The people of Haven did not become Adaar's people until it was too late.
The voice screaming inside the hut as it burned down - to whom did it belong? Did Adaar even know? Was it someone they had seen on the chilly, snow-covered paths? Someone who had looked at them in awe, murmured blessings - to them, the so-called Herald of Andraste?
They did not get there in time. They would never find out.
It was not something Adaar had ever wanted. He'd had a purpose. He was Karashok. He followed orders, fought, killed. There was nothing else; he needed nothing else. The Qun granted freedom. Freedom from uncertainty, from need, from want.
But when their strange magic came to life within them, with it came a want. Perhaps their first. To run. To disappear. To live.
It was wrong, that they were deemed the herald of the bas religion. They tried to make the others see. They were only Qunar-- Tal-Vashoth. They were only a mercenary. They were only at the Conclave fulfilling their duty.
But the people of these cold lands wandered without purpose. They could not accept that Adaar was not their herald. They wanted certainty... and found it in those murmured blessings.
The Qun leaves no room for desire. The Inquisition gave Adaar a new role. Inquisitor. A purpose, once again. It did not matter that he had never wanted this. These were his people now. And he would not let them die. He would bring death first.
