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libraribear · 7 years ago

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Dadd Cadash: A Prologue

I wrote a prologue for my Dragon Age: Inquisition character while trying to capture his voice. I’m not quite sure I succeeded, and it’s certainly rough around the edges as I haven’t written any fiction in a LONG time. Still, I can only let this one percolate and tweak it for so long.

It was midnight, and the guards were out in the city - one of many that dotted Thedas. Most of the city was already asleep, but one storefront was only now closing up shop. Locals referred to it as Jorgen’s Stop, but everyone who worked there referred to it as “the Castle”. Had anyone been paying close attention, they would have seen a peculiar trio of customers enter shortly before closing time. Two could only be dwarves, given their short, thick profiles, and the third would have been unrecognizable due to the black hood covering his eyes - but was probably a human, or perhaps an elf. The third figure was being supported by the other two.

It was local tradition that any building where the Carta primarily conducted business was referred to as the “Castle” or “Stronghold” or “Fortress”, essentially any word other than “run-down, nondescript building”, which was normal type of place the organization frequented on the surface.

At the entrance, a kind-looking, unscarred dwarven merchant was closing up shop for the night. It had been a slow day, with only a few general goods, one well-sharpened dagger, and two or three silk-lined burlap bags sold. The bags in particular were a specialty of the seamstresses that provisioned this particular shop - their inner linings had a peculiar way of securing Lyrium Dust As the storekeep swept the last of the day’s grime back onto the street, he peeked out the window, as he would normally do at least six times each day. He looked left, looked right, and, satisfied the street was clear, rapped his left heel against a very particular spot on the floor three times in quick succession.

The store was closing, but with the night’s patrol having gone past the store and not due back for at least four hours, it was time for real work to begin.

---

Following the signal, the two dwarves had gone to work in a small, torchlit room which was three floors deep in the earth. The only entry was a well-hidden trap door in one corner of the room’s ceiling. The room was sparsely furnished, save for a now three-legged chair, a rough-hewn table, and a foul-smelling elf. The elf was bound to the chair by the legs, waist, and neck, his hands shackled to the table. His unusually fine (for an elf) clothing was marred by blood, dirt, and sweat, and normally fine, shoulder length golden locks were plastered to the side of his face. The first dwarf, the one who had been carefully giving the elf most of the night’s attention, wrinkled his nose at the stench. The second had heard, seen, and smelled it all before, though he couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at his companion’s misgivings.

They had been able to mask the screams so deep beneath the earth, but they had been unable to do anything about the smell after the elf had wet himself with fear. The unfortunate soul had passed out, not in blissful slumber but in the grim sleep that one turns to only when their body can take no more pain - though repeated blows from a chair leg had contributed. If the elf awoke, he would have a tremendous headache.

The two dwarves observed the elf, one leaning forward and admiring his handiwork, the other with his arms crossed, guarding the door. The first dwarf had been working on the elf for hours, cajoling, encouraging, leering at, threatening, and finally beating him, but was now enjoying the silence. It had been a long night, and though they had not let on during the interrogation, the man’s will had indeed been strong in spite of his fear.

The first dwarf was exhausted - the second dwarf merely tired of waiting and watching. For a few more moments they stood, listening to the ragged gasps of the unconscious elf. There would be no rest until they had made their report to their superiors - but their superiors didn’t need to know the elf had passed out - yet.

The first dwarf, the one closest to the elf, had braided blonde-hair, fair skin, and deep-set green eyes that shined with his youth. He also possessed the beginning of what might one day be a grand beard. His fine black leathers were stained with a bit of the elf’s blood, but he leaned forward anyway, admiring his handiwork. If he had been afraid to get dirty, he would have found a longer club than the chair-leg he now held in his left hand - or perhaps another profession.

Though the welts on the sides of the elf’s head were painful, the youth was particularly proud of the elf’s hands, which were now a nasty combination of black, blue, and green, the majority of the unfortunate being’s slender fingers pointing in directions that nature had clearly not intended. It was the youth’s first interrogation.

“Virgin no more.” The youth murmured, trembling. He looked back at his dwarven counterpart, searching for approval, but the second dwarf’s face was a mask of calm. He turned back to the elf. “Didn’t I tell you I’d beat you bloody with part of your own chair if you didn’t tell me what we wanted to hear?”

Behind the youth, the second dwarf’s face gave way to an exaggerated roll of his blue-grey eyes. This dwarf was older, his face bearing the scars and marks of over three hard decades on the surface. Close-cut, dark brown hair made a ring around his otherwise bald head, before giving way to the full beard and mustache that occupied the lower half of his face. His left eye, though still quite functional, was marred by a deep, reddish-brown scar above and below his eye, and a faint tattoo of blocks and bars rested on his right cheek. If one was appropriately versed in the many markings of the many different guilds of the Carta, one would have recognized that this met he was an experienced hand in his guildhall, which belonged to a former thug named Sordri the Savage.

Unlike his youthful accomplice, the second dwarf’s leather was unmarred, and he was clad chiefly in an earth-brown cloak and loose-fitting, dark green breeches that had seen their share of the weather. Two daggers rested within easy reach at his sides, though several more were secured in the folds of his baggy sleeves, the pockets of his cloak, in tall boots that rose above his ankles, and affixed to his wrist in small sheaths.

He rested the palm of his left hand on his temple, bored with the whole affair, and traced a small scar that rested in front of his left ear. In his youth, it had served as a reminder of the perils of opening his mouth, but in his role as supervisor of his younger accomplice, he felt free to do so. Age and rank carried their privileges, after all.

“You SURE told him, Rinn. Breaking his fingers won’t get us paid.”

Rinn turned to him and grinned. “C’mon, Dadd. The boss won’t like it if you openly question his methods and motives. He always reminded me that physicality might be the best way to get someone to talk. How else do you think he got the name ‘the Savage?’”

“Might. In this case it didn’t. Remember he keeps me around ‘cause I’m the only one with the stones to question standard motives or methods, lad.” Dadd shrugged. “That, and because I’m good at keeping an eye on whelps like you. Physicality has its place, but you didn’t apply it correctly. Besides, he and I came up with ‘the Savage’ together over brews. Sordri Ternadirican was too much of a mouthful, but he didn’t want to be confused with that Sordri Aeducan fellow.”

Now the younger dwarf’s eyes rolled. “As if I needed keeping an eye on, ‘specially from an oldie like you. You saw - I did everything right, just like the boss taught. I tried it nice, I tried it mean, I went through the usual threats - even invented a few. Nothing could get him to talk.”

Dadd ignored the age crack. In reality, he was only ten years the youth’s senior - but in what was a very dangerous profession serving the Carta, ten years service might well have been forty.

“That’s because you didn’t give him enough time to think about whether or not his hidden coins were worth the array of promises you offered him. You just stacked them all on top of each other, one after the other.” Dadd explained. “When you start getting physical, you need to give him time to consider whether or not the pain he’s feeling is worth his information… you also need to give him time to stop screaming before you break another finger, or you won’t get anything out of him. Treat your interrogations the way you’d treat a fine lover… Use patience. Savor these kinds of things… especially when you’re trying to accomplish a goal.”

“Didn’t need no savoring to accomplish my last few goals…” Rinn muttered.

Dadd didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah well, when you’re patient they might let you pay less to have your goals met.” He winked. “Don’t forget this lesson. Interrogation is about anticipation… and patience.”

“But boss wanted it done by midnight!” Rinn retorted, stubbornly eager to get the better of the discussion.

“Yeah, but you got yourself wrapped up on midnight, and that wasn’t the most important part of his statement. The most important part was that…” Dadd’s voice trailed off, and he crossed his arms while staring at Rinn expectantly.

The lad groaned. “...that Boss wanted it done. Maker’s arse.”

For the first time that night, Dadd allowed himself a smile. “Let’s not bring the Maker into your screw-up. These things happen, especially to greenies like you. Let’s go fetch some healing potions and we’ll let you try again tomorrow night - though those healing potions are coming out of your take today, you know.”

At the mention of his take, Rinn’s eyes darkened dangerously.

“Idiot.” Dadd thought to himself. “You forgot this one is all about the money.”

“My cut!” He hissed. “You greedy arse! The Boss said this interrogation was both of ours! IT should come out of your share as much as it should mine! Why, I oughta-” The younger dwarf brandished his club, and for a moment, Dadd admired the speed with which Rinn had snatched up his weapon as the youth stepped menacingly toward him. It reminded Dadd why he was so enamored with the kid’s potential in the first place - if only something could be done about that temper.

“Wait!” Dadd barked sharply. To his great surprise, Rinn did, a fact for which the elder dwarf was grateful - because he hated killing stupid when it had potential to grow. “Did I tell you to break his fingers?”

“No, but you could have stopped me! You should still pay some of your share as well.” Rinn took another step forward. Acting as if he was taken aback, Dadd took a step back and casually hooked his thumbs through his belt, though in the same motion he also disengaged the clasps on his wrist sheathes.

“We’ll have to work on those skills of observation too.” Dadd mentally noted. His voice trembled slightly, though it was still an act. “You feel really strongly about this, don’t you?”

“I do!” Rinn growled.

“Well, I-,” Dadd paused, and looked past the angry dwarf. “Oh look, the elf’s awake.”

“He is?” Rinn spun around, but found only confusion. The elf remained slumped over on the table, still unconscious.

Dadd’s first thrown dagger took Rinn in the right palm, and the club clattered to the floor. His second pinned Rinn’s left foot to the earth, and the youth’s voice, so menacing before, became a high-pitched shriek. Dadd lunged forward and stepped on the youth’s right foot, so that the youth’s only choice was to attempt to throw Dadd aside or tear his left foot away from the dagger. He did try just that, but the older dwarf grabbed the younger’s wrists. He leaned in close enough for Rinn to smell the ale and onions they’d had a scant few hours before on his breath.

Dadd’s voice was low and even, nearly a whisper. “Rule one. Never take your eyes off someone you’re threatening if they can still act.”

He ground his boot-heel into Rinn’s foot, eliciting a gasp of pain. He maintained the pressure as tears begain to rim Rinn’s eyes, then lifted his foot slightly and let go of Rinn’s bad hand.

“Get three potions, two for the elf, one for you.” He produced a few gold coins and pressed them into Rinn’s good hand. “Your take won’t cover them, so have some of mine. We’ll try again with this elf tomorrow, and if you ever threaten your superior again, I won’t be aiming for your hands or your feet. Got it?”

Rinn nodded meekly.

“Good. Now, hold still.” Dadd bent and retrieved his second dagger from Rinn’s foot, but he kept his eyes locked on Rinn’s the whole time. He was sorely tempted to give it an additional twist, but decided that the point had been made. Briefly, he regarded his first dagger, as Rinn tried to staunch the bleeding. He grabbed Rinn’s wrist. “Here. Hurts less if you don’t look at it.” He removed the dagger and took a few steps backward, continuing to stare at Rinn.

“Now, go get your potion and get yourself cleaned up.” He stepped aside, and Rinn began to hobble out of the room, clutching at his wounded limb.

“One more thing!” Dadd barked, and Rinn froze in the doorway. The elder dwarf took two confident steps forward and used the edge of Rinn’s black cloak to wipe the blood off his daggers. “These black clothes won’t do. Find something more casual. If you see someone dressed all in black on the city streets, you can’t help but look at him - and the richest purses to cut walk the streets during the day.” He clapped the youth on the shoulder, hard. “Now go.”

Rinn limped the rest of the way out of the room, and Dadd replaced his daggers in their sheathes. The youth glanced back at him once, as Dadd bore a hole through him with his gaze. When Rinn was finally out of his vision, Dadd brought one scarred hand to squeeze at his eyes, before taking a breath to calm himself. Hopefully this one would live long enough not to resent him for it, but to realize how swiftly he would have been killed had he drawn his weapon on anyone else.

A dwarf could dream. Steadying himself, Dadd left to give his report to their master. He had defused one situation. Now it would be time to defuse another. He hoped he wouldn’t need to draw his daggers to defuse this one, because if he did, he would probably be dead. He left to seek an audience with the Castle’s grandmaster.

---

Grandmaster Sordi wasn’t mad - Grandmaster Sordri was furious. Dadd had thought it might be so. He had told him about the failed interrogation, but not any of the other parts.

“Rinnium is a failure. It’s clear to me- why isn’t it clear to you, Daddarin? I told you that we needed an example, and to kill him if he didn’t get the elf to talk - this is his fourth foul-up.” He steepled his two bejeweled hands together. “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t kill him in front of all the other initiates tomorrow.”

Dadd put his hands on his hips, unswayed by his superior’s bluster. “I’ll give you three. One, the elf was weaker than we expected - you can’t pin that on young Rinn. If he were made of hardier stuff, he’d have stayed conscious long enough to tell us what we needed to know. Two, you and I both know we lost eight to the guard in that last Lyrium raid - you can GKKKKHHHH,” Dadd paused, drawing a finger across his neck for emphasis, “the lad if you want, but that still leaves you three in the hole for the next shipment.” He paused, letting his master wait expectantly for the third reason. The moment was necessary, Dadd reminded himself. Give him time to think through his rage for a moment and he would see that everything that Dadd had said was true.

“I thought you said there were three.”

Dadd allowed himself a small smile. “You’re right, I did. The lad offered up his share of the day’s take because he didn’t get the elf under control as quickly as you’d asked him to.” He had removed the pouch from Rinn’s belt when he had cleaned his daggers, and he tossed the pouch, which jingled as it whistled through the air, into Sordri’s lap. Sordri paused, picked up the pouch, and shook it slightly next to his ear. If there was anything that could get him to stop and think, it was the prospect of more riches.

“Thirty gold coins.” The grandmaster’s ear was impeccable. “Not an insignificant amount. He really offered up all this?”

“Sure did, boss.” Dadd lied smoothly. ”You’re focused on his foul-ups, but I’m focused on his talent. And I tell you true, he’s got the swiftest fingers and the quietest feet this side of Thedas. You keep him alive and let him, er, marinate a bit more, and you’ll have one of the finest thieves ever. He just needs experience.”

“Experience.” Sordri scowled. “Maybe all I’ll get is another talented thief that questions my orders and talks back to me. Is that what I really want?”

Dadd grinned. “I don’t know who you could possibly be talking about, but if I may - a question of my own. Do you like money?”

“Of course I like money.”

It was Dadd’s most common defense, and it always swayed his master because his master could look at the books and see very clearly how much more money had crossed his operation since Dadd had joined the organization.

“Then let him live. You’re pissing away money if you kill him just because you’re impatient or because he’s dumb. Piss too much of it away and you’ll be back down here with me living with the dogs instead of encrusting yourself with jewels.

Sordri let out a bored sigh, and his furious expression all but vanished. “Maybe I miss living down there with you and the rest of the dogs. I was Sordri the Savage, then. Clawing my way to the top.”

“Beating elves, dodging guards, extorting coin, handling lyrium, parrying halberds with knives, killing those in front of you to get to the top - what’s not to miss?” Dadd murmured. He could have gone on, but any more and he might just have revealed how truly dissatisfied he was with his current life, one which saw him doing most of those things on a weekly basis - when he wasn’t beating up on the trainees, of course.

Sordri remained silent.

“Thought so.” Dadd bowed slightly. “I’m going to go check on the lad and get to wor-”

“No. Wait here, Daddarin Cadash. Now I have three things to tell you.”

Dadd had been turning to leave, but stiffened as he realized Sordri had used his full name. In ten years of serving as Sordri’s second, his defense had never failed, and for a moment he wondered if it had. Some of the younger dwarves had long spread rumors that Sordri only used your full name when he was about to kill you, and though Dadd had seen Sordri kill plenty of people without addressing them by their full name, this was nonetheless a unique occasion. He turned his blue-grey eyes on the jewel-covered dwarf.

“First- if anyone below you ever draws their weapon on you again, you are to kill them. We cannot afford even a hint of disloyalty. Do you understand?”

“How did you-”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I could hear his scream four floors away. You seldom raise your daggers unless it is in self-defense or a paid assassination. When a whimpering dwarf walked past my door still wringing his wounded hand, it was easy to guess what had happened.” He paused, giving Dadd a mocking grin.

“Do you understand?” This time, the question had little to do with the understanding of the first rule, and Daddarin knew it.

“Yes, guildmaster.” He murmured, feeling like a green thief again.

“The second thing relates to the first - don’t disobey me again. I know how much you value flexibility, but it pays to be inflexible in some things.”

Dadd remained expressionless, but inside he was furious. Sordri’s inflexibilities usually led to needless loss of life, or wastes of resources.

“The third thing. Your numbers were wrong. If you or I were to kill that lad, we wouldn’t have been down three hands, we’d be down four.”

“Four? I don’t understand.” Dadd narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Did we lose another on the raid, or did someone defect?”

“Four. I need you to undertake a very special mission for me, Daddarin. You’re the only one I can trust with this and, truth be told, perhaps the only one we have with the experience to pull this off. Sending you away in light of this incident will do nicely - it’ll keep people from asking questions. Go get what you need for a long journey, and pack plenty of parchment and quills to send messages - not to mention your cipher.”

“Don’t need no cipher. I have our codes memorized. But if you want me to write in codes, then that can only mean...”

“Yes. You’re going to be a spy. One of the other cells requested the most reliable man I knew, and believe it or not, that’s you. So go pack and I’ll tell you the rest of the details tomorrow before you leave.”

“Do I even get a hint?” It was this kind of backtalk that had originally led to Sordri nearly taking his eye several years ago, but that was before his loyalty had been unquestioned.

Sordri’s lips curled wickedly. “Let’s just say you’re going to find religion.”

END

#Dragon Age Inquisition #Libraribear writes #Libraribear games #Original character

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theemryslegacy · 8 years ago

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Adela: Missing Pieces [2/2]

Summary: Adela begins to investigate a report of an Imperial data breach, leading her back to Hoth.

Notes: Written about a year ago, this was designed as part of the kick-off for our guild story arc. As I post snippets directly related to that arc, I will try to fill in the gaps. They can, however, mostly be read as standalone.

Because it was designed to be RP-compliant, Adela’s Chiss companion has been given a codename. Those of you (fellow) die-hards out there will probably recognize him, anyway. The ongoing snippets assume that they maintained an affair over the intervening time since “Unfinished Business,” meeting every few months on Zeltros.

Watching her breath evaporate into a visible cloud with each exhale, Adela Emrys followed the Chiss officer deep into the warren of icy corridors. Secret underground facilities on Hoth, such as the one she found herself in, were a specialty of the Chiss, a carry-over from their elaborate underground cities on their Ice Age-bound homeworld of Csilla. Each location was well-equipped and adequately staffed, functioning with flawless efficiency. This particular location, under the command of “Olys Dul’skal,” coordinated planetary Expansionary Force intelligence operations -- sometimes in cooperation with Imperial efforts, and sometimes in seclusion from Imperial influence.

Adela only wished they would turn up the thermostat.

Rounding the next corner, she was led into a short corridor where two guards stood on either side of a doorway at the end of the hall. The panel slid open as they approached. Her escort then paused just before the door. “If you will wait here,” he said, gesturing toward the room.

“Of course,” she replied. She stepped into the room, removing her gloves as she did so. It was clearly an office -- fairly large in comparison to most field commands -- with a desk and few busy terminals. “I am sure it will be quite adequate.”

The Chiss nodded his head in farewell and the door slid closed behind him. A chill settled over Adela and she frowned. She had been here before, had nothing to fear from the personnel. So why did she feel so… unsettled?

Some of it, she was sure, originated with her escort. Fairly young, even by Chiss standards, discomfort radiated off of him, strongly enough that even a lapsed Force-sensitive such as herself could sense it. His uncertainty was directed at her, though for what reason she could not be sure. For the moment, she would mark it up to his inexperience… but it could never hurt to ask her old friend about the young officer when she got the chance.

The hiss of the door mechanism drew her attention and she turned. Olys stepped into the room, the hint of a smile curving his wide mouth, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he greeted her. “Agent,” he said. “A pleasure, as always.”

“And you,” she replied smoothly. Her eyes darted toward the guards, who remained outside. “I appreciate your personnel contacting us regarding this incident. I take it you have new information to share?”

Olys nodded, reaching for the door controls. “I do, indeed, Agent,” he replied. He then keyed the portal closed and tapped a few extra commands into the console. His shoulders visibly relaxed, a sense of relief sweeping over him. “That should afford us a few moments of privacy.”

Adela nodded, watching as he crossed the room, a wry grin curving her lips as he reached for her hand. She offered it, and he raised it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the back of her fingers. When he then chuckled, she arched a brow. “Something amusing?”

“You are quite chilled, beloved.”

“I cannot imagine why that might be,” she retorted with a smirk. “The sooner we complete our business, however, the sooner you can remedy that situation.”

“Indeed.” Olys released her hand, rounding the corner of his desk and tapping a few commands into the integrated keyboard. The built-in screen flickered to life, displaying video footage of what Adela assumed was the data center in question. As the initial reports stated, an organized group of six, clad in Republic Special Forces armor moved through the corridors toward the archive room, taking down any resistance with minimal effort. Once inside the archive room, one team member went to each of the four memory bank, with two remaining guard on the door. Interestingly, each one knew how to access the controls and each had a data crystal on which to download data. The camera angle, however, made it impossible to distinguish what information had been taken.

Adela watched as the playback stopped, the screen flickering to black. She looked to Olys. “I never knew we had a data archive here on Hoth.”

“You do not -- or rather, few were read-in on the location of this database, per standing order by Sith Intelligence,” her Chiss companion replied. He watched her carefully, and Adela could sense his curiosity and expectation.

“And yet someone knew exactly how many guards there would be, how many archive banks there were, and how to access the data.” She could not help the frown that tugged at her lips and creased her brow. “So we’re dealing with someone familiar with Intelligence administration.”

Olys nodded, tapping another few commands into the keyboard. “Someone very familiar,” he said. The screen flickered to life once again, this time displaying what looked like nothing more than a series of random Aurabesh characters. After a moment, a blue cursor swept over the characters, the screen clearing. As it disappeared, it revealed a very familiar format -- that of the Intelligence dossier: Full names, codenames, families, known associates, and psychological profiles. It was, at least, a name she did not recognize as a current asset.

“The intruders destroyed the archives, but my staff was able to decrypt this from the fragments left behind,” he continued. “For reasons as yet unknown, they have hacked and downloaded Intelligence personnel data files.”

“I’m willing to bet that it won’t be good.” Her frown deepened, the unsettled feeling returning. “You were right, though -- their movements, even their weapons… if they were Republic, it would certainly a departure from standard issue.” She paused. “Any leads on where the culprits escaped to?”

“There is.” Olys switched the viewscreen to display a map of the planet. After a brief moment, the image swirled, landing on a flashing dot, far out into the plains. “I have dispatched several of my personnel to observe the location, and offer you assistance. They will have the full reconnaissance when you arrive.”

“Dev and I will leave immediately,” Adela replied. She looked up, allowing her expression to soften slightly. “I do appreciate the assistance. I know this is not your problem to fix.”

The Chiss shook his head. “No, it is not,” he replied slowly, “but I recognize the risk it creates for you and your associates -- especially as we cannot as yet be sure whose data they have accessed and removed.” He nodded toward the door. “Do be careful out there.”

Halfway to the door, Adela paused. “I am always careful,” she replied. “I cannot, however, speak for the other side.” She gave a nod, her gaze holding his for a long moment. “See you soon.”

Exiting the office, she headed through the maze of icy corridors, this time without an escort.

#the emrys legacy #adela emrys #codename: olys #swtor oc #imperial agent

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