Values
there are injuries
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