Sisters of Tevinter

Mercy's Crest

           Cassandra had retrieved the supplies and walked with the Chargers and the soldiers to the camp they had established on a small overlook. The wounded were treated and disappeared into tents for a well deserved rest. 

            Jor was sitting in the grass, leaning against a barrel and watching the ocean heave and churn in frothing waves of silver and blue. She'd never seen the ocean before, much less touched it. She should've savored it on the shore. A raindrop slid down her nose, her drenched hair clung to her neck. She didn't mind. This land was much different from the Hinterlands. Cold, bracing, without even a hint of familiarity. 

              She loved it. 

             The others had ducked under tarps erected against the mountains. Varric was sitting next to a snoozing Dane, Kaisen's arm draped over the mabari as she sat beside him, talking in animated tones. Varric kept laughing. Cassandra had found herself a quiet corner, cleaning her sword. The Chargers were arrayed around small, flickering fires, casks cracked open at their feet. 

              Solas was no where to be seen. 

              Jor wondered briefly where the mage had gone, but no one seemed worried by his absence. She tilted her head back to relish the rain. Soft footsteps squelched in the mud. A dwarf in a heavy hood strode over, her head bent against the downpour. "My lady." 

               The scholar looked up. "Yes?" 

               "I am Scout Harding, it's a pleasure to meet you, my lady." She smiled wryly. "Welcome to the Storm Coast." 

               "Thank you. Nice to meet you too." Jor smiled back softly. "How can I help you?"

              "You're in a good mood. The Crow told me to be careful asking you favors." Harding tugged at her hood, seeming amused. 

               "The Crow spouts lies wherever she goes," Jor said flatly. "What is it?" 

               "The bandits that attacked us. They've intercepted other shipments of supplies..." Harding's expression darkened. "And eradicated the couriers." 

                Jor straightened. "No survivors?" 

               Harding shook her head, rainwater dripping in streams from her hood. 

               "What can you tell me?" 

               "They're calling themselves the Blades of Hessarian. Some kind of cult. They don't like outsiders, and they're making it very clear. Their leader believes you to be some kind of blasphemer, a false icon out to take his land and the reach over this area of Thedas." 

                "What can I do." 

                Harding frowned. "They have this... ritual. A right of challenge. If you were to defeat the leader in single combat, the others would lay down their arms and follow you."

                 Jor scowled. "Single combat. Right." 

                 "It's true." The scout shrugged. "We've located their basecamp. To get there unharmed, you'd need a symbol of intent. In this case, the Mercy's Crest." 

                  "Go on." 

                   "A pendant of amber and gold, in the shape of the Blade's emblem." 

                    "I don't suppose we have one off hand." 

                    "As a matter of fact..." Harding grinned and tugged a thick gold chain from her sleeve. "We just crafted one."