"Growing up in the Circle," the first attempt at Memoirs
This will be the first in a series of papers and publications released amongst those of the Seekers, as well as a select few Inquisitors, in hopes that the location of the Hero of Ferelden can be verified. Please note that there are some instances where his accounts are the outright opposite of what may or may not have happened, and I will verify this with my own annotations. Do not distribute this beyond Val Royeaux, for if the greater populace knew the source of the infamous "Amell Fury" then what little influence we have on them could very well be lost. Just know that he held no punches in his views. And, considering the views of his Apostate cousin, David Hawke, it stands to reason that these views were hereditary.
If we do not learn from these words, we may stand to face many who emulate the divine influence found in the Amell bloodline. And, if you can look to the Chantry in Kirkwall (and the lack of one therein), you will be able to clearly see what happens when an Amell is moved to action. May the Maker watch over us all.
Sister Nightingale, of the Seekers of Truth
As a majority of people from Ferelden can tell you, mages can be truly terrifying creatures among men. What they don't like to admit, however, is that they are truly cooped up in a giant tower and expected to not burn it down in their various attempts to not die to demons in their sleep set the libraries on fire kill one another become rebellious.
Yes, it's something that I truly have a hard time believing, but the common man believes a mage can be anything they choose, from gods to demons to soulless husks with glorified tattoos on their foreheads. They seldom think that a person with magical potency to their... 'blood' could be a ball of frustrations many of which are sexual that can somehow manifest these emotions in pillars of flame.
You try living in a tower with a bunch of other men, and the women you can seldom even touch without a Chantry Sister slapping your face chastising you for the thought!
"Perish that thought!" one Sister screamed at me, as I smiled at a young elven woman. I had dropped my spoon full of whatever they scooped from a horse's trough before I realized what had happened. I was thinking of something Jowan did, where he tried to do the infamous 'fiery palm' trick I showed him. You see, when I was pulled into the Circle, I was apparently showing off to my entire family that I could ignite my palms at will. It was a neat trick, one that served little purpose other than scaring those figures I vaguely remember as 'parents.'
Jowan had, in his infinite wisdom, caught his entire body on fire instead. His palm was the only part of him that hadn't burned!
But Maker help me tell the Sister that. A few bludgeons with a copy of some holy text or another she prattled about and I knew regret.
Maker help me if I turn out to enjoy the company of men, I thought to myself. Unfortunately for me, I was not nearly as lucky. Daylen, one of the other apprentices, was in his equivalent of Heaven by the time he came into his sexuality.
Of course, when I dreamed and wandered about the Fade I would be talking to figments I created and exercising some more base desires out that way. Daylen could just reach down from his top bunk and have a good time with someone else, granted it was consensual.
That was an interesting thing they never talk about in any Templar gathering: consent is extremely important when someone can imagine fire and suddenly you need to be treated or die of a whole-body-infection.
But, I'm rambling. As you can imagine, I had to go through a harrowing trial-by-fire, ironically called the Harrowing. When I entered the Fade on that day, something changed in me. Not to the extent of me becoming an abomination (despite shouts from various Templars I encountered later on, when I returned to the Circle), but something notable enough to warrant noting.
It was on that day that I found a terrible truth: rage was by far the most powerful tool any mage could have. Sure, we have the ability to use blood in our spells and all of that, but my brief encounters of it were no match for the words of a strange spirit I met during my Harrowing.
"Young mortal, I see within you great power. A lesser being would feed on your pent up emotions, but I know to show you better. You are a powerful creature, your willpower undeniable. You hold within you an unspeakable fate, and otherworldly power. Channel it well, and fear not the foul creatures of the Fade."
Of course I knew, thanks in no small part of the Sisters who hit me with books for smirking at the jokes told by an Elven woman, that any creature of the Fade was terrible to take advice from.
But I felt... Endeared by the creature of the Fade that told me I was full of otherworldly power. Clearly it was stating the obvious when I could actually piss lightning* but that is besides any point it could have hoped to have made. In my travels I've since learned that the reason demons wish to enter the mortal realm is because they have never had the pleasure of feeling something quite like a boot to the groin, or arrows to the temple.
*Nightingale's Note: The Warden would regularly joke about this, but I was never quite told by anyone if it was true. His lover, however, would smirk at the remark for reasons I believe go without saying in a Chantry environment.
As I finished talking to it, it gave me a staff. Strangely, in the Fade one's higher functions can sometimes pass. I proceeded to beat everything in the Fade with this staff until it ceased to exist. This list included:
Oddly Shaped Desire Demon
When it culminated, and I faced my true test as I was implied, the Rage demon manifested a leg from its lava and delivered a swift kick to my groin before beginning a monologue.
I proceeded to scream at it until it shriveled slightly, and threw it into the abyss below the island. When I felt my anger at being so rudely kicked subsided, I was met with... Troubling revelations from the companion I had found in the Mouse I punted into a tree.
It was in fact a demon of Pride that taught me that, despite what the enchanters and Templars tell you, true tests never end.*
Nightingale's Note: This has been crossed out by another hand. Notes are written on the margin of the original manuscript, with the words "tsk tsk tsk young Warden, ending or not those who see life as tests are naught but fools" on it. I had suspected this was from Wynne, an enchanter currently in Nevarra, but she informed me that, despite the archaic script, it was not hers. The penmanship was very old, however. I suspect it was one of the two Apostates he reportedly met in the Korcari Wilds. I could not find the one he traveled with for comments.
It was in my time after this Harrowing, that I knew my world would expand and become so much greater than I expected it to be.
