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Alright, Question for anyone who knows Dragon Age Inquisiton and is willing to read about 5k about my Inquisitor - underneath the readmore is the first chapter of my DAI novelization.
Would You Continue Reading?
Yes!
No
Maybe? With Certain Changes
Voting ended onJul 14
Alternatively "Do you think it's worth continuing/Is it interesting to anyone besides the author?
I'm trying to get a handle on what my biggest flaws are with this and my writing to help guide me if I continue (currently 75k is written, this is just the first chapter running through DAI's intro)
Cold. It was so, so cold. But so, so far away. The world itself at the end of a tunnel, too far away to even see the outside light. What was going on…?
Was he moving? Something was wrong but he couldn’t quite reach his body to find out.
It was a slow process, returning to the earth.
He wasn’t laying down. Sitting?
No, not quite. His weight rested in a precarious kneel, knees protesting the stone underneath.
It was hard to move. He couldn’t move his hands. No...no, he could, but something was in the way. Something hurt.
His eyes opened.
A dungeon, humans standing around, weapons out, pointed at him.
Before he had even a moment to register the shock, pain lanced through his hand. His eyes squinted against the sudden arc of sickly green light in the dark room.
His hand. What had they done to his hand? Why was he here?
What the fuck happened-
They gave him no time to feel the panic in his gut, rising through to his pounding heart. Two humans had come inside, slamming the cell door open. One heavily armored, one shadowed in a hood.
I’m sorry.
The words echoed over and over in his head, the only coherent though he could muster.
I’m so sorry Sula, Creators, I’m sorry-
“Tell me,” The armored woman said, shattering his thoughts as she paced slowly around him. A show of intimidation he would find almost embarrassing if he weren’t at the center of it. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”
Rage shook her voice, barely concealed, if she were even trying to at all.
“The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”
Rasanon fought for control of his face, refusing to look up from the floor.
Destroyed? No, that wasn’t...he’d left Etharavas behind in a safe place, a short ways from his destination. He’d removed the halter, sent her on her way, then...then…
With an angry grunt the armored woman gripped his chained hands, wrenching them up into the air. The metal dug into his skin-raw, irritated skin, he knew now-while his cold muscles protested the sharp movement. Still, the worst was the light, arcs of energy jumping into the air as if it had been disturbed.
He barely held back the cry of pain, the energy scorching through his body.
“Explain this,” The woman hissed, letting his arms fall back to the floor.
What was the purpose of this, of any of it? Would he be tortured? If they wanted another dead elf, why not get it over with?
And he was being jerked up again, violently lifted by the front of his tunic, the armored woman dragging him uncomfortably close.
“Talk!” She growled.
He turned his head as much as he was able, staring at the aged, stained stone wall over her shoulder.
“Cassandra!”
Again, he was dropped, knees slamming painfully back into the ground. Though at this point it was nearly lost in the chorus of discomfort and pain singing through his body.
“We need him,” he heard the other woman mutter. The words were ice in his veins. Need? For what?
There was a pause, a shift in the room. He refused to look up, but he could guess by the quiet steps the other woman was taking her turn.
Rasanon kept his eyes fixed on the floor, even as her boots came into view. Simple at first glance, but clearly well made and well used.
“What do you know?”
Firm and sharp but without the anger in the other’s voice. Another tactic, as if he had anything to say. As if it would matter if he did.
Conclave destroyed...Everyone dead…
The angry one-Cassandra?-did not bear his silence for long. Her heavy footsteps were his only warning before she gripped his arm, armored hands digging in painfully, and forcing him to his feet.
“Come,” She hissed, allowing him no chance to find solid ground before being pulled away. He was dragged into the light, stumbling behind in an effort to stay remotely upright.
As cold as it had been in the dungeon, it did not compare to the fierce biting winds now cutting through him. He’d been prepared when he came, hadn’t he? A warm clock, snow shoes. All gone, along with the rest of his supplies. Could he still feel his bare feet in the heavy snow? He wasn’t sure.
The sunlight stabbed into his eyes. He closed them automatically, so he felt more than saw when Cassandra tossed him into the snow.
There was intense whispering behind him for a moment, ending with “Go to the forward camp. We will meet you there.”
Hair stuck to his face as he pushed himself up to his knees. Was it from the snow? Sweat? Blood?
That was when his eyes adjusted to the daylight, tinged with green. He followed the unnatural shade up, trailing into the sky, and could only sit dumbstruck at the sight before him.
“We call it the breach,” Cassandra said, calmer now. “A massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. Caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”
The swirling mass of green energy blotted out the sky. How far did it reach? But no, she said it grows larger already. The better question was how far would it reach? Across Fereldan? Across the sea?
Pain shot through his arm again, the energy sparking up. He couldn’t hold back the cry this time; he could only bend over, pulling his bound hands in close, as if it would help.
“Each time the breach expands, the mark on your hand spreads. And it is killing you.” Her voice was closer now. He was vaguely aware of her kneeling by his side. “It may be the key to stopping this. To closing the breach. But there isn’t much time.”
I broke my promise, hallain. I’m so, so sorry.
He forced himself up as the pain subsided, finally turning to meet his jailor’s gaze. Her brow was pinched, dark eyes cautious but curious.
I will try to make it worth something.
Finally he spoke, his throat dry and cracked and his words coming out in a quiet croak.
“What do you need me to do?”
****
His back slammed into the hard ice.
The demon lurched towards him, the flames of its body licking at the ice, melting the snow fall around it.
He’d seen weapons not too far away. Rusted, shit weapons damaged by demon attacks, but far better than nothing.
He scrambled to grab a close sword and flipped up to his feet.
The fight was hard. He couldn’t feel his feet, could barely feel his hands besides the searing pain in the left arm. He’d lost almost everything he’d been carrying. Even the snow shoes that might have made fighting on ice manageable.
It was an eternity before the thing made it’s last screech and left this world. He was only given a moment to breath before the templar’s sword was at his throat again.
“Drop the weapon.”
It was clearly not a question.
There was no fear in Rasanon’s mind, in his gut. Only raw fury and disgust. His muscles were tense, his body screaming at him to lung forward.
But the massive tear still screamed above him.
Slowly, he relaxed his fingers, until his body finally let him drop the sword.
It clattered to the thick ice. He waited for the templar’s next move.
She...sighed. Heavy and tired, she lowered her sword.
“No. You need to be able to fight. Just don’t make me regret it.”
She sheathed her sword, nodding her approval to pick the weapon back up. He moved slowly, torn between shock, mistrust, and survival.
It didn’t quite fit in his own sheath, but it was good enough.
Something else was wrong though. Something was missing. A hand flew to his neck. Had it fallen off?
He spun around, scanning the ice, heart in his mouth. Had the demon burned it?
“What are you doing?” The templar demanded. He ignored her, turning his back. A stupid move, he knew, but he also knew she needed his arm.
He felt himself relax the moment he spotted it, stark against the ice and still intact. He muttered a quick thanks to the creators as he slid it back under his clothes.
He closed his eyes, the halla antler comforting against his chest.
I would do anything to keep you safe.
“Lets go,” He finally said.
***
The demons were endless. His body protested every movement, his limbs weak and shaky as he struggled to defend himself, let alone go on the attack. Pain he could ignore. His dry throat, his angry, twisting stomach, he could ignore. But it meant nothing if he couldn’t move his body the way he needed to.
They came across a small group of others fighting demons pouring out of a miniature version of the breach hanging only a few feet off the ground. It spat out arcs of energy with crackling so loud he could barely hear the fighting around him. Rasanon kept to the edges, trying to help without throwing himself into the middle of the fray. The second the last demon fell, an elf he’d barely noticed gripped his left hand.
“Quickly, before more come through!”
He yanked Rasanon forward, shoving his hand towards the small rift. It reacted immediately, electricity shooting back through his body as the energy flared. It anchored to him, connecting him to the rift with an unbreakable thread of magic overtaking and pulling him in.
The energy twisted around his hand violently for a moment before exploding. Light burst out around them, hanging in the air for a fraction of a second, before shrinking into itself just as fast, until it disappeared completely.
He jerked his hand back the second he felt the magic release him. The elf quickly let him go. Middle aged, bald, draped in basic, worn traveling clothes, barefoot, but with no vallaslin. Rasanon’s mind struggled, everything too much to keep up with. But even in this worn state, the incongruity set off alarms.
“How did you know that would happen?” He asked, unabashedly staring at the elf. The man slightly cocked his head, curious.
“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake-and it seems I was correct.” His voice lilted up at the end in pleased smugness, at odds with everything around him. Like this was some academic conversion happening in a quiet library and not on a hellish mountaintop.
The Templar interrupted, unsurprisingly.
“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”
“Possibly.” The elf nodded towards Rasanon. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”
“Good to know! And here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.”
Rasanon turned at the deep voice to see a dwarf slinging a heavy, complex crossbow onto his back. Besides the lack of a beard he looked like every other carta dwarf Rasanon had ever met. Nicer clothes, maybe, and something about Tethras rang a bell deep in his memory. The dwarf gave a dramatic little bow.
“Varric Tethras, at your service. Rogue, storyteller, and occasional unwelcome tagalong.” He winked as the Templar, who rolled her eyes and huffed in annoyance.
“Your help is appreciated Varric, but-”
“Have you been in the valley, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”
Seeker.
She wasn’t just a templar, then. She was something worse.
The elf smiled.
“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”
Solas? A strange name. His parents must have heard a few Dalish words and picked the one they liked the sound of the most.
“He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’” Varric helpfully translated.
“How do you know about it?” Rasanon asked again.
Again, the Seeker cut in.
“Solas is an apostate, well versed in such matters.”
“Technically all mages are apostates now, Cassandra.” Solas responded.
An apostate on a first name basis with a Seeker?
“My travels have allowed me to learn much of the fade,” Solas continued, “Far beyond the experience of any circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.
“Cassandra, you should know, the magic used here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any such mage having such power.”
The Seeker nodded, a grim expression on her face.
“Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.”
Head spinning, Rasanon followed the other three. He found himself staring at Solas’s back, well aware the mage didn’t truly answer his question.
***
Husks, scorched into the ground, reaching, screaming in pain they could never escape.
Rasanon froze, the evil in the air of the destroyed temple almost too overbearing to push through.
A nudge broke him out of it. The dwarf, Varric, tilted his head. The seeker and apostate were already ahead, stepping carefully around the charred remains.
He followed. He didn’t think of the wounds on his feet, ripped open from snow and ice, pressing into the ashes of the dead. He didn’t think of their killer, bound to his hand in some way, clawing up his arm as it fought to kill him too.
The breach was worse up close. Far, far worse. It twisted the air, wind whipping around their heads, strange colored lightening striking out across the sky. Massive green crystals formed a ball around the rift closest to the ground, shifting on their own, the sound of stone on stone adding to the cacophony.
He remembered the Temple, vaguely. Massive and impressive, the atmosphere so heavy with its history and past even he felt the need to walk quietly.
It was gone now. Nothing but a massive crater of burned stone, the only remnants a few free standing doorways and half collapsed railings and stairs.
The hooded woman appeared behind them, a few soldiers on her tail. Relief flooded her face when she spotted them.
“You’re here, thank the Maker.”
“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple,” The Seeker commanded. The other woman quickly began directing her soldiers.
“This rift was the first,” Solas said. “Seal it and perhaps we seal the Breach.”
They began trekking downward, following the path of least resistance to the bottom of the crater. There were shards of exposed lyrium sticking out from the ground, glowing an ugly red instead of the usual blue.
“Seeker,” Varric hissed.
“I know, Varric,” Was her curt reply.
They’d seen this before? He’d never even heard lyrium could be red.
They dropped into the crater. Just straining to look up made him nauseous. The Breach seemed to shift, moving the world with it, and a voice echoed out through the air.
Every one of them jumped, whipping around to stare at the Breach and the disembodied words coming from it.
“Someone, help me!”
“That was Divine Justinia’s voice!” The Seeker’s eyes went wide. “But how…?”
The Breach twisted further, strands of magic forming shapes, opaque echoes of some scene or memory.
A woman hung in the air, fully clad in Chantry robes, looking at a vague, monstrous figure. He couldn’t see details of her face, as if they were trying to watch a dream.
And a third figure appeared off to the side with quick, but hazy moments. The face was just as obscured, but he recognized himself nonetheless. His clothes, the shape of his face, his hair. His voice.
“Drop her!” He heard himself call.
“Run!” The woman cried out, “Run while you can! Warn them!”
The monstrous figure spoke. A man of some sort, voice deep and old.
“An intruder. Slay the elf!”
And the scene fell apart, the magic collapsing around it back into individual green strands of magic.
“You were there!” The Seeker cried, lunging forward until she was less than a foot from his face. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”
“I don’t know,” He finally snarled, sliding back from her. It was getting difficult to breathe. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay upright.
“Echoes of what happened here,” Solas said. “The fade bleeds into this place.”
The Seeker fell silent for a moment.
“It’s time for us to seal this Breach. Everyone stand ready!”
Rasanon jumped as Solas thumped his staff onto the ground.
“You must focus. Focus on the rift, connect to it, and rip it open. Then you will be able to use the power of that mark on your hand to close it for good.”
“How do you know?”
The mage still didn’t answer.
“Ready!” The Seeker called out. Soldiers stood in a semi circle behind him, swords drawn. More crouch on the ledges above, arrows aimed towards the rift.
Rasanon took a deep breath and raised his hand.
***
He woke up on his back this time. It was soft, almost. He opened his eyes to a wooden roof over him. Better than a dungeon, he supposed.
He’d survived? He propped himself up, glancing around the room. A small cabin, kept mostly sparse, with a few basic comforts and a crackling fire to keep it warm.
He still has his hand too. It felt strange with energy of the fade still coursing through. But it didn’t hurt. That was also an improvement. Hopefully.
Wounds had been attended to and largely healed. Besides the sharp aching in his empty stomach and a leftover soreness he felt...fine.
It was more than a little disquieting. He cast his eyes around the room, finding nothing of his own besides the ripped up and bloodstained clothes still on his back. Unsurprisingly they had not left him with the weapon he’d picked up on the mountain.
They had cared for him, but clearly held no trust for him. What did that mean? Had it worked? Would he still be forced to go through some farce of a trial? Shouldn’t he be on a cot in a dungeon if that were the case?
The necklace was still there, at least, the halla antler flush against his chest. If he must die, at least he would have this small comfort.
There was only one door. He could hear voices outside of it. A lot of voices. He crept to the door, pressing an ear to the wood. Someone was just outside the door, their steady voice asking for everyone to Please Step Back. Two someones, in fact, and the slight clank of metal on metal suggested armor. He was being guarded, then.
“The Seeker has asked for the Herald to go to the Chantry the moment he wakes up. At once, she said.”
“I understand. We will send him there as soon as possible. For the moment he still rests.”
The words would not arrange themselves in a way that made sense. Herald? What exactly would happen if he stepped outside? But there was no way out, was there? Only forward.
He threw one last glance around the room. There was nothing he could even pretend to use as a weapon. Finally, hesitantly, he tried the door. To his surprise it opened with no resistance.
There was a crowd. They went nearly silent as he emerged, staring up at him in unison. The guards he’d heard stiffened as they saw him, hands flying to their chests in salute. A small elven woman stood nearby, going pale at the sight of him. She stumbled back, almost terrified, pushing herself back into the safety of the crowd. He wanted to say something, to tell her it was alright, but no words would come.
There was nowhere to look. In every direction he was met with wide eyes.
He looked towards the sky, desperate for any relief. The breach still raged above, but less, somehow. A little smaller and much, much calmer.
So he hadn’t succeeded. Not truly.
To the Chantry. He’d been told to go to the Chantry. He could see the top of the structure over the cabins, a little ways up the hill. Guards on either side, so he had no choice, right?
He moved, focusing on his goal. The Chantry. Walk to the Chantry. The crowd broke out into whispers, parting ahead of him like grass on the plains, as if afraid his touch would burn if they stood too close.
One step at a time. Keep moving forward. Don’t think of a blade slipping out from the crowd, of the masses descending on him at once. Don’t imagine the pain of a sea of human’s taking out all their fear and anger out on the easiest available target. Don’t think of the missing sword, conveniently removed from his reach while he lay unconscious.
Relief was not usually a word he associated with the Chantry, but anything that cut him off from the endless eyes...it was a friend, if only for a moment. Thank the Creators nobody followed him through the building’s heavy doors. For one moment he could breath.
It was very...Fereldan; a sturdy structure filled with dog reliefs and statues next to shrines for their Maker and Andraste. More guards stood at the end of the long room in front of a slightly smaller set of double doors. The way the guards stared, it seemed likely where he was meant to go.
He approached carefully, keeping his eyes trained on the guards, flickering between their faces and hands. They watched him just as carefully but made no move. One even gave a small nod as he pushed the doors open for Rasanon.
“Chain him! I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”
A Chantry brother pointed at him the moment he stepped into the room; one he sort of remembered from the mountain. He’d argued with the Seeker on their way up. Rasanon had almost immediately forgotten his existence.
“Disregard that. Leave us, please.”
Seeker Cassandra sent the guards away with a casual wave of her hand. The brother’s face went red, eyes narrowing.
“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”
She straightened, candlelight reflecting off her Seeker armor. She stared the brother down.
“The breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”
The hooded woman, Leliana, the Seeker had called her, stepped forward, eyes like daggers.
“And someone was behind the explosion as the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect.”
The brother sputtered in angry disbelief.
“I am a suspect?”
“You, and many others.”
The brother sneered as he turned to Rasanon.
“But not the prisoner.”
It was difficult to not step back. Not out of fear of this man; he was clearly soft, unused to any real physical exertion. But he was still surrounded. The Seeker, this Sister Leliana, the guards outside. Pinned between a rock and a mountain, with no escape in sight. With no path that would end well for him.
The Seeker turned to him even as she spoke to the brother. There was something he couldn’t quite read in her face. Not anger but a sort of grim determination.
“I heard the voices in the Temple. The Divine called to him for help.”
He wanted to sneer, to block himself from her gaze. He stayed unmoving, eye-line trained just over and past her shoulder.
“So his survival, that thing on his hand-all a coincidence?” The brother scoffed.
“Providence. The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour.”
Too much. This was too much. He wanted to scream. He managed to keep his voice...mostly level, though he couldn’t quite contain his disbelief.
“What are you talking about? I am an elf. A Dalish elf. I have nothing to do with your Maker.”
The corners of her mouth turned down, disappointment clear on her face.
“No matter what you are or what you believe, you are exactly what we needed when we needed it. And your mark is still our only hope of fully closing the breach.”
No matter what he believed? He was cold, cold in a way that had nothing to do with the mountain air. He needed to leave. He needed to get away from these people, from all of this. Speak to his father about this mark, to the Keeper, but not these dogmatic zealots.
“That is not for you to decide!”
The brother moved in to argue more, but the Seeker ignored him, pulling out an old, heavy book. She slammed it on the table, leveling her gaze with his as he flinched from the noise.
“Do you know what this is, Chancellor Rodrick? A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.
“We will close the breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”
Her finger jabbed into the man’s chest, pushing him back with each word.
The brother-or Chancellor-could do nothing but glare back, fists curled tight by his side. When he spoke he sounded just as furious as the Seeker had not long ago.
“So be it, Seeker.”
With a last angry look at Rasanon, the Chancellor stormed out, letting the door swing shut behind him.
Sister Leliana walked around the table, coming closer and speaking softly.
“This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.”
“And we must act now,” The Seeker finished. “With you at our side.”
There was a pregnant pause in the air. Far too long for Rasanon to realize she was speaking to him.
He stepped back. His mouth went dry.
“I am no Andrastian,” He said quietly. “I am not even human. I have no part in your holy wars.”
“You are already involved. Its mark is upon you,” She responded, almost too quickly. A prepared answer.
“You can go, if you wish,” Sister Leliana said, flat and empty, “but we cannot protect you if you are not with us.”
There it was again, the ice in his veins, the fear deep in his guts.
The Seeker continued, “Many believe you chosen, but many also still believe you are guilty.”
And they will kill you without us. They will hunt you down and we will only watch.
“We can also help you,” Sister Leliana added with a knowing tilt of her head.
His position was clear. He resisted the urge to reach up and touch the halla antler hanging around his neck. He sent up a silent prayer instead.
Ron I promise I wasn't ignoring this ask I just really hate July 4th and have been moping all weekend LMAO.
Thank you for the ask <3 And I hope you've had a better weekend than me!
I don't know if this is interesting to anyone besides me but in DAI Cole makes a lot of vague statements about some sort of "she" in my Inquisitor's life, before and after he starts hooking up with Iron Bull. The Inner Circle gossips about it and is convinced he's hiding a girlfriend or wife back home.
The truth only comes out when his family decides to visit Skyhold (against his wishes). Bull is the only person he tells ahead of time that he has a daughter, which he barely manages to get out bc Bull starts a spiel about how he knows Ras has a woman, and a confused Ras blurts out that he has a daughter, not a woman or any partner, which short circuits Bull for a moment.
Everybody else finds out when his family arrives and he and his daughter have a movie moment and run out to say hi to each other.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
