There were three of them. The best of the uninitiated in the Imperium. Alone they were each the equal of several men. Together they could fell an army. Induction into the Order is no light matter and traditionally restricted to those who could master the Fade. The security of the Imperium and her people, it's beating heart, would one day lie with these brave men and women. The Order is the staff that illuminates the darkness. The blade that strikes from shadow. The bulwark that pushes back against the Void. Ordo Silentia.
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The first to clutch my attention was Milexenia, an elf of all things. She was a gladiator whose grace was only matched by her exotic beauty. She stood no taller than my pauldrons with skin the color of Antivan caramel and luscious hair darker than a moonless dusk. Perhaps it was fate or the design of the Archon himself that I caught her victory in the Proving.
The Archon so loved his sport and it was there that I was tasked with creating this unorthodox contubernium of elites. She moved as a lightning strike dancing amidst the clouds felling one, then another, and yet another. Her speed made her imperceptible to the naked eye. What came as a focused gaze from myself barely returned as a peripheral glimpse. I was in awe. And as her enemies circled the red earth of the Proving Coliseum she seductively posed in the center, victorious. Holding apart her daggers trickling with blood outward in an inviting and yet challenging manner. She was a siren had I ever seen one.
After a brief moment of silence which had seemed more akin to minutes than seconds the crowd roared. The maddened bellows and cheers of the Soporati shook the very foundation of the ancient structure. I could feel her manifested victory hitting my chest like a crashing wave. I knew at that moment that she was my first recruit.
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The second given the honor to join the Order was Bracchus Vesuvian, Legate of the Imperial Legion. A member of the Altus house that is patron to my own and a cousin twice removed, there were few equal to Bracchus' skill on the battlefield. A wiry-haired, giant of a man especially for a Tevinter. Ignis, a zwiehander wrestled from a Karashok in one of the Legions' few victories in Seheron of late, was dwarfed by his towering frame. Forever his battle companion they were inseparable since that relished victory all those years ago.
Bracchus was a practical man resigned to the fate that he would not rise beyond the rank of General within the Imperium. Stout and true, had he been born to the griffons of the Anderfels or the hounds of Ferelden he'd be a champion of illustrious repute bringing both honor and glory to his families' name. But he is Tevinter and words such as honor and glory are rare commodities afforded only by those born with the 'gift'. A folly that the Imperium of Old would shun without impunity. This was his opportunity to prove that men of mundane nature were just as worthy as the Fade-Touched. My cousin would not squander it. He could not.
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Last to join was my apprentice, Merrie Lariat. A golden haired beauty with crystalline eyes bluer than the Boeric Ocean. A true Orlesian lioness whose stare would inspire many a bard. I was smitten the day my eyes laid upon her. She was a Senior Enchanter of the Monstimmard Circle. When the Enclave of the Sacred Ashes was attacked and the Sunburst Divine slain the barbarous lands to south fell into a chaos worthy of the approval of Razikale.
Merrie was a Libertarian, a fraternity in the non-Tevene Circles known for it's liberal approach towards magic. With their idealistic liberalism came the superstitious scrutiny of the Orlesian barbarians. Her association with the fraternity had all but condemned her to death when fighting erupted between the zealous templars and the meek southern mages.
She found the resolve to journey north towards more sympathetic lands. Disguised as an unwashed peasant she eventually reached the Nevarran-Tevene border. There she was was questioned by three auxilia as to her reasons for crossing into the Imperial territories. As the story goes, fear and regret in equal measure consumed her as she released a draconic gout of flame from her hand. The blaze engulfed the legionnaires as it changed hue twice. From a fiery orange then to a milky white and finally a bluish tinge. Their corpses burst in the searing heat of the flame. Humors and entrails were quickly bunt to ash and as the fires died down around her all that remained were reddish embers. She ran until her lungs were inflamed and breath evaded her eventually collapsing from the physical and emotional strain of the ordeal. It was half a day before she was captured by a cohort of legionnaires.
Being a mage she was afforded a trial before the local magistrate of a miserable little border settlement called Solas. Upon the magistrate's inspection she pleaded as a foreigner for her right to be tried by the senate and the magisterium. Impressed with her knowledge of Tevinter laws she was escorted under heavy guard to Minrathous.
It was in the Archon's legatio where I had first seen her. Tired and more than a little frightened she looked around the quarters. For a means of escape I assumed. The wit that I had percieved as well as the beauty hidden under weeks of travel and soot was what captured me. She was bound with warded shackles of dwarven make reserved only for outlaws with the gift. It was temporary measure had she been dim enough to attempt to use her magic. The praetorians that escorted her threw her to the floor where she prostrated on bended knee.
"You have been give a great honor. Not many murderous reprobates would warrant an audience with the Archon of the Imperium, least of all a foreign mage of stifled training. The magistrate and cohort stationed on my border was nonetheless impressed with your display of power as well as your knowledge of our laws and customs. Tell me barbarian, why should I spare you?"
She took a deep breath knowing that a single wrong word could spell her undoing. She tilted her head upwards, her eyes heavy with held tears. I stood arms crossed beside the Archon who had been resting on his marble carved throne.
"I only plead for mercy your Excellency! I am but a refugee from a land that curses me for my gift. The south is in turmoil. The Templars of the Chantry hunt and butcher us like sheep. I did not collude with the rebels, but irrespective of my choices I would be persecuted for my ability to touch the Fade. Is the Imperium not different monsieur? I pledge myself to you and the Imperium. I would serve the Legion as recompense for my crimes. Perhaps giving my life for the Imperium would find me redeemed of my transgression."
I could see the earnestness in her plea. She did not want to kill those men. I looked towards the Archon with sharpened eyes. He understood. The Archon leaned in as he gave his judgment.
"Very well. You have spoken your piece Orlesian. Take her from my sight. I must confer with the Magister-General further before deciding what to do with her."
The praetorians took her each by one arm and dragged her from the Archon's legatio.
"What are you thinking Euandros?", chuckled the Archon as he measured me for intent. "You have that look about you. The one where you are about to say something I will utterly disagree with."
"She could be of use to me. She killed three auxilia tired and starved. Reduced them to ash. A feat unfamilar to all outside of the Altus within the last Age."
"And what would your infinite wisdom deem a worthy punishment?" he sung out in a condesending tone. "She is a criminal -- a murderer. She should be hung or perhaps thrown in the Proving pits. "
"I would take her as an indentured slave. Last I checked I was still a General of the Legion. She could serve me and perhaps in time earn her redemption. I will test her. If her potential is near anything we've heard she will serve Tevinter. And if it is not she will die an unceremonious death."
"How predictable of you. You were always a soft touch. Even in the time of our apprenticeship under First Enchanter Galerrium you were always looking for ways to avoid bloodshed. I don't know how you've managed to climb to the ranks of General in the Legion."
"Skill my friend. Hard work and skill."
"So be it. You may take the girl as a slave and apprentice. Should she prove troublesome know that the consequences are your own."
"Thank you, your Excellency."
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Months passed. The recruits were sufficiently prepared and formally inducted into the Ordo Silentia. Bracchus and Milexenia were the first without magic and Merrie the first foreign mage to complete the arduous training. They were now silent sentinels. The shadowy elite of the Imperium tasked with its protection from forces both foreign and domestic and I, was their Commander and Overseer.
They had barely known of each other before boarding the Seductora, an Antivan merchant frigate bound for Seheron. I could vaguely remember quarrelling between Bracchus and Merrie as she rebuffed his advances. Perhaps even a dull recollection of Merrie shouting knife-ear.
I was deep in meditation for the duration of the voyage. I ordered the ensigns, the Captain, and the privateers not to disturb me. For what seemed two weeks I sat cross legged in the barracks. I found myself studying under the sage spirits of the Fade and in turn the Fade sustained my mind and through it, my body. I focused on synchronizing body and mind so that I may bridge the gap between both worlds with greater ease.
Battle Magisters of the Ordo Silentia are devout followers of Dirth'ena Enasalin, the knowledge that leads to victory, much to the chagrin and amusement of the select few of the magisterium that know of the Order's existence. These magisters find it humorous and peculiar that some willingly turn to the unorthodox philosophy and magic of the Ancient Elves. Perhaps they view it as inferior and in some respects, threatening.
The Battle Magisters have dedicated their lives to the pursuit of discipline and wisdom and the Dirth'ena is excellence in all things magical and mundane. It is to strive for the mastery of balance. The southern Circles have a similar school of mages called the Knight-Enchanters but they have all but forgotten the Dirth'ena. They erroneously believe their magic to be of human origin and pay no mind to its elven principles. It is this drive for excellence and strength of mind that grant us our uncanny abilities on the battlefield and this would be my weapon of choice upon my encounter with the Karasten plaguing the northern shores of Seheron.
The frumentarii had been delivering reports of a mobilization signaling what would appear to be major a offensive coming from the Qunari. For months activity in the north of the island was quiet. Had the Archon not ordered me to personally investigate I would have pulled our legionnaires stationed in the south back home as the magisterium had mandated.
The Qunari had settled in the west where the natives ignorantly viewed them as saviors. Mostly it was elves converting and dying for a religion that was not their own. Then you hear the wives tales of the Fog Warriors—rebellious natives led by their Shamans. If they could be found, it'd be in the island's center. But the north; the north is dangerous. It is hostile. It's where the jungle is thickest. It is the domain of black jungle cats and poisonous serpents who rule with fervor. What the cats and serpents leave behind the Tal Vashoth would scavenge like vultures. Even the Qunari are malleable enough to restrict their presence in the area solely to their arrival from Par Vollen.
What were they planning?
At that moment I felt the ship maneuver. My stomach turned with the frigate and as my thoughts began to align with the present, I knew we had arrived. Alam.
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