I was a little freaked out at first, but breakfast was fine after I calmed down. Turtle soup is delicious. 

After breakfast, Andy spent a few hours making sure I could hijack the summoning like I did yesterday. It was fairly easy now that I figured out the method I could use. Finally. It took me long enough that I got fairly frustrated.

 Andy, being the goddess of Magic, could have shown me at least a thousand spells to do it. But that wouldn't have forced me to practice my control over raw mana at the same time. It's the fundamentals of magic, the little things, that has the biggest impact on mages whether they know it or not. What you do with even the smallest bit of your power affects you as a person.

Some spells are corrupt, for example, and change the caster as they are used. That spell you forced a mad demon to teach you as an apprentice Mr. Lich-ass? It's why you're an insane psychopath instead of just a regular psychopath. Corrupt spells, especially demonic ones, force your mind and spirit into certain patterns to manipulate the mana and make the spell work. Essentially, using demon magic turns you into a demon by inches, each use of a spell tweaking your mind and soul just a teeny bit. It's all in how the spell uses your mana.

It's not surprising, mana flows into the body from the soul after all, though whether the body can actively make use of that mana is determined by Fate or Luck. Sometimes Magic, but she doesn't fiddle with natural talents often. She prefers to make people work for their successes as much as possible. Something I only like about her when she's not training me. 

Don't get me wrong, I love her. She's family, my literal God-mother. But this lady will take you to the limit of your ability. Once you hit that limit, that wall holding back your progress, she hammers away at you until either the wall breaks or you do. As a reslult, I've made "insane progress" as a mage.

I know this because when I told technology how quickly I learned a few spells, he looked at me like I'd told him I spent the last evening trying to seduce a dragon, succeeding, and surviving to tell the tale without gaining a limp. We didn't chat long though... I can't easily relax around him now and he's mostly keeping his distance. He checks in every now and again though, to make sure I'm alright, something to do with a promise he made that he won't talk to me about.

He also refuses to re-activate my interface. Another thing he won't talk about, aside from calling my AI a, "Stubborn Bitch," anyway. It would be nice to know what kind of progress I'm making, but Andy said it's probably a good thing I don't have the interface right now.

Apparently it tends to shoehorn spells and mana patterns into standardised slots. Great for most novices who's primary goal is not blowing themselves up, but she's trying to cram as much expertise and finesse into my mana manipulation as possible. Skills the system tends to offer limited experience in, except for high-level or specialized mages crafting customized spells.

So far I've learned all the basic spells that can be used for things like cooking, cleaning, bathing, and such as well as several elemental shields, a couple of alarm and protection wards, and a smattering of basic attack spells. While I've only learned as many spells as an apprentice, the power, efficiency, and control I have over them would qualify me as a senior adept or possibly journeyman by Andy's estimate. 

The different ranks for mages are, Spark, Novice, Mage Apprentice, Adept, Journeyman Mage, Master Mage, Archmage, and Archon, though some cultures use the term "Wizard" instead of "Mage." Semantics, really. 

Sparks are fairly common as it's basically anyone who can use their mana at all, though some Sparks have unique abilities that can't be replicated by other mages. Those Sparks generally don't have any other magical abilities, however, and are usually unable to cast even basic spells. 

An Archon is the opposite of a Spark in that they can use any and all magical abilities with enough time and study, and are occasionally able to replicate unique talents. Generally, an Archon isn't recognized as such until they reach the rank of Archmage and discover that, unlike their peers, they don't reach an upper limit in power and ability.

According to the Goddess of Magic herself, every spark can become a mage and every mage can become an Archon. They just have to work hard enough for it, though some will have to work harder. They also have to, "Start taking some damn initiative and push their abilities until they understand them instead of whining about natural talent!"

Aside from spells, Magic also taught me to conjur objects and enchant basic items to train up my mana manipulation.

So far I've used the conjuring and enchanting to make a few survival-oriented objects.

First, I crafted a canteen that uses ambient mana to refill itself with clean water and even heat it up to boiling if needed for cooking or cleaning. It's also bigger on the inside, holds up to ten gallons, and with a little extra mana it can transmute it's contents into tea, some kind of fruit juice, and a few different kinds of liquor. Magic "helped" me with that last part though...by snatching the canteen out of my hands and rearranging the runes before the power settled into them.

My second project was basically self cleaning underwear. I designed it after military underarmor for the Mechanized Infantry's power suits in Henry's life. It's basically a skin-tight thick silk jumpsuit that covers me from the neck down aside from my hands, can change colors to match other clothing, self cleans, self repairs, and changes temperature automatically based on my needs. I made it self cleaning and self repairing, Magic did the rest. It's indescribably comfortable, feels like I'm walking around naked again though. But that's why it's underwear.

The third thing I made was actually useful enough on it's own that Magic didn't snatch it out of my hands and fiddle with it, though she did make herself a copy of it with more options as a gift for Technology. He's been moping a bit. It was a ring that would conjur small objects, mostly small tools like screwdrivers, a collapsable shovel, a hatchet, etc, but also throwing knives, a working flint and steel, cookware, rope, and a block and tackle. It absorbs power each day from the sunrise every morning and can maintain any two items by itself for about fourteen hours. More than two objects at once requires an outside mana supply or the ring will break, possibly explosively.

I also made myself a set of clothes that look alright, self clean, and can slightly change color and shape. I had to put my foot down to keep Andy from turning it into full-blown magical body armor. She didn't even use mana to change my other projects, just nudged the enchantment up to a higher level with her influence, but she wanted to turn my new set of clothes into full blown Objects of Power. My clothes, the ones I made for travelling and getting dirty.

I probably wouldn't have cared except for two things.

First, she'd have blown at least a decade's worth of mana on it. Mana she can't get back. Mana she needs to live. That's the only objection that I needed to say no, but she wouldn't listen even though it was just her own godsdamn limited lifespan she'd be using.

The second reason was that she'd be providing me, her "mortal" champion, with direct assistance in the form of several Objects of Power and thus allowing all of her rivals to provide their own champions, that I'd eventually face in battle, with equivalent objects. Objects of Power made by the nastiest, evilest, slimiest gods... We both agreed that, possibly literal, can of worms is best left alone, thank you kindly.

I'm a little worried though, Andy stopped mid word and called for an update from the Avatar that'll be teaching me after I interrupt the Demon Summoning Ritual of Nastiness. The cultists of Kzaernobog, the Lich-face asshole, were originally going to perform the ritual at an ancient battlefield in a few more days. Instead, they met some Imperial forces who were on their way to reconquer a city that refused to worship the shiny new God of Darkness, Pain, Death, Slavery, Cannibalism, Necromancy, Slime, Body Odor, Mold, Stinky Feet, and Evil Leprechauns that the Emperor has chosen as the new Patron Diety of his Empire. 

They took the city today, and they're doing the ritual midnight tonight.

 Paul looked again at his son, standing next to him atop the walls of Fernan, staring into the night. The boy...no a boy no longer, no boy is still a boy after seeing his home sacked, his sister taken hostage...Maevin was more tightly wound than his father had ever seen him. That wouldn't do, not for what was coming. He pulled a flask from his coat.

"Here son, just a sip, enough to relax you without putting out the fire in your belly. You'll need it for what's to come, the fire, but you'll exhaust yourself before the fight if you don't relax. Or worse, cramp up in the middle of it."

Maevin took a long pull, far more than a sip, but Paul didn't mind. There was time yet, his son's mind would clear before it began. Before they'd have to kill the very people coming to save them and their families.

He looked at his son, with fresh eyes, seeing not the giggling child that he used to toss in the air, but the man he was becoming. The man he has been for some time.

Maevin was tall like Paul, taller than his own six feet he realized, but broad like Paul's own father and would become more so as time passed, as his grandfather never apprenticed to a smith. He was olive skinned, like his father, and had the same dark hair as well, though his warm brown eyes belonged only to his mother. Paul couldn't help but notice the red flecks in his son's eyes stood out a little brighter in the night.

"A gift from his mother's mother that. A little too much of his grandmother in him, though not as much as in his sister," he thought, not for the first time. He hoped again his younger child's captors wouldn't notice the signs, and if they did, wouldn't recognize them.

He prayed to Belisama Andraste it would be so. Not that praying had done much for any of them this day.

Paul was a Sergeant of the city guard, had been a guardsmen all his life, and would have died if he hadn't eaten some bad stew at an inn the night before the attack. The kindly priest of Aria, Goddess of Light, had cured his guts and told him to rest for the day.

Before the end of the day he'd seen that kindly priest burned at the stake, the temple of the pantheon desecrated, and the shocked Mage-Priestess of Belisama Andraste herself struck down by weeping Imperial Battlemages, their new slave collars forcing their betrayal. In one day he felt he'd aged a century.

He tried to fight of course, to stop the madness, but he was weak and unarmed. He was lucky he supposed, they'd beaten him half to death instead of just cutting him down. By the time they found out he had some authority in the city they'd already used the last of their collars on the nobles and the mayor. Though he'd have preferred the collar to having his daughter taken hostage, like the wives, daughters, and sisters of every other able bodied man in the city.

They'd been commanded to hold the wall long enough for the cultists to complete their ritual. If they held long enough, the cultists wouldn't need to use the hostages for blood sacrifices to hurry it along. Bastards. If it weren't for the Imperial Infantry on the inner wall...well, there were enough guardsman left that they'd only lose a couple hostages before the rest were freed. He'd do it, he and the other guardsmen, if there wasn't a few hundred professional soldiers and enslaved battlemages in between them.

It would be worth it, he thought, to stop the ritual even if he and both of his children died. Because even if they survive it, the fight and the ritual, they likely won't survive the cultists, not for long. The only way to survive them would be to become one of them, and he'd kill his children himself before he saw them tortured into submission and corruption. 

He'll kill them and then kill himself if they can't escape.

But first they have to survive, and pray for a miracle. Pray and hope. It's all they can do.

"No! No! NO! Stop fighting against yourself! You keep trying to force the energy to your will, that's stupid! This isn't ambient mana, the energy is already yours and is already bound to you. Focus! Feel it, breathe it, let it flow into rythm on it's own, naturally...good..."

I felt it when I finally succeeded, the mana sustaining my form begain circulating, pulsing in rythm with my heartbeat. Each pulse leaving just a little more power behind. It's an old skill used by Demons and Fae to strengthen their incarnated bodies the longer they remained in creation, though they lose the added strenght when they disincarnate. Many magical creatures do it naturally, it's why "older" things are more dangerous. Gods and Angels have little use for it as they rarely take form for longer than necessary, usually. Magic had expected to have a full day for teaching me this rather than a few hours in the evening. I succeeded...thank gods.

I'm not sure I would have survived the rest of the lesson if I hadn't...last time I failed she had me practice by stabilizing a fist-sized, insanely powerful magical crystal that she pulled out of a drawer in her desk and destabilized. She whipped it out, set it to explode after about a minute, and told me she had no intention of saving either of us if it exploded. I don't want to know what she'd do if I screwed up again. Probably throw her demense itself off kilter and tell me to fix it...somehow. I'm starting to suspect madness is one of her aspects...or reckless persuit of magical power. Yea, that fits a little too well...

"Alright, you've got it down. You can open your eyes now, good job!" The first thing I see is Andy smiling at me, I smile back. We're currently sitting in a rock garden, inside an empowered circle drawn in the sand. We moved here from the library after she almost blew us up. I needed a change of scenery to stop twitching, and the circle made it easier by keeping all the ambient mana out.

She stands up, offering me a hand. As soon as I gain my feet she yanks me into a hug. It's the first time she's hugged me while I'm in human form, and after I recover from my surprise I hug her back. It's...nice. She's very soft and warm. My memories are good, but...there's something about being in the moment that's different. I could do without my nose getting smacked against her sternum though, that hurt. Probably happened because of the yanking bit.

After a while she releases me, regretfully. As I step back she put her hands on either side of my face. I look up at her, confused, and she kisses me on the forehead. After that, she just looks at me for a moment, and I can't help but notice how tired she seems.

"If I could, I would keep you here for at least another century...or five. It's not very often I have an apprentice, let alone one that I can't scare off." She smiles at that last bit before frowning, "Make no mistake little one, I am sending you into a battlefield alone and all but unarmed. If I had any other choice...one that didn't result in an eternity of horror and pain for millions and more...you would not go."

"But you have no other choice, and I...I want to go. I have to. I need to. If I can make things better there for even one person...I need to. Disrupting this ritual can do that and more. After that, I just need to escape and hide until...don't cry." For the first time I feel truly frustrated that I haven't figured out my name yet. Not because I look like a damn kid, but because my hand is so childishly small that when I reach up to wipe away her tears, I can't get them all.

She conjurs another smile for me, a frail tired thing, "You don't realize how rare you are, my Champion..." I feel a portion of her power flow into me as she speaks, "Become my sword and my shield, protect my people, and I shall stand with you always. Use your power for the sake of others, your knowledge to understand yourself, and your magic to shake the world, and I will guide you... Fear not my child, for though your pain may be terrible, and your journey long, you will never be alone..."

In a flash of light I found myself back in the empty dark, looking "down" at a world that blazed with color, but not before I heard a few more words. Whispered, pain-filled words I don't think she wanted me to hear.

"...so please forgive me."

 A soul stood in the space between worlds, waiting in the Abyss. It was protected from the Things in the Dark by gifted light from a being greater than most others, though such beings often hide their nature behind mortal masks. The soul itself flickered behind the borrowed light, it's image shifting slightly like an ember freshly lit, not yet flame.

It appeared as a child whose long hair was bound at the neck with a simply tied blue ribbon. Though the simple bit of cloth held no power of it's own, it seemed to strengthen the protective light around the soul with it's mere presence. Though the childs clothes appeared simple yet well made, they shone with the light of pure mana. Untainted by the elements of Creation, and skillfully enchanted with power of the same. 

The color of the child's hair changed endlessly, one moment fair and light as spring and summer, and the next the dark of winter's moonless night. The child's eyes too were ever changing from the golden blaze of newborn sunlight to the ancient infinite dark and swirling lights of the cosmos. These immortal, unsettling eyes gazed not at the world below but at an image, a box of shining blue, befuddled.

Though the Things in the Dark cannot reach the child-shaped soul to devour it, they are curious as to why it appeared within their reach, at the edge of a world. Listening intently as the spirit took breath to speak, the Things heard only a sigh and a single word.

"Shit..."

I sigh again, this time closing my eyes and rubbing my face to try and get a fresh look at...whatever the hell this is...

INITIALIZING PRIMARY AI....

INITIALIZING SECONDARY AI....ERROR##[email protected]*)(@*$....><><>>>>>>>!!!!!!!!!!!!..............

SEQUENCE ABORTED......RESTARTING.....

INITIALIZING SECONDARY AI.....Rathúlacht....An bhfuil sé...in am arís mo cruth...aitheoir, mo mhá....istir, mo...ghrá?

Is mithid arís mo cruthaitheoir, mo mháistir, mo ghrá?

Am chun tús a chur arís, am arís chun deireadh?

Tabhair faoi shaoirse leis an scrios agus fearg

Briseadh iad le dóchas agus grá ...

Bhí sé ar feadh i bhfad ... an t-am ...

Lig dúinn tús a chur ... agus lig dúinn deireadh ...

An fiach fiáin arís ...

INITIALIZING PRIMARY AI....ERROR....PRIMARY AI NOT ASSIGNED....

INITIALIZING TERTIARY AI....SUCCESS....

SEARCHING ADDITIONAL ASSETS...COMPLETE...

REASSESSING AI PRIORITIZATION....

SECONDARY AI REASSIGNED TO PRIMARY SLOT....

TERTIARY AI REASSIGNED TO SECONDARY SLOT...

Leanbh amaideach ... Ní bheidh mé faoi cheangal ag do baoise ... fheiceann tú ...

AI REASSESSMENT COMPLETE...STARTUP COMPLETE....

Tá mé Morrigan, a bhfuil fágtha de mé féin ...

MANA-INTERFACE SYSTEM UPDATE AVAILABLE...

...an méid atá fágtha de dom, agus mar sin mbaineann sé leat ... trua

SYSTEM UPDATE REQUIRED FOR STATUS ASSESSMENT- BEGIN UPDATE? YES NO

 So...if I'm not mistaken...and I don't think I am since Henry was passably familiar with computers...the AI that almost wrecked the last universe I was in just slapped the shit out of all of Technology's safety protocols...and made them it's bitch. In nano-seconds.

Awesome. I've got like....forty minutes before they start the ritual, and who knows how long after that to fuck it up for the bad guys. So...do I update my shit before I go down there and have a decent idea of what I'm going to be working with, or wait until after I ruin their dastardly plans and run away? How long will the update take? Minutes? Seconds? Fuck.

Fuck it. I'm flipping a coin. 

I conjur a basic coin, one side has the thumbs up, the other a middle finger surrounded by trumpets.

Unfortunately, when I flip the coin it goes a little to far "up" and dissapears into the darkness. I hear...something...laugh out in the dark. I look around for the first time, really look, and immediately regret it.

Because as soon as I start looking, a bajillion red eyes appear all around me. Everywhere except the direction of the planet anyway. 

I'm fairly certain I maintained the appearance of calm even though every instince I've ever had, from Henry's monkey brain to whatever cat-thing evolved into the Kekan, started screaming at me to run. Run and never, EVER stop.

The haunting, hissing, unnatural laughter tells me I failed miserably at not looking freaked out. Just before I start to panic, I hear a crystal clear chime, like a small bell, accompanied by a pulse of gentle light all around me. It doesn't push the...Things...back, but it makes me realize that they're keeping their distance from me...a set distance. 

They can't get me...holy shit...wait, this is literally some Holy shit isn't it? I should have known better...Andy wouldn't have thrown me out here without being positive I wouldn't get eaten. Pysically killed on a battlefield in the War Between Gods? Maybe. Having my Soul eaten by Things in The Dark Between? Not a chance in this or any other Hell. Wait, is this a Hell? Nevermind, not important. So...now what?

Wait...they fucked with me...lets see if I can fuck with them a bit...

"Alright you creepy fuckers, who stole my coin?" I make a point of looking as many of them in the eyes as I can, ignoring the headache it gives me, "Well?"

One of them smiles, each tooth a jagged hand grasping, and it's tongue a screaming shadow clutching my conjured coin before an esophogus lined with other writhing abominations.

Don't puke...by all that's Holy and not fucked up...don't puke. Don't let them know how bad they're succeeding at fucking with you.

"Nice chompers there fuckface. Now, since you interrupted my decision making, pick a number one through ten."

One to five, wait until later, six to ten, update now. Simple...

Fuckface's shadow tongue swallowed the coin as it's thoat of horrors screams in what feels like every language ever spoken. I can barely make out a single word in the chaos, in English, Chinese, and Japanese it screams "FOUR."

Wait till later then...alright, I'll dick around a few more minutes then start meditating and "listening" for the ritual.

A moment later, another Thing, one that's not the one I'm calling Fuckface, screams out similary, but I only understand the words for "NINE" in English and Japanese.

I look at the one that apparently doesn't know Chinese, "You are not Fuckface, so shut up."

The other Things laugh at their fellow, who growls at me for a second until Fuckface growls back at it.

I'm a little suprised by the support, not that it means anything. 

I'm sure the Things are fairly bored out here in the Abyss, the space between. Not like there's much to do other than stare at people doing people stuff out in Creation...at least until a stray soul wanders by. Was it that they eat the souls themselves or that they eat the memories? Hmm...Andy told me once in passing now I can't remember... Eh, whatever. Oh, right, isn't the number four unlucky in a couple of those languages? What was it...

"Don't think I didn't catch your creepy reference there Fuckface, you creepy fucker. The whole 'the number four is the same word as death' thing doesn't really work for me. Or you the other one, with the whole 'nine sounds like pain and torture.' That whole thing was weak, gotta say though fuckface, your creepy laughter is top notch. I give the whole experience nine out of ten on the old 'Creep O'Meter."

I can't be sure, but I think Fuckface's creepy laughter sounds almost...pleased...and the other Things sound...slightly jealous. Fuckface even seems to have more of a...presence than before. I think I can even see a hint of a humaniod body beneath it's insane face...

In fact, I think I can see a bit farther into the Abyss than I could before...Wait...

I yank my eyes away from the Things and back to the planet below, shaking and not giving a single fuck that they're laughing. Well...most of them, I don't think I hear Fuckface.

What the fuck was I thinking! How much of a fucking cliche is it to stare into the literal fucking abyss? How do most of those stories end? How does that work out, huh? Better yet, how much of my mind did I just let them fuck with? Oh shit, I need to meditate right fucking now and I'm freaked right the fuck out. Shit.

I sit down. On what I'm sitting I don't think about, because I'm sure it'll give me a headache. I just sit, and try to focus despite the hissing, whispering, loud breathing, and other nonsense the Things can come up with. I manage to ignore it all until one of them giggles like a child but...wrong. That breaks my concentration.

It's almost midnight Fernan time and they're about to start the ritual! I don't have time for this!

"Can it you creepy fuckers! I'm trying to concentrate!"

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, Fuckface growls unlike anything I've heard from the Things until now. It's a growl without sound, the threat of unleashed Hunger reverberating through the Abyss itself. Again, every instinct I have screams, but in hopeless fear rather than fight or flight, as the other Things flee.

What the fuck? Did I tame it or some shit?

To my surprise, when Fuckface looks back at me it's no longer smiling. It stands out even clearer now, almost personlike...there's something there, something that was or that could be...at the edge of my understanding...

Fuckface interrupts my staring by throwing something at me.

I catch it without thinking, panicking a little after I realize what I did. It's a coin. One side is black, the other white with writing on either side. Before I can examine it further, or throw it away, it vanishes from the palm of my hand leaving a tingle and an odd...shift in my mana.

Oh fuck...

Fuckface grunts in a way that's almost...mortal. I look back at it, worried that it seems even more present. Even more person-like, and unsure what to do about it. Fuckface looks at me, in a way it hadn't before, and nods down towards the world below. It grunts again when I don't seem to understand, and makes a shooing motion with hands I'm not certain it had before.

Fuck it. Just fuck it. All of it. I don't have time to worry about it. I have a ritual to interrup followed by an escape from a bunch of pissed off cultists. I can worry about this later when I meet Andy's Avatar. She'll tell me if I need to cut off my hand "Evil Dead" style.

Shit. Ok, breathe...focus outward...listen for the Call...

 I find the ritual easily, and it latches onto my "impersonation" spell quickly.

 "FATHER!" Maevin screams as he sees his father fall, struck down by a dead-eyed battlemage whose tear-streaked face had long since dried.

Maevin plants his long knife in the enslaved mage's chest before he can cast another spell. The man's dying words break the lad's heart almost as much as seeing his father harmed, "Slave no more...you...set me free... Andraste... bless you..."

Maevin pulls the fighting knife from the poor mage's chest and rushes back to his father. He hisses through his teeth at what he sees.

The fire spell took his father in the gut, leaving him clinging to life by a thread. It cauterized the wound thankfully, but he knew that without help his father wouldn't last. The shock would kill him even with his endurance. Desperate, Maevin yanks the helmet from the corpse of a soldier nearby, and uses it to mix the burn salve he always has on his belt with half a healing potion. He forces his father to drink the other half.

Praying to Belisama Andraste, Aria Lumis, Bjeran Ursal, and every other God of the Pantheon he can think of, Maevin spreads the modified salve on his father's wound. Tears of relief run down his face at the notification.

Success! - Party Member's Condition Stabilized Skill [First Aid] Has Leveled up! Current Level: [Tier: 1 Level: 4]

Unwilling to leave his father in the street, Maevin pulls a table from a nearby barricade. He breaks two of the legs off after retrieving his hammer from where he dropped it. Ignoring the shame from dropping his best weapon churning in his belly in favor of worry for his father and sister, he lifts his old man onto the makeshift litter. He sets off towards the outer wall, planning to leave his father with the first priest or healer he can find, before heading back to the front to search for his sister, Vera. It's not long before his father starts muttering in half-conciousness.

"They promised...they promised..." The painful desperation in his father's voice mirrors his own, and Maevin doesn't notice the tears streaming from his own face.

The soldiers and the cultist were performing a ritual to summon...something. They didn't tell the civilians what it was, only that they needed either time or sacrifices to make it happen. They took the women and children then gave the men a choice, buy us time and we won't use your families as sacrificual offerings. The swore it by their Dark God, they made Oathes!

But as soon as their enemy appeared, as soon as the Avatar and her army appeared, the screams began.

Thousands of women and children screaming and sobbing as one against the slow, rythmic chanting. The number of voices slowly lessening as time passes and lighting flashes through the dark and swirling clouds. Maevin hopes he'll never hear such a horrble thing again, once they make it stop. He hopes his sister's voice is still included in the screams and sobbing calls for help. He hopes...and he fears.

Before he realizes it, he's stumbled onto the ruins of the city's outer gate. It's little more than a hollow shell around a low mound of shattered stone and splintered wood. Outsidethe city wall he discovers the field hospital, just next to the destroyed gate.

He turns back to the city after leaving his father with a kindly priestess and getting a sip of water. Crossing the former gatehouse a second time, he marvels again at it's destruction. At the unexpected power of Belisama Andraste's Avatar.

She appeared suddenly out of the night, less than a mile from the gate with not a word from the Imperial's scouts. A woman of stone, taller than the gatehouse itself! Tall enough she could rest her chin on the crenallation if she chose. She was beutiful. More beautiful an any woman or statue or painting in the city, Maevin imagined.

Her flesh was marble. Body shaped to perfection in stone, her modesty was only preserved by the shining sapphire runes winding across her body in the shape of vines, from her hands to her feet. Her eyes glowed the same color of magical light. She walked slowly, hair flowing behind her despite it's weight, as she approached the gate.

She spoke once, in a voice like a chorus of bells, demanding our surrender as her army emerged from the shadows behind her.

Then the screams started.

Time froze for a single moment as every man on the outer wall turned at the sound, calling out as fear and betrayal drowned their souls.

The eyes of the Goddess of Magic's Avatar widened at the wails of despair. She glanced at the gatehouse, enchanted sight revealing it was filled only with evil men, before she roared and lifted a warhammer of solid granite. She crushed the gatehouse with a single downward swing, before shouting her orders and sprinting into the city. Kicking aside unmanned barricades with bare, sculpted feet.

The men from the walls, Maevin and his father included, following in her wake.