“In spite of all the hardships, the people go on with their lives. I guess it is as the old saying goes. When there is a will there is a way.”

* From the Journal of Eratus Riverwood

    Pale unblinking blue eyes stared at mine. They were dead but the accusation in them was clear.

    “Why…”

    My own eyes shot open and I swerved upright from the bed.

    I was back in the room. A drop of sweat gleamed down my cheek. My hand came up to wipe it away.

    The faint aroma of stew wafting into the room eased my nerves. There were the sounds of footsteps from other guests outside along with the muffled voices of conversation.

    I breathed deeply then out slowly, just like how I was taught as an initiate. It was just a nightmare. A shadow of the past.

    The straw pillow and mattress crinkled as I shifted out of the bed. I brushed off a few golden strands that had stuck to my back. My eyes drifted to the corner of the room where the brick that I bought yesterday sat undisturbed. The Lorekeeper’s projection was gone.

    “Knight-Lieutenant Riverwood. I have finished extraction of the data from the artifact.”

    “Anything good?” I yawned.

    “It will take me some time to process the information.”

    I stretched out my limbs, my joints cracking with each movement.

    “How long?”

    “Duration estimated half-planetary rotation… translating… half one day.”

    Well hopefully he would have something useful by then. I on the other hand needed to clear my thoughts. A shower should help, hopefully the bucket was free.

    “Let me know if something comes up.”

***

    I sat on a bench in the tavern’s main room and scratched my waist for perhaps the fourth time this morning. Whoever sewed this tunic had done a terrible job. There flaps of extra cloth that chafed against my skin every time I moved. I should have paid closer attention before buying it at the market.

    It was tempting to go back and change into my old clothes. However, they were now drying in my room. They were in dire need of a wash. For now, I endured the itchy brown tunic.

    My journal was open on the table in front of me, and I was about to resume reading when a hand placed a bowl of stew and a spoon by it. I looked up to see the inn keep, a fat man dressed in a brown apron with a wide brimmed beard and moustache. His lips were smiling but not his eyes. Ever since the night rushed into the inn with the elf on my back, he had been regarding me with suspicion.

    “Here you go,” he said.

    “Thanks.”

    He began to turn but stopped. “You ain’t a templar are you?”

    “Pardon?”

    “You look like one, and you know how to read. Only people who know how to read out here are the merchants, nobles, or those with the Chantry. You don’t look like the first two so I figured you were the third.”

    “No, I am not.”

    “Eh, didn’t mean to pry. Just curious that’s all. Enjoy your meal.”

    Regardless of what he said I had a feeling that he was going to stop prying. I should think of moving. Gossip spread quickly in places like these, and I didn’t want to draw any more eyes to myself.

    I used the spoon to shove a scoop of the stew into my mouth. It was mostly tasteless, except a tinge of salt, but filled me up. As I chewed then gulped down my meal, I looked back through my journal, reviewing everything that had happened since I arrived.

    The mirror-like object by which I entered this world was a portaI of some type. Alamere always talked about them. Apparently, they were all the rage and the most popular topic among the magisters of Dalaran before he left. I wasn’t aware of the specifics but Alamere always said portals bridged two places to allow travel. With enough power their range could bridge worlds together such as the massive abandoned stone monument in southern Azeroth that the Horde used to invade.

    The one I came through was probably destroyed, that much was certain. I recalled the shattered glass pieces of the item the moment I came through. It wasn’t like I could go around asking around if there were any portals nearby. They’d probably take me as a complete madman or I’d get imprisoned on suspicions of practicing magic. A cold feeling crawled up my spine as I recalled the tranquil.

    The Lorekeeper had no idea if there were other such portals here, but suggested they could exist. I was tempted to ask him again, but decided otherwise. Since the last time we talked he had been quiet while processing whatever he gleamed from the brick. Besides, I could use a break from him talking in my head.

  The only person or thing that believed me was that shapeshifter from the forest. Flemeth. I suspected she had ulterior motives yet her words were my only clue.

    There is an old chamber which will arm you with the tools that you need. Find the Maker’s bride in her house, and she will lead the way. What you ultimately desire and what shall return you whence you came, will be in the vaults of the magisters of old. Be wary though, for they were vain men, and were quite protective of their treasures.

    In spite of the cryptic way she said it, the general gist wasn’t hard to figure it out. There was a portal or at least some way back home in a vault in the city. I had to find an old chamber first, which would lead me to said vault. Or at least provide me with whatever was necessary to access it.

    However, I hadn’t a scant clue who this Maker’s bride was. Where was this house of hers? The warning at the end suggested a trap, but of what kind? Who was the Maker for that matter? The way people here talking about made him sound like some apparent god-figure. My initial though was he was some manifestation of the Light but that made little sense. I hadn’t seen a single light-wielder since I came here.

    I chomped down the rest of the stew. The tavern began to clear out as its denizens moved to their daily routines. I was going to have to head out soon as well. The job I signed up for wasn’t too far away. How hard could it be to sit in front of a bakery for hours anyway?

    I flipped backwards through my journal, skimming past the entries in Thedas to the mundane patrols of the Badlands and beyond. To the journey south, to Alterac City, to patrols in the mountains, and my first day being assigned under Captain Falmore’s team. I smiled at the memories. Life was simple back then. Keep your shields up, follow orders, and be useful to the others.

    There were more pages beyond that which I skimmed, then stopped right before reaching the front flap. There were no written words here, only pictograms and symbols. Visual descriptions of hand motions to activate seals used to harness the light’s energy. I forgot I had drawn them down once I commissioned from the Grand Cathedral.

    Every paladin learned them during the course of their training. Most of us also pretty forgot most of them when they joined the greater Alliance military. Mainly due to what everyone up and down the hierarchy considered to be a light-wielders greatest asset. Cleanse plague and poisons. Regenerate wounds and fix bones that would have taken weeks or months to recover. In short, the ability to heal.

    Every single seal on the page I was looking at was dedicated to that purpose. My eyes traced a column of images consisting of multiple curves intertwining with each other. Each image grew in the complexity down the page. Each curve representing flourishes and movements of a hand to cast the ability. I remembered their names and purpose well. I practiced them the most during my time as an initiate and during my first year of service. Shock, Flash, Light, Lay, Redemption, Cleanse.

    All of them were unavailable to me. I turned a page.

    The seals here were more rigid and pronounced. Most of these weren’t meant to be traced by the hand, save for the very last one. They were weapon seals, imprinted onto weapons to allow a paladin to channel light through them. I recognized Righteousness as the seal from my old hammer. The last one, Judgment, magnified the seal’s effects on the weapon.

    None of these were available to me either. Captain Falmore’s sword didn’t have a weapon seal, and there were no inscriptors who could work one into the weapon.

    I flipped to the last page. Sacred Shield or barrier as I just called it was written on the top left. Reckoning was drawn in another corner of the page. I remembered the names of a few but their purpose was foggy. Consecration, Retribution, Sacrifice, Devotion…

    My memory jogged as I recognized two of the seals. Exorcism and Wrath.

    These seals were designed specifically to deal with demons, undead, and everything else considered unholy. Exactly how, I didn’t remember. They were discarded since the vast majority orc warlocks and their demonic spawn were captured and slain at the end of the Second War.

    I recalled the mage-turned-demonic creature the mage turned into at the forest. These seals were worth brushing up on. I’d probably at least practice the gestures later.

    I clapped the journal closed and got up. Time to get ready for the day job.

***

    According to the parchment, the bakery was just right around the next corner.

    As I walked through the street, I caught a noticeable air of wealth from my surroundings. The buildings were larger, and more spacious. Most were made out of stone bricks instead of wood. Their roofs were lined with clay tiles and nearly all of them had glass windows. Some even had miniature gated gardens, with men and women resembling servants watering the grass and plants.

    The human traffic along the streets was nowhere near as dense as elsewhere. There were no caravans or gangs of laborers in dirty shirts hauling goods atop their backs. Instead, the people here were well-groomed and their clothes more vibrant and colorful. Several had retainers dressed in more plain clothes following behind. They strode by enjoying the day in leisure. A few gave me glances of annoyance or contempt, as if my presence stained their surroundings.

    I very well didn’t care too much. This was probably Denerim’s equivalent of Stormwind’s garden district. Home of the wealthy and powerful. Well, the clerk did mention that the bakery serviced the nobility. I suppose it only made sense for it to be close to where the customers were.

    My destination was closer than I thought because the moment I turned the corner, I was greeted with a delightful scent. I had a full stomach, but my mouth began to water. Across the street, I saw a quaint two-story building with a loaf of bread carved atop the main door. Smoke puffed out from a chimney in the back. There was a large glass panel through which I could see inside. It looked empty.

    I went up to the entrance and pushed past the door. A bell chimed.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    “Hello?” I asked.

    “Ah one moment!” said an accented feminine voice.

    “Madame Lebois?” I asked.

    “Yes. Yes. Just one moment!”

    Well this was the right place. I was in a room full of wooden stands were arrayed around the floor where I guessed baked goods would be placed.

    A door leading to another room popped open, and a woman walked through with mittens.

    She was of middling years where the signs of age were equally balanced by youth. Under a blue hairnet, her yellow hair was braided back into a frizzy bun. She wore a gray apron over a plump figure that was dusted with white flour.

    “Hello,” I said. “I’m with the Blackstone Irregulars. I believe you requested our assistance?”

    “Oh yes! I was told yesterday you would be arriving. I wasn’t expecting you to be here so early!”

    “Well we are professionals,” I chuckled. “So how may I be of help?”

    “Hm…” She shifted her glance between me and the other room in thought.

    “Well. You can begin by setting up all the baskets.”

    “Pardon?”

    “All the baskets need to be set-up out here. They are in the back. Quick! Everything must be set up before the good people arrive!”

    “Ah-Alright then.”

    She moved out of the way and past me, smelling strongly of flour. I moved past her to the backroom, and the smell of flour reached overpowering levels. There was so much of in the air I could see it floating through the sunlight. I could feel the powder seep through the gaps between my neck and wrist, armor and settle between my clothes.

    The air was noticeably hotter here, thanks to the stone furnace that smoked in the far back. There was a set of stairs leading to the second floor to the left but I was struck most by what was on the right. Rows and rows of tables in the room. One held a tray with molded dough and was filled with pots, pans, jars, and utensils of varying shapes and sizes. The rest of them were filled with all sorts of baked delights. My eyes confirmed what my nose had been hinting at. Real bread. None of that conjured stuff by the mages I was forced to eat for the last two years. My eyes drifted to a set of pastries that gleamed in the firelight. Was that real butter glaze?

    I didn’t see any other helpers. Did she really prepare all this by herself?

    “Don’t just stand there!” she said through the room.

    “Oh, sorry!” There were several stacks of baskets opposite the tables full of bread. I was tempted to sneak away one of those pastries. I resisted but the urge taunted me.

    I lifted a stack, careful to keep them from tipping over, and stepped back to the main room.

    “Where do you want them?” I asked, looking over the stack. Madame Lebois was dusting off one of the counters with a mitten.

    “Just set them on top of the stands. After that…”

    Madame Lebois gave orders and I followed. After all the baskets were set, she took a glance at the layout and shook her head in dissatisfaction. Then we moved to filling each of the baskets with bread, which involved moving the baskets to the backroom then back to the main room. That little inefficiency irked me, but I went along. After that, I was sweeping the floors, then moving sacks of flour, then cleaning the furnace, then reorganizing all the jars of ingredients in her cabinet, and then moving more sacks of flour.

    It wasn’t like I was doing all the labor. She did her part as well, preparing more batches of bread from the backroom and other tasks to get the shop ready. My armor and sword were sitting in the backroom. All they did was get in the way and it didn’t look like I was going to need it for whatever she had me doing. This wasn’t what I was expecting, but it was far better than bloodwork.

    Something tugged against the bottom of my pants as I carried a flour sack through the backroom. I looked down to see a little boy. His blue eyes stared up in curiosity.

  “You’re big!” he said.

    It was so innocent that I couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess I am.”

    “My Papan was big too!” He pointed a finger at the brigandine and sword standing against the wall. “Is that yours?”

    “Uh… yea it is kid. Who are you and how did yo-.”

    “Louis!” Madame Lebois said, appearing at the doorway. “Don’t bother our guest! Come here!”

    The little boy scampered over to his mother. Oh, that explained his sudden appearance. She kneeled down and hugged him up.

    “Sorry about that,” Madame Lebois said, holding on to the child. “He is at the point where he pries too much for his own good.”

    “Eh I can understand,” I laughed. “I was his age once.”

    Madame Lebois gave her son a kiss then set him down. “Stay out of trouble,” she said. “And no more questions while we work. Okay?”

    “Okay maman,” the boy nodded, then ran past me and up the stairs. I resisted the urge to smile at the moment, settling for a half-smirk.

    Madame Lebois’ face was noticeably brighter as she watched her son run off.

    “Your son is a good lad,” I said.

    She sighed. “He is a lovely boy but gives his mother far more trouble than needed at times.”

    “I can understand that too,” I said, feeling a bit guilty.

    Work went on, and soon the first wave of people arrived. Madame Lebois worked the front of the room, greeting her customers and handling her business. The bakery became filled with voices as she laughed and conversed with her customers. Most of Madame Lebois’ patrons were of the wealthy sort.

    I worked the backroom, refilling bread baskets as needed, cleaning, and any other mundane tasks. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the little boy sneak glances from the top of the stairs.

    I had to give it to him for not asking anything as his mother asked. When I was his age, every time we had a new visitor, I would pepper them with questions, testing Aunt Tiana’s patience until she shooed me outside. If Louis was just a troublemaker then I was downright a devil. I continued working with a smile, reliving old memories.

    It was a nice change of pace. Just an honest day’s work, like how I imagined things would be once I got back to Northshire. I could also see why this job hadn’t been taken. I couldn’t imagine one of Taoran’s thugs being happy to labor like this.

    Time passed and the bakery gradually emptied out both in bread and patrons. Madame Lebois stood in the backroom counting coins at a table.

    “Everything is clean here. Do you want me to collect the baskets?” I asked.

    “Oh, yes please!” Madame Lebois replied. “Please let anyone coming that we are closed for the day.”

    “Certainly.”

    I moved to collect the baskets from the main room when the bell rang as the front door opened.

    A young girl with shoulder-length brown hair with two braids walked through. The gold embroidery on her red dress and the plain-clothed retainer walked behind was enough to tell me that she was another noble patron.

    “Sorry we are closed,” I said.

    She didn’t even bother to glance in my direction, and ignored me, stepping towards the backroom.

    “Look, we’re clo-.”

    I stopped myself as her retainer’s eyes pleaded to me not to sour the mood of her ward.

    “Madame Lebois!” the girl said, upon seeing her.

    “Habren!” Madame Lebois replied. “It has been too long!”

    The woman and the girl hugged each other. I looked at the embracing women then back and the retainer and nodded in acknowledgement, moving back to gathering up the baskets. The retainer closed her eyes in thanks.

    “So, my dear girl,” Madame Lebois said. “How have you been!”

    “Never been better. Do you like my new dress?”

    “Is that Orlesian silk?”

    “It is!” she said, spinning and letting the dress flutter with her movement. “Father bought it for me from the market. You can’t quite find anything like it in the South Reach.”

    “Marvelous. He is such a wonderful man. You are quite lucky. Tell me though, what brings you up here all the way up here?”

    “Oh. Well, father has a meeting with the Kendells.”

    “The Arl of Denerim?”

    “Yes. It is actually the reason why I came. I… have a suspicion and I could find nobody else to confide with than you.”

    “Oh dear Andraste. What is it girl?”

    She lowered her voice, but her voice was loud enough that I could still here. “I suspect he intends to strike a match between our families.”

    “What! But the Arl of Denerim has but one son. No… your father cannot be serious!”

    “I know! Is it not terrible?” the girl sobbed, while her retainer rolled her eyes.

    “Vaughn Kendells!? Perhaps one of the unsightliest inscrutable men to have graced the nobility?”

    “Oh Madame Lebois. How could my father entertain such a horrid match?”

    “I could understand why. The Arl of Denerim has never been popular among the Bannorn, but he is powerful,” Madame Lebois shook her head. “Unfortunately, his son’s character hasn’t improved one bit. Apparently, he has taken up a propensity for gambling and… other unseemly habits.”

    “I know! I pleaded with my father but to no avail. Now we have lunch at their estate tomorrow. I cannot… no I refuse to attend! If I have one sight of that churl and boor of a man, I shall make a scene! Madame Lebois, you must help me!”

    “Dear Andraste…Although, there may be yet a way for you to escape this conundrum.”

    “How so?”

    “I shall speak to Revered Mother Perpetua. The Chantry is holding a vigil for this month, and its doors shall be open to all. She will have a word with your father, that you have come upon a devout desire to serve the Maker, and wish to join the Maker’s chosen in prayer. With this, you shall be free of your obligation.”

    “Oh, Madame Lebois that does sound excellent! I knew I can count on you.”

    “Oh no don’t worry my dear girl, it is all my entire pleasure. I am always looking to help the plight of young maidens.”

    “May the Maker and Andraste bless your soul. If only there were more such as yourself in this cruel world. Mayhap I can last free until the next royal ball. I hear the younger of the Cousland brothers is growing up be quite the dashing man.”

    “Now, now dear. One bit at a time. Have patience.”

    “Of course! Of course! Thank you, Madame. I am afraid that I must leave, however before I depart the city, we must have tea!”

    “Certainly, my dear! I will not forget.”

    They hugged once more, then parted. The girl waved while skipping out the door, her retainer following close behind her.

    Madame Lebois waved back, and once the two vanished from sight, sighed.

    “Is it like this for you every day?” I asked.

    “Not always. Some days are less busy than others. Though I truly appreciate your help.”

    “Just doing my job Madame.”

    We went back to our tasks. Me cleaning, her counting coins. As I moved from collecting the baskets to brushing the floor, I thought back to their conversation. Something that drew my interest.

    “I must apologize for my ignorance,” I said. “I grew up far from the city. However, what exactly is the vigil?”

    “Oh, no worries,” she said. “It is a local custom where the Chantry opens its doors for the masses to hear Andraste’s story. I was not aware of until I moved here from Val Royeaux. Although, Orlesians hold the Maker and Andraste in high regard, it appears Ferelden takes it a step further. It makes sense, this was her birthplace after all.”

    “Ah. Open to all you say?”

    “Yes.”

    I really did not want to go anywhere near the Chantry, but the opportunity to learn more about the Maker was too good to pass up. For all I knew it would shed more light on Flemeth’s puzzle.

    We finished our work soon after and I could see the sun begin to set over the buildings. I donned my armor and buckled my sword.

    The little boy trotted down from the stairs, and past me behind his mother’s skirt. Watching him was like watching my own childhood playing back to me.

    Madame Lebois sighed at her son then looked back up to me. “I daresay you’ve made my life much easier. So, here is a little extra gift.”

    She offered me a basket full of bread.

    “Thank you!”

    “No I should be thanking you. It is so much easier to manage things with an extra hand. If you ever feel inclined to, I would certainly hire you again.”

    “Certainly.”

    I kneeled down to the boy. “Keep listen to your mother. Don’t do anything to make her sad alright?”

    The little boy nodded, and I pushed past the door.

***

    “Knight-Lieutenant Riverwood. I have finished processing the data from the artifact.”

    “Oh, you have?” I mouthed.

    I stuffed a muffin from the basket into my mouth. By the Light it was heavenly. I had almost forgotten the taste of real bread. Whatever Alamere and the other mages conjured as field rations was a terrible substitute.

    “The artifact possesses navigational data for an underground system.”

    “So, a map?”

    “Correct.”

    Well, a map would be useful.

    “Any idea where though?”

    “Unknown as of this time. I can posit that the area is located beneath the surface of this planetary body.”

    Or not.

    “Well, maybe it’ll be useful.”

    “Knight-Lieutenant Riverwood. I have detected lifeforms exhibiting hostile intent in your vicinity.”

    I dropped the piece of bread on the street, the free hand reaching towards the hilt of my sword. I pressed myself toward the closest wall to protect my back. I had armor on, but that didn’t make me invulnerable. There were one too many incidents of soldiers getting garroted from the back by enemy rogues. My eyes scanned the empty street, then toward any dark corners or avenues of approach. Something shifted in dark shadow of alleyway. I began to pull the sword out its sheath, ready to strike down the threat.

    Then a high-pitched bark squeaked out. I stopped, as a few figures stepped out from the shadows. Several faces peered out from the shadow.

    Children of various shapes and sizes. Their faces and hair were so ragged I couldn’t tell their gender apart. Some had the pointed ears of elves while others were rounded like humans. One of them was holding on to a small pug-nosed up, who continued yelping in my direction. All of them had the same starved look.

    The Lorekeeper probably registered them as a threat. I still didn’t understand the mechanism of his ability that but it made a twisted kind of sense. Hunger was what drove predators to prey after all.

    I already knew what I was going to do and sighed, pushing my sword back into its sheath. I took a step forward, causing the street urchins to take several steps back into the alleyway. They still peered from the dark, their eyes trained on the bread basket instead of me.

    This time I lowered the basket to the ground then went on my way.

When I was far enough, I heard the scamper of dozens of steps along the streets. I looked back to see the urchins swarm the bread basket. My stomach growled in disapproval but I ignored it. There was stew at the inn.

    “That was very kind of you,” a voice perched right as I was about to turn the corner, and came face to face with a woman.

    Her face had all the hallmarks of age. Gray hair, wrinkles, crow’s feet around the eyes. However, she maintained a sense of grace. She stood upright, and her shoulders held high. Her robes were the red and white of the Chantry women that I had observed in the past. That was enough to set me on alarm.

    “Well, they needed it more than I.”

    The smile on her face was genuine enough, and there weren’t any templars nearby. Experience however taught me that some of the most vicious personalities could hide behind the most innocent of faces. Best to err on the side of caution.

    “A kind thought,” she said. “Rare to see in these trying times.”

    “Just the way I was raised, uh-who are you?”

    “A humble servant of the Maker. But you may call me Mother Dorothea.”

    We looked at the children. They weren’t fighting over each other for the meal, in fact it seemed like they were sharing.

    “I think the world would be a better place with more people like yourself,” said Mother Dorothea.

    “Ah… I’m not too certain about that.”

    “Don’t be so hard on yourself kind stranger. Your actions alone prove it. After all, one good turn deserves another.”

    “One wonders…” I said, edging further away from Mother Dorothea. “Sorry, but I best get going.”

    “May the Maker watch over you. All good things will be repaid in time.”