Legend (Dragon Age Origins)

Chapter 28: Dead Man's Trail

"Brother Genitivi? Open this door!"

The sound of Dru's fist thumping against the wooden door echoed down the dingy alley.

"What are you doing?" Alistair whispered, as if speaking normally were the thing to give them away. "He's not a criminal."

"I might be one soon if he doesn't open this door," Dru growled.

She beat her fist against the door again and hissed with pain. The skin on her knuckles were beginning to tear. Annoyed, she began kicking the door with the toe of her boot instead.

"How do we know this is where he lives?" Morrigan asked.

She was perched on a stack of crates across the street. Zevran was leaning against the crates beside her, showing off the swirling tattoos on his arm to Wynne. He frowned at Morrigan, a hand on his heart in mock offence.

"I'll have you know, I paid my contacts a large sum of money in order to gain the location of this petulant little man," he said. "All while you and Leliana were lounging in the inn, perhaps enjoying each other's company, can we say, a little too much...?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

Morrigan's face twisted in disgust. "We did no such thing!"

"Hold on, hold on, go back." Alistair waved his hands as he approached them. "What contacts of yours?"

"Old friends, actually." Zevran shrugged.

"'Old friends'?" Alistair repeated, his disbelief clear in his voice.

"Do you not understand the term, Alistair?" Morrigan sneered. "Is it because the only friends you have known in your life are those of your sock puppets?"

"That is quite enough," Wynne snapped. She massaged her temples. "Now, we are all tired and sore from our travels and—Dru! Can you please stop kicking that door!"

Dru glared at the group. "Fine," she spat. 

She turned back to the door, raised her boot as Wynne and Alistair shouted at her to stop, and kicked the door open.

As the door flew open in a splintering wreck, a young man in a dress robe jumped back with a loud squeal. Dru shouted as well, not expecting to see him there.

"What... what...?" he stammered.

"Brother Genitivi?" Wynne came forward. "We deeply apologise for this intrusion. My friend here is a little too... enthusiastic, shall we say?"

The man blinked at them, beginning to calm down. "Brother Genitivi is not here. My name is Weylon, I'm his assistant."

Dru peered past him into the house. It was dimly lit, the windows covered with blankets or thick curtains drawn tightly shut. A few scattered candles had been lit, enough to grant small beacons of light that revealed the books and furnishings that were strewn about and torn apart.

"Do you mind if we speak inside?" She was already pushing past Weylon as she asked the question, ignoring his protests.

"Whew! Quite a smell!" Zevran exclaimed as he entered.

There was a deep, horrid stench inside that reminded Dru of the smell of darkspawn. The front door opened up into a large dining and living space, with the few doors leading from the room kept firmly shut. Broken glass crunched underfoot as the group entered. A painting sat upturned on the floor and Dru flipped it over with her foot, revealing a torn portrait of Andraste.

"Brother Genitivi left in a hurry, he said he had no time to waste," Weylon informed them, no doubt sensing their suspicions. "He instructed me to stay behind and clean what I could, but he's been gone now for weeks. He's sent no word; it's so unlike him."