As they stepped into the secret passage, the entrance concealed, hidden behind a thick curtain of vines and moss-covered stones well within the forest, Miriam took a deep breath, feeling the cold, damp air of the shrine fill her lungs. Each inhalation was a reminder of the spiritual rot that festered in this place, and she couldn't help but feel tainted by association, as though simply being here was enough to stain her soul. The narrow corridor they emerged into was barely wide enough for two people abreast, the walls slick with moisture and lined with Tevinter carvings and faded dragon symbols that seemed to watch their every move. The foulness of it all made her stomach churn, a wave of nausea rising as she fought the urge to retch. She would burn this place to the ground, purify it with her flames as soon as their mission was accomplished.
The dim light from the torches held by the Inquisition soldiers cast long, flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls. The uneven floor forced them to tread carefully, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly in the confined space. Beside her, Cassandra's armor clinked softly while she held her sword at the ready, while Fenris moved with a predator’s grace, his eyes scanning for danger. Sebastian brought up the rear, his face a mask of steely resolve. According to the plan, they had to reach a small storage room adjacent to the main hall, where Samson took residence. From there, they would ambush him, swiftly taking out the General. Cullen, leading the united forces, would strike their enemies from the outside. The timing had to be perfect; any misstep could spell disaster for them all.
As if in response to her thoughts, the mark on her hand throbbed with power, begging to be released. Each pulse sent a jolt up her arm, making her fingers twitch. She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the crimson blood that started to seep from the glowing wound. Worse than the pain, though, were the whispers of the Despair demons, which, sensing the fragility of the Veil in this accursed place, seized the opportunity to torment her.
"You will fail. You will fall," one of them hissed, the sound like nails on glass making her skin crawl.
"Unworthy pretender, false Herald!" another screamed, its voice dripping with contempt emerging from the shadows behind her. Miriam tensed, feeling the weight of the accusation bearing down upon her.
"The Nightmare sends his regards," a third voice, more insidious and venomous, whispered right into her ear. "Lysette's spirit was so corrupted by jealousy that she turned into an Envy demon." Miriam's hands instinctively shot to her ears as she stumbled slightly. The words struck her like a physical blow, each syllable a dagger to her soul. That was a wicked lie. It must be! Her guard, despite her sins, was surely by the Maker's side, basking in His light.
Cassandra seemed to notice her turmoil and moved closer, her face etched with concern. "Inquisitor, are you all right?" Her penetrating golden eyes, full of anxious scrutiny, fell upon Miriam's palm, now drenched in crimson. "Your mark," she uttered with a mix of urgency and compassion. "Allow me to quell the magic."
The mage shook her head, swallowing hard as she fought to regain her focus. "No," she replied, her voice strained but resolute. "I might need to use it at any moment now. We don't know what lies ahead. I can endure this."
Fenris cast a wary glance her way, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon the blood. "The mingling of blood and magic unsettles me, it isn’t right," he murmured as if to himself, yet loud enough for everyone to catch his words.
"What are you insinuating?" Miriam retorted, her already strained nerves snapping, making her emerald veins pulse with a bright glow. "This mark is a divine gift from Andraste, and the blood is a sacred sign from the Maker!"
Sebastian, who had been a quiet observer until now, suddenly surged forward, placing a firm hand on the elf's shoulder. "Please, Your Worship," he began, his voice a calming beacon amid the storm, as he deftly guided Fenris to walk behind him, positioning himself as a protective barrier between the warrior and the mage. "Pardon my friend, for you know he hails from Tevinter, where he endured unspeakable torment at the hands of the maleficar. His past distorts his perception."
Miriam nodded reluctantly, her fury ebbing slightly in response to the sincere apology. "Very well," she uttered, her voice tempered with lingering frustration. "He is forgiven, but I expect such insinuations will never occur again."
Brother Sebastian inclined his head in silent acknowledgment, and they resumed their descent into the heart of the heretic shrine in tense silence.
As they moved closer to the hidden entrance to the small chamber adjacent to the main hall where Samson was rumored to reside, the air grew increasingly hot and oppressive. Red crystals began to emerge from the walls, their crimson glow gradually eclipsing the flickering light of the torches, which were soon deemed unnecessary. The mage could feel perspiration gathering behind her metal mask, trickling uncomfortably down her face.
Cassandra, her countenance etched with concern, led the way with deliberate steps. Her hand rested reassuringly on the hilt of her sword, a silent testament to her preparedness to confront whatever malevolence awaited them ahead.
At last, they stood before a stone wall that appeared unremarkable in every respect, save for the drawing of a dragon upon it, its wings etched at a subtly different angle than the others they had encountered along the way.
“That’s the place Maddox spoke of,” Cassandra announced. “Inquisitor, he told us that casting a fire spell near it would activate the magical mechanism and reveal the secret door.”
Miriam stepped forward, summoning the veilfire from her bleeding mark, her blue robes already stained with streaks of crimson. Yet, nothing happened. "I don’t understand," she whispered, her voice tinged with doubt. "Was the Tranquil wrong?"
The Seeker, tilting her head thoughtfully, observed the scene with a contemplative gaze. "Could it be that a common magical fire is required to activate it?"
Miriam furrowed her brow; she hadn't tried to summon her own flames since her early days in the Circle. "I'll try..." she murmured, opening her palm in front of her. She summoned her mana and attempted to shape it into flames, just as Lydia had instructed her all those years ago. The sensation was uncomfortable, like trying to stretch a numb limb.
Straining and with labored sounds escaping her lips, she managed to produce a small, flickering flame that danced erratically in her palm. With a sigh, she moved her hand closer to the drawing. As it approached the etched dragon, the monster's lines began to glow brightly, and with a low, grinding rumble, the stone wall started to shift, ancient mechanisms creaking as they moved, revealing the hidden entrance with a slow, deliberate motion. The air thickened with more heat, and a strong, pungent odor wafted from the newly revealed room. Instead of the empty storeroom they had anticipated, they stood at the threshold of an impossibly vast chamber. The ceiling soared high above, lost in shadows, and the walls were lined with colossal lyrium crystals, jutting out at irregular angles, creating a surface of jagged, glowing spikes that illuminated the space with an eerie light.
Hundreds of corrupted mages filled the chamber, their eyes glowing with an unnatural red light. Their faces contorted in visages of agony and derangement, their bodies bent and shaking as they intoned a guttural chant that reverberated through the room like the pulse of a malignant heart. The heretical symbols strewn across the floor glowed faintly in sync with its rhythm. In the center of the room, a massive altar rose from the ground, adorned with crumbling statues of dragons, their features worn smooth by time and stained with old blood.
Miriam, along with the others, watched in shock as the mages turned in unison to face them. There was no surprise in their gazes. They had been expecting them.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as she observed Cassandra's hand tightening on the hilt of her sword, her muscles coiling with readiness. Her own heart raced, and she instinctively began summoning protective barriers, her mana flowing smoothly as she recited familiar incantations. Fenris, his lyrium markings beginning to glow faintly, positioned himself to strike. Brother Sebastian aimed with his bow, his expression etched with grim determination.
Then, in an instant, time lurched forward, accelerating with such ferocity that it left Miriam disoriented. The Inquisition forces surged from the narrow passage, their armored bodies clanging together as they stumbled and jostled for position. Shouts of alarm and determination filled the air, a cacophony almost drowned out by the collective roar of the corrupted mages, “The new world! The new god! The red storm will rise!”
Weapons were drawn, shields were raised, but the disarray was palpable. The Inquisition’s formation broke like a wave against a jagged shore, their ranks struggling to coalesce in the face of the unexpected onslaught.
Miriam’s barrier shimmered into existence just as the first wave of fireballs reached them. The collision filled the room with deafening sounds and smoke, the fiery impact against the protective shield echoing like thunder. The air crackled with energy, and the heat was almost unbearable, but the barrier held firm, a glowing testament to the Inquisitor's will and skill.
"Hold the formation! Stand firm, shield to shield! " Cassandra shouted, her sword flashing as she sent the Wrath of Heaven into the cluster of enemies, taking out multiple mages at once.
Miriam gritted her teeth, her concentration strained as she struggled to maintain the integrity of her spells against the assault. Beside her, Fenris wove through the melee with deadly efficiency. His great sword cleaved through corrupted flesh and bone, leaving a trail of devastation in his wake. Behind him, Brother Sebastian released arrow after arrow, each finding its target amidst the chaotic fray.
Inquisition soldiers, cloaked in shimmering protective magic, fought with desperate valor alongside their leaders as they edged closer to the altar at the chamber's heart. Their clashes with the enemy were fierce, their resolve unyielding despite overwhelming odds. Yet with each passing moment, the number of soldiers dwindled. Not even the most fortified incantations could withstand the unrelenting onslaught of lightning bolts and shards of ice. The ebb of battle slowly but surely appeared inevitable, pushing harder against their fragile defenses.
“There is too many of them!” The Seeker's voice pierced through the tumult, strained with urgency. “Fall back! Retreat into the passage!”
Amidst the swirling chaos, Miriam's mind raced. They couldn't give up—not now, not ever. She hesitated to unleash her flames, fearing it might compromise the barriers she was upholding, yet with each fallen soldier, her burden lightened—a spell less to concentrate on. With only a handful of the Inquisition’s men left standing, the power within her mark could finally be unleashed against the throng of corrupted mages. "Burn, vile creatures, burn!" she screamed as torrents of emerald flames erupted from her outstretched hands. The fires, twisting and dancing with an otherworldly fervor, wove through the chaotic battlefield, their tongues of flame licking hungrily at corrupted mages, heretical symbols, and the sinister altar alike.
In mere moments, the cries of agony and defiance were overwhelmed by the roaring conflagration. The air grew thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh, mingled with the hiss of heretical symbols dissipating into the void. Through the haze of smoke, her companions watched with a mix of unease and awe as the last of the corrupted enchanters succumbed to the emerald flames and the remnants of the altar crumbled into ruin.
Miriam stood amidst the smoldering aftermath, her chest heaving with exertion, rivulets of crimson falling from the mark on her arm. She licked her dry, parched lips, the motion slow and deliberate. Despite her exhaustion, the sight of the charred remains of the fallen enemies filled her with an almost sensual satisfaction, a thrill that coursed through her body and made her shiver. Each blackened corpse, each twisted and burned figure, was a testament to her power and His glory.
"That was... a timely intervention," Cassandra finally breathed, her voice filled with relief.
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The mage nodded proudly, but the moment of triumph was swiftly overshadowed by a sudden, searing pain that knifed through her abdomen. Clutching her stomach, she doubled over in agony, a strangled cry escaping her lips before she retched violently, blood and a foul-smelling, black liquid spilling onto the floor.
The Seeker rushed to Miriam's side, her face etched with concern. "Inquisitor, what's happening? Are you injured?"
She shook her head weakly, the pain still gripping her in relentless waves. "I... I don't know," she managed to gasp out between breaths.
The Right Hand's eyes widened with alarm. "It must be the mark," she exclaimed urgently, her hand steadying Miriam's trembling form. "Let me dispel its magic."
Before the mage could respond, however, the iron door at the far end of the chamber burst open with a resounding crash. Red Templar Marksman surged through the opening, took aim, and released a barrage of arrows.
Summoning every last remnant of mana still coursing through her, Miriam cast barriers around Cassandra, herself, Brother Sebastian, and Fenris. Her vision blurred from the effort, but the spell shimmered into existence, the protective wards glowing faintly as they took shape. Forgive me, she thought; unable to muster enough energy to shield the remaining soldiers. As the arrows flew, they struck the unprotected men with deadly precision; their bodies almost instantly transforming into grotesque versions of pincushions as they fell. The sight tore at her heart. I failed to protect them. The voice of Despair like a chilling wind brushed against her skin “Pretender…” Still convulsing from the searing pain in her midriff, she reached for the lyrium potion at her waist and downed it in one swift motion. But almost immediately, her stomach rejected the elixir, and the blue liquid spilled onto the floor, wasted. Maker’s breath! Now she had no way to replenish her powers.
The Seeker seized Miriam’s arm, her grip firm and resolute. "We must move, now!" she ordered, pulling her back toward the passage. Fenris and Brother Sebastian flanked them, covering their retreat. The ceaseless rain of arrows battered the weakening barriers, each impact echoing like a death knell.
As they finally neared the narrow entrance the elf growled, his lyrium markings glowing with renewed intensity. "Once we are inside, go! I'll hold them off as long as I can."
"I won't leave you!" Sebastian shouted, notching another arrow and firing into the advancing Marksman.
"We have no choice!" Cassandra snapped, her voice cutting through the chaos. "The Inquisitor's our prio--"
Her words were cut short as the magical door to the passage suddenly began to close, its movement accelerated far beyond the leisurely pace of its opening. The Seeker's eyes widened in alarm, realizing they were about to be sealed off from escape. Before she had a chance to react, the air around them darkened and distorted, and four Red Templar Shadows materialized in an instant. Their arms were grotesquely transformed into sharp shards of red lyrium, gleaming with a malevolent sheen.
The first one lunged at Miriam, its jagged limb slicing through the damaged barrier. The crystal struck her temple, covered by the metal of the mask, and what should have been a piercing blow became a slashing one, the edge cutting through the skin of her forehead. Blood poured down the mage’s face from the gush, the cracked mask clattering to the floor as the shock and pain shattered her concentration, causing the protective barriers she held to dissipate.
Cassandra intercepted the next blow aimed at Miriam, her shield absorbing the impact with a resonant clang. Moving with fluid precision, she countered immediately, her sword slicing through the air with deadly intent. The Shadow, unprepared for the Right Hand’s swift response, succumbed to the lethal sweep of her blade.
Brother Sebastian, skilled as an archer but less so in close combat, faltered as the Red Knight targeting him closed the distance with swift, precise strikes. With a deft maneuver, the Knight sliced deep into Sebastian's side, where his armor provided scant protection. Its sword dragged mercilessly across the Brother’s stomach, leaving a gaping wound in its wake. With a sharp cry of pain, Sebastian collapsed, his bow slipping from his grasp as he instinctively clutched at his eviscerated abdomen. He crumpled to the stone floor, the agony of his injury etched on his face.
"No!" Fenris roared, lunging at the enemy, his hand phasing effortlessly through the creature's armor to crush its heart in swift retribution. Yet in the next heartbeat, he was ambushed from behind by another monstrous foe. Its sword-shaped hands impaled the elf's shoulders, causing his limbs to instantly go limp and his sword to drop. Then the Red Knight planted his leg behind Fenris' back, and with a powerful push, he forced the elf forward. With a painful growl, the warrior slipped from the sword-like appendages, blood spurting in all directions from his wounds as he tumbled a few meters across the ground.
Meanwhile, Miriam swayed uncertainly, her head swimming from the blow to her temple and the screeches of the demons. “You failed! FAILED!” Another wave of agony wracked her midriff, forcing her to collapse to the floor, her stomach convulsing as it emptied itself in another gruesome display of black and crimson. A sound akin to a rotten cabbage being kicked reached her ears, and she lifted her head just in time to see Cassandra's blade buried in the head of a Templar Shadow, saving the elf that lay defenseless, his face twisted in pain and fury, from a deadly strike. But before the Seeker could draw breath, arrows rained down once again, three of them piercing her armor and finding their mark in her back.
The Right Hand staggered, her movements unsteady from the injuries inflicted upon her. With a guttural growl, she wrenched her weapon free from the creature, its lifeless form collapsing to the stone floor in a heap. She pivoted swiftly, confronting the remaining Shadow Knight with a fierce determination etched upon her face. Yet before she could regain her footing, the Templar Marksman, swiftly trading their bows for short swords, finally closed in on her amid the chaotic melee. The clamor of battle surged around the Seeker, a whirlwind of clashing steel and shouts, and Miriam lost sight of her companion in the tumultuous fray.
One of the Red Knights charged at the mage, his armored form a blur of crimson and steel. His hand was raised high, his sword poised to deliver a death blow. Calling upon the Maker, she reached deep within herself, straining to tap into any last reserve of mana or power in her mark. Yet she found only emptiness. Her strength was spent. All she could do was meet the Templar’s gaze with defiance, her spirit unyielding even in the face of imminent peril. "Rot in the Void!" she spat, blood and a dark liquid oozing from her mouth as she uttered the curse.
As the blade swiftly descended toward her head, a low, grumbling voice from behind the Knight commanded, "Stop." The word, though quietly spoken, carried an undeniable authority. Instantly, all the Red Knights halted, freezing in place as if bound by an invisible force. The Knight before Miriam removed his sword and turned his attention to the source of the voice behind him. “I want them alive. Their bodies will make a fine garden for red lyrium. It would be a fitting 'screw you' to the Chantry and its faithful to see the Herald of Andraste, the Right Hand of the Divine, and esteemed Brother Sebastian used in such a manner."
Emerging from the throng of Red Templars, a pale man with thinning dark hair and bloodshot eyes stepped forward to stand before Miriam. His presence was commanding, his armor distinct from the others—a red lyrium crystal protruding from his chest, pulsing rhythmically. His eyes locked onto the mages, a twisted smile curling his lips as he surveyed the scene before him. "How do you like the rearrangements I've made inside my humble abode, Herald?" he questioned, his tone dripping with mocked reverence. "I was expecting your eventual arrival, you know. Ensuring that no matter which way you bastards emerged, I could give you a proper welcome." A short burst of laughter boomed through the chamber. "Cullen, that holier-than-thou prick," he continued. "Did he really think I wouldn't account for the fact that you captured Maddox, who knew the shrine's layout?" The man's demeanor exuded a mix of smug satisfaction and calculated menace, his eyes gleaming with a predatory gleam as he regarded Miriam with unsettling intensity.
Meanwhile, the mage paid him little heed, her mind filled with haunting whispers of the demons that reverberated through her consciousness like a relentless drumbeat, "They are all dead… dead… dead…" Her heart pounding, she frantically scanned the surroundings in search of her companions. A surge of relief flooded through her as she caught sight of all three, encircled by the Red Knights, grievously wounded and unconscious yet still holding onto life. Their pallid faces and shallow, laborious breaths spoke of a dire struggle against impending oblivion. The demons lied, but time was of the essence; without swift intervention, their survival hung by a thread.
"General Samson, what of the elf?" came a question from one of the Red Templars who stood over Fenris, his form sprawled in a pool of his own blood.
Miriam's mind snapped to attention at the revelation, and her senses heightened as she focused on the figure of the General. So, this was the monster who corrupted the Knights of Andraste, the wicked heretic they had come to confront. Her jaw clenched with steely resolve, her mind made up that she would see him dead, even if it meant it would be the last thing she ever did.
Samson's smile faded, replaced by an almost sympathetic expression tinged with contempt. He stepped closer to the fallen warrior and, with the tip of his boot, lifted Fenris's head. "Stupid bastard," he muttered darkly. "I knew him from my time in Kirkwall. He escaped slavery in Tevinter only to become a Chantry Brother's lapdog. If he's such a fool, let him share Sebastian's fate."
Samson gestured with a wide arc, encompassing the corrupted Knights standing around him, their eyes glowing with the same red lyrium-fueled madness pulsing from his chest. "But we are not as delusional as this elf," he continued proudly, his hand clenching into a fist. "We didn't exchange one master for another. Corypheus will allow us to take control of our own destiny and forge our own path, with red lyrium in abundance for all of us. And those who dare stand in our way," he sneered, eyes flickering with unsettling fervor, "will fall."
Barely listening to Samson's tirade, Miriam's mind raced, searching for any advantage she could seize. Her eyes scanned the smoke-filled chamber, searching for a weapon, a strategy, or anything else that could give her the chance to kill the wretched man.
Then her gaze fell on it—a sharp shard of red lyrium, so very close, probably splintered from the Red Templar Shadow's sword arms during his earlier melee with Cassandra. It gleamed faintly amidst the ash and blood that coated the floor, a small yet lethal fragment amid the chaos. It was just the right size to fit discreetly into her hand, its edges razor-sharp and capable of slicing through flesh or finding its mark in an enemy's vulnerable point—be it throat or eye socket.
Samson's voice droned on, oblivious to Miriam's silent plotting. She edged closer to the shard, her movements cautious and deliberate. The Red Templars, enthralled by their General's words, remained unaware of her subtle approach. With precise timing, Miriam seized the shard swiftly, her fingers closing around its jagged edge. The red lyrium felt hot and foul in her hand, yet despite her aversion to its corrupted essence, her flesh seemed to absorb the energy, revitalizing her with an unnerving strength. She could feel the vile power coursing through her veins—a sickly warmth that both repulsed and invigorated. Suddenly, the screams of Despair demons echoing in her mind were drowned out by the deafening roars of Rage. Anger, white-hot and all-consuming, surged within her like a rising tide, blinding and overwhelming. Her breath quickened, her vision narrowed, and every beat of her heart thundered with the raw, primal fury that now controlled her. "Shut your foul mouth, Samson, and prepare yourself for retribution!"
The General turned to face Miriam with an amused smirk, stepping casually away from Fenris. Closing the distance between them, he reached out, intending to seize her throat. His gloved hand, however, slipped on the mixture of blood and black, viscous liquid that coated her skin, causing him to recoil in disgust. Swiftly adjusting, he grabbed the mage by her robes instead, lifting her from the floor to bring his face closer to hers. "Oh, and what could you possibly do?" he taunted, his voice laden with mockery as he tightened his grip. "Look at yourself, pretender. Stripped of your powers, you're nothing but a rotting half-abomination!"
"DIE!" she bellowed, and with a swift, powerful motion fueled by fury and red lyrium, she plunged the shard into Samson's eye. The crystal’s edge found its mark, burying deep into his flesh with a sickening crunch.
Samson recoiled momentarily from the shock, but the gruesome wound seemed to faze him little. With a snarling grimace, he began to pummel Miriam with his free hand, each blow of the mailed glove landing with a brutal force that drove the breath from her lungs and filled her vision with stars. She fought to summon the flames once again, but the power in the small shard was pitifully insufficient to replenish her mark.
When she was reduced to a half-conscious, bloody mess, Samson finally released her, letting her crumple to the floor like a rag doll. He reached up with a twisted grin and yanked the lyrium shard from his eye socket with a squelch, blood and viscous fluids streaming down his face. "Pathetic," he sneered. "You can do nothing against the power the Elder One has granted me." As he spoke, the large red crystal on his chest began to glow, casting a blood-red light over his surroundings. The flesh on his face, grotesquely torn, started to knit itself back together, the wound closing with an unnatural speed as if it had never existed.
Miriam, struggling to keep her head up, watched it all unfold through her rapidly swelling eyes. Though her body was battered, rage still vibrated through her being. Spitting a broken tooth out of her mouth, she mumbled through split lips, each disjointed word a jab of pain. "Maker … my witness … you will die." She outstretched her bloody, trembling hand toward him, repeating like a mantra, "Die, die, die!"
Samson sneered down at the mage, his expression twisted with disdain as he kicked her hand away. "Your feeble threats mean nothing," he scoffed, grinding his heel into the ground beside her. Towering over Miriam, he raised the hand that held the red lyrium shard and squeezed it in his fist, crushing and grinding the crystalline substance into a fine dust that scattered into the air.
The mage winced in pain and frustration, her body shaking with the effort to rise when a Tranquil entered the chamber with an unsettling calmness, his expression devoid of emotion. "General Samson," he announced loudly but impassively, "the Inquisition and their allies, led by Commander Cullen, have breached our defenses and have entered the shrine. They will be upon us shortly."
A slow, calculating smile crept across Samson's face, a blend of anticipation and excitement glinting in his eyes. He turned to his Red Templars. "Knights, let us show these Chantry dogs what true strength is!" The corrupted Templars straightened, their eyes glowing with the madness of red lyrium. Samson’s words ignited a fervor among them, a collective anticipation of the battle to come. The General’s smile widened as he turned his attention back to Miriam. "Prepare yourself, pretender. You and your precious Commander are about to witness the true power of Corypheus’ chosen."