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Underground Slave Rebellion Quest

Summary: Whispers spread throughout Minrathaus of a rebellious group of slaves who have united under a secretive leader, coordinating acts of sabotage against the noble houses. Their bold defiance has rattled the elite, and tensions are rising. Your mission is to infiltrate this underground movement, gain their trust, and decide their fate. You can either dismantle their rebellion and deliver them to justice, or choose a different path—take pity on their plight, assist them in escaping the harsh rule of Tevinter, and craft a convincing story that will satisfy the Archon’s scrutiny without raising suspicion. The choice is yours, but the consequences will ripple far and wide.

Reward: If you help the slaves your reward is knowing you did the right thing and an ally in the shadows, if you help the Archon your reward will be 300 gold each.

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Lyric’s Pulse Quickened as She Crept Along the Stone Corridor.

She wasn’t supposed to be here—not anywhere near the Archon’s personal chambers—but what she had overheard had made her blood run cold.

“Burn their hiding place to the ground. No more delays.”

The Archon’s voice had been calm, almost bored, as he gave the order, but Lyric knew what that meant. The slaves hiding in the tunnels beneath Minrathous were out of time, and so was she if she didn't act now.

Damn it, she cursed under her breath. She hadn’t planned for this, but how could she live with herself if she didn’t try to warn them? Her heart ached at the thought of leaving them to their fate. She would make it in time. She had to.

—

Hours Later, Her Lungs Burned as She Slid into the Entrance of the Hidden Cavern.

She had pushed her body to its limits, sprinting through the alleyways, twisting through the shadows of Minrathous, hoping the Archon’s men hadn’t already reached the slaves. She couldn’t think about the growing pain in her side, or the fact that her fingers were numb with exhaustion. There was only one thing on her mind—getting to them first.

She stumbled into the cavern, barely keeping her footing as the room spun around her. “You have to go,” she gasped, breathless, leaning against the cold stone walls. “They’re coming. Now.”

The slaves—a mix of men, women, and even children—stared at her, wide-eyed, not quite believing her words. Some were too tired to react, their spirits already broken, but others had the will to fight. She saw it in their eyes.

“We can’t stay here,” she pressed on. “I’ll help you. But we need to move now.”

It took everything she had to convince them, but once they started moving, the panic spread fast. Lyric led the way, her vision blurring as she stumbled through the winding tunnels. She could hear the boots of Tevinter soldiers in the distance—closer than she had hoped. She pushed harder, ignoring the screaming pain in her body, dragging one of the younger girls by the arm when she fell behind.

—

Just Outside the City’s Edge, Her Strength Finally Gave Out.

They had made it, barely. The sounds of the soldiers had faded into the distance, lost in the labyrinth of streets and tunnels, but Lyric could feel the blood soaking through the bandages she had hastily wrapped around her side. A stray arrow had grazed her during the chase, and the wound was worse than she had thought.

She collapsed against a broken column in an abandoned part of the city. The slaves gathered around her, thanking her, some crying with relief. But Lyric couldn’t focus on their words anymore. Her body felt heavy, her breaths shallow.

Tibs, she thought desperately. I need him.

With trembling hands, she reached into her pouch and pulled out the sending stone—her last lifeline. She whispered the message, feeling the warmth of the magic as it took her words and sent them to him.

Tibs, she murmured into the stone. I’ve done something reckless. I’m injured. I got the slaves out, but... I’m stuck. I need you. Please, hurry.

The stone flickered briefly in her hand before growing cold. She exhaled, leaning her head back against the rough stone surface behind her. Every muscle in her body ached, and her side throbbed painfully, but she forced herself to stay awake, even though she was light-headed from the blood loss.

He’ll come for me, she told herself, clutching the stone tightly in her hand. He always does.

The city was unnaturally quiet around her as she sat there, waiting, the distant fires of Minrathous flickering against the night sky. The slaves she had saved huddled close, but Lyric’s thoughts were far away now. She stared down the dark streets, knowing that any moment, Tibs would come rushing to her side.

She just had to hold on a little longer.

@Tiberius Umbra

The sending stone ring was hot on his finger as Tiberius saddled up Bel, half in a daze. He delayed just long enough to order Tacitus to lock down the estate, to rouse every guard from their beds. If they were about to fall under attack, the Eyes at their door— He should not leave, he should have roused Akibrus instead. Perhaps he read that judgment in his seneschal's eyes, or possibly it was only his own guilt.

Tiberius had always been far too permissive with Lyric, and now it would doom them all.

Swinging up into the giant cat’s saddle, they launched into the night with only a vague idea of where to go. He knew the rumors – strange monsters in the sewers, escaped slaves and Venatori cultists in the old thiag. They’d be somewhere close to sea level, on the outer edge of the island. Tiberius brandished his staff, violently wrenching local spirits out of the Fade with a silent command: lead me to her. Wisps and wraiths scattered, then coalesced. Bel sprang after them, ignoring the roads as only an agile feline could.

---

Wet sand sucked at his boots as he neared their hiding place, the ground streaked iridescent shades by alchemical runoff. Several old tunnels outlet here, where the cliffs crumbled into the sea. Bel padded carefully behind, grumbling as cold sea water washed over her paws.

“You don’t belong here, Magister!” A torch swung out of the darkness, aimed at his head. The sudden light was momentarily blinding – Tiberius stuttered forward in a sweeping wave of shadow, disappearing and reforming on his assailant’s other side.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t give me an excuse to murder you. Where is she?” Now he was in the middle of them, breathing and quiet voices all around. He stuck the end of his staff in the sand and it flared into soft, silvery light, illuminating dozens of faces. Wretched, rawboned, freezing in their rags. The scent of smoke was slowly exhaled by the cavern to their backs.

And there Lyric was, still dressed for the palace. Curled at the foot of a weather dwarven pillar. Tiberius strode forward and knelt before her, holding his breath as he took in the state of her. Exhaustion and blood loss – he could tell little else. He produced a small silver knife and slashed open his palm, then gathered up her hands.

“You have to heal yourself, sunshine. Take my mana.”

@Lyric Oatshield

Lyric stirred at the sudden warmth that surged through her hands, her eyelids fluttering as her gaze focused on Tiberius’s face above her. Relief washed over her, but it quickly mixed with a familiar exasperation as she took in his expression—equal parts furious and frantic.

Tibs! You came, she whispered, managing a weak smile, though she knew he was not in the mood to indulge her.

She felt the mana hum through his blood, a buzzing energy that made her fingertips tingle and chased away the fog in her mind. She clutched his hands, drawing the power from him as he’d instructed, feeling her wounds begin to mend, the pain ebbing just slightly with each heartbeat.

As her strength returned, she squeezed his hand a bit tighter, pushing herself to sit up. Don’t be mad, she started, but her voice faltered when she saw the tight set of his jaw, the fiery glint in his eyes. He looked like he’d weathered a storm to get here.

I know what you’re thinking, but they needed help, Tibs. She glanced around at the huddled figures in the dark, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear. I couldn’t just…leave them there. And hey, she added with a small, forced laugh, I survived, didn’t I?

Her eyes met his, a silent plea beneath the humor. She could see his anger crack, just barely, replaced by that fierce loyalty she’d come to rely on.

I’m really glad you’re here, she whispered, her voice softer, as she rested her head back against the stone, feeling his warmth and strength anchoring her in the cold night air.

@Tiberius Umbra

It was not exactly pleasant, this transfer of magical energies. A wave of nausea swept over him and Tiberius held very still until it passed. Blood magic, as ever, was far more suitable for taking than giving. Especially when the receiving mage had no talent for it. The thin cut bled like a head wound, staining Lyric’s hands. After a moment or two, he shook his head and disentangled his hands from hers, pushing to his feet.

Don’t be mad.

Was he? It was difficult to say what he felt beneath the fear, just now. Resignation, perhaps. Part of him had expected something like this would come up. Only, he had thought it would happen months ago, when Lyric had been a stranger unfamiliar with Tevene customs, here under coercion. She was not coerced anymore — and she knew better by now. He followed her gaze to the runaway slaves, trying not to learn their faces. The less he knew of them, the better it would be for slave and magister both.

Were they listening? Would that single syllable of his name reach one of Valentius’ agents? The Archon’s ears?

Slowly, he tied a handkerchief around his palm and called up the blood from the sand, both of theirs. It floated lazily by his shoulder and then away, into the sea where it could not be traced.

“Yes, I can see that.” She'd be fine, but only for now as this surely wasn’t over yet. Tiberius bent again and picked her up, carrying her bridal-style away from the pillar. “But they saw you – I need to take care of that.” He kissed her hair, inhaling the herbaceous scent she favored. As much as he didn’t want to let her out of his sight, there was no time to send to Ursus. Well, let know one say he was afraid of doing his own dirty work.

“No more talk, Sunshine.” Bel grumbled happily as Tiberius approached and helped Lyric onto the big cat’s back. Even his favorite of the animals liked Lyric better, alas.

“Go directly home. Don’t make me beg.” He frowned at Bel, knowing full well Lyric could command the creature to go anywhere she liked. Hopefully she was too tired for any further magic. Tiberius looked back to the tunnel with the grim mien of a man convincing himself of the necessity of murder.

@Lyric Oatshield

Lyric watched him as he disappeared into the shadowed entrance of the tunnels, his staff glowing faintly, a sliver of silver in the dark. For a moment, her heart clenched, the weight of what she had done sinking into her like a stone. She had dragged him into this mess, but wasn’t that always how it went? At least in the past it had been Aki or Ronan, now it was Tibs.

He’s grumpy now, Bel, she whispered, leaning forward to rest her cheek against the big cat’s soft fur. But he’ll understand. He has to.

Bel purred in response, the deep vibration soothing her aching body as the sleek panther padded across the wet sand. Lyric let her eyes drift shut, trusting the creature to carry her safely home. The city’s jagged skyline loomed in the distance, but she could feel the warmth of the hearth in her little room already, could imagine the way Tibs would storm in, covered in soot or blood or both, and scold her with a kind of ferocity only he could manage.

You’ll tell him I tried my best, won’t you, Bel? she murmured. You’re such a good listener.

The big cat gave a soft chuff, and Lyric smiled faintly, her exhaustion pulling her under as the sea breeze whispered through her hair. When she woke again, it was to the sound of Bel’s claws clicking against the polished stone of the estate floor. She blinked, the familiar scent of juniper and ink surrounding her as the warmth of the house embraced her. The servants, silent and efficient, ushered her inside, clucking softly over her injuries.

She let them help, her thoughts growing hazy as they cleaned her wounds and wrapped her in soft blankets. But even as she lay in her bed, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, her thoughts remained on Tibs. She knew he would be angry when he returned, but she also knew he wouldn’t leave her side for long.

I’ll make him tea, she decided aloud, though her words were slurred with exhaustion. And I’ll tell him… She trailed off, her eyes closing as sleep claimed her at last.

The house fell quiet around her, the kind of stillness that only came after chaos. But Lyric was safe, and she knew, deep in her heart, that Tibs would come back to her soon. For now, she would rest, her dreams a strange tangle of shadows and light, of whispers and warmth, of the faint hum of the sending stone still clutched in her hand.

@Tiberius Umbra

Content Warning: Brief but explicit violence.

He stood in the mouth of the catacombs, staff tucked under his arm. As Bel padded away, the runaway slaves conferred in low voices. What would become of them now that their advocate was gone? Tiberius could not afford to care, only lingering long enough to steal their memories of Lyric and himself from their minds before he walked away into the dark. The wisps he had summoned trailed after him in confusion until they were banished by a sharp gesture.

You cannot help anyone while damning yourself. At least, that is what he told himself. Clearly, Lyric would not agree – supposing she had thought of the future at all.

The tunnels beneath Minrathous honeycombed the whole island. Tiberius was no expert at navigating them, only following the signs of Lyric’s flight. Blood here, a shattered crossbow bolt there, a scrap of cloth or lost shoe. He did not want to think about what he needed to do, the violence he must reach for against the Archon’s loyal soldiers. Not darkspawn, not foreign provocateurs, not the oxmen. Their plain human voices carried far down here, giving him time to prepare.

Tiberius formed his illusion with care: a phalanx of soldiers in the Archon’s own livery, a mirror to those he hunted, anonymous in their full helms. While their bodies were ultimately insubstantial, their blades were real enough to cut. He cloaked himself in invisibility and followed after.

Calls and demands came, as the true soldiers caught sight of the false. You there, report. Have you seen them? His illusions were silent, and they fell upon their task in a frenzy of muddled light. When it was over, Tiberius walked among the dead and dying and cut their throats with a blade of ice, lest anyone command these bodies to speak.

---

It took hours to make the journey home. A stolen smuggler’s skiff, circling the city until he was below the cliffs that backed the Umbra estate. A long climb up hidden, worn down stairs. He should have woken his armsman, Ursus, and reported the night’s events but he could not bear it. If he did, the seneschal would see Lyric as nothing more than a troublesome child ever again.

Instead, Tiberius took a bottle of wine from the cellar and let himself into his bedroom. Lyric was there, asleep. He dropped into the armchair by the hearth and drank from the bottle, tasting nothing but the wine’s sourness. He rarely drank to get drunk and now found little to recommend the process. Tiberius struggled out of his jacket and waistcoat, wincing at the noise. He glanced back at the bed and saw Lyric awake.

“Why?” He stood, limned in the firelight. “Did you know one of them? I don't understand. Why would you put our family – your own daughter – in danger for a bunch of strangers?”

@Lyric Oatshield

Lyric blinked up at him, her mind still sluggish from sleep, but his words cut through the haze like a blade. She pushed herself up on her elbows, wincing as the movement tugged at her half-healed wounds. The firelight made his expression hard to read, but she could hear it—*the crack in his voice, the weight of it.*

Her fingers tightened in the blankets as she swallowed past the lump in her throat.

I didn’t have to know them, she said softly. They were running. They were scared. That was enough.

She exhaled, shifting so she could sit properly. It felt wrong to be curled up in warmth while he stood there, tense and torn between anger and something far worse.

And my daughter? Tibs, I did this *for* her. What kind of world am I leaving her if I let fear stop me from doing what’s right? If I look away, if I pretend it’s not happening, how can I tell her to be brave?

She shook her head, voice rough with exhaustion and something deeper, something that ached.

I can’t do that. I won’t.

@Tiberius Umbra