Origio Mutatio

Samantha Trevelyan still could not quite come to terms with it; all her life she had lived as a noble and as a third child it was expected that she join the Chantry. That was usually how noble families did it: the heir, the spare, the cleric. She had been destined to serve the Maker since birth, but fortunately for her, her parents had been very good at hiding it.

All three Trevelyan children had gone through the same process of martial, political, and social education. While the discovery of her potential had broken it off abruptly, she was still far more prepared for the world than most her age. But now Samantha was in the Circle, and while she had studied some of the basic lore around magic, she was hardly ready to deal with it on such a… personal level.

At least it had manifested in a controllable way. She had heard of people dying, or massive damage caused when someone discovered their magic. In her case she had been alone in her room, seething after a fight with her mother; when she looked back at the moment, it had been a truly trivial thing to get so worked up about, but it was too late now.

She had slammed the door closed and sat down at her table, in her anger all movements were filled with rage; she almost knocked over the chair by pulling it out too roughly and kicked the table-leg when sitting down; the pain only flared her anger and she threw herself onto her bed, giving up on the desk. She had screamed into her pillow and punched the mattress to vent.

It had taken a while, but she eventually managed to regain a semblance of composure. When she sat up from having her face buried – tear stained and hair dishevelled -she saw that where she had been hitting the mattress, the thin feather covering had been scorched through and the hay tick underneath was still smouldering.

She had then looked at her hands, still clenched into fists. They had been visibly radiating heat, making the air around them ripple and swim. She looked at them, dumbfounded, and then the realization crashed down on her: magic. Samantha Augustine Trevelyan was a mage.

She did what any girl her age would have done: she ran to her mother, previous grievance forgotten. She had been dismissed at first, her mother thinking it was some wild idea to try and get back at her. Samantha had simply collapsed on the floor at this, weeping. This seemed to soften her mother and she took her to her chambers, where the ruined bedclothes were.

That was how the family had been dealt a terrible blow, both internally and externally. Despite the constant bickering they loved each other dearly; the parents lost a daughter and the elder siblings their sister. Politically, it was never safe for a noble family to reveal that they had magic in their line, unless they were of the Tevinter Imperium, as opponents might use the information to undermine them.

That was how it came to be that she was whisked away under the cover of night, and the pretence was made that she was to join the Chantry as had been intended, albeit in a distant country, opposed to the local one as had originally been planned. Now she was in the Circle and of the Circle. Here her noble heritage meant nothing; the Templars would cut down a royal abomination as soon they would a peasant.

Her only advantage was her prior education, which made the initial studies far easier. But when it came to knowledge concerning magic's history and its use she was as green as all the other apprentices that were brought in. Samantha chuckled to herself quietly as she thought about the events that got her here 'modest in temper, bold in deed'.' She had utterly failed to live up to the family motto and for it, was branded with what some would call a curse.

She swore to herself then that she would never let her anger get the better of her. She would be a true Trevelyan, despite no longer being able to lay claim to land or title; she would prove that she was proud of her heritage despite how her very nature mocked it.

~o~

Celestine looked around her. So this was the Fade? The time for her Harrowing had finally come; the events all those years ago and the specialised training she had undergone had made it take place far sooner than it normally would have; the Templars' demands had finally won out. They claimed it was too dangerous to keep a mage like her about without having undergone the Harrowing, and they could be right for all she knew. Not that she thought that she would spontaneously turn into an abomination, but it was far easier – and probably wiser – to humour them.

She had been escorted from the dormitories to the usual practice room. On the way there she had tried to strike up conversation with the two Templars, but they were very reluctant to talk. She knew the one – Ser Cullen – he was relatively new to the order, only having made his vows a year or two ago. Despite his having been at the Circle since then though he was still very withdrawn; perhaps it was because he did not always wear his helmet, and while she appreciated any Templar who would be good enough to show their face, she could understand that it would make it easier to talk to someone if they would not be able to read you. The other knight was wearing his helmet still, and as he didn't speak to identify himself, she did not know who it was.

They eventually reached the familiar section of the tower where she had always been taught, but instead of leading her to the door and taking their posts there, they led her onwards, further into the tower. They carried on, down corridors that had an increasing lack of character. There were no more carvings and statues in the walls, the doors were mostly of a plain blackened wood with no markings, the stone that the tower was built of began to take a uniform shape and size, each block looking exactly like the last; even the air tasted different, as if it was merely air to be breathed, with no scents or smells.

The trio eventually reached a room where, unlike the others, the ceiling was considerably lower than the usual, even with its arches. On the other side, a small stairway led up into the room's ceiling; the Templars prompted that she head that way and followed closely behind.

Celestine emerged into a large domed chamber; this had to be the top of the tower. In the centre there was a wrought iron pedestal that had a small basin on top, a brilliant blue glow emanating from it. Standing waiting for her were two more Templar knights and next to them Knight-Commander Greagoir and First-Enchanter Irving themselves.

That was when all the pieces slotted into place; she was to take her Harrowing. As the First-Enchanter had described it, she would be facing off against a demon in the Fade and should she prevail, she would become a fully-fledged mage of the Circle. Greagoir had warned that should she fail and become possessed – an abomination - they would kill her.

She had used the liquid blue ore – lyrium - in the basin to cross the veil to the other side and now she was in the Fade, realm of spirits, demons and dreamers. The air here was the same as in the last few stories of the tower she had been in, perhaps even more tasteless. She had read that everything here was created by spirits trying to mimic that which they could garner from dreamers' dreams and memories; looking around she could tell that that was the only reason why someone would have put the place together the way it was.

She was standing on what seemed solid ground, paved with ancient crumbling cobbles. Filling the cracks between the cobbles was a light grey dust similar to ash, but more crystalline. Surrounding her was a pale wall that made of bone and horribly warped, bending in angles that made her wonder how it was still standing. The walled section she was in opened out onto a plain that, while still mostly covered in the grey dust, had bright green tufts of grass sticking out in places. Mushrooms as large as trees dotted the field and among them petrified trees of impossible size pierced the hazy green sky.

The sky itself was overcast and Celestine could see large chunks of land, simply floating there like clouds; some of these were also entwined in the massive gnarled branches of the petrified trees. To add to the strangeness, natural features were not the only things that behaved differently. Walls, like the one near her, dotted the whole area, sometimes even coming together to form buildings that defied the laws of physics, which was becoming recurring trend.

Items were also placed at random, tables arranged along the trunk of one of the mushrooms as if the trunk was the floor, and chairs stuck to the ceiling. Celestine observed all of this as she wandered through the Fade. She didn't know how long she wandered; time had no meaning here. It could have been seconds, or hours, or years that she walked across the plain that was littered with strangeness.

The only thing that kept her going was that she had a goal: triumph over the demon. The outside world was unimportant now, strangely detached and yet, as the apprentice wandered she could not shake the feeling of increasing wrongness.

The fickle nature of the Fade showed itself when, after what seemed ages of wandering across the dust-strewn plain, the rest of it just dissipated so that she almost stepped into the void. Barely able to catch herself from tumbling over, she took a few steps from the newly appeared edge. After gathering her composure again she took a few hesitant steps towards it and looked down. The floor dropped away sharply, but instead of a rock-face it the orientation of the field she had been walking on had been changed and now the landscape was spreading downwards, where it abruptly cut off and she could see that she herself was on just another one of the floating isles and that the overcast green sky spread below as it did above. She briefly wondered what would happen if she fell down.

"So they throw another ill-prepared apprentice to the wolves," a voice said from behind, sounding sad.

Celestine squeaked in surprise, jumping from the edge again to see who had spoken. She looked around, but could not find the origin of the voice.

"Here."

She looked down; on the floor before her was a giant mouse with a glossy brown coat and dark eyes that were looking right at her.

"Who?" Celestine asked suspiciously, looking around to see if there were any other animals she had overlooked.

"Why the Templars of course," the mouse said with a matter-of-fact tone. The voice was eerily familiar.

"What do you mean by that?" She asked.

The mouse looked at her, seeming to contemplate. Then it glowed brightly and its shape began to distort. Green vapour flowed together around it and it began to take the form of a man. He looked to be around her age, with unkempt mousy brown hair and wearing robes that were similar to what apprentices now wore, but a bit more archaic in design.

"I was like you once; I was sent here for my Harrowing. But the Templars…they…if you take too long they automatically assume you failed and cut your body down. With no body to return to, my spirit is trapped here." The man stated.

"And the mouse thing?"

"A trick I had to learn to keep the demons from finding me."

"You said that I was 'ill-prepared.' What makes you think that?" Celestine asked.

"None of the apprentices sent here have ever been able to succeed in their Harrowing!" the man exclaimed, his voice laced with anger. "The Templars lure a demon here, promising it a meal and if the apprentice fails to defeat it - or takes too long - they are cut down."

Celestine listened to what the man had to say, each word returning some of the purpose that she had lost. Yes, she was here for her Harrowing, not only to defeat a demon that may be hunting her, but to succeed and become a mage of the Circle – and with magehood came more freedom. She would finally be able to find her place in the Circle, to be counted as an equal and not shunned for some event she could barely recall.

"I will succeed." she stated, before setting off along the edge where the land had warped away.

The man to sighed. "That's what they all said." He turned back into a mouse and followed after her.

"Why are you following me? And what's your name anyway?"

"I'm following out of curiosity and hope that you may indeed succeed. My name has long since been lost. I cannot remember; but you may call me Mouse."

After a short while they came to a small hill; as Celestine and her new companion rounded it she could see a man standing there. He was wearing exquisite armour, the likes of which she had never seen. The metal was polished to the point that it seemed to emit its own light. The suit had a strange resemblance to Templar armour, as if the Order had tried to imitate this masterpiece. Surrounding the man were dozens of weapon racks and armour stands, all of them levitating slightly above the floor.

The displays were all crowded with weapons of the most breathtaking craftsmanship. Swords that had blades that made of light, spears whose shafts looked as if they would never break, maces that as beautiful as they were brutal, axes whose blades would shear through rock, bows that would make the Dalish green with envy, and staves that would be worth more than a year's supply of lyrium.

The armoured man had his back turned to Celestine and Mouse. As they drew near he turned around. "Ah, another mortal set to be preyed upon by the demons, greetings!"

As he said that he put the weapon he had been working on to the side and dropped it. Instead of falling to the floor it gracefully flew to one of the empty slots in the racks surrounding him.

"I am Valour."

The young apprentice inspected him for a moment, but after a brief silence returned his salutation. "I am Celestine. You said you are Valour, is that your name?"

"No, it is what I am. I am a spirit of valour, but you may use it as a name if you so desire."

Celestine nodded and looking around gestured with an arm. "All of these are yours? It's an impressive collection."

The spirit nodded. "I made these; they are the finest a mind can conceive. The Fade's nature being what it is we can will anything into being. It is known to me that it is not so in the mortal realm. What a drab existence it must be."

Celestine would have argued, but she got the impression that it would have made little impact; besides she was here to defeat a demon, not debate with what was no doubt one of "the Maker's first Children."

She considered asking the spirit if he could assist in destroying the demon she was to face, but she did not know how to wield any of the weapons besides the staves, and it normally took days if not weeks for a mage to acclimatise to a new one. She would rather trust her own power than that of an untested stranger.

"Well, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, spirit. I shall resume my task," Celestine said as she set off inland, away from the edge this time. When she looked to where the spirit's workstation had been she saw nothing but dusty cobbles. The only living thing that remained with her was Mouse, who was giving her a most curious look.

She turned her focus back to where she had been heading when she experienced a new sensation of the Fade. In the unmoving air was the scent of brimstone.