#Topics I did not expect to be a pain to find songs for: 'Treasure hunt' / 'rescue mission' / 'loving a pet' / 'raising twins' ??

[fountainpenguin]

"I'm trying to keep up as best I can! I wanna be there if you need a hand... I'm looking, looking- Looking for you!" (x)

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New Criminal Experience chapter today!

Chapter 5 - “Tracked”

❤️ Read on AO3

💙 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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Mumbo and Skizz split up to find the lost allay eggs, llama respawn blankets, and Impulse. Mumbo takes a good look around Evernight: city of ever-changing blocks.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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One teleport later…

Operation Llama Blanket and Allay Egg Recovery requires stealth, precision, and snap-second judgments on how many of the enderspawn hybrids can be trusted not to turn them in. In a whirlwind of shadow blots, Skizz poofs them in behind a row of composters tucked down an alley of colorful, mismatched blocks. Skizz is in a crouch; Mumbo drops to mirror him. Endermen and endermites shuffle around not far away. Every breath betrays him as a wanted man.

And any one of these chaps could heel-turn out me.

The paths out of the city glow faintly on his mental map, as they always do. Leaving sounds lovely, but not when Double-U and Buzz are missing their spawn blankets. It's not just about his girls, either. The allay eggs are his responsibility.

The last two allay eggs in the world.

So where are they? It's not about the money. It's never been about that, regardless of what his species and experience in smuggling and trading may lead you to believe. He took this job because Doc asked him to. Said he was researching; he'd give the newbies a start on Education and send them to the building when his work was done. Not unusual, and Mumbo trusts Doc more than most.

Does he know? It's the question coursing like a river through his hands, up his shaking arms, and down his back in tiny flash floods. But he can't ask - not here, not now - because Doc still lives so far away. He'll crash when he gets to Tintopia. He is going to reach Tintopia, with his llamas' spawn blankets in hand.

Okay. We can do this. Just breathe.

Mumbo shifts his eyes to Skizz, then remembers why you don't look at endermen directly and drops his gaze. "I'll have a nip around. Thanks for the drop-off. It means the world to me, mate."

The blue eyes peering back at him (carefully, off-center) don't look at all like the eyes of a man who meant to do the Allay Dragon harm. Perhaps it's foolish and maybe he's being played, but Mumbo can't help but believe it. "Without me or Impulse, you've got no escort. I'll see if I can follow from a distance, maybe along the rooftops, but if someone sees me-"

"I know. Skizz, I know what I'm getting into- It's not my first brush with the anarchy lifestyle. If someone attacks me, you don't have to get involved. There's difficult people after you." Neutral. Non-specific. Skizz shifts, tugging his jumper sleeve. Mumbo can read that stinging, shameful silence and almost wishes that he can't. He says, "I won't rat you out, but I'd rather not see you fight." BigB's got his arrows and clones. Vee's an evoker; she's got her vex. They're both spellcasters armed with magic. And Skizz is layered with unknown mods. Both sides of this fight could easily get hurt.

"I… Yeah, sorry. Yeah."

Mumbo reaches a hand through his robes. He grips the handle of his modded scythe - still sitting there in his soul slot, as it always is - and withdraws it in a crackle of blue sparks. Skizz's wings flare out behind his torso, flapping once. They scrape the composters and the back alley wall. Not much of a wall with several blocks plucked out of it, leaving holes, but that's not the point. Mumbo keeps his eye contact locked on the scythe. He doesn't give any sort of demo swipe, though that's quite tempting, actually. Skizz is halfway to flying off as it is. Can he fly with those angel wings?

"I'm all right," he tells Skizz. "I'm Mumbo Killsalot Jumbo; I can handle myself a bit."

"Ah- That's… Uh, you've got a modded weapon?"

"I transported a bit of slime and some otter spawn eggs to a vulture once." That's non-specific enough, yes. Skizz keeps his eyes away, but for the briefest moment, they flicker over. Mumbo can feel them graze his forehead.

"Are you kidding me right now, homie? Otter spawn eggs are real? I thought those were just a myth!"

"Well, you and most of Between, yes."

"So you've found the Invisible Hub?"

At that, Mumbo chuckles and tucks the scythe away again. Bad move, wandering with that on full display. "I said I traded him slime, mate. I never said I've found wherever slimes spawn." Scythe gone, he lays a hand against a composter lid, ready to swing himself to the other side of the little wall. "You find Impulse. He and Coldsnap can't still be going at it." And if they're lucky, Impulse is still alive. There wasn't a death message on the comm. He must be all right, unless Mumbo made a total spoon move and forgot to toggle the settings on. They pause in sync, fingers curling, hearts beating. IS Impulse okay?

Surely he must be. Skizz asks the same question, then, but not about Impulse. "Will you be okay?"

"I haven't got a choice." But he does have a plan.

Step 1: Get the spawn blankets. It might sound harsh, but those rank above the allay eggs as far as he's concerned. Until a new account syncs to an egg, they're effectively unfertilized; they might even get broken in a scuffle tonight and he won't feel any shame. There will be other jobs with other spawn eggs. But there won't be another Buzz and Double-U, sitting sweetly in their shed as he cleans between their toes.

I can do this. Gah, if only I wasn't down to my last invisibility potion. Since he had Impulse watching his back, he didn't stock up. Gets expensive in modern times with modern shortages, y'know? Takes up space.

And at the moment, that's as far as the plan goes. He'll leave the safety of the composter wall. Find the blankets- someone must have picked them up. Take them back somehow. Barter. He's got a few things on hand that might draw the eye. He'll surrender the scythe if he absolutely must. It's quite simple, really. 'Simple' is key if you don't want analysis to morph into paralysis and chain you to the ground. Mumbo crouches to go for the leap and swing.

"Mumbles? Do you have another skin to change into?" When Mumbo turns his head, blinking and wondering how filthy he must be for a question like that, Skizz gestures at his travel robes. "You, uh… might blend in better if you're not wearing bright blue and yellow. If someone took your llama blankets, they'll probably be watching for you."

"I might want them to, if it makes it easier to find and return them to me."

Skizz hesitates, the noise skating across his teeth. That betrays the answer even before his words: "Evernight's anarchy, man. And you know how endermen are about taking stuff just because it's there."

Mumbo shrugs. "I don't have a choice. They're my llamas, dude. And if I can save the allays too, all the better."

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

[griffinsanddragons]

Unexpected Developments [Part Three]

She knows she doesn’t need to, but Hawke continues to pursue this ‘Illusive Mage.’ While seeking aid in Darktown, she begins to question her own motive and suddenly retrieves another lead.

Read: Part One and Part Two on Tumblr!

Also on AO3!

I finally got the chance to write–happy reading!

Her Father was a good man; He set himself up as an apothecary in every village, town, and city they lived in.

No one accused the man who brought good fortune to their doorstep of being a mage𑁋but if they did ever grow suspicious, their lips remained sealed. They treasured their fortunes too greatly to sell him down the river.

He’d begin with smaller things: a bad back, an ailing brother, or a pregnant wife with aching feet𑁋small favors in trade of little luxuries like honeyed bread or strawberries.

‘Friends,’ he used to say, ‘help life run smoothly.’

With time and the passing of seasons, the ailments would turn into ridiculous pleads.  

A young man would ask for a potion, hoping to find himself in the arms of Teffenia, a certain nobleman’s bright-eyed daughter. But Teffenia would have her eye on Jona, the younger sister of the man who ran the Inn but lacked the courage to communicate.

Her father would forewarn against it, but never failed to mention his passing knowledge of an ‘old Rivaini trade.’ Hawke, or Filia as she was better known back then, could never be sure if that were true, or if he’d simply hoped to be viewed more humbly.

Whatever the case he’d send the troubled party away,  asking they return the next day.

Like potions, these charms cost nothing to make.

It was magic𑁋mostly. Small magic, he called it, persisting spells that didn’t bother with specific circumstance but attracted small fortunes anyway.

‘Nothing can be precise,’ He’d tell them, ‘but you will have what you need.’

So while the boy wouldn’t have Teffenia, he’d soon meet someone who’d return his fancy and Teffenia and Jona would come to share a timid kiss behind a crumbling barn and fall in love over the succeeding days.

Only once was he given trouble: the first time a curse made its way out their door.

[Keep Reading]

Filia was six years old when a man, a seafaring Merchant from the time they lived near Denerim, the capital city, asked for a charm to keep his shipments from sinking down into the depths of the Amaranthine Ocean or Waking Sea. He had sugar to trade in exchange for the gift, her father agreed, and, as always, instructed the man to leave.

But he refused, hoping to be the first to stay and watch her Father work his secret spells.

Filia stood behind her father quietly, clinging to the wood of the doorframe, her weight shifting down to buckle at her knees; she never took well to the strangers who came and went and demanded her father’s energy.

‘It isn’t the type of work you can see. It’s something that must be felt.’ He explained, his voice an impossible mix of stern and friendly.

Eventually, the man left, disappointed and probably angry (though he had no right to be.) But because of him, her father was troubled, then pensive, but soon appeared to resign himself to something.

The next day the seafaring merchant returned and that was the last she’d seen of him.

A new merchant settled into their village not too long after the adults began whispering, citing the story of the ship that sunk into the waters of the Waking Sea. The crew survived but the captain went missing. Some wondered if he ever made it to the ship in the first place.  

Whatever the case, she couldn’t fault the man for wanting to stay. Her Father’s work was fascinating. And if she were good and minded her mother properly, he’d let her play the part of his assistant.

She’d bring him stones or feathers or a book from his trunk and, if she were lucky, help him gather plants outside.

She remembered trudging through the mud with her Father as he scoured the field for sprouts after a heavy rain.

‘Aha! Here we are!’ He’d grin, standing proudly as though he discovered a gold growing from the soil. She’d never forget the look on his face.

She could still see him in his favorite room, surrounded by books and clear colored vials. But most intriguing were the plants𑁋they were the only constant factor in the things he made: Myrtle for beauty, and prettying the skin, Wintergreen for easing pain, yarrow for stress relief…

Those were the best days. Filia would kick her feet on a stool or chair and watch him, always excited to learn a little more about everything.

She liked to think she had a talent for herbalism and that, some day when her family stopped running, she and her father could buy a shop together𑁋a big one𑁋and get Carver to call to the people walking by, bringing in their business and money.

But that was a dream that died with him. She simply didn’t have the time.

Still, keeping his plants gave her comfort and made her happy in those tough times.

So why, she wondered,  couldn’t she have stayed happy?

Why, instead of tending to her plants, was Filia in the dark, subjecting herself to the awful stew of smells𑁋mold, bridge and something akin to bread burning𑁋that clung to the walls of Darktown and made her skin feel dirty? To tie a loose end? For the thrill of destroying something?

Was there something wrong with her? Was it so obvious even someone like Dirty Fingers could see it? She scowled at the very thought. Still, she replayed their encounter over again in her mind, looking on her actions and what he’d said.

There had to have been another way, but it was too late to change her mind.

And even if she could…well, he probably deserved it anyway.

Darktown, as always, managed to live up to its name; It was dark, the torches on the walls barely made a difference and a thick cloud of despair hung closely overhead, spreading like the leaves in a bad cup of tea.

Isabela hummed a song beside her, some manner of shanty Filia knew she’d heard her sing before, but she could hardly pay attention let alone remember the words (that and Isabela was hardly a songbird, she couldn’t be sure if she’d heard the lyrics correctly the first time anyway.)

In fact, she’d been so distracted by her thoughts, Filia hardly noticed the open door that marked their destination. So once they arrived, she hesitated for the briefest moment.

They’d gotten here too quickly𑁋she didn’t feel at all prepared.

But as she scanned the room, looking across the tables, cots, and chairs, everything began to feel lighter.

Anders had been standing near the back of the clinic, exchanging whispers with a man she didn’t know but thought she might have seen somewhere before.

He was handsome enough, with a sort of pinched-in face that squeezed his features into a sour look of disgust. And he certainly looked reclusive, with dark curly hair and a heavy black cape set around his narrow shoulders𑁋but he wasn’t tall; Anders had to look down to converse with him, and the thought put her sword arm at ease.

She didn’t need to kill him. There was no need to fight.

Instead, she smiled at Anders when he looked her way and watched his expression shift from surprise, then confusion, and finally joy, as though he’d found a warm pair of slippers or a handy set of swords in a place he didn’t quite expect them to be.

He spoke quietly with his friend for a moment longer, something about their conversation prompting him to glance her way. He looked she and Isabela over, an unreadable expression on his face, before pulling up his hood and walking away.

“Who was that?” Isabela asked, folding her arms as she watched the handsome stranger leave.

“A friend,” Anders told her, “Javier. He works for Lirene.”

“From the Ferelden Import Shop?” Confusion filled Filia’s voice as she filed through her memories.“The woman who said you had ‘nice eyes’?” She wasn’t sure why that particular detail stuck out in her mind or why she felt the need to bring it up, but it did her no favors to pretend she hadn’t said anything.

Isabela made a sound, a strange mixture of a snort, scoff, and giggle, as though she alone were privy to a special secret or something. Anders appeared to be out the loop as well.

“I’ve been meaning to come see you.” He confessed, taking a few strides closer till she could see the light reflecting in his eyes.

“And here I am! How lucky.”

“Did you have a run-in with one of the gangs?” He asked, shifting his attention from her to Isabela’s injuries. They were minor, but he sped the process of their healing with a simple wave.

“They were more like drunk fisherman really,” Isabela leaned back against the table where she found a towel to wipe the excess blood away. She tossed it somewhere and began picking through Anders’ things.

“Do I want to know?” He turned back to Filia, who, for all intents and purpose, agreed with Isabela’s assessment of their attacker’s failings.

“Probably not.” She shrugged. “We’re actually here to ask you something𑁋but you can go first since you obviously missed me.” And she wasn’t exactly sure how to breach the topic of what she wanted to say. ‘I’m searching for someone I need to kill, would you happen to know where he is?’ Didn’t seem appropriate.

Anders seemed hesitant at first but resolved himself to speak, guiding her away from Isabela’s prying ears and eyes.

“…I spoke with Aveline about you.” He confessed as though he’d done something dirty. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm?” She wished he hadn’t asked.

Her day spent hunting for the mysterious sender of that letter, or ‘Illusive Mage,’ as Isabela named them, was meant to distract her from thinking of her little sister wasting away in a prison and angsting over thoughts of her little-broken family.

Part of her was grateful for the unexpected developments that lead to this mystery. It meant she could avoid that question, (that how are feeling?) for a little longer.

“Oh, I’m fine.” She leaned away, pushing the tip of her boot into the stone.  “Peachy, really, when you consider my sister is trapped in an impenetrable prison thrusting up from the middle of the sea.”

“Hawke-”

“It’s alright Anders.” She stopped him. “That was a joke.” Mostly.

“…Bethany’s a special girl; She’ll do well for herself in The Circle.” He assured her anyway, his kind words pulling her attention back from the floor and to his eyes. They really were lovely. “I have a contact𑁋a friend of Karl’s. I’ve asked her to look after Bethany.”

“You did?” She could feel her own eyes growing wide and the fast-paced beating of her heart and wondered what one said when a simple ‘Thank You’ would never suffice.

So she stood there, staring at his eyes, lips parted in silence. She had no words to say.

Grateful for his friendship and more than overjoyed, Filia may have cried then𑁋wept even𑁋had it not been for the angry voice that swept the mood away.

“Anders!” It hissed, speaking his name through gritted teeth. The familiarity of it striking her like a butcher chopping meat.

Aveline entered the clinic like a storm on the raging sea,  stopping only when she saw them all together, her brows furrowing down to make herself look mean.

“Well if it isn’t the ‘Captain of The Guard,’” Isabela smirked, her own brows rising to compliment the wily grin that eased its way across her face. “What did I tell you, Hawke. She’s come to oppress more free enterprise.”

“The three of you together I see. I should have known that would be the case.” She set her helmet down upon the table, ignoring Isabela to the best of her ability.

“Is there something wrong, Aveline?” Filia asked. She seemed to be in such a bad mood lately.

“Very. My guardsmen found another body. This time near the foundries.”

“I don’t recall hearing anything about a body,” She thought back. “I just left from there.”

“Hawke-”

“But I didn’t kill anyone today.” Or so she didn’t think. Filia waved her hand dismissively. “And Isabela’s been with me.”

“Except for when I was with Fenris,” Isabela added thoughtfully. They turned their glance to Anders who answered with a simple “No.”

“Well, there we have it. We’re not guilty.”

“I believe you𑁋Oh don’t look at me like that.” She scoffed at Filia’s wide-eyed look of disbelief.

“What happened to this man was…beyond any normal person’s capabilities.”

“Any normal person’s?” She tilted her head to the side, hoping Aveline would elaborate fully.

“We believe he was killed by magic.”  

“Of course. You think the killer is a mage so you come to me.” Anders folded his arms and looked away.

“I came to you because I now have a lead. There was a witness,” Aveline explained, “She told us she saw a drunken man enter the alley, she heard screaming and suddenly…there was a body. He looked badly beaten just like the others but she hadn’t seen anyone else come leave. We suspect something similar may have happened with the others.”

“That was her thrilling testimony?” Isabela spoke with disbelief. “It isn’t much.”

“I never said it was a good lead. But due to the nature of the attacks…We may have a blood mage on the loose”

“Another blood mage, you mean.” Isabela corrected.

Anders muttered something under his breath with a clear look of exasperation drawn across his face.

“Do you think this is our ‘Illusive Mage?’”

“It may be.” Filia sighed, shifting her weight from one leg to the next. She had doubts. Given her history, Blood Magic was likely to blame. But Blood Mages had a talent for making bodies disappear in the darkness of the night. Why would they leave the body behind if they could help it? Why be that sloppy?

Anyone with stealth or light footsteps could make a daring escape, but not everyone could make a body disappear.  Filia knew from experience that it could be quite grueling work, actually.

But what did that mean? Was Aveline’s killer and the person she wanted not one and the same?

“You’re what?” Aveline raised a brow but Isabela dismissed her worry.

“It’s a long story.”

“It doesn’t matter who it is, so long as they’re brought in to face justice.” Anders scoffed at her words.

“Do you know where they may be?”

“We have an idea. But I won’t ask my men to go in unprepared.”

“Isn’t that the point of the city guard?” Isabela chided, placing her hands on her hips for emphasis.

“I’d hoped to get more insight on what we might be up against.”

“Well, there’s no way of knowing until we get there.” Filia decided to speak. Helping Aveline was the right thing to do𑁋and there was still a chance she’d find this ‘Illusive Mage’ or whoever they’d turn out to be.

“Whoever it is  may very well be more dangerous than we suspected, the guard will need help.”  Blood mage or not, she didn’t come this far to let him be arrested by the city guard or, and this was more likely, escape.

The killer’s hideout was a warehouse near the channel not too far from the Hanged Man. The owner had been forced to shut its doors when a careless worker poisoned the fish and cut the fishing lines. Fortunately, no one died but the mishap stole the owner’s credibility.

“Why does it seem like we’re always walking?” Isabela spoke with an exasperated sigh, folding her arms as they followed Aveline’s lead.

“I’ll pay a few handsome men to massage your feet,” Filia promised.

Though they moved forward with caution, there was no sign of any of Lowtown’s ever present gangs lurking around the streets.

It seemed this particular area was neutral territory and the peace suited Filia fine; She didn’t feel like cleaning her sword any more than she had to this evening.

It wasn’t as large as the Foundry by the harbor nor was it as imposing, but the unrelenting Lowtown fog curled around it, shifting its edges like a sinister dream.

Aveline looked back over her shoulder, hoping the section of Guards she made follow were still, in fact, following.

“Let’s move in, she instructed but the door didn’t seem to agree. “There shouldn’t be a lock here.”

“Looks like someone knows we’re coming.” Despite the drawback to their plan, Filia’s  lips curled up into the smuggest of grins. There were certain advantages of her name being whispered across the lower reaches of the city: no one but fools really bothered her and sometimes she’d get things for free. There was the occasional challenger, however,  but she wasn’t just known for being dangerous𑁋she was.

And she wouldn’t let something as simple as a locked door stop her from reaching her target once and for all.

“Can you unlock it? Or should we try to break it down?” She turned to Isabela who met her smile with a sly beam of her own.

“I’m sure I can manage something.” Isabela kneeled down, but not before sliding a slender pouch of needles from the inside of her high leather boot.

She made quick work of the lock, (much to Aveline’s relief,) but the old hinges on the door made a loud, unpleasant screech as though to warn of intruders approaching.

Hawke and Aveline readied their shields, Isabela her daggers and Anders his stave, the four all ready for a frontal assault or clever attack by the enemy𑁋but nothing came.

The inside was quiet, unbelievably empty, and heavy with the scent of soap and lye as though someone had gone through great pains to wash something unpleasant away.

They all turned their eye’s to Aveline.

“Is this really where your lead said he’d be?” Anders lowered his stave.

“Yes.” She confirmed, “We need to search every room. If he’s here, there’s no telling where he may be.”

“And when we find him?” Isabela wondered, putting away her knives.

“We do what we must. But I want him alive for questioning.”

Filia frowned but didn’t raise her protest vocally.

Aveline might have wanted him alive, but she herself felt differently.

They split the search.

The warehouse was far too large for the group to stay together but they managed to play to their strengths perfectly.

Filia noticed narrow walkway above, so Isabela, who seemed to have a history with walking those types of things, would take the upper level to see what she could find alongside Aveline. Despite their mock and teasing, they’d keep one another safe.

Aveline and Anders had no easier of a friendship  (in fact it was worse,) and it was clear Kirkwall’s Guardian had no clue how to fight beside a mage.

She was a soldier𑁋trained by her father to see the battle, find patterns and disrupt enemy lines. She was trained to lead troops who fought with honor and instinct, not men who’d set the room ablaze to make an escape.

Anders was powerful, but he had no combat training𑁋no real combat training besides what he learned fighting alongside his Warden Commander in Amaranthine.

His attacks were wide and flashy, better suited for slowing pursuits than facing down an enemy. He wanted to survive more than fight𑁋his skills were better suited to aid Filia who could adapt to change more easily.

So together they searched the ground floor𑁋though the task didn’t make itself easy.

The warehouse seemed to stretch on and on, it’s bland design and empty rooms all melting together in a seamless gray streak.

“I wonder if  they’re faring better than we are.” He whispered.

“Well, I haven’t heard any fighting yet.” The warehouse seemed to be completely empty, yet she felt as though someone was there, watching.

‘It’s nothing,’ she told herself, ‘just a cruel trick of the mind,’ but it didn’t ease her in any way. There was something, something in the darkness, something as silent as a shadow on the wall.

She didn’t like this feeling. So she filled the space with quiet banter as she and Anders moved forward toward the next room.

“I didn’t get the chance to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“For Bethany. Aveline interrupted me before so, um, Thank You.” She smiled awkwardly, knowing it could never be enough but needing to say it anyway.

She felt as though there was rope in her stomach, twisting itself into knots and braids.

She’d never felt this strange talking to him before. It was almost as though she were feeling butterflies.

“It’s the least I could do.” He smiled and her eyes darted away.

“I’m glad Bethany has someone to look after her.” Because she couldn’t. Not anymore.

They reached the next door.

Unlike the others, it had been locked from the inside. It took a great show of magic from Anders to force it from the hinges. But once it opened, Filia took a step back from the scene.

The room smelt as sterile as the others but was hardly bare. Its long tables were full of plants and flasks with metal apparatuses between them.  One wall was devoted to supporting a towering pile of books and the other a small cot similar to the ones in Anders’ clinic.

It might have been a perfect workshop, had it not been for the body lying still in the center of the floor.

“Maker,” she squatted, eyes rolling over the shards of glass that were shattered around him on the floor. They glittered beneath the light cast by the moon and were dotted red with blood. Even so, the man wasn’t bleeding (or at least not anymore) but he was scarred.

One, in particular, was jarring: it extended from someplace beneath his blood-stained tunic and across the left side of his cheek, reaching out to his eye like the branches of a wayward tree. It spread beneath purple bruises and cuts that sparked something in her memory.

“Dirty Fingers?” She blinked a few times but the dead man did not respond to the calling of his name.

“You knew him?”

“I…I met him earlier this evening.” She hadn’t expected to see him again, not this soon anyway. What happened? How did he get this far away?

“It seems he’s been struck by lightning.”  

“Was that before or after he’d been hit over the head?” She gestured to the glass scattered across the floor. What could have occurred here? There weren’t many signs of a struggle or fight but how could there have been? She was the one responsible for his battered body.

He screamed the first time she stabbed him; she remembered the tears that rolled from his eyes. But it hadn’t been enough.

There was a reason she sent Isabela away: such an unholy act that followed was not to be seen.

He begged for her to stop, to end his torment as early as his second finger breaking (or had it been his hand slicing ?) but she didn’t listen.

In fact, she smiled. And that seemed to be what frightened him most of all.

‘Enough of this,’ Filia told herself. There was no use dwelling.

She made her way toward the desk at the back of the room.

The candles were still lit on the table.

“Let’s see what we have,” Filia slid a heavy book into her arms, it’s binder worn by constant use “ ‘The Alchemist’s Encyclopedia, by Lord Cerastes of Marnas Pell.’ She read, squinting against the ever dimming candle light. “Well, that’s a lengthy title.” She flipped through pages, careful not to let her armored gauntlets tear the diagrams, pictures or their lengthy explanations.

“This looks like it should be banned by the chantry,” She mused, running her finger over an illustration of, what seemed to be, a rough outline of the human body. “Seems like our ‘Illusive Mage’ has been studying.” Turning her gaze, Filia glanced around the flowers and leaves scattered across the table.

One, in particular, caught her attention though it was more of a grass than a houseplant. She picked it up at though to observe its contents.

“What do you have there?”

“It’s a Vetiver, I think, and judging by everything else on the table someone seems to be brewing something to help them sleep.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a talent for herbalism.” He sounded surprised, but also somewhat amused by the revelation and she paused, unsure of what to say.

“I don’t.” She decided to dismiss him, setting the plant down on the table so she could walk away. “Not really, anyway.” Thinking back, those days felt as though they’d come from a dream, or perhaps a different life.

Those were the dreams of a girl who deserved to be happy. A girl very much different than the woman she’d become; a disappointment to her father and a failure to her sister.

“We can tell Aveline about that guy and let the guardsmen handle it from there.” She directed, leading Anders out the room, shutting the door and tearing her gaze from the deceased.

She needed to focus, to steady herself for the mission and aim solely for the goal at hand.

She curled her fingers tightly around the grip of blade sword as a reminder.

She had to tie up a loose end.

Because it didn’t matter what she did anymore𑁋she’d lost𑁋she’d never have the chance to be happy.