#theconclave

In my first playthrough my Inquisitor was drinking to excess with Iron Bull after killing that first Dragon and I was excited to see what the Inquisitor would do when drunk and how each companion would react.  I imagined Josephine and Cassandra’s fury as they scraped the poor elf off the floor with Sera’s laughter following them back to Skyhold. 

Then, nothing happened.  My Lavellan stood there, perfectly sober.  And I just couldn’t accept it apparently.

Ever since then, I’ve been obsessed with filling in the holes that my mind imagines.  Now that I have 60+ pages, I’m feeling brave enough to put it out there.

Teiran woke as the first true rays of sunlight broke through her tent and grumpily began packing her camp.  As she chewed on a quick breakfast of jerky and hard biscuits, she sighed; being up this early was never her idea. However, she couldn’t sleep any longer without being late. Looking up at the sky, she figured they should be reaching the Temple soon. Teiran tied her hair in a high bun and heaved her pack, bow and arrows onto her back.

She stowed the rest of her camping supplies in a high tree where she would return for them when the council ended.  Rationally, she thought it might be a good idea to leave her weapons there too, after all she was never completely helpless, but she indulged in the illusion of safety that she would feel if they were nearby.  With staff in hand, she began her quiet assent up the rest of the mountain, picking her way through the snow, traveling parallel to the main road up to the summit.

When the sound of a large number of people gathered in one place reached her ears, she paused.  Teiran scanned the area looking for the hollow in the tree she had staked out the day before when she had scouted ahead.

“Ah ha. There you are,” she thought at the tree near the shaded ledge of a huge boulder. Walking towards the hollow tree, the voices greatly increased in volume, making the tension in those voices plain.

Teiran stowed her pack and bow then took her staff in both hands. She ran her hands over the worn and nicked wood fondly, tracing the faded pattern. Taking a deep breath silently, she took a leather cord out of her pocket and threw one half over the nearest branch. She held her staff against the branch and twisted the leather cord around them both, securing it with a knot at both ends. Teiran stood back and surveyed her belongings with her hands on her hips while she listened to the strained voices. After a moment, Teiran crouched down and moved towards the snow-covered ledge.

The voices were decidedly divided.  Teiran saw a gleaming boulder of armor on one side and a flowing river of robes on the other with a red and white wall separating them. Her sharp, elven eyes bounced between the Templars, Chantry priests and mages waiting outside the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Teiran settled in to wait, ears straining to make out individual words in the nervous babble.

Then the doors to the temple opened and the wall of priests parted to allow the feuding factions to enter simultaneously while still retaining the buffer of red and white robes. Teiran anxiously eyed the disappearing crowd while throwing glances at her planned route down from her ledge to the Temple.

She smoothed her plain, servant outfit, missing her travel-worn light armor in her pack, as she completed her descent to the Temple with the sound of the large temple doors closing reverberating in the air.  Teiran swiftly approached the back of the Temple where the handfuls of Mage and Templar guards were greatly outnumbered by the swirling mass of elven servants.  Teiran joined the other elven servants and followed their lead into and through the Temple’s servant’s entrance.

Slipping easily between the other elves, she grabbed a silver tray of beverages and snacks from the kitchens and joined the line of elves streaming into the Temples’ carnivorous main room. Teiran painted a small, blank smile on her face and kept her gaze trained on the rough stone floor. Upon crossing the threshold of the main room, the elves divided into two lines to glide behind each side of the long rectangular table. Ironically, Teiran ended up on the Templar rather than the Mage side of the table.

Following the lead of the servants on either side of her, she placed the contents of her tray in front of the Templars when the line of elves came to a stop at the end of the room. Keeping in step with the other servants, Teiran moved to the back wall to stand in line and pretend to be deaf while their masters debated. Teiran spent the morning attempting to memorize anything that seemed significant, wearing her blank and deaf smile while replenishing drink and food.

“Both sides have suffered and both are responsible for this year of chaos!” The Divine’s voice rose above the bickering, silencing them as when a parent appears while the child stands amongst their broken toys.  “The mages did vote to dissolve the Circle of Magi, but the Templar Order had abandoned their duties in protecting them with the restrictions they put in place after the unfortunate events in Kirkwall.  I ask you,” the Divine looked over at the Templar side of the table, “What other choice did they have?”

The mage side of the table agreed loudly, fists pounding the tables making the spirits ripple inside their goblets.  The Divine turned on them, “And after a thousand years in which the Templars sole purpose was to be the keeper of mages, could they do little less but try to shepherd their lost charges back to the safety of the Circles?”

A mage broke the brief silence, “We are not going to be locked up again, Most Holy.  We are through with our Templar overlords” At this, half of the mages roared in approval while the other half remained silent and stone-faced.

A Templar rose from her chair, “I suppose we are conveniently forgetting about all the Templars slain at the White Spire! The Chantry in Kirkwall obliterated! What proof do you have that mages can control themselves without the Templars?”  The Templars responded with raised voices and grim expressions of agreement.

And so the arguments raged on until the sun was beating directly above, the servants began filing back into the kitchen to retrieve a proper meal. Before Teiran could pick up her new tray of food and drink, a Templar corralled her and a few other elves outside while instructing them to fetch some fresh water from the nearby river. Teiran grasped the pail being shoved in her direction and blended into the small group leaving the Temple.

Once out of earshot, if not sight, the other elves broke into a subtle but energetic flurry of conversations, seeming to continue rather than begin their gossip.  Teiran listened intently, knowing that this could be just as vital as what she gleaned from the debate table. However, besides the impression that the debates were not going to be successful despite the evident passion for a peaceful resolution radiating from the Divine, Teiran did not seem to be learning more than idle gossip.

She bent down to search for a sharp rock to break the ice over the river when an explosive, ear-piercing sound rent the air, knocking her and the other servants off their feet.

Teiran nimbly recovered and instinctively moved closer to what her eyes were already trying to make sense of:  A powerful barrage of green light enveloped her sight and the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Teiran intuitively perceived her surroundings while keeping her eyes trained on the disturbance: the servants were fleeing in all directions, the light pouring from the Temple windows, the faint sound of screaming metal and voices. Teiran ran back to the temple, simultaneously questioning her sanity and knowing that she would regret never discovering the source of the disturbance.

Teiran stepped cautiously through the servant’s entrance in the back of the Temple where she had entered earlier that day. The guards, servants and kitchen staff had vanished. And the green light was no longer pouring from the main room of the Temple.

Teiran moved closer to the door separating the two rooms that were now closed. She pressed her ear to the door, but couldn’t hear properly. She frowned and considered going out and around to one of the giant windows that showed the main room when she heard a male voice saturated with authority, “Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

The elf jumped at the clear sound of the ominous voice. “Uh oh. Sacrifice?” She thought, frozen with indecision. “Where were the guards?” Her thoughts continued.  “If they were all dead then what match would I be to what lay beyond these doors?”

“Keep the sacrifice still.” The voice resonated with the command even though his volume remained even and conversational.

Teiran’s breath came quicker and her palms began to sweat as she scowled at the thick door. “Running out of time.” She thought nervously. 

“Someone! Help me!!” A familiar female voice cried out.

Teiran’s scowl changed to surprise as she recognized the voice of the Chantry advocate for peace that had so frequently called for resolution and understanding during the debate. The Divine was the sacrifice.

She clenched her hands into fists as she looked down. Sparks of electricity crackled through her fingers. “No more time to come up with a better plan.” She frowned fiercely. Then she stepped to the door and pushed it open.

Teiran saw the tall figure with a glowing orb in his hand held out towards the Divine who was suspended to match his great height. Red light encircled the Divine’s arms as she was being assaulted by the green light emitted by the orb in the towering creature’s hand.

Teiran’s hands flared with electricity as she demanded, “What is going on here?!”

The Divine and the creature were not alone, Teiran suddenly realized, there were Gray Wardens circled around the Divine. She traced the red magic holding the Divine aloft to the Wardens and realized that some were mages.

Teiran’s mind calculated the battlefield as the Wardens and the creature turned to stare at her. Teiran focused on the Wardens first, the small group was close enough for the electricity to bounce between although she felt the creature would be the greatest threat.

The Divine moved suddenly, taking advantage of her captors’ distraction and the sphere of green light flew through the air in Teiran’s direction. Teiran instinctively darted to her left to catch the orb.

The tall creature advanced, following the orb that had escaped his grasp.  As she reached out with her left hand, Teiran hoped this orb would help her survive this encounter.

“Dismissed”, it was all he could hear in his head. He was angry, sent away like a disobedient child. For what? Discharging a firearm indoors, it wasn’t the first time he had done it. It certainly wasn’t the worst thing to happen in that place by any means. He frowned.

“Dismissed”, again it rang in his head. He spat on the cobblestone as he trudged through Stormwind. Sent away by “children”, he thought. They could play diplomat all they wanted, when push came to shove he would do his duty. He was a soldier, he took an order even if he didn’t agree.

The thought didn’t make him any less pissed. He nearly knocked some random passerby into the canals as he ignored everything around him. He chewed on his cigar and drummed his fingers around the dagger at his waist.

“Dismissed”, he wanted to stab Arethel for that. It was all his fault anyway, destroying a perfectly good cigar. Then “She” punished HIM for it. Bulshwynn growled low. He shook his head, he didn’t really think that way about them, but his anger took hold.

He stormed his way out the front gates and into Elwynn, he made his way through the forest until he came across several soft prints in the dirt. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the hunt. He crossed several rises and ducked under low branches. He slowed to a crawl as he noted more and more prints ahead.

He looked over a bush and saw a small hole, with several plump rabbits darting in and about it. He pulled his rifle from his back and ticked off the safety. He took aim and imagined Arethel’s face on the poor creatures.

Bulshwynn had been resting on a bench in the inn, when the message came over the comm.

“It appears we are under attack.” The way Sam said it, the lack of emotion, or even lack of interest? It bothered him, but it was something he could ignore for now. Now it was time to act.

Bulshwynn jumped to his feet and winced as he the pain in his knee returned, but he kept going. He would be damned if he missed another fight because of that blasted bug. He rushed to the entrance of the inn where he could see fire raining from the sky hitting all around the outer courtyard.

The Chancellor called for him to find a good spot to pick off anything he could, so he rushed back upstairs. After what seemed like forever, due to his knee slowing him down, he climbed up from the upstairs balcony to the roof. 

Bulshwynn ran out to the edge of the roof’s peak and scanned all around the hold, he chewed on his cigar tensely as he attempted to count the enemy. To one side, elementals and what seemed to be crazed cultist shamans. To the other side, wave upon wave of cultists. He opted for the cultists.

He could see groups forming at each entrance, and a secondary force moving in to flank the shaman and elementals. He took aim at some cultists and began firing off shots at those who got too eager and came within range.

Over the comm he heard Calard say to him “I have a plan to stop them! We will use oil! Fire upon the barrels when I give you the signal dwarf!” The use of the term “dwarf” instead of his name, made him almost fire a shot at Calard, but he refrained. He told Calard he would do just that, albeit probably not as kindly as he could have.

The first wave hit, there were dead cultists in moments, he completely ignored the other battle, the casters had that under control, or so he hoped. He fired several shots felling some cultists and waited for the signal.

He saw Calard readying a barrel, he loaded some black powder into the barrel of his rifle and dropped in a small red stone that seemed to almost have a flame on the inside of it flickering, a gift from a Warlock friend of his. How he enjoyed lighting things on fire with Firestones.

The first barrel was loosed, he fired, everything burned. The ground, the cultists, everything. But it didn’t seem to stop them. Some died where they stood, too burned to be able to do anything but scream and die. Others ignored it and continued forward.

The second wave, easily twice as many as the first rushed through the flames as though they were nothing. He swore an oath, crazy bastards. He fired off several more shots, taking out the cultists that the fires didn’t. The Conclave fought valiantly, this time the defenders of the hold decided to get off their arses and help the battle.

He shot several more cultists and waited for another barrel. The third wave came, he lost count of the enemy. He loaded his rifle with another Firestone. Calard signaled and kicked the barrel down the hill towards the cultists. He shot the barrel, more fire, more death, more insane cultists.

He spit off the ledge and ticked a latch on his rifle, opening up a small compartment on the bottom of it, he reached to his belt a grabbed a large canister. He snapped the canister into the slot and took aim.

Below he could see Ediell, Grace, and Calard working in a flurry of steel and fang and metal, killing cultist after cultist. He aimed ahead of them and held down the trigger, the canister fueling his rifle, he fired shot after shot in a literal “Barrage” of bullets, What he didn’t kill, they did. In a matter of seconds, every cultist was dead. Body parts and guts lie everywhere, the sand was slick with blood.

His allies rushed from the battle to see if they could help the others, he jumped from the roof and, using is glider, landed on the sand by the gate. He walked through the carnage, and taking his pistol out, he fired bullet after bullet into whatever remnants of heads existed on the battlefield. One couldn’t be too safe with crazed cultists.

After his deed was done, he hurried to the other gate, where it seemed that his comrades had won, however, a different group of people had apparently showed up and stolen something in the aftermath. He frowned, if he had just come straight here, maybe he could have shot some more folks.

Bulshwynn rolled over in the bed to the commotion. He winced as he rolled onto, what was still to his dismay, his injured knee.

The sound coming from downstairs was one of frustration and anger. There was too much chaos to figure out exactly what happened. But one thing was clear, something very bad happened. He listened for a few moments and gathered that an expedition had been lead by Wellson, and it had gone horribly wrong.

Bulshwynn walked into Command, he walked to his “usual” spot on the back wall by the bookcase. He chewed on his cigar and looked around at all that were in attendance. 

Miller made the announcement, they were to move out. He hefted his rifle over his shoulder and walked out to the portals waiting for them. He stepped through and was immediately assaulted by the heat. He frowned, he would rather had been in Frostfire, at least the snow made it feel a bit like he was near to home.

The elves in the fort offered everyone room in the inn. Bulshwynn walked in and grabbed a spare canteen from a rather lithe elf by a water basin. He nodded to her and walked back out. Miller announced they needed to go investigate some ruins or some-such. He wasn’t fully paying attention, the destination or the reason didn’t mean a thing to him, just that people came back alive.

He was offered a camel by the elves of the hold, he climbed up on it’s back and growled low, by the Light it stank. He kicked his heels in and lead it behind Miller, as they rushed off to their destination.

The ruins of some elf city lay before them, he begin scanning the broken buildings, obviously infested with insects. When suddenly the stupid camel bucked and he lost his grip. He hit the ground hard, wasn’t sand supposed to be soft? He snarled, ready to gut the beast, when it ran off back to the hold. Bulshwynn got to his feet, brushed sand off himself and shook his head. He unslung his rifle, ready to shoot something now, and waited for Miller to give the go ahead.

They entered the ruins and immediately, bugs, bugs everywhere. He frowned and blew a puff of smoke from his cigar at the ones nearest him, the smoke acting as a barrier. He was sure his breath had nothing to do with it. The party spread out to investigate some anomaly Miller said was there. 

Bulshwynn stood before a tower in the ruins, inside were some Silithid that seemed to be moving extremely slow, probably from the anomaly Miller was talking about, Bulshwynn didn’t care. They needed to die, he hated bugs. He aimed his rifle and fired. The bullet soared towards the nearest insect. As it was about to strike, it slowed to a crawl, then hit the insect squarely in it’s chitinous head. The bug practically exploded, in slow motion.

Chaos ensued.

The ground moved under everyone, bugs appeared everywhere. The Conclave fought valiantly, some anyway, others were overwhelmed by the noise, or their own fears of the kind of creatures that crawled up your skin and nibbled on you.

They fought valiantly, some insects moving super slow, others faster than they should have been able to. After deciding that they had observed enough of this anomaly the retreat was ordered. They fought their way out of the hold. As Bulshwynn was defending their retreat, a Silithid rose up from the ground beneath him and sunk it’s mandibles in his right leg. He let out an oath and fell back, the weight of the dwarf too much for the foul insect, a loud crunching was heard and ichor spewed all around him.

Blood flowed from the fresh wound, mixing with the green ichor. Ollanius helped Bulshwynn up, and he climbed atop the man’s shoulders, he fired round after round, covering their escape.

Back at the hold, Bulshwynn sat upon a bench upstairs, waiting to have his knee looked at. He dug out a shard of a mandible from the right hole in his knee, rather painfully. He was accosted by Gwen, a woman he had yet to meet officially, but one whom was going to preside over his recovery.

She worked her harvest magic stuff on his knee, he wasn’t quite sure what she did, something with salves. He eyed her curiously as the holes patched up a bit. She was cute, that he knew. Not his usual, but nice. He smiled as she gave him some random object to eat, something about it helping. He popped it in his mouth and swallowed it, he slowly eased himself off his arse onto his good leg.

Bulshwynn stood slowly onto his injured leg, it hurt, but not as bad as before. He could walk, with effort. He hobbled passed Gwen as she spoke with Echo, he gave her rump a right good pat as he passed, a job well done from a pretty lass, he thought. 

Laerag sat there in the barracks, smoking his pipe. He looked down at his murloc companion and frowned. It looked back at him, large eyes swiveling in it’s tiny fish-shaped head, as if trying to figure out his innermost thoughts. He was really getting used to the little bastard hanging about. 

He looked to the others around the room, some packing, some resting, some talking. He smiled, it would be nice to be back in the city. He could work on his experiments in relative peace. He nodded to himself and lie down on the bed.

The night was crisp and a bitter wind blew in from the bay off the west end of Stormshield. Laerag hardly noticed the cold, he sat on the rocks and looked out into the water below. He frowned.

The nights conversation with Arethel still on his mind. He found he rather liked the lad. Life is tough as it is, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like for anyone raised by the damned Scourge. After Dalaran fell, Laerag would have liked nothing more than to wipe out every undead creature on the face of Azeroth.

After fighting in Northrend alongside the Knights of the Ebon Blade, he found that he felt sorry for the Death Knights, Arethel was no exception. Now Laerag was faced with a choice. It was an easy choice for him to make, but a choice none-the-less.

He sighed and stood, he quickly cast a teleportation spell and was transported to the snowy hills of Frostfire Ridge. He looked upon the encampments and began trudging forward through the snow.