6. something written by your OC in response to an honor they’re being awarded - for anyone?
An unsent letter found crumpled and partially burned in the hearth of The Iron Bull’s quarters above the Herald’s Rest tavern. The handwriting matches that of Inquisitor Tyla Lavellan. Some passages are difficult to make out due to the ink running and burnt portions.
Hearth of my Youth,
I trust the Clan is well. The coming winter looks to be unforgiving this cycle, so I’ve sent what supplies Lady Montilyet would let me spare to you. I hope you know my heart travels with them. Would that I could give more, Lady Montilyet assures me any more will be seen as a bias by the human nobility.
Gods, Thoriel, the humans! They are fickle and unforgiving as the frost in these forsaken mountains. Every day I spend here, I feel as though I’m falling deeper into their machinations. Will I be able to pull myself free when all this is done? I pray Mythal guides me back to you one day. If She listens to me now.
Does the clan think differently of me these days? The Nightingale doesn’t like to tell me, this much I know, but she must think it’s important to tell me. I know some of our family-clans speak my name in ire. Much as I loathe it, I am a figurehead for the humans’ Chantry. The Orlesian Chantry has officially made me an Exalted - whatever that means outside of their smothering beliefs and faith. I cannot breathe in these walls, surrounded by their pyres and martyrs.
They say I’m theirs’ now, an image of Andraste reborn. They even sent a letter, as though this parchment lays claim to me. If I die here, I will surely be stolen for their symbols of sacrifice. Will they make statues in my name? With my ears cut short and the staff ripped from my hands? Will they wash my devotion from my face? Will Falon’Din find me when they’ve scrubbed me clean to their standards?
I know He will. I hope He will. I know in my heart that I am still faithful, that I am still of the People. So why, Thoriel, does every step down this road feel like a step away from the Dalish? Why does it feel as though everything I do to stop this madness strips me of who I am? I am so far from home and comfort and everything I know.
It is selfish of me, and yet I almost with this war would end. For better or for worse, I don’t care. I want to leave. I want to come home. I don’t want to be dancing to the humans’ songs, smiling at those unkind eyes, letting them lead me down and away from everything I am. I’m so afraid, Thoriel. What if I cannot return from here? What will be left of me when the humans are done?
I’m scared. I do not know what to do. I do not think the Creators can hear me here. I am alone.
Missive ends unfinished. Scrawled in the margins are notes in another hand, translating difficult phrases from Evhen to Qunlat. Ink discoloration indicates the notes were written prior to its attempted destruction.
Inquisition Codex Prompts










