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With the sun beginning its slow descent, they set out toward the Crossroads, the sounds of distant battle a constant companion.
The rocky dirt path leading down to the Crossroads was littered with the detritus of war—shattered shields, scorched earth, and the bodies of the fallen. Some wore the sunburst insignia of rogue templars, others the tattered robes of rebel mages. Most bore the marks of Inquisition blades—clean, efficient kills from soldiers who had clearly been fighting to hold this ground.
Daniel's stomach twisted. He had seen death before, but never like this. Never so pointless.
A group of Inquisition soldiers stood guard near a collapsed wagon, their armor dented, their faces streaked with soot and exhaustion. One of them looked up as the party approached, relief flashing across his face. "Seeker Pentaghast!" he called out, saluting sharply.
Cassandra acknowledged him with a nod. "Inquisition forces,"she murmured to the others. "They're trying to protect the refugees."
Varric adjusted his grip on Bianca, his usual smirk absent. "Looks like they could use a hand."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a shout echoed from further down the path. Four templars, their armor gleaming beneath layers of grime, charged toward them, swords raised. Their eyes were wild—not with righteous fury, but something closer to madness.
Cassandra stepped forward, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "Hold! We are not apostates!"
One of the templars spat on the ground. "You bear their mark!" he snarled, pointing at Daniel's glowing hand. "You're with the rebels!"
Solas's voice was calm, but edged with resignation. "I do not think they care, Seeker."
Then the templars were upon them.
The fight was brutal but short. Cassandra's shield sent one man sprawling into the dirt before her sword found the gap in another's armor. Varric's bolts punched through templar plate with eerie precision, while Solas's magic wove between them, freezing limbs in place long enough for Daniel to strike. When the last templar fell, Daniel's vision flickered—a strange, almost intrusive notification appearing at the edge of his awareness.
[60 exp gained.]
Then a new threat emerged—three mages, their staves crackling with unchecked energy. Their eyes were hollow, their movements frantic.
"We are not templars!" Solas called out, raising a hand in a gesture of peace. "We mean you no harm!"
One of the mages—a woman with singed robes and a face half-covered in burns—let out a broken laugh. "Liar!" she shrieked, hurling a bolt of lightning toward them.
Varric ducked behind a shattered cart, loading Bianca with practiced ease. "Doesn't look like they're listening."
The battle was even uglier this time. These mages weren't trained combatants; they were desperate, lashing out like cornered animals. Fire and ice erupted in haphazard bursts, forcing the party to scatter. Daniel rolled behind a fallen log, barely avoiding a gout of flame, before retaliating with a blast of his own magic. One by one, the mages fell—not with the disciplined efficiency of the templars, but in a mess of screams and wild, uncontrolled spells.
Another flicker at the edge of his vision.
[45 experience gained.]
"More coming our way!" Solas warned, his staff glowing as he scanned the tree line.
Three more templars emerged, this time led by a knight in heavier armor. But fatigue was setting in—their movements were sluggish, their coordination fraying. The party cut them down with grim efficiency.
[45 exp gained.]
Then the knight fell, his greatsword slipping from his grasp as he crumpled.
[45 exp gained.]
Cassandra wiped her blade clean on the grass, breathing hard. "That's the end of it."
The Crossroads was a nightmare given form. Makeshift tents stretched as far as the eye could see, filled with the wounded, the dying, and those too exhausted to flee further. The air reeked of blood, burning herbs, and the sour tang of fear.
Two Inquisition soldiers struggled to raise a banner near the center of the camp, its eye-and-sword sigil flapping limply in the smoke-choked breeze. Daniel barely registered it—his attention was drawn to the figure kneeling beside a wounded soldier.
Mother Giselle.
Her robes were stained with dirt and gore, but her voice was steady as she murmured to the young man trembling at her feet. "There are mages here who can heal your wounds. Lie still."
The soldier's face contorted in pain—and fear. "Don't… let them touch me, Mother. Their magic—"
"Turned to noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade," she replied, firm but not unkind.
The soldier whimpered, his fingers clutching at the dirt. "But—"
"Hush, dear boy." She placed a hand on his forehead. "Allow them to ease your suffering."
Daniel approached slowly, not wanting to intrude. But Mother Giselle sensed his presence, turning to face him with a quiet dignity.
"Mother Giselle?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
She rose gracefully, dusting off her skirts. "I am. And you must be the one they're calling the Herald of Andraste."
Daniel exhaled, rubbing his marked hand absently. "What you said to that soldier…"
She studied him for a moment, her gaze piercing. "We do not teach that magic is evil. We teach that pride is evil—and does not corrupt only mages." A faint smile touched her lips. "But I did not ask you to come simply to debate with me."
She motioned for him to follow, leading him through the camp. Everywhere they looked, there was suffering—children clinging to silent mothers, soldiers with missing limbs, healers moving frantically from one patient to the next.
"I know of the Chantry's denouncement," Mother Giselle said as they walked, her voice low. "And I'm familiar with those behind it. I won't lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified." She paused beside a row of bodies, shrouded in rough cloth. "So many good people, senselessly taken from us…"
Daniel swallowed hard. "What happened was horrible."
"Fear makes us desperate," she agreed. "But hopefully not beyond reason."
She turned to face him fully now, her expression grave. "Go to them. Convince the remaining Clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightening tales of you. Give them something else to believe."
Daniel hesitated. "That won't just make it worse?"
She arched a brow. "Because you are a mage and not human?"
"That too," he admitted.
Mother Giselle's smile was thin but knowing. "Let me put it this way: you needn't convince them all. You just need some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them, and you receive the time you need."
Daniel let out a slow breath. "It's good of you to do this."
For the first time, something like weariness flickered across her face. "I honestly don't know if you've been touched by fate or sent to help us… but I hope." She placed a hand on his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us… or destroy us."
She released him, stepping back. "I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry that would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can."
With that, she turned and walked away, her figure soon lost among the sea of refugees and soldiers.
Then his interface appear and told him
[Succesfully meet and talk to Mother Giselle]
[200 exp gained.]
Cassandra's hand rested on the pommel of her sword as she surveyed the battlefield. The air still smelled of burnt flesh and ozone, a lingering testament to the violence that had unfolded here. She turned to Daniel, her expression grim but resolute.
"We should go see Corporal Vale," she said, nodding toward the cliffside where the Inquisition's banners fluttered in the wind. "He leads the forces here. The camp should be just ahead."
Daniel nodded, flexing his marked hand absently. The strange notifications still flickered at the edge of his vision—numbers, words, things he didn't fully understand. He pushed them aside for now.
As they followed the dirt path upward, Daniel's gaze swept over the fallen. The dead templars and mages lay where they had fallen, their possessions scattered—discarded coin pouches, torn satchels, the occasional glint of metal. Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers brushing against a templar's discarded cloak.
Then he use his perception skills to loot the body.
It was like a second layer of sight—details sharpening, objects glowing faintly as if calling to him. He moved almost on instinct, plucking a silver necklace from beneath a corpse's pauldron, scooping up a handful of gold coins spilled from a broken purse. A length of fine silk, still miraculously clean, had been tucked into a mage's belt—likely looted from some merchant before their death.
Varric whistled low as Daniel straightened, his arms now laden with scavenged goods. "Well, aren't you the industrious one? Bianca's never been that thorough."
Daniel blinked, his skill are fading. "Well that's one of my skills, I guess.
Solas studied him with quiet interest. "An instinctive attunement to material objects? Or perhaps something more." He didn't elaborate, but the look in his eyes suggested theories Daniel wasn't sure he wanted to hear.
Cassandra, pragmatic, simply nodded toward the path. "Keep what's useful. Leave the rest."
By the time they reached the cliff, Daniel had gathered a small trove—gold, a weapon fragment that might be reforged, lambswool still soft despite the carnage. He tucked it all away, the weight of it a strange comfort.
The camp was a stark contrast to the Crossroads below. Here, order held firm. Tents stood in neat rows, scouts moved with purpose, and the air carried the sharp tang of elfroot poultices rather than decay. At the center stood Corporal Vale's command post—a sturdy tent flanked by two soldiers who snapped to attention as the party approached.
Corporal Vale himself was a broad-shouldered man with a face weathered by years of campaigning. His eyes, though tired, were sharp as he looked up from a map spread across a makeshift table.
"You're with the Inquisition?" he asked, though the way his gaze lingered on Cassandra's armor suggested he already knew the answer. He saluted anyway. "Corporal Vale. Thanks for your help. The mages and templars don't seem to care who gets caught in their war."
Daniel stepped forward. "The refugees here are in dire need of help."
Vale's jaw tightened. "If the war doesn't kill them, cold or starvation will."
"What other problems do these refugees face?" Daniel asked.
Vale exhaled, rubbing at his temple. "We've got some injuries that go beyond stitches and elfroot. I know healers are in short supply, but if you can find someone in Redcliffe to help us, it would save a lot of lives."
Daniel nodded, filing the information away. "You were concerned about refugees starving."
"Yes," Vale confirmed. "Many of them brought food, but they expected to be home by now, or safe in a city." He gestured toward the hills beyond the camp at the Village. "There's a hunter up the hill who had some ideas."
"Is there anything we can do to help people deal with the cold?" Daniel asked
Vale's laugh was short and bitter. "I asked the Inquisition to send blankets. You'd think I was asking for a wagon of raw lyrium." He jerked his chin toward a lanky recruit across the road, fussing with a pile of threadbare cloth. "A recruit named Whittle is trying to make what we can bring in last. If you have any ideas, talk to him."
Daniel hesitated before asking the next question. "What can you tell me about the templars?"
Vale's expression darkened. "All the templars were called to Val Royeaux not long ago. These bastards ignored the order." His fist clenched. "Now they're killing rebel mages, along with any refugees they think are mage sympathizers." He shook his head, disgusted. "Every templar I've ever known has wanted to protect the common folk. These men defile their Order's good name."
Then Daniel ask about the rebel mages. "And the rebel mages?"
"The real rebels are up north in Redcliffe, dug in and taking care of their own," Vale said. "The ones out here are just apostates. Locked up in the Circles all these years, and now they've gone mad with power." He spat to the side. "The rebels in Redcliffe have washed their hands of them. I wish we could do the same."
Daniel's next question was more practical. "What can you tell me about the man who's supposed to be getting horses for the Inquisition?"
"Horsemaster Dennet?" Vale's tone shifted slightly—respect, maybe. "He lives on a farm to the west. Tough old fellow. We haven't heard from him." He shrugged. "Best we can tell, he's holed up until the mages and templars are done killing each other."
Daniel then ask about the bandits. "And the bandits blocking the road?"
Vale's lips thinned. "Only that they're making it hard to get supplies or reinforcements to these refugees." He frowned. "They're better equipped than I'd expected. They must have gotten lucky picking off travelers."
Daniel exhaled, absorbing it all. "Thank you, Corporal."
Vale nodded, already turning back to his maps. "Good luck out there."
As they stepped away from Vale's tent, Varric let out a low whistle. "Well. That's a laundry list of problems."
Cassandra's gaze was fixed on the horizon, where smoke still curled into the sky. "We cannot address them all at once."
Solas folded his arms. "No. But we can choose where to start."
"Then let's get to work," Daniel said.
Then Daniel flexed his marked hand, feeling the pulse of energy beneath his skin. The Breach loomed above them, but down here, the people needed more than just a symbol. They needed food, medicine, protection, and hope which the Inqusition tried their best to give it to them.
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Name : Daniel Carter
Race: Elf
Level 2 : 656/1250 EXP
Professions: Mage
Gold Coins: 749 Coins
Weapon: Staff of the Dragon
Armor: Light Armor of the Dragon and Templar Scribe Scowl
Accessories: Lifeward Amulet
Inventory: Acolyte Ice Staff, Morning Star, Stiletto, Hunting Longbow, Fire Resistance Cowl, Mercenary Coat, Acolyte Fire Staff, Disciple Lighting Staff, Sigil of the Gamordan Stromrider, and Apprentice Armor
Crafting Materials: 22 Elfroot, 32 Iron, 2 Blue Vitriol, 1 Dawn Lotus, 5 Silk, and 1 Lambswool
Valuables: Aquamarine, Silver Bracelet, Figurine of Maferath the Betrayer, 2 Shadow Essence,
Gurn Gallstone Charm, Braid of Rank, Glass Halla, 1 Weapon Fragment, and 1 Silver Necklace
Potions: Lesser Health Potions x8, Lesser Regeneration Potions x5, and x5 Lyrium Potion
Skills: Chain Lighting, Flashfire, Barrier,
Armor Schematics: Shokra-taar Schematic, Antaam-saar Schematic, Avvar Armor Schematics Acquired, Stone-Bear Armor Schematics, Vanguard Coat Schematic,
Weapon Schematics: Curved Dagger Schematic
Potion Recipe: Lesser Regeneration Potion recipe and Lyrium Potion Recipe