Codex: Quest-Related

These Codex entries are (with one accidental exception) related to quests that can be completed by the Warden. In some cases, the codex entry can be found before the quest appears on the "Current Quests" tab of the journal and a further event, or update to the codex entry, must occur before the quest can be started.

Note that numbering of quest-related codex entries will depend on DLC installed. Numbers given here are currently those when both The Stone Prisoner and Warden's Keep are installed. The aim is to quote the number when only the original campaign and any required DLC is installed, alongside modifiers for major DLC, but this will take further work.

A Rolled-Up Note
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 thing to die for, doesn't it? I could have said a few words and rebuild 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

Summoning Sciences
Apprentices are allowed and expected to willfully direct a minor spirit, provided it is within the protective confines of the library. Placement of the shelves allows for passive immobilization and the emergency purging of any rogue entity.

Take care! This exercise is not to be enacted during maintenance or other disruption of library structure! The danger presented by an incorrect summoning, particularly Exercise Three, is extreme.

(This book has been torn in half')

(The second half of a torn book.)

''The summoning sigil will ignite upon ritual initiation. If the order is incorrect, the ritual will reset.''

Exercise One

-Address the summoning font.

-Select the second passage from the Tome of Spirit Personages, second shelf.

-Pass open hands through the first summoning flames (select first flames).

Exercise Two

-Address the summoning font.

-Recite the Rodercoms Uncommon Calling, first column support shelves.

-Place one silver coin at the feet of the statue of Magus Gorvish.

-Pass open hands through the seconds summoning flames.

Exercise Three

-Alert senior magi of lesson commencement.

-Address the summoning font.

-Recite the second passage of Elvorn's Grande Bestiary, sealed texts, third area.

-Trace the chosen sigil on the first area common table.

-Place a lock of hair between the pages of the Spiritorum Etherialis, right of the sealed texts.

-Perform Callum's Gesture (two fingers) at the statue of Magus Gorvish.

-Breath on the dried hemlock in the Novice Phylactery, second column support shelves.

-Pass open hands through the third summoning flames.

Spirit Hog

The equivalent of a Fade bottom-feeder, the gullet of the Spirit Hog can contain minor gems, presumably coalesced from ethereal elements in the Fade. Such creatures cannot survive in the mortal realm without summoner intervention.

Trickster Whim

An amoral entity that delights in observing corporeal and emotional discomfort. A dangerous preference given that such creatures have little understanding or interest in the fragility of mortal flesh.

Fade Rifter

The Rifter is an assembled consciousness given form in the moment of the ritual. Its appearance is intended to frighten the summoning apprentice, ensuring they respect the Fade. While essentially a construct, the beast is nonetheless very real and possessed of a fearsome will to be free.

The Dead Caste
Friends, we have argued long, but I would propose a different direction. It is not unprecedented that one of our number should end up in the Legion of the Dead: The Memories attest to some bewildering falls from grace. Only his choice to volunteer has propelled this beyond mere scandal. The question we must ask is: "Does this serve us?" The Legion has always seemed a last hope of redemption. If a noble joins their number—by choice no less—this can only do good things for enrollment. And we sacrifice only one foolish member, the last of a troublesome house. His reforms are better shouted at the darkspawn than in these halls. i say, let him go.

This is the writ that was passed, Durius. I hope you can live with your decision, because you're lost to it now.

--From Assembly minutes regarding the Legion of the Dead; addendum unknown.

Dearest Gilly,

I know things have been difficult since the censure of our house. I had hoped to bear the cost of my actions alone, but if I had a full understanding of the consequences, I wouldn't have murdered above my caste in the first place. I did not abandon you lightly, but I knew of no other way to insulate you against my shame than by joining the Legion. it is a half-measure that has earned me no right to seek your comfort, but please, I beg you for one moment of foolish optimism. There is talk of a new soldier, a noble! The things I have heard, I will not curse them by voicing them aloud, but it may be a path to respectability for my kin. For you. If there remains any official line open to our name, can you verify he is real, that House Ferald is in good state?

--A letter from Maius, unsent.

May this report fond the proper eyes to affect future tactics. We found an enclave of the spawn, psossibly a breeding lair, but we could make no approach. There were far more spawn than anticipated, and I divided the squad to draw the main body of the horde away. I do not expect to survive, but I have made certain that most of my men will see another day. I am torn by this, as my petition will go unheard, and that may curse many more of the Legion than would die here. But I simply cannot abandon the men I have looked in the eye and called brother. perhaps they will not thank me for this, believing themselves already dead, but where there is life there is hope. I will not be the last to see their worth.

--From a recovered Legion of the Dead field report, by Lord Durius Ferald.

Casualty: Durius ferald, lieutenant. Found dead with his squad. The corpse was left untouched, suggesting the darkspawn feared is spirit even in death. His ferocity defending his men was corroborated by survivors before they succumbed to corruption. It is rare for a soldier's actual death to exceed the honors given t his enlistment, but Ferald was an odd one, an agitator. His eccentric promises were disruptive; and I fear his death may demoralize more of the Legion than actually heard his fantasies first-hand. He was committed to the Stone with his insignia, as honorable a burial as we can manage with the spawn at our heels, but officially he has formed a second front. Better his foolish hopes are diluted by time than killed outright.

--From a biweekly casualty report, by Sergeant Unger.

By virtue of honored ancestry and great personal sacrifice on the part of its last descendant, the joining of House Ferald and the Legion of the Dead is recognized as worthy of investigation by the Memories. If the lineage proves intact and sufficient, relations of the Legion of the Dead may be acknowledged as minor nobility, albeit with restrictions. This minor house will now undergo the generational process of admittance to the Memories. May honor come to its descendants.

-As recorded by the Memories.

The Crosscut Drifters
Fools and renegades, the lot of them. We accept that there is a time for ordered and educated treasure-hunting, but not when a foundation remains to be cut. What fortunes have they made, what houses have they elevated? The minor veins they have traced satisfied neither this Assembly nor their own gambler's thirst. Their actions can only grow more erratic and undisciplined, and while no incidents have been reported, they will eventually undermine the stability of a major passage.

It is the opinion of this Assembly that prospecting be restricted until we can be certain of the stability of the Deep Roads. these "Crosscut Drifters" can find their fortune in a trade. Let animals vurrow wherever their nose points them. Dwarves are meant to excavate by careful degrees.

'

--From an Assembly memorandum.

Rogan cut a beautiful line down a minor vein today, twisting his supports along the footwall like a backbone. He's got a gift for lagging, it's almost crystalline. i swear I could tap it and hear the Stone sing. "non-standard" by any inspector's measure, but that's the sodding point, isn't it? We're letting the Stone take us where she wants, not gouging out highways so the palace can have another pantry. I suspect they will revoke our privileges at the next Assembly sitting. i say good luck to them; they'll never find us to deliver the writ. They are afraid of the road we travel.

We're close to a major strike. The Stone, she's pulling us to something, and to the vents if I'll let dwarves who deny their sense get in the way of it.

--From the journal of Brunar, founding fellow, Crosscut Drifters.

We can no longer tolerate your flagrant disregard pf this Assembly and published excavation doctrine. The actions of your team have potentially compromisd two future projects, resulting in an expensive redesign of the deep roads. Fortunately, development of the largest shaft will continue, or you would have faced additional fines. Claims that the Stone is directing your actions suggest that not only are you ignorant of preplanning procedure, you and your group may also be in the early stages of lyrium poisoning. You are in breach of Orzammar mining code and hereby forfeit all claims made during your unapproved activities. The Assembly expects your response within 30 days or your house, as well as those of your team, will face additional censure.

--Notice of Assembly censure.

Here's your response: take a long breath from a short shaft.

B.

--Addendum by Brunar, founding fellow, Crosscut Drifters.

We found trouble all right. Rogan's lyrium vein led right to the flank of a darkspawn horde. From the look of their kit, the spawn were a week, maybe less, from breakthrough into that blasted new highway under Orzammar, and they'd be well behind any patrols. The Stone knew. She knew, and she drew her chosen with a promise of ore we could taste in our bones. if all goes well, losing this cavern will kill the darkspawn's taste for digging, and Orzammar wilol never know it was at risk. We'll be a distant tremor, a ripple in the royal fountain.

The charges are laid. We know it will work and we know the cost. The Stone has shown us the way home.

--From the journal of Brunar, founding fellow, Crosscut Drifters.

The Gangue Shade
The Stone has a will that surrounds and directs; she guides even when we are willfully blind to her influence. But she is not pure. The Stone bears a corruption as old as balance. For the dwarves to prosper, the gangue--the waste and unstable rock-- must be cut away. But like the Stone, the gangue also has an influence. Each of us must face this, must carve the worst of ourselves away, but the Legion of the Dead bears a unique responsibility. Only the fully adorned of the Legion can face the gangue, can cut into darkness that afflicts the raw Stone. She encircles us, and we must protect her, here where darkness meets light.

--A Legion of the Dead inscription, undated

The Key to the City
While concerns have merit, the Assembly has made itself clear. Space within the thaig is at a premium, but the intended function of the hall merits the additional resources committed. The statues of the Paragons must be the core of the Hall of Heroes. There is no other placement that so benefits dwarven interests. It is the first glimpse that surface ambassadors have of Orzammar, an introduction not just to our living ancestors, but also to the Stone from which we were born. They must see it shaped before they can understand the complexity of its raw form.

The Hall must also serve a second purpose, as a last sight for departing brethren. Those who choose to leave must do so with the heavy gaze of their Ancestors at their backs. It is a reminder of duty adn of consequence. We will promote all manner of trade, but also reinforce that those who leave for too long will return as strangers to the Stone.

--From an report of the Assembly Zoning Commission.

Pursuant to order 5-1a, no dwarf of indeterminate caste may conduct business in the Commons. This was subsequently clarified by the Assembly to mean that the owning and operating of stalls or kiosks is limited to those of indentified and approved house names with traceable Ancestor lineage of at least three generations. Exceptions include individual purchases of goods or services form established stalls or kiosks, provided the funds are presented at the opening of the transaction, at the discretion of the stall or kiosk owner.

I'm sure you understand the need to maintain strict quality control over all goods and services that flow through Orzammar, especially when we are making a concerted effort to encourage outside investment. The standards of Dust Town and that of the common brand are simply not sufficient. Your trade permit is hereby denied.

--From a judgment of the Assembly Trade Council, regarding Midal's Reclaimed Wares.

The restriction of your authority is a temporary consideration, and not a verdict imposed lightly. The Assembly feels that efforts to maintain the sanctity of the Proving have faltered. This is a gentlemen's contest where future generals and respected veterans display their skills. It is intended to be inspiring, and remind the lower castes why their leaders lead. We acknowledge the usefulness of a forum for the settling of honor debts, and concede that the occasional defeat of a noble can serve as appeasement, provided it is by a peer and the contest is properly adjudicated. Extending this practice to the lower castes could prove a dangerous and barbaric precedent. We have already seen the disruption that an unauthorized fighter can cause (the recent brand incident), and similar incidents should be discouraged with all possible prejudice.

--From an Assembly writ of censure, regarding management of the Provings.

It is agreed that no rules of procedure were explicitly broken, but a five-day filibuster is nonetheless worthy of censure. Division of House Gorosmote property was deliberated for a full session, and forfeiture of the southern estate deemed a necessity. Since the birth of young Kaid necessitates his elevation to noble status, and it is unthinkable for a noble's family to live in the slums, it is responsibility of the father to accommodate the placement of his family. It is not possible to simply generate new space in the Diamond Quarter without compromising thaig structural integrity.

Lord Dace's comment that "if Lord Gorosmote didn't want a new heir, he shoudn't have slummed for a concubine" was indeed inappropriate, but the proper procedure for resolution through Proving was followed. Both parties agreed to accept his retraction, and that matter is considered separate and closed.

The decision of the Assmbly regarding the placement of the Duncoat clan stands.

--From a writ of the Assembly Zoning Council, regarding the placement of the Duncoat clan.

Your efforts have been exemplary, but these self proclaimed cartels must defer to the Assembly and restore order. Exclusion form caste and society is no excuse. Perhaps suggest that it would be a simple matter to march on the quarter, or simpler still to withdraw infrastructure support. A tunnel breach would be most unfortunate, but current policy direction prohibits any deals that would legitimize cartel operations. Downward pressure on certain elements of our society has proven useful in shoring up the economy with an excess of affordable labor. It also encourages enlistment in the Legion of the Dead, the one accepted path to partial redemption and a vital force on our weakening front lines. This model suffers when criminals create their own heirarchies with alternative methods of social advancement.

Every stone has a fave that can't be carved, a side that must be earthward. We need their so-called Dust Town, but it would be inadvisable to include that in your negotiations. We have the utmost faith in you, Capt-- (The rest is obscured by bloodstains.)

--From a confidential Assembly directive, regarding proliferation of cartels.

The Shaper's Life
The blessing of the Shaperate is given only to those who walk with the Stone. It is a path that cuts deep and the road is far from secure, but those who desire to work in memory must first honor it. Document the Stone, protect her, and present a new history to the Memories. Only then will the blessing of the Shaperate be upon you.

--From The Shaper's Life.

Orzammar has carved a legacy form the Stone, but history is more than the comings and goings that fill the streets. These caverns are old cuts and well traveled; the true will of the Stone is revealed far from the halls of politics and commerce. The Shaper must step away from the familiar, and seek oyt revelations from the frontier or buried secrets from paths abandoned. The shaper must first walk away if he is to return.

--"First Steps," from The Shaper's Life.

Far from abandoned, the Deep Roads are patrolled by those who fight for Orzammar and the Stone. These defenders have seen great and tragic events unfold, but they are committed to the moment, not the memory. It is the shaper's burden to walk this path with a mind to observation. He will fight if pressed--every dwarf owes that to the Stone--but his purpose is to record, not create. Although dark and deep, the old paths are alive with deeds; only the dedication of the shaper can ensure they are not lost to the Memories.

--"The Old Path," from The Shaper's Life.

Before the darkspawn, the Stone held an empire--dozens of thaigs, each cavern a shade of dwarven pride, communities separate but united. They fell by degrees. Ruins crumbled into tombstones, a forgotten glory. But the Stone is a living history, and absence can reveal more than constant scrutiny does. As the Stone shifts, she chooses what remains buried and what must see the light. The shapers must return, must walk the lost way, so the children of the Stone can see what has been surrendered and what can be gained.

This is the sacrifice of the shaper.

--"The Lost Way," from The Shaper's Life

You have walked the path of the Shaperate and documented the Stone. The blessing of the Shaperate is yours to wield in the carving of a new path, one for tomorrow's shaper to follow.

--From The Shaper's Life

Topsider's Honor
The fool has been following us fir three days, but waht can I do? I'm sure a city guard could lock him up for being a sodding idiot, but there's no law that says you can't seek your death in the Trenches. There's no law down here at all. I said to his face that if he puts our patrol at risk I'd split him myseld, but he's quiet, I'll give him that. Topsiders usually assume the end of a Blight erases the darkspawn form the world. Why does this one care that his victory just drives them back on our doorstep? It's one thing to face them up in the light; he'll cut his own shaft out of here once he fights them in the dark where they live. That, or the lyrium will get him.

--From a Legion of the Dead field report, by Lieutenant Gant.

I swear, Mortavold, I have never seen the like. This... elf... fought like a man possessed. His strikes were light and did not echo on the Stone like those of our greatest, but the precision was that of a shaper carving a Memory across the darkspawn. Damned if we didn't raise our glasses to him last eve and share stories of honored family. With a topsider! In the lyrium glow, he looked no more out of place than any of us. It makes me think of cousin Bern. I wonder how he fares on the surface. I think if he sends another letter I will read it. Ties of kin should be stronger than where we choose to do business.

--From a letter form Corporal Trovid Oreson, date unknown.

The Stone take this topsider as she would welcome her own. He was born to air and sky, but has served the Deep Roads better than a native son. Many will see another day because he fought at their side and fell in their stead. We don't know his rites, and I fear the loss of his family blade may cause unrest on whatever journey he faces, but we know him as brother in blood, and extend that which is sacred to us. Willem Trialmont, if the path home is dark, the Stone is honored to have you in the foundation.

--Epitaph for Willem Trialmont, 7:5 Storm

There must always be another to take up arms against the darkness. That is the core of true family beyond kin, and the unifying link that will bring day to night and allow the fallen to rest.

--Restored inscription, Trialmont family blade.

Jammer's Stash
Been a profitable season, Kanky. Cutthroat too, so we got to be careful. I'm talking my half topside so I can get a good price. Your half is in my stash box. It's got one of Pique's locks on it. Standard drill, you need the three pieces of junk from our common chests to even try to open it. She set them up "high/low" because you've got the best eye for value in this dig.

So, yes, I faked some loot. Take only the cheapest looking piece in each chest, and you'll be able to open the stash box. I wired the expensive-looking stuff as bait. You take the right one, or you don't. And if you don't, hope you like having a limp.

Good luck, --Jammer

Letter from the Blackstone Irregulars
(A letter, written in a careful script, addressed to you) To the inimitable Grey Warden, Your deeds have spread since the tragedy of Ostagar, and I find myself in need of one such as you. I am Raelnor, captain of the venerable Blackstone Irregulars, and I hope to win your trust. The Irregulars have come on hard times since the war with Orlais, but I have fought to improve their reputation. Gone are the days of my father's shady deals with unscrupulous nobles in Denerim! No, I have trained a guild filled with honorable men ready to fight for Ferelden, and I am proud to say that I have seen your own Grey Wardens as a sort of model. We are not perfect; my own son advocates a move back to the more lucrative way my father ran the guild. But we are steadfast. It is in this context I ask for your help, and I promise we will reward you accordingly. Should you be willing, please find letters in this box and others like it all over the land, and carry out the request therein. For this matter, conssider requests from my son as if they came from myself. And thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, whether you choose to assist us or not. You are doing tht Maker's work, Warden, and I am honored to work with you. ''--Raelnor (This letter is marked with the seal of the Blackstone Irregulars.)''

Blackstone Letter of Conscription
Dear friend,

You are receiving this letter because you or someone else placed your name on an Article of Conscription, thereby pledging your life to the Blackstone Irregulars. With war looming on all fronts, the Irregulars must build their numbers. We are forced to call upon those who have sworn their assistance to make good on those oaths.

Say farewell to your friends and family. While you may return to them, you must prepare them for the possibility that this will be your last day together.

Your sacrifice is appreciated.

''--Taoran (This letter is marked with the seal of the Blackstone Irregulars.)''

Blackstone Letter of Condolences
My dear lady,

It is with great regret that I must inform you of the death of your husband. He died as he lived, with the greates honor, completing a task of vital importance to the guild. Rest assured that we will take vengeance on those responsible for his death.

Please accept my condolences for your loss.

''--Raelnor Hawkwind (This letter is marked with the seal of the Blackstone Irregulars.)''

A Pinch of Ashes
(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 and 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 broguht 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 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!"

Letter to Jogby
My dearest son,

It pleases me that you wish to follow in my footsteps and bring the Maker's word to the unenlightened. I wish you had chosen a less dangerous place to do so!

Apologies for leaving early for the Wilds, son, but I wanted to set up camp and get things started. The Chasind respect one with survival skills in the Wilds, so I hoped to get a grip on that before you arrived, and maybe establish an agreement with a local tribe so that we had friends when you came.

When you reach the Wilds, you'll find it difficult to navigate. I've listed certain landmarks below. If you follow them, they will lead you to a location I've scouted out, where I've left you some supplies. If you're lost, try to get back to that spot, and I'll find you.

The landmarks are as follows, beginning at the entrance to the Wilds from Ostagar:


 * Look for a tree leaning on the ruined building
 * Pass under a fallen "bridge"
 * Pass a submerged tower on the right
 * Look between a high, ruined arch and a mossy standing stone
 * Walk along a path of roots and stones
 * Look for two large statues with a chest between them

There you will find our meeting point.

I love you Jogby, my son. I hope yo see you soon.

Your father,

--Rigby

Farewell Letter to Jogby
My dear son, Jogby,

I fear this is the last letter I will write yo you, I have had difficulty finding the Chasind to bring them the Maker's word. I have, however, seen evidence of their passing. They appear to have left this area in great haste, possibly fleeing the so-called "darkspawn" that are rumored to be gathering in the Wilds in ever greater numbers.

I have left you a weapon and everything else i can spare, my son. I will try to find you once I have found a safe place. I only hope that you will be safe.Within luck, we will meet again.

If you see her, tell your mother that I love her. And take care of you family.

Your loving father,

--Rigby

Rigby's Last Will and Testament
To whoever finds this note,

This is the last will and testament of Rigby the missionary, proud speaker of the Maker's word. I have come to the Wilds to speak the Chant, but I fear I will die here at the hands of the darkspawn.

I leave all that I came with to my wife, Jetta. Should the reader of this note feel charitable, I have buried a sealed lockbox in our camp, nestled in a Tevinter ruin in the western reaches of the Wilds. It is my will that this lockbox finds my wife in Redcliffe, and that it is still sealed shut when it reaches her.

To my wife and my son, I apologize that my work has taken me from you, but I know that I die in service to the Maker.

--Rigby

Signs of the Chasind
The Chasind barbarians are nothing if not clever. They have hidden markers and signs in the arrangements of stones and rubble along the paths of the Wilds. In this way, they mark trails, note places of interest, and even give warnings in a way outsiders cannot understand. Interestingly, these markers look indistingushable from a regular pile of stones. I have dedicated my time to deciphering these signs, and I believe I am close to a breakthrough. The trail markers seem to point to a horde (sic) or a location used for secret storage among the Chasind. I have only found a portion of the message however. I think if I could complete the message, find all of the trail markers, I can find this cache and see what treasures the Chasind have to hide. I have found one such marker near this camp, under a fallen tree leaning against the ruins. Each marker seems to point to one or two others. I hear rumours that a darkspawn horde is coming. I hope I can find this treasure before it's too late! --An excerpt from Rigby's field journal

The Mages' Collective
Despite the Loyalists' grasp on the mages' political community, many Libertarians and Aequitarians have begun to see eye to eye with respect to the Chantry's role in a mage's daily life. A growing number of mages, particularly those whose magic never strays from the Maker's mandate, feel that the Chantry's constant oversight is a burden upon their creativity and their very will, and one that hinders their ability to do their work. These mages, along with a number of hedge wizards who work their arts outside the Chantry's influence, have formed a shadow-guild of sorts, a mages' collective, wherein members can submit requests and have them seen to without judgement. This collective manages to work in relative secrecy, their members discreet and their clients anonymous. As of yet, this collective has seen no sanction from the templars, and there has been no sign that its members are practicing magic of which the Maker would not approve. Still, practicing magic outside of the influence of the Chantry is a dream for some and a dangerous notion for others, and many believe that it is only a matter of time before the veil of secrecy is lifted and the mages' collective is brought to swift and brutal justice. --From A Treatise on Magic and Politics, by First Enchanter Josephus.

Asunder
The ritual was very specific, as such things probably should be. Torso, head, and limbs spread amongst the Deep Roads to prevent the creature from returning. Looks like they died during the cutting, but we can fulfill the last part in their stead. I'm not familiar with elven ritual--why would I be--but it seems pretty straight forward. --Shaper Axus (Scribbled in the corner) Never even saw the thing. Bet a sword would take care of it. Sod it, and this bag of legs. **** Might not be elven, maybe human. Doesn't matter, we can still follow direction. Torso, head, and limbs bagged and dispersed. Simple enough. This magic stuff doesn't seem that complicated. --Shaper Axus (Scribbled in the corner) No job for a warrior! First hole gets the bag! **** (A torn ritual page of indeterminate origin.) The body rendered to its separate parts, spread wide such that no life is witnessed, no heartbeat detected. In this way, the beast can remain for an age, as knowledge passes and pursuers live out their lives. (Scribbled in the corner) I was wrong! Not elven! Hunters didn't kill it. It allowed this? Keep the pieces apart, I guess. Away from the heart. **** The scratchings should be unreadable, but meaning swims in your head, as though whispered: The limbs, mere meat. The torso, but a vessel. The head, all but unnecessary. The heart, separate, keeps life. The heart, safe from the blade, can be restored. The heart waits, in the Fade. --Rough inscription, author unknown

Unbound
The riders follow after every town, ever since my lucky break deciphering the story. I see it now, how they take the locals closest to me, preventing rest or kinship. I thought this a road to glory, but I am dogged at every step by his talons. Gaxkang: curse his name and the day I heard it. --Journal excerpt from an unnamed, long dead adventurer **** You asked, so I'm telling you. Don't go. The stories talk of the riches, but never the names, never where they supposedly spent their wealth. I heard the same tales as a lad in Denerim, felt the same pull, but it's a lie, son. They may paint a trail, but once you're on it, does it lead to the beast or back to you? --Unsigned letter, father to son **** (Three weathered parchments, with three versions of the same incomplete story.) Excerpt: And when his kingdom fell, so disappeared the stolen riches of an age. The beast, the Unboind, dormant until one of true spirit claims his throne. So must hunt the hero of his people, the principled who would search for ancient evil. This is how they can make a real difference. (Scribbled in the corner in a shaky hand) Three pages, three ages. Same story, updated. Same as the tavern song, but older! Signature torn on purpose, but compare and get "Vilhm Madon". All from him! How? ****

Caged in Stone
(The inscription is old and worn, overlooked by most as a carving detail)

The beast is foreign, but the need is familiar. Home and hearth suffer beneath strength and strangeness. These new kin of this Fereldan are better as friends than strangers, so we resist on their behalf, and work with their users to bind with Stone. They no longer fear their skies, and we further our trade above.

Lured from above, cornered and coralled. Three standing in position, a fourth signals the throne. Stasis for the beast, so long as a king holds the throne. So long as a king wills it held.

--Inscrption, circa 5:90 Exalted

By Order of Emer Thorogood
We know they are out there, and they will move when their fellow vermin call them out. Watch for the sign and slaughter the lot. They will know it is coming, and probably abandon the poor sap of a messenger, but even in that, our message will be sent with an authority theirs cannot have.

--By order of Emer Thorogood

Scrolls of Banastor
To align with the power of the Fade is but the first of many steps. Further is to align the mind to the Fade's rules and find the ties between the realm of the dream and the realm of the flesh. This is the true power of blood magic: the flesh and the mind are inseparable, and therein lies the power to influence and control minds. (Below the text are indecipherable runes and stains of blood and ink) **** Others may speak of the sanctity of the mind. To those who know the true power of the blood, this is foolishness. The mind is no more sacred than the knee, the small toe, or the ear. It is man's organ of reasoning, nothing more. And true reasoning requires connection to the rythymn of the blood, the tireless pounding of life. Interrupt this, and even the mind is yours to attack. (Below the text is a diagram of a blood magic ritual in progress, with no notation or description) **** In the Fade dwell creatures both foul and fair, but all plague mankind with lusts and prides incalculable in our waking hours. Our power attracts them, and for good reason: Our unique bridge between flesh and dreams is one way they can enter the realm of flesh. To begin the path to true power, court these poor, terrible creatures and best them. Force them into servitudeor pledge your heart to them. Either way, you gain immense power and the means with which to tear holes in the world. (Below the text, scribbled in the margin, are arcane symbols drawn with blood.) **** The creatures, these demons, require little in the way of bribery. Their natural state is one of longing for the world of flesh and blood. This is what you offer them: respite from their eternal search for true life. Engage them in a battle of wills, and you will be successful. Should you fail, the power will be yours, but your body will belong to the demon. Relish this infernal power while it lasts, for once you are an abomination, your demon half will soon swallow your mind. (Below is a litany of lines written in an arcane, forgotten language, indecipherable to all but the most obsessed of liguists.) **** Finally, once you have come to ascend, have tasted the sweet nectar of the demonic blessing, rise anew, ascended, as a god. Through the connection between earth and sky, flesh and dream, blood and memory, you have risen above the petty concerns of the Chantry and her minions, past the notice of secular nobles and their petty squabbles. Through the rituals inscribed in these scrolls, you have mastered the minds of others, braved the temptations of the Fade, and quashed the terrible will of demons. Let no murder or theft weigh upon your mind, as your will is absolute, and the world is yours to claim. (Below the text are more arcane glyphs, terrible and dark in their implications.)

Friends of Red Jenny
The task was never promised to be easy. You said you could enter the Circle Tower, and you were believed. Find the small painted box in First Enchanter Irving's office and deliver it to the door marked in Denerim as agreed, or be prepared to find yourself hunted across Ferelden. --Friends of Red Jenny (There is a sketched map of several doors. It requires the box to be placed on it to block out false leads.)

Five Pages, Four Mages
Tome Deus vi Eternus In malefectorum, dragos te' ventim. Solariat ven deos mentoris, pluratic ven contrivarian. Spake he the words, and brought life. Speak you the words... ascension. Answers lie in... (text illegible) (Notes on the page below) Here I begin my study, knowing full well it will change the Circle forever. Let history mark the date that this work began, 9:29 Dragon, so that when new calendars are put to paper, the date Fonst 0.0 is known with certainty. From the mouths of gods, finally to the people. Through me. --Enchanter Fonst **** Tome Deus vi Eternus In malefectorum, dragos te' ventim. Solariat ven deos mentoris, pluratic ven contrivarian. Spake he the words, and brought life. Speak you the words... ascension. Answers lie in... (text illegible) (Notes on the page below) 479 sovereigns, plus favors. Immortality worth every coin. Words of creation, proof of Maker. No one must know until translations are complete! I will have First Enchanter...the ear of kings...I will own kings! Glory everlasting! --Enchanter Modalt **** Tome Deus vi Eternus In malefectorum, dragos te' ventim. Solariat ven deos mentoris, pluratic ven contrivarian. Spake he the words, and brought life. Speak you the words... ascension. Answers lie in... (text illegible) (Notes on the page below) Notes on a wondrous discovery: A strange script. Uniform, by steady hand. Yes, one would expect an agent of the Maker to be steady. In fact, it follows all my expectations of the words the Maker would bestow. It is perfect, and once translated, I will have such fun lording this over the Chantry. Worth every bit. --Enchanter Gaius **** Tome Deus vi Eternus In malefectorum, dragos te' ventim. Solariat ven deos mentoris, pluratic ven contrivarian. Spake he the words, and brought life. Speak you the words... ascension. Answers lie in... (text illegible) (Notes on the page below) Maker take the vendor, a copy! A fake! Why didn't I see? It was obvious! Spake?! Laughing stock! No one muxt know! Beyha Joam--I find him; I'll kill him! **** Tome Deus vi Eternus In malefectorum, dragos te' ventim. Solariat ven deos mentoris, pluratic ven contrivarian. Spake he the words, and brought life. Speak you the words... ascension. Answers lie in... (text illegible) (Notes on the page below) The words elude me, but I will defy their obsinateness. Worked by the Old Gods or the Maker himself, I will wring their secrets into my hands. I need the essence of the powerful. And the pure. And so begins a bloody road, but at the end, godhood, the keys to the Black City. --Enchanter Rhonus

Watchguard of the Reaching
I'm telling you guys, it's a test like the summoning. Why else would lessons be canceled? And that outburst in the library with Uldred? An older tome fell to a page on "The Reaching." I copied what could before they pushed us out.

Ritual Note: A sword lowered, to strike through and ground.

You can't tell me I wasn't supposed to see that. It's too convenient. I'm looking for more, and you'd be smart to help. --Gant

No, no, no and stop asking! I'm not getting in trouble because of you again. I don't care what's in the basement, and neither do the senior magi. Everything is about Uldred and the upper floors. I don't know what you're digging up, but those tomes are way older than our lesson texts. An apprentice shouldn't touch them!

Ritual note: The threads burned before a Giant, spear raised. He stands alone, so whispers are known false. --Nolan

(scribbled in corner) Don't need him. Owain knew "Reaching."

First Enchanter Dorval fell suddenly to a disease of the lungs. This unfortunate disruption in the direct line of descent from tower founding should be treated as opportunity. The Circle will reform practices to better address the times. Many rituals remain valuable, but some—The Two Bells, Garnold's Lament, Watchguard of the Reaching, Benford Da—have little or no meaning in our texts.

We will mover forward, as Dorval would have wished, and commit these and other ceremonies tot the age we have left. With no plan of estate, his belongings have been transferred into the common library for the benefit of all.

--Excerpt: Circle of Magi Declaration, Kinloch Hold Transitional, 5:90 Exalted

(Scribbled in corner) "Reaching" again! And old! They don't know! Idiots! Wards Weaken!

Today we passed even further, far beyond any reach of man. The inverted glow of the Black City was always on the horizon of perception, but a path eludes, as always. Untraveled in memory, living or otherwise, there is a pull, and whispers abound. Something great is there. And away from this, always in peripheral, another mind, untethered. Tomorrow I will reach out with my full attention, and try to rescue him from his listing. Can someone else have come this far? The wonders we will share.

Ritual note: The vessel in hand, words from another time drip literal power.

Documents of the Reaching, estimated second century, Ancient First enchanterer appointed Watchguard of the Reaching, to be held in secret

(Scribbled in corner) "Reaching!" Before the Circle! Someone else in the Fade? I want this!

His silver cord transmuted black. Black! There is no wonder his form shattered. What returned was not of the mortal, nor native Fade. Does an afterthought prove the gods when direct action is long missing? There is no purpose to this beast. Let the strength of the tower wither it and memory pass. The only legacy to be taught: Stay focused with the Fade. Whims escape to their own action.

Ritual note: A sword raised, to sever connection.

Documents of the Reaching, estimated second century, Ancient First enchanterer appointed Watchguard of the Reaching, to be held in secret

(Scribbled in corner) Cord? Peasant magic! Must know. Can almost see. Whispers want!

(Hastily scribbled) Whispers say Great Hall? Hidden above us the whole time! -The vessel in hand, words from another time drip literal power. (Put on a bowl!) -A sword raised, to sever connection. (Cord out!) -A sword lowered, to strike though and ground. (Bile!) -The threads placed before a warrior, spear raised. Shielded from each side, so whispers are known false. (Where is this? It whispered order, but not where! It's in my head!)

Shah Wyrd A collection of powerful but undirected thoughts coalesced in the Fade. Such a being is in direct opposition to singular focus and drive. Distraction made flesh. The mind or minds that loosed this within the Fade must have been powerful and ancient indeed.

Maleficarum Regrets
I won't go back. Let them hunt, and dread finding me. But you, Melis, should not live this life. It would please me if you found a life in the Circle Tower. I felt a few things there, mostly stolen from the enchanters. Sell them to fund a new path. The cache is in the study area, middle alcove. Goodbye

--Bel Gruce

Renold's Plea
Should you find this note, I beg you, please complete my task. I am Renold, master mage and mentor to the misguided fool, Heshir. It seems that my young apprentice got mixed up in magic unmentionable, for which I pledged to pursue him to the ends of the world. If you are reading this, then my apprentice caught up to me and choked from me my last breath. I beg you to delve into this ancient elven forest and end the threat of the abomination my beloved apprentice has become. Should you do this, then I beg you, keep the feldspar ring you find on my apprentice's finger as a token of my thanks. And may you never know profound failure such as that I feel as I write this. --Renold

The Spot
Maker's wind, Daarci, I said I'd wait, but it's not just a disagreement! Uldred set abominations loose! One was in my mentor's robe! If you make it here, something in the "the spot" may help you out. No point in hiding it from the senior mages now, and don't worry about Denri's usual fee for moving his bed. He's dead.

--Apprentice Mand

Letter of Termination
My dear apprentice,

I have sent this courier with this note to officially end your period of apprenticeship. I harbor you no ill will, for despite your complete incompetence, you have failed to do lasting harm to myself or my work. Sadly, I will not have a chance to witness your floundering attempts at improvement.

When you return from your current errand, your apprenticeship will be over. Now, hurry, I have dire need of the supplies I sent you to procure.

Sincerely, --The mage Terraster