#epictragedy

Something the color of emerald green peeked out from a slivered valley between two portraits. A fresco painting?! I gathered the disorderly miscellany into my hands with great care, despite my impatience biting at my heels, urging me to hurry. I would have to be more subtle than I was in Skyhold’s rotunda and knowing that thought slowed my grasping fingers and frantic arms. The whispers returned, swarming my mind with an insistence to listen. I brushed them off, I needed to see this. It could be a missing piece of this unfortunate puzzle, perhaps it held the journal, maybe another trap door?

I carefully cleared the wall of its decaying and friable camouflage and set the discarded papers at my feet. The candles rejoiced, casting vivid displays of amber, orange and gold galad along the grey lodestone.

Planes of grey that absorbed nearly the entire wall were interrupted by deliberate strokes of black. They carved into irregular shapes I recalled as familiar and chains of dabbles stippled into points, indications of something—mountain ranges? This was a… map. An informative landscape enlaced with the poetry of a painting. I waved my left hand over the fresco, just a fingers length away from the surface, hoping to illuminate every detail. I couldn’t afford to miss even the minutest scrap of information. My hand hovered over the circular green item that initially caught my attention. I gasped in surprise and my eyes were drawn upwards and downwards and from east to west. They were everywhere glinting back at me like daggers in the moonlight.

There were no names, nothing written to indicate where this was, only the blaringly obvious detail that horrified me beyond belief, the little green cylindular object represented an Elven artifact and they were drawn in all over this map. Covering what was now the Kingdoms of Ferelden, Orlais, The Free Marches and Tevinter. They gleamed in the firelight like the hungry eyes of wolves in the sight of a feast. As I looked closer, a red mark emerged from the darkness, for this fresco delivered it secrets within the twist of a methodical tease. Drawing its curtain back in a deliberate performance brimming with suspense and mystery.  There were red slashes blazingly struck through their centers, through all of—no, through most of them. I glanced at the open topped jar, its liquid contents flickered crimson, the smell originated from there. I dipped my finger in-- it was fresh, this was recent?  What did all of this mean?

I counted them, my anxiety growing with every stacked number, as every digit upgraded higher and higher until the number was finalized. Eighteen. Fifteen of them bore red slashes, almost as if they were being crossed off of…a tangible list. One of them sported an X instead of a slash, it was situated within what looked like a mountain ridge. It must have been the one I destroyed inside the mountain, I surmised.  With my finger I was compelled to trace an invisible line from one to another, at some points I strained on my tiptoes in my attempt to reach. I sought a link in this reign of madness.  Why were they all in these locations? There must be a purpose to their locations. These were his hooks after all, wedged into the fabric of the fade, the drastic tools in which he would rip it down. My finger caught on something sticky, red fresco clung to my finger. It was still damp. 

I studied the artifact’s surrounding area for any potential indication of a location. It was situated in what I believed was near Amaranthine on the corner right edge of Ferelden’s northern coast, small strokes swathed in bristled blotches spoke of trees and then there was a sketchy waterfall…I remembered this one. The place I had begged for him to end my life, the place where he informed me of my clan’s purpose and the cost of death. The red slashes confirmed what I feared most, oozing down my finger like a mimicry of blood; this indeed was a record. A headcount of all his artifacts, and which ones were activated; a destructive plan drawn up in the melodies of paint. Which meant, if I counted the one I activated in the deep roads, there was only one left that remained untouched.  My arm swept from left to right as I hazily mapped out each location with my red stained hand, I felt like I was drowning in a daze.

I withdrew as I absorbed the shape of my work, there in muted scarlet was the outline of a wolf, the constellation of Fenrir. This is what will bring that wolf into the world. His wolf.  As soon as recognition struck, my head spun and the whispers climbed into screams.

(The constellation Fenrir has 8, BUT for this story it is made up of 18 stars.)

Thank you for reading! 

Then to my horror, I realized those were the bones in my foot producing the noise; not the fire. I could feel my eyes watering and I squeezed my eyelids tightly, trying to tourniquet the tears with my flesh and resolve.

She yanked my foot suddenly and grumbled, “Stubborn.” Under her breath. I vomited into my mouth in reaction. I regretfully swallowed it and silently prayed that she hadn’t seen the grimace I just displayed for everyone to see. This was worse than childbirth, I determined.

Upon which, I was also weighing my options. My resolve and tolerance were filipendulous at best and if this went on for much longer my mind and body would fail to endure it. My cracked nails punctured into my skin at my side as her fingers kneaded me like dough. I needed to make a decision, as I was struggling to quell the nearly undeniable desire to plant my dagger in her chest.

If I squint hard enough its six sentences....

Thank you for reading! Tagging~

I threw my face into the dirt, inhaling soil and small bits of rock, “Get off of me!” I coughed. “Get off!”

It stopped. My face’s temperature reduced down to a pitiful smolder. My tears still left searing reminders of what just transpired. I pulled myself to my knees, and looked around quickly for my ancestor, only to find that I was alone. All that remained of him was the mirror shard, I crawled over to it to measure the damage. I plucked it from the mud and examined my appearance, but all I saw was his.  Eyes—hawk-like and pouring into my soul, for he clearly saw me now.

Blood aligned into patterns, forming webs of a promise and laced in haemal crimson. Six eyes of varying sizes crowned his forehead and cheeks, inter-connected by the bonds of gouged flesh, an anthem forged by blood and spirit: this was the Vallaslin of Fen’Harel.

Its totally not 6....but one can dream. 

Also....I think I got the tags right for Beyond the Veil. 

Thank you for reading!

“They elected you as Inquisitor, not for your skill in battle alone. You are formidable. In any case, there is no benefit in informing you, it will make little difference. You will activate this one, as done previously.” His voice dipped into the octaves of an order.

“Where are we?” I pressed. “I want to know what you will destroy.” I stood firm, shoulders squared, refusing to tread further. He turned to face me, the blaze in his hand distorting the shadows across the planes of his face.

“When has any truth of my plans comforted you? Or perhaps, any truth at all? You live, stuck in a halcyon that never existed and you yearn for its return.”

“And who painted that pretty picture for me? This impressive hiraeth? A lie built on lies, a tower, and then brick by brick, a rotunda, and finally, a castle! What a beautiful empire you raised. Such an artist as you perhaps, should have erected that on Skyhold’s walls.”

We dove into a thick silence, neither of us giving in. I could almost see him biting his tongue, any remark quelled by fledgling self-control. He took a breath and smiled.

“You evade blame almost as skillfully as you evaded me, ah, but then again, where are you know?” He tilted his head, his left brow raised. “I wonder, what more dances have you that I not discovered yet?”

“I believe it was you who taught me to dance, Solas. I cannot take credit for my skills, when I have the master in front of me.” I gestured to him.

A muscle in his neck twitched and the fire cradled in his fingers strengthened significantly, staining his skin red.

“There is work to be done. Enough.” Even though the fire was causing us both to sweat in this enclosed space, his words were of pure ice.

We advanced upon this hovel, a crumbling crooked crevice of rock and stalagmites, dripping with Maker knows what. His steps were full of confidence and prior knowledge, muscle attuned with memory. He maneuvered past the tight angles with experience. He had been here before, perhaps?

“Whose bright idea was to locate an artifact in this dreadful place?” I snapped, as I was compelled to duck when a bat screeched by my head. Ah, but if a bat made its home here, surely there was an additional entrance to this hollowed nightmare.

He answered me with a chuckle and then reassured, “It isn’t far. Have patience, Inquisitor.” Ah, so he was no longer angered by my words, or had he folded the displeasure up and saved it for later?

I grabbed his illuminated jaw and snapped his head towards me. “Patience? I waited for you! With each year passing no more than a decade of drought! I have been patient, Solas.”  I wasn’t expecting a simple comment to provoke such raw emotion into my words, but there I was, fingers digging into the flesh of his jaw.

Solas’s eyes crept over my face, tracing every detail with his heavy gaze. “And so you have me.” He remarked gruffly and shrugged me off. A small draft tingled against my skin, the blooming flame flickered and listed, perhaps a vein in this stone body led to freedom, after all. But, I could only see what his flaming palm afforded me.

I felt it before I saw it. The anchor reacted, fizzling, smoke-like, and churning the air around it a greenish hue. My first reaction was to recoil and hide it within my cloak. Solas’s armored arm slithered into the fold of my cloak, the fabric hissing against his metal arm guards. He held onto my throbbing hand, pulling it from its hiding place, cool fingers calming my shivering ones, he presented it to the artifact before us.  Mist entrapped light uncoiled around the artifact, as if we had woken it from a long slumber, its light stretched and billowed in flight, like a flag caught in the wind and it rippled and convulsed, as if it was rejoicing. A warm welcome, indeed. A statue loomed behind, a winged and headless figure of a woman. Mythal. She was immured in this foul place, a feeling of sorrow washed over me.

“We are within the Vimmark Mountains.” He informed, sullen and remorseful, his eyes lingering on the statue.

A mountain chain, opportunity screamed into my mind. Then we could be in the vicinity of Kirkwall or even Ostwick, or rather, it was also possible we were somewhere in between. What mattered the most was the very fact that we were under a mountain.

“Surely, this place has significance.” I argued, playing along, with my eyes following his.

“Indeed.” He whispered.

Solas closed his palm and in doing so, snuffed out his flame. We were bathed in a greenish and golden light, I stole a glance, his mouth set in a hard line, eyes devoid of emotion, and in doing so, he gave me nothing. Unreadable. He was skilled not only in magic, but also, in masking his intentions. He was undeniably powerful, but so was I.

My heart hammered in my chest, possibly my only chance at stopping the Dread Wolf lay within these simple and faulty rock walls, carved out by water. Maybe, I did not need my little dagger, for it, could not compare with a mountain.

The next set of actions were to be done without instruction, as they were no different than the times prior. But this time, everything would be different. Hesitation would no longer best me.

I neared the artifact, Solas stepped behind me and observed. I lifted my hand and waited, the artifact pulsated with green waves of light surging upwards, and revealing thousands of tiny eyes glaring back at us in this aphotic sanctuary. Fucking bats.

I felt my release and I moved closer to it, the lights brightened in response, and I wondered, could I not only activate the artifact with the anchor, but also destroy it? Hell, I could bring this entire cave down and trap him in, weaponize our very surroundings…and so I did. I had only used the anchor’s power as much as I required of it, in the past, I was too careful to abuse it. That some calamity might befall myself and others if I used it for anything but its intended purpose, but what I needed most was in fact, calamity, itself.

I opened a rift right into the very center of the artifact. In less than a blink of an eye, it exploded into a shower of glass and stone, its ancient powers reveling in the new found freedom. In an instant, the small pocket of this mountain, shuddered and began to collapse, as the rift twisted it into its own shape, pulling and knotting, then thrusting and flailing. The bats flew to an escape as dust, stalagmites and murky water rained down, then chunks of rock plummeted downwards until the very ceiling threatened to fold in like a deck of cards. I tried to avoid the falling debris as the area shook, thunderous and vengeful. I could hear the bats, screeching in terror and I made my way to follow them.

“Moon’Hwa!” Solas roared. Eyes lit, his hands invoked a barrier, though as the mountain piled high, he was struggling to hold it. He gritted his teeth and grunted under the weight, too preoccupied to stop me, for if he let go, we would surely be buried. So this was his limit. I crawled along the ground, my back was pelted with rocks and earth. I covered my head with one hand and dug through debris with the other. He fell to his knee behind me, his gaze burning a hole in my back. The consequences of my actions stopped ricocheting from my body, I peered upwards to realize that his barrier was stretching, enveloping me within its safety.-----------------

So I am not sure where this chapter is going to end up...as in numerically where it will sit. It is not done yet...but it is further along then what I posted. I fear it will be too long to post here in full.