Then there were the assassins.
Carta assassins had been after Abigail, Carver, and most surprisingly, Bethany. They'd snuck into the Gallows and attempted to find and kill her, but were detected and thrown out by the Templars instead.
It didn't make sense. The Hawke family wasn't an enemy of the Carta, as a matter of fact, Varric had a pretty decent relationship with them. The Amell name had never had any dealings with them, so it wasn’t as if it was a debt that had been inherited somehow.
The Carta also weren't known for assassinations. Smuggling, drug dealing, general violence, yes, but not assassination. And they never attacked a Circle—nobody attacked Circles. If the Templars didn’t get you, the mages certainly would.
Varric questioned the local Carta head, but apparently none of them knew why the Hawkes were being targeted. As far as they knew, no one had even put out a hit. They were just as confused as Abigail and Varric were.
One of Varric's Carta contacts managed to identify one of the assassins, however. Abigail had killed him, but he was still recognizable enough for the contact.
The dwarrowdam had frowned at the body. “I haven't seen him for weeks,” she said. “Thought he was dead already—he shouldn't be anywhere near here.”
“Why's that?” Varric asked.
“Well—he mostly does business with the Orlais Carta. We have different chapters, y'see.” she narrowed her eyes. “Looks like he caught the Blight.” she crouched down next to him, and pointed to the black veins trailing from his eyes. “See these?”
“Maybe he was sick with it,” Carver suggested. “So he...went crazy?”
The dwarrowdam shook her head. “That doesn't make sense either. Blight sickness doesn't make you seek out specific people to kill. It's like foaming sickness—just rage and violence.” she stood back up. “I'll look into it,” she said. “This is strange—we should know what it's all about.”
A few weeks later the contact informed them that she'd located where the assassins were based. The Carta sent a few people along with Abigail, Carver, Varric, Anders and Merrill to see what the problem was.
“They shouldn't be acting like this,” was the explanation that Tohnen gave. Tohnen was one of three Carta members who came with them, experienced with a crossbow like Varric was. “We don't know what they're doing, and we don't much like it.”
“I can't say I much enjoy it either,” Abigail said, her voice dry.
Tohnen came with two other Carta members, Renn and Malickha. Malickha, like Tohnen and Varric, used a crossbow, and Renn used daggers. All three had a fondness for explosives as well, and had several enchanted items that could make a large explosion when they wanted them to.
“So, where's their base?” Carver asked.
“'S weird,” Tohnen said. “It's some big ruin in the Vimmarks—one of the scouts we sent said the ruins looked dwarven, but there's no ruins on any map, Carta, merchant, or Orzammar. Have any of you heard of it?”
No one had.
“Whatever it is, it's not on Warden maps either,” Anders said with a frown. “I've never heard of anything out there.”
“My people don't much like these mountains, so we never explored out here,” Merrill said.
“Why don't the Dalish like going there?” Varric asked.
“It’s too rocky, and not a lot grows there. Antivan and Nevarran Clans, who love the desert, don't come this direction either, though. There's so many darkspawn there.”
“Maybe there's a Deep Roads entrance somewhere?” Carver suggested.
“If there was, it'd be on someone's map,” Anders said.
Carver sighed and shrugged. “Does it really matter? We just need them to stop killing us.”
“It matters, alright,” Tohnen said, her tone dark. “We can't have people claiming to be Carta just doing whatever they want.”
“I thought that was the point of the Carta,” Anders said, raising his eyebrows.
Tohnen and the other dwarves laughed.
“If you think that, you don't know nearly as much about us as you claim to,” Malickha said.
After about a week of travel in the mountains, they came to where the scouts said the base was. It was a massive crumbling ruin, built right into the side of the mountain.
“How can something this big not be on a map?” Anders asked, looking out over the ruins.
“It doesn't make any sense,” Varric agreed.
Anders grimaced. “This entire place has a nasty feeling,” he said. “I can sense darkspawn somewhere—and there's something else..” he shook himself. “I don't know what it is, but there's something very bad down here.”
“Then we should probably find what it is before it kills us,” Abigail said.
They set off into the ruins, which were full of dust and sand, but had clearly been magnificent at one time. The buildings were half sunken into the desert, their decorations and carvings worn away, but one could see the remains of statues and the signs of ancient dwarven architecture.
“Why haven't any Orzammar archaeologists been here?” Varric asked Tohnen. “They'd have a field day.”
“I don't know,” Tohnen said, chewing her lip. “You're right, they'd love it—it doesn't make sense for this place to just be abandoned.”
“Maybe darkspawn drove them off,” Anders suggested. “I can still feel them. They aren’t close, but they're here.”
“But why would this place not be on any maps?” Abigail asked.
“Could be that it's a way of trying to make people stay away,” Tohnen suggested. “A bad way, 'cos, well, it wouldn't work, but...”
“That’s possible,” Varric said with a nod.
They were deep into the ruins when they encountered the first of one of the hostile Carta.
“You--” the dwarf pointed one shaking finger to Abigail, then Carver. “Brother and sister! You've come!” other dwarves began to come up behind them, and Anders let out a warning hiss.
“Abigail...” he said. “I can feel a lot of Blight around here...”
“The children of Malcolm Hawke,” one of the Blighted dwarves breathed. “You've come to us!”
“What does our father have to do with this?” Abigail demanded.
“It begins with him, and ends with you! Blood for blood!” one of the other dwarves said. “That's what we were told!”
“Who told you?” Carver asked. “Did Father cross the Carta somehow?”
“Your father's years dead,” Tohnen said. “Any debt he had with us would've been long since paid before now.”
“It doesn't matter,” one of the Blighted dwarves said. “We must have the blood!”
“What for?” Abigail asked.
“So Corypheus may walk in the sun once more!” the dwarf insisted.
Everyone looked at each other blankly.
“Anyone know who that is...?” Varric asked.
“The name sounds Tevinter,” Anders said. “But other than that, I have no idea.”
“The only Tevinter we'd be having trouble with is that magister Danarius,” Abigail said. “And I think he's more interested in Fenris than us.”
“You must give the blood!” the dwarf insisted.
“What happens if we don't?” Abigail asked.
“Then we will take it!”
“Wait,” Abigail held out a hand. “You don't have to do that.” she and Carver exchanged a look. “If you explain this to us, properly, maybe we can help.”
“Can't—can't explain,” the dwarf said, pressing a hand to his head. “The Master—he needs the blood.”
“Why can't you explain?” Tohnen demanded. “Dammit, what happened to you people out here?”
“Darkspawn blood,” the dwarf said, his voice strangled. “Fought darkspawn—but they were—different. They heard different music.”
Anders narrowed his eyes. “Now, where've I heard this before?” he muttered.
“A taste of the blood—and you hear the music they hear,” the dwarf said. “And we need your blood, now.”
“I think I see the problem, Abigail,” Anders said. “Sort of, anyway—we saw something...well, not the same, exactly, but definitely saw some weird behavior from darkspawn and people with the Taint in Amaranthine.”
“That place with the smart darkspawn?” Tohnen asked, horrified.
“That'd be the one,” Anders said. “We might be looking at a similar situation.” he pursed his lips. “Remember the Architect, in the Deep Roads? This might be another one of his...experiments.”
The dwarf shook his head. “We are beholden to no one but the Master!” he exclaimed.
“Calm down,” Varric held out his hands. “Look, is this the kind of situation where you really need to kill the Hawkes? Merrill, how often does blood magic seriously need sacrifice?”
“Not often,” Merrill said. Her expression was pensive. “But...Tevinters do it all the time. Anders, you said the name Corypheus was Tevinter?”
“Sounded like it.”
“Then maybe, yes, that's the kind of spell that'd need a sacrifice.”
“That sounds very unpleasant,” Abigail said. “So, do you need an entire sacrifice?” she asked the dwarves.
They looked at each other, uncertain.
“Is that a yes or a no?” Abigail asked.
“Perhaps...perhaps not,” the dwarf said, narrowing his eyes.
“Who cares?” Anders asked. “It's most likely some kind of darkspawn experiment—don't give it to them, Abigail. It doesn't matter how much blood they need, it's not exactly in a good cause.”
“If you don't give, we will take!” the dwarf said, drawing a blade. Immediately a fight started, but the dwarves were clumsy and uncoordinated with Blight. They soon finished the fight, Abigail wiping sweat from her forehead.
“This is bad,” Tohnen said. “Very bad.”
“Well, they did try to kill us,” Carver pointed out.
“Not that!” Tohnen rolled over one of the dwarf corpses. “This—this here, is wrong. You, Anders—what do you know about smart darkspawn?”
Anders shrugged. “Not too much. We met some that could talk, and a few warring factions. The Architect—one of the faction...heads, I suppose—did manage to get a few people who weren’t darkspawn on his side, but that wasn’t quite the same thing.” he shook his head. “I don’t know what this is.”
“A Warden who doesn’t know what’s going on with the darkspawn,” Varric hissed through his teeth. “That’s an encouraging sign.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Anders said.
They came across a dwarf named Gerav, a man that both Varric and the Carta knew. He was the man who had built Bianca, and was an intelligent inventor and mechanic. Varric attempted to speak reasonably with him, but he wouldn’t be reasoned with. He attacked them, and they were forced to kill him.
“What was he doing here?” Tohnen said, her brow furrowed. She looked over his body. “We bought some weapons off him not three months ago—what would he be doing here?”
“Who knows?” Varric shrugged.
“He probably got caught up in a darkspawn attack, got whatever Blight drove the rest of these poor bastards crazy,” Anders said. “That, or the Architect's been experimenting on all of them.”
They continued on further into the ruins. They came to an ancient mining facility, clearly out of use for hundreds of years. The enemy Carta were based there, and attacked Abigail and Carver on sight. Apparently they didn't take kindly to having their own people attacked—or perhaps they simply needed the blood of a Hawke.
When the fight was over (their enemies' weapons ill-kept, their armor ill-fitted), Abigail saw something shining by the side of the leader. She went over to it, and to her surprise, felt a pulse of magic in the air. The thing was a staff.
Abigail picked up the staff. It was short for a staff, maybe only four feet long, with a heavy red figurehead on one end. It was inlaid with gold, elegant and twisting.
Once she held it in her hands, magic twined its way around her, burning through her veins.
She gasped, and tried to let go of it, but her hands wouldn't open.
“Abigail!” Merrill exclaimed, one of her knives at the ready.
Just as soon as it started, the magic stopped. Abigail leaned forward, gasping, and let the staff fall from her fingers. It clattered to the ground, the Veil bleeding around it.
“What...was that?” she gasped.
Merrill reached out to the staff, but didn't touch it. She shuddered. “This can help us find out what's happening,” she said. “It's—I don't know, it's connected to other places. Through there.” she pointed to the mouth of a cave that lead deep into the mines.
“Then we go there,” Carver said.
“Wait—no, that wouldn't be a good idea,” Merrill said. “There's something very bad down there. I feel...something.”
Anders nodded. “Whatever it is, we're probably better off staying away from it.”
“We have to find out what's going on!” Carver insisted. “We can't just quit now!”
“If we turn back, we'll never know what they wanted,” Abigail pointed out. “And they'll probably just send more assassins after us.”
After some more hemming and hawwing, the group went into the cave. Tohnen and the other two Carta members stayed behind, so that a message could be gotten out in case the worst happened.
Once they stepped over the threshold, the Veil twisted around them, and a barrier sprang to life over the door.
“Oh—dammit, the whole thing's sealed over!” Varric reached out to touch the barrier, and pulled his hand back with a yelp.
“Electricity spell?” Anders asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Guess so,” Varric said, shaking out his hand.
“That's why you ask the mages about this sort of thing first,” Anders chided. He, Abigail and Merrill examined it.
“I don't recognize this spell,” Anders said.
“It's blood magic, I can feel how it was made,” Merrill said with a frown. “Let me see if I can--” she opened up a cut on her arm (making Carver and Anders both flinch), and tried to bring the barrier down, but nothing happened. She frowned, a line appearing between her eyebrows. “I don't know why it won't work,” she said.
“Think maybe that Corypheus they were talking about has something to do with this?” Varric wondered.
"Could be,” Anders said. “The Architect had a lot of magic we'd never see before.”
“I suppose we should just keep going, then,” Abigail said. They turned to the rest of the ruins.
They were absolutely enormous. The group stood in a huge cave, in the center of which a giant tower went up further than they could see. The ruins they were in now were a building near the tower, connected to it by a bridge further ahead. The ruins were filled with sand that must have trickled in from the desert. Some natural light filtered in through the top of the cavern, but it was weak and wan. Most of the light came from huge torches that lined the walls. They were filled with bright green phosphorescent crystals, giving off a pale green glow. Some of the torches were broken, some dark, but the ones that remained gave enough light to see by.
They pushed on ahead, encountering the darkspawn that Anders had first felt upon the surface. There weren't too many of them, which was good, and it was easy enough to get rid of them.
They encountered the strangest room. Two enormous shields were hung on the ancient walls, each bearing a griffin. In the middle of the room was a cage, holding a Hunger demon that seemed to take no interest in them.
Anders approached one of the shields with a frown. “This is the Wardens' sigil,” he said, touching one. At his touch, a voice emanated from the walls.
“...be bound here for eternity—hunger smothered, rage silenced, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Maker, so let it be.”
Abigail and Carver both froze.
“That's Father's voice,” Abigail breathed. “I—that doesn't make any sense.”
“Those Blighted dwarves said something about our family,” Carver said. “Maybe—he didn't owe the Carta a debt, but...something else.”
“Why is there a demon trapped here?” Merrill asked, looking at the Hunger demon. “Why would he trap it instead of killing it or using it for something?”
They looked at the demon.
“I don't know,” Abigail said. “He wasn't much for demon-summoning. He would have killed it, not trapped it.”
“Maybe the Wardens wanted it for something,” Varric suggested. “Blondie—you said this was Warden heraldry?” he pointed at the shields.
Anders nodded. “Wardens can go to extremes to fight the darkspawn,” he said. “But I don't know why they'd just—summon a demon and not do anything with it. Especially since this isn't even a warden outpost.”
“Maybe you could ask the spirit about it,” Merrill suggested. She turned to the demon, careful not to touch the cage. “Hello? Can you tell us why you're here, please?”
“Tainted blood wanted to know us,” the spirit breathed, its voice barely a whisper. “They hungered for knowledge—they wanted to know so badly—but it was not them. Something wanted through them.”
“What does that mean?” Varric asked.
“Why was our father here?” Carver demanded.
“You want to know,” the demon's voice grew stronger. “You hunger for it. Let me out, and I shall tell you.”
“Don't,” Anders snapped. “It's too dangerous.”
Merrill nodded sadly. “I'm sorry,” she told the demon. “We can't do that.”
“I know what it is you starve for, old blood,” the demon tilted its head towards Merrill. “Let me out, and I will show you all the wonders of your ancient mothers and fathers.”
“No, I don't think so,” Merrill said. “Come on,” she told the others. “We should go.”
“Definitely,” Anders said, keeping an eye on the demon.
They continued through the ruins, until they came to an enormous bridge that lead from their side of the cavern to the tower in the center.
“There's something here,” Anders said, his face screwed up in concentration. “I—don't quite know what it is. It feels like a darkspawn, but...”
“But what?” Abigail asked.
Anders shook his head. “I don't know. We should be careful, though.”
They weren't halfway across the bridge before they encountered something different. A man, hunched and pale, was scuttling towards them. He wore tarnished plate armor and his hair was falling out in patches.
When he tilted up his head to look at them, his eyes were cloudy with cataracts, and black veins wove their way across his face.
“That's what I felt,” Anders said immediately, taking out his staff. They all collectively took a step back from the man. “He must have Blight sickness--”
“That's a griffin on his armor,” Varric pointed out. “Warden signs, like the shields.”
The man approached them, peering at Abigail through his cloudy eyes. “The key!” he said, his voice raspy and old. “Did they find it? The dwarves? I heard the dwarves looking...digging for it.”
“Digging for what?” Abigail asked slowly. “A key? What key?”
The man pointed to Abigail, then Carver. “That—stave you carry,” the man croaked. “And the magic, the old magic, in the blood...”
Abigail held the staff out. “How is this a key?”
The man looked away from them, his hands jerking and twitching. “Old magic, old spells,” he muttered. “It made the magic seals—it can break them.” he peered at it. “How did you get it? It should be...locked away, far away, under the ground.”
“The dwarves probably found it and took it out,” Carver said.
“They—they shouldn't have...couldn’t have...left,” the man said, looking furtively to the right and left. “How did they—oh. The voice, the sleeper—he must have let them out, yes, can't wake himself but he can free others--”
“Who are you talking about?” Abigail asked, and a thought struck her. “Is this about that Corypheus person?”
“Don't say his name!” the man exclaimed, voice echoing in the cavern. “Not while you hold the key! You will wake him!”
“Wake him?” Abigail raised an eyebrow. “How can I do that, just by saying his name?”
“Not the Architect, then,” Anders said. “He was pretty awake when we last saw him.”
“Is there another way out of here?” Varric asked. “The door sealed behind us--”
The man shook his head. “No way out while the center holds. The Wardens build their prisons well—but it is crumbling. The dwarves got out, the sleeper turns over in his sleep...”
“So does that mean there is a way out of here?” Abigail asked.
“We can't leave till we deal with this Corypheus problem,” Carver said.
“Every time you speak his name, he wakes a little more!” the Blighted man snapped. “Do not say it! Can't you hear him, talking to himself?”
“No, I can't say that I do,” Carver said, eyebrows raised.
“You will,” the man nodded. “You will.”
“You said this was a Warden prison?” Anders asked. “Why isn't it on any maps? I've never heard of this place.”
“Secret, secret,” the man said. “Even among Wardens, secret—terrible things sleep in the pit, they built the prison to keep him trapped.”
“Why wouldn't they tell other Wardens about it?” Abigail asked.
The man shook his head. “Secret, secret,” he insisted. “Even Hawke knew the secret must be kept.”
“Hawke?” Carver said. “Malcolm Hawke?”
“Yes, yes—like you,” he said. “I can smell the blood—the magic is the same on you as it was on him.” he pointed to Abigail.
“Why did they get our father involved in this?” Abigail demanded. “If they didn't even tell other Wardens--”
“Blood too Tainted for the spell,” the man said. “Couldn't be Wardens to fix the seals. Couldn't be Dalish, nor Avvar nor Tevinter nor Vashoth—they would know what it was, they would stop the Wardens. No Circle mage would ever touch this place. They could all smell the terrible magic—the sleeper.”
“So they needed an apostate,” Anders said slowly, a dawning horror on his face. “Who wasn't attached to any other group.”
The man nodded. “Yes, yes! Alone, disconnected, afraid of magic but not too afraid—perfect.”
“Afraid of magic?” Carver furrowed his brow. “He wasn't afraid of his magic.”
“He was proud of it,” Abigail agreed.
“You can hear his words, echoes left,” the man said. “All things leave echoes here, in the deep places. He wished for his children to not have magic. He was afraid.”
“This isn't getting us anywhere,” Anders said. “We need to move on. We should get out of here.”
“You can't go back,” the man said. “You need to go to the heart—down and in. You need to undo the seals with the key.”
“Which way do we go?” Abigail asked.
“You can feel it,” the man said. “Hear the magic—hold the stave, you can smell it on the air. That way,” he pointed down the bridge, to the tower.
“Well...” Abigail rolled her shoulders back. “If there's no other way out of here...”
“I don't know, Abigail...” Anders said, eyeing the man.
“You are Tainted too,” the man said, looking at Anders. “You smell of dreams and the Blight—you will hear him. He will want you.”
“Want me?” Anders pressed a hand to his chest. “Want me for what?”
“Waking, of course.”
They all looked at each other, and after some deliberation, continued on into the tower. The man followed them at a distance, but soon vanished back into the ruin.
In the tower, they found a large, circular room with a vast glowing plinth in the center. The plinth oozed magic, clumsy and bloody, and there was something very large and very nasty held within it.
With a great deal of caution, Abigail reached out with the stave, and touched its figurehead to the plinth.
The binding spell burst, and a huge Pride demon came to light. It tilted its head to look at them with one of its sets of many eyes. They all stepped back, weapons drawn, but the demon made no move to step off the plinth.
“You have the blood of the one who trapped me here,” the Pride demon growled. “But you are not him.”
Abigail shook her head. “No,” she said.
The demon rumbled to itself. “You believe you are strong enough to get out,” it said. “But how can you, when one such as I never has?'
“Because I have the key.”
The demon let out a low laugh. “Clumsy blood magic and a mage, frightened by the Wardens into shoring up their broken prison? A key is no good when the lock is broken.”
“It doesn't seem very broken.”
“No? Then let me loose.”
“Why would I do that?”
The demon peeled its lips away from rows of jagged teeth in a mocking parody of a smile. “You cannot pass until you defeat me, or until Corypheus guides you with his dreams.”
“Can you tell us about Corypheus?” Merrill asked. “Who is he?”
The demon tilted its head to the other side, peering at her. “Little blood mage,” it said. “You smell of old magic, from those who are long gone. You have already done the impossible. He is another who has done impossible things.”
“Stop talking to it,” Anders said.
“And you,” the demon looked at him. “Ah—what a curious thing you are. You smell of the Blight, but Justice as well.” it bore its teeth further, showing that they were each sharp as a blade and as long as one's hand. “You are not proud. You are angry. Fascinating—your path leads only into darkness, but you have such high hopes...”
Anders paled and stepped back. “Stop talking to it!” he insisted.
The demon reached out, and prodded the barrier with a claw. Its grin widened. “Ah—I don't believe I need you any longer,” it said. “For you have set me free.”
There was a crack, and the barrier shattered, sending shards in all directions to fade like starlight.
The demon stood upright, its form wavering. The group readied their weapons, but the demon made no move to attack.
“How fascinating it will be, to see you fail,” it told them. “They call me Pride, but I think there are others to live up to the name better than I do.” it rumbled a deep laugh. “'Pride crushed?' Your kin built a dam that could not hold back the flood. His Maker gave him no strength in this place.”
The creature burst into a thousand points of light, and vanished.
The Blighted Warden came shuffling into the hall. “Two thousand years, the magic holds,” he said. “Never broken. Never broken. But crumbling—a cliff when the waves smash against it.”
“So...it was always going to get loose?” Abigail asked. “Whether or not I was here? Is that what you mean?”
“The dead gods still dream. Dead spirits still whisper. Dead and dying spells stay dying and dead unless a hand comes to save them. And the only hand that came was of your blood. It was not enough.”
“Why not?” Carver asked.
“What is one frightened man against someone who has died and still dreams?” the Warden asked. “Nothing, nothing, nothing. The Wardens chose poorly.”
“That's our father you're talking about,” Carver snapped.
“Doesn't matter who he is—what I say is true. Your blood shatters the bond because the bond was poor.”
Abigail frowned. “Who are you?” she asked. “We don't even know your name.”
“Name?” the man's eyes darted sightlessly back and forth. “It's been a long time since I've said my name. I think—they used to call me--” he stumbled for a bit. “Larius! I was Larius. And a—a title, as well. Commander. Commander of the Grey.”
“Commander Larius?” Anders frowned. “I've never heard of a Commander Larius.”
“You wouldn't know. Too young.”
“Too young?” Anders glanced at his companions. “How's that?”
“The Warden's life is one half-lived,” Larius said. “But the Blight brings a long, long death without dying. Very long. I was there when the Hawke held the seals—half-dying, still alive, but not quite. Before I was this.”
“So...you were the one that did this?” Abigail asked.
Larius shook his head. “Not me. We needed—there was--” he choked on his words. “I—it doesn't want me to remember. Doesn't want me to tell you. He hates the prison, doesn't wish to speak of it. Can't you hear him?” he asked Anders. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “He calls—from the darkness. What waits there?” he stumbled away, vanishing into the ruins again.
“Wait--!” Abigail said, but Larius was gone.
“We have to keep going,” Carver said.
They went on, the broken seal having opened the way further down, but not back. There were more darkspawn here, enormous beasts in clumsy armor. They were dispatched well enough, but Abigail still worried about the possibility of Taint.
In the next level, they found another caged demon, like the first. This one was a Sloth demon, slow and huge, its body a bare facsimile of a person’s. It was curled up and asleep at first, but when they approached it opened one baleful red eye and slowly got to its feet.
“You have the blood of him who imprisoned me,” the demon said, its voice thick like syrup. “And you—you have magic.” it pointed to Abigail. “Perhaps you are braver than he? He refused to release me or to kill me. The Wardens wished for me to be imprisoned, and he obeyed them, though I could feel he did not want to.”
“Why did the Wardens want you here?” Merrill asked.
The demon looked at her with its one red eye. The other eye was grown over by flesh. “Hmm,” it rumbled. “If you release me, perhaps I will tell you.”
“I don't think so,” Abigail said.
“Maybe they were studying them?” Merrill suggested.
“Or maybe it's some kind of side effect from the other seals,” Anders said. “The last one had a demon in it. Maybe summoning demons to the seals summoned other demons by accident?”
“But this isn't a seal,” Abigail said. “It's a cage—that's different. Why would they cage the demons but not get rid of them?”
“The staff works on both, doesn't it?” Varric said. “I bet they’re connected somehow. Maybe...can a demon fuel another spell?”
Anders hummed to himself. “Maybe it’s like a combination lock,” he suggested. “A demon in a cage has the power to fuel the seal, and the demon in the seal fuels...something else?”
“Clever, clever,” the demon yawned. “A large lock, yes, yes, but futile. Your blood is in all the spellwork, cage or seal or lock. Too much effort to get more than one mage to do it. It’s foolish—locking the sleeper away with a spell from blood, and just one person’s blood at that. He already knows blood magic.”
“What do you mean?” Merrill asked.
The demon closed its eye and waved them away. “If you will not release me, you have no reason to be here,” it proclaimed. “Leave me to my sleep.”
They turned away, and it curled up in its corner, seeming content to sleep again. They walked away, deeper into the ruins.
“'He already knows blood magic?'” Varric said. “That—Corypheus thing?”
“The Architect used blood magic,” Anders pointed out. “Maybe this thing is some kind of powerful darkspawn, like the Architect is.”
“Can you hear any of what Larius said he heard, Anders?” Merrill asked.
Anders shook his head. “No—I don't think so,” he said with a frown. “Maybe—I hear something, like something whispering, right at the edge of my hearing, but it's—well, it could actually be anything. There could be more spirits here, or ghosts, or these bloody darkspawn are the talking kind. I either haven't been here long enough or you need to have the Calling to hear what Larius heard.”
Merrill nodded. “Well—if you hear anything nasty, you'll let us know, won't you?”
“You'll be the first to know,” Anders sighed.