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As they prepared to leave the square, Daniel cast a look at the city—the frightened people, the abandoned stage, the distant dust cloud of the templars' departure.
Daniel paused mid-step, his gaze drawn to the crumpled figure of Revered Mother Hevara. The woman was struggling to stand, supported by her two fellow clerics, her once-impeccable robes now stained with blood. Her nose was clearly broken, her lip split, but there was a fire in her eyes that hadn't been extinguished by the blow.
Against Cassandra's quiet protest, Daniel approached.
Hevara looked up as his shadow fell across her, her swollen lips twisting into something between a sneer and a grimace. "This incident must please the Inquisition very much, Seeker Cassandra."
Cassandra's jaw tightened. "We came here peacefully to speak with the Mothers. What happened to you was not our doing—it was yours."
Hevara barked a laugh that turned into a wince. "Don't pretend you had no part in forcing this confrontation. Don't lie to yourself." She dabbed at her bleeding lip with a trembling hand. "Now the Chantry has been betrayed again by the templars we thought wished to rejoin us—and before half the city, no less." Her voice cracked. "My fellow clerics are scattered, afraid, clinging to their convictions even as the world crumbles around them."
She turned her bloodshot eyes to Daniel, studying him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. "Just tell me one thing, elf. Are you the Maker's chosen?"
The question hung between them, heavier than any accusation. Daniel exhaled slowly. "The truth is... I don't even know."
To his surprise, Hevara's shoulders relaxed slightly. "That's... more comforting than you might imagine." Her gaze softened, just for a moment. "I can see your confusion. It's not the look of a liar."
Daniel knelt beside her, ignoring Varric's quiet warning. "How many templars have truly turned from the Chantry?"
Hevara's laugh was bitter. "Rebellions have broken out across Thedas. Some remain loyal, but not enough to call it an Order anymore." She winced as one of her fellow clerics adjusted the makeshift bandage pressed to her face. "The garrison here was our largest remaining force. Now they too have abandoned us. I suspect the rebel templars will flock to Lucius like moths to a flame." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I wonder... how far must faith fall before it shatters completely?"
Daniel shook his head. "It's not faith that's failing. The Divine's death was a shock to all of Thedas. The war between mages and templars has only made everything worse."
Hevara studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Perhaps. Or perhaps we've all been blind." She waved off her attendants, forcing herself to stand straighter despite her injuries.
Daniel studied Hevara's battered face, the way her hands trembled even as she tried to maintain her composure. "Do you know where the Lord Seeker is taking the templars?"
Hevara dabbed at her split lip again, wincing. "I don't know. I can't even begin to guess where that man's mind has gone now. He couldn't just abandon his role like this... unless he no longer believes in it at all."
Cassandra crossed her arms. "There must be a reason for him to act this way."
"Do you really think so?" Hevara's laugh was brittle. "Rebellion seems to be in fashion these days, doesn't it, Seeker? Is building the templars into a new power truly worse than declaring themselves rivals to the Chantry itself?"
"We don't see ourselves as rivals to the Chantry," Cassandra said sharply. "The Inquisition exists to restore order in a world gone mad. Everyone is lost after the Divine's death—"
"And yet you act while we mourn." Hevara's voice cracked. "What you say now means nothing unless the Inquisition bows to the Chantry's authority."
Daniel held up a hand before Cassandra could retort. "What did you hope would happen if the templars rejoined the Chantry?"
Hevara exhaled, her shoulders slumping slightly. "We wanted them to put aside their war against the mages. A truce, at least until the Breach was sealed. Then, perhaps, a return to negotiations—a new Conclave, once a new Divine was elected." She shook her head. "But clearly, Lucius has other plans. And now, with the knights-vigilant dead at the Conclave... there is nothing left for the Chantry to wield against him."
Cassandra's voice was quiet but firm. "Perhaps the Inquisition can do what the Chantry cannot."
Hevara hesitated, then let out a shuddering breath. "I want to believe that, Seeker. I truly do. But I fear all we can expect now is renewed bloodshed—templars hunting mages with even greater fervor, more chaos, more death."
Daniel met her gaze. "You don't believe I'm the Herald of Andraste. I accept that. But what do you believe about me?"
Hevara's eyes flickered with something—exhaustion, maybe, or reluctant curiosity. "Our Divine is dead. I have seen evidence for everything except what would bring me comfort."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"Then let me put it this way," Hevara said bitterly. "For you to be true, many things must be false. And if you are false... then many things have already failed." She looked past him, to the frightened citizens still lingering in the square. "There will be chaos ahead. No matter what the Inquisition intends."
Daniel clenched his jaw. "What will the Chantry do now? Will you keep denouncing us?"
Hevara laughed—a hollow, broken sound. "We already have. And what good has it done us? Now, the Chantry must focus on electing a new Divine—if we can even agree on one. Whatever comes next... will be left to her."
"How long will that take?"
"Too long." Hevara's voice was weary. "The best candidates to replace Justinia died at the Conclave. The remaining clerics are either too inexperienced, too divisive, or too afraid to take the Sunburst Throne."
Daniel glanced at the people watching them from a distance—their faces pale, their eyes wide with fear. "What do you think the people will do now? They believed the templars would protect them. Now they're gone."
"Fear. Despair." Hevara's voice dropped to a whisper. "They mourn the Divine. They look to the sky and wonder how long before the demons come for them all." She closed her eyes for a moment. "There must be a way through this. Is it you? The templars? The Maker's will? I don't know. We've abandoned our duties as servants of the faith. Now, we can only pay the price."
Daniel stepped closer, his voice low but urgent. "Then let the Chantry work with us. Help us close the Breach. If we succeed, the Chantry comes out stronger too."
Hevara's lips twisted. "If only it were that simple."
"What's stopping you from trying?"
"The Chantry isn't looking for a 'winning piece'. We're trying to do what's right"
Daniel's patience snapped. "So are we!" His voice rang across the square, drawing startled glances from the lingering crowd. "Instead of fighting each other, we could be working together to close the Breach! But when the Chantry denounces us as heretics, it makes it impossible to rally people to our cause!"
Hevara's eyes flashed. "We don't care what the Inquisition wants. The moment you formed your own faction, you became rivals to the Chantry." She turned away, her voice final. "Now leave me be, 'Herald of Andraste'. Your presence here brings no comfort to the Chantry—or this city."
Silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating. Cassandra's hand hovered near her sword, her expression torn between frustration and pity. Varric and Solas lingered a few steps back, watching the exchange with wary eyes.
Daniel exhaled sharply, forcing his fists to unclench. "Then we're done here."
He turned on his heel, the others falling into step behind him. The people of Val Royeaux still watched, their whispers following like shadows.
"The Chantry and the Inquisition at each other's throats..."
"The templars are gone—who will protect us now?"
"They say the Herald can seal the rifts, but the Chantry calls him a fraud..."
Cassandra kept her voice low as they walked. "That could have gone better."
Varric snorted. "Could've gone worse, too. At least no one started a riot."
Solas's gaze lingered on the retreating figure of Hevara, now being helped away by her fellow clerics. "She is afraid. As are they all. Fear makes even reasonable people cling to old divisions."
Daniel flexed his marked hand, the glow pulsing faintly beneath his skin. "Then we prove there's another way."
Cassandra nodded. "We return to Haven. Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana need to know what's happened here."
Varric cast a look at the city. "And then what? Chase after the templars? Hope some of them are still willing to listen?"
Daniel didn't answer immediately. His eyes lingered on the Breach—that terrible scar in the sky, that are growing day by day.
"We do what we must," he said at last.
The group had nearly reached Val Royeaux's gates when a voice called out from behind them—soft, measured, but carrying an undercurrent of steel.
"Can I have a moment of your time?"
They turned as one. Standing before them was an elven woman, her slight frame draped in Circle robes that had seen better days. Her face was lined with both wisdom and weariness, her eyes sharp despite the shadows beneath them.
Cassandra's hand flew to her sword hilt. "Grand Enchanter Fiona?"
Solas's brows lifted slightly. "The leader of the mage rebellion. Isn't it rather dangerous for you to be here alone?"
Fiona's lips quirked in something that wasn't quite a smile. "I heard about this gathering. And I wanted to see the so-called Herald of Andraste with my own eyes." Her gaze settled on Daniel, assessing. "Especially since he's an elf."
Daniel met her stare evenly, though his pulse quickened.
Fiona continued, her voice smooth as aged wine. "If the Herald and his Inquisition seek help to close the Breach, perhaps choosing your fellow mages would be the wiser option."
Daniel crossed his arms. "Aren't you supposed to have been at the Conclave? As the rebellion's leader?"
Cassandra nodded sharply. "Yes. If you were there, you would have died in the explosion. Yet here you stand."
Fiona's expression darkened. "Like Lord Seeker Lucius, I sent negotiators in my stead. In case it was a trap." A shadow passed over her face. "I won't pretend I'm not glad to be alive. I also lost many dear friends that day. And it disgusts me that the templars will escape accountability." She pinned Daniel with a look. "I'm hoping you won't let them."
Daniel's jaw tightened. "Don't drag us into your war."
Fiona held up a hand. "I wasn't trying to. Only stating facts—the templars are not the noble protectors they claim to be."
"You think they caused the explosion?" Cassandra demanded.
"Why wouldn't I?" Fiona countered. "Lucius didn't seem particularly broken up over his losses. If he truly cared about his people, would he have abandoned the Chantry so easily?" She gestured to the empty space where the templars had stood. "You heard him. Do you really think he wouldn't happily kill the Divine if it turned people against us?" Her lips thinned. "So yes. I believe he did it. More than I believe you did, at any rate, Herald."
Daniel exhaled sharply. "Even though I'm a mage, we have nothing in common. Your war has gotten countless innocent mages killed."
Fiona's eyes flashed. "Oh, we have far more in common than you think—certainly more than you share with those bastard templars."
Daniel replied. "I won't be persuaded to pick sides just because we're both mages, Grand Enchanter."
Fiona arched a brow. "I wasn't trying to."
Daniel then ask. "Then what do the mages want in exchange for helping the Inquisition?"
A slow smile curved Fiona's lips. "Oh, I haven't promised our help yet." She stepped closer, her voice dropping. "Consider this an invitation. Come to Redcliffe in the Hinterlands. Meet with us. We believe an alliance could benefit us both."
Before Daniel could respond, Fiona inclined her head. "Au revoir, my Lord Herald."
And with that, she turned and melted into the crowd, leaving them standing in stunned silence.
Varric whistled low. "Well. That was unexpected."
Cassandra's grip on her sword hadn't loosened. "She's bold, I'll give her that. Walking into Val Royeaux alone, after everything..."
Solas's gaze followed Fiona's retreating form. "Bold, yes. But not reckless. She wouldn't have approached us without a plan."
Daniel rubbed his temples. "So now we have two factions to deal with—templars who've abandoned the Chantry, and mages who want us to blame the Templars for the Conclave."
Varric chuckled darkly. "And both think we're can be either solution or be their problems. Lucky us."
Cassandra exhaled sharply. "We need to return to Haven. Now. The others need to know about this."
Then suddenly there's a thwip of an arrow embedding itself into the cobblestones near the Central Rotunda made Cassandra jerk back, her sword halfway out of its sheath before the shaft had even stopped quivering. Daniel's heart leapt into his throat, his fingers instinctively curling around the hilt of his staff. Varric, ever the pragmatist, merely blinked.
"Well," he said dryly, "that's one way to get someone's attention."
The arrow was sleek, fletched with dark feathers, and buried deep enough in the ground to suggest it had been fired with precision—not to kill, but to land exactly where it had. Tied to it was a scrap of parchment, fluttering slightly in the breeze. Daniel stepped forward, yanking the arrow free before unfurling the note.
The handwriting was bold, almost playful, with looping letters and borders decorated with tiny, whimsical doodles—daggers, coins, and what might have been a poorly drawn nug.
"Favors for Favors for Friends," it began.
Daniel read aloud:
"People say you're special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone.
There's a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red things in the market, the docks, and 'round the cafe, and maybe you'll meet him first. Bring swords.
Friends of Red Jenny."
Beneath the message was a crude but serviceable sketch of the marketplace, with three locations marked in smudged red ink.
Cassandra's frown deepened. "Red Jenny? The Friends of Red Jenny are little more than street urchins and thieves."
"Thieves who just shot an arrow at us without anyone noticing," Solas mused, scanning the rooftops. "That suggests a certain level of skill."
Varric chuckled. "Or a very distracted city guard."
Daniel turned the note over in his hands. "Do we trust this?"
Varric shrugged. "If they wanted us dead, they wouldn't have bothered with a note. They'd have just put the arrow in one of our backs."
Cassandra exhaled sharply. "Or it's a trap."
"Could be," Varric admitted. "But if someone in Val Royeaux is planning to ambush us, I'd rather know about it before they get the jump on us."
Daniel nodded. "Then we check the docks first."
The docks of Val Royeaux were a cacophony of sailors shouting, crates being hauled, and the ever-present scent of salt and fish. The note had mentioned searching for "red things," so they kept their eyes peeled—until Varric nudged Daniel and pointed at a loose board near a stack of cargo.
Tucked beneath it was a red handkerchief, slightly damp from the sea air. Inside was a rusted iron key and another scrap of parchment, the handwriting rushed and uneven:
"Key lifted from drunk swearing about Herald. Don't know what door. I'm out, my debt is paid."
Cassandra picked up the key, turning it over in her palm. "Someone was talking about you. Loudly enough to be noticed."
"Lovely," Daniel muttered. "Any idea what this opens?"
"Not a clue," Varric said. "But I'd bet good money the next note will tell us."
The café was bustling with nobles sipping wine and discussing the day's events—most notably, the Herald's dramatic confrontation with the templars. Daniel kept his hood up, avoiding eye contact as they searched for the next clue.
It was Solas who found it, tucked beneath a loose tile near the back entrance. This note was written on the back of a stable report, the ink smudged but legible, marked with a bold red X:
"Thank you Friends for helping good lady Keris. Saw those who asked about Herald enter third passage. Could not stay to see them exit."
Cassandra's grip on her sword tightened. "So someone *s watching us."
"And they've been asking around," Varric added. "Which means they're either very bad at being subtle or very confident."
Daniel's skin prickled. "Let's find that passage."
The "third passage" turned out to be a narrow alleyway between two buildings, partially obscured by stacked crates. At the end was a door—old, unmarked, and locked.
Daniel pulled out the key.
It fit.
The final clue was the strangest yet. After climbing a set of rickety stairs to the upper market level, they found a scrap of parchment—torn from what looked like an official document—stuffed into a crevice in the wall, held in place by a bright red sock.
Daniel unfolded it. The top half was a fragment of some bureaucratic decree:
"...and we are to obey well. We meet at three bells to discuss how best to discuss the new way."
Beneath it, in a messy, misspelled scrawl:
"Herald go at time. Praise Adrast."
Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "Adrast? That's not a name I recognize."
"Could be code," Varric suggested. "Or just someone who can't spell 'Andraste.'"
Daniel exhaled. "So. We have a time, a key, and a location." He glanced at the others. "Do we walk into this?"
Solas tilted his head. "If this is an ambush, they've gone to considerable effort to make it seem like a puzzle. Most assassins prefer direct methods."
Varric grinned. "And if it's not an ambush, we might just make some interesting friends."
Cassandra's jaw clenched, but after a moment, she gave a sharp nod. "Very well. But we go in prepared."
Daniel's fingers tightened around the rusted key, the metal biting into his palm. The others were already moving toward the door, weapons at the ready—Cassandra with her sword drawn, Varric checking Bianca's bolts, Solas with that infuriatingly calm expression, as if this were just another academic exercise.
He exhaled sharply. "Stop."
They turned. Cassandra's brow furrowed. "What is it?"
"We're not going in."
Varric blinked. "Uh, Herald? That's usually the part where we do go in. Preferably before the ambush gets bored and comes out to stab us in the open."
Daniel shook his head. "Think about it. We've got a key, a time, and a location—all handed to us by someone we don't know. Red Jenny or not, this reeks of a setup."
Solas tilted his head. "You believe it's a trap after all?"
"I believe we don't have enough information," Daniel countered. "And right now, we've got bigger problems. The templars have abandoned the Chantry. Fiona's invited us to Redcliffe. And now some noble's apparently hired thugs to kill us." He rubbed his temples. "We need to report back to Haven. Josephine needs to know about the political fallout, Leliana can have her agents scout this location, and Cullen's soldiers have been waiting outside the city for hours."
Cassandra hesitated, then grudgingly sheathed her sword. "You're right. Charging in blindly serves no purpose."
Varric sighed dramatically. "And here I was hoping for a dramatic showdown in a shadowy hideout."
"Don't worry," Daniel muttered, pocketing the key. "If this 'baddie' is real, he'll still be there tomorrow. And next time, we'll be the ones setting the trap."
The journey out of Val Royeaux was tense. Every shadow felt like it could hide an assassin, every passing noble's glance a potential threat. The soldiers stationed outside the city gates—Inquisition recruits in freshly minted armor—snapped to attention as they approached. Their lieutenant, a grizzled Fereldan with a scar across his nose, saluted.
"Herald. Any trouble in the city?"
Daniel shook his head. "Not the kind swords can solve. We're heading back to Haven—now."
The lieutenant didn't ask questions. Within minutes, the party was mounted, riding hard for the Frostback Mountains. The wind bit at their faces, the chill a stark contrast to Val Royeaux's perfumed air.
Varric rode up beside Daniel. "So. Templars gone rogue, mages playing politics, and now some noble wants you dead. You've got a real talent for making friends, Herald."
Daniel shot him a dry look. "I'm thrilled you find this amusing."
"Oh, come on. This is the kind of stuff that sells books! 'The Herald of Andraste and the Case of the Missing Templars.'"
Cassandra groaned. "Do not encourage him."
Solas, always the observer, said nothing, but his eyes never stopped scanning the horizon.
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Name : Daniel Carter
Race: Elf
Level 5 : 2475/2500 EXP
Professions: Mage
Gold Coins: 2289 coins
Weapon: Staff of the Dragon
Armor: Light Armor of the Dragon and Templar Scribe Scowl
Accessories: Token of the Packmaster and Belt of Health
Inventory: Acolyte Ice Staff, Morning Star, Stiletto, Hunting Longbow, Fire Resistance Cowl, Mercenary Coat, Acolyte Fire Staff, Disciple Lighting Staff, Apprentice Armor, Qunari Battleaxe, Raider Hatchet, 2 Disciple Fire Staff, Apprentice Mail, Qunari Buckler, Medium Adventure Armor, Mindleech Staff, Soldier's Nemesis, 2 Recruit's Dirk, Reinforced Dagger, Sledgehammer, Disciple Lighting Staff, Apprentice Armor, Exacting Longbow, Barbarian Lord Maul, Lifeward Amulet, and Grenade Belt
Crafting Materials: 37 Elfroot, 62 Iron, 2 Blue Vitriol, 1 Dawn Lotus, 11 Silk, 17 Lambswool, 3 Royal Elfroot, 10 Ram Leather, 23 Drakestone, 4 Fire Essence, 3 Blue Vitriol, 11 Canine Leather, 4 Plaidewaive, 2 Frost Essence, 1 Fade-Touched Iron, 4 Blood Lotus, 5 Embrium, 10 Spindleweed, 16 Onyx, 3 Ironbarks, 2 Crystal Grace, and 1 Serpenstone
Upgrades: Sigil of the Gamordan Stromrider and Sigil of Deathroot
Valuables: 2 Shadow Essence, 1 Ram Horn, 1 Dreamer Rag, 5 Weapon Fragment, 2 Bowstring, 8 Mysterious Shards, Nevarra Skull, 1 Wisp Essence, and 1 Wolf Fangs
Potions: Lesser Health Potions x8, Lesser Regeneration Potions x5, and x5 Lyrium Potion
Skills: Chain Lighting, Flashfire, Barrier, Winter's Grasp, and Energy Barrage
Armor Schematics: Shokra-taar Schematic, Antaam-saar Schematic, Avvar Armor Schematics Acquired, Stone-Bear Armor Schematics, Vanguard Coat Schematic, Sturdy Defender Coat Schematic, and Scout Mail Arms Schematic
Weapon Schematics: Curved Dagger Schematic and Hunting Bow Schematic
Potion Recipe: Lesser Regeneration Potion recipe and Lyrium Potion Recipe
Bottles of Thedas: Vint-9 Rowan's Rose and Carnal, 8:69 Blessed