Rite of the Maleficarum

Chapter 1

This is the story of Hawke's death.

The city-state of Kirkwall was in turmoil. With the threat of Qunari invasion thwarted by the Champion, there was a brief whisper of peace. But like the warm Waking Sea winds that swept up the docks, encircled the vhenadahl in the Elven Alienage, beat up the steps of Lowtown, and finally clawed its way between the stone mansions of Hightown, it was gone before it could land at the doorstep of the Viscount's Keep.

Chapter 1

Aralynn Hawke removed her hood as she sat down on a shabby stool in the darkest corner of the Hanged Man. It had been almost five weeks since she had dueled the Arishok to the death. A relief for the city-state, it seemed, until the realization of what was lingering beneath it. The impending threat of foreign invaders had acted like the fisher's nets that stretched across the Dark Corridor, holding at bay a volatile truth: templars and mages were at war. Though they hadn't taken it outright to the streets, there was more than substance to the whisperings heard at the Hanged Man, the Blooming Rose, Darktown, the markets, even within the Chantry's doors. Hawke could not go anywhere without hearing about it, and she found herself inundated with requests for assistance.

With this realization unearthed, nothing was predictable, and nothing was safe. Husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters came crawling out of the stonework looking for the Champion's aid. Either their charge was an innocent mage, trapped and oppressed by the circle, or a templar made to take actions against his or her will, or gone mad craving lyrium. Some were neither, simply city workers whose unfortunate assignments had placed them dangerously close to the unrest. She certainly couldn't help them all, and no decision was eased by her ardency, as she had not formed an opinion on the matter. She wanted to help all those she could, right wrongs, save innocents, and kill those responsible for all the terrible deeds of Thedas. However, there was no right or wrong to this conflict. She knew deep down there was nothing she, the Champion of Kirkwall, could do to help them. Each side was right and each side was wrong and in the end anything she did to help either would do nothing but fuel a fire that was already burning too hot.

There was one story however, too compelling for her to ignore. She had arranged to meet the man here, where people might be more discreet, rather than having the conversation in the Hightown market where both Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino had ears. Aralynn heard the stool next to her scrape the ground, and an elderly man wearing a full-length cloak, likely to hide his noble garb, sat down next to her.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Hawke," his voice was gravely with age.

"Of course. Your story sounds… unique," she signaled the bartender to bring them two pints. He ran his fingers through his white-speckled grey hair, rubbed his knuckles, and generally looked guilty as he waited.

"Relax, Lord Restin, we're quite anonymous here, I assure you," Hawke said. He raised an eyebrow at that.

"Well, you are," she corrected. The pints arrived and Lord Restin scooped up the mug and gulped down half before Hawke could even slide the coppers across the bar.

"I have a friend with a room here, if it will make you more comfortable to speak in private," Hawke suggested. Lord Restin, nodded, darting a look around the room nervously. She took her mug and led the Lord to the back of the bar and up the stairs. She rapped quickly on Varric's door, it squeaked open a moment later.

"Hawke! You know you can just come in, I'm not up to anything gruesome in here, I assure you," Varric bawled, and Hawke gave him a wry look.

"Of course, Ser Varric, however I have a guest," she inclined her head to Lord Restin who hovered anxiously behind her, "We were hoping you would lend us your private quarters for quick meeting." Varric raised his eyebrows, noticing the man's expensive tunic peaking out from underneath his cloak.