Discover Top Posts Tagged with #corrupted rook

“Be careful! The gods might know we’re here now.”

She held a hand gently out to Rook. Her face was calm but cautious, listening for any effects of breaking the charm.

No one noticed the darkened eluvian in the corner, nor that it was activating.

“That is a certainty.”

Elgar’nan’s voice whined from the mirror like metal scraping in metal. Before anyone could move, a tentacle of blight wrapped itself around Bellara and sucked her into the mirror with a squelch.

Rook did not hesitate. He leapt in after her. Quicker than any. Quicker than Davrin’s hand that caught naught but the mist of the remnants of blight. He ran after them, but the mirror went dark and he smashed it face first.

“Rook! You idiot!” Lucanis screamed. He paused at the lyrium dagger Rook dropped in his haste.

Rook heard none of it. The blight tendril moved faster than he could keep up. And more blight caught at his ankles as he worked every bit of acrobatics he knew to catch her. All he could hear was Bellara. He called after her.

She screamed. Reaching out to him. He leapt and caught her hand just as a tendril wrapped around his ankle. They were held aloft in a large chamber. Bellara stopped by Rook’s grasp five or so meters from the ground. Rook below her one hand clasped on her wrist, the other flailing for anything else. Holding fast as long as their grip would keep. But the blight was as strong as Elgar’nan’s will. Rook grunted as his body was pulled taught. Whatever strength he had would overcome the power of the blight. He would not let Bellara go. She yelled in pain as the tendrils strained to part them.

“Rook! Don’t let go!”

“Never, Bel. I’ll never leave you! I Lo-“

A third tendril shot up and smacked Rook square in the jaw. His hand dropped instantly. Rook tumbled to the ground and hit the blight with a wet thud. He was out cold. Flopping forward over a tendril. Bellara wailed and screamed until another wrapped its fleshy finger over her mouth.

Rook folded forward, motionless. There was no sound but the gentle pulsing blight that bounced about the room. Rook softly groaned. Bellara could hear Solas in all of it. Like he did early on in Rook’s sleep. Shots of magic pulsed over Rook’s scars as the Dread Wolf sought to wake the elf.

They hung like that for what seemed an eternity. Then the chamber shook. Hours upon hours later. Rook was still unconscious. He went silent. Bellara wept into her binds, stuck wondering if Rook was dead just meters away.

The room was engulfed in a terrifyingly bright light. The sound of an archdemon roaring. But not just roaring. The guttural cry of pain and anger. Elgar’nan used his dragon thrall for immense blood magic. Bellara blinked through the light as her eyes adjusted. Everything was a weird blue. Colors were skewed.

The tendrils moved and she and Rook were raised and passed through another eluvian. The blight dumped them at the god’s hems of his battle robes. Three high ranking Venatori magisters and three Antaam commanders flanked the towering elf.

Bellara struggled to find strength enough to rise to her knees. Most of her body had fallen asleep. Rook rolled across the ground, stopping on his back, his head resting facing Bellara. She fell to him. He was cold, life-less.

“I have caught two birds with one enchantment, it seems.” he pulled Rook’s body up to his height with a tendril wrapped around the dwarfed elf’s neck. “Awww, Rook. How you shall make them pay for what they have done to my sister.”

“Let him go!” Bellara thrashed against the tendril.

He waved his hand and two Antaam grabbed the Veil Jumper and dragged her off. She kicked and screamed and cried out to Rook.

“Rook cannot help you. Yet.” Elgar’nan looked at the remaining magisters. “By the time he wakes you will have him enthralled to me. Let’s see how Solas likes my castle.”

The last thing Bellara saw before being shuttled to her own doom was Elgar’nan forcing Rook awake with magic. Rook screamed in the pain of the spells waking and holding him. He floated a few feet off the ground and still was not at eye level to the god. His scars all glowed with the power of the fade ripping through him.

Tears of blood blinded Rook. He could only see blurred blight surrounding a very angry and sadistic smile on what he knew was Elgar’nan’s face.

“Rook. Your god thanks you for making this so easy.”

“You. Are. Not. My. God.” Rook muttered through the pain and clenched teeth he could not open.

The response was more pain. Rook’s body would have lost consciousness by now, to protect him. Like it had in his Crow training days. But the god of vengeance would not allow escape. He would know every moment of what was happening to him.

Elgar’nan waved a bored hand and Rook fell back to the ground. He tried to push himself up, but he fell, bloodying his nose on the stone. The two Venatori laughed as Rook shook.

“Take him. We will perfect him. Give him the gifts of the gods he has forsaken. And make him remember this was all because he sought to defy me. Let him always know that loyalty is his salvation. And it was I who elevated him beyond the pain of resistance. And let him know his resistance will only hurt his beloved Dalish more. Let him see her change and wither in his defiance. Only his love, for me, for her, will save them.”

Rook shook under the pain, which had subsided enough for him to hear every word.

“Bel.” He thought.

“You did this to her.” Elgar’nan was in his head again. “And Solas did this to you.”

Few words could describe any of this. Rook had sublimated beyond pain. His existence seemed unreal. Part of him wondered if he was dead and trapped in his corpse the way he imagined Emmrich when he spoke of being a lich. Elgar’nan was there to answer every thought. Assuring him he was alive and at the grace of his Creator.

He was released from some of the spells, but the Fade clung to his scars. A lyrium collar and cuffs were slapped around his neck and wrists. He heard the voice of the most senior commander call him to follow, and he was compelled. Every second of resistance was met with debilitating pain. And when he hurt, he saw Bellara, wherever she was now, also in pain. And she was not trained to battle this torture as he was. And it was too much for him. Stopping his breath for as long as he resisted. But no matter how long he did, he would not die. He would only suffer as the magic kept his body functioning. Bellara, though, Elgar’nan promised, would not. Rook walked willingly.

They took an eluvian directly to the archon’s palace high above Minrathous. Rook had only ever heard of its opulence, and it was grander than his imagination. Magic and wealth combined over centuries to create awe. Blight was already growing in. Wrapping through windows. The veil was so thin here Rook could smell the magic. Tinny. Cold.

He was taken directly to the throne room where every chair was filled by supportive Magisters, Venatori leaders, and the corpses of some unlucky opposing magisters who were present during the usurpation.

“Fenrir de Riva!” Elgar’nan sat at the throne. It was made larger with the aid of blight. A red glow filled the room from the eclipse.

Rook looked at him. Glaring. He clenched his jaw tight. Elgar’nan pointed and Rook fell to a knee. “Speak!”

“I am Fen de Riva.” Rook croaked. The hall laughed at his weakness.

“Also known as Rook.”

“Yes.” It was impossible to speak and yet his body made sound. Like corpses animated to whisper their own truths.

“Why are you here?”

Rook glared at the god. His wild. His determination. His reckless screamed inside him. But he saw Bellara easily in his mind’s eye. Her face stained with tears and blight. Her eyes bloodshot. Eager for him not to hurt her any more. He apologized to her. Hoping she could hear his kind words locked in his heart for her.

“Speak, elf!” The god said the word as if he weren’t also an elf. That he was above the criticisms of his race. “None of that sap. You defied your god now speak to him!”

Bellara writhed in pain.

“I am here because I sought to defy you!” Rook held out his hands, pleading for him to release her.

“You seek more than defiance.”

Bellara began to twist unnaturally.

“I sought to kill you!” Rook fell on the steps. He didn’t know if Elgar’nan was making him look weak, groveling, or if he desperately wanted him to stop his torturing Bellara. “I gathered a team to kill you.”

“As they have killed my sister.”

Rook’s eyes widened. They did it. Without him. They still could.

“Yes. They have the Wolf’s Tooth but not his pawn. They need you not.”

“But I brought them together. Made them strong enough to kill a god!” Rook pleaded. His guilt could save Bel. Yet he couldn’t tell if this was his voice, his will, or not, speaking. “I am complicit in Ghilin’nan’s death.”

“Hundreds of your lives we ruled. We flourished. To be ended by such quickened children.”

Elgar’nan thrust his hand out. A part of the veil ripped open and pulled Rook to the center of the room. The crowd cheered at the spectacle. Rook screamed again. Unable to keep the pain and surprise quiet. The more he made a display of his pain, the more the Venatori cheered. And the more pain Elgar’nan would create.

Rook could see his smile. His disgusting pleasure and a room full of people applauding his depravity.

But the more Rook endured, the calmer Bellara seemed to look. As if his torture saved her.

“I find you guilty of treason, Rook de Riva.” The god stood. “And I sentence you to a lifetime of service to your last remaining god. We will see you changed, improved, and we will find your love for your god.”

With every sentence the crown cheered.

“I will protect him as I protect myself.” Elgar’nan’s golden eyes glistened with cruelty. “Try to destroy him. Do your worst.”

There was a hesitation. But one mage stood and pulled lightning down upon Rook. He bellowed as his body felt the spell that would have sent him sprawling. But he absorbed it. The power sizzling through his skin. A fireball burned his flesh, flesh that ate it and stored it in the very scars meant for magic. Ice. Blood magic. Spell after spell ripped into Rook. Battered him about as the Veil he tried to save held him aloft for his punishment.

A magister took a dagger and sliced Rook’s leg. The blood that spilled almost glowed with the amount of lyrium he was pumped with. The blood was turned on him, slicing into his scars, tearing the scraps of his clothes to shreds and splicing open every lyrium scar across his body.

Rook was dumb with anguish.

Another took liquid red lyrium and poured it up his body, trapping the molten metal in his open wounds with a spell to heal the skin. Rook tried to pull away from the pain, but it was everywhere. And Elgar’nan made sure he was aware of every second of his punishment.

Rook drooped in the air after hours of the Venatori’s amusement. One by one each was allowed to name their grievances and attempt to kill the god’s new toy. Each was not able to overpower Elgar’nan’s spell. Each laughed at amazement as the ancient elf was able to easily out match them.

“What have you to say now, Rook?”

“Please.” He could barely talk. He couldn’t think. He could only breathe and dangle.

“Exactly.” The god lowered Rook to a pile on his knees. The color and cuffs fell off, giving Rook a reprieve from a portion of the pain.

“Look at me.”

Rook raised his head. Or his head raised without his consent. He couldn’t tell.

“Good. Less defiance in your eyes. You have done well. Rook. But you have only felt a fraction of what I owe you for my sister’s death.”

Tears filled Rook’s eyes. They were bloodshot, the whites of his eyes now an unnatural red glow from the blood magic. His irises dimmed and still green. His pupils were pinpoints. Every scar glowed red. His skin paled with exhaustion. His muscles ached with the power that coursed through his blood. He was unable to hold a thought, speak clearly, or move.

“Yes.” Rook felt the word slide over his tongue like a fresh drink of water.

“Commander Bataris, take him to your chambers. You shall have a chance to show your worth, as we discussed. What better subject have we?”

“I have not forgotten you.” It was the son. The one Neve caught and the Templar Commander loosed. “My father cannot see how far I’ve risen, but you will.”

With a spell, Rook was compelled to rise and follow the cultist.

Rook felt more and more like an undead creature. His will at the mercy of others. He wanted to test his own will, but the vision of a broken Bellara silenced his autonomy. His took to wondering if this is what undead endure. The souls of their lives caught up with the will of magic compelling them.

He then recalled the moment he decided he would do anything and everything Viago demanded. He remembered the day his fear melted away under the torturous methods of the Crows. When his desire to excel overshadowed the fear and pain.

When did that sense of loyalty shift? Was it ever autonomy? He saw the loyalty to House de Riva fracture as the Veil’s guard strengthened and solidified into the family the de Rivas never were.

He could feel that life slipping from him. The inevitability of his new service overtaking him.

He was given a small room. A bed. A meal. But he was neither able to sleep or eat. The amount of magic coursing through his system kept him pacing the room.

He heard Elgar’nan’s laugh intermittently throughout the night. At least he assumed it was night. The eclipse stop all fell off time. And he has lost awareness of when long ago in the barrage. The changing.

He was still naked. His skin creating a red glow where the light of the eclipse could not reach. He sat in the floor and ran his fingers over the red, pulsing scars.

They hurt to touch, but curiosity was stronger than the pain.

He remembered sitting in the floor, nine years old. Feeling the healing scars the first time. He could not grasp the proper movement of time. Was he a child still? Imagining his power? He remembered punching the wall. To see if he had gained enhancement.

Rook stood and approached the flat of the wall.

A child naked in Antiva. An adult naked in Minrathous. He raised his tiny/large fist and slammed it into the wall. His street fighting/ intense years of training and combat were not nearly/were more than enough to pierce the plaster. But the magic in his scar dented/tore a hole clean through the wall. He pulled his fist back/his arm out from the fresh hole in the wall. No pain. Footsteps hastened to the door that locked him apart from his overseer. He turned to face the door.

The door whipped open. Rook stood calmly waiting.

Bataris rushed to the wall. He could see foggy rooftops below, cold wind rushing into the room.

“You did this?” His beady eyes narrowing.

“With ease.” Rook’s voice was emotionless. Mechanical.

“I wonder-“ Bataris squared up to the elf. He was the same height as Rook. Thinner. “Pick me up.”

Rook didn’t think. His arm jutted out, snagging Bataris by the neck and lifting him, arm locked out straight, as far up as he could reach. Bataris kicked and pulled at Rook’s grasp. Rook opened his hand and the man fell to the floor, barely catching himself from falling to his ass.

“Lath!” Bataris called out, his voice broke a little.

A Qunari slave entered the room. He stepped quickly to Rook, attempting to wrestle the elf to the ground for harming his master. Rook swatted away the grab, leapt over the Qunari. He swung. Rook blocked the punch and elbowed the exposed torso. The Qunari staggered back, gripping his side in pain.

“Remarkable!” Bataris healed the broken rib instantly, but his eyes remained on Rook. “The red lyrium has enhanced you!”

Rook had a spark of acknowledgment that he could overpower both the magister and his bodyguard. But a flash of Bellara, sleeping, fidgeting in an exhausted slumber, already pale and bloody from her own tortures, flooded his brain. He looked to the wall. He could leap.

“As long as you are alive, she will live.” Elgar’nan’s voice was more present than Solas’s ever was. It hurt to hear it.

Rook stood and waited. The Qunari stood to leave. As he passed by he back handed Rook across his face. It hurt, but it barely moved him. Rook looked only at Bataris.

“Well done, elf.” His smile was oily, weakness given too much power.

Rook dropped his eyes. An action he recalled from training for a contract where he needed to be a slave. The training held. He would make an exceptional slave.

He did not feel compelled to move from the spot. He tried to see Bellara on his own. Eyes open. Eyes closed. He could not. And doing something to endanger himself only endangered her. He would not risk harming her just to find comfort in seeing her.

Instead he thought of her touch. He smell. He could barely remember the small of white flowers and red woods. And the faint tin odor of the magic she was always tinkering with. That he smelt in abundance.

He spared a thought for the guard. They had succeeded. They would be rallying their allies to move against Elgar’nan. They would seek to rescue him. Bellara.

He couldn’t tell how to feel about that. Their success caused him…this. He looked again at his new scars. He didn’t feel blighted. And there was no song to the lyrium in his veins. Just Elgar’nan’s voice.

He finally sat. He couldn’t even feel hopelessness. Or dispair. Or contempt. He couldn’t risk feeling anything. He tried to only feel his desire to keep Bellara alive. And that meant doing everything Elgar’nan demanded.