Chapter Text
Irasae disliked taverns. As much time as she spent in them, it was only for the cheap drink. The stench of inebriated humans was thick.
The place was one miserable establishment. Men leered over their pints at the nervous serving girls. The bartender fidgeted behind her place at the counter. She seemed to glance at everyone and everything all at once.
This whole ‘conclave’ was full of tension. That was what happened when you placed two belligerent parties in one area. The mages here had every right to feel uncomfortable with the Templars, and the Order with the Rebels.
No better excuse to drink, in her opinion.
One of the servers squeaked. An offending hand curved around her behind. The squeeze the man was giving seemed to be digging in and not letting go.
She sighed. Of course, a room full of drunks brought out the worst of the lowlives.
Irasae felt a tap on her shoulder. Katoh’s pale fingers twiddled with Irasae’s braid. She turned around in her seat to face her teacher.
“Do you want me to go over there?” she asked in qunlat, and her teacher nodded.
“Be gentle with the fool.”
Irasae nodded stood. The bartender looked up at her with no subtle amount of suspicion. The vashoth was a head taller than most humans. Whenever she did anything, everyone would notice.
“Hey,” called Irasae. Her hand went to the man’s shoulder. His grip had nothing on hers. “This woman doesn’t appreciate your attention, serrah. Let go.”
“Feck off, why don’t ya,’’ he started. As he turned, his mouth fell open.
“Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere. Not until you apologize to her,” said Irasae, gesturing to the server, who had fled behind the counter.
“Like the Void I’m gonna apologize to some whore because a fecking qunari asks me to! Who the hell do you think you are, you stupid ox!” yelled the man. He grabbed a mug and threw it at her. It missed, glancing off a nearby table with a clatter.
“I’m security. It’s my job to make sure free-loading scumbags like you stay in your place. If you want to cause trouble, you have to deal with me. Apologize,” she replied.
His face flushed an intense red.
“If it’s a fight’s what you want, oxman, come and bloody get it!” cried the drunkard. He stood up from the table, swaying.
Her ‘opponent’ barely had his wits about him-she doubted he’d have them sober-and was a short fellow. If she so much as blew on him, he’d topple like a paper doll.
“You asked me what I thought of you, so I answered truthfully,” she said. The man raised his fists in response. His body bobbed as he bounced on his heels. The drunkard had now become a jester. Almost everyone in the tavern had their eyes on them, muttering and giggling and then hushing.
They were waiting for the Qunari to display its dominance, its bloodthirsty tendencies and cruel teeth. They wouldn’t get dominance. She wouldn’t indulge that fantasy.
With a growl, the man charged. Irasae took a step to her right. He crashed headfirst into a table, then crumpled to the floor. He did not get up again.
What an idiot, she thought.
Laughter erupted from the other patrons as she slid back into her seat. Katoh’s wide eyes were fixated on the worn set of playing cards she’d arranged on the table. It was a measly set for Chanson d’ Argent, but her teacher had the very qunari habit of never throwing useable things away. They played with stained and bent cards with faded suit images.
“Your move, Adaar,” said Katoh. Her bangled hands folded neatly in her lap.
Guard rotations finally changed shifts a while after they ended their last round and ate supper. The Temple of Sacred Ashes itself was dank, even with so many emissaries clogging its halls. There were elves here and there (some dalish, most not) and even the rare dwarf. All those small people seemed to have bigger problems than Irasae did, which she found amusing.
The infrastructure of the stone was high enough to allow her horns. Most human-built buildings were just barely high enough for her to cross the threshold with her knees slightly bent.
Irasae was positioned close to the heart of the temple. She hadn’t been inside a chantry or anything like it since she was a baby. Maybe it was just the lighting or the dripping leak echoing off in the distance that unsettled her stomach.
Katoh had these moods where she wouldn’t set foot in certain situations entirely on a feeling. Most often her ‘instincts’ weren’t too far off. Once they’d been hired by an Orlesian landowner in the Dales to clear bandits from the premises. Before Shokrakar could accept the offer, her teacher immediately advised her against it.
As it had turned out, there were no bandits, just a lot of homeless elves. They had taken shelter under the boughs of the orchid trees while it rained for a fortnight. The man’s paltry offer of coin hadn’t had any takers, so Shokrakar negotiated that Taarlok would be sent to help them relocate.
With man’s tendency to create conflict, Irasae didn’t see an end to the war. The masses were intoxicated by all the bloodletting by the hands of the apostates and templars. Then there was the Chantry, scrambling to gather what little honour they still possessed.
The sudden implosion of the Kirkwall Chantry had galvanized the belligerents. It pushed them to kill innocents and create more avengers. She didn’t want the projection of a power-hungry apostate slapped onto her back with all the other labels.
Irasae and Katoh were caught in the middle of that. They were oddities in this land, both Vashothari and mages outside of the Chantry's influence, apostates.
It was in ideology that they clashed the most. Her teacher was an idealist, seeking the good that could not last or be sustained. Irasae was a realist. This was the way the world was. She had to think differently from everyone else! How else would they continue on through this war? Certainly not by blindly trusting the ones responsible for the defection of the Circles. Helping one mage could create a ripple effect, but one ripple could not change the tides of the ocean.
Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun; sataareth ataas shokra.
She could almost hear the waves crashing on the beach. The grey shale pushed back from the water on the Storm Coast, glimmering with the colours of dawn as it broke.
No, that wasn’t a wave. Again the small sound echoed against the stone.
A shadow darted across the hall, slithering past the flickering torchlight. The tingling underneath her skin was faint, a certain sign of magic.
Dammit.
Fire flared before her eyes, distorting the caster behind it. She dropped low to avoid the blast and its smoke; she swung her hands and summoned a bolt of energy, and thrust it forward. He meant to dodge, but something slowed his movement. In that moment, Irasae could identify her target. Blue and silver. A griffon.
A Grey Warden.
She took hold of her staff and swung. His feet swept to the side, his eyes not even widening by the impact. He laid on the hard ground. The blade at the tip of her weapon pressed at the juncture of the Warden’s throat.
A few, broken notes sounded from his mouth. As he warbled, the sound of fighting broke out from the atrium. There was no tension in his eyes, only a wide, pleading stare. He wasn’t going to attempt to cast again.
“What’s going on?”she asked.
The mage whimpered.
“Can you speak?”
“Y-yes…” he said.
The warden’s whole body trembled.
“Run. This place, it’s not going to last.” He gasped, “We’re going to die. All of us. You need to leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. Hey!” she cried. His head had lolled to the side.
There was no pulse.
She left the dead warden and ran towards the entryway. Kaaris hadn’t reported back to her since the first hour. She should have noticed the delay. She should have known this wasn’t going to end well.
Irasae burst into the chamber. The stench of blood hit her nose. There were dead people everywhere. At the forefront was the Divine, and Wardens, and-
“What the hell is going on here?!” she cried, raising her staff.
The apparition, no, the creature turned to her. In its hand was a glowing sphere. What the hell was that thing?
“Run! You must warn them!” cried the Divine.
“Slay the qunari!” The thing commanded. Suddenly, the object in its hand was knocked into the air.
The sphere rolled towards her feet. She reached for it as it rolled into her left palm.
She screamed. Pain ripped like hot fire in her hand. Too much, TOO MUCH! She was falling backward, her mind away from her body. Irasae felt her back hit the stone wall. The pain never came.