A moment ago Inquisitor Adaar was in the bright-lit hall of the Redcliffe Castle chatting with the high and mighty.
Alas, the hall he found himself presently in, was reserved for the doomed, judging by the unmistakable press of stone overhead, knee-deep stinky water and a rusty chain dangling in front of his face.
Water made happy splashing sounds as someone waded over to his side.
He studied the arrival in the low light. A human male. Fancy clothes. The facial expression of a man aware of the inconveniences they'd suffered... Dorian Pavis, the Magister from Tevinter.
Adaar was locked in a dungeon cell with a man of the least trustworthy occupation, looking as shifty as they came, and from a country notorious for its general... untrustworthiness.
A man he knew for half-an-hour... and would know for eternity if they didn't get out of here.
"Dorian, your expert opinion on how we'd gotten here, please. Define here while you're at it."
"In my expert opinion, cowhead, we are in deep doo-doo." Dorian flipped an earwig from his collar. "We must, we must.... "
"Focus, Pavus," Adaar prompted. "You were hired as an expert on Gereon Alexius, the man who outmagicked you to put us in this dungeon."
"Hired..." Dorian fished out the ends of his silk sash and wrung them out gently. "Hired is such an uncultured term. As I recall it, I had offered you my valuable assistance because I earnestly empathize with your desire to save the world as we know it."
"Recall all you want, but--what are you doing?"
Dorian produced a small flask of perfume and poured a generous amount on his hands. A strong flowery scent cut through the sewer stench. He proffered the vial to Adaar.
Adaar backed up a step. "No."
Dorian shrugged, perfumed a lace-bordered handkerchief and pinched his nose with it. "Aha! I have it! Dastardly Gereon opened a time rift to erase you and I from history."
"Time rift..." Adaar furrowed his brow. "Speak plainly, Pavus!"
"I just did," Dorian insisted nasally. "The rift you had survived, the rift that made you famous and indispensable, was a rift in the Fade. Very dangerous indeed, threatening the world. Our gracious would-be host, Gereon, made a Rift in time. This is a lot of rifts to take in for a cowhead, but the bottom line is... we're still in deep doo-doo and must work swiftly to return. I need to know more, to tell you more."
Adaar sighed and moved towards the staircase at the end of the hall.
Dorian followed with a snide: "Good call."
As Adaar and Dorian climbed the stairs to the next subterranean level, the light grew brighter... it felt familiar, this poisonous-green shining seeping from...
"It's a Rift!" Adaar cried out just before the light pulsed in the middle of a cell and spat out a Shade.
"Thank you kindly for the timely clarification," Dorian called back. "Is it a Type 2 Rift, as in an immediate transport back through time arranged for our convenience?"
"No! Fade Rift! As in the bad one."
Adaar blocked out everything... assumed a wide stance and lifted his right hand up. Reality slowed down and swirled around him, bending, bending...
The palm of his hand swelled with dire magic, pulsed in time with the Rift, overpowering its energy, willing it to close...
...the Shade unfurled itself like a banner...
...a protective barrier encircled him...
"Thanks."
"Bah. Are you going to just stand there or close the bloody Rift? I've heard that was your only job as the Chosen of Andraste."
"I need more time," Adaar shouted through the layers of Dorian's protective magic.
"Again, thank you for the timely..." Dorian's voice dissolved into arcane mutters. A sheet of magic cold bound the Shade's feet like shackles.
The Rift collapsed, destroying the barrier.
Adaar's daggers tore into the shimmering torso, shredding it into tatters. The Shade didn't defend itself... that was the first. As the monster's misty layers drifted away, something flashed in the dimness and plonked into the murky water.
"A key!"
"So get it. You're the master-thief, locks are your specialty."
Adaar stooped to find the key in the sludge.
"Psst." Dorian squinted and pointed to the farthest corner: "That door, perhaps?"
On shaking feet--Rifts sapped away his strength--Adaar advanced at the door and inserted the key into the keyhole. "Keys do open doors."
"Is that your expert opinion?" Dorian rolled his eyes in a practiced motion. He slipped by Adaar, grabbed the gigantic doorknob and pushed the heavy door inwards.
It did not budge an inch. Dorian's forehead beaded with sweat.
Adaar gave him a slow one-over, arms folded over his chest. "Allow the master-thief, will you?"
Without waiting for an answer, he put his shoulder into it. Slowly, with a tremendous screech, the door rotated on its hinges.
"Did we even need a key?" Dorian muttered. "How on Thedas, does a bull-horned monstrosity seven feet tall become a thief? I saw cathedrals more suitable for the career than you."
"I did it on a dare."
"Obviously. It's Andraste's favor, what else. He can close the rifts, he can open doors..."
Adaar motioned to the human magnanimously. "After you."
As if courtesy would shut Dorian up. "Praised be Andraste! We're delivered again by her Chosen cowhead's talents."
Adaar clicked his tongue, anger simmering in his chest. Always slow to anger, and used to the mockery of his race since childhood in the foreign lands... but this human, this Dorian... it was harder to take from him.
Maker's breath, Adaar thought, another hour, and I'll either kill or kiss this man.