Dragon Age: The Rite of Passage

Rite of Passage: Chapter One

Like thunder gathering high above him, the cheers of all in attendance grew to a fevered pitch. The shouts and screams of riotous clamor filling the great Orlisian Coliseum with a joyous anticipation; the like of which threatening to rival his own.

Spurring his mount onward, Tristan Pentaghast lifted his sword high into the air in acknowledgment of the crowd as Nevarra custom warranted. Making his way to the center of the arena he sheathed his blade and saluted all present.

"I have to admit, the use of the Inquisitor's helmet was a nice touch," Ambassador, Lord Dorian Pavus said looking down on the spectacle below. "Your champion doesn't look half bad considering."

"Considering what, sparkles," Lord Varric Tethras said, biting into a haunch of boar meat, allowing the juices to run down his fingers.

Offering the dwarven commissioner a handkerchief, "His association with you for starters," Dorian sighed. "I guess the fact he's listed among some of the best warriors in Thedas should also bear mentioning."

"The helm was a gift from the Inquisitor himself," High Lord Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast said, seated next to the Venatori Ambassador and Kirkwall's Provisional Viscount on the lower balcony of the coliseums' high stands. "He thought it would help the boy's confidence. Yet, it may only serve to add undo pressure. Surely Tristan is anxious enough; given the notoriety of those in attendance."

Sipping Orlesian spice wine, "Not everyone cringes in fear of a little recognition Lord Seeker," Varric said. "Besides, you should have more faith in our abilities; we did train him after all."

"I for one think he'll do fine given his showing thus far. It is no small feat for a boy of sixteen to have won a place on the closing list among men twice his age and with untold combat experience."

"Yeah, but he did it with his skills in archery Dorian," Varric stated. "That said; if he can manage to avoid Du'pont until the end...he may outlast the others in the final melee. With any luck, that bastard will be eliminated before our boy enters the inner circle."

"I pray the Maker your right Varric," Lady Cassandra said turning her attention to the field. "It will devastate Tristan should he be expelled too soon."

"They seem to favor you, boy," Sir Donavan Hoggal Trillius said hearing the crowd swell at Tristan's approach.

Removing his helm, clearing long wet strands of raven-black hair from his eyes, "Then I shall not disappoint them, Sir," the young knight said patting his horse's neck; the chestnut colored Fereldan Forder snorting loudly as it veered away from Sir Donavan's dracolisk.

Sitting atop a Basking Longma dracolisk, the lizard like mount adorned in blood red battle armor to match its master; Sir Donavan wore a helm crafted to resemble a cretahl. A hideous ancient beast, cretahl's were known for smashing their prey with a horned head before consuming both flesh and bone. Unmistakable, the level of Tevinter craftsmanship was apparent; Tristan noting the various scrollwork engraved in the enormous knight's helm, gauntlets, pauldrons and gardbrace above his right shoulder.

Warriors all, the twenty plus men and women competing in today's purging ceremony were some of the finest combatants in Thedas. Soldiers, mages and freelancers alike, all had been lured into the contest with the hope of wealth, prestige and honor; many backed by noble houses seeking favor and recognition amongst their peers. A three-week tournament drawing anyone of note to Orlais in the Exalted Plains, the games were a way to unite Thedas after the defeat of Corypheus. Established by the Chantry three years following, the games were held to celebrate the end of the Time of Attrition. The period of time when the arcane Tevinter Magister threated to bring about the end of the world for what many believed to be his second attempt. Looking up at the large rainbow like ribbon slashing the sky, a reminder of the fade rift that almost destroyed the world ten years earlier, Tristan recalled the various stories Lord Varric had recounted during their endless training sessions. Centered on the dwarven lord's time with the Inquisition, Tristan found his tales to be somewhat farfetched; given Lord Varric's penchant for embellishment. Only a child of five years during the great cataclysm, the young knight could still recall the many letters sent to his father by his aunt Cassandra. Wishing to spare the family the worry and concern they felt; given the reports and rumors surrounding the death of the Divine Justinia, she had been elusive in her description of events. In her correspondence she made little mention of the blight covering the land and the fall of Corypheus. Sheltered from any knowledge regarding the breach in the sky, Tristan never knew how close the end of the world had come.