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The first time they had the opportunity to talk without a massive breach in the Fade threatening to swallow them whole was… difficult, to say the least. Cassandra herself had no small amount of blame on that, she’d easily admit that. Then again, it was better to be safe than sorry and the elf had been the only survivor from the explosion.
Considering everyone else was either a horribly charred body or had been obliterated into fine ash, she’d argue that her actions were justified, if perhaps a little hasty and forceful.
Which is the reason when the elf left the Haven’s walls, stalking around with the look of a caged beast, Cassandra took the chance to approach her. The night had grown late and it wouldn’t take long for dawn to rise. Though it was still dark, there was quite a bit of activity in and around Haven. Cullen was already up and about training the new recruits and the sound his shouts over the ringing of blunted swords clashing filled the air.
Given the crisis on their hands, she couldn’t begrudge him forgoing sleep, though Cassandra knew she’d need to have a talk with him if it became a regular thing.
Spotting her coming, the elf gave her a look, full of wary mistrust. “What do you want, shem?”
Cassandra had to suppress the instinctive urge to switch to her drill instructor persona at the harsh greeting. While she might not be as knowledgeable about the Dalish as Josephine, the slur she used wasn't exactly obscure knowledge. Still, the Seeker tried to take it in stride; it’d have been more worrying if she wasn’t angry.
Cassandra evaluated the elf before her as subtly as possible.
She was petite, as most elves were. Pale blonde hair framed her face and suspicious green eyes observed everything like a hawk. Her body all but oozed hostility, moving about with stiff, almost awkward movements in her armor. Her hands twitched, eyeing the few templars milling around with open distrust. Outlandish tales about the dangers templars posed towards mages reached even the most remote groups like the Dalish, no doubt.
Cassandra shook her head. ‘Or perhaps it’s just she mistrusts those not of her people.’
Instead of voicing her thoughts, Cassandra merely gave her a neutral nod. “I simply wanted to apologize for my forceful behavior when you woke up. While I do not wish to hide behind excuses, our most Holiness had been just killed and you were the only one alive in the area,” she offered. “I was determined to have someone answer for what happened. Anyone. But I didn’t know all the facts and I reacted blindly, lashing out against whom I believed to be the culprit. In my mind, it was clear you were the one to blame, yet I was wrong. So, I apologize. I should’ve handled the situation better.”
Some would have found it difficult to admit their blame so readily, but one did not get to become the Divine’s Right Hand being unaware of their own shortcomings. She knew herself. She was headstrong, often to the point of stubbornness, and abrasive with people who weren’t straightforward in their dealings with her.
She also knew her own worth however, and she wouldn’t lose her self-esteem just because she acknowledged she’d failed in her duties. That said, nothing prevented her from feeling angry about it. The cost of her failure was a grim reminder to do better next time, to be better.
‘A high price to pay for such a reminder. Too high a price…’
The elf gave her a hard look. Cassandra couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in that head of hers at that moment. Nothing very flattering, she was sure. “I don’t appreciate being accused of doing something I haven’t done…” she finally hissed. She didn’t succeed completely in keeping the heat off her tone.
“I understand. As I said, I can only offer my previous words as an explanation.”
The elf studied her, most likely searching for any kind of deceit from her. She’d find none; lies and misdirection were Leliana’s domain. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem she was willing to let the matter drop that easily.
“Oh yes, and the fact I’m an elf had nothing to do with it either, I’m sure. I’m sure no one thought ‘Well, of course it had to be an elf! Them knife ears, poisoning all they touch! ’ How could I be so harsh? After all, aren’t humans our dear friends who have never done us any wrong?” she questioned, thick sarcasm lining her voice.
“Your derision is unnecessary. I don’t appreciate what you’re implying,” a stiff Cassandra replied with a frown. Cassandra had never considered lowering herself to demean others -elvish or otherwise- to be worth her time or honor. She made no distinction between human or elf, regardless of whether the latter were heretics who didn’t follow the Maker or not.
“Maybe you don’t agree, but it’s obvious many others think like that,” the elf replied, sporting a grin that seemed to drip equal parts amusement and bitterness. “But of course, I understand why one would jump to conclusions, given the situation. Thankfully, my innocence was proven in the end. I quite like my head on my shoulders, a sentiment I’m sure you’ll agree with.”
Cassandra’s eyebrow twitched. The elf’s words were carefully picked, both to offer an olive branch and rub her mistake in her face at the same time.
Regardless, Cassandra could tell much of her antagonistic behavior was simply a shield to hide behind. Alone and surrounded by those who had eagerly clamored for her death just a day ago, it was no wonder she felt uncomfortable in such unfamiliar territory.
“I suppose if I tried to just leave and go home, someone would stop me, huh?”
The Seeker shifted on the spot, glancing at the green recruits training outside Haven’s walls and the frozen expanse of the lake in front of them. The fire from the lit torches lining Haven’s rather ramshackle wall flickered merrily, the flames jumping and twisting.
“Yes,” Cassandra bluntly agreed. Lying would do little but antagonize her. “If nothing else, because the Breach still remains and you’re our only hope of closing it for good. We need you."
“First you threaten to kill me and now you want my help? You should make up your mind, you know.”
"I understand your skepticism, but you’ve seen what we face. What we all face. Unless we do something, the Breach will grow big enough to cover the whole of Thedas. Helping us close it would also ensure your clan is safe,” Cassandra reminded her. It was a transparent ploy, and the brief flash of anger that crossed the other woman’s eyes let her know it wasn’t appreciated.
The elf stiffened. “I hope that’s not a threat, shem ,” she demanded, shooting her a glare.
“Of course not! I would never resort to such crude methods!” Cassandra defended herself. She didn’t think it worth mentioning that Leliana might. “Closing the Breach would keep your clan safe - as it would everyone else!”
"Lucky me, I get to be the savior of a bunch of people who despise me. I’m sure that shemlen will appreciate a Dalish elf helping them out."
Cassandra shook her head, inching closer to the torch. The air was cold and even with layers of clothing underneath, armor was an icy prison in colder climates. “Ignore that fool of Chancellor Roderick, he doesn’t see the real threat and his bark has no bite. They will learn to live with it.”
The elf let out a humorless chuckle. “You suck at lying, human.”
“I’m aware. I’m told it’s not part of my many talents,” Cassandra dryly noted. She briefly glanced at Cullen when he began berating one recruit for being too reckless with the practice sword.
“And your sarcasm is shit, too,” the elf groused, but there was a minute curving of her lips that Cassandra didn’t miss.
Success at last! Cassandra’s face remained neutral, showing a carefully recreated placid expression, but one couldn’t deny the fleeting feeling of pride for managing to make the elf open up, if only slightly. Maybe now she would be more amenable to the idea of talking. If she was going to fight alongside her in the field, she’d prefer to know better her soon-to-be comrade in arms.
She rubbed her hands, cursing her carelessness for not grabbing her coat.
“Cold, huh? Here.” The elf slammed her staff onto the ground and a large rune appeared on it, gleaming a bright red. Near instantly, a wave of heat and warmth coursed through Cassandra, driving back the biting cold seeping into her limbs. Even the air seemed to grow warmer.
“Thank you. That is a useful trick," Cassandra said, looking down. A trickle of water was pooling at their feet - it was the snow around them slowly melting into water from the heat.
“Trust me, I’ve got many of those. Now, was that all?”
“I also wanted to talk with you, actually. It occurs to me I don’t actually know much about you. Maybe you could tell me something?”
The elf considered it for a moment before nodding with a shrug.
“Might as well, since I’m stuck here. I don’t promise anything, though. I won’t answer anything I don’t want to.” She didn’t immediately close off, which was as good a sign as any to Cassandra. “What do you want to know?”
Good question, did she even know the answer to that herself? Cassandra hadn’t certainly planned that far, and she was left scrambling for something, anything that could…
Let's see, what would Josephine say?
‘Andaran atish’an, Herald! I’ve read so much about the Dalish, is it true that you use Halla as mounts, as well as beasts of burden? Oh and the vallaslin, such fascinating practice! Is it really-' Completely useless, Josephine would talk her ear off!
What about Leliana?
‘I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them. Truthfully. Otherwise, we’ll introduce you to the tender gnawing of Mr. Schmooples the Second.’ Maker, that was even more questionable and that blasted nug was a Blighted abomination by itself!
No, she needed something else. Think, what would her old templar instructor say?
‘You bloody idiot, use that pea-sized brain of yours for once or go straight to doing basic drills again!'
Maybe following that example wasn't the brightest idea.
‘Wait, that’s it! The basics!’
“Well… where are you from?”
The elf glanced at her, giving her a disbelieving look. In her defense, Cassandra would argue it was a perfectly good question to start a conversation!
“Well… mostly, we wandered the Free Marches. Nothing glamorous, but we made due.”
“Ah, yes. I didn’t think the Dalish traveled that far north, but I obviously was mistaken. If I remember correctly your clan was named Lavellan, right?”
“You’d be surprised, there are clans settled on the Nocen sea coast and the Anderfels. But yes, I am of the Lavellan clan, what of it?”
“Does that mean everybody in your clan bears the same surname, then?” It always seemed queer to her that people completely unrelated by blood could carry the same surname, though she admittedly knew far too little about the Dalish to judge.
Perhaps her experiences with her own family colored her views.
The elf –Lavellan, Cassandra corrected herself. She really should stop calling her the elf in her head- just shrugged. “Yes, we are a clan, which means everyone is part of the same family. The clan is our whole family; everyone has their own task to help out.”
‘So it’s like a noble House in a way, just without all the inbreeding and blood relations mostly. And the constant backstabbing of course, but that goes without saying.’
“I'm sure your spymaster has dug up all my life out and shared it with you, so I’ll confirm some things. Yes, I am the First of my clan. I’ll eventually become Keeper and lead clan Lavellan when Keeper Istimaethoriel decides I’m ready and she steps down. No, we do not, in fact, eat human babies nor do we dance naked under the moonlight every full moon.”
“There are folk who believe that tripe?” Cassandra questioned with a scoff.
“The Chantry has had centuries to, heh, demonize us,” Lavellan said with a shrug full of carefully studied indifference. “We are not the bigot savages most think we are, but that distinction needs to be reminded sometimes.”
The elf was deliberately needling her, looking for a response, but Cassandra wouldn’t give Lavellan the satisfaction, even though a muscle in her halfway clenched jaw twitched.
Cassandra took a deep breath. “Do you miss it? The clan, I mean. Do you intend to go back?”
“What a stupid question to ask, of course I do! The clan is my home, they need me. There’s so much Thorie- I mean, Keeper Istimaethoriel has yet to teach me, and my friends must think me dead! I am their First, I must be their rock, just like the Keeper, and lead them.”
As she spoke, Cassandra could see a transformation occur in Lavellan. The edges of her stony look softened, until a smile blossomed that lit up her face as she recalled her friends and family from her clan. Gone was the surly elf that was all too happy to hurl insults and poisoned verbal darts; she’d been replaced by an wistful-looking elf daydreaming of home. The passion that manifested in her when she spoke about her people was unmistakable.
Seeing the sheer wistfulness and homesickness in Lavellan, something softened in Cassandra. “I see. You are a leader amongst your people as well, then. It is a heavy burden to bear.”
Mihrana just shrugged again. “Halam’shivanas. Also, I’m older than I look.”
That was well and all but… ‘If only she’d explain what her elvish words mean,’ a vaguely annoyed Cassandra thought before Lavellan spoke again.
“Once this whole thing is over, I'm leaving… so long as no one tries to stop me. My clan needs me.”
“None will try to stop you, then. I would hope that when such a time comes, you will look back on these days fondly,” Cassandra said.
Mihrana scoffed, looking quite doubtful of that, but she didn't make mention of her words. “Already expecting us to succeed, huh? Isn’t that putting the Halla before the aravel?” she questioned instead. Cassandra wasn’t quite sure what an aravel was, but she was fairly certain she understood the overall context nonetheless.
“I could say the same to you. But what’s the point in thinking otherwise? We will triumph or we might not, but we gain nothing by being defeatists.”
Lavellan gave her a strange look, as if she were reassessing her, before she nodded. “Interesting point of view, but I agree with the sentiment. Tel’las abelas, ghilas enalasin , as the Elvhen said,” she mused with a thoughtful look. “It might be stupid, but there’s nothing wrong with being confident.”
“That was elvish, was it not? What does it mean?”
“Hm? Oh, that. Sorry, still getting used to not mixing the two so much. I grew up speaking only Elvish. It means, ‘Don’t give into despair, seek victory.’ So basically, get up and try again,” Mihrana said with a shrug.
“That, I can get behind. Thank you for telling me.”
Mihrana swept her wavy blonde hair aside, peering at her with a look that was more curious than disgruntled now. “Ma nuvenin. So what about you?”
Cassandra frowned, crossing her arms instinctively. “What about me?”
“Yeah, nice try, that’s not going to work,” Lavellan said, chuckling. “I’ve told you about me after all your badgering, your turn to answer some questions now.”
In hindsight, she should’ve seen this coming, a sullen Cassandra thought.
“I suppose it’s only fair,” she muttered with a reluctant sigh before taking a long breath. “Very well, then. My name is Cassandra Pentaghast, daughter of the royal house of Nevarra, seventy-eight in line for the Nevarran throne. I joined the Seekers of Truth as a young woman and was with the order until they withdrew from the Chantry. I remained loyal to the Chantry and Divine Justinia when the templars and the Seekers abandoned it, working as her Right Hand and carrying out her order to form the Inquisition – and here we are.”
“You really don't want to talk about yourself, huh? And you humans call the Dalish closed off,” Lavellan mused out loud before scoffing. “That sounded like vomiting a rehearsed marriage proposal. I didn't even ask anything yet! If you didn’t want to say anything at all, you could have said so. Honestly, there’s no understanding you humans; if you feel bad and someone asks, you’ll say you’re fine; if someone’s offers something, you’ll refuse it even if you want it. No sense at all, really. No wonder you’re constantly killing each other. Ma ane bell fel’taren! ”
Cassandra hadn’t, in all honesty, expected that reaction. As a matter of fact, she’d dreaded the moment Lavellan started asking about her long, prideful and esteemed lineage dating back to the times of old Caspar Pentaghast, the first king of their lineage, the honor of belonging to the royal family and her duty to uphold its sacred traditions, blah blah blah…
Utter nonsense, all of it. Most of the other Pentaghast were old, fat men who had long since forgotten what it meant to hold a sword in their hand. Hells, some had never even known the feeling at all!
No, courtly matters and politics had been an utter bore for Cassandra, one that had grown even less attractive as years passed and her understanding of the world grew. She was no court lady and to believe otherwise was foolish. The other Pentaghast could vie for the throne in their petty power plays, she was utterly uninterested in it. The blood of a warrior flowed through her veins, just like her brother Anthony’s, and her calling had been to serve the Maker.
Yet even after joining the Seekers, there had been quite a few of those who hadn’t seen more than a connection to the Nevarran throne. Which was stupid by itself; couldn’t they see she was only a very unlikely candidate in the line of succession? It made no sense to Cassandra, and yet it managed to garner her much unwanted attention.
If it wasn’t so annoying and infuriating after the first five times, she’d even have found amusing the awkward wooing attempts of dimwitted lords hoping for a shot at the throne, unlikely as it’d be. Of course, Leliana, being the vile woman she was, all but crooned with delight with every noble who made his interest in her known.
Truly, Cassandra could never understand why so many people found that particular detail of hers so noteworthy when it was rather inconsequential.
Which is why it was a surprise to see Lavellan’s reaction to that little tidbit – or rather, her total lack of reaction.
In hindsight, it made sense. Lavellan was Dalish, why would they care about human royalty? They had other, more pressing concerns in mind, after all. Being always on the move, Cassandra wouldn’t expect them to know or even realize how big of a deal royal houses were in regular society.
‘Perhaps I should ask her if it’d be possible for me to come with her when she goes back to her clan?’ she mused, but she knew deep down that it was nothing more than a whimsical fancy.
She had far too many duties and responsibilities to forgo it all and traipse the plains and forests like some Dalish elf.
“Wait, why are you smiling?”
Cassandra blinked, realizing Lavellan was right; she could feel the pull of her lips, stretched into a small, relieved smile. “I am? I hadn’t realized.”
The surprise in her voice was genuine, because she had been smiling , and she really felt lighter for some reason, like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She felt like not even Varric could bring down her mood with his incessant babbling and annoying wordplays.
‘Then again, it is Varric…’ His innate ability to get under her skin was boundless, indeed.
The desire to frown returned, but it was a fleeting thing. Some drills on the dummies would be the perfect way to unleash all the pent up frustration the dwarf had built up; maybe she’d take a recruit and make him spar with her with the excuse of training the troops.
The smile remained on her face.
“Hey! Are you even listening?! Are you ignoring me now? HelloOo, anybody in there? Ugh, ir in feltarenan,” the elf despaired, kicking a handful of snow.
“I can hear you perfectly fine, I assure you,” Cassandra replied mildly. The Seeker had intended the remark to be biting, but it had come out more amused than anything else. Nothing seemed able to dampen her spirits after Mihrana’s unknowing words.
The Herald didn’t reply immediately, instead preferring to give her mixed looks – the utter confusion and perplexity on her face were easy enough to recognize. Cassandra didn’t think it necessary to speak her own thoughts at this point. She knew that it would come out on its own sooner or later if they were to start working together from now on.
She’d found shared struggle always seemed to bring disparate people closer together.
Cassandra was okay with that, but she wasn’t one to let just anyone into her thoughts. However, something told her the Herald, Mihrana Lavellan, was something else. Whether that gut feeling proved right or wrong remained to be seen.
‘A mage and a Dalish one, at that. Quite a strange choice if Andraste truly picked Lavellan as her herald,’ Cassandra considered. Perhaps that was what Thedas needed, though - an outside perspective, devoid of the failings and trappings of the Chantry hierarchy.
Bureaucrats like Chancellor Roderick were precisely the example of that.
“You’re a weird human, Cassandra.”
Even that sudden familiarity, scandalous as it would be in most social circles in Orlais, was welcome in an unexpected way; so casual the sentiment and so normal the way of saying it that it felt like a pair of well-used boots or a sword handle that had seen many seasons of expert use. In that moment, as an amused Cassandra let out a small chuckle, the warrior had the fleeting thought that she couldn’t have asked for a better Herald even if she tried.
She dearly hoped she turned out to be right.
“That’s the nicest insult I’ve been offered in my entire life,” Cassandra quipped before she grew serious once more. “If you wish to send a letter to your clan, I’m sure Josephine would be amenable to pen it for you before sending it,” she mentioned, finding some amusement in the way Mihrana’s eyes widened.
“Really?”
Cassandra gave her a firm nod. “You’re the Herald of Andraste, are you not? Given the circumstances, you more than anyone deserve to let your people know you’re alive and well.”
“I… Ma serannas , Cassandra. Thank you.” The grateful look she gave her melted most of the hesitance of their initial talk. In the end, Mihrana Lavellan was just someone who missed her family.
‘Don’t we all eventually, in some way or form?’ she considered as her thoughts turned to Anthony. Even now, years later, the loss of her brother still ached when she thought about him.
Instead of voicing such personal musings, she turned towards Haven. “Come, we have a meeting with the other advisors in a bit. We should return to the chantry.”
The biting cold returned as they stepped away from Lavellan’s glyph of fire, but Cassandra found herself strangely unbothered by it this time. Their boots crushed the soft snow underneath them as they walked leisurely into the town.
She knew it would take more than just a mere talk for things to smooth over. There was a lot of suspicion on both sides and even if the layfolk hailed her as Herald of Andraste, Cassandra could guess Mihrana didn’t particularly care for the title or what it meant.
An apology for what she’d done was a good start, but just that - a start. If she wanted to have the Herald’s trust, she’d need to earn it. That was okay, though. She wasn’t one to back down from a challenge and she was determined to show Lavellan that not all humans fit neatly into the preconception she had of them, just like not all Dalish clans were the same.
Nonetheless, she’d managed to get things on the right foot after her horrid blunder and Cassandra couldn’t help but feel pleased with herself. Anyone that gave not a single damn about her blood and status was very much alright in her book.
Perhaps it was an overly simplistic and naive outlook -Maker knew Leliana would waste no time scoffing at such thought!-, but there was nothing wrong holding onto such simple notions sometimes. They provided a grounding point.
Glancing at Mihrana, Cassandra’s eyes were drawn to the heavy armor she wore. She hadn’t given much thought to it beforehand, but now that her head was clearer, she definitely took note of it. It was certainly she didn’t expect to see her wear, given she was a mage and the finely crafted staff she carried on her back, which wrought ore and wood together into a fierce-looking weapon.
Her curiosity wasn’t missed by the elf, who quickly guessed the reason. “I take it you haven’t seen many mages wear heavy armor before,” she said, patting the plates of her armor with a soft metallic sound.
“I know of the practice. Some Circle mages become Knight-Enchanters when their martial inclinations manifest themselves. A strange combination, but they are useful on the battlefield.”
“Knight-Enchanters? Bah, they are just a pale imitation. I am a dirth’alen enasalin, an Arcane Warrior. It’s an ancient elven discipline, forgotten to time. Your Chantry mages are only copying from elvhen mages that came long before them.”
“If it was ‘forgotten to time’ as you say, how come you know of it?”
Here, Mihrana gained a look of pride, as if she’d been waiting for such a question. “The Hero of Ferelden attended the last Arlathvhen! She gave several of us Firsts the knowledge of the Arcane Warriors in exchange for sharing our culture with her. Apparently, she rediscovered the discipline during the Blight.”
A startled Cassandra stopped cold in her tracks, giving her a wide-eyed look. “Wait, the Warden was there?” she questioned. Neria Surana was a notoriously hard woman to track and all who were close to her were never budged on their silence when prompted.
“She sure was! She personally taught me the Dirth’ena Enasalin and it was the second best day of my life, second only to being named First of my clan! The Warden-Commander was our guest of honor and she was offered a spot in all our clans, to become Dalish like us. Well deserved, in my opinion! All the stories didn’t make her justice, she was… so much more. Beautiful, too. Those eyes, oh - Mythal, lasa ghilan… ”
Cassandra chuckled under her breath. Hearing Mihrana rave about the Hero was ironic, considering Lavellan’s rather ambivalent feelings over the Chantry and the fact Surana had grown up as a Chantry mage before being drafted into the Wardens. It was obvious Mihrana had a bad case of hero worship when it came to Surana. She’d seen similar cases plenty of times in her time with the Chantry - even the templars and the Sisters weren’t immune to such a thing.
Still, she couldn’t rightly blame her. Cassandra was sure a lot of what people said about Surana was hearsay and pure fabrication, but if even half of what Leliana had told her was true, Neria Surana was a one of those individuals that only came about once every few centuries.
“And? Did she accept the offer?” she asked with obvious interest, cutting Mihrana off.
“What? Oh, no, not at all. Said she’d considered it for a long time, but she had other duties and goals. Couldn’t commit to becoming Dalish. Didn’t stop the Keepers from naming her an honorary one.”
Cassandra mulled on it, gesturing to Mihrana to keep moving towards the Chantry. It was an interesting piece of information. Perhaps Leliana could make use of it somehow? She was close friends with Surana too, perhaps if they used the clans as intermediaries…
‘We could tell her what’s happening, convince her to come.’ The idea was immensely appealing to Cassandra. She’d very much like to meet the Hero of Ferelden.
Cassandra knew the future was uncertain, but there was no doubt nor wavering in her heart. She knew the Inquisition would save Thedas from the Breach and those responsible for it. That said, she couldn’t deny the fact their chances of success would increase dramatically if they managed to track down and recruit a near legendary warrior-mage like Surana.
Although…
“Lavellan, that elvish phrase you said before - what does it mean?”
“You’ll have to be more specific, I talk a lot in Elvish,” came Mihrana’s nonplussed reply.
“The one when I was distracted. Ma ane… something.”
Blinking, Lavellan mouthed the words again, trying to recall what she’d said exactly. All of a sudden, her cheeks gained a rosy look and she awkwardly cleared her throat, not quite meeting Cassandra’s eyes. “I, uhm, that, yes… that phrase. It means- it means ‘gods, give me patience.’ Yes, that’s exactly what it means! Come on, hurry, let’s not keep the others waiting! There’s lots of stuff and planning to be done!” Mihrana exclaimed as she broke into a full sprint towards the Chantry, gaining a few precious seconds on Cassandra.
It almost looked like she was fleeing from an horde of demons. Narrowing her eyes, the Seeker broke into a sprint after Mihrana mere seconds later.
“Herald! You’re lying, right? I’m a Seeker of Truth, Herald, I know you’re lying to me! What did you say?! Tell me, Lavellan! Mihrana, get back here!” she shouted as she pursued Mihrana to the Chantry, running by a deadpan Solas, who was sipping from a steaming mug.
The pale sun rose over snowy mountain peaks, heralding a new morning. It silently watched down from its perch on the sky the small group of those who would stand in front of the darkness and brave it. Theirs was the unquenchable flame, burning bright in their hearts. Theirs, the burning sword to make the chaos in the world be undone.
Together, they were the Inquisition.