Codex Creatures 

+JH= Jaws of Hakkon

+TD = The Descent

+TR= Tresspasser

Codex Creatures by Matt Rhodes

When in game note the two diamonds which appear in the upper right corner of each creature codex; one diamond filled indicates you have killed this creature at least once before (usually the requirement to obtain the codex), two filled diamonds indicate you have fully researched this creature at the research table and a message on the bottom of that codex should now tell you the benefits you have gained from it. The small icons on the left also have a research progression bar which can help you tell how far you are to completing research on that creature.

 A Horse Master's Notes on Mounts
Codex entryA Horsemaster's Notes on Mounts
Number: 1
Location: Obtained after speaking with Master Dennet duringMaster of Horses in theHinterlands
Updates: After obtaining different mount types or unique mounts

Never seen a proud rider atop a regal mount? That's your failing. Such animals are common enough, but there're costs, so you keep them away from chance of blight, theft, attack. All the nonsense that makes for poor stabling. These aren't working beasts, with the fire bred out of their eyes so they can suffer a plow. These creatures are about spirit. A proper mount isn't some noble's plaything on a hunt, it's your everyday, and you'd better match it to deserve it.

 On Horses

You've never had a mount like the Fereldan Forder, a hardy warmblood. Don't let the size fool you: they're no meant for the farm. Centuries of careful breeding have taken common stock and produced a glory. A creature as much at home in a charge as they are in a march across nations. But for all the stamina and speed they place at your command, press too far, and you'll be picking dirt from your teeth. They know their role and expect that you know yours. Warning and promise and all that.

 On the Flames of the Inquisition Armored Charger

Never in all my days did I think I would handle such barding, never mind the quality of the breed. A true purebred lineage, clad in the hallmarks of a master. The combination is one of a kind, and this animal knows it. Mount and rider, meant for greatness. Don't disappoint - The bar has been set very, very high.

 On the Red Hart

Honored to see one up close without meeting it points-first. The pride of the stable. Of any stable. Even theDalish I've had occasion to ask have said it's rare to glimpse them at a distance. The few who have mastered one - and it truly is very few - say there is no animal more sure of foot, more attuned to its rider, more inspirational to simply gaze upon. You want to match the majesty of this creature? Grow some bloody wings.

 On the "Bog Unicorn"

Still not sure what you unearthed. Talked to a mage about it and got a typical "head in the Fade" response. Got a better answer from that Tranquil of yours, and it still chilled my short hairs. Plain speak, there's a spirit of some kind in there. Now, a horse to me means "freedom", but I understand that sometimes it's a demon? The wrong side of what it should be. What's the wrong side of freedom? Chaos or just "unending"? Something like that. Whatever is in there, this animal was best of breed, an Orlesian charger fit for any Chevalier, and well tended in life. By its wounds, I'd wager it fell in battle with demons of some ilk and was finished by its master's mercy. Whatever spirit of loyalty or freedom or whatever makes horses run brought the strange thing back. It wants to serve. I've no doubt it will ride well, and I'll stable it, but I'm not going near it.

 On the Dracolisk

I've heard of them. Seen a few. They're not as rare as you'd think, but they are very, very difficult. "Spirited" and "stubborn" suggest a reasonable resistance. No, they're just plain mean. Spur a horse a little too hard, and you're getting a brush against a tree. Kick this thing the wrong way, and it's taking a piece of you. That said, there's utility here. As fast and strong as any other, and the rider who masters one is making a statement. Not just "I can do what you can't". It's almost "I can do what you wouldn't even dare".

 Greater Mountain Nuggalope or "Deth Nug"

It has hands. It handles things. That's hitting me worse than anything else. What the ever-loving spit? Can't argue the impressive stature of the thing, and it's stubborn, like the most entitled charger. It knows how strong it is, and it knows you know. I expected the dull snuffling of its small cousins, but this - it has hands and spirited eyes. Mind where you secure the buckles of your saddle. I expect it'll let you know when it tires of suffering you on its back. Not that it tires. Hands. Hands.


Arcane Horror 
Codex entry Arcane Horror
Number: 2
Location: Upon killing an arcane horror

"Upon ascending to the second floor of the tower, we were greeted by a gruesome sight: a ragged collection of bones wearing the robes of one of the senior enchanters. I had known her for years, watched her raise countless apprentices, and now she was a mere puppet for somedemon." 

--Transcribed from a tale told by a templar in Antiva City, 7:13 Storm

Demons, of course, have no form in our world. When they enter, either where the Veil is particularly thin or through blood magic summoning, they must take possession of a body.

When a pride demon takes control of the corpse of a mage, an arcane horror is born. Although they appear to be little more than bones, these are fierce creatures, possessing not only all the spellcasting abilities of a living mage, but also the capacity to heal and even command other animated corpses.

Dragon Age: Inquisition: In the DA:I version only the transcribed tale appears


 Codex entry Archers
Number: 3
Location: After killing an enemy archer

To fight an enemy with a bow or crossbow is simple, although not always easy.

A guard with a crossbow must crank his weapon after each shot. If there is only one such enemy, seek cover and give him cause to waste his shot, and then close upon him before he may fire again. If there are many, close to their flank so you face one guard directly, using him as a second shield, and no other guard has a clean shot at your unprotected back. Do not move to the middle of their ranks and rely upon them hesitating to risk hitting one another.

A soldier with a shortbow is a little more dangerous. Attack him as you would an enemy with a crossbow, but accept that he will likely fire again. Approach with your shield up, even if you must sacrifice speed. Few soldiers are true masters of the bow; those who do not fumble their draw in fear will fire a shot quickly, so it is more likely to glance off your armor or shield than punch through.

Few soldiers have the skill or strength to make good use of the longbow. Respect those who do. Against such an enemy, cover is the only defense. Move quickly across his field of vision, forcing him to compensate for your movement. Do not charge directly unless your allies can distract him. A fully drawn longbow can drive an arrow through a chevalier's plate at a hundred yards.

A fight between an archer and a chevalier is a test of cunning versus patience. We are too often patient—heavily armored as we are—and faced with lightly armored foes who would harass us. While archers frustrate me as they do most chevaliers, it is good that we fight them, so we remember how to be cunning, how to break an opponent's patience.

—An excerpt from A Meditation upon the Use of Blades, by Swordmaster Massache de Jean-mien, required reading at the Academie des Chevaliers


 August Ram
 Codex entry August Ram
Number: 4
Location: After killing an August Ram

"The August Ram!" Surely whoever named it "ram" had never seen its more common cousin; the slender legs and sleek hide give the animal the grace of a hart or halla. Its curved horns spiral back over delicate ears twitching at the slightest rustle of grass. When startled, speed is the August Ram's only defense against the hunter. It is difficult to sneak up on these shy and wary creatures, but I have been here so long and shown such mild behavior that I have gained their trust. The rams graze peacefully a stone's throw from my sketching easel as I write this, thinking no more of me than a rock in the field or a flower in the grass.

I just wish the rotten things would stop trying to eat my canvases whenever I leave camp.

—From The Diary of Tillendall Lemallen, noted painter of wildlife and portraits to the Orlesian court


 Codex entry Bear 
Number: 5
Location: After killing a bear

We went into the woods near Val Foret to find a great brown bear that had the townsfolk worried. We found her some miles from the west gate. She had made a den in a cave on a hillside, close to a stream. We stopped some yards away and watched. Eldwin cast a spell to make us less likely to be discovered. Useful, useful magic.

After several hours, the bear emerged from her den. Beautiful red-brown sheen to her coat. Phenomenal beastie. Following close behind were three cubs. Balls of fluffy brown fur with eyes set in them. Amazing, amazing little creatures.

I would've liked to watch the little family playing in the stream all day, but the wind changed and the mama bear caught our scent, even with Eldwin working his magic. She leapt in our direction, stopped when she couldn't see anything, then rose up on her hind legs and roared. What a sight that was! I estimate she was half again as tall as I. Quick as anything, she charged towards us, snapping branches as she went. I dove out of the way, but Eldwin, bless his heart, was too slow. A massive paw caught him right in the chest and he went down. Poor Eldwin. Nature is ruthless but magnificent.

—From The Wilds of Thedas: Volume Two, by Stephan d'Eroin


 Codex entryBehemoth
Number: 6
Location: After killing a behemoth

We could have held off a battering ram, but the behemoth? It took the gate off at the hinges. Then it screamed. Not a roar or growl—a scream, all rage and pain. As I drew my blade, all I could think was: "There's a templar in there". Somewhere in that thing was a brother or sister of the Order; every fiber of my soul was crying out to them. But whoever it might have been, whoever's son or daughter, they were lost to us, swallowed by corruption and lies. I helped the only way I could, the only way any of us can. We must end their suffering. And, Maker willing, we must try to remember them as they were.

—From the reports of Knight-Captain Veddir, tactical consideration for the Inquisition


 Black Wolf
 Codex entry Black Wolf
Number: 7
Location: After killing a black wolf

The scouts report activity uncharacteristic of lupine behavior.

The Breach and resulting rifts have caused unprecedented disruptions in the Veil. Such alterations to the environment may account for the unnatural aggression. If this is indeed the case, I cannot yet say how widespread the impact. How may wolves does this environmental imbalance influence? What threat do they pose to resistant members of the pack? To the local population?

This warrants further investigation.

—Report submitted to Seeker Pentaghast by Minaeve, Mage Apprentice and Inquisition Researcher


 Codex entry Bogfisher
Number: 8
Location: After killing a bogfisher.

I accompanied Marquis d'Archambon upon this expedition reluctantly, although d'Archambon insisted that an exploration to show me the truth and beauty of the world might assuage the consternation with which I observed it.

As we entered the caves, the cold and brackish water dripping incessantly, we came upon a hulking beast whose great flapping paws slapped the stone. In countenance it was broad, its flaps of hide hanging loose across its bristled back. D'Archambon drove it away, laughing at its clumsiness, heedless of the declinate fangs protruding at unknowable angles from its distended maw. He said the beast, or "bogfisher" as the locals called it, was a failing vestige in the land of men, fit to be tamed or slain.

That night, we camped beside an underground lake, its rippling waves a susurrus of inhuman whispers. The sepulchral emptiness of the starless night was vast, our own fire pitiful in its sullen rebellion against the unending dark.

The bogfisher slipped from the lake, its flapping paws perfectly equipped to propel it through the water; its spiny maw closed upon d'Archambon. Then the marquis was gone, his frantic thrashing all we could see in the frenzied white water as the bogfisher pulled him under.

That night, I knew that this is not the land of men. The lightless torpid waters are not tamed; men are but ants crawling witlessly across a lily pad in a pond. Most think the emerald land bound to their tiny will. Those few who peer over the edge and see the leviathans, pale bellied, scales shimmering in colors with no name, swimming beneath them, can only scurry away, trying in vain to articulate the vast and uncaring terrors that awaits. What my eyes have seen, my limited mind may never comprehend, but I shall never draw near dark water again. The bogfisher has taught me well.

—From An Anatomie of Various Terrible Beasts by Baron Havard-Pierre d'Amortisan

The bogfisher likes hiding in dark places and water. Master does not like baths.

—Footnote in the margins of the manuscript by the baron's scribe, Dunwich


 Codex entry Bronto
Number: 9
Location: After killing a bronto

"There's only two things a noble will step aside for:Paragons and angry brontos."
--Dwarven saying.
This hulking beast was originally bred by the dwarven Shaperateas a beast of burden and food source, the rough equivalent to surface oxen and cows. Some versions of bronto have even been developed as dwarven mounts, valued far more for their sure-footedness and stamina than for their speed. While present within Orzammar in large numbers, some bronto still exist in packs within the Deep Roads, having returned to a wild state after the fall of the dwarven kingdoms. They require remarkably little sustenance, consuming organic material from water, fungus and even rocks (hence the "rock-licker" appellation used by many dwarves to describe bronto), and exist in primarily dormant states until provoked. An angry, charging bronto is considered to be a rather dangerous opponent.

Dragon Age: Inquisition: In the DA:I version a slight rephrasing has occurred in a couple of sentences, and the text is acknowledged to be cited from Tales from Beneath the Earth by Brother Genitivi.


 Codex entry Bruiser
Number: 10
Location: After encountering an enforcer

A warrior wielding a great blade strikes terror into common soldiers, but to a chevalier, he is no greater danger than any other opponent. A skilled warrior is struck down by a maul or battleaxe in one of three cases: in the first, he is taken unawares in the heat of battle; in the second, he cannot evade the blow because of the nature of the battlefield or his own injuries; and in the third and most common case, he is struck down because he reacts poorly.

We do not train enough against two-handed weapons because we disdain them ourselves. I think this is a mistake, and in time to come, I hope it is corrected. I have seen too many skilled warriors die because they have seen a great maul coming down at them and raise a shield to block instead of deflect. I have seen men lose their composure due to fear or anger and engage such a warrior directly, thinking they can risk a blow to their body as they would from a light sword or a dagger. In the heat of battle, even the trained mind will think such things. Those who cannot overcome such thoughts die.

You must watch the weapon, but only to gauge its length. Otherwise, as in all fights, the opponent's hips and shoulders will tell his intent. The great weapons are dangerous only when moving or poised overhead to strike down. You must give ground, but only against the true threat. If he advances but is not truly prepared to strike, you must rush in, cut him, and withdraw to your guard before his blow is ready. It may take ten cuts to kill him. Even after the ninth, he may cleave your head from your body if you do not respect the distance he can cover.

If using such a weapon yourself, mark your distance and do not allow yourself to react to an opponent outside your reach. You cannot recover your guard as quickly as you can with a sword and shield. Keep your weapon moving and measure your blows. A stuttered step on your strike can fool many opponents into thinking you out of range and then rushing their defense. In this manner, you may kill most who stand against you. Fighting in such a manner, you may feel more like a butcher than a hero, but the living may console themselves while the dead cannot.

—An excerpt from A Meditation upon the Use of Blades by Swordmaster Massache de Jean-mien, required reading at the Academie des Chevaliers


 Codex entry Corpse 
Number: 11
Location: After killing a corpse

In most corners of Thedas, funeral rites include burning or dismembering the dead to prevent them from becoming host todemons. But not everyone gets a proper burial. It is not unheard of for the dead to be thrown into mass graves in the aftermath of a battle or execution, almost asking some demon to claim the corpses.

—From Beyond the Veil: Spirits and Demons by Enchanter Mirdromel


 Codex entry Cretahl
Number: 12
Location: After killing a cretahl
DLC: The Descent

Long before the first thaigs, legend speaks of the cretahl, horned war beasts with eyes like molten silver. Possessing the might of three brontos, the cretahl charged their prey, using a rock-hard frill to smash their targets to a bloody pulp. The cretahl held down their prey with four strong legs, quickly stripping their victim's flesh from the bone with powerful jaws. Despite their brutality, some cretahl were domesticated as fierce weapons in battle. What happened to these savage creatures is unknown. Some people claim the darkspawn wiped them out; others say they never existed. Those with more imagination speculate that these magnificent creatures retreated deep within the earth in search of the deadliest prey.


 Codex entry Darkspawn 
 Number: 12 (+1TD)
Location: Kill a darkspawn

Those who sought to claim
Heaven by violence destroyed it. What was
Golden and pure turned black.
Those who had once been mage-lords,
The brightest of their age,
Were no longer men, but monsters.
—Threnodies 12:1

Sin was the midwife that ushered the darkspawn into this world. The magisters fell from the Golden City, and their fate encompassed all our world's. For they were not alone.

No one knows where the darkspawn came from. A dark mockery of men, in the darkest places they thrive, growing in numbers as a plague of locusts will. In raids, they will often take captives, dragging their victims alive into the Deep Roads, but most evidence suggests that these are eaten. Like spiders, it seems darkspawn prefer their food still breathing. Perhaps they are simply spawned by the darkness. Certainly, we know that evil has no trouble perpetuating itself.

The last Blight was in the Age of Towers, striking once again at the heart of Tevinter, spreading south intoOrlais and east into the Free Marches. The plagues spread as far as Ferelden, but the withering and twisting of the land stopped well beyond our borders. Here, darkspawn have never been more than the stuff of legends. In the northern lands, however, particularly in Tevinter and the Anderfels, they say darkspawn haunt the hinterlands, preying on outlying farmers and isolated villages, a constant threat.

—From Ferelden: Folklore and History by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar


Darkspawn Emissary
 Codex entry Darkspawn Emissary
Number: 14
Location: After killing a Darkspawn Emissary
DLC: The Descent

What I remember most is its tongue flapping against a row of spiky teeth. I'd heard emissaries possessed the ability to speak, but the words were unnatural. They twisted and lurched as they left the creature's mouth, accompanied with a spray of saliva.

"Have you ever experienced living flesh ground between your teeth?" it asked Mila before biting through her throat.

My ankle was broken from the battle, but I dragged myself away. The pain I felt would be nothing compared to what the emissary would do to me. Rycus stayed behind. I never knew if he was covering my escape, trying to save Myla, or had simply given up. I sensed a surge of dark magic, then heard his cry and a thud. I didn't look back, just crawled as fast as I could. When I reached the surface, the back of my boots were splattered with blood.

—An excerpt from The Blighted Codex, a classified collection of studies on the darkspawn, held safely in theImperial Library in Minrathous, available only to members of the Magisterium


 Codex entry Deepstalker
Number: 13 (+2TD)
Location: After killing a deepstalker

One of the few natural, non-darkspawn creatures to live in theDeep Roads, the deepstalker is a reptilian cave-dweller known for burrowing into the stone paths of the Deep Roads and ambushing prey, usually nugs. They hunt in packs, attacking with round mouths full of serrated teeth or spitting poison from venom glands. Although a single deepstalker poses little threat to any experienced explorer, packs can be quite lethal.

—From Tales from Beneath the Earth by Brother Genitivi

Research benefits
Damage against beasts increased

 Despair Demon
 Codex entry Despair Demon
Number: 14 (+2TD)
Location: Kill a despair demon

Once upon a time, we classified these as demons of sloth, but we learned that despair demons are something quite different. They are not the antithesis of justice or valor, but rather of hope. They form nightmares tearing away the foundations of self and purpose. When brought into the world, they are most attracted to places the downtrodden populate: alienages, slums, prisons, and the like. The miasma they spread can lead to extreme behavior. We look for a rash of unexplained suicides, men and women so filled with grief they lash out. The most intelligent of these creatures are to be feared, for they not only feed on despair, they understand its causes... and seek to bring it about. From the shadows they ruin lives, drinking the tears of those who have no idea the cause of their misery is not random chance.

—From a lecture by renowned hunter, Ser Hayward of the Templar Order


 Codex entry Dragon
Number: 15 (+2TD)
Location: After killing a dragon

Newly-hatched dragons are roughly the size of a deer and voraciously hungry. They live for a short time in their mother's lair before venturing out on their own. The slender, wingless creatures are born in vast numbers, as only a few ever make it to adulthood.

Male dragons never develop into the winged monsters of myth. At most, their forelegs grow the vestigial spurs where wing membrane might have been.

Once they have fully matured, males immediately seek out the lairs of adult females. When they find one, they move into her lair and spend the rest of their lives there, hunting for her and defending her young. They will aggressively defend her nest, and many would-be dragon hunters have been lost to their fiery breath and crushing blows from their tails.

Female dragons take much longer to mature than their male counterparts. They too undergo a metamorphosis of sorts at adulthood; But while males lose the use of their forepaws, females actually grow a third set of limbs specifically to serve as wings.

Young females travel great distances looking for a suitable nesting site. Because of their nomadic habits, these are the dragons most frequently encountered by man.

High Dragon
A fully mature adult female dragon is the high dragon: the great monster of legend, the rarest of all dragonkind. These dragons hollow out massive lairs for themselves, for they need the space to house their harem of drakes as well as their eggs and the dragonlings.

High dragons are seldom seen. They spend most of their time sleeping and mating, living off the prey their drakes bring back. But once every hundred years or so, the high dragon prepares for clutching by emerging from her lair and taking wing. She will fly far and wide, eating hundreds of animals, most often livestock, over the course of a few weeks and leaving smoldering devastation in her wake. She then returns to her lair to lay her eggs and will not appear in the skies again for another century.


 Codex entry Dragonling
Number: 16 (+2TD)
Location: After killing a dragonling

Newly hatched dragons are roughly the size of a deer and voraciously hungry. They live for a short time in their mother's lair before venturing out on their own. The slender, wingless creatures are born in vast numbers, as only a few survive to adulthood.


 Codex entry Druffalo
Number: 17 (+2TD)
Location: After killing a druffalo

They said the mages were coming to Redcliffe. We had to leave or be caught in the middle of their war. Guy said that it would be safe in Denerim. We left as soon as we could, but the little ones could barely walk a mile. I was about to turn back when Guy saw a herd of wild druffalo passing through the hills. He said, "How different can they be from horses? Or brontos?" Oh, but those horns. I was afraid and told Guy not to go, but he said we had no choice.

Guy said he would catch up to us, that we should continue on. We kissed goodbye, and he left. The children and I kept walking. One day passed. Two. Then three. And I knew in my heart he was dead.

I almost gave up. One morning, I was fetching water from the river when I thought, How easy it would be. They would just slip away. And I would just follow them. No more pain, no more fear. As I searched for my courage, I heard a crashing through the undergrowth. Bandits, I thought. Or a bear. But instead it was a giant beast, with pelt of blue-grey and gleaming black horns. And riding its muscled back was my Guy.

The druffalo was enormous but gentle as a doe. The children called her Bluebell.

I never told him what I almost came to that day.

—A diary found in a refugee tent in the Hinterlands


 Codex entry Envy
Number: 18 (+2TD)
Location: Can only be obtained duringChampions of the Just, when Envy reveals itself at the Great Hall

Envy demons are equal parts arrogance and cowardice. They isolate their victims to study them at length, seeking to becomethem. Once the demon is satisfied it knows its chosen subject, it takes on their form, leaving the poor soul to rot. Envy is never satisfied, however. The demon's bottomless cravings to be more—more powerful, more skilled, more inspired—cause it to seek fresh prey, leaving a trail of stolen identities behind.

This transition is when Envy is weakest, for it is vulnerable as it moves from body to body, slavishly copying the habits of the old identity until it finds another mortal to mimic. This is why I am writing this down. The man cowering before me wanted so badly to know what a demon thinks, wants, feels. He would document everything. Everything. He resists, a prisoner in his own home, but I already know this. I hunger for knowledge as he does. As I will.

—Scroll found on the body of "Scholar Esmar Treviento," by the templars who hunted him down.



Codex entry Fear
Number: 19 (+2TD)
Location: After killing a fear demon

Imagine, if you will, the most basic impulses possessed by mankind. Rage? Hunger? Perhaps the most primal is fear. Even the youngest of us understands this concept, and the raw power of it drives almost all else. A demon that preys upon fear is not the most sophisticated sort of creature. They mimic forms they see in the nightmares of mortals, hoping to elicit the response they crave. Some of these demons, however, stumble upon terrors that are much more deeply rooted: fears of the future, of chaos and disorder, of failure. This sort of demon develops a far more refined palate, attacking the psyche of their target rather than seeking a simple scare. Beware the fear demon that gorges upon the terror of not only a single nightmare but of a nation, for it will grow to such a size that it dominates the Fade.

—From a lecture by renowned templar, Ser Hayward


 Codex entry Fennec
Number: 20 (+2TD)
Location: After killing a fennec

My dearest and best father and lord, 

You are strong and fair and obviously the most handsome arl in all of Ferelden. I want a fennec. Please please please get one for me. I saw a picture in a book that Brigid was carrying for Master Fergal and it is the fluffiest and most delightful creature I have ever seen.

The book says they live in the mountains and eat voles and repulsive things like that. When I get mine I will feed it only nice things. Like cake. And pearls. Please please please send someone to catch one. I really need one right now. Ruby wants company. It's not my fault Primmie and Bobble broke. Don't believe anything Eileen says.

Please? I promise I will spend no more gold on silks this month. It's too cold anyway.

Your most loving and obedient daughter, Habren

—A note from Habren Bryland to her father Leonas Bryland, arl of South Reach, written in 9:31Dragon

Reports indicate that Habren did receive a white fox as a gift from her father, later that month. She promptly "lost" it down a well.


 Foot Soldier
 Codex entry Foot Soldier
Number: 21 (+2TD)
Location: After encountering a foot soldier

I have faced Antivan duelists, Fereldan Ash Warriors, and Fog Warrior skirmishers; when we strip away the titles and tricks, they are simply men who want to see their enemies dead, but need a hand free to manage it. Duelists favor a thinner target over the offensive strength of a main gauche. Ash Warriors need a hand to guide their mabari and a lighter weapon to take advantage of the openings their dogs leave, while Fog Warriors rely on stealth and speed too much to use a heavy shield.

When engaging with such an opponent, respect his speed. His hands and feet will move a great deal; ignore them. Watch his hips and shoulders instead. First deny what advantage he has in his allies or environment, unless you have trained equally in such matters. Once you control his weapon, overwhelm him. He has no shield, and you need not fear a second blade.

If forced to fight in such a manner, you must decide whether you will fight as a duelist, one-handed, or as a chevalier. If the former, drop your back leg away to tighten your center target, as you have no shield to cover your body or second weapon to bring into range; focus on a quick attack and give ground freely when you cannot find an advantage. If the latter, rely on your vambrace and gauntlet as a shield, and try to wrench your opponent's weapon away. My left arm bears the scars of such efforts, but my opponents bear worse. Better still: do not lose your shield at all, but battles are not a place of perfection.

—An excerpt from A Meditation upon the Use of Blades, by Swordmaster Massache de Jean-mien, required reading at the Academie des Chevaliers


 Codex entry Genlock 
Number: 24
Location: After killing a genlock
DLC: The Descent

The pleasure Cassius takes in dissecting the beasts is repugnant. A genlock was on the operating table today. The man actually giggled as he put the knife to the monster's chest and black blood pooled from the incision.

"I wonder what sound it'd make if it were still alive," he mused, pulling back the flaps of thick, pale skin.

"I don't know. Gargling?"

If Cassius caught my tone, he ignored it and continued gabbing. "So much muscle. And look at the hands! They're almost twice the size of the feet! Fetch me a jar."

I obeyed, then stood back, covering my mouth to avoid the splatter, as he removed each appendage.

He separated the head last and held it up to candlelight. "The broodmother that spawned this creature was once a dwarf. What I would give to study one. Another jar, please."

As Cassius dropped the head inside the glass container, I swear I saw the putrid eyes blink. I don't know how much more I can stomach.

—An excerpt from The Blighted Codex, a classified collection of studies on the darkspawn, held safely in the Imperial Library in Minrathous, available only to members of the Magisterium


 Codex entry Ghoul 
Number: 22 (+3TD)
Location: After encountering a ghoul

Among the saddest legacies of the Fifth Blight are those poor souls who survived the darkspawn attacks across Ferelden only to succumb to the corruption of the blight itself. We have seen animals—birds, wolves, and even bears—corrupted into mindless ruinations of their former selves, but humans are by no means immune.

Those unfortunate victims not killed quickly by contact with darkspawn blood or disease become mad with fever. Their bodies lose their hair and become misshapen with sores; in their last lucid thoughts, many speak of hearing whispered words, or a song that no one else can catch.

It is vital that once victims begin hearing such things, they are put out of their misery quickly and mercifully. There are stories across Ferelden of these ghouls, maddened by the corruption of the blight, attacking their friends and spreading the corruption further. While it is likely that the sickness will eventually kill a ghoul, the dying strength of these poor creatures makes them nearly as great a danger as the darkspawn themselves.

They are no longer our friends, our family, or our countrymen. They are victims of the Blight, and must be given the same mercy Hessarian showed Andraste: a swift sword.

—An excerpt from Marks of the Blight by Sister Dorcas Guerrin


 Codex entry Giant
Number: 23 (+3TD)
Location: after killing a giant

9:38 Dragon, 4th Harvestmere, continued musings on giants.

I assume they encroach due to disruption of their environs. Perhaps clawing darkspawn rerouted underground waters, altering the landscape of their prey. Food is seemingly their only motivator, and I have observed them eating meat, grains, leaves—nearly anything digestible, with no care or joy for taste or texture. So complete is their scavenging that "troll" might be a more academically accurate term, but I cannot blame farming folk for imposing an obvious descriptive. Yet are these giants merely beasts of destructive instinct?

I followed one specimen from the north, where they are somewhat more common (Tevinter breeding grounds? Warmth of seasons? Corruption of Silent Plains?). It followed waterways, preferring to float its bulk, but never did I see any sense in its eye, and never did it appear to plan beyond its immediate surroundings. But I remain intrigued, for they have hands, and that means the potential to raise them in praise. Throughout creation, upright beings with hands have been a sign of greater purpose. What lesson, Maker, in these strange children? I will approach tomorrow, in Your name.

Excerpt annotated below in a different hand:

Last entry in the letters of Brother Estomahr, his only recovered possession, likely because they were already flat. This archivist's recommendation: remind the neophytes that the tale of "Sister Dariel in the wolves' den" is metaphor.


Giant Spider 
 Codex entry Giant Spider 
Number: 24 (+3TD)
Location: After encountering a giant spider

Maybe it's meant to be that size, and the regular ones are miniatures. I mean, a just and caring Maker would create them big to start. Then they can't hide. That's what bothers you, isn't it? The hiding? A big one like that, a good twelve-footer, sure, it's all fang and such, but you know where it is: dark places where the Veil is weak. You're never surprised by a giant one because you had to go to their "house." They're not on your face at night or in your boot in the morning. And if their web is thick as rigging, you don't have to worry about that hair on your neck. Or the baby ones on the breeze! You hate that, right? Hitting a cloud of them while you're riding? Could be a dozen, but you only see one, and you try to smash it, but when you look, the thing is gone, and now your arm itches right up to the shoulder, and that hair feels like it's back, but you can't unbuckle your helm because of the gauntlets, and now the hair in your ear is tingly. That's just about the worst, isn't it?

—Records of the Redcliffe guard, 14 Guardian 9:39. Witness recounting of provocation and resulting brawl. No jailings. Victim was being an arse.


 Great Bear
 Codex entry Great Bear
Number: 25 (+3TD)
Location: After encountering a great bear

The Orlesian great bear is so named because it is very large. Very large, indeed. Other names for it include the colorful "Old Man of the Forest" and the less-charming, but more clearly descriptive "Woodsman's Death." I am told that they are only found in remote parts of the Dales and that not even the nobility is willing to hunt for them, which makes them unique among the rare, giant, deadly, exotic fauna of Thedas: the only thing the Orlesians are truly afraid of.

—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: Travels of a Chantry Scholar by Brother Genitivi


 Codex entry Guardsman
Number: 26 (+3TD)
Location: Upon encountering a guardsman

A novice believes his sword of the utmost importance, and his shield there to show his family's colors. All scoff at such foolishness, but the older student thinking his shield a sign from the Maker that he cannot be struck down, is little wiser. A warrior coming away from battle with his shield dented and ripped may be praised for bravery. A warrior coming away with his shield merely scratched should be praised for skill.

Remember that every metal shield was beaten into shape, and may be beaten out of it. Even a blow that does not tear a hole drives impact through your arm and shoulder, where shock and pain will wear down even the strongest warrior. In a duel against a single opponent, you may seek a quick advantage in taking a blow directly to the shield in order to strike one in return; if you are protecting another, you may have no choice. In all other cases—against one opponent or many—it is better to hide the movement of your hips and shoulders behind your shield, forcing enemies to focus on it rather than on you.

This is also true when fighting an opponent so armed. Your goal is not the shield, but the man behind it. Circling or locking shields may gain you an advantageous position. Failing that, rain blows upon his defenses until he tires and his guard grows sloppy. If you are neither skilled enough to slip past him nor fit enough to wear him down, you will most likely die.

—An excerpt from A Meditation upon the Use of Blades, by Swordmaster Massache de Jean-mien, required reading at Academie des Chevaliers


 Codex entry Gurgut
Number: 27 (+3TD)
Location: After killing a gurgut

The Chant of Light claims that the Maker made us, and in our folly, we think ourselves blessed by such fact. If fact it is, for in my seeking, I find only base illusions, the better for being torn down and mocked as inadequate in the harsh light of reason. But as an exercise, let us say that it is true, that the Maker made us.

I have seen the gurgut basking in a slanted shaft of sunlight in the penumbral canyon, its putrescent tongue scenting the rancid air of the nameless and unnamable swamp, swishing the uncaring grass of the plains with its passage. It is some cousin of the wyvern, but bereft of the savage ferocity for which the latter is praised and hunted by Orlesian nobles. Its thick-lidded eyes stare witlessly, and its jaw hangs agape; it is not befuddled or frustrated by its want of reason, but perfectly content, a drooling idiot.

Its pallid belly stretches and distends, disdaining all reason, when it gorges itself upon its prey. I have seen such a lowly beast swallow a chevalier whole, the great and shining warrior taken by surprise in the tall grass, his silverite armor gleaming as the gurgut unhinged its jaw to draw the chevalier in. Across its belly, I saw the kicks and struggles grow frenzied and then still, and the idiot beast settled into a happy torpor. The ruined armor of the noble chevalier lay among the gurgut's spoor several days later.

Say that it is true, that the Maker made us. What if He made us for food? What if the grand purpose of our searching existence is to stretch the belly of a beast that slinks through the tall grass? What if there is a single unbending purpose and, in it, we are cattle to feed the witless leviathans that slumber unseen beneath us?

—From An Anatomie of Various Terrible Beasts, by Baron Havard-Pierre d'Amortisan

Master makes us check behind him for gurguts at all times. He also carries a very sharp stick.

—Footnote in the margins of the manuscript by the baron's scribe, Dunwich


 Codex entry Gurn
 Number: 28 (+3TD)
Location: After killing a gurn

"We woke to a herd from nowhere, just standing around the camp. And it wasn't the first time. Getting water at an oasis, humming to myself, poof, there's one behind me. Talk to another rider for a few minutes, and there's two, just staring. I think they think talking is weird."

"I say shoo, dumb thing step on foot. I was not paid enough for hurt foot."

"Don't believe they stomp out fires. I set them all the time. Gurns don't show up."

"Harmless, so long as you don't treat them like cattle. Maybe farm-raised, but not wild. One time, we figured we'd saddle one. Maybe break it like a horse? Because that hump would bounce arrows real nice. Bad idea. Did not end well for Five-Toe. We used to call him Six-Toe, but not because of his feet. He got the horn something fierce."

"Milk the thing? Your mother."

—Excerpts on the Gurn, Voices of Working Caravans, collected by Philliam, a Bard!


 Codex entry Halla 
Number: 29 (+3TD)
Location: After killing a halla

The first thing you must understand about the halla is that they are not our servants. They are not our pets. They are our brothers and sisters. Remember that Ghilan'nain, the first halla and mother of them all, was once a huntress of the People. Without the halla, there would be no Dalish.

The second thing you must understand about the halla is that you cannot force a halla to do something against her will. I have heard tales of shemlen who come across herds and attempt to capture the halla, using ropes and bridles. Many shemlen have died impaled on horns as a result of this foolishness. Never forget that the halla once bore our knights into battle. The fierce blood of a warrior still runs through her veins and she would sooner fight to the death than demean herself. Like the Dalish, the halla are proud. A halla knows who she is, and will tolerate no being that tells her she is less.

How then do we harness them to the aravels? How do we ride them, or strap our packs to them? Well, how do you get a brother, a sister, or a friend to do you a favor? Simple, isn't it? You ask. If you have a halla's trust, she will give you her blessing. It's striking that humans never think to ask for a halla's friendship. But then, they are shems, and respect nothing.

—Adara, halla-tender of the Ralaferin clan, to her apprentice


 Codex entry Horror
 Number: 30 (+3TD)
Location: After killing a Red Templar horror


Whatever you do, don't get too close to those red templars with giant lumps on their backs. They can "spit" lyrium! You can actually see it growing before they fling it at you from their palms. One hit Henley in the face. (He'd have a mass of scars if I hadn't been there to heal the wounds as we plucked the stuff out.) We started to beat it down with some spells, and the air went sour. I felt sick, like you do when you're around too much raw lyrium. Lyra almost passed out. I grabbed her and ran. With luck, the thing found better prey than us.

I never loved the templars, but seeing them mutilated with lyrium doesn't give me any cheer. I don't understand why they'd inflict this on themselves.



Codex entry Hurlock (Inquisition)
Number: 31 (+3TD)
Location: After killing a hurlock

Those who sought to claim
Heaven by violence destroyed it. What was
Golden and pure turned black.
Those who had once been mage-lords,
The brightest of their age,
Were no longer men, but monsters.
—Threnodies 12:1

Sin was the midwife that ushered the darkspawn into this world. The magisters fell from the Golden City, and their fate encompassed all our world's. For they were not alone.

No one knows where the darkspawn came from. A dark mockery of men, in the darkest places they thrive, growing in numbers as a plague of locusts will. In raids, they will often take captives, dragging their victims alive into the Deep Roads; most evidence suggests that these are eaten. Like spiders, it seems darkspawn prefer their food still breathing. Perhaps they are simply spawned by the darkness. Certainly, evil has no trouble perpetuating itself.

The last Blight was in the Age of Towers, striking once again at the heart of Tevinter, spreading south intoOrlais and east into the Free Marches. The plagues spread as far as Ferelden, but the withering and twisting of the land stopped well beyond our borders. Here, darkspawn have never been more than the stuff of legends. In the northern lands, however, particularly in Tevinter and the Anderfels, they say darkspawn haunt the hinterlands, preying on outlying farmers and isolated villages, a constant threat.

—From Ferelden: Folklore and History by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar



Hurlock Alpha 
Codex entry Hurlock Alpha 
Number: 32 (+3TD)
Location: After killing a hurlock alphain the Storm Coast orValammar

We brought it into Lord Varron's chamber, strong men on both sides holding the shackles. It had been stripped of weapons and beaten until we judged it barely capable of walking.

"I am told you were the lone survivor of the darkspawn from the mines," Lord Varron said to it. "A hurlock, as I understand it. I am told you spoke to my men when we captured you."

The thing spoke. "Told them they would die." Its voice was guttural and savage, like a beast trained to mimic the language of men, but we made out its words clearly enough.

"Yes," said Lord Varron. "You are smarter than your fellow beasts."

"Yes," said the beast.

"I would know more of this," said Lord Varron, "that we might understand your people and negotiate."

"You will," said the beast. "Your men beat me until their knuckles bled. My blood mixed with theirs. Soon they will hear the song. Soon their blood will burn, and I will lead them."

The men all looked to their hands, for the blood-sickness of the darkspawn was known to us. When they did, the beast wrenched the shackles from their grip. Then it was upon Lord Varron, holding him by the throat.

"There is no talk," it said. "No negotiation. You will die. Your world will die. Now you understand."

It snapped Lord Varron's neck and killed four men before we finally killed it.

—An excerpt from The Blighted Codex, a classified collection of studies on the darkspawn, held safely in the Imperial Library in Minrathous, available only to members of the Magisterium


 Codex entry Hyena
Number: 33 (+3TD)
Location: After killing a hyena

The common hyena is a remarkable predator, flourishing in the harshest of conditions. Packs working in concert have sometimes taken down prey as formidable as a great bear. It's an incredible sight, but you should keep your distance because one of those beauties took down my bronto in under a minute.

—From The Wilds of Thedas: Volume Two by Stephan d'Eroin


 Codex entry Lurker
Number: 34 (+3TD)
Location: After killing a lurker

You want to hunt lurkers? All right, then there's a few things you should know. First, they don't just live in caves. Some of the locals call them "cave lurkers," but I've seen them in the wastelands, in the marshes... really anywhere you think creatures shouldn't be able to live. Why? Because they eat almost anything and they eat rarely. When they're not hunting, they curl up in a sort of hibernation to conserve energy. If you can catch them in that state, consider yourself lucky. If not, you'll need to be on your toes. They're quiet when they want to be, you see. Hence the "lurk" part of their name. They hunt in packs. They spit poison. In fact, I've lost more than one fellow because a group of lurkers descended upon him while he took a piss in the bushes. They surround him, paralyze him, and then tear him to pieces—all without the rest of the camp knowing a single thing was going on, not twenty feet away.

—From The Most Dangerous Things To Eat by Pol Ageire Phridee


 Mabari War Hound - About the mabari
 Codex entry Mabari War Hound
Number: 35
Location: after killing a mabari

Dogs are an essential part of Fereldan culture, and no dog is more prized that the mabari. The breed is as old as myth, said to have been bred from the wolves who served Dane. Prized for their intelligence and loyalty, these dogs are more than mere weapons or status symbols: The hounds choose their masters, and pair with them for life. To be the master of a mabari anywhere in Ferelden is to be recognized instantly as a person of worth.

The mabari are an essential part of Fereldan military strategy. Trained hounds can easily pull knights from horseback or break lines of pikemen, and the sight and sound of a wave of war dogs, howling and snarling, has been known to cause panic among even the most hardened infantry soldiers.

—From Ferelden: Folklore and History by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar


 Codex entry Mage
Number: 36 (+3TD)
Location: Kill a mage enemy

Mages are not demons or monsters. They are men and women like any other, except for their skill with a weapon few are given. I say this to be clear that I do not think all mages should be put to the sword, as some believe. However, every mage walks through life with a blade drawn and ready, whether they wish it or not. Those who insist that mages are harmless must ask how the apostates who fling fire when the Templars attack learned how to kill so well. We in the Academie know well that no skill comes without practice.

If you fight a mage, you must close with him, regardless of the danger, or risk being overwhelmed. A mage's strike rarely hits with the force of a trained chevalier's blade, but often carries unnatural energies: fire that boils a man inside his armor, lightning that steals the strength from his limbs, and so forth. To hold back is to give him time to alter the battlefield to his advantage in some fashion, whether he summons a wall of ice, a demonic ally, or magical flames to strengthen the blades of his guards. We know that the warrior who controls the battlefield is most often the victor. You must keep him reacting to you and continue your attack.

Mages rarely wear heavy armor, but their magic can shield them as effectively as our own plate. I have said many times to watch the hips and arms of your opponent instead of the hands, but with the mage, the hands and arms may be your only clue. If his body is protected from your blade, attempt to tangle his arms or bear him to the ground. It is not elegant or honorable, but there is no honor when fighting a mage. There is only survival.

—An excerpt from A Meditation upon the Use of Blades by Swordmaster Massache de Jean-mien, required reading at the Academie des Chevaliers



Nightmare (Inquisition)
Codex entry Nightmare (Inquisition)
Number: 37 (+3TD)
Location: Unlocked after talking toJustinia V in the Raw Fadeduring Here Lies the Abyss

My friends, we accept as fact that more powerful and intelligentdemons select more complex aspects of our reality to observe and interact with. A demon of pride may gravitate to the corrupt hubris of nobles, the bloodthirsty arrogance of soldiers, or sadly, the blind confidence of mages. A demon of desire may focus on lust, greed, or even the desperate wishes of those with no recourse in the waking world.

Whether demons are naturally inclined to such specificity, or made so by observing a confluence of specific events in our world, is a subject of much debate, and not the question my experiment would answer. Instead, I turn to the question of fear.

We think of fear demons as lesser creatures, powerful but simple, like those common beasts of rage or hunger. But fear has many faces, from the absurd phobias of the pampered nobility to the very real threats of magic, demons, dragons, and perhaps especially, the Blight.

What event has shaped the course of human history more than the Blights? Had the First Blight not weakened it, the Tevinter Imperium would have crushed Andraste's rebellion; we would have no Ferelden, no Circles, and indeed, no Chantry as we know it. The Blight is unequaled as a force of devastation and terror, hated and feared by peasant and king alike from the northern hills of the Anderfels to the southern reaches of the Korcari Wilds.

I know of nothing else that inspires such universal and specific fear. Dragons and demons, yes, but both have found respect and fascination in cultures across Thedas. Only the Blight is an unadulterated source of horror. If there exists a demon of fear who has shaped itself into a more intelligent, more specific mold, it will be a demon focusing on fear of the Blight.

This is the experiment I undertake. By the time you read this, my friends, I will be asleep, traveling through theFade to find such a creature. If I am correct, it will yield an unparalleled source of information on the history of our world; wisdom hidden since the time of ancient Tevinter. I have instructed the scribes to write quickly upon my return. I will have much to impart.

—A letter found beside the sleeping body of Senior Enchanter Jessimerre, her last known communication before her subsequent possession and then death, along with twelve mages, nine templars, and uncounted apprentices and Tranquil, at the hands of Knight-Captain Hewlgarre


 Codex entry Nug 
Number: 38 (+3TD)
Location: After killing a nug

I was sure before the Blight they were a whole lot more rare. Should ask a Warden about that, if killing Archdemons leaves nugs all over. And the poor things don't seem built for anywhere. I mean, they feed on anything, but they blister in the desert and freeze in the snow, and they're easier to track than your own arse. Everything eats them (except me, the hands put me off), yet they thrive. Randy bastards outpace every tooth and claw.

Anyway, my point is, the ones around the farm are so inbred, they're five colors and can't stop peeing. I'm selling them in the capital as "elusive eastern bunny-pigs." What did Father say about idiots with deep pockets?

—Excerpt from the private letters of "Captain" Byrne, lap-nug dealer, produced in evidence after seven claims of Water Terrors and death following bites in the Garden District, 9:36



 Codex entry Ogre 
Number: 42
Location: After killing an Ogre alpha
DLC: The Descent

Since his return from Seheron, my brother Vero has had an affinity for horns. He's amassed quite the collection from felledQunari. At first, he kept them in his study, but soon the entire estate was overrun with the dreadful things.

So when on a hunting trip we came across an ogre with black horns glittering like tar, you can imagine his glee. I warned him that darkspawn are not like the Qunari, and ogres are especially cruel. But Vero was far into his cups. Not that he needed an excuse to ignore his little sister.

"You go right. Flank him," he spat, already stalking towards the creature.

I circled the ogre and thought it strange that we had found one on the surface. From everything I've read, ogres traveled with a horde and were usually only spotted during Blights. It was eating something; I was too far to see if its prey was animal or human. As I took my position and readied a paralysis spell, Vero prepared his opening attack.

The ogre turned before the spell was cast. Its speed was unimaginable. Bloodstained claws wrapped around my brother's chest and crushed his ribs like twigs. Vero was dead in an instant. I ran to gather forces to avenge him, but when we returned, the creature and Vero's body were gone.

—An excerpt from The Blighted Codex, a classified collection of studies on the darkspawn, held safely in the Imperial Library in Minrathous, available only to members of the Magisterium


 Codex entry Phoenix
Number: 39 (+4TD)
Location: After killing a Phoenix

Orlesians believe the phoenix to be a herald of woe, perhaps because the creatures frequent inhospitable places where sane travelers fear to tread. It may also be because they belch a sort of sulfurous gas that reeks of rotten eggs and ancient peat bog, and flocks of the beasts have a pervasive odor of death about them. Orlesians are not always so metaphorical as they like us to believe.

—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: Travels of a Chantry Scholar by Brother Genitivi


 Poison Spider
 Codex entry Poison Spider
Number: 40 (+4TD)

The dawning of our understanding was violent and terrifying, made all the more so because of the mistaken awe and glory it replaced. We had walked into the cavern on the word of the shaman, and we were not disappointed. Row upon row, an army of dusty figures: men and women, pack animals, and what appeared to be staged tableaus of scavengers, as though silent commentary. We imagined it the toy battalion of a mad king, funded by mountains of gold. Or the subjects of some cruel empress, sealed away with her upon her death. It was, to all of us, a wondrous sight, and yet another example of how we mortals are pretenders to creation and immortality.

And then we asked ourselves, why are they all looking upward? And the answer was upon us.

A sound from above, and then legs, fangs, and poison. I do not know the number—less than my nightmares bear, but still too many. Only quick fires from our Circle apprentice allowed us to retreat. But not all. Several of our number were paralyzed in the instant, as must have been the case for so many before. When I close my eyes, I see them—new recruits to that silent army, frozen in "praise" of a moving ceiling, waiting to be hollowed.

—Excerpted from We Need Not Demons: Our Dangerous World, a collection of natural horrors and wonders, edited by Philliam, a Bard!



Pride Demon
 Codex entry Pride Demon
Number: 41 (+4TD)
Location: Defeat the pride demon in the Temple of Sacred Ashesduring the quest The Wrath of Heaven

The most powerful demons yet encountered are the pride demons, perhaps because they, among all their kind, most resemble men; as clever and manipulative as the desire demon, with a penchant for cruel irony that is almost human. While the demons of desire largely engage in the bribery of mortals, pride will use mortals' own best nature against them. Clever men outwit themselves. Strong men crush themselves. Humble men forget themselves. Jealous men fear themselves. They turn corruption and ruin into an art.

—From Beyond the Veil: Spirits and Demons by Enchanter Mirdromel


 Codex entry Prowler
Number: 42 (+4TD)
Location: Upon encountering a prowler

When faced directly, an opponent wearing only light armor and wielding only short blades is little challenge to a trained chevalier. However, not all fights are duels. If you assume that your enemy shares your values, you will die. The only rule most warriors agree upon is that it is better not to die, and a Grey Warden or an emperor's bodyguard may contest even that accepted wisdom.

A skirmisher will strike by surprise, relying upon allies to draw your attention. In a great battle with many troops on each side, you must assume that the enemy has such skirmishers in its ranks. When fighting in formation, you have no excuse to break your guard and pursue a perceived advantage; doing so will leave you or those depending upon you unguarded. When fighting alone, you must avoid strikes that would weaken your guard.

Once you know such an enemy opposes you, be vigilant and remember that you wear more armor than he does. He will hide; do not enter the shadows, where he is strongest, to pursue him. He will harass you at range; do not take the bait he offers. A chevalier deserves a better death than a poisoned dagger in his unprotected armpit, and such is the death of those who grow impatient while chasing enemies they deem beneath their honor.

Be calm, be methodical, and wait for your opponent to yield to the fear of your blade and shield. When he does, he will convince himself that he can attack you directly, that his blades are fast enough to slip past your shield. Then he will move, and then you may kill him.

—An excerpt from A Meditation upon the Use of Blades by Swordmaster Massache de Jean-mien, required reading at the Academie des Chevaliers



 Codex entry Quillback
 Number: 43 (+4TD)
Location: After killing a quillback

Those men of learning who claim dominion over the cold, weirdly angled laws of this world would deny that unutterable savagery of nature, conjuring their knowledge as a man in repose draws a blanket over himself, somnolent, to distract from cognizant mind the lethargic caliginosity of this world. Such mendacity is made manifest in the quillback.

Its hooked beak describes a smile that makes mock of the laws of man and Maker, and in the sagging folds of its rough and squamous hide lies no elegant simplicity. But look upon its dorsal ridge for the proof, if logic be your refuge, for in the ebon spines that jut uncaringly from its back, no man of learning can fail to see the cold and twisted spires of the Black City itself.

What Maker would give mock to our ebullient transgressions by marking His domicile into the flesh of this repugnant eater of flesh, this scavenger of wastes and deserts? What message can any man read in this carrion feeder's decrepit spines than that the Golden City of which we dream is Black, always Black, the swollen infection poisoned from time beyond the knowledge of our insignificant minds, awaiting only our unheeding touch to afflict us with understanding of our true place in this vast, uncaring world?

—From An Anatomie of Various Terrible Beasts, by Baron Havard-Pierre d'Amortisan

Master means that it's pointy.

—Footnote in the margins of the manuscript by the baron's scribe, Dunwich


Rage Demon
 Codex entry Rage Demon
Number: 44 (+4TD)
Location: After killing a rage demon

Encountered in the Fade, the true form of a rage demon is a frightening sight: a thing of pure fire, its body seemingly made of amorphous lava and its eyes two pinpricks of baleful light radiating from its core. The abilities of such a demon center on the fire it generates. It burns those who come near, and the most powerful of its kind are able to lash out with bolts of fire and even firestorms that can affect entire areas.

Fortunately, even powerful rage demons are less intelligent then most other varieties. Their tactics are simple: attack an enemy on sight with as much force as possible until it perishes. Some rage demons carry over their heat-based abilities into possessed hosts, but otherwise the true form is mostly seen outside of the Fade when it's specifically summoned by a mage to do his bidding.

-Transcript of a lecture given by Vheren, Templar-Commander of Tantervale, 6:86 Steel


 Codex entry Ram
Number: 45 (+4TD)
Location: After killing a ram (creature)

The ram is a marvelous creature. Its wool makes the best lining for winter coats this side of the mountains. The horns and bones can be crushed into powder and mixed with the soil for a healthy crop, or charred and ground into ink powder. The hide makes a good cover in a window against the winds. You can burn the dung in a pinch. Melt down its fat for candles. I haven't even mentioned the meat! With a full-grown ram, you could make a stew big enough for a village and have enough left over for a week.

So there'll be no more complaining about "being paid in sheep" for your work during the harvest. With that ram and a few ewes, you can start your own flock. You're lucky to have them handed to you instead of needing to go and tame a wild one. Listen to your father for once: take care of those animals, and they'll take care of you.

—Letter from a Fereldan farmer to his son


 Red Templar Archers
 Codex entry Red Templar Archers
Number: 46 (+4TD)

Take aim. Red lyrium isn't the weak stuff they fed you all your life. The song is deeper. It's got a will of its own. Tame it, and it will do things the Chantry's instructors never dreamed of.

Listen. Focus on the arrow in your hand. Pour power into it when it leaves the bow. That strength can fly across a battlefield and punch a hole through the thickest armor.

Soon you won't need to stop to hear it. Practice, and the song will always be in your blood.

And fire.

—Red templar archer, instructing new recruits starting to take red lyrium



Red Templar Foot Soldier
Codex entry Red Templar Foot Soldier
Number: 47 (+4TD)
Location: After killing a Red Templar foot soldier

Do you remember when I was tracking some mages hiding in the mountains? I found those red templar heretics attacking them; the templars turned on me as well. The soldiers looked like normal men and women, but they rained down blows so hard it numbed my arm through my shield. It took me three minutes to kill just one, and he only stopped when I cut off his head! That's when I saw their leader: a huge, misshapen knight. He made a gesture and a streak of light streamed from him into one of the soldiers. Red lyrium burst through the soldier's back; he changed into some kind of thing that made the mages all sick.

I still don't know how we survived. These mages are children and frightened scholars, hiding from the war after their Circles fell. Still, if one of them wasn't a healer, I'd have lost my sword arm.

—Letter from a templar knight who left the Order, to her husband



Red Templar Guardsman
 Codex entry Red Templar Guardsman
Number: 48 (+4TD)
Location: After killing a Red Templar guardsman


When I saw templars marching up the road, my heart was glad. I asked if they'd come to stop the rebel mages who burned down the farms, but one growled it was none of our business. That was when I noticed his eyes were red. Not like he'd had a long night at the inn, but really, truly red. Vernie announced these were the bann's lands, and it was his business who was in them. The templar bastard cut him down without a word! A dozen of us against three of them, and we never got a strike past their shields. They're stronger than any man I've known. The templars swung full tower shields of metal like they weighed nothing.

We had to run. Tell the bann to seal the castle gates against any visiting templars.

—Letter from a guardsman employed by Bann Harkwold



Red Templar Knight
 Codex entry Red Templar Knight
 Number: 49 (+4TD)
Location: After killing a Red Templar knight

At first, I was only suspicious. Some of my brothers and sisters were acting strangely, spending time in the company of those who only days earlier we hadn't even given a passing glance. I would enter a room, and they would all be sitting together, talking in hushed whispers... and then they would stop altogether. I felt my intrusion keenly and withdrew, wondering how it was that I was not included in this group. Was there dissension in the templar ranks? Were they speaking of rebellion against the Seekers of Truth? I could not fathom it, so I kept my peace. Then I saw the lyrium vials Ser Randall kept in his gear. It was accidental, as he had them wrapped in dark cloth and immediately covered them when I entered his quarters, but I did. They were red, not blue. Again, I held my tongue.

Now I wish I had not. More and more of my fellow templars stop talking when I walk into rooms. There is little talk of continuing our hunt for the rebel mages. There is little talk of anything at all. I see the red vials they wear openly around their necks, no longer hidden. They are stronger than the rest of us, and it suddenly seems as if proper blue lyrium has become rare. "Shortages," they tell me. I saw Ser Randall this morning, and his eyes were red. For the first time, I am wondering if I should abandon my post and flee the Order for good.

—From the journal of Ser Caitlin of the Order of Templars, 9:41 Dragon


 Red Templars
 Codex entry Red Templars
 Number: 50 (+4TD)
Location: Obtained upon completingChampions of the Just

The red templars are exactly what they sound like. They aretemplars who have been fed red lyrium, and the results are precisely what happened to Meredith in Kirkwall: it improves their powers, grants new ones, and increases their strength beyond what a human body should bear. Over time, red lyrium will turn them into beasts. Crystals will grow inside their bodies; even, I am told, sprouting through their heads. In the end, the red templars will be lost, mind and soul, to roaring madness.

Did the Chantry push our templars too far, or was this break inevitable? Maker help us, I pray it was not us who drove our good knights into becoming monsters.

—Mother Celeres, of the Grand Cathedral, in a letter to a friend


 Codex entry Revenant
Number: 51 (+4TD)
Location: Upon slaying a revenant

An entire unit of men, all slain by one creature. I didn't believe it at first, your Perfection, but it appears that this is so. We have a survivor, and while at first I thought his rantings pure exaggeration... it appears to be no simple skeleton. The descriptions of the creature's abilities were eerily similar to those our brothers at Marnas Pell encountered almost a century ago: men pulled through the air to skewer themselves on the creature's blade, and attacks so quick that it was able to assault multiple opponents at once. No, your Perfection, what we have here is indeed a revenant and nothing less.

—From a letter to Divine Amara III, 5:71 Exalted.

A revenant is a corpse possessed by a demon of pride or of desire... making it amongst the most powerful possessed opponents that one can face. Many possess spells, but most are armed and armored and prefer the use of their martial talents. They are weak against physical attacks but regenerate quickly, and commonly use telekinesis to pull opponents into melee range should they try to flee. Revenants also have the ability to strike multiple opponents surrounding them. Stay at range if possible and strike quickly—that is the only way to take such a creature down.


 Codex entry Shade
Number: 52 (+4TD)
Location: Frostback Mountains after the very first encounter with a shade

"It has often been suggested that the only way for a demon to affect the world of the living is by possessing a living (or once living) body, but this is not always true. Indeed, a shade is one such creature: a demon in its true form that has adapted to affect the world around it.

My hypothesis is this: we already know that many demons become confused when they pass through the Veil into our world. They are unable to tell the living from the dead, the very static nature of our universe being confusing to a creature that is accustomed to a physicality defined entirely by emotion and memory. Most demons seek to immediately seize upon anything they perceive as life, jealously attempting to possess it—but what of those that do not? What of those that encounter no life, or fail to possess a body? What of those that are more cautious by their nature?

These demons watch. They lurk. They envy.

In time, such a demon will learn to drain energy from the psyche of those it encounters, just as it did in theFade. Once it has drained enough, it has the power to manifest and will forever after be known as a shade. Such a creature spurns possession. It instead floats as a shadow across its piece of land, preying upon the psyche of any who cross its path. Perhaps it believes itself still in the Fade? There is evidence to believe that is so.

A shade will weaken the living by its very proximity. If it focuses its will, it can drain a single target very quickly. Some have even been known to assault the minds of a living victim, causing confusion or horror and making the target ripe for the kill. The tragedy of a shade is perhaps that, once it has drained a target whole, its appetite is only heightened rather than slaked."

—From the journal of former Senior Enchanter Maleus, once of the Circle of Rivain, declared apostate in 9:20Dragon Age.

Dragon Age: Inquisition: Neither the last paragraph nor the source appear in DA:I


 Codex entry Shadow
 Number: 53 (+4TD)
Location: After killing a Red Templar shadow

The specimen was fresh, killed only a few hours ago by a troop ofchevaliers patrolling outside the city. Their captain told me, in a strained and sickly voice, that a group of red templars had descended on his men and massacred them. I gave him my condolences, but he seemed not to hear me. The one on my slab was fast, the captain muttered, much nimbler than its bulk suggested.

Imagine my nausea when I opened up the creature and saw that red lyrium had fused to the bones, overgrown its lungs, and spread like a fungus into the brain. As I watched, the red crystal pulsed and spread the smallest fraction of an inch deeper into the flesh of the corpse. Blood drained out of the surrounding tissue, as if the lyrium itself were feeding on it.

I have ordered my assistants to wear masks and gloves while burning the body. Posterity forgive me, I want no truck with the forces in that thing.

—From the diary of Professor Auffret, a naturalist studying at the University of Val Royeaux


 Codex entry Shriek 
Number: 58
Location: After killing a shriek
DLC: The Descent

An entire unit went into the ground, and only Tarquin returned. Cyra found him bloody and shaking. We asked what happened, but only got incoherent mumbling for answers. Cyra isn't taking it well. She's close with Tarquin's family and fears how MagisterNastasia will react when we deliver what's left of her son.

I still have hopes his mind will recover. Tarquin needs rest and wine. That's all.

It's been nearly a fortnight, but Tarquin is showing progress. He no longer rocks, knees tight against his chest, on the bed. Yesterday, he even let Cyra hold his hand. The mumbling has turned to silence, but I think words will come soon.

We sent another unit down to investigate. Unsurprisingly, evidence of a bloodbath greeted them. Cyra believes Tarquin's unit was ambushed. Half-eaten bodies and angry wounds from crude weapons point towardsdarkspawn.

Tarquin spoke today. Only one word, but it was enough. "Shriek. Shriek. Shriek."

Cyra held him as the shaking returned.

—An excerpt from The Blighted Codex, a classified collection of studies on the darkspawn, held safely in the Imperial Library in Minrathous, available only to members of the Magisterium


 Codex entry Snoufleur
Number: 54 (+5TD)
Location: After killing a snoufleur

Picked up someone new. Called himself Marchand and offered three Orlee royals to travel alongside to Celestine. Betting both knees he saw the bows and thought we'd be protection. Didn't think we might turn the weapons on him ourselves. Maker's grapes, by the time we hit Lydes, I wanted to. Little ***** couldn't stop bragging about how he was going to be a tutor for some high lord's son. Everything out of his mouth was "Milord Silk-Knickers this" and "Milord Silk-Knickers that."

Showed us a little painting of Milord Silk-Knickers and his lady. Milord I wanted to punch, but the rump on milady—I'd like to tutor that.

And then going through the Dales, we see one of those long-nosed pigs with the stump legs. It's just crossing the highway, dragging its stupid belly along the ground, as they do. Bless the Maker and all, but He was deep in His holy golden cups the day He made that thing.

Anyway, I turn to Lockey, and I say, "Hey, it's one of them snufflers."

Marchand starts in with his giggle. Lockey and me, we look at him.

"Snuffler!" he says, like he just caught me naked with his lady mother. "Non—tu dois dire 'snoufleur.'" Because "snuffler" just isn't fancy enough for Orlee. So I say it like he does: snooooou-fleeeeur. Can't keep a straight face. Marchand goes red like a virgin with skirts blown up. And good old Lockey, he just shoots the thing with an arrow while it's snuffling its way across the road.

"Now it's dead, and we call it dead," he says. That was that.

—From the hunting log of Kerr of West Hill, dated 17 Solace


 Codex entry Spellbinder
Number: 55 (+5TD)
Location: Obtained upon encountering a spellbinder

I confess myself troubled by the rise in mages binding multiple spirits to a single object. Among the Mortalitasi, interacting with spirits is a serious, even intimate undertaking. These "spellbinders," as they call themselves, bind many simple spirits, usually to books or other easily compartmentalized objects set with runes, and they have stripped the interaction with spirits of its importance, reducing it to a mere mechanical exercise.

That such magic is useful to the spellbinder, I do not argue. Although the power contained in these objects is difficult to focus, the diffused magic can easily distribute energy across a broad area, augmenting the mage's allies. The spellbinders insist that no individual spirit is capable of breaking their bindings, and that the spirits cannot cooperate well enough to effect an escape together. Furthermore, they maintain that because the bindings are all tied to the spellbinder personally, there is no risk of these enchanted books falling into the wrong hands.

Still, the books are in their hands, and I am concerned. Although the practice has spread across most ofThedas by now, it seems to have originated in Tevinter. These mages bind spirits and demons too readily, and it is not natural for spirits to remain in this world for any great length of time. Our Maker placed the Veil between our world and the Fade for a reason, after all. Who are we to second-guess His wishes?

Perhaps I have grown more reverent in my old age.

—An excerpt from Life Among the Dead, by Enchanter Rodomonte van Heigl, senior member of the Mortalitasi



 Codex entry Terror
Number: 56 (+5TD)

We heard their screams from miles away, out in the darkness where we couldn't see anything. Once, back when I worked on my uncle's farmhold in the Bannorn, there was a calf that fell into a gulch and broke its leg. I should have run for help, but I thought I could drag it back to safety on my own. I wasn't strong enough, however, and each time I tried to pull, its leg ... the calf's screaming haunts me to this day, and that's what I heard out there. Like that calf was coming for me, come to rip off my leg ever so slowly so I knew what it felt like.

But we all heard something different, you see? One of the others said he'd run into darkspawn at Ostagar, and the scream he heard was from something called a "shriek." Another said it was a dragon roar, just like the beast that burned his family. That's when I knew what was out there was a demon. Something that wasn't just looking to make us afraid—it wanted us gibbering in terror. It wanted us running for our lives.

And we did. I couldn't rightly tell you what it even looked like. There was something in the shadows, and even though we were ready when it let out that howl, I turned and ran. I couldn't even control myself. My bowels turned into water, I dropped my sword, and I took off. It was only later when I realized I was separated from the others, and that there were more of those demons out there, hungry for more of my panicked tears.

—From a report given by Haren, soldier of the Fereldan army, 9:15 Dragon



 Codex entry Tusket
Number: 57 (+5TD)
Location: After killing a Tusket

The curving tusks protruding from the snout are present in both males and females of the species. Rarely used in combat, the upper tusks play an important part in mate selection. It's believed that tuskets choose prospective mates based not only on the size, but also on the curve and even slight color variation found in another's tusks. Considering tuskets bond for life, careful mate selection is crucial to the continued success of the herd. Bonded tuskets have been seen gently clicking their tusks together as a sign of affection.

The role of the tusket's signature ornamentation in the mating process led to an unfortunate rumor that their tusks could increase virility in other species. Although usually docile, tuskets will defend themselves if cornered (or if someone attempts to saw off part of their anatomy). It's said Baron Vandermine lost three servants this way.

—From Observed Behaviors in the Common Tusket by Tilda Adere



 Codex entry Varghest
Number: 58 (+5TD)
Location: Kill a varghest

The varghest is now known to be a distant relative of wyvernsand dragons, but in ancient times, it was believed to be a spirit manifest in the world. Ciriane legend says that the varghest hunts those who have committed great wrongs against their own kin, and when the creature finds its quarry, it drags the guilty party to the gods for judgment. This is perhaps due to the beast's hunting habits: varghest prefer to bring prey still living to their nests to feed their young.

—From A Study of the Southern Draconids by Frederic of Serault, published in the University of Orlais



 Codex entry Wraith
Number: 59 (+5TD)
Location: Various locations, earliest being The Wrath of Heavenin the Frostback Mountains

Like wisps, wraiths are sometimes thought to be the remains of spirits or demons that have been destroyed. They cannot shape the Fade around themselves, nor are they capable of mimicking forms they see in the minds of dreamers as many weaker spirits do. Instead, they are the scavengers of the Fade, dwelling in the shadows of stronger beings, feeding on scraps of thought and emotion.

—From Beyond the Veil: Spirits and Demons by Enchanter Mirdromel



Codex entry Wyvern
 Number: 60 (+5TD)
Location: After killing a wyvern

The wyvern—like its relative the dragon—has nearly been hunted to extinction. Wealthy Orlesians are particularly fond of the wyvern chase, although their servants and dogs take the risks while the nobleman merely accept the praise.

It is the venom that makes the creature so valuable. It's used in potion-making, alchemy, and the production of a rare and potent liquor called aquae lucidius. The minuscule quantity of the venom remaining in the aquae after distillation leads to a unique hallucinatory effect.

Testimonies from a few of those fortunate enough to sample the costly concoction:
"I feel confused but happy!"
"It was as though my soul took wing and floated about my head."
"I had a vision of my great-grandmother and found it oddly arousing."
"I can see through time!"

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