"It always fascinates me to discover what's behind, beyond, and beheld." - from Lullaby for the Apprentice

…

Tal marches ahead, silent. I trudge a few steps behind her, screaming on the inside. It has been three days since we left; three days since my last bath. With no water, navigating the ashen plains, feeling the grime rub off onto my skin… ngah! Why, for all those years of research, hadn't magic yet figured out how to clean someone automatically?

The terrain is harsh, mangled by rocks with a fine coating of ash. They spring against my legs, working against the muscles. But I know not to complain – Sigrun and that Templar are having a worse time. She, with her dwarven-sized legs, are barely keeping up with my pace. But keep up she does, chatting away incessantly. Except this exact moment; near meal time, when Sigrun is thinking on how to cook our next meal. He, with his stupidly heavy full Templar armor, is lagging way behind. I don't need to bother checking him; I can still hear his armor clinging. He never takes off his armor, even while sleeping, and always has his mace handy. I wonder if he's afraid of me.

His behavior is just another thing to tick me off. We march from the crack of dawn until three hours after sunset. The damned ash is giving me coughs. I haven't had a bath for three damned days. I am tempted to say 'fuck it' and return home. The only thing keeping me sane is Sigrun's occasional jokes.

"Lunch, anybody?" I finally ask.

"Yes please. I am starving." Sigrun replies. Sinnan, far behind, caws 'yes'.

We look at Tal, who always points towards the nearest place where we may rest. Sure enough, she wordlessly nods to a collection of boulders some distance away, just visible through the ever-persistent ash. Sigrun picks up her pace, quickly running past us both. I follow after her, swinging the bag forward to unpack our food. By the time I reach the resting place, arms awkwardly full with food and bag straps, Sigrun has laid out the cooking utensils and built a makeshift stove.

"I swear you move the fastest when you are hungry. I should get you to fight after starving you." I jest, puffing at the sudden sprint.

"Don't worry. I'm always starving. Quick! We need fire!"

I dump the bag and spread out the food, and light the stove on fire. Normally, we would use wood, but there is no tree within the eyesight of the ashen horizon. So I use my mana to keep the fire going, keeping my hand awkwardly underneath the pot.

"I wish we had some wood." I repeat my thoughts out loud.

"We're lucky to even have enough water for a stew." Sigrun answer, her hands flying across various ingredients.

The water quickly boils, and Sigrun begins her own version of magic. She had picked up incredible cooking skills over the years, making full use of her poison-making skills as well as all the variety of surface foodstuffs. She had quickly surpassed my own miserable attempts at cooking, becoming famous amongst the Wardens for her stew.

Tiring, I sit down cross-legged on the ashen dirt, hands still maintaining the flame. With hardly a look in our direction, Tal arrives to finds herself a nice rock to sit on.

"We are halfway through the Ashes." She comments.

"The Ashes. Is that what this place is called?" I ask, hoping to snag this rare opportunity of Tal's talkativeness.

"Yes. Very few cross it safely. But the only challenge is water." Tal continue. She brushes the soot off her clothes as if swatting away ticks.

"Commander! Fire here as well, please!" Sigrun points to a large pan with her knife. In her other hand is a piece of vegetable that looks surprisingly fresh despite the three-day mashup in my bag. With a grunt, I shove another hand under the pan to create a second cooking fire. I'm vaguely aware of my comical pose – resembling a squashed frog – but as long as my food was warm, I'm more than happy to suffer some humiliation.

"What's beyond? Where exactly are we going?" I continue, twisting my neck to look at Tal.

"Just beyond the Ashes is the Blackwood forest, the eastern outskirts of the larger, Etala Tree-lands. Seer Pervanti currently awaits you near Etala lake."

Sinnan finally wanders in, sitting down on a deceptively uncomfortable boulder – one of those that looks nice and flat but will make you squirm as you try not to slide off it. He sighs, gives out a cough, shifts his position, and overall makes sure that he looked pissed off. He glance over at me and murmured something in his helmet and I'm sure it was Canticle of Transfigurations 1:2.

"Etala… sounds very elvish. Does that mean that there are elves in the West?"

Sinnan shoots me a look: or at least, his helmet does. That man was way too sensitive about racism. But how does he not know about anything I did in Denerim? Am I really that unknown amongst the Templars? And here I thought everybody in Thedas knew about the legend of the Fifth Blight.

Suddenly, I'm blinded by a bright light and react by tripling my mana flow. It takes me a second to register the fact that my triple-sized 'cooking flames' singed a bit of my fingers. A frantic shaking of the hands does little to ease the pain.

"What was that? Are you alright?" Sigrun (who barely even blinked at the sudden explosion) ask, holding the pots and pans well away from my explosive hand. I'm fairly sure she's protecting the food from me, not the other way around.

I stare at my hands for a while, reassure her that I'm alive, then re-start the fire. Sigrun grants me a concerned glance before going back to cooking. It occurs to me much later where that light had come from – the stupid Templar shield. Those shields are coated specifically to reflect stuff – fire, ice shards, any form of magic. Oh, I'm fully aware of the tactical advantage it could give by blinding your opponents. It's terribly inconvenient though.

"Regarding your question…" Tal asks, her face showing a tiny bit of concern. For a Qunari, that tiny bit is very significant.

I continue a crumpled smile. "Thank you. Yes. Please continue. Are there elves? Humans? Dwarves? Qunari? Do they even speak the same language?"

"All races of Bas exist in the West. Ancient dwarven language is lost. Trade tongue is spoken wildly, though there are Tevinter words in that tongue. There has been attempts to use old Elven amongst elves. Most writing is done in variant of Tevene. There are no followers of the Qun in these lands."

Tal's brief speech sets off my wild curiosity – something that cements my position as forever a curious child. Almost all type of races is there! What history does this land have? Why are these people even here? They don't have darkspawn here… right? Nor is there a chantry. A world without the Chant? That's hard to imagine… I wonder what these people look like – what do they wear? I, oh, can't wait to read their books! Written in Tevene? That's good. I can… well… sort of read Tevene (courtesy of Enchanter Torrin's lessons, as well as my trip to Minrathus). I'm gonna have to learn fast. Regardless! I need to get a hold of these books. Take some back to Thedas. Maker! Books from another world are worth more than the gold equal in weight!

I catch myself staring blankly into the fire. With an embarrassed cough, I pause to smell the beginnings of the stew. But soon, I am distracted again, speaking of language…

"Tal. Your name in Qunlat, it means 'truth', doesn't it? Like, from Tal-Vashoth? The True Grey Ones?" Casor asked.

Tal looked at him with minimal expression. At least she doesn't brood like Sten.

"Tal is not a name. It is what I seek." She finally replied.

"Ah… is it like Sten? A position?" Casor asked again.

"No. Tal is not a position of the Qun. It is simply what I seek."

I nod. I think… I think I understand. Based off Sten's logic and conversations I had with him a decade ago, I think… she's a Vashoth. Re-introduced, perhaps, to the Qun. But then why would she be all the way out here? Whatever her history, she seems to have chosen to seek 'truth', in Qunari-fashion.

My vague understanding proves rather accurate, though it would take me many more conversations to understand this person.

"I think I understand… A noble cause. Good luck."

Tal, for now, gives me another expressionless stare. I know that there is a hint of approval somewhere behind that face. Sigrun pokes my forearm, her cooking now done.

"The meal's ready! Geez, I need to stop myself from eating it while I was cooking! Thanks for the fire."

I smile at the delicious aroma as I retract my hands. Turning behind, I create another tiny flame in my cupped hands and read the flickering candlelight. Three-quarters. Even compensating for that explosion, my mana's drained far too quickly.

I know the reason why. I didn't know the magnitude of it though. It comes as a grim surprise.

With a huge smile, I jump at the mouth-watering spectacle of cooked vegetables and Sigrun's signature soup. Sigrun had separated the serves onto a large bowl, handing one to me while nibbling on a piece of carrot. She gave the last one to Sinnan, who thanked her and started praying.

I watch this Templar as I drink my meal ("The soup's great again, Sigrun." "My pleasure. A bit of nug meat would have been nice though." "And elfroot." "Bleh! Not with this soup. Elfroot is too bitter when cooked."). He ceremonially unpacks a copy of the Canticles and begins praying rigorously.

I recognize the rhythmic nod of his helmet. In fact, I know exactly what verse he's reading now.

"Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing, an ocean of sorrow does nobody drown. You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr. Within My creation, none are alone."

He is an absolute believer, borderline fanatic. I've seen his kind before – those who fail completely to understand what the Chants are about, yet brazenly claim to serve the Maker. Those who would raise the sword against the hearts of the people to 'serve' Andraste.

No doubt this Templar believes I'm a maleficar. He just needs an excuse to ignore the Divine's personal 'forgiveness' of my use of blood magic. Still, I don't think I'm 'depraved' by any stretch of imagination. Unfortunately, it'd be difficult to convince this man of the truth, as I have difficulty myself without using all the apostrophes.

Sinnan's helmet stops bobbing, and turns towards me. Perhaps he heard me sigh? He gets up, armed with his mace, with every intent to cause trouble. I shroud myself with thin veil of the Fade, nonchalantly as possible. It doesn't work.

"Why do you use your magic, mage? Are you a Maleficar? Do you believe in the Maker and His prophetess and bride, Andraste?" Sinnan shouts. He's voice is really annoying.

Sigrun and Tal doesn't partake in this encounter, and I remember that neither of them are Andrastian (Perhaps Tal might have read the Canticles). Still, they know about the Mage-Templar rivalry. They know that it's a bit more than just a 'rivalry', too. We all know about the War.

"Why is it that when anybody asks that question, what they are really saying is 'do you follow the Chantry?'" I reply, gulping down the soup.

"Stand, Maleficar! And answer my question!"

It's a funny way to make a friend – scream at him for doing absolutely nothing. I've long wondered how the Mage-Templar War broke out, but looking at this guy, I think I have my answer.

I set down my soup and stand up, two heads taller than the Templar. Two heads angrier than him, too.

"I believe in the Maker. I believe that Andraste was a prophetess. But I don't follow the Chantry. I like the Chant of Light, but I have my disagreements and liberties." I growl.

Sinnan pauses, his helmet failing to hide his surprise and horror.

"Why? How could you believe, yet not follow?"

Jowan's voice rings in my ear, and it's surprisingly apt; 'Here we go again.'

"You'd be hard-pressed to find a mage in Thedas who like the Chantry. The Circles." I answer.

"Mages are a threat! They must be kept in control."

At this, I explode. "By cornering them and completely depriving them of freedom, family, and even love? And suppressing them with fear and blade? Tools that clearly won't work if they do become an abomination? The damned Rite of Tranquility? The fucking Harrowing? The facade of peace? Separating lovers? Killing friends? Even alienage elves aren't treated like us!"

"Us elves aren't dangerous! You mages kill! You mages are the only thing between our world and the Maker! Forever sinned you lot, and it must be the righteous path to be rid of all evil!" Sinnan retorts, his anger spurned further by mine.

I count to three in my head. I breathe, and regain some control. "Magic is no more dangerous than the weapon in your hand. Perhaps it is the intent behind the wielder that must be feared."

"How dare you-!"

I lift my hand and cast him to sleep. I don't want to bother arguing with a fanatic… neither side is going to win anyway. I let him fall painfully in his armor.

"Umm, Commander? I think you should re-heat the soup. It won't taste as nice cold." Sigrun advised.

I return to my meal, and the three of us eat in peace. Much later, when the Templar wakes up, he retreats further into his helm, obviously crestfallen at his defeat. At least he's smart enough to realize that he has no chance of defeating the Hero of Ferelden.

Why did the Chantry have to send this guy?

…

True to Tal's words, it took us another three days to cross the Ashes. The supplies were starting to dwindle by then, especially water. Even with regular fillings at water holes, the flasks went skinnier and skinnier. Sigrun didn't have enough water to make a stew for the last day.

The lack of earthly luxuries, though, weren't the thing that was troubling me. It was that Templar. After our showdown, he changed completely, approaching me as if he is a great friend of mine. He told tales of his past and babbled on about the Chant at me and Sigrun (Tal, he didn't dare. She had receded back into her silence, though I did notice that her gestures were more animated than before). I treated him like a good friend, too – but all my instincts were telling me that something was horribly wrong. A Templar didn't change his beliefs just like that…

It got to a point where I couldn't sleep without casting a barrier on myself.

Meanwhile, Sinnan chirped happily, admitting that he wasn't officially incorporated into the Templar Order. Rather, he had saved a Templar's life many years ago, and that man had taught him Templar arts in return. Having been born in Antiva from a rich elven family (this was yet another warning sign for me. Zevran had well reminded me that the only reason an elf could be rich would be through the Crows), he was a deep believer of the Chanticles since he was young. When he saw the opportunity to do something for the Chantry, he jumped on board. Although the Chantry had disapproved his presence, the Knight-Commander of Antiva had allowed him to say. A series of fortunate events (he would wave his hand at the details) allowed him to be elected as part of the Messengers of the Chant. Back at the Grey Warden camp, he had begged and begged with the other heralds until he was allowed to go to the West.

"So, you are here for your devotion to the Chantry and your incredible persistence!" Sigrun complemented. She, too, knew of my suspicions, but she tended to believe in people's miraculous change. After all, she herself had changed from a deserter to a hero within weeks.

"I am here to serve." Sinnan replies with an air of smugness.

"You said you remember all of the Chant thingies?"

"Yes."

"Can I test you?"

"You do not know the Chant!"

"I thought this was the Chant?"

"My Canticles! How did you…!"

"Ha, ha! Old habits die hard! Or they never die. Here, it was just a joke."

"Do not ever do that again! It is not an object to play with!"

"Alright."

I smile faintly overhearing this conversation, watching the Blackwood forest draw near.

…

"Who named this place?" I ask, picking up some speed to catch up with Tal. The dark trees gnarled along the forest edge, trunks teeming with sinister-looking barks and bushes.

"I do not know." Tal reply. She shook herself down as she walked, creating a little cloud of dust and ash. I mimic her motions, remembering to give my Griffins a little shine. I should clean them properly when we settle down for the night.

"Whoever he or she was, they named it well."

Although the sun was still out, Blackwoods were very dark, the haze from the Ashes persisting deep into the tangled greenery. Well, better word would be 'greynery'. The path is only just visible.

"Hey Tal, wait up. We'll get lost here if we split."

Tal shakes her head ominously at my comment, but allows time for the dwarf and the elf to catch up. The pair gradually retreated into silence, also shaking off ash and feeling the gloom of the forest.

I turn my head towards the forest. I frown, then summon Honor. A fling of arrow hits the barrier, imbedded midair by the shield. It has no tip.

Both Sigrun and Sinnan draws their weapons in surprise, but Tal and I stand still. I'm confused as to why anybody would fire an edgeless arrow, but wait for them to show themselves. A quiet, startled whispers come from the woods, soon followed by Tal's loud voice.

"They are the Thedosians. It is unadvisable to harm them."

Rustling of leaves and more murmur of language… Two man and one women faze into view. All humans. I take a moment to take in their details.

Dressed in battle armor reminiscent of Morrigan's outfit, their black garbs aren't quite the color of the Woods. The cross-hatch pattern binds the tar-covered leather rather nicely – it's fine craftsmanship, on par with Wade's casual work. They were all armed with a bow (the same type of short reflex bow that Tal carried but seemingly never used) and a dagger. The female human's bow is, interestingly, made of iron, not wood… is that even practical? The middle one approached us carefully, an arrow loaded in his hand but not drawn.

"Avanna, Strangers from the East. Friend…?"

"Manaveris somniari." Tal replies.

The man nods and unload his bow. He bows deeply towards my direction.

"Apologies for our fears, stranger. We great you with utmost respect. Ahead are roads perilous yet comfortable, so ample protection will be demanded. Guide and shields, we shall be to you mysticus, and all your companions."

…

New chapter guys, after almost three months of silence! I told you it will be infrequent. Probably will take fifty years at this rate. It will speed up eventually, but for now, let's just leave it at this slow rate. I know most of us are disappointed by Mass Effect Andromeda. I personally haven't played it yet because the animations are deterring me. I know it's going to be good nonetheless, but I'll wait two months until they fix it up with all their patches. Meanwhile, I've got other plans…

So, we're now in the West! Sort of… It's really hard to describe this new world. Without the ability to use cutscenes and/or drawings, I'm struggling to explain it to you what this place is like. It's what all writers face, I guess, but I'm not a good author, so therein lies the problem.

For now, imagine Blackwood Forest as literally as possible – it's a collection of black woods that somehow forms a forest. The forest edge near the Ashes are obviously quite devoid of life – even the goddamned trees are barely alive. But each step towards the lake will lead you closer and closer to signs of habitat and wildlife. As soon as you start seeing flowers, you're in Etala Forest proper. With not many magical creatures around (more on this later) and warm climate, the central Etala is much like a temperate forest, borderline tropical. It's as generic as forests can get, pretty much.

If you wanted an exotic forest, you'll have to head far north, past the mountain ranges and into the tropical rainforest of Lathalene Forest. We don't go there in this story, but that place is filled with things that can (and actively try to) kill you within seconds. It's also the home of very interesting individuals.

Then again, where isn't the home of very interesting individuals?