From the Ashes: Charred (ch. 16) (Patreon)

“I’m here with an offer,” a young elven man said, sitting in a chair across from me, his hands clasped in front of him. His hair was light brown, his eye a pale blue. He was handsome enough, but rather plain looking for an elf, though the drab and plain-looking clothing that he wore didn’t exactly help him there. “That I believe will be to the benefit of both of the organizations we represent.” He opened with, sounding confident if tense, but I got the feeling he wasn't half as confident as he wanted me to think. It was in his posture and how he seemed like he was trying very hard to make himself look and sound confident.

I leaned back into my wood chair, the same rosewood chair that I had used in the alienage, the wood not so much as creaking as I shifted my weight. “And what organization would that be?” I questioned, cocking an eyebrow. The elf was named Aevon, an elf that came from outside of Denerim to my knowledge. “Something dodgy, I hope. Otherwise, you could have just waited in line like the rest.”

There were two types of people that stole other people’s appointments with me. The first were self-important who tended to think that they were too good to wait in line and I would want to hear whatever they said. Sometimes they were right. Other times, they were wrong. Depended on what they had to say. The second type was far more interesting because it consisted of those that had a proposition that they decided was better left unspoken, else it would draw too much attention.

“The Mage Collective. A network of independent mages outside of the Circle, who simply wish to study magic and share what we learn,” Aevon answered, seemingly a little pained that I didn’t give any obvious sign of interest. But I was. I was very interested, for a large number of reasons and only some of them were personal.

There had always been rumors about something like the Mage Collective. Most people seemed to think it existed in some form, but no one could really say one way or the other. It was just as likely to be a make believe story to frighten children that there was a group of mages out of the Circle that would slit their throats in a blood magic ritual as it was to be a credible rumor for an actual organization.

I tended to lean towards the latter because I had heard about them before. In the years since, I hadn’t forgotten that men had strode into Gaxkang’s quaint hovel, and strode out. While it was impossible to say if they were mages or not, I couldn’t think of any reason common folk would be meeting with that ancient demon. Meaning that they were likely mages, and a group of them.

A group that I have yet to find in Denerim.

“Are you now?” I questioned, forcing myself to sound bored as I cocked an eyebrow. “I do hope you aren’t expecting me to just believe that without proof?” Proof would be nice. It would be ideal. At the very least, I believed that Aevon was a mage -- it wouldn’t make sense otherwise because if he wanted my attention, then there were better lies to tell. However, it was a question of if he actually was a representative for this Mage Collective or if he was borrowing a name to seem more important.

If this was a genuine offer, then I agreed. I imagine our organizations could help each other a great deal.

“I understand if you’re wary,” Aevon said, sounding like that was a prepared response. “However, given the nature of our organization, we tend to be… distrustful and careful to not reveal anything that could endanger other members.”

“Naturally,” I remarked, sounding unimpressed.

“We do, uh, have an offer. To see if we can trust your organization and, afterward, we can discuss how… closely we shall work together,” Aevon continued, his confidence taking a small hit. He seemed to make a decision upon seeing my blank expression, “As a gesture of good faith…” He continued, holding up his hands.

Electricity danced between his fingers, filling the air of my office with the hum of power. I nodded to him, still keeping my expression blank as he closed his hand. He didn’t look much like a mage. Then again, I didn’t either.

“Your secret is safe with me, Aevon,” I said, making him still because he hadn’t given his name. “To that end, I will be blunt -- I do have an interest in working with your organization. However, my reservations stem from the fact I’m not sure if your organization is even real. If this opportunity you speak of can confirm its existence for me… then yes. I do believe we can establish an agreement of mutual benefit.”

The shock of using his name wore off because Aevon straightened up upon hearing that, “I understand your doubts, but I assure you, we are real. As for the opportunity, we require space to perform magic. A space where we can operate freely in without rousing the attention of templars. If you can provide such a location and, upon the trail period of… six months, we remain undisturbed, it will establish that you are a man of your word and we have no fear of being turned over to the Chantry.”

They didn’t. I’d no sooner go to a templar than I would the city guard. “Cautious, but given the risks for mages, I would call it practicality. I can arrange that for you and your organization. However, it will be a question of how does my organization benefit?” I questioned, and Aevon was all too happy to explain.

“To start? Magical items. The Chantry controls enchantments by virtue of the fact they control the Tranquil. We have a number of Tranquil amongst our number, liberated from the Circles, so I’m sure you could find uses for things such as a flaming blade. Additionally, you will have access to… us. Our talents in magic are varied ranging from elementalism, to healing, to Force magic. For the proper fee, it can be arranged for one of our mages, or several, to perform a highly specialized service.”

As far as offers went, it was more or less what I wanted. Magic was a highly valued commodity. There was a lot that I could do with an organization of mages. I might even be able to learn a thing or three.

“It so happens that I have a farm in the heartlands of the Waking Sea Arldom,” I told him, catching his attention. “Isolated, a half days walk to the nearest village. Beneath that farm is a cellar roughly the size of the hall of the Blushing Maid. There is a Chantry near the village, however, it only possesses a single templar and he’s become addled. He has but a year or three left in his service to the Chant before he’s shipped off to wherever old templars go. Would that suffice?”

I could see the hunger in his eyes, “That would be perfect for our needs. In exchange, I shall be at your service as well as acting as a representative for the Mage Collective.” He said, standing up and offering a hand. I shook it with no hesitation, searching his gaze. He did seem a little surprised that I shook his hand so easily, with so little fear, but if he noticed that I was also a mage, he hid it better than I thought he could. On my end, I just felt clammy skin.

“It will be arranged. Pleasure doing business with you. I believe this will be the start of a long and healthy relationship,” I remarked as Aevon saw himself out. I watched him go, my gaze sweeping over my office before I let out a small breath.

“How much things change in a year,” I muttered, leaning my head back to look up at the ceiling. Things had changed a great deal for a great many people. The Rabbits were now a force that others came to for deals and favors instead of us going to them. It was only natural, I suppose. Power attracted power.

And, on the streets of Denerim, the Rabbits reigned as kings.

Rubbing my eyes, I cast rejuvenation on myself to give me the boost that I needed to stand up. Rolling my neck and shoulders, I headed to the door to my office, striding across floorboards that didn’t squeak. My office was certainly an upgrade, that was for certain. The shelves on the painted walls were filled with books of all kinds -- trophies, of sorts. The furnishing was simple in the rather large room, but clearly high-class.

Opening the large door, I was greeted by the Blushing Maid. The new one. A year ago, the old Blushing Maid was burnt in what was now known as the Swalling. Most of the slums ended up burning before the fire had managed to get under control, and people blamed King Cailan for it, oddly enough after the initial baying for elven blood had quited down. I’m not really sure why -- there was no real evidence to support it beyond the fact that he and Queen Anora launched rebuilding efforts.

Meaning that the Blushing Maid was rebuilt better than ever. It was a rectangle shaped building with a long hall thats bottom floor was covered in tables that were filled with patrons, all elven. It was easily three times as large as the previous Maid had been, complete with a bar. On the opposite end of the front door was a staircase that hugged a statue of a scantily clad elven woman that sat at the base of a small fountain, and the long hall was framed by walkways and private rooms.

It was the heart of the Rabbit's empire. The entire building was made of stone -- marble, mostly -- with the walls lined with painted mosaics, embroidered silk tapestries hung from the ceiling, anchored to chandeliers. It put the Pearl to shame, I thought as I descended the stairs. The brothel was filled with laughter, chatter, and a minstrel singing while a man and a woman danced sensually in front of her.

“Boss!” I heard a few times, people raising their tankards or goblets of wine. I nodded at them as I passed, heading for the door with, one hand in my pocket and the other resting on the Keening Blade at my hip. Stepping outside, instead of dirt roads and half-rotted buildings, I saw cobblestone and painted gray stone buildings that lined the streets. The road was covered in people, though most didn’t venture too close at the good dozen Rabbits standing guard.

Pulling up my hood, I joined the foot traffic, my gaze darting about in an old habit to search for traces of the slums. They were rapidly diminishing. The Blushing Maid was at the heart of the slums -- if you could call them slums anymore. The dirt roads were all lined with cobblestone, to start with. The winding labyrinth of back alleys that the slums were known for was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, everything was neat, organized, and deliberate.

The Maid was seated right next to the alienage, at the heart of another, if smaller, market square. Running down to the docks were shops, taverns, inns, gambling dens, and everything in between. All of them lining the main artery of the main roads from the docks into the heart of Denerim. However, once you stepped off the main road, the signs of the slums became clearer.

A single year wasn’t enough time to rebuild the city and, while the Queen had drawn lines on a map on what would go where, that didn’t mesh up with reality. I saw as much when I walked by a group of guardsmen, shoving a man.

“Go on, get! By orders of the King, shove off you wasteral!” The guard shoved a man, landing in the portions of the road that remained dirt, though there were construction crews paving it over.

“Where else am I supposed to bloody sleep then?!” The man cried out, looking exhausted. “I can’t afford to sleep in me own house anymore!” He griped, and his plight was one shared by many. It was for that reason that the guards couldn’t care less, having heard the same words a thousand times.

“Get before I give you the boot!” The guard called out, acting like he was going to kick the human, making him scamper off. I watched him go, knowing that he would be back soon enough. The Queen had allocated a generous amount of housing, but the issue was that it was still being constructed. Buildings as tall as four stories, made out of stone, to be affordable housing for the common folk.

In theory, that should have earned her a lot of goodwill with the common folk, and maybe one day, it will. However, until it was built and everyone displaced by the Swalling were living in that affordable housing, people were content to curse the King and Queen for their every misfortune simply because Queen Anora had proven eager to rebuild and alter the layout of the city. While, at the same time, destroying the Arldom of Denerim.

The stated reasons were that the royal family needed to keep a tight grip on the city because the Kendell family had nearly ruined the shining jewel of Ferelden. Which was probably true, in all likelihood, yet people just saw it as an excuse to take more power for herself.

When I rounded a corner, I saw the entrance to the alienage. It looked almost as it ever did, only the wall was fifteen feet taller, and the alienage itself was radically different. The streets were lined with marble, complete with gutters for the rain. The ramshackle buildings were mostly gone, and I had crews that were tearing down the last remnants. While the alienage was crowded with buildings, every inch of space used to accommodate a population of elves three times too large to fit in the area…

The buildings were nice. Tall, too. Some hugged the tall walls that kept the elves in the alienage pinned in. The buildings were made of plain granite, a tough material. A bit plain, but people were eagerly coating them in pigments. At the heart of the alienage remained the Venti tree, looking stronger and taller than ever.

At the gate was someone I hadn’t seen in well over a year, “Recognize the place?” I asked Shianni, making her glance over her shoulder as she looked on with awe.

“Not at all,” Shianni admitted, looking back at the alienage. “I heard about it, but seeing is believing, I suppose. How’d you swing this?” She asked me, earning a chuckle as I looked at the alienage with pride.

“Little bit of treason,” I admitted, earning a very sharp look. “I own the lumber and stone quarries that the crown is using to rebuild the city. The construction crews also answer to the Rabbits. Between the two, I gave the alienage priority.” I answered with a small shrug at Shianni’s disbelieving stare.

“You turned the alienage into a fortress,” she pointed out, pointing at the buildings that hugged the walls. The roofs of those buildings just so happened to look like ramparts. Just in case.

“We already had the walls,” I answered with a shrug before continuing into the alienage. Shianni fell in line next to me, marveling at the home she grew up in and not recognizing any of it. For the better. “Have you seen the others yet?” I asked her as walked by a number of elves, all of them happier and smiling from ear to ear. Children laughed as they played Heroes and Humans, beating the void out of each other with sticks, people going to and from work with their heads held high.

The heavy air of oppression and defeat in the alienage had been lifted. It was far too soon to say that elves were equal to humans, but the elves in the Denerim alienage had tasted hope and they found they were drunk on it.

“No, I just arrived,” Shanni admitted as we continued on, spotting our meet-up location. I knocked at a door -- three times, before pausing a moment, then I knocked two more times, paused again, then finally knocked four times in rapid succession. A slot in the door opened to reveal a pair of beady eyes and upon seeing it was us, a comical number of locks were undone. “Spent a little time exploring the city. Is Soris back?”

The door opened, revealing a kill box disguised as a common room. Shanni wasn’t wrong. I had turned the alienage into a fortress. Striding inside, I answered, “You were the last one to arrive,” I told her, crossing the kill box, and opening another door across from the entrance. The door swung open revealing a small room that had a round table in it that had a half dozen chairs pulled up to it.

Soris looked up and his expression brightened, “Shianni!” Soris looked good -- strong. His lankiness had vanished as he filled out, and hard labor gave him a powerful frame for an elf. He was tall for an elf at 5’10, his year in Amaranthine gave him a hint of a tan, and I noticed that he had a gold earring in one ear.

Shianni laughed as she crossed the threshold to give Soris a hug, a full head shorter than him now. “I barely recognize you!”

“I could say the same, Shianni!” Soris said, and that was true. Shianni was eighteen now, a woman grown by any measure. Her hair was the same blood red, her skin pale, but her freckles had faded. She had a woman’s figure as well and moved with a grace she didn’t have a year prior.

I took a seat at the round table, my gaze looking to the other seating. Durian, the original founder of the Rabbits. He had changed very little in the past two years -- the same short dark hair and the same startling green eyes. His ears were sporting additional piercings, and I thought his dark clothing of red and black made him look like he was trying to be a pirate.

The other two seats were taken by two newer additions to the Rabbits. One was the very same recruit that Soris had inducted into the gang a year ago. Alim. Blonde hair, brown eyes, sixteen years old, which made him the youngest at the table after me. Sitting next to him was a woman in her late thirties -- black hair and deep blue eyes. All elves tended to age gracefully but Reosa aged more gracefully than most.

Alim worked himself up, proving himself in Denerim, then Amaranthine. Reosa, on the other hand, had led a gang that was folded into the Rabbits.

“We’re all here to catch up, so let's get started,” I said, making Shianni and Soris break apart, though they were both wearing smiles. “We’ve come far in the past year. Denerim is our city. We number a thousand strong, the guard is ours, the docks are ours, and we’ve been weeding out other influences where we find them,” I quickly summarized. Denerim was the city that I was least interested in hearing about because I led its chapter of Rabbits.

Recruitment exploded after the elves in the alienage saw the guardsmen surrendering to me. In the months since the Raggers had been eradicated to cover the initiation of more than a hundred new Rabbits. Since then, I had been working down the list of notable gangs to recruit more. As things stood, the Denerim chapter numbered a thousand strong. We had deep connections amongst the servants and laborers of the city, not to mention that the countless critters in the city also answered to me.

Durian spoke up, “Connections are still strong with the Carta?” He asked me, earning a nod.

“No real change there. Carta goods come in and out of the ports, we collect a nice profit, and their wares fill our stores at a nice discount. We skim off the top here and there, but Darvik knows about it and accepts it as the cost of doing business,” I told them. Our connections to the Carta were good. After we settled up, Darvik had been quick to offer the same deal that had been extended to the Blighters on the condition that he got to regularly check the books in case we tried to rob him as the Blighters did.

Not that we needed to. Between the gold that I stole, the income from our businesses throughout Ferelden, and our illegal dealings, Denerim alone was able to fund the rest of the chapters of Rabbits.

My gaze slid to Soris, “Amaranthine?”

“Things were bad at the start,” Soris said, leaning forward with a frown on his face. “After the fire, Arl Howe cracked down on the elves hard. It made for plenty of potential recruits, though. Currently, we have five hundred members, give or take. All blooded. We don’t control the city, but we do control the docks and the smuggling that goes in and out of them -- fair bit of Carta goods.”

Shianni spoke up, “And Arl Howe?”

“He doesn’t care about the city. At all. I think I could kill every human in Amaranthine and Arl Howe wouldn’t give a hoot if it means taxes stay the same,” Soris answered with a shake of his head. “The Guard-Captain is kept sweet with bribes and he lets us have the run of the place. We have a rival gang, the Ashers, but I have it under control. Nothing more than a few knife fights over territory.”

“Beyond that?” I asked, earning a shrug from Soris.

“Controlling the docks is profitable. We have a few humans to get around laws. Things in the alienage are improving, and that’s sweetening them up to us. When the time is right, I’ll declare war on the Ashers, wipe them out, and that’ll give us a foothold into the city,” Soris answered, and I saw that he had grown into a leader.

Reosa spoke up, “Any inroads to Highever?” She questioned, her tone light.

“Some, but not much. Bryce Cousland is good to elves. Our people still live in squalor, but it's nothing compared to Denerim or Amaranthine. I’m sending out feelers and I’m intending to establish a foothold after things settle in Amaranthine, but I’m not too hopeful. The people there genuinely like the Couslands,” Soris explained and I nodded, accepting that. It matched what I heard.

Still, every city had its gangs, and when the Rabbits moved in, we would break them.

“Gwaren?” I questioned, seeing that there were no further questions.

Shianni spoke up, “Things were bad. Teyrn Loghain hasn’t been in Gwaren since his wife’s death years ago. It was mostly run by the Seneschal, and he was a right piece of work. I had him killed -- fell down drunk down the stairs -- and his replacement was more agreeable. Gwaren is small, though. The alienage makes up half of the city because of all the elves wanting to serve under Tiern Loghain after the war. The Rabbits number over three hundred, and we’re the dominant gang in the city, for all the good it does. Wasn’t like we had much competition.”

She gave me a small nod, “We made contact with the Dalish. The Sabrae clan,” she spoke, an odd note in her voice. I could sense a question incoming, but she swallowed it down. “Merrill says hello, but you didn’t leave a good impression on the rest of the clan. The Keeper says she’s open to working with us, but she never nailed down what or when.”

Fucking Dalish.

Okay. “Edgehall?” I asked, looking to Durain. Edgehall was the closest to the Frostback Basin, right next to Redcliff.

“Arl Gell Lendon is a right cunt,” Durain spoke, an edge in his voice that dripped contempt. “He might be Ferelden by blood, but he’s a real Orlesian piece of filth. Brought in Orlesian mercenaries and all but forced his brother off the throne, and the people ain’t happy about that. Good news is, he’s a common enemy. Everyone hates ‘em, humans, elves, and dwarves alike. We control Edgehall’s underworld for now -- we came in with the numbers and coin. May not last when the fuck’s dead, but I’m prepared for that.”

He inclined his head at me, “Also got word about that avvar tribe you told me about. Haven’t made contact, but I know where they are.” That was good news. “Beyond that, it's a question of how things shake out. I’ll have more news incoming soon.”

“South Reach?” I said, looking to Alim.

"Things are getting started in South Reach -- like the rest of Ferelden, South Reach cracked down on elves, but that's lightening up. We've recruited aggressively, so we number a hundred and fifty already, and we've had to go through a few Guard Captains. There wasn't much of a gang presence in South Reach, but there are ones developing to counter us. I have it handled." Alim spoke, his tone curt and matter of fact. Of everyone else sitting at the table, he was the second most aggressive in his dealings, second only to me.

I put him in South Reach six months ago and he made significant progress.

"The Arl is a decent bloke. Don't mistreat nobody if he can help it, but he has been starting to crack down on us. It's a bit of give and take at the moment," Alim continued. "Trade is big in South Reach since it's seated on the imperial highway -- we've been intimidating businesses, started a few fires, and run a protection racket. In short, we have our foot in the door."

Reosa didn't wait for me to look at her, "Waking Sea is progressing. Rather spread out, and some bannorn are putting up more resistance than others," She began. Of all the territories, Reosa's was the largest. Most of Ferelden could be considered the Waking Sea bannorn, dozens of Banns that vied for influence. Some were more powerful than others, but it was a shifting tide.

In the current generation, Alfstanna Eremon was the most prominent Bann in the Waking Sea bannorn. Her hold, Portsmouth on the Waking Sea, was rich and acted as the mouth for the inner coastline. The bannorn shifted almost yearly in terms of size and power -- they courted Freeholders to get them to swear to a different Bann, meaning that the taxes paid would go to another.

The innermost heartland of Ferelden was a web of smaller holds and villages -- where cities like Denerim or Amaranthine had over a hundred thousand people living in them, the towns of the Waking Sea bannorn had around ten thousand citizens at their uppermost, with the villages that swore to them numbering between a few hundred to a thousand. As such, most of the holds or villages didn’t have alienages. Elves tended to live in stable houses, or barns, or shacks in exchange for cheap labor. Meaning that our approach had to change for the Waking Sea bannorn.

“Bann Alfstanna has beaten off most of our attempts to gain a foothold in Portsmouth. Not just us, but crime in general. Our efforts with Bann Ceorlic McDonnic have been substantially more rewarding. Most of the bannorn are content to turn a blind eye to our activities, or hire us to harass a rival Bann, so long as we wear a human face when dealing with them. I have about ten bands of highwaymen, each numbering about thirty each, and they are all independent of each other. However, I would like to bring up the matter of training.”

It was Shianni that spoke up, “The Dalish are offering to take in some elves to train them up. There are conditions, though -- they have to bring food to supply themselves, equipment, and… they have to convert to the Creators.”

Fucking. Dalish. “We start asking around to see if anyone wants to convert. Worse case, we just lie to the Dalish about sending converts. Alternatively, we could look to hiring mercenaries. We have the coin for it,” I ventured and it was Durian that spoke up to that.

“For what, exactly?” Durian asked me, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m all for learning how to wield a sword and board. We get by with our shanks, but when the King and Queen start sending soldiers instead of guards, they won’t cut it. My question is why. Things are good. Great even! Ain’t ever been better to be an elf in this city, so I’m asking why are we pushing our luck?”

I looked to Durain, then the others to see that the same question was in their eyes. So, I answered, “Altogether, the Rabbits number two thousand, four hundred and fifty. We’re developing inroads with the Dalish clans as well as the avvar tribes. Soon, we will be looking to expand our sphere of influence into Jader, Harashmeral, as well as the Free Marches.”

Setting my hands on the table, I looked at all of them. “Over the next four or five years, I want to begin siphoning off elves from alienages across Thedas to Ferelden. Civilians. Those that remain in the alienages outside of Ferelden will be Rabbits -- our soldiers. Soldiers that can fight. A small army behind the walls of our enemies -- Orlais, The Free Marches, Nevvara, Antiva, and Ravain. So, when the time comes and we overthrow the Ferelden monarchy to establish a kingdom for the elves, we will be ready to slit their throats before they can think to act against us.”

“Oh. So we aren’t just establishing a kingdom, but we’re planning to fight the whole bloody world while we’re at it?” Durian questioned, his eyebrows rising high.

“Orlais will invade after we usurp the throne of Ferelden. Might even try to get an Exalted March called upon us. We won't just be fighting Ferelden nobles, we will be fighting the largest empire in Thedas as well. Meaning that we will need every available advantage,” I continued. Soris and Shianni didn’t seem surprised. They expected as much. Alim’s eyes shone with admiration, sitting straighter in his chair. Reona seemed interested but she clearly had reservations. Durian, for all of his talk of taking the fight to the shems, seemed against the idea.

“To that end, I have recently made contact with a group known as the Mage Collective,” I continued without missing a beat, catching all of their interest. “Say your piece now if you have any objections, but I intend to form a close connection with these mages. Elven or not. So, when the time comes, our fates are interlinked and our freedom becomes their freedom.”

“Mages? I don’t know about that,” Durian spoke up, his lips thinning. “Cursed by the Maker, they are. Better having them in the Circles than running amok with demons and blood magic if you ask me.”

“I say we support them,” Shianni spoke up, looking directly at me. “If we’re doing this -- leading a whole rebellion, then we need an edge. The Dalish Clans are led by mages, and they aren’t running around consorting with demons like the Chantry says. Magic can be that edge.”

“Sure,” Soris decided with a shrug of his shoulders. “I, ah, helped smuggle a couple of mages out of Amaranthine. Or into it. Seem like decent folk that live with a similar-shaped boot on their necks. Be good to help them out.”

Reona pursed her lips as she considered the room, her gaze flickering to me, Shianni, and Soris. “It would depend on the nature of our dealings, but I am… open to the idea.” She decided, feeling which way the wind was blowing. A scowl crossed Durain’s face but he offered a shrug of his shoulders, accepting the verdict.

“Good. We will expand aggressively in territory and recruitment. We’ll see to it that our people are trained -- by the Dalish, mercenaries, or random fucking hedge knights. I don’t care. But, they will be trained into an effective fighting force. By the time the humans know what we’re doing, it will be too late. Do all of you understand your tasks?” I asked, searching the room for any hints of disobedience.

I saw none. Not even in Durian’s face.

Alas, despite all of my careful planning and thoughts, the Maker decided to shit in my dinner once again because three months later, at the Landsmeet, King Cailan announced that after four hundred bleeding years…

A Blight had come to Ferelden, and the entire country was on the march to combat the Archdemon.