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Chapter Text

Picking up the pieces of Templar and Venatori skulls was not how Neve Gallus imagined this job going. This was nobody’s fault but her own really, she knew something would go wrong. The Threads don’t hire outsiders except to do the really bottom-of-the-barrel work that would probably end with her dead. But you don’t keep arcane talent off the Magisterium’s radar your whole life without knowing a thing or two about being careful. So here she was instead, picking up fragments of skulls from brain soup.

This predicament was just the latest in a long line of odd jobs that Neve had been subsisting on for some time now. The Threads were the most likely to sell you out, as they likely tried to do here, but she was alive, and with the whereabouts of the missing Templar they paid off, so she still had a place to sleep that night. Say what you will about Dock Town, but you don’t last long if you don’t put your money where your mouth is. The reason for his being here was another mystery altogether though, which is why she lingered, sifting through the pulpy remains. Also out of common courtesy. Even in Tevinter, a ritual gone wrong was never good for business at a local inn. But Neve figured a bit of digging could get her a reason as to why the Templar showed up here in the first place. Unfortunately, this scene was impossible to make sense of.

There were puncture wounds, and lacerations on both bodies, but that’s standard procedure in blood magic, both were covered in each other’s blood, as were the walls and floor, so cast patterns were obscured. Blood even coated the ceiling, drops charged with backwards arcana occasionally dropping down. Eventually Neve was taken to the mangled stumps that once were once heads. Chunks of their jaws and the bases of the skulls were still connected to their necks, which made for a very pretty sight, but also the most enlightening. They were anything but clean, but the skin around the wounds on the Templar was ever-so-slightly more neat than on the Venatori. The latter had what almost looked like bruising, once you wiped away the blood, maybe even a minute amount of scar tissue. As if on cue, the ceiling granted her a boon - a drop of blood straight on her hair. Neve scoffed in disgust, stood, and looked up at the pattern on the ceiling. If both figures were standing when their heads popped, there would have been similar spatters from where both of them stood, but it seemed there was only enough for one, all of which would have come from where the Venatori stood. Her suspicion was confirmed upon seeing the more circular, less elongated stain from the Templar, who was lying down upon impact.

This narrowed the possibilities down, but still left more questions. Was the Templar a willing sacrifice when they died, or did the Venatori have to rid themself of an intruder before proceeding? He was completely unarmed, but he could have been held captive, or been an unsuspecting guest. Either way, the conclusion still seemed to draw towards the Templar being in the wrong place at the wrong time (very indicative of someone who managed to get himself in the Threads’ pocket), but Neve is nothing if not thorough. She took one last look at both bodies, looking for signs of struggle from the Templar, maybe defense wounds on the Venatori, but it was impossible to tell what she was even looking for. So, for now at least, Neve, and her Threads contact (if she was even interested in the fate of her quarry), would have to do with a theory. To add insult to injury, she’d have to wait on word of her Templar “friend” until tomorrow. It was late, and Neve was too covered in blood to be making any appearances.

It was only a few hours till sunrise by the time Neve managed to drag herself into her cramped, creaky apartment, crammed in a dilapidated building right off Side Alley Bridge. Right in the heart of Dock Town, just as she liked. Her metallic leg scraped across the termite-ridden boards, but was abruptly cut short when she heard another sound. Neve always had a somewhat uncanny awareness of the presence of others, mages especially, but her attunement to the fade, and its control over the elements of cold made her hearing supremely sensitive to the sound of breathing, which is just what she had caught then. This could only mean trouble.

She closed the door, but did not turn on any lights. Unless this mystery person, who was almost definitely a mage, could see right past it, the darkness was to her advantage, as was their being on her home turf. Neve pulled out a string and two handkerchiefs, folding one into quarters, and using the other to hold it in place at the bottom of her prosthetic, tying the string around the base. She had taken the time to learn this apartment like the back of her hand, so even blind, she could step carefully, taking care to place her feet on the few spots that wouldn’t creak horribly. She did her best to locate the source of the breathing. It sounded like they were sat near the wall furthest from the door, on the other side of the table littered with news stories, board postings, and overdue bills.

Once she stood across from where the stranger should have been, Neve pulled a pen from her pocket. A shard of ice erupted from the end of it, aimed directly at her wanted guest, illuminating the space around her. The frost curled and burned the ends of her fingers, but there was no one to be found seated at the table. Still, the breathing persisted, along with papers rustling from the cold breeze emanating from her improvised scepter. Before she could attempt to fix her misstep, a voice spoke out.

“Impressive Ms. Gallus, but there’s no need for that. If I was here to hurt you wouldn’t have stood a chance the second you opened the door,” they said. Neve whirled around to see the silhouette of a man leaning against one of the cabinets in what was desperately trying to pass itself off as a kitchen. He flicked his hand to strike up one of the lanterns on the counter next to him. He wore grey gloves over his hands, and a black, fur-lined coat, trimmed with beige accents moving in serpentine shapes.

“Nice of you to let me pull my little stunt then,” she said, lowering her pen but not dissipating the ice, and leaning down to undo the twine around her artificial leg.

“It was kind of impressive to watch actually, anyone else would have been cornered. Plus they always tell you to let the person you’re negotiating with feel like they’re in control,” he responded, pushing off the cabinet.

“This is a negotiation then? I think they usually tell you to not let the other know it’s a negotiation,”

“I don’t like to think of it as one. Not unless you make it one,” he said. This stranger was an odd individual indeed. Not gruff and intimidating, or smug and over-sweet. Normally these kinds of callers were one of the two, whether or not they were visiting with ill-intent. But this was definitely someone Neve would be keeping a close eye on.

“You know my name, do I get the privilege of knowing yours?” she asked.

“Viktor Yanchenik,” he answered, promptly, and matter-of-factly. “Ms. Gallus, how familiar are you with the work of the Shadow Dragons?” Neve mockingly pondered this for a moment.

“Only as much as they want anyone to know. Which is that an organization called the Shadow Dragons exists. Actually, that’s probably too much,” she answered. “Are you asking because you want my help with something against, or aligning with their interests?”

“You make almost as many assumptions as you do questions,” Viktor jabbed.

“I suppose it’s just in my nature, especially when it comes to strangers who broke into my home,” she said.

“Stranger? Please, I told you my name didn’t I? Besides, you jump to a lot of conclusions, I bet you’ve already got me figured out. Or, at least you think you do,” he said.

“What I think has little bearing right now, because I don’t know why in hell you’re even here,” said Neve.

“Hungry for answers above all else,” Viktor began walking towards Neve, in a roundabout way, as if he was circling prey. “That is why I’ve come to you Ms. Gallus. I, and, admittedly, the Shadow Dragons, would humbly ask that you provide that desire for truth to our clandestine organization. For a time, at least.” It was funny, for being the only worthwhile, substantial thing he’d said so far, he still managed to only say a little with a lot.

“I would be interested, if only you could give me some real answers,” she said. Viktor almost looked puzzled at this.

“Why, answers to what Ms. Gallus?” he inquired.

“Answers to what fucking job it is,” she snapped. Viktor took a step back, stopping his circling, and putting his hands up.

“Alright, alright, you’re impatient, I get it, but I’m not here to give details on a job. You said you would be interested, and that’s all we needed to know. We know you can keep a secret, we know you can follow a lead, we know that you aren’t particularly fond of the Magisterium, definitely not of the Venatori. All that left us with was finding out if you would actually work with us, and now we know what we were already pretty sure of. We’ll be in touch, Ms. Gallus,” Viktor was already turning to the door as he finished expositing to her, and as much as she wanted to stop him and demand more, this was the kind of man that wouldn’t crack unless under immense pressure.

“See you soon then, Mr. Yanchenik,” was all she left him with.

“Yes you will, Ms. Gallus,” he said with a smile. Not sarcastic, not saccharine, not twisted, just a smile. He stopped as he was leaving the threshold. “Since you have been such a good sport about me being so tight-lipped, I’ll offer you one piece of a potential… issue, we’re looking into. One that could spell good tidings for the Red Templars.” And with that, Neve closed the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Corruption, both of the arcane and political varieties, have been a staple of Tevinter’s culture from the start, whether it be through independent figures, or groups by any other name. The Venatori were simply the latest in the bloody narrative that was Tevinter history, and the Inquisition couldn’t have done anything about that. But at the very least they had made quick work of the Red Templars, leaving them weak and disorganized in the wake of Samson’s death. Or at least that’s what Neve thought, and Viktor did her the great service of letting her know that was not the case. That being said, from the way Viktor, and the other woman, Maevaris, she said was her name, described it, this would be even more radically contrary to the Templar Order itself.

“You don’t seem very excited to meet your new friend, Ms. Gallus,” Viktor said, derailing Neve’s train of thought. She looked away from him, back out onto the grey waters of the Nocen Sea crashing against the Smuggler’s Docks.

“‘Friend’ is a strong word that remains to be seen. I’m not used to being forced with a partner on jobs,” she replied.

“Well you’ll have to get used to it fast, because you two are on your own in this. And this is a case, Ms. Gallus, please refer to it as such. You’re not doing mercenary work for spare change anymore,” he said, still looking straight ahead, meaning he couldn’t see Neve’s combination of a spiteful glare and sneer.

“Remind me why the Crows refused to send the Demon of Vyrantium?” she said, after a minute of silence.

“‘Refused’ is a strong word,” Viktor said through a smirk. “Or maybe not. But I for one do believe he was unable to come due to being on another high-profile contract. After all, he’s a very busy man, and I doubt all the coin in our coffers could meet his rate.”

“So the next best alternative was a fledgling from the Fifth House?” Neve asked. She hated how petulant she sounded, but it was truly difficult for her to understand why, if she had to work with a partner, it had to be with someone so inexperienced, and so far removed from Minrathous.

“They’re not a fledgling, and while they are only recently an assassin, the Fifth and Seventh Talon, who are highly talented for their age in their own right, recommended them by name,” Viktor answered, not yet impatient with Neve’s questions. That was an important limit to know for anyone, but one that was always a bit too risky to find out.

It didn’t take long for a small longboat, of obvious Antivan make, but lacking the usual flair or marks synonymous with the Crows, broke through the marine layer on the horizon. They’d barely reached the dock and began mooring the boat when Viktor started approaching to meet Neve’s would-be associate, who had come up from below decks, and was looking around for their point of contact. Viktor waved and they leapt the side off the ship and onto the dock with nary a splinter, much less a creak. There were the classic Crow theatrics.

“I appreciate you making the trip here Viago, I’m sure it was quite lengthy,” Viktor said.

“It was my pleasure, it’s always nice to get out of Treviso for a bit, see just how good we have it there,” the one called Viago said, smiling. Viago was everything you’d expect of an Antivan. A well groomed mustache and soul patch, suave, combed over hair, sleek, dark leathers that exhibited style and stealth.

“It’s best you get used to it, I’m told this won’t be a particularly short case,” Neve remarked. Viago chuckled.

“I meant no offense to your home, truly. Make no mistake, Treviso’s opulence is deceiving too. That being said, I don’t intend to stick around. Once Nina joins us, I’ll be headed off right after a brief rest and repair,” he said. So this wasn’t the one she’d be working with. As if on cue, another figure emerged onto the deck, carrying two moderately sized bags in each hand, and following Viago onto the dock, though opting to use the gangplank instead. Neve was immediately struck with how gangly, nigh malnourished they were, even for their elven physique. She definitely had at least a few centimeters on them, too, but their Crow attire was just as well-tailored, just without the additional accouterments adorning the Talon. “Looks like the Rook finally decided to join us,” said Viago. “The Rook” simply gave a tight, forced smile and held out their hand to Viktor.

“Nina de Riva, thank you for bringing me here Mr. Yanchenik,” they said. Viktor, amused, shook their hand.

“You don’t have to pretend, Ser de Riva, and you’re the one doing me the favor. Go ahead thank me after you get paid, and you get to put this one on your resume down the line,” he said. Nina seemed to relax their shoulders a bit, and their brow softened ever so-slightly. “I’ll let you unpack and then show you to your lodgings. Then I’ll leave you and Ms. Gallus here to talk.” For the first time, Nina looked her way, with raised eyebrows and wide eyes, looking more like a scared puppy than a murderous crow. Neve had intended to simply stare back, unemotive, but couldn’t help but smile. A derisive, down-turned smile, but her face cracked nonetheless. They looked back at Viktor.

“I packed light, only one more pack to offload,” they said, returning to a normal state of interaction. Nina turned around, and Viago piped up.

“Let me lend a hand,” he said, following close behind.

“It’s just one, I’ve-”

“I insist, Rook, I’ll help,” Viago cut them off. Nina shook their head but continued without argument. But Neve knew an excuse to talk to someone isolated when she saw one. The assassins walked in tandem over the gangplank, and descended below deck. Viktor had walked back to the base of the dock, leaving Neve to do some light eavesdropping. She approached the boat’s hull, with her hands hidden in the pockets so as no one would see the frost curling from her hands, and how it consequently assaulted her fingers to the point of cracking and bleeding on the knuckles. Even from below deck, Viago and Nina’s voiced managed to now carry out and over to Neve’s ears, allowing her to make out their parting words.

“If it’s not a punishment then what is it?” said Nina. Their voice was actually deeper than Viago’s, with a less distinct Antivan lilt. Their accent sounded like it hailed from further south, perhaps Nevarra, or the Free Marches.

“Is this not better than having to lay low in Treviso? Foreign contracts are no mean feat for anyone in the Crows, and you won’t even have any sort of tribute taken out of your reward,” Viago answered.

“It’s not safe for me here, Viago. Covering the ears only goes so far before the wrong people start asking the wrong questions.” Neve hadn’t even considered the danger of sending an elf to Tevinter, even if they were stalking the shadows, and weren’t even after magisters. But she wouldn’t be surprised if any reared their ugly heads somewhere along the way.

“Teia and I wouldn’t have recommended you if we didn’t have complete faith you could do something like this. They need you here, Rook. You’ve proved you can handle mages, you’re a better match for a templar than any mage, all you have to do is use your head from time to time.”

“They need me here more than you want me back home?”

“Now you’re just saying things you know aren’t true,” There was rustling of cloth, creaking of leather, and a small grunt of protest before it was quiet again. “You have the mirror?” Another shift against cloth. “Send word if things go south. Good luck, Nina, I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon Viago.” The footsteps started again, this time only one coming back up the staircase, a stuffed burlap sack over their shoulder. Neve released her concentration, her hands crying out in relief, as did her lungs, as she evidently had forgotten to breathe. She looked back at Viktor, who had been squinting her for who knows how long. He gave a small, curt nod. ‘

“So you’re Neve Gallus then?” Nina said, having caught up to her.

“That’s right,” she said, while the two approached Viktor at the start of the dock.

“Then you’ll be the one to finally tell me why you paid to have a Crow here for what could be months?” they asked.

“I will. Once we get away from all the people who just heard you say that,” she answered.

“And here I thought you were an expert on the city, but you still think people are paying attention to anyone else.”

“You have a point,” she said, finally turning to look their way. This was the first close up look at them Neve had gotten. Their face was youthful, but with significant wear around the eyes especially, some of which was able to be concealed by tattoos of flowing wings, and fluttering feathers descending down their cheek. “Most in Minrathous are adept at keeping their head down, but there are still eyes and ears all around you. It’s better you get used to not being the apex predator Nina de Riva, not everyone’s gonna stay quiet for you.” For the first time since their arrival, Nina’s face lit up from that hardened, sulky expression they’d been wearing.

“Noted,” they said.

Chapter Text

“It’s no Antivan suite, but these will be your lodgings for the foreseeable future,” Viktor announced, unlocking the door to an apartment unit not far from Neve’s. It was more spacious than hers, but what little furniture remained, broken or otherwise was decorated in a generous coating of dust. Just about everything in the Spillway had been abandoned after most of it crumbled into the sea, and reconstruction efforts began, but in true Minrathous fashion, not much progress was being put towards that. It tracks that they wouldn’t bother to touch any remaining structures, at least until the Spillway was opened again, which wouldn’t be for a while, if ever.

“It’s more than a closet with a bed,” Nina said, taking in their new home.

“If you’ve nothing else urgent for me, I’ll leave Ms. Gallus here to brief you.” He left the apartment key on a table, and moved to close the door as he left. Just before it latched close he froze, and popped his head back in. “Ms. Gallus, you know how to get in contact with me. Ensure Nina here knows how to find you too,” he added. Then the door closed.

“Finally from prying ears,” Nina said with a smirk. They sat on the musty couch, kicking up a plume of dust, and patting the space beside them, loosing another few masses. “Or do these walls have them too?” Neve simply strode to the table, pulled a chair up to the couch, and took a seat, one leg over a metal one.

“Please tell me you’re more serious on the job,” she said.

“I’m as serious as a job requires, it’s up to you to let me know how serious that is.” Neve shifted in her seat, crossing the metal leg over flesh and bone. Her boot was caked with mud, and clearly worn at the toes and soles, the metal of her prosthetic was dull, her clothes were just slightly too baggy, and she wore a torn ascot draped around her neck that she couldn’t be bothered to tie. Nina had been observing her, clearly quite intrigued. It very well could have been pity, maybe even thinly veiled distaste, and Neve very well could have been delusional, blinded by her personal distaste for them. But there was almost a look of admiration. Respect. She supposed both sides didn’t have to be mutually exclusive. Panache was central to the Antivan Crows, it was almost dogmatic to them. It definitely served its purpose, they could never have achieved the station they did without it, but they still had to operate outside the public eye. Residing in hideouts, traversing through back alleys and rooftops, so rarely did it have a chance to be truly beheld, and those who did get that privilege rarely lasted long. But then here was Neve Gallus, a professional who could wander the streets with any other citizen. She smiled, emboldened by her delusions, and opened her mouth to speak.

“Considering the significant amount of information the Shadow Dragons have collected spelling the arrival of a new order of Red Templars, I’d say we’ve got a pretty serious case on our hands here,” she explained. Nina’s grin diminished somewhat. They pondered for a moment.

“They’re really organizing, then. And fast. This is bigger than Minrathous isn’t it?” they asked. Neve nodded. “What information have you got?”

“Just enough for this to be cause for concern. The Inquisition should have taken care of them, they were left without a leader, basically all of their supply of red lyrium turned to dust with Corypheus, and Cullen Rutherford has been taking in former Templars of all types to help them with their lyrium addiction. They cured the symptoms and the cause.”

“But that’s never enough in this world is it?”

“Rutherford himself came to Viktor. Apparently they knew each other from their times in Kirkwall’s Order and Circle. He said there was talk of a ‘Crimson Knight’ in the streets, and some of the descriptions seemed to match the profile of one Meredith Stannard.

“Knight-Commander Meredith? The one behind the whole Mage-Templar war? That Meredith?”

“It’s more complicated than that, but sure. They practically turned the city upside down looking for any sign of them, so much as a shard of red lyrium, nothing turned up. That would’ve been the end of it, that is until the Threads, our local crime syndicate, caught a Templar corroborating with a blood mage. They stayed quiet of course, instead opting to blackmail and add him to their payroll. Then he went quiet, so I looked into it for them, and came up with a Templar and blood mage in a ritual gone wrong.”

“I’m sorry, we’re still talking about Red Templars here? The group with an even more fanatical opposition to mages than the Templars themselves? One corrupt Templar doesn’t prove anything, just another day in Thedas, moreso in Tevinter.”

“If you’d let me finish. Whatever’s going on is confusing, no doubt, but it also spells trouble. That’s why you’re here. Viktor’s theory is that blood magic is being used to artifice more red lyrium. A collaboration between Venatori and Red Templars could provide the momentum necessary to seize full control of Tevinter, maybe even recreate the Imperium’s glory days. But this is all speculation.” Nina was now pacing in circles in the seating area, trying to think through everything Neve was saying.

“Alright then,” they finally said. “Not a lot to work with, but if I’m here to deal with trouble I can certainly do that, just point to where. Though I can’t say it won’t follow me like a loyal pup.” Neve could tell as much. In her mind, Crows were either dangerously cold-blooded professionals, or rash, sadistic outlaws who liked to leave messes everywhere they went. Neither were preferable, but she was faced with the latter far too often to consider Nina the lesser of two evils.

“But that’s also why you’re here, isn’t it?” she said, tilting her head with mocking curiosity, despite being genuinely interested as to what kind of trouble landed them here. Nina stopped, looking at Neve with what wasn’t a necessarily wrathful glare, but at the very least volatile.

“You’re a perceptive one, Ms. Gallus,” they said, a grin tugging at the corners of their lips. She shrugged, mirroring the derisive attitude Nina had carried since they first stepped off the boat.

“It’s why I’m on the case in the first place, Rook,” she responded. This didn’t sour their demeanor, at least not visibly. If anything they were more intrigued. They stood silent for a moment, eyes looking Neve up and down. She straightened, her breath ever so slightly catching as she felt Nina’s eyes on her, piercing through air dense with baited silence. She wasn’t uncomfortable with them staring at her so much as she was uncomfortable with the fact that she didn’t entirely dislike it.

“You have a point. Has your perception managed to scrounge up any leads for us to look at? Or should I just start sending Venatori heads flying?” they asked. Neve shook off the moment of trance.

“Only two really, neither necessarily easy to look into. The first is Magister Felicia Erimond. She was a driving force behind the expulsion of Maevaris Tilani from the Magisterium and dissolution of the Lucerni, it’s tough even for Dorian Pavus to keep an eye on her. Besides, looking into an unabashed, card-carrying member of the Venatori is far from the safest endeavor,” she explained.

“I’m no stranger to tailing high profile targets. If I’m not being kept on a short leash that is,” said Nina. Neve chuckled a real, genuine chuckle.

“I’d planned to ask you about the story at some point, but I can see easily enough why Viago calls you ‘Rook’,” she said. Again, they barely seemed phased by the moniker.

“So I’m given the go-ahead then?” She laughed again.

“You hardly know the way from the docks to the Spillway. I’ll be here early tomorrow, with luck we’ll get to talk with someone from the Threads, try to make sense of our Templar and blood mage friends,” Neve said. She stood, taking in the decrepit quarters before going, not envying Nina’s indefinite lodgings. Once they saw Neve heading for the door, they jumped to open the door for her on her way out. They certainly were a character.

“Then I will see you tomorrow, Ms. Gallus,” they said. She was almost skeptical as she exited, moving slowly enough to have time to catch a whiff of their crimson, chin-length hair. There of course was saltwater clinging to it, but not like the foul brine that permeated Dock Town. It was natural, wooded, almost floral. It was perfume. Even on the boat, maybe even the walk to their apartment, Nina had applied a fragrance to themselves. You can take the Crow out of Antiva, but not the Antiva out of the Crow.

“That you will, Rook.”

Chapter Text

For a district that embodied nearly every stereotype of a lower-class neighborhood one could imagine, Dock Town tended to be fairly quiet at night. Neve Gallus was never very good at sleeping however, often opting to read the pulpy serials pushed by Dock Town newsstands, or more likely roll around in tangled, tepid sheets when she was too tired to read, but not enough to fall asleep. Every now and then she would have the good fortune of being graced with a partner in her bed, a good excuse to not address her apparent sleep incompetency. But what made tonight different was not that Neve was actually sleeping, but that she actually had something to do. This was not only the largest case she’d worked, it was really the first. As Viktor kindly pointed out, everything she’d done before had been mere “jobs”. Picking up and dropping off packages, maybe a missing person (they rarely turn up), acting as a scribe to write a letter home, and she was by no means above a cleaning job (as being ankle deep in blood and skull dust suggested).

So tonight she stood over notes, missives, records, and dossiers assembled by the Shadow Dragons. For a clandestine organization, they had been extremely forthcoming with a contracted agent. Still, there were gaps, holes in the stories provided to Neve, for one reason or another, and some of those would point her in the right direction. So she started with what she knew.

Viktor Yanchenik, a Kirkwall native, seems to have made a number of visits to his hometown, all easy enough to keep track of. The most recent one was at the behest of Cullen Rutherford, acting on a tip about lingering, or perhaps resurging Red Templars, but only met dead ends. Rumors rarely spring out of nowhere though, the Kirkwall trail was still one to keep an eye on.

Within the last year, Magister Maevaris Tilani, a representative of the Lucerni party, devoted to combating corruption, specifically of the Venatori, or blood mage variety (often one in the same), was expelled from the Magisterium on false treason charges. She’d had her eyes set on Felicia Erimond, but evidently got too close. Neve looked at accounts from Maevaris, as well as reports on the proceedings of the case against her. She knew how to be discreet, and had a certain amount of cover available to her out of respect for her father, which these days wasn’t very far reaching, as well as from Magister Dorian Pavus, who was a lot more untouchable. All that being said, it was unlikely she stirred the pot enough to draw desire to have her removed from the Magisterium’s chambers. How Erimond caught Maevaris on her trail could point to other associates, maybe a potential traitor within the Shadow Dragons, formerly Lucerni. The files provided to Neve also had no mention of what findings Maevaris had made on Erimond. Perhaps there were none of note, but it was worth asking her directly.

Lastly, there was the bloodbath Neve had found herself in, a case of a Templar willingly aiding a blood mage, who as of yet remains unidentified. According to what Viktor had already gleaned from the Threads, who corroborated the Templar story, they were almost certainly Venatori. The Threads were not known for being the most forthcoming, she’d planned to try to force her way into the Threads Market, strong-arming them into handing over information, but only now was realizing she’d need something to offer, a bargaining chip of sorts. Neve wondered how willing Nina would be to pick up an extra job or two. If they knew that this, as of now, was their best shot at a quick departure from Minrathous, probably very. Neve didn’t much blame Nina for being upset at their circumstances, it would be just as much of a shock to throw her in Treviso with no say, but even the “deceiving opulence” of Treviso seemed better than Dock Town. At least Nina had that to fall back on.

The scent of Nina’s perfume still burned in her nose, even with the faint, momentary trace Neve had picked up. The Antivan Crows were lauded for being suave, clean, put-together, stylish, any other adjective for pretentious, and it irritated Neve how true they were. Not just that they were true, but also that Nina looked so good even in travel clothes. She caught her mind wandering, lingering on this topic more than necessary, but Neve hadn’t yet decided if it was good or bad. Was it better to imagine Nina as the roguish, yet charming heroic figure the Crows were often made out to be, or to do away with this fantasy entirely, because it certainly was not proving to be the case, despite how pretty they were? She didn’t have a chance to decide, as the floor suddenly gave out under her, and she found herself flying back from her table, drool staining the ink on her original missive from the Threads. Neve wiped the saliva and stood up. It seemed she’d reached the stage of not being tired enough to fall asleep, but tired enough to be unproductive. As she threw herself on the mattress however, she did think of one thing she could clear up right now.

Seeing as her dream was forcefully taken away from her, Neve still couldn’t seem to shake the thoughts of Nina, so now she decided to forcefully take them away from herself, once and for all. Her hand slowly slid from her abdomen, down to her pants, where she undid the bindings around her waist, moving her pants down just enough to leave ample room for her hand.

Her fingers danced around her vulva, teasing out the juices, which rushed out much faster than expected. Neve’s head drew back as she released a sigh. She couldn’t remember the last time she was with anyone like this, much less herself. Wasting no time, two fingers entered her, moving in, and out at a steady pace, causing Neve to hum with satisfaction. But satisfaction wasn’t enough right now. Her hand grew hotter, the butterflies in her stomach, and hammering in her chest seemed to spread to her whole body, as if the weight of a person was pressing on her. She stopped fingering herself, as she opened her eyes, only to be met with no one, and a once again empty sensation. Neve was getting distracted. Her eyes clenched shut, and as her fingers got back to work thrusting into her, she heard a voice in her ear.

“Thinking about me, Ms. Gallus?”

This time she did not stop. A whimper was her only response to Nina’s teasing, which only caused their hand to move in and out of her vagina even faster. Their fingers were soft, uncalloused, and if she was being frank, almost dainty. Neve let a third finger in. She’d completely lost track of whose hand was where, and before she knew it, her shirt was ripped open, her breasts taken in another hand. They paid attention to both, gently caressing, and squeezing. The pressure forced a gasp from Neve, opening the door for a series of breathy moans she was powerless to stop, and all hope was lost once their thumbs brushed over her nipples. Neve’s spine contorted into her stomach, and her stomach into her spine, as she writhed under the fingers grinding against her walls, pushing them as deep into her pussy as her erratic movements allowed.

It didn’t take much longer for a thumb to move up to Neve’s clit, just barely brushing over it, treating it as if it was wounded. Having none of this gentle treatment anymore, Neve grinded further into the hand that was fucking her, and at that one moment, there was only that feeling. Her body was seized by that touch, it didn’t matter if it was her own. Everything else fell away, including the Crow. Nina breathed new life into Neve, so she naturally returned the favor by coming into her own hand, and on her sheets, barely stifling the squeals escaping from her throat.

Gasping for air, Neve’s eyes fluttered open. She was weightless once again, and there was no body propped over her. It was all inside her head, but that didn’t stop it from staining her bed too. Neve lay in her mess, admittedly quite stunned, but as she came down from the ecstasy, she couldn’t help but think how glad she was that she got this out of the way now. Nina was cute, there was no denying that, so it suited her to get that release now, dealing with that truth, and not having to acknowledge it again.

Chapter Text

Neve Gallus was treated to an uncharacteristically restful, albeit still brief, night of sleep. She decided the best way to pay it forward was by arriving at Nina’s apartment bright and early, no later than half past six in the morning. Three knocks resounded from their door, and she waited patiently for them to open it. Surely they were still in a deep sleep that Neve had politely broken, but after a minute or so of being met with no sound, not even a creak, a rustle, a groggy groan, her eyes furrowed and she knocked again, harder this time. Again, nothing. She tried the door, but to no avail. Nina had to be messing with her. If there was something wrong, if someone had entered the apartment, taken Nina or even killed them, they would have had to use the door, and it didn’t lock from the outside. So she knocked one more time, giving them a final chance to meet her before she froze and shattered the lock.

“Nina, this is no time for games, we’ve got places to be,” she called through the door. No answer. With a smug, almost gleeful expression, Neve pressed the end of her scepter to the knob, feeling the cold course through her, and, as if it were simply an extension of herself, spread through the metal, making the supposedly unbreakable structure more brittle than glass. All it took was a few taps and chips to completely remove the knob. Neve made a mental note to add a locksmith to their list of tasks for that day. The door creaked open as Neve pushed her way in, but started once she saw that Nina was not in the bed on the far side of the open apartment, just behind a wooden pillar. Nor were they at the table, or in the kitchen, or on the couch. Eventually her eyes found their way to a cavity in the wall, excavated deep into the Spillway’s rock face, that had previously been concealed by a cheap acrylic painting now discarded on the floor.

“Damn it all,” she shouted under breath as she dashed towards the opening. “Nina?” Her voice echoed through the tunnel, but was met with silence. For what felt like far too many moments, at least.

“Ms. Gallus?” Nina’s voice echoed back. Neve let out a frustrated sigh, taking a few steps away before circling back to respond.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing?” she called. Again, a few seconds without response.

“Well,” they grunted, presumably crawling back towards Neve at the entrance. Or exit, if this artificial tunnel came from elsewhere. “I’ll just explain to you in a minute.” She huffed again and sat on one of the couches, producing a much smaller dust cloud than expected.

Nina did only take a minute to return, flashing a smile at Neve as they climbed from the opening. She rose, and uncrossed her arms as she waited for their explanation. They looked around the room for a moment.

“I thought the apartment had been ransacked for a moment, but, uh, call it-” they dusted themselves off, inspecting the wear on the knees of their silk pants. They were still in travel clothes, that were now covered in dirt, pebbles, and scrapes. “Minrathous charm.” They smiled at her again. Neve was entirely unaffected. “Oh yes, the tunnel. I’ve never been great at sleeping, normally because that’s when I’m on the clock, but I don’t exactly have a directive or anything. Not that I don’t know how to take initiative, I may be a uh, rook, as you’ve picked up on, but I’m not stupid enough to go out and do my work in a city I’ve only just stepped foot in.

“All that to say, I thought I might as well clean a bit. You know, make this place more presentable, and I found this, and did what any rational person would do,” Nina explained, barely taking a breath. Neve, who’d crossed her arms again, simply gave them a tired look. It seemed they were finally starting to pick up on her exasperation, because they stopped their fidgeting and just sort of stood there, swallowing hard. “How did you sleep?”

I slept great. After I jerked off to the thought of you. Twice, actually.

“Never been much good at sleeping either,” she answered, flatly. “We’ve got a lot to do today, get dressed, I’ll be right outside.”

“Of course, I’ll just be another minute.”

This time they took significantly longer than just a minute. At least the wall opposite Nina’s apartment was kind enough to crumble, and if there was anything good about Minrathous, it’s that it was on the western shore of the Nocen Sea, granting Neve an impressive view of the rising sun. Its golden, pastel rays were even vibrant enough to make the pervasive, austere grime that coated all of Dock Town pleasing. The sight was in fact so pleasing, Neve failed to notice Nina right behind her.

“You weren’t lying when you said we had a lot to do if you’re here at this hour. I assume this is task number one of the checklist?” they said, having slid right back into their standard attitude. Neve looked up at them, and was actually quite disappointed to find they did know some real subtlety. Where she expected the loud, flowy Crow regalia, they instead sported a long, dark grey tunic with splashes of red adorning the billowing sleeves that fell past their hands, and black belts fastened around a far too slender waist. Too slender even for the belts actually, there was noticeable slack on them. As Neve was pretty sure not having some kind of revealing branding was met with capital punishment in the Crows, two black feathers were pinned to the strap of a side pouch. “I will admit, this alone is a task worth waking up for.” Nina looked down to return Neve’s gaze.

“One of the only beauties of Minrathous I’m afraid. It’s all downhill,” Neve said, standing up from the ledge, careful not to fall and end this case before it even started.

“Well I know for a fact that’s not true,” said Nina. Back turned to them, Neve did her best not to miss a step, and keep the deepening red in her face out of sight. “For starters there’s got to be good coffee somewhere in Dock Town.” She couldn’t see Nina’s expression, but she hoped to the Maker the addendum was as careless as it sounded, and not a feeble attempt to undo an earlier insinuation.

“Can’t say it’ll be good by Antivan standards, but we certainly have strong coffee,” Neve answered.

“I’ll certainly take strong right now.”

“You’re sure you can take strong with that frame, Rook? The last thing I’d want is to have to worry for your heart bursting on the job.” Nina laughed.

“The last thing I need is someone worrying for me, so you’re off the hook Ms. Gallus. And this frame is capable of quite a bit I’ll have you know.”

“I know a place that’s not far from here. It’ll give me a chance to brief you on today.”

“Lead the way.”

* * *

Within half an hour Neve and Nina were sat at The Diamondback, a shop that had only opened in the past year, but had maintained itself as one of the nicest establishments in all of Minrathous. Being in the heart of Dock Town actually worked to its benefit. Shady characters liked to do business in shady locations, and no respectable characters would want to be caught dead in Dock Town. Having lived a life firmly set in the unremarkable liminal space between the two, Neve naturally became a regular. It wasn’t until just recently that she learned that the proprietor, Lorelei, an elven woman with stark white hair, was a fence for the Shadow Dragons. Nina was already almost through the first cup before either of them uttered a word.

“I have to admit I did not have a coffee shop in mind as a front for the Shadow Dragons, but it seems to be working in your favor,” they commented. Neve’s brow furrowed.

“What makes you say that?” she pressed.

“You’re more than just a regular here, I can tell. The subtle glances of mutual understanding with Lorelei, I believe is what you called her. You can tell the two of you share some secret no one else gets to know. So either you’re both Shadows, or you’re fucking.”

“Contract killers of an unchecked paramilitary organization isn’t enough, apparently the Crows need you to learn all the irrelevant, gory details of peoples’ personal lives too,” she said. Now Nina was the one looking confused, as they whipped their head to Lorelei, then back to Neve.

“So it’s the latter?” they hissed, in the most serious tone they’d taken since they met. Neve scoffed.

“No. Wrong on both counts actually. Or at least this isn’t a front. You’re not wrong that Lorelei and I have common friends though,” she said, taking a large sip of coffee. Nina relaxed, and nodded, taking in what she’d said.

“If it makes you feel any better you were wrong too,” they said, finishing the last of their cup. “The Crows don’t teach us to read people, not at the level of being able to decipher glances. I’m sure some can, but all I needed was an educated guess.”

“Really? The Crows never need you to intuit people’s feelings, never need that for dirt on affairs, for leverage, anything?”

“We rarely use that kind of dirt in the first place. We’re contract killers Ms. Gallus, not Orlesians. Although I do think it’s a rite of passage for fledglings to take out their first unfaithful spouse. Even better if you get their secret lover too,” Nina explained. Neve nodded, and cracked a small smirk.

“Good. You stay in your lane, I’ll stay in mine,” she said. Nina grinned back, thinly veiling their joy that Neve was finally in equally good humor.

“I can’t help but feel a bit offended, Ms. Gallus. You didn’t think I was brought here for a very specific purpose?”

“Hm, more that you wouldn’t be capable of fulfilling that purpose, being a fledgling and all. Or that, in true Crow fashion, you’d make too much of a show of it, ruin it for us ground-dwellers.” Nina dramatically arched over the back of their chair, clutching the center of your chest.

“Straight for the heart, Ms. Gallus. Why did you ever join the Shadows when the Crows were clearly the right choice for you.” Now it was Neve’s turn to be a little insulted at the insinuation.

“Your insight fails you again, Rook. I haven’t joined the Shadow Dragons,” she said, flatly. Understanding spiraled behind Nina’s eyes as they slowly nodded, returning from their theatrics. They placed their elbows on the table and got right up in front of Neve.

“You’re just as much of a risk as me, then. Just as much to prove, if not more,” they said. Their dynamic had soured again, turning to saccharine, honeyed sarcasm.

“But we’re not here to talk about me. You’ve got your chance to prove yourself to me today,” she said, leaning in in response. Drawing closer to one another across the table, Neve could once again smell that fragrance, now stronger, clearer, maybe even a new one altogether. It was clean, bright, almost citrusy–she recalled that passionfruit was quite popular in Antiva. She pushed thoughts of Antivan flora and their scents aside. “Here’s the plan.”

Chapter Text

Today marked a full week Nina had been in Minrathous, and they and Neve were no closer to whatever the hell it is they were supposed to be looking for. Why the hell would the Shadow Dragons even open a full investigation on nothing but whispers, contract an outsider to grasp for straws, and call in a professional from abroad to stab at the darkness? To be frank, this whole situation pissed them off. Viago and the Talons would rather send an elf to Tevinter to twiddle their thumbs on the far less picturesque rooftops than have them around. Apparently Nina proved too much trouble for the people who get hired to make trouble. And then of course there was Neve Gallus.

She seemed alright at first, maybe a little brusk, but they would be too if they grew up in Dock Town of all places. Unfortunately she couldn’t seem to stand them, and after being around her for a bit, they couldn’t seem to stand her either. It wasn’t even her contempt that soured her for Nina, in fact it made it even more fun to poke fun at her. However, outside of her scorn for them, she couldn’t give a damn to save her life. To Neve, they were unprofessional, didn’t take the job seriously enough, but never did Nina see any indicator that she recognized the stakes of this case, or the importance of what the Dragons were doing. There was no passion for her work. She seemed to have already come to the conclusion that they were doomed from the start. Then again, Nina had no room to judge, because the two of them had been on this for a week now, with nothing to show for it except an elf pacing back and forth on the same Minrathous rooftop for the fourth night in a row. And they couldn’t get that fucking brine out of their nose.

If Neve was right about anything it was that contracts from the Threads really were spectacularly shitty work. The information they were holding out on better be gold, or else that Elek fellow wouldn’t end up faring much better than the one that drew their ire. No parameters were given, so as far as Nina was concerned, it was open season. It was this thought that brought them back to the present, focusing their attention back on the bruisers stationed outside the entrance descending to the Dwarven Embassy. While still only a Fledgling, and only having one real job under their belt, Nina had in fact already had the pleasure of putting down Venatori, which they expected more of on this excursion. Unfortunately they would have to wait. Their would-be opponents would offer a unique challenge though. How considerate of them to diversify Nina’s palette.

Just show your face already, coward. That’s all you have to do. Nina heard the metal over the brick rooftop before they saw her. They made a mental note to look into something a little quieter if they wanted to get anything done in this case. Especially if she was going to butt into Nina’s business unannounced.

“Please tell me this dwarven dignitary’s made an appearance,” Neve muttered from behind. Without looking Nina responded, blandly.

“I’m offended Ms. Gallus. You really think so little of me I wouldn’t have already made a move if he did?”

“I’ll think more highly of you once this leg of the case is dead and buried.” Nina couldn’t help but snort, which earned them an immediate shove, almost right onto the cobblestone below. They conceded that they had gone too far that time. Internally, that is. Ms. Gallus could never know that.

“It’s hard to prove myself to you when I’ve been placed here for days now. He’s a surface-dweller too, what can he even have to do in those stone halls for over four days straight,” they said.
“I can think of a few reasons,”said Neve. Again, Nina found themselves smiling. They also had to admit that she could be quite witty. When she wanted to be. “You’re sure he’s even here?” she proceeded to ask. Now Nina was back to feeling insulted.

“As sure as I can be. The Threads have asked for progress updates–which is incredibly unprofessional when hiring Crows, by the way–and assured me that I should stick myself here. Any other exit I guess they’d tell me if the doors so much as creak. Apparently the main door’s the only one they can’t position someone at.”

“Until now.”

“Until now,” Nina finally turned to look at Neve. “All thanks to your efforts Ms. Gallus. The Threads will forever be in your debt. They might even regale you as a hero, place you as their new leader.” She turned, her eyes rolling with her. Nina was sure she would’ve groaned if it wasn’t for the sentinels below.

“Not if you don’t nab our merchant prince, or whatever he is, the second he shows his rat face. I’ll leave you to it,” Neve said, continuing walking away from Nina, the clinking of her leg growing fainter and fainter.

“I’ll have you know some people quite like a rat face,” Nina muttered to no one but themself, vaguely gesturing to their own countenance. Then, as if on cue, an audience materialized right before their eyes. A rat face was enough of an allure after all, they just hadn’t been working it. They glanced over their shoulder to ensure Ms. Gallus had vacated. Nina didn’t think her incompetent; maybe not the most capable, but sufficiently capable. Still, she was out of her depth in their field, they wouldn’t be surprised if she’d never so much as taken a life. With the roof cleared, Nina’s eyes focused back on their quarry, as they crouched down, hand reaching into their coat to draw two plumes—small, serrated throwing knives with notches made to resemble a feather. Like most jobs, it should be done quickly and quietly, but this was the Threads doing away with a target, not the standard Antivan aristocrat, so he was meant to disappear completely. But just because they couldn’t send a message like normal didn’t mean Nina wouldn’t have fun with it. Some creative liberties must be taken, otherwise it’s just a chore.

The target was flanked by the three dwarven guards as he moved. Whoever this guy was, he was important. Nina very much intended on pushing for answers on just what he did to earn this kind of special attention, because his three friends would no doubt be an absolute nuisance, especially considering they were roughly a hefty 600 extra pounds of evidence to do away with, rounding down. But all that was a later problem, the target was moving away, and moving fast. Nina had to act now or wait another week.

With an animalistic grace, Nina leapt headfirst from the rooftop bricks, two razor sharp plumes plummeting ahead to announce their arrival. With a whistle, one found its mark in the target’s heel. He crumpled to the ground instantly. The other landed square in one of the thug’s breastplates with a ping as it clattered on the cobblestone. They were still in shock and confusion when Nina landed, making up for their mistake by producing a stiletto, decorated with a hooked crow’s skull on the pommel, and promptly placing it in the first guard’s neck. Since a Crow is always thorough, they were also sure to pull it once, then twice across the neck—sometimes they have a nasty habit of coming back from a mere puncture wound.

With the target howling in pain, holding his ankle, and one of his already entourage crashing to the ground, convulsing and choking on his rapidly draining blood, the other two finally got their bearings and drew steel against Nina, who responded with their own saber. They couldn’t play this like a normal duel, there was no way they could muster enough force to block any incoming attacks. So they stood, quietly, patiently. Restraint was never a strong suit of theirs, but they didn’t see this as restraining themselves. No, Nina was being put on display. Nina was a mere object of their desire, a desire even more intoxicating and potent than any form of ecstasy. They hoped the thugs before them would have as euphoric a release as them, even in the short time they had left. Even though no one ever did. One of the greatest tragedies in life, Nina thought.

Their movements were smooth, fluid, as if dancing in water as the guards broke the tension, trying to push their way through it. They were slow, sluggish, brutish– disappointing really. They were at least smart enough to come at Nina at once, from either side. But still, their attacks were predictable. They might as well have announced them into the open night air. One was easily redirected to the side thanks to Nina’s gentle hand on the flat of the blade, and the other scraped down Nina’s saber, before deflecting off the crossguard. They pirouetted around them, attempting to again discombobulate them, and keep the both of them in one spot. As they came out on the other side of the two, the pommel of their saber came in contact with one of their chests, knocking the wind out of them. Their wrist twisted as their arm extended, attempting to find purchase on the other one while their friend still reeled. No such luck. Nina was growing frustrated. They fed off of other’s energy, and these two were not into this at all, not even for the survival of themselves, nor their employer. While one gasped for air and clutched at his chest, Nina gave an exasperated, half-assed blow to the back of his neck, freed their saber, and went for another deep slash for good measure. And that was another one down, leaving one remaining.

Nina checked over their shoulder to make sure the target hadn’t fled just yet. All he’d managed to do was drag himself to the other side of the street, and claw at a door that was never going to open for the poor soul. It was a pathetic sight. Nina almost felt bad, but above all else they found it cute. There were even tears streaming down his face, into his flawlessly groomed beard. There was no time to truly relish the moment, however, not even enough to let out a small laugh. The target’s wails had apparently drowned out the thundering sound of the final guard barreling towards Nina, who was suddenly hit with the full force of his body as a pauldron met their ribs, and they were sent flying into the building’s facade.

Their body reacted first, immediately scrambling to get back up, collapsing once or twice before they were even on their hands and knees. Their blurred vision caught up next. Nina shook off the daze, and pounded their fist into the pavement.

“Asshole,” they said, before regaining their footing. Their last opponent stood before them, shoulders heaving, and Nina’s saber conveniently laying at his side, evidently having been flung on impact. They spit on the ground, a hefty chunk of blood mixed with the saliva. “Glad to see you’re finally having fun.” The dwarf huffed in response. Someone was angry.

Nina stood unarmed, waiting for when he inevitably went for another charge, and he did not disappoint. Clearly in his fervor, he had failed to notice a concealed parrying dagger sitting tucked in Nina’s left sleeve, which they swiftly drew once he came within striking distance, meeting his blade with the crossguard fashioned to look like two wings. With a simple twist, and retaliating push of their shoulder, the guard was now unarmed and on the backfoot. Nina had discarded their dagger in the process of disarming him, but they didn’t need it anymore. All that was left was a right hook, knocking off his helmet, definitely fracturing Nina’s knuckle, then grabbing, and twisting his head past the point of no return. With all guards finally out of the way, they gave one last spit to further tarnish the last guard’s armor and reputation, and strode to the even more unsightly dignitary, who’d ceased his moaning and laid pathetically on the steps of the facade. If Nina had humbled the guards, this individual was worse than humble. He was degraded, demeaned, demoralized.

They took their time retrieving their scattered assortment of blades, being careful to wipe the blood from anything that had drawn it. This was a nice shirt too. They didn’t suppose they could find good cleaners in Dock Town. A moment of silence was then granted for the crooked plume that had missed its mark; Nina so hated wasting materials, especially since requisitioning more would be difficult, if not impossible here. Finally they strode to the contract, only with a dagger in hand. His whining resumed once Nina grabbed him by the hair, and knelt down to make eye contact as a blade was pressed to his throat.

“Who are you?” he slurred, his words slow and jumbled what didn’t even look like significant blood loss. And Nina thought dwarves were supposed to be tough.

“I’m the one who should be asking that question,” they said in response. Nina was impatient from the earlier inconvenience, they wanted this to be over with, but not enough to take their favorite part of a contract away. They’d only grow more irritable if it was left neglected. “Your name, if you don’t mind.”

“My name? You mean to kill me and you don’t even know my bloody name?!” Now he had some ferocity.

“Well of course I know your name, but I don’t know you. I want to hear it directly from the source. Once I have my sights set I often actively try to forget it. So who are you really, messere?” He only cried in response. Nina was now tired of the back and forth. The dagger drew back, and landed with a thunk in the wooden door, grazing the hair on the side of his neck. “Up. We haven’t got much time, up.”

“You’re… sparing me?” A snicker escaped Nina before they could stifle it.

“I suppose I am. I won’t tell you again, get up.”

“But- you- I can’t with my foot-”

“I wasn’t asking. Now how much are you willing to bet Ms. Gallus is close enough for us to catch up and get her to help with this mess. Even with you helping I’d be here all night.”

Chapter Text

Nina had a long night’s work ahead of them, but was highly motivated by the promise of a signature Minrathous sunrise as reward. They were quick enough with their carnage to be able to catch up to Neve before she’d made it far enough for them to get turned around in winding city streets. The layouts were made even more confusing with how everything was simply cobbled together out of quick necessity, with no regard for the demands of the future. As expected, Neve wasn’t happy with the ask, but, also to be expected, reluctantly agreed to walk back with them, all with the snivelling Dorek Muidtagh in tow, chairman of the Ambassadoria, who was eventually kind enough to share his name.

Proving quite effective in the realm of cleaning bodies and blood, Neve and Nina had the task completed in a matter of hours, before any nearby residents would wander through the mess, or, at least cease having any plausible deniability. According to Neve, muscle tissue couldn’t exactly just shatter, no matter how cold it was, but she was helpful enough in affording her knack for ice to mitigate further mess as the three bodies were hastily cut, and placed into easily transportable packages. She even proved adept in caring for Muidtagh’s wound, which worked to their benefit when the transporting stage finally came into play. Stripped of their cloth, they fashioned knapsacks to hold body parts and plate armor, which ended up taking two trips, the first of which Nina was sat surrounded by loose pauldrons, breastplates, gauntlets, greaves, and a whole body’s worth of flesh. Nina was unsure where Neve discarded the first two bodies, even in an unfamiliar city they knew she couldn’t have been gone long enough to make it to the dock and back, but she returned with some fresh sacks she’d likely emptied and pulled from a stray stash in a nearby alley. She really did know what she was doing after all.

The unlikely trio then started on their way to the Thread Market, sacks thrown over their shoulders like a group of Dalish, living out their days wandering with their entire livelihoods on their backs. Instead Nina was carrying the stolen life of another, stuck in a city that stank of the blood of their people, with only the actual stink of piss and brine to make up for it. Neve readjusted her load, switching the shoulder it dug into.

“This isn’t my line of work, but I have to believe there was an easier way to do this,” she said, starting to strain under the weight. “Or maybe this is just a job gone wrong, is that why you’ve been so quiet?” Neve thought back to when they first met on the dock, when they hadn’t treated everything like a game, when the attitude wasn’t so playfully hostile. They were sulky, pissy even, the wrinkles around the eyes looked less like smile lines and more like they’d seen enough to last a few lifetimes. Was this part of the game, were they simply a character in a tale they wove in their mind, or did they see something in Neve that compelled them to toy with her? Neve found her blood starting to boil a bit just from the prospect, both were especially unwanted. She might be jumping to conclusions, but she was too good at reading people for it not to be apparent—Nina was unstable. She knew it from the start.

“I’m sorry?” was all they said.

“I mean, surely the Crows would have better instructions laid out to not leave a scene without having to recruit two others to clean up your mess.” Nina tilted their head back and forth, silently agreeing, and proceeding to say as such.

“Crows also aren’t always used to having to clean up. That takes premium payment, and most contractors are content to send a message. Even if the deceased were to ‘go missing,’ nine times out of ten, it’s the Crows, anyone in Antiva knows that.”

“So you just let blood overflow the streets of Treviso?”

“No more than it does Minrathous. I’ll also have you know, having to clean up four bodies is enough to put anyone in a pinch,” they said emphatically. “Maybe one of these days you’d like to get your hands dirty and see how well you do.” Neve scoffed. Before she had the chance to formulate a response, she froze, reminding Nina that Muidtagh was still hobbling and huffing between the two as fire rained over his head. Nina turned to look at Neve, blurting out the beginnings of a back-handed question before it was cut short by a rush of red and silver, materializing as a figure pinning them to a cobblestone wall.

Nina’s cries of choked desperation reminded Neve of a rabid dog, and the mannerisms did them little favor, with the kicking and clawing against the steel-clad assailant before them. No matter how much they gnashed their teeth, no matter how much vitriol they spat from their eyes alone, gauntlets were pinning their neck and elbows to the wall, and the stranger’s grieves remained stalwart. Finally, Neve came to her senses, drew her pen, and materialized a shard of ice on the end of it. She could not see a face, only the back of wild, black coily hair. With a swift glide to their side, Neve brought the tip right up to the soft, unarmored flesh below the jaw, and calmly requested that she release Nina. She complied, turning to allow Neve a better look at the face of Nina’s attacker, only to be even further perplexed. There was a steely calm in the eyes, no malice, no rage, not even the mad absence of a Lyrium-addled Templar, which was made increasingly clear to be her vocation.

“I know not your involvement with this filth, but I’ll just as soon have you taken away with your collaborator,” she said, with a tight ferocity the sharp, elegant features of her face did not betray.

“Now I really am lost—there’s very little collaboration happening here, trust me. But you’re not in a position to make those threats nonetheless,” Neve responded. Nina had ceased their flailing, but their eyes remained unchanged, spreading across their face to infect their lips with a downturned sneer that just about went off their chin. The indignation eventually became too much to bear, as under the slightest loosening of the Templar’s grip, their arms came up, placing both hands on either side of her head, and pressing their thumbs into her eyes. She released her hold, growling in pain as she reeled back, but Nina remained locked onto her body. The Templar responded by drawing her arms back up, finding Nina’s wrists, and using them to fling them off of her.

Neve had drawn her scepter back into her hand, as was ready to join, but not before sending a layer of ice to engulf the discarded sacks of parts and Muidtagh’s slowly shifting feet. Meanwhile, even before she turned her attention back to the ongoing scrap, she could feel the radiating sting of venom dripping from Nina’s very pores. The air was thick with their wrath, their ferocity, their savagery in the same way you can feel the disease of a quarantined district. Neve witnessed them, having scrambled back up, and drawn a knife from their sleeve, rushing the Templar with reckless abandon. She remained unarmed, sword stuck in its scabbard, but had assumed a wide, defensive stance, as if to wrestle Nina. Instead, she was stone faced, and Neve saw her hands slowly, finger by finger, curl into fists, wrist snapping in a rotating motion, as if she was closing a door.

The air all of a sudden felt different. It remained heavy, but there was a certain emptiness to it. It was cold, but not the cold Neve was used to. It wasn’t just indifferent, unfeeling; it took her very breath away, leaving her feeling as if she were a speck floating through the cosmos, despite her having never been more stuck in place as they were in that split second sensation. The moment passed, and she unfroze right as Nina lept in the air, knife headed right for her face. What started as a miniscule glint off of their blade all of a sudden exploded in a blinding flash, leaving Nina to miss their already rash bid, and even while still recovering from the disarming flare, they continued to wildly swing at their armored foe with just as much, if not as much energy as before. Adrenaline still doing its magic, the Templar was quite easily managing to avoid the blade (though Neve was sure she saw a few hairs get shaved off), but her face now read as confused, lost. Once her intent shifted to mean to end the charade that Nina had little chance of coming out on top of, Neve took matters into her own hands.

With far more difficulty than normal, Neve managed to rapidly cool the air around the two combatants, condensing it around their hands to provide just enough bite to break the focus. Nina dropped their knife, and the Templar seemed to snap out of a sort of flow, which seemed to consequently lift the suffocating void that Neve felt constricting her down to the bone. Energy reclaimed, and both figures before her momentarily stunned, she yanked on whatever strands of Veil she could get a grip on, envisioning a similar invisible weight pressing on the both of them, distorting their image as if they were submerged underwater. Beading sweat running down the side of her face, heart racing, lungs screaming, and Templar and Crow severely impeded in their movements, Neve regained her composure and began to speak.

“Ser Knight-Templar, this seems like quite the misunderstanding. I won’t pretend to know your rules of conduct, but even so I don’t believe ‘attack first, ask questions later,’ is part of it,” said Neve, still catching her breath. She dismissed just enough of the slowing spell to allow her to speak.

“It is when you find yourself face-to-face with a blood mage wanted for homicide,” she spat. Neve barely managed to get her response out between a series of boisterous laughs, and scoffing chortles.
“Then perhaps it shouldn’t be, because last I checked there were no blood mages here, them least of all,” she motioned to Nina, who she was starting to believe had warped their mouth so much that they’d permanently wear that scowl from now on. She considered allowing them the opportunity to respond, but she knew they’d have nothing productive to say.

“You know,” the Templar grunted as she tried to move the rest of her body. “I’m actually starting to realize that.”

“Is that so?”

“When a blood mage comes at you with a knife, it usually spells blood magic. But sealing the Fade didn’t change your friend's demeanor one bit.”

“So we’re looking at yet another case of Templar incompetence.” Neve was met with silence. “Can I ask for your name at least?” Again, silence. “Oh, relax. I’m not looking to press charges, or seek compensation, Maker knows how that will go for me.”

“Knight-Templar Savas, miss,” she said, jaw tensing.

“How polite. Is Knight-Templar your first name, Ser Savas?”

“No miss, it’s Rana.”

“Pleased to meet you Rana. Now, you said you were looking for a blood mage. Who? Why? I assume something had to have led you here, to them. A description? An unfortunate time and place? Or were we just unlucky enough to fall into your hands at this moment?” Neve said, feeling the indignation grow within her as she thought out loud about how absurd the situation truly was. More and more she understood Nina’s frozen frown.

“I’m afraid that information is only privy to those of the order, miss,” said Rana, her tone polite, but her face unflinching, staring forward into nothing. Neve, jutted her lower lip out in dissatisfaction, but after a moment of consideration, released her hold on the Templar, who only stumbled for one step before catching herself.

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you, Rana. I do hope you’ll behave with a touch more savvy in your future,” Neve said, turning her attention away from her, attempting to signal the lack of necessity for any thanks or goodbyes. She did not heed the cue.

“Thank you miss, I’m sure I will,” she spoke, giving a sort of awkward nod, before shooting Nina a begrudging glance as she massaged the side of her head, and marched off. Once the shifting and clanking of metal was just barely within earshot, Neve released her breath, and Nina with it, who stumbled to the ground on hand and knees. Bones aching from exhaustion, Neve still made an effort to help Nina up while they too panted, remaining collapsed for a few moments too long. The second her hand was close enough to sense, Nina batted it away and was on their feet in an instant, still gripping the knife.

“What exactly is your game here?” they hissed, so close Neve could feel the hot moisture. She had braced herself for this kind of scorn, and calmly looked down to meet their contemptuous gaze.

“The only game here is yours, Rook,” she said. “Now clearly there was no reason for you to be arbitrarily killed over, so you’re welcome for that.”

“Killed? Perhaps your tricks can impair memory too, because I remember her being on the back foot when you stepped in.”

“I could see it coming out either way. The alternative was another body to clean up, and a dead Templar on our hands, which is a much harder cover-up, believe me. That, and, a little bit of tongue-wagging, which I thought was all you were good for, shows us that there’s another blood mage within reach, and at this point, any connection we can get is a step in the right direction.” At that point Nina took a step back, tilting their head every so slightly as they put some space between the two.

“So you’re looking to collaborate further with your new friend Rana?” they said, putting a mocking twist on her name, and gesturing with their knife in the vague direction she’d wandered off in.

“Sure, if she’s got anything to offer.”

“And what if I were to finish what she started? It would be no one’s fault but her own, I don’t think the Templars would even look too deeply. Even if she was an actual Knight, she’s clearly just barely out of recruitment. I think I can still hear her too, she’s certainly in no hurry,” Nina said, matter-of-factly, not with any kind of slow, quiet drawl, not with any kind of erratic derisiveness. Neve was going to call a bluff she hoped to the Maker was actually a bluff.

“You wouldn’t make it around the corner,” she responded, matching their exact tone. Nina’s head tilted in the other direction. Her nostrils burned, at first from the stench of Nina’s perfume, which was working overtime from a full night of labor. Slightly faded, and covered up by sweat, she could still make out the scent of citrus, but with something more muted, and slightly floral. Maybe apricot, but there was something spiced, something burnt that reminded her more of brandy. Had they been drinking on the job, or was that their fragrance too? She was getting distracted.

There was a look in Nina’s eye that told her that while they might not be seriously considering something drastic, they were seriously considering something stupid. Now, her nostrils burned in the way they do when you inhale a biting frost, as freezing mists subtly curled around her fingers. Nina’s thigh twitched, perhaps intentionally, but either way, when they were on her in a split second, her back now against a wall with a knife ready to insert directly into her heart, her pointer finger had an even sharper icicle on the end of it, ready to insert directly into Nina’s jugular. The ice ripped at her flesh, leaving it raw and sending a shooting numbness through the rest of her hand. In return for her trouble she scratched Nina’s neck just enough to draw some blood. They realized she was in on it. Their eyes met for some amount of time, Nina’s filled with intrigue, thrill, while Neve hoped hers were as cold as her hand at that moment. Unfortunately it seemed her gambit was failing.

Nina’s eyes narrowed as they drew closer to her face. There was no alcohol on their breath; the brandy was part of the perfume. Neve tilted her chin up, looking down at Nina past her nose with lidded eyes.

“Your pupils are dilated, Ms. Gallus,” they said, with a smart, questioning lilt. They pushed themselves off of her before she had the chance to do it herself. “You’re not as different from me as you think,” Nina called behind them, returning to the mostly melted sheet of ice Neve left earlier. Their voice was still playful, their face in the same smirk as always, but there was a lingering malice Neve had not detected prior. They patted Muidtagh, who looked more concerned than when he witnessed the cutting up of his personal detail, or when he assisted in their disposal, or when he realized he was next on death’s door. Recollected sacks in hand, Nina held up one containing the body parts, that was now soaked, even more bloodstained, and reeking of decomposition already.
“Any chance you could dry this?”

* * *

One trip to the sewer later, Nina and Neve were back at the Thread’s Market, shoving Muidtagh like he was an apprehended bounty that was of any use alive. Many strange eyes were on them, but the racket didn’t take long to attract Verveine. The qunari, whose horns barely put her taller than Neve, emptied and pocketed her pipe, and spoke in a raspy voice.

“Do my eyes deceive me Neve or is this piece of shit still breathing in front of me?” She always elongated her name.

“Verveine! I see what this is about now,” Muidtagh chuckled nervously. “If only I’d known you had such an issue with me and our, might I mention, very profitable deal, why I would have been more than open to a discussion!”

“Not my call princess, really. Truth is, you’re bad for business, and we got a lot of friends who are fed up with it. Frankly I am too. You’re the only one profiting from your loose lips, I’m afraid,” she responded. This seemed to be more of an affront to Muidtagh than anything else.

“I’m not sure what you mean to imply, but all of my decisions have had our mutual interests at heart,” he said, indignantly.

“I’m sure you did, big shot. Why’s he still alive, can’t you do something about this?” She directed herself at Nina.

“A warm body’s easier to deliver than a cold one,” they answered, placing a knife just barely to the left of the base of Muidtagh’s spine.

“Yeah so’s a head, but I guess now we’re the ones that gotta clean up the mess,” Verveine was already relighting her pipe, while the not-quite-dead body was already being moved by some other Threads. “I mean no disrespect, I’m sure it wasn’t easy. Thanks for your help Neve, and your little raven friend too. Wait here a moment, I’ll get you the papers on your knight in bloodied armor.”

Nina and Neve stood in silence, arms crossed and sleepless eyes in opposite directions, while disgruntled Threads mopped up their contract’s blood before them. After far too long a wait of being shot with far too many sharpened stares, Verveine returned, patting a sparse folder of notes, records, dossiers, anything that could constitute blackmail material, into Neve’s hands, wished her well, tossed a small pouch of coins to Nina, “for their trouble,” and sent the two on their not so merry way.

It wasn’t long before they parted ways to their respective abodes to sleep the day away, still not a word spoken to one another all the while. Nina was naturally exhausted, but nothing they hadn’t handled before. The same could be said for Neve. Sleep was seeming more and more unlikely, as they were treated to the gleaming, blinding light dancing off the Nocen as the sun crested over the horizon in its baking glory.

As Nina approached their excuse for an apartment, they grew more and more energized with each step. They not only walked away with a little bit of spending money to line their pockets, but with information more valuable that the folder Neve carried home. She was just as ruthless as anyone else in Minrathous. There was a bloodlust in her that somehow the city had failed to awaken. Up until now it seemed she’d kept her head buried in sand, swallowing the vitriol, and locking herself in her own personal purgatory. But the Crows had a way of molding anyone into a kind of butcher, and Nina believed they could open her eyes to the kind of person she needed to be, in order to do away with a Templar here, a blood mage there, and get out of this fucking city.

On the other side of Dock Town, Neve had made her way through the slowly waking streets, the groggy light ushering in another day of toil. She had long passed the way to her own abode. Instead, she ignored her throbbing headache, as a faint trail of scintillating, glowing frost led her to retrace some of her steps, and lead her to a part of the city she had never ventured to before. Razikale Walk was a behemoth of stone in all directions, the streets were better kept, wider even, but still it felt like she was squishing through a narrow crack. The irony of a Chantry district’s namesake being an archdemon was not wasted on Neve, but the further she progressed, the more grotesque the place seemed. The Chantry always felt like it had no place in Minrathous, and the forces that be made that very clear, warping into a new kind of beast. Neve wanted nothing more than to walk right out, and grasp at whatever rest she could manage, but someone here owed her answers. After all, you don’t jump someone in alley, and walk away letting another nameless blood mage fly under the radar of Neve Gallus.