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Amaranthine is a pit of unrest, ruled by the ungentle Arl Howe. It is here that you are called to investigate the death of a merchant's son. Luciele Montreve welcomes you to her modest home, a well appointed, if small house in the nicer part of town. The walls are hung with religious decor, careful images of Holy Andraste and artistic renderings of her favorite canticles. The parlor is warmly lit, with several chairs arranged specifically for this visit. A large, dark furred mabari lies on a rug by the fire, ignoring the lot of you. "Please sit," she says, eyeing the group; her accent is faint but clearly Antivan.
"As you know from my notice, I have lost my son, Stefanos. I've always expected to lose him but not like this." Luciele stops for a moment, turning to stare into the fire. When she looks at you again, her face is a mask of stern composure. "Let me be clea
Small Victories, Ch 1Orsino stared vacantly at the tome in front of him, another treatise on Spirit magic. It was impossible to focus on anything right now, he thought. The old mage stood and stretched, wondering how much longer it would take the Knight-Commander to summon him. He'd been waiting on her all morning, but it was nearly noon and there'd been no word from Meredith. It was disturbing.
The elf knew one of his apprentices was taken by the templars late last night, but no one seemed to know why. She was a promising young mage, an avid Andrastian . . . there was nothing about her that gave any clue as to why she'd been taken to the dungeons beneath the Gallows. He thought again of going to Meredith's office and asking, but that put him at an immediate disadvantage. She would see his concern and meet out each bit of information as a favor, expecting him to repay her with a thousand tiny betrayals.
No, Orsino t
Best Served Cold
Four hunters and the Keeper set out at dawn to seek the traitor's seed, child of the man that murdered the Keeper that came before. They left in the knowledge they might never return, but justice is worth any price. It was the Keeper's last request, that the blood of his killer be eradicated from Thedas, his name forgotten, his line reduced to dust for his crime. Tracking the boy had taken time, and now he was a man. It was just as well - taking vengeance on a child was a hollow thing. This way he could know the full shame of his father's crime and die with that laid on his soul. For vengeance!
Meanwhile . . .
Ezra Oro is quite possibly the most unpleasant dwarf you've ever met. Short, bearded, and as wide as he is tall, he manages to out voice, out disgust, and out-outrage even the most desperate mercenary. You've been on the road with him for nearly a week, walking beside his wagons
The Denerim alienage is in chaos when you arrive. People are milling around angrily, arguments breaking out between neighbors as suspicion eats away at the bonds of friendship and family. Elder Haran waits for you at the door of the home that suffered most recently. As you walk past, many of the elves fall silent, glaring at you. Anything might set them off, now. It's hard to understand how a few missing trinkets could result in so much anger, but there it is.
The Elder beckons you over, ushering you inside the hovel quickly. "It's been like this for several days. At first people could laugh off the stolen items, assuming they would show up at Alarith's shop sooner or later. But nothing has shown back up and no one has come forward. To make matters worse, some of what's been taken is irreplaceable. Pieces of our Dalish history, gifts from loved ones gone . . . I don't want to b
Rescuing GraceThe cries of gulls echo from the rocks in counterpoint to the steady drone of crashing waves. The air is full of the smells of fish and brine, and old seaweed. The cove is only a mile from the mouth of the Drakon, but it might as well be a different world from the busy port.
The jagged rock cliffs are dotted with caves and it is here that your attention is drawn. At the mouth of one cave, a child's doll sits at an odd angle, forgotten. Somewhere in this cavern, a little girl is lost and alone. It is up to you to find her and bring her back before beasts or bad luck end her life.
Three adventurers stand ready, the warrior Darn of Kirkwall, Marilyn of Denerim, and her beloved Ser Kyle. They entered the cave warily, with Darn in the lead. "Do you hear something?" Mari asked quietly, looking around. The two warriors shook their heads, focused on the small pool of light shed by their torches. Mari
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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