TDM #5

[calderaevents]

ARRIVAL

It happens in an instant. A heavy weight in your gut, a trembling of your limbs, the world spins and you barely have time to register that you're falling before you lose consciousness. And when you awaken, it's not where you were last. Dark, unadorned oak walls surround you in a tiny room, the only furniture the bed you are currently resting upon, and the bedside table with a folded piece of parchment resting atop it that simply reads:

“The Tavernkeeper is awaiting your arrival downstairs.”

As you exit you find others like yourself emerging from the surrounding rooms. You are indeed in a tavern, but there is no hustle and bustle one might think to hear in such a place. The only person down on the main floor is a humanoid figure wiping down the bar, who smiles when they see you. They're familiar, but not, and you can't quite place their face. For some reason, however, their presence is comforting and warm.

“Welcome, Visitor. I'm sure you have a lot of questions.”

And you most certainly do.

Due to popular demand, the starter tavern and the drinks provided are available to in game characters via a portal accessible only to those with a faction gem.

DRINK MENU

FLAMEFRUIT SANGRIA a deep red wine based punch with chunks of softly glowing fruit floating in it. A single serving makes you feel relaxed, social, and maybe even a little flirty.

MOLTEN MEAD Though the thick drink itself is room temperature, it bubbles sluggishly, and feels very warm going down. The bold flavor affects your mood. You feel very bold! Like you could do anything!

BESALT BRANDY a hopefully staple drink for the brewery, this liquor is smooth and rich with a peppery bite. Ironically after consuming it, you kinda want to bite someone! Not hard! Just a little nip and nibble!

THAT ASHY ESPRESSO a single potent shot of dark espresso swirled with a gold-tinged cream. Intense and bitter with a hint of caramelized sugar. You are now very awake, hyper, and excited.

PYROCLAST'S WHISKEYa glossy black whiskey that turns a vibrant glowing orange when swirled. You now breathe fire.

EMBERMARK WINE a rich, velvety, spiced wine that immediately makes one feel mellow and calm.

CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY

As the effects of your drink wear off, the Tavernkeeper speaks once more:

”It is time, my friends, for you to find your new homes.”

You are compelled to walk through the only door leading out of the tavern, finding yourself not outside, but in a deep black, seemingly endless room with five portals arranged in a circle. As the last of you leave and the door closes behind you, gone when you look back again and replaced with nothing but that black void, three of the portals illuminate:

The first portal is surrounded by an almost blinding light, prismatic rainbows shining brightly in the dewy air outside of the tavern. A soft breeze may gently caress you, pulling you toward it. The portal seems to lead to a city in the clouds, airships and winged beings of all sorts soaring through the skies. Of the little bits of visible land, much of it boasts giant waterfalls that look like clouds melting into the land below. The portal calls to those who crave independence and freedom; and especially to anyone that wishes to find the strong bond of a family not forged in blood.

The second portal is encircled by a fairy ring of spotted white capped mushrooms, the faint scent of damp stone and rich earth wafting from within the faint green glow. Peering inside, one can see a sprawling harbor city of gray hewn stone, a melting pot of humanoid beings going about their day, and beyond, rolling green farmland and cottages clustered in small villages. This portal is destined for those who crave stability and solid ground beneath their feet. A simple life, an adventurous one, and everything in between can be found within.

The last portal is adorned with shells and seaweed, the glow of blue around it catching on droplets cascading down the circular opening. Beyond it you see a city housed inside a massive bubble deep under the ocean, spiraling towers encrusted with coral, and a variety of different creatures mingling about the streets. Outside of that bubble, merfolk swim, a massive squid engulfs the view from the portal as it smoothly glides through the water, and schools of fish disperse as it passes. A sanctuary in the sea that calls to those with a hunger for knowledge and a desire to aid those in need. Or perhaps it is the mystery that beckons you - the lure of the unknown in the depths that bids you explore it.

---

Upon following the pull of the breeze through the first portal, you are thrust into the beauty of a lively city that goes by the name of Heaven's Bow. Much of this main city feels exactly as you would expect on a city below, but there are clouds surrounding every direction you look. The walls of buildings are made with light-colored limestone, and buildings are generally built up to heights made even more grandiose by their position in the sky.

The Skyfall Docks are the first thing you notice, boasting hundreds of airships sailing in and out across the clouds with shouts that accompany a typical port city. Just outside is a fantastic market with goods not only from the other regions of Caldera, but from what some shopkeepers claim are other worlds--items sold or left behind by Visitors. Almost anything can be found in the markets if one is willing to look hard enough. Transport to other locations throughout the sky and even to the land or sea can be found here.

If the docks are too lively for you, you may instead find yourself roaming the underbelly of Heaven's Bow and finding brothels and gambling parlors filled with the promise of pleasure and fortune. The guild house for the Sylphs can be found here as well, giving out quests and training to prospective adventurers and guards alike--though none of them seem concerned with the illicit activities that surround them. Perhaps the freedom the Sylphs boast of extends to what others may deem an undesirable activity.

But most curious of all, you find a shimmering opal gemstone in your hand. When placed anywhere on the body, it will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

---

If it was the second portal that called to you, you will find yourself in the busy city of Grey Ward, with its cobblestone streets and sturdy grey stone buildings. You are in the heart of the city, the Glass Market, so named for the colorful stained glass windows of the surrounding buildings. The scent of cooking food and the sound of barkers fills the air; watchful guards keep an eye out for pickpockets and thieves, and citizens go about their day. From here, one can investigate the rest of the city: the Sundown Docks, where both sea and sky faring skips transport people and goods. The Soot Spire, home of inventors and engineers. The Hearthstill, the main residential area. The Downs, a smaller residential area for those with less means.

Outside the city walls, one can explore acres of farmlands to the east and west, or follow Terra’s Pass to the less settled areas, but take care. Past the Skyward Range, out in the smaller burrows and villages, the influence of the city guard diminishes quickly, and you’ll have to keep your wits about you. Bandits along the road are always a risk, and the wildlife are less controlled by regimented hunting.

In your hand is a gemstone, a brilliantly green emerald that, when placed anywhere on the body, will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

---

If the last portal beckoned you through it, you find yourself within that bubble covered city beneath the sea, the city of Salt Spire. Your ears pop with the change in pressure, and the smell of the salty sea fills your nostrils. All around you buildings made of dark stone encrusted with coral and seagrass tower high above your head, the backdrop outside the dome a deep blue, seemingly endless sea filled with fish and merfolk and all other manner of creature swimming through the water. You stand in the heart of it all, surrounded by people with gils on their necks and scales upon their vibrantly colored skin, all of whom seem intrigued by your arrival. You have many options of where to visit in the city under the sea, but where oh where will you go first?

The Salt Spire Library is right before you, an impossibly large building housing thousands upon thousands of books of all genres. Fiction, non-fiction, romance and mystery and all between. You may even find books from your world and others! Oddly enough though, no Calderan history books are to be found, and if you ask for them, the librarians and locals all choose to ignore your questions.

If scholarly pursuits aren't to your interest currently, perhaps a trip to Bluetide Market would be more your style? The marketplace is host to every manner of shop one might ever need: artisans of all varieties, apothecaries and healers in the Shimmer Quarter, the most in fashion undersea clothing shops, food stalls, and all between can be found in Bluetide. There are also the Tideshore and Fogbottom docks on either end of the city. The former allows transport to the surface via large, magical bubbles for those that cannot hold their breath or make the swim themselves yet. The latter allows people to venture further into the sea. Those without their underwater abilities are offered rebreathers for travel that last for four hours before needing to be replaced.

In your hand is a gemstone, a shining sapphire that, when placed anywhere on the body, will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

IGNACIA'S CRADLE/EMBER VEIL

Months ago, a piece of land from Heaven’s Bow fell from the sky and scarred the land below, damaging a part of the city. From that chaos and ruin rose new life, a new ruler, and a new city: Ignacia’s Cradle. Just a short walk from the edge of Grey Ward, the gates of the city are guarded by two massive obsidian golems, and any who did not rise from the lava itself are warned at the entrance that to travel about the city will be most difficult, unless they have obtained a way to mitigate the extreme heat: be that with a charm, an ability, or a potion. The very streets themselves are paved in slabs of volcanic rock, tall spires of buildings constructed and shaped by rapidly cooled lava. The main method of travel are the mine carts, with tracks that wind through the spires ready to take one to almost any location.

Currently, the main feature of Ignacia’s Cradle is the Lava Flats, home of skilled smiths that use the extreme heat of the lava to melt the strongest metals and create unbreakable weapons, glassmakers and jewelers who fashion elaborate headpieces, rings, and amulets. These items are sold at the Ember Market on the outskirts of the Flats.

At the edge of the city lies the Ashfall Terrace, where a small farm using the rich volcanic ash and soil is in its infancy, as well as the Basalt Brewery where clever alchemists are researching ways to use the extreme heat to craft new and unique beverages that they are eager to find folk to test them out on.

---

The hot spring of Ignacia’s Cradle is a breathtaking anomaly located just beyond the Ashfall Terrace, tucked into a secluded crater formed by the celestial impact that gave rise to the city. Here, molten veins from the Lava Flats weave beneath the earth, heating a natural reservoir that bubbled to life amidst the chaos. The spring’s waters shimmer with an ethereal brilliance, hues of deep turquoise blending with molten gold and fiery orange, as though Heaven’s Bow itself left behind a fragment of its essence. Steam rises in curling wisps, carrying the tang of minerals and faint traces of sulfur.

The spring, known to locals as The Ember Veil, is both a sanctuary and a marvel of natural wonder. Its soothing waters are reputed to heal wounds and fortify the spirit, with the temperature kept in perfect balance by an intricate system of naturally formed vents and channels. The edges are lined with intricately carved obsidian benches, where patrons can soak their feet or meditate in the rising steam. Plants resistant to the intense conditions—vivid fire lilies and ash ferns—dot the perimeter, their resilience a symbol of life’s ability to flourish even in the harshest environments.

Sometimes, when two or more individuals share the waters, the spring creates a subtle connection between their minds, allowing memories to surface like ripples on its surface. These shared memories appear as glowing, translucent scenes that hover above the water, visible to all within the spring. Participants can relive moments from their lives, experiencing them through each other’s eyes, fostering profound empathy and understanding.

Another of the spring’s mystical properties occurs when bathers who enter the waters feeling drained, injured, or burdened by grief often find their vitality restored. The waters seem to draw out negative energies and emotions, replacing them with a warm, invigorating sensation that spreads through the body. In rare instances, the spring has been known to accelerate physical healing, mending minor injuries and soothing chronic aches, as though the magic itself is stitching the body back together.

A lesser-known but equally fascinating effect happens on particularly clear nights, when the moonlight reflects on the spring’s surface, some bathers report fleeting glimpses of potential futures. These visions are often cryptic, appearing as brief, dream-like flashes, but they have guided many to life-changing decisions. The alchemists of the Basalt Brewery believe this effect stems from residual cosmic energy, and they have begun experimenting with enhancing it through the addition of rare minerals and lunar elixirs.

RADIANT SUN

The day begins like no other, with the skies painted in hues of golden-pink as the Radiant Sun ascends. Its light spills over the world, warm and soft, caressing the land and filling every heart with a sense of peace. Beneath its glow, emotions of love and connection bloom like never before. Strangers exchange heartfelt smiles, old friends embrace as though no time has passed, and lovers find their feelings deepened, their bonds strengthened.

Even the air feels different—lighter, sweeter, as though the universe itself is celebrating. The songs of birds harmonize with the melodies of impromptu musicians who feel inspired by the sun’s radiance. Those with magical abilities sense their powers of healing and creation magnified, as if the sun itself lends its strength to their intentions. Long-held grudges seem to melt away under the sun’s tender gaze, replaced by tears of reconciliation and words of forgiveness.

The Radiant Sun touches every heart differently:

◾A widow finds peace as memories of her late spouse no longer bring sorrow but gratitude for the love they shared.
◾A timid youth finds the courage to confess their feelings to the person they’ve admired for so long.
◾A gruff warrior lets down their guard, laughing freely with their companions for the first time in years.

For a fleeting moment, the world feels as it should be—unified, harmonious, and drenched in love.

But as the day wanes and the Radiant Sun dips below the horizon, an unease begins to settle...

JEALOUS MOON

The golden light gives way to deep purples and silvers as the Jealous Moon rises, its glow pale and cold. Its light pierces the heart, not to warm it, but to expose the insecurities that lie buried within. Where love had flourished during the day, doubt begins to creep in.

Under the Jealous Moon’s influence, emotions twist and darken:

◾A once-reconciled pair of siblings argue over old grievances, as jealousy over perceived favoritism resurfaces.
◾A couple, who had spent the day lost in each other’s arms, now question each other’s loyalty and intentions.
◾A nobleman, inspired to be generous during the day, grows suspicious of those who received his gifts, fearing they may exploit his kindness.

The air grows heavy with tension, and the magic of the Radiant Sun fades, replaced by the sharp sting of distrust. The moon’s pale light seems to follow people like a judgmental gaze, amplifying every fear, insecurity, and lingering resentment.

Worse still, the night seems endless, as though time itself has bent beneath the weight of the Jealous Moon’s envious glow. For three long days and nights, the moon lingers high in the sky, its pale, piercing light casting a shadow over hearts and minds, amplifying discord and despair. Its power sows strife among even the closest bonds, driving some to dangerous extremes. Yet, when all seems lost, the scholars of the three factions unite their wisdom and uncover a glimmer of hope—a means to dispel the moon’s cruel influence. For those who have not yet succumbed to jealousy’s grip, there remains a chance to reclaim harmony, a chance for redemption before the damage becomes irreversible.

The solution lies not in complex rituals or rare relics but in the simplest and most instinctive actions: physical connection. To weaken the moon’s hold, people must embrace one another—offering a hug, a handshake, or even resting a hand on someone’s shoulder. These gestures of closeness disrupt the isolation and mistrust that the moon thrives upon. Sitting side by side or holding hands creates a barrier against its oppressive light, reminding the afflicted that they are not alone. Even small acts, like sharing warmth through proximity or clasping arms in solidarity, build a shield of connection that the moon cannot penetrate.

As these actions ripple through the night, the Jealous Moon’s light begins to dim, its sharp, cold glow softening until it fades from the sky entirely. The tension in the air lifts, replaced by a quiet calm that feels almost foreign after the chaos of the past three days. Slowly, the world seems to exhale, and the darkness that clung so tightly to the hearts of many begins to loosen its grip. People step back from the brink of despair, their minds clearing as if waking from a long, disorienting dream. Relationships strained by the moon’s influence begin to mend as apologies are exchanged, tears are shed, and bonds are reaffirmed.

ALL IS WELL(?)

With the Radiant Sun rising again, its golden-pink hues spilling across the horizon, life begins to return to normal. The birds resume their morning songs, markets reopen, and the hum of daily activity fills the air once more. Though traces of the moon’s influence linger in whispered memories, there is a collective sense of relief and gratitude among the people—gratitude for the light, for connection, and for a second chance to heal.

In the outskirts of Ignacia's Cradle, Aella and Terra, two of the three leaders of the factions, come together to address the gathered crowds. Together they assure the people that this celestial event was a rare anomaly, something never before recorded in the annals of history. They explain that while the Jealous Moon’s influence was unprecedented and deeply unsettling, it was a unique alignment of cosmic forces that is unlikely to occur again in their lifetimes—or ever.

The leaders thank the people for their resilience and compassion, emphasizing how their acts of unity—simple gestures of closeness and connection—proved stronger than the moon’s envy. They commend the scholars for their quick thinking and the Visitors for their role in guiding others through the chaos. Finally, they urge everyone to move forward, not in fear of what has passed, but with the knowledge that even in the darkest moments, their strength lies in the bonds they share.

QUESTBOARD

Settled in? Good. It's time to make your way to the Questboard located in every city in numerous, easy to access locations. That is, if you want to make any kind of impact on the world or just get some Bones for anything you might wish to purchase. Visitors are given a very small stipend in which to survive every month, but all it does is keep you fed and housed. These quests will assure you greater wealth, and they're the main reason you're here: each finished quest helps the Calderans fix their shattering world.

Quests can be accepted at the questboard via magically signed parchment upon the board. Just sign your name to accept and the paper will be whisked away... somewhere. You're not actually sure. Probably nothing to concern yourself with.

Once quests are completed, earned Bones will be dropped off at the character's residence by Bonita, the mysterious artisan who has supposedly handcrafted every Bone circulating in Caldera. Please do not speak to her, she startles easily.

*February will be the last month to complete quests for this rotation. New ones will go up on March 1st.

OOC NOTES

Welcome to Caldera's fifth TDM! All characters awaken in a strange tavern with nothing save the clothes on their backs, all of their powers stripped, and a piece of parchment directing them downstairs to the Tavernkeeper. There is a thread of all questions answered by the Tavernkeeper here, and if you have more, feel free to ask there for what would be offered ICly.

For OOC questions, please direct themhere.

All locations are available to be explored! Ignacia's Cradle and Ember Veil have been added, along with details about the Violet Drop regarding the Cult of Triton.

The TDM is game canon and all completed quests can be carried over once accepted into the game.

Participation in the Radiant Sun/Jealous Moon effects is not mandatory.

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Comments

[arlathvhen]

Lavellan lets him go through his various facial journeys as he learns about the current circumstances, hands clasped behind her, face politely turned to observe the rest of the tavern. She has yet to meet anyone who has knowledge further than her own--everyone that she's spoken to has been from various degrees of the past. So it's a conversation that she is accustomed to, and tries to treat with the care that she'd hope for should someone from the future come to her.

Though she's fairly sure any future in Thedas will not involve her.

When he gives his own answer, she turns back to him, and there's a moment where she has to think, as well. Place the date into her time frame. It's a long ways back. "The year the mages rebelled against the Chantry. I believe that the Divine was already putting things in place to attempt to restart the Inquisition, to soothe the crisis. But...Well. You can probably guess, I was not their first choice." She gives a self-depreciating laugh, gesturing at, well. All of herself.

"Certain events took place the following year, and all their plans were rendered quite moot. Though I did take care of the mage and templar situation." She waves her hand dismissively. Just one crisis out of many. "I will not bore you with any details you do not wish to know, though I'm happy to fill in what I can. However..." And now she turns to Felassan, her face carefully polite and friendly.

"...I do not wish to be spinning stories with a stranger." And then her expression turns expectant. She gave him her name, after all.

[loosed]

It tracks — the simmering tension he'd already heard about from Briala boiling over that year, after Felassan was gone. That's what simmering tension usually does. So he might as well believe her. The most outlandish part of her account remains that an elf, Dalish or otherwise, might have led an Inquisition in the world he last saw. Ameridan was one thing. They had the Dales then, Halamshiral and their Emerald Knights and alliances with the humans. It was a different world.

But he might as well believe her. Certain events sticks like a burr to his thoughts. He carries it with him even as his attention shifts to her very reasonable question.

"Felassan Virnehn," he says, and speaking his own tongue again, slowarrow, leads him back into the language as easily as thinking about the human calendar had led him out of it. "And you must promise me that no matter how friendly we may become or how immediately you might need my attention, you will never shorten that to Slow."

Imagine a childhood of lost footraces and stumbling answers to a hahren's questions. And only imagine it, because he was never exactly child.

Thoughtfully, so serious one might believe he doesn't hear himself except for the faintest glimmer in his eye that indicates he is doing it on purpose — "I'm not overly fond of Ass, either."

[arlathvhen]

The laugh escapes her before she can stop it--louder than she'd like and rather undignified, but he's startled her into it before she could control the sound. A moment is needed for her to gather herself, though the smile lingers on her lips. A slow arrow who thinks he's a comedian, apparently.

"There is another Arrow here, though I think the two of you should be easily differentiated." That's a little joke on her part, though she knows it will not pay off for some time. "Perhaps I will introduce you two."

She decides she likes him. Perhaps it was a forgone conclusion, because Beleth is predisposed to liking elves, and particularly Dalish ones. But he's interesting, and Beleth has always been one with an eye for interesting people. Virnehn -- It is a Dalish clan name, though the exact details escapes her. One of the ones who has a better grasp of the language than the Lavellan clan, then. Such things happen.

"But very well, Slow Arrow. If you have any questions about what has proceeded past the time you know, I will indulge you with what I know. If you don't wish to listen to my meandering, then I will buy you drink and we can find something else to discuss." She could think of several questions about his clan and their command of Elvhen.

[loosed]

That's a good laugh. Less guarded, less nimbly political — no that being guarded and nimbly political are faults in a general sense, of course. Only when they're aimed at him, an innocent, who's done nothing to deserve a taste of his own politicking medicine. He's also done nothing to deserve mysterious dangling threads about other Arrows,

who could easily be some young elven man of no importance, or a human named Arrow, or any number of things less exciting than the truth, so Felassan is not particularly preoccupied. He'll find out when he finds out. He's more likely to ask about her command of Elvhen, and the absence of her vallaslin, and whether the shemlen converted her as part of this whole Inquisition business, and would she like his opinions on their Maker?

He grins at her.

"Come for a walk," he proposes in lieu of a drink, which he's already learned not to trust, "and give me the highlights."

[arlathvhen]

Fair enough, both to be free of this tavern and the drinks therein. She nods politely, and with a quick moment to smooth out her clothes and pat down her hair, she heads for the door, holding it open for him as they leave.

"There was a conclave," She begins, figuring that the story should start where her own story started. "machinated by Divine Justinia to solve the Mage and Templar war. Whether or not she would have succeeded will be left to speculation, for before it could happen, a creature interfered. A blighted magister. His machinations resulted in a massive explosion that killed all save him and one other, ripped a massive tear in the Veil, and many smaller ones that spread throughout Thedas. Demons were pouring out of them, and chaos reigned."

Once Felassan exits the tavern door, she shuts it behind him, and begins walking. Where is she walking to? No clue. Best not to drag him to the house with Solas--he's never been big on other Dalish, and she'd have to do more work to avoid making sure that the man didn't catch his true nature.

"There was only one person who could close these rifts, the other survivor to the Conclave explosion. Myself." A small gesture at the subject in question. "Some decided I was a divine gift from the Maker, sent to save them. Some thought I was a great evil, sent to assassinate the Divine, and tried to have me executed." She lets him think on that for a moment as they walk. "You can guess which one I leaned into."

[loosed]

It would indeed be terrible if anyone took Felassan to Beleth and Solas' house without warning the other. Unforgivable even. Probably cause for divorce.

But Felassan, unaware there is a house shared or otherwise, is content to follow her to nowhere in particular. He doesn't tire easily; he's not especially concerned about finding anywhere specific to stay; everything is new and equally of interest. He listens to her with almost all of his attention. The rest snags here and there on the unfamiliar shapes of buildings. The unfamiliar shapes of people. There's much more variety here than he's accustomed to. Does that person have wings?

— but mostly he's listening. Those are quite some events. A lot more than he would usually miss if he stopped paying attention for ten or twenty years here and there, and it sounds like she's only at the beginning.

He nods. He can guess. He can even guess correctly.

But what he says, while he's nodding, with the straightest face there's ever been and a tone that suggests there is only this one possible correct answer, is, "Execution."

[arlathvhen]

If Beleth knew Felassan any better, she would have aimed a pointy elbow right for his ribs. It's a near thing anyway, the way she turns and levels him with a glare that has no heat behind it. Ha ha, it says. You're hilarious. Gold star.

"My Keeper would agree with you." It is not said as a compliment.

Then she turns away, as though he hadn't spoken at all.

"They called me the Herald of Andraste. Quite a title, no? Sent to save the people from the Breach, and many other troubles aside. I saw in it an opportunity. To survive as a lone Dalish surrounded by the Chantry and their few loyal Templars, any of whom could decide to hold a one Dalish Exalted March. And for the People." They've reached a fork in the streets, and Beleth pauses to examine them closely. She's only been here a month, and it's tricky to remember where everything is. Well, people have always been good about directing her if she gets lost. She picks a direction.

"If I tie myself to Andraste and the Maker, if I tell them that yes, I, a Dalish, was hand picked to save them, what would that say about the rest of the Dalish? Would they be murdered so recklessly, if their Maker had purposely chosen one of my people to represent him?" And it had helped. She had helped Clan Lavellan personally, and she had helped the Dalish at large. To put a face to the savage elves, to present herself as a person with a life worth living. It was worth all of the hardship endured, and more besides.

"And so, with my ability to close rifts, and claiming that I was chosen by Andraste herself, I was selected to become the Inquisitor of the Inquisition." She stops again, to admire the area they found themselves in, and to let Felassan think on her words. Selected was not asked, or even offered. It was not an idle choice of words.

[loosed]

Felassan places a hand over his heart, wounded, when she compares him to this Keeper he has never met and cannot say for certain whether he would consider an idiot or not. He knows which way the odds lean — but it's fine. The comparison would cut deeper if he hadn't been joking.

He is thinking as she speaks. He thinks it's a little suspicious, isn't it, to have the Veil ripped open by anyone so soon after he last left Solas scheming to do just that; but he also thinks the Dread Wolf is careful and clever, and if he were involved she would have no cause to know about it. He thinks this Inquisitor of the Inquisition is both very much like and very much unlike the Dalish he has known. Like them for saying Dalish, Dalish, Dalish, Dalish — for how clear it is who she means and who she does not when she says People. Unlike them for doing anything more useful than riding around in wagons waiting for the shemlen to kill one another off and leave them an opening. He thinks Imshael must have had a nice time.

He thinks he could tell her an old legend about Fen'Harel: how the Dread Wolf, once just a man, did not want to lean into the title, but the slow arrow in his quiver — also a talking arrow here, don't worry about it — told him to suck it up because the people needed to believe someone could protect them.

He does not.

"And upon your selection, the shemlen saw the error of their ways, departed the Dales and Arlathan Forest, returned the wealth they plundered, and embraced all elves as their equals?"

There are no teeth in this. Not sharp ones, anyway, and none meant for her throat. The answer is obvious — of course not — but he isn't trying to tease her. Only to sit with her in the depressing understanding that it could never be so simple.

[arlathvhen]

He manages to provoke another bark of laughter out of her, somewhat dryer than before, but just as impromptu. This time she tries to level a look at him, as though she's quite miffed at him for daring to cause this--an act somewhat mitigated by the fact that she can't quite force the smile off her lips.

"If it had been so, then I would know that I died at the Conclave, and the Fade had constructed for me a truly bizarre afterlife." At least it would've been a pleasant afterlife. Maybe the Fade would've let Solas stay with her. Or the spirit that would have pretended to be him. Actually, strike that thought altogether.

"I would like to think that I helped, at least. But I suppose that's what anyone would want--to know that they had made a difference. I aided my clan, at least. Some idiot Duke in Wycome accused both my clan, and the alienage of Wycome, of spreading a plague that only affected the shemlen--nonsense of course. The fool had accepted Venatori into his household, and they were poisoning the human water supply. But I was able to aid my clan in resolving the matter." It's said with a mild and calm tone, as though all it took was a polite suggestion. "And once he was dead, my Keeper, along with several of the city elves, took seats on the city counsel. My clan has integrated into Wycome quite nicely."

Again, she lets the words settle in. "I couldn't solve the hatred of the shemlen entirely, but I could save my family, and the elves of Wycome. That must count for something."

[loosed]

"It must," Felassan agrees, his smile at her laugh and silent admonishment still lingering around his eyes. "You — " All these years to practice the lie, and he still does not say we unless it's truly necessary. " — put up a brick at a time, and they tear it down, but every now and then there is an opportunity to put up a dozen while their hands are tied. If you never miss that chance, eventually you will have built something."

Something sturdy enough its protection can be neglected to go tear down their walls, and keep them so busy undoing the damage they'll have to leave your own alone, and of course by you he means the entirety of the modern elven people. A dozen from Inquisitor Lavellan. A dozen more from someone else in a hundred years, and if they're lucky nothing has come along in the meantime to destroy everything. This is how it has gone.

But he has tortured that metaphor enough.

"So you were backed into a corner," he says, a prompt to continue her account, "and then you were backed into a — what do Inquisitors have? Did you have a dais?"

[arlathvhen]

She nods at his words. Yes, it did feel a bit like that. A foundation they were placing. She might even see the outcome of it, one day, if she ever bothers to poke her head out of the Fade once and a while. Maybe do a little meddling--Flemeth wasn't there to do it anymore, after all.

But no need to share that with this man.

"I did, actually. And a throne. Big and ostentatious. Overlooked the main hall. Didn't see much use, but it made a statement." Mostly for judgements--the official kind. She did plenty of silent judging without it. "Well, they gave me the title of Inquisitor to go along with Herald of Andraste--I collected a few more as time progressed, of course--And after that, I spent most of my time trying to establish diplomatic ties, and rooting out Corypheus' plans and stopping them. The mages and templars, as mentioned. He had Venatori try something with the Grey Wardens--ended up taking a dip in the Fade during that. I do not recommend it, spiders everywhere."

Wait--were there going to be spiders when she left with Solas? Shit. Maybe he'd know a place in the Fade that didn't have spiders.

"It eventually came to pass that we found out that Corypheus was seeking an ancient elven artifact--an eluvian." She turns to Felassan. "I'm sure you heard of them, yes? Mirrors that could transport our ancestors around, like stepping through a door." Because obviously Felassan, a perfectly nice Dalish, would have heard of the ancient, old dusty artifacts of their old, dusty ancestors. "Corypheus meant to use one to step into the Fade, and acquire the power of a god. I'm not sure how that would work, all I got was a great deal of spiders--then again, I am no Magister. But he found a working eluvian..."

Here she turns to face him properly, stopping on the sidewalk. "...In a temple to Mythal, an incredible site that was still fully standing. And fully functional. Even still well guarded, if you can believe it." It's hard to reconcile the excitement she had felt, walking the temple, seeing such an intact part of the civilization of her ancestors, with what she knew about Mythal now. But she could still appreciate what it had stood for, and surely, another Dalish would appreciate it as well.

[loosed]

For most of what she says, Felassan behaves himself very well. When she recommends against dipping into the Fade, he doesn't so much as huff. When she asks if he's heard of eluvians, he nods with the thoughtfully confused frown of someone who's only read tales and did not quite believe them. Someone should be proud of him. He's proud of him.

It helps that it's fascinating. So much, so quickly. Solas would kill him during a time the world was more interesting than it had been in hundreds of years, and when one of their descendants was sitting on a throne to guide it. The words he doesn't recognize make it all the more interesting, little pieces to puzzle over. He could interrupt to demand definitions, but it's more fun to try to put it together from the context, until —

"Really?" he asks, half gasped, with appropriately Dalish wonder. He's behaved so well. He deserves this. "By what clan?"

[arlathvhen]

There's a little pang of guilt--she hasn't even begun to tell him what has happened with their beloved Creators, how the devotion they had given had never been earned, how their gods had been monsters crafted out of blood. Death. Hate. But she's in the middle of a story, and she doesn't have it in her to interrupt it to casually deliver news that had, once upon a time, broken her heart.

It's much easier to match his wonder and excitement, that he's definitely feeling, and isn't faking, even a little.

"No clan at all! They were not even Dalish, though they wore the vallaslin." Slaves, She thought, then pushed the thought aside. They were free now, in any event. "They were ancient elves, born millennia ago, and had pledged themselves to protect the temple, resting in uthenera, until they were roused to defend it. Of course, I had many questions I wished to ask them, so much information that had been lost--but as much as it pains me to admit it, they were not pleasant people to speak to. Abrasive and condescending. I called them kin, and they called me a shadow."

It still stung, even knowing what she knew now. Maybe even worse. They had survived and adapted, what had those idiots expected? Them to be wiped out entirely? "But I followed the traditions of the temple to make my appeal, and they could not deny me my right. So, even with their leader--Abelas, sorrow, he was called--scowling at me the whole way, they allied with me, and took me to the Eluvian. It was there that I encountered the means to be able to control it. The Well of Sorrows. The gathering of the knowledge of all of Mythal's servants. It is then that we realized his true goal--To have his lieutenant drink from the well, and learn all it's knowledge, in exchange for being bound to Mythal."

Another long pause, to let this knowledge settle in his mind. It is, of course, quite a lot to take in, and perhaps not a pleasant tale to hear. But he had asked.

"I, of course, could not let some shemlen fool steal the knowledge. Both as the enemy of Corypheus, and as a Dalish. Which meant I had only one option." A lie, kind of. There was another option. But as far as Beleth was concerned, that one hadn't even been considered, despite Solas' cries against it.

[loosed]

Ancient elves!

Born millennia ago!

Abrasive and condescending —

— he is only one of those, at least.

He begins to guess where this story is ending from the moment she says Abelas, the answer to how she might have come to speak Elvhen so well suddenly visible on the horizon. But being much less surprised by all of it than his expressions may imply does not mean he is not feeling something.

"You bound yourself to her," Felassan says. The hushed quality of his tone could be reverence instead of mildly horrified dismay. Worship and terror are not so far apart. But it is still probably not what an upstanding Dalish elf would have to say. He tries to recover with, "I suppose that doesn't mean anything now. And all of that knowledge..."

[arlathvhen]

"I did," She confirms, voice quiet. Whatever his emotional reaction, she clearly has one of her own, as well. She doesn't speak for a few moments after, quietly contemplating just that. After some thought: "It was not my most popular decision." It's said in the mild tone of one who is making an understatement of a comical size. Solas had all but shaken the water and the voices right out of her.

If she thinks it's odd for a Dalish to agree with his anger, well. Maybe she mistook it for reverence, after all. Or maybe she's too polite to call him out.

"But it was the only one I could abide, and so I made it. The knowledge has been of great benefit, and the binding..." She shrugs idly. "...Mythal has yet to descend upon me and start barking orders, so until then, I imagine I'll make do." There was Flemeth, but she's not going to dredge up Morrigan's rather delicate situation. Not her story to tell.

"The voices of the well have told me much. They led me to a shrine, tucked away far from prying human eyes. They told me the words to say there, how to beseech the aid of a massive, beautiful dragon, that resided there. I did as they bid, and the dragon did as they claimed. When I fought Coryheus and his blighted dragon, she came and helped. Though she did not stick around afterwards." Like a halla--she had come when it suited her, and only then. You can't command a dragon, not without binding it, like a monster.

Wait. Was that dragon--

Hmm.