Chapter Text
It was just another usual day in the War Room as the advisors updated each other and the Inquisitor on the movements of their organisation. News was exchanged, information shared so that the best solution could be obtained, or a choice made by Inquisitor Trevelyan. Leliana sorted through her notes, while Josephine took the minutes. The ambassador needed all the information especially on who to deal with. While she handled the nobles and pulled the strings, her information came from the Left Hand of the Divine, and from missives sent by the Commander’s troops.
As the Inquisition grew, so did the number of pieces that they needed. What had started out as several pieces on the map at Haven had grown after their movement to Skyhold. Larger pieces had to be made, and at one point, stones with painted markings were used as a placeholder.
While they had sought to close the Breach and find those responsible, the Inquisition had seen that the regions in which they had a strong enough presence was stable enough. Trust had been slowly built, beginning with the refugees from the Hinterlands, and word had spread of how in such turbulent times, the Inquisition was a force that could be relied on to do something. Under Inquisitor Trevelyan’s guidance, it had grown into a protective force which sought to deliver what peace it could to those who needed it. Inquisition soldiers were no longer treated with suspicion and hostility, although there was a certain level of wariness. After all, they only went where there was trouble.
“There’s been an unusual amount of silence coming from the Exalted Plains Inquisitor. Our spies looked into the breakdown of contact between the capital and Imperial Army forces in the Dales. Following the events in Halamshiral, Val Royeaux should have received confirmation of withdrawal from battalions in the Exalted Plains. No such confirmation was received. The last communiqué from Gaspard's marshal reported a rash of desertions. After that, silence,” Leliana spoke as the advisors and the Inquisitor stared at the map.
Cullen folded his arms as he looked at the map. “We can march soldiers into the Exalted Plains and position scouts in strategic areas. If lines of communication are down, we must be prepared for anything. It could be the Templars, the Freemen, or Corypheus. Without any information, we’re blind.”
Islington listened to his advisors and nodded his head. “Then we must move forward. If there’s any news of Corypheus’ location, or any hint, we must look into it. At best, we get more information on Corypheus’ movements. At worst, we find out what has happened to the Orlesian forces.”
The mage moved one of the pieces towards the map. “I’ll gather some of the companions and head down there myself. No doubt there will be rifts to close. Whatever we find, we’ll make the best of it.”
“I’ll send a raven to Lead Scout Harding.”
“We’ll depart in three days.”
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Inquisitor Trevelyan rode astride his courser. It was a fine Dalish All-bred, chosen because of its black and white pattern, marred only by the name he had given it, Horse. Dressed in his travel gear, he rode beside his companions. While Bull had insisted on coming along, after Islington went on about how some finesse might be needed and they could be dealing with diplomats, a few of them bowled out. In the end, the three that agreed to follow Islington were Dorian, Cole and Cassandra.
Cole sat on another horse. The light spirit’s steed had been designated the pack animal of sorts, carrying their supplies as they crossed the terrain to head towards the Exalted Plains. Aside from the physical usefulness, Trevelyan found that he appreciate the spirit’s insights. Cole could pick up on feelings and emotions of their surroundings and it gave the party an edge, warning them of possible dangers ahead… or revealing what had happened. Ever since he became more spirit-like, his presence had been a lot more subtle, and the Inquisitor appreciated his silent friend’s presence when dealing with Orlesians… especially those adept at the Game. Cole saw right through them.
Dorian and Cassandra followed along, Cassandra on her Fereldan Forder. The destrider carried her gear and armour well and effortlessly across the rocky terrain. Dorian meanwhile fancied a gentler Imperial Warmblood. He had selected it for its gentle gait, which eased the sores they got from their long travels. The man preferred comfort after all.
The party reached the forward camp, where Scout Harding was awaiting with her usual briefing.
Islington dismounted, partially out of respect for his scout, partially because of her height. It would be difficult to speak to her atop a horse. “How’s the situation Harding?”
“The region is volatile. This was a front in a civil war. Now there’s rebels called the Freemen of the Dales. Recently emerged, and adding to the Chaos,” the dwarf said with a sigh. Everywhere she went, there was always trouble, and at times even the plucky lass’ spirit could be worn down.
The party worked together with Scout Harding to work out the most probable routes to take. Their mounts were tended to by the other soldiers. They would continue on foot. Despite the large amount of riding they did, the Inner Circle preferred combat on foot. Horses were fine but the lacked the finesse needed in some situations, neither was the appeal of risking one falling and crushing them mid-battle.
Once their supplies were ready, they brought along Cole’s horse to carry their belongings. The horse had been trained to keep the party within sight, but remained far away so as to remain out of danger. It was an intelligent fellow, brightest of the stables according to Master Dennet.
It wasn’t long before they encountered trouble in the form of Freemen. During the fight, orders were shouted by the men to keep the Inquisition off the ramparts. They soon found out why.
Just outside Fort Revasan, they spotted some soldiers valiantly brandishing their blades to defend themselves against a wave of demons. It was a slow fight, although one that was soon over once the Inquisition joined in. It wasn’t long before the demons were slain, driven back to the Fade where they belonged in the waking world.
“From your hand, you must be the Inquisitor. I am Corporal Rosselin of the Imperial Army. We were trying to retake the ramparts from the dead. They rise here, somewhere within these trenches. It started when those Freemen showed up. Strange lights… like blue fire. It must be magic, but these Freemen are just deserters from the armies. How could they have managed this and why?”
“The peace talks in Halamshiral mean an end to hostilities, don’t they?”
“We’re no longer fighting each other but the demons… the dead… it was easier when we fought just men. You can win against men.”
Islington nodded his head. “Very well. There’s an Inquisition camp nearby, gather your men and you can find some supplies and rest there for a while. We will send a signal once we’ve cleared the area of demons.”
There was plenty of work to be done and somebody had to do it, preferably those with immense experience in handling demons. Unfortunately, that meant them. They selected their weapons from Cole’s horse, choosing those enchanted with demon slaying runes to make quick work to their foes.
It was difficult navigating the ramparts. Undead attacked them at every step as they fought through wave after wave of enemies.
“Cole, what can you tell us?” Islington asked after they were done with the third wave.
“There’s a demon… it’s… feeding. Screaming, shrieking, sending shivers... It was drawn here by the dead… and it’s still hungry,” the young man said as he looked out from under his hat. “There.”
The Inquisition strode towards the direction the spirit had pointed where an Arcane Horror stood, engrossed over a pit of dead bodies. The smell that emanated from it caused the humans to wrinkle their noses. One would think after dealing with so many dead that they would get used to the smell. Wrapping cloth around their faces, they plunged right into battle.
An angry cry rose from Cassandra’s throat as she charged towards their target, screaming to get its attention. “Fight me you coward!” she cried as she lunged her blade, feinting an attack.
Cole sought to sneak to the back of the creature, his blades flashing wildly as he spun and danced through the air. One moment he was there, the next, he was gone. Dorian’s electricity flew through the air as he tapped onto the Fade. With this many dead bodies, there was much a necromancer could do, but with a demon nearby, it was better not to risk anything. Wave after wave of ice flew from the Inquisitor’s hand as he sought to limit his opponent’s movements.
A shriek came from the Arcane Horror’s mouth, causing some of them to stagger as the pitch pierced their consciousness, overwhelming their senses. To their horror, more undead from the pit… along with several other demons. The shriek had been a cry for help to its fellow comrades.
“Stay together!” Islington yelled as they regrouped, backs facing each other as demons and the undead started to encircle them. Cassandra shouted to get the demons’ attention once more. Corpses shambled towards her, but the more intelligent demons were not so easily distracted. With their backs together, the party could defend themselves well enough. Unfortunately, it meant that they were an easy target as well.
A fireball erupted from the hands of the Arcane Horror, heading right towards them. “Jump!” Dorian cried as the group splintered. Islington reacted and jumped away from his friends, rolling onto the wooden planks as he felt the warmth of the flames lick at his ankles. They had barely missed getting burned. He turned his head, trying to find his friends and came face to face, with the gaping mouth of a Despair demon. Islington’s eyes widened at the sight of the numerous teeth.
Then it vanished, drawn away by the sounds of the fight. Islington heaved a sigh of relief as he looked about, trying to grasp the situation on the battlefield as he stood up. His ears were still ringing from the shriek of the Arcane Horror. Cassandra was in the thick of the fight, defending herself against wave after wave, but it was clear she was going to be overpowered soon enough. A blade had lodged itself in her leg and the seeker continued fighting… until an axe from one of the corpses came down onto her skull, splintering the helm with a sickening crunch.
“Cassandra!” Islington cried, focusing on another ice spell, despair surging through his body as he tried to rush to his friend’s side. He stopped midway as he heard another voice calling out to him.
“Amatus!” came the desperate cry from the side.
The white-haired man spun on his heels towards the cry and he stared… as his world fell apart. From the centre of his chest, Dorian sported a blade. Blood started to spread over his clothes.
“No… No…. NO!”