论坛 › 《龙腾世纪2》 › 从角色创建器中解出来的海量游戏背景知识

ccxx22 发表于 2009-10-16 14:54

从角色创建器中解出来的海量游戏背景知识

哈，貌似BIOWARE在制作这个角色创建器的时候忘了删除干净

Entry No. 1
On the Deep Roads.

There isn't a dwarf alive who remembers the Deep Roads as they once were. They were the network of tunnels that joined the thaigs together. To be honest, it isn't even right to give them such a simple term as "tunnels": They are works of art, with centuries of planning demonstrated in the geometry of their walls, with the statues of the Paragons that watch over travelers, with the flow of lava that keeps the Deep Roads lit and warm. The cloudgazers up on the surface talk of the Imperial Highway built by the magisters of old, a raised walkway that crossed thousands of miles, something that could only have been built by magic. Perhaps it is comparable to the Deep Roads, although we dwarves didn't need magic.

I suppose it doesn't matter any more. The darkspawn rule the Deep Roads now. When Orzammar sealed off the entrances to the Deep Roads, abandoning everything that lay out there, we handed over the kingdom-that-was to those black bastards forever. To think that there are genlocks crawling over Bownammar now, tearing down our statues and defiling our greatest works! Corruption covers everything we built out there. Every dwarf who goes out and comes back says that it gets worse with each passing year, the foulness spread a little further.

And the cloudgazers think the darkspawn are gone just because they aren't spilling out onto the surface? Huh. One day, when Orzammar is gone for good, they'll find out differently. Those darkspawn won't have anywhere else to go but up, and they'll do it. The surface folk will have themselves a Blight that will never end.

--Transcript of a conversation with a member of the dwarven Mining Caste, 8:90 Blessed.






Entry No. 2
The Chant of Light on the first darkspawn.

No matter their power, their triumphs,
The mage-lords of Tevinter were men
And doomed to die.
Then a voice whispered within their hearts,
Shall you surrender your power
To time like the beasts of the fields?
You are the Lords of the earth!
Go forth to claim the empty throne
Of Heaven and be gods.

In secret they worked
Magic upon magic
All their power and all their vanity
They turned against the Veil
Until at last, it gave way.

Above them, a river of Light,
Before them the throne of Heaven, waiting,
Beneath their feet
The footprints of the Maker,
And all around them echoed a vast
Silence.

But when they took a single step
Toward the empty throne
A great voice cried out
Shaking the very foundations
Of Heaven and earth:

And So is the Golden City blackened
With each step you take in my Hall.
Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.
You have brought Sin to Heaven
And doom upon all the world.

Violently were they cast down,
For no mortal may walk bodily
In the realm of dreams,
Bearing the mark of their Crime:
Bodies so maimed
And distorted that none should see them
And know them for men.

Deep into the earth they fled,
Away from the Light.
In Darkness eternal they searched
For those who had goaded them on,
Until at last they found their prize,
Their god, their betrayer:
The sleeping dragon Dumat. Their taint
Twisted even the false-god, and the whisperer
Awoke at last, in pain and horror, and led
Them to wreak havoc upon all the nations of the world:
The first Blight.

--From Threnodies 8.






Entry No. 3
On the common deepstalker.

"A fool trusts his eyes. A wise man fears every rock is a deepstalker."

--Dwarven saying.

Possibly the strangest of all the creatures found in the Deep Roads is the deepstalker. Tezpadam, as the dwarves call them, hunt in packs, generally by burrowing underground and then striking when their prey is in their midst.

Stalkers come in several types. Spitters have venom glands and can spit secretions that slow or injure their prey. Jumpers hurl themselves at their targets, knocking them down and making the kill easier. The most common variety scares its prey, leaving the unfortunate victim helpless against the rest of the pack.






Entry No. 4
About the Entropic Death spell combination.

Perhaps the victims would say it makes no difference, since those afflicted by a Death Hex already know there is little hope of survival, but they should avoid a Death Cloud at all costs if they do not wish to hasten the process: Merely touching the edge of the cloud is enough to set off a deadly reaction that deals truly massive spirit damage to the subject of the hex.






Entry No. 5
On the Goddess of the Hearth.

Sylaise the Hearthkeeper is seen as the sister of Andruil the Huntress. While Andruil loved to run with the creatures of the wild, Sylaise preferred to stay by her home-tree, occupying herself with gentle arts and song.

It is Sylaise who gave us fire and taught us how to use it. It is Sylaise who showed us how to heal with herbs and with magic, and how to ease the passage of infants into this world. And again, it is Sylaise who showed us how to spin the fibers of plants into thread and rope.

We owe much to Sylaise, and that is why we sing to her when we kindle the fires and when we put them out. That is why we sprinkle our aravels with Sylaise's fragrant tree-moss, and ask that she protect them and all within.

--As told by Gisharel, keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves.






Entry No. 6
An account of the Dalish people.

I took the road north from Val Royeaux toward Nevarra with a merchant caravan. A scant two days past the Orlesian border, we were beset by bandits. They struck without warning from the cover of the trees, hammering our wagons with arrows, killing most of the caravan guards instantly. The few who survived the arrow storm drew their blades and charged into the trees after our attackers. We heard screams muffled by the forest, and then nothing more of those men.

After a long silence, the bandits appeared. Elves covered in tattoos and dressed in hides, they looted all the supplies and valuables they could carry from the merchants and disappeared back into the trees.

These, I was informed later, were the Dalish, the wild elves who lurk in the wilderness on the fringes of settled lands, preying upon travelers and isolated farmers. These wild elves have reverted to the worship of their false gods and are rumored to practice their own form of magic, rejecting all human society.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.







Entry No. 7
On Arl Eamon's son, Connor

"I feel like I'm sleeping, but I guess I'm not."

While most of the banns and arls of Ferelden cart their children with them to the Landsmeet in the interest of eventually marrying them off, Connor has spent his entire life at Redcliffe. And it's hardly surprising: the child possessed the gift of magic. By law, he should have been taken to the Circle of Magi at the first sign, abdicating his claim to Redcliffe. Instead, the boy was kept out of public view and his magic hushed up... with disastrous results.

All mages are beacons that attract the attention of Fade spirits. Because of this, they are trained and tested by the Circle to ensure that they can withstand attacks from malevolent Fade creatures that seek entry into the waking world. Untrained Connor drew the attention of a powerful demon that tore the Veil asunder.






Entry No. 8
Concerning Yusaris.

"In the company of monsters he went,
Down the empty wolf-roads after the dragon
To the lands where the ice is like steel,

And the air grows thin as a beggar,
And every rocky path is strewn with the bones
Of the lonely dead. There Dane dwelled,
And fifty swords were worn to rusted ruin
Before at last they found the cave of Fenshal,
Ancient keeper of the mountains, bane of wolves.
Dane sought a way in which the dragon might be felled,

Fiend of fire and talon, its scales
Brighter than any warrior's mail, teeth greater than men,
And all around the slumbering wyrm were bones:
Wolves, men, beasts beyond counting.
The fume of death frightened even the wolf pack,
And Dane, desperate, crept into the cavern
To seek the monster's death alone.

There, shining among the dead like a star
His hand found a sword. Yusaris:
Forged by the dwarf smiths for an Alamarri lord long ago,
Waiting age after age to be taken to battle once more.
And this Dane freed from the earth and struck
At the eye of the dragon, still sleeping,
With a swift, terrible blow.

And Fenshal woke, wroth, only to die."

--From Dane and the Werewolf.

The legend of the blade Yusaris predates Andraste. The sword that Dane found in the dragon's treasure hoard, which he used to slay both Fenshal and the werewolf, was passed on to his son Hafter.

Dane may have been fiction, but Hafter was fact. In 1:40 Divine, he led the Alamarri tribes against darkspawn that flooded into the Ferelden valley from the dwarven lands. He not only drove back the horde, he also then defeated the combined forces of the Avvars and Chasind who hoped to take advantage of the chaos. His victories earned him such respect from the tribes, he was named the first teyrn.

After years of ruling the valley in peace, it is said that Hafter left Ferelden, sailing into the unknown east of the Amaranthine Ocean with the blade still in hand, never to be seen again.






Entry No. 9
About the mabari.

Dogs are an essential part of Fereldan culture, and no dog is more prized than the mabari. The breed is as old as myth, said to have been bred from the wolves who served Dane. Prized for their intelligence and loyalty, these dogs are more than mere weapons or status symbols: The hounds choose their masters, and pair with them for life. To be the master of a mabari anywhere in Ferelden is to be recognized instantly as a person of worth.

The mabari are an essential part of Fereldan military strategy. Trained hounds can easily pull knights from horseback or break lines of pikemen, and the sight and sound of a wave of war dogs, howling and snarling, has been known to cause panic among even the most hardened infantry soldiers.






Entry No. 10
On the Grey Warden, Duncan.

"Men and women from every race, warriors and mages, barbarians and kings... the Grey Wardens sacrificed everything to stem the tide of darkness... and prevailed."

Like many others, Duncan gave up his family name when he joined the ranks of the Wardens: a symbolic gesture of cutting ties. He might say this was a convenience in his case, however. His mother was from the Anderfels, his father from Tevinter, his childhood was spent in the Free Marches and Orlais. His people were everywhere and his homeland was nowhere.

He was given the almost impossible task of leading the Wardens in Ferelden--a kingdom that had thrown the order out two hundred years earlier. Facing local suspicion and hostility, he set about finding recruits.






Entry No. 11
The history of the Bow of the Golden Sun.

There is no more famous ruler in history than Kordilius Drakon, first emperor of Orlais. Few, however, know the story of his empress.

Empress Area was the third of Lord Montlaures of Val Chevin's famously unmarriageable six daughters. When she met young Prince Kordilius, she was the captain of her father's archers and led the defense of Laures Castle. She was not the fairest of ladies, nor the most elegant or charming, but Area could shoot the wings off a bumblebee at one hundred paces. By all accounts, when the prince witnessed that particular feat, Drakon--who was not noted for his charm or elegance, and rather better known for his sword and shield--was instantly smitten.

On their wedding day, Drakon presented his bride with a golden bow crafted by the mages of Val Royeaux, so that they could ride into battle and spread the Light of the Maker side by side.






Entry No. 12
A knight's note.

So many of my fellow knights have been searching for the Urn. Surely one of them must have found Brother Genitivi by now. Still, until I hear that all is well, I must proceed as planned. Brother Genitivi holds the key to finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes: We always knew this, but I believe I now know where Brother Genitivi lies. I have been to his home in Denerim and found the trail, and I am amazed that other knights have not done likewise. Unless they have? No, it is best not to get caught up in thoughts of conspiracy. Ser Donall awaits my report in Lothering. I must go to him immediately and report what I have learned. Should anyone find these ramblings, all I ask is that he be informed of my fate. I pray that he complete what I cannot.

--A note from Ser Henric of Redcliffe.






Entry No. 13
On Flemeth.

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe."

Ages ago, legend says Bann Conobar took to wife a beautiful young woman who harbored a secret talent for magic: Flemeth of Highever. And for a time they lived happily, until the arrival of a young poet, Osen, who captured the lady's heart with his verse.

They turned to the Chasind tribes for help and hid from Conobar's wrath in the Wilds, until word came to them that Conobar lay dying: His last wish was to see Flemeth's face one final time.

The lovers returned, but it was a trap. Conobar killed Osen, and imprisoned Flemeth in the highest tower of the castle. In grief and rage, Flemeth worked a spell to summon a spirit into this world to wreak vengeance upon her husband. Vengeance, she received, but not as she planned. The spirit took possession of her, turning Flemeth into an abomination. A twisted, maddened creature, she slaughtered Conobar and all his men, and fled back into the Wilds.

For a hundred years, Flemeth plotted, stealing men from the Chasind to sire monstrous daughters: Horrific things that could kill a man with fear. These Korcari witches led an army of Chasind from the Wilds to strike at the Alamarri tribes. They were defeated by the hero Cormac, and all the witches burned, so they say, but even now the Wilders whisper that Flemeth lives on in the marsh, and she and her daughters steal those men who come too near.

Morrigan's mother saved the last Grey Wardens from death at the top of the Tower of Ishal, but just who, or what, Flemeth truly is, is a mystery.






Entry No. 14
An explanation of mana.

Mana is that which defines a mage. It is potential that dwells within a person but does not always manifest itself. All men are connected to the Fade; we go there to dream. But only those with this potential may draw upon its power. Mana is, then, a measurement of one's ability to draw power from the Fade, and it is this power that is expended in magic.

As in all other things, it has limits. Just as a man has the strength to lift only so much weight and no more, a mage cannot work more magic at one time than his mana allows. If he wishes to work magic that would be beyond his strength, a mage must bolster his mana with lyrium. Without lyrium, it is possible for the reckless to expend their own life-force in the working of magic, and occasionally, ambitious apprentices injure or even kill themselves by over-exertion.

--From The Lectures of First Enchanter Wenselus.






Entry No. 15
A discussion of the Chantry calendar.

For most good folk, the details of our calendar have little purpose. It is useful only for telling them when the Summerday festival will be held, when the snows are expected to begin, and when the harvest must be complete. The naming of the years are a matter for historians and taxmen, and few if pressed could even tell you the reason that our current Age is named after dragons.

It is 9:30 Dragon Age, the thirtieth year of the ninth Age since the crowning of the Chantry's first Divine.

Each Age is exactly 100 years, with the next Age's name chosen in the 99th year. The scholars in Val Royeaux advise the Chantry of portents seen in that 99th year, and Chantry authorities pore over the research for months before the Divine announces the name of the imminent Age. The name is said to be an omen of what is to come, of what the people of Thedas will face for the next hundred years.

The current Age was not meant to be the Dragon Age. Throughout the last months of the Blessed Age, the Chantry was preparing to declare the Sun Age, named for the symbol of the Orlesian Empire, which at that time sprawled over much of the south of Thedas and controlled both Ferelden and what is now Nevarra. It was to be a celebration of Orlesian imperial glory.

But as the rebellion in Ferelden reached a head and the Battle of River Dane was about to begin, a peculiar event occurred: a rampage, the rising of a dreaded high dragon. Dragons had been thought practically extinct since the days of the Nevarran dragon hunts, and they say that to see this great beast rise form the Frostbacks was both majestic and terrifying. As the rampage began and the high dragon decimated the countryside in its search for food, the elderly Divine Faustine II abruptly declared the Dragon Age.

Some say the Divine was declaring support for Orlais in the battle against Ferelden, since the dragon is an element of the Dufayel family heraldry of King Meghren, the so-called Usurper King of Ferelden. Be that as it may, the high dragon's rampage turned towards the Orlesian side of the Frostback Mountains, killing hundreds and sending thousands more fleeing to the northern coast. The Fereldan rebels won the Battle of River Dane, ultimately securing their independence.

Many thus think that the Dragon Age will come to represent a time of violent and dramatic change for all of Thedas. It remains to be seen.

--From The Studious Theologian, by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar, 9:25 Dragon.






Entry No. 16
On Leliana.

"In the cloister, away from the fuss and the flurry of the cities, I found peace. And in that stillness, I could hear the Maker."






Entry No. 17
On the history of the elves before the fall of Arlathan.

Before the ages were named or numbered, our people were glorious and eternal and never-changing. Like the great oak tree, they were constant in their traditions, strong in their roots, and ever reaching for the sky.

They felt no need to rush when life was endless. They worshipped their gods for months at a time. Decisions came after decades of debate, and an introduction could last for years. From time to time, our ancestors would drift into centuries-long slumber, but this was not death, for we know they wandered the Fade in dreams.

In those ages, our people called all the land Elvhenan, which in the old language means "place of our people." And at the center of the world stood the great city of Arlathan, a place of knowledge and debate, where the best of the ancient elves would go to trade knowledge, greet old friends, and settle disputes that had gone on for millennia.

But while our ancestors were caught up in the forever cycle of ages, drifting through life at what we today would consider an intolerable pace, the world outside the lush forests and ancient trees was changing.

The humans first arrived from Par Vollen to the north. Called shemlen, or "quicklings," by the ancients, the humans were pitiful creatures whose lives blinked by in an instant. When they first met the elves, the humans were brash and warlike, quick to anger and quicker to fight, with no patience for the unhurried pace of elven diplomacy.

But the humans brought worse things than war with them. Our ancestors proved susceptible to human diseases, and for the first time in history, elves died of natural causes. What's more, those elves who spent time bartering and negotiating with humans found themselves aging, tainted by the humans' brash and impatient lives. Many believed that the ancient gods had judged them unworthy of their long lives and cast them down among the quicklings. Our ancestors came to look upon the humans as parasites, which I understand is similar to the way the humans see our people in the cities. The ancient elves immediately moved to close Elvhenan off from the humans, for fear that this quickening effect would crumble the civilization.

--"The Fall of Arlathan," as told by Gisharel, keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves.






Entry No. 18
On Leliana.

"Here, with you... knowing the freedom of the road and the uncertainty of tomorrow... I feel alive again."






Entry No. 19
On the origins of darkspawn.

The surfacers claim that the first darkspawn fell from heaven. They spin tales of magic and sin. But the Children of the Stone know better. The darkspawn rose up out of the earth. For it was in the Deep Roads they first appeared. Creatures in our own likeness, armed and armored, but with no more intelligence than tezpadam, bestial and savage.

At first they were few, easily hunted and slain by our warriors. But in the recesses of the Deep Roads, they grew in numbers and in courage. Our distant thaigs came under attack, and now it was the army, not a few warriors, being sent to deal with the creatures. Victories still came easily, though, and we thought the threat would soon be over.

We were wrong.

--As told by Shaper Czibor.






Entry No. 20
On the city of Denerim.

When anyone in Ferelden speaks of "going to the city," they inevitably mean Denerim. There is no other place in the kingdom which rivals it: Not in size, population, wealth, or importance. It is the seat of the Theirin family, the capital of Ferelden, the largest seaport, and, by ancient tradition, the meeting place of the Landsmeet.

As well, Denerim was the birthplace of Andraste. One of them, anyway, as several other sites claim to have been the prophet's early home, including Jader, in Orlais. The Chantry takes no stance on which site's claim is valid, but it is well known that Andraste was Fereldan by birth. When visiting the pilgrimage site in Denerim, it is inadvisable to mention Jader at all.

The city rests at the foot of the Dragon's Peak, a solitary mountain scarred by ancient lava flows. During Andraste's lifetime, it reputedly filled the sky with a great column of black ash and sent burning rock raining down as far away as the Free Marches, but it is now considered extinct. Some believe it merely sleeps, and will again darken the sky with ash and fire when the last Fereldan king dies, but this is highly unlikely.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 21
Caridin's journal.

940, 45th day, 5th year of the reign of King Valtor: I have done it. The vision the ancestors gave me has come to fruition. Today a man sat up from my forge, a man of living stone and steel. I called him golem, for the legend of those great statues animated by the dead. They are our future and our salvation.

940, 60th day, 5th year of the reign of King Valtor: It is a horrific process. Not every man could do such a thing and survive with his mind intact. I am honored that the ancestors believe I have the strength to bear this burden and forge Orzammar's defenders.

Nothing so great may be achieved without sacrifice. Nor may stone and steel walk without a spirit to animate them.

940, 73rd day, 5th year of the reign of King Valtor: I have asked for volunteers. Some few answered, men of the Warrior Caste, younger sons with no property, no chance for marriage. They want to defend Orzammar from the horrors these humans have unleashed. They want to live forever in a body stronger than the finest armor. They do not ask to speak with those who have gone before.

I have put off saying this, even in these pages. But I must say it now. My golems will be powered by their deaths. These brave warriors come to me, naked as they were born. I dress them in a skin of armor, so large it makes the burliest look no more than a babe, the anvil their first and final cradle.

We are surrounded by a mile of earth on all sides. No one hears the screams as I pour molten lyrium through the eyeholes, the mouth, every joint and chink in the armor. They silence quickly, but the smell lingers, just a trace of blood in the greater stench of hot metal. I must work fast. The armor is malleable now, as I shape it with hammer and tongs.

It is not long before it moves beneath my hands, writhing and twisting with every blow. It speaks again now, a low moan, but I have learned to tune it out. I can afford no error in this craft. There can be no melted slag blinding the eyes, nor an unhewn bit of granite shackling the leg. They groan at my work, but would they rather be broken, crippled? Those I have spoken to tell me of the pain, but could they see themselves, they would see perfection.

--From the journal of Caridin.






Entry No. 22
On Brother Ferdinand Genitivi.

"As it is the duty of all true sons of the Chantry to make the Chant heard from every corner of the world, I made it my mission to find as many corners of the world as possible. The Maker can hardly expect us to do one without the other."

--Excerpt from In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar by Brother Genitivi

Brother Genitivi is one of the Chantry's most well-known scholars, primarily on the basis of the stories he has published (which many of his contemporaries dismiss as fanciful) of his travels across the length and breadth of Thedas.






Entry No. 23
On the village of Lothering.

In ancient times, Lothering was little more than a trading post that served the fortress of Ostagar to the south. Nowadays, it is larger, serving Redcliffe and the community of merchants and surface dwarves near Orzammar. Its location on the North Road gives it strategic value, so control of Lothering has historically been a matter of contention between the Southern Bannorn and the South Reach Arling. King Calenhad himself stepped in and awarded the town to South Reach in the Exalted Age, which has largely ended the feud, or at least the appearance of it.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 24
Concerning ghouls.

What the Blight does not destroy, it corrupts.

Any creature infected with the darkspawn taint that does not have the good fortune to die outright becomes a ghoul: a twisted shadow of itself.

The name originally comes from men--whether human, dwarven, or elven--who became tainted, usually while being held as a captive food source by the darkspawn. They would turn cannibal, preying on other captives, slaves to the will of the archdemon, driven mad by pain.

During a Blight, the corruption of the darkspawn spreads through the wilder areas of Thedas and infects the animals found there. This produces grotesque, enraged bears called bereskarn as well as blight wolves.

Fortunately, ghouls rarely survive their corruption for long.






Entry No. 25
A meeting with a wraith.

It was then that he realized he wasn't alone. The abandoned camp in front of him was unbelievably welcoming, like a mirage. The fire felt like a warm hand grabbing his heart. It reminded him of a previous life, so long ago, when he was happy. Running on the sunflower fields with his boy, the sun on his face. Laying next to the fireplace, with his beautiful wife in his arms.

He felt a sharp pain in his heart. His thoughts shifted to that fateful day when everything changed. Blood was everywhere. He held the body of his dead wife in his arms. Around him the ashes of his burned house fell like snow. The stench was terrible. It smelled like darkspawn. He grabbed his axe, touched the icy cold hands of his boy, and left. He would kill them. He would kill them all. The pain in his heart was unbearable.

He opened his eyes and saw the second most terrifying thing he would see in his life--a shadowy wraith leaning over him, leeching his life away. Around him, the camp was gone, replaced by something familiar, almost peaceful: Bones, death and despair. He wondered if all his life had been an illusion, if he'd ever had a family. For a brief moment, he felt relief. You can't lose something you've never had. But being this close to death brought clarity. He knew it was real. Everything else was the illusion. You could see a smile on his torn face. He had been waiting for this moment for a long, long time. He lifted his weak arms, grasped the demon's face, and kissed it. It felt like kissing a cloud made of sand and dust. Suddenly, all sorrow left him, and with it, the last bit of life he had. Before his limp body hit the ground, it was all over.

He was finally free.

--From Cautionary Tales for the Adventurous, by Brother Ramos of Guilherme, 7:94 Storm.






Entry No. 26
On King Cailan of Ferelden.

"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god!"

Son of the legendary King Maric Theirin, Cailan was the first Fereldan king born into a land free from foreign rule in two generations. Since his father's death, he's held the throne alongside his queen, Anora.






Entry No. 27
On the behaviors and habits of sloth demons.

"And I looked at the creature and it had become me. A veritable copy of my form, of my very mind, stared back at me as if from within a mirror. I thought surely that this was a trick, an illusion meant to put me off guard... but as I engaged the thing with my sword it fought me with maneuvers that I recognized. It parried as I parried; it swung as I swung. It spoke to me and said things that only I could know. I... I think this demon of sloth has no form or identity of its own. It is envy as much as sloth, I believe, and mine was not the first shape it stole that day."

--An excerpt from a transcribed deposition of Tyrenus, templar-commander of Cumberland, 3:90 Towers.

The most difficult assumption for some who study demons to overcome is the notion that a sloth demon is, in and of itself, slothful. If that were so, it seems highly unlikely that any such demons would cross the Veil into our own world, or once here would fight to possess any creature with a will of its own--and we know both these things to not be the case. Certainly, some demons are lazy and complacent, but who knows? Perhaps these creatures even cultivate such a reputation.

The truth is that demons of sloth are named so because this is the portion of the human psyche that they feed upon. Doubt. Apathy. Entropy. They seek to spread these things. The sloth demon hides in its forms, a master of shapes and disguises, always in the last place you look... and from its hiding place it spreads its influence. A community afflicted by a demon of sloth could soon become a dilapidated pit where injustices are allowed to pass without comment, and none of the residents could be aware that such a change has even taken place. The sloth demon weakens, tires, tears at the edges of consciousness and would much rather render its victim helpless than engage in a true conflict. Such creatures are best faced only with a great deal of will, and only with an eye to piercing their many disguises.






Entry No. 28
On the loss of Kal Sharok from the dwarven empire.

1155 of the Tevinter Imperium will be known as a year of painful decisions, but we cannot waver. The threat we face is the greatest we have known. If we are overrun, all trace of the ancestors' glory will be undone. Orzammar must stand, and it must stand alone. Hormak, Kal Sharok, Gundaar: We have lost contact, and must assume they are lost to the horde. We must seal the weakest link in our defense, the Deep Roads that lead to our fallen brethren. I have ordered our finest demolitionists to place the charges. I ask that each of you think of those we have lost. They served as the warning that spurred us to action, and I know the Stone will embrace them. They are the foundation of our survival, and they will not be forgotten."

--From a proclamation by High King Threestone.

200 years! Kal Sharok lives, you Stone-forsaken deep lords. There is no greater hatred than a brother at your throat!

--Graffiti, author unknown.






Entry No. 29
A sonnet of bees.

Oh, fair damsel of the garden,
Arlessa of honeysuckle and rose,
I humbly beg your gracious pardon
For the offense that here arose.

Surely your work is far too vital
To be interrupted by one like me.
I am in no way entitled
To earn the notice of a honeybee.

I was a fool to pluck that flower
For my lady fair. On my honor I
Swear to bring you dozens more within the hour
If you give me leave to try.

Listen traveler, if you would walk the garden paths some spring:
Mind that you don't trespass, for the gardeners do sting.

--Anonymous






Entry No. 30
On the threat, or complete lack of threat, posed by rats.

"What are you, mad? Even the most giant of rats isn't going to present that much of a problem to anyone larger than a cat. Even the stories in the archives that tell of Blight-touched rats still only attributed them with the ability to spread the plague. The rats themselves got no larger than perhaps three feet in length, covered in sharp bony spikes and boils. Disturbing, certainly, but dangerous? This is no fantasy conjured by madmen, young man! You have much more important creatures to concern yourself with!"

--Transcript of a lecture given by Nalia, Senior Enchanter of Hossberg, 8:44 Blessed (Note: she was later eaten by a Blight Rat in 8:46 Blessed).






Entry No. 31
The history of the Rite of Annulment.

In the 83rd year of the Glory Age, one of the mages of the Nevarran Circle was found practicing forbidden magic. The templars executed him swiftly, but this brewed discontent among the Nevarra Circle. The mages made several magical attacks against the templars, vengeance for the executed mage, but the knight-commander was unable to track down which were responsible.

Three months later, the mages summoned a demon and turned it loose against their templar watchers. Demons, however, are not easily controlled. After killing the first wave of templars who tried to contain it, the demon took possession of one of its summoners. The resulting abomination slaughtered Templars and mages both before escaping into the countryside.

The grand cleric sent a legion of templars to hunt the fugitive. They killed the abomination a year later, but by that time it had slain 70 people.

Divine Galatea, responding to the catastrophe in Nevarra and hoping to prevent further incidents, granted all the Grand Clerics of the Chantry the power to purge a Circle entirely if they rule it irredeemable. This Rite of Annulment has been performed 17 times in the last 700 years.

--From Of Fires, Circles, and Templars: A History of Magic in the Chantry, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 32
On Arl Eamon Guerrin of Redcliffe.

"Nobility does not exist without obligation. We owe all we have, even our lives, to our land and our people."

As the maternal uncle of King Cailan, Arl Eamon is one of the king's most trusted advisors. Redcliffe, while not a large or especially wealthy part of Ferelden, is a critical strategic location: The fortress guards the western pass that leads to Orlais, as well as the major trade route with Orzammar. A well-respected man, though not the most charismatic, King Cailan once said of him, "My Uncle Eamon is a man everyone thinks well of--when they remember to think of him at all."







Entry No. 33
On Wynne.

"It's perfectly all right to think about the many indignities you plan to inflict on your enemies, but to talk about it... well, that would be unladylike."






Entry No. 34
About the Improved Drain spell combination.

The victim of a Vulnerability Hex must be wary not only of damage from the elements, but also spellcasters who wish to sap life or mana to restore their own bodies. The spells Drain Life and Mana Drain are twice as effective in those circumstances.






Entry No. 35
On Prince Bhelen Aeducan.

"Time is something you may not have much left of."






Entry No. 36
An explanation of the great tree in the alienage.

Mostly the old ways are gone. Each generation forgets a little more of the old tongue, a little more of the traditions. And the few things we keep become simple habits, the meaning long since faded.

So it is with the vhenadahl, the tree of the people. Every alienage has one, I'm told. Or they used to. When I was a little girl, my mother told me the tree was a symbol of Arlathan, but not even she knew more. Keeping the vhenadahl is just a habit, now. Many cities have let theirs wither and die, then chopped them up for firewood. No great loss.

--Sarethia, hahren of the Highever Alienage.






Entry No. 37
About the axe Aodh.

Long ago, a soldier from Gwaren was returning home after twenty years at war. He had sold his sword for passage to Denerim and had to make his way through the Brecilian Forest with nothing to his name but a single crust of bread.

On his way, he met an old blind woodcutter sitting on a tree stump. "Here is someone worse off than myself," said the soldier, and he gave the old man his last scrap of bread. The old man blessed him, and gave the soldier his axe in return.

The soldier went on his way, and soon night fell. He made his bed in a tree branch and held the woodcutter's axe at his side to ward against beasts and bandits. When the moon was high, he was awakened by the sound of weeping. "Show yourself!" he shouted, for try as he might, the soldier could find no one nearby.

"Help me," spoke the tree in which he'd been sleeping, "A mage transformed me into this shape, and I will never be set free. If you had any pity in you, you would cut me down so that my spirit could go to the Maker."

So the solider took up his axe and struck the tree. The cuts bled like wounds, and soon hot blood covered the axe and burned the soldier's hands. But he held tightly to the axe and felled the tree. The tree shattered when it hit the ground, and from the splinters rose a demon, who bowed to the soldier and vanished into the Fade.

The soldier was chilled to the bone, and could not sleep. In the morning, he found that the axe still burned like the blood of the sylvan, but despite its heat, he could not get warm again. They say he ended his days in Gwaren, cutting wood for his seven fireplaces, shivering and cursing the spirits.






Entry No. 38
Information about genlocks.

These are the most common darkspawn in the underground. Stocky and tough, genlocks are notoriously difficult to kill, even by magic.






Entry No. 39
On delicious nugs.

I once served a human some nug and he proclaimed that it was like eating an unholy union of pork and hare. The idea disturbed him so much that he declined to finish his serving, and made himself content with some stale bread.

Of course, this only goes to show that surfacers--human or otherwise--have tragically unrefined palates. The nug is surely the most delicious animal I have ever tasted. Only a dead man would not salivate at the thought of a tender morsel of roast nug melting in his mouth. The Paragon Varen--although his house has fallen--shall always be remembered for discovering the wonders of nug flesh. Admittedly, it was discovered only out of desperation, when he was separated from his legion and lost in the Deep Roads for a week, but we won't hold that against the good Paragon.

While nug pancakes and nug-gets (my own children love these) are the nug dishes one encounters most often, nug can be prepared in other interesting and elegant ways. The late King Ansgar Aeducan adored nug--seared on a hot metal plate and finished in the oven--and dressed in a cream sauce flavored with deep mushrooms. You must be careful when using the mushrooms from the Deep Roads, because they often grow close to darkspawn bodies. They say that this is what gives them their unique flavor and intoxicating scent, but it also means that consuming too many of them may result in curious afflictions of the mind.

--From In Praise of the Humble Nug, by Bragan Tolban, honored chef to House Aeducan.






Entry No. 40
A story of the Provings.

Valos atredum. In the 23rd year of the reign of King Ragnan Aeducan, an old man of the Servant Caste was accused of stealing a sapphire ring from his employer, Lord Dace. The servant was stripped of his position, he and his family thrown to the streets, and soon after, the servant died.

The son of the disgraced servant challenged Lord Dace to a Proving, declaring that his father had been the victim of a cruel injustice and the ancestors would bear him witness. Lord Dace had no choice but to accept.

On the sacred stone of the Proving Ground, the nobleman faced the servant boy. Lord Dace carried a sword crafted for his own hand and was clad in his great-grandfather's armor. The servant boy had neither armor nor weapon. When the battle began, the boy fought like a whole pack of angry deepstalkers, flinging himself upon the startled lord, wrenching the sword from his hand, and prying at his armor with bare fingers. The boy knocked Lord Dace to the ground and beat him until the lord begged for mercy.

The boy and his family were reinstated to their place in the Dace household, and the virtue of the boy's father was not questioned again. The ancestors had spoken, and no one would question their word.

--As told by Shaper Vortag.







Entry No. 41
A shopping list.

sugar
wheat flour
fillet knife
ginger (for grandpa's flatulence)
ink
cod liver oil
dried mushrooms
rouge (Orlesian)

Also remember to ask if more beeswax will be available soon.
--A note on crumpled paper.






Entry No. 42
A letter in Berwick's possession.

Berwick,

We need your eyes and ears in Redcliffe. Stay in the village, keep your head down, and watch the castle. Report any changes, and you'll be well paid.

--A letter in Berwick's possession.






Entry No. 43
On the birth of the Chantry.

The crowds present at the death of Andraste were right to feel despair. It is believed that the prophet's execution angered the Maker, and He turned His back on humanity once more, leaving the people of Thedas to suffer in the dark.

In these dark times, mankind scrambled for a light, any light. Some found comfort in demonic cults that promised power and riches in return for worship. Others prayed to the Old Gods for forgiveness, begging the great dragons to return to the world. Still others fell so low as to worship the darkspawn, forming vile cults dedicated to the exaltation of evil in its purest form. It is said that the world wept as its people begged for a savior who would not come.

Andraste's followers, however, did not abandon her teachings when she died. The Cult of Andraste rescued her sacred ashes from the courtyard in Minrathous after her execution, stealing them away to a secret temple. The location of that temple has long been lost, but the ashes of Andraste served as a symbol of the enduring nature of the faith in the Maker, that humanity could earn the Maker's forgiveness despite its grievous insult to Him.

With time, the Cult of Andraste spread and grew, and the Chant of Light took form. Sing this chant in the four corners of Thedas, it was said, and the world would gain the Maker's attention at last. As the Chant of Light spread, the Cult of Andraste became known as the Andrastian Chantry. Those who converted to the Chantry's beliefs found it their mission to spread Andraste's word.

There were many converts, including powerful people in the Imperium and in the city-states of what is now Orlais. Such was the power of the Maker's word that the young King Drakon undertook a series of Exalted Marches meant to unite the city-states and create an empire solely dedicated to the Maker's will. The Orlesian Empire became the seat of the Chantry's power, the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux the source of the movement that birthed the organized Chantry as we know it today. Drakon, by then Emperor Drakon I, created the Circle of Magi, the Order of Templars and the holy office of the Divine. Many within the Chantry revere him nearly as equal with Andraste herself.

The modern Chantry is a thing of faith and beauty, but it is also a house of necessity, protecting Thedas from powerful forces that would do it harm. Where the Grey Wardens protect the world from the Blights, the Chantry protects mankind from itself. Most of all, the Chantry works to earn the Maker's forgiveness, so that one day He will return and transform the world into the paradise it was always meant to be.

--From Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 44
On early dwarven history.

The Memories tell us that our kingdom once reached far beneath the mountains, and that the thaigs were almost beyond counting. Kal Sharok was the capital then, home to all the noble houses, and Orzammar was simply the home of the Miner and Smith castes.

It was with the Tevinter Imperium that things changed. Paragon Garal moved the seat of power to Orzammar to more closely oversee the trade that began with the surface. It seemed that our people were entering a new age of prosperity.

The Memories hold no explanations for the coming of the darkspawn, only questions. At first, they were rumors, noises in the Deep Roads, a lost traveler here and there. The Warrior Caste sent men to patrol the road, and thought the matter settled. We did not know that while we searched for them, they were engaged in a search of their own.

Sleeping deep in the Stone itself was the archdemon. They found him, and awakened him, and the Blight began.

The darkspawn poured out of the Deep Roads like smoke, then, and the Warrior Caste struggled to hold them back. Countless thaigs were lost in that first Blight. But, as ever, in the worst moments of our need, a Paragon arose. Paragon Aeducan led the defenses of Orzammar, and the dark horde was beaten back.

The cost of victory, however, was great. Much of the Deep Roads were sealed to hold back the darkspawn, cutting off thaigs and even whole cities forever.

--"Orzammar as a Kingdom," as told by Shaper Czibor.






Entry No. 45
About the ancient elven armor.

Before the fall of Arlathan, even before Arlathan itself, the civilization of the elves stretched across all of Thedas like a great, indolent cat.

This armor was made for temple guards in a time when the Creators still spoke to the elves. The techniques of its forging, even the name of the metal it is forged from, have long since faded from memory.






Entry No. 46
Death of a Templar.

The dry, dusty earth swallows up salty drops that splatter its surface. A tiny insect pauses, sensing the vibrations, and scurries off, leaving behind its invisible enemy. As the drops fall, the dark circles merge together, expressing a mirror to their creator.

The primal emotions of bloodlust and sorrow blend into a lethal cocktail that breaks the strongest of men. The jurisdiction of strength must be left to the spirit, not arm nor chest. Only the wisest turn to His inner sanctuary to partition the mind from an all-consuming madness. Seductive voices whispering promise of glory waiting down the weaker path of the flesh, bringing a death far worse than that of hot lead or steel. These blank, hollow promises will echo the unfathomable eternally.

Living comfortably amongst material possessions, it is easy to misunderstand the true meaning of uncontrollable hate. Failing to understand the power of fighting against pure, unfaltering beliefs, against foes that listen only to their soul. Uncontrollable hate. Influenced and thus removed from innocence. The scar is permanent and internal.

The rain, now red, feeds the debt owed for actions passed. Seeking further into the earth, as the mind draws slower. What was it that drew him, himself, to this situation? The mind ebbs and parts to a lingering memory of true innocence. He entered war as a newborn enters the world, unknowing of both the horrors and light of the Maker that will save him.

The sound of metal sliding along leather comes from above him. From the second he was born, to his soon-to-be dying breath, his mind was processing and analyzing knowledge and experiences. It is true that he thought he could be wise in his own eyes, but only the most humble recognizes that he knows very little. Bias, speculation and all of false pretenses make way to the sound of the sweeping steel, and then finally, his soul, as ready as his eyes dry from this final understanding, enters His promise of its purist form.

--From Death of a Templar, by Ser Andrew, Knight of Andraste and Templar archivist, 9:4 Dragon.






Entry No. 47
An account of the Anderfels.

The Anderfels are a land of shocking extremes. It is the most desolate place in all the world, for two Blights have left great expanses of the steppes so completely devoid of life that corpses cannot even decay there--no insect or grub will ever reach them.

It is a land filled with wonders like the Merdaine, with its gigantic white statue of Our Lady carved into its face, her hands outstretched and bearing an eternal flame, or Weisshaupt Fortress, with its walls of living rock towering over the desolate plains below.

The Anders, too, are a people of extremes: The most devout priests and the most deadly soldiers, the poorest nation in the world and the most feared.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 48
A story of the Brecilian Forest.

There are places in the Brecilian Forest where the Veil is so thin the difference between awake and dreaming is next to nothing. In one such place, a wood-shaper was born under such unfortunate stars that his mother named him Abelas, which means "sorrow." And he lived up to his name. He could keep no apprentices, and lost his stock of bows in mishap after mishap, until finally he had nothing. The rest of the clan began to fear that his ill luck would harm them, too, and whispered among themselves of casting him out.

Abelas heard them and resolved to change his luck, and so went into the forest alone to seek a suitable tree from which to make bows.

At last he spied a young rowan growing beside a stream. He drew his axe, and the tree cried out in fear, begging to be spared. But Abelas said, "If I do not take your life, mine will surely end." With two strokes he felled the tree. From the tree, he made the finest three bows he had ever crafted. Pleased, Abelas returned to camp and gave his bows to the hunters at once.

By nightfall, however, the camp was in an uproar. The hunters had returned with braces of hares which, when cut open, revealed only worms and sawdust. The elder said it was a sign that the hunters had robbed some spirit of its host, for it is well known that spirits do not go about the waking world on their own, but inhabit another creature's body. The elder worked a charm to banish the spirit back to the Fade, and the clan went to sleep hungry.

The next day, the hunters brought back a doe, and again the beast bled sawdust. Now the clan began to fear the spirit would starve them, and wondered what they had done to deserve it. Abelas came forward then and told of the rowan tree. The Elder considered for a long time before declaring that they must replace what Abelas had taken from the spirit. So he sent the hunters to dig up a rowan sapling, and bring it, living, to the camp.

There the elder ordered the sapling planted, and appealed to the spirit for forgiveness.

There was a terrible sound then, as if the whole forest were crying out in protest. Darkness fell upon the camp, though it was just past midday. And when the darkness passed, a rowan grove, every tree bearing the frozen face of a terrified elf, stood where the camp had been. From then on, it was forbidden in every clan to cut living trees in the Brecilian Forest. The spirits know nothing of forgiveness.

--"The Rowan Grove: A Dalish Tale," from Ferelden: Folklore and History, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 49
The Tale of Iloren.

In the days after the rising of Zazikel, the dark ones covered every corner of the land. The archdemon drove all the nations of the world before him, shemlen and elvhen alike.

In the far north, where the hills wander the plains and the earth is eternally baked beneath the uncaring sun, the lands which the shemlen call Anderfels, a clan of our people lived, struggling to survive the Blight.

Iloren was their keeper. A hunter in his younger days, crafty as any wolf, he led his people always just ahead of the darkspawn who chased them. But the old hunter knew that even halla cannot run forever. They must turn and fight, or be run down.

At the foot of the Merdaine, the darkspawn cornered Iloren's clan. That night, the moon was strangled by clouds, the earth concealed by a dread mist that rose out of nowhere, so that the elvhen could not tell up from down. In the confusion, the darkspawn attacked.

But Iloren had prepared for them. All around the camp, the hunters had strewn dry grass, brush, and brambles. When the sound of rustling footfalls began, Iloren and the other hahren called upon the old magic. They struck out with lightning, and though the bolts missed the darkspawn, they hit their target all the same. The sea of kindling lit, and not one of the dark creatures made it through the fire to reach Iloren's clan.

--From "The Tale of Iloren," written by Zathrian, as it has been passed down from keeper to keeper for generations.






Entry No. 50
An explanation of elven tattoo art.

After my encounter with the Dalish elves on the road to Nevarra, I studied every book on the elves I could find. I sought out legends and myths and history and tried to make sense of it all. But there is only so much one can learn from books. I knew that in order to truly understand the Dalish, I would have to seek them out--a dreadful idea, in hindsight. In my defense, I was young--and also inebriated when the idea popped into my head. Unfortunately, even after I had regained some measure of sobriety, the idea still held appeal. It proved remarkably resistant to my attempts to ignore it.

I gave in after months of that nagging thought at the back of my head and set out to learn about the Dalish first-hand. I tramped through the forests bordering Orlais for weeks before I finally found--or was found by--a Dalish hunter. I stumbled into one of his traps and suddenly was hanging from a tree with a rope about my ankles.

So there I was, defenseless, upside down with my robe over my head, my underclothes on display. Descriptions of my predicament might elicit laughter these days, but trust me when I say it was a situation I would not wish on anyone. Thankfully, my ridiculous appearance may have caused my captor to stay his hand--what threat is a silly human with his pants showing?

And so he sat, made a small fire, and began to skin the deer he had caught. I soon mustered the courage to speak. I tried to assure him that I was not there to harm him--but he laughed at this and replied that if I were there to harm him, I had failed terribly. Eventually we got to talking, and when I say talking, I mean that I asked him questions, and occasionally he would deign to answer.

He told me that while some Dalish actively seek out human travelers to rob or frighten, most of his people would rather be left alone. He seemed to believe that punishing the humans for past actions only led to more violence. I asked him about the intricate tattoos on his face; he told me they were called vallaslin--"blood writing." His were symbols of Andruil the Huntress, one of the most highly revered elven goddesses. He said the Dalish mark themselves to stand out from humans and from those of their kin who have chosen to live under human rule. He said the vallaslin remind his people that they must never again surrender their beliefs.

When he finished skinning the deer, he cut me down. By the time I had righted myself and conquered the dizziness of all the blood rushing out of my head, he was gone.

I do not recommend that my readers seek out the Dalish for themselves. I was very lucky to have met the man that I did, and to have walked away from our meeting unscathed. Perhaps the Maker watches over those who seek knowledge with an open heart; I certainly would like to think so.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 51
The history of the elves from Andraste to the destruction of the Dales.

You will hear tales of the woman Andraste. The shemlen name her prophet, bride of their Maker. But we knew her as a war leader, one who, like us, had been a slave and dreamed of liberation. We joined her rebellion against the Imperium, and our heroes died beside her, unmourned, in Tevinter bonfires.

But we stayed with our so-called allies until the war ended. Our reward: A land in southern Orlais called the Dales. So we began the Long Walk to our new home.

Halamshiral, "the end of the journey," was our capital, built out of the reach of the humans. We could once again forget the incessant passage of time. Our people began the slow process of recovering the culture and traditions we had lost to slavery.

But it was not to last. The Chantry first sent missionaries into the Dales, and then, when those were thrown out, templars. We were driven from Halamshiral, scattered. Some took refuge in the cities of the shemlen, living in squalor, tolerated only a little better than vermin.

We took a different path. We took to the wilderness, never stopping long enough to draw the notice of our shemlen neighbors. In our self-imposed exile, we kept what remained of elven knowledge and culture alive.

"The End of the Long Walk," as told by Gisharel, keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves.






Entry No. 52
A letter to someone in Highever.

Dear Heather,

How are you? How are Father and Mother? I don't know why I ask this; it was made clear so many years ago that I am no child of theirs. You are my only family now and I thank the Maker that you had love and courage enough to keep calling me sister.

I am happy for you and overjoyed to hear of your upcoming nuptials. Count your blessings; I believe you have snagged yourself a fine lad. So young, and already the owner of his own freehold! Soon you will start a family of your own. Oh, Heather, I do envy you.

But perhaps I shall envy you for not much longer. We have hoped and prayed for something, anything, and now I see the prison bars begin to bend and sag. So much injustice has been done to my kind, and they cannot have dreamed that the Maker would allow it to continue. There is a change coming to the tower; I can feel it, and it both excites and terrifies me.

I don't know when I shall write again, dear sister, but do not worry. If all goes well, perhaps no letters will be necessary, and you shall find me on your very doorstep!

--With much love, Gwynlian.






Entry No. 53
On golems.

We were losing the war against the darkspawn. Slowly. A few men at a time, but losing all the same. The Warrior Caste was dwindling with each generation as more able-bodied men perished in their prime without fathering sons. With each generation, more of the Deep Road had to be sealed, more thaigs lost forever. The kings of Orzammar watched, and wondered how long it would be until nothing remained of our people but the Memories.

And then Paragon Caridin arose from the Smith Caste with a new weapon: Golems. Giant soldiers of living stone and metal, each one was an army. With the Paragon's golems, we began to retake the lands we had lost. For a while, there was hope that victory, final victory, was coming.

But at the height of the war, Paragon Caridin disappeared, and with him, the means to make golems. Several forays were made into the Deep Roads to search for the Paragon, but nothing was ever found. Over time, the golems we had were damaged beyond repair, and we began our slide, once again, toward extinction.

--"Orzammar as a Kingdom," as told by Shaper Czibor.






Entry No. 54
A note from Endrin Aeducan.

Perhaps you will burn this letter unread. For that, I would not blame you. But I would not return to the Stone without saying this to you: I have seen what Bhelen is. And when I saw it, I knew I had been a fool. For only a fool would cut out his own heart and burn it for the sake of appearances. I never believed in your guilt. I allowed you to be exiled because I feared an inquiry into Trian's murder would taint our house with scandal in the eyes of the deshyrs and cost our family the throne.

But I have saved nothing by this sacrifice: I sent my only child into an uncertain exile. Know that whatever you do now, you bear all the honor and pride of House Aeducan.

--A note from the late King Endrin Aeducan.







Entry No. 55
On the betrayal of Andraste.

It is said that at the Battle of Valarian Fields, Maferath stood and looked out over his armies. He had conquered the southern reaches of the greatest empire the world had ever known and built splintered barbarian clans into a force to be feared. With pride in his heart, he turned to congratulate his men and found that they had turned from him.

Maferath fell to the evil of jealousy. After all that he had done, his wife was the one to receive all the glory. He saw his wife's power and influence, and tired of his place as second husband, below the Maker. His heart swelled with fury. If he had conquered just to have his wife wrested from him by a forgotten god and a legion of faith-hungry rabble, then perhaps this war was not worth the trouble.

Here, history and the Chant of Light come apart. History tells us that Maferath looked north into the central Imperium and saw nothing but more war against a rapidly regrouping army, and he despaired. The Chant of Light holds that Maferath chafed with jealousy of the Maker, and jealousy of the glory that Andraste received although it was he who led the armies.

Maferath traveled to the Imperial capital of Minrathous to speak with the Archon Hessarian. There he offered up his wife to the Imperium in return for a truce that would end hostilities once and for all. The archon, eager to put down the voice of the prophet that stirred his own people against him, agreed. Maferath led Andraste into an ambush where she was captured by Imperial agents, putting an end to her Exalted March.

Crowds of loyalists stood in the central square of Minrathous to watch Andraste's execution. By command of the archon, she was burned at the stake in what the Imperium believed to be the most painful punishment imaginable. According to the Chantry, however, Andraste was instead purified and made whole by the flames, ascending to life at her Maker's side. By all accounts, there was only silence where they expected screams. At the sight of the prophet burning, the crowds were filled with a profound guilt, as if they had participated in a great blasphemy. So moving was the moment that the archon himself drew his sword and thrust it into the prophet's heart, ending her torment and leaving those assembled to consider the weight of what they had seen.

Whereas the execution of Andraste was meant to be a symbol of defeat for the faith of the Maker, in truth it all but sealed the fate of the worship of the Old Gods and paved the way for the spread of the Maker's chant.

--From Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 56
On the Avvar peoples.

Driven across the Frostbacks in ancient times, the Alamarri tribesmen split into three groups: One settled the Ferelden Valley, one was pushed into the Korcari Wilds, and the last returned to the mountains. Modern Fereldans bear little resemblance to their Alamarri ancestors, and the Chasind remember few of their traditions, but the Avvars have changed little throughout the ages.

Like the Chasind, the Avvars are not a united people. Each tribe fends for itself and is beholden only to its thane. They still follow their own gods: Korth the Mountain-Father, Hakkon Wintersbreath, The Lady of the Skies, as well as dozens of animal gods never named to outsiders.

Nothing lasts in the mountains. Wind and rain eventually eat away the strongest holds. Valleys that were arable one generation are locked in year-round ice the next. Game is constantly on the move. Even among themselves, the Avvar make no absolute promises: They wed by a tradition in which the groom struggles to untie a tightly knotted rope while the bride sings a hymn to one of the gods. However many knots he has undone by the time her song ends is the number of years she will spend with him. Lowlanders often forget that there is no such thing as a permanent alliance in the Frostbacks.

--From Ferelden: Folklore and History, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 57
The legend of the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

Only one person witnessed Maferath's betrayal: Havard the Aegis. A childhood friend of Maferath, he accompanied his chief to the meeting with the Tevinters, not realizing what was planned. When he understood that Maferath was giving Andraste over to be executed, Havard, unwilling to draw swords against his friend and liege, placed himself between Andraste and the Tevinter soldiers. The Tevinters struck him down, and Maferath left him for dead.

Gravely wounded, Havard made his way to the gates of Minrathous to stop the execution. When he reached it, the terrible deed was already done, the armies on the plains long since dispersed. Havard, cursing his weakness, gathered the earthly remains of Andraste that had been left to the wind and rain, and wept. When his fingers touched the pile of ash, his ears filled with song, and he saw before him a vision of Andraste, dressed in cloth made of starlight. She knelt at his side, saying, "The Maker shall never forget you so long as I remember."

The song faded, and the vision with it. And Havard was alone. But his wounds were healed. With new strength, Havard took up the ashes of Our Lady, and bore them back to the lands of the Alamarri.







Entry No. 58
On Sten.

"Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret."

The northern islands are remote: lush jungles that harbor cities rumored to be the most extraordinary ever built. These are the lands of the qunari--lands that no foreign eyes ever see. Only the stories of the three Exalted Marches waged against the giants have reached the south... until the arrival of Sten.

The stoic giant in the cage was surely the strangest thing the people of Lothering had ever seen, until the Blight struck.






Entry No. 59
Legends of Lake Calenhad.

The waters of Lake Calenhad are steeped in legends. The Avvar people say that it was once the site of Belenas, the mountain which stood at the center of the world, from which Korth the Mountain Father surveyed the earth and sky. But it was destroyed in the battle between Korth and the serpent Nathramar, leaving only a vast crater behind. When the Lady of the Skies saw that Belenas was gone, she wept, and her tears filled the crater, making the lake.

The Tevinters believed that the waters of Lake Calenhad were blessed by Razikale, god of mysteries, and that those who drank from them were granted special insights. This was why they built the great tower on an island in the middle of the lake, hoping the powers of the lake would aid their magical research.

But most of us know the legend of King Calenhad, which gives the place its name. It is said that Calenhad Theirin spent a year and a day in the Tower of the Magi. Each day, he drew a single cup full of water from the lake and carried it to the Formari at the top of the tower. By magic, each cup of water was forged into a single ring of the mail armor the Circle gave to Calenhad. In that armor, made from the lifeblood of the land itself, no blade could strike him, no arrow pierce him, so long as he stood on Fereldan soil.

--From Thedas: Myths and Legends, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 60
The Chant of Light on the commandments of the Maker.

These truths the Maker has revealed to me:
As there is but one world,
One life, one death, there is
But one god, and He is our Maker.
They are sinners, who have given their love
To false gods.

Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.
Foul and corrupt are they
Who have taken His gift
And turned it against His children.
They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.
They shall find no rest in this world
Or beyond.

All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,
From the lowest slaves
To the highest kings.
Those who bring harm
Without provocation to the least of His children
Are hated and accursed by the Maker.

Those who bear false witness
And work to deceive others, know this:
There is but one Truth.
All things are known to our Maker
And He shall judge their lies.

All things in this world are finite.
What one man gains, another has lost.
Those who steal from their brothers and sisters
Do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind.
Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart.

--Transfigurations 1:1-5.






Entry No. 61
On Lord Pyral Harrowmont.

"No one is born with rights to the throne. The sitting king may recommend a successor, but the Assembly ultimately decides who will rule."

House Harrowmont is one of the oldest noble houses, as old as Orzammar itself. Endrin's most trusted advisor, Harrowmont is well-known for being an able administrator, and the author of many compromises in the ever-warring Assembly.







Entry No. 62
An account of the qunari.

Anyone who travels far enough to the north will eventually encounter the qunari: White-haired, bronze-skinned giants, a head again taller than a man, with frighteningly calm demeanors and a sort of sparkling fire behind their eyes.

For quite a long time, people believed that all qunari were male, or that their men and women were simply indistinguishable. It was not until the Blessed Age that diplomats from Rivain were allowed, however briefly, to visit Par Vollen, and there they discovered that qunari females do exist in abundance, and are quite easily recognized. The Rivaini say that qunari have a certain kindness to them, or at least a conspicuous lack of cruelty, although I did not observe the creatures closely enough to evaluate their character.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 63
An explanation of the Black City.

No traveler to the Fade can fail to spot the Black City. It is one of the few constants of that ever-changing place. No matter where one might be, the city is visible. (Always far off, for it seems that the only rule of geography in the Fade is that all points are equidistant from the Black City.)

The Chant teaches that the Black City was once the seat of the Maker, from whence He ruled the Fade, left empty when men turned away from Him. Dreamers do not go there, nor do spirits. Even the most powerful demons seem to avoid the place.

It was golden and beautiful once, so the story goes, until a group of powerful magister-lords from the Tevinter Imperium devised a means of breaking in. When they did so, their presence defiled the city, turning it black. (Which was, perhaps, the least of their worries.)

--From Beyond the Veil: Spirits and Demons, by Enchanter Mirdromel.






Entry No. 64
On Wynne.

"I will not lie motionless in a bed, with coverlets up to my chin, waiting for death to claim me."






Entry No. 65
On Zevran Arainai.

"The Crows send their regards."






Entry No. 66
On the Teyrnir of Gwaren.

The human settlement of Gwaren is built directly on top of a dwarven outpost by the same name. Prior to the first Blight, in a time when Ferelden was not yet a nation and was still carved up into barbarian tribes, the outpost served as a source of salt and a means by which the dwarves could reach the sea-lanes of the Amaranthine Ocean. Unwilling to come to the surface, the dwarves made an agreement with the local teyrn to build a port and relied on the humans to ferry goods between the ships and the underground outpost. This made Gwaren a prosperous place and extraordinarily wealthy for a time.

When, in the Divine Age, the dwarven kingdoms fell to the darkspawn and the Deep Roads were closed off, so too did the dwarves disappear from Gwaren. The human settlement, the envy of surrounding barbarian tribes, was assaulted and sacked, its wealth stolen.

The town remained, however, and despite its remote location continued to find value as a source of fish and timber. As the first settlement liberated by King Maric and Loghain during the Fereldan Rebellion, Gwaren was eventually granted to Loghain when he became teyrn in 9:11 Dragon.

--From Ferelden: Folklore and History, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 67
On the dwarves' unknown burden.

3:10 Towers--They name it a Blight, the third by their reckoning. It was just "the fight" to our ancestors, continued even though it shifts setting. The hordes that press their border surge and release, spilling across the surface. They fortify and follow. It was not their way to let the enemy rest.

3:25 Towers--The surface kingdoms declare victory. The horde is crushed, the push halted, and celebrations begin as humans thank the skies and their Maker. Beneath their gaze and their feet, the darkspawn retreat to the steps of our thaigs. New front lines are drawn across old. They settle in to breed, the Memories say, as happened twice before, and likely in the darkness before that.

--From chapters 14 and 17 of Stalata Negat: The Stone Unheld: A Commentary on the Roll of Years, by Shaper Erden.






Entry No. 68
On the Dark Moon.

At Shartan's word, the sky
Grew black with arrows.
At Our Lady's, ten thousand swords
Rang from their scabbards,
A great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming:
Those who had been slaves were now free.

--Shartan 10:1.

They say that Shartan's followers stole whatever they could find to make weapons. They fought with knives of sharpened stone and glass, and with bows made from broken barrels or firewood. This bow was ox horn, made in secret over the course of months by a slave who worked in the slaughterhouses of Minrathous.

The slave's name has been lost to history, and the verses that spoke of his deeds, stricken from the chant, but the weapon endures.






Entry No. 69
A discussion of blood magic.

Foul and corrupt are you
Who have taken My gift
And turned it against My children.
--Transfigurations 18:10.

The ancient Tevinters did not originally consider blood magic a school of its own. Rather, they saw it as a means to achieve greater power in any school of magic. The name, of course, refers to the fact that magic of this type uses life, specifically in the form of blood, instead of mana. It was common practice, at one time, for a magister to keep a number of slaves on hand so that, should he undertake the working of a spell that was physically beyond his abilities, he could use the blood of his slaves to bolster the casting.

Over time, however, the Imperium discovered types of spells that could only be worked by blood. Although lyrium will allow a mage to send his conscious mind into the Fade, blood would allow him to find the sleeping minds of others, view their dreams, and even influence or dominate their thoughts. Just as treacherous, blood magic allows the Veil to be opened completely so that demons may physically pass through it into our world.

The rise of the Chant of Light and the subsequent fall of the old Imperium has led to blood magic being all but stamped out--as it should be, for it poses nearly as great a danger to those who would practice it as to the world at large.

--From The Four Schools: A Treatise, by First Enchanter Josephus.






Entry No. 70
On Dalish landships.

The Dalish, who band together in small groups of blood relatives, travel in ornately carved wagons known as aravel, drawn by large white stags called halla. The aravel are a unique sight, beautiful in their swooping curvature, and adorned with broad hoods and bright silken cloths that flap in the wind, often displaying the noble banners that once flew over that family's house. Most humans refer to the aravel as "landships," for in a strong wind it can often appear as if the elves travel in long boats with sails high overhead to announce their arrival (or warn others away). The halla are unique to the elves, and any but elven handlers consider them ornery and almost impossible to train. To the Dalish, they are noble beasts, superior in breeding to the horse. Certainly most humans would agree that the halla are as beautiful as the elves themselves; the fact that many imperial nobles maintain a bounty on halla horns that find their way into Tevinter is an affront the Dalish consider unforgivable.

Few among us can claim to have seen the Dalish landships up close. Any human who sees them on the horizon does well to head the other way. Few Dalish clans take kindly to humans intruding on their camps, and more than one tale tells of trouble-making humans who found themselves mercilessly filled with Dalish arrows.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 71
On King Endrin Aeducan of Orzammar.

"Denial of the traditions of our people does not qualify as a political technicality."

Endrin of House Aeducan traces his ancestry back to the Paragon Aeducan, the greatest warrior of Orzammar's history, who beat back the darkspawn hordes in the First Blight. The second son of King Ansgar Aeducan, he became heir after his elder brother died in a Proving.

The most respected king in four generations, he restored contact with Kal Sharok, the only other remaining city of the once-vast Dwarven Empire, which had been lost during the first Blight.






Entry No. 72
On the Teyrnir of Highever.

Castle Highever has stood since the Divine Age, when it was not an independent bannorn, but merely an outpost of the growing Bannorn of Amaranthine, in the days before Amaranthine became an arling itself. The outpost of Highever was originally held by the Elstan family, cousins of the Howes. In the Age of Towers, however, Bann Conobar Elstan was murdered by his wife, Flemeth, thus ending the bloodline. Conobar's captain of the guard, Sarim Cousland, took the lands and title.

The Couslands declared their independence from Amaranthine, starting a war that lasted 30 years. When the dust settled, Highever was on its own, and in possession of half the land that had once been southwestern Amaranthine.

Highever became a teyrnir during the Black Age, when Haelia Cousland gathered the lords together under her banner to drive the werewolves out of their lands, earning herself the title of teyrna almost as an afterthought.

Today, Highever is one of only two remaining teyrnirs, making the Cousland family second in rank only to the king.






Entry No. 73
An explanation of Fereldan politics.

To our neighbors, Ferelden seems utterly chaotic. Unlike other monarchies, power does not descend from our throne. Rather, it rises from the support of the freeholders.

Each freehold chooses the bann or arl to whom it pays allegiance. Typically, this choice is based on proximity of the freehold to the lord's castle, as it's worthless to pay for the upkeep of soldiers who will arrive at your land too late to defend it. For the most part, each generation of freeholders casts its lot with the same bann as their fathers did, but things can and do change. No formal oaths are sworn, and it is not unheard of, especially in the prickly central Bannorn, for banns to court freeholders away from their neighbors--a practice which inevitably begets feuds that last for ages.

Teyrns arose from amongst the banns, warleaders who, in antiquity, had grown powerful enough to move other banns to swear fealty to them. There were many teyrns in the days before King Calenhad, but he succeeded in whittling them down to only two: Gwaren in the south, Highever in the north. These teyrns still hold the oaths of banns and arls who they may call upon in the event of war or disaster, and similarly, the teyrns still hold responsibility for defending those sworn to them.

The arls were established by the teyrns, given command of strategic fortresses that could not be overseen by the teyrns themselves. Unlike the teyrns, the arls have no banns sworn to them, and are simply somewhat more prestigious banns.

The king is, in essence, the most powerful of the teyrns. Although Denerim was originally the teyrnir of the king, it has since been reduced to an arling, as the king's domain is now all of Ferelden. But even the king's power must come from the banns.

Nowhere is this more evident than during the Landsmeet, an annual council for which all the nobles of Ferelden gather, held for almost three thousand years except odd interruptions during Blights and invasions. The sight of a king asking for--and working to win--the support of "lesser" men is a source of constant wonder to foreign ambassadors.

--From Ferelden: Folklore and History, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 74
Dumat Rises.

People today have little concept of the consequences of the second sin. Oh, believe me when I say that when asked, pious, Chantry-going folk will curse the use of foul magic, spitting and snapping their fingers--but none live today who actually remember the horror that was unleashed so very long ago. Whatever records might have existed regrettably did not survive the chaos and ignorance that was to follow. We have only the tales of survivors handed down through the murky ages and the dogma of the Chantry to instruct us, and that is precious little indeed.

I believe I am not understating when I say that the second sin unleashed the bane of all life upon Thedas. The darkspawn are more virulent than the worst plague, a heartless force of nature that came into our world like an ill wind. We know from accounts of later Blights (as these darkspawn invasions came to be called--never has a more appropriate name existed) that the darkspawn spread disease and famine wherever they tread. The earth itself is corrupted by their presence, the sky roiling with angry black clouds. I do not exaggerate, my friends, when I say that a mass gathering of darkspawn is an omen of dread cataclysm.

It is said that those cursed magisters who became the first darkspawn scratched at the very earth to find solace in the darkness of the dwarven Deep Roads, and there in the shadows they multiplied. Whether by intelligent design or by some last vestige of worship in their minds, they attempted to locate the Old Gods they had once served. They found what they sought: Dumat, first among the Old Gods, once known as the Dragon of Silence before the Maker imprisoned him and all his brethren beneath the earth for the first sin: usurping the Maker's place in mankind's heart.

The slumbering dragon awoke, freed from the Maker's prison by his twisted followers, and became corrupted himself. Dumat was transformed into the first archdemon, his great and terrible power given will by a rotting, unholy mind. With the darkspawn horde following, Dumat rose and took wing in the skies once again, bringing ruin to the world the Maker had created. The Old God had become the eye of a dark storm that would ravage the entire world.

--From Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 75
On Calenhad's rise to the throne.

With the allegiance of Arl Myrddin, Calenhad began his rise to greatness.

Some of Myrddin's allies also pledged allegiance, but most thought him foolhardy: A boy commoner was to lead them and become king? Over the years that followed, however, Calenhad would prove himself worthy of Myrddin's trust. With each victory, he won over more men to his command and his reputation as a man of honor spread. Eventually, during his campaign against the lowland bannorn, he met his most infamous friend and companion, the vaunted warrior Lady Shayna. Calenhad married the famously beautiful daughter of Myrddin, Mairyn, and his firm belief in the ways of the Chantry became the staple of his court. In a time when the Chantry was still new to the lands and courts following Andraste held the majority of the power in Ferelden, Calenhad began to solidify the nation as one in line with the other nations around it. This piety eventually won over to Calenhad those faithful in Ferelden who had been waiting for such a leader.

With Lady Shayna at his side, Calenhad was unstoppable, and by 5:42 Exalted, the war for Ferelden had come down to one final battle against the collected forces of Simeon, Teyrn of Denerim and the most potent nobleman in the land. Calenhad persuaded the Circle of Magi to come to his aid, as well as the Ash Warriors, and in the Battle of White Valley, he famously defeated Teyrn Simeon and united the nation.

During the battle, Simeon nearly killed Calenhad, but Lady Shayna intervened and took the wound for him, slaying Simeon. Calenhad was crowned king in Denerim that year, with Mairyn his Queen, but he spent much of the months that followed nursing Lady Shayna back to health.

King Calenhad's Ferelden was peaceful for a time, with the Chantry spreading quickly under the King's guidance. Everywhere the king and queen went, they were surrounded by cheering crowds. The common folk celebrated Calenhad as one of their own who had achieved the impossible, and trade opened up with many outside lands for the first time in Ferelden's existence. But, as with many such golden ages, it was not to last.

--From The Legend of Calenhad, by Brother Herren, Chantry scribe, 8:10 Blessed.






Entry No. 76
An elven song.

hahren na melana sahlin
emma ir abelas
souver'inan isala hamin
vhenan him dor'felas
in uthenera na revas

vir sulahn'nehn
vir dirthera
vir samahl la numin
vir lath sa'vunin

Translated from the elven tongue:

elder your time is come
now I am filled with sorrow
weary eyes need resting
heart has become grey and slow
in waking sleep is freedom

we sing, rejoice
we tell the tales
we laugh and cry
we love one more day

--From "In Uthenera," traditional elven song of unknown origin.






Entry No. 77
An explanation of the city-dwelling elves.

It is hard to tell our children about those of our people who have decided to live in the shemlen's cities. They ask, "Why would anyone want to be treated like that?" And sometimes I do not know what to say. I do not understand it myself. They were freed, but they have returned to live in the service of their former masters. They are housed like animals in walled sections of the shemlen's cities. They do the meanest of tasks and are rewarded with nothing. Why? I do not know.

We tell the children that the elvhen are strong, that we are a proud people, but they hear of these city elves who choose to toil under the humans' heavy hand. How do we teach them pride when they know there are others who would allow themselves to be trampled into the dust? So we tell them that these city elves are to be pitied, that they have given up on their people, given up their heritage. We tell them that some people are so used to being controlled that, when freed, they know not what to do with themselves. They are weak and afraid--afraid of the unfamiliar, afraid of our life of wandering. Above all, they are afraid even to hope that one day we may have a home of our own.

--Gisharel, keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves.






Entry No. 78
About nugs.

"Hip deep in mad nugs.
Our screams deafen their keen ears.
We will be nug poop."

--From Songs That Only Nugs Can Hear by Paragon Ebryan, 5:84 Exalted

The nug is an omnivore common to the Deep Roads, a hairless creature that is almost blind as well as completely docile. It spends most of its time wading in shallow pools as well as mud pits, feeding on small insects, worms, and (in a pinch) limestone and simple metals. Indeed, the digestive system of the nug is legendary, able to make a meal out of almost anything a nug finds on the cavern floors. Nugs reproduce rapidly, spreading into any niche within the Deep Roads they can find, and serve to support a variety of predators such as giant spiders and deepstalkers. So, too, do dwarves make meals out of them... nugs are, in the poorer slum portions of Orzammar, one of the most common sources of meat available. Some dwarves even domesticate the creatures, claiming to find the creature's high-pitched squeaks pleasing.






Entry No. 79
About the Shattering spell combination.

A creature frozen or petrified by magic, as from the spells Petrify or Cone of Cold, is in a vulnerable state, subject to shattering if excessive force is applied to just the right spot. A critical hit from any weapon may suffice, and the spells Stonefist and Crushing Prison have been known to achieve the effect as well.






Entry No. 80
An account of the qunari conquest of Par Vollen.

In the 30th year of the Steel Age, the first qunari ships were sighted off the coast of Par Vollen in the far north, marking the beginning of a new age of warfare.

History calls this the First Qunari War, but it was mostly a one-sided bloodbath, with the qunari advancing far into the mainland. Qunari warriors in glittering steel armor carved through armies with ease. Their cannons, the likes of which our ancestors had never seen, reduced city walls to rubble in a matter of seconds.

Stories of qunari occupation vary greatly. It is said they dismantled families and sent captives to "learning camps" for indoctrination into their religion. Those who refused to cooperate disappeared to mines or construction camps.

For every tale of suffering, however, there is another of enlightenment deriving from something called the "Qun." This is either a philosophical code or a written text that governs all aspects of qunari life, perhaps both. One converted Seheran reported pity for those who refused to embrace the Qun, as if the conquerors had led him to a sort of self-discovery. "For all my life, I followed the Maker wherever his path led me," he wrote, "but in the Qun I have found the means to travel my own path."

It has been said that the most complete way to wipe out a people is not with blades but with books. Thankfully, a world that had repelled four Blights would not easily bow to a foreign aggressor. And so the Exalted Marches began.

The greatest advantage of the Chantry-led forces was the Circle of Magi. For all their technology, the qunari appeared to harbor great hatred for magic. Faced with cannons, the Chantry responded with lightning and balls of fire.

The qunari armies lacked the sheer numbers of humanity. So many were slain at Marnas Pell, on both sides, that the Veil is said to be permanently sundered, the ruins still plagued by restless corpses. But each year, the Chantry pushed further and further into the qunari lines, although local converts to the Qun proved difficult to return to Andraste's teachings.

By the end of the Storm Age, the qunari were truly pushed back. Rivain was the only human land that retained the qunari religion after being freed, and its rulers attempted to barter a peace. Most human lands signed the Llomerryn Accord, excepting the Tevinter Imperium. It is a shaky peace that has lasted to this day.

--From The Exalted Marches: An Examination of Chantry Warfare, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 81
A tale of the Dread Wolf.

There is precious little we know about Fen'Harel, for they say he did not care for our people. Elgar'nan and Mythal created the world as we know it, Andruil taught us the Ways of the Hunter, Sylaise and June gave us fire and crafting, but Fen'Harel kept to himself and plotted the betrayal of all the gods. And after the destruction of Arlathan, when the gods could no longer hear our prayers, it is said that Fen'Harel spent centuries in a far corner of the earth, giggling madly and hugging himself in glee.

The legends say that before the fall of Arlathan, the gods we know and revere fought an endless war with others of their kind. There is not a hahren among us who remembers these others: Only in dreams do we hear whispered the names of Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris, for they are the Forgotten Ones, the gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence. In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways, and saw him as one of their own.

And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods, if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And Fen'Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People.

--From "The Tale of Fen'Harel's Triumph," as told by Gisharel, keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves.






Entry No. 82
An account of the nation of Rivain.

Nowhere in my travels, not in the heart of the Imperium nor the streets of Orzammar, have I felt so much an outsider as in Rivain.

The Chant of Light never truly reached the ears of these people. The years they spent under the thumb of the qunari left most of the country zealous followers of the Qun. But resistance to the Chant goes deeper than the Qunari War. The Rivaini refuse to be parted from their seers, wise women who are in fact hedge mages, communicating with spirits and actually allowing themselves to become possessed. The Chantry prohibition against such magical practices violates millennia of local tradition.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 83
About Bann Camenae of Waking Sea.

The Waking Sea Bannorn has been famous since time immemorial for its archers. Children there are given bows before they can walk, and parents have been known, on occasion, to disown their offspring for failure to hit bulls-eyes.

When Calenhad came to demand the Waking Sea's fealty, Bann Camenae greeted her would-be king by shooting his horse out from under him half a league from Castle Eremon. Calenhad reached the gates on foot and found them barred, with dozens of archers watching him from the castle walls.

He waited outside the walls with his men until sunset, when Camenae opened the gates and met him, armored to the teeth with her bow in hand. "You have proven you have sense and humility, Theirin. And no man can hope to lead the Bannorn without those gifts." She then knelt and swore her oath.

To this day, the Eremon family of the Waking Sea presents every newly crowned king or queen of Ferelden with two gifts: an arrow and a horse.






Entry No. 84
About wolves.

"It is rather unfair, the reputation that the wolf possesses in Ferelden. For a people that so clearly adore their hounds, Fereldans simultaneously harbor a distrust of wolves that borders on the unreasonable. Unreasonable, that is, if one were not familiar with the ancient legends regarding werewolves. There was a time in Ferelden's past when demons inhabited the bodies of wolves in great numbers, causing the wars against werewolves and spreading great fear and panic. The werewolves were slain, but even today the noble wolf is still looked upon with distrust."

--From Legends of Ferelden, by Mother Ailis of Denerim, 9:10 Dragon.

An attack by wolves upon civilized folk happens rarely, often only in times of desperation and even then only when the wolves have the advantage of numbers. This can change during a Blight. When darkspawn rise onto the surface their presence dramatically alters the savage nature of normal beasts.

In Blights past, as the corruption of the darkspawn spread through the wilder areas of Thedas, it would infect the animals found there... and the more powerful of them would survive and be transformed into a more vicious and dangerous beast. A blight wolf is one such example, mad with the pain of its infection, and only through the overriding command of the darkspawn does it still retain some semblance of its pack instincts. Blight wolves are always found in large groups and will tend to overwhelm a single target if they can, using their numbers to their advantage. It is fortunate that these creatures rarely survive their corruption for very long.






Entry No. 85
On Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir.

"War is cruel. Every soul who fought alongside Maric knows this. And in it, there are no such things as innocents, only the living and the dead, and the degrees of guilt both bear."






Entry No. 86
Four panels from a mural.

Four panels reproduced here appear to be part of a much larger mural.

The topmost panel shows a jug overflowing with water, standing on an altar. Three elves in robes are positioned around the altar, while a crowd of elves in warlike regalia stands just slightly apart from them.

Just below is a depiction of all the elves, those in robes and those in armor, prostrating themselves before the altar with worshipful expressions.

Third from the top is a carving which shows one of the three robed figures, a woman with an elaborate tattoo on her face, drinking from the jug on the altar while the other elves watch.

The bottom image shows the tattooed woman standing waist-deep in a pool of water. She holds the jug with water spilling out of its mouth. The armored elves bow before her.

--Describing a strange tablet.






Entry No. 87
An account of the Free Marches.

The Free Marches are not a kingdom, nor even a nation in the most basic sense. People from that region dislike even being lumped together as "Marchers." Rather, they are a collection of independent city-states united only when it suits them; in this respect, they resemble the Bannorn before the arrival of King Calenhad. Because of this, the Free Marches have no capital, and what passes for a central government exists only sporadically, a sort of Landsmeet that convenes only during times of crisis.

I arrived in time for the Grand Tourney while it was on in Tantervale--a remarkable sight indeed. I saw Avvar hillsmen test their mettle against Orlesian Chevaliers, riders from the Anderfels buying Nevarran cavalry horses, Antivan craftsmen selling their wares to Tevinter mages. All of Thedas was on display.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 88
About the Halla.

No creature is more revered by the Dalish than the halla. No other animal has a god of its own. These white stags are much larger than ordinary deer, and the Dalish halla keepers carve their antlers as they grow, making them curve into intricate designs. In ancient times, these stags bore elven knights into combat, but since the fall of the Dales, they are used less as mounts and more to pull the aravels.






Entry No. 89
On Valendrian.

"Remember that our strength lies in commitment to tradition and to each other."

Every alienage has a hahren, an elder. It falls to the hahren to arrange marriages for those without family, to negotiate with the guards when there's trouble, and to act as a sort of mayor and surrogate uncle to the people of the alienage.

The title, like so many things, is a holdover from the time of Arlathan, for hahrens are not necessarily the oldest person in their community, or even all that old. Tradition gives the role to the oldest soul, the wisest, cleverest, and the most level-headed. Valendrian has been hahren of the Denerim Alienage since he was in his thirties.






Entry No. 90
Griffons Take Flight.

Founded at Weisshaupt fortress in the Anderfels, the Grey Wardens offered humanity hope in its darkest hour. Veterans of decades of battles with the darkspawn came together, and the best amongst them pledged to do whatever was necessary to stem the tide of darkness that swept across the land. These great humans, elves, and dwarves pooled their knowledge of the enemy and formed a united front to put a stop to the archdemon's rampage.

And stop it they did. Ballads are still sung today of the first Grey Warden charge into the waves of darkspawn at the city of Nordbotten--each Warden facing 10 or 20 darkspawn at a time. Squadrons of Grey Wardens mounted on their mighty griffons, soaring through the blackened skies and battling the terrible archdemon with spear and spell: Oh, what a sight it must have been!

Incredibly, the Grey Wardens won that first battle. They raised their arms in victory, and suddenly there was hope. The Grey Wardens led the lands of men and the last stalwart defenders of the dwarven halls against the hordes of the archdemon Dumat for the next hundred years, gaining and losing ground, but never backing away. From all over Thedas, they recruited whoever possessed the skill and strength to raise the Grey Wardens' banner, making no distinction between elven slave or human nobleman, and finally, nearly two centuries after the first Old God rose from the earth, the Grey Wardens assembled the armies of men and dwarves at the Battle of Silent Fields. It was then that Dumat finally fell and the first Blight ended.

The Tevinter Imperium would face a new challenge with the coming of the prophet Andraste. Thoughts of the Blight grew distant. With Dumat's defeat, the darkspawn were no longer considered a threat--but with the wisdom of hindsight, we know that conceit proved foolish indeed. The task of the Grey Wardens was far from over.

--From Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 91
On the dwarven Bronto.

"There's only two things a noble will step aside for: Paragons and angry brontos."

--Dwarven saying.

This hulking beast was originally bred by the dwarven Shaperate as a beast of burden and food source, the rough equivalent to surface oxen and cows. Some versions of bronto have even been developed as dwarven mounts, valued far more for their sure-footedness and stamina than for their speed. While present within Orzammar in large numbers, some bronto still exist in packs within the Deep Roads, having returned to a wild state after the fall of the dwarven kingdoms. They require remarkably little sustenance, consuming organic material from water, fungus and even rocks (hence the "rock-licker" appellation used by many dwarves to describe bronto), and exist in primarily dormant states until provoked. An angry, charging bronto is considered to be a rather dangerous opponent.






Entry No. 92
On Ferelden nobility.

The occupation left empty castles in its wake. Whole families were butchered in the initial invasion, and all those who couldn't or wouldn't bend knee to the Emperor's puppet king were declared traitors and hunted. Many bloodlines ended on Chevaliers' blades at dusty crossroads, in forest clearings, or in freeholds.

And then there were the turncoats.

To curry favor with their new masters, some nobles took up arms against their brothers. They betrayed and murdered the Rebel Queen, an act that created even more vacant titles and lands, once King Maric exacted justice.

That Ferelden did not fall apart after the Orlesians left is a testament to the strength of King Maric. The old families still held grudges against those who had sided with the emperor, and those new families that had been granted titles were viewed as interlopers. The Landsmeets that followed Maric's coronation were tense, to say the least.

--From Ferelden: Folklore and History, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 93
An explanation of the Paragons.

As I studied among the dwarves, I became aware that their social system was as rigid as the stone that surrounded them. From the lowest servant to the king of Orzammar, each dwarf has a caste, a rigid social standing, which dictates what he may do and how he may do it. What fascinated me then was that the dwarves, stubborn and proud as they may be, have built in a way for even the lowliest dwarf to bypass the caste system and reach prominence. Any dwarf who has made an achievement of significance can be named Paragon, elevating that dwarf above all others.

To become a Paragon is to be recognized as, essentially, a living ancestor. Your words are considered ineffable, and the dwarves liken you unto a god. Your family, those you choose to ascend with you, become the founders of a new line of nobility. Indeed, every existing noble house among the dwarves traces its line back to a founding Paragon. It is a rare thing, however. In my visit, I learned that only one Paragon has been elected in generations: The smith Branka, exalted for her discovery of smokeless coal.

I met the Paragon Branka only once during my stay, and I consider it an odd occasion indeed. Surrounded by those of her house, this ill-tempered woman was draped in the finest clothing and jewelry, and was obviously revered even above the highest nobles--perhaps above even the king--yet she seemed to enjoy none of it. The burden of being a living legend is great, it appears.

Statues of the Paragons are found throughout Orzammar, though nowhere so prominently than in the Hall of Heroes through which one passes on entering from the surface. It is a breathtaking sight to behold, great works of stone all seeming to hold up the ceiling above. It is meant to impress upon visitors to Orzammar of all who have gone before, I think. It is also meant to remind dwarves going to the surface--and thus abandoning their brethren forever--of all they are leaving behind.

--From Stone Halls of the Dwarves by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 94
About Arcane Horrors.

"Upon ascending to the second floor of the tower, we were greeted by a gruesome sight: a ragged collection of bones wearing the robes of one of the senior enchanters. I had known her for years, watched her raise countless apprentices, and now she was a mere puppet for some demon."

--Transcribed from a tale told by a templar in Antiva City, 7:13 Storm

Demons, of course, have no form in our world. When they enter, either where the Veil is particularly thin or through blood magic summoning, they must take possession of a body.

When a pride demon takes control of the corpse of a mage, an arcane horror is born. Although they appear to be little more than bones, these are fierce creatures, possessing not only all the spellcasting abilities of a living mage, but also the capacity to heal and even command other animated corpses.






Entry No. 95
On the culture of the Dalish people today.

In time, the human empires will crumble. We have seen it happen countless times. Until then, we wait, we keep to the wild border lands, we raise halla and build aravels and present a moving target to the humans around us. We try to keep hold of the old ways, to relearn what was forgotten.

We call to the ancient gods, although they do not answer and have not heard us since before the fall of Arlathan, so that one day they might remember us: Elgar'nan the Eldest of the Sun and He Who Overthrew His Father, Mythal the Protector, Fen'Harel the Dread Wolf, Andruil the Huntress, Falon'Din the Friend of the Dead, Dirthamen the Keeper of Secrets, Ghilan'nain the Mother of Halla, June the Master of Crafts, and Sylaise the Hearthkeeper.

We gather every ten years for the Arlathvhen, to retell the ancient stories and keep them alive. For when the human kingdoms are gone, we must be ready to teach the others what it means to be elves.

--As told by Gisharel, keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves.






Entry No. 96
On the gangue.

The Stone has a will that surrounds and directs; she guides even when we are willfully blind to her influence. But she is not pure. The Stone bears a corruption as old as balance. For the dwarves to prosper, the gangue--the waste and unstable rock--must be cut away. But like the Stone, the gangue also has an influence. Each of us must face this, must carve the worst of ourselves away, but the Legion of the Dead bears a unique responsibility. Only the fully adorned of the Legion can face the gangue, can cut into the darkness that afflicts the raw Stone. She encircles us, and we must protect her, here where darkness meets light.

--A Legion of the Dead inscription, undated.






Entry No. 97
An explanation of the Primal School of magic.

Those who oppose thee
Shall know the wrath of heaven.
Field and forest shall burn,
The seas shall rise and devour them,
The wind shall tear their nations
From the face of the earth,
Lightning shall rain down from the sky,
They shall cry out to their false gods,
And find silence.
--Andraste 7:19.

Sometimes called the School of Power, the Primal School is the second of the Schools of Energy, balanced by Spirit, and concerns the most visible and tangible forces of nature itself.

This is the magic of war: Fire, ice, and lightning. Devastation. This is what the vast majority imagines when they hear the word "magic."

--From The Four Schools: A Treatise, by First Enchanter Josephus.






Entry No. 98
On Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir.

"It takes more than legends to win a battle."






Entry No. 99
On Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine.

"It appears it will be civil war after all, despite the darkspawn. Pity."






Entry No. 100
Concerning the shade.

"It has often been suggested that the only way for a demon to affect the world of the living is by possessing a living (or once living) body, but this is not always true. Indeed, a shade is one such creature: a demon in its true form that has adapted to affect the world around it.

My hypothesis is this: We already know that many demons become confused when they pass through the Veil into our world. They are unable to tell the living from the dead, the very static nature of our universe being confusing to a creature that is accustomed to a physicality defined entirely by emotion and memory. Most demons seek to immediately seize upon anything they perceive as life, jealously attempting to possess it--but what of those that do not? What of those that encounter no life, or fail to possess a body? What of those that are more cautious by their nature?

These demons watch. They lurk. They envy.

In time, such a demon will learn to drain energy from the psyche of those it encounters, just as it did in the Fade. Once it has drained enough, it has the power to manifest and will forever after be known as a shade. Such a creature spurns possession. It instead floats as a shadow across its piece of land, preying upon the psyche of any who cross its path. Perhaps it believes itself still in the Fade? There is evidence to believe this is so.

A shade will weaken the living by its very proximity. If it focuses its will, it can drain a single target very quickly. Some have even been known to assault the minds of a living victim, causing confusion or horror and making the target ripe for the kill. The tragedy of a shade is perhaps that, once it has drained a target whole, its appetite is only heightened rather than slaked."

--From the journal of former Senior Enchanter Maleus, once of the Circle of Rivain, declared apostate in 9:20 Dragon Age.






Entry No. 101
On the dangers of facing pride demons.

"Let me explain what it is to face a pride demon, my friends.

You may scoff and say that our talents exist only to face mages, but you will encounter demons often. They will be summoned by a maleficar and bound to do his bidding, and while at times they will be forced into the possession of a host, they will also face you in their true form... a powerful opponent indeed. Do not underestimate it.

Pride is powerful, and intelligent. When we have encountered one in its true form, its most common attacks are bolts of fire and ice. Fire they will use to burn an opponent, and the magical flame will combust anything you wear regardless of make. Ice they will use to freeze an opponent in place--be cautious, for they enjoy employing this against warriors in particular. More than one group of templars has made the mistake of attempting to overwhelm a pride demon and suffered the consequences, believe me. And if you think that having the aid of other mages will assist you, you are wrong. Pride demons can render themselves immune to magic for short times, and are adept at dispelling magic that is cast upon you... as much as we templars are able to disrupt spells.

Think on that for a moment, my friends. Be wary of how prideful you become, lest you find too much in common with such a fiend."

--Transcript of a lecture given by Vheren, templar-commander of Tantervale, 6:86 Steel






Entry No. 102
On First Enchanter Irving.

"The Circle will go on, and we will learn from this tragedy, and be strengthened by it."






Entry No. 103
On the Magister's Shield.

On the very day that the final stone was set into place in the Grand Cathedral of Orlais, Archon Vespasian was assassinated. For three days, every magister lord of the Imperium lived behind a wall of armored guards. When his successor, Hadarius, was finally named archon, the first enchanter of the Circle of Minrathous presented him with a gift: a silvery unadorned chain made from pure lyrium. Enchantments had been worked into the links of the chain so that donning this necklace was like holding up a shield: Blows struck at the wearer glanced harmlessly away. Unfortunately, Hadarius found that the shield did not protect him against poison nearly so well.






Entry No. 104
The Chant of Light on redemption and forgiveness.

Many are those who wander in sin,
Despairing that they are lost forever,
But the one who repents, who has faith
Unshaken by the darkness of the world,
And boasts not, nor gloats
Over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight
In the Maker's law and creations, she shall know
The peace of the Maker's benediction.
The Light shall lead her safely
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
She should see fire and go towards Light.
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,
And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.

--From Transfigurations 10.






Entry No. 105
The Dalish Goddess of the Hunt.

Hear me, sons and daughters of the People--
I am Sister of the Moon, Mother of Hares,
Lady of the Hunt: Andruil.

Remember my teachings,
Remember the Vir Tanadhal:
The Way of Three Trees
That I have given you.

Vir Assan: the Way of the Arrow
Be swift and silent;
Strike true, do not waver
And let not your prey suffer.
That is my Way.

Vir Bor'assan: the Way of the Bow
As the sapling bends, so must you.
In yielding, find resilience;
In pliancy, find strength.
That is my Way.

Vir Adahlen: the Way of the Wood
Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness.
Respect the sacrifice of my children
Know that your passing shall nourish them in turn.
That is my Way.

Remember the Ways of the Hunter
And I shall be with you.

--From The Charge of Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt.






Entry No. 106
Concerning the Litany of Adralla.

Adralla of Vyrantium dedicated her life to the study of blood magic--the academic study, rather than the practice. A deeply pious mage, she was renowned in her day for having found a counter to every form of mind control, a defense against dream walkers, and even counter-spells to demonic summons.

Her efforts went unappreciated in her native Tevinter, however. After three different magisters attempted to have her killed, she fled the country, choosing to take refuge in the land of Blessed Andraste's birth. She spent the remainder of her days with the Circle in Ferelden.

The Litany of Adralla disrupts the casting of mind-control spells. Use the Litany whenever a creature tries to dominate another with magic, and it will interrupt the casting. Once the spell is in effect and a character is under a blood mage's power, it is too late.






Entry No. 107
The Chant of Light on the Maker and creation.

There was no word
For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky.
All that existed was silence.
Then the Voice of the Maker rang out,
The first Word,
And His Word became all that might be:
Dream and idea, hope and fear,
Endless possibilities.
And from it made his firstborn.
And he said to them:
In My image I forge you,
To you I give dominion
Over all that exists.
By your will
May all things be done.

Then in the center of heaven
He called forth
A city with towers of gold,
streets with music for cobblestones,
And banners which flew without wind.
There, He dwelled, waiting
To see the wonders
His children would create.

The children of the Maker gathered
Before his golden throne
And sang hymns of praise unending.
But their songs
Were the songs of the cobblestones.
They shone with the golden light
Reflected from the Maker's throne.
They held forth the banners
That flew on their own.

And the Voice of the Maker shook the Fade
Saying: In My image I have wrought
My firstborn. You have been given dominion
Over all that exists. By your will
All things are done.
Yet you do nothing.
The realm I have given you
Is formless, ever-changing.

And He knew he had wrought amiss.
So the Maker turned from his firstborn
And took from the Fade
A measure of its living flesh
And placed it apart from the Spirits, and spoke to it, saying:
Here, I decree
Opposition in all things:
For earth, sky
For winter, summer
For darkness, Light.
By My Will alone is Balance sundered
And the world given new life.

And no longer was it formless, ever-changing,
But held fast, immutable,
With Words for heaven and for earth, sea and sky.
At last did the Maker
From the living world
Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth,
With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear,
Endless possibilities.

Then the Maker said:
To you, my second-born, I grant this gift:
In your heart shall burn
An unquenchable flame
All-consuming, and never satisfied.
From the Fade I crafted you,
And to the Fade you shall return
Each night in dreams
That you may always remember me.

And then the Maker sealed the gates
Of the Golden City
And there, He dwelled, waiting
To see the wonders
His children would create.

--Threnodies 5:1-8.






Entry No. 108
On Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir.

"Understand this: I will brook no threat to this nation... from you or anyone."






Entry No. 109
The history of the elves from Andraste to the destruction of the Dales.

Many forget that when Holy Andraste called out to the oppressed peoples to rise up, it was the elves who answered her first.

The humblest slaves of the Imperium became her vanguard, and when victory came, they were rewarded accordingly: They were given a land in what is now the south of Orlais, called the Dales.

A great exodus of elves undertook the journey to their new home, crossing ocean, desert, and mountain. Their city, the first elven city since the fabled Arlathan, was called Halamshiral. A new era had begun for the elves.

But the old era wasn't through with them. In their forest city, the elves turned again to worship their silent, ancient gods. They became increasingly isolationist, posting Emerald Knights who guarded their borders with jealousy, rebuking all efforts at trade or civilized discourse. Dark rumors spread in the lands that bordered the Dales, whispers of humans captured and sacrificed to elven gods.

And then came an attack by the elves on the defenseless village of Red Crossing. The Chantry replied with the Exalted March of the Dales, and the era of the elven kingdom came to an end. Halamshiral was utterly destroyed, the elves driven out, scattered, left to survive on goodwill alone.

--From Ferelden: Folklore and History, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 110
A very chewed and moist book.

(Much of this is illegible.)

Day 42: I begin to suspect that we are being manipulated, as if by some unseen hand far above us. Always, I hear the sound of clicking. Click-click. Click-click.

(Several pages are missing, and much of the ink on the remaining page has run together.)

...and then told them I wouldn't take any cheese unless it came directly from the Revered Mother's hand...

(Mud or something similar has soaked into the pages here.)

Day 115: My mother told me I was special. I never knew how right she was...

(The ink has smeared horribly.)

...it was Yusaris! I swear it! It looked just like the carving in the Arl's drawing room. I sent it to the Circle to verify, but I haven't heard...

--From a very chewed and moist book.






Entry No. 111
A sermon on maleficar.

It has been asked, "What are maleficarum? How shall we know them?" I have been as troubled by this question as you. You have come to me for the wisdom of the Maker, but none have seen the Maker's heart save Beloved Andraste. And so I have done as all mortals must, and looked to the words of His prophet for answers. And there, I found respite from a troubled mind.

For she has said to us, "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him." Therefore, I say to you, they who work magic which dominates the minds and hearts of others, they have transgressed the Maker's law.

Also, Our Lady said to us, "Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker." And so it is made clear to me, as it should be to us all: That magic which fuels itself by harming others, by the letting of blood, is hated by the Maker.

Those mages who honor the Maker and keep His laws we welcome as our brothers and sisters. Those who reject the laws of the Maker and the words of His prophet are apostate. They shall be cast out, and given no place among us.
--From The Sermons of Justinia I.






Entry No. 112
On Witherfang.

Witherfang is, according to the Keeper Zathrian, a wolf. He is no ordinary wolf, however. He is a wolf possessed by a powerful spirit and the source of the werewolf curse that plagues the Brecilian Forest. While Witherfang is hundreds of years old and very powerful in his own right, the only way to end his curse is to cut out his heart and bring it to Zathrian.






Entry No. 113
An explanation of the Tranquil.

The Tranquil are the least understood but most visible members of the Circle. Every city of respectable size boasts a Circle of Magi shop, and every one of these shops is run by a Tranquil proprietor.

The name is a misnomer, for they are not tranquil at all; rather, they are like inanimate objects that speak. If a table wished to sell you an enchanted penknife, it could pass as one of these people. Their eyes are expressionless, their voices monotone. Incomparable craftsmen they might be, but they are hardly the sort of mages to put ordinary folk at ease.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 114
An account of the nation of Antiva.

In the rest of the civilized world, it is common belief that Antiva has no king. I assure you, gentle readers, that this is untrue. The line of kings in Antiva has remained unbroken for two and a half thousand years--it is simply that nobody pays any attention to them whatsoever.

The nation is ruled in truth by a collection of merchant princes. They are not princes in the literal sense, but heads of banks, trading companies, and vineyards. Their power is conferred strictly by wealth.

But Antiva is not primarily renowned for its peculiar form of government, nor for its admittedly unparalleled wines. Antiva is known for the House of Crows. Since Antivans are well-known for being good at everything but fighting, it is more than a little ironic that Antiva possesses the most deadly assassins in the world. Their fame is such that Antiva keeps no standing army: No king is willing to order his troops to assault her borders, and no general is mad enough to lead such an invasion. The attack would likely succeed, but its leaders would not see the day.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.









Entry No. 115
On Oghren.

"I'm not saying I should be your first pick for a dance partner at the inaugural ball, but in the Deep Roads, I'm your man."

Oghren of House Kondrat was once a promising member of the Warrior Caste. His house was not especially high-ranked, but many of its members, Oghren included, had won notable victories in the Provings and were considered to be rising in prestige. When a Smith Caste family with plenty of money but no political connections offered their daughter in marriage, his family accepted the match. And then everything changed.

His wife, Branka, was named a Paragon for her achievements. All of House Kondrat joined her newly-made noble House Branka... and vanished with her into the Deep Roads.

As time passed and it became more and more clear that Oghren had been abandoned, he became the butt of jokes throughout Orzammar. He took to drink, which didn't especially help. Drunk and humiliated, he challenged another warrior to a Proving over an insult and killed him. The match was meant to be fought to first-blood. As a punishment, he was stripped of his house and barred from bearing arms: The only fate worse for a warrior than exile.






Entry No. 116
On dwarven religion.

We are the Children of the Stone. She supports us, shelters us, offers us the most priceless gifts of the earth. The worthy return to her embrace in death, becoming Ancestors. The unworthy are cast out, unable to rest, that their failings may not weaken the Stone.

So it has been since the earliest memories. We live by the Stone, guided by the Ancestors, who speak with the voice of the Provings, and whose memories the Shaperate keeps forever in lyrium.

We do not accept the empty promises of heaven as the wild elves do, or vie for the favor of absent gods. Instead, we follow in the footsteps of our Paragons--the greatest of our ancestors, warriors, craftsmen, leaders, the greatest examples of lives spent in service to our fellow dwarves. Our Paragons joined with the Stone in life, and now stand watch at our gate, ushering in those surfacers privileged to visit our city. We know there is no greater honor to hope for, no better reward for an exceptional life.

--As told by Shaper Czibor.






Entry No. 117
The Maker's First Children.

The Maker's first creations were the spirits, glorious beings that populated the many spires of the Golden City, and the Chant of Light says that they revered the Maker with unquestioning devotion. The Maker, however, was dissatisfied. Although the spirits were like Him in that they could manipulate the ether and create from it, they did not do so. They had no urge to create, and even when instructed to do so possessed no imagination to give their creations ingenuity or life.

The Maker realized His own folly: He had created the spirits to resemble Him in all but the one and most important way: they did not have a spark of the divine within them. He expelled all the spirits out of the Golden City and into the Fade and proceeded to His next creation: life.

The Maker created the world and the living beings upon it, separated from the Fade by the Veil. His new children would be unable to shape the world around them and thus would need to struggle to survive. In return for their struggle, the Maker gave them the spark of the divine, a soul, and He watched with pleasure as His creations flourished and showed all the ingenuity that He had hoped for.

The spirits grew jealous of the living and coaxed them into the Fade when they slept. The spirits wished to know more of life, hoping to find a way to regain the Maker's favor. Through the eyes of the living, they experienced new concepts: love, fear, pain, and hope. The spirits re-shaped the Fade to resemble the lives and concepts that they saw, each spirit desperately trying to bring the most dreamers to their own realm so they could vicariously possess a spark of the divine through them.

As the spirits grew in power, however, some of them became contemptuous of the living. These were the spirits that saw the darkest parts of the dreamers. Their lands were places of torment and horror, and they knew that the living were strongly drawn to places that mirrored those dark parts of themselves. These spirits questioned the Maker's wisdom and proclaimed the living inferior. They learned from the darkness they saw and became the first demons.

Rage, hunger, sloth, desire, pride: These are the dark parts of the soul that give demons their power, the hooks they use to claw their way into the world of the living. It was demons that whispered into the minds of men, convincing them to turn from the Maker and worship false gods. They seek to possess all life as their due, forging kingdoms of nightmare in the Fade in the hopes of one day storming the walls of heaven itself.

And the Maker despaired once again, for He had given the power of creation to his new children--and in return they had created sin.

--From The Maker's First Children, by Bader, Senior Enchanter of Ostwick, 8:12 Blessed.






Entry No. 118
A note from Endrin Aeducan.

My Lord Harrowmont,
My guilt weighs heavily on me, and I know now that I was a fool. Only a fool would cut out his own heart and burn it for the sake of appearances. I allowed the Assembly to send my child to exile and death because I feared an inquiry into Trian's murder would taint our house with scandal. You have been my rock and my shield these long months and for that I thank you. But I must ask for one thing more. I wish to discover if my child survived. Even the smallest trace will set my mind at ease. Send your men, your scouts, anyone who will go!

Bhelen thinks I am mad. He says that if word spreads of my wish, our House will be undone. He doesn't know that Aeducan is already lost. I destroyed us when I sacrificed what was most precious. Please, Pyral, help me. I come to you not as a king, but as a father.

--A note from the late King Endrin Aeducan.







Entry No. 119
On the dwarves' unknown burden.

9:13 Dragon--The Blight is building, though it is years from being named by the surface. But the Memories know the signs. The Legion has lost Bownammar, though in truth, it was lost to the living long ago. The spawn are moving freely and have numbers even the Memories haven't seen. They will surge, release. We will fortify and follow. That is the way, and will always be so. Until we fall, and the surface wonders what has changed.

--From chapter 49 of Stalata Negat: The Stone Unheld: A Commentary on the Roll of Years, by Shaper Erden.






Entry No. 120
Concerning the Paralysis Explosion spell combination.

The magic power of a glyph derives from the purity of its shape. When two glyphs overlap and their lines become confused, particularly when the glyphs' effects are directly opposed as with Glyph of Paralysis and Glyph of Repulsion, the magic has no choice but to dissipate instantly and explosively, instantly paralyzing all those nearby.






Entry No. 121
On the Tevinter Imperium.

The Imperium is little more than a dilapidated old slattern, crouching in the far north of Thedas, drunkenly cursing at passersby to recall her faded beauty.

One can see that Minrathous was once the center of the world. The vestiges of her power and artistry yet stand. But they are buried in the layers of filth that the Imperium's decadence has accumulated over the ages. The magocracy live in elegant stone towers, literally elevated above the stench of the slaves and peasants below. The outskirts of Minrathous are awash in a sea of refugees turned destitute by the never-ending war between the Imperium and the qunari.

And yet the Imperium survives. Whether with sword or magic, Tevinter remains a force to be reckoned with. Minrathous has been besieged by men, by qunari, by Andraste herself, and never fallen.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 122
An account of Redcliffe.

King Calenhad Theirin once famously declared, "The fate of Redcliffe is the fate of all Ferelden." Certainly, the castle is the first and last defense for the sole land route into Ferelden, and the country has never fallen to any force that did not first capture Redcliffe.

The castle, which despite being three times captured is popularly described as "unassailable," also guards one of the largest and most prosperous towns in Ferelden. Redcliffe village is well situated near the mountain pass to Orzammar and the Orlesian border, and so serves as a center of foreign trade. For these reasons, Redcliffe is accounted an arling despite the smallness of the domain.

The inhabitants of Redcliffe village are primarily fishermen or merchants who ship dwarven goods through the pass from Orlais to Denerim. When the entire village smells of smoked fish on certain late autumn mornings, the merchants in their finery do their utmost to pretend otherwise.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 123
On the Nightmare spell combination.

Creatures that are asleep are particularly suggestible, and thus ill-equipped to resist the spine-chilling effect of a Horror spell. The vivid nightmares that result inflict massive spirit damage, the shock killing many lesser creatures outright. Those unlucky enough to survive are certain to emerge from the ordeal in a state of fear.






Entry No. 124
A mention of the Harrowing.

Among apprentices of the Circle, nothing is regarded with more fear than the Harrowing. Little is known about this rite of passage, and that alone would be cause for dread. But it is well understood that only those apprentices who pass this trial are ever seen again. They return as full members of the Circle of Magi. Of those who fail, nothing is known. Perhaps they are sent away in disgrace. Perhaps they are killed on the spot. I heard one patently ridiculous rumor among the Circle at Rivain, which claimed that failed apprentices were transformed into pigs, fattened up, and served at dinner to the senior enchanters. But I could find no evidence that the Rivaini Circle ate any particular quantity of pork.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 125
On the prison of Aeonar.

When the Imperium occupied the area that is present-day Ferelden, they had two sites dedicated to magical experimentation at the extreme ends of the Imperial Highway. The southern one was the fortress of Ostagar, which looked out over the Korcari Wilds. The northern one was Aeonar, although the exact location is now a secret known only to a handful of Templars.

Whatever it was the Tevinter were trying to discover at Aeonar, their work was never completed. The fortress was overrun by disciples of Andraste upon hearing the news of her death. According to legend, it was a massacre--eerily silent, for the invaders caught the mages while all but one of them were in the Fade.

The site was left structurally sound but spiritually damaged. Possibly because of this, the Chantry chose to put it to use as a prison. Accused maleficarum and apostates are held in the confines of Aeonar. Those who have a powerful connection to the Fade, and particularly to demons, will inevitably attract something across the Veil, making the guilty somewhat easier to tell from the innocent.

--From Of Fires, Circles, and Templars: A History of Magic in the Chantry, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 126
An explanation of the casteless.

The caste system in Orzammar includes many groups of privilege--the nobility and the warriors above all others, but to a lesser degree the merchants and the smiths and the miners. Tradition establishes a clear hierarchy. But as in any culture with an upper class, there is also a clear underclass. These unfortunates, the so-called "casteless," are believed to be descendants of criminals and other undesirables. They have been looked down upon since Orzammar's foundation. They have taken up residence in a place called "Dust Town," a crumbling ruin on the fringe of Orzammar's common areas.

Orzammar society considers these casteless lower than even the Servant Caste (indeed, the casteless are not allowed to become servants, as it is too honorable a position). They are seen as little better than animals, their faces branded at birth to mark them as the bastard children of the kingdom. Their home district, little more than a slum, is a haven for crime, organized and otherwise. Orzammar's guards seemingly cannot be bothered to patrol its streets. The best that most casteless dwarves can hope for is a life at the whim of a local crime lord, ended abruptly by violence or an overabundance of toxic lichen ale.

Even so, there is some hope for the casteless, a dangling rope that offers a way up into greater Orzammar society. Since a dwarf's caste is determined by the parent of the same sex, the male child of a nobleman is part of that noble's house and caste. Strangely, it is acceptable for casteless women to train in the arts of courtly romance to woo nobles and warriors; they are known as "noble hunters." Any male born from such a union is considered a joyous event, considering the low rate of dwarven fertility. The mother and entire family are then taken in by the father's house, although they retain their caste.

The dwarves we know on the surface are also considered casteless once they leave Orzammar, although this is only relevant to those who return--if they are allowed to return at all. Dwarves who leave for the surface (the "sun-touched," as they're often called behind their backs) lose their connection to the Stone and the favor of the ancestors, and thus are worthy of little more than pity, for upon dying they are said to be lost to the Stone forever. Put that way, it seems a sad existence indeed.

--From Stone Halls of the Dwarves by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 127
On lyrium, its uses and trade.

More than half the wealth of Orzammar comes from a single, extremely rare substance: Lyrium. The Chantry believes it to be the "Waters of the Fade" mentioned in the Canticle of Threnodies, the very stuff of creation itself, from whence the Maker fashioned the world. Only a handful of Mining Caste families hazard extracting the ore, finding veins in the Stone quite literally by ear. For in its raw form, lyrium sings, and the discerning can hear the sound even through solid rock.

Even though dwarves have a natural resistance, raw lyrium is dangerous for all but the most experienced of the Mining Caste to handle. Even for dwarves, exposure to the unprocessed mineral can cause deafness or memory loss. For humans and elves, direct contact with lyrium ore produces nausea, blistering of the skin, and dementia. Mages cannot even approach unprocessed lyrium. Doing so is invariably fatal.

Despite its dangers, lyrium is the single most valuable mineral currently known. In the Tevinter Imperium, it has been known to command a higher price than diamond. The dwarves sell very little of the processed mineral to the surface, giving the greater portion of what they mine to their own smiths, who use it in the forging of all truly superior dwarven weapons and armor. What processed lyrium is sold on the surface goes only to the Chantry, who strictly control the supply. From the Chantry, it is dispensed both to the templars, who make use of it in tracking and fighting maleficarum, and to the Circle.

In the hands of the Circle, lyrium reaches its fullest potential. Their Formari craftsmen transform it into an array of useful items from the practical, such as magically hardened stone for construction, to the legendary silver armor of King Calenhad.

When mixed into liquid and ingested, lyrium allows mages to enter the Fade fully aware, unlike all others who reach it only while dreaming. Such potions can also be used to aid in the casting of especially taxing spells, for a short time granting a mage far greater power than he normally wields.

Lyrium has its costs, however. Prolonged use becomes addictive, the cravings unbearable. Over time, templars grow disoriented, incapable of distinguishing memory from present, or dream from waking. They frequently become paranoid, as their worst memories and nightmares haunt their waking hours. Mages have additionally been known to suffer physical mutation: The magister lords of the Tevinter Imperium were widely reputed to have been so affected by their years of lyrium use that they could not be recognized by their own kin, nor even as creatures that had once been human.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 128
On the layout of the city of Orzammar.

The dwarves are lauded for their craftsmanship, and the city of Orzammar is one of their finest works. Orzammar lies at the heart of the Frostback Mountains, deep underground. The city arcs outward from the royal palace, which is built around a natural lava vent, continually fountaining liquid rock, which both lights and heats the entire cavern.

The topmost tier of Orzammar is home to the noble caste, with their palaces fanning out in both directions from the court of the king, as well as the Shaperate, which serves as a repository for all dwarven knowledge.

The lower tier is the Commons, where the merchant caste holds sway and where the finest works of Orzammar's craftsman are for sale. In the center of the river of lava, connected to the Commons by a causeway, are the Proving Grounds, a sacred arena where the dwarves, by ancient tradition, settle their disputes.

On one side of the fiery river are the ruins of old dwarven palaces, fallen into disrepair, which the locals call Dust Town, now home to the city's casteless. On the other side of the river are the Deep Roads, which once joined the sprawling dwarven empire together, but now, after centuries of darkspawn incursions, are largely sealed off. Nearly all knowledge of this network of underground passages has been lost, even to its builders.

--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.






Entry No. 129
On the ruined fortress of Ostagar.

Representing the furthest point of encroachment by the ancient Tevinter Imperium into the barbarian lands of the southeast, the fortress of Ostagar was once one of the most important defensive holdings south of the Waking Sea. It stood at the edge of the Korcari Wilds watching for any signs of invasion by the barbarians known today as the Chasind wilders. Straddling a narrow pass in the hills, the fortress needed to be by-passed to reach the fertile lowlands to the north and proved to be exceedingly difficult for the wilders to attack because of its naturally defensible position.

Like most imperial holdings in the south, Ostagar was abandoned after Tevinter's collapse during the first Blight. It was successfully sacked by the Chasind wilders and then, as the Chasind threat dwindled following the creation of the modern Ferelden nation, fell to ruin completely.

It has remained unmanned for four centuries, though most of the walls still stand--as does the tall Tower of Ishal, named after the great archon that ordered its construction. Ostagar remains a testament to the magical power of the Imperium that created it.

--From Ferelden: Folklore and History, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar.






Entry No. 130
Meditations on the Circle.

It is no simple matter, safeguarding ordinary men from mages, and mages from themselves. Each Circle tower must have some measure of self-government, for it is ever the Maker's will that men be given the power to take responsibility for our own actions: To sin and fail, as well as to achieve the highest grace and glory on our own strength.

You, who will be tasked with the protection of the Circle, must be aware of its workings. The first enchanter is the heart of any tower. He will determine the course his Circle will take, he will choose which apprentices may be tested and made full mages, and you will work most closely with him.

Assisting the first enchanter will be the senior enchanters, a small council of the most trusted and experienced magi in the tower. From this group, the next first enchanter is always chosen. Beneath the council are the enchanters. These are the teachers and mentors of the tower, and you must get to know them in order to keep your finger on the pulse of the Circle, for the enchanters will always know what is happening among the children.

All those who have passed their Harrowing but have not taken apprentices are mages. This is where most trouble in a Circle lies, in the idleness and inexperience of youth. The untested apprentices are the most numerous denizens of any tower, but they more often pose threats to themselves, due to their lack of training, than to anyone else.

--Knight-Commander Serain of the Chantry templars, in a letter to his successor.






Entry No. 131
On the dwarves' unknown burden.

5:12 Exalted--The surface declares the fourth Blight, a number that means nothing to the Stone. In the depths, the events are inverted, our Blight spanning the interim years. Seven generations of shifting lines and darkness. Our Ancestors are the reason the surface kingdoms don't know a darkspawn by sight, why even their eldest have never heard an accounting first-hand. They believe the Blights are defeated by a gathering of allies with singular focus. Eventually, they will be lost by attrition in the depths.

The spawn surges and releases. We fortify and follow, although doubts are raised.

--From chapter 27 of Stalata Negat: The Stone Unheld: A Commentary on the Roll of Years, by Shaper Erden.






Entry No. 132
A note to diners.

Don't eat the cheese.

--Scratched into the bar of Redcliffe's tavern.






Entry No. 133
On Keeper Zathrian.

"Even with all our magic and skill, we only delay the inevitable."






Entry No. 134
On the mabari warhound.

"The mabari is clever enough to speak, and wise enough to know not to."

--Fereldan proverb.

yyffe 发表于 2009-10-16 14:58

真长
懒得看了...

fantasyx2006 发表于 2009-10-16 15:20

太长了.....................

motion_mo 发表于 2009-10-16 18:00

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miao880513 发表于 2009-10-16 19:36

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qwe12op 发表于 2009-10-16 19:41

hthfantasy 发表于 2009-10-17 13:23

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虔诚典范 发表于 2009-10-17 14:23

这么长中文都懒得看

loki啊 发表于 2009-10-19 16:22

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