[ If there’s one thing Arthur has learned from his adventures, it’s that the worst things ever to wander this earth are morbols.
Cultists come in a close second.
Since Arthur had started keeping company with a blade-for-hire and all-around bleeding heart of a Miqo'te, he’s rubbed elbows with cultists more times than he would care to count. Usually the encounters are much the same, dark magic, demons and creatures from the Void, human sacrifice, just with a different flavor of crazy.
This particular cult had been trying to call up the spirit of a long-dead adventurer-turned-necromancer-possibly-turned-spirit of vengeance, so there were a lot of hooded robes and chanting and flashy purple lights. In Arthur’s experience, a lot of these people were more crazy than they were inclined towards Void magic, so while they sometimes managed to call up a few abominations, it was never all that bad.
Apparently, these people had tapped into something. It wasn’t what they were looking for by a long shot, because reality opened up, a great massive tear tinged with sickly green light, and swallowed Arthur whole.
When he finally came to, he found himself in a very cold cell in startling proximity to a waterfall. He would later learn that the prison sat beneath a massive keep, but only after they dragged him out of the cell for questioning.
Who was he? Where did he come from? How did he managed to come through the breach?
His name meant nothing to them, the names Ul’dah and Eorzea meant nothing to them, and he had no idea what in the seven hells the breach even was, so they were at quite an impasse, but at least their leader (bearing the oh-so encouraging title of “Inquisitor”) took a little pity on him.
They moved him to a room, rather than a cell, though they don’t quite trust him enough to give him back his spellbook. They still kept watch on him, but Arthur never did strike the most intimidating presence, so it seemed to him like they were keeping up appearances more than anything.
It’s been nearly a week in this strange place. Thedas, as he’s learned, a place that wasn’t on any map that Arthur had ever seen. It seems those cultists really had torn a hole in reality, and Arthur had tumbled through to gods knew where. Getting back was a matter he’d yet to be able to focus on, since it was taking him some time to get his feet under him.
He’s in the courtyard- one of the only places he trusts himself to wander around without getting hopelessly lost- when chaos suddenly erupts. The Inquisitor’s party returned to Skyhold, albeit much earlier than expected, and with one of their number injured. Arthur has yet to learn the names of the Inquisitor’s inner circle, but what he does know is battle wounds. One of the women- what Arthur would call an Elezen, but what he’s been told is an elf- caught an arrow between the ribs. Their healers and their resources are spread too thin amongst the refugees and Inquisition camps, and so it’s a race to find some form of help.
Arthur did not spend all his time learning healing magic just to stand by and watch this.
He hunts down one of the few faces he remembers- a commander of some sort, the commander- and demands a little more brusquely than he probably means, ]
idk what i'm doing
Cultists come in a close second.
Since Arthur had started keeping company with a blade-for-hire and all-around bleeding heart of a Miqo'te, he’s rubbed elbows with cultists more times than he would care to count. Usually the encounters are much the same, dark magic, demons and creatures from the Void, human sacrifice, just with a different flavor of crazy.
This particular cult had been trying to call up the spirit of a long-dead adventurer-turned-necromancer-possibly-turned-spirit of vengeance, so there were a lot of hooded robes and chanting and flashy purple lights. In Arthur’s experience, a lot of these people were more crazy than they were inclined towards Void magic, so while they sometimes managed to call up a few abominations, it was never all that bad.
Apparently, these people had tapped into something. It wasn’t what they were looking for by a long shot, because reality opened up, a great massive tear tinged with sickly green light, and swallowed Arthur whole.
When he finally came to, he found himself in a very cold cell in startling proximity to a waterfall. He would later learn that the prison sat beneath a massive keep, but only after they dragged him out of the cell for questioning.
Who was he? Where did he come from? How did he managed to come through the breach?
His name meant nothing to them, the names Ul’dah and Eorzea meant nothing to them, and he had no idea what in the seven hells the breach even was, so they were at quite an impasse, but at least their leader (bearing the oh-so encouraging title of “Inquisitor”) took a little pity on him.
They moved him to a room, rather than a cell, though they don’t quite trust him enough to give him back his spellbook. They still kept watch on him, but Arthur never did strike the most intimidating presence, so it seemed to him like they were keeping up appearances more than anything.
It’s been nearly a week in this strange place. Thedas, as he’s learned, a place that wasn’t on any map that Arthur had ever seen. It seems those cultists really had torn a hole in reality, and Arthur had tumbled through to gods knew where. Getting back was a matter he’d yet to be able to focus on, since it was taking him some time to get his feet under him.
He’s in the courtyard- one of the only places he trusts himself to wander around without getting hopelessly lost- when chaos suddenly erupts. The Inquisitor’s party returned to Skyhold, albeit much earlier than expected, and with one of their number injured. Arthur has yet to learn the names of the Inquisitor’s inner circle, but what he does know is battle wounds. One of the women- what Arthur would call an Elezen, but what he’s been told is an elf- caught an arrow between the ribs. Their healers and their resources are spread too thin amongst the refugees and Inquisition camps, and so it’s a race to find some form of help.
Arthur did not spend all his time learning healing magic just to stand by and watch this.
He hunts down one of the few faces he remembers- a commander of some sort, the commander- and demands a little more brusquely than he probably means, ]
Where did you put my book?