Chapter Text
It always begins the same. Even in the most temperate areas of the Realms and beyond, unnatural cold heralds the beginning of the end. Fear follows for those who know what awaits them. It starts with a shiver, a fleeting moment of recognition until it disappears, leaving confusion in its wake. The heart races, breath quickens, and defying all logic the air shifts, frigid and biting signaling the arrival of the Wild Hunt.
They search for a single prize, a young woman with ashen hair and eyes of deep emerald green. Named Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon at birth, she is unlike any other. It is her blood calling them through dimensions and time. For the unfortunate, the snarl of hounds and the pounding hooves of the massive mounts envelopes them until all is sudden silence. It is too late, unless you are she.
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“Faster, Kelpie they’re coming!” Urging her horse, Ciri begged her beloved companion to carry her away before more innocents suffered. The ashen haired young woman rode-not for her life, but for the lives of others.
Kelpie’s hooves dug deep into the dirt roads, the black mare’s frenetic pace racing faster towards the crossroads. Without warning, a man stepped into the fleeing pair’s path, threatening to upend horse and rider and sustain serious injury. Had the man not been so intent on grabbing anyone’s attention, Kelpie might have injured him, but thanks to keen eyes, the man’s frantic wave slowed them in time.
His physical appearance normal enough for the region, his yellow tunic reminded her of the wild golden fields in the northeast. The oddity of a pale blue stripe on the sleeves and around the middle struck her as unnecessarily garishness. as if the choice in color combination meant to gain attention and repel it all at once. His head almost devoid of hair and brow marked by thick black eyebrows led her attention to his deep-set dark eyes. Neither handsome nor foul, she could not explain the growing unease in the man’s presence. Steeling her demeanor, she issued a silent warning. Caution and kindness.
“Careful, friend. My horse would have made you a permanent resident of these parts.” Her soft smile meant to reassure. “Are you in need of help?”
“Help, yes. But for you Cirilla, not for me.” Dark brown eyes showed no malice, but the shiver crawling up her spine echoed in Kelpie’s unrest.
He knows me. This isn’t good, she thought. “You have me at a loss. It is true those in formal circles may know me as Cirilla, but a friend would know I prefer Ciri, and you strike me as neither.” Frowning, a wave of concern filled her, along with an increasing urge to draw her sword. “The question is how do you know my name?” Ciri looked back over her shoulder. “I warn you, I have little time for games. Who are you?”
The man seemed unfazed, in fact his jovial smile and polite formal bow unnerved her further. “Gaunter O’Dimm, at your service—sometimes vagrant, and the occasional merchant. I am known here and there as the Merchant of Mirrors or in other places as the Man of Glass.”
“Mirrors? A merchant, you say, but without a cart or any wares? Why does this carry an air of forewarning?”
“You misunderstand, Cirilla.” O’Dimm tried to allay her concerns, holding his hands out in a pleading gesture. “I wish to offer you a most needed break.” His focus shifted far behind her; eyes narrowing. “A trade if you will; one that is limited in its availability.”
Kelpie refused to remain still, turning Ciri around; the horse’s anxious steps forced her to consider the actions a warning. “A trade? There is nothing other than a clear path that I need from you.”
Tiny white flakes fell around them, and a bitter wind pushed toward Ciri from behind her. Her breath quickened in visible bursts. Kelpie snorted, sidestepping and turning around in mounting anxiety.
“I believe there is something you need in this moment, and I can offer it to you-for a price.” Without warning, time stopped. White flakes froze mid-air; to Ciri’s left, a black crow’s body hovered by unknown means its wings stopped in flight.
Ciri swallowed hard. Her words caught as she tried to speak. “What. . .how. . .I don’t.”
What sort of creature is this O’Dimm? He stopped time? Ciri had to think fast; she concluded if he could stop time, he could speed it along, too. I should listen, at the least. “What is your offer?”
“A world without the Hunt, Cirilla. An imperfect world with its own trials and tribulations, but with one critical difference—the hunt cannot track you there.”
There’s no such place, she thought, pausing for a moment, but what if it were true? If I could spare the Realms for even a short while? “And the price?”
O’Dimm reached out to pat Kelpie, but the horse reared up and pulled away. Still, O’Dimm showed no concern. “Go to the Temple of Sacred Ashes in the mountains. There is a meeting of sorts about to take place. Someone there carried a bauble-a meaningless trinket. It is a stone orb and the only one of its kind. Retrieve it and receive the gift of blissful anonymity until such a time I come to collect it—and you.”
“And if I fail to collect this. . .orb?”
Her breath caught as O’Dimm’s eyes seemed to darken, his wicked laugh suddenly replaced with a more light-hearted sound. “Such tragedies are best left to bards and the playhouse.”
She considered his words. “There is no doubt a trick contained within your offer, but I have little choice.” Ciri shivered. A forceful gust of glacial air carried tiny shards of ice pelting against her skin, but it was the infernal howl of hounds from the forest that hastened her decision. “May I take my horse?
“Of course, Cirilla.” He stepped closer. “Alas, we have no time to settle our agreement other than to warn you without the orb, you cannot return.”
Kelpie shook her head, snorting and preparing to bolt. “Then open the way, the Hunt arrives!”
O’Dimm raised his hand and swirling vortex of gold and black clouds churned ahead of her as the portal opened with ease. Before Ciri could ride through—it closed. She read confusion and anger on O’Dimm’s face; his convivial nature darkened concerned Ciri she’d made a grievous mistake. Shifting the bag on his shoulder, he focused ahead of him and opened the portal only to struggle as it telescoped in and out of existence.
The low growl from O’Dimm turned to a groan as the portal appeared to lock in place, but the deep violet color of the vortex caused O’Dimm to retreat, shaking his head. “That is not mine,” Ciri heard him mutter, “someone dares?”
Unwilling to risk any more time, Ciri set Kelpie toward the strange portal, riding through as O’Dimm called for her to wait.
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The danger inherent in portal travel is always the destination. Unless the caster chooses their location with perfect accuracy, accidents occur. Ciri had no choice but to trust where she would emerge. Even taking Kelpie with her could prove a great risk. I couldn’t leave her behind, Ciri thought.
At first, Ciri thought she’d failed to pass through the portal in time. Snow and ice covered everywhere she looked. And then she saw him. His bald head and pointed ears revealed little other than he could be an elf, but his strange clothing and towering staff caught her attention. The elves she knew took great pride in their appearance, venturing out in what was akin to sleepwear seemed out of place. Leaning on his staff, the elf appeared undisturbed at her emergence from the portal. His forehead wrinkled for a moment, and Ciri was sure his eyes had narrowed in recognition, but she did not know him.
Perhaps I should try a proper greeting, she thought, eager to learn where she had arrived. She approached, leaving enough distance so as not to appear too eager. Raising her hand, Ciri offered a traditional greeting. Her limited knowledge of the Elder speech, spoken by scholars and sorcerers alike, might set the stranger’s mind at ease. Hello is as good a place to start as any, she thought. “Ceádmil!”
The elf blinked several times, raising his hand, and returned her greeting. “Hello. I’m afraid I do not understand.”
Relief flowed through. “You speak the common tongue,” she said, “forgive me, I wished to be respectful and thought it best to try.” Ciri swung her leg around and hopped down, offering her hand. “My name is Ciri.”
The elf offered a nod and then copied her gesture. “I am called Solas, a pleasure to meet a traveler such as you Ciri.”
“A traveler?” She considered his words. “Oh, you mean the portal- wasn’t one of mine,” she said, “if I may ask, where in the Realms are we? By the snow and trees, I should guess we’re on the Isles, but it. . .how can I put this. . .feels different.”
Solas stepped closer, prompting Kelpie to stand between the strange elf and Ciri. He laughed. “I mean your rider no harm,” he said. “What a worthy companion to come to your aid; I assure you, there is nothing to fear.”
Ciri patted Kelpie’s flank and soft strokes and a light touch in her dark mane relaxed her horse. “She is. . .a dear friend.”
Once more he nodded his head before speaking. “I will assume these places you speak of are of your home, but I must concede that you, Ciri, are far from home.” He gestured to the surrounding area. “This land is Thedas, and you stand at foot of a trail. Venture north to find the Temple of Sacred Ashes or to the east to find a small hamlet called Haven.”
An absent nod and continued visual search of the woods yielding nothing familiar, Ciri wondered if perhaps the portal had delivered her to another time. “Another question, if I may?”
The elf leaned once more on his staff, and by the brightness of his expression she wondered how her predicament amused him. “Of course, please ask. If the answers are within the realm of possibility, I shall answer.”
Something in his tone reminded her of O’Dimm, Ciri thought the elf far too sure of himself. His convivial attitude and soft tone suggested a private joke and she the target. “The portal—was it yours?”
A downcast glance preceded a sobering expression. “I assure you, what brought you here is beyond my capability at the moment; although I am curious as to who sent you?”
She inhaled, and with a quick roll of her shoulders, Ciri responded. “He called himself Gaunter O’Dimm, but I suspect it to be a false name. The thing is, before I entered, he seemed to struggle with the portal, I heard him say the magic was not his. Curious, don’t you think?”
The elf laughed again, bringing a smile to Ciri’s face, she wondered if O’Dimm’s odd behavior had clouded her judgement. Solas had been cordial and polite; she admonished herself for judging the elf far too quickly. Alone in a world not her own, she would need friends. Ciri never had difficulties finding others willing to come to her aid or befriend her, and in return Ciri often extended her trust with little reservation. O’Dimm had soured her mood, and it was unfair to assume others had similar motives.
It took Solas a moment before he answered her, as if he knew she struggled with her thoughts and waited for her attention. “Most curious to find oneself in a land quite different from the one you remember and now if I may, which path calls to you?”
A clicking noise from Ciri called Kelpie closer, allowing her to grab the reins. “I have business in the Temple, but won’t be long, would you mind?” Ciri held the reins out to Solas, promising to return before dark.
He looked on her with a furrowed brow. “Are you always this trusting of strangers?”
Lightness crossed her face. “Perhaps I should be more cautious, but the sooner I conclude my business, the sooner I can return home. If I am too late, might I impose to take Kelpie to this Haven? I could pay you for your trouble.” As soon as she’d offered, Ciri realized her coin might not have any value in this land.
Waving her comment away, Solas turned toward the opposite direction. “There is no need; Kelpie will await your return.”
Her eyes brightened, and Ciri bowed to the elf. “Thank you, kind sir. I will hurry so as not to burden you for too long.” Running up the path, Ciri turned once and waved; the elf raising his hand in return before she resumed her path.
Enduring stares as she hurried past the marching lines of people, Ciri guessed her attire caught the attention of those around her. Only the slightest hint of her bare torso peeked through the Ofieri inspired vest she wore, Ciri guessed the maroon half shirt and rich blue vest might not be acceptable for women, but she hoped the scrutiny stemmed from the jeweled pauldron on her sword side and metal knee guards. It’s not like I had time to change to proper wear, you’d think these people had seen no one like me. Ciri contemplated a few well-placed teleports to carry her from sight, but recalled Solas and his surprise at seeing a portal. “Nothing to see here,” she huffed, “just a girl with a sword.”
Ciri reached a series of stone walls leading her in the same direction as the approaching crowds. Waiting at the entrance, Ciri noted a very large and odd-looking man. Those are horns on his head, she marveled, stepping back for a moment. Where am I? Clad in heavy plate armor, Ciri guessed him more man than a creature and hoped he could speak. He seemed to stand guard over the entrance, and by his stare and scowl he wouldn’t be easy to sneak past.
Confident steps concealed the apprehension in her approach. Ciri stared at his blue eyes, unable to look away; she realized her rude behavior and apologized.
At first, he said nothing, glaring in response. Ciri, hoping to appear non-threatening, flashed a smile. The guard’s stern expression softened to a blank stare before he spoke. “First time seeing someone like me?”
She nodded, eyes wide. “You can talk?” Ciri scrunched her face at her slight, attempting to recover. “Of course, you can talk, I meant,” he laughed as she stumbled over words until she shrugged. “Maybe I was a little taken, I’ve never seen your equal, and it’s. . . I mean you’re fascinating.”
A richer laugh relaxed his rigid posture. “Interesting opening line, for a human. You’ve bought yourself a few minutes. Ketek Durazim Adaar and you are?”
“Well, if we are going to be formal then I am Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, but formal names can be pretentious, especially when I prefer Ciri. A bit easier to remember, don’t you think?”
“Yes, agreed.” Ketek studied her for a moment. “You aren’t a Templar and given your sword, not a mage either, so what are you?”
Unsure of his question, Ciri answered with her first thought. “Since you can tell I’m human, I guess the closest description would be a mercenary of sorts, possibly.”
“I see.” His face hardened, eyes narrowed at her admission. “I’m curious who would dare to send a pretty face carrying a sword to invade the Conclave. You were doing so well, Ciri,” he said, stepping closer. “How about the truth?”
The sudden change in his tone, cautious and guarded, prompted her to explain. “I’m here to pick up something for my employer, nothing more.”
Ketek’s hard stare shifted beyond Ciri, drawing her attention. Several humans in long robes argued with two knights; insults, swears and threats passed back and forth, their volume escalating. “That’s the fourth today,” he said, pulling out his blade. “Stay here.”
“Stay here.” She repeated his parting words, trying not to laugh. It had taken a fair amount of proving herself over the years to earn the respect of those around her, but Ciri recognized in this world, she was nothing more than she appeared.
Considering the crowds of people congregating near the entrance, arguments and fighting would be more commonplace, despite natural barriers formed by the groups. Elves gathered in tight clusters, warriors standing guard around the bulk of their envoys.
There were dwarves, too, sturdy and strong; Ciri had to concede these dwarves of a far hardier stock than those she considered friends. Ciri scanned the crowds, and seeing none similar to Ketek, she made a mental note to ask him upon his return. Humans separated themselves in unknown groups; she guessed perhaps they gathered based on factions or classes, considering their dress.
The nobles in all their finery left little guesswork, using their personal guards to push through crowds moving closer to the entrance. The argument interrupted her cursory investigation, noting Ketek did not try to hurry. “He’d said this was the fourth argument he’d seen. Maybe this is normal here?”
Across the entryway, Ciri read the anger rising in the two knights. When one drew his sword and advanced, she shouted at the pair and teleported in time to block his blow. She couldn’t hold the knight long; his strength far superior to hers. Ciri’s move gave the robed duo behind her a chance to escape. Losing ground, she’d have to concede and hope to teleport free before the knight could attack.
“Ciri, don’t! Stand down.” Ketek’s warning resonated, prompting Ciri to relax first, dodging the knight’s swing and stowing her sword; she knew better than to struggle when the knights took hold of her arms on either side.
Ketek held a massive axe in front of her and her captors, his voice commanding attention. “You dare insult a guest of the Divine?”
The Templars looked to her and then back. “The mage attacked!”
“She is an honored guest. Release her.”
A moment of confusion passed, but the knights released her. Silent words of thanks filled her thoughts, watching Ketek stare down the knights until they returned to a gathering of similarly clad fellows.
“You lied for me, Ketek," Ciri said, “why would you do that?”