The Amell Legacy: Transgressions

[Varric]

"So... basically, any of us but him can leave?" Dau nods his agreement of Varric's summation.

[Helene Dakesh]

Helene nods. "Acceptable. We will discuss with him before we depart to ensure he is prepared."

[NPCs]

"Acceptable," Dau repeats, seemingly approving of the word. "I will consider a new payment, as a quest of sufficient weight is not within his means." With that, the bush seems to... fade, or shift, or something and becomes just a bush again.

[Varric]

"...this place is weird," Varric mutters.

[Helene Dakesh]

Helene smiles, faintly. "This one is rather more accustomed to divine intervention."

[Varric]

Varric gives nem a fond, if teasing look. "Brat."

[Helene Dakesh]

Helene grins at him, looking every bit as young as nir body seems. "Come on. Let's tell the others."

[Varric]

Varric winces, clearly not looking forward to that talk... "Yeah," he agrees reluctantly. As much as I'd like to put it off, it wouldn't be far to reduce the amount of time people have to get ready or make their choices. 

[Marian Hawke]

Prologue * Act 1 * Act 2 * Act 3 * Act 4

Act 3

Mountains, Marian has decided, are hell.

Not only was all the uphill climbing doing wonders for her stamina and leg strength -- which meant it was a spectacularly miserable experience -- her cooking had stopped working as they got higher up toward the pass. Things she'd done for weeks just... didn't work so well. The water wouldn't get hot enough for tea. The beans acted like they hadn't soaked enough. And now, the cinnamon bread she'd planned to console herself and celebrate hadn't risen overnight.

It was almost enough to make her want to break down in sobs.

The flat parts of the trip haven't been much better. To everyone's surprise, Zev and Bela had tagged along -- turns out, while Beth and Zev are close, both agree it's probably better if he goes with Marian to "keep an eye on her" while Beth focuses on her brother and girlfriend. That meant they needed another of those custom-made long-lasting Alter Self potions to make him seem like an elf rather than a drow-blood -- and Marian couldn't help design it without courting a migraine. She's been focusing on rituals instead, and has discovered that she can brew potions if she uses the ritual form of the spell, but not if she casts into it as most potion-makers do, meaning it takes her 2-4 times as long to brew a simple potion. "But why do extracts work?" she has wailed more than once, but so far, nobody's quite sure. Theories abound, but none are overwhelmingly likelier than the others.

Privately, she suspects she may have found her Path: weird magics, old magics, the magics nobody does because "why would you do it that way? The standard way is so much easier". There are ancient ways to power that seem suboptimal today -- but maybe the ancients knew something the modern mages don't? Maybe she can find something that can help hone her to a fine point? She knows where to start looking; she doesn't have any of the books she read it in, but she recalls what she's read very well, and she knows that once upon a time it was common to contact spirits of places and make bargains with them for power. They're heading to a dormant volcano; maybe...

But right now, she's not a confident, powerful fire mage, with a long shimmering red cloak, a smug expression, and all the fire potential of a magma chamber at her beck and call. Right now, she's the stupid miserable failure who can't even make bread anymore, what is wrong with her, why is everything going badly.

She grabs a handful of snow, beginning to melt it to make porridge instead. Stupid porridge. Stupid everything. She wipes the beginnings of tears from her eyes, resolving to -- yet again -- start over. Isn't that the Path as well? Starting over when everything goes wrong, instead of lying down and giving up?

Lightsong was sure to be up soon. She'd remained friendly with the aasimar, though not as close as before. She won't let herself get close to the woman. Sometimes, she reflects, people are just wrong for each other -- like magma trying to burst through under the ocean. Lightsong would tamp her flames, cool her, tame her. She needs to find her Path first, to begin walking it. To become someone as formidable and impressive as Lightsong herself, so they can be evenly matched, as partners. Or rivals. Or whatever.

Zev would probably be next. She'd expected to hate the drow, had made up her mind to hate him, but he was so very disarming at times she couldn't quite do it. She hates that he had been toying with her sister. She hates that he flirts with Lightsong. She hates that he flirts with Helene, chaste as it seems to be. But... she didn't hate the few times he flirted with her, though she shut it down hard and fast. And she can't help but notice he never flirts with Varric, or her after she snapped at him. And she can't hate the way he looks at Bela, the way his long delicate fingers toy with Lightsong's hair, the way...

Down, girl. Sit. Stay. There's a reason Bela calls her pup, she's decided, and she hates that too. Someday I won't be tame. Someday I'll be the one in control. I won't be her cute, harmless little submissive forever.

Part of her hates the way Bela looks at Zev. Nobody has ever, nobody will ever, look at Marian Hawke that way. Maybe the Firehawk (name is a work in progress). But not cute little Marian.

Helene was likely to be up soon as well. Marian hadn't appreciated how fond the Samsaran was of nir apprentice until that fondness was gone. Helene had always been a little standoffish, a little overly formal, but now the oracle was downright chilly, disapproval laced through almost all of nir statements. Marian knew why, it was no big secret. But if she'd remained Alydran, she'd have suffocated, choking to death on the impossibility of her casting spells, her doing long hours of research -- reading was said to be a common trigger, though Marian didn't have enough books or enough time to test it. She'd be stuck in place, always a distant shadow of what Helene wanted from her. She wasn't going to do that for anyone, not ever again. She was going to succeed.

And Varric...

Varric's disappointment wasn't palpable, like Helene's. But she'd gotten hints it was there, bits and pieces. After that fight about her choice of religions, she was under no illusions that he liked her being Zanonite. But she refused to compromise for him. And as he'd chosen to stand beside Helene, as the two of them clearly had formed a deep bond, Marian was prepared to back away from him. She had no illusions she'd be able to stay with him in Orzammar when this business was done. Helene might. But she'd be cast out if Helene stayed, so it was best to get what she could now and prepare to make her own way when this adventure was over.

She was alone. She would always be alone, in the end. The trick was to prove that she wasn't helpless. That she, on her own, was a force to be reckoned with.

Just not when it comes to making cinnamon bread.

[Haliel Lightsong]

Haliel is the first to rise after Marian, as the merikos elf had predicted. But not the first up, as Varric is on watch, nor the first to join her at the campfire. Instead, the aasimar's day begins much as it has been for the last week and change- with water and salt. It takes her longer this morning to finish her prayers, her tears worse this morning than they have been. A simple unreturned 'good night' had preyed on her mind, forcing sleep away and leaving her fatigued and emotionally fragile. 

I never... I never realized that... that someone not saying something could hurt so much but... She keeps pulling away, further and further. I know she heard me, she looked right at me when I spoke but she didn't even... Bastion, I'm trying, I really am. I said I would respect her choice, would support her, but it hurts so much. Astea... I won't give up my love for her. I think... I think that's beyond me. But I worry that I might grow to hate her, hate Love itself, if... No. I will not break faith. Is that why? Is that why you asked this price from me? Because you knew that my love was weaker than my faith? I'm sorry. I will do better, I promise. Her lips curve in a self-mocking smile. And I thought that your Beauty and Arts would be the part of You that I would struggle to hold fast to the most. I thought myself so well suited for Love and now.... and now I find that I am too weak to hold to it without it being returned. Please guide me, Songstress and Lightcrafter. Please grant me the strength to hold true. Please gift me the wisdom to know the right way. Please... 

Bowing her head low, she presses a length of linen bandage against her face to muffle her weeping and rocks. 

[Zevran]

Slipping out of the tent he shares with Isabela most nights, Zevan looks around to see who's up. Oh joy. Just the Sour One. Well... perhaps another try? If we are to be traveling and working together... "Good morning, Miss Marian," he says in a low but cheerful voice. "Did you sleep well?"

[Marian Hawke]

Marian wipes away the last of her tears quickly, putting on a smile. "Of course. And you?" she finds herself saying, before she really registers who she's speaking to. Well... he's not that bad, I suppose. Politeness costs little and gains much.

[Zevran]

Hmm. And sometimes, patience and, ah, whatever word means trying again works out. "I am not a fan of the altitude- harder to breath for... reasons I never understood," he replies cheerfully, taking a seat. "Can I help with breakfast?"

[Marian Hawke]

She frowns, glancing at the pot. "It's just porridge," she sulks, her tone souring -- though for once he gets the distinct impression it's not aimed at him. Something go wrong earlier?

[Zevran]

"I could make griddle cakes," Zevran suggests, then spies the failed dough. "And it seems you have started such a thing- I could take over while you take care of the porridge?"