DAI: Becoming The Inquisitor

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Daniel and Solas who sat on the edge of the village well, watching the festivities, the weight of the day refused to lift.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the village square as Daniel moved between the wounded soldiers. The healers had done good work—clean bandages wrapped the arrow wounds, poultices of elfroot and spindleweed dulled the pain, and most of the injured men were already sitting up, joking weakly with one another as they broke their fast.

The young recruit who'd been sick after the battle—Reynard, his name was Reynard—looked up as Daniel approached. His face was still pale, but his eyes were clear. "Herald," he said, trying to stand.

Daniel waved him down. "At ease, soldier. How's the leg?"

Reynard grimaced, touching the bandage around his thigh. "Sister Margot says I'll walk straight again. Eventually."

A chuckle came from the next cot over. The grizzled veteran—Sergeant Alrik—took a swig from his waterskin. "Told you, boy. Takes more than an arrow to put down a Fereldan."

Daniel smiled faintly. Alrik had been one of the first to join the Inquisition after Haven's destruction. His left hand was missing two fingers—a souvenir from the Blight, he claimed.

"You'll ride in the wagons today," Daniel told Reynard. "No arguments."

The young man opened his mouth to protest, but Alrik cut him off. "Listen to the Herald, pup. Pride won't heal your wounds."

As Daniel moved to the next group of wounded, he caught snippets of conversation—some recounting the battle, others speculating about Val Royeaux. A few glanced at him with something like awe, whispering about how he'd "summoned fire from the earth" to rout the bandits.

He forced himself to keep walking.

The last wounded soldier was a woman named Mariel, one of Leliana's scouts. She'd taken a dagger to the ribs during the fight, but the village healer had stitched her up cleanly.

"You'll live?" Daniel asked, crouching beside her cot.

Mariel smirked. "Disappointed?"

"Ecstatic. We need every scout we can get."

Her expression sobered. "Herald... before I blacked out, I saw something. That templar wasn't just commanding the bandits. He was marking them."

Daniel stilled. "Marking?"

"Brands. On their wrists. Like... like cattle." She shuddered. "I've seen the like before, in Kirkwall. Templars used them on apostates they couldn't break."

A cold weight settled in Daniel's gut. Slave marks.

He patted Mariel's shoulder. "Rest. We'll talk more when you're stronger."

As he straightened, Cassandra appeared at the mill's entrance, her armor gleaming in the morning light. She didn't speak, but the set of her shoulders said enough.

Time to go.

Daniel found Cassandra by the village well, poring over a map with Varric and Solas. The dwarf was uncharacteristically serious, his usual smirk absent.

"—if we push hard, we can reach the Imperial Highway by nightfall," Cassandra was saying as Daniel approached.

Varric shook his head. "With wounded? That's twenty miles of rough terrain."

"We don't have a choice. Every delay—"

"Every delay risks more ambushes," Daniel finished, joining them. "But exhausted soldiers are dead soldiers."

Cassandra's jaw tightened, but she didn't argue.

Solas traced a finger along the map. "There is another way. The old pilgrim's path through the hills. Longer by leagues, but less traveled. Fewer eyes to report our movements."

Varric snorted. "Also fewer inns. And more wolves."

"Wolves I can handle," Daniel muttered. He studied the map. The pilgrim's path wound through the foothills, avoiding main roads. It would add days to their journey, but... "We take the path. Better slow and unseen than fast and dead."

Cassandra exhaled sharply but nodded. "Very well. We leave at noon."

As the others dispersed, she caught Daniel's arm. "A word?"

They stepped aside, near the well's shadow. Cassandra's voice was low, urgent. "Daniel, these wounded—they're slowing us down. If we're attacked again..."

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair. "But we don't leave our people behind. That's not what the Inquisition stands for."

"And if saving eight soldiers costs us Val Royeaux? Costs us the Chantry's support?"

The question hung between them, heavy as a sword.

Daniel met her gaze. "Then we'll find another way. But we don't abandon our own."

For a moment, he thought she might argue. Then, to his surprise, Cassandra bowed her head. "As you say, Herald."

The title didn't sound like surrender. It sounded like respect.

The villagers of Montfort gathered to see them off, pressing last-minute gifts into the soldiers' hands—loaves of bread, wheels of cheese, even a few hastily stitched cloaks for the coming mountain cold.

The mayor clasped Daniel's hand. "Maker watch over you, Herald. If ever you pass this way again..."

"We'll stop for the wine," Varric promised, hefting a cask onto the supply wagon. "Assuming the Seeker hasn't drunk it all by then."

Cassandra shot him a glare, but there was no heat in it.

As the column formed up—scouts ahead, wounded in the center, rearguard watching their backs—Daniel took one last look at the village. Children waved from the gates. An old woman made the sign of the Chantry.

This is what we're fighting for.

Not just the grand cathedrals or the Game of Orlesian nobles. But this—simple folk who just wanted to live without fear.

"Ready?" Cassandra asked, mounting her charger.

Daniel adjusted the Staff of the Dragon across his back. "Let's move."

Daniel nudged his horse, Max, forward as the Inquisition column began its slow march toward the pilgrim's path. The warhorse—a massive Fereldan destrier with a coat like burnished copper—snorted and tossed his head, eager to move after days of hard riding and little rest. Daniel patted his neck absently, his mind still turning over Mariel's words. Brands on their wrists. Like cattle.

Cassandra guided her own mount alongside him, her dark charger matching Max's stride with ease. She didn't speak at first, her gaze fixed on the winding trail ahead, where the first scouts had already disappeared into the tree line. But he could feel the tension in her silence.

After a long moment, she finally spoke. "Are you certain about this path, Daniel?"

He didn't look at her. "You asked me that already."

"And you gave me an answer as a leader. I'm asking now as your friend."

That made him glance her way. Cassandra's face was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—not doubt, not disapproval, but concern.

He exhaled. "If we push the main road, we make Val Royeaux in three days. But at what cost? The wounded will suffer. The soldiers will be exhausted. And for what?" His grip tightened on the reins. "The Chantry's already denounced us. Do you really think marching in half-dead will change their minds?"

Cassandra's jaw worked. "It's not just about the Chantry. Every day we delay is another day the Breach grows. Another day rogue templars gather strength. Another day the people lose faith."

"And if we arrive broken and bleeding, what then?" Daniel countered. "The Grand Clerics won't see an Inquisition worth respecting. They'll see desperate heretics limping to their doorstep."

Ahead, the path narrowed, forcing them to ride single-file for a stretch. Varric, who had been eavesdropping from behind, took the opportunity to chime in. "For what it's worth, I'd rather show up fashionably late than not at all. Orlesians love a dramatic entrance."

Cassandra shot him a glare over her shoulder. "This isn't one of your stories, Varric."

"No, but it is politics." The dwarf shrugged. "And in politics, perception is everything. Arrive weak, and they'll treat you like a beggar. Arrive strong..." He trailed off meaningfully.

Solas, riding a few paces back, added quietly, "There is also the matter of the templars. If they are indeed branding their followers, we may face more than simple bandits on the main road."

Daniel didn't miss the way Cassandra's shoulders stiffened at that. The idea that templars—her templars, once—could be enslaving men was a bitter pill. But she didn't argue.

Instead, she exhaled sharply and said, "Five days, then. But we push hard. No unnecessary stops."

Daniel nodded. "Agreed."

The trail was as rough as promised. Ancient cobblestones, worn smooth by centuries of pilgrims' feet, peeked through patches of overgrown grass. The trees pressed close, their branches weaving a canopy that turned midday sun into dappled shadows. It was beautiful, in a lonely sort of way—the kind of road that made a man feel small beneath the weight of history.

But beauty didn't make the journey easier.

By noon, the first complaints started. The wagons, though sturdy, jolted over uneven terrain, jostling the wounded despite the healers' best efforts. Reynard bit back a cry as the cart hit a particularly deep rut, his face going gray with pain.

Daniel called a halt.

"We rest here. Fifteen minutes."

Cassandra opened her mouth—probably to argue—but Alrik cut her off. "Good call, Herald. The boys could use a breather."

The veteran's tone left no room for debate. Cassandra's lips thinned, but she nodded curtly and dismounted to check on the scouts.

Varric hopped down from his horse with a groan. "Andraste's dimpled cheeks, my back's killing me. Who decided horses were a good idea?"

"Civilization," Solas said dryly, though he too flexed his shoulders with a wince.

Daniel left them to their grumbling and made his way to the wagons. Reynard was sweating, his hands clenched around the edges of his cot.

"Still think you can walk it off?" Daniel asked, offering a waterskin.

The recruit took it with a shaky laugh. "Maybe tomorrow."

Mariel, propped up beside him, smirked. "Don't lie to the Herald, pup. You'd faint before you took three steps."

Reynard flushed but didn't deny it.

Daniel crouched beside them. "Mariel. Those brands you mentioned—"

Her smile vanished. "Yeah."

"Could you sketch them?"

She hesitated, then nodded. Daniel handed her a scrap of parchment and a charcoal stick from his pocket. Her fingers trembled slightly, but the lines she drew were clear: a twisted sunburst, its rays ending in jagged hooks.

Daniel's blood went cold. "You're sure?"

"Seen it before," she muttered. "Kirkwall, like I said. Templars used it on mages who wouldn't... comply."

Reynard looked between them, confused. "What does it mean?"

"It means," Daniel said quietly, folding the parchment into his belt, "that our rogue templar friend wasn't acting alone."

They made camp as dusk painted the sky in shades of violet and gold. The pilgrims' path offered little in the way of comforts—no inns, no proper shelters—but Solas found a clearing near a shallow stream, its banks soft with moss.

Daniel helped set the perimeter, his staff glowing faintly as he warded the edges of camp with simple alarm spells. Not as good as a watch, but better than nothing.

Cassandra found him as he finished. "You should rest."

"So should you."

She ignored that. "The brands. They trouble you."

Daniel stared into the darkening trees. "They should trouble everyone."

A pause. Then, softer: "They do."

He glanced at her. In the fading light, Cassandra looked exhausted, the lines around her eyes deeper than usual. The firelight caught the silver streaks in her hair, making her seem older than her years.

"You trained with templars," he said. "Is this... normal?"

Her grip on her sword hilt tightened. "No. Branding is forbidden. Or it was." She exhaled. "But the Order is broken, Daniel. What remains may bear little resemblance to what once was."

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken grief. Cassandra had believed in the templars once. Had been one, in all but name. To see them fall so far...

Daniel didn't know what to say. So he settled for honesty. "We'll stop them."

Cassandra met his gaze. Held it. Then nodded, just once, and walked away.

Daniel nearly jumped out of his skin when Varric's voice cut through the quiet night air. "Well, the Seeker looks troubled."

"Maker's breath, Varric!" Daniel hissed, pressing a hand to his chest. "Don't sneak up on a man like that."

The dwarf smirked, leaning against a nearby tree with all the casual grace of a cat. "What, and miss that priceless look on your face? Never." He nodded toward Cassandra's retreating form. "But seriously. She's got that 'I'm contemplating the downfall of everything I once believed in' look. Not a good color on her."

Daniel sighed, rubbing his temples. "The templars were her family, Varric. Seeing them like this..."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Varric pushed off the tree and moved to stand beside him, his usual humor giving way to something more thoughtful. "But here's the thing—the Order's been rotting from the inside for years. Kirkwall proved that. The Breach just tore off the pretty veneer."

Daniel studied the firelight flickering across the dwarf's face. There was an old pain there, one that went deeper than his usual jabs at authority. "You think there's any hope for them?"

"Hope?" Varric snorted. "Sure. But not as they are. The Templar Order as we knew it? That's done. But people?" He shrugged. "People can change. Or at least, the good ones can."

Daniel turned the words over in his mind. "Then we find the good ones. Templars, mages—it doesn't matter. If they're willing to stand against the chaos, they're worth saving."

Varric grinned. "Now that sounds like the makings of a proper Inquisition."

The pilgrim's path had been mercifully quiet. No bandits. No demons. Just the steady rhythm of travel—days spent navigating winding trails, nights spent under stars that seemed too bright for a world on the brink of collapse.

But on the fourth evening, as they made camp on a ridge overlooking the Valley of Val Royeaux, the air changed. The scent of woodsmoke and sewage drifted up from the city below, a far cry from the crisp mountain air they'd grown accustomed to.

Cassandra joined Daniel at the overlook, her armor gleaming in the fading light. "Tomorrow, we arrive."

Daniel exhaled slowly. "Any word from Leliana's people?"

"Some." Her jaw tightened. "The Chantry's rhetoric grows louder. They've called for an Exalted March against the Inquisition."

"Against us?" Daniel barked a humorless laugh. "While demons pour out of the sky?"

"Precisely because demons pour out of the sky," Solas said, appearing as if summoned by their conversation. "Fear makes men seek simple enemies. And what is simpler than heretics?"

Varric, who had been sharpening his knives nearby, whistled low. "Well, this just keeps getting better."

Daniel stared down at the city—its towering spires, its glittering bridges, the Grand Cathedral looming over all like a gilded fist. Somewhere in that den of snakes and silk, they'd either find allies or make enemies powerful enough to bury them.

Cassandra followed his gaze. "We will need to be careful."

"That's one way to put it," Varric muttered.

Daniel flexed his marked hand. The Anchor pulsed faintly, a reminder of why they'd come. "Careful won't be enough. We need to be smart."

Daniel rubbed his chin, the faint stubble rough beneath his fingers. "We need the people of Val Royeaux on our side, not just the Chantry. If the citizens see us as protectors rather than heretics, it won't matter what the Grand Clerics say."

Cassandra crossed her arms, the firelight casting sharp shadows across her face. "And how do you propose we do that? The Chantry controls the narrative. If they denounce us publicly—again—the people will listen. They always do."

Varric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Not necessarily. People might listen to the Chantry, but they believe what they see. If we give them a reason to trust us—something tangible—they might start questioning what they're being told."

Solas, who had been quietly stirring the campfire with a long stick, spoke without looking up. "The people are afraid. The Breach, the demons, the chaos—they want safety. If we can offer that, even in small ways, they will listen."

Daniel nodded. "Exactly. We don't need to win over the Chantry right away. We just need to show Val Royeaux that we're not the monsters they've been told we are."

Cassandra's frown deepened. "And how do you intend to do that? Walk through the streets healing the sick? Handing out bread to the poor?"

Daniel met her gaze. "If that's what it takes."

A beat of silence passed. Then Varric chuckled. "I like it. Nothing wins hearts faster than free food and miracles."

Cassandra sighed, rubbing her temple. "It's not that simple. The Chantry will spin it as manipulation. They'll say we're buying loyalty or using magic to deceive."

"Then we make sure they can't," Daniel countered. "We do it openly. No secrets, no tricks. Just help where it's needed. Let the people decide for themselves."

Solas tilted his head. "A sound strategy. But it will require patience. And restraint."

Daniel smirked. "So, no setting the Grand Cathedral on fire?"

Varric grinned. "Pity."

Cassandra shot them both a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. After a moment, she exhaled sharply. "Fine. We try it your way. But if the Chantry turns the crowd against us—"

"Then we retreat," Daniel said firmly. "No fighting in the streets. No bloodshed. We walk away before it escalates."

Cassandra studied him for a long moment, then gave a reluctant nod. "Tomorrow, then. Val Royeaux will see the Inquisition for what it truly is."

Daniel looked back toward the city, its distant lights flickering like stars trapped in a gilded cage.

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Name : Daniel Carter

Race: Elf

Level 5 : 2475/2500 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