Chapter Text
Quinn initially hadn’t thought of themselves as someone to relax and enjoy theatre, but perhaps they could be wrong. The annual Victory Festival was underway in the great dwarven city of Rodoroc, protected deep in the volcanos of the Molten Heights and Quinn, eyes and ears constantly alert for history riddled with truths and lies, was naturally drawn to it, and bought a ticket to watch the play (for an entire emerald block, mind you, not a cheap price). It was immediately worth it as they looked around the open seating area and spotted a familiar dwarf at the front at the same time as the dwarf spotted them.
“Hey, Tracer! It’s so good to see you!” Axelus grinned, hand waving to indicate his position as if Quinn couldn’t immediately recognise his deep brown hair and beard and lively green eyes. A wide grin split over Quinn’s face and the assassin instantly moved over to join him, Axelus clapping their hands together in a firm half-handshake that was a common greeting among the dwarves. The assassin subtly signed that he could call them by their true name, Quinn, as the dwarven narrator stepped onto the stage and announced the play.
Over the years that had passed since they’d first arrived in Wynn, Quinn had learned that their instincts were one of the most reliable things they had to trust. From the instant the play started, Quinn knew that something about it wasn’t right – and they weren’t just talking about the poor and biased acting. Some sort of truth was being hidden beneath the tale of the majestic victory of the dwarves over the demonic doguns, portrayed as a ruthless and cruel and proud race that was endlessly oppressing the poor dwarves until they were defeated in great victory. And it seemed that they were right as the rest of the audience clapped their hands raucously save for themselves and Axelus, who had his arms crossed in his seat as he made a noise of disgust.
“That was awful,” he muttered, words too soft to be heard by anyone but Quinn amidst the noise as he looked at the assassin. “Like I said before, this war was a genocide. Don’t believe any of the lies they try and feed you.”
Axelus was of course referring to the last time they had met, when the dwarf was trying to recruit help for his cause. Quinn certainly wasn’t going to believe what the play had said. Already in their soul, they knew that something was wrong, that something was horribly, horribly wrong with the story of the dwarves. And for that, to know why… Well, they hadn’t been to a festival for a good long while, and they’d never been to a dwarven one.
And they really should have kept up that streak if they weren’t so intent on discovering the truth of the past.
The path out of Rodoroc to the festive grounds was lined with strange stone statues in the shape of doguns, and Quinn hadn’t paid too much attention to until a travelling dwarf called their attention and pointed out that the statues were not, in fact, made of rock.
“That’s actually a sealed dogun,” the dwarf said, sounding not gleeful but far too content with the words he was uttering. “If you drench them in water they turn into stone, but they don’t die. If you listen closely, you can hear them gurgle.”
As if Quinn didn’t already know that something was horribly wrong with all this. The idea of the path being lined with creatures groaning in agony and displayed as sick trophies of war wasn’t a sign that could be ignored, and even if they were as blind to those statues as the dwarves, there was no way they could be blind to the centre display of the festival. A tradition maintained every year; The capture of a dogun, and a dramatized public execution; pouring water over the living dogun and sealing it in rock even as it screamed in agony before falling silent.
Their stomach felt sick, their hands gripping the sleeves of their underarmour to resist the urge to grab their daggers and fly into a situation they hardly understood and could not win. Such was their anger that they probably would have flown into action anyway if Axelus wasn’t by their side as an unrealising steadying force. But as it were, Axelus made the move for Quinn, shoving forward to the front of the crowd to shout, instantly drawing their attention.
“Every year, every year, every single YEAR you do this. You all need to open your god-blessed eyes for once!” he yelled, instantly grabbing the attention of the entire crowd and of the festival announcer Marock on the stage. He spun around, addressing the crowd and Quinn couldn’t have been more proud of his courage as he continued to shout. “Do you all really believe everything they tell you? Do you all just lap it up like dogs?! Our side won the war, but does that really mean we were in the right? I’ll tell you right now, it doesn’t!”
He spun again, waving his hand to the stone-encased dogun. “We all see it – The doguns have feelings, family and thoughts, just like anyone else here! You are encasing live doguns for entertainment. Public execution! This twisted display is more demonic than they ever could dream to be!”
Axelus had a way with words that Quinn could immediately appreciate; blunt, open, honest. Others didn’t appreciate it nearly as much, Marock perhaps the least so. “Guards! Get this propaganda spewing half-pint to the Molten Core Prison, north side.”
Oh no.
Quinn quickly tried to shove their way through heavily built dwarves to reach Axelus’ side but the guards reached him before they could get to the front of the crowds, leaving them standing only a row back as the armoured warriors grabbed one of Axelus’ arms each and started to drag him away with words of “Come along, sir. Let’s not make more of a scene”. Quinn looked after them, half-hidden in the crowd of festival-goers, and they could have sworn that Axelus looked back to see them as well.
The crowd’s murmurings of Axelus’ ‘blatantly wrong’ words and the ‘nonsense propaganda’ he was spewing fell on Quinn’s partially deaf ears as they spotted a scrap of paper that Axelus had dropped, scooping it up before anyone could notice. “Are they really taking him to the Molten Core? You’ve heard the horror stories about there, right?” said one voice near Quinn as the warrior turned over the note. “Well, the expression ‘no hope blows from the north’ came from there, since it’s on the north side…” said another as Quinn read words written on the paper.
“If you want to know the truth, find me and talk to me”
No hope blows from the north. And the despair would only grow if Quinn found Axelus hurt.
Quinn was worried they’d have to answer some questions or do some slightly treacherous criminal acts to break into the prison and see Axelus but as it turned out, the horror stories of the place was enough to keep the dwarves away, meaning there were no guards to dodge and only one cell watcher whom Quinn easily avoided to get to the cell containing their dwarvish friend. Axelus’ eyes instantly lit up when Quinn tapped on his cell bars, the dwarf rising from his raised bed to stand next to the bars and speak in soft whispers.
“I see I got your attention. You’re interested in the truth.”
Quinn nodded, signing. “I know that there’s something wrong here. I can feel it.”
Axelus nodded his approval. “Well you’re right. I’m no conspiracy nut. The dwarves have been lied to for hundreds of years about the war.” He leaned a little closer, speaking even more quietly. “I have seen the truth. But my word isn’t enough, is it? Seeing is believing, after all.”
Quinn tilted their head a little in confusion (because there were a lot of things they believed without needing to see, although they’d seen far more than they had ever expected to). “I can break you out of here,” they offered but Axelus shook his head.
“No need. Hopefully I will see you soon, Quinn.”
He turned away from the bars, and Quinn thought he was going to sit back down on the bed before the wall at the back of the cell opened soundlessly, letting out a puff of dirt and dust with a faint orange backlight that Axelus disappeared into, and then the wall shut behind him and he was out.
Quinn likewise left swiftly before Axelus’ escape could be pinned onto them (because it would be far harder to unravel Rodoroc’s truth if there were guards hunting them down) and so in their subtle rush, it was only after they’d left the prison that they found the note Axelus had undoubtably slipped into their pocket. It filled them with a warmth to realise that Axelus had known they wouldn’t simply leave this place to its lies and had prepared for them to follow him. They stood in the shadows of a pillar as they unfolded the note and read what Axelus had left them.
“The truth lies at the Library of Flames. The caves south of the bank”
One cannonball-induced destruction of a door, some walking down tall book-filled passages, and several quick disposals of the library wardens later, and Quinn emerged from the library with newfound knowledge, knowing the absolute truth of the dwarven kingdom and the dangers it hid. A plan older than the war with the doguns, as old as Draani I, the first king of the dwarves who put the whole plan into place; to spread propaganda and lies among the dwarven people until they were hostile enough to wage war against the natives, set on wiping them out for the dwarves to set up their own colonies, to dominate the landscape and continue the propaganda into the ages to cover a genocide. Axelus was waiting for them on the other side, and once again it made Quinn glad to know that he trusted them.
“Now do you see? Everything that I told you about when we rescued those flerisi was indeed true,” he said, his tone bitter but sad as he spoke. “My people are tyrants and conquerors… but they are also good. The people have been brainwashed. Many things are about to happen. If you want to know more, come to house number 81 in Maex. I’ll be waiting.”
And Quinn would be there. Because this sounded like some sort of mildly criminal uprising verging on outright treason worthy of the death sentence, and that sounded directly up Quinn’s ally. What was also directly up their ally was the small, nearly unnoticeable trail that met them in house 81 of the smaller dwarven city nearby, Maex, leading them around the edges of buildings and across the banners strung above the street, the dwarves below unknowing of the human above who was prowling their city, sneaking through a hidden entrance in the rock and entering the cavern meeting place of the secret coalition.
Of all the things Quinn had been prepared for when they entered – passing bunk beds, barrels of supplies, and heading to a large stone table in the centre of the main room - it wasn’t to meet a real live dogun face to face. The great body of rich dark brown rock stood taller than they were, with burning orange lines of fire threading across its face and arms, creating a large glowing pool of flame in their chest that spread down their legs, and Quinn could truly understand why these beings were called creatures of Fire and Earth (and could understand why the dwarves believed them to be demons).
They were honestly stunned for a moment, unsure of how to act, unsure of what the proper custom was for greeting a dogun (Quinn remembered being taught so long ago that they were ancient creatures, the most magical species in the provinces and masters of fire and earth, how are you supposed to address a creature like that?), but the conversation didn’t give them time to fret.
“Ah, you made it!” Axelus said, standing on one side of the large stone table, a smile on his face. His hand beckoned them in, then waved to the dogun standing to his right. “Come and meet Korzim.”
The dogun turned to them, his movements slow and sluggish but deliberate. His voice, when he spoke, was low and breathy, like flames crackling and rock creaking, sounding exactly how Quinn had expected him to sound. “Welcome… Human. I… am Korzim,” he said slowly, as if the words were difficult to form. “We… are those who… want peace. I am son… of the dogun Chief… I have… been banished.”
Quinn signed their greeting to him, nodding their head in his direction. Korzim stared at them until Axelus relayed their greeting in spoken word (Ah, Korzim didn’t know sign then), then the dwarf spoke. “This coalition is a small group of believers in the truth. The doguns aren't demons, and the Dwarves aren't all brainwashed. But of course,” he added a little bitterly, “we have to live in hiding. The doguns won’t tolerate Dwarves and the Dwarves hunt traitors and ‘Demons’.”
“Right now, we're trying to convince the public,” spoke up another dwarf from across the table, his black beard neat and his black hair hidden underneath a sturdy helmet. “But it's proving difficult, if not impossible. It isn't 900 years ago. We have the technology and supply chains to live here peacefully, but they just won't listen!” He banged his hand on the table and honestly, Quinn could understand his annoyance.
“We have... a plan...” Korzim said. He appeared to frown slightly as he elaborated. “To win over...my people... that is.”
“Korzim has told us that dragon bone is sacred to his people,” Axelus explained. “We had to make some connections, but we have a way to get it now. If you want, you could come with Barden and I to get it.” He waved to the black-haired dwarf. “We can explain more of the situation later.”
Quinn eagerly nodded their agreement and followed the two out of the secret coalition meeting room. Korzim followed and Quinn walked beside the dogun, who spoke in his slow words to Quinn.
“I'll let you through… our tunnel,” he said. “We use… earth and… fire… elements. It is slow... like us... but powerful.”
Korzim’s power was inspiring for Quinn, who had heard of the power of the doguns many months ago and even from that moment, they’d wanted to learn the magic of the doguns. But right now, other things were more important. They helped Axelus and Barden with the drilling machine, using what little they knew of Corkian machines to repair it enough to drill through the tough dragon skeleton, retrieving a small scrap of the bone. The three hurried back to the secret room and honestly, Quinn loved this. They loved helping, they loved helping the people, to actively be revealing the truth as the lies were unfolding, to have a part in history instead of simply watching it from the future.
All the dragon bone needed was a little clean-up and then they could approach the dogun tribe with the peace tribute. Quinn visibly had an eager spring in their step, a fire flickering warmly inside them, cheerful despite the grim situation, feeling important, truly making a difference. They crossed into the side room of the coalition cave, their eyes searching for the repair kit in the dimmer edges of the barrels and crates.
Only to freeze instantly as voices drifted through stone walls.
No one else appeared to hear it, but Quinn did. Voices with the rough accent of dwarves.
“Shh. Do you hear that?”
“There are voices behind this wall, and the trail ends here.”
Quinn silently slunk backwards, hiding themselves around the corner of the room, hands on the hilts of their daggers strapped to their forearms and hidden in their sleeves. Their eyes were fixed on the wall where the voices were coming from, breathing silently and ears listening.
“We have no vaults here. Must be traitors... The King really wants to see Axelus.”
“Stand back! I'll ready the charges...”
Quinn’s eyes widened, realising a split second too late what was about to happen. The assassin turning and opening their mouth to make a useless cry of warning but it was too late. The rock wall exploded, sending debris, dwarves, and doguns alike into a panicked frenzy as dwarven guards entered, their captain raising his voice to shout.
“Axelus! You are under arrest for high treason! The king has sent for you personally. If you don't come with us we wi-....”
The guard’s voice died off. Quinn watched his eyes widened in horror and his mouth dropped.
“ ...oh Lord, this must be why! D-doguns?! He is consorting with the enemy! Axelus, they've tainted your soul!” He turned to his men, giving his orders in a sharp, curt voice. “Entomb these doguns, and slay their Dwarven thralls-“
A noise unlike any other sound echoed in the cave, rebounding off the rock walls; a furious cry from the slashed throat of a human, tuneless but loud with anger and justice and fury, the blur of an assassin leaping from their hiding place with daggers drawn in an instant, flinging a dagger straight into the throat of a guard and killing him instantly.
Quinn’s actions snapped the coalition into action, doguns falling upon the dwarves but Quinn was far faster than the slower albeit more magical creatures, slashing and slaying the guards with no thought for the consequences, only the anger at how these men could be so blind and stubborn. Only when the last dwarf guard fell to their dagger did Quinn hear Axelus calling.
“Is everyone okay!? No no, ignore the repair kit!” The dwarf’s voice was sharp and deep, its volume slicing through the rage in Quinn’s mind and evaporating it instantly. “There's no time to worry about that! Our position has been compromised, they blew our doors wide open! We have to evacuate immediately!”
Quinn ran to his side, helping the dwarves and doguns alike escape as Axelus spoke to them alone in softer words. “We've never been caught like this before, they never knew we really had doguns on our side,” he explained, glimpses of fear in his voice as he called the orders for escape and told them where to flee, to the mountains where they couldn’t be followed, and to the hidden dogun village resting there.
Axelus called for them all to stop before a crest in the land, setting up instructions for everyone to stay hidden as he turned to Quinn. “We'll stay around here, we aren't welcome in the village,” he explained.
Korzim approached on Quinn’s other side. “But... bring them... the dragon bone as a gift...” he said, placing the bone into their hands. “If they accept it... they might accept us.”
Axelus nodded his agreement. “You are free to enter the village but we will stay back and wait until the coast is clear. Keep going.”
And so Quinn went to the dogun village alone, as a member of neither race and perhaps an accidental mediator to both. They saw the dwarven scouts on the ridge who spotted the only safe haven of the doguns and immediately ran off to tell the Dwarven capital of the “demons gathering forces”. Like before, Quinn’s blood boiled in their veins at their ignorance, nearly leaping to pursue and give chase if the chieftain of the doguns hadn’t called to them. So they approached the dogun chief, bowing their head in respect.
“Human...” the chief said in the slow, heavy way of the doguns, “That Dwarf, he saw us... They will... destroy us... If he reports... back to Rodoroc.”
Quinn nodded. They understood. They knew how serious this all had become. They knew the stakes.
“We need to... prepare our defences. We need all the... help we can get. Wait...” The chief’s gaze turned downwards to Quinn’s hands. “What are... you holding?”
Oh. Quinn had nearly forgotten about that. They held up the bone in their hand, outstretched to the chief, whose eyes widened in disbelief.
“Dragon bone...? Just what we need...” He reached out and took the bone from the assassin, turning it over in his hands before looking back up at Quinn. “Human... if you promise to help us... I will grant you access to... our secret elevators... You can get up and... down the heights with those. Tell… the guards that Paku… gave you permission.”
The chief also reached for something behind him and held out to Quinn a badge of some kind, made of carefully shaped rock with tiny lines of fire. “Take this... badge so the... others recognize you... as an ally. Please return to… us when you are… stronger.”
Quinn took the badge, holding it carefully in their hand but they shook their head, holding it back out to him. The doguns as a whole probably didn’t understand sign, so they drew their dagger slowly in their other hand, holding it in their palm. They hoped their message was clear. I am here now. I am strong. I understand. I will help.
Paku didn’t appear to fully understand, but some of Quinn’s meaning – either their stance, open and confident and strong, or the shimmering colours and symbols running along the dark purple hilt and blade of their dagger – must have communicated itself to him.
“You… are strong?” he asked slowly, and when Quinn nodded once, the dogun appeared to consider, the fire of his body burning brighter. “You are so young... to be fighting... a war so old. Still... it is appreciated.”
Paku perhaps didn’t understand the great gravity of his words, nor of the true battles Quinn was fighting daily, battles that originated outside of this realm, the battles they were part of that were far older than the human race and the villagers and the dwarves and even the doguns. The chieftain perhaps didn’t realise just how deep Quinn took his gratitude as he continued.
“The war... to you, it would be... ages ago. But... when one has lived for... 5000 years... We have... few options. We need to discuss... the few we have... available.”