#Under the Divine the Inquisition could continue standing as a symbol of peace

[halla-hunts-the-wolf]

WAIT, I found an old fic last night about this exact decision, so I'll let my Lavellan speak for himself:

Remorse thickened the Inquisitor’s words. "I don't know what to do," he admits. “The world needs the Inquisition, but no one will see it that way, not when the biggest threat we’ve ever faced may have come from our ranks."

Dorian frowned, glancing down at the elf nestled against his side. His partner looked so much older amidst his vulnerability, incapable of continuing on his current path.  Dorian shushed him gently, to no avail. "We can worry about this once you've rested."

"Look at me, Dorian. I can't fight like this."  There were many things on the Inquisitor’s to-do list now: rehabilitation, learning to live without an entire keep around him, and coming to terms with the fact that he may never wield a sword and shield like before the Dread Wolf had left him disarmed. "I can't lead like this."

"Yes, you can, you'll just need time."

"We don't have time. They need something better."

"Something better than you, Amatus? I don't think that's possible." Dorian attempted flattery, his lips a faint kiss against the elf’s hairline. 

"I will only hold them back now," Mahvir murmured, slowly coming to terms with the cards he's been dealt. "I have to let them go."

Dorian sighed, understanding the heavy toll the decision would take on his already forlorn lover. "What will be your final decree as Inquisitor?" 

"The Templars and Seekers are both amid reformation. Leliana needs something to keep her strong and in power. She's controversial, and I knew she would be when I backed her as Divine.  I hope that giving her the Inquisition will provide a unified front under her banner and provide the stability her image lacks.”

"She'll be indebted to you."

"I'm not doing it for her debt."

"Certainly not. You are the most selfless person I know."

He struggles not to give in to his regrets about everything he did as an Inquisitor and everything he couldn't do. Skyhold had become his home after losing his Clan, and the Inquisition had become his life's purpose. Now that he would walk away so that it could continue to prosper, he felt more than lost. "I'm not ready to say goodbye."

"It will be the hardest part." Dorian agreed as his fingers brushed through the other man’s tangled locks. "But you're the only one who can make this decision."

"I hope it's the right one."

I’m wondering how disassembling the inquisition will affect The Veilguard. I’m not sure which to choose for my first/canon playthrough. Which option are you guys going to choose and why?

[valerie-royeaux]

A Thorn at His Side

A one shot for @crashed-down-in-a-hurricane, as part of our art trade. I loved writing this! The next one will be for her Frey Mahariel.

Word Count: 2,397 Read on AO3, or continue below.

Cassandra did not budge as the stout shelf rattled on its feet when Cullen’s gauntleted fist smashed against its side. “He is a heathen!” the former templar bellowed, assisted by the myriad of droplets that dotted the woman’s face. She did not bother to clean herself. Her answer was contained, silence during the storm, marred only by her traditional stern Nevarran accent. “He bears the Mark. We have no choice.”

“This is not what I signed up for, Pentaghast. Maker’s breath, in one instant we are following the Divine’s orders, and I am working with her Hands – I can deal with it. I left the Templars, you left the Seekers, we are going to reform them. We are going to go after our lost sheep, slay the wolves among them.” For a moment, it seemed Cullen had been able to regain control of himself, as he leaned against the shelf he had just assaulted, and pinched the bridge of his nose. But soon his voice boiled up and his temper flared up again. “Bring the goddam Chantry back on its feet! But now,” and there he was, barging once more, increasingly closer to Cassandra’s unmoving face. “We are following the lead of a tree-hugging pagan!” The Commander could not believe as not even Cassandra’s brows moved. His eyes widened in desperation, he brought both his hands to his head and, in a swift movement, turned and kicked a chair against the walls of the improvised war room in Haven’s Chantry. He turned again to Cassandra as quickly as he had kicked the chair and pointed at his own face with all his ten fingers, his spit finally hitting the woman straight in the eye and forcing her to wipe it clean. “He has a demon symbol tattooed on his face! All over his face! I tried to turn a blind eye, ignore him like we have ignored the bald mage elf, but he is making the Inquisition be a Dalish thing! He goes, leads our scouts, speaks in our name, and… Pentaghast! I saw children putting that demon symbol on their faces with mud! We cannot have that face be the face of the Inquisition! The Most Holy…”

Cassandra’s disgusted noise finally put a stop to Cullen’s shouts. She pierced him with dark eyes and temperance, and the storming man halted, moved his chin to speak, but didn’t. He took a step back, let his shoulders fall, and looked away. “You will watch as you address the most Holy, Commander. You will respect her memory. And you will understand that it is not our place to question the Herald of Andraste.”

Cullen had both his hands on his hips, and although he avoided Cassandra’s gaze, he would not accept it. “He is not the Herald of Andraste. He. is. Not!”

“I am the Herald of your Andraste”, Adrius Lavellan said, opening the door with the calm that Cullen lacked, and carrying a smirk full of a mirth stranger to both humans. “And her message is: Commander Cullen, there is a stick shoved deep up your ass. Remove it, and use it to help Adrius close the rifts. You know, the thing that must be done? And please, wash it. The demons don’t deserve to suffer the stench of your… deep recesses.”

Cassandra quickly interposed herself between Adrius and the poucing man. Adrius laughed his nervousness in a careless headshake, and reminded himself, silently, not to poke a lion with such a short stick. Much shorter than the one the Commander had up his ass, his mind quickly reminded him, which caused a snigger than angered Cullen even more. “You see him mock our Lady like this and won’t do anything?” Cullen pushed through in between his teeth. His anger, fanned by Adrius jokes, now focused also on Cassandra, who braved it by standing strong. Adrius, on the other hand, preferred to let the current carry him, with idle steps, to the safer end of the room on the other side of the war table. The young elf took a deep breath and ran a hand through his short, straight hair.

“Seriously, man. Chill. I am not the Herald of Andraste, and I am elvhen. An elvhen will close the rifts. One of the people will save the world. Again. From the mess you...” and by you, his hands moved in wide arcs all around him, “...you… You all… You know? Created. If you don’t want to help, Cullen, we have a saying: the door to the street is on the house.” A brief moment of silence ensued as both Cassandra and Cullen blinked at Adrius, who chuckled, and shrugged. “Just kidding. We don’t have streets. Or doors. Or houses. Anyway, if you won’t help, Cullen, leave.” “No.” Cassandra intervened again, stern and contained, before the thunder could leave Cullen’s lungs. “The Commander won’t leave. He is part of the Inquisition, as much as you are, Herald.” “I thought you were at my side, Seeker. You know… He is pretty mean.”

“I am not on anybody’s side. My role is to establish the Inquisition. And Cullen is part of it.” She took a deep breath in, and approached Adrius with a somber countenance that had him on edge. He couldn’t remember seeing Cassandra this way, so judgemental. With the look determined people have when a bad idea grows roots on their minds. Her anger at the prison, back at the Conclave, hadn’t seemed so threatening. “It is as hard for me as it is for our Commander to accept you as part of the Inquisition, Lavellan. You must understand. You pray to wrong gods. And yet, our Prophet sent you to us. And I will always accept a humility lesson, gladly.”

Adrius remained in silence, penned between the peaceful menacing woman and the walls, and feeling like he would have more chances of bursting through the latter. His nervousness showed clearly, and it fed Cullen’s smirk.

“I am simply better at shouting to the inside before I do it the outside. It is a lesson I learned a long time ago. And that most people still need to learn. But you are a pagan with a mandate to save the faithful. And while I accept that with an obedient heart… My mind wonders. Wonders if this is not… maybe… Circumstance? Magic has scarred the world many a time. And in most of them, it did not involve the Maker, or our Lady.”

Cullen took a deep triumphal breath and crossed his arms. There was a reason he admired this woman so much, and it showed now. He wondered why the Inquisition needed a different leader, when it was clear who Andraste had actually sent to lead them. Adrius eyes widened, and he finally leaned against the wall. Damn thing wouldn’t move! “So I think there is a way to know if Andraste sent you.”

“Elgar’nan, I’m so screwed.”

“There is no way in which you would survive combat with Cullen. If you are the Herald of Andraste - somehow you will. If you are not…”

“Then I die?!”

“I will break the combat before that. The rules will be…”

Adrius squealed as Cassandra was shoved aside and Cullen smashed the lithe elf against the wall with a steel pauldron blow to a soft, exposed sternum. What little air was left on his lungs was expelled when Cullen rammed him flat on his back on top of the war table, and all those little pieces certainly punctured him in a few places. Cassandra tried to yell to Cullen that it was not fair, that Adrius was wearing just pants, a shirt and a fur cloak, while Cullen was in full armor. All the former Templar did to appease the objections of the other human was to unbuckle his sword belt before calmly putting a knee on each side of a stunned Adrius and starting laying punch after punch on the elf’s face. It didn’t take many hits of the steeled massive hands to burst the skin open. The blood splattered over the Fereldan map as if marking another Dalish hero’s path.

But the map crumbled when Adrius slid under Cullen’s leg leaving only his cloak to received the last few blows. While the elf got back to his trembling feet, and without being sure of he was actually doing, he slammed his palms on Cullen’s ears, flat and open, one on each side, at the same time. Classic anti-shem blow, you can’t do that to elves! Adrius slipped and fell of the table, and Cullen did the same, thrown off-balance with ringing ears which made the room swirl.

Adrius was quick on his feet first, and sprung to kick Cullen square in the gut. But he hit chainmail instead, and saw himself spin on his own axis, propelled by the twist Cullen gave on his aching foot. Cullen was still disoriented, which didn’t prevent him from trying and climbing over Adrius. The elf did not forgive: blow after blow landed on the Commander’s face, eachs stronger than the previous, but to no avail. Other than making Cullen’s nose and lips bleed, the towering human kept advancing, slithering over Adrius body, and weathering the punches with gritted teeth and a devious smile. Mythal’enaste, Cullen was actually enjoying it. The fucking bastard was actually enjoying it! Even though right now, with the anger, Adrius was putting everything he had in his punches, swinging with all his strength, and Cullen’s chin wouldn’t break. The Commander was clearly stunned, and could barely keep himself straight, but he didn’t even try to block Adrius’ blows. The elf decided is was time to try and overturn things, when the finally felt Cullen’s hand on his long ears.

And then he felt the blood spreading under his scalp, soaking his thin hair, and a high pitched noise muffle something Leliana was saying, blocked by Cassandra, who did not allow the Left Hand to interfere. He felt the grip on his ears again, and once more the sharp thud made everything spin silently.

Adrius was trying understand the blurred waves in front of him, and make sense of where he was, and the names of the colors. That man, Frey, he had met once. He was the Hero of Ferelden. How did he do so people wouldn’t say he was the Hero of Andraste? Andraste must have been a bad woman. Why sticking her nose where she didn’t belong? Maybe if Adrius had told people he was a Grey Warden? Then we would be able to… To wield the sword of mercy. Cassandra would be shoved to one side, Leliana to the other, and…

Adrius let out a shout of rage and rolled to the side before Cullen’s sword could pierce his neck. And with a roar he stretched his left hand, grabbed Cullen’s face, and felt his soul run like uphill water to the small breach in his palm. The mark flared and crackled, and Cullen cried in agony, bending backwards, arching as a bug on fire, as Adrius got to his knees, and then up, and then bent over Cullen, pressing the human’s face against the rock floor.

On his peripheral vision, Cassandra moved. Adrius turned to her, his hand shooting green bolts randomly across the room, and with the right hand, he grabbed the sword Cullen had dropped. “Wait!” Adrius shouted, the anger still rumbling on the back of his throat. Cassandra stopped, and unsheathed her own sword. Her narrowed dark eyes scrutinized the elf deeply, and they softened when she saw a smile on Adrius thin lips. At his feet, Cullen was still arching his back in pain, gritting his teeth as he tried to recompose himself. And behind Adrius, Leliana stopped when he touched the tip of the sword in Cullen’s head. Blood dripped from his nose, his brow, and the wound behind his head. It competed with the fading green that shone from Adriu’s left hand.

“Don’t you try --” Leliana started. But she stopped talking when Adrius tipped his head a bit to the side. And spoke louder.

“Shsshhh! Let me speak!

Cassandra and Leliana were ready to try and do something. Cullen was back in control of himself, and surprisingly, not a single mark dotted his face other than the blows of Adrius’ fists had left there. The Commander tried to move, but found the tip of his own sword pressed against his neck.”

“The gods have spoken!” Adrius started, looking around to the other humans. “I have bested you in combat, Curly of Honnleath”.

“You used magic!” Cullen growled, at which Cassandra was quick: “And you had armor, and you reached for your sword, Commander”.

Adrius pointed the index finger of his now calm left hand at Cassandra, and smiled. Elgar’nan, he was in pain. His head throbbed, and he could feel his left cheekbone swell to the point he could almost not see through that eye. But he was almost done. At least all his teeth were still in place, and he was able to talk.

Adrius touched Cullen’s right shoulder with the sword. And then the left one. It looked like the human raised a questioning brow. The sword then touched Cullen’s forehead. “I know pronounce you, knight of the elf. You may kiss the bride!”

Leliana chuckled instantly and broke into heartly laughter. Cassandra suppressed hers, and Cullen stood wide-eyed on the floor, as much as he could with the beating his face had taken, and watched aghast as Adrius limped away from the war room. His adam’s apple moved up and down intensely, working as hard as it could to swallow the broken pride.

Cassandra touched Adrius’ shoulder as he passed by her “Go see Minaeve. She that she can find you some healing.”

“I do need some healing. The Commander gave me a hell of a beating. Maybe we could go see her together, Cullen?”

The man still stood flabbergasted for some seconds, but finally got up, rejecting the help Leliana offered. “Maker’s breath. Let’s go, my lord.”

Adrius shook his head at that, and removed a war table piece that stuck on his side.

[kilieit]

lore book transcription: dark knight

for a poster on the RPC

Specialised Disciplines - Soul Crystals [ref: 217]

Ever since the height of the Allagan Empire in the Third Astral Era, the practice of using crystals to store and impart knowledge has been prevalent in Eorzea. An adornment known as a “soul crystal” is worn close to the skin, where the uncommonly clear facets of the carefully cut shard catch and transcribe the ebb and flow of a soul’s aetherial composition - effectively capturing an imperfect echo of the wearer’s memories. This arcane tool engraved with the myriad deeds of heroes from eras past was employed by many of the disciples of yesteryear to preserve and pass on the skills of successive generations of masters.

The wisdom contained in a soul crystal, however, is not so easily drawn forth - an untrained neophyte cannot simply pick up one of these gems and expect his mind to be flooded with the knowledge of advanced spellcraft or combat techniques. Without first attaining sufficient proficiency and tempering one’s soul to mirror the maturity of the crystal’s contributors, a prospective student will be denied even the slightest glimpse of enlightenment. Thus, as is the case with the more contemporary disciplines, the key to mastering the secrets of a soul crystal lies in diligent study and training.

Specialised Disciplines - Crystals [ref: 217]

Job: Dark Knight Region: Ishgard Era: Year 968, Sixth Astral Era

Dark Knight [ref: 238]

The pious Ishgardian clergy guide the flock, and the devout knights protect the weak. Yet even the holiest of men succumb to the darkest of temptations. None dare to administer justice to these sacrosanct elite residing outside the reach of the law. Who, then, defends the feeble from the transgressions of those meant to guide and protect them? A valiant few take up arms to defend the downtrodden, and not even the holy priests and knights can escape their judgement. Pariahs in their own land, they are known by many as “dark knights”.

Dark Knight - History [ref: 238]

In the year 960 of the Sixth Astral Era, a commoner by the name of Tryphaniel the Unshod was granted knighthood for acts of valour upon the battlefield. A young man with an unwavering sense of justice, Tyrphaniel’s desire to champion the cause of the lowborn was undiluted by his entrance into the privileged world of the nobility. It was this same moral fortitude that bid him trail after clergyman after witnessing the robed figure drag a squirming child from the alleys of the Brume. The knight’s suspicions were confirmed when he entered the secluded domicile of the priest only to find him committing unspeakable acts upon th ebody of the abducted waif. Noticing his unexpected visitor, the clergyman attempted to explain away his vile actions as a form of “exorcism”, but the incensed Tryphaniel drew his sword without hesitation, and answered the babbled excuses with a single, fatal blow.

Rather than praise his heroism, however, the knight’s peers condemned him for slaying a holy member of the church. He was forced to defend his life in a trial by combat, but though he survived, it was decreed that he would be stripped of his knighthood. Unflinching in the face of accusations that he had fallen to darkness, Tryphaniel roared that he would gladly surrender a title that required him to turn a blind eye to a child’s suffering. He cast aside his crested shield - the symbol of his station - and continued his crusade for the commonfolk with no thought or fear for what others held taboo. His righteous deeds inspired some courageous few to embrace the path of the forbidden, and thus the legacy of the dark knight was born.

Dark Knight - Equipment [ref: 238]

Chaos Armour

Passed down through generations of dark knights, this antique set of armour was forged of Ishgardian steel and appears sheathed in a faint nimbus of shadow. While the plates may once have shone like well-polished iron, years of blood spatter have dulled the metal’s natural gleam.

Deathbringer

Some two centuries ago, a troubled smith crafted this weapon as the price for a dark knight to punish a terrible injustice. The knight accepted the payment, and found a fitting name for the greatsword after baptising its blade in the lifeblood of the guilty.

Kumokirimaru

This great katana was forged by a Doman artisan at the behest of Rowena’s House of Splendors. Said to resemble a weapon described in Far Eastern legend - the divine sword that cut down the monstrous spider-spirit “tsuchigumo” - the blade becomes thicker as it nears the tip, giving the weapon a top-heavy balance. In the hands of a master swordsman, however, this awkward weight can be exploited to generate swings powerful enough to cleave through a giant’s thigh. According to the weaponsmith Seika, certain improvements could further enhance the quality of this already devastating weapon.

Dainslaif

Crafted in the Churning Mists at a time when peace prevailed between Dravanian and man, this greatsword and the dragon-like design of its crossguard is representative of that harmonious age. Dainslaif’s creation predates the appearance of dark knights by some centuries, and was originally commissioned for an orthodox knight of high standing. Intended for the purpose of monster slaying, the weapon’s blade was forged with sufficient resilience to endure repeated blows against thick bones and dense hide.

Dark Knight - Tricks of the Trade [ref: 239]

Dark Force

By infusing a vast well of aether with her own inner darkness, the dark knight forms arcane barriers of impregnable midnight. The sight of liquid shadow pouring from a sky torn open by this otherwise benevolent technique is commonly described as “unsettling”.

Hard Slash

A sweeping slash, followed by a punishing upward slice. The most fundamental attack in a dark knight’s repertoire, this technique originated from a now-antiquated style of knightly combat.

Unleash

Releasing his pain and rage upon nearby foes, the dark knight manifests an inky black circle of spikes on the ground around him. All those caught in its thorns are struck by unreasoning terror, and an irresistible need to claw away at its source.

Living Dead

This dark art allows the practitioner to continue fighting through the most heinous of injuries, and exhibit an immunity to pain usually attributed to the shambling undead. Though undeniably effective, abandoning one’s corporeal form to negative energy in this manner, however briefly, is an act fraught with mortal peril.

Dark Knight - Profile - Fray Myste [ref: 239]

Race (Clan): Hyur (Midlander) Gender: Male Age: 25 Epithet: Fray of the Onyx Shade

An orphan of the Brume, a young Fray was set on the dark knight’s path when his future master found him plotting revenge over the body of a friend unjustly executed by Holy See officials. Proving an apt and inquisitive student, Fray approached both the book-bound and physical aspects of his training with equal eagerness. But it was the desire to adi his master and the fiery Sidurgu in their duties that truly drove the youth to excel. Alongside his volatile fellow disciple, Fray later succeeded in rescuing the maiden Rielle from an undeserved fate, but would himself fall afoul of her pursuers. Dragged before the Tribunal for trial by combat, the dark knight fought with skill and righteous rage only to fall to the dancing blade of the court’s champion. It is a testament to Fray’s devotion to life and those he left behind that his soul crystal would burn with such undying intensity...

Dark Knight - Profile - Sidurgu Orl [ref: 239]

Race (Clan): Au Ra (Xaela) Gender: Male Age: 26 Epithet: Sidurgu of the Obsidian Heart

As a child, Sidurgu lived with his family in a frontier town of Othard, until their settlement fell under the subjugation of the invading Garlean Empire. Unable to endure the stifling regime of their conquerors, his parents bundled him into a cart along with their meagre possessions, and fled into the wilderness soon after his sixth nameday. For five years they wandered, seeking a place to belong, before their journeys eventually brought them to Eorzea’s shores. Like many of their race, they found themselves drawn to the plains of Coerthas, where they hoped to adopt the nomadic ways of their ancestors... but neither fate nor the Ishgardians were kind to the Au Ra.

Molded by a life of tragedy, the displaced Xaela found himself well suited to the mantle of a dark knight. Now bereft of family, master, and fellow apprentice, Sidurgu wears his stern demeanour like a suit of armour, impenetrable to all perhaps but his young charge, Rielle.

Dark Knight - Darkness [ref: 239]

Arising from the fear and wrath within the dark knight’s own soul, this shadowy flame feeds greedily on her body’s aether, its sygian fires coursing through her blade and fuelling her eldritch arts. But as ever, such power comes with a price: should the dark knight lose control over this darkness, she will be consumed in a backlash of entropic energies.

Dark Knight - Dark Arts [ref: 239]

Fuelled by the darkness from within ,the dark knight employs these techniques to lend an arcane edge to the blows of her greatsword. Though known for their disdain for shields, the fighting style of the earliest dark knights was nevertheless built upon mundane swordplay, and it was not until several centuries later that one of their order first unlocked the secrets of the dark arts.