“I gained an appreciation for well-built boots that day.”

* From the Journal of Eratus Riverwood

    It was your average night in the tavern, at least based on my impressions from the month or so that I was here. The floor was scattered with tables and benches full of laborers and travelers cloistered in their own self-contained castles. There were no bards today, but the laughter and talk of the people alongside the knocks and clatters of beer mugs, plates, and wooden utensils was a music of its own. Occasionally, some drunk denizen would yell or cheer, interrupting the tempo before it ebbed back to equilibrium.

    I was seated at a small table, tucked in a corner. If the other groups were castles then I was the equivalent of a frontier outpost. There but not worth a second look. It even had concealment, in the form of a large wooden pillar that kept it out of sight from the bar and its snooping innkeeper. It was my usual haunt. I’d be eating alone, but tonight I had a guest, who was stuffing her mouth with as much stew as possible.

    “Knight-Lieutenant Riverwood, I must strongly object to the presence of this organism.”

    Make that two. Since we entered the inn, the Lorekeeper had been speaking as quickly and as often as the elf across the table was eating. I covered my mouth as I whispered.

    “Just relax. Besides, she might know something that could help.”

    “I believe there are plenty of local organisms that can provide the requisite information. This one however, has demonstrated itself to be a provable threat.”

    I didn’t point out you couldn’t go around asking random people for help like some quest from a tale. That and there were reasons I couldn’t ask the people that I did know. Madame Lebois was a foreigner, like me. I had no desire to indebt myself to Taoran. The Chantry was not an option, nobody seemed to care there, and I wasn’t going to risk exposing myself to the templars. Shianni had potential, but I didn’t want to trouble her with it. I felt like there was something sour in our last encounter, and she probably had enough issues without adding mine on top of it.

    The elf in front of me. Well, she seemed to know her way around the city well-enough. Plus, she owed me one.

    “My analysis of her behavior suggests that she will be of limited use to our endeavors, if not outright harmful. I do not find this level of risk acceptable.”

    And that was the crux. My last few brushes with death had left the Lorekeeper irate, and sensitive to any future encounters.

    “Well… she did apologize.”

    She scraped out the last bit of the gray stew from the bowl, shoved it in her mouth, and without skipping a beat, set it off with a clatter and began working on her fourth portion.

    For someone that small, I did not expect her appetite to be that big. My own bowl was still half-full.

    She had the same picturesque face I had in mind from Alamere’s musings and the majority of human literature. The same v-shaped face and symmetrical eyes that teetered the line between cute and sensual. However, that was about it. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun that stuck out in odd angles. She smelled like the city in mid-day, which was not a compliment. The light of the tavern revealed dirt stains on her black clothes. If I could summarize it, it would be a discreet lack of elegance that characterized elven women.

    She licked a bit of stew off her finger when another hand placed a mug of beer on the table. I looked up to see the fat innkeeper peering at me.

    “Here you go.” He dropped it off and turning toward the elf. “This one’s got an appetite eh? Didn’t think I’d see her so soon after she left like that.”

    She didn’t care and continued to slob away.

    “None of your business.” I flicked a copper coin which he caught in his palm.

    “Everything that happens here is my business,” he said and walked away.

    She emptied the bowl, in half the time that it took to finish the last. I raised the mug to my mouth when her face twisted as she strained to swallow down the mass of food.

    “Easy,” I handed her my beer. “Careful not to choke.”

    She grabbed the mug, taking deluges of the brown liquid down her throat, and emptying it out in a few heartbeats. She slammed it down on the table then belched, driving another nail through my porcelain image of elven women.

    “Thanks,” she said, leaning back and sighing up at the ceiling.

    “Well, you’re welcome.” I turned the spoon in my bowl of stew, moving a block that was either a potato or carrot in the gray goop.

    “Haven’t eaten that well for some time.” She stretched out her arms. “Bloody starving for days.”

    “Really?” I ate a spoonful of stew, swallowing the bland mass with the least amount of chewing required. “Didn’t you have all that coin with you the day you left?”

    “Doesn’t go a long way.” She straightened back up, sweeping away a strand of hair that fell over her eyes. “Not when you are a female elf running around in this city with nothing but a blanket on. Spent half the nights keeping on eye out for brigands while the rest of it went to buying clothes.”

    She pulled at the fabric of her tunic. “Stuff isn’t cheap. Thanks for tearing up all my old clothes up by the way.”

    “I hope you remember at the time it was your clothes or your life.” I thought about all the blood that was spilled on the initial frantic run to the inn.

    “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way.”

    “No offense taken.”

    “Sorry,” she said. “Mother always said I don’t exactly have a way with words. She didn’t appreciate it when I said I learned it from her.”

    I replied by nodding.

    “Uh… what was your name again? I asked. “Tabris?”

    “Tabris is my family’s name.” She whipped out a dagger, and began cleaning out her fingernails with the tip. “You can call me Kallian.”

    “Kallian eh,” I said. “You’re pretty handy with that knife. Who taught you?”

    “My mother did.” She sighed, flicking fingernail rubbish off the dagger.

    “Must’ve been quite the person,” I said.

    Kallian scoffed. “I’m sure she thinks the same way. Father always did tell me that I take after her more than him. Not sure why he married her. Probably why she never let off on me. Bless the old hag.”

    “I see. Are they still around?”

    “They are.” She flicked off the small pile of rubbish that accrued on the tip of the blade. “Back in the alienage.”

    “And… they approve of what you are doing?”

    “Nope. Probably don’t care either. Either way I don’t intend on being here for long.”

    “Why are you working for the mercenaries then?”

    “Temporary. I’m just looking to book a way out of the city as soon as possible. Fastest way for me is bloodwork, so long as nobody suspects I’m an elf.”

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    She flicked one hand over her ear, as her eyes shifted from her fingertips to me.

    “I’ve been meaning to ask… Did you tell anyone?”

    “No. And I have no intention to.”

    “Well that’s terrific. Guess that means I can go back to fighting at the pits again. I thought you ratted out my identity to all the others.”

    “I certainly wouldn’t.” I leaned forward. “I’m not from Ferelden, and I’m looking to get out as soon as possible. Speaking of which. How well do you know your way around this city?”

    “I’ve lived here my whole life and I know every nook and cranny,” she said. “Why? Looking for someone? Lost love? Revenge?”

    “No,” I said. “Just a place. I have a bunch of descriptions but nothing else. Can you help me find them?”

    “Depends,” she said. “There coin to it?”

    “I just bought you dinner.”

    “Well that was more of a gift. Freely given, freely taken.”

    I opened my mouth to say something, but she started snickering.

    “Relax,” she said. “I swear you are strung up higher than a lute. You helped me out in a rough spot so I’ll be helping you. You aren’t too bad for a shem.”

    I leaned back. “Appreciate it.”

    “What are you looking for anyway?”

    “Andraste’s home,” I said.

    Kallian snorted. “Really? The bloody prophet Andraste?”

    “The very same,” I said.

    “Why don’t you ask the folks at the Chantry about that?”

    “Already tried. They don’t seem to care much.”

    “Interesting,” said Kallian. “I’ve heard of stranger things but whatever. I’ll help you. No guarantees though.”

    “Glad we are on the same page then.”

    I slid away from the table and stood up.

    “Well now that this is done. I need to go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

    Before I could leave, she tugged at the cuff of cloth around my wrist.

    “Sorry, but mind if I ask another favor?”

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    The room was dark, and all the exhaustive efforts from the day’s prior would have ensured I passed to sleep in moments. Instead about an hour passed and I lay on the straw bed, my eyes not open but not quite closed either.

    There was a low wheeze that rumbled from the comatose figure on the floor, followed by a long snort. If I knew Kallian was a snorer I would have just left her to figure out her own living quarters. She was quiet the last time I brought her here, albeit close to death.

    However, what was done was done. I wasn’t going to kick her out now, and resolved myself to sleep. The noise of her breaths began to meld into the background. I could feel myself drifting off into oblivion…

    “Knight-Lieutenant Riverwood. I must question the wisdom in permitting this organism free reign around us while you are defenseless.”

    The voice wrenched me back to the waking world. I sucked air in and breathed it back out.

    “You know,” I mouthed. “You have the worse timing possible.”

    “Understood. However, this organism in particular has caused physical harm to you before. I recommend precaution.”

    “I know.” I grabbed the sheath of my blade, which was tucked into my shoulder. “I have precautions. Just alert me if she causes any trouble. In the meantime, I need sleep, so no more issues.”

    “Understood.”

    I sighed as Kallian’s snoring drifted out of the background and into the forefront of my mind. I took a peek at my new roommate.

    The moonlight streamed down on her sprawled body over the floor. Her arms and legs were stretched out, covering most of the floor. Her mouth gaped open with a bit of drool gleaming from its edge.

    I had to stifle a laugh. It took me back to my first assignment. Watching a bunch of orphans in a chapel outside of Alterac City. Simpler times.

    I turned my head and waited until sleep overcame me.

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    “You mentioned it was overlooking a cliff, right!?” Kallian yelled from the top of the stairs.

    “Yes!” I took another step up the stone staircase, sweat gleaming down my face. “My notes say it was facing the morning sun over the ocean, where water met rock in a spray of white. The sun drifted from the water to the tower on the opposite end.”

    “Then this is probably it.” She turned, peering in the opposite direction. “Sun rises from the ocean. Tower is Fort Drakon. A cliffside between the two. This is the only place that fits in the entire city.”

    I was also a bit peeved that it also happened to take us from morning to afternoon to get here, walking across winding pathways and narrow alleys. Kallian navigated with ease, where I most certainly would have gotten lost.

    I lurched up the final step, and was greeted by a cool breeze and the blinding light of the afternoon sun. The air smelled of seawater. I squinted, raising my hand until my vision adjusted to normal.

    We were on a strip of land that stretched to the mountains on the right, and to a drop to the city docks on the left. Below, I could hear oceanwater crashed into the cliffside at regular intervals. The ground here was a mix of dirt and patches of paved stones that probably covered the entire area at one point in the distant past. As if to emphasize the withering effects of time, entire chunks of the floor were missing along the pathway, gone to the seafoam below.

    As far as the eye could see, there were no houses or anything that resembled a place of residence here.

    “All I see is a bunch of old bricks and dirt,” said Kallian. “You sure this is what we are looking for?”

    “Probably not.” I furled out my journal to the clues that I wrote down from my research. “But I still have about five other places on the list.”

    “Best start looking at those then.” She dusted off a flat boulder and took a seat. “Doesn’t look like whatever you are looking for is out here.”

    “The next place is… where the mountains, the plains, and the flats connect.”

    “Outside the city gates.” She removed a shoe, easing out her foot. “Area used to be called the trifold, used to be where a lot of traders set up camp, at least until every poor ninny in the Bannorn set up camp there.”

    I was also perfectly aware that this was about a two-hour trek through the city, and my feet curled up at the thought.

    “Why is that the case?” I asked, thinking back to what I heard on the road on my initial trip to Denerim. “Something to do with the war with Orlais? Salting the farmlands or what not?”

    “Probably.” She slipped her other shoe off and massaged the foot. “You don’t want to be bring up Orlais around anyone from Ferelden. All happened before my time but I know there is no love lost between the two folks, not before, not during, and not after the war. Funny when I think about it. You shems spend as much time hating each other as much as you hate the elvhen.”

    “Yes… that is quite the shame.”

    “Anyway, ready to be off?”

    “Let’s… take a breather first,” I said, thinking of the extra blisters added to my foot that were starting to flare.

    “Suits me.” She leaned back against the rubble.

    We enjoyed the weather. It was peaceful here. The ocean air soothed my skin, and the only noise was the clockwork sound of crashing waves with the occasional caw from a passing gull.

    “I’ve also been meaning to ask,” Kallian said. “Where’d you get that sword?”

    “This?” I raised the sheath. “Got it from an old friend of mine.”

    “Mind if I take a look?” she asked.

    I hesitated, and decided there wasn’t much risk for harm. I could feel the Lorekeeper’s disapproval but ignored it and tossed the sheath toward her.

    She caught it, drawing it out. The silver-blue mithril blade shone in the light of the sun.

    “Whoa, it is almost as light as wood. I knew there was something special when you drew it that night. This can’t be steel, what is it made out of?”

    “No idea,” I lied. “All I know is that it is dwarven make.”

    “Haven’t seen anything like this before.” She fingered the edge. “Ow!”

    Her hand flinched away, a line of red dripping from her thumb.

    “Careful,” I said.

    “Damn sharp,” She sucked her injured digit. “How often do you work a whetstone on it?”

    “Never had to,” I said. It was one of the notorious secrets of mithril working. Once the metal was refined and took shape, it would only warp under the most extreme temperatures. The ease of maintenance and expensive costs was why it was an officer’s weapon.

    “Really?” She flipped the blade, looking for any sign of wear and tear and finding none. Her gaze moved toward the bulge in the hilt, which was covered in a cloth bandage. “What’s under the wrap?”

    “Feel free to take a look,” I said.

    She undid the bandage, revealing a pattern of blue and yellow marks around the golden face of the Lion of Stormwind.

    “Pretty. Only seen weapons like these on human nobles. Is your friend one?”

    I could feel Captain Falmore snorting at that comment.

    “No.”

    “This thing is special. Must be a good friend to let you borrow something like this.”

    “He is. I’ve been hoping to hand it back to him.”

    “He still around?”

    “Yes. Not here though. Somewhere far away.”

    “Figures. I’m guessing you’ll go back when you find whatever you are looking for.”

    I nodded.

    Kallian put the blade back in the sheath and tossed it back to me.

    “Can’t blame you, Denerim is a shithole,” she said, leaning back against the rubble.

    “What about your daggers?” I asked. “They looked pretty special as well.”

    “These?” She whipped them out. “It’s a family heirloom. Blade has been done and redone countless times but the hilt goes back all the way till Arlathan, at least that’s the story I was told.”

    “Arlathan?”

    “Old Elvhen city, way back when.” She flicked her dagger again. “Nothing but ruins now. Don’t really care.”

    I made a mental note of that to write down in my journal.

    “Sounds like a tale,” I said.

    “It is, nothing worth remembering though. The past is the past.”

----------------------------------------

    We arrived outside the city gates and explored the vagrant encampment.

    I didn’t notice it at first, but it had gotten noticeably smaller. There were less tents around, and from what I could see, people were actually packing up and leaving.

    “Is it just me, or are there a lot less of them out here than before?” I said.

    “No,” said Kallian. “People are in a panic and are leaving. Folk have been disappearing in droves the last few nights. None of the local guards care a wit about it, and it has gotten to the point that it isn’t worth starving if you disappear to Maker knows where.”

    “You stayed out here?” I said.

    “Not much of choice,” she replied. “Usually, safer outside the city than in. I thought they were rumors until I started noticing people vanish the next morning.”

    “Who would do such a thing?”

    “Word on the street was slavers. Who knows though?”

    I said nothing, looking at the empty tent stacks whistling with the wind. Most of the usable goods were taken, but scraps of old cloth and garbage remained. The sun was getting low, and soon darkness would fall over the city.

    “There is nothing out here,” I said. “Let’s head back.”