Quest Two - Blood Fugitive
Quest Two
Blood Fugitive
Once Harry had himself cleaned up again, which was a surprisingly easy affair, he overheard a commotion on the road. A platoon of men, both heroic and severe in gleaming silver armor, was marching down the hill into Redcliffe like soldiers about to invade. Harry and several other villagers formed a crowd, staring in amazement. These men were none other than the Templars. There was no mistaking the flaming sword insignias on their chests (or the purple skirts for that matter). The Templars were the elite of the elite, the militant arm of the Maker Himself.
So few interesting things happened in the village, Harry couldn’t possibly miss this. He listened eagerly to the gossip of the excited villagers and stood on tiptoe to see as the armored men made their way through the crowd.
“Stand aside, everyone, stand aside” an arrogant voice called out. The Arl’s guards had arrived, and at their head, shoving anyone out of the way who didn’t move quickly enough, was Harry’s cousin.
Harry groaned under his breath. “Of course Dudley has to show up and make an arse of himself.”
His burly cousin had been made a guard recently and hadn’t stopped rubbing Harry’s nose in it since. Honestly, Harry was glad that Dudley spent his time in uniform bullying other people for a change, but it still rankled to be considered inferior to that great blond lummox just because his uncle had greased some palms.
The guards and Templars met in the center of a growing crowd of curious villagers.
“We are here in search of a dangerous fugitive,” the lead Templar said, wasting no time. “We ask that everyone amass in the village square while my men search the buildings.”
An old fisherman laughed. “That earring-wearing pansy from the Anderfels get away from the Circle again?”
“A blood mage escaped capture and we have reason to believe that he may be hiding in your village.”
Gasps and frightened whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire. The sound was akin to a hissing den of serpents.
“Are the Arl and his family in danger?” one of the guards asked.
“We don’t suspect that the malificar is after the Arl, but blood magic is by its nature unpredictable,” the Templar replied.
“Then we should go to the Arl at once,” the guard-captain said. “You men stay here and protect the villagers.”
“Yes, sir,” Dudley and five others replied. When the guard-captain was gone and the anxious crowd had begun to migrate to the square, Dudley turned to Harry and smirked. “Potter.”
“Ser Diddykins,” Harry acknowledged.
“You heard the nice Templars, to the village square with you. Don’t worry, me and my guard friends will keep you all nice and safe from the big bad blood mage.”
“Piss off, Dudley. We both know that I can fight circles around you.”
“Oh, really? I was made a guard and you weren’t,” Dudley said. “Seems like everyone else knows I’m the better fighter.”
“We’ll see about that when the blood mage takes over your mind and makes you kill somebody,” Harry said. He shrugged. “Or dance a jig without any trousers on, or whatever blood mages want people to do.”
Dudley started to look slightly worried, as if it hadn’t yet occurred to him exactly what a blood mage hiding in Redcliffe meant, distracted as he had been by the prospect of working with the Templars. “Yeah, right,” he said with false bravado. “Like a malificar would try to take over a guard.”
“Really? After all that talk about how good a fighter you are, and how you get to walk around the Arl’s castle, and how you get to tell people what to do?” Harry asked. “You’re too modest. Any blood mage would love to have you for a slave.”
“Go make yourself useful and tell dad what’s going on,” Dudley said. “I’m going to check on mum.”
Harry shrugged. “Good luck ‘keeping us all nice and safe from the big bad blood mage’.”
Harry walked away, content in the knowledge that while Dudley was stronger and more important, Harry was still much smarter. He avoided the crowd gathering in the square and went unnoticed into the blacksmith shop, where his uncle Vernon was discussing something with Mason, the dwarf who actually made the weapons and armor that Vernon sold. Vernon was a very large man with a very large black mustache, and a round face that only seemed to smile when he was trying to charm wealthy customers and business-partners or extolling Dudley’s many (imagined) virtues.
“And the Qunari says to the Rivaini, ‘That’s not a tuber, that’s my horn!’” Vernon exclaimed. Mason laughed politely, as if he hadn’t heard Vernon tell that joke a hundred times already. Vernon’s small eyes drifted towards the door, where Harry was still standing. “What took you so damn long, boy? And what’s all the commotion out there?”
Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “You could have stuck your head outside and found for yourself, but there are Templars here. They’re looking for a blood mage.”
“Templars!” Vernon said, a greedy gleam in his eye. “Did you hear that, Mason? Could you imagine if a Templar bought one of our weapons? If he liked it enough, we could be contracted to make weapons for the whole Ferelden order. Quick, Potter, make yourself useful and start polishing that breastplate!”
Harry snorted. “I think the Templars have better armor and weapons than this junk.”
“Watch that mouth of yours, boy, or it’s going to get you in trouble. Of course we’re not going to sell them these swords, we’re going to sell the real quality swords,” Vernon boomed. “Go get them, they’re in the back room.”
“But the Templars said we’re supposed to go into the square while they search the buildings for the blood mage,” Harry said.
“Nonsense, I’d know if a blood mage had gotten into my shop,” Vernon scoffed. “Now go on!”
“If these swords are so good, why are we hiding them in the back room?” Harry asked.
“You think anyone in this village can afford a quality blade?” Vernon asked. “They’d just get fish-slime and dog muck all over the things. The good swords are for people with coin. Normally I’d save them for our trip to Denerim, but it looks like the coin is coming to us this year!”
Harry reluctantly walked to the back room, muttering under his breath, “The Templars are going to be angry that we didn’t listen to them.” Vernon didn’t seem to hear him, however, already eagerly discussing prices.
The back room was small and rather poorly lit compared to the rest of the smithy. Most of the items in here were supplies and old sales figures, with the ‘good swords’ hung on the walls or stored in an old barrel. Harry pushed the barrel towards the door and turned back to get the swords from their wall mounts. He soon had an awkward bundle of longswords in his arms and was making plans to come back for the prized greatsword.
Harry paused, hearing a commotion in the main shop. After listening for a moment, he realized that he’d been right-the Templars were indeed angry. They were ordering his uncle and Mason out of the shop even as Vernon continued to try peddling his armor and weapons. The Templars were having none of it.
Harry was about to offload the swords onto the nearest available surface when a pair of tongs that had been carelessly left on the ground snagged his leg and nearly caused him to trip. He managed to catch himself with one knee on the ground.
The swords were growing heavier with every second, so Harry set them down on the floor in front of him. He should probably just leave them there and go outside to the square, but he knew his uncle would find an excuse to throw a fit over Harry putting good blades on the floor. Still kneeling, Harry picked up the swords one-by-one and set them on the nearest table.
However, as he crouched to pick up one of the swords that had slid under the table, he spotted something unusual: one tiny white feather.
Harry held the feather between his dirty fingers and examined it briefly. Why on earth would there be a feather… Then he remembered the small white bird he saw before the pantry fiasco. It had flown into the shop, and apparently left that feather behind.
When he looked back down at the floor, Harry realized that there were more tiny feathers scattered around. Not so much that he could have noticed them before, but now that he was on the ground, he could see a sparse trail of feathers leading to the cabinet in the corner. His uncle used that cabinet to store his cloak and coat when he was at work, at it seemed one of the coat’s sleeves was caught in the door, leaving it slightly ajar. Perhaps the bird had flown in there?
Feeling sorry for the creature, Harry stood up and opened the cabinet. The frightened bird darted past Harry’s face and raced desperately around the room in search of freedom. But the door leading to the main shop was closed, and the only window was shuttered.
Harry was about to go to the window when there was a flash of light and-suddenly, he wasn’t alone in the back room.
There was a young man, maybe Harry’s age, with silvery white-blond hair, pointed features, and almost deathly pale skin. He wore strange clothes, ornate in black and green and silver, and distinctly un-Ferelden in style. He was tall and slender, and though he looked exhausted, he gave Harry a friendly smile.
“Hello,” he said casually.
Harry glared at the stranger, deeply confused and not enjoying it one bit. People couldn’t just appear out of nowhere like that. Could they? And, he wondered randomly, where had that bird gone?
“What’s happening in the village outside?” the young man asked. His drawling voice was very calm and made Harry feel strangely sleepy.
“There are Templars here. They’ve asked everyone to go to the square while they search for a blood mage,” Harry said. Wait, had he meant to say that? He must have, but Harry was so tired, he could barely focus…
The stranger’s congenial façade flickered with fear for just a second, but recovered before Harry could think anything of it. “Why are you in here?”
“Uncle… swords…” Harry glanced at the pile of blades on the table, as if they would provide any answers.
“Why not use this opportunity to have a break?” the young man asked. Harry stared at his eyes, which were a cold, pale grey. “Your uncle can’t object to you following Templar orders. Why not go outside and enjoy the sunshine?”
Yes, why not? Wasn’t Harry just about to go do that anyway? But… why was this person here? How was he here?
It was suddenly as though there were warning bells ringing in Harry’s ears. Blood mage. Blood mage.
Harry shook his head and took a step back. He was anything but tired now. “Malificar,” he snarled, drawing his daggers.
“Merda!” the mage hissed, those ice pale eyes wide and shining. His friendly expression was long gone. He quickly reached for the staff on his back. Before Harry could strike, the mage put up a glowing white shield of magical energy.
Undaunted, Harry lashed out with his blade, aiming for his opponent’s chest. The shield predictably repelled his dagger, changing what would have been a killing blow to a mere flesh-wound. Grimacing in pain, the mage brought his fingertips to his temple.
Harry was suddenly thrown back, dazed and confused and wondering what just hit him. It had been like some sort of mind blast.
The pair fought viciously, spells flying through the air and steel flashing against arcane shield. The back room was quickly reduced to a warzone. Parchment and bits of metal were thrown everywhere as the combatants engaged in their battle, mindless of anything else.
Harry reached into his pocket and threw a miasmic flask at the mage, momentarily disorienting his opponent long enough for his shield to flicker. He took quick advantage of the opening, slashing a dagger across his opponent’s back.
The mage was hurt, but obviously not down for the count. He used his mental blast again, knocking Harry away and earning enough time to hit him with several painful spells in a row before restoring the shield.
Harry brought both daggers down hard over the mage’s head, but the shield resisted him more than ever, leaving them in a stalemate as their strength opposed one another.
“Let me leave,” the malificar growled as his magic swirled between them. “The Templars will kill me if I don’t escape!”
“They’ll do what they have to, blood mage,” Harry snarled back.
“I didn’t do anything! I don’t even want to be here!” the mage screamed desperately. “I just want to go home!”
He threw Harry back again, and his shield collapsed again from the effort. But Harry was exhausted, too. And now he was standing between the mage and the door.
The mage pulled a knife from his belt and held it threateningly over his own hand. “Get out of my way. I don’t want to kill you, this isn’t your fight. Just let me go and I will repay you, my father is a very wealthy and powerful man.”
“So I’m just supposed to let a malificar go free?” Harry asked. “There’s no possible way that could end badly.”
“And you don’t think this will end badly for you?” the mage sneered. “One little cut and I’ll have more than enough power to destroy you!”
“If you can really kill me so easily, then why haven’t you done it already?” Harry challenged.
“Yes, well, I have something called respect for human life. It’s a terrible failing in a blood mage, really,” he said snidely. “If you stand aside, I swear on my honor as a citizen of the Tevinter Imperium that I will leave Ferelden immediately and harm none of its people in my escape. There’s also the repayment I promised earlier. You have nothing to lose.”
“That is, assuming I can trust you,” Harry said. “Tevinters aren’t exactly known for honesty or mercy.”
The mage stared intently into Harry’s eyes. “Then I swear it on my soul and my place by the Maker’s side.”
Harry paused. The mage sounded sincere, but he had tried to use blood magic to control Harry’s mind. Then again, he only wanted to use that control in order to escape without a confrontation. But what was a Tevinter mage doing in Ferelden? Every horror story Harry had heard about the Tevinter Imperium told him that the malificar’s intentions could only be sinister.
-AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION TIME!-
DIALOGUE WHEEL
[Yes] (stand aside)
[No] I don’t think so.
[Extort] Give me a reward now, maybe.
[Investigate] I need to know more.
A WORD FROM THE OCTOPUS:
Hello, octopuspatronus here, writer of the insanity known as Riddikulusly Awesome. You may be wondering, "What's all this AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION TIME stuff? Aren't we reading a fanfic?" Yes, yes you are. A fanfic (half) based on a video game series where your decisions affect the story. Now, obviously I'm going to make most of the decisions (dialogue, selecting quests, fighting, etc), otherwise this would take forever to write. However, there will be times such as now when I let you, the reader, select what action Harry will take during a given situation. Think of it as a group version of a "Choose Your Own Adventure" story, only it's a fanfic and you can't cheat to see what happens if you pick something else.
I usually won't tell you what the consequences of your decisions will be, but since it's your first time, I'll be gentle *cough*. This is also a relatively minor decision, just to give you a taste of how this will work.
- If you choose [Yes], Harry will let the blood mage escape and, later in the story, recieve money and items as a reward. This character also might show up again and respond positively to Harry as a result. However, the Ferelden Templars will investigate the blood mage's escape and eventually trace it back to Harry, making them more hostile to him later.
- If you choose [No], Harry won't let the blood mage escape, resulting in a curbstomp battle, an angry blood mage later in the game, and no reward, but the Templars will be impressed and might be more helpful.
- If you choose [Extort], Harry will ask for some payment upfront before letting the blood mage escape and be given some sort of stat-boosting amulet. Otherwise, everything's the same as [Yes].
- Everyone who asks to [Investigate] will be sent additional dialogue between Harry and the blood mage, which might affect your decision and give you more insight into this character. Then you can vote for one of the above options based on what you learned during the dialogue. [Investigate] options will always work this way, and I will try to have one available for every APT.
Leave a comment with your choice in the subject line, and at the end of the voting period I will tabulate the results using the subpar mathematical skill that made me the success I am today. I think I'll make the deadline friday and see how that works out. Majority rules, and ties will be broken by my little sister because why not? If no one votes, I will choose for you, which you DO NOT WANT-- I will take the stupidest option available for teh lulz and cause us to get a bad ending.
Happy voting!