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TAKE BACK OUR STREETS!

Fereldan refugees, Qunari soldiers... Who next? Tevinter slavers snatching children out of their beds?

THIS ENDS NOW!

Send a message that Kirkwallers WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS! We must band together to drive foreign waste from our doorstep. Reclaim the Free Marches FOR THE MARCHERS!

If you care about our future, join the Friends of Kirkwall! Reclaim our city!

Years ago, Jerrik saved a young, injured bronto from the darkspawn. The bronto took to Jerrik immediately and refused to leave his side. It even started sleeping under Jerrik's bed, even though the space was far too snug for him. Jerrik started calling the bronto "Snug," and the name stuck. Snug is extremely protective of Jerrik and will defend him to the death.

Four panels reproduced here appear to be part of a much larger mural.

The topmost panel shows a jug overflowing with water, standing on an altar. Three elves in robes are positioned around the altar, while a crowd of elves in warlike regalia stands just slightly apart from them.

Just below is a depiction of all the elves, those in robes and those in armor, prostrating themselves before the altar with worshipful expressions.

Third from the top is a carving which shows one of the three robed figures, a woman with an elaborate tattoo on her face, drinking from the jug on the altar while the other elves watch.

The bottom image shows the tattooed woman standing waist-deep in a pool of water. She holds the jug with water spilling out of its mouth. The armored elves bow before her.

—Describing a strange tablet.

I was wrong. We cannot control the creature Corypheus. Even our most powerful mages hold no influence with him. In truth, it is they who have been most vulnerable.

A dozen times, those assigned to guard or study the creature have sought the key to free him. When they are removed to a safe distance, they remember little. They speak of a voice in their minds, a calling like that of the Old Gods, but it wanes outside Corypheus's presence.

Darkspawn have attacked as well, seeking him. I can only assume they are summoned the same way. Somehow, his magic lets him speak through the blight itself, affecting any who bear its taint.

This same power stays the hand of any Warden who approaches to kill him. I must recommend that we seal this prison over and conceal its very existence. Corypheus must not be allowed to go free.

—From Warden-Commander Daneken to the First Warden in Weisshaupt, 1014 TE

Gamlen,

I found the Gem of Keroshek. If you want it, come to Darktown. Alone.

Madam,

I can assure you that the Circle of Magi is not a sacrilegious institution and that, indeed, we operate under the supervision of the Chantry. It would make our investigation of your husband's death much easier if you would simply co-operate with us. I am disappointed to hear that you sold the golem's activation rod—I understand both it and your husband were of invaluable aid to King Maric during the war against Orlais. Without the rod, we cannot discern whether Wilhelm's golem was responsible for his murder. The golem will simply have to remain where it is unless the villagers can find a means to destroy it. Our condolences to you and your son for your loss. I imagine it is of little consolation to you, but your husband is much admired here and will be missed.

Maker keep you.

—First Enchanter Arlen

Sophia,

Arl Ruahn and his entire family have been slaughtered, even the children. The Ruahn line is no more and the arling belongs to the crown, for now. Arland believed Ruahn was plotting against him. Ruahn criticized the king's spending on Wintersend--that is all. It was an idle word, spoken out of turn. The king goes too far. His brain is filled with madness and he clings to the crown like a drowning man clutches at a straw.

Sophia, I beg you, help us. If nothing is done, more will suffer.

Your humble servant,
—Wulff.

If the Warden is not the noble dwarf...

My Lord Harrowmont,
My guilt weighs heavily on me, and I know now that I was a fool. Only a fool would cut out his own heart and burn it for the sake of appearances. I allowed the Assembly to send my child to exile and death because I feared an inquiry into Trian's murder would taint our house with scandal. You have been my rock and my shield these long months and for that I thank you. But I must ask for one thing more. I wish to discover if my child survived. Even the smallest trace will set my mind at ease. Send your men, your scouts, anyone who will go!

Bhelen thinks I am mad. He says that if word spreads of my wish, our House will be undone. He doesn't know that Aeducan is already lost. I destroyed us when I sacrificed what was most precious. Please, Pyral, help me. I come to you not as a king, but as a father.

—A note from the late King Endrin Aeducan.

If the Warden is the noble dwarf...

Perhaps you will burn this letter unread. For that, I would not blame you. But I would not return to the Stone without saying this to you: I have seen what Bhelen is. And when I saw it, I knew I had been a fool. For only a fool would cut out his own heart and burn it for the sake of appearances. I never believed in your guilt. I allowed you to be exiled because I feared an inquiry into Trian's murder would taint our house with scandal in the eyes of the deshyrs and cost our family the throne.

But I have saved nothing by this sacrifice: I sent my only child into an uncertain exile. Know that whatever you do now, you bear all the honor and pride of House Aeducan.

—A note from the late King Endrin Aeducan.

My dearest Prince Bhelen,

You are too kind to me. I am a small and insignificant thing and I do not deserve your attention, but your willingness to tolerate my presence shows you to be a prince among men! I cannot thank you enough for the beautiful necklace you presented to me. I will cherish it always and I promise I will wear it at our next meeting. I know my gratitude means nothing to you but I must say again: Thank you. I will always be your humble and devoted servant.

—Yours truly, R.

My dear friend,

I have obtained the books you requested. I'll leave them at our usual hiding spot. Please collect them as soon as possible. I would hate to see them in the wrong hands!

Your last letter was fascinating! You have proven me wrong, once again, by doing the impossible. I shouldn't have doubted your resolve, and I hope you will keep me apprised of further progress.

Your friend and colleague,
O

My dear Gerav,

A little bird told me you were spotted near Kirkwall. Come by the Hanged Man sometime and show me the new self-loading chambers you were working on for our little girl. Bianca's missed you, and I think she might need a tune-up.

Your friend,
Varric Tethras

Dear Heather,

How are you? How are Father and Mother? I don't know why I ask this; it was made clear so many years ago that I am no child of theirs. You are my only family now and I thank the Maker that you had love and courage enough to keep calling me sister.

I am happy for you and overjoyed to hear of your upcoming nuptials. Count your blessings; I believe you have snagged yourself a fine lad. So young, and already the owner of his own freehold! Soon you will start a family of your own. Oh, Heather, I do envy you.

But perhaps I shall envy you for not much longer. We have hoped and prayed for something, anything, and now I see the prison bars begin to bend and sag. So much injustice has been done to my kind, and they cannot have dreamed that the Maker would allow it to continue. There is a change coming to the tower; I can feel it, and it both excites and terrifies me.

I don't know when I shall write again, dear sister, but do not worry. If all goes well, perhaps no letters will be necessary, and you shall find me on your very doorstep!

—With much love, Gwynlian.

It was with no small flair that Duke Prosper de Montfort offered a home to the exiled Esme de Jolie's considerable library of social graces, including the ever-growing volumes of Courtly Prominence so carefully logged by the dedicated scholars of Her Majesty's intimate circle.

It was an act of charity to a former enemy that, while earning a considerable influence, was no small expense of delivery. De Montfort downplayed these elements with customary charm, insisting that he accepted this burden with the increase in status firmly second among his considerations. "It is an honor to be honored when literary lineage is the true benefactor. De Jolie can rest well knowing that I hold his treasured tomes where none shall harm or read them. If he is allowed to encroach upon Orlesian territory at some distant time, perhaps he can petition to visit them."

—A Library of Distinction: Notes on the Dispensing of the Holdings of the Disgraced Esme de Jolie, collected and edited by Delsea Veland in service of Duke Prosper de Montfort

So many of my fellow knights have been searching for the Urn. Surely one of them must have found Brother Genitivi by now. Still, until I hear that all is well, I must proceed as planned. Brother Genitivi holds the key to finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes: We always knew this, but I believe I now know where Brother Genitivi lies. I have been to his home in Denerim and found the trail, and I am amazed that other knights have not done likewise. Unless they have? No, it is best not to get caught up in thoughts of conspiracy. Ser Donall awaits my report in Lothering. I must go to him immediately and report what I have learned. Should anyone find these ramblings, all I ask is that he be informed of my fate. I pray that he complete what I cannot.

—A note from Ser Henric of Redcliffe.

Mistress Matilda,

The council has unanimously agreed to put you in charge of the decorations for Honnleath's upcoming harvest festival. We all adored what you did with the village for the winter solstice. As usual, the statue must be adorned with items that capture the essence of the season. Iris kindly offered the use of her wide-brimmed straw hat with the berries and daisies and would love to see it on the statue. Farmer Goodman will also donate some of his baby pumpkins. We think a garland of small pumpkins and ribbons draped about the statue's shoulders would be lovely.

Whatever you decide will be splendid, I'm sure, and we are all looking forward to it.

—Councilman Murray

(Torn from a book of local myths and legends)

The Korcari Wilds are rife with legends and myths that have amazed and confounded scholars since the fall of Ostagar in ancient times.

One such mystery lies behind the tale of Astia and Nebbunar, two young lovers who lived in Ostagar. The legend says that Astia grew up in the company of Gazarath, a spirit of the earth bound to an overhang on the bank of a lake in the Korcari Wilds. Gazarath began to fancy her, and they spent much of their days together, talking and laughing. Over the years, however, Astia became a woman and began to seek the company of men.

When Astia met Nebbunar, the two fell in love, and Astia hoped to bring her lover to see her spirit friend. But the spirit, angered and jealous, bade her begone. Gazarath told her that she would never see it again until she brought her lover's ashes and sprinkled them over their spot.

Astia was horrified, and she fled from the enraged spirit. But she began to miss Gazarath, and on the day Nebbunar asked her to marry him, she cut her beloved's throat, burned him, and brought his ashes to Gazarath, knowing that their marriage would forever sever her ties to her dear spirit friend.

There are legends among the Chasind that Gazarath still haunts that lake, and that those who sprinkle ashes of the deceased over the right spot can summon the spirit. In memory of the contract with its beloved Astia, Gazarath will grant a single wish and then vanish, never to be heard from again.

(A note is scribbled in the margin beneath the page) "Markus, I think this is real! If you take the ashes I gave you and scatter them over a pile of rocks on an overhang overlooking the half-sunken Tevinter Dome, maybe Gazarath will appear and give you a wish! If the battle takes you there, I think it's worth a try!"

Soldier's Peak is more than we bargained for. There is sinister magic at work here. The men are seeing things and cannot tell nightmares from reality. The fallen return to life to attack again and again, and we are assaulted by dark creatures the likes of which I have never seen. Whoever is responsible is intent on destroying us all—the king's army and the Grey Wardens both.

Send help! We cannot last much longer.

—Commander Athlar.

Messere DuPuis,

This is in regards to your inquiry into missing mages. I would like to remind you that the duty of seeking out missing mages, if there were any to begin with, would fall to the templars of Starkhaven, not a minor nobleman from Kirkwall.

I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that the Circle of the Magi, as a whole, does not welcome casual inquiries about the mages in its care.

Thank you,
First Enchanter Raddick

I hope whoever finds this can read it. I hate the thought that my last words might be used as kindling or, Maker forbid, to wipe someone's bum, but that's happenstance for you, I suppose.

My name is Branan. I was born in Rainesfere. I grew apples, once upon a time. When the Orlesians came to demand I bow to their emperor, I turned them away. They set fire to my orchards. To my house, too, but I didn't care. I stood and watched them burn. Trees die eventually. Houses fall. But my honor can be lost only if I let it.

They came back a week later and demanded that I swear an oath. This time, when I refused, they clapped me in irons. Now I'm here, and I'll die in this place. It seems a foolish thing to die for, doesn't it? I could have said a few words and rebuilt my home, gone on with my life as if nothing had changed. A hundred generations of my family have lived and died on that land, and I won't be the one to trade our family honor for apples.

Whoever you are, whatever they've brought you here for, if you leave this place, I hope you'll go to Rainesfere. There is no living remnant of us left there, but you'll find my family all the same. We're stamped onto the earth. We're in the wind that rustles the trees. Tell my family how I died, and I promise you, they'll hear.

—Branan

Entry 1
Used quicklime to preserve her feet. Unsure whether texture of the skin is to my liking. Will try other methods.

Entry 2
Mharen... it's a pretty name. I saw her hands. Long, slender fingers. Fair skin—the hands of a lifelong scholar. Oh, to lock my own clumsy fingers in hers again...

Entry 3
Today is our anniversary. Had hoped to complete my work before now, but one piece is missing. I'm so sorry, love. Please wait a little longer. I haven't forgotten my promise.

When I see it, I'll know. I would know that face anywhere.

Entry 4
It's close, now. My long wait is almost over.

Am I doing the right thing? It all seemed so clear to me, but now... what have I become? When did this happen? Someone will eventually try to stop me. I've left too many clues for them not to. When they come, should I try to stop them? Maybe the Maker took her from me because I deserved to lose her.

No. It's too late for me to stop, now. The Maker will need to stop me if he thinks I need to be stopped.

No one else.

If Hawke sided with Larius...
Yesterday, I saw a man I could swear was Larius, just walking around Lowtown. I wasn't sure at first, but that armor, that hair... he's unmistakable.

He was talking to Samson, of all people. I can't imagine what a Grey Warden commander and an ex-templar vagrant have in common, but they seemed intent in their discussion. When I came closer, Larius pulled Samson into a doorway—I don't know if he saw me or not, but it seemed almost like they were avoiding me.

Entry continues here if Anders accompanied Hawke:
Anders says that no one as far gone to the taint as Larius would ever have been reinstated by the Grey Wardens. Even without Corypheus, Larius will be plagued by the calls of the Archdemons until they drive him mad.

Entry continues here if neither Carver nor Bethany became a Grey Warden:
I tried to contact the Grey Wardens, to find out why they let him return to Kirkwall, but they weren't talking. They won't acknowledge a Warden named Janeka, a prison in the Vimmarks, a captive darkspawn magister, or ever having worked with Father.
They didn't even want to hear what Corypheus claimed to be—I'm certain they know something about what happened down there, but whatever it is, they're not sharing.

—From the diary of Hawke

Entry continues here if Carver became a Grey Warden:<.em>
I tried to contact Carver, but the Grey Wardens wouldn't let me speak to him. The Warden I talked to wouldn't acknowledge a Warden named Janeka, a prison in the Vimmarks, a captive darkspawn magister, or ever having worked with Father.
She didn't even want to hear what Corypheus claimed to be—I'm certain the Wardens know something about what happened down there, but whatever it is, they're not sharing.

—From the diary of Hawke

Entry continues here if Bethany became a Grey Warden:
I tried to contact Bethany, but the Grey Wardens wouldn't let me speak to her. The Warden I talked to wouldn't acknowledge a Warden named Janeka, a prison in the Vimmarks, a captive darkspawn magister, or ever having worked with Father.
He didn't even want to hear what Corypheus claimed to be—I'm certain the Wardens know something about what happened down there, but whatever it is, they're not sharing.

—From the diary of Hawke

If Hawke sided with Janeka...

Yesterday, I saw a woman I swear was Janeka, skulking around Lowtown. She had told me that as soon as she reported what happened to Corypheus, she would go on her Calling and die in the Deep Roads, but I'm positive she was the woman I saw talking with Samson.

And that is also odd—what does a Grey Warden have in common with an ex-templar vagrant? When they saw me coming, they left. They were definitely avoiding me.

Entry continues here if Anders accompanied Hawke:
Anders says that after what Janeka did, the Grey Wardens would have escorted her to the Deep Roads to begin her Calling, just to make sure she didn't change her mind.

Entry continues here if neither Carver nor Bethany became a Grey Warden:
But when I contacted the Wardens to ask about Janeka, they said their only member of that name died some time ago. They won't acknowledge having had a commander named Larius, a prison in the Vimmarks, a captive darkspawn magister, or ever having worked with Father.
They didn't even want to hear what Corypheus claimed to be—I'm certain they know something about what happened down there, but whatever it is, they're not sharing.

—From the diary of Hawke

Entry continues here if Carver became a Grey Warden:
But when I tried to ask Carver about Janeka, the Wardens wouldn't let me speak to him. The Warden I talked to wouldn't acknowledge having had a commander named Larius, a prison in the Vimmarks, a captive darkspawn magister, or ever having worked with Father.
She didn't even want to hear what Corypheus claimed to be—I'm certain the Wardens know something about what happened down there, but whatever it is, they're not sharing.

—From the diary of Hawke

Entry continues here if Bethany became a Grey Warden:
But when I tried to ask Bethany about Janeka, the Wardens wouldn't let me speak to her. The Warden I talked to wouldn't acknowledge having had a commander named Larius, a prison in the Vimmarks, a captive darkspawn magister, or ever having worked with Father.
He didn't even want to hear what Corypheus claimed to be—I'm certain the Wardens know something about what happened down there, but whatever it is, they're not sharing.

—From the diary of Hawke