DAI: Becoming The Inquisitor

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The stage was set. Tomorrow, they rode for Val Royeaux—and whatever awaited them there.

Dawn crept over Haven's mountains like a cautious intruder, painting the snow-capped peaks in pale gold. Daniel woke to the sound of a quiet knock at his cabin door—one of the Inquisition workers leaving a steaming basin of water and a fresh towel. The simple luxury of hot water after weeks on the road still felt like a small miracle.

He scrubbed the sleep from his face, the heat soothing the lingering ache in his muscles. The events of last night's planning session weighed on him, but there was no room for second thoughts now. Today, they rode for Val Royeaux.

The Light Armor of the Dragon lay across his bed, the reinforced leather and scaled plating catching the morning light. He ran his fingers along the intricate craftsmanship—the way the plates interlocked like dragon scales. A gift from his clan, meant to protect him in the shemlen world.

The armor settled onto his shoulders with familiar weight as he fastened the straps. His staff leaned against the wall, its polished wood gleaming. The runes along its length hummed faintly under his touch, resonating with the mark on his hand.

The crisp morning air bit at his cheeks as he stepped outside. Haven was already stirring—soldiers at their drills, merchants setting up stalls, mothers ushering children away from the training grounds. The scent of fresh bread and smithing fires mingled with the ever-present chill.

At the main gates, the stableyard bustled with activity. Inquisition's stablehands moved with practiced efficiency, checking hooves and adjusting saddles. And there, amidst the organized chaos, stood his companions.

Cassandra was already armored, her silverite plate polished to a muted sheen. She stood beside a massive chestnut warhorse, running a critical eye over the girth straps. Varric lounged against a fence post, twirling a dagger while exchanging jibes with one of Inquisition stablehand apprentices. Solas, the outlier, stood slightly apart, his travel-worn robes fluttering in the breeze as he examined the sky.

And then Daniel saw him—Max, his Ferelden stallion, his ears pricked forward as Cassandra adjusted his bridle. The horse snorted when he spotted Daniel, tossing his head in recognition.

"I thought you might want him ready," Cassandra said without turning. Her hands moved with surprising gentleness over the horse's tack. "He's been restless since you returned from the Hinterlands."

Daniel approached, running his hand along Max's neck. The stallion leaned into the touch, his warm breath puffing against Daniel's shoulder. "Missed me, did you?"

"More like missed the apples you spoil him with," Varric called, sheathing his dagger. "Though I can't blame him. Dennet's been working him hard with the other mounts."

Solas finally turned from his skyward contemplation. "The Breach has stabilized somewhat overnight. A favorable sign for our journey."

Daniel nodded, though his eyes were drawn past the gates—to the winding mountain path that would lead them to Val Royeaux. To whatever awaited them there.

Cassandra followed his gaze. "We ride within the hour. Josephine has dispatches for us to carry, and Leliana..." She trailed off as the spymaster herself appeared, gliding through the stableyard like a shadow given form.

Leliana handed Daniel a sealed scroll. "Names. Locations. Allies and enemies among both templars and mages in the city." Her blue eyes held his. "Burn it once memorized."

Varric hefted Bianca onto his back. "Nothing like a little light reading before we head into the lion's den."

Josephine arrived moments later, her usual composed demeanor slightly frayed at the edges. "I've drafted letters of introduction to the more moderate clerics." she said, passing a leather case to Cassandra.

Cassandra accepted the leather case from Josephine, her armored fingers careful against the fine embossing. "I'll ensure these reach the right hands," she said, tucking the documents securely into her saddlebag. Then, turning to Daniel, she added, "While we finish preparations here, you should check with Cullen at the soldiers' camp. He's mustering fifty of our best for our escort to Val Royeaux."

Daniel nodded, giving Max one last pat before stepping away from the bustle of the stableyard. As he walked toward the training grounds, the crisp morning air carried snippets of Cassandra and Josephine's conversation back to him.

"Have the supply wagons been prepared?" Cassandra asked, her voice carrying the familiar no-nonsense tone she reserved for logistical matters.

Josephine's response was smooth but edged with fatigue. "Yes, though securing enough provisions on such short notice was... challenging. We've packed enough for two weeks of hard travel—dried meats, hardtack, elfroot tonics, and extra feed for the horses."

A pause. Then Cassandra, quieter: "And the other matter?"

"Ah." Josephine's voice dropped, forcing Daniel to slow his steps to catch her words. "The 'special' supplies are packed separately, marked as medicinal herbs. Leliana assured me the vials are well-cushioned and discreet."

"Good." Cassandra exhaled sharply. "Let us hope we don't need them."

"Indeed." Josephine's tone lightened slightly. "Though I did include a few luxuries—Antivan coffee, some of those Orlesian pastries you favor, and a bottle of vintage Nevarran red. If we must brave the Grand Game, we might as well have decent refreshments."

A rare chuckle from Cassandra. "Now you sound like a real Orlais."

"Perish the thought," Josephine replied, mock-offended.

Their laughter faded behind Daniel as he approached the soldiers' camp. The training grounds hummed with disciplined chaos—recruits drilling with swords, archers loosing arrows at straw targets, and Cullen at the center of it all, his lion-crested armor gleaming in the morning light.

The commander was deep in conversation with a grizzled lieutenant when he spotted Daniel. With a curt nod, he dismissed the man and strode over.

"Herald," Cullen greeted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I trust you're ready for the mess awaiting us in Val Royeaux?"

Daniel smirked. "As ready as I'll ever be. Cassandra said you've handpicked our escort?"

Cullen gestured to a group of soldiers standing at attention nearby. They were a mix of seasoned veterans and promising recruits, their armor polished, weapons sharp. "Fifty of our best. A third are former templars—they know how their brethren think. The rest are hunters and mercenaries from the Hinterlands. Good scouts, better fighters."

Daniel studied the group. A dark-skinned woman with a longbow gave him a respectful nod; a burly man with a templar's sunburst tattoo cracked his knuckles impatiently. "They know the risks?"

Cullen's jaw tightened. "They do. But every one of them volunteered." He lowered his voice. "There's... something else. One of Leliana's scouts returned late last night. Reports of 'red lyrium' near the Imperial Highway."

Daniel's stomach dropped. "The same stuff from Hinterland?"

"Worse, if you can believe it." Cullen's hand flexed around his sword hilt. "Be careful out there. Whatever's happening with the templars, it's not just rebellion anymore."

A horn sounded from the gates—their signal to depart.

Cullen clapped Daniel on the shoulder. "Maker watch over you. And... try not to start a war before breakfast."

Daniel snorted. "No promises."

As he turned to leave, a young recruit—barely more than a boy with peach fuzz on his chin—stepped forward, clutching a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. "Ser Herald! My ma made these for the journey. Her famous beef pasties." He thrust the bundle at Daniel, his ears turning pink. "For, uh. For luck."

Daniel accepted the offering, the scent of rosemary and gravy wafting through the cloth. "Thank you. What's your name?"

"Tomas, ser! Of Highever." The boy beamed.

"Keep an eye on things here, Tomas of Highever."

The recruit snapped a salute so sharp it nearly toppled him over.

By the time Daniel returned to the gates, the others were mounted and waiting. Josephine had vanished back to her diplomacy, but Leliana stood beside Cassandra, murmuring last-minute instructions. Varric was already complaining about saddle sores, and Solas...

Solas was staring at the Breach, his expression unreadable.

Cassandra noticed Daniel's approach and raised an eyebrow at the pasties. "Planning a picnic, Herald?"

"Essential supplies," he deadpanned, tucking them into his saddlebag.

Leliana stepped forward, her voice low. "Remember—trust no one in Val Royeaux. Assume every servant is a spy, every compliment a dagger." Her icy gaze flickered with something almost like concern. "And burn that list."

With a final nod, she melted back into the shadows.

Cassandra took a deep breath, surveying their small caravan—four companions, fifty soldiers, and a handful of pack mules. "Ready?"

Daniel swung onto Max's back, the stallion sidestepping eagerly. "Let's go save the world."

Varric groaned. "Ugh. Couldn't we start with something easier? Like a nice brunch?"

Daniel chuckled as he adjusted his grip on Max's reins. "Really? You want brunch now? Why don't you try asking Cassandra nicely—but I can assure you, you'll get kicked in the ass for it."

Varric rolled his eyes dramatically. "You don't know that. There's no harm in asking." With an exaggerated swagger, he guided his horse toward Cassandra, who was reviewing a map with one of the scouts.

Daniel watched, amused, as Varric cleared his throat. "So, Seeker, here's a thought—what say we grab a quick bite before hitting the road? All this saving-the-world business works up an appetite."

Cassandra didn't even look up. "We don't have time for—" Then she paused, her stomach betraying her with a quiet but unmistakable growl. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine. But quickly. Val Royeaux is a week's ride, and I won't have us lagging because of indulgence."

Varric grinned triumphantly back at Daniel. "See? Diplomacy works."

Cassandra raised her voice to address the soldiers. "All right, listen up! We break for a short meal. Eat, drink, relieve yourselves—but be ready to move within the half-hour. Anyone lagging gets left behind."

A ripple of relieved murmurs spread through the ranks. The soldiers dispersed toward the mess tents, where the kitchen staff had begun hastily assembling a spread of travel rations—hard cheese, dried fruit, and fresh bread still warm from the ovens.

Daniel dismounted, stretching his legs as he joined the others near a makeshift table. Varric was already piling his plate high, while Solas picked at a modest portion with detached interest. Cassandra, true to form, ate standing, her eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting an ambush between bites.

"You know," Varric said around a mouthful of bread, "for a group of people trying to prevent the end of the world, we really should take better care of ourselves. Can't fight demons on an empty stomach."

Cassandra shot him a look. "We're not on a leisure tour, Varric."

"No, but we're also not corpses yet," he countered. "And I, for one, plan to enjoy at least one decent meal before the Orlesians start their backstabbing nonsense."

Daniel smirked, tearing into a piece of cheese. "He's got a point. If we're going to be dealing with the Grand Game, we might as well be well-fed for it."

Solas, ever the observer, sipped from a cup of herbal tea. "I find it fascinating how mortals cling to small comforts in the face of impending doom."

Varric pointed a piece of dried meat at him. "That's because we like being alive, Chuckles. You should try it sometime."

Cassandra exhaled sharply, but there was no real heat in it. "Just eat. Quickly."

The soldiers, meanwhile, took the opportunity to relax—if only for a moment. Some joked with each other, while others wrote last-minute letters to loved ones. A few even dared to approach Daniel, offering quiet words of encouragement or asking for blessings. He obliged as best he could, though the weight of their faith still sat oddly on his shoulders.

Too soon, Cassandra clapped her hands. "That's enough. Mount up."

Groans and grumbles followed, but the soldiers obeyed, stowing their half-finished meals and tightening saddle straps.

As Daniel swung back onto Max, Varric sidled up beside him. "See? Told you it was worth asking."

Daniel shook his head, grinning. "Next time, you can be the one to tell Cassandra we're stopping for afternoon tea."

Varric shuddered. "Let's not push our luck."

With that, the company moved out—onto the open road, where the real journey began.

Daniel nudged Max forward until he rode alongside Cassandra, the steady rhythm of their horses' hooves crunching against the gravel road. The morning sun cast long shadows behind them as Haven gradually disappeared from view, swallowed by the rugged mountain pass.

"You really think the Chantry will listen to reason when we get there?" Daniel asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them. He kept his voice low, though the steady clatter of hooves and the murmur of soldiers behind them would have drowned out his words to anyone else. "And the templars and mages... do you think they can put aside their grudge long enough to face the Breach?"

Cassandra didn't answer immediately. Her gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, her jaw set in that familiar stubborn line. But Daniel had learned by now that her silences weren't dismissive—just measured.

Finally, she exhaled sharply through her nose. "The Chantry is fractured. Some clerics will see you as a heretic, others as Andraste's chosen. Most will simply be afraid—of you, of the Breach, of losing what little power they have left." She glanced at him sidelong. "But fear can be useful. If we make them see that the Breach is a greater threat than their politics, then yes. Some will listen."

Daniel rolled his shoulders, adjusting his grip on the reins. "And the templars and mages?"

Cassandra's gloved fingers tightened slightly around her own reins. "That... is harder. The hatred between them runs deep. But desperation makes strange allies." She turned her head fully toward him then, her dark eyes searching his. "You truly believe they can work together?"

"I don't know," Daniel admitted. "But I have to believe it's possible. If they can't set aside their feud even with that hanging over us—" He jerked his chin toward the Breach, its eerie glow visible even in daylight. "—then what hope do we have?"

Cassandra was quiet for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You sound like Justinia."

Daniel blinked. "I—what?"

"She always believed people could be better. That even the worst rivalries could be overcome, given the right cause." Cassandra's expression softened, just slightly. "It drove me mad sometimes. But it also made her a far better Divine than I could ever be."

Daniel didn't know what to say to that. The comparison to the late Divine sat heavily on him, another weight added to the mantle of "Herald" he still wasn't sure he deserved.

Before he could respond, Varric trotted up on his horse, Bianca strapped securely across his back. "If you two are done with the heartfelt pep talk, we've got company ahead."

Cassandra immediately straightened, her hand drifting toward her sword. "Bandits?"

"Worse," Varric said grimly. "Refugees."

As they rounded the bend, the road opened up to reveal a makeshift camp sprawled along the roadside—dozens of weary travelers huddled around smoking cookfires, their faces gaunt with exhaustion. Many bore the telltale signs of magic—faded Circle robes, or the sunburst brand of a Tranquil. Others wore the remnants of templar armor, though their tabards had been torn off.

Daniel's stomach twisted. These weren't just refugees—they were survivors of the war, mages and templars alike, forced together by circumstance.

A grizzled man with a broken templar pauldron stepped forward, his wary gaze flickering between their Inquisition banners and Daniel's glowing hand. "You're that Herald fellow, ain't ya?"

Daniel dismounted slowly, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. "We mean no trouble. Just passing through on our way to Val Royeaux."

The man barked a harsh laugh. "Val Royeaux! Good luck with that. Chantry's too busy squabbling over who gets to sit in the big chair to care about the likes of us."

A woman in a tattered Circle robe stepped up beside him, her arms crossed. "They won't help you. The templars have taken over the city. Anyone who speaks against them disappears."

Cassandra dismounted as well, her expression unreadable. "And the mages?"

The woman's lips thinned. "Scattered. Some went to Redcliffe. Others... well. Let's just say not all of us were lucky enough to escape the fighting."

Daniel exchanged a glance with Cassandra. This was worse than they'd thought. If Val Royeaux was already under templar control—

A sudden commotion erupted at the edge of the camp. A child's high-pitched scream split the air, followed by shouts of alarm.

"Demons!" someone yelled.

Daniel was moving before he'd fully processed the word. He sprinted toward the sound, Cassandra and Varric close behind. As they burst through the ring of tents, the scene before them sent a chill down his spine—a rift, small but vicious, had opened near the tree line. Twisted shades clawed their way into the world, advancing on a group of children huddled behind a fallen log.

Without hesitation, Daniel raised his marked hand. The familiar surge of energy crackled through him as the rift pulsed in response.

"Protect the refugees!" Cassandra barked to their soldiers, already drawing her sword. "Varric, cover fire! Solas—"

But Solas was already there, his staff raised as a barrier shimmered into existence around the children.

Daniel gritted his teeth as he wrestled with the rift. This was why they were going to Val Royeaux. This was why they had to make the templars and mages see reason.

Because if they didn't, these people—these scared, desperate survivors—would be the first of countless casualties when the Breach finally tore the world apart.

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Name : Daniel Carter

Race: Elf

Level 5 : 2183/2500 EXP

Professions: Mage

Gold Coins: 2289 coins

Weapon: Staff of the Dragon

Armor: Light Armor of the Dragon and Templar Scribe Scowl

Accessories: Token of the Packmaster and Belt of Health

Inventory: Acolyte Ice Staff, Morning Star, Stiletto, Hunting Longbow, Fire Resistance Cowl, Mercenary Coat, Acolyte Fire Staff, Disciple Lighting Staff, Apprentice Armor, Qunari Battleaxe, Raider Hatchet, 2 Disciple Fire Staff, Apprentice Mail, Qunari Buckler, Medium Adventure Armor, Mindleech Staff, Soldier's Nemesis, 2 Recruit's Dirk, Reinforced Dagger, Sledgehammer, Disciple Lighting Staff, Apprentice Armor, Exacting Longbow, Barbarian Lord Maul, Lifeward Amulet, and Grenade Belt

Crafting Materials: 37 Elfroot, 62 Iron, 2 Blue Vitriol, 1 Dawn Lotus, 11 Silk, 17 Lambswool, 3 Royal Elfroot, 10 Ram Leather, 23 Drakestone, 4 Fire Essence, 3 Blue Vitriol, 11 Canine Leather, 4 Plaidewaive, 2 Frost Essence, 1 Fade-Touched Iron, 4 Blood Lotus, 5 Embrium, 10 Spindleweed, 16 Onyx, 3 Ironbarks, 2 Crystal Grace, and 1 Serpenstone

Upgrades: Sigil of the Gamordan Stromrider and Sigil of Deathroot

Valuables: 2 Shadow Essence, 1 Ram Horn, 1 Dreamer Rag, 5 Weapon Fragment, 2 Bowstring, 8 Mysterious Shards, Nevarra Skull, 1 Wisp Essence, and 1 Wolf Fangs

Potions: Lesser Health Potions x8, Lesser Regeneration Potions x5, and x5 Lyrium Potion

Skills: Chain Lighting, Flashfire, Barrier, Winter's Grasp, and Energy Barrage

Armor Schematics: Shokra-taar Schematic, Antaam-saar Schematic, Avvar Armor Schematics Acquired, Stone-Bear Armor Schematics, Vanguard Coat Schematic, Sturdy Defender Coat Schematic, and Scout Mail Arms Schematic

Weapon Schematics: Curved Dagger Schematic and Hunting Bow Schematic

Potion Recipe: Lesser Regeneration Potion recipe and Lyrium Potion Recipe

Bottles of Thedas: Vint-9 Rowan's Rose and Carnal, 8:69 Blessed