Bro decided to continue his quest for finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Denerim is our next stop.
As you see, Lothering is gone. Good riddance.
Random encounter on the way. Totally not a trap.
Traveler: Oh, thank the Maker! We need help! They attacked the wagon; please help us!
Traveler: Follow me! I'll take you to them!
Zevran: The Grey Warden dies here!
The area is full of traps. Annoying.
And now everybody's dead. Wait, not everybody.
(The elven assassin is wounded and unconscious, but alive. You could tie him up and talk to him, if you wished.)
An inner struggle in Bro's heart.
NO! MAEK LUV NOT XP!
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Bro: (Wake him up and talk to him.)
Zevran: Mmm... what? I... oh.
Zevran: I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven't killed me yet.
Bro: I decided I wanted to torture you, first.
Zevran: Ohhh, so you kept me around to have a but of fun, did you? Hmm.
Zevran: But the purpose behind torture is usually to interrogate, yes? In that case, despite the potential for fun, perhaps I'll save you a bit of time and get right to the point.
Zevran: My name is Zevran. Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failded at, sadly.
Bro: Who hired you to kill us?
Zevran: A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I think his name was? Yes, that's it.
Bro: How much were you paid?
Zevran: I wasn't paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely. Or so I understand.
Zevran: Which does make me about as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow isn't for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest.
Bro: When were you to see him next?
Zevran: I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know.
Zevran: If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain again.
Bro: That's all I wanted to know.
Zevran: Then unless you're quite stuck on cutting my throat or something equally gruesome, perhaps you'd care to hear a proposal?
Bro: I'm listening. Make it quick.
Zevran: Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will.
Zevran: Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead.
Bro: You must think I'm royally stupid.
Zevran: I think you're royally tough to kill. I'm only hoping that you're stupid.
Zevran: That was a joke. Let me re-phrase that. I'm hoping that you're the sort of fellow that takes a chance every now and again. Ha, ha. Yes?
Bro: Why would I want your service?
Zevran: Why? Because I an skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks.
Zevran: I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more... sophisticated... now that my attempts have failed.
Zevran: I also know a great many jokes. Twelve massage techniques, six different card games? I do wonderful at parties, no?
Bro: Very well. I accept your offer.
Alistair: What?! You're taking the assassin with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?
Bro: You're here, aren't you? Collecting cast-offs is what I do.
Alistair: Ow. Maybe true, but... ow.
Alistair: Oh, whatever. I'm sure you know best.
Morrigan: A fine plan. But I would examine your food and drink far more closely from now on, were I you.
Zevran: That's excellent advice for anyone.
Leliana: Welcome, Zevran. Having an Antivan Crow join us sounds like a fine plan.
Zevran: Oh? You are another companion-to-be, then? I wasn't aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers, surely.
Leliana: Or maybe not.
Zevran: I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation... this I swear.
Alistair disapproves -10
Morrigan disapproves -2
Leliana approves +2
There is a document on a body of that bitch who led us into ambush. After visiting the Circle Tower it will trigger a quest.
Nothing interesting here anymore. To Denerim.
The new guy is talkative.
Zevran: You know, Alistair, Antiva has a long tradition of royal bastards.
Alistair: You don't say?
Zevran: Oh, yes. They've led wars to claim the throne. Some of them have become kings. In fact, I'd say the current royal line in Antiva stems from bastard blood several times over.
Alistair: Well aren't you just chock full of useless trivia today.
Zevran: Sadly, whenever a royal bastard rears their head in public and declares themselves, it often goes poorly for them.
Alistair: Let me guess: they get assassinated?
Zevran: Only the very popular ones.
Alistair: And the unpopular ones?
Zevran: Well, they get by somehow, I'm sure. There was one fellow who did quite well working as a prostitute based on his uncanny resemblance to the king. Charged a fortune.
Alistair: Couldn't afford him, I take it?
Zevran: That cynicism will serve you well, my friend. Hold onto it.
Moar "fetch-n-kill" boards.
One quest (collect the corpse gall) is already finished. Several gold pieces as a reward
Chanter Rosamund: And after much sweat, blood, and toil, her labors ended. And the world marveled at what she wrought.
Why videogame guards suck so hard at performing their duty?
Sergeant Kylon: You here to report another crime? I swear, we should just cordon off the entire district.
Sergeant Kylon: Oh, uh. Can I help you, Warden?
Bro: Don't even try to arrest me.
Sergeant Kylon: Me? You must be kidding. Even if I believed the "official story" of what happened at Ostagar, I'm no fool.
Sergeant Kylon: If I asked my men to apprehend you, they'd all run and cry big, sobby tears in theirs courtesans' bosoms and leave me all alone to be skewered.
Sergeant Kylon: Don't distrurb the peace in the market and that's well enought for me.
Bro: Is the Market District really that bad?
Sergeant Kylon: The lower market isn't deemed important by the captain of the guard, even less with Arl Howe in charge.
Sergeant Kylon: So when I finally get the new men I request, I get the delightful surprise of discovering they're Lord Such-and-Such's illegitimate, untrained, moronic whelps.
Sergeant Kylon: But lords keep sending me more of them. It's decent pay, no expectations, a uniform.
Sergeant Kylon: And Arl Howe's specially picked men are the worst of the lot.
Bro: Actually, do you need any help?
Sergeant Kylon: What? You're serious?
Sergeant Kylon: I mean, yes. Yes, I could use help.
Sergeant Kylon: I got a pretty popular... establishment... that's crawling with mercenaries.
Sergeant Kylon: If I send my boys in, someone might get -- Maker forbid -- hurt. And I'll have to explain to their noble fathers that being a guard is actually dangerous.
Bro: What's the pay?
Sergeant Kylon: Do a good job, and I'll see you get some silver in your pockets... maybe even some gold.
Bro: What do you need me to do?
Sergeant Kylon: The name of the whorehouse is the Pearl.
Sergeant Kylon: Beat down any mercenaries that are out-of-line and send them a message.
Sergeant Kylon: I said beat down, not kill. Let me make that really clear. Not on fire, or exploded, or Maker knows whatever type of grisly death you can dream up.
Sergeant Kylon: Sorry... used to giving orders to my boys. Just leave them breathing, and I'll be happy.
Bro: Sign me up, Sergeant.
Sergeant Kylon: Thank you, Warden. Happy hunting.
Strange-looking dude stands at the back alley. Nobody cares.
Mages' Collective Liaison: You're the Grey Warden, aren't you? Exactly who I was hoping to meet.
Mages' Collective Liaison: I represent a collective of mages interested in going about their lives without the constant scrutiny of the Chantry.
Bro: Tell me more.
Mages' Collective Liaison: The collective is a self-policing guild of mages who simply want to be left alone. We mean no offense to the Chantry, but we would rather live on our own terms.
Mages' Collective Liaison: Next to me, and in every major settlement, you will find an inconspicuous sack containing requests from mages all over the land who need the asssistance of someone skillful and discreet.
Bro: Give me a reason not to turn you in to the templars.
Mages' Collective Liaison: Me? I am not a mage, my friend. And those members who have submitted requests are anonymous... save one or two more arrogant clients.
Mages' Collective Liaison: I assure you, we are doing the Maker's work. Magic is not ruling man under our watch.
Bro: I'll take a look at these requests.
Mages' Collective Liaison: Thank you, my friend. We have agents in every major settlement to reward you for work done on behalf of the collective.
Mages' Collective Liaison: Maker's smile upon you.
Paint doors with a blood. Wow, Bible reference!
Oh look, somebody wants to challenge me.
Ser Landry: I recognize you... from Ostagar.
Ser Landry: Andraste's blood, you're a Grey Warden! Duncan's apprentice.
Ser Landry: You killed my friend -- and good King Cailan. I demand satisfaction, ser.
Bro: (Intimidate) Lower your voice, or I'll silence it permanently.
Ser Landry: I have... heard of the Grey Wardens' prowess. And you seem... more capable than you did at Ostagar.
Ser Landry: I won't throw my life away; too many people depend on me. And I doubt guards would pose any challenge to you.
Ser Landry: But by word and deed here you condemn yourself, ser.
Pussy with a shoulder pads.
An old friend!
Gorim: Dwarven crafts! Fine dwarven --
Gorim: My lord! My lord Aeducan? Is-is that really you?
Gorim: I knew you survived. I never stopped believing it. And neither did your father. Before I left for the surface, King Endrin sent for me. It was almost more than I could endure, seeing him so.
Gorim: As if he were long dead and rotten, and now merely an empty husk collapsing in on itself. He could not even rise from his bed, and the room stank of decay.
Gorim: He asked me... to give you the Shield of Aeducan. And this letter.
Bro: I'm not sure I want anything from him now.
Gorim: I cannot blame you for your anger. I hated the king myself, for what he did to you. But when I saw him that day...
Gorim: His eyes have haunted me since. If it were possible for a man to die of regret, I think King Endrin did.
Gorim: But... we shouldn't dwell on the past. I can hardly tell you how good is to see you alive.
Bro: And now you can take your place again as my second.
Gorim: My lord, I will be loyal to you until my death, but don't ask me to come with you.
Gorim: I was injured in my travels here. My leg healed crooked and I will never fight again.
Gorim: And... I have a new life now. I married into a surface family. My wife is lovely and her father is the best smith in Denerim.
Gorim: We're... expecting our firstborn before the spring.
Bro: Well, when can I meet the lucky girl?
Gorim: I would love to introduce you.
Gorim: But you must have more important business than hearing about me.
Gorim: Have a look at my father-in-law's crafts. All fine work, and I'll cut you a discount.
Ah, Gorim has become a typical jew.
A tavern. Let's see what's inside.
Bartender: What can I get you, stranger?
Bro: Anyone need help? Maybe with something not strictly legal?
Bartender: (He glances around for prying eyes, then produces a few notes on behalf of "interested parties".)
Poorly done - to present such secrets to a total stranger. Bro could easily be working for a guards and turn him in to authorities.
Moar letter delivery from Blackstone Irregulars.
Zev has an itch to talk.
Zevran: Your mother is supposedly the one called Flemeth, the very witch from legend, is that not true?
Morrigan: There is nothing "supposed" about it. Flemeth is my mother.
Zevran: Hmm. I was more doubtful of the legend rather than your relationship to this woman. Anyone can claim a name, after all.
Morrigan: You're welcome to ask her, if you ever meet her. You're just her type.
Zevran: Oh? Elven and handsome?
Morrigan: The sort that will never be missed.
Zevran: Sounds intriguing, if you ask me.
Morrigan: You assassin types have a death wish, I see.
Zevran: (Laughs) Only the really good ones.
A warehouse nearby.
One of the "rogue" quests - collecting the body bags.
A shop here
Lots of Xp to be harvested from the books but Zevran is disappoint
Tranquil Proprietor: Welcome to the Wonders of Thedas. We carry items crafted by the Circle, as well as a variety of antiquities. Is there anything you would like to see?
Bro: (Browse his wares.)
Decent magic stuff.
And now the goal of our visit - Genetivi's home.
His "assistant".
Weylon: Yes? What are you doing here?
Bro: I am looking for Brother Genetivi.
Weylon: Brother Genetivi? Why?
Bro: I shall make my purpose known to Genetivi, and no other.
Weylon: Then I am afraid you will leave with your purpose unfulfilled.
Weylon: I haven't seen Brother Genetivi in weeks. He's sent no word; it's so unlike him.
Weylon: I am afraid something has happened. Genetivi's research into the Urn may have led him into danger.
Bro: What do you think he discovered?
Weylon: I don't know. He was very excited when he left, and said he would be back with all the answers.
Weylon: Perhaps the Urn has been lost for a reason. I pray for Genetivi's safety, but hope dwindles with each passing day.
Weylon: I-I tried to send help, but some knights came from Redcliffe looking for him not long ago. I sent them after Genetivi and they too have disappeared.
Bro: I'll succeed where they failed and get Genetivi back.
Weylon: No, don't ask me where they went. You'll go after them, and what if ill-luck should befall you, too?
Weylon: This search is a curse, on all of us. Some things are not meant to be found. I know that now.
Bro: Ugh, just tell me before I lose my patience.
Weylon: All right, all right!
Weylon: All he said before he left was that he would be staying at an inn near Lake Calenhad, investigating something in that area.
Bro: What exactly was he investigating?
Weylon: I don't know. All I discovered from going through his research was that he was staying at the inn.
Bro: (Cunning) But you just said that he spoke to you and told you that.
Weylon: Y-yes, of course he told me, but I also went through his things to see if I could find other clues to his whereabouts.
Bro: (Intimidate) You sound nervous. Hiding something?
Weylon: That's n-not true. I told you everything I know. Brother Genetivi told us -- t-told me about the inn and that's all.
Bro: You're lying; we both know it.
Weylon: I gave you a chance to turn aside and forget you ever heard of Genetivi and the Urn. But you persisted.
Weylon: Now it has come to this... Andraste forgive me. I do this in Your Name.
A death sentence to you, dumbfuck.
In the backroom lies the body of the real Weylon.
A diary in the chest nearby mentions a village called Haven.
Bro explored the quarter a little more and discovered a strange poster.
Poster: (Don't believe they lies! Friends of the Grey Wardens assemble.)
Poster: (The hidden pearl holds the key to resistance. The griffons will rise again.)
A glorious letter delivery.
Sara: Yes?
Bro: I have a letter for you from the Blackstone Irregulars.
Sara: All right... let me take a look.
Sara: I feared this day would come.
She runs away.
This part of Bro's adventures is finished. Of course he'll be heading to a whorehouse. :wink: