#tormenta excerpt

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“So, if Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are elven gods, and the archdemons are corrupted dwarven gods… who’s next?” Davrin asks, throwing himself over the couch. “Andraste? The Maker? The Qun?"

“Haven’t we fought enough gods for one lifetime?” Rook moans, throwing herself into a chair. “Can’t this be it?”

“Why should the humans and Qunari get to keep our religions?” Neve remarks, dryly, over the rim of her coffee cup. “It’s only fair we prove all belief is heresy.” Rook groans, louder, burying their face in their hands.

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“I can be subtle!” Lucanis hisses and, to be fair, he’s quite right to be offended. Caterina spent many long years training him, after all, and what good is a Crow if they give themself away? Viago snorts.

“On a contract?” the Fifth Talon offers, “Undoubtedly. You are among our best. But with those you love?”

“I have seen druffalo with more subtlety.” And that scathing endorsement cuts all the deeper from his own grandmother. It’s not the harshest thing she’s ever said to him, not by far, certainly not with all the fondness in the woman’s ever-firm voice, but Maker.

“Caterina!” Lucanis’ protest falls on deaf ears, because Teia has already broken into laughter and he can see Viago’s lips twitching. Even Caterina’s decades-perfected poker face is softened with amusement.

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Fucking Crows.

How Rook manages to disappear through blighted streets with a dagger through their chest without leaving a trace is beyond Neve, at this particular moment.

“Lucanis!” The other Crow snaps his head up at her panicked call, appearing from the kitchen as she limps out of the eluvian.

“Neve– what’s wrong?” He pauses, eyes flickering to the mirror, then to the spray of dark blood on her white jacket. “Where’s Rook?”

“I don’t know! I– I stepped out of the way and they got her in the back and then she bolted before I could help and–“

“You got them stabbed?!” Small mercies, that furious tone is all Lucanis, despite the purple flickering in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean– look, we need to find them!”

“I’ll find them,” Lucanis corrects, sharply, snatching up his cloak. Neve can only be glad he hadn’t changed out of his armour from his earlier outing.

“I’m coming with you!”

“No!” He rounds on her, though he doesn’t raise a hand. Too much of a gentleman, even in his fury. “You can tell the others when they get back. I’ll be in Treviso.”

“But I-“

“Neve, the only people more likely to kill you for getting Rook hurt than Taash or Davrin are the Crows. If you show your face in Treviso, you may not walk back out.” Neve wilts, but lets him disappear through the eluvian, wings ruffling behind him.

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“You can’t be serious.” The pointed look Harding directs towards Varric, prompting a grimace across the older dwarf’s face, tells Rook that he is, very much, serious. “What part of ‘I’ve been banished and the next time the Crows see me they’re going to kill me’ makes you think I would be the best person to accompany you two to Treviso, home of the famous assassins who want me dead?”

“The city’s been occupied by Antaam. There’s no way we could get in and out safely without a local guide.” Great. Antaam and Crows. “Especially one who can blend in with both the new and old residents.”

“I hate you.” Varric’s lips quirk.

“So you’re in?” Rook’s eye twitches.

“If Caterina pummels me to death, you better save me from the horrors of an Antivan funeral.”

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When the door slams open half an hour later, Lucanis is mostly expecting to see a furious Taash. It wouldn’t be the first time, and is unlikely to be the last, that they threaten – or try, or succeed in – killing someone for the sibling they chose. Instead, Professor Emmrich Volkarin storms through, ever-polite face darkened into something thunderous and deadly. Manfred skitters in anxiously behind him, carrying a skull Lucanis recognises with something between dread and amusement.

“Emmrich.” His greeting stalls Teia and Viago in reaching for their daggers. “I see you brought Mara’s… mother.”

“I AM FAR TOO YOUNG TO BE THAT BRAT’S MOTHER!” Hezenkoss’ skull refutes, eyes blazing green. “WISP! HAND ME TO THE TALL ONE!”

“Ah, no, let’s not do that, Manfred.” Emmrich extends a hand to ward his skeleton-son back from Viago, whose expression reads that he would quite happily have shattered both skulls if that attempt had continued. “Johanna, there’s no need to be so disagreeable. We’re here to talk, not to harm Ashaala’s lovers.”

“LOVERS!” Hezenkoss spits, “BAH! IF THEY LOVED HER, SHE WOULD HAVE NO REASON TO BE CRYING IN THAT FADE-TOUCHED DWARF’S ARMS! IF THEY LOVED HER, THEY’D HAVE FOUGHT TO KEEP HER SAFE!” Well, it’s good to know they’re with Varric, even if it hurts that they’d run.

“Safe, like you did?” Viago snaps, dagger-sharp. “Because from what I recall, it was your precious Mourn Watch that sent a child out alone into Thedas to be enslaved by the Sicarii!”

“AND I SPENT DECADES PREPARING TO TAKE THEM APART FOR IT!” Hezenkoss bellows, magic sparking and writhing around her skull-prison. Manfred hisses, scolding. “I DEVOTED MY LIFE–“

“To a twisted form of necromancy that you almost killed her with,” Teia interrupts, flatly. Emmrich inclines his head in acknowledgement. “You came to talk, talk. If I have to listen to that skull screeching all evening, I’ll learn how to kill spirits myself.”

“Quite right,” Emmrich agrees, perching delicately on the chair Teia gestured to. “I was simply hoping to share a story from Mara’s youth. I thought it may bring some light to this…unfortunate situation.”

“And she knows you’re here?” Lucanis broaches, dragging a reluctant Viago into the seat between him and Teia.

“They’re aware,” Emmrich assures, serenely. “Her only request was that I refrained from summoning her… less lively family.”

“PSH!” Hezenkoss dismisses. “WHY THEY WORRIED, I DON’T KNOW. YOU’RE NOT STRONG ENOUGH FOR THAT.”

“I think even you would find raising half the oldest reaches of the Necropolis quite challenging, Johanna,” Emmrich returns, tart but otherwise unflinching. “Nevertheless, it is in those lower levels that this story begins.”