sucked out of the atmosphere; exchanged for carbon dioxide. This had meant a huge struggling challenge just to breathe. It was then, Mr.Eisenhosfer had seen the bright glow from Solas’s eyes--swallowing out the irises and somehow, he had known then of what danger he welcomed into his home.
“There is no cure…” Solas began more calmly as he walked slowly towards him; towering over the old man choking at his feet.
“Red behaves like a viral parasite. A highly infectious viral parasite that can be contracted through touch, bodily fluids or even through breathing--if its small enough. It’s symptoms are slow and painful; attaching itself to whatever it touches. Red assimilates, penetrates and grows much like a tumor. It targets the brain, the nervous system, and any vital organ it can cling to; making itself impossible to remove without serious and damaging ramifications.”
Solas lowered his head down in a glare towards Mr.Eisenhosfer and watched as he struggled; nearly falling slowly to lay on his stomach. The human’s limbs attempted to flop against the green carpet like a fish that had been plucked from the ocean to gasp in vain.
“And you didn’t care. I checked over her receiving treatment procedure. The track marks in Ashley’s arms. The bruises on her ankles, her wrists... thighs…” Solas continued in his seething bitterness just to watch the human suffer at his feet. He tilted his head as his accusations dripped with verbal poisons.
“...You chained a deranged suicidal child to a padded room and there, you violated her in more ways than the monsters in her nightmares ever could. It was more than malpractice upon her, doctor, it was rape.”
After a moment longer, staring down into the fear that Mr.Eisenhosfer had of him, Solas closed his eyes. The elvhen breathed in for an attempt to calm his nerves. In response, the pressure within the room released and the circulation of air returned swiftly. For the moment, Mr.Eisenhosfer had just staying laying on the floor to breathe. His chest heaved hard and quaking from the strain of previously not being able to receive fresh clean air. The importance of it had never seemed so vital until it was snatched away from him, and Mr.Eisenhosfer wasn’t even certain as to how it was taken away. He couldn’t prove it, and he didn’t know what, but he believed that Solas had done something.
“Give me your hand.” Solas offered to him but his actions were far less comforting than his voice.
He snatched the old man back to his feet with a quick and violent tug, and Solas was more than eager to have his hand free from giving him any aid to begin with. The old man stumbled forward and coughed for air in between straightening up. He looked at Solas, and after the first few moments of trying to speak he found that even then it was becoming slightly of a struggle due to the strain in gathering air for any other purpose than breathing.
“Solas--” He started to mutter.
“Nuva dirthalas, felasil… I’m not going to harm you. You’ve done enough harm to yourself and others.” Solas sneered at him. He looked away then and in a slow march towards the door, he started to make his exit. “Pour yourself a drink, Hal. Go to bed…”
“Solas, I didn’t touch her!” Mr.Eisenhosfer coughed and started to turn after him. Solas rested his hand on the doorknob and stopped a moment to look towards him; giving him the chance to speak his peace. So, he hobbled his way to him in a slump plea to be heard. “Whatever she says; its a lie! Y--You gotta believe me…”
Solas glanced down and his frown hardened even more. It wasn’t even a deciding factor for him on whether or not Mr.Eisenhosfer even really did do anything to Ashley, because it was bad enough that she believed it in her very soul of what was done to her. Aside from that, even the drugs that were injected into her were against her will. No matter how a person looked at it, the actions were unwanted and they were forced onto her, into her, permanently changing her, infecting her, killing her and all of it was covered up by threats that frightened her. Even if she wasn’t physically raped, she certainly was mentally. So, to Solas, it didn’t make much of a difference at all.
He knew he needed to leave his boss’ room before he burned the human alive; and here--there were cameras. The thought still crossed his mind, but no--the elf forced himself not to act. He tried so much to force himself not to care. Caring was what lead to so many worlds hanging in the balance. Solas shouldn’t--couldn’t--care about this injustice. He shouldn’t--couldn’t--act upon that rage. If he did, then Solas felt that he would have learned nothing from his past. Doubt was a terrible challenge to certainty, and it creeped its way in even the signs were obvious.
“Make love to your wife.” Solas muttered to him as he turned away without much any reassurance to Mr.Eisenhosfer, and then started to disappear from behind the door. “She’s the only one willing bend over now.”
Disclaimer : This is a modern piece that takes place in the Modern Mortal Waking Realm. Hence, Solas has finished his confrontations in Trespasser and has moved on in search of the Idol (*Red Lyrium object from DA2) as well as what little magic he can cling to, in this new world. The struggle for a mage who pulls his elements from unknown sources --and still learning of those limits-- can be a challenging one. In a short summary to this, Solas is finally given a chance to relax at a club. He discovers that his secretary, Ms.Cane, has been waiting at the same club for reasons of her own.
The club was filled with the intoxicating sights and sounds of pure sin. This had been what taverns have turned themselves into over the millennia across separate worlds. Everything was just done in excess. Smoke glided across the floor almost in a heavy fog across the dancefloor and pouring towards the bar area. The place was packed with all kinds of people, and everyone had seemed happy. There were girls kissing men and other women while some men were doing some of the same. Sometimes it was difficult to tell who and what people were in the building because it was so dark with strobe lights and black lights used to light the place up.
Not even in the Fade, had Solas seen so many flashing colors in so many brilliant patterns. He had not heard so much laughter and sweet-nothings whispered amongst one another since his times in Ancient Arlathan; though this was a very long time ago. His senses filled with the scents of alcohol, sex, and permeated forms of loosely traced drugs. There was a lot flooding his senses towards ecstacy, and he needed this. After the night he had: from work, going to straight to being possibly thrown into jail for the night, and then suddenly released and informed that the murder case was dropped. He had not even the opportunity to shed the business that he wore. The dark silks and patented leather of the formal attire still clung to him from previous concerns that longed passed. His cologne had long since faded into a far lighter scent as well. So, yes. Solas needed an outlet for his stress. It was not as so much as a need from something requiring a release after a certain building point; but more like something celebratory for it was a small victory--though stressful. A few drinks wouldn’t hurt.
So, there he was, sitting at the bar, sipping the hard whiskey from his glass and soaking in the scandals and merriment around him. In some ways, it felt like home, but it was also so very far away from it. Back in his times of Ancient Arlathan, The People danced all the time. There were plays and costumes involved at specific parties. They’d cover themselves in dirt as to give blessings to the life’s cycle of birth and death. They rubbed and twisted perfumed lime and clay into their hair, making the stiff appearances of dreadlocks and shaved parts of their hair. The nobility had braided hair, but under the rule of Fen’Harel, it didn’t matter what hairstyle was allowed--for he didn’t care; and everyone who wished freedom was free.
In such a place as this, the lack of clothing had strangely been about the same, but it was in a different style. The music was far more electronic than pure acoustics, which in some of the songs, in his opinion, it wasn’t all that bad but he did miss the softer purity of tunes from an instrument. The drinks were sweeter with a stealthy and powerful creep-up that could easily have gotten him far more drunk than he would have liked to be. So, Solas did have to count his intake of alcoholic beverages more often. He actually stuck to the plain Jack Daniel’s whiskey for the time being, and wishing it had been elvhen spirit in his hands instead. On the whole though, it got the job done, warmed the throat and belly, and made his head delightfully spin. He wasn’t one to immediately complain from it.
This had been the first time after two years of coming to this world of dying magic, had Solas even looked at the other forms of entertainment. Naturally, it would have been filled with things far more physical and tangible to the Waking World of its reality as opposed to fluid thoughts, whispers and lucid fantasies that mingled and intertwined with one another. All of it required an adjustment from him.
Down the line alongside of the bar had been occupied with people scattered in separate spaces of barstools. He didn’t have to turn to his right to sense the presence of someone coming in close. Solas chose to ignore it; sipping more on the alcohol and relished in the way it slowly melted his insides.
“I didn’t think this would have been your kind of scene.” Ms.Cane’s voice spoke from over his shoulder.
Solas smiled warmly to the friendly voice that lulled close to his ear. Tilting his whiskey glass a bit further up, he gulped down another quiet swallow. He pondered from a glance past his shoulder to steal a reassurance of who he was anticipating before responding. “...And just what would have been my kind of scene?”
It was just enough extra courage to render his thoughts a bit more loose before turning in his stool to place the glass down. Solas turned, looking towards Ms.Cane and finally took the opportunity for himself to drink in her sight next. He saw that her attire had changed slightly than of what he was use to seeing. She kept the high heels and nude stockings; however the black pencil skirt and white office blouse was changed to a loose flowing cocktail dress that was raised slightly higher to her mid-thighs. The straps and ruffles were covered in black feathers while its centerpiece was pressed in charcoal and blue vitol sequins. Her ears were decorated from her bottom lobe up to the upper rim in a pattern of diamond studs and silver chains. Her neck was graced with a loose silver chain that cradled a silver celtic pendant--which had been a symbol that Solas only recognized from the heavy fanatic that his secretary had been over the design ever since she learned of her “dna origins” last year.
“Oh, I don’t know…” She smiled in return and turned to wave down the bartender. “...I didn’t think you went out at all. Like ever.”
“I have a way of stretching my legs now and then…” He shrugged some in response and watched her slender wrist, dressed by a diamond tennis bracelet, successfully twirl in the correct manner--he supposed--to get the attention she wanted.
“Give me a strawberry daiquiri.” Ms.Cane placed in her order and rested her elbow on the bar counter. “So… How did the questioning at the station go?”
“About as expected, I’d say.” Solas pondered with a glance up at the ceiling. His fingers traced patterns on the side of his tumbler glass. “Everyone’s keeping their jobs. The case was resolved under natural causes, and the only thing left is making the final deal through the company’s insurance.”
“Sounds like it went very well! So, that’s why you’re here.” Ms.Cane exclaimed and reached for her daiquiri.
She downed her drink way too quickly, causing Solas to watch a little in surprise with how fast that she was drinking. Either the alcohol content in a daiquiri was far weaker than what he was currently having, or Ms.Cane really had a desire to ‘take the edge off,’ or so he supposed. He tilted his head and that smile turned slightly more with nervousness as Ms.Cane slapped her hand against the bar and then placed her glass down.
“Ms.Cane?” He started to question and was pulled by the tug of his knees. Her bare hand redirected the steering of his barstool to turn towards the opened floor covered in fog.
“Come on. Let’s dance to celebrate.” She suggested and reached for his tumbler glass next, to pry it loose from his fingers and set it down.
“Dance?” His eyes couldn’t have been wider.
He was glancing towards the small crowd at the dancefloor and then back to Ms.Cane. The form of dancing he saw… Well… Solas didn’t really call it dancing. He called it grinding and humping right in public. Not even in Ancient Arlathan, would have such moves been considered appropriate beyond the bedroom -- unless they were being performed by bondservants and the like. There was no skill to this form of dancing, that even if Solas considered it, and he danced well, he still would have felt way too embarrassed.
“N-No. No--Ms.Cane--” He started to refuse and chased back for the drink that was removed successfully from him.
“Don’t tell me you can’t dance.” She giggled and took his hands, pulling him as she dragged Solas towards the dance floor.
“I can dance--I just can’t dance this--” He attempted to explain but his words were not speaking fast enough.
He wasn’t about to run from her, but he didn’t want to be removed from his chair either. So, Solas was reluctantly pulled into the foggy atmosphere, filled with other similar couples where were clinging to one another. They ground their hips to each other and intertwined loose fingers around one anothers’ clothing. To Solas it felt more like an uncomfortable clothed orgy among strangers. Perhaps at one time, he might have even approved, attempted to move as the people around him did, and let the electronic music of bells and other instruments that he couldn’t name carry his troubled thoughts away.
But not now. That would have been in another life. Another time.
Not that Ms.Cane wasn’t prepared to change his mind! With all of her provocative posings, the way she leaned into him and attempted to sway her form against him, she could have portrayed the sheer image of the wind attempting to seduce the mountain to yield. Such bravoda deserved a certain compliance and in spite of his efforts to seem appeased, Solas had been more than prepared to retreat. He attempted to inch away when he felt her hands grasp his, to pull forward and down to rest at her hips. His grey eyes glanced away, looking towards anything to find interesting except her -- if it was possible.
“I can’t--” He tried to explain quickly.
“Sure you can. Look. You don’t even have to do much. Just sway your hips a little with mine; like this…” She said and moved closer. Her body moved in tune to the rhythm, in tune to his own. “See…?”
She was far too close that his senses were in overload. Solas felt his throat run dry and his sense of balance wanted to fall underneath him. This could not last long. Ms.Cane was human, his secretary, and above all -- someone who was a part of this current world; a world that he had no business being a part of in retrospect. Solas refused to bend much to her guidance, but he didn’t want to hurt feelings either. Instead, he lifted his hands to her shoulders and took a step backwards to create some small space between them.
“Ms.Cane…” He pleaded in getting her attention, finally looking back at her.
“Just this once, can you call me Carol?” She mimicked his tone and pouted her lip at him.
Solas paused, glancing down and then back up at her. He acknowledged that all she was doing was trying to enjoy the night. It might have meant something more from her, but he doubted it. Perhaps she had needed cheering up; because he did take notice that she downed her drink pretty fast earlier. If that had been the case, then of course Solas would have felt guilty--if not obligated--to play the needed part she seemed to almost request of him. However, he couldn’t dance this way.
“My apologies... Carol. Force of habit, I guess.” He gave the excuse as smoothly as he could deliver it, and turned her hand into his hold in a manner he could find himself accustomed to.
He propped his opposite hand behind his back and gave a more proper bow before her. He caught the surprised glimmer in her eyes and accepted it as her knew interest to maybe follow his lead instead. So, without giving further explanations, Solas straightened his back and abruptly pulled her close to him once more. There was a respectable distance maintained between them, but it wasn’t noticeably too terribly. His body remained stiff as he guided her into moving across the floor with him. It was obvious that the dance was far more different than what other others around them had been doing.
“Oh! You prefer the classics. I should have known.” Ms.Cane smiled in delight and glanced around, feeling the eyes of other people looking their way. “Unfortunately, Solas, I don’t believe I can do this.”
“You were the one to drag me to the floor, were you not?” Solas beamed at her with a tease in return. “I had to put up with your bumping and grinding, now it's your turn to put up with mine.”
“Alright, but I’m not responsible for what happens to your toes.” She laughed as he noticeably took a stronger lead.
“Oh, you most certainly are...” He was quick to give a light-hearted argument in return, turning her with him in step to the music. “And I’ll bill you for the damage.”
Ms.Cane gasped at him and before she could retort, Solas pressed his hand to her forearm and pushed her back a few paces. In turn, he stepped back as well, leaving only one grasp of her other hand to remain as their connection. Walking around her and wrapping her form up into his awaiting arm, Solas came closer so that he hugged her from behind. The two then swayed to the music more in a fashion that was almost similar to those around them, but not quite.
“You’re evil.” She remarked over her shoulder to him.
Solas raised an eyebrow at her and loosened his arms around her to rest one hand against her back. “That’s no way to talk to your boss.”
Pushing down on her back, he leaned into her with a guidance to have her bend over in front of him; swaying once from her left and then the right before his wrapping that same arm back around her front, placing his hand towards her throat and guiding her back up. Solas could feel the pulse fluttering underneath the soft pads of his thumb. He could hear the sharp breaths escaping her lips and knew her heart was beating much faster than it was previously. This had been a more appropriate dance suited to him: something that pressed between classical and tribal, and something that required a bit more...emotion thrown in the mixture. Considering how very smoothly she seemed to fall in step, Solas considered himself a good teacher.
“Now, you’re learning.” He smiled near her ear, and spun her spun her away, only to gradually guide her back towards him.
“You should have told me you could dance.” She spoke softer, falling more into step with him across the smoke aligned floor.
“I did.” He responded in kind with a smile.
He watched the way the lights danced over her face like intruding breeches attempting to pull from the Veil itself. It was as terrifying to him as it was beautiful. Gliding across the floor together in a more classical pattern, Solas finally had collected the nerve to ask her what had been weighing on his consciousness.
“Why did you bring me out here?” He spoke upon a turn that took them both across the dance floor.
Ms.Cane glanced down and then back up at him briefly. Her cheeks flushed pale from embarrassment and she shook her head slightly as if almost wanting to avoid the questions. “Ah...I don’t know… My date wasn’t showing up tonight.”
“The cad!” He exclaimed and earned a giggle from her.
“Cad indeed…!” She agreed and smiled brightly for a moment. After a side-glance away, Ms.Cane pouted a little briefly and then looked back to Solas once more. “Oh, well… His loss. Besides. You’re much more fun.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Solas smiled and lifted his hands to spin her once more.
Slightly, he tilted her frame back, only to pull her flush against his body one last time at the song’s ending. Dipping her back into a low bend, Solas posed her there and looked down at the marvel he polished from that plain example of erotic dancing. There, was his pride showing--his canines flashing in a devil’s smile.
“So… My style is better?” He asked upon carefully pulling her back up so that the weight of gravity and balance could adjust itself for her.
“Oh, hell yeah…” Ms.Cane rasped; still attempted in catching her breath as she stood upright to her feet.
She looked up at him completely enamored. Unaware by then the dance floor had cleared to watch them dance, for the moment nothing but them two had seemed to matter. Ms.Cane slid her arms up along his neck and traced patterns onto the back of Solas’ bald head and pulled his head down towards her own. In turn, Solas had looked from her eyes and then towards her lips in a final understanding of what she was attempting. Really, it shouldn’t have been so puzzling, but his mind had been slow from the whiskey and his head was dizzy from more than just dancing.
His eyes closed and their lips had met in an estranged connection. Cold from his execution, but gentle in an attempt to tease and compromise from hers. An image of something bright from his past flashed in the forethought of his mind, Solas immediately pulled his head back from her capture. Reaching up, he grasped one of her hands and slid it down to his cheek instead.
Ms.Cane opened her eyes from abrupt departure. She blinked at him quizzically and then slowly frowned in slight disappointment. “There’s… someone else?”
Solas swallowed uncomfortably and nodded before a final confirmation. “Something like that… Yes.”
“Is it--?” She tilted her head some and watched him lower his head. Ms.Cane sighed with a roll of her eyes. “Christ, Solas… It’s been, what? A year since we’ve worked together? I thought we would have -- well, talked... about -- ...I mean you don’t tell me anything!”
“I’m sorry.” Solas slumped a little and gradually released her.
“No. No, don’t start that because, I came here with someone in mind to being with.” Ms.Cane shrugged and folded her arms. “Wow… I mean wow-- She must be really special.”
“She was.” Solas nodded and felt her eyes following him then. So, he forced a smile and reached up to wrap one arm around her shoulders to guide her back towards the bar. “...Please don’t fret, Carol… I’ll still drink with you. I’ll still dance with you. And when you puke, I’ll help hold your hair back.”
Ms.Cane laughed at him and smacked his chest with the back of her hand as they walked together. Solas knew that she tried to understand him, but there were some things that he could not explain about to anyone in this realm. If there was a moment in his sad journey to catch levity, he would try to grasp it but not at the cost of misleading others in such a manner. Although, in some ways, Solas couldn’t have asked for a better companion in this strange world.
Disclaimer : This is a modern piece that takes place in the Modern Mortal Waking Realm. Hence, Solas has finished his confrontations in Trespasser and has moved on in search of the Idol (*Red Lyrium object from DA2) as well as what little magic he can cling to, in this new world. The struggle for a mage who pulls his elements from unknown sources --and still learning of those limits-- can be a challenging one. In a short summary to this, he is being interrogated at the local police station. He is briefly considered a suspect for a possible murder investigation that hangs by the thread of one individual.
The room that he sat in was cold and unpleasant. To his left was a false mirror, where he could feel the eyes of other people watching him. He was surrounded by stone, concrete and emptiness. Solas could feel the emotions of many different individuals who had once been here before. The high tension, the sweat and anger from souls both guilty and innocent have sat and collected in the same chair that he was sitting in now.
The sound of the door opening caught his attention and he looked up to see another human walking in through the door. The man wasn’t either of the two officers that brought him here. He looked rather disheveled and stressed from the same case that had been hanging over Solas’ head. His business suit hung over him like a loose curtain. It would have been easily imagined that his shoes were too big for him too. The detective walked in, sifting through loose papers that he was carrying on a clipboard and blindly reached the table that kept him spaces away from Solas.
“Solas….Fadestrider…” He spoke slowly and his nose scrunched a bit in disapproval. “Is that supposed to be some kind of actor’s name?”
“It is mine.” Solas answered quickly; watching him as the man stepped closer. “I took the name for myself.”
“And...you went through the proper channels to have your name changed?” The detective asked him.
“Yes.” Solas answered again. “Although I find this irrelevant to the questioning.”
“We’re trying to determine if your citizenship papers are legitimate.” The detective said and moved towards sitting down.
“My citizenship papers are legitimate, detective. They were cleared as of last year.” Solas frowned at the turn of the conversation that was being steered. His eyes turned slightly more towards the loose papers were being shuffled like loose leaflets. “My immigration probation officer had assured me of his final visit last year.”
“Except there’s no record of your birth or previous home address. Two basic requirements on the immigration forms to fill out, you left them blank.” The detective explained and finally placed the papers down on the cold table with a loud ‘slap’ to the surface.
“...You know my name, Detective. What’s yous?” Solas asked, looking up from the papers.
“Detective Reed.” He answered.
“Mr.Reed, it is no secret that I was not born in the United States. The home I came from was war-torn. Any records of my birth or previous residence was destroyed by fire and hatred. I managed to escape, and I find it insulting that after two years of relative peace on the matter, this specific issue is even being brought into question.” Solas explained and pressed his hands to the table.
“Are you trying to say you’re one of the French refugees who recieved the presidential pardon last year?”
“I’m saying that if this has stemmed from anything involved with Mr.Eisenhosfer, then it is an insult to his death and it is waste of everyone’s time. I was told this interview was only to clarify the insurance claims to Biotech Industries. If it is anything less than that, then I have nothing more to say.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong.” Reed corrected him and pointed down at the loose papers on the desk. He tapped the surface patiently then, catching Solas’ attention towards it briefly from his actions. “If its discovered that you’re hiding here illegally, then you are not protected by our government's laws at all. We will be forced to send you back where you came from and have that government question you instead. Either way, we will be getting answers out of you.”
Solas tried not to laugh at the given threat. He tried not to smile, so he covered his mouth and looked away; doing his best to appear more in contemplation. After all, here he was trying to save this sad world from its a highly infectious and deadly disaster and he was suddenly held captive essentially by one old woman who was bitter with him. She was forcing the hands of the police to have Solas detained here -- at least for a time -- but this was going to spiral out of control if he didn’t cooperate, and Mr.Reed was making that abundantly clear.
“...I was trying to protect their reputations…” Solas finally mumbled from under his mouth’s cover and stared more towards the opposite corner in the room.
“Everyone involved…” Solas sighed and rubbed his head; lowering it to stretch his flat palm across his smoothed skin. “As you wish… I will answer to the best of my ability, on the condition that the question of my origins does not continue to be an issue. I find that an utter waste of time and an insult to all parties involved as well.”
“Because I have the papers already proving my citizenship. Because it was Mr.Eisenhosfer; who took me in when I needed a home. Because I would be nothing without the Eisenhosfers, and I would not wish to do any damage to the company that treated me like family. Because law enforcement and border control would certainly have more pressing matters to tend to than to check records that have already been cleared… Pick any answer…”
Mr.Reed must have decided that it was any good of an answer as that he could recieve on the matter, and assumed then that Solas had been prepared to cooperate. His eyes looked back to the papers as he showed his good faith by stacking the papers more neatly together and returning them back to the clipboard.
“We’ll consider the matter closed in an agreement for your testimony today.” He offered then and scooted the clipboard to one side. “Now… Where were you on the night of Mr.Eisenhosfer’s death?”
“I had went to see Mr.Eisenhosfer that night, in his study. We got into an argument, and afterwards I left. I’m certain that Mrs.Eisenhosfer would be eager to verify my alibi.” Solas responded and looked back up towards him then.
“You left after a heated argument?” Mr.Reed questioned him in a sarcastic tone.
Solas tilted his head at him and raised a slight eyebrow to him. “Yes. I left. Were the cameras in the room not working? Mr.Eisenhosfer kept all of his properties heavily surveillanced. There’s cameras in his home, cameras at work, cameras at my home… For two years, I’ve been watched through a lens. I would have expected the police to check those tapes before immediately questioning my records.”
“Let’s start at the beginning.” Mr.Reed said pulled out a tape recorder from his pocket. He placed it into full view, setting it on the table and pushed the record button. As he looked back towards Solas, he found him sinking further into the chair. “Mr.Fadestrider, were you aware of Mr.Eisenhosfer’s heart condition?”
“Were you aware of the medications that he was taking?”
“What were the medications and medical conditions that you knew?”
“Betaxolol, Isosorbide dinitrate, Pradaxa, two breathing treatments with a vaping machine--let me think for a minute--Albuterol Sulfate--that’s it, Omega 3 supplements--which was common fish oil in a pill, daily vitamin supplements, and viagra. He was diagnosed with mild allergies, angina, high blood pressure, and has experienced two strokes within the last six months of his life.” Solas paused for a moment and glanced down briefly. “...I believe... the viagra may have been the cause to some of his heart conditions but Mr.Eisenhosfer had been taking viagra for nearly over a year since before his first stroke. He was never one to listen when it came to his own limitations.”
“You’re suggesting that he combined viagra and heart medicine together for a year?”
“No.” Solas shook his head quickly. “He was taking viagra long before he started showing any signs of heart problems. When it became apparent that he needed to end a personal intimate chapter in his life, Mr.Eisenhosfer refused to heed the warning signs. At that point, he simply added his heart medications on top of taking viagra. I’m certain, from his medical records, you will find that he had a tendency to lie about his condition rather often, and he visited a new doctor almost every time he needed a refill of something.”
“So, he never once took your experimental drug?”
“My ‘experimental drug,’ Tsyresenol, has passed the FDA,and it’s not meant for heart problems. It’s for alzheimer's’ disease.” Solas straightened in his chair then. “While it’s true that Mr.Eisenhosfer was showing symptoms, he is--was--a prideful man. He would never have taken Tsyresenol.”
“But he would take viagra?”
“As I said, he was a prideful man. He took viagra to prove to himself, and maybe his wife, that he still had the passions he once had years ago. If he was to take Tsyresenol, that would be an admittance to himself that he could not remember his wife’s birthday or their anniversary. It would be a self-reflection and acknowledge that there was a grave chance that he could not remember of what he had done in the past week. He might not even remember that he was married...” Solas paused and tilted his head.
“...It becomes a fine line between intentional behavior and incompetence, Mr.Reed, and there are a lot of us who are… merely chasing after our youths. I believe that was what Mr.Eisenhosfer had been doing long before he even met me. So, no. He would not even consider Tsyresenol.”
“Uh-huh…” Mr.Reed concluded and glanced back at the tape recorder briefly and rested his hands on the table. “Is that what you two were fighting about that thursday? Your drug?”
“It is a medicine… And no. We were arguing about something else.”
“Really? Because this is what I believe that happened.” Mr.Reed began and leaned forward. “You were having troubles in the market for your drug. The patent was falling through, you needed money, and Mr.Eisenhosfer wasn’t going to give you anymore funding. So, you got angry.”
Solas stared back down at his hands and his frown slightly increased. “Tsyresenol was not even mentioned in our argument. It’s actually doing very well in the market, too, considering that the medicine is still fairly new.”
“So what was the fight about?”
“...It would probably be in your better interests to ask Ms.Winters.”
“No.” Mr.Reed glared at him impatiently then. “I am asking you. There was nobody else aside from Mrs.Eisenhosfer who was with him that night--”
“Check the cameras or the autopsy report. We argued and I left.” Solas interrupted with a slight raise in his voice and then slowly took in a breath. He looked towards the mirror then and peered through it to find Mrs.Eisenhosfer standing on the other side. Despite the glass mirror being in the way, their eyes had met. “I handled a discussion poorly and I regret our last words being bitter, but I am not the cause.”
“Solas, look back at me.” Mr.Reed redirected him with a wave of his hand.
“Mr.Fadestrider, if you please.” Solas corrected him but followed the requested direction.
“Fine… Mr.Fadestrider…” Mr.Reed sighed. “I’ll ask one last time. What was the argument you had with Mr.Eisenhosfer?”
Solas glanced back towards Mrs.Eisenhosfer from the other side of the glass; almost as if to have given her one last chance to have the interview stopped before he had given his answer. It was true, he knew far more than what Mrs.Eisenhosfer wanted to ever have revealed to the public. If he did talk, it would ruin her. Deep down, he didn’t want that -- though it wasn’t only because for her sake, but also for Ashley Winters. Such dirty laundry had no business being aired out where it didn’t need to be. Though, with given no answer, except for a cold stare in return, Solas paused once more, sighed heavily and looked back to the tape recorder.
“Alright…” He said and lowered his head. “Mr.Eisenhosfer was--”
The door opened and the Chief of Police walked into the room. He looked towards Mr.Reed and marched to the table. “Stop the tape.”
“What?” Mr.Reed asked and bolted from his seat.
Before Mr.Reed could even react, the Chief of Police snatched the tape recorder and ejected the tape from the recording machine. He then handed the tape out towards Solas who only looked back at him quizzically. Unsure if this was yet another kind of ploy, he was cautious about taking the tape into his hands.
“This case has been officially closed.” The Chief of Police explained with a frown and clenched teeth. “Mr.Eisenhosfer died from a heart attack. Natural causes and self-neglect. That’s what’s in the autopsy report.”
“I see…” Solas concluded and finally accepted the tape into his hands.
“But there is another matter. The insurance for Biotech Industries.” The Chief of Police reminded him with a stiff nod. Clearly enough, he didn’t want the investigation to have stopped, but had little choice--for some unspoken reason…
“Of course.” Solas agreed with a nod, and tucked the tape into his coat pocket. “As I have said before, her lawyer can speak with mine and we will have a final settlement pulled up before the end of the month.”
“What just happened?” Mr.Reed seethed towards the Chief of Police. “I was close to something--!”
“Close to unleashing three lawsuits on us and five more across the city.” The Chief of Police responded back in a grumble. “Mrs.Eisenhosfer is dropping the investigation, and with the autopsy filed as it is, there’s no real cause to continue.”
“Damn it, but--” Mr.Reed hissed.
“Trust me. Let it go.” The Chief of Police glared back towards the detective and handed the tape recorder back to him.
“Mrs.Eisenhosfer?” Solas asked from the other side of the glass. He stepped towards it pressed one hand to the side of it as he spoke to her. “Your husband was a close friend of mine. I still consider us all ...close friends...in a way, and I truly am sorry for your loss.”
He didn’t receive an answer. Solas didn’t really expect to. Despite the glass that separated them, he could still see her form trembling from bitterness and regret. She was still in mourning, and probably would remain that way for the remaining years of her life. Though, it was better this way. Better to look for any happiness ahead, if it could be found. Better than to dig in a continued hole that only uncover self-shame to her or the family name.
Disclaimer : This is a modern piece that takes place in the Modern Mortal Waking Realm. Hence, Solas has finished his confrontations in Trespasser and has moved on in search of the Idol (*Red Lyrium object from DA2) as well as what little magic he can cling to, in this new world. The struggle for a mage who pulls his elements from unknown sources --and still learning of those limits-- can be a challenging one. In a short summary to this, he feels a bit desperate and ashamed of past choices.
“I never thought of you as someone who could do that...”
The words stuck in his head like a repeated mantra. There were a lot of misconceptions about him. The most highly misjudged was his capabilities as an individual rather than ‘who he was’ as an individual. Not many people got to see so close into his heart, and so most judgments were even invalid. However, his abilities and of what he could endure were always things put on display, common, and often underestimated. There was no limit to capabilities or of his endurance; no solid interpretation of his suffering or intentions. Only he knew, and at often times, he had amazed himself. He even shamed himself.
Much like a repeated pattern in his long life, Solas had risen and fallen from power often. He fought as a war general in service to a royal noble family. He rose from that position to a King and then later a God. Then after the very Holy Ruler he once served under struck him down, he attempted to strip himself bare of all such rank to oppose and insight a revolution. This lead to Mythal’s demise, in which case, Solas punished the world again. In turn and stripped completely back down into nothing: screaming and crawling in the dark of some long forgotten tomb over centuries upon centuries later. The world in which he awoke was falling apart once more, and quickly Solas aligned himself with an organization that helped to restore their current world--which in turn helped buy himself some time and assess what he planned to do with it. Again, he had to leave and this time with powers mostly restored, Solas left for a wild hunt across other worlds. He searched across space and time through eluvians that he had to tirelessly infuse with magic and the wisdom of souls willing to help. With sheer luck, he stepped through, clean again--stripped of rank, social order, power and money completely again.
The world that he entered now was so much different. So, very apart from his every day norm. There was little-to-no nostalgia to slip back into. There were no elven tales of the Dread Wolf to prick upon the edge of his razored back. There was no knowledge of the red solidified lyrium being the infectious cause to drive mortals insane with power-lust, paranoia, and deranged ravings.
The insanity would have been--in fact--a blessing to most before the assimilation had set into effect. Luckily, there had been no public announcements of such an occurrence yet, but Solas was in the middle of still attempting to locate the source to what red dust he has occasionally came across.
When he first wandered the streets of the new world, he showed pity to an infant and nearly immediately afterwards, he learned the new popular forms of this world’s weapons. He learned of them the hard way, and what magic he did display had stirred a ruckus mild enough that he had to press his search blindly onwards. His search lead him towards a genetics clinic, where he curiously explored the area, tripped a few security measures and accidently found a cure for alzheimer's disease; which was something that most scientists there were still attempting to study.
The very incident lead Mr.Eisenhosfer, the Head Director to him and at first immediately threatened to have Solas arrested, then it lead to threats of quarantine, until it was discovered that Solas’ exploration had in fact helped to find a leading cure to what was being studied at the time. Solas offered to stay with the head director’s work if he had promised him that it would not go public with his own name, and also that he helped Solas to find a quiet place to stay. This allowed the trespassing mage to isolate himself from the rest of the world and still continue slowly in his research. For the first two years, he took his time in studying books, dreaming, pushing in advertising of his medical answer so that it could develop into a patented cure, and waiting for when the next crisis would--should come to him. He stayed with the company, bought secret papers to secure his citizenship, and earned the Head Director’s trust through giving him business advice and philosophical ponderings that left him in deep thought over which decisions to make. After the second year, Mr.Eisenhosfer had mentioned briefly in verbal and written documentation to have his company passed onto Solas for his rapid achievements… and Solas thanked him by inducing a heart attack from a spell three weeks later.
Again, one stripped from nothing, he climbed high into power and learning; these were things that he excelled in greatly. Left alone, he could thrive above the heavens if it were need be. After all, it was done before this...and even that bored him--forced him into other motives.
Placing him back to the here and now… sitting in front of a desk owned by “Biotech” Industries, in an office designed by “Biotech” architecture, dressed in a silk and patented leather suit that was paid for by “Biotech” money, and breathing “Biotech” air. He made himself almost a living brand for “Biotech” --not because they paid well but-- because they lead him closer to his goals. It was hardly much different from when he worked for the Inquisition, really. Back then, he wore the armor that the “Inquisition” fitted him with, carried the weapons the “Inquisition” gave him, lived in the “Inquisition’s” own quarters--even though he found Skyhold for them, and he was once again breathing air that was not his own. A brand that overspoke his own name. A continued repeat in his history.
He could not say that he did not enjoy his perks and current pleasures. Solas liked the view from his twelfth floor office. He liked the glass that instilled a hint of vertigo but kept him protected from a full plummet to the ground. He enjoyed the plush carpet to his feet, which was much softer than the concrete outside. Having a personal bathroom was also another plus, as opposed to what conditions he had once been resorted to enduring in the open air. Even so, these were tiny pleasures in comparison to what greater things he yearned for and what was now missing in his search.
In reflection of his long-term physical changes at the moment, he was not even feeling very much as a true elf anymore. He had used a cosmetic spell to round his ears for protection in this world. After all, he was surrounded by humans who seemed otherwise ignorant of elves and their existence in general. However, Solas has been regretting this decision ever since it was done, even if he believed it ultimately necessary. To him, it seemed that the people had forgotten magic entirely. They had created a world that was dull and almost lifeless. It was a world he had no wish to remain in for long.
It was such a stigma for him that this thought eventually lead him into other forms of desperation. After two years, Solas was begging to debate on cutting out the bottom soles and heels to his shoes. His black $300 suede shoes. It wasn’t really the price or the object itself that even bothered him. (Because he had been removing chunks of rubber from the bottom of his shoes for some time now!) It was the fact that by choosing to wear the shoes as they were meant to be worn, then he would finally have severed the last connection that he had always deemed as meaningful. No matter of what world he had crossed, Solas had always been barefoot---or rather, the bottom soles to his feet remained bare. Of course, there were footwrappings but his heel and toes were always opened to the elements around him. The cloth would soak in the water and snow. All of this was done because he insisted to absorb the pulse of the Waking World around him. Nature; it was in a sense a source of magic due to its very elements and it was something Solas had always clung to. He needed to feel that connection to whatever magic that he could. However, the magic to this world was close to non-existent and he had more likely of a chance at getting tetanus than absorbing the pulse of this world into his body, through his bare feet.
He pressed the blade of a pocket knife to the bottom sole of his shoe and something in his mind told him to stop. The longing for a feeling he could scarcely obtain from such a world was otherwise pointless. Besides, it was not even his own world. Who was he to continue trying in searching to breathe into it, if the magic itself was already choking on its last breath? If in turn left him to choke as well? If Solas couldn’t connect to it, then he couldn’t be a part of it. If he couldn’t be a part of it, then he needed to stop trying. But sadly, he was an addict to that feeling of passing mana. For him, it was essentially a breath; therefore, he struggled with an addiction to breathe. Folding the pocket knife to a close had never seemed so challenging before, but it was done slowly and far more secure than necessary. He promised himself to save the shoes’ mutilation for perhaps another day.
It was dark with the city lights shining behind him; filling up his office but only intruding as far as the smaller shadows of the room would allow. The sound of thunder was rolling its warning of impending floods onto the world. His eyes casted a shadow towards the small mirror on his desk. Solas saw the reflection of himself and the rounded ears he wore. Ears that were not elven; ears that resembled almost human. He traced them with the tips of his fingers sadly. Solas could barely look at himself in the mirror anymore, for he was not himself; so the his last distraction had finally been to place the pocket knife back into his desk drawer. Feeling the cold air from the “Biotech” air conditioning unit blast icy wind as sharp as the winter’s north over his head and shoulders, Solas returned his shoes back to his feet and practiced the mundane art of putting his feet into them. The rubber and leather that fit so snugly around his feet was as comforting as all of it was suffocating. Regardless, Solas forced himself to tie the shoes securely, and pressed his weight down. For this was how things were to be from now onward. He had to accept it until at last, he could return home.
He heard the sound of the doorknob beginning to turn with a small click. Tensing slightly, Solas eased back into his leather chair and sat up. He peered across the room and saw the company’s secretary, Ms.Cane; who was under any other circumstances, a delightful woman in a petite frame and dirty blonde tresses.
Right at the moment, her hair was still strung up in its tight bun with a pencil to hold it up. Her glasses, thin-framed and rectangular were pressed to the bridge of her nose. She wore heels only a desire demon could prance around in, a nude flash of stockings, a classic black pencil skirt, and a blouse that seemed cut from a cloth out of either Antiva or Orlais--the nostalgia in Solas couldn’t help him determine from which exactly. But her stance was always striking since the first day she was introduced to him, and Solas did at least notice.
“Mr.Fadestrider? The doors will be closing soon.” She announced to him personally; as she had done nearly every night because Solas did not approve of intercoms. He didn’t trust most electrical devices even to this day.
“Of course, Ms.Cane. I’ll be on my way out.” Solas answered to her and after tying the last knot, he started to stand up. Without looking towards her, he finally asked the question that seemed to loom more silence between them. “...What is it, Ms.Cane?”
“...Its the police...again.” Ms.Cane answered and looked back down to her notepad in her hands to avoid seeing the visual slump in Solas’ shoulders. “They just want to ask a few more questions.”
“Very well…” He answered, since he did not feel capable of refusing one last interview.
Solas knew that this would been an issue brought up time and again, but there was nothing that could be proven other than the fact that Mr.Eisenhosfer was dead, and he happened to have made Solas the beneficiary to his company. Yes, it probably made Mrs.Eisenhosfer a little angry and that was probably why there had been a push for one last statement from Solas on the matter. However, it should have been a dispute between the company’s insurance and Mrs.Eisenhosfer’s own lawyer. Solas didn’t believe himself to have time for such games, so he played them through gritting his teeth.
He would have taken the stairs, but the police accompanied him to the elevator instead. They hadn’t spoken to one another, since it was already plainly assumed that he was going to be interviewed back to their station. Though this was promised to have been the final time; because it was mainly a dispute between the company’s insurance and Mrs.Eisenhosfer’s lawyer---much like Solas had already concluded.
Desperately through touch, Solas remained searching for that mana to soak into him and breathe away. His fingers traced along the walls like a blind man in search of braille. He felt the cool metal surface of the elevator before he was guided to step inside. His left palm reached idly outwards to grasp the rest-bar from inside the elevator. All along, from the quiet ride inside and then out, he was still searching subconsciously. Solas could sense the traces of magic but it was so miniscule; strained. It left him feeling as though he was trying to breathe through a plastic bag. Just when he started to reconsider his thoughts of cutting holes in his shoes after all until at last…
...they had stepped outside of the building and into a downpour.
The rain was something that disgruntled the officers as they tried to rush Solas towards their vehicle, but he struggled to stand still. He looked up towards the sky and greeted the dark clouds with a smile. At long last, he felt it. The magic of purity from nature itself was pouring down upon his face. Solas could not have thought of anything more cleansing. He stood soaked and finally at some relief; almost as if he experiencing a baptism of sorts for the first time when in truth it was the ecstasy of mana that he reveled in -- allowing him to be a part of its world. The element that came from nature’s own source, splashed over his face in heavy wet sheets. The rain water breathed its power into Solas straight through his skin and in turn (nearly as the addict as he was to it) Solas could exhale and breathe a little easier. He could almost feel as though he was one with the source of magic that remained---until one officer dragged his drenched body into a police car and slammed the door shut. For now, Solas sat there in silence and in peace.
The year was 1:20, in the Age of the Rapture, a time when the Elvhen Pantheon (had only a few centuries prior) established themselves as ruling Gods Among Elvhenan. It had not started out this way at first. Even ages long before this moment, there had been a previous dark war; one that defined the members within the Pantheon itself. They started out as a handful of well equipped soldiers; capable of wielding magic and violence in equal measure. It was they who rose up against their own King and carved their mark across the land. They alone established the Elvhen Empire for what it was in this day and age, and they named their Capitol Arlathan The Emerald City. Mortal soldiers, who then rose to kings, by now had risen to godhood.
It was still a question as to how godhood had even been established! But mostly everyone within the Pantheon at least knew, that their gratitude was given to “Dirthamen.” A beginning and an end that stemmed from the common wish to appease Elgar’nan, the All-Father and first Elvhen Emperor of all over Elvhenan. That rise had almost stretched outward to even other separate worlds...
Other members within the Pantheon had tried to please their All-Father as well. For if Elgar’nan had ever been angry or restless with his people, the entire world would suffer his fury. Mythal, the All-Mother, could only soothe Elgar’nan for so long.
Evuneblar (Moonflower) displayed his talent for crafting. He created idols and orbs that were capable of producing fast travel between their secret and separate kingdoms to the mortal realms. Thus, his name had been then as the “God of the Craft, June.” His purpose had been given to teach the elvhen how to build from the resources around them.
Din’assan (Deadly-Arrow) had the easiest of ways because she was one of Elgar’nan’s favorite children. She brought the best feasts to the table, and was greatly responsible for feeding those within the Pantheon. Thus her name had been then known as “Andruil, the Goddess of the Hunt.” Her purpose had been to teach the elvhen how to hunt meat and fend for themselves out in the wilderness.
Siona (Good’and’Sweet) was also a favorite for Elgar’nan because she stayed as a homemaker and cooked what Andruil would bring for their gatherings. Thus her name was then forever known as “Sylaise, the Goddess as the Hearthkeeper”; for Sylaise taught midwives, mothers, and homemakers of their role as one to stay at home, birth children, and make medicines and small crafts that would benefit the people as a whole.
Atish’an (Peace) had helped Elgar’nan by taking some of his workload as the All-Father off from his hands. With Mythal’s help, Atish’an carried souls over to Uthenara, “the Deep Sleep.” He cared to the Dead and taught the elvhen of burial rituals and rites that would please Elgar’nan and ensure a peaceful passing of spirit and knowledge upon the moment of death. He and Mythal used objects and landmarks that they had blessed with their magical power; such as the Soul Cairn and the Well of Sorrows. Because of this, Elgar’nan bestowed Atish’an a new name as “Felon’Din, the Friend of the Dead,” otherwise known as the God of Death.
Solas (Pride -- before he was ever named Fen’Harel) harnessed and created a source of an easy and abundant access to magic. With but a thought and a wiggle of one’s fingers, sand could turn into water and crops could grow effortlessly. Fire that burned without the use of consumable resources could warm chlled bones. The loss of loved ones would never seem as painful, because lingering pieces of the soul could have still been reached unless the Soul Cairn of Felon’Din or the Well of Sorrows from Mythal would have already collected everything of that soul. This large abundant place of fulfilled dreams, desires, raw untapped magic and unleashed ecstacy had become a world all on its own; one that Solas called “The Fade,” for it blended so very well with the Waking World as though it were a genetic mutation parasitic and beneficial. For this, Elgar’nan smiled and was willing to give Solas a new name. He would have been named “Nuvenan (Wish)”, but Solas kept his name as one of “Pride.” In doing the act had still remained humble for he did not wish to call himself anything else. His biggest desire had been to mingle with the people and share in the enjoyment of his own creation. Which ultimately meant, being lazy to rule as a King or even a God.
Athim (Humility) attempted to appease Elgar’nan with the creations of the Eluvians. These were constructs of extremely high and wide mirrors that acted as physical portals for the elvhen people to commonly use among themselves. Mythal helped Athim to create them and infused the portals of transportation with her own magic while Athim created maps for the common elves to follow. It was because of the Eluvians that fast-travel had been even possible. Places in deserts could be suddenly inhabitable. Resources could be transported through these portals to help growing colonies of different forms of elves and elvhen from all over the world and even other separate worlds.
Thus, for his efforts, Elgar’nan named Athim renewed as “Dirthamen, God and Keeper of Knowledge.” He was to teach the elvhen people of loyalty and stripped their souls of their wisdom upon their moment of death, should they have chosen in their afterlife to serve him rather than to slumber. Through this, he also taught the elvhen people of faith and Dirthamen became the first to inspire the true rulers as Gods after Elgar’nan had declared it to be so.
But for Dirthamen (Athim), it was not enough.
Dirthamen was jealous of what greatness that Solas had done before him. While Solas was able to excel in magic as if to pull things from thin air to manipulate at his will; Dirthamen had to work with physical tools and the exchanging of elements. The Equivalent Exchange was a rule of thumb that Dirthamen’s talents had been forced to abide by while Solas’ abilities had not. Again, in an effort to please their All-Father Elgar’nan, Dirthamen the God of Knowledge, displayed his talents in experimenting and of what rewards that came from it. He would not explain his experiments though---he spoke of the gift, and so his title grew to The God of Knowledge and Keeper of Secrets. Dirthamen’s experiments provided the Elvhen Pantheon with the gift of Godhood, and it was through the rules of Equivalent Exchange, on a very grand scale, that this was done. It was also one of the few secrets that he had planned to take to his Immortal Grave.
The exchange had been simple and gradually noticeable for the members of the Pantheon. Time for them had slowed down. They ceased to age, their mortal wounds healed remarkably fast from magical attacks given to them, while death could have still been a possibility -- it lead the Spirit and its Wisdom to a state of Rebirth and Continuance, and their physical and ‘previously mortal’ needs were almost non-existent. A stroll to watch the flowers bloom could take years. A nap for them could vary between months to decades. With such power and infinite strands of time, the Elvhen Pantheon became bored with one another and at times even frustrated.
It was here that the Age of Rapture was truly defined; for it was here that social hierarchy was created and the Gods lived in almost equal measure and awareness of themselves as they did with their more mortal individuals. First there was the Gods known as the Elvhen Pantheon, then there was Elvhen Nobility (which compiled of the strongest mages and richest blood closest to the labeled Gods), next was the Common Elvhen who served as farmers, teachers, craftsmen and other semi-noble trades that benefited the people, and then there were the slaves and those of manual and undesired labor.
Even worse, the ‘slaves’ of the Common and Nobility were considered the Slaves of the Slaves; for even with how very defined that the Elvhen people were, the Gods had still considered all of them to have been their personal Slaves. Through Dirthamen’s teachings (as well as the influence of other Gods mentally), nearly every elf excluding the highest of nobility were to mark their faces in their own blood as ink. The images they would depict would be in tribute whichever God or Goddess that they worshiped. Sometimes this even involved changing their own names, as per custom demanded of it.
Yet, even this had not been enough to satisfy most of the Pantheon Members, for they were fickle and restless. Thus, began years of fearful wars and bountiful banquets just for the Pantheon to entertain themselves and earn bragging rights among one another.
Solas had a pride like no other, and he lived true to his name. His temper was short and his wrath against his enemies was fierce. Indeed, he was strong-willed, sly and cocky as a fighter just as much as he had been a lover. Within his games of Desire and War, one of the greatest prizes he had ever achieved was June’s Foci (The Orb), and he struggled in multiple battles amongst June, Dirthamen and Felon’Din just in order to keep it. Solas stole the Orb and he used it often to toss into the mortal realm to watch for any interesting outcomes or he’d use it to cross over into the mortal realm himself. Solas had no intention of surrendering his new plaything, no matter how other Gods sneered and fought him.
While the madness of bloodshed and blinded feasts continued onward, there had also been a slow and steady arrival of Humans to the Northeastern parts of Elvhenan. It seemed that during this time also, the mortal elves had began to notice the slight changes in themselves. Their long lives were gradually beginning to shorten. Mortal wounds festered and remained infected longer. Healing magic, and magic in general had become weaker. The mortal elves felt like they were fish attempting to swim in a pond filled with sludge. It was as if mortal elves were attempting to filter longevity through all of the sudden heavy pollution. They felt sickened and they prayed for answers that would never come. Instead, the Elvhen Pantheon retreated back to their confinements within the Holy Emerald Cities of Arlathan and their secret Castles of Solitude away from the mortal realms. Instead of real answers or solutions, blame was thrown to the Humans for bringing their unknown mortal diseases with them that ‘somehow’ affected the pure-blooded elves...
The truth to the mystery? It had something to do with Dirthamen’s Equivalent Exchange technique that made the Elvhen Pantheon into Gods and Goddesses. However, this was something that Dirthamen would never admit about to anyone. Instead, he had been the first to cast blame to the Humans, and there had been animosity and separation from Humans ever since.
When prayers had reached Solas about the mysterious disease, it had been the first thing to truly grasp his attention. At this present time, not even Slavery was truly something that weighed heavy on him because he was lazy in answering to the common prayers of his people and far more aggressive and immersive in his battles and playing around. Slavery was common since his original birth, and he had even his own collection of worshipers as such so it was not something he paid much attention to as a problem yet.
But a disease?
An unknown--unmarked--disease that affected his people and a disease that he felt himself somehow affected in return (but in an opposite effect) did grab his attention. After all, it was not any sudden knew understanding that the Pantheon’s lives were all somehow much longer and richer than anyone else’s, while the mortal elves underneath began to show signs statistically in their suffering. This was one problem that Solas felt needed to have been brought in awareness.
So, Solas spoke with the other members of the Elvhen Pantheon; the ones who had yet to create anything namely beneficial to the elvhen people that Elgar’nan would have deemed worthy. With their help, he raised an army to take to the Emerald City and there, Solas had finally addressed the issues of the this mysterious disease and its effects with Elgar’nan personally. However, the result had not been in Solas’ favor. He and Elgar’nan ended up arguing, and that argument turned quickly into a battle, and that battle ended with Solas almost being killed by a strongly enchanted artifact of the Gods. Elgar’nan hurled a spear right to Solas’ head, and he would have even died had it not been for Mythal rushing to his rescue and talking Elgar’nan into calming his anger.
So, instead of death being the ultimate punishment for Solas and those who stood by him, Elgar’nan banished him from the Holy Emerald City of Arlathan within Elvhenan-- their home and starting point as Holy Entities. With the exception of the Twentieth Anniversary, was Solas and those who stood by him ever able to return back to the Emerald City just so that Elgar’nan could please his Eternal Wife and All-Mother, Mythal. As such was still an outrage to Solas, and he swore to the heavens that he would find the truth and cure to this disease. He would end the hypocrisy and blasphemy that his own ‘family’ (including himself) had created; because he had finally seen of what torture all of it had turned into for the common folk that he loved. This, of course, meant that in addition to this and for the need of a continued growth to his armies, Solas would need to also put his oath to ending Slavery as well. He would free his people from the very curses that he and the Pantheon had created…
Solas announced his rebellion loudly at public gatherings and village squares masked as a town’s crier. Once he acquired a gathering, he would show the unbelievable strength in his magic by opening portals to other worlds for his people to view and learn of their So-called Gods, and then Solas went a step further with his promises to the people by using his magic to completely remove the vallaslin (blood-writing) that marked an elf as a slave. With this gift, he cleared each soul that he touched from harsh labor, unfair treatment, and prejudistic damnation. Slaves and otherwise mortal elves who felt bound to their Holy Entities in chains turned to him for salvation and freedom; and with this purpose of freedom they sought to rally behind him.
Seeing this army grow as it did angered and frightened most other members of the Elvhen Pantheon. They saw armies beginning to grow rapidly, seeing their servants and loyal worshipers leave them for instead Solas’ favor. Elgar’nan attempted to end this problem quickly by publicly shaming and strike fear in Solas’ name by renaming him as the fearful Fen’Harel (Dread Wolf), and those once Holy Entities that followed him as the Forgotten Ones. The Pantheon tried to teach their elven mortals to be afraid of Fen’Harel, not to listen to anything that he preached or to look upon anything that he would show them. The Pantheon tried to warn the people of how irrational Fen’Harel was, how much of a liar that he was, how he would use their souls against the Holy Pantheon and if they did reach to serve Fen’Harel then there would be no place in the Elvhen Heavens for them. The Pantheon tried to give the same damning speeches in regards to the Forgotten Ones as well, for they had served Fen’Harel from the start and deserved an equal punishment in slander and exile. The Forgotten Ones were wounded from the slander and had little choice but to disperse in their previous gatherings.
However, Fen’Harel (Solas) had not allowed the slander to damage his pride in the least. He in fact, turned the cursed-name against the Pantheon and used his newly given title to create loyalty to his new-found-and-free followers. He also used it to strike fear in his new enemies. For this, Fen’Harel thrived as an untouchable rival against the Pantheon, and more namely against Elgar’nan. From time to time, he would still receive visits from Mythal and/or Sylaise.
So, with his foci in his hands, and a heavy wolf skull to cover his scarred forehead, the Dread Wolf carried his mantle high and with pride. He continued in reaching out to others for his cause, and he awaited the day for when his armies would be strong enough to go to what he believed to be the Final Pantheon War.
The year was not very important, but on an average assumption it was around 1:20 of the Redemption Age, within the Winter Solstice. It was also the marking of the birthday to Fen’Harel as well as the Twentieth Annual gathering of the Gods to the Emerald City. Naturally, Fen’Harel had to be present. Mythal would not have had it any other way, for she missed her exiled friends and family. In return, Fen’Harel was not that bothered by it. He’d wear the attire of long draped silks and gold plated armor. He’d speak to the staff politely and present a curtly nod when deemed necessary. However, as a noted effort, Fen’Harel tried his best to avoid his adopted “Father” during such events.
Besides, there had been so much fun already to have been had. The Emerald City glittered in all its brilliance just as he first remembered it. The Sentinels were increased in number; each elven soldier had the vallaslin (blood-writing) that marked their face to a service mostly to Elgar-nan or another Pantheon Member. The music that filled the air was soft and melodious. Rodhesils (magical ivory-carved wind instruments) were being blown to the same tune and with it came images pulled from the Fade itself. The images created scenes of when the Gods had blessed the lower mortals with healthy crops and fertile lives. Fen’Harel could smell the luxurious aroma of magic being conjured to suit the bards. Even without them; though, the air was still sweet with wine, honey, steamed vegetables and bread rolls. Any of the kills that Andruil acquired from her hunts were succulent and tender; but this day had been a separate special celebration....
More often than most, Andruil was holding hunting parties for some secret purpose. Fen’Harel had only recently began to uncover some the already tantalizing details and scattered gossip among his estranged brethren. During his current visit back home, Fen’Harel had learned that Sylaise married June, and Andruil was beginning to court a mortal elvhen female noble--which was rather scandalous within the Pantheon, to say the least. Another secret scandal was Dirthamen’s twin brother, Felon’Din, who had been requesting constant and continuous time from Mythal. Within certain rumors that were being protected by Dirthamen, was that Felon’Din was diving into madness from his eager desire to prove his love and devotion to Mythal, and Felon’Din’s only method in doing so was to cause more and greater sacrifices and wars from his own people. It was such news that Fen’Harel simply reveled in, and it gave him a bit of satisfaction that June, Dirthamen, and Felon’Din were finally, finally, ...distracted enough with their own problems that they had to gradually ease up from fighting Fen’Harel as much.
Wars required manpower and resources, after all…
Fen’Harel raised a glass to familiar Forgotten Ones who had been invited to the same gathering. Revassan and Geldauran were standing off to the side. Revassan’s dark beautiful skin stood in stark contrast against Geldauran’s far more fair complexion that together, they stood out amongst the mingling Pantheon’s Members. It was difficult for their sight not to have been avoided. Off to the darker balconies, Sylaise and June were sharing a moment in paradise together by watching what few nobility, that were invited to the gathering, danced below them. Dirthamen was staying close to his twin brother; keeping him from straying off to annoy Mythal. The All-Father, himself, had yet to make an appearance; which had been for the better to Fen’Harel’s interests.
Before Fen’Harel could explore the floor much further, he felt his body suddenly pulled to the dark corners of the large Emerald Palace. At first he had assumed it was a possible informant or maybe even an awe-struck admirer. It was his birth-season, so he’d might not have been one to refuse, if it had been a common woman or nobility striking enough. However, such inquiries were quickly halted when he felt the cold enchanted blue vital dagger that pressed to his throat. His grey eyes peered between the folds of shadow and light to see the person who had managed to capture him so surprisingly, and his smile of intrigue and curiosity slowly crept across his face.
It was lovely Andruil, fierce, forceful and paranoid as ever. She was dressed in the autumn silks and the golden armor of a warrior; which had almost would have made her stand out as well. Except, for Andruil, this sort of tom-boyish attire of hers was quite normal. Her matching hair was cut a bit choppy that maybe it had touched the dull edge of a dagger. Perhaps the very same that was pressed to Fen’Harel’s throat even now.
“La savh na ma. (And a hello to you.)” Fen’Harel finally broke some of that tension; if just to distract her from possibly cutting him-- for he would not put it against her.
“Telahna. (Silence.)” Andruil hissed at him with a glare. “Garas quenathra? (Why are you here?)”
“Andruil,” the oddly given purr in response from the Dread Wolf guided his head to tilt slightly towards the angle of the blade at his neck. “Ara’lin vegara bel’alan’anar, tas ir enaste. Eolasma. La rasama melava ena’las. Nuvenal Mythal itha em. (I return every twentieth year, as I am given my right to. You know this. Plus, it is the time of my birth. Mythal would want to see me.)”
Andruil huffed but didn’t shift in her stance any. “Nuva ma lasa vhallal i vara. (You give your greeting and then leave.)”
“Elvar’nas, thuast i’ve na vasa em adahl tas mar edh’paragirem’len sa anar. (How cold, for someone who tied me to a tree as her personal sexslave for a year.)” He was quick to tease her then.
Her nose crinkled in disgust of him as she retorted, “Tel’lath da’mi inor shol’en mar-- (I have no love for the small blade between your legs--)”
“Tas tel’lath da’mi daremah arainmuin. (As I have no love for the small blade to my throat.)” Fen’Harel finished for her and glanced down back to the blue-vitol’s edge as though to have kept his point of her pointy-end valid. “Telsilal ir sathemah mar palashalan? Ar itha as ema vallaslin. Ha’mi’ni, ar ema tel’esay. (You worry that I will sway your fair maiden from you? From what I had seen, she does not wear the mark of the slaves. So, I have no interest, rest assured.)”
Andruil tucked her blade blade back into its sheath. The dim light clung to her tanned form like a blanket of dark velvet and comfrey. With a high raise of her chin, her glare still pressed down onto Fen’Harel harshly. “Inislea dar’ma. (Inislea is mine.)”
“Inislea asamelin? (Is Inislea her name?)” Fen’Harel grinned again; able to relax now that the blade had left his neck.
“As. Dar. Emma. (She is mine.)” Andruil repeated with a growl looming next to him, which had caused the Dread Wolf to momentarily close his eyes.
“Ma nuvenin. (As you say.)” Fen’Harel answered her and began his turn away. “Sil’dirthemah? Elgar’nan tel’enasta. Nuva is din’sa tuna mar. Sa isa‘hima venuralas. Shathe shiralen. (Might I offer some wisdom? Elgar’nan will still not approve. He may even kill her to punish you. She will need to be immortal… Good luck.)”
“Dahn’direlan. (Idiot.)” Andruil hissed at his backside and slipped further back into the shadows like the huntress that she was.
Fen’Harel had not wanted to stay long, really. He wanted to see the All-Mother, wish her well and show her that his scar had been healing very well with time and appropriate healing magic. Then he wanted to return back to his Land of Outcasts where he could celebrate the season of his birth far more appropriately. His idea of such would involve a tasteful orgy or two, a feast just as satisfying as the Emerald City could provide, and -- of course -- the ultimatum to free slaves of their servitude in exchange of their service to fight for their own freedom. After all, he didn’t completely remove the vallaslin from their faces just from the kindness of his heart. Fen’Harel wanted to see armies flourish and strengthen. While they didn’t have to be specifically under his ruling, they needed to have at least been hungry for Change in their current world and willing to battle even their own Gods for their Freedom. With such a fall, then Fen’Harel could one day learn the truth of everything.
So, turning away from the shadowed balcony, himself, the Dread Wolf began his slow mingling again. His long brown dreadlocks so far had not been damaged by Andruil’s blade; and rested in a half-bun that neatly tucked back to show of his elvhen pride. He glanced around the long banquet table; idly tearing away a chicken leg and unceremoniously gnawed on it without a plate or napkin. Perhaps that had been his small rebellion; and one of many that Fen’Harel may end up showing this night…