The hunter thanks Fost and quickly unstrings his bow, demonstrably placing it back on the ground when he's done.



"Yes, Erinn's her true name. When that...thing...was inside her, she chose the name 'Fancy' for herself," Nolan confirms.



"Me? This is home," Nolan says. "Gran is my aunt on my father's side. The rest are my cousins.

"I've been in Denerim for a few years, working as a mercenary, and met Fenwithe - that's the mage's name - and his companion Erinn," he explains. "We ran together for more than a year, just getting jobs here and there. A few months ago, I don't know what happened; he changed, like he was on a mission.

"We were all friends at this point, and, like I said, Erinn was completely in love with him by that point, so we tried to support his goal. I don't know much about mage things, so I didn't exactly understand his explanations, but I agreed when he asked if we could stay at my old homestead for a while. So, I brought them here."

Tyrus listens carefully, he makes his way over to the hunter and looks the man directly in the eyes. "What exactly has he done here? Did he do some kind of ritual? Did he reciprocate her love? Perhaps she summoned the demon somehow.." He trails off and starts talking to himself.

"No. I don't know exactly what went on that night just north of Lothering, but it was at his insistence; it was his doing," Nolan countered, his head hung low.

Looking at the man, Tyrus is clearly not pleased. "A perfect servant, not asking any questions." He nods towards the bound mage "We'll have to wait for him to wake."

Anything you guys want to ask? I'm okay with waiting for the mage

Fost shook his head at Tyrus' misgiving attitude.
He chuckled.
"What now? Do you suddenly expect anyone to know magic or the workings of a mage? Is that not the core of magic, the mystery about it?"
He shrugged.
"They were companions for a year, friends even. The mage changed, obviously did not explain himself to his companions. And she was besotted anyway, not doubting her beloved mage at all."
Fost mused as he looke at Tyrus. Would Tyrus explain to his companions if he were on a magic investigation or ritual. Especially if it might entail blood magic? He hoped so.
"Let's put the mage somewhere secure and then revive him to question him. Oh, and probably add a blondfold, too."

Tyrus chuckles "Oh no, just stating an observation. It is difficult to find help that knows not to ask questions." He nods as he looks at the mage. "Let's move him."

Assured that Fantasy is gone for good, the women of the homestead take charge of Erinn and see to her care in one of the larger homes near the square. The mage is bound and blindfolded and taken to Nolan’s home*. The hunter offers cider to the others as they wait for the apostate to regain consciousness.

* The house in the bottom right corner, with the linens hanging on the left.

He barely has enough time to grab the ewer and some cups when Fenwithe comes to with a start. The apostate struggles briefly, but realizes his predicament and calms down. “My Fantasy - is she…?”

OOC: By my count, Tyrus expended 13 Mana during the encounter (two attempted castings each of Mind Blast and Winter’s Grasp, and one 1MP casting of Heal).
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:38, Mon 14 Aug 2023.

Wendoll flatly answers the mage, "The creature is dead; its host still lives."

Fenwithe turns to face the elf's voice, trying to find a gap in the blindfold to get an eye on his captors, to no avail.

"Erinn survived," he muses, his tone joyless, analytical. "I wouldn't have expected the bond to be breakable."

"Well, I could not care less about your evaluation of that unholy bond."
"It's high time to start talking about your point of view. Why you meddled with the creature and what you hoped to achieve.", Fost growled menacingly.

The mage had likely not seen the burly warrior during the fight, so he might be even more unsettled by an unknown voice, especially if that voice was anything but amicable.
"What you tell right now might even influence the reaction of the Church representative."

In his assessment of the situation the blindfold and the knock out had likely foiled the mage's sense of time. He might well believe that Templars were already on their way to trial the apostaste.

---

rolled 17 using 3d6+5 with the AGE System with rolls of {5}, 4, 3.  STR (Intimidate).
In case it's required/helpful
This message was last edited by the player at 17:35, Mon 14 Aug 2023.

The man recoils at the ferocity of Fost's rebuke and challenge. He hems and haws for several moments, then confesses, "I met her in my dreams; she promised me so much, I was smitten at once. She came to me often over the period of a year, and eventually told me how we could be together in the waking hours.

"Erinn was the daughter of our scullery maid back home; I convinced her to travel with me, and she was very willing - she's always been willing where I'm concerned," he continues, a malevolent smile crossing his lips at some unshared memory. "It took months to gather the ritual materials, so I called on my friend Nolan to help us find the plant and animal ingredients -"

Nolan steps forward aggressively, only stopping when Wendoll intercepts him. "Hey! I had no idea what you were doing!" the hunter growls. "Erinn loved you!"

"I know. That's what made her useful. She'd get her wish - being with me for the rest of her short life - and I'd have my Fantasy," Fenwithe confirms. Nolan surges against the elf, who just barely holds him back.

"I want to wring his scrawny little neck!"

"Line forms behind me, friend," Wendoll responds quietly. "But now's not the time. I could really use that cider."

Nolan relaxes a bit, but the anger in his eyes remains. He nods and allows the elf archer to walk with him to the table. Fenwithe, for his part, continues as if nothing happened, "The night at the crossroads was just the preparation. Needed a bit of the host's blood to give Fantasy an in. Tonight was when we were going to fully merge body and spirit."

Tyrus listens and shakes his head, his face shows a mix of sadness and disgust. "You've used the poor girl, lead on your friend... only to invite this... demon into our world?" Pinching his nose and rubbing it, he exhales audibly "Desire demons are some of the most difficult to resist but that's the first thing you're being taught. Didn't anyone teach you not to listen to them?"

Fenwithe points his face toward the Tevinter, his head tilted slightly. "Why would I want to resist my Fantasy?"

It's becoming pretty clear to Tyrus that the apostate's mind is still warped by the desire demon's allure; it's not entirely unknown for a mage to be so enrapt that the demon's power lingers for hours, if not days, after its destruction or banishment. Of course, he also gets the feeling that Fenwithe's mind and morals started much nearer to where it is now than the tenets of Andrastean teachings (that is, "magic is meant to serve man..."). If he received any instruction at all, the apostate likely learned little to nothing of the dangers of encounters with spirits and demons.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:18, Tue 15 Aug 2023.

Erin just listened, she was not the type to make serious threats while having no intention to carry them out, just for intimidation value. Nor did she think herself particularly intimidating while next to someone like Fost. However, she looked at the apostate with unmeasurable contempt, she knew it was mean to stare at someone like that, but she had no respect for people that would use and dispose of others in that fashion.

Fost was disgusted and angry. The former obviously about the apostate, the second however about himself.
He realized that he indeed had an interest into the nature of the bond between Erinn and Fantasy after all. Simply to be better able to assess whether the she-elf truly was safe now or whether she might still be in danger. Not to Fantasy, that demon seemed to be truly vanquished, but maybe some other malignant influence. And there was no cure for her love for the ruthless mage.

Tyrus shakes his head. "Things here are worse than I thought. I guess we should let Ser Andra take care of this one." He looks at the ropes and back where he assumes Lothering lies "Any idea how long it would take us to get back to Lothering?"

"Going back the way we came, it'll be three days total," Wendoll offers. "We could try to follow the shore, which may take a day off our trip, but that would mean at least a night in the wilderness."

Out of hearing from both Fenwithe and Nolan Fost shared his musings.
"I suppose the newly married couple can find their way back to the farm without our assistance. If they even want to return. Regardless, the brothers should know."
"I do prefer as short a journey as possibly to Lothering. Maybe Nolan would accompany us to make good of sorts. Though I suppose he'd rather stay to look for Erinn."

Fost rubbed his chin.
"Remember how we got involved in this. We need to verify if the three have been near that rift with the demons in the copse, the shred of white clothing we found there, and so on."

OOC: Using Tyrus as the interrogator to parse info while he's on leave.

"Good point," Tyrus says to the warrior. Turning to Fenwithe, he asks. "Nolan mentioned a night 'just north of Lothering,' and you mentioned a night 'at the crossroads.' Did you perform a ritual on the stone slab next to the copse of trees, where the veil is thin?"

The apostate nods. "Yes. It was the perfect place for it. Fantasy was able to cross over into the host body that night. Just little bit of blood was enough."

"Your demon wasn't the only one who crossed over, pal," Wendoll growls.

"The veil is quite thin there, so I'm not surprised," Fenwithe agrees. His tone is quite analytical, as if he is completely divorced from the reality of the consequences, as if he's just talking theory.

Tyrus then asks, "Was Erinn wearing a white shift or dress that night?"

Nolan answers from the table, "She was; a dress, I think."

"Fantasy required innocence and the representation of such in her ritual. So, I bought one similar to what my mother's handmaids wear for when we entertain guests," the apostate explained.

"Where is it now?"

"It was soiled and damaged in the ritual, so we tossed it into the refuse when we arrived here."
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:00, Fri 25 Aug 2023.

Fost stared at the emotionless replies of the apostate mage.
Why don't we just kill him right here and right now?, he wondered, Why go to all that trouble to bring this piece of shit to the Templars and risk his escape during the journey?, he thought, seething inside.

Fost remembers only his Transfigurations*, Chapter 1, Verse 2: 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.

* A book from the Chant of Light, the religious codex of the Chantry.

The apostate's guilt in that regard is clear. That said, it's really only a matter of the law of the land whether Fost would be justified in executing Fenwithe himself. And, Fost is an Arl's Man, after all. That may give him a buffer against any potential repercussions.

Tyrus sighs, he goes rubs his neck: "Well, thank you." He steps away from the bound mage to his companions. "At least he's forthcoming with information. Let's get to Lothering as quickly as possible. Perhaps the good folk here would be willing to provide a wagon or some rations for the way?" He turns to Erin when mentioning the wagon and the rations. He scans the farm and tries to find the previously mentioned pile of refuse. "I guess someone should dig through that to find the dress?"

"I can see to that." Erin was hardly a squeamish lass, talking to the farmers to arrange for such things or looking for the dress were far more pleasant and homely tasks than talking with such a malevolent individual.

With her mind set to a task, Erin sought out whoever looked to stand as the elder there, plans already weaving in her head to streamline the whole thing.

Fost did not think the finding of the dress a necessity, but did not comment either. Truth be told, he was not too sure whether he could control his voice so he better just shut up.
The burly warrior's fingers twitched. His hand was eager for the touch on the hilt of his blade, eager to draw the sword and thrust it into the apostate's neck all the way down to the vile heart. A top-down execution strike he had seen on heavily armoured foes who had fallen from their horses and were too weak, struggling to rise with all the encumbrance.
He watched as Erin left to look for the soiled dress and turned to Tyrus.
Cold-blooded he asked.
"Why not just kill him?", he hissed.

Tyrus stops dead in his tracks, turning his head to Fost he's clearly thinking... trying to come up with an answer. It takes him half a minute before he finally answers. "I... thought in Ferelden... don't you want this man to face the Templar's justice?" He looks at the apostate and continues to talk "We have different laws, the Magisters have ultimate power over their subjects. I thought in Ferelden all men are equal.. or something like this."

Nolan looks aghast at the suggestion of execution, and Wendoll's eyes shift from Fost to Tyrus, and back again. His gaze then turns to Erin, unsure of how to react to the idea.