Chapter 4 - Part I

The world was black, unfeeling and soundless but for the swirling energy of a hundred billion neurons reaching out to touch each other. For now, though, they remained torn and disconnected. The whirl of disorienting emptiness penetrated inward as much as it projected outward. In a realm with no direction to go, she extended herself in every direction, searching for a hint of the familiar.
Where were the clouds? Where was its web?

The web had been broken before, but never completely destroyed. And here, this side of the world, away from the people of the Spider, was guarded by its own spirits and enchantments. With the destruction of the web, the introduction of forces foreign, once carefully spurned by a carefully constructed web, invaded its being and for the first time on this plane, the heartbeats of old gods shook the Spider.

So it fled.

But with the carefully woven web build over the years gone, there was nothing to guide her. Instead it fell, or rather flew up above and underneath her own broken connections flowing the gravity of the world. Another mind, or perhaps the old gods themselves drew her out of her own mind, to a sphere of rock, clay and water. Like a fly, the more it struggled, the harder it became for it to escape.

And it saw the struggle and toil of the old gods. The people had forgotten that truly, they were gods. They had adopted a new name, Thal, Keepers, under the banner of religious unification, but they were true gods; the creators of the world.

Bound to the clay crust from which they spawned their visages hung inches away from the viscous fury of their hosts. Six known old gods, Ganthay and Sheg, Vera and Rüern, Dagleth and Rel, as they have been known to men for eons, forever bound face to face with their complement, but with the span of their violent warriors between them.

Six right hands, palms flat to the rock and clay roof of the earth, lifted the world, that mankind not fall into the flesh hungry bowels of the core. Each hand, blistered and bloody, seemed to it that they trembled with such strain that the fate of the surfacer man seemed certain. But the brittle crust did not break after these quakes, and the hand again grew strong.

Six left hands of the old gods stretched out against their hosts. Ever ambitious, ever searching for the weaknesses of their Keepers, six hosts pushed and climbed, desiring to escape their imprisonment in the core and expand their influence on the world. Against this, Heilthian Keepers struggled for eternity.

They were not always successful, it observed. Individual flares of energy and might would free one or two of the entire host and run their course upon the surface, changing the hearts of men as they roamed. When Vera slipped, into the world escaped fits of passion and obsession among mankind, in a world so wide and free that none of Rüern's Host of the pure and naïve were likely to meet them in perfect counterbalance. All that mattered was to escape and expand, and for the Thal, their lone duty was to slow that effort.

So it refused to struggle anymore, that she might escape the fiery forge of the hosts. It did not flee again, and instead sought out a memory, any memory, to use as wallpaper amidst the broken connections of her mind.

Self projection; no longer the formless observer, it became she and her toes, a recent memory, projected themselves upon a dirt path, also projected.

She knew instantly where she was.

These were not the paths of the continent- built to perfection with purpose and plan, degraded, even if slightly, from the date of construction onward. These were paths that had been forged out of convenience and necessity. These paths reached perfection as more traveled in similar patters to the first. These were the paths of the infant City, Deezhul.

Chapter 3 - Part VI

"Trouble my dear Genevieve? Is the ghost of my cousin haunting you this night?" her lover queried upon her return to the bedroom. He sat up against the elongated sleeping couch, red satin pillows at his back. His wavy brown half bound hair was tucked behind his ears, revealing the tattoo, Antlers of the Rein, on the leftmost ear. Under the light padded blanket he rested, naked and at ease in a luxurious estate that far exceeded his own remote mountain abode in comparison.

"The matter is inconsequential. I have dealt with it. Please," she added with mock formality, "let us get back to the part where you were exploring the insides of my thighs." her face melted into a smile only half intended to evade his question. "I am interested in conducting some of my own research, you see."

As she slid onto the low standing pillowed couch, she exiled her robe to the floor in an effort distract the man lying in her bed. He obliged by pulling her hips onto the couch where he began to indulge her desires.

"I am looking forward to tomorrow, what ever your plans, my portentous little bee," he submitted in the breath between a long kiss, "You never fail to entertain."

She drew his head to her lips again briefly before replying, "Ha! And what am I to do with you now, my great stag?"

The question had passed through both of their thoughts on more than one occasion. The lord of House Archne lay slain, and his widow would take his mantle. But the best of dances were performed as duets as the orchestra rarely played for one. Even still, the lords and ladies of Eirdred would not look kindly upon the merging of power and money of two houses. Were the heads of two houses to wed, one would have to renounce their claims to their own house.

For her part, Ruby did not welcome another man in her daily life, even one subservient to her own whims. However a master of a house must be wed, and it was far easier a task to wed an ally than an enemy, or worse still, an unknown. The nobility would allow her a span of mourning time, perhaps 6 months, or a year even, if she could charm her enemies as allies alike. After that, the assassins would begin to rain down upon her. Enemies who feared her unilateral command over the House Archne would succumb to paranoia or opportunism and strike first. Allies would see her as bucking tradition and would question her dedication to a dance with no partner. Her servants would be compromised or their loyalties purchased; life would be a daily routine of hiding and outmaneuvering the ambitions of others.

But these were thoughts for another day. Lord Lot was not interested in discussing the matter and instead replied, "There are a great many things you can do with me, my lady," he pulled her closer to himself, "or that I can do with you this night."

A girlish giggle not heard since maidenhood escaped her lips, "This is why in all my heart, I adore you my lord."

Chapter 3 - Part V

Still clad in her sleeping robe, Ruby surveyed the damage. Three guards laid dead; their life blood giving a new colorful ambiance to the dull gray prison. Their bodies were strewn about the dungeon and guard quarters' floors. Two more were missing cowards, muttered the Lady. When we next meet I shall cut their hearts out myself. Still, they would all be replaced easily enough.

"Jakob and Samael were murdered where they slept, my lady. Jackson must have headed them off but his wounds were too fatal and he fell by the dungeon door. Petir and Dugan will be hunted down, I assure you." reported the captain of her estate guards.

"Show me." Ruby commanded and the captain led her to the cells where the Nü girl and Cedric had been held. At the doorway laid Jackson; a table leg turned stake protruded from his side. A miserable way to die.

"Jackson must have slit the vermin's throat before he died," he pointed to the crumpled figure lying along the corridor. The lifeless Nü had fallen ungracefully - the rags she wore now exposed her small bottom. Her bronze skin was painted with the evidence of the struggle and her face drowned in a pool of her own blood.

Frustrated, Ruby pulled back her leg and delivered a massive blow to the abdomen of the corpse. How dare that filthy beast steal her triumph. Ruby was so close to a perfect dance. The Lady Genevieve would be elevated to House ruler, but would maintain her innocence. Indeed, there would be those who knew, deep down, that the widow conducted the orchestra, but they would enjoy the music far too much to wish her to stop playing. But now, though the tune had begun, the key melody, the cathartic executions of Cedric and the girl, would be absent.

"And what of Cedric?" she demanded as she spun on her heel.

"In the dormitory, under the bunks, my lady." He brought the irate woman over to one of the cots set up for the men at arms. Under the wooden frame, a pale blonde man with a head smeared by pulp and ooze laid in the fetal position. In spite of the mess, it was hard to mistake the man's flax hair and delicate hands of the former head chef of her kitchens.

"A coward to the end Cedric." she accused, but observed, "Which is why you were such an effective tool." She pursed her lips and paused for a second, to assess the situation. With executive decision, the Lady Genevieve Archne firmly commanded, "String them up. I want their corpses desecrated and their heads on pikes before breakfast. I will have something to show my guests, who so kindly traveled miles upon miles to be with us."

The guard nodded and turned to leave before she spoke once more, "And tell the kitchen to change the menu so sausage."

If the new head of House Archne could not hide her incompetence in letting her victims die before she gave them leave to, then she would cover the mistake with ruthlessness. Perhaps this way might even work in her favor. The Enforcers might leave her alone if the Empress saw her as merely a rash, bloodthirsty fool rather than the master strategist she was; she thought she was. The other nobles might stop wasting her time with their petty polkas of political intrigue and she could work.

See, there you go Ruby! Always turning rain into rainbows! She smiled to herself as she headed back to the warm bed complete with one Lord Lucius Lot of Reinfeld.

Chapter 3 - Part IV

She made no secret of her actions once Cedric was safely out of the district. Undoubtedly Henri saw proof of his own dominance over his woman when she broke down and informed him that she had sent Cedric to warn her lover of the danger he would soon face from his cousin. Her confession, dribbled out between tears and sobs, that he traveled with only a few friends to save time, was made due to his fierce intimidation, not a woman's manipulation.

Convincing the man to seek revenge behind the mask of banditry was a little more difficult, but her husband did see reason to avoid having a lord of House Archne be seen as openly harassing travelers on the Empress's road.

And with this she would not need to await the birth of a left ear offspring and take control of the house under his name. Ruby, the Lade Genevieve, whore of the streets turned bride of the House Archne, would become its sole ruler. She could continue her work without the curiosity and accidental meddling of a man who saw the world in only one dimension. Her victory would be complete, and it would be now.

At least, that was what was supposed to happen. There were to be no survivors, none who could put the pieces of the puzzle together save for Lot and herself. But Cedric and the girl who yet lived would soon have one more role to play in Ruby's plan.

Lady Archne's guests were entertained, well fed and thirsty for blood. Now, she was well primed to deliver. The curvaceous noblewoman had initially found the news to be quite vexing. That Cedric and the female Outer Crestan still lived and breathed had made her livid. Had Garreth, the GuardHand, double-crossed her or was he simply inept? How did that filthy primitive Nü-creature survive battle hardened warriors of the highway?

That girl was Nü, right? The Nü are the ones with the golden eyes right? Can't keep track of all those Dagleth-cursed savaged tribes.

Ruby, not one to let misfortune slow her down, soon found luck in her failure. That the girl had no skill in the Eirdren tongue, or even in Lithenese or Sandoran meant she would be a fine, fleshy body to throw before the crowd. No secrets, no explanation, would cross her lips. She could die in front of the audience, sealing away Ruby's sin into the Nü's eternal guilt, and the Lady Archne could play the bereaved widow without concern. This was a welcome gift from Dagleth, seductive Keeper of Prosperity and Ambition.

And the bloodletting would culminate with her own as the Archne symbol was imprinted upon her left ear, finally matching the right. It wasn't that she despised her husband, he was a decent, if simple man. But he had become a nuisance to her goals and her work. And how she coveted his left ear, whispering softly upon his sensitive skin in the dark of night, arousing his passions for the chance to be so close to that delicious scent of freedom. The death of Henri, and those of Cedric and the girl were the necessary price of progress.

But now, Ruby grimaced, viewing the bodies strewn across the interlocking stonework of the dungeon floor, that boon had been revoked with interest. The center piece of her masterful choreography had been obliterated. The dead dance poorly.

Chapter 3 - Part III

Ruby's plan was simple, even moreso because the blunt and emotionally exposed man Henri proved himself to be time and time again, was at the center of it. The young lord has not been shy about displaying his possessive jealousy regarding his new, ivory wife.

He had been a man ill-suited for both the Dance and all other matters of the heart, so fate was cruel to him to have ever given the boy a place of power. Ruby had but to infer the slightest breeze of infidelity to cause the man to abandon reason for an unyielding thirst for retribution.

And thus the conductor begins to mark time.

Upon the death of his wife, the rural lord Lucius of House Lot, distant cousin to House Archne, had made it to the city of Eirdred to honor his wife and keep contact with his brethren.

The Unification Treaties signed generations ago with the Heilthian Scholar Emperor Ferl had bequeathed the lands that now made up the Eirdred Province to the 11 families of the city, but this was done at the cost of the autonomy of the plainsland and mountain peoples who never swore allegiance to Eirdred. Jealously guarding their prize, however, the 11 families quickly laid claim to parcels of choice territories which soon became a dumping ground for the second sons and daughters of a nobility trapped in the confines of city walls.

Rural lords eventually developed their own houses, but they often maintained close contact with the city lords that birthed them. The House Rienfield had dutifully performed upkeep on its relationship with House Archne from father to daughter, mother to son, so Lot's visit to Henri was not unexpected. His encounter with the young bride of Archne, on the other hand, was a most enjoyable diversion.

He almost pitied his cousin, a brash, naive man with a woman so painfully cunning and self aware, but the taste of forbidden fruit was simply too sweet. Indeed, the woman was to be savored all the more when she revealed to Lot her intentions to make their affair known to her husband, to provoke him into stupidity.

The orchestral prelude begins.

Over a period of months, Ruby had planted the seeds of jealousy and inadequacy in the mind of her lord-husband. She sent her personal chef, the private and perfectly reserved Cedric, on long journeys to Castle Reinfeld, harboring notes laced with confessions of obsession and deeds of the night.

Cedric was a quiet man, yet somehow Henri was able to happen upon one of these notes - an experiment in human behavior that resulted in precisely the reaction Ruby had been looking for. In a fit of rage he confronted the Lady Genevieve and her messenger as they discussed his next trip. Spittle gleaming on his lips, he spat out accusations and berated Ruby and without her coaxing, would have murdered the chef that night. Cedric's death would have been a disastrous outcome but for Ruby - maintaining her victim at a consistent level of anger was not an easy task. For her rescue effort she received more than a few bruises and was forced to cross boundaries of the flesh she had clung to for years.

But it was worth the effort. Henri responded like clockwork.

The next morning Lady Genevieve had solicited the services of an obscure, but well recommended group of foreign mercenaries who, in spite of their skill, would not be missed. Sending Cedric to Reinfeld Castle one last time would be his death sentence, but it could not be avoided.

Chapter 3 - Part II

And that is how she managed to become a right ear. Henri's heart and loins were malleable enough. An accomplishment that in her mind should have been considered a triumph of cleverness and skill was somewhat empty once acheived. In her adoptive world, the world of the Dance of Roses, her status as a right ear was a detriment, and one that should be remedied.

In a society that allows, and even encourages new and creative dancers on the stage, the path Ruby took was not unheard of. The anthology of rags to riches right ear stories was a heavy tome indeed. And while tales of social elevation were often elaborated into tales of mystical coercion or destiny, there were far more examples of men and women being in the right place at the right time; a chance meeting with a lonely Lady of the court, a serving girl's wifely qualities being noticed by her master.

It should never be said, however, that those in the Dance of Roses held no genuine affections. Stone does not dance well. The lords and ladies of the Dance were prone to succumb to pleasures of the flesh and heart the same as any man. An unwed noble son smitten with his maid was hardly expected to control his urges. He need only follow the proper steps to flow with the music.

But, as marriage was a requirement for any inheritance of title or deed, sometimes a quick wedding to a servant was the best way to secure succession, and there are many who seek to raise their lot in life. For every pleasant meeting and marriage between two genuine love birds, there were a dozen manipulated hearts and minds. A Lord or Lady Benefactor could mean the difference between a short life of struggle and a lavish life of privileged.

Not every person would view this path as advancement of course. In the cutthroat Dance of Roses, only the very ambitious or very naive willingly joined. An unambitious right ear would be wise to keep her head down and out of trouble, but Ruby was no such woman. With the talents and figure needed to ensnare the young Archne heir, Henri, she knew she could go further.

"Never trust a right ear." she overheard a maid chatter to her lady in waiting over tea. "If they were cunning and manipulative enough to win the hand of a true born left ear, there is no telling whose throat they will slit next for more power." Indeed, she was not far from the mark, for although the Eirdren nobility held a derogatory view of right ears, they were also fresh blood and they held the promise of a more entertaining dance. Castrating a right ear of agency and power was as much designed to coax the ambitious out of the confining box they were packing into as it was to limit untested influence.

In this life, there were two ways to become a left-eared noble; be born to a noble house, or gain control of one. As titles and land were in short supply in the well established hierarchy, particularly for the urban lords, the best way of acquiring such control was by taking it from your spouse, recently turned corpse.

The Dragon Age Books are still terrible

The Calling:

Like its predecessor, it is poorly written. Make note, I can forgive a fantasy novel for being poorly written. My first fantasy novel series, Raymond E. Fiest's Midkemia novels, were downright awful, writing wise. If the story, if the history, culture, and plot are good I can forgive a little bit of using the same words over and over again to describe difference scenes. I can forgive grammar errors and poor articulation. I loved those books. I still do. Pug, you have a sweet ass world.

The Dragon Age books, sadly, have neither.

Gaider never really gets the concept of translating video game into text. Fiest's novels were similar in that they had a video game counter part that did wonderfully on the market (Betrayal at Krondor is an old game, but from my generation, a well reviewed one.) Granted, he wrote the books first, and the game was created later, but the translation went a lot more smoothly.

Gaider tries to write the books as if we were describing the video game. Combat systems in a video game are just that: systems. A game will have much more combat in it than a book because that is one of the draws of a video game: using tactics and models to achieve the desired outcome. If a small band of people were to actually fight the hordes of darkspawn you meet in the Deep Roads in DAO, they would likely not make it out alive. Health potions will not take you from 0 to 100% health. Injury kits will not really bring you back from the dead. These are models created to simulate combat, but more importantly, add another aspect of fun to the game.

Any spell cast in the book can easily be attributed to a spell used in the game, down to the specific effect it has on the enemy or ally, which is often designed to deal with way more enemies than actually would be fought if you didn't have an unlimited supply of lyrium. When it comes to spells in fantasy novels, keep them rare, keep them mysterious, and keep them as something extraordinary. It should not be as easy to cast magic as it is to swing a sword.

In Fiest's case, it was a book turned into a game, whereas the Dragon Age books are books wrought from a game, so perhaps there is a little more difficulty in transition. But as I said in the previous post, the best way to honor and expand on the predecessor, DAO, is not to have the previous generation do all the things that the game focused on. This means, if you put the characters into the Fade during the game, which proves to be a great, interesting, and unique part of the game, having Maric and crew do the exact same thing does not enhance that experience. It degrades it.

Based on the books, I can only assume that every Fereldan has a demon trap them and their friends in the dream-like fade, only to have one of them have the fortitude and strength to break free of the dream and gather their allies one by one in their own respective dreams. This must be true.

Gah. Ok on to the meat of this.

Cast o' characters: Genevieve, Maric, Duncan, Fiona, redshirt meat shields, Utha, Bregan, The Architect

Genevieve: Commander of the Grey Wardens in Orlais, she comes to Maric to ask for his aid in finding her brother, Bregan, who went to the Deep Roads for his calling, but it turns out, is not dead yet. Now, am I the only one who thought the Grey Wardens join the Legion of the Dead or other dwarven parties when they went to their Calling? They didn't just go in alone? Well because if that is true, that idea was thrown out as an obstruction to the plot device. Bregan had gone in alone, but his "special connection" to his sister let her know he still lived.

This character is terribly drawn. She is either a hard-ass, or longing for quiet domesticity, which wasn't terrible in and of itself. She is painted as a woman, who, all her life all she wanted to do was become a Grey Warden. But to become a Grey Warden, her recruiter demanded her brother, Bregan, also become one. As he advanced in the ranks, jealousy ensued on her end, and resentment from him. This is not bad.

What is bad is that all the monotonous reiteration to paint her as she is, a battle hardened warrior who has inner personal issues but nonetheless remains committed at least to the cause of the Grey Wardens, in the last couple of chapters she just looses any credibility. She breaks form the party to confront Bregan, who is by now a darkspawn. When he tells her there is a way to end the blights (by making all humans in the world to drink the darkspawn blood, basically making everyone darkspawn eventually) she accepts this without question. She does not ask how the Architect and Bregan intend on ended blights. She just hears that they do. Are we really to believe she is the calculating commander the whole book tries to portray her as, but she does not ask this seemingly important information before deciding to side with the darkspawn? really?

Duncan: I never trusted Duncan in DAO. He pretty heartlessly recruited and killed Ser Jory and I never forgave him for that. When Alistair lamented Duncan's loss, I consoled him, but never actually said anything good about the man. I kinda wondered if he didn't actually have an insidious plan up his sleeve and we'd see zombie Duncan at the head of the darkspawn horde.

When you have different people thinking different things about a character, that is a good thing. It means they are complex individuals.

Thanks to this book, I no longer harbor any such suspicions. Apparently Duncan was an Orlesian-born, Rivanni blood thief in Orlais. Funny, his accent in DAO seemed pretty standard Fereldan to me. Also he was a theif who even after his induction into the Grey Wardens, simply enjoyed pick pocketing as much as he possibly could. He did this throughout the book. It is even a major plot device.

I lost so much respect for Duncan during this book.

Maric: Same as always, naive. Only this time he is king of Ferelden, yet somehow manages to evade all his palace guards and Loghain to join the quest alone. right.

Fiona: Since Maric never got over killing the woman who nearly destroyed everything he stands for (see previous post) he has to mope over her till the end of his days. Well, if he can't have an Orlesian elf bard, how about an Orlesian elf mage, grey warden? Her role in this entire book is to become Alistair's actual mother and let Maric be emo about Katriel.

Utha: Same comments as Genevieve. Gray warden, silent sister, yet at the mere mention of the existence of a plan by the darkspawn Architect to end the blight, she signs on, no questions asked.

Bregan: one dimensional character. From the start in his non-corrupted state to the end where he is a darkspawn, all he does is hate his sister for making him a gray warden. At the very end he attributes this to becoming a darkspawn and lets himself be killed. huh? Your every bitter thought really just because you are now a darkspawn, not because Gaider had one and only one purpose for writing you into existence?

The architect: I haven't played Awakening yet, but I hear he is important there. I have no opinion on him based on the books. He's a cylon, he's got a plan, got it. He also has no personality (which is fine) and Gaider manages still to annoy me with his recycled descriptive terms.


Ugh. I hate these books. On to something good. Time for the Game of Thrones.

The Dragon Age books are terrible

This blog was never supposed to be a forum for novel writing, it just fell into that state. If you read the first post ever, you'll see the intent was to simply talk about all things that interest me. From Gardening to Gaming.

So this is a critique of two books I just finished reading. I'll go line by line how they were terrible. However this blog can also be a good thing. For those interested, I have wrested the tidbits of good information in these books with chopsticks. One interested in the tales of Thedas can take this information without going through the drivel I have. I am saving you.

So yes, SPOILER ALERTS if you really are feeling masochistic and want to read the books.

1) The Stolen Throne by David Gaider

The first book begins with the death of the Rebel Queen, Alistair/Cailin's grandmother/ Maric's mother, and ends with Cailin's birth in a Ferelden recently liberated by Maric and crew. All of us who played Dragon Age: Origins (DAO) and read at least a handful of Codexes, and/or had the sound/subtitles turned on knows these two points in the history of Ferelden, and the idea of it served as a great plot mover and background in this complex game. There is no reason why getting from Point A to Point B had to be so bad.

The main characters: Maric, Loghain, Rowan

Lets begin here: character creation: DONE POORLY.

One gets the feeling that after DAO hit the market and made such a wonderful impression on a loyal fan base, including a plethora of Alistair Faingirls (I am one of them, it is true), David Gaider, masturbating to his own visage in the mirror, thought to himself, "I know how to make these books popular, I will make Alistair Part II! All of the girls will swoon and I shall make millions!"

Of course, time and time again George Lucas, *cough cough* I mean Mr. Gaider proves himself to be a victim of his own success. He took a collaborative work of art he had the major role in, and learned all the wrong lessons from it.

So lets get this straight. Alistair is NOT popular among the ladies because he once mentions cheese.

To recap the latter end of the lamppost conversation:

Alistair: "Ha ha ha. Your cruel interrogation will be remembered FOREVER. Or maybe just until lunch. Lunch makes everything better, oh look I have cheese!"

The quality of that particular line is not in his enjoyment of processed dairy products. It lies in painting his character as a defensive joker, someone who uses childlike excitement and humor to evade uncomfortable situations. Above all, his casual reference should not be inferred as a genetic trait.

Nonetheless, in both books we hear from Maric/King Maric about his love of cheese, and his dreams of Loghain and cheese.

Please. Put the cheese to rest.

Then there is Loghain. He was probably the least terribly drawn character only in that his book rendition did not detract from the game's rendition of him. That is to say, the boy Loghain did not negate the man Loghain. That also means he didn't exactly grow as a character.

Fine. Plenty of people never grow in their lifetime. I can accept that. What I cannot accept was how DAO, with its engaging storyline and twists and turns, is able to portray the friendship of Loghain and the then late Maric as a deep, brotherly relationship, but the book throws that away. That was the reason why Loghain's betrayal stung. That is why as he left Cailin, the only publicly known child of Maric, to die on the battlefield at the hands of a darkspawn orc, the player became entirely engrossed in the story. "What great wrong could have possibly occurred that would cause a man, so close to another man, essentially become the murderer of his son? Was he always evil? No, he couldn't have been if he had been brothers to the former king!"

It added complexity and mystery to the character that is Loghain. It made the player want to know more. And when it was time to choose whether Loghain was to live or die, it was part of that decision-making process. (for the record, I did kill Loghain, but if I could have kept Alistair with me and kept Loghain alive, I would have. So yes, I let Alistair slice up Loghain just so that Onion, my character, could keep having sweet sweet Alistair sex.)

Through out the book, however, the reader is never really given the impression that Maric and Loghain are close. Loghain begins by being highly annoyed, even threatening to the bumbling Maric. As time progresses, and the two are fighting side by side, and raising armies together, you get the sense that there could be something there.

Years of fighting together, or risking their lives for each other will burn away Loghain's cold veneer. As time goes on Maric will mature into a capable man Loghain will respect, as well as love!

At least that is how I hoped the story would progress in the early chapters. Just as token reference were being made to Loghain's warming feelings to his prince, even more quickly enter pieces in the story that cause him to dislike Maric more and more. I will get into these more later, but suffice to say this includes women and Maric's future role as king.

Maybe as a fan of the Aurbrey/Maturin series (think Master and Commander) I have elevated expectations of the portrayal of deep brotherly love, but the friendship of Maric and Loghain is sadly stillborn. By the end of book two the relationship between Loghain and Maric has not progressed past its state during the first half of book one. Loghain plays nursemaid to Maric's ascension to the throne, (pretty much in the same way the Warden does if you choose that path in DAO), and Maric plays the innocent philanderer to Loghain's displeasure.

Which brings us to our third main character: Rowan.

First, her father, Arl Rendorn, is essentially Arl Eamon Part II. Gaider has an obsession with turning character fathers into inferior copies of their sons. Because that always happens. That is the only way I can tell if people are related: they behave in the exact same way as their relative. This is not simply a matter of certain traits manifesting themselves in offspring. There is no hint of Eamon's or Cailin/Alistair's mothers actually contributing to their genetic make up. They are shallow versions of the same man.

Put bluntly, Arl Rendorn contributes to the plot in the exact same way that his son, Arl Eamon, does in DAO, minus the being poisoned by Loghain part. He is the right hand force trying to put the Therin back on the throne. Keeping the seed of Calenhad as the ruler of Ferelden is his main goal in life, regardless of the cost, regardless of any other viable options. He also serves and the tactical military adviser to Maric Therin. Ok ok. He does die 2/3rds of the way in the book. There, Rendorn and Eamon ARE different after all.

Rowan starts off as an admirable character, a la Eowyn of Lord of the Rings. She is strong, brave and skilled. She fights because she wants to and because she needs to, but she also has a side of her desperately searching for love. Having been betrothed to Maric since birth, she wants it from him. Even if Tolkien already did that, I can enjoy such a character.

Rowan didn't disappoint until the very end of the book. A quick synopsis:

Maric, Logain and Rowan build an army and secure Gwaren, the first town to be captured by the rebel forces since Maric's grandfather was defeated by the Orlesians. Hooray! things are looking up. An elven messenger from one of Maric's allies arrives. She is attacked, saved by Maric, and reports that the ally is dead, but that West Hill, a fort where money for the military arrives from Orlais, is ripe for the taking. In the meantime, Maric gets his white knight in shining armor complex on and humps the elf, Katriel.

They attack West Hill, but it turns out Katriel was actually a Bard from Orlais, a spy. She does everything she possibly can to make sure the rebel army is crushed until the very last minute, when her employer tells her that they were going to capture Maric, but now they decided it would just be better to kill him.

Oh, but the power of love! Katriel is so in love with Maric that while it was okay for him to be taken prisoner, paraded through Orlais and then be left to rot in a dungeon for the rest of his days, his being killed just won't do. Not that her change of colors helps the rebel army. Rendorn is killed, as are the vast majority of their forces, but oh the power of love comes just in time for Katriel to save Maric from his would-be assassins.

And a la Final Fantasy VIII, without any actual development of the Katriel-Maric relationship, the two form a love bond so deep it spans space and time itself.

So for all you romantics out there, here is the formula for lifelong love and obsession:

Katriel: Can I sleep with you?
Maric: Ok.
*hump hump hump*
I'm in love!

Obviously, when Rowan finds out about Katriel and Maric, she is sad. That is exactly her reaction. She is sad. She is also sad when Maric informs her that she is in love. Turns out she had a thing for Loghain anyway, but that is besides the point.

Maric mentions possibly making Katriel his queen and the reader can't help but see David Gaider getting a boner at the thought of all those tender teen girls lying awake at night, crying because they played Dalish or City Elf females and made Alistair King. But that is besides the point! DAO gave the player some tough choices to make, and what better way to enhance the story of DAO by making the previous generation make all those exact same choices all over again!

Then of course Loghain and Rowan find out that Katriel was in fact a spy and responsible for the deaths of thousands, including Rowan's father. They bring this to Maric's attention, and Maric kills Katriel. This act is referred to as a "mistake" by Maric all the way to the end of book two.

And here is also where Rowan fails. Pathetically. After Katriel is slain, in spite of the fact that the Bard nearly snuffed out the entirety of the rebel forces, in spite of the fact that her beloved father no longer exists due to this woman, her response to this all is to whine to Loghain, "But what if he really loved her?"

Is anybody supposed to take this character seriously? She is a battle hardened woman devoted to the cause of a) not being dead and b) removing the Orlesian usurpers, and all she thinks about is that her future husband might have loved a woman who lied to him at every turn? Really? Really?

Why is it that only the character on the extreme end of "devoid of any human sympathy"-spectrum (Loghain) is the ONLY character to feel that killing a spy that had already proven she was not to be trusted, was a good idea? I consider myself a pretty sympathetic person, but lets face it the bitch had to die.

Tomorrow: The Calling

Chapter 3 - Part I

With haste, slippers scuffled against stone and exotic silken pajamas, imported through the Independent Duchy of Vem, swayed down dank stairs more accustomed to tougher soles. Each descending stair brought a deeper understanding of the tolerance levels of the nose, but the young noblewoman was not a stranger to the stench of blood and decay. For although today she wore the soft garments of wealth and privilege, there was a time when she was fortunate to be wearing anything at all, especially in bed.

The carefully crafted hornet tattoo gracing her exposed ear identified her as a right ear noble - one who married into the house and remains its vassal, not its master. Like the name she had been forced to take upon her betrothal, Lady Genevieve Archne, life as a right ear was false. It was a mask, donned only to get through the ballroom doors and enter the dance.

Her ear had been an obstacle to her ambitions for awhile now, but there was a time when she could imagine no other flight of fantasy to be so impossible than to have that imprinted tattoo upon her person. Ruby, as she was known before her ascension into the ranks of the nobility, spent her youth among countless names, in places where the moon was queen. Death was never far from her doorstep; a doorstep that changed whenever her mother was able to secure a new patron. And when no patron could be found, Ruby's doorstep was the stone cobble of the streets.

Prior to Ruby's birth, her mother had much less difficulty in finding patrons, or at least could earn enough from clientele interested in only a night of pleasure. When Ruby came into her life, the game had changed. Her body was worn and the needs of her child cost her more freedom than coin. Her mother had never forgiven her for that.

Nonetheless, she had kept the two of them safe for sometime, landing a contract with one of the strongmen of the streets, almost feeling like a dutiful wife with child. To the men she serviced, however, Ruby's mother was ultimately only a possession - a toy to be used or discarded at whim.

Or abused.

The beatings were minor at first, but over time the young Ruby learned first hand that men could be a great many things, but most importantly, they could be a source of both pain and pleasure. Man as an object is a double edged sword that must be wielded carefully. The men of her mother's life were poisonous, offering far more risk than reward. The girl promised herself at an age earlier than she needed to be to truly understand the undertakings of her mother, that she would not make the same mistakes as her mother. She would pick out her conquests strategically.

Her mother had become a fool. She used the wrong men, sought frivolous things from them, and bowed to their will out of fear. Ruby, turned Genevieve when she earned that hornet tattoo, passed her fingers over her ear thoughtfully. The skills she employed to this day were those of her mother's and thousands of prostitutes before her since the Sundering. Charm, allure and a touch of deceit was all that was needed to survive in this world. To thrive required skill and strategy.

Chapter 2 - Part X

Onion could feel the flames licking her fingers and the blood ooze from wounds caused by the glass shards still buried in her palms. Yet still her blood burned her insides and before Onion could instinctively retract her hands from the fire, her sense of self returned.

Halfway to the floor, Gregor was behind her now, holding her limp body up solely by the strength of his arms, now wrapped around her torso. The burning sensation coursing through her body had traveled further up her spine and exploded in fireworks of molten agony and pain trickled down her arms, radiating from her fingertips.

The searing heat engulfed her heart and she lost sense of herself a second time. Gregor had to adjust himself as Onion flopped like a rag doll and he again had to support the full weight of the small, but substantial Nü. Cradling the girl close to the ground, he was close enough to notice that the mahogany skinned mercenary had stopped breathing.

Once again Onion found sentience in a consciousness of another - if the congealing fog within her head could be considered consciousness. However, it was not Anita from whom she saw herself now. Blackness had enveloped her in a suffocating blanket and the stale stench of old blood and death accomplished hours ago permeated the nostrils. She was back in the dungeon.

The stone floor was cold and slick. Onion could feel the blood draining from the body, emptying every organ and flowing like a spring creek from the neck. The limp tongue had dropped into the coalescing pool of red and Onion could feel the life force essence coast the lips as it faded.

As Gregor began to set the motionless Onion on the floor, she gasped and returned to herself. She had just enough time to feel her boiling blood pump suffering up her neck and soon her face too was on fire.

Onion's body, blanched with white hot heat, was at a breaking point. For the last time, she left her body to its misery.

Her body was truly lost to her now, but the spirit roams on. Again, Onion became aware of her immobile existence in the decaying carcass, but the pain was muted in this incarnation. The body had ceased hemorrhaging blood, though it remained lifeless.

Constriction, not of the soul, but of the body, collapsed on Onion's existence like an olive press. She felt the corpse fold in on her, though never to the point of crushing. Cheek still flat against the unforgiving stone, she felt an unnatural sense of self when the pressure had ceased. If she could move she might even run her fingers through her hair one last time before...

Come Back! a voice called out to her, weak at first. Come back or you will perish! It pulled at her soul and tore Onion away from the rotting flesh and into oblivion.