Dragon Age Inquisition Fereldan Lock Novels & Stories

I stepped closer, drawn by a strange, magnetic pull. As I stood inches from the threshold, a sudden draft blew through the microscopic gap between the black oak and the stone frame. It wasn't the clean, freezing pine air of the mountain outside. It was a cold, unnatural chill that carried a faint, disturbing scent: old iron, copper, dried herbs, and something darker—something that smelled faintly like ozone and dried blood. I stared at the padlock. Etched deep into its dark surface were ancient Lycan runes, faint and glowing with a dull, ember-like light that pulsed softly in the dark alcove.

“Ferandis was not a very nice man.” “No,” he was amused. “He is most likely fictional, but nonetheless.” “What happens next? Does she submit?” “She is a Fae woman,” he replied with amusement. “She pretends to submit but draws a dagger from her pillow and kills Ferandis. She has her servants parade his body through the streets of their city declaring his attempted crime.” “I like Elovyn. Why is it titled the Deceit of Elovyn, then?”

But no one had been daring to walk in there and find out what was going on. “The werewolves are preparing to take over.” “Make way!” Dale yelled as he braced himself ready to jump into the proverbial burning bush and then he did. Since this area of the courtyard was fenced off, it was hard to get a peek at what was going on. It was rarely used and was commonly known as the hangout spot for the inferior race in the pack. But all Dale found when he charged in was a thick spiral tornado of shadow. It didn't take long for Feria to get thrown out of the storm. Her sword had been broken and she looked to be in great pain. She grunted, falling onto her back.

Thus their next stop would be the great port city of Ildra, the jewel of the eastern sea and gateway to the lost kingdom. As they approached the border of the elven territory many villages they passed by gave praise and thanks to the heroes, especially to Berfomet who earned a new title the Dragon of the Black moon. Berfomet was disgusted with the amount of worship he received from the elves but he allowed it for their sakes. With about a week after leaving the elven territory, Berfomet made adjustments to the Terrabreaker sword to allow Kent to use it at a later time.

The air was thick with tension, Kael and Thorne were mid-argument. “We confront them before they vanish again,” Kael was saying, voice sharp. Thorne slammed a hand against the table. “And leave the south open? That’s what Draven’s counting on—” The doors closed behind me, cutting them off. Every eye followed me to the table. I set the feather down first, then the stone. Elder Darius stepped forward. His gaze lingered on the feather before he spoke. “Shadowfang’s calling card.” His voice was even, but the weight behind it filled the room. “It means they were

“Hold it? This isn’t a fortress—it’s a tomb.” “Then we make it theirs,” Mireya said coolly. A dark figure appeared at the treeline, his silhouette unmistakable—tall, broad, his cloak dragging through the frost. Behind him, an army of wolves in half-shifted form fanned out across the ridge. Eryndor. He stepped forward with measured calm, his amber eyes glowing faintly under the silver sky. “Kaelen,” he called, his voice carrying easily through the still air. “Still standing, I see. How stubborn.”

“Don’t… let me die.” Kaelen clasped her hand with both of his, forcing his voice steady. “I won’t. I swear it, Selera. I’ll find a way.” He whipped toward Draven. “Tell me there’s a cure.” Draven hesitated. “There may be. A rare herb, used to counteract venom. But it’s deep within Ironfang territory. The herbalist there his name is Carlos, I guarantee he is very formidable. He alone might have what we need.”