"Look at you. Like fat Dathrasi you feed, and feed, and complain only when your meal is interrupted. You do not look up. You do not see that the grass is bare. All you leave in your wake is misery. You are blind; I will make you see!"
The Deep Roads expedition made its members a potential fortune, though some of them chose not to accept more than was needed. Others used it to move up in the world, gaining a foothold in Hightown, and some passing interest from the Viscount himself. Their names were on many lips, but soon they passed beneath notice once more. There were still more pressing issues plagueing the city. Tensions between the mages and the templars had only risen in the intervening years, with a number of incidents flaring tempers on both sides. But despite the volatility of the issue, it seems to have been put on hold for the time being, in favor of seemingly more threatening matters.
The influx of desperate refugees created an impressive movement in the area of organized crime, none profiting so much as the ever potent Coterie. The corruption even spread so high as the captain of the city guard, and though that particular case was rooted out, still others threaten to rear their heads at the least opportune of moments. The forces trying to hold back this tide are spread dangerously thin as it is.
But perhaps most alarmingly is the fact that four years after their unexpected landing, the Qunari warriors and their Arishok had yet to depart Kirkwall. They continued to insist that they were waiting for their ship. They had been wrecked in a storm, but only fools couldn't see that there was a different kind of storm looming. Those who knew better, and were capable, would attempt to put a halt to the madness, before the Qun demanded something catastrophic...
The influx of desperate refugees created an impressive movement in the area of organized crime, none profiting so much as the ever potent Coterie. The corruption even spread so high as the captain of the city guard, and though that particular case was rooted out, still others threaten to rear their heads at the least opportune of moments. The forces trying to hold back this tide are spread dangerously thin as it is.
But perhaps most alarmingly is the fact that four years after their unexpected landing, the Qunari warriors and their Arishok had yet to depart Kirkwall. They continued to insist that they were waiting for their ship. They had been wrecked in a storm, but only fools couldn't see that there was a different kind of storm looming. Those who knew better, and were capable, would attempt to put a halt to the madness, before the Qun demanded something catastrophic...
The Chanter's Board has been updated. New quests are available.
Nostariel clenched the letter more tightly in her fist, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. It was the last one Feynriel had sent her, and he hadnāt yet responded to her reply. As it had been two weeks, she was worried about him. Though she was seldom able to visit anymore, and indeed tried not to, since he needed to grow accustomed to living with the Dalish alone, they communicated frequently via letters like this one, and he was always prompt. She suspected he wrote her more often than his own mother, and perhaps that was to be expected. She understood his struggles with his magic, with fitting in, in a way that Arianni, Maker bless her, could not.
Feynriel wrote:Nostariel,
Thanks for writing. Iām glad the Alienage is doing better. It never felt like home to me, but, well, the people there were good to me, as much as they could be.
My dreams are getting worse. I tried doing the thing that you said, about reminding myself of all the good things in my life, but the demons, they just talk louder, and itās getting really hard to sleep. The Keeper says this is something I have to beat on my own, but I donāt know if I can. I donāt belong here, not really. I donāt belong anywhere. I feel soā¦ I donāt know.
Anyway, I shouldnāt be bothering you. I guess sometimes it feels like youāre the only person who really understands. I hope youāre keeping well.
-Feynriel
Naturally, such tidings had bothered her greatly, and sheād written back at once, asking him if heād like her to come and visit, see if they couldnāt work something out. But thereād been no reply at all, and now she was truly concerned. She wasnāt with him every day, so she couldnāt say for sure, but his predicament seemed to be more troublesome than what most mages had to put up with. If so, the Keeper just doing nothing about it was bound to become a problem, and she didnāt want to see anything happen to Feynriel. He was scarcely more than a child, perhaps sixteen this year, if she recalled correctly. Sheād paid one of the Sabrae craftsmen to make him a staff of ironwood for the occasion, as it would have been about the time he took his Harrowing, were he in the Circle, the only rite of passage mage children received.
So today, she was going to see Arianni. She had no idea if the young manās mother would know anything more than the Warden herself did, but if she did, Nostariel needed to know. If that didnāt work, she was going to trek to Sundemont. Today. Nodding resolutely, Nostariel donned her leathers, a set of light armor sheād had made a few months ago, after the fashion of some female mercenaries and hunters sheād seen. It wasnāt a lot of protection, but it was more than sheād had before, and still allowed her to cast unencumbered. Chestplate, laced braces for her upper arms, and another for her left forearm, to absorb any bowstring impact. Her shortbow was plain, but serviceable, and slung diagonally over her back, so she could wear it and her staff at once. Lacing her knee-high boots, she tapped the toes against the floor to test for snugness, then made her way out of the Hanged Man and around the winding alleyways of Lowtown until she reached the Alienage.
Arianni was standing outside her home, looking concerned, as though she were waiting for someone. Possibly coincidental, but it seemed a bit too unlikely. āArianni?ā the Warden asked cautiously. āIs everything all right?ā
Across the Alienage from them, Ithilian sheathed the last of his weapons. It was still strange to wear Parshaara on his hip, and probably always would be, but it was only fitting. There was nothing that wasn't strange about his connection to the Qunari woman beside him. They'd been approached by the Dalish woman Arianni only a few minutes earlier, sought out to aid her in the cause of her son a second time. Apparently the Dalish hadn't been able to help him with his gift, or something of that nature. She had been quite closed off about it, only wanting to say more once they'd committed to assisting her.
Not knowing what to expect, Ithilian had decided to come prepared, armed with his bow, two short swords, and Parshaara, along with his remade set of armor. The headscarf had been replaced with a hood, but this was currently down around his shoulders. These people had seen his head uncovered before, and were no longer startled as they once were. Ithilian was not pleased about being kept in the dark when his help was requested, but she had mentioned Marethari, and his obligations to his people were more than enough to get him to lend his aid, especially when he was only requested to travel across the Alienage for what was needed.
As always, Amaliaās motives for acting as she did were less clear, though in this case, she would readily admit that she was going because she had been asked to go, and it was nothing more complicated than that. She, too, was bristling with weaponry, which was in truth but a small selection of what she now possessed. Her armor, dark with mottled blues, greys, and the occasional green, was fashioned from the hide of the dragon theyād slain, and she now wore its skin as though it were her own, darkened with pitch and giving her the appearance of a silhouette as much shadow as solid. Admittedly, it tended to unnerve, so most of the time, she disguised it with outerwear, but not today. A curious, bladed metal circle with three perpendicular handles hung from her back, joining the knife in each boot, her trigger-mechanism gauntlet, and the chain wound and hanging from her waist in arming her against whatever she may face. A leather bandoleer held an array of potions and poisons, but everything was muffled, designed so as not to clink together and give her away with sound.
The two of them reached Arianni shortly after Nostariel did, and the Qunari offered both a nod. She was unsurprised to see the Warden here, as she did bear more connection to the boy than either herself or Ithilian did, whatever his heritage may be. āPerhaps she would be willing to share the details with all three of us,ā Amalia suggested upon hearing the mageās question. It seemed that something other than the distressed motherās request had brought the Warden to this place, but it was unlikely Arianni would refuse another person willing to help her son for nothing in return.
Arriani looked skittish, about to respond to Nostariel when the others arrived as well. "Thank you for coming on such short notice," she said to Ithilian and Amalia, before looking to Nostariel. "I was about to seek you out as well, Warden. It's Feynriel. He's gone into a coma. Something to do with his magic, I don't know..." The trouble was obviously proving a little overwhelming with her, as it was something a mother without magic could do little to help with. This was so far beyond her.
"Keeper Marethari's coming to assist. She says she knows of a way to fix this. I hope she is right."
"Let's all hope," a voice agreed from behind the group. Before, when Ashton descended the stairs, he almost promptly turned around and left. The first person he noticed was, of course Nostariel. The second was Ithilian, which caused a hiccup in his step, and the third was the figure draped in the color of midnight who was the one that almost caused him to leave. Though, Nostariel was there. He wouldn't just leave, not after all he had traveled to get back. He had a promise to keep after all, and he never broke his promises. He'd take ten Ithilians to see Nostariel once. So he took one last long gulp of air and did what he did best. Firmly insert himself in the conversation, and to hell with the consequences.
He went so far as to wink at his pretty little Warden friend and added, "You're a hard one to track down-- and that's saying something coming from me," with that stupid little grin stuck firmly on his face. Oh good, he could still do that. He was worried that it may have gotten rusty.
Nostariel was a bit surprised by the appearance of Ithilian and Amalia, both looking fit to go off and fight a two-person war againstā¦ well, she knew not what, but she didnāt like its chances. They appeared to have business with Arianni as well, business which the woman seemed reluctant to speak of. The story soon revealed itself, however, and Nostarielās face fell into a marked frown. Feynriel had fallen into dream and was unable to wake? That was not a problem she had ever heard of before, and started to confirm her suspicion that there was something special about the boy. She felt more the fool for not having detected it before, but she knew not what it could possibly be.
What scant information Arianni had wasnāt helpful in that regard, but the womanās stress was evident. Nostariel placed a soothing hand on her arm, squeezing gently. If there were any people who could help Feynriel, it would be those who had helped him before, who understood his situation and sought to do right by him anyway. The hand fell away, however, and any words she might have spoken died in her throat at the sound of another voice, one she knew well, but had half-expected never to hear again. Her back had been turned to the entrance of the Alienage, but she wheeled to face it now, unable (or perhaps simply unwilling), to stop the broad grin from taking up residence on her face.
Heād kept his promise after all.
Of course, the reality of the situation hit her shortly thereafter, and her face fell into something much more neutral again, and she shot a glance at the other two out of the corner of her eye. āWell,ā she said, ālife keeps moving, and I with it. Itāsā¦ itās really very good to see you again, Ash, butā¦ weāre about to find ourselves in the middle of something that might be dangerous, andā¦ā she wasnāt really sure how to finish the statement. She didnāt desire to be cold, and dismiss him due to being busy, but that was essentially what she had to do. Feynriel couldnāt wait, not any longer, and the Keeper would be here any moment.
Ashton chuckled, his shoulders bobbing along with him. What? Did she really expect him to not go on this adventure with her, despite the strange company she kept? "How very sagelike of you," he began, patting her on the shoulder, "Dangerous somethings? It's good to know nothing's changed while I was gone." After the past six months, he could deal with a little danger in the city. At least a bear wouldn't attempt to eat his face in Kirkwall... Of course, Ithilian was mere feet away. Best to not think of it, he told himself. Though he was loath to, he tore his eyes away from Nostariel and sat them upon the elven lady they had been speaking to before. "Ma'am, I'd like to aid your son as well." Nostariel had told him about Feynriel, the half-elven mage child. From the way she spoke of him, they were good friends-- though Ashton never met the boy personally. He doubted the Dalish would let him get anywhere near him.
Hey, any friend of Nostariel's is a friend of his.
"Thank the Creators for your kindness, all of you," Arianni said, while Ithilian had mysteriously crossed his arms and visibly resisted rolling his eye.
"Marethari's here. I hope this will all be over soon."
So today, she was going to see Arianni. She had no idea if the young manās mother would know anything more than the Warden herself did, but if she did, Nostariel needed to know. If that didnāt work, she was going to trek to Sundemont. Today. Nodding resolutely, Nostariel donned her leathers, a set of light armor sheād had made a few months ago, after the fashion of some female mercenaries and hunters sheād seen. It wasnāt a lot of protection, but it was more than sheād had before, and still allowed her to cast unencumbered. Chestplate, laced braces for her upper arms, and another for her left forearm, to absorb any bowstring impact. Her shortbow was plain, but serviceable, and slung diagonally over her back, so she could wear it and her staff at once. Lacing her knee-high boots, she tapped the toes against the floor to test for snugness, then made her way out of the Hanged Man and around the winding alleyways of Lowtown until she reached the Alienage.
Arianni was standing outside her home, looking concerned, as though she were waiting for someone. Possibly coincidental, but it seemed a bit too unlikely. āArianni?ā the Warden asked cautiously. āIs everything all right?ā
Across the Alienage from them, Ithilian sheathed the last of his weapons. It was still strange to wear Parshaara on his hip, and probably always would be, but it was only fitting. There was nothing that wasn't strange about his connection to the Qunari woman beside him. They'd been approached by the Dalish woman Arianni only a few minutes earlier, sought out to aid her in the cause of her son a second time. Apparently the Dalish hadn't been able to help him with his gift, or something of that nature. She had been quite closed off about it, only wanting to say more once they'd committed to assisting her.
Not knowing what to expect, Ithilian had decided to come prepared, armed with his bow, two short swords, and Parshaara, along with his remade set of armor. The headscarf had been replaced with a hood, but this was currently down around his shoulders. These people had seen his head uncovered before, and were no longer startled as they once were. Ithilian was not pleased about being kept in the dark when his help was requested, but she had mentioned Marethari, and his obligations to his people were more than enough to get him to lend his aid, especially when he was only requested to travel across the Alienage for what was needed.
As always, Amaliaās motives for acting as she did were less clear, though in this case, she would readily admit that she was going because she had been asked to go, and it was nothing more complicated than that. She, too, was bristling with weaponry, which was in truth but a small selection of what she now possessed. Her armor, dark with mottled blues, greys, and the occasional green, was fashioned from the hide of the dragon theyād slain, and she now wore its skin as though it were her own, darkened with pitch and giving her the appearance of a silhouette as much shadow as solid. Admittedly, it tended to unnerve, so most of the time, she disguised it with outerwear, but not today. A curious, bladed metal circle with three perpendicular handles hung from her back, joining the knife in each boot, her trigger-mechanism gauntlet, and the chain wound and hanging from her waist in arming her against whatever she may face. A leather bandoleer held an array of potions and poisons, but everything was muffled, designed so as not to clink together and give her away with sound.
The two of them reached Arianni shortly after Nostariel did, and the Qunari offered both a nod. She was unsurprised to see the Warden here, as she did bear more connection to the boy than either herself or Ithilian did, whatever his heritage may be. āPerhaps she would be willing to share the details with all three of us,ā Amalia suggested upon hearing the mageās question. It seemed that something other than the distressed motherās request had brought the Warden to this place, but it was unlikely Arianni would refuse another person willing to help her son for nothing in return.
Arriani looked skittish, about to respond to Nostariel when the others arrived as well. "Thank you for coming on such short notice," she said to Ithilian and Amalia, before looking to Nostariel. "I was about to seek you out as well, Warden. It's Feynriel. He's gone into a coma. Something to do with his magic, I don't know..." The trouble was obviously proving a little overwhelming with her, as it was something a mother without magic could do little to help with. This was so far beyond her.
"Keeper Marethari's coming to assist. She says she knows of a way to fix this. I hope she is right."
"Let's all hope," a voice agreed from behind the group. Before, when Ashton descended the stairs, he almost promptly turned around and left. The first person he noticed was, of course Nostariel. The second was Ithilian, which caused a hiccup in his step, and the third was the figure draped in the color of midnight who was the one that almost caused him to leave. Though, Nostariel was there. He wouldn't just leave, not after all he had traveled to get back. He had a promise to keep after all, and he never broke his promises. He'd take ten Ithilians to see Nostariel once. So he took one last long gulp of air and did what he did best. Firmly insert himself in the conversation, and to hell with the consequences.
He went so far as to wink at his pretty little Warden friend and added, "You're a hard one to track down-- and that's saying something coming from me," with that stupid little grin stuck firmly on his face. Oh good, he could still do that. He was worried that it may have gotten rusty.
Nostariel was a bit surprised by the appearance of Ithilian and Amalia, both looking fit to go off and fight a two-person war againstā¦ well, she knew not what, but she didnāt like its chances. They appeared to have business with Arianni as well, business which the woman seemed reluctant to speak of. The story soon revealed itself, however, and Nostarielās face fell into a marked frown. Feynriel had fallen into dream and was unable to wake? That was not a problem she had ever heard of before, and started to confirm her suspicion that there was something special about the boy. She felt more the fool for not having detected it before, but she knew not what it could possibly be.
What scant information Arianni had wasnāt helpful in that regard, but the womanās stress was evident. Nostariel placed a soothing hand on her arm, squeezing gently. If there were any people who could help Feynriel, it would be those who had helped him before, who understood his situation and sought to do right by him anyway. The hand fell away, however, and any words she might have spoken died in her throat at the sound of another voice, one she knew well, but had half-expected never to hear again. Her back had been turned to the entrance of the Alienage, but she wheeled to face it now, unable (or perhaps simply unwilling), to stop the broad grin from taking up residence on her face.
Heād kept his promise after all.
Of course, the reality of the situation hit her shortly thereafter, and her face fell into something much more neutral again, and she shot a glance at the other two out of the corner of her eye. āWell,ā she said, ālife keeps moving, and I with it. Itāsā¦ itās really very good to see you again, Ash, butā¦ weāre about to find ourselves in the middle of something that might be dangerous, andā¦ā she wasnāt really sure how to finish the statement. She didnāt desire to be cold, and dismiss him due to being busy, but that was essentially what she had to do. Feynriel couldnāt wait, not any longer, and the Keeper would be here any moment.
Ashton chuckled, his shoulders bobbing along with him. What? Did she really expect him to not go on this adventure with her, despite the strange company she kept? "How very sagelike of you," he began, patting her on the shoulder, "Dangerous somethings? It's good to know nothing's changed while I was gone." After the past six months, he could deal with a little danger in the city. At least a bear wouldn't attempt to eat his face in Kirkwall... Of course, Ithilian was mere feet away. Best to not think of it, he told himself. Though he was loath to, he tore his eyes away from Nostariel and sat them upon the elven lady they had been speaking to before. "Ma'am, I'd like to aid your son as well." Nostariel had told him about Feynriel, the half-elven mage child. From the way she spoke of him, they were good friends-- though Ashton never met the boy personally. He doubted the Dalish would let him get anywhere near him.
Hey, any friend of Nostariel's is a friend of his.
"Thank the Creators for your kindness, all of you," Arianni said, while Ithilian had mysteriously crossed his arms and visibly resisted rolling his eye.
"Marethari's here. I hope this will all be over soon."