A Tale from Tevinter

Chapter 29

(PRE-chapter warning: I never notate above a chapter, but, that being said, this one does require it even with the 'M' rating. This will be a very grotesque chapter with some very disturbing, bloody, and dark themes. Think the original Grimm fairytales, and read at your discretion.)

The Inception

"Upon the pyre a culled hundred are fed

offered for verses hither known by the dead.

From below, the ashen rivers take flight

spewed forth filth drawing thaumaturgists of metal and might.

The fallen arise into the wind,

and from where they climb, the end begins.

For from the dark, from the deep,

the necrotic commandant pays the final fee,

the price to open The Path of secrets, blood, death,

and life.

When the hundredth plus one is bled,

and the last falls, drained, and dead,

The Path between man and gods falls open again.

Then, even then, the Maker will turn his head.

Too late are they all,

and too late the god's pitying mark.

For nothing will halt this new might,

power that wields darkness, yet burns with light.

Upon the world, it will descend, despite desperate attempts of both a god, and men.

Ascended from ash, shadow, and death, the herald will rise,

cradled in death, but kissed with life.

All a foretelling of a what lays ahead. A time, a day, when all fears are wed.

The means to make mortals cower, kings kneel, and demons beg.

Even when faced with the most erudite, and strong,

unto dust shall become their throng.

Death for life, and life for death,

this, the bargain spun between Fade and Men."

~74th prediction of Blood Seer Vala

"Reynaldus," the dark haired rogue said, changing his grip about Whisper's hand until he was shaking the rogue's palm in his own. "Call me Rein," the guild master grinned as he offered Whisper his name. Rein's steel colored eyes flicking back to the mark upon Whisper's cheek. "How much of the stories are true?"

"How much?" Whisper asked, slowly breaking his grip from Rein's enthused handshake. The smile on Rein's face faltered for a moment, something crossing his eyes. It was just a moment, before the guild master realized Whisper wasn't responding to his question but asking his own. Entering business mode, the guild master quickly recomposed himself as he drew back.

"You." He answered Whisper as he smiled, looking like a cat who'd caught the canary. Bethany looked between the two men completely lost and confused, but Whisper's stance relaxed. He nodded stiffly, earning an even bigger grin from the guild master. He came forward, picking back up the mask and drew the dark fabric back over the man's face. "What do I call you? I'll have to introduce you to the guild."

"Whisper?" Bethany asked, sliding a hand around the rogues wrist, trying to disengage him from Rein's overbearing presence. The guild master gave her a look that showed just how little interest he found in her. He pulled Whisper to him, effectively breaking Bethany's hold about his wrist. Rein somehow managed tucking Whisper under his arm, and, leaning into the half-elf's ear, spoke words too quiet for Bethany to hear. Whatever he said had Whisper looking at Bethany once, before nodding again. Rein gave Whisper's shoulder a pat, pulling him along with him as he walked toward the door. "Whisper?!" Bethany asked, stupefied as the rogue left the room with the guild master.

(zXz)

"We could still fetch a fine price in the capitol," one of the men said, pulling his horse up to the carriage driver. "Boss would still get a fortune." The driver shot the man a deadly look.

"You want to be the one to tell Rein why we're short a couple hundred gold?"

"Wouldn't need to worry about it at all if we didn't head back. Sides, we're just near Rialto. The capitol isn't so far out." The rider said, quirking a brow at the driver. One of the other riders came up beside the man, giving the driver a questioning look. When the driver nodded, the rider pulled a blade, wrapping an arm across his companion's chest as he shoved the blade up and under the man's ribs. The rider who had hinted at the subterfuge fell from his horse, his body still in its death throes as Marian's hanging cage passed over where he had fallen.

"Sorry, Leone," the rider said, wiping his dagger with a rag before sheathing the blade. "He was too new to the guild to have come on this run."

"Save it, Simone," the driver, Leone, nodded at the man. "I'm just glad Rein sent you. We're going to need a good sword arm if we're to take the inland road into the Imperium."

"I wish we could have sent a ship." Simone sighed, his eyes drifting back to the hanging cages that bounced on both sides of the prison wagon. "Ridding out bounties is such a pain. Literally." Simone huffed, shifting in his saddle.

"Our holders are volatile…" Fenris said in Arcanum, "...and stupid."

"True. Do you think they speak Arcanum?" Marian asked in their shared tongue. She cast a glance over to the driver who shot her and Fenris a look before continuing his conversation with the rider Simone.

"Do you know the slave's speech?" Fenris asked, dropping his dialect from the well enunciated Arcanum down to much thicker, slanged, and slurred speech. Marian blinked as she listened to him cutting parts of his words off to mix them anew. She almost laughed, for she'd not heard him speak in any way but the most perfect Arcanum in all the time she'd known him.

"Aye, I used to speak with Varania like this when she'd forget herself, but my mother, and her own, would have none of it." Marian said before catching herself.

"Varania?" Fenris rolled the name off his tongue before shaking his head. "If anything, I doubt they will be able to understand us."

"Probably not, even if we were to speak pure Arcanum," Marian sighed. "Most of the people I've ever met never learn the language since people of Tevinter tend not to leave their borders. Besides, even when we were headed to Tevinter, there was very little we knew of the language. I tried to learn a few words, but blessedly most spoke Common."

"You speak it like it was your native tongue. When did you learn the language?" Fenris asked. Marian blinked, peering through the rows of bars to try and see the elf who was divided from her by iron.

"A little after I came to the city," Marian said, shifting in her cage to try and ease the pain in her legs from being so cramped up. "I was, what was it? I was fourteen at the time. I didn't' speak but a couple words. Father gave us all of Messier Dolan's books that taught Arcanum from the Common Dwarvish."

"Dolan? Artamus Dolan?" Fenris asked, recalling the man he'd seen in converse with master. He also recalled how the man had paid particular attention to Marian. "How did your family come to know him?"

"We came to stay with Messier Dolan. He was an old friend of my father's. As Father told me," Marian leaned against the bars, relaxing as best she could as she recalled those early days, "he fled to the Imperium to escape persecution. He offered his home to my father, should we ever decide to seek refuge."

"Did you like it there?" Fenris asked and Marian quirked a brow at the elf, or at least in his direction. It was hard to see him through all the iron.

"You're asking me a lot of questions, Fenris." Marian waited till she could shift enough to finally catch a look at the elf's face before she continued. "You've never asked me about myself."

"It was never my place." Fenris returned, shrugging slightly. "Does it bother you? My questions?"

"No... I think I rather like telling you. Do you mind hearing about it?" Marian asked, her tongue darting to wet her lips. "I know you didn't like hearing about before..."

"It is not that I minded hearing of your past, I just... As I said, I'm not that person you remember." Fenris hesitated for a moment, humming as he debated if he wished to continue. "In truth, you've changed. Before, from the day we met, I couldn't help but notice. You look at me with such anticipation, like I should know something, or you were always expecting me to be doing something."

"I did that?" Marian said, frowning as she replayed every moment she'd had with Fenris. Yes, in truth she'd been trying to see Leto in there for a long time.

"You've actually stopped looking at me like you're waiting for this other person to appear."

"It's not... I mean," Marian bite her lip, trying to find the best words to express herself. "I suppose you are right. I was looking for Leto, the elf I knew, know, you to have been. I don't know why I did that," Marian chuckled, shaking her head. "It was silly of me." Because you were always right there, Marian silently amended.

Leto was Fenris. True, Fenris was a more jaded Leto, but the elf she'd grown up with was the same one who was riding in that cage just a few paced away. No matter what had been done to him, how he'd been altered, he was the same man. He had simply changed, in more obvious ways then many others do given time and hardships.

"Please, continue if you would?" Fenris encouraged. Marian sighed, feeling a weight falling from her shoulders. She'd been careful not to discuss anything from before with Fenris because it seemed to upset him.

"What would you like to hear?" Marian felt the smile pulling against her lips.

"Just... keep going." Fenris said, a tired sound to his voice. Part of her knew it was a calculated tactic on his part for keeping her calm. Even still, she was grateful. Taking a steady breath, Marian prepared to step back into her memories.

"Well, let's see, where were we? Dolan's estate. You asked if I liked it there. I did, for a time. In fact, that was some of the best times I had in Minrathous."

"You liked Dolan." Fenris asserted, drawing conclusions. "Then, why didn't you receive him so poorly when he came to the Tower? The diner party?"

"Maker, no! It wasn't Dolan that made me enjoy my stay in his estate." Marian bit her lip, rolling the thought around in her head before she decided to continue. "There were two elves there, slaves, to Dolan that were about my age. We became friends."

"You befriended slaves?" Fenris chuckled. "Why am I not surprised?"

"A habit of mine, I suppose," Marian grinned. The rider, Dante, came about the wagon, shooting them contemptuous looks, grumbling under his breath. "A girl, and a boy; brother and sister. Even after we left to our own place, they came by to see me. At the time, I was serving in the Battle Mages, but because of... politics, my master decided to take me out of the city. When I came back, I met you, and there you have it."

"A brother and sister," Fenris said.

"Enough of that!" Dante finally snapped. He used his sheathed sword against Fenris' cage to rattle bars. He circled back around to looked down at Marian as he shot a contemptuous look toward Fenris. "It's no use plotting. You're not getting out!" Marian waited until Dante rode off, a curse under his breath.

"I guess that answers the question about them understanding Arcanum," Fenris murmured. Marian was rubbing her head, staring up at the rune words carved into the iron bars when a small grin pulled at her lips. She laughed lightly, her eyes gleaming as the carriage continued to take them west.

"You know," She started quietly, simply to avoid drawing the rider Dante back over. "I should also tell you another story. Once I had seen you, trying to earn money in a place called the Den. You were a pit fighter."

"That hardly seems surprising." Fenris brooded over a reveal of his past. "Then I've always been fighting for another's sport?"

"No, now listen." Marian sighed. She traced a finger down one of the bars, and watched as it pulled her magic into the cold iron, causing the runes to glow faintly. "At the time, I had thought to stop you, but you were behind a barrier. Runes carved into stone. I'd tried to break them. They were carved by a rune master. I nearly did, or so he had said."

She could practically hear the elf shift, perking up with interest. "And you only think to mention this now?" Fenris asked.

"Well, to be fair, it didn't end very well the last time," Marian frowned, recalling the trap that had been layered under Danarius' runes that had sapped her mana till she'd been near comatose.

"It's dangerous?" Fenris asked. "Don't bother then. I've been thinking. I might be able to break the bars, but I'd rather wait until you are not so weak so that we may make our escape."

"I'm going to take that you mean a 'magically drained' weak, then," Marian hummed, following the bar as it moved under her legs and back over her side. "Something's off. I know that runes can appear different when written by different masters, but this is so strange."

"Strange?" Fenris asked, and Marian nodded, though there was no way he could have seen though all the shafts of iron that divided them.

"For one, it's sloppy." Marian huffed, jabbing a finger experimentally at one rune. "For another, the last time I tried to break one, there had been layers. Many layers. This has but two." She didn't bother to add how the runes seemed to meld into words. She wasn't just deciphering the runes, she was reading them. The marking compared to the scratches she'd written as a child while being taught to write, and even as she gently pushed against the connections – the seams in the writing – she could feel their power waver in confusion even as it pulled at her mana.

"Not yet, Hawk." Fenris murmured at the blue glow coming from her cage. He silenced once more as another of the riders took their turn past the wagon. "There are too many of them right now, and I don't have a weapon. We'd never make it."

"I know. I'll not risk your safety either, you know?" She hummed, running a finger under her lip. Deciding on a course of action, and finding a measure of relief in knowing she now had a plan. Marian adjusted once more, rocking her cage until she was in a position that would be most conductive to sleep. True, she could not lay down, but she rested her back against the bars and let her head loll onto her shoulder. "We'll get our chance. Until then, I'll work out how to break these runes. Get some sleep then, Fenris." Marian said, and tried to close her eyes to the bright light of day.

(zXz)

Whisper slipped from the window, his slight form gently landing upon the branch of the tree that had been his point of entrance. Aldo was standing at the base of the tree, his eyes wide as he franticly waved Whisper to hurry. The half-elf could have sighed at the idea of having a shadow, except he wouldn't risk it. Lives were held in the balance.

It had been a long time since anyone depended on him, and longer still since he had a chaperon on a job. Maker, it was like being a neophyte all over again. Whisper glanced about the grounds, and spotting a flash of light, he dipped, dropping down and holding onto the branch. He stilled as he allowed the foliage to cover his form. Aldo was too slow, at least for Whisper's tastes. The rogue upon the ground saw Whisper's duck for cover and, thankfully, took the perched rogue's cue. Aldo dipped low, dropping into the shrubbery. The guard passed by, unaware of the rogues hiddenjust within the shadows. Slipping from the first branch down to the one below and working his way through the tree without rustling the leaves, Whisper landed with no more than the brush of his cloak upon the grass of the well-maintained garden.

Aldo was gesturing, signing to him, which caused Whisper to roll his eyes in reply. Signs were generally understandable, but each guild used their own code. Of course he couldn't read the man's shifting hands. However, he understood enough to know the job was done, and it was time to leave.

With Whisper's aid, both the rogues made it safely from the walled grounds of Lord Byron estate. Once outside, Aldo took him through the streets, slipping in shadows with the practiced ease of a thief who knew his city. Whisper followed the other man's lead, and though he should have had his eyes and ears out for guards, he did not.

Once they were free of the grounds, Whisper's mind wandered. He followed the other man, allowing himself to be lead, but his mind was collimating his options. His eyes flickered to Aldo's back, and his first thought was that he could easily kill this boy. Aldo was only slightly younger then Whisper, but he was obviously highly inexperienced. Either the guild wasn't able to train him, or they had grown soft in general.

Rein wasn't soft though.

Whisper's fist clenched as he still felt the twinge of where the guild master had pressed into his hand. The ease with which he had been disarmed was disturbing. No, Rein wasn't soft, and Lazlo, the Appraiser, was experienced. Their guild hall was well positioned, and rather old. Not only because of the well placed facade. No, their choice of residence was ancient. Either it had been in their guild since the formation, which he doubted, or it was a location they had taken over. Whisper's eyes drifted back again to Aldo's collar. To his neck, and the junction of his cervical and thoracic vertebrae. He could make it painless. Aldo turned his young features back over his shoulder to make sure Whisper was still ghosting his shadow. He gave Whisper a cheeky grin, holding a thumps up to the half-elf.

"It never washes away." Redder's voice echoed in the rogue's head.

Whisper's hand stilled, withdrawing from its reach for the hidden blade about his cuff. Shaking his head, he followed Aldo back into the underground guildhall. As they came down upon the landing, it was all the half-elf could to not the clutch a hand to his chest.

Losing his friend had left a lingering, palpable ache in his chest. It hurt, and the pain wasn't going away.

Aldo wasted no time, waving away the guards as he dragged Whisper jovially along until they were in the back rooms, his fist rapping upon the guild master's door. Lazlo opened the door, his face contorted into an obvious frown of disappointment as Rein's voice called over his shoulder. Lazlo's frown deepened, as he was commanded to admit their entrance. Aldo cheerily patted the one eyed appraiser upon the shoulder, striding up to the guild master's desk. Rein was not sitting at his desk. Instead, he was near the mantel, using a candle to light a stick to his pipe weed. A few puffs, and he blew out the stick, going to his desk and placing it upon a metal tray to cool.

"Master Rein, we did it!" Aldo started, unable to wait for the guild master to take his seat. Whisper stood before the desk, wondering if a kick to the exuberant rogue's shins would shut his mouth. Probably not, but it might make him feel better. Rein gave Aldo an endearing smile. He came up to the boy, reaching a hand out to ruffle the younger man's hair. Whisper didn't have to turn around to know the disgruntled snort came from Lazlo. That may have been one point he and the Appraiser could find common ground. Aldo and Rein lacked any sense of propriety.

It was also becoming obvious that the one eyed appraiser was not trained in this guild. That, or if he was then the guild had decidedly taken a different approach to rearing their young ones. Whisper watched as Aldo expounded on their mission's success, and just managed to restrain from reaching out and knocking the kid over the head. Even as the temptation crossed his mind, Rein shot a knowing, and warning, glance Whisper's way. The rogue's lips twitched, his eyes glinting with an untold smile. It was enough to cause Whisper to hold himself in check. He's barely engaged with the guild master since their first encounter. Yet, every time he shared the same room with the man he always came back to the same conclusion.

Reynaldus was out of his league.

That wasn't something that bothered Whisper normally. However, normally, he didn't run into rogues who could read the fine twitches in your muscles, read your stance, and anticipate your moves even as your body tightened to engage. Normally he didn't cross paths with such rogues, but that wasn't to say he hadn't met one before. He had known such a man once, a long time ago. He had learned the basics, but the art had always seemed out of his grasp. He knew a little, but he was no master. Rein was a different story. When in the presence of a master, it was like they could read your every thought. Thankfully, he knew it for the intense study it was, and not a trickery or magic as many would believe. That didn't make it any less disturbing when you could be read like an open book.

"Thank you, dear Al. Your story is, I must admit, almost unbelievable," Rein said as he nodded to Whisper. The half-elf reached under his tunic, pulling out a ruby pendant and tossing it upon the desk. Lazlo withdrew from his position in the shadows to exam the gem. The appraiser actually looked even more agitated as he nodded towards Rein.

"The Heart of Lady White." Rein sighed, touching a finger over the heart shaped ruby laced with gold. "Lord Byron had no intention of giving this up. I'm sure her ladyship will be quiet pleased that she will not need to explain to her husband what became of her Heart."

"The debt is paid." Whisper said, turning cold eyes upon the guild master. Rein gave a small smile, as he patted Aldo upon the shoulder and directed the young man towards the door. Aldo left, but not before giving Whisper two thumbs up as he dashed to the bar.

"You asked me what the cost was," Rein said, his finger glancing across the cool, red ruby, "and I told you. You agreed."

"Yes, I agreed, and you promised!" Whisper hissed, but he fought down a cough at the strain he was using to speak loudly.

"I know what I promised, and I will allow you to buy the girl and her father from me. Now, don't stain yourself," Rein said, taking slow steps up to Whisper. His hands were held out, displaying his lack of weapons. Whisper scoffed at the sight of the guild master approaching him like wild animal. Not because of the care of the approached, but at the notion that the master rogue would be any less dangerous simply because he did not hold a blade. Rein stopped before him, his hands slowly going to Whispers mask. When the half-elf's eyes flinched, he cursed himself inwardly for displaying anything to the guild master. Rein paused, his hands just raised in front of Whisper, but he did not touch the half-elf's garb.

"Lazlo," Rein said, keeping his eyes upon the golden haired half-elf before him. The Appraiser turned up from his inspection of the gem just as Rein dismissed him from the room.

"Wh- No!" The older rogue said, a hand settling upon the hilt of the blade that rested upon his hip. "I'm not leaving you with him."

"That wasn't a request," Rein said, a hint of ire lacing in his words at having to repeat himself. Lazlo turned a deathly glare upon Whisper before he scooped up the gem and left the room. Once the door closed, slammed, behind the Appraiser, Rein's features softened. He gingerly laid his hand upon the pin that held the scarf in place, removing it and allowing the fabric to fall away from Whisper.

The idea crossed the half-elf's mind to stop him, but what was the point? He had seen it, and what's more, the look on his face said he knew what it meant. "You never did answer my question." Rein said, reaching, pausing, then continuing upon their path until two long, pale fingers traced the feint gold tinged mark upon Whisper's cheek. His eyes fixated on the mark, before falling down to the rogue's throat, and the thick, long, angry scar that cross his trachea.

Whisper said nothing, and Rein sighed once, before releasing the caress. "Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn." The guild master chuckled, running his long fingers through his black hair as he grinned his steely eyes upon the other rogue. "I wouldn't have pictured you any other way. How else would you have survived?"

"I can't see why you'd have any such cause to 'picture' me." Whisper hissed, his tone dropping low to assuage the tenderness in his throat.

"What, are you daft?" Rein smiled, leaning against his desk as he gestured a hand out to Whisper to take a seat. Of course, he didn't accept. The defiance was simply on principle. "I've been obsessed with you." The guild master admitted, a half cocked grin pulling his lips as he turned his scared face down to an old slip of paper upon his desk. "Don't take that the wrong way of course."

"Is there a right way?" Whisper grumbled, crossing his arms.

"You're younger than I thought you would be." Rein admitted, nodding at the blond half-elf. "Well, you understand that it's always hard to pull truth from such tales. I can't wait for you to set the record straight."

"You have me," Whisper murmured, "that I share anything with you isn't required."

"'When the hundredth plus one is bled'," Rein said, his finger following the lines upon the parchment on his desk, "'and the last falls, drained, and dead, The Path between man and gods falls open again.'" Rein waited, his finger tapping the parchment rhythmically.

Tap, tap, tap.

"That's horse shit." Whisper spat, the familiar words breaking his silence and turning his blue gaze cold as night. "Vala was a fanatic, and an addict to the poppy."

Rein nodded, and his finger ceased tapping upon the table. Whisper's throat closed up once more, though this time not due to the scar that had held it. He tried, and failed to keep the tremor from forming in his spin, and racing down to his hand.

"Is it true? Did He do that?" Rein nodded to Whisper's cheek.

"He doesn't care about us." Whisper murmured, shaking his head. "You're romanticizing a massacre. A hundred, a thousand, it doesn't matter. There is no god that cares about us mortals. There are just demons and men." Whisper paused, shifting his gaze to look Rein in the eyes. "Sometimes they're one and the same."

"So it was more than the hundred." Rein said, picking up on Whisper's admission. The unflinching blue eyes that were far older then the young, marked face of the rogue before him silently confirmed the assertion. "You know, I think I wanted to believe this," Rein said, tapping the paper upon his desk, "over the other things, the stories. Poetry." Rein grimaced as he picked up the parchment and folded it in thought. He leaned over his desk, reaching the paper over to the candle that stood upon the desk. The parchment caught fire, and Whisper watched as it was dropped down upon the pipe tray on the desk's surface.

"I'm sure that wasn't the original," Whisper commented, glancing over the paper that curled and turned black, flaking apart upon the silver try. "You wouldn't think people would do that." Whisper humored softly, his eyes trapped upon the ash developing on the try. "Burning like paper. You wouldn't think it would be like that."

"Why did you kill the Knight-Commander?" Rein asked, breaking the spell the brunt prophecy of Vala had cast over Whisper. The half-elf blinked, focusing his gaze back on Rein as his lips strained into a hard line. Rein nodded, slowly reaching back over and pulling the scarf back over Whisper's mark and pinning fabric back into place. "Your lady is restless. You should put her at ease."

"The pendant was worth their release," Whisper murmured, but Rein shook his head.

"The pendant was your audition into the guild. It also helped to sate my curiosity." Rein smiled, small crow's feet wrinkling around his eyes. "Welcome to the Lama Nascosta, Whisper."

(zXz)

"Here ya go," Dante shoved several bones into Fenris' cage. Strolling around the perched wagon, the caravan's escort rider came up to Marian's cage. "Here, ya go," Dante held up a roasted rabbit's haunch. He held it out, about to drop it into her cage, but he pulled back, grinning as he licked his tongue over the rabbit's roasted flesh. Laughing, he dropped the leg into Marian's cage. "Eat up, little Miss," Dante chuckled. "Can't have you wasting away.

Marian nudged the bit of flesh out of bars of her cage, letting it fall to the ground whish only caused the rider to laugh more. "You really want to keep your strength up," Dante said, leaning against the magic warded bars of the cage. "Long road ahead. You don't want to get too weak," Dante licked his lips, blew her a kiss, and returned back to the campfire.

"They're so considerate," Marian humored as she heard the sounds of the bones from Fenris' cage falling upon the ground. A cheer from the camp, a laugh. The riders, nine in all now, were about the camp fire enjoying a break in the hard ride.

"I'm fairly certain this is a sign of our meals to come," Fenris muttered. "I know it is... unappetizing, but you should eat. The sooner your strength is returned, the sooner we can make an escape."

"I know you're right, but still. He licked it. I don't even want to think of where that mouth has been. It's just, ugh."

"Should he try anything, you must promise me you will run." Fenris said. Marian sat up at the agitation in his voice. She recognized that tone, and it both warmed and scared her at the same time. While she appreciated the protective difference he was displaying on her behalf, she was also aware of the unspoken harm he was inviting upon himself. She would run, but he would stay to ensure the escaped.

"I don't think he's foolish enough to let me out of my cage. Besides, if I were free, I wouldn't leave you. I told this before. I promised." Marian huffed, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I swore I would never leave you again." Even cast a bonding spell to ensure I could find you if needed, she silently added.

"Ha! What a pair we make." Fenris laughed, shaking his stark white hair. He chuckled at their shared stubbornness. "Both too damn foolish or stubborn for our own good."

"True." Marian laughed, shaking her head as she sighed. They'd both knew they'd never leave the other, which left them paralyzed until they both had a chance of escaping their captors.

"How are you feeling? Back at the inn, your magic failed." Fenris hesitated slightly as he recalled how she'd attempted to cast. The fear and concern he felt trickled through the bond, but she didn't need to feel it through their link to know it was there. It seeped through each word he spoke.

"I know, I'm sorry." Marian bowed her head. If she had not failed to cast, if she could have defended herself, they might have held their own against the rogues. Neither Marian or Fenris were strangers to combat, but she'd never felt so cut off from her magic. Not even when she used to suffer her magic waning under her own emotions. "I am drained yet. I think these wards make it harder to regenerate. Probably doesn't help that I keep poking at them, but I'm better then I was."

"They didn't take us to Antiva City, which would have offered a higher portion of the bounty then the other smaller towns." Fenris commented, "If there is not another outpost they intend to collect their bounty from, then we have time before they make it to the Imperium, since it appears they intend to keep the full portion by delivering us in person. Once your strength is returned, I will see to breaking us free."

"I'm sure they will have to camp several times before we reach the Imperium. I'd rather not pass the country's boarder." Marian said, unsure of what exactly awaited her back in Tevinter. Slavery as a renegade mage, or death as a traitor. Those were the options she knew of at present. She had no doubt there could be any newly designed fresh hell that awaited back in Tevinter. The ghosting voice in the back of her head quietly affirmed it.

"Was this the path you and you're family took when you first came to the Imperium?" Fenris asked.

"No, we passed from the South, through Kirkwall. This way they must either pass through the mountains or go around them. I'm unfamiliar with which path they may take, or the time of either."

(zXz)

"Our food not good enough for you?" Lazlo asked, shoving the bowl of steaming, rare roasted duck under Whisper's bowed head. The rogue's eye twitched, as he watched the Appraiser glower at him. Rein sitting across from Whisper raised a curious, long brow.

"~I tell you, he did!" Aldo shouted, chomping a bit of roasted meat in his mouth as he hammered a hand upon the table. The rest of the rogues sitting in their guild bar barked up a laugh, calls of nay ringing out among the men. "He did. Silent as shadow, nimble as a faye, he stole into the estate. Not a sound, nothing! He reached right into the Lord's room, plucking the ruby off the man, even as two lasses were draped about him in slumber."

"Bollocks!" One rogue snorted, pointed a finger at Aldo. "I'm not saying he didn't steal back the gem, but that's witless twaddle you're going on about what with the Knight-Commander. The alarm was raised. We all know that."

"Yeah, it was raised," Aldo nodded, crossing his arms, "after the deed was long done. They never had a witness to the crime. If they had a witness that saw a rogue, don't you think they'd already be down here?"

"Maybe they're getting ready." Another said, taking a swig of his drink.

"I hear it was a Crow anyways." The rogue who had been disputing with Aldo said. "Just bad luck we were there."

"Now, now, gentlemen, enough of this," A third man piped up, an elf who nodded toward Whisper who was seated at a table with Rein and Lazlo. "The fine rogue, I'm sure, has many a tales he could tell. We have no need to listen to your sorry, drunken spinning's Aldo."

Whisper frowned, though the expression was mostly hidden behind his mask as the throng of the guild cheered. Rein chuckled, pressing his fingers together under his chin as he looked at his jovial guild mates. It was a fine celebration, Whisper would amend, if he had held a desire to join the guild. Since that was not the case, his induction dinner celebration was more of a test of patients.

"Let the man speak for himself." The elf chuckled, turning a green eye toward Whisper. "You are from Tevinter, no? Surely you have a tale to tell. That place, there are many a story about that place. In fact," The elf reached into a pack, pulling out a very familiar mask that made Whisper's breath catch in his throat as it was tossed across the table. It landed on the far end, near where Lazlo, Rein, and Whisper sat. Lazlo scooped up the item, inspecting it instantly. "One of the ladies from the vendors along the docks said a ship landed carrying a small rogue wore that mask. I say small, but I'm sure you understand. Said there were allot of Tevinter mages with him as well."

"It's a Keeper's mask." Lazlo said, nodding at the oaken piece as he held it up. "It's a sect of Tevinter. Basically grave diggers. It holds some magic, though not much."

"A Keeper?" Rein asked, his eyes darting over Whisper, his curiosity peeking once more. "You are just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Not such a surprise, I would think," Whisper groused low in his throat. Rein chuckled, plucking the mask from Lazlo.

"You know they will not let you off until they have their story. To them, Tevinter is an exotic and mysterious place. Most of my men have never left Salle." Rein nodded his head at the gathered rogues who laughed, but had become subdued to hear their Master speak.

"Go on then," Aldo said, excitement nearly bursting from his pours as he beamed over at Whisper. "It's a tradition to share something, some tale, with the guild. Plus, we've never had any from that land join our ranks. Tell us a tale from Tevinter." The room drew quiet, as all leaned in, though Whisper assumed this was more because of Rein, then Aldo's needling. Their leader had perched his elbows upon the table, clasped his hands under his chin, and looked to Whisper expectantly.

"You want a tale?" Whisper murmured, the annoyed scratch of his voice carrying across in the cavern's ceiling and walls of the guild hall. Focusing on Rein, on the knowing smile of the guild master, Whisper grimaced because he knew what would follow.

"'Upon the pyre a culled hundred are fed, offered for verses hither known by the dead.~'" Rein prompted.

"Once, there was a cult." Whisper started, his words a soft echo around the stilled throng. "A blood cult. They worshiped the demons of old. Demons who answered only to the call of blood and death. They held their meetings in secret, below the city, inside the twisted and cursed labyrinth upon which it stood. For even in Tevinter, where blood magic is a way of life, they feared discovery.

Many came to them. All ilk, mages and non-mages alike. Their leader, a Necromancer, communed with a High Demon, who whispered secrets into his ear. Secrets of power, secrets no man was meant to know. Though all things come with a price.

The Necromancer brought his followers to him, and took of the blood they freely offered. At first this satiated their demon; their god. When it wasn't enough, eventually they stole into the night, into shadow, stealing those who lived above. They snatched up the forgotten of the city. Dragging them down into the belly of the labyrinth, they were drained for the High Demon.

One of his follower, a woman blessed by their god with Sight, laid out a prophecy. In truth, it was instructions from the demon, a promise, to the cult on how they should attain unlimited power.

The Necromancer began taking all the young born of his cult, and he kept them hidden from all others of the sect. They were his chosen ones. They were well cared for and well fed, though they never saw the sun, and were never fed anything but blood stewed meats. They had never seen the world above, so this was not odd to them for it was all they knew. Sometimes, a child would grow sick. When they fell ill, the Necromancer declared that the child had lost the favor of their god, and removed them from the other children to keep the others pure.

It is unknown how many there were at first. A thousand, maybe? It does not matter. Eventually, there were but a hundred left.

The city's counsel's eye had fallen on the cult, for they had stopped stealing beggars and whores. It was when they had taken the child of a Magister of the circle, that the Archon himself called upon the Battle Mages, the city's magic and metal enforcers. They were commanded into the belly of the labyrinth to save this child, and end the cult.

The demon, sensing the magical warriors' approach, whispered to the Necromancer.

The day had come, but the prophecy called for a hundred plus one. There were only a hundred chosen children at this time. They were short, for one had fallen ill the day before, taken away when he lost grace with their god.

The Necromancer took the girl child and brought her before the last hundred chosen. Setting her down at their table, he commanded the cook to bring forth the meal so that the new child could take part. The cook, confused, did not know what to do, for the food was not prepared, but the Necromancer released his anger upon the cook. The cook trembled, bringing forth a portion of the stew for the child. Raw, red meat in a bowl of blood was poured down the child's throat. She coughed, gagging on the blood and flesh.

'Another!' The Necromancer commanded, and the cook returned with another portion. Down it went again, once more the girl choked and gagged upon the red un-cooked meat and blood.

'Another! Another!' The Necromancer cried, tossing the bowl away. He went to the kitchen, pulling the iron pot that held stew. The children gasped in perfect horror as they watched the large pot slam down upon the table. As the Necromancer pulled the child up, she screamed as she saw the boy, the last fallen chosen, laying partially chopped up inside the pot filled with blood.

The Necromancer forced her head back, ordering the cook to help him as they ladled all the blood they could drain from the pot and poured it down the girl's screaming throat."

A crash of metal against stone broke the spell.

"Bloody fuck!" Aldo gasped as someone dropped their spoon somewhere in the room. Several voices hushed the young rogue who clenched a hand against his rapidly beating heart. Whisper looked to the young rouge, casting a glance about the room as he noticed all eyes were upon him. Some pale, some intrigued, but all were waiting with baited breath.

"Please," Rein softly entreated. Whisper pressed a hand against his throat. The effort of the tale was hard against the scarred flesh, but for the duration, not for the volume. Everyone had remained still as death as they listened to the story. Dipping his head, he held his hand to his throat as he continued.

"She was not as saturated with the blood, not like the children who had been unknowingly eating their friends. The chosen children were in shock, but they did not flee. They stared at their leader as he drenched the girl in blood. Pulling her from the table, the Necromancer ordering those who kept the children to bring them forth to the pit they used to burn their refuse. Mostly it was the bones of their victims that filled the pit to its brimming.

Upon the bones, papers and wood were laid. When it was filled, they set it ablaze with magic. The fire which fed on wood, paper, and bones grew into a great heat. The children were brought to the fire and told their time had come. They had been chosen. They walked, or were thrown, onto the fire. The Necromancer held the outsider's daughter as he stood near the blaze, watching the children scream as they burned into paper and ash. The captured outsider attacked the Necromancer, blinding him with a spell of white light. She was a fool, for she blinded herself as well. In her escape, in her fear, she tripped, stumbled and fell into the heat of the flames.

The necromancer cursed, commanding the follower who was about to toss in the last child to halt. He took the child from his follower, pulling a knife from his belt.

It was at this time that the Battle Mages arrived. Breaking down the door, they charged the room, slaughtering the cultists as they went. They did not slow, even as the Necromancer turned to them, the blade held upon the child's throat.

'When the hundredth plus one is bled, and the last falls, drained, and dead, The Path between man and gods falls open again!' The Necromancry cried out, quoting the prophecy of his Blood Seer. He sliced the blade across the child's neck, and held the body tightly against his own as he pressed his lips to the wound, intent on sucking out all the blood.

The Battle Mages cried out, a rogue, their hired hand, shot the Necromancer several times with bolts. The man gasped, releasing the child who collapsed to the ground. He laughed, as he fell back into the pyre of his own people's bodies, his voice calling for the demon to deliver on his promise."

"Well, what then?" Aldo asked when Whisper's pause in the story did not break. He looked to the small man, shaking his head.

"No one knows," He said, shrugging his shoulders. "There's some debate on how it ended. Some say that the Necromancer waits by the Demon's side in the Fade. Some say that he never fulfilled the prophecy, since the girl wasn't one of his cult's culled. Others say he succeeded. That he lives now, in shadow and fire, and takes up children in the dead of night to try and complete the bargain spun between him and the demon."

"Bullocks." One rogue said, though the tremor in his hand when he grabbed his drink caused the liquid to slosh over the mugs brim. It took some time for everyone to begin talking again, and once more Whisper was ignored as they attempted to push the fear of the story from their minds. The rogue looked down at the bowl of rabbit stew below him, pushing it away. Rein hid his soft smile behind hands which clasped over his lips, giving the rogue a nod as he excused himself for the evening.

Taking a deep breath when he was finally in the back of the cavern, Whisper was let into the room that held his companions by the one guard sitting on duty at the locked door. In the room, Bethany sat on the edge of her father's bed, her fingers brushing through his dark locks of hair.

Whisper undid his cloak, and sat upon the opposite wall of the room, pulling the long fabric of his cloak about himself as he braced against the wall and closed his eyes.

"It was so quiet, when you spoke. I swear, you could have heard a pin drop against the stone," Bethany said, brushing her fingers through her father's hair. "So very soft, some of it I couldn't hear. I had to lay upon the floor, my ear pressed to the crack of the door, just there," She pointed over to the door, her eyes coming back to rest of Whisper.

"I heard of a cult, from my master. A cult of blood, lead by a mage who embraced the idea that demons could grant unlimited power. It was before our time in the city. It was even before the great fire." Bethany said, shaking her head. "I heard, the last child, a boy, was killed that day. He died. One of the battle mage's tired to revive him, but they failed. They didn't fail though, did they?" She asked, focusing on the elf.

"I though, when I showed you my mark, you would understand," Whisper said, not opening his eyes. "What I am. Your father said you were trained in the Tower. The Blood Prophecies are taught to all, but I suppose they don't focus too much on the history of how they came about."

"What you are?" Bethany asked, a strained temper held in check.

"I am the last of the blood cult, the hundred plus one," Whisper murmured, his eyes never opening. "I died that day."

"No, that's not possible!" Bethany denied. "You must not have actually died then. No one can bring back the dead, not unless it is as a ghoul."

"I don't know what she casted on me, that mage," Whisper hissed, his voice cracking as he ripped his scarf away from his throat. Bethany's breath caught in her own as she stared at the large mark that marred the half-elf's jugular. Teeth marks were visibly upon the edges of the scar. He pointed to the scar, pressing his throat to handle the strain as he fought down a cough. "They said I was dead even when she started to work on me. Trying to close the wound, to bring me back so the foretold would not pass." Whisper wrapped the scarf back around his throat, touching a hand to his cheek. "I came back, though. They said this appeared," he gestured to the mark upon his face, "burning into my flesh as I took my first breath. I don't remember any of that. I only remember it hurt."

"You're not undead." Bethany shook her head, still denying the tale.

"No, I'm not undead." Whisper agreed. "I'm mortal. I age, grow ill, or become injured as anyone else. I wager I can die the same as any as well. Had it not been for fear of the prophecy, I would have seen it through long ago." Bethany drew a hand to her mouth in horror at the implication, but Whisper shook his head and raised a hand. "Understand, I was raised in that cult. I was one of the children. Everyone I knew, eventually, they were~ I'm in no danger of such thoughts at present. It was merely the notion that should I die, Vala's prophecy would come true, that stayed my hand. Never liked that witch."

"But, now? You don't believe in it?" Bethany asked, picking up on the mocking tone of the rogue.

"I believe that when looking for a source of great evil, men are more than capable of fulfilling all that is required."

TBC~

Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all of its character's and places are property of BioWare and the respective copyright holders. OC(s) Include Artamus Dolan, Vivianna, Ophelia, Redder, Whisper (other random people who appear in the background) and (sorta) Anitra.

Beta'ed by Dark ring of hope (Also check out their Beautiful Shadows fic of F-Warden/Zev story. Nice look into Antiva too.)

Author's Note: Couple things. So I didn't want to say cannibalism in the opening due to surprise factor, but if you know anything about Grimm stories, yeah. Much more Hawke/Fenris in the next (so far they're taking it over completely). Some may love/hate next chapter. I know I'm torn. Big thank you to everyone who reviewed, pm'ed, or commented. Love feedback.