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The Lower Left Corner: Stories

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An elvish script flows over parchment. The words are written and rewritten, spread across a city that cares not for their existence and even less for those they mourns.


To any of Clan Lavellan who still live,


I fear that it is my fault our clan has perished. I should have tried harder. I should have used more of my new found power. I do not expect you to forgive me. The humans of Wycombe were merciless and I had not expected their actions. Despite that, it is still my fault. If any of my family still lives I would be grateful to hear of it, if any of the clan still lives I beg you find protection under the Inquisition's banner. Come to Ferelden, come to Skyhold. I will be waiting for you.


With great regret,


Iovra, Huntress of Clan Lavellan




An Elvish letter sits beside a hastily opened envelope. Great care was taken to read over the words. A piece of parchment as well as a quil and some ink has sit beside the letter waiting patiently to a penned response.




I am forced to again send my cordial thanks before my personal words. In brief, you were right, again. I am glad that I followed up on your investigation. You were always such a bright child, I simply refused to believe that all Tevinters were all so heartless and cruel. He will always own a piece of my heart and perhaps that is due to my own naivete, for not even wisdom can heal such.

In other new the clan has prospered quite well under the helpful hand of your organization. This Inquisition you head, has done well to place you as their leader. Although I am sure it is idol gossip, your parents and brother were worried to hear you had taken a lover. It is your right, child, but I hope you realise that your life still lays with Clan Lavellan when you should return to become the Keeper.

Your brother was bonded to young Iovra not but the span of a moon cycle after you left us. He regrets that you could not attend and has asked me to beg your approval of his coming to meet you and your human organization. He has always had such strong interests in human culture. That said, as I had promised to say, I do hope you deny him this wish. Taerion is bold and enjoys the idea of power but it is always better to keep the meat out of the wolf’s teeth, lest he hunger for more flesh.

As for the clan, we shall continue and hope that the Gods look favourably upon you and your Inquisition. Good luck, my sweet child.


Your Proud Keeper,

Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan




What was once a letter but is now a crumpled ball sits in a cold harth collecting soot and growing disdain. Its mysteries would compel any curious passerby.




I should have your know that I am very cross with you. I speak bluntly now because I wish your sword as dull as my words. You have been a terrible son, Askhari the boy, the Imekari, who I wish was son of no one. Your mother has mourned your body and your father has burned your name. Three years, Imekari, three years without a single word printed on parchment and sent home. The first ink we get of your breathing breast is a poorly written drabble from your commander informing us of your untimely demise at the human holy altar. The next thing we receive is from your commander again, a rescinding of her earlier words because, in fact, you were all along, quite alive. I thought your mother might have died from all the tears she wept over your sorry heart. You foolish Imekari. No student of mine should treat his family so poorly. I wish the flame I taught you to conjure into your hands burns you away.

All that said, I have heard rumor of your prowess, not from your head so I cannot count them as fact. Still, the words hold weight. You have tricked these humans into becoming the leader of their holy war. I would not recommend joining a spiritual path more than your own feet fore I have seen the way they treat us. I must compliment your tongue on enchanting the humans. You have earned their respect and trust, I expect you to capitalize on this stroke of luck. I have also heard that you now sleep with Tevinter whores. I actually heard that you fell on a Magister in this human camp. I hope you took him unwillingly. Either way, you have dirtied yourself.

Write your mother and kill the Magister. Do these things and I will not hunt you down to bring your untimely demise on the steps of this human alter.


The Saarebas with the strongest hand you know,