The following chapter takes place some time after the events of the Witch Hunt DLC.

The day went on as it normally did for Magister Atticus as he sat by his ornate dragonthorn writing desk with quill in hand and a sheaf of documents to go over. Braziers imbued with arcane fire that gave off no heat lit his office space as the dying daylight of a late afternoon still added to the illumination. Around him were wooden bookshelves filled with scrolls, tomes and other documents, all records needed for his business which provided one of the greatest needs for the Tevinter Imperium, a need that was filled with flesh and blood.

For generations, the Magister's family had dealt in the business of slaves and it was one that he was happy to continue with as long as it remained profitable. Many slaves from different races and nations came in through the humble but well fortified Tevinter port town known as Cosentes which his family had practically owned, Humans were common enough, some were were citizens of the Imperium who voluntarily sold themselves to pay off debts while some were foreigners from other lands which did not matter matter much to him. Qunari prisoners of war were also quite common for the massive brutes were prized for their strength but the true meat of his business, the lifeblood that kept it going was the trade of Elves. Whether the rattus were taken off the streets by paid thugs or sent in from "official" sources such as the esteemed former regent of Ferelden, one Loghain Mac Tir who he once did business with through some partners, it also did not matter much to Atticus as long as the deals were properly honored in coin and discretion was maintained when necessary.

The Magister was man of middling years with hazel colored eyes, his once lustrous black hair which was kept neatly trimmed was starting to show strands of grey and his chin kept clean shaven. He wore the robes of a Tevinter Enchanter which had refined Lyrium woven into its fabric, thus adding a minor bit of potency to his spells while at the same time being quite easy to move in should someone physically assault him. Propped next to his desk and within easy reach was his staff, an ancient symbol of his office and font of power that was wrought in Silverite and formed to resemble two coiling dragon heads carrying a magic orb in their maws.

It was nice to be home thought the Magister, to be away from the viper's den that was the Senate in Minrathous, away from the pointless power plays, the politicking and the delusions of grandeur that made the Imperium so stagnant. At least here, he felt like he was doing something for the good of the Imperium for without slaves, their entire economy would come crashing down. Of course he would have to return soon, for it was part of being in the Senate but for now he just wanted to enjoy the simple joys of ruling over his own little demesne.

Hearing soft foot steps outside of his office, a slight grin creased upon his lips as the door creaked open and his son peeked his head through.

'How is my little Archon?' greeted Atticus as the door opened fully to reveal a young boy of nine years standing in the hallway.

'Good papa!' beamed Julius who looked very much like Atticus when he was a child except for the boys eyes which were the blue of his mother's, may the Maker rest her soul. 'I did just like you told me and I stopped the bleeding'

'Well done, my son!' smiled Atticus who personally tutored his son in the ways of magic whenever he could. Although Atticus was well versed in the Schools of Spirit, Entropy and of course Blood Magic, he found Creation, specifically with spells of healing far more practical, especially in his business which often required a "hands on" approach when preparing the merchandise for the markets.

'Will you show me how to throw fireballs papa?' excitedly asked Julius.

'When the time is ready my son' replied Atticus who had some knowledge with the Elements and he knew that the Fireball spell was one of the more advanced ones like creating tempests of lightning or causing localized earthquakes.

'Okay' pouted Julius with false disappointment for the boy had a rare trait which many mages did not possess and that was recognizing his own limits. While the boy knew some basic spells, mana his little body had stored was barely enough to cast one or two which still was an achievement for one so young.

'All right then, now go tell the slaves to prepare supper soon' said Atticus and his son gave a sloppy soldiers salute before going off. Oh to be young again thought Atticus as he remembered that one time when he was ten where he put a Walking Bomb spell on a street dog and watched it explode around a group of elf slaves. The priceless look on their faces still made him chuckle even many years later.

With a wistful smile, the Magister went back to signing documents, this one current scroll in particular regarded the discrete sale of a batch of elvish catamites to some illustrious members of the Imperial Chantry who wished to keep their identities confidential. These slaves would be shipped within a week to Minrathous where they would be trained and payment would be made on delivery with an advance already sent forth. Then there was also the matter of a new batch of fresh recruits for a number of esteemed gladiator schools as well as...

A few hours later...

Night had fallen across Thedas and upon the cold waters of the Nocen Sea, a massive ship plowed through the tides, its tattered sails caught the wind, thus allowing the vessel to move more swiftly. Aboard this ship were, many glinting eyes like those of cats, their gaze was focused towards the distant lights of the port town which was now their prey. A shiver ran up the collective spines of the crew causing goose flesh to appear along their skin as magic filled the air around the ship which was wreathed with a thick cloud of shadows to conceal it from prying eyes.

Cloaked in darkness and powering through the waves, it closed the distance with surprising speed that belied its size, a majority of its crew scrambled towards the lesser ships held upon the sides by sturdy ropes. When these smaller vessels were filled with their complements of armed crew members, they were lowered towards the sea with sails unfurled and oars striking the waters. Like a pack of wolves surrounding unsuspecting prey, it was important to make sure that all avenues of escape were cut off.

At the helm of this ship stood a grim figure encased in baroque plates of Sylvanian Black Iron that had been painted deep crimson, its metallic surface was covered in rime and along the edges was a trim of bleached intricately carved bones, no inch of flesh was exposed, save for the eye slits of a horned helmet which glowed blood red while the face of the headgear was wrought to resemble the visage of a snarling dragon. An aura chill and unnatural dread surrounded this warrior whose clawed gauntlets expertly maneuvered the vessel into a position that would allow the broadside to face the unsuspecting settlement. Once the ship reached its intended location and properly positioned, a silent command was given and an anchor of barnacle encrusted steel was sent crashing into the dark waters.

Arcane syllables were then whispered and the shadows that wreathed the ship moved towards the smaller vessels that now sailed towards the town. From the shuttered gunports of the ship emerged the mouths of dozens of carronades, each one loaded and readied to begin their murderous barrage was to be light for now. Collateral damage was as much as possible to be avoided for it was not just gold and plunder which they sought but the very thing that made this town wealthy.

As the shadows moved and the dark majesty of the ship that once been a proud Galleon of Bretonnia but after centuries had grown into something far larger and far more dreadful made its appearance for all to see. Dozens of balefire braziers were then lit to illuminate vessel known as the Frosfiend which announced its arrival with roars of smoke and fire.

Within a wooden watchtower overlooking the lantern-lit wharf, Caius yawned with boredom as there was nothing else to do but wait until dawn came and his shift was over. When he had joined the town guard, he had hoped that he would be down at the streets, keeping watch for thieves, criminals or slaves trying to escape but instead he had been posted by the waters where the only people around were a few drunken sailors or fishermen too poor to afford lodging in the town. Another long night groaned the guardsman who was already entertaining the idea of joining up with one of the mercenary or slaver companies who at least would allow him to be able to see more of the world.

Looking towards the sea, he was shocked to suddenly what looked to be a towering castle of black spires festooned with sharp blades suddenly just there in the water! Illuminated by ghostly lights, he realized that it was not just a castle but a strange hybrid of ship and building all at once. Recovering from his momentary shock, he reached for the alarm bell near him but then a loud series of booms, like thunder blossomed forth from the dark vessel with gouts of fire. Before he knew it, the watchtower which Caius was stationed in was struck by a cannonball, the guardsman was instantly pulped into a mess of meat as the structure was reduced to splinters.

Some of the jetties in the wharf were also destroyed by poorly aimed cannon fire but most found their marks, striking walls and towers but most importantly were pounding the gates of which were destroyed by the second barrage.

Before the thunderous racket startled Magister Atticus as he prepared for a bath, he suddenly had an uneasy feeling in his gut. There was a strange energy in the air, something that was different from the Fade, something that was both cold and alien to him. Then came the noise which sounded like the gaatlok cannons of the Qunari, the explosions were followed by the crashing of masonry, the splintering of wood, shouts and screams.

The Magister stood in a marbled room where a pair of naked slave elf women had already drawn the hot water for him, fear and confusion were etched on the faces of the thralls which the Magister paid no heed to and he quickly rushed out towards the stone corridors of his villa. His first thoughts were of course towards his son and to his relief his saw the boy running towards him with his governess following.

'What's going on papa?' asked Julius in a terrified voice which wrenched at the Magister's heart just to hear.

'I do not know son, but go to your room, and lock the doors' commanded Atticus.

'What if it is the Qunari?' then asked his son who like many children within the Tevinter Imperium had been raised on tales that portrayed the Qunari as savage monsters.

'Then I will destroy them all' replied the Magister who tried to sound as confident as possible for in the past yet he had fought against the Qunari as part of the Imperium's army with an entire legion of men, elephants and fellow Mages at his side. For a long time he had prepared for this day, he knew within his heart that one day, the Qunari would attack in full force, thus he had spared no expense in making sure that the local garrison had been properly drilled and that many mercenaries were employed to bolster the ranks. His words gave some confidence to Julius who seemed to straighten up a bit and the boy was about to say something but was interrupted by the heavy sounds of clattering plate armor and footsteps from down the hall.

Looking to his left, the Magister saw a group of white armored soldiers wearing the liveries of his House. Each of these men were clad head to toe in suits of White Steel Massive Armor, their faces concealed under helmets which sported gilded ornaments and in the hands of each of these soldiers were rune inscribed Battleaxes, also of White Steel which were more than capable of felling even a Qunari.

'My lord' spoke the lead soldier, the Captain of the garrison who saluted the Magister with respect.

'Who is attacking us?' ordered Atticus who immediately began speaking with the professional tone of a military officer.

'I do not know my lord' confessed with captain who replied with an equally professional tone. 'There was a ship, or a castle, something between those that just appeared in the harbor'

'A castle?' incredulously asked the Magister for as far as he was aware, things like teleportation should be impossible. 'It's not the Qunari is it?'

'I do not know' answered the captain. 'No enemy forces have yet been spotted ashore.'

'Well whoever they are, they will rue the day they attacked Cosentes' growled the Magister as an elven slave came forth bearing his Silverite Staff. Gripping the shining pole of enchanted metal, he felt its power add to his own and a confident look came over his face. No other words were needed to be said as the Captain and his men formed a defensive ring around the Magister and they went off towards the main entrance of the villa.

Looking back, Atticus saw his son who gave him worried look. The magister wanted to tell his son how much he loved him but instead just flashed the boy a confident grin before heading out towards the town.

As the gates of the port town fell, the carronades aboard the Frostfiend fell silent only for its roars to be replaced by a screeching cacophony along with the flapping of many wings. A swarm of several dozens of small, black furred creatures with rotted flesh and exposed bones, Fellbats flew over the gunwales of the Frostfiend, flying past the cold waters and easily overtaking the smaller, shadow cloaked boats which had once in another lifetime been longships taken from the barbarians of Norsca. Above the now besieged town the swarm of bats began to circle it as mortal soldiers clad in armor and uniforms of white formed ranks, ready to repel the attackers.

From the perspective of these men and women who gripped weapons that ranged from swords, maces, daggers, polearms and shields they must have been frightened to see the Frostfiend with its blackened composite hull of which was adorned with the bleached bones of sea beasts, the skulls of which glowed with the same balefire lights that burned in corroded cages of iron and its dark gothic spires that reached to the sky like skeletal fingers. The appearance of the Frostfiend would have to the eyes of particularly well learned individual who had traveled between the Old World and the New would have been seen it to be a dark hybridization of the architectural styles of Sylvania and Naggaroth for indeed, the size of the ship itself would have rivaled that of a small Black Ark. The tattered sails of the Frostfiend depicted a red and white winged horse, not in the manner of a creature like a Pegasus or a Hellsteed, but rather the mount of a Winged Lancer over a background of black, it was among the few affectations which the vessel's master used a reminder of home.

The veil of shadows then lifted over the longships, revealing their fearsome dragon headed prows and the armed bands that now disembarked from their vessels who were a mixture of either slender and lithe figures or tall and broad ones carrying hefty weapons. The lanterns that had been placed along the wharf revealed these attackers to be a combined group of Qunari and Elves. The sight of such foes led many of the defenders to believe that they were under attack from the followers of the Qun which was only somewhat encouraging for here was an enemy the Tevinter Imperium knew and an enemy many of them knew they could overcome, or so the defenders thought.

Up on the walls, many archers armed with either bows or crossbows, formed up and took aim at the gathering forces below while others began to man the ballistae with more than a few nervously looking up towards the swarm of bats above them. A female mage officer then began bellowing orders to the archers, telling them to ignore the bats and focus on those invaders below, it was a mistake that costed her dearly as a massive bat, the size of a dog swiftly latched on to her face and bit off her nose. The bat swarm then descended upon the archers and ballista crews with talons and fanged distended mouths that sought only to feast on warm flesh.

Down at the gates, Tevinter Gladiators as well as anyone carrying a shield formed walls of metal, wood and flesh while Zealots, Brutes and other close combat fighters protected the flanks in well ordered phalanxes . Unbeknownst to them was that a number of the bats that were busily swarming the walls now flew towards the back of the defensive line, the winged fiends directly struck the cobbled ground where instead of smacking into earth, they melted into pools of absolute darkness that swiftly coalesced into a single form. In a matter of moments a humanoid figure emerged from this umbral pool, clad in armor of deep crimson and bleached bone while clutched in the hands of this stranger was a fearsome pair of black iron handled war axes with blades of darkest obsidian covered in glazed frost.

Unnatural waves of dread emanated from this fearsome figure whose blood red eyes chilled the both the bodies and souls of all those who stood nearby and before they could react, a deafeningly loud war cry echoed into the night air.

'VAE VICTIS!' shouted the master of the Frostfiend who charged into the back of the shield wall with axes raised and the bloodshed began in full earnest.

Charging towards the opened gates in a wild shouting mob, the living crew of the Frostfiend screamed savage war cries with weapons drawn. Among the first wave of the crew was Sidona an elven woman who had come from an Alienage in Orlais until one day she had been abducted by Tevinter slavers and kept as their personal plaything. It had been years now since that fateful day happened, the shemlen responsible were dead, thanks to their Admiral who had given her a new purpose in life, one that revolved around bloody vengeance.

Like many of the other crew members, Sidona barely wore any form of armor, save for (in her case) a pair of cured leather boots which was both flexible and waterproof. With light brown skin, green eyes and straw colored hair which had been tied into a ponytail with two long strands at the front, she wore a fancy black jacket taken from the corpse of a high ranking (and certainly dead) Tevinter officer worn over a white blouse and a upon her brow was tricorn hat that had a brass skull with two crossed swords beneath it placed on the front. In her callused right hand she held a Steel Saw Sword and in her left she carried a weapon taken from the cargo holds of the Frostfiend, a device composed of a hollow metal tube fitted upon something like the stock of a crossbow but made smaller to be easily wielded with one hand, the Admiral had called it a pistol, one of many which could be found on her person.

As the crew drew closer to the shattered gates, they saw the fighting that was already taking place. The Admiral as usual fought with unnatural speed, strength and ferocity as twin obsidian axes severed limbs and heads with merely a single strike. The Tevinter defenders, a mixture of regular and irregular troops still held the line with walls of shields and readied weapons. Raising her pistol and aiming at the Tevinters, she sighted down at a young human male dressed in leather armor, with his clean shaven, acne-filled face, he was likely of middling teenage years and he carried a two-handed axe that looked better suited for cutting wood.

Without hesitation, Sidona pulled the trigger on her weapon and in a blink of an eye, fire, smoke and a ball of lead burst from the barrel and the human lad collapsed as the projectile smashed into his left eye. Numerous cracks quickly resounded from the Gunnery Mob as pistols were discharged into the Tevinter ranks, causing many more shemlen to die. From behind Sidona, some of the Deckhands hurled explosives such as the the elemental bombs created by Poison-Makers while others were used black metal spheres with cords of burning rope attached which were mostly aimed at the wall of shields.

Explosions of acid, ice, lightning, and metal shards erupted at the feet, above or among the wall of shields and eviscerating even more shem. Confusion and panic began to spread among the Tevinter defenders and the Deckhands pressed their attack. They did not advance towards the broken gates but rather they formed loose lines where Elves armed with pistols, handguns and crossbows unleashed deadly volleys while the larger Qunari members, many of whom had been former prisoners of war or slaves like most of the crew, carried larger and more deadly weapons.

Roaring in laughter, one of the Qunari crewmen who wielded a crank operated cannon which the Admiral called a Deck Gun, launched a ball of iron tearing into a heavily armored Tevinter Brute. Bloody gobbets of meat exploded from the slain shem as the shot pulverized two others behind him. Smoke and fire filled the air around the Gunnery Mob as they kept their distance, the archers upon the walls were still being harassed by Admiral's pet bats, thus preventing the defenders from shooting back while those below struggled to maintain any form of cohesion.

It was not long before the Tevinter defenders at the gate were either completely massacred or quickly routed under the unrelenting barrage of fire, some tried to charge the gunnery mob head on but were made short work by the Qunari members who carried massive firearms called Hand Cannons which launched storms of metal shards in a single blast or were cut down by volleys of iron-tipped crossbow bolts from Elves wielding a type of Crossbow known as a Volley Crossbow which could fire multiple shots in rapid succession. Unsurprisingly, it was the irregulars first who dropped their weapons and ran, not that it would do them much good as many were simply shot in the back as they tried to flee. Amidst the carnage, the Admiral stood alone atop a pile of dismembered corpses, axes covered in freezing gore with baleful crimson eyes looking towards the Gunnery Mob with barely contained blood-lust.

'Hunt!' shouted the Admiral towards the Mob. 'To the hunt my wolves! Vae Victis!'

'Vae Victis! shouted the crew of the Frostfiend as they raised their weapons in salute to their Admiral before gleefully giving chase to their prey.

For a moment, Magister Atticus had been shocked to see that the captain was not joking when he said that a castle had suddenly just appeared in the harbor with its dark, imposing architecture that gave off an impression of both ancient grandeur and inhuman malice to it. It was then that he noticed that the castle was actually attached to a massive ship with sails depicting a red and white winged horse, the size of this vessel alone should not make such a thing even remotely sea worthy yet here it was, raining death and destruction upon the port town. He then realized that the unnatural feeling he had, the strange current of magic which he sensed had emanated from the ship which he deduced must also be highly magical in nature.

Quickly recovering his wits, he immediately noticed the sorry state which the defenders of the town were now in and the Magister began to utter words of power that wreathed him in a crimson aura. Raising a hand towards a fleeing mercenary wearing a suit of steel splintmail, he began speaking arcane syllables that allowed him to assume direct control of the fleeing man's body, just for a brief moment before letting go and shouting at the top of his lungs.

'What in the name of the Divine do you think you are doing!?' bellowed Atticus with all the authority of a member of the Imperium's Senate. 'Get back in the fight or I will make you go back!' he shouted with eyes filling up with arcane light for emphasis.

Terrified at the wrath of the Magister, the mercenary quickly saluted him and ran towards the direction of the harbor. Atticus then spent the next several minutes rallying whatever fighters he could and organizing them into a cohesive force. Throughout the entire time, he heard the distant cracks of an unfamiliar sort along with louder booms which sounded similar to the roars of Qunari gaatlok cannons but from a smaller device.

'My lord! look to the sky!' shouted the Captain and as the Magister looked up he saw many screeching dog sized bats flying above, each one had eyes that glowed with a crimson light. A number of these creatures swooped down upon the streets and one particular pack had managed to scoop up a man who as immediately torn to shreds by the rest of the swarm. Tapping into his internal reserves of mana and using it to strengthen his magic through Spell Might, he began forming arcane syllables and after a moment he injected one of the bats with a corrosive poison which was immediately followed by a different spell that caused the blood of these creatures to boil.

The first bat which had been afflicted with his Virulent Walking Bomb spell exploded in a shower of gore, the poison that had coursed through its body spread to others nearby bats. Soon enough this triggered a chain reaction that showered the town with a shower of rotted meat. This instantly drew the attention of the rest of the bats swarm and dozens of the things immediately began swooping down towards the Magister and his guards.

Cursing under his breath, the Magister then wove another spell that caused the air to be filled with a charge and in the next moment a Tempest of lightning engulfed the swooping bats. The bodies of the winged beasts were quickly reduced to charred husks that plummeted to the ground. Confidence surged among the defenders who voiced defiant shouts yet this small victory was short lived as a loud boom rang from the town square and the next thing Atticus knew, the Captain was swept off of his feet as something fast smashed through his helmet and burst out from the back of his head in a grisly shower.

Looking to the center of Costenes, he saw despite the pall of smoke around them, a gathering of what he immediately recognized were a disorganized mob of Elves and Qunari. For a moment he did believe that this was indeed a Qunari assault but some things did not add up, regardless, he immediately began to utter a spell that would annihilate these invaders but was interrupted but a sudden sensation of pure and utter dread. Within a heartbeat, a heavily armored warrior wielding twin black axes suddenly emerged from the shadows to the right of the Magister, one of his guards was instantly cut down, the soldier's Massive Armor seemed to provide no protection as another guard immediately received blade of the other axe to the neck.

The Magister eyes met the baleful gaze of this intimidating being who was clad in a highly ornate set of Massive Armor colored in deep crimson and bleached bone that had been adorned in many ways to resemble the features of a dragon. The stranger's height looked to perhaps be little above six feet and he saw those twin blood red orbs looking upon him with the eyes of a predator and in an instant he knew that this creature could not possibly be even human. Just by looking at this... thing, he was reminded of a Revenant, a dangerous kind of undead possessed by a particularly power Demon of Lust or Pride.

'Who are you?' questioned the Magister who began to feel a terrible sense of power from this creature, a power he realized was the one he felt coming from ship.

'War' coldly replied the blood eyed stranger in a husky and strangely accented voice Atticus realized was from a woman. 'I am War.'

Running through the streets of the port town, Sidona now held a pair of loaded pistols, her arms were raised forwards with the barrels of the weapons aimed forwards. Ahead of her were a pair of white armored Tevinter soldiers equipped with single longswords and both shem charged at the elf, their blades held in both hands with the tip pointed towards her. With a quick pull of the triggers, she sent a pair of lead balls sailing into soldiers, causing one to collapse from a gut shot while the other round missed completely.

Dropping the pistols, she swiftly drew her sword and another firearm before engaging the human in close quarters. Their blades clashed in a shower of sparks, the Tevinter soldier was stronger, taller and had reach his side, something Sidona knew not to underestimate as she was soon put on the defensive as the longsword came thrusting to her gut and the elf pirate responded by kicking her right leg up. The leather boot of Sidona made painful contact with the Shem's manhood, the unsportsmanlike, below the belt kick was something commonly used by those who had no need for such silly notions like fighting honorably.

The soldier yelped in pain and dropped his sword as well as dropping to his knees as a sharp pain filled his nether region before a bullet was fired into his neck and the man died choking on his own blood. Quickly looking about, she saw the coast was clear and she moved back to retrieve the guns she dropped for the Admiral had been very clear that the crew needed to make sure that they did not leave "unnecessary" evidence lying around for after. The elf then quickly holstered the spent pistols and drew another which she checked and made certain was loaded.

The cargo hold of the Frostfiend was filled with crates full of these strange weapons of smoke and fire but there were also more mundane things like swords, axes, halberds and other things things that were more than enough to outfit an entire army for according the Admiral it had, once. Within the vast, castle-sized ship, there were mausoleums filled with the bones and corpses of humans and other things that could only be described as monstrous from the eerie stuffed bestial bodies that looked to be a horrid hybrid of man and goat to the brine filled vats filled with the rotted carcasses of hideously obese things that looked to have been stitched together with deep sea creatures inhabiting the corpses with eyes watching any who passed by in hunger and the ossuaries that contained the bones of barbarian warriors clad in ancient suits of bronze armor, there were things within the ship that made Sidona certain that she would never want to live wherever the Admiral had come from and even then, even now she really would rather not live aboard the Frostfiend due in no small part to the fact that the vessel was quite literally haunted by ghosts but she stayed aboard because she had nowhere else to go for there was not much left anyway of her family and home in Orlais.

A loud war cry spoken in the tongue of the Qunari was shouted nearby and Sidona immediately went off to see what was going on. Sprinting through the streets with sword and pistol in hand, she came across a brutal scene of bloody slaughter as a trio of Qunari crew members, each one wearing a pair of pauldrons of iron adorned with spikes and fur, bracers, boots and kilts festooned with similar adornments while in the hands of these brutal warriors were massive and brutal looking axes which looked like they would have been next to impossible for a human, elf or dwarf to carry. In the throes of their berserk rage, one of born of an innate savagery and enhanced by the consumption of mind altering substances, the three Qunari made the streets run red with the blood of Tevinter soldiers as they fought without any regard for self preservation and heedless of any wounds taken.

At least one of the humans, a dark skinned Rivaini mercenary woman dressed in chainmail threw down her sword and tried to surrender, only to take an axe to the skull that cleaved her all the way from crown to chest, the rest who lost the will to fight were sensible to just run. Not wanting to get anywhere near the berserkers while they were still enraged, Sidona drew her pistol and took aim, she spotted a dark hooded mage carrying a staff and a book waving his arms about and considering that he was not chucking fireballs or lightning or what not, she guessed that the spellcaster was using magic to support the other defenders. Holding her breath to steady her aim, just like the Admiral had taught her, the elf pulled the trigger and sent a ball of lead into the back of the mage who was in the middle of casting another spell, the human collapsed into an agonized heap.

Leaving the berserkers to do their thing, Sidona followed the sound of gunfire for the the fight was not yet over.

Swiftly speaking the last arcane syllable, Magister Atticus saw with the relief that dreadful obsidian axe crash against a barrier of telekinetic energy, a modified form of the Force Field spell that would at the least allow him some freedom of movement while still rooted in place. His guards lay dead around him, the crimson and white warrior relented from her attack after another strike and instead began to pace back and forth in front of him, blood red eyes locked onto his own. During the fight, the Magister had unleashed spells of Draining, Death, Blood and an assortment of Primal elements but the inhuman thing before him was unnaturally fast, strong and clearly carried items that provided a great deal of magical protection. Atticus then felt something, scratching at his thoughts, he instantly realized that the warrior tried to do something to him, to attack his very mind but the Magister possessed strong willpower and was able to fend it off for a moment before the mental attack ceased altogether.

Many questions filled the mind of the Magister who knew that there was something about this fell-handed warrior that was unlike anything he had ever encountered in the past. As one who (like many Tevinter Mages) quietly practices Blood Magic, he could sense great power within his attacker, a power within the blood, he could hear the echoes of a song, like Lyrium that conjured up images in his thought of a distant land locked in the eternal embrace of winter where unspeakable, dark things watched and waited. Yet the greatest question of all was why? Why attack Cosentes? He was certain the this was no ordinary group of pirates and despite the presence of Qunari, he was certain that standing before him was not a follower of that alien faith so what was their purpose for coming here?.

'There are two kinds of creatures in the world' suddenly spoke the red eyed warrior, her voice was muffled beneath her draconic helmet with an accent that spoke of a foreign tongue that he could not quite place a finger on one that was both civilized yet savage all at once. 'Predator and prey, hunter and hunted.'

'What?' asked Atticus in response as he was in the middles of weighing his options and considering what spells he should use next. 'What are you talking about stranger?'

'You are dealer in slaves are you not?' said the crimson warrior who rested her right axe over her shoulder while the other was lowered in a relaxed stance, the words spoken as if she already knew the answer which indeed was true. 'You prey on the weak, the helpless, as it should be, yet can you say the same when faced with another predator?'

'Is that what this is about?' growled Atticus in annoyance for in the past had been abroad and dealt with those sanctimonious hypocrites across Thedas who were quick to condemn the Tevinter practice slavery but were completely content with letting their common folk live in squalid conditions and under harsh laws with the Orlesians coming to mind first followed by Fereldans who had a habit of massacring elves for the sake of upholding the law. 'Are you one of those hero types who think they can change the world?'

'Far from it' spoke the warrior who continued to pace back and forth with eyes not leaving the Magister. 'I care little for your business, sorcerer, only that to see if you are a either a wolf that can hunt live prey or a jackal that feeds on the dead.'

'I am a Magister of the Tevinter Imperium!' proudly declared Atticus with defiance. 'I have served in the Legions of our empire, I have commanded cohorts in battle and reduced countless enemies to ashes!'

'Bold words' coldly said the warrior. 'Yet here you are, waiting for death. Do you know what sort of thing awaits to be slaughtered?

The words of the crimson armored stranger hung in the air as the sound of fighting continued in the distance along with the unfamiliar cracks of unknown weaponry. There was an acrid stench that began to fill the air, one that smelled of sulfur that was soon mixing in with the fetid odor of people soiling themselves and freshly spilled blood. Having used the time within the force field to naturally recover some of his mana, the Magister immediately began to draw upon the power of the Fade.

'Cattle' answered the dragon helmed warrior whose gauntleted hands tightened around the black handles of her axes. 'Cattle' she repeated and in a blink of an eye both axes were already swinging towards the Magister's neck but at just the last moment before both weapons could connect, a telekinetic wave burst forth from Atticus as a Repulsion Field surrounded him.

The warrior was knocked off of her feet and she landed hard upon the blood soaked ground amidst the corpses of his guards. Immediately, the Magister then began to tap into his own blood for power and he shouted dark words that stretched into the Fade itself. From that other realm of dreams and purest magic, he summoned forth Demons of Rage that were swiftly bound to the corpses of his guards while a few manifested into the world as burning serpentine entities. Not having time to bind these creatures to his will, he then used his magic to hasten his movements and he made his escape, to at the least put some distance between him and that blood eyed stranger.

As he ran, just for a little bit, he mentally severed his bond of bond of blood along with the Repulsion Field and he whispered a spell that allowed him to draw upon the lingering life energies of the fallen to restore himself. Reaching for his belt, he drew a glass flask filled with Lyrium and he quaffed it down, the magical material instantly revitalized his internal mana reserves and he felt ready to face the warrior once more. Atticus had been taken by surprise when he first dealt with this warrior, it was a mistake he swore that he would not make again as he turned around and began chanting with staff raised and arcane light surrounding his very being.

With a loud crash as the twin elm double doors she kicked swung open, Sidona barged into one of the buildings with loaded pistols raised. The sound of fighting outside had begun to die down as what remaining defenders were mercilessly butchered or worse depending on the tastes of certain crew members. Hanging above the doorway to this building had been a wooden sign, depicting a series of shackled beings, likely a warehouse where slaves were kept before being prepared for whatever the Imperium had in store for them.

As the elf entered the building, she found the interior to be quite spacious, chandeliers bearing lanterns of magical lights illuminated the space which had a raised platform on the east side, one that looked large enough to support many people. Grotesque statues of bronze depicting collared slaves covering their faces decorated the corners of the interior which made Sidona realize that she was inside an auction house. Opposite of where she stood, she noted a heavy iron door which was left slightly ajar and deduced someone must have gone through there recently.

Quickly crossing the sturdy wooden floor boards, she noted the faint smell of burning incense coming from somewhere and as soon as she got to the door, she cautiously pushed it wide upon with a creaking of its hinges. Behind the iron door was a torch-lit stairway of stone leading down to what she could see was a chamber with a stone floor, the elf cautiously went down the stair, each step echoing and soon enough she found herself in what looked to be a guard room of sorts where emptied weapon racks lined the walls, tables with half eaten platters of food and sleeping cots on another side. Looking about again, she there was again another iron door which was closed but something about it gave her a feeling that she should inspect it.

Moving to the second door, Sidona found that it was not locked and when she opened it, her nose was assailed by a mixed smell of cheap soaps and perfumes. Resolving to see what was down here, the elf descended once more where she found a bathing room with wooden tubs of water and closed cabinets. Surveying the room for a moment, Sidona then heard a soft whimper followed by a light clapping sound to her right. Suddenly exploding into motion and moving towards the source of this sound, she saw a well dressed and rather portly human male scamper out from behind a tub and before he could even take two steps away, the elf delivered a swift right legged kick to the back of his right knee.

The human then fell face first to the floor with a loud smack and Sidona kicked him over to face upwards.

'Please don't kill me!' begged the shemlen who was a rather youngish of fellow who was most likely in his mid twenties with ginger red hair and pale skin, he his hands were up with palms facing the elf, blood seeped from his nose, likely caused by his fall. 'I am just a clerk!'

'What is this place?' demanded Sidona with cold hostility as she holstered her right hand pistol and drew a knife which she used to threaten the human.

'Its where we store and auction the slaves' blubbered the clerk with terror-filled eyes and Sidona really, really hoped that the man was not going to soil himself now.

'Take me to where the slaves are, now!' commanded the elf and the shem immediately obeyed. The man got up and began moving to yet another doorway, each step was accentuated with the jingling of metal as the elf briefly saw on his belt a key ring which he took out and used to open the third door. Keeping the knife pointed at him, Sidona quietly motioned for the human to go down and he did so with a without protest thus leading her to the bowels of the warehouse.

The first thing Sidona would know of those kept down here was the fetid stench of unwashed bodies and excrement as she soon found herself in a long underground corridor where crowded iron cages filled mostly with fellow Elves as well as few Humans and even some Qunari. Just by a quick glance, she saw that the slaves were kept separated from one another, in one pen all the slaves were males, in another all females while a third had all children. Those slaves who saw her were at first confused with some of the brighter and clearly not yet broken ones were quick to realize that she was not one of their captors.

Grasping hands quickly reached out from the iron bars, many cried for help, for release and Sidona obliged.

'Open the cages now!' ordered the elf pirate in a more forceful tone. The clerk hesitated and was conflicted but a single murderous glare from Sidona, one that told that she will slaughter him then and there if he did not do as he was told. The man then went to the nearest set of cages and unlocked the door before pulling the door open, he then looked to the pirate who motioned him to go on to the next.

After several minutes every cage was opened and the now freed slaves came shuffling out, more than a few began shouting and calling out for their friends or family, others were offering praises to the pirate in the name of the Maker while some, lost in their misery remained catatonic and unaware of their newfound freedom.

'T-that's all off them' then said the shemlen clerk whose voice was at the edge of hysteria, his tone full of regret and disbelief towards what he just did. 'I did what you wanted, will you please, will you let me go?'

'Not yet' answered Sidona who then asked 'is there a logbook somewhere, or a ledger with information about the slaves coming in and out of this town?'.

'At the Magister's villa' answered the human clerk. 'Magister Atticus insists on reviewing all the sales and purchases of slaves that goes through this town'

Disgusted at how callous this shem regarded the lives of these people, as if they were just pieces of meat sold at the market, Sidona then lowered her knife which for a moment drew a sigh of relief on the man's face. She then raised her left hand towards him, the one which still held a pistol and she spoke.

'Thank you for your service' before pulling the trigger and blowing his brains onto the stone floor. As the corpse of the human struck the ground, the remaining slaves looked to Sidona with startled expressions. 'What are you gawking at!? Come on lets go!'

More words of power flowed from the lips of Magister Atticus as he enacted a powerful spell that further allowed him to reach into the Fade where he grasped at even more powerful entities of great malevolence. The Rage Demons he had previously summoned proved to only be a minor inconvenience to the crimson armored stranger whose frozen axes cleaved through fiery bodies and the undead flesh of his deceased guards with savage alacrity. Had he bothered to watch, it would have been difficult to follow the lightning swift movements of his opponent so instead, he focused his will on whatever beings he could drag through the Veil and indeed he had already made contact with one such entity.

Within the mind's eye of the Magister, he saw the image of a demon unlike any he had ever encountered before. Like those Demons of Rage, it radiated a sense of anger, fury and unbridled violence as it took the form of a lanky yet muscular red skinned fiend with many horns of brass and eyes of fire. This demon was willing to answer his call as long as he payed it a tithe in blood and it was one the Tevinter Magister was willing to pay.

Drawing a knife from his belt, Atticus swiftly stabbed his left hand and in an act of supreme self control and concentration, he merely grunted and continued his spell-work, ignoring the sharp pain as blood flowed from the wound. Tendrils of gore poured out of the Magister's hand like the slithering of a serpent, the blood flowed forwards into the air in front of him and forming into a crimson orb. Even as his head began to become light and color drained from his flesh, Atticus shouted more arcane words until the blood sphere that had grown to the size of a man began to take shape into a humanoid form.

Before his eyes he saw the demon manifest just as his mind perceived and the first thing he knew of its presence was the sense of raw malice and rage. Standing upon digitigrade legs while possesing a powerful physique, a long elongated head with multiple horns of bright brass, the demon was far more fearsome in appearance than he thought, it's fiery eyes looked upon the Mage with snarling contempt as a long black snake-like tongue slithered through a fang filled maw. Smelling of blood and brimstone, the demon then raised its muscular arms upwards like a gladiatorial champion proclaiming victory and in an instant, great searing flames leapt forth from his hands.

The fires created by the demon began to take shape and solidify before the eyes of the mage forming a pair burning brass swords etched with runes that were painful to look upon. The Demon then turned around to face the warrior, sharps black spines protruded from its back as the corded muscles beneath its red flesh bulged as the beast flexed its musculature. It then knocked its head back with face looking up to the sky and it gave voice to a loud bestial roar.

'BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!' it shouted before charging off like an enraged bull.

The Magister then began to cast spells of healing upon himself to restore the blood he had used to summon the demon, he felt a soothing warmth as his parched veins strongly pulsed once more and the self inflicted wound had sealed itself without even leaving a scar. Taking a moment to recover his wits, the Magister watched in fascination as the red demon and the crimson warrior clashed in flurry of blades. The fiery swords crashed against the frozen axes, the movements of both were difficult to follow as both were inhumanly fast as sparks flew when their enchanted weapons struck.

Regardless of whatever kind of Demon he had summoned, the Magister was pleased to see that it matched the crimson warrior in both speed and strength and he began to pour more of his own power into it. Casting the spells Heroic Offense followed up by Haste upon the red demon of which were strengthened by his Spell Might, the creature's already considerable strength and speed were further enhanced as it unleashed a flurry of deadly blows from its fiery swords.

The crimson warrior was immediately put on the defense as the demon continued its relentless assault. Step by step, the Magister's foe was pushed back, he then was about to cast another spell before something fast and large flew passed him and he felt the wind rush by him before a loud splintering of wood erupted from behind him. Looking about he saw again a mob of Elves and Qunari, the invaders had kept their distance as Atticus dealt with what must have been their leader but now he had the time to eliminate these pests.

Casting the spell Heroic Aura to provide himself a degree of protection against ranged weapons, he began to glow with a fiery light, just in time as a series of crossbow bolts struck the Magister who easily shrugged off the projectiles. A thunderously loud boom then erupted from the mob, one that released a plume of smoke and fire that launched a ball of iron that smashed into the chest of Atticus with such force that it knocked the breath out of his lungs and off of his feet. Landing with a hard crack of his skull on the cobbled ground, his vision swam as stars exploded in his vision and consciousness threatened to abandon him.

Through a supreme effort of will, the Magister was able to stay awake and he tried to get some air back into his lungs but the effort proved highly difficult as an intense pain coursed through his chest, he immediately knew that more than a few of his ribs were now fractured and he tasted blood upon his tongue. His breathing came out as a wet gurgle and he moved his head to the side and spat out the blood hearing heavy numerous footsteps coming towards his direction, he was only able to get a single mouthful of air before several dark figures towered above him and a boot smashed into his face.

With the fall of the Magister, the magic that imbued the Daemon Herald eventually faded and the tide turned in the Admiral's favor. While the daemon was still of course fast and strong to the point of both combatants now being on equal footing, the Herald's one weakness was its lack of magical aptitude along with its innate resistance towards aggressive spells that would prove useless against one whose veins flowed with the blood of Abhorash, father of the Blood Dragons. Beneath the crimson plates of the Admiral was a jeweled necklace of obsidian chains embedded with finely carved Witch Stones taken from the blighted and forgotten city of Mordheim, the power contained within pulsed a bright green light as it filled Admiral with Dhar, whose lips began forming words of power and a blood red aura surrounded her.

Arcane power infused the limbs of the Blood Dragon Admiral who casted Hellish Vigour which increased her own strength and speed, a move which infuriated the daemon who redoubled its efforts, a calculated move on the vampire's part. Like most minions of the Blood God, the Daemon Herald's savage fury brought with it a sense of recklessness that left openings in its defense. As their weapons clashed once more in a flurry of swings, stabs, slashes and parries, the daemon then thrust its right Hellblade forward in an attempt to gut the vampire while the left remained cocked back for another strike but the Admiral had anticipated this and she swerved to her left with the edge of the fiery sword being mere inches away, its intense heat could be felt even beneath the frozen plates and she brought one obsidian axe down with a swift chop.

The Daemon Herald roared in pain and rage as its right hand was severed below the wrist in a shower of burning gore, the detached extremity along with it's Hellblade evaporated into a red mist before hitting the ground. In defiance, the daemon then swung its other sword towards the vampire who parried it with one axe while thrusting the other towards the face of the daemon with the head stopping only a few inches away. Directly in front of the Herald's face was a hollow metal tube that made up the eye of the axe and with a loud click, a spark was sent into the internal mechanisms of the weapon which ignited the black powder beneath a bullet of carved warpstone.

'You do not belong in this world' quietly spoke the Admiral as a bright green round was launched into the Daemon's face and it was sent roaring back into the hell from which it came in a cloud of red.

Looking about and searching for the sorcerer, the vampire saw the heart-fires of her crew, two of which were Qunari renegades, Tal-Vashoth, dragging a familiar figure by the shoulders with head lolling about as if in a daze. A small victory and nothing more thought the Blood Dragon who sauntered towards the defeated sorcerer who admirably had at the least give them an amusing fight. Seeing that the Magister was not in any condition to speak, the Admiral then looked to her crew and give a silent nod, its meaning instantly known to all of them as they dispersed in packs.

It was not long after that the screaming began.

By midnight, all those in the port town who resisted had been either put to the sword or in chains. Slaves taken from the across the settlement had not been freed yet as they were herded to the lamp-lit town square along with many of the townsfolk. Chained trains of captured Tevinter citizens, mostly women and children wept as they were paraded through the streets, some recognized the faces of the slain, the faces of brothers, husbands, fathers and such with some trying to break off to see to the dead but after a few harsh tugs from their captors and some beatings, they complied and marched on.

Watching the procession with grim anticipation was Sidona who stood on the balcony of a high class inn with an opened flask of red wine in one hand and a glass goblet in the other. Other members of the crew lounged about as well, some wanted to get a good look at what was coming next while others really did not want to see it and they stuck with their drinks. The slaves the elf had "liberated" were down there, she tried not to think about those looks of accusation and betrayal as she handed them off to some of the other members.

At the center of the town stood the Admiral upon a wooden gallows, which normally would be used to hang criminals but in the case of the Tevinter Imperium, this included rebellious slaves, two of which had already been found dangling from rope nooses and now hanging upside down were the bodies of defeated defenders, none of which were dead yet, their blood dripping down to pool within iron pots placed beneath their heads. The Admiral's red eyes patiently observed them all with axes sheathed to the sides and arms crossed, the aura of unnatural dread that accompanied their leader had been transformed into a lingering sensation of fear that kept the hairs on the back of her neck standing.

Once every citizen or captured defender of the town had been herded to the center, like cattle, all the slaves were then ushered forth, at the edge of the square away from the Tevinter prisoners with looks of both fear and uncertainty on their faces. Armed members of the Frostfiend's crew remained ready for any resistance while large Qunari carrying bulging bags filled with weapons moved to the front of the groups of slaves. The Admiral then began to speak in a calm yet stern voice enhanced through magic with the words carried to their ears as if spoken face to face. It was that very speech Sidona had heard when she had been liberated years ago, one about predators and prey, of wolves and cattle as the Qunari crewmen between the prisoners and the slaves then drew weapons from the sacks they carried and they offered these weapons to the latter.

'I give you all now a choice' then said the Admiral with a tone of finality. 'You can remain here in Tevinter as cattle or be free and join us aboard the Frostfiend, as wolves.'

When the meaning of those words dawned upon the slaves, there was once more a look of uncertainty, of hesitance as quite a number struggled with such a decision but some, those who were more desperate, or perhaps the violent at heart quickly took up the proffered weapons. From what she could see, the first kill was done by emaciated elf who took up a mace and began beating an injured Tevinter soldier to death, the second was a dark skinned human male who used a greatsword to behead a woman clutching a child. The night air was soon filled with screams once more as the mass execution took place and no one was spared, including those who tried to fight back whether they were Tevinter or slaves who tried to stop the atrocity.

By the time things finally became quiet, the town square was a charnel scene of blood and butchered bodies. Standing amidst the piles of meat were those still clutching at their given weapons, some Sidona could imagine were in disbelief of what they just did as they looked to the corpses of the townsfolk in the eye. The Admiral then began to politely clap her armored hands in applause and spoke once more with words enhanced by magic.

'Welcome to the crew of the Frostfiend, my wolves...'

When consciousness returned to Magister Atticus, he first felt the pain in his chest sense of tightness around his arms, he then noticed his mouth was gagged as a piece of cloth had been placed between his teeth and tightly wrapped around the back of his head. The darkness of night surrounded him as he felt the ground beneath him move about followed by sound of water splashing which made him realize that he was on a boat. Looking about, he saw groups of rag dressed elves, some he recognized were slaves who were supposed to be in their cells and waiting to be sold were now rowing the oars of this ship while some he knew were from his own household.

In front of him, he saw the great ship, the one that had supposedly had entire castle placed upon it and up close he saw that it was no exaggeration. With its towering dark spires, the leering gargoyles and the ghostly lights that danced around it, the very sight of it sent a chill down his spine.

'Finally awake I see?' spoke a familiar voice to his right and he looked up to see the snarling dragon right in front of his face. Taken aback, he realized that it was just the helmet and when he looked up, he beheld the face of the warrior whose flesh was as pale as snow with hair tied into a long braid. Possessing high cheekbones and fine patrician features, he would have considered her beautiful but was far more concerned by the fresh coating of gore upon her lips, she then slowly knelt down beside him and he saw the hunger in her eyes, truly it was like that of a predatory beast.

'I have spent too long without feeding and the blood of your fellows was hardly satisfying' she then said as gauntleted hands tightly clutched at him with inhuman strength. 'Let us see if yours will be any better'

Sharp fangs suddenly protruded from her mouth and before he knew it, Atticus briefly felt a pinprick of pain and the touch of cold lips. He tried to fight it, he tried to kick this monster away but waves of ecstatic pleasure overcame him and once more, darkness threatened to consume him. Thinking of his son and telling himself that he could not die here, the Magister found with mounting despair that his efforts were in vain as his consciousness ebbed for the last and final time in his life.

Filling herself with the rich blood of the Magister, one that like from other Blood Mages curiously tasted as if it had been mixed with that of many others, the Admiral was for the moment, satisfied of her hunger as she dropped the now drained corpse that would be eventually be added to her crew. The slaves they had liberated stared at her in abject horror but one harsh look sent them back to work as the longship drew closer to the Frostfiend. Feeling the trapped Winds of Dhar that were as much as part of the vessel's construction as its timbers of its hull, the Blood Dragon then spoke a series of arcane words which caused a number of enslaved spirits to begin their work.

Aboard the deck of the Frostfiend's was a particularly massive cannon, one with a design owed to the minds of the Empire's Engineers as well as equal credit due to that mad Pirate King of Lustria, Luthor Harkon. Encased in brass and modified to resemble the mouth of a dragon was the Tsarina Shoika, a weapon that had once been a Hellhammer Cannon aimed its maw towards the port town. Slowly raising an armored fist into the air, the Shoika along with every cannon on the broadside roared with thunderous fury.

Come the morrow, there would be nothing left of the town but splinters, ashes and the broken remains of many Qunari weapons, purposefully left for any who may investigate the port's fate. As the longships prepared to be taken back up aboard the Frostfiend a ghostly song filled the air as dozens of ghosts began singing a shanty to welcome back their master.

'Yo ho the blood runs cold!' they sang as nets were cast down and the living crew members first secured the plunder from the attack.

'We take our loot but don't get old!' came the next stanza as the heavy chests filled with treasure, food and other valuables were pulled up first before the Longships were lifted.

The song then continued as ethereal minstrels played their ghostly instruments and numerous yo hos were heard with the cannons continuing to roar in bombardment to accentuate the shanty. By the time the Gunnery Mobs were brought up, the quite literal skeleton crew of the Frostfiend saluted their living comrades with rusted weapons raised.

'All hail the mighty! he's a-risin from the deep!'

'With tattered sails and incredible tales

We're partin endless seas!'