Codex: Tales


"Empress of Fire"
 Codex entry Empress of Fire
Number: 1
Location: Haven/Skyhold - Be within earshot of the bard Maryden Halewell in the tavern.

Empress of fire,
In the reign of the lion,
Eclipsed in the eye of
The empire of we Orlesians.

Empress of fire,
What season may come,
We fight for the day
You'll restore our heart
And bring us to glory.

We are forever
In your graces.

Empress of fire,
Save us, everyone.
The nation reviles,
The course is but run, and end has begun.

Empress of fire,
Believe in us all.
Embrace us with arms,
And dress us with swords,
And light up our hearts with blood so bold.

We are forever
In your graces.

Empress of fire,
In the reign of the lion,
Eclipsed in the eye of
The empire of we Orlesians.

Empress of fire,
What season may come,
We fight for the day
You'll restore our heart
And bring us to glory.

—As performed by the bard Maryden Halewell


 Codex entry Enchanters
Number: 2
Location: Haven/Skyhold - Be within earshot of the bard Maryden Halewell in the tavern.

The time has come to be alive
With the Circle of Magi, where we will thrive
With our brothers.

Enchanters remind
That time will not unwind.
The dragon's crooked spine,
Will never straighten into line.

What we plea will be
A faithful end decree,
Where a man will not retreat
From the defeat of his fathers.

A time has come for battle lines.
We will cut these knotted ties,
And some may live and some may die.

Enchanter, Come To Me
Enchanter, Come To Me
Enchanter, Come To See
Can-a you, can-a you come to see,
As you once were blind
In the light now you can sing?
In our strength we can rely,
And history will not repeat.

—As performed by the bard Maryden Halewell


 "I Am The One"
 Codex entry "I Am The One"
Number: 3
Location: Haven/Skyhold - Be within earshot of the bard Maryden Halewell in the tavern.

I feel sun
Through the ashes in the sky.
Where's the one
Who'll guide us into the night?

What's begun
Is the war that will
Force this divide.

What's to come
Is fire and the end of time.

I am the one
Who can recount
What we've lost.

I am the one
Who will live on.

I have run
Through the fields
Of pain and sighs.

I have fought
To see the other side.

I am the one
Who can recount
What we've lost.

I am the one
Who will live on.

—As performed by the bard Maryden Halewell


 Codex entry Maker
Number: 4
Location: Haven/Skyhold - Be within earshot of the bard Maryden Halewell in the tavern.

Have you left me here

Sacred Ashes

Mark upon our land

Sky fall
Let darkness reign on thee

Now flee
From the dragon's heart

Battle-scarred eyes

Into the Fade has come

Please spare my life
And our sons

—As performed by the bard Maryden Halewell

"Nightingale's Eyes"
 Codex entry "Nightingale's Eyes"
Number: 5
Location: Haven/Skyhold - Be within earshot of the bard Maryden Halewell in the tavern.

Nightingale's eyes—
What secret lies
In their worth?

Raven's tears they cry,
But all the while
They softly lie and spy on you.

Nightingale's eyes—
What will they find
Left behind?

Craven master spy,
With heart remiss
For those who could not find the truth.

We're blinded,
So we're hiding
Dying to be.

We're hiding
From the fighting,
Longing to see.

We're waiting
For someone to speak
And set us all free.

Nightingale's eyes
Can free the ties
On our hands.

Craven master spies—
Can they find
The key that can unlock the past?

We're hiding
From the fighting,
Longing to see.

We're waiting
For someone to speak
And set us all free… free.

—As performed by the bard Maryden Halewell


 "Oh, Grey Warden" 
Codex entry Oh, Grey Warden
Number: 6
Location: Haven/Skyhold - Be within earshot of the bard Maryden Halewell in the tavern.

Oh, Grey Warden,
What have you done?
The oath you have taken
Is all but broken.

All is undone.
Demons have come
To destroy this peace
We have had for so long.

Ally or Foe?
Maker only knows.
Ally or Foe?
The Maker only knows.

The stronghold lives on,
And the army's reborn,
Compelled to forge on.
What will we become?

Can you be forgiven
When the cold grave has come?

Or will you have won,
Or will battle rage on?

Oh, Grey Warden,
What have you done?
The oath you have taken
Is all but broken.

All is undone.
Ash in the sun,
Cast into darkness
The light we had won.

--As performed by the bard Maryden Halewell


 "Once We Were"
 Codex entry Once We Were
Number: 7
Location: Haven/Skyhold - Be within earshot of the bard Maryden Halewell in the tavern.

Once we were
In our peace
With our lives assured.

Once we were
Not afraid of the dark.

Once we sat in our kingdom
With hope and pride.

Once we ran through
The fields with great strides.

We held the Fade
And the demon's flight
So far from our children
And from our lives.

We held together
The fragile sky
To keep our way of life.

Once we raised
Up our chalice
In victory.

Once we sat
In the light of our dreams.

Once we were
In our homeland
With strength and might.

Once we were
Not afraid of the night.

- As performed by the bard Maryden Halewell

 Codex entry Rise
Number: 8
Location: Haven/Skyhold - Be within earshot of the bard Maryden Halewell in the tavern.
Val Royeaux - In the cafe
Winter Palace - Minstrel in the garden

Find Me
Still searching
For someone
To lead me
Can you
Guide me
To the revolt inside me

The Breach

The Breach
In the Sky

Fire inside me

Remind me
Gone are the days
Of our peace

Now we reside
In the great divide

No promise
The Breach
In the Sky

- As performed by the bard Maryden Halewell


 "Samson's Tale"
 Codex entry "Samson's Tale"
Number: 9
Location: Haven / Skyhold Be within earshot of the bard Maryden Halewell in the tavern
Purchased from Willvan if the Inquisitor sided with theTemplars

Samson templar fame,
Raise your shield of shame.
Samson's letter caught,
Left unfought defamed.

Armor laced with blood
Shall reclaim his name.

Samson's broken heart
Shall revoke his claim.

Samson knight in red,
He hath lost his way

Samson martyr rage.
Soon the world will pay.

- As performed by the bard Maryden Halewell


 "Sera Was Never"
 Codex entry "Sera Was Never"
Number: 10
Location: Haven - Can be acquired after recruiting Sera, by being within earshot of the bard Maryden Halewell in the tavern;
or will unlock during the first conversation with Sera at Haven if it hasn't been heard previously

Sera Was Never song
Sera was never an agreeable girl—
Her tongue tells tales of rebellion.
But she was so fast,
And quick with her bow,
No one quite knew where she came from.

Sera was never quite the quietest girl—
Her attacks are loud and they're joyful.
But she knew the ways of nobler men,
And she knew how to enrage them.

She would always like to say,
"Why change the past,
When you can own this day?"
Today she will fight,
To keep her way.
She's a rogue and a thief,
And she'll tempt your fate.

She would always like to say,
"Why change the past,
When you can own this day?"
Today she will fight,
To keep her way.
A rogue and a thief,
And she'll tempt your fate.

Sera was never quite the wealthiest girl—
Some say she lives in a tavern.
But she was so sharp,
And quick with her bow—
Arrows strike like a dragon.

Sera was never quite the gentlest girl—
Her eyes were sharp like a razor.
But she knew the ways of commoner men,
And she knew just how to use them.

She would always like to say,
"Why change the past,
When you can own this day?"
Today she will fight,
To keep her way.
She's a rogue and a thief,
And she'll tempt your fate.

She would always like to say,
"Why change the past,
When you can own this day?"
Today she will fight,
To keep her way.
She's a rogue and a thief,
And she'll tempt your fate.

-As performed by the bard Maryden Halewell


 A Compendium of Orlesian Theater
 Codex entry A Compendium of Orlesian Theater
Number: 11
Location: Winter Palace
Vol. I: Grand Ballroom, NE bench
Vol. II: Hall of Heroes, across from Duke Germain
Vol. III: Lower level, Fumeur
Vol. IV: Vestibule, across from doors to Grand Library (after returning from Servants' Quarters)
Vol. V: Grand Apartments, Main level, SW room
Vol. VI: Main Level, just before La Serrure

The most unusual part of Orlesian theater, appropriately enough, revolves around our southern neighbor's love of masks. Every actor wears a mask, and every mask follows a hierarchy of shape and colors that indicates to the audience the character's importance. Half-face green masks indicate a leading male role, for example, while half-face purple masks are for primary female characters. Full white masks are reserved for roles of no clear gender, such as spirits, except for demons, whose masks must always be black and red. Further complicating matters for those new to Orlesian theater, an actor's race or sex has no bearing on the parts they can play.

If a director believes they can sell the part, men can play dowagers, women can play dukes, and even an elf can play a king. Once donned, the mask is understood to be absolutely them. None of the actors I spoke to could explain to me the history behind this tradition, but bristled when I suggested other nations find it strange. There is a strong bond of trust between Orlesian theater troupes and their viewers. Indeed, I have rarely attended such attentive audiences than in Val Royeaux. It is my guess that Orlesians, surrounded as they are by masks in their daily lives, both require and fully respect a place where the objects boldly display their wearers' intentions for a change.

An appendix at the back of this volume lists the appearance and meanings of Orlais' theatrical masks. These conventions are vital to understanding the history of its finest theater, a journey I hope you will find as rewarding as I have.

-From A Compendium of Orlesian Theater, Volume I: Introduction by Magister Pellinar


A tent. King Drakon turns his crown in his hands.
Enter his trusted cousin, Captain Ashan.

Captain Ashan: Hail, Your Majesty. The armies wait on you.

King Drakon: What of the enemy?

Captain Ashan: The blighted ones mass on the hill, in larger numbers than ever we've seen.

King Drakon: We are outmatched on the field.

Captain Ashan: Andraste armed us with faith.

King Drakon: Our allies are a week from Cumberland.

Captain Ashan: We are aided by the Maker's word.

King Drakon: I do not doubt.

Captain Ashan: Yet your brow is vexed.

Drakon throws down his crown.

King Drakon: Pride killed our Prophet. Her sacred words are all we've left! If victory spurns us, who will carry them forward? Who will bear the Chant of Light?

Captain Ashan: Cousin! The army waits!

King Drakon: Maker, for a soul fit to lead them!

-From The Sword of Drakon: an Examination of the Life and History of the Father of Orlais, by Marquise Freyette

It's little wonder King Drakon's life is one of the most popular tales in Orlais. After founding both Orlais and theChantry, the charismatic young noble battled the Second Blight for the rest of his reign. Freyette's plays are notable for being the first to portray Orlais' founder as a man beset by doubts, as are we all, instead of an idealized cipher. A few grand clerics attempted to ban the play, saying it criticized the current state of the Chantry, but The Sword of Drakon proved too popular among the masses and the nobility and remains a staple of Orlesian theater to this day.

-From A Compendium of Orlesian Theater, Volume II: Classics of the Storm Age by Magister Pellinar

Countess Dionne: You mock me.

Duke Le Seuille: It's what I do best, I'm told.

Countess Dionne: He cannot be our child!

Duke Le Seuille: I have asked about the town. He wears my great-grandfather's scabbard. The one that went missing that night.

Countess Dionne: Impossible.

Duke Le Seuille: Then you have no objections to our visitor?

Countess Dionne: Who else have you informed of this?

A woman in a black and gold mask with crow feathers on the side enters from the servant's door. She bows. The countess pales and puts her face in her hands.

Countess Dionne: But if the man come to visit the castle is our son—

Duke Le Seuille: As you said, he cannot be. For both our sakes.

-From The Heir of Verchiel by Paul Legrand

Rife with betrayal, revenge, and a thundering climax, The Heir of Verchiel is performed each year in the city that gave it its name, a lavish production put on for the nobility who visit from nearby Halamshiral. The first performance of the play featured the noted actor Victor Boyet as the Duke Le Seuille. A city elf from Val Royeaux, Boyet took smaller roles for five years before convincing Legrand he was fit for the part. His first performance in the capital was so well received that when the cast came out to thunderous applause, the current emperor rose from his seat when Boyet took the stage.

Elves have done well in Orlais' theaters, much to the surprise of those outside the country, but actors' lives are hotbeds of scandal and intrigue that would make even the bards blush. It is unusual at first to see elves openly tolerated and sometimes even welcomed into their betters' circles, but Orlais treats its actors as a breed apart.

-From A Compendium of Orlesian Theater, Volume III: Tragedies in the Modern Style by Magister Pellinar

The Young Maiden: Come, my lord, let us dance!

The Mayor: No! No, I cannot.

The Young Maiden: Oh, I beseech thee, do not leave me without a dance!

The Mayor: I have imbibed too much!

The Young Maiden: Please, come dance! I must leave soon!

The Mayor: It's too much! I bet you leave me to my circumspection!

Laughing, the woman pulls the mayor up from his seat. A loud sound stops her.

The Young Maiden: Do I smell the cook's cabbage stew from noon?

The Mayor: It has rejoined us, alas, from a more southerly direction.

-From Wilkshire Downs by A. Pourri

This play enjoys enduring and, some might say, embarrassing popularity, never failing to draw a large crowd during a festival or market. The fictional Fereldan village of Wilkshire Downs is the setting for over three thousand lines of increasingly outrageous situations begun, worsened, or ended by flatulence.

I am told actors go on a special diet to convincingly play the roles. I've not the courage for details.

-From A Compendium of Orlesian Theater, Volume IV: Comedies and Operettas by Magister Pellinar

Callista paces on the battlement over the lake. The sky is dark. She holds a cup of poison. Camallia is there, face veiled.

Callista: The dawn is late.

Camallia: It will not come again.

Callista: It must hide 'neath the clouds.

Camallia: It will not come again.

Callista: The queen thinks you dead.

Camallia, her back to the audience, faces Callista, and removes her veil.

Callista moans in fear. She drops her cup.

-From The Setting of the Light by Lumiere Bartlet

These lines are from a play said to have been one of the strangest works of its time. Bartlet was a writer of small repute who died when a fire swept through his pauper's hovel. The Setting of the Light takes place in the mysterious city of Demhe, implied to be another world that somehow becomes our own moon. Accidents, madness, and suicide plagued the first production, and some historians claim that the play's conclusion was at once so hauntingly beautiful and shockingly vile it sparked the Great Riot of Val Royeaux in 4:52 Black.

The truth will forever be a mystery. Only fourteen pages of the play remain.

-From A Compendium of Orlesian Theater, Volume V: Lost or Fragmented Works by Magister Pellinar

Lady Cramoisi: The body is not yet cold. Someone in this mansion killed Lord Carcasse!

Blanche, the Chambermaid: Maker's mercy! There's a murderer among us?

Captain Dore: Andraste take it, the woman's right. How do we proceed?

Mother Emeraude: We must search for some hint as to how the foul deed was done.

Captain Dore: With gusto, if one goes by the amount of blood on the walls.

Blanche faints.

-From Death in the Mansion by Violette Armand

Incredibly, this enjoyable if somewhat predictable melodrama begat a storm of debate. At the end of the piece, the murderer of Lord Carcasse changes into a villain's mask before giving an elaborate confessional speech. At the time, masks in Orlesian theater were fixed to each role. Plays were written with the assumption that the masks gave audiences vital information a play's characters might not possess. Death in the Mansion ignored this implicit contract, shocking the audiences at the time.

Armand was nearly destroyed by the attacks on Death in the Mansion by both her theatergoers and Orlesian critics. Many accused her of an unforgivable violation of the spirit of the theater. A vogue for "False Face" stories caught on among the foremost writers of the time, however, and today Armand's techniques are seen as wholly unremarkable. It only goes to show how easily the alchemy of time shifts the outrageous into the everyday.

-From A Compendium of Orlesian Theater, Volume VI: The Plays of False Faces by Magister Pellinar


A Fine Time to Close a Border
 Codex entry A Fine Time to Close a Border
Number: 12
Location: In Skyhold's rookery across from Leliana

The news is dire. There are rumors that our Warden brothers and sisters in Ferelden have all perished. Without the Grey Wardens, the Blight will take Ferelden. Then it will undoubtedly spread. It will go north to Nevarra and the Marches. It will come west to Orlais. At the head will be an Archdemon, and in its wake will come thousands upon thousands of darkspawn. We must be ready to stare squarely into the eyes of oblivion.

Many of you have asked why we remain here when such threats are mounting in the east. The problem, you see, is not a new one for us. Politics. To say Ferelden and Orlais have been at odds is an understatement. These two are like dogs and cats. We Wardens are Orlesian by address only, but that does not seem to matter to Ferelden's leaders.

Word is that the King of Ferelden is dead. And his successor, Loghain Mac Tir, decrees that no Warden set foot in the country. Mac Tir, a national hero who helped expel invading Orlesian forces from Ferelden, seems to have it out for our Order, too. Maybe he doubts our abilities. Maybe he is more foolish than the history books make him out to be.

This is why we must wait, even as Ferelden willingly welcomes its fate.

-An address by Warden-Constable Blackwall of Val Chevin to his recruits, 9:30 Dragon


 A Ghoulish Delight
 Codex entry A Ghoulish Delight
Number: 13
Location: Unlocks after cutscene with Leliana during Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

Surely you must have heard of the Paget's failing fortunes? They've lost almost everything. The lord made some bad decisions and trusted people he shouldn't. All that's left is La Maison Verte, in the Dales. They have to sell it and move to the city. I was called upon to find someone willing to buy the house. You would be so proud of me. I surpassed all the lord's expectations.

I looked into La Maison's history first. Did you know it was built in the time of the elves? It was a sanctuary dedicated to Andruil, goddess of the forest; the house was built around the ruins. The heart of the shrine was an etched stone altar, now in the grand hall. It's quite spectacular. Any noble in Val Royeaux would be envious of something with such historical significance. I planned a party to show off the house and its elven altar. We had it decorated with white flowers and candles, even brought in some harts to graze in the garden outside. The effect was stunning.

Then, my stroke of genius! Remember when Lady Carine's pastime was reading about elves, and how sympathetic she was to what happened in the Dales? She couldn't stop talking about how we must make contact with the restless elven spirits. All her lady companions were so taken with the idea. Well, I did just that. Or I made the guests believe that's what happened. I had to hire a mage to help, of course—a very discreet fellow from Montsimmard.

During the party, I talked about how the house was a haunt for sad elven spirits. They ate it all up. Romantic, they said. For the final touch, I had everyone join hands around the elven stone and pray, and the mage (no names!) cast a spell that made us dance like puppets on strings and sing "The Little Bluebird of Summer."

It was a triumph! Offers began pouring in! One of them was even from a representative of Grand Duchess Florianne.

Oh, I have so much to tell you. I can't wait to return.

With great love,


A Magister's Needs
 Codex entry A Magister's Needs
Number: 14
Location: Found in Caer Bronach,Crestwood after the keep is captured (in the locked room on the upper level)

Dearest sister:

It's been an age since I've written, but I simply had to thank you! Your advice was perfect. Just a few gossips bought with gold and everyone in Minrathous thought Quirinus and I were the most dreadful rivals. It let us indulge our little love affair without his wretched family interfering, if only for a little while.

Quirinus himself sadly turned out to be less ideal. I caught him carrying on behind my back, with a soporati of all things. Can you imagine? There was nothing for it. During the quarrel, I threw boiling water at his face. Let his soporati kiss the scars better.

He's cowering in his mansion now, pretending he was hurt in a duel. No doubt he'll want revenge. Don't worry, dear sister. I took precautions. Don't tell anyone, but my master taught me a few secrets that should keep me safe. The ritual cost me the mansion's kitchen slave. Lenna, I think she was called? But I've enough power now to keep Quirinus from trying anything foolish. Kitchen slaves can be bought by the dozen at the market, so there's no harm in it.

I feel wonderful, dear sister. Won't you come for Wintersend this year? I'll have my new slave trained to make your favorite lemon cakes by then. It'll be perfect.

-Letter from Magister Delphine to her sister Aulia, 8:65 Blessed


 A Missing Slave
 Codex entry A Missing Slave
Number: 15
Location: Coracavus, Western Approach

In Tevinter, a slave is invisible, even though the entire empire rests on our backs. Our hands built the walls of Minrathous and carry its wealth along the crumbling roads. Scribes like myself take dictation and write letters that shift the balance of power. My daughter, Leonora, a kitchen slave, works night and day soMagister Delphine isn't troubled by a torn robe or a cold supper.

Normally, I meet Leonora about the kitchens. But it has been days since our paths crossed. No one has seen her.

I can't help but think of the old stories that cross the slave markets like lightning, how, centuries ago, the ancients built their cities with blood magic, raising the very towers and walls with terrible rituals using our lives as fuel. Thousands of slaves were sacrificed as we were forced onto the altars of the Old Gods. Magister Delphine's perfect, marble-faced mansion likely stands on the back of a hundred voiceless elves.

But that was a different time. Andraste's words against blood magic made the practice all but forbidden and shunned. Though we may be punished, few slaves are dragged to the altar or milked of blood without at least some reprimand.

Yet Leonora is missing, and Magister Delphine seems different. She carries an aura she never had before. And rumors fly that a bitter rival has been publicly humiliated in a duel of magic. Through my grief I fear, I know, that my Leonora's life was the price.

I ache to speak as an equal with Magister Delphine, to demand answers. But such an audience would be joke to her. No one sees a slave.

-Written in secret by slave scribe Solvarin Brann, 8:65 Blessed



A Nutty Affair
Codex entry A Nutty Affair
Number: 16
Location: Therinfal Redoubt, upper level;
Sold by Willvan in Val Royeaux for 17 Currency (Inquisition)

Several months after Clemence II died, rumors that she had been a man in disguise began circulating in Val Royeaux. The gossip was eventually traced back to one Sister Constance, who was present when the Divine's body was cleaned and dressed for her funeral. Constance had a weakness for barley wine, and spoke of Clemence II's sensitive matter to a local tavern-keep after having imbibed large quantities of the beverage.

Revered Mother Estelle put the rumors to rest by declaring that she had also aided the sisters in dressing the late Divine's body for her cremation, and knew for a fact that Clemence II was a woman. She went on to say that Sister Constance was mistaken; what she saw was in actuality a squirrel that had clambered in through an open window and come to rest between the Divine's legs.

From Secrets of the Most Holy by Sister Damson

A Plea from the Warrior to the Spirits
Codex entry A Plea from the Warrior to the Spirits
Number: 30 Location:
Examine the dog statue in the Raw Fade during Here Lies the Abyss (to the right, before meeting Justinia V for the first time)

The wolves were our allies. In the old days, before Andraste, before the Maker, we knew this to be so. But man grew tired of the chase, the hunt, the truth of fang and steel and blood. Man put seeds in the ground, tended cattle and chickens, and built fences to keep the wolves away. Man bred hounds that would heel and sit and obey, and told himself that the hounds were just as good.

Now the darkspawn come again. They break our fences, kill our cattle and chickens, burn our crops. Our dogs cower with tails between their legs, or if they fight, they fall to the poison of darkspawn blood. We are dying, and I am shamed by my cowardice.

The ways of man and hound are not enough. I come to you, spirits of the old forest, I who built fences, I who came with fire and steel to drive you away. I come to you because fear has made my arms weak. I ask you for unforgiving rage to make them strong again.

Kill the hound in my heart, and grow strong from the meat on its bones. In its place, give me the wolf.

—Words caught in the bloody ripples of ancient water in the Fade, somehow remembered

A Season of the Four Afoul
Codex entry A Season of the Four Afoul

Number: 18
Location: Val Royeaux: examine a window at the southern end of the upper level

At this window, the thief Treadwell did witness the attempted assault of Lady Castine. He surrendered his chance for escape to catch and hold he assailant, a bard of Lord Halevine. Hero thief, foiled bard, and conspiring noble were all censured as per their station and relevant action—lashings and labor, disappeared, and ostracized for the social season, respectively.

The scandal played out far longer in the theatrically serialized adaptation, which reimagined the three as siblings separated at birth, competing for Lady Castine's hand at her orchestration. The conclusion was relatively accurate to the original event, save the punishment of the thief and noble being swapped, to comic effect. Generally good reviews received, though some thought the height of the lady's hair to be unrealistic.

--Excerpted and torn from A Disposable Walking Tour of the Capital by Philliam, a Bard!

Ameridan and the Mage
Codex entry Ameridan and the Mage
Number: 19
Location: Frostback Basin: a book inside a hut in Ridgeline Camp
DLC: Jaws of Hakkon

Soft Fade-touched light, in dream-lit tones, falls dark.
Each form a memory, recalled through parted lips,
That try to speak, fall silent. Before light marks
The dawn, from sleeping fingers she slips
Into the day, where averted eyes bend
To any but the other. Oathsworn
To Lion's call, yet here the two are broken.
As waxing sickle stands witness to the end
Of love's denial and secrets borne,
From parted lips, the words at last are spoken.

--From "Ameridan and the Mage," author unknown

This overly romantic portrait of illicit meetings between a mage and her lover was written sometime in the Divine Age. Though likely penned after Ameridan's disappearance, the work was said to be inspired by tales and rumors of the former Inquisitor's "lady-mage." By the Second Age, Chantry scholars had largely concluded that the piece did not refer to Ameridan at all, but to another man altogether. These scholars claim the poem's title was a later addition, meant to discredit the last Inquisitor's reputation. The poem was later deemed "problematic" and relegated to a list of banned works.

--From An Examination of Banned Text, author undisclosed

Andraste's Mabari
Codex entry Andraste's Mabari
Location: Haven - On a note near a statue of a mabari. The statue and the note are above the stairs leading down to the merchant Seggrit and the gate to the training grounds.

You know Andraste's old mabari.
He don't show up in the Chant.
And if you ask those holy sisters,
Well, they'll say Andraste can't
Have had some big old smelly wardog.
But all Ferelden knows it right:
Our sweet Lady needed someone
Who would warm her feet at night.

And there's Andraste's mabari
By the Holy Prophet's side.
In the fight against Tevinter,
That dog would never hide.
They say the Maker sent him special,
Always loyal, without pride,
So he could be the sworn companion
Of the Maker's Holy Bride.

Oh, that dog, he guards Andraste
Without arrogance or fear,
Only asking of his mistress
Just a scratch behind the ears.
But then old Maf'rath gets to plotting,
Tries to lure that dog away.
But even as they trap the Prophet,
Her mabari never strays.

And there's Andraste's mabari
By the Holy Prophet's side.
In the fight against Tevinter,
That dog would never hide.
They say the Maker sent him special,
Always loyal, without pride,
So he could be the sworn companion
Of the Maker's Holy Bride.

Oh they thought the wounds had killed him,
But then he limped out toward the fire.
And Hessarian, he shed a tear,
As that dog laid on the pyre.

And there's Andraste's mabari
By the Holy Prophet's side.
In the fight against Tevinter,
That dog would never hide.
They say the Maker sent him special,
Always loyal, without pride,
So he could be the sworn companion
Of the Maker's Holy Bride.

Yes that mabari's the companion
Of the Maker's Holy Bride.

-A popular, if historically unlikely, Fereldan tavern song

Andruil's Messenger
Codex entry Andruil's Messenger
Number: 20
Location: Landmark in the Exalted Plains north of the Path of Flame Camp

Long ago, when our people were strong and free, we roamed the world and could do as we pleased. But we were taught by Andruil, Mother of Hares, to respect nature and all of the Creator's creatures. Even though the earth was ours, we did not misuse it. They say the great leaders of the People would pray to Andruil for guidance. Where shall we hunt? Where shall we raise our halla? Where shall we settle and build? Andruil would send her messenger, the owl, to show the People the way, and they would follow him to where the land was blessed.

Always keep an eye out for the noble owl. You never know: Andruil might have a message for you.

--As told by Keeper Gisharel to the children of the Ralaferin clan

Codex entry Astrariums 
Number: 21 
Location: At the astrarium in the Hinterlands outskirts

Regarding your inquiry regarding the so-called "astrariums," it is our considered belief that these are relics from a cult that existed in the pre-Andrastian era of the Tevinter Imperium. Now, what would be considered a cult in a society that worshipped the Old Gods? An order of magisters who believed in the destruction of the Magisterium, the governing body of the Imperium that determines which mages are and are not given the "magister" title. The members of this order wished to return to an earlier period where Dreamers ruled, and evidence indicates they operated throughout Tevinter, though primarily in the frontier areas. There they would lock away their secrets, caches of treasure, and perhaps even secret meeting places (though we have no way of knowing for certain), unlockable only through knowledge of ancient astronomy—a practice that was, we understand, rather out of fashion in the late Tevinter period.

According to our investigations, each of the astrariums could point to the secret cache if one knew the three constellations that mapped to each device present at the site. Connect the dweomers in the correct configuration, and it would be revealed. Many of these relics were sought out by Andrastian cultists in the early Divine Age (the Order of Fiery Promise in particular) and destroyed. Why? Because they believed the astrariums held together the Veil, and that destroying them would destroy the Veil and thus the world. Such is the way of cults of any kind that the true reasons for what they do could never truly be understood by modern minds.

--From a letter written by Magister Pelidanus, head of the Corial Order, 5:12 Exalted

Ballad of the Murderer's Gold
Codex entry Ballad of the Murderer's Gold
Number: 23
Location: Frostback Basin: scroll near the "murderer's gold" in Lady's Rest
DLC: Jaws of Hakkon

In darkest of winter, from foulest Tevinter,
We fled with a lifetime of wealth in the hold.
The ship's hull was breaching, with no hope of reaching
A shore for to live with our murderer's gold.

But then came the island, the safety of dry land.
We struggled to shore to recover our breath.
But spirits surrounded us all, had us hounded,
And charged us with carrying coin bought with death.
The captain, they shouted, had cruelly clouted
A servant who died at the treasury door.
He soon grew no older, but slipped on a boulder
And shattered his skull, and was wealthy no more.
The first mate had wrangled escape and had strangled
The kindly old guard 'fore he raised an alarm.
He slipped in the rigging while through the wreck digging,
And choked to death cursing that he had done harm.

The lady was bathing, her last look was scathing
As I held her down for the key she did hold.
If my fate be drowning, let spirits be frowning,
I'll sit on dry land with my murderer's gold.

Battleground State
Codex entry Battleground State
Number: 22
Location: Found inside Watcher's Reach camp in the Emerald Graves

It seems a bitter twist of fate to discover that half of Thedas does not consider my homeland a nation at all. Qunari maps depict the island as part of their territory, without any ambiguousness to the claim. I can only assume this is because all islands within the Boeric Ocean naturally fall under their jurisdiction. The Tevinter maps, meanwhile, still proudly show the entire island as part of the Imperium, even though Imperial control outside of small pockets is little more than fiction and changes whenever the Qunari return their attention to the area.

Imperial reports speak of "Fog Warriors" as if we are beasts, little better than darkspawn or dragons. "Dangerous element of the wilderness, best avoided or eliminated, but ultimately of no consequence." It angers me to read these things. Ours is a land that has been shaped by war, as no other. Long ago the Imperium came, and after centuries of trying and failing to turn us into compliant Imperial citizens, the Qunari came instead. They conquered Seheron and attempted to convert us. Neither side succeeded in taking our freedom. And though battle after bloody battle have ground our ancient halls of wisdom practically to dust, we still dream of the land that was.

The fog dancers who travel with each band of warriors regale them with the legends of old and keep the songs our people alive. They say that the griffons of the Grey Wardens came from Seheron. They tell us of the ancient Curse of Nahar that brought the fog, and the promise that will one day lift it. They speak of the March of Four Winds, of the lost people who fled to the northern islands and the great heroes who learned at the feet of elves.

Are the old tales true? We may never know. All that remains of the land Seheron once was is gone. But I know we will make them true someday.

--From A Land of Fog by Brother Ashor Vell

Before Andrastianism: Forgotten Faiths
Codex entry Before Andrastianism: Forgotten Faiths
Number: 23
Location: Fallow Mire, inside a house northwest of Fisher's End Camp.

The teachings of the Andrastian Chantry have been part of Thedosian lives for over eight hundred years. The Chantry guides us and teaches us. We are made humble in the knowledge that we have sinned, and yet we are inspired and given hope through Andraste's story and her song. But Andraste died almost two hundred years before her Emperor Kordillus Drakon established the Chantry and spread the Chant of Light. In those terrible years, Thedosians were lost. Crying for salvation, they took to anyone and anything they hoped could give them the answers they so desperately sought. Some returned to well-known faiths, like the Tevinter Imperium's cult of the Old Gods, which we hold accountable for the curse of the Blight and the darkspawn. But others found their own paths, following false prophets and making false gods out of men. Many of these religions have disappeared, dying out with their adherents, like the Daughters of Song, or the Empty Ones. Others, like the Blades of Hessarian, may still lurk in the hidden corners of our world.

This book aims to remember them, so that we may find compassion for those who lived in those dark times, and also for they who even now are lost, and turn to shadow, trying find light.

--From Before Andrastianism: the Forgotten Faiths by Sister Rondwyn of Tantervale

Bottles of Thedas
Codex entry Bottles of Thedas
Number: 24 (+2JoH)
Location: Various

Chasind Sack Mead
A brutishly strong honey liquor, reminiscent of warm summer days, apple blossoms on the wind, with an unexpected aftertaste of Father going off to war, never to return. Bitter, to say the least.

Garbolg's Backcountry Reserve
Likely dropped to avoid seizure by authorities, or because of seizure due to drinking it. Garbolg only brewed from 8:74 to 8:92 Blessed, killed when the vapors in his beard spontaneously combusted.

Golden Scythe 4:90 Black
This battlefield spirit maintains a chill even in direct sunlight, which it appears to absorb. Optimal serving is by the drop. Contact with exposed flesh is discouraged, but likely inevitable.

Legacy White Shear
Peculiar and rare, a single run of this spirit took color and what has been optimistically called flavor from lyrium in the cask's bilge hoop. A sipping whisky if you value your innards. Circa 790 T.E.

Sun Blonde Vint-1
Tevinter-brewed for a very discreet clientele, and strong enough to fluster a Tranquil. An almost weightless spirit best served with a powdering of catsbane as a flavor enhancer and antidote.

Aqua Magus
Fine spirits infused with a bit of refined lyrium. Potentially fatal if ingested in quantity.

Dragon Piss
The name is probably figurative, but no one knows for sure.

Hirol's Lava Burst
"It tastes like burning." Brewed exclusively in Kal'Hirol.

Mackay's Epic Single Malt
This whisky is older than the Maker and smoother than elven baby-butt.

West Hill Brandy
Notes of black currant with a honeysuckle finish. Also, tastes like brandy.

Flames of Our Lady
A wine with hues that range from blood to fire, always in that order. In the South, take a single draught, shout, "She is with us," and throw the remainder into a fireplace. In the North, draw steel and march.

Silent Plains Piquette
An artisanal treatment of a Tevinter slave wine. Grape pomace is soaked and pressed, then buried for a year under the wastes where the first Archdemon fell. One assumes. They keep finding the stuff.

Finale By Massaad
The last bottling from the legendary vintners of Ferelden before lands were divided. Tears on the glass as slow as the turning of a reluctant heir, as quick on the tongue as words that can't be unsaid.

Butterbile 7:84
A hard liquor that is not so much served as it is brandished. Coarse and indifferent, it is to your taste, or it is not. The failing is yours if you cannot raise—or lower—to the challenge of a distiller told not to.

Vint-9 Rowan's Rose
Delicate to the nose, comfort to the tongue, and, strangely, a half-remembered whisper to the ears. It is described as—and inspires—a wistful spirit. A vintner's opus.

"I am aware of how to spell it. This bottling reflects my wish that the current crop of behatted self-styled cads would disappear. I preferred la fée verte as spirit, not affectation. " —Distiller Emeritus Gaivon

Antivan Sip-Sip
Careful, this one's mean. Attic-raised mean. Popular among highborn who wish to seem dangerous, but more at home grasped by the neck by those who actually are.

Carnal, 8:69 Blessed
An Orlesian liqueur for the daring, or those who wish to seem so. Said to enhance sensation. And at the bottom, an erotically carved peach pit. The design is plain, but the bottler assures that the act of carving was scandalous.

Abyssal Peach
Not so much filtered as dredged. Should be kept in a cold, dark place. Also locked. Forgotten as well, if one is wise.

Alvarado's Bathtub Boot Screech
If you can read this, you haven't drunk it.

Caspar the Magnificent
Codex entry Caspar the Magnificent
Number: 25 (+2JoH)
Location: Fallow Mire - Travel west then north-west from the fourth beacon. The codex is in the house at the end of the path.

King Caspar the Magnificent saw one hundred and twenty-seven summers before he finally left for eternal slumber beneath our great kingdom. Even on that last day, the king sparred with his great-grandson, Mathas the Glorious, and bested him. King Caspar showed no signs of weakness or decrepitude in his advanced age, and proved more than a match for the much younger man. Caspar met every blow Mathas delivered, and returned each with twice the vigor.

In the end, the great king threw his grandson to the ground, and with one stroke of his sword, sheared the beard clean off Mathas's chin. "You are a Pentaghast," the king said. "Have some care for your appearance."

Chastised, Mathas sent for his attendants, and bade them to bathe and groom him. Thereafter, his chin was always shaved obsessively close to the skin.

As for the king, he retired to his chambers for his afternoon nap. When it came time for supper, the servants were unable to rouse him. And that is how King Caspar the Magnificent, sixty years the supreme lord of Nevarra, finally set aside his crown.

--From The Pentaghast Kings of Nevarra, a growing book of family legends

Common Curses
Codex entry Common Curses
Number: 26
Location: Emprise du Lion - inside house near starting camp

So, lad—you're getting your sight straight in your first days topside, so here's some advice: you're not just trading with kin. You're selling to all kinds of folk now, with different customs and tongues. As I've learned here, the most important part of any language is the cussing. It gets you trust. It gets you coin.

Most elves you see in the city are servants, and a human looking for a fight might call one "knife-ear." If the elf returns with "shem" or "quick," blood's about to spill. Those Dalish elves use "flat-ear" to insult the ones who live with humans—like our unenlightened kin below calling us Stone-blind up here.

Even the humans who pray to some woman they burned alive—and her god they call "the Maker"—say something when they knock their shins. It's a curse to say "Andraste's..."—well, any body part, really. "Maker's breath!" might get you in with a swaggering fool, but the lady priests won't be pleased. Chantry folk also don't like mages. If you hear a mage called a "spellbind," hide anything flammable.

Then there are all those beautiful words that just mean "Sod it!" When that loose cobblestone flips and the ankle cracks, an elf will cry, "Fenedhis!" while a human might, "***** it!" A Qunari will mumble, "Vashedan!" I've even heard a couple Tevinters yell, "Kaffar!"

If any of these get aimed at you, hopefully all that gets killed is a sale.

--Note from Hardal, a surface merchant dwarf, to an apprentice adjusting to life outside Orzammar

Constellation: Belenas
Codex entry Constellation: Belenas
Number: 29
Location: Frostback Basin: complete the Astrarium on the Cliffside Path
DLC: Jaws of Hakkon

According to Avvar legend, Korth the Mountain-Father kept his throne at the peak of the mountain Belenas, which lay at the center of the world and was so lofty that from it, he could see all the corners of the earth and sky.

Over time, bold young Avvar would challenge each other to scale the mountain of the gods. At first, Korth found this amusing, and he delighted in the valor of their failed attempts to enter his hold. Then Sindri Sky-Breaker, boldest of the heroes of old, succeeded in climbing to the summit and stood in the Hall of the Mountain-Father in the flesh. Korth, being a good sport, gave Sindri a hero's welcome, and the mortal returned to the Frostbacks with tales of gods and gifts from Korth, and soon more and more heroes were barging into the hall of the Mountain-Father demanded to be showered with honors. Korth grew weary of throwing banquets, and the other gods began to fear his temper.

So Korth spoke to the Lady of the Skies and lifted Belenas from the earth into her realm, which could not be reached even by the most intrepid climber, and there he dwells in peace.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Bellitanus
Codex entry Constellation: Bellitanus
Number: 27
Location: In Apostate's Landing on the Storm Coast

Referred to as "the Maiden" in common parlance, depictions of the constellation Bellitanus vary from one Age to the next. It has always been considered fashionable for prominent women of the day to be declared the Maiden's personification: Queen Madrigal in the Exalted Age, for instance, and Queen Asha before her. None of these women would likely appreciate the fact that Bellitanus is believed to have originally referred to Urthemiel, the Old God of Beauty.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Draconis
Codex entry Constellation: Draconis
Number: 28 (+3JoH)

Called "High Dragon" in common parlance, the constellation Draconis is always depicted by a dragon in flight. Recently, it has come into question whether this was the case in the ancient Imperium. Most Tevinter dragon imagery was reserved for the Old Gods, so why would they dedicate a constellation to dragons in general when specific dragons were held in such reverence? This speculation is fueled by older drawings showing Draconis as more serpentine in appearance, perhaps depicting a sea creature or an unknown eighth Old God that was stricken from historical record.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Eluvia
Codex entry Constellation: Eluvia
Number: 29

Owing primarily to the popular Orlesian tale of the same name, the constellation Eluvia is commonly referred to as "Sacrifice." During the Glory Age, folklore told of a young woman saved from a lustful mage by being sent into the sky by her father—after which the mage killed him (hence the sacrifice). The daughter became the constellation, depicted as a seated woman with her head in the clouds. Prior to this tale, Eluvia was though to represent Razikale, the Tevinter Old God of mystery, and the constellation was the source of many superstitions involving the granting of wishes.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Equinor
Codex entry Constellation: Equinor
Number: 30

Referred to as "the Stallion" in common parlance, the constellation Equinor has historically been depicted either as a rearing horse or a seated griffon. Some scholars speculate that the constellation's original image was that of a halla, which could indicate a deliberate supplantation of the constellation's original representation as Ghilan'nain, the elven goddess also known as "Mother of the Halla." However, as horses had great significance to early Neromenian culture (from which the ancient Imperium descended), this speculation is largely considered unfounded.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Fenrir
Codex entry Constellation: Fenrir
Number: 31

Called "White Wolf" in common parlance, Fenrir has always been considered an oddity among scholars, primarily because wolves have no special place within ancient Tevinter folklore. To many, this represents the strongest argument that the Imperium deliberately supplanted older elven constellation names—in the case of Fenrir, an alignment with the elven trickster god, Fen'Harel, would be logical. Others claim a much older Neromenian tale of a wolf escaping hunters by fleeing into the sky exists, but the legend's veracity has never been proved.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Fervenial
Codex entry Constellation: Fervenial
Number: 32 (+3JoH)
Location: Solve the astrarium at Morrin's Outlook on the Storm Coast

Commonly referred to as "the Oak," the constellation Fervanis is generally represented by a towering tree with leafless branches. Many scholars believe this is a representation of nature that harkens back to the lore of the early Neromenians, whose beliefs largely aligned with animism, prior to the rise of Old God worship and the creation of the Tevinter Imperium.

Others, however, believe Fervanis was originally a constellation of the elven people - specifically, a depiction of Andruil, goddess of the Hunt. "Vir Tanadhal," or "Way of Three Trees," is a central tenet of Andruil, and some think that Fervanis originally represented this concept.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Fulmenos
Codex entry Constellation: Fulmenos
Number: 36
Location: Frostback Basin: complete the Astrarium in the Western Riverbank
DLC: Jaws of Hakkon

Commonly known as "the Thunderbolt," the constellation Fulmenos depicts a bolt of lightning thrown by a wrathful god. Which god has always been a matter of dispute. Each of the Old Gods of Tevinter has been credited as the thrower, with the target being anything from the lost city of Barindur to a jester who made a particularly heinous pun.

From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Judex
Codex entry Constellation: Judex
Number: 33 
Location: Hinterlands: complete the Astrarium in the Outskirts

Depicted as a downturned sword, the constellation Judex is oft-called "the Sword of Mercy" in common parlance—even though the sword image was assigned to these stars long before Andraste's time. "Judex" referred to the concept of justice in ancient Tevinter, and the downturned aspect of the sword indicated a guilty verdict—which, in those times, generally translated to execution.

Obviously, with its modern meaning and use as a symbol by the Templar Order, the old interpretation is frowned upon in scholarly circles.

From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Kios
Codex entry Constellation: Kios
Number: 34

Referred to as "Chaos" in common parlance, the constellation Kios is thought to represent the Old God Zazikel. These stars have often been depicted as ill omens; thus, in the Towers Age, a movement within the Chantry sought to change the constellation to a representation of a dove. It did not gain traction. According to folklore, the priest behind the effort fell from a bridge and died shortly after Divine Joyous II made the decision against her. I maintain that this never actually happened and is nothing more than astrological superstition.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Peraquialus
Codex entry Constellation: Peraquialus
Number: 35

Referred to as "Voyager" in common parlance, the constellation Peraquialus is commonly depicted as a ship—no ordinary ship, but rather the primitive vessels sailed by ancient peoples such as the Neromenians. The translation from Ancient Tevene is usually "across the sea," and lends credence to the idea that the Neromenians came to Thedas from elsewhere, although most reputable scholars dispute this, especially considering those ancient peoples would likely to have named these stars long before they undertook such a voyage.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Satinalis
Codex entry Constellation: Satinalis
Number: 36

Referred to as either "Satina" (after the moon) or as "Satinalia" (after the holiday) in common parlance, the constellation Satinalis has always been depicted by the Celebrant: a seated man playing a lyre. It should be noted that, in ancient Tevinter, the constellation was known as "Mortemalis," and was represented by a warrior holding aloft a head (usually that of an elf). The movement to officially rename it took hold in the Divine Age, and after eight hundred years, the original is all but forgotten.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Servani
Codex entry Constellation: Servani
Location: Solve the Astrarium at the Great Cove on the Storm Coast

Referred to as "the Chained Man" in common parlance, the constellation Servani is traditionally represented by a man dragging a heavy chain behind him. This is thought to be an ancient Tevinter representation both of Andoral, the Old God of slaves, and of the Tevinter system of slavery itself. The representation of Servani has been used by the Trisalus guild for well over two thousand years (according to their claim), and is visibly imprinted upon the armor of both Juggernauts, the giant golems guarding the gates to the city of Minrathous.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Silentir
Codex entry Constellation: Silentir
Number: 38

Referred to as "Silence" in the common parlance, the constellation Silentir is historically attributed to Dumat, the Old God of Silence and leader of the ancient Tevinter pantheon. The depiction of the constellation, however, is often debated. Some depict a dragon in flight, while others (also the most common modern depictions) show a man carrying a horn and a wand. Some scholars believe these represented scales, which would point to this constellation being a supplantation of the elven Mythal, but nothing indicates this to be more than speculation.

From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Solium
Codex entry Constellation: Solium
Number: 39 

There are two common interpretations regarding the history behind the constellation Solium, commonly referred to as "the Sun." The first is that it represents the fascination of early peoples (such as the Necromenians, predecessors to the ancient Tevinter Imperium) with all objects in the sky, the Sun and Moon in particular. Indeed, many believe proper depiction of Solium is as both. The second interpretation is that this constellation originally represented Elgar'nan, the head of the elven pantheon who was also known as "Eldest of the Sun." Modern scholars do not know which, if either, is truth.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Tenebrium
Codex entry Constellation: Tenebrium
Number: 40

Called "Shadow" in the common parlance, likely due to the ancient association of the constellation Tenebrium with Lusacan, the Old God of darkness and the night. It is odd, however, that the depiction for this constellation has always been an owl and not a dragon, even in the Tevinter texts. This lends credence to the widely-held belief that Tenebrium was a name meant to supplant an older, elven association—perhaps with the elven god Falon'Din, sometimes represented in tales as a giant owl. There is, of course, another explanation: owls are nocturnal hunters, and among earlier people, were considered terrifying omens of loss.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Toth
Codex entry Constellation: Toth
Number: 41

The only constellation to maintain its ancient name in the present day, the constellation Toth directly corresponds to the ancient Tevinter Old God known as Toth, the Dragon of Fire. The depiction of this constellation varies, usually represented either as a man aflame (in agony, presumably a victim of the Old God) or as a flaming orb. Scholars in the Divine Age attempted to officially change the nomenclature to "Ignifir" (this is why some old texts record it as such), but the attempt never caught on, even after the eradication of Old God worship in the Imperium.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Constellation: Visus
Codex entry Constellation: Visus
Number: 46
Location: Frostback Basin: complete the Astrarium south of River Camp
DLC: Jaws of Hakkon

Known as "the Watchful Eye" in common parlance, this constellation had great significance to the ancient Alamarri and Cirianne peoples of southern Thedas. The story goes that the Lady of the Skies opened one eye so that the light from her gaze could lead her people safely from the Frostbacks. When Andraste's armies marched north from their ancestral lands to wage war upon Tevinter, they were guided by the Eye, and it became the Maker's gaze—not the Lady's— leading them to victory. The sword was added later; it is said that the star that marks the point of its blade only appeared in the night sky after Andraste's death. The early Inquisition took Visus as the symbol of their holy calling when they joined the Andrastian faith: the Eye representing both their search for maleficarum and the Maker's judgment upon their actions. When the Inquisition ended and became the Seekers of Truth and the Templar Order, the templars took the sword while the Seekers retained the eye.

--From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius

Darktown's Deal
Codex entry Darktown's Deal
Number: 42
Location: Found in The Vat Room in Valammar in the Hinterlands

Ask the nobles of Orzammar how their kingdom gets silks and grain and wine from the surface, and they'll tell you "trade with the surface occurs." It occurs. As if on its own. With no traders or merchants or human farmers involved. A little miracle of dwarven ingenuity.

The reality is a lot messier than their fantasy.

Orzammar relies upon the surface not just for its prosperity, but for its survival. Ages of Blights have taken thousands of thaigs away from the dwarves. These were the places where most of the food was raised. The dwarven kingdom that endured alone, independent beneath the Stone from time immemorial, perished in the First Blight, faded into myth. Now, the remaining dwarves underground cling to existence through a lifeline to the surface, a chain forged from the casteless.

Every dwarf who goes to the surface is stripped of caste, effectively exiled and removed from dwarven society forever. But Orzammar relies on continued relations with these exiles to live. This has created a shadowy area of dwarven trade and politics where the rich, powerful, and elite maintain secret ties to people who, by official decree, no longer exist. And everyone knows what kinds of things lurk in the shadows.

The Carta lives in the underbelly of the surface trade like a tapeworm. Many surface dwarves maintain ties—not officially recognized, of course, but respectable—to their former houses in the Noble or Merchant Castes, and those contacts are their means of trading with Orzammar. Those who have no ties, because they were cast off by their families or never had good connections, make the trip back underground to trade with Orzammar personally, where they find themselves treated like criminals. A casteless in Orzammar, even a wealthy one from the surface, will be driven away from most merchants, treated like he's carrying a plague at best. So these surface merchants turn to the Carta for help. The Carta acts as a contact in Orzammar for surface businesses and sells their goods on the black market. For a cut, of course. The Carta always gets its cut.

The outraged citizens of Orzammar sometimes petition the Assembly to deal with the rampant crime surrounding the black market, and showy displays are made of kicking in the doors to Carta hideouts and razing Dust Town. But the Carta always comes back, because the Assembly always allows it. Too much of Orzammar is dependent on the black market trade, and the nobles know it. They all do business with the Carta. Everyone has a stake in its success. The Carta has a thousand faces above and below the surface—honest merchants and Noble Caste lords and upstanding members of the Merchants Guild—all a cover for the thousands more smugglers, thieves, and murderers in the shadows. The lifeline of Orzammar. Praise the Ancestors.

--Excerpted from Darktown's Deal by Varric Tethras

Dwarven Mugs
Codex entry Dwarven Mugs
Number: 48
Location: Scattered across the Deep Roads; see Mugs in the Deep Roads for locations
DLC: The Descent

Pride of Nalthur: The words "let them eat steak" are etched into the side of this well-worn tankard.

Wraith Blood: Apparently this mug once belonged to someone named Amrun.

Branon's Custom Mix: The mug bears the inscription: "Five minutes here is fifteen minutes there."

Everd's Experience: This cup is cracked. It has clearly seen action and no longer holds ale without leaking.

Lost Memory: "World's Best Shaper" is stamped into the side of this mug in an obnoxious script.

Enchanted Stein: A rune is attached. On the side opposite, it reads "Bodahn & Sons Quality Wares and Enchantments."

Sacrificial Cup: Those stains don't look like moss-wine.

Cup of Cobalt: A blue substance is caked on the bottom. Cullen might know what it is.

Vessel of the Ancients: A forest of mold and rot is growing inside this cup. It clearly has never been washed.

Titan's Nail: There's an oddly organic quality to this stone cup, as if it were grown and shed rather than carved.

Elven God Andruil
Codex entry Elven God Andruil
Number: 43
Location: Temple of Mythal - Hall of Shrines

One day Andruil grew tired of hunting mortal men and beasts. She began stalking The Forgotten Ones, wicked things that thrive in the abyss. Yet even a god should not linger there, and each time she entered the Void, Andruil suffered longer and longer periods of madness after returning.

Andruil put on armor made of the Void, and all forgot her true face. She made weapons of darkness, and plague ate her lands. She howled things meant to be forgotten, and the other gods became fearful Andruil would hunt them in turn. So Mythal spread rumors of a monstrous creature and took the form of a great serpent, waiting for Andruil at the base of a mountain.

When Andruil came, Mythal sprang on the hunter. They fought for three day and nights, Andruil slashing deep gouges in the serpent's hide. But Mythal's magic sapped Andruil's strength, and stole her knowledge of how to find the Void. After this, the great hunter could never make her way back to the abyss, and peace returned.

--Translated from ancient elven found in the Arbor Wilds, source unverified

Exhuming Bodies by Moonlight
Codex entry Exhuming Bodies by Moonlight
Number: 44
Location: Emprise du Lion, at the abandoned camp near the rift on Elfsblood River

My tenure as ambassador to the Nevarran court began, appropriately enough, with a death. I arrived to find my predecessor and intended mentor, Sifas Carrenter, had died in his sleep. Not unexpected, given his age. Instead of a cremation, the Mortalitasi were summoned for him, those grey-robed mages who seem to be everywhere in the palace.

I was warned of the Mortalitasi in Starkhaven. Some cautioned me about their political prowess, learned from sitting at the king's feet for generations. Others talked about the Mortalitasi like they were ghoulish surgeons in leather aprons, exhuming bodies by moonlight in their Grand Necropolis.

The Mortalitasi who spoke to me was a polite, tawny-haired woman who smelled strongly of soap. She explained that Carrenter had earned the honor of being preserved and interred in the Necropolis. It seems a barbaric practice, but I knew that demanding a cremation would have made me—and, more importantly, Starkhaven—lose face in Nevarra.

Instead, my thanks seemed to please her. She described some of their rites. Though she wouldn't speak of the greater mysteries, even a glimpse into their arts put my hair on end. But I held my peace. The Mortalitasi are linked to the throne by blood. If I die in my office, like Carrenter, my body will be in their hands. In a land where death and politics are intertwined, one should be polite.

--Galen Vedas, Starkhaven ambassador to Nevarra, 9:6 Dragon

Grey Whiskey/Ritewine/Conscription Ale
Codex entry Grey Whiskey/Ritewine/Conscription Ale
Number: 45
Location: Various hidden locations in game. 

Perhaps local to a handful of Grey Warden companies, these spirits reflect a custom—or legend—born of utility. Allowed to seize goods to aid their cause, Wardens combine half-full bottles to save space while traveling. Never fully emptied or—as with a kettle—cleaned, each eventually takes on a base flavor as unique as the Warden carrying it. "What do we care? Nothing burns like the first cup." Could be fact, could be tribute. It does seem as though the bottles range farther than the namesake Warden could.

A bottle marked "Vintage: Warden Korenic. Notes of fruit and anger."

A bottle marked "Vintage: Warden Anras. Bottled whimsy."

A bottle marked "Vintage: Warden Gibbins. Don't frigging touch! I spit in this! I mean it!"

A bottle marked "Vintage: Warden Tontiv. Home."

A bottle marked "Vintage: Warden Riordan. Serve yourself."

A bottle marked "Vintage: Warden Daedalam. Extra red."

A bottle marked "Vintage: Warden Jairn. Smash when dead."

A bottle marked "Vintage: Warden Eval'lal. Griffon Wing Ale."

A bottle marked "Vintage: Warden Steed. Joining juice."

If Bethany joins the Grey Wardens in Dragon Age II...
A bottle marked "Vintage: Warden Bethany Hawke. Princess piss."

If Carver joins the Grey Wardens in Dragon Age II...
A bottle marked "Vintage: Warden Carver Hawke. Toast them all!"

Hard in Hightown: Chapter Five
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter Five
Number: 46
Location: Found in the tower room on the Skyhold battlements between Cullen's office and the tavern

Jevlan was waiting outside the captain's office when Donnen Brennokovic slunk out, defeated.

"We're not getting a warrant, are we?" Jevlan looked almost relieved.

"No." Donnen met his partner's eyes. The kid was barely twenty and looked like he'd walked straight to the Kirkwall barracks from somebody's potato farm. Taller and broader than the other guards, Jevlan slouched as if he didn't know how to fit into his own limbs, as if he thought he should be smaller. Hunched over in his brand-new, too-large armor, he looked like a child playing at being a guard. He was too green for a murder investigation.

"Maybe it's for the best," Jevlan said, almost speaking Donnen's thought out loud. "You're on your way out of the guard, and I'm..." he trailed off, then sighed. "Questioning nobles in the middle of the night wasn't covered in training."

Donnen glared at the kid. "I'm a city guard. And so are you, recruit. Nobody gets away with murder while we're on duty."

Jevlan stood a little straighter. "What do we do, then?"

"The captain wants proof." Donnen smiled. "We bring her proof."

Hard in Hightown: Chapter Four
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter Four
Number: 47
Location: Found in Caer Bronach, Crestwood after the keep is captured (upper level)

By Varric Tethras

Donnen Brennokovic didn't stand on ceremony. He strode through the barracks and slammed open the door to the captain's office without so much as a nod to the guards he passed.

Just barely dawn, and already Captain Hendallen was buried behind a mountain of paperwork taller than the Vimmarks. All Donnen could see of the captain was her fiery hair and an angry gaze that had stopped more than one pickpocket mid-grift.

"Captain, I need a warrant for the Comte de Favre." Even as the words left his lips, Donnen knew they were a mistake.

The Captain rose to her feet. "Brennokovic." The way she spoke his name was like a portcullis slamming shut. "Where's my report on the Hightown Market body?" It was the kind of question you might ask a truant child, the kind where you already knew the answer and just wanted to see someone squirm in guilt.

"I'll file it after--"

"You'll file it now, guardsman." She stepped out from behind the desk. "We follow procedure in my barracks."

"A magistrate was dead murdered on my watch, Captain." Donnen's voice was heated. He could never keep his temper in her presence. "I'm not letting the killer get away."

"You left the scene without a thorough search of the market." Hendallen began pacing, her voice like cold steel. "You harassed a magistrate's widow. And you practically broke down a comte's door." She turned to glare at him. "All before dawn! If you want a warrant, you'd *****ed well better have hard evidence to justify it."

"I know that de Favre isn't telling us everything!" Donnen insisted. "Let me bring him in and—"

"Forget it." She crossed back to her chair. "You've got nothing. You're not arresting a man on a feeling, Brennokovic."

"Captain!" He protested. From behind her paperwork, the captain waved for him to be silent.

"You're two weeks from retirement, guardsman. You want to stay in the ranks long enough to get pensioned, you follow procedure. Find me evidence and quit wasting my time. Dismissed."

Hard in Hightown: Chapter Seven
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter Seven
Number: 48
Location: Chamber of Sorrow, Lost Temple of Dirthamen

By Varric Tethras

Donnen Brennokovic searched Comte de Favre's office. The comte lay dead, murdered while armed and barricaded inside his own home. The servants' rooms were all empty, and from the pulled-out drawers and abandoned trunks, they had been sent away in a hurry. The comte had clearly expected trouble, and trouble had come to call.

The comte kept all of his letters. Decades of correspondence sorted by, apparently, kingdom of origin filled his writing desk. Donnen rummaged through them, looking for darker ink, fresher pages, anything that might indicate that it was recent.

And then came the shattering sound of someone kicking in the front door.

"Hey, Milord Fancypants! Get your ass down here!"

Jevlan and Donnen ran for the foyer.

A woman stood over the splintered door, her eyes glittering brighter than the daggers in her hands.

"You there!" she snapped at the guardsmen. "Where's the Comte de Fullofit? We need to have some words. One of them will be 'coin,' and another will be 'now.'"

"Kirkwall guard!" Donnen barked back at her. "This is a crime scene! Identify yourself."

"Guards, are you?" she smirked, squinting up into the dark towards him. "No suits of armor outside. Man poking around a noble's house in the dark. This does look like a crime scene."

Donnen didn't flinch. "Your name."

"Belladonna. Captain Belladonna, of the Dragon's Jewels." She executed a florid bow that somehow managed to be insulting. "Where's the *****ed comte?"

"He's dead," Donnen said, watching her reaction. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

She cracked a wry smile. "Trust me, sweet thing, if I were going to kill him, I'd have waited until he paid me first."

"What was your business with the comte?" Jevlan spoke up, startling Donnen. He'd almost forgotten his partner was there.

"Cargo transport." She glowered at the recruit. "He hired me to deliver some antiques and I've been sitting at anchor for a fortnight without being paid." She peered up into the dark balconies overhanging the foyer and shouted, "Anybody here? You want this rubbish, come to the docks tonight and pay me fifty sovereigns for it. Otherwise, I'm dumping it in the sea." With that, she turned on her heel and strode away.

Hard in Hightown: Chapter Six
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter Six
Number: 49
Location: On left side, behind some stacks of timber, upon entering The Undercroft of Skyhold.

By Varric Tethras

The estates of Hightown fall into three types. The dwarven palaces in their enclave, huddled around their counterfeit paragon statues for shelter against the onslaught of human ideas that surround them. The foreign quarter, where the wealthiest Orlesian and Antivan merchants stay during their twice-yearly visits to criticize the ship captains and shop clerks and accountants in their employ. And the noble mansions, where families who can trace their lineage back to Orlesian conquerors and Tevinter landlords perch to look down on the rabble of ordinary folk scurrying at their feet. But whoever they belong to, all of the Hightown estates have two things in common: a showy front entrance used when the occupants want to be seen and a hidden back way when they don't.

The servants' door the the Comte de Favre's mansion was in an alley hidden by overgrown topiaries. Donnen Brennokovic picked the lock while his partner, Jevlan, kept an uneasy lookout. They had left their armor at the barracks, but even in civilian clothes, the recruit managed to look like he was wearing an older brother's hand-me-downs.

"I don't think this is what the captain meant when she said to get evidence," he muttered.

The lock clicked, and Donnen gently pushed it open.

Only a few slivers of light slid through the shuttered windows. Silence hung in the air like a cheap tapestry. Donnen and Jevlan crept through the dark rooms, alert for any sign of servants, but nothing broke the eerie quiet except their footsteps. In fact, there was no sign that anyone had been in the house at all until they found the room whose door had been torn from its hinges.

Inside, the comte lay in a pool of blood, one hand clutching a loaded crossbow, a dagger hilt protruding from his back.

Hard in Hightown: Chapter 10
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter 10
Number: 56
Location: Winter Palace -- On the top left balcony of the starting area. Take the stairs on the left, follow the path around to the end of the balcony and look on the table.

By Varric Tethras

Donnen Brennokovic had been pursuing the killer of Magistrate Dunwald without food or rest, and so far all he had was the seal of an imaginary group, a wounded arm, and a package that contained a rusted Tevinter shortsword. He was past exhaustion, and every breath made his head throb like he'd had too much too drink. He was getting too old for this *****.

He couldn't go to the barracks with a knife wound he'd picked up off-duty. If the captain caught him, and she would, he'd be thrown out of the guard for sure. That left one option.

The Chantry clinic turned no one away, but it usually didn't have to. The presence of three Circle healers was more than enough to frighten more decent folk into deciding to wait and see if they got better on their own.

Aside from a few drunken beggars snoring in the beds, the clinic was quiet. The healer didn't ask his name and tended the wound with only a disapproving frown. In a few breaths, his arm was as good as ever. Pity magic wouldn't mend his coat sleeve.

As he walked through the nave toward the exit, he heard a voice.

"Guardsman, I was just about to look for you."

The deep black gown she wore only made her eyes more otherworldly. A scent like lilacs filled the air around her. She may have been dressed in mourning garb, but she was dressed to kill.

Donnen bowed. "Lady Marielle."

"We should talk. I may have a lead for you."

Hard in Hightown: Chapter 11
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter 11
Number: 57
Location: Winter Palace - top right corner, in the alcove leading to the north

By Varric Tethras

The Café d'Or perched atop a hill in the Orlesian district of Hightown, with a view of the entire city so the wealthy patrons could keep an eye on the peasants toiling below. Lady Marielle studied the room across the rim of her cup. A few nobles sat at the delicate little tables, sipping tea from Rivain and whispering among themselves about the latest maneuvers in the Grand Game a thousand leagues away.

"What's this lead you have for me?" Donnen broke the silence, acutely aware that he stank of sweat and fish from the docks and was wearing a ripped, bloodstained coat in the most high-class café in Kirkwall.

"We're being followed, guardsman." The lady's voice was low; from the tone, she might have been discussing the weather. "The two gentlemen in the corner by the door."

Donnen picked up his teacup and gestured with it as if making a point while he turned slightly in his chair to look. The men were finely dressed but almost as out of place as he was: a large, sickly-pale Ander with a face full of scars and a tattooed Chasind with a stone dagger at his belt.

"A Chasind in a doublet? That's one for the history books," Donnen murmured.

Lady Marielle favored him with a half-smile. "Last night. A man came by the estate. He said he wanted to buy Seamus' collection. All of it."

Donnen sat up straighter. "The swords?"

"He said his name was Wagner." She sipped delicately at her tea. "He gave me an address in Lowtown in case I changed my mind. Those two have been shadowing me ever since."

Hard in Hightown: Chapter 12
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter 12
Number: 58
Location: Winter Palace - Main plaza behind a big statue

By Varric Tethras

They say you can buy anything in the Lowtown Bazaar. It's mostly true. On the right day, you can find vendors hawking spices from Seheron, the legacies of unknown dwarven Paragons, maps to hidden fortresses in the Donarks, and the crown jewel of Antiva. And no bookstore in Thedas peddles more wild stories than Lowtown.

Donnen Brennokovic made a point of greeting each shopkeeper as he passed so that the continual chant of "Guardsman" reached the ears of the two large men shadowing him since he'd left Lady Marielle in Hightown.

The address she'd given him led to a warehouse in the Foundry district, a section of the city populated only by rusted metal spikes and vagrants. Donnen knocked on the door.

An immaculately dressed butler greeted him and gesture for him to enter. "Guardsman Brennokovic. Messere Wagner has been expecting you."

Donnen followed him through a labyrinth of warehouse offices to a back room richly appointed with silk carpets and tapestries depicting the execution of Andraste. Two heavy armchairs upholstered in velvet occupied the center of the room. In one sat a smug red-haired man dressed entirely in blinding white samite. The other chair was empty. "Guardsman! Please sit." The gentleman spoke with a heavy Starkhaven accent.

"I suppose you would be Messere Wagner?" Donnen asked.

"I am a procurer of antiquities, Serah Brennokovic. As I'm sure the Lady Dunwald explained." Wagner carefully lit a pipe made of carved bloodstone and inhaled. "But we are both men of business, guardsman. You are soon to retire, are you not? Allow me to present you with an opportunity."

Donnen turned a critical eye on the tapestry of Andraste's pyre. "I'm listening."

Wagner watched him through a growing veil of smoke. "Do you know what Seamus Dunwald had in his possession, guardsman? What made the poor man worth killing?"

"Do tell."

"The Sword of Hessarian." Wagner leaned forward, studying him closely. "The very blade that pierced Andraste's heart."

Donnen gave him a flat stare. "If I believed that were even possible, I'd think that blade would be worth a lot of coin."

"Most would look at it and see a rusted piece of scrap. It is no longer the jeweled blade of an archon. But to the right buyer, guardsman, the sword is worth an empire's ransom. I know such buyers." Wagner smiled. "It is here. In Kirkwall. And if you help me find it, I can make you a very rich man."

Hard in Hightown: Chapter 13
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter 13
Number: 59
Location: Winter Palace - Main plaza, south western corner

By Varric Tethras

In the Lowtown Bazaar, Donnen paused to pay a little elven girl to play courier for him before making the long climb back uphill to Hightown. A careful glance told him the scar-faced Ander and the tattooed Chasind were still tailing him.

Donnen was certain they'd love the Viscount's Keep.

He passed beneath the stone gaze of the cormorant statues flanking the gates and nodded to the guards on his way to the barracks. No one noticed his ragged, bloody clothing, which disappointed him as much as he benefited from it. Recruits these days. Always slacking off.

Donnen bypassed the Captain's office and went looking for Jevlan. By now the kid ought to be rested up, and Donnen suspected he would need backup if his large, suspicious shadows decided to pick a fight.

But Jevlan's bunk was empty.

Donnen noted blood spatter on the bedding and a scent like lilacs. All of his gear was missing. In the center of the bunk was a note.

"Bring the blade to the quays tonight at midnight, or the boy dies."

It was signed with a wax seal: six crossed swords.

Hard in Hightown: Chapter 14
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter 14
Number: 60
Location: Winter Palace - Main plaza, north western corner on a fountain

By Varric Tethras

The late Magistrate Dunwald's butler blinked as Donnen Brennokovic barged into the foyer.

"Get Lady Marielle. Now." He headed straight to the parlor where the magistrate's collection was displayed.

Wrapped in a black shawl, Marielle sauntered into the room and leaned against one of the glass cases. "Guardsman! What a pleasant surprise."

"Where's Jevlan?"

Her smile faltered. "Why do you think I would know? He's your partner."

Donnen held up the note. "Your perfume, Lady Marielle." He dropped it on the display case beside her. "What were you doing in the guard barracks?"

"I didn't leave the note," she said with measured calm. "And I don't have your partner."

"But you were in the barracks." He stepped away to examine a display. "You told me Wagner wanted to buy the Magistrate's entire collection, but he said he was only interested in one blade." He opened the case. "And I think it was never in Seamus' collection. I think it was the sword meant to go right here." He pointed to the empty velvet-lined box. "I looked in the Viscount's records, and you've only been married to Magistrate Dunwald for about three weeks. You tell me who you're working for and where my partner is, and I'll see if we can't get you a deal with the Viscount's office.

"The Chantry." Marielle closed the door quietly. "They sent me to Kirkwall a few months ago when rumors of the sword began to surface." She examined the note. "I don't have Jevlan. This was already on his bunk when I went to find both of you."

Donnen didn't hide his scepticism. "You're innocent, but you didn't report him missing to any of the guards."

"Someone took him from the barracks, serah, with no one the wiser. That doesn't seem strange to you?" She looked him in the eye. "Have you ever heard of the Executors?"

"They're a myth."

"A myth that kills." She sighed. "The Executors have your partner, and I think they have someone inside the City Guard. How else could they have gotten Jevlan out of the keep without being seen?"

Donnen watched her fidget with her shawl. "Why were you in the barracks?"

"I suspected the Executors had an inside man." She shrugged. "How else could they have gotten poor Comte De Favre to open the door to his killer? Since he arranged the sword's purchase for Seamus, he'd been hiding in his own home. The only people he'd seen were Seamus and you."

Hard in Hightown: Chapter 15
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter 15

Number: 60
Location: Winter Palace - On the table in the baths where Vivienne is

By Varric Tethras

The nobles of Hightown like to imagine that petty crime can only happen in the dank shadows of Darktown or maybe the crooked alleyways of Lowtown between the Alienage and the poorest neighborhoods. Their lofty, ivy-walled avenues could never be the site of something as crude as a mugging or a simple assault.

Donnen didn't have much trouble finding an out-of-the-way alcove near the Chantry to wait for the scarred Ander and the tattooed Chasind to catch up with him.

The Ander came at him first, dropping down from the balcony above his head. While Donnen tried to back out of his reach, the Chasind loomed behind him, clamping an enormous, vise-like hand on his shoulder. The Ander's follow-up punch just below his ribs knocked the air from his lungs.

As the Chasind lifted him up by his coat, Donnen got back enough of his breath to say, "You work for Wagner? I need to give him a message."

This earned him a skeptical look from the Ander, but the Chasind set his feet back on the ground.

"Tell him I have his sword. He can meet me in the quays at midnight to settle on the price." For a long, nervous moment, Donnen watched a variety of expressions pass over the Ander's scarred, greyish face before the man nodded. Another long moment, and both Ander and Chasind walked away, leaving him alone in the alcove.

With the sun just setting, there was only one place left that Donnen needed to go.

The tavern in the center of Lowtown sat in its own tiny moat of spilled ale, vomit, and the seawater the owner flung at the walls in a half-hearted attempt to scour the seagull crap from the building. Donnen, like nearly every guardsman who drank at The Hanged Man, walked through the door to a frantic chorus of "Put it away! Hurry!" He tried not to smile and completely succeeded when the brooding, white-haired elven bartender greeted him with a murderous glower. "Guardsman."

Donnen placed a handful of copper coins on the bar. "Keep the ale coming, Ferris. I've got some time to kill."

Hard in Hightown: Chapter 16
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter 16
Number: 61
Location: Room with the eluvian under the eastern balcony in the Winter Palace.

By Varric Tethras

Donnen left the tavern and headed out through a moonless night. Fog clung to the streets and buildings like cobwebs, and the heavy air threatened rain. Any other night, he would have gone straight up to the barracks, but he had appointments to keep.

The quays at midnight exchange the cacophony of swearing sailors for the mournful sound of distant bells in the harbor. Donnen found Wagner and his two thugs waiting just out of sight of the harbormaster's office. In the fog, Wagner's white samite coat made him gleam like a smug moon.

"Messere Brennokovic. I trust you've brought my merchandise?" Wagner smiled. Beside him, the tattooed Chasind cleaned what might have been blood from his nails with his dagger.

Donnen reached into his coat and pulled out a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. "We should discuss a few things first."

Wagner's eyes gleamed in the reflected light of his paunch. "The price, of course." He gestured to the scarred Ander, who held up a bag of coins. "One hundred crowns should suffice, yes?"

"That depends." Donnen toyed with the twine securing the bundle's wrapping. "You killed Magistrate Dunwald, didn't you? After my run-in with your friends here, I realized the only blade that could have made that kind of stab wound was your Chasind's stone knife."

Wagner shrugged. "Men die all the time, serah. We should not let that unpleasantness get in the way of business." Another gesture, and the Ander strode forward to stand just inches away from Donnen, brandishing the bag of gold like a flail.

"And Jevlan?" Donnen asked.

"I know nothing of your partner's fate."

Donnen handed over the bundle, and the Ander dropped the bag at his feet to deliver the prize to his boss. Wagner eagerly unwrapped the bundle, revealing an ancient, rusty, and pitted shortsword. He frowned. "This is not the blade."

Both Chasind and Ander drew their daggers.

Donnen held his ground. "Pity you killed Dunwald for it, then"

"You think I'd kill a magistrate and not a guardsman?" Wagner laughed. "Unwise, serah."

"That's all we needed to hear." Captain Hendallen stepped around the corner behind Donnen, a dozen guards with her. For the first time in months, he saw what might have been a smile on her face. "Good work, guardsman. We'll take it from here."

Hard in Hightown: Chapter 17
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter 17
Number: 63
Location: Winter Palace - Main plaza, Viraund's Tinctures

By Varric Tethras

Donnen left it to his captain and a dozen of Kirkwall's finest to drag Wagner and his thugs to the stocks. The heavy air gave up and turned into sheets of rain. The ancient grey stone stairs leading up to Lowtown turned into a waterfall. Donnen slogged up the narrow passage, boots squelching with every step.

He almost didn't hear the ambush coming.

As he reached the top of the stairs, a faint rasp of steel made him throw himself aside into a vegetable seller's table. A sword swung through the air where he'd been and chimed against the rock wall.

Donnen fumbled at his scabbard and just managed to catch the second blow with his sword. He had one moment as they locked blades to recognize his attacker. The younger man had shed his guard uniform for dark leathers, and his left arm now ended in a bandaged stump, but there was no mistaking him.


"Where is the Blade of Hessarian?" Jevlan recovered from the parried blow to slash at Donnen's legs.

He dodged back, slipping and nearly stumbling ass-first down the stairs. "It was you. The inside man. You're the one who killed De Favre." Donnen lunged at the recruit. Jevlan quickly moved to block, but Donnen's blade sliced his arm, drawing blood.

"Give me the sword! I know that pirate hag gave it to you!" Jevlan swung a series of hard slashes, trying to break Donnen's guard or knock him down the stairs. In the darkenss and the driving rain, the guardsman struggled to see his attacker.

Still, Donnen grinned. "You left it at the quay. I guess you ran off without it when the lady took your hand off. Not my fault you picked a fight you couldn't win." He tried to edge away from the stairs, but the rookie kept him pinned between the vegetable stall and a fall to his death.

Jevlan lunged, his blade punching through Donnen's armor just below his ribs, but the recruit slipped on the wet stone during his attack and stumbled into his enemy. Donnen shoved him away—and over the stairs. His fall ended with a sickening crack of broken bones.

Donnen drew a ragged breath and pulled Jevlan's sword from his side, trying not to slip on his own blood. The Chantry was a long way off.

Hard in Hightown: Chapter 18
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter 18
Number: 64
DLC: Trespasser
Location: Winter Palace - Main plaza, above the baths where Vivienne is located

By Varric Tethras

The rain stopped with a suddenness that suggested some enterprising footpad from the Coterie had climbed up to shank the clouds. The fog drifted off to haunt a better part of the Wounded Coast, and as Donnen reached the Chantry Courtyard, the clouds parted to let a sliver of moonlight shine on the rain-swept flagstones. He stopped to catch his breath and tighten the torn-off coat sleeve he'd used as a bandage. The bleeding was slowing, which meant either the wound in his side wasn't that deep or he was running out of blood to lose. Trying not to dwell on the latter, he pushed open the Chantry doors.

At this Maker-forsaken hour, the Chantry was lit only by the Eternal Flame at Andraste's feet. A single soul occupied the space, lighting a candle for the dead. She rose as Donnen staggered into the firelight.

"Guardsman!" Lady Marielle rushed to help him into one of the pews.

"Might want to wake up one of the healers. He managed a pained smile. "I wasn't sure you'd be here."

"Neither was I. Your message was a little vague." Marielle tried to examine his makeshift bandage, but Donnen waved her away.

He pointed toward the golden statue of Andraste. "I had a friend deliver something for you. Under the altar."

Marielle cast him a sceptical look, but she climbed the dais and returned with a small oilcloth bundle. She picked apart the wrapping's knot and peered down at the rusty blade inside, specks of dried blood still clinging to the pitted guard.

"The Sword of Hessarian," she breathed, almost a prayer.

"You can get it to the Divine?" Donnen asked.

She wiped at her eyes. "I'll take it to her myself. What do you want in return?"

Donnen struggled to his feet. "Just put in a good word for me with the Maker, your ladyship. You never know when I might need it." And he walked away, leaving her standing in the firelight with history in her hands.

Hard in Hightown: Chapter ???
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter ???
Number: 65
Location: Shattered Library - Lower Archives
DLC: Trespasser

By Varric Tethras

Donnen wiped spilled ale off the bar, listening to the cries of the birds and the crashing of waves outside. Another slow day on the Amaranthine Coast. The tavern didn't get many visitors—just a little too far south of the Antivan border to catch the caravans—but he hadn't opened it to make a profit.

If Stroud was left behind in the Fade during Here Lies the Abyss...
He poured a glass of plum brandy from a chipped decanter and carried it out to the patio, where an impressive Orlesian mustache was keeping company with an old Grey Warden playing a minuet on a lute.

Donnen handed the brandy to the Warden, in some deference to his mustache, and the gentleman accepted it with grace, placing the glass on the table before finishing the last measure of his song.

"You have my thanks, guardsman." The Orlesian set the lute on a nearby chair and allowed the brandy to approach his mustache. The mustache did not appear impressed with the vintage.

"It's just Donnen these days," he replied, looking out over the waves. "My time in the Kirkwall guard is over."

"I spent so many years in and around the City of Chains," the Warden sighed. "We're both lucky to have escaped her clutches."

The sun was setting behind them, drawing long shadows on the ground that stretched toward the sea.

"Maybe." Donnen shrugged, watching the waves turn dark in the distance. "Some days, I'm not sure all of me made it out."

"To what we've left behind." The Orlesian raised his glass in a toast, and the two men watched the light fade over the ocean in peace.

If male Hawke was left behind in the Fade...
Hep poured some noxious Ander stout from an oak cask into a heavy tankard and carried it outside to a dark-haired nobleman on the patio idly strumming a lute so out of tune, it sounded like some other instrument, perhaps a tuba or a kettle drum, trying to invent music from scratch.

Donnen handed over the tankard, only half-hoping it would stop him from playing any more.

"That's very kind of you, guardsman." Thankfully, the gentleman set aside his lute and took the tankard, putting his feet up on the table in front of him.

"It's just Donnen these days," he replied, looking out over the waves. "My time in the Kirkwall guard is over."

"It's never really gone." The nobleman smiled. "Kirkwall. It finds its way into your soul, and once it gets there, you carry it always."

The sun was setting behind them, casting long shadows from the tavern down to the water. A flock of cormorants took advantage of the fading light to dive for fish making their way back out to sea.

"Maybe so." Donnen smiled, too. "But the world can always use a Champion or a guardsman wherever they happen to go."

The gentleman raised his tankard. "I'll drink to that."

And the two men watched the last of the light disappear in peace.

If female Hawke was left behind in the Fade...
He poured a glass of red Orlesian wine and carried it out to the patio where lady Marielle sat, playing a lute for the benefit of a distant flock of cormorants and a sleepy mabari hound.

Donnen handed her the glass with a smile. "Can I get you anything else, your ladyship?"

"That's very kind of you, guardsman." Marielle set aside her lute; the sleepy hound looked up, annoyed at having its lullaby interrupted.

"It's just Donnen these days," he replied, looking out over the waves. "My time in the Kirkwall guard is over."

"Is it?" She smiled slyly over the glass. "You don't think naming a tavern The Watch was a sign that perhaps you can take the guardsman out of Kirkwall, and even out of the Guard, but he never... quite leaves?"

The sun was setting behind them. The hound stretched and ambled over to the table to lay his head on Lady Marielle's knee and beg for table scraps. In the distance, the cormorants took off in a single motion to return to their roosts up the shore.

Donnen smiled back. "Maybe you're right. But tonight I'm off duty, your ladyship."

"Marielle," she corrected. "And to answer your question, you can get me some company. One guardsman might suffice."

And the two of them watched the last of the light disappear together in peace.

If Alistair was left behind in the Fade...
He poured a glass of smoky Fereldan whisky and carried it out to the patio where a sandy-haired fellow was attempting to play the lute. Or murder the lute. Or murder the concept of music itself. It probably didn't help that the man was holding the lute straight out in front of him as if he feared it were a snake that might bite him.

Donnen offered the fellow the glass, fervently hoping it would make the playing stop.

"Guardsman! You came to my rescue just in time!" The blond man took the glass with a sheepish laugh and all but threw the lute into a nearby chair.

"It's just Donnen these days," he replied, looking out over the waves. "My time in the Kirkwall guard is over."

"Retirement is grand, isn't it? No more responsibility, no more senior officers yelling at you, no more Kirkwall..." The other man looked wistfully out at the birds diving into the waves down the coast.

The sun was setting behind them, turning the Amaranthine Ocean a deep sapphire and sending the seabirds back up the cliffs to their nests.

"Kirwall's still out there. Along with all those other things. I just didn't bring them to the bar." Donnen grinned. "So what did you retire from?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." The man gave him a lopsided grin in return. "You want to hear a badly told story about a bastard prince with an unholy love of cheese?"

"Why not? We've got time."

And while the blond man spun his unlikely tale, the two of them watched the last of the light vanish in peace.

If Loghain was left behind in the Fade...
He poured the last dregs of a pale Fereldan larger into a mug and headed out to the patio where an old soldier sat strumming a particularly battered-looking lute.

Donnen held out the mug like a peace offering.

"Thank you, guardsman." The soldier set aside the lute in favor of the mug with a businesslike efficiency. The grizzled mabari curled up at his feet flicked one ear, dreaming.

"It's just Donnen these days," He replied, looking out over the waves. "My time in the Kirkwall guard is over."

"Is it?" the soldier sighed, looking down at the sleeping dog. "If you don't still wake up from dreams about patrols, you're luckier than most."

The sun slipped down another notch in the sky behind them, and the wind coming in off the sea turned cooler.

"You know what I miss?" Donnen said. "The smell of the Lowtown Bazaar in the morning. Two dozen bakeries with loaves of bread and sweet pies in the oven."

"There are worse things," the soldier laughed, "to remember about home than the smell of pies baking." Then he sighed again. "You really are luckier than most."

Donnen smiled. "Maybe so."

The old soldier raised his mug. "Here's to home."

At his feet, the hound twitched her paws, chasing rabbits in her sleep, and the last light faded from the sky in peace.

Hard in Hightown: Chapter Eight
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter Eight
Number: 50
Location: Inside Fort Revasan in Exalted Plains

By Varric Tethras

Donnen Brennokovic left his partner, Jevlan, at the barracks. The recruit was even more jittery after their run-in with Captain Belladonna, and although Donnen himself was starting to feel his limbs weighed down and aching after such a long shift, he finally had the scent of something in this case. He wouldn't let it get away.

The city of Kirkwall has a legacy of collectors. It was built in ancient times by Tevinters who collected suffering as if it were rare coins, and they passed on their obsession with obsession to future generations. On any street from Darktown to the Viscount's Keep, you can always find someone who'll always buy tapestries or who has every known spoon made in Nevarra. Or someone who hoards odd bits and scraps of historical knowledge like it's their grandmother's crockery.

Which is how he found himself knocking on a brightly painted door in the Alienage.

"Oh, guardsman! What a nice surprise! Nobody's been mugged, have they?" The elf beamed up at him. She had green eyes so wide, they barely fit in her face, and she seemed to be made of nothing but elbows and knees.

"No muggings today, Maysie." Donnen had to duck his head slightly to get through the door. "I have something you might be interested in." He handed her the letter the magistrate's wife had given him the night before.

"Well, this doesn't look very interesting at all." Maysie frowned, disappointed. " 'What you have claimed belongs to greater powers. You will answer to us.' That's a lot of rubbish."

"Not that. Look at the back."

She flipped the letter over and cooed as if she'd found a lost puppy. "Oh! Just look at you! You're just perfect!"

"Maysie." Donnen spoke in a loud, firm voice, trying to remind her he was still in the room. "Whose seal is that?"

"Oh, it's the Executors, of course!" Maysie peered excitedly at the wax seal, holding it up to the window for better light. "I should have guessed it from the silly 'great powers' nonsense. There's only been one example, on the letter claiming responsibility for the assassination of Queen Madrigal in 5:99! And this one is so much better! Just look at that imprint!"

"Any idea how I'd contact these 'Executors'?" Donnen asked.

"Oh, they're not real, of course. Everyone knows that."

Hard in Hightown: Chapter Nine
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter Nine
Number: 51
Location: Emerald Graves - North side of Villa Maurel laying on a small table.

By Varric Tethras

Donnen Brennokovic was running out of leads to chase. He had only two week until retirement, just two weeks to find the man who'd murdered a magistrate and a Hightown nobleman—if Captain Hendallen didn't kick him from the ranks first.

The docks stank of piss and rotting fish, as foul as the men and women who worked there. But that was where Donnen had to go to find the raider captain Belladonna who had broken into the Comte de Favre's home.

The Dragon's Jewels was a big boat. She liked big boats. The pointy bits towered majestically over the water. That roundish wooden part seemed like it could crush armadas beneath its... *****, I don't know, wood. It was the greatest boat in the history of boats.

But even from the dock, Donnen knew something was wrong.

He ran up the gangplank to find a dead sailor on the deck and a blood trail leading down into the hold. Donnen drew his sword and followed. His eyes still hadn't adjusted to the dimness of the lower decks when he tripped over another dead sailor, stabbed in the gut and left where he'd fallen. The body was still warm. The ship creaked with every swell of the waves. Donnen held his breath and crept deeper into the hold.

He barely deflected the blade in time.

Steel rang against steel. Donnen parried a second blow, still half-blind in the low light. The third swing got past his guard and left a wicked slash in his forearm.

"Nobody attacks my crew, you flaming pile of dog *****!" the attacker swore, and Donnen recognized her voice.

"Hold! Kirkwall city guard!" he shouted, barely bringing his blade up in time.

"You again!" Donnen's eyes finally began to adjust, and he could make out Captain Belladonna. She was clutching her ribs with her right hand, a dagger in her left, and was covered in enough blood that Donnen was sure is wasn't all hers. She glowered at him. "Could have used a guard not five minutes ago. Useless as ever." She grudgingly lowered her weapon.

Donnen sheathed his sword. "Who did this?"

"Don't know. Didn't care to ask." She sniffed. "Bastard killed two of my men. Before I cut off his hand and he bolted." She waved indifferently towards the rear of the hold. "It's over there somewhere."

"Did he take the Comte's shipment?" Donnen asked.

"No. If that's what this was about, you can have it." She limped over to a trunk and removed a bundle of cloth tied with twine. She threw it at Donnen's feet. "Good riddance."

Hard in Hightown: Chapter One
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter One

Number: 52
Location: On the bedside table in the Upstairs Bedroom of Horsemaster Dennet's Home.

By Varric Tethras

They say coin never sleeps, but anyone who's walked the patrol of Hightown Market at midnight might disagree. The pickpockets and confidence men head to the taverns at dusk, the dwarven businessmen and nobles go back to their tiny palaces to fret over the ways they got cheated, and the market falls silent.

Donnen Brennokovic knew every angle of the market with his eyes closed. Twenty years of patrols had etched it into him so that he walked that beat even in his dreams. The recruit, Jevlan, was another story. The ring of steel striking stone told Donnen that the kid had stumbled into a column again. His new armor would be full of dents by sunrise.

“Torches would make this easier.” The sound of Jevlan hauling himself off the pavement was like a tinker's cart crashing.

“Torches make you night-blind. You'll adjust.” Donnen crossed the square to help the kid to his feet. A breeze scurried across the plaza, sending the banners and pennants shivering and carrying an old, familiar scent. Donnen stopped in his tracks. “Something's wrong.” His voice was low, warning. He peered into the dark, up at the mezzanine just above them. “Follow me. Be ready for trouble.”

The two guards climbed the dark stairs and there, in a puddle of shadow, found the body. Gold-trimmed satin glittered through the blood.

“Get the captain,” Donnen sighed. “We've got a dead magistrate.”

Hard in Hightown: Chapter Three
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter Three
Number: 53
Location: Found in Caer Bronach, Crestwood after the keep is captured

By Varric Tethras

For the second time in what was becoming a very long night, Donnen Brennokovic and his partner, Jevlan, found themselves knocking on a nobleman's door. It was still hours before dawn, the sky turning grey around the edges. The steel of Donnen's gauntlets clanged against the door. Once. Twice. No answer. He sighed looking up at the dark windows of the mansion. He was getting too old for this *****.

"Maybe he's out," Jevlan offered. The recruit was nervous. In the guard a week and barely able to walk through Hightown, too green for a murder case.

"He's hiding. Look up." Donnen pointed. "He's shuttered all the windows. There hasn't been a storm in months." He pounded on the door again, louder.

"We should get the captain." Jevlan shifted and squirmed under his heavy shoulder plates. Donnen had forgotten how badly new guard armor fit. He started to tell the kid where to get it adjusted, and the door swung open.

"Come inside, quickly!"

A man rushed them inside and through the house. Every room was dark. No moonlight made it through the shuttered windows. No candles flickered. Their way was lit only by a hooded lantern in the hands of their host. He stopped once they had reached a windowless inside room, where he closed and bolted the door behind him.

"Comte de Favre?" Donnen guessed.

The man nodded. In the dim lantern light, Donnen could see that he was dressed in a gaudy brocade doublet, but had thrown a chain mail shirt over it. He wore the helmet from an obviously ceremonial armor set, slightly askew on his head.

"I know why you're here," the comte whispered. "Dunwald."

Donnen's voice was flat. "Did you kill him, your lordship?"

"This is bigger than a murder," the comte hissed, eyes flicking to the door. "Dunwald drew the attention of great powers. When dragons do battle, guardsman, mortal men can only take cover. Drop the case. Don't draw their gaze ."

Hard in Hightown: Chapter Two
Codex entry Hard in Hightown: Chapter Two
Number: 54
Location: Inside a cabin located in Morrin's Outlook in the Storm Coast

By Varric Tethras

Magistrate Dunwald's butler had the air of a man who had never risen before dawn in his life. He stared down his nose at Donnen Brennokovic and his partner, Jevlan, as if he were on some lofty balcony above them instead of standing in the parlor in his dressing gown.

“The magistrate is indisposed. This can wait until a reasonable hour.” He gestured for the guards to see themselves out.

“The magistrate is dead,” Donnen corrected him. “Wake the household.”

As the butler left, Jevlan shifted uneasily in his new armor. “Shouldn't the captain be here?”

“You want to go back to the barracks, be my guest,” Donnen said with a shrug, only half-listening as he studied the collection displayed in the room. A dozen ancient swords lay nestled in display cases, protected from dust and prying fingers. He moved to lift the lid of the nearest one. Jevlan started to protest, but then the doors opened.

She had eyes the color of topaz and dark hair that fell across her brow like sword strokes. She strolled into the parlor with such dignified elegance that Donnen didn't realize for several minutes that she was clad in a housecoat and not a ball gown.

“You have news about my husband? What's Seamus done this time, forget to pay his bill at the Rose?” She seated herself and indicated the guards do the same. Donnen nodded at the recruit to speak up.

Jevlan started, “No, Lady Dunwald, actually—“

She interrupted him with a wave. “Marielle, please.”

“Lady Marielle, your husband has been murdered,” Donnen took over for the flustered recruit. “When did you see him last?”

Marielle started at him, her jewel-colored eyes wide, and her voice cracked on, “Murdered? Seamus?” But a heartbeat, maybe two, passed, and she again became the perfect picture of noble grace. “I saw him at dinner,” she answered in a tone anyone might use to comment on the weather. “He left before dusk. He said he was going to play Wicked Grace with the Comte de Favre.”

“Do you know of anyone who might have wanted him dead?” Jevlan asked softly.

“People want magistrates dead on principle.” She gave a wry smile, but her voice grew pained. “Criminals. Political rivals. Even people in his district who disagree with him.” She drifted off, lost in thought, and then turned to Donnen, eyes blazing. “A week ago, a letter came. Vague threats. I thought it was nothing, but it upset Seamus.”

“Who sent it?” Donnen asked.

“It wasn't signed. But the seal was six crossed swords.”

Her Perfumed Sanctuary
Codex entry Her Perfumed Sanctuary
Number: 55
Location: Therinfal Redoubt; Great Hall - on a table past the barrier;
Sold by Willvan in Val Royeaux for 17 Silver

Divine Rosamund. Now here's an interesting story. Rosamund was the youngest Divine ever crowned; she was born to the noble Montbelliard family and groomed for the rank of Divine by her predecessor, Divine Hortensia II.

Records of Rosamund describe her as a radiant beauty, and she captured the hearts and imaginations of the Orlesian public almost immediately. Not long after she was crowned Divine, erotic art and literature featuring her began to make an appearance in noble Orlesian circles. The situations depicted in these works were entirely fictional; Divine Rosamund led a life that was beyond reproach, but it seemed that purity only served to fan the flames of creativity in her "followers." To them, reality was a meddlesome creature to be punted off the nearest cliff, and they showed no restraint in portraying the Divine in the midst of activities both forbidden and often physically impossible.

Several pages of a pamphlet containing a story about Rosamund still exist in the private collection of a certain gentlewoman who will remain unnamed. One page describes, in painful detail, Rosamund's "perfumed sanctuary." The rest are dedicated to portraying the Most Holy at her daily exaltations before she is joined in worship by her devoted templars.

--From Secrets of the Most Holy by Sister Damson

Hero in Every Port (Ballad of Nuggins)
Codex entry Hero in Every Port (Ballad of Nuggins)
Number: 56
Location: Found in a book in the shack behind One-Eyed Jimmy in Redcliffe Village.

The best of us ran when the dreadnought was sighted!
Nuggins, Nuggins! For he heard the call.
Tripped nine Qunari, and that's why he's knighted!
Nuggins, Nuggins! As brave as he's small!

A shore full of pirates, the worst set to happen.
Nuggins, Nuggins! His heart pure and true.
Tripped him an admiral, now he's our captain!
Nuggins, Nuggins! For me and for you!

The blight was upon us, and we found no pardon.
Nuggins, Nuggins! Now he'll make a stand!
Tripped up the darkspawn, and now he's a Warden!
Nuggins, Nuggins! For all in the land!

Paraded through Kirkwall as hero and winner!
Nuggins, Nuggins! Stubborn and vicious!
Tripped up a viscount, now he's for dinner!
Nuggins, Nuggins! Of course he's delicious!

--From Small Legends: Of Nugs and Foxes, collected by Philliam, a Bard!

How to Act Fereldan
Codex entry How to Act Fereldan
Number: 57
Location: Obtained after talking to Cullen about his background

My esteemed Lady Sidonia,

I'd like to take full responsibility for Lady Marchellette's odd behavior of late. You see, we recently began the study of history. I thought that it would do the young mistress some good to be exposed to all Thedosian cultures and not just Orlais. It was a foolish thought.

Regrettably, your dear daughter has taken a particular interest in Fereldan folklore. She first developed an affinity for King Calenhad, which seems to have devolved into borderline infatuation. She stared at me, eyes wide, when I told how he unified the barbarians with his allegedly incomparable might and charisma. Every time I tried to move the lesson on to something more important, she insisted I tell her again about Calenhad: how the Fereldans say his hair was twice as yellow as the sun, and his chin more chiseled than the tallest peak in the Frostbacks. Twice now, I've had to tear down drawings she's tacked up in her bedroom of the man shirtless.

Then we moved on to the werewolves, which was even worse. As you may already know, the Fereldans venerate the folk heroes Dane and Hafter. Dane was said to have been a werewolf, and Hafter to have descended from one. No enlightened man or woman could ever view such beast people with anything but revulsion. But you know Fereldans and their love of wildlife. Unfortunately, these tales of the wolf men set the little mistress's imagination afire. When she suggested we put on a play for you and her lord father, I could not say no. I'm afraid that's why Marchellette was running through the mansion, wearing wet furs and frightening the chambermaids. She was rehearsing a scene in which Hafter drives back the darkspawn. I've been informed that some priceless family heirlooms were destroyed amidst all that confusion, and I cannot fully express my dismay.

I understand if my abject failure as a tutor results in my immediate dismissal.

--A letter from Brother Bernard to his former employer

In the Mists: A Torn Sky
Codex entry In the Mists: A Torn Sky
Number: 58
Location: Storm Coast, southeast of Small Grove Camp, on top of a cliff overlooking the Long River, near the bottle of Vintage: Warden Anras

We set sail from Kirkwall under fair winds and clear skies. The captain said we would be in Rialto within a week if the weather held. I spent the day aboard deck, chatting with the crew, and retired to my cabin at dusk. To my dismay, the motion of the waves made it impossible for me to settle down. Even reading was difficult, though the book of myths and legends I had brought was quite riveting indeed. I emerged again several hours later, after it was dark, hoping the chill night air would grant me some relief.

As I leaned over the rail, I heard a cry of alarm from the crow's nest. I raised my head and saw, in the sky to the far-off southwest, an eerie green glow, which grew brighter as we watched. In the space of a breath, it became too dazzling to look at, and I had to shield my eyes. When I looked up again, the light was still there amidst swirling clouds. It looked to me then as though the sky had been rent in two and the heavens were pouring out.

I heard footsteps and was joined at the rail by just the rest of the crew. We were silent, all of us afraid to give voice to the fears that now consumed our hearts. Finally, after several minutes, we heard a lone voice from the crow's nest: "It's the end of the world."

From the account of Vierre Lazar of Treviso, rumored to be a retired Antivan Crow

In the Mists: Phantoms Out of Dreams
Codex entry In the Mists: Phantoms Out of Dreams
Number: 59
Location: Storm Coast, on top of a cliff northwest of Small Grove Camp

The world did not end that night. I rose in the morning to see that the sky still glowed green, and its light was still visible to us at sea, even with the sun blazing above. The crew could talk about nothing else. There were so many questions, none of which would receive answers 'til we made port in Antiva.

From there, things only became stranger.

As dusk fell, I found myself once again on the decks, having realized that it was the fresh air that kept the seasickness at bay. I was entertaining idle thoughts. The book I'd been reading had filled my head with curious tales of things seen at sea. That was when I saw the light, flickering like a candle flame, floating above the water, the same shade of green we saw in the sky the night before. As I watched, a bank of mist emerged from it and stretched toward the Sea Lily. Peeking out of the mist were white sails and prow, headed straight for us. It took everything I had to find my voice, but I called up to the crow's nest. "Look!" I cried and pointed. The watchmen's eyes widened, and the bell was sounded. The call went out to the helmsman: "Turn! Hard to starboard!"

We swung wide and narrowly passed the ship in the mists. I will never forget what I saw next. Hissing faces, some wreathed in flame, some in smoke, with dark holes for eyes and rows of sharp teeth. They were everywhere - on the decks, up in the rigging. I fell back in fright and must have lost consciousness.

When I came to, I saw the helmsmen standing over me, his face ashen. We both knew what we had seen. It was the Windline Marcher, come out of legend into reality.

From the account of Vierre Lazar of Treviso, rumored to be a retired Antivan Crow

In the Mists: The Windline Marcher
Codex entry In the Mists: The Windline Marcher
Number: 60
Location: Storm Coast - Abandoned camp southwest of Hessarian Camp (east of Morrin's Steps).

The story of the "Windline Marcher" is an old one. The earliest versions of the tale appear in the Exalted Age. Said to be a two-mast brig that set sail from Antiva City carrying cargo bound for the Free Marches, the "Marcher" was lost in a storm, and never made port.

Weeks later, she is seen on the Waking Sea, miles out from Kirkwall. A sentry from Hightown spots her floating in the mists, her sails full though there is no wind. Boats are launched, but no matter how far out to sea they go, they are unable to reach the "Marcher." Finally, the ship recedes into the mists and is gone. From that day on, she is spotted by sailors on the Waking Sea, always though mists and always before a storm, and is said to herald a violent death for all who see her.

Of course, the legend of the "Windline Marcher" is often dismissed as superstition, and in recent years the sighting of phantasmal vessels was proven to be nothing more than a trick of light upon the water. Still, the story continues to be told, its intent to chill, amuse, or even titillate. As a consequence, the tale has grown more colorful over time. In many later versions, the "Marcher" is manned by a crew of stunningly beautiful spirits, who can fulfill one's deepest (carnal) desires, should one succeed in boarding the ship. In one particularly outlandish retelling in these versions, the "Marcher" is sent on a disastrous journey to pilfer the secret recipe for Qunari ale and is lost to their cannons. She later reappears at important moments in Thedosian history and abducts legendary figures (Andraste included) who then band together aboard the phantom ship to attack Par Vollen.

From Thedas: Myths and Legends, by Brother Ferdinand Genitivi

Jeshavis, Mother of Orlais
Codex entry Jeshavis, Mother of Orlais
Number: 61
Location: Winter Palace, Grand Apartments, Main Level

It is said we owe much to the Sons of Betrayal. Three brothers were charged with girding against an Imperium in wait. And in mourning Andraste, we tribes of the crescent willingly bartered diversity for solidarity. Tevinter would not be defeated in Our Lady's lifetime, but would be balanced against for lifetimes to come.

While a Son of Betrayal named the fields "Orlais," it was Jeshavis, his wife, who shaped what we are. Her hatreds were older, bound to tradition. All our hatreds were abandoned so we would call strangers kin and stand as one against the Imperium. Greater her spite for how necessary the cost, because she knew we had a choice in that day, or no choice the next. She brought the marriage that wed tribe within tribe, but promised an untold vengeance of her own: if we stand against outsiders, we stand for ourselves. She would not suffer the rule of Alamarri, son or no son of Betrayal or Prophet.

Jeshavis plied brother against brother in turn, then named both as partners in crimes against faith. With artful turns she invited invasion, then crafted rebellion against the courts she inspired. Brother would kill brother and be killed in turn, two liberations that she would then own. Eight generations before the empire, before Drakon, here were the seeds of elegance to come. Jeshavis, twice married to Sons of Betrayal, twice widowed, our first chieftain born from us, of what would become true Orlais—where we venerate faith and the beauty of sacrifice, with daggers well hidden but well within reach.

It is true, we owe much to the Sons of Betrayal, for they were the tools that a master cast down. Let others claim credit for birthing the nation. Jeshavis claims nothing and gave us the Game.


This text was translated from Oer Gyoja Jethvis, a highly romanticized account of the first gyoja, or female chieftain, of the unified Ciriane tribes of Orlais. The region and people would later coalesce under Drakon into the modern nation of Orlais. Many culturally distinct communities were forcibly merged during the rule of Maferath and his sons, ostensibly to create more efficient barriers against the likelihood of a Tevinter return to conquest. The effects of this relocation can still be observed in many Orlesian, Nevarran, and Free Marcher traditions.

Collected and excerpted by Philliam, a Bard!

Judicael's Crossing
Codex entry Judicael's Crossing
Number: 62
Location: Judicael's Crossing landmark in Emprise Du Lion

The grand bridge named Judicael's Crossing was constructed in 8:56 Blessed to celebrate the coronation of Emperor Judicael I, as a testament to the skill of Orlais' greatest engineers. The bridge replaced an ancient fallen highway leading to the Pools of the Sun. At the bridge's ceremonial dedication, the emperor's sister, Grand Duchess Leontine, led a dozen nobles and their entourages in a stroll across the bridge to the hot springs, where they took the waters.

Judicael's Crossing's structural supports bear architectural and decorative elements that mimic those of the ancient Tevinter highway it replaced. One can see their like several miles away in the archways rising above the village of Sahrnia. The Andrastian statues that decorate the walkway, however, are entirely Orlesian in style.

From The Highlands of Orlais, by Lord Ademar Garde-Haut, royal historian

Knight's Guardian
Codex entry Knight's Guardian
Number: 63
Location: Emerald Graves, Knight's Guardian landmark

Traveling through the Emerald Graves in the Dales, one will see dozens of carven stone wolves. The Dalish call these the Knights' Guardians. In the days of elven Halamshiral, wolf companions walked alongside Emerald Knights, never leaving the side of their chosen knight. Wolf and elf would fight together, eat together, and when the knights slept, wolves would guard them. The statues were erected in memory of their unbreakable bond.

An excerpt from In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar by Brother Genitivi

La Pomme Vie et Morte
Codex entry La Pomme Vie et Morte
Number: 64
Location: Val Royeaux: examine the apple trees behind the gallows and near the cafe

The apples nearest the cafe are said to change their taste depending on whether one is walking toward or away from the gallows. And of course they do, for taste is subject to the whims of the heart, and no meal is favored after tears. But dare it anyway, for none know the taste of joy such as we who do not shy from experience.

It is said that the apples that grow near the gallows will be bitter on the tongue of a lover who will betray. It is also said, although by different people entirely, that unripened fruit should not be the only consideration when investigating matters of fidelity. The latter are lonely most evenings among the arbors of the Summer Bazaar.

From Our Orlesian Heart by (Formerly) Sister Laudine

Legend of the Three Sisters: Book 1
Codex entry Legend of the Three Sisters: Book 1
Number: 65
Location: Victory Rise, in the Exalted Plains

The legend of "Les Trois Soeurs" is often repeated in Orlais and has an incredible number of variations. In some, the sisters are depicted as innocent on the surface, but eagerly engaging in bawdy exploits the moment they escape from their chaperone. In others, the sisters are heroic, valiantly solving any number of problems (sometimes unintentionally) before returning home. In still others, the sisters are clueless, bumbling from one adventure to the next, unwittingly leaving riots and chaos in their wake. The nature depends on who is telling the story or where they heard it last. Sometimes it's a raunchy tale for tavern drunks; other times, it's a scandalous tale told to criticize either the empress or the Chantry. There are some elements in common between all these stories, however.

They always revolve around the adventures of three sisters of the Montbelliard clan: Brielle, Marie, and Sheryse. They are depicted as young women typical of Orlesian nobility, versed in social graces but innocent of the world outside of their sheltered existence. One day, while traveling with their chaperone (always referred to as "La Bête" and usually depicted as a large and vindictive woman), they become separated and lost on the streets of Val Royeaux. Bewildered at finding themselves alone, the Three Sisters panic and end up in the infamous Belle Marche, an area of the capital renowned for its garish and celebratory seediness. In all versions of the legend, this is where the sisters' adventures truly begin.

From Tales of Val Royeaux by Lord Werner Jauquin

Legend of the Three Sisters: Book 2
Codex entry Legend of the Three Sisters: Book 2
Number: 66

Typically, the Three Sisters react in a similar manner upon entering the Belle Marche. Sheryse is the adventurous one, intrigued by all the sights and sounds of the market and the most heedless of any dangers. Marie is the brash one, the most suspicious of everything she sees and the one who makes withering sarcastic comments even if she allows her sisters to drag her along. Brielle, meanwhile, is always the innocent one. She is depicted as wide-eyed and startled, like a doe lost in the wilderness, yet by the end of the tale, she is also the one who bursts out of her shell the most.

A common initial stop for the girls, for instance, is the White Rose. It's an infamous establishment in the Belle Marche, serving tea and cakes to noble patrons by day and at night transforming into a house of ill repute filled with male and female prostitutes in elegant dress. The girls go there because the building is fashionable, someplace they can escape from the market's crowds. Inside, Marie is the first to realize that the "friendly gentlemen" are not what they seem. Brielle is scandalized, but it's Sheryse who runs off to dance with these men despite her sisters' protests. This leads to a chase through the White Rose, Marie and Brielle stumbling into room after room where they are confronted with various patrons (Empress Celene herself is frequently mentioned). Marie scathingly berates these patrons, while Brielle is intrigued despite herself and eventually drawn off when Marie isn't looking. Marie throws her hands up in disgust and joins a dwarf in smoking an illicit substance from a wild contraption. It's at this point in the tale where the girls' desperate chaperone, La Bête, appears in the White Rose and things truly get interesting.

Details vary, but by the end of this part of the tale, the White Rose is in flames, La Bête has pummeled her way through a legion of clueless patrons, and the Three Sisters are led out the back door by a charming elf──completely unaware anything is amiss behind them. To my knowledge, however, the White Rose has never burned to the ground in its entire existence and maintains a legion of guards that makes such antics implausible. Even so, the tale is stubbornly believed to be true even in Val Royeaux itself.

From Tales of Val Royeaux by Lord Werner Jauquin

Legend of the Three Sisters: Book 3
Codex entry Legend of the Three Sisters: Book 3
Number: 67
Location: Exalted Plains: inside a tower in the Eastern Ramparts

As with the stop in the White Rose, the individual tales of the Three Sisters are often told on their own; seldom is the saga repeated in its entirety. Indeed, one of the few times an attempt to do so was as a play in the Grand Royeaux Theater that sharply criticized Divine Justinia's attempts at reform. The play was quickly banned after only three performances. A book titled The Three Brothers was later published in Minrathous, citing the exploits of three Tevinter brothers who find themselves lost in Val Royeaux and spend their time ridiculing Orlesian culture. Despite claims in Tevinter that it is the original, it's quite clear that the Three Sisters legend far predates it.

Throughout the legend's various incarnations, the most commonly depicted adventures include:

- The sisters are convinced to drink dwarven ale by a handsome nobleman with sinister intentions. Their reactions to the ale vary, but usually by the end of this tale, the sisters end up on a wild chase after the nobleman through the streets of the Belle Marche until he jumps into the river and drowns.

- The sisters ask for help from a group of dwarven merchants, who say they will do so only if the sisters solve a clever riddle. The nature of the riddle varies, but the dwarves always cheat the sisters in the end. Typically, the encounter ends with the sisters fleeing before they are sold into slavery, though sometimes the legend has them clubbing the lead dwarf to death with paddles until the other dwarves run off.

- They are drawn into the annual Satinalia parade, usually in the climax of the story, until the Imperial army descends upon the revelers and starts a chaotic chain reaction that results in the sisters either stowing aboard a pirate ship or wading through the elven alienage's sewers. It seems to change each age.

Once their chaperone, La Bête, catches up with the girls, they usually hang their heads in shame and return to the Montebelliard manse to resume good and honest lives. Not always, however. The most recent versions of the legend have the sisters remaining in Val Royeaux to fight criminals while wearing black masks, though I honestly cannot tell where this comes from.

From Tales of Val Royeaux by Lord Werner Jauquin

Majestic Bastards
Codex entry Majestic Bastards
Number: 68
Location: Therinfal Redoubt, upper barracks;
Sold by Willvan in Val Royeaux for 17 silver

I remember the second-last one. I wouldn't get closer than sixty feet, double the wingspan. That left you time to move. The beast was too weak to do much. Still, seemed respectful to keep the distance and leave its end to animal and trainer. She starved out. Not the way they should go, and not the way I was used to seeing them.

Oh, they were majestic bastards, and they knew it. Ask any Warden dumped arse over ears for not picking nits. See, trainer and beast had a kinship, and both knew what they wanted. For griffon, that bond meant grooming. Couldn't fault them. They needed what they needed. I mean, what's fair trade for saddling a Warden-Commander, full plate, lightning storm, sheer dive straight through an Archdemon's wing! Legendary, you can't argue! But back on the ground they knew they were owed. And you couldn't shortcut and douse them—they had all the majesty of a paddling rat if you waterlogged the feathers. No, it was a grueling task of preening thirty bloody feet of wing. And you'd better remember, or maybe the thing got pissy next flight and cut an oak too close, give you a love tap so hard your next helm dented. Still, everything in balance, every talon tipped, there was nothing that compared. You could reach down from the sky and cradle Thedas in your hand.

Anyway, yes, I remember the second-last one. After she dropped, the robes took some crosscuts, because they do things like that. And then we burned it. And then I got drunk.

I do not remember the very last. And you can't make me.

Comments of an unnamed Grey Warden, excerpted from Weisshaupt records on the extinction of treasured species, liberated for public consideration by Philliam, a Bard!

Marcher Misconceptions
Codex entry Marcher Misconceptions
Number: 69
Location: In Sahrnia camp in Emprise du Lion. It is near the Inspect Requisitions table.

My dear Empress Celene,

I agree! It is strange how some people view the Free Marches. On a map, they see its name emblazoned on the vales south of the Minanter River and assume it to be a nation just as Ferelden is. They imagine a single ruler, a single army, and a common culture, but nothing could be further from the truth! Our dour, serious folk in Tantervale are not at all like the wild revelers of Wycome, who in turn are nothing like the self-important traders of Kirkwall. We are many nations squashed under one name on a map because the truth won't fit inside the borders.

A lovely saying I heard once: "We have a prince in Starkhaven, a margrave in Ansburg, a teyrn in Ostwick, and a viscount in Kirkwall... yet we accept no king in the Free Marches." At least, not since Fyruss appointed himself king seven centuries ago, which was immediately and unanimously opposed by our many great nations. We may only come together to face a common enemy, but when we do, we're a formidable ragtag bunch. Did you know that Grey Warden Garahel also united us during the Exalted Age? We marched together proudly to defeat the darkspawn at Ayesleigh... and immediately afterwards returned to our petty bickering.

The most important thing to know about the Free Marches is that we're free. We determine our own destiny, and that pleases us. Beyond that, the only other time we coalesce is when Grand Tourney comes to town. Then we boldly express our pride to any foreigner who'll listen. We'll kiss freedom on the lips and even lock arms with a proud Starkhavener! Alas, it lasts only a day, but there's no harm in that, right?

A letter written by Lord Chancellor Joffrey Orrick of Tantervale to Empress Celene I, 9:29 Dragon

Moonlight on the Feast of Shadows
Codex entry Moonlight on the Feast of Shadows
Number: 87
Location: Abandoned Chateau
DLC: Trespasser

The front cover of this novel has a group of armed men and women fighting a horde of imaginary monsters, while a winged horse with a horn flies in the background against an enormous rainbow. There's text on the back:

In the far future, a disparate group of men and women from all corners of the land band together to end an unstoppable evil! As these bold adventures go from traveling companions to friends, will their secrets and desires tear them apart?

Kloude Lunelily: An ancient elf pulled out of time, this brawny warrior-scholar seeks only to return to her liege in the distant past... but the voices calling her forward aren't what they seem!

Ren: This mysterious thief used to sing in taverns while deftly lifting items from the wealthy. Many have fallen in love with the diminutive heartbreaker, but Ren has a dangerous pact with a sinister figure in the shadows...

Lancaster Marlowe: A gifted but eccentric mage traveling the wider world for the first time, Marlowe's ambition for power is matched only by an uncanny ability to thrust his new acquaintances into danger!

Elena Brightstone: A knight of low birth under a mysterious curse, the idealistic Brightstone seeks to bring honor to her family name while divesting herself of calamitous death magic that may doom everything that she holds dear...

Till'Ka: An orphan of great resolve, young Till'Ka seeks to restore the balance of magic in the world. To do that, she must seek guidance from her foster parents... if she can find a way back to the surface of the moon!

Not all may survive their journeys, for these are the perils of a land unrecognizable... a time immemorial... join them in "Moonlight on the Feast of Shadows" at the end of the 13th age!

There is a note slipped into the novel.

Enjoy the book, my dear! It's Lord Fleming's most ambitious yet. I'm not sure what a "moon-whale" is, and at times there is a scandalous amount of attention paid to young men's backsides, but I doubt that will put you off in the slightest.

Notorious Raider Trash
Codex entry Notorious Raider Trash
Number: 70
Location: Speak with Varric and ask him where Hawke's friends are, only if Isabela remained in Hawke's party and was not given to the Arishok

You want to know about my raider "friends," huh? What in the world would make a goody-goody like you poke your nose in such a dirty business?

Well, there's good "Ser" Tadeus, of course. Some people say he runs the Armada. He doesn't. No one does. The Armada is a collection of ships, and each one is like a nation unto itself—its own rules, its own people, its own leader. Tadeus is respected, of course. You don't sink a half dozen Orlesian frigates without earning at least some respect. He's a dangerous man, but he's no king of the Armada. Anyone tells you that, they're lying, or misinformed.

Then there's Lachlan Poole. Likes to sail around the southern cape of Rivain, rattling his saber and posturing like it means something. No one really cares what Lachlan Poole does, though only a fool will say that to his face. You see, the thing about Lachlan Poole is he's got gold. Lots of it. All earned through legitimate means, even. He still has a trading company somewhere in the Marches, and hires people to run it while he plays adventurer on the high seas. The Armada lets him do it because it always pays to have friends with coin.

The one you should really watch out for is Ianto. They call him the "Talon," the "Terror of Llomerryn," but most often, "That Crooked Bastard What Might Kill You in Your Sleep." Slavery, murder, torture... nothing is too much for Ianto. He'd traffic in souls, if he discovered a way to extract them from people. In fact, I'm sure he has some Tevinter cronies working on that right this second. I'm sure there's coin to be made in stolen souls somewhere. The Imperium, probably.

Isabela, self-proclaimed "Queen of the Eastern Seas"

Of Gods and Doubt
Codex entry Of Gods and Doubt
Number: 71
Location: Inside Chateau d'Onterre, in the Emerald Graves

Forgive me. I claimed belief once, swore with tears in my eyes that Our Lady was the Light, and through her blessing, I knew the Maker. But I cannot brook the division between what I have tried to know and what I cannot ignore.

Is the Maker less silent than the profane elven pantheon, or the Old Gods of Tevinter? And what of Archdemons that are not silent at all? We have real, ongoing strife—all of us, every people and creed—that we each blame on the heretical actions of others. And yet if any one of our truths was Truth, that blame would be impossible. It is not just that these claims of divinity cannot co-exist. It is that no other claims could be made, if any of those worshipped were ever truly "god."

I am shamed my faith cannot withstand so pedestrian an argument. All I have learned in my time here is fear.

Initiate Micaela Chevais

Go as you must, as must we all, but know that the only thing worse than a faith broken, is a faith untested.

Correspondence and teachings of Mother Hevara, Val Royeaux archive

Our Lady of the Anderfels
Codex entry Our Lady of the Anderfels
Number: 72
Location: Western Approach - in the abandoned quarry cave southwest of Sand Rock Mine.

"A land filled with wonders like the Merdaine, with its gigantic white statue of Our Lady carved into its face, her hands outstretched and bearing an eternal flame." Genitivi's words, brief as they were, inspired me. This stone prophet sounded magnificent. I had to see her for myself.

I trekked up the Imperial Highway, concealing my identity and taking care not to seem like a foreigner. At Vol Dorma, a neglected road led west. Soon the dry land gave way to absolute desolation. Red earth. Bones. Blowing sand stripped my face raw. When it cleared, I could see for miles──not that there was anything to see. The few settlements I encountered were populated with derelicts and Chantry zealots. The warned me of worse trials, should I continue to the Merdaine.

Eventually I turned back, opting for a smaller statue in a place the Maker hadn't abandoned.

Brother Berard, Perendale Chantry cleric

Paragons Known and Lesser Known
Codex entry Paragons Known and Lesser Known
Number: 73
Location: Behind a locked door on the deepest tier inside the Flooded Caves in Crestwood

The criteria the dwarves use to name a Paragon never cease to fascinate me. While a relatively rare distinction, it seems almost any achievement of significance warrants the title. Some Paragons are the victors of great battles. Others write books or songs. The only common thread is an act that betters or sustains the dwarven way of life in some notable fashion.

Aeducan is among the oldest and perhaps most famous Paragons. Not to be confused with his descendent, King Endrin Aeducan, this prior Aeducan was a humble member of the Warrior Caste whose brave leadership during the First Blight saved Orzammar. When other thaigs were lost, Aeducan claimed defeated—but his service made him a hero. History now remembers Aeducan as the quintessential Paragon.

Other Paragons have been more controversial. Caridin, a master smith, created the powerful golems who helped the dwarves immeasurably in their battle with the darkspawn. Caridin then disappeared amid much speculation, taking the secret of his craft with him.

There is also Astyth the Grey, a Paragon of the Warrior Caste. She was famous for her skills in unarmed combat and cut out her own tongue to focus on the art without distraction. An order of female dwarven warriors known as the Silent Sisters persists; they remove their tongues in her honor.

But these are the most well known of the dwarven Paragons. Others have earned the rank over the ages for far less noble pursuits. I've found references to Paragons who made their names writing particularly good rhymes or brewing stronger ales.

Then there's the Paragon named Varen, who separated from his legion and lost his way in the Deep Roads. Varen nearly starved to death before breaking down and eating a nug, believing at the time as appetizing to dwarves as a rat. Devouring the creature not only saved his life but opened his palate to a new world of flavor. When they finally found him, Varen was fatter than ever and raving about the miraculous subtleties of nug flesh. The creatures are now considered a dwarven delicacy.

From Stone Halls of the Dwarves by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar

Plants vs. Corpses
Codex entry Plants vs. Corpses
Number: 74
Location: balcony behind house south of Three Trout Farm Camp.

In all the strange struggles that have raged across Ferelden, one of the most peculiar is the battle of Pauper's Cap. A powerful demon, bent on gaining power in the mortal world, raised an army of corpses to assault the home of Helianthus, a reclusive apostate who was said to possess both fabulous wealth and great knowledge. While the demon saw the perfect host in this bejeweled bookworm, Helianthus was not without defenses of her own.

As the corpses shuffled toward her house, Helianthus called to the demon, declaring that though she was just a simple apostate, the demon would see her power an entire infantry. Then, calling upon her magic, she summoned spirits into the plants in her vegetable patch, creating countless tiny sylvans. The resulting garden warfare saw corpses armored with buckets and doors as makeshift helmets and shields battling possessed fruits and vegetables who spat seeds, constructed makeshift fortifications, and even chomped entire corpses whole.

In the end, the area around Helianthus's home became both garden and graveyard, home to the corpses destroyed as she defended herself, and this world, from the demon. Had she been defeated and her great brain turned to the demon's purposes, we might well have seen such terrible corpses rampaging from the great pyramids of Par Vollen to the pirate-infested waters of Llormerryn, or even into the unknown western lands...

Is this my lunch? I thought we were dining on bacon today. I was informed that there would be bacon. No, I shall not take the pot off my head. Why? Because I am maaaaaaaaaad...

A unsourced and debatable tale from Daveth the Mad, supposedly shared at his estate in Walnut Hills where he spent his later years

Responsible Blood Magic
Codex entry Responsible Blood Magic
Number: 75
Location: Found in a locked room in the Still Ruins in the Western Approach

Let me correct you, apprentice. While it is true that blood magic is woven through the history of Tevinter, there are good reasons, quite aside from the Chantry's sermons, that such arts are now frowned upon. Consider the ancient magisters who once attempted to map the Fade itself. A worthy goal, perhaps, but a costly one. When their spells exhausted their lyrium supply, the magisters spilled the blood of countless slaves. To what end? The shifting nature of the Fade made the effort futile, and so much death left the magisters open to possession by demons. Wasteful!

Some still idolize Tirena of the Rock, who used blood magic against the Qunari during the Steel Age. They say she cut her flesh on the shore of Marnas Pell as the dreadnoughts sailed in, turned her spells against their crews, and boiled the very blood in their veins. A terrifying display, to be sure, but against Qunari? It only made them more determined when they besieged the ports of Carastes.

And what of Magister Calanthus, that fool who believed he could make himself the “Ascended Man” with blood magic? Thirty-three slaves died in that rite, and Calanthus became an abomination so horrific that his apprentices tore out their eyes at the sight of him.

You quote the example of the lovers Crescens and Seraphinian. Yes, Seraphinian offered his own blood to cure Crescens of her wasting disease, and Crescens lived a long life. But if the noblest use of blood magic still calls for the death of a good man, is that not enough reason to reconsider?

Letter from Magister Aesthia to her apprentice, 7:71 Storm

Saga of Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Avvar-Mother
Codex entry Saga of Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Avvar-Mother
Number: 76

1st Stanza: "Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Avvar Mother" (Lake Luthias)
2nd Stanza: "Thelm Gold-Handed, the Dreamer" (Calenhad's Foothold)
3rd Stanza: "Thelm Gold-Handed, the Tempter" (Avvar Blade Valley)
4th Stanza: "The Tempter Burns" (Dwarfson's Pass)
5th Stanza: "The Burial of the Beast" (Witchwood)
6th Stanza: "Hendir, Dwarf-Prince, Friend to Tyrdda" (Witchwood)
7th Stanza: "The Departure of Her Lover" (Crossroads)
8th Stanza: "Tyrdda Flying to Her Lover" (Hafter's Woods)

First stanza:

Tell the tale of Tyrdda Bright-Axe, mountain maker, spirit's bride:
Free, her people, forged in fastness, made in mountains, hardy hide.
Wise in wisdom, calm in counsel, great in gifts her grateful guests,
Sacrificed she did to spirits, took their teachings, followed quests.
Bright her axe, unbreaking crystal, stirred to flame when temper flies,
Gifted from her leaf-eared lover, laughing lady of the skies.
Bested blades of all who tried,
Maiden, spurning all requests,
Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Dreamer's Eyes.
Avvar-Mother, of her making.

Second stanza:

Thelm Gold-Handed, fingers greasy, jeweled rings with glitter shone,
Took in tribes in times of trouble, fed them fat to weaken bone.
Warriors great and great in number, sun-kissed swords to fight his wars,
Drake-scaled shirts their bodies covered, heart-wine stained the salty shores.
Told his tribes a tale of treasure, over sea to north it gleamed,
Whispered words to drive the droves to golden city where he dreamed.
Counseled quick in dreams alone,
Voices wiser man ignores,
Pushed the tribes until they screamed,
Heed the dreams and cross the Waking.

Third stanza:

Honey-tongued was Thelm to Tyrdda, gifts of gold and steel to start,
Wanted Tyrdda's men for warriors, stolen tribe from stolen heart.
Cold, her tribe, the Gold-Hand counseled, lean from winter's wind-knife chill,
"Be my bride and cross the Waking, eat the gilded city's fill."
Tyrdda Bright-Axe, fraught with fury, crystal axe-head stirred to blaze,
Heeded well her leaf-eared lover, unabashed by lustful gaze.
"None shall break my tribe apart,
Not with demon-words that kill,
Fear my fury's fiery rays,
Dream-words lie, their thirst unslaking."

Fourth stanza:

Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Thelm Gold-Handed, battle brought with blade and ax,
Thelm in mail and shields of silver, shining sheen to turn attacks.
Blade of dragonbone, now blooded, warrior throats wrung raw with cheers,
Tyrdda stands, her bright ax blazing, leg still weeping battle-tears.
Bright the ax of leaf-eared lover, laughing lady of the skies,
Fire flares as Thelm Gold-Handed, honey-tongued, repeats his lies.
"North to warmth, and golden cities,
Whispers speak in Dreamers' ears!"
Silver scorched, the liar flies
On ravens' beaks, to dream unwaking.

Fifth stanza:

Tyrdda Bright-Axe, bold and bloodied, took her tribe from placid plains,
Tribes with blades by farming blunted chased and fought, their parting pains.
To the mountains, shorn of shelter, snow-slicked peaks gave wind its bite,
Found a cave to save her tribe, but dragonfire lit the night.
Beast no blade could break came roaring, mountains slipped their winter gown,
Tyrdda shouts to leaf-eared lover, "You I chose above a crown!"
Lightning split the spitting rains,
Sundered over prideful heights,
Dragon fell in rubble down,
Crashed and crushed in earth's mad shaking.

Sixth stanza:

Tyrdda Bright-Axe, proud her tribe, free from fallow fat below,
Built in battle, fed on fighting, strong from struggle did they grow.
Deep in caves, the stone-men tribe, Hendir's warriors, stout and strong,
Met the tribe with axes ready, armor gleaming, sword-blades long.
Spoke with Tyrdda did her lover, gentle whispers soft she made,
Dwarven hearts were sundered, simple, still with honor. Thus she bade:
"Let the tribe the dwarf-men know,
In their caves, where they belong,
Not with battle but with trade,
Hendir's dwarves, give peace unbreaking."

Seventh stanza:

Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Dwarf-Friend Chieftain, with her leaf-eared lover lay,
Woke she did to love-sweat morning, lover gone in light of day.
Dream-words whispered, spoken soft, still the silence crushed and crashing,
Dead her tribe, unless a child could keep her line in warrior fashion.
Aval'var, so named the lover, called "our journey, yours and mine,"
One day child of Tyrdda's blood, Morrighan'nan, in strength must shine.
Lover's whispers to obey,
Hendir, dwarf-prince, friend in passion,
Babe produced to serve the line,
The Avvar tribe, her name, our taking.

Eighth stanza:

Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Avvar Chieftain, strong her tribe with dwarven trade,
Battles brought to men and demons, won with wisdom, fire, and blade.
Then did Tyrdda look to Hendir, dwarf-prince friend, children-giver,
Took her freedom, Hendir glad, wished her what he could not give her.
Chose her child to stand as chieftain, after all last wrongs were righted,
Gifted goods of worldly want, left her tribe no more benighted.
Skyward, one last trek she made,
To her lover, dream-delivered,
Raven-feathered, reunited,
Hearts both whole, now neither aching.

Seers and the Allsmet
Codex entry Seers and the Allsmet
Number: 77
Location: Upper level of the Gull and Lantern Tavern, Redcliffe Village

23rd of Ferventis
When I set out for the capital of Rivain, I did not anticipate arriving in the middle of a little provincial festival. The streets are thick with fishermen and farmers coming in from the countryside for some gathering. Rural life apparently breeds fierce rivalries. I've seen more than one fistfight erupt in the square outside the inn. And do they call this music? Excellent wine, however. It must be Antivan.

24th of Ferventis
The agreement is sealed. The merchant had more jewelery on his head than Orlesian women do on their fingers, but anyone willing to sell me silk at this price may dress how they please. Sabol, whose title is "Ana-Een," is an amiable sort who offered to show me "Allsmet" tonight.

Apparently the village leaders—hedge mages they dub "seers"—travel to Dairsmuid twice a year to meet in council, forge trade agreements, and publicly pledge loyalty to Rivain's queen. Deals made at Allsmet are seen as especially auspicious. Sabol warned me that sometimes hotheads will attempt to settle old feuds before these seers decree binding judgments here. But there are also feasts, lavish gift-giving ceremonies, musical contests, and other rustic nonsense.

This explains the rabble. Still, it might be amusing to sample the local color. I've just witnessed a loudly public exchange between two men trying to outdo each other with ridiculous boasts in the square. The most extravagant liar was applauded and decorated with wreaths by the crowd! The Rivaini are lively. I'll grant them that. And not at all afraid to drink with a Tevinter.


Hah! Peasant oaf threatened me after I tripped into him at feast. Bit of fire cowed him! Impressed ladies, too. What enlightened attitudes. These people have fantasasssas lovely dancers here. Must remb get vintage from inkeeep. Label was BLUE!

26th of Ferventis
Find out who's sleeping on top of me. Bring more robes next year.

—From the diary of Beskorus of Vyrantium, 9:32 Dragon Age

Sexuality in Thedas
Codex entry Sexuality in Thedas
Location: Found inside Villa Maurel in the Emerald Graves

What I find most interesting is that, despite the lack of open discussion on matters of human sexuality, there is commonality to be found on the subject in all Andrastian lands. Typically, one's sexual habits are considered natural and separate from matters of procreation, and only among the nobility, where procreation involves issues of inheritance and the union of powerful families, is it considered of vital importance. Yet, even there, a noble who has done their duty to the family might be allowed to pursue their own sexual interests without raising eyebrows.

The view on indulging lusts with a member of the same gender varies from land to land. In Orlais, it is considered a quirk of character and nothing more. In Ferelden, it is a matter of scandal if done indiscreetly but otherwise nothing noteworthy. In Tevinter, it is considered selfish and deviant behavior among nobles, but actively encouraged with favored slaves. Nowhere is it forbidden, and sex of any kind is only considered worthy of judgment when taken to awful excess or performed in the public eye.

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

She of the Highwaymen Repents
Codex entry She of the Highwaymen Repents
Number: 79
Location: Nailed to the gallows in Val Royeaux

Gallows master, hold thy hand, hold it back awhile.
Callous juror, let me stand, let me bear a smile.

For comes my brother distant,
For comes by savior soon.
I stand here most insistent,
I will receive my boon.

Fellow soldier, hold thy voice, hold it if you may.
Fallow shoulders show my choice, I am in your sway.

For know my crime was cruel,
And all my pain deserved.
I stand here as a fool,
Despite my brother served.

Mother dearest, look away, look into the sun.
Other's nearest, gone astray, you will be undone.

For no more will I prattle,
And no more will I pray.
Hear you must the rattle,
As life will fly away.

From Songs of Old Orlais: She of the Highwaymen Repents, inscriptions collected by (formerly) Sister Laudine

Shred of Blue
Codex entry Shred of Blue
Number: 80
Location: Fallow Mire - Hargrave Keep

Hear the rain upon the leaves, above the sky lies grey.
A shred of blue would be denied. Alas, he could not stay.
There was a stir within his blood
And the dreams lay thick upon him.
A call did beat within his heart.
One road was left before him.
Hear the rain upon the leaves, above the sky lies grey.
A shred of blue would be denied. Alas, he could not stay.
"See how the rain has washed away
The tears that you were crying?
Though the darkness calls me down
You know we all are dying."
Hear the rain upon the leaves, above the sky lies grey.
A shred of blue would be denied. Alas, he could not stay.
And so he came upon the place
Where so many tread before.
One last look upon the world
Before he crossed that final door.
Hear the rain upon the leaves, above the sky lies grey.
A shred of blue would be denied. Alas, he could not stay.
Birds reel across the endless sky, above a house upon the plain.
In memory she sings to him of a time before the rain.
Sweet Andraste, hear our song
For his road will be ours too.
Before darkness claims our souls
Let us see that shred of blue.
Hear the rain upon the leaves, above the sky lies grey.
A shred of blue would be denied. Alas, he could not stay.
--Words to a song, scrawled on spare paper, writer unknown

Skyhold Garden
Codex entry Skyhold Garden
Number: 81
Location: Obtained after upgrading the Skyhold garden.
Also sold by Willvan in Val Royeaux for 17 silver

Where whither grows the simple scent of sprigs anew in furrowed soil,
For on the vine are yours and mine, a bounty blessed by honest toil.
Though brave in war and ways we are, and wander thus in victory,
It's on the vine where yours and mine are graced with health and history.

In home and hearth and battlefield, our sustenance is common held,
If on the vine are yours and mine, and always there we are compelled,
For turning home is not retreat when home is why we fight at all,
And on the vine is yours and mine, entreating in our heart the call.

So of the boons you cannot buy, there are but two we're certain of,
Not on the vine of yours or mine, is first the cost of truest love,
And that denied a purchase price, we turn our gaze to what's in hand
And of the vine are yours and mine, tomatotl from our own land.

From A Garden's Grace: Songs of the Field, collected by Maryden Halewell

Song to Elgar'nan
Codex entry Song to Elgar'nan
Number: 82
Location: Temple of Mythal

Elgar'nan, Wrath and Thunder,
Give us glory.
Give us victory, over the Earth that shakes our cities.
Strike the usurpers with your lightning.
Burn the ground under your gaze.
Bring Winged Death against those who throw down our work.

Elgar'nan, help us tame the land.

Song to Elgar'nan, found in the Temple of Mythal, author unknown

Song to Falon'Din
Codex entry Song to Falon'Din
Number: 83
Location: Temple of Mythal - Hall of Shrines

The People swore their lives to Falon'Din
Who mastered the dark that lies.
Whose shadows hunger
Whose faithful sing
Whose wings of death surround him
Thick as night.

Lethanavir, master-scryer, be our guide,
Through shapeless worlds and airless skies.

Song to Falon'Din, found in the Temple of Mythal, author unknown

Song to Sylaise
Codex entry Song to Sylaise
Number: 84
Location: Temple of Mythal

Sylaise, whose heat rivals Elgar'nan's light.
Sylaise, whose temples rival Mythal's cities.
Sylaise, whose breath rivals Andruil's spear.
Sylaise, whose skill rivals June's craft.
Sylaise, whose fire cannot be quenched.

We give ourselves gladly to your service.

--Song to Sylaise, found in the Temple of Mythal, author unknown

Storms of Temptation
Codex entry Storms of Temptation
Number: 103
Location: Winter Palace Main plaza - west, just south of Cassandra

This tattered novel bills itself as a "sweeping romance on the eight seas, by Dan'el Mythril!" The cover shows a dark-skinned elf with long platinum hair hanging by one hand from the mast of his ship, a dagger in his teeth. A woman in an elaborate mask, low-cut dress, and almost as much hair as the elf, gasps up from the base of the mast. The elf is glaring at a tanned and chiseled human pirate, grinning as his vessel pulls alongside the Elf's ship.

For the first elven captain in the Antivan Navy, Kiel Zebulon's inaugural assignment was a routine trading mission down to Wycome. Little did he know that the fiery Amethyste Couronne, a passenger he picked up in the Free Marches, was heir to an enormous fortune... A fortune Rivaini pirate Prince Elrado Huracan would do anything to get his hands on! Unable to resist Amethyste's pleas for help, Kiel found himself racing to get her back to Val Royeaux even as the ferocious Huracan pursued them-and their passions ensured the eight seas would never be the same!

There is a note scribbled on the inside cover in dainty handwriting:

If found, please return to Lady Yvette Montilyet

Surviving the Western Approach
Codex entry Surviving the Western Approach
Number: 85
Location: Southeast of Echoback Fort

Day 73
If not for this record, I would long have lost count of how long we've been lost in this Maker-forsaken wilderness. Nothing but glowing yellow sand and rocky pillars. It is impossible to tell if we made progress today or if we are walking in circles. The broken pillar with the teeth that look like a wolf's - did we pass that earlier, or is there another just like it? Elerli has succumbed to the sun. Her face is red and dry and swollen, and we have neither water nor shade to offer. If we do not find the path soon, I fear she will not make it.

Day 81
Can it be less than ten days ago that I still hoped we would escape this wasteland with no deaths? Elerli succumbed that afternoon, and we've lost five since then. They're getting more frequent. We caught a scorpion yesterday, but its meat provided no more than a mouthful for each of us. If we don't find water soon, none of us will return.

Day 95
Retli and Gorvin have found a solution to their hunger and thirst. Mari died last night, and they butchered her like a calf and ate the meat raw, sucking her blood for its liquid. I shudder even to write this, but my own stomach growled at the sight. I refused to partake, but I don't know how much longer I can go hungry. If I do not join their horrors, I will be the next to be eaten.

--Page from the Journals of Veril Dorel, from the Infamous Dorel Party, 7:19 Storm

Take Back the Sky: A Tavern Cheer
Codex entry Take Back the Sky: A Tavern Cheer
Number: 86 (+5JoH, +1TD, +13T)
Location: Found on a scroll behind the bard in the tavern at Skyhold.

Now gather ye drunkards, that's how these begin,
The songs of our heroes, of wars and our kin.
Well, now the fight's ours,
And none of us cowers,
We'll drink to all hours 'cause we know we can win!

They cut into heaven and called it a door,
The Herald will lead us to even the score.
We'll take back the sky, and we'll give them the floor.
We'll take back the sky, and we'll give them the floor!

The beast was upon us, our hopes all but drowned,
At our necks a monster, at our heels a hound.
But we found a fortress,
And it's frigging gorgeous!
So join in the chorus and down a new round!

He cut into heaven, we said it before,
Andraste will guide us to even the score!
We'll take back the sky, and we'll give him the flo-----or.
We'll take back the sky, and we'll give him the floor!

We look to our leader, and heft up our crest,
To show this Corypheus we're not impressed!
He thinks we've been mastered,
We'll beat down the bastard,
And then we'll get plastered, we're blest by the best!

He cut into heaven, now sing it once more,
Inquisitor! Lead us to even the score!
We'll take back the sky, and we'll give him the flo-----------------------or!
We'll take back the sky!
And feed him his lie!
And black his foul eye!
Let all arrows fly!
And then we'll have pie!
Die DIE die die DIE!
We'll take back the sky, and we'll give him the floor!

--An exercise in rhyme by Maryden, a minstrel to our fine Inquisitor

Tale of Hryngnar, Ice-Troll
Codex entry Tale of Hryngnar, Ice-Troll
Number: 92
Location: Frostback Basin: landmark inside Stone-Bear Hold
landmark on top of a rock formation in Lady's Rest (must be allowed to borrow the boat first)
landmark on wall east of River Camp
landmark on Cloudcap Lake, east of Basin Floor Camp
DLC: Jaws of Hakkon

Tremble at the ice-troll Hryngnar, guard your gaze against his wrath,
Dead to dreams as dwarves below us, fools in folly block his path.
Weapons weeping, Avvar warriors struck to seek their legend-mark,
Fed not fortune but the Lady, folly-fallen in the dark,
Dead to Hryngnar's fury freezing.

Came the giants, water-wading, here to hunt and harrow home.
Avvar fear the shapes in shoreline, forced to flee when giants roam.
Hryngnar, ice-troll, sees his brothers, calls the winter winds to shore,
Giants frozen, forged in frostbite, threaten Avvar homes no more.
Fears of giant-battle easing.

Came the warriors of Tevinter, armors shining, shields of gold,
Stole the land of Avvar keeping, stone-carved walls to claim their hold.
Hryngnar, ice-troll, wreaks his raging, lowland warriors weep and shake,
Glacier-strength did Hryngnar conjure, stone Tevinter walls to break,
Lowlands flee, their lands releasing.

Stay unseen from ice-troll Hryngnar, glacier-strength in giant form,
None but fools will fight the winter, battle-bond the icy storm.
Dead to dreams as dwarves below us, wrath of frost and winter's death,
Blades are blunted, battle-broke, on hide whose chill can frost the breath.
Hryngnar ice-troll, winter's seizing.

Tattered Tome
Codex entry Tattered Tome
Number: 107
Location: In the bushes under the eastern staircase of the Winter Palace.
DLC: Trespasser

This tattered book is well worn, as if someone has read and reread it dozens of times:

Those who deny the truth are Willfully Ignorant, for what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes makes little sense as "Historians" tell it. These Men and Women are clearly in the pay of those who want the matter Silent.

Reports of the wreckage claim nothing remains of the Temple but Rubble from the Explosion. Chantry-controlled Mages say a Spell cast by the magister Corypheus was amplified by a lyrium deposit beneath the temple, but this is Folly. Learned professors and mages outside the Chantry have proven, in many writings, that even superheated Lyrium cannot melt granite beams.

The destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes can only be the work of Hidden Ophidian Enslavers! The Snake-Kings of the Earth, in their battle against Tevinter's allies from the moons (I of course Know About them), as I hope to Prove to the Reader beyond doubt. A selection of Educational charts illuminating my theories are at the back of this volume...

It goes on like this for 400 more pages.

The Annulment at Dairsmuid
Codex entry The Annulment at Dairsmuid
Number: 87
Location: Upper level of the Gull and Lantern Tavern, Redcliffe Village

When we heard of the injustices against our fellow mages at the White Spire, the Circle of Magi in Val Royeaux, I feared what was to come. Our Circle at Dairsmuid is small and isolated; it exists largely as a façade to appease the Chantry.

When the other Circles rose up, the Chantry sent Seekers across the bay from Ayesleigh to investigate. They found us mixing freely with our families, training female mages in the traditions of the seers, and denounced us as apostates. Perhaps they thought we were spineless robes who could be intimidated with a little bloodshed. Before I was first enchanter, I was the daughter of Captain Revaud, of the Felicisima Armada. I know how to plan a battle.

They brought with them a small army of templars. We fought. And we might have won. But they invoked the Right of Annulment, with all the unrelenting brutality that allowed. It is their right to put screaming apprentices to the sword, burn our "tainted" libraries, crush irreplaceable artifacts under their heels, tear down the very walls of our home. No mage has the right to disagree.

We of the Dairsmuid Circle wait now, behind barricades. I have sent word to our brother and sister mages of this outrage. When they break through, we will not die alone.

--Final journal entry of First Enchanter Rivella, slain in Dairsmuid, 9:40 Dragon

The Ascension of Ghilan'nain
Codex entry The Ascension of Ghilan'nain
Number: 88
Location: Temple of Mythal, or purchased from the book merchant in Val Royeaux

Ghilan'nain kept herself apart from the People. She used her power to create animals none had ever seen. The skies teemed with her monsters, the land with her beasts. Andruil hunted them all, and after a year of killing, approached Ghilan'nain with an offer: the gods would share their power with Ghilan'nain, but only if she destroyed her creations, for they were too untamed to remain among the People. Ghilan'nain agreed and asked for three days to undo what she had made.

On the first day she struck down the monsters of the air, except those she presented to Andruil as a gift.

On the second day she drowned the giants of the sea, except those in deep waters, for they were too well-wrought, and Pride stopped her hand.

On the third day she killed the beasts of the land, except the halla, whose grace she loved above all else.

This is how Ghilan'nain was made youngest of the gods.

--Story of the elven god Ghilan'nain, author unknown

The Avenue of Her Reflective Thought
Codex entry The Avenue of Her Reflective Thought
Number: 89
Location: Examine the plaques found along the avenue at the entrance of Val Royeaux

The Avenue is inspirational, but wise travelers do not linger in their respects; not just because the bazaar awaits, but because the area before the backturned statues is treacherous.

Local legend has it that the child-empress Aimee abused the opportunity of religious repose to relieve herself beneath the gaze of Our Lady. Unable to discipline the toddling leader, her attendants instead chastised the statues, and had them turned in supposed embarrassment.

True or not, foolish youths dare each other to soil the spot in similar fashion, and a place of otherwise reverent thought always carries a faint odor about it.

--Excerpted and torn from A Disposable Walking Tour of the Capital by Philliam, a Bard!

The Blades of Hessarian
Codex entry The Blades of Hessarian
Number: 90
Location: Storm Coast - northwest of the cave with the rift, south of the river, next to a tent

The body may die but the soul is ever-lasting. Andraste's human form was put to the sword and burned, but the fire only purified her and made her immortal. She was called to the Maker but saw with clear eyes that her work was not yet done. She went to Maferath's side, seeking an executor of her will, but saw the traitor for what he was. She went to Hessarian's side, but saw that Hessarian was not yet ready to give himself. And so she went to the lowly Alamarri slave Trefir, who served the Archon, and gave unto him the great Sword of Mercy with which her mortal life was ended. To him she said: "Take this sword and with it bring my judgment to the world." And Trefir took the sword, and became an instrument of Andraste's justice.

--A Blade of Hessarian, telling of the order's founding

The Blades of Hessarian are an ancient secret society who believe they serve Andraste and were chosen to bring her judgment upon the weak and the corrupt. The order was founded, according to their tales, by the Tevinter slave Trefir, who returned to the lands of the Alamarri bearing the Sword of Mercy. Since then, the Blades followed the one who bore the sword with unquestioning loyalty, as he or she was considered to have been chosen by Andraste.

Chantry scholars have determined that Trefir's account, detailed above, is pure fabrication. If Trefir even existed, it is likely he stole the Sword of Mercy from Hessarian, his master, before fleeing to what is now Ferelden. Less generous interpretations maintain that Trefir simply passed off his own sword as the Sword of Mercy to gain power and influence.

The last recorded sighting of a Blade of Hessarian was in 8:12[sic] Exalted.

--From Before Andrastianism: the Forgotten Faiths by Sister Rondwyn of Tantervale

The Children of Andraste
Codex entry The Children of Andraste
Number: 91
Location: Haven Chantry, in Josephine/Minaeve's room

There are many misconceptions regarding Andraste's bloodline, monsieur. This is due, I should think, to a general lack of knowledge regarding Andraste's mortal life. Understandable, considering the many cults that arose following her death. Every one sought to claim Our Lady for their own culture or claimed some aspect of her existence was a lie—all of them complete fabrications. My order has done considerable research to ascertain the truth.

We all know Andraste and the Betrayer raised five children. The eldest three were sons: Isorath, Evrion, and Verald. The rule of what was once southern Tevinter was split among them. Isorath was given the west, what is today Orlais. Evrion was given the east, what is today the Free Marches. Verald was given the central Planasene, what is today Nevarra. What became of these men and their legacies is the stuff of legend, and the majority of claimants to Andraste's bloodline link back to one of them. None of the three sons, however, were born of Andraste. They were born of the Betrayer's concubine, Gilivhan. People choose to overlook the fact that Andraste came from the Alamarri tribesmen and that they were barbarians, not the Fereldans we know today. They were savage warriors who took concubines in addition to their wives, and because Andraste was thought to be too weak to bear children, the Betrayer took Gilivhan to provide him heirs. Which she did. After her death, the sons were raised as Andraste's own.

Later in life, Andraste proved predictions wrong and had two daughters by the Betrayer: Ebris and Vivial. They were kept out of the public eye and not permitted to marry, though both had consorts. Ebris had but one child, Alli Vemar, who perished on a voyage to Denerim—less than a month after her mother fell to plague, and without children of her own. The younger daughter, Vivial, was more controversial: a strong-headed woman who defied her family by falling in love with a mage of Tevinter, Regulan. Vivial and Regulan went into self-imposed exile as the Exalted March began, and into hiding following Andraste's betrayal and murder.

What became of Vivial and her descendants is largely unknown for one primary reason: she had only daughters. Each of those daughters only had daughters. They married into other families and took other names, and in the chaos of the Second Blight, all traces of survivors were lost. Andraste's true bloodline, if it exists, lies solely in the descendants of Vivial, and the suspicion of my order is that it produces only daughters. Thus the claims of your young man, monsieurs, are highly suspect.

--From a letter by Sister Galenna of the Augustan Order, Dragon 9:12

The Crows and Queen Madrigal
Codex entry The Crows and Queen Madrigal
Number: 92
Location: Gull and Lantern Tavern - Redcliffe Village

The first Crow refused to speak, even when we put hot coals to the soles of his feet and peeled the skin off his face and hands with a paring knife. He opted instead to chew through his own tongue and choke to death on the blood.

The second captive repeated what we already knew: Queen Madrigal went on a hunt and did not appear for the evening's festivities. Her body was later found with four steel swords through the chest. I asked what he knew about one of the four swords being a replica of Hessarian's Sword of Mercy. He had not heard about that, or at least claimed as much. He later died on the rack, smiling slightly.

The third Crow must have realized he would not leave the dungeon alive. He seemed to hope that by angering Master Fiore, he would earn himself a quick death. The Crow tried our patience with pithy comments while Master Fiore was trying to work. At one point, he made a remark about Fiore's mother, which I shall not repeat here. I will admit to feeling admiration for his ability to retain a capacity for coherent speech, and even some wit, while under extreme duress.

Amid all his useless chatter, this third Crow did raise an important point. His guild has a reputation to uphold. They are ruthless, efficient, and discreet. How would they maintain such notoriety if agents routinely revealed the names of employers with something as "banal" as torture.

This gave me pause. I called for a halt to the session. After some thought, I stabbed the man through the heart and set the fourth and fifth Crow captives free. If there is a confession to be extracted, it will not be done with pain. I recommend we abandon this course of action.

--A report by Captain Aristide, tasked with investigating the assassination of Queen Madrigal of Antiva

The Daughters of Song
Codex entry The Daughters of Song
Number: 93
Location: In a damaged house south-west of the second beacon before the rift in the Fallow Mire

Wine. Music. Poetry. And the wanton and frenzied indulgence of carnal fancies. These things characterized the hedonistic cult known as the Daughters of Song. Calling them an order of the faithful lends them a legitimacy they do not deserve. The daughters (and sons, though they saw themselves also as "daughters") celebrated Andraste's holy union with the Maker in almost every way imaginable. And it was only the "holy union" they venerated. Andraste's life, her war, her teachings, and her sacrifice were blithely ignored.

At its height, the Daughters of Song numbered in the thousands. They maintained a stronghold in a village called Virelay, in the Fields of Ghislain. Virelay saw a yearly event during which the Daughters of Song paraded carven images of the "Maker's Glory" through the square.

The Daughters of Song were wiped out by the righteous forces of Emperor Drakon during his campaigns to unite all of Orlais. When the emperor's forces sacked the village, the Daughters would not arm themselves and were either killed or captured. The village was destroyed, and the cult never recovered.

--From Before Andrastianism: the Forgotten Faiths by Sister Rondwyn of Tantervale

The Death of Elandrin
Codex entry The Death of Elandrin
Number: 94
Location: Candle in Din'An Hanin - Lower Crypts

Elandrin, our brother.

Falon'Din guide you. Maker guide you.

Let here the truth be kept, lest you be remembered a traitor, or our sorrow seem a passing woe.

Though you swore to serve our people, there were those questioning your heart.

Too often had we fought with humans along our borders until the beginning was lost to memory. Rumors of an abduction stirred. As always, their Chantry was swift to spread lies. In haste and anger, they killed Siona's sister for wandering too near the hunters' path. You carried her body back to us, you mourned with us—yet your heart was distracted. Siona begged for vengeance and you turned away.

More and more you vanished without word or explanation. When whispers rose that you would swear yourself to their Maker, we feared what would come.

Siona sought to save you, to bring you back to us. She had lost a sister, must she also lose a brother? Beneath the trees she saw you with a woman, the one who turned you from us. The woman gestured toward the village. You and she turned to gaze upon the Chantry's walls.

Siona returned. She told us how humans were turning you against us. How their lies must have filled you. As a loyal servant to the Maker's cause, you would betray our secrets. When we went to ask if there was truth in this, you were already gone.

So we sought to stop you. With haste, Siona led her people to the village. There we would challenge you. There we would bring you back to us... or to justice. In the dim of a moonless night, she saw Siona through the trees. She raced toward Siona, a cry on her lips and something in her hand. Siona's arrow flew. So the woman fell, the name "Elandrin" dying on her lips, daisies slipping from her grasp.

The men of the village suspected the girl's flight, and heard the scream. They fell upon the elves, but were no match.

Siona's haste surpassed your own. You knelt beneath the trees, blood-soaked petals clinging to your clothes from a final embrace. When more humans came, you would not be moved—and they would not listen. Their arrows found your heart and you fell beside her. We found your body in the river where they cast you aside. She was taken by her own. It was not the end, but your part is past.

Rest now as our honored brother once more. A wreath of daisies at your brow, the letter she carried in your hand. Whoever guides you, whoever guides her, may your souls meet once more in the Beyond.

Faded blood stains the letter:


What care have I for gods I have never seen, for a Maker I do not know? Let others distract themselves with such lofty concerns. I know only this life, I have seen only this world, and I care only for you.

Perhaps your priestess distrusts the sincerity of "uncivilized" elves. If she must hear me say I will follow the Maker, so be it. Your god intercedes as much as ours. My life will not change.

I will return in two weeks' time. My heart longs for you 'til then, and will remain with you forever after.


The Disciples of Andraste
Codex entry The Disciples of Andraste
Number: 95
Location: Haven chantry, downstairs in the first locked prison cell on the left; if the Herald is not a rogue Sera can be asked to open the cells once she is recruited

The Disciples of Andraste are unique in all of history. The cult preceded the Chantry and kept itself so hidden and isolated that it actually survived to modern day. The Disciples made their home high in the Frostback Mountains, in a village called Haven, which is now a sanctuary for pilgrims of the Chantry. It is understood that the Disciples were descendants of the first followers of Andraste, who brought her ashes to Ferelden and built the temple to house it. Because they had pledged themselves to the keeping of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the Disciples of Andraste never left the Frostbacks. For nine hundred years, they kept strangers away, killing all who came close, and were completely oblivious to the world that advanced beyond the boundaries of their home.

Having developed separately from the traditions of the Andrastian Chantry, the Disciples were led by revered fathers. However, little else is known about the original beliefs of the Disciples, for they had turned from their noble heritage by the time they were discovered. Almost all scholars believe that the centuries-long isolation imposed upon the village led to the necessity for inbreeding. This practice likely led to a greater incidence of madness, which may explain why the cult was, at the time of its discovering in 9:30, worshipping a high dragon.

According to writings discovered in Haven, the Disciples of Andraste showed reverence to the dragon, believing it to be the Prophet reborn. The egg clutches and dragonlings of the dragon were afforded great honor, for being "Andraste's" offspring, and were cared for by the cult. The dragon never attacked the cult, being cunning enough to recognize how this arrangement benefited it.

In 9:30 Dragon, the Disciples were wiped out by the Hero of Ferelden, who was on a quest to retrieve the Sacred Ashes of Andraste.

--From Before Andrastianism: the Forgotten Faiths by Sister Rondwyn of Tantervale

The Empty Ones
Codex entry The Empty Ones
Number: 96
Location: The Fallow Mire: In a house with crates blocking the door

The Empty Ones were a small and short-lived cult based in Nevarra and known for worshipping the blight and, by extension, the darkspawn. Some confuse the Empty Ones with followers of Tevinter's Old Gods—a reasonable mistake since Archdemons are said to be tainted Old Gods. However, it is clear from the histories that the Empty Ones did not worship Dumat and his ilk, but the blight itself.

Following Andraste's death, many of her followers fell into a deep despair. They believed that the Prophet's betrayal and execution marked the beginning of the end of the world and that the Maker's wrath would soon come upon them. The most fatalistic of them all gathered together to prepare for their doom. They called themselves the Empty Ones, for they saw themselves as worthless husks, ready to be swept away by the Maker's hand.

It is unknown what passed then, but over time, the Empty Ones grew to believe that the blight was to be the tool by with the Maker would end all of creation. They preached that it came from the Void, a place of nothing, and that returning to the Void was something to be celebrated because it meant an end to all pain and all suffering.

Some mistakenly take this to mean that the Empty Ones worshipped evil, but that is an oversimplification. The Empty Ones believed the world to be beyond redemption, and that it was the Maker's will that it be destroyed completely. There are tales of Empty Ones scouring the Deep Roads, searching for darkspawn, whom they saw as the blight's prophets in order to assist them in bringing about the next Blight.

Predictably, the beginning of the Second Blight saw the end of the Empty Ones. The entire cult made its way to the Anderfels, where they stood in the path of the encroaching darkspawn and, singing in praise of the oblivion that was to overtake them, were consumed.

From Before Andrastianism: The Forgotten Faiths, by Sister Rondwyn of Tantervale

The Folly of General Not-Sheritan
Codex entry The Folly of General Not-Sheritan
Number: 97
Location: Inside a shop on the upper level of Val Royeaux
Part Four - In a lone bookshelf to the left of Helisma in Skyhold's library
Part Five - In the Vault Library of Skyhold

We study thus the tale of Not-Sheritan, the servant of a Fereldan lord who together shared a casual friendship not common among Orlesians. It was during a diplomatic visit that both remarked on the absurdity of masks, frustrated as they were by the scorn of the Orlesians, who saw these visitors as common and unadorned. So insulted were the Fereldans that the servant did take up the mask of the Orlesian general Sheritan from the cloakroom. "What a lark," she sneered, earning the guffaws of her lord. And the lord sought to share the whimsy with the room, but he was mistaken of the reaction. None of the assembled dared question the bearer of the mask, even as they were told of the jest. For in the Orlais of the time, the mask was the person, and the wearer must be he, even if their build is slight and their sex reversed. Could it not be a test? In exposing the mistake, is not the witness also a cause of violation?

And so it was that this visiting servant was not just greeted but whisked away, for this was not a mere fete, but the launching of a grand operation. And at the fore of the might of Orlais now stood a waif behind a general's face. And none did question, for fear of censure. And she, the servant, could not get away. Left without her lord, she feared the madness of the Orlesians. That if she removed the mask, they would call her imposter, or spy, or some other thing she could not know. And as enemy battalions marched upon them, the servant was certain it would end in death for all.

But during times of crisis, there can emerge abilities we do not know we possess. The servant, under the greatest duress, stood as Not-Sheritan. She stood, and she spoke. She stood, and she led. She stood, and she attacked. And under banners they knew and a voice they did not, the forces of Orlais brought low their enemy. Now, perhaps the servant was more lieutenant than page to her battle-hardened lord. And perhaps the strength of the foe is stressed too much in retellings. And perhaps the allied were well practiced in their roles. But none question that Not-Sheritan was at the least adequate and at the most inspirational.

And so it was that victory was absolute, and cheers were raised for General Not-Sheritan. And so buoyed by respect and admiration, Not-Sheritan stood proud and removed the mask to state her true name. For had they not accepted her? Had they not thrived by her leadership? Had they not become comrades despite station and masks and nonsense of protocol? And the answer was swift and bewildering, for they had not. And swiftly she was bundled away, amid calls of "Imposter!" and "Spy!" and other terms she could not know. For she still did not know Orlais.

In the days that followed, to avoid scandal the appointing of Not-Sheritan was claimed a grand tactic of the true general, who must have orchestrated the whole affair from secret. "From secret" meaning the cloakroom, for not even his own attendants knew his face, and they would have had the guard whisk him to jail for trespassing. But with his mask restored and wary of the embarrassment, the general was merciful with Not-Sheritan, imposing less than half the prescribed lashes and sparing her and her lord the gallows. They were allowed to leave Orlais on the condition that "Not-Sheritan" was henceforth her name.

The Girl in Red Crossing
Codex entry The Girl in Red Crossing
Number: 98
Location: Inside Chateau d'Onterre in the Emerald Graves

Too long I have traveled, soon I'll see her smiling,
The girl in Red Crossing I'm longing to see.
O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the chantry to marry me.

I've dreamed of the kiss I stole 'neath the arbor.
I've dreamed of the promise 'neath the old ash tree.
O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the chantry to marry me.

One last stream to cross, one last hill to wander.
Until I reach the love I'm longing to see.
O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the chantry to marry me.

Running through the streets, only silence follows.
Elven arrows sunk into the old ash tree.
O, I know she's there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the chantry to marry me.

Ruby on the green, petals lost and drifting.
Take her to His side, Andraste hear my plea.
I found her lying there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the chantry to marry me.

Not surprisingly, this folk song originates from the Red Crossing region, although it is known in various parts of Orlais. While clearly inspired by the events of the Exalted March of the Dales, it is unknown whether the narrator and the eponymous "girl" are based on actual figures or are representative of the overall losses suffered at Red Crossing.

-From Orlesian Musical Tradition by Sister Rosette, published by the University of Orlais

The Head of Madame Snappy-Snips
Codex entry The Head of Madame Snappy-Snips
Number: 99
Location: Examine the dragon head inside the cafe in Val Royeaux

Mascot of Le Masque du Lion. Named in jest, but genuinely respected. The Grand Ma'am, as she is also called, was the last dragon brought down by Ser Koenig, the previous owner of the cafe. A spirited hunter, Koenig came of age in the years following the sighting that named the era. While others were quick to assume the tales of ancient Nevarran dragon hunters must have been exaggerated, he tracked the gradual increase in dragon numbers and size. Koenig believed we had yet to see a true return of the beasts of legend, and that the specimens of his day were young, despite their ferocity.

It is a cruel victory, but today we know Ser Koenig to have been correct, even as he may have fallen to his own expertise. He is—was—years overdue from his last hunt. And for the rest of us, travel wary. What we thought to be the pinnacle of dragon strength may have been closer to adolescence. The sisters of Madame Snappy-Snips may have left their sibling far behind.

--Excerpted and torn from A Disposable Walking Tour of the Capital by Philliam, a Bard!

The Hunt of the Fell Wolf
Codex entry The Hunt of the Fell Wolf
Number: 106
Location: Frostback Basin: inside Nigel's Point after speaking to Colette
DLC: Jaws of Hakkon

The runner strode the winding road,
And out of breath came she
'Pon the bastion of the huntsmen true
To make her desperate plea.

Ameridan in dragon's hide,
Haron clad in blessed steel,
Came forth to head the tidings brought
With so much breathless zeal.

"Upon the lonely moors," the runner cried,
"A loathsome beast now dwells.
As day gives way to night, it strikes.
All in its path, it fells."

Three souls bravely led them out
The dark'ning moor to see
As sun slipped 'neath the sighing heath
The hunters' guide did flee.

The moon crept o'er the heather
As a terrible cry released
In silvered light the hunters saw
The arrival of the beast.

Favored like a wolf it was,
In size like a Woodsman's Death.
Within its eyes burned eldritch fire,
The Fade in every breath.

Swift as thought, the hunters struck.
The demon wolf fell back,
But mortal strength alone could not
Prevent the beast's attack.

With one huge paw, the monstrous thing
Struck Ameridan the Brave.
Across the moor he flew, and fell
Into a watery grave.

Jaws like a dragon's clamped down tight
Round Haron's armored chest,
And with the knight it sped away
From moonlight, to the west.

No living eye was there to see
From peaty swamp arise
Ameridan, who found himself
Alone, 'neath darkened skies.

The shattered shield of Haron
He found upon the moor.
In grief Ameridan did vengeance swear:
The beast's head he would procure.

Whilst the wolf across the moor
Bore Haron to its lair,
A labyrinth of winding cave
Any mortal should beware.

By worm-light in the twisting cave,
Haron bravely fought
To free himself from death's own jaws
Before his life was naught.
With blade-arm free, the knight struck true
Into the monster's eye,
And off it fled into the dark
With otherworldly cry.

The wounded knight in darkness
Found within the cavern's gloom
An idol of fade-touched stone,
Which could prove the monster's doom.

Ameridan all alone did seek
The demon-wolf's fresh trail,
And to the cave he came prepared
A wolf's heart to impale.

Down the winding cave, he sought
The beast that slew his friend
And in the eerie worm-light
Met the beast at cavern's end.

With burning blade, Ameridan
And monster met again
Whilst elsewhere did Haron valiantly
With demon-wards contend.

As demon-stone was shattered,
Ameridan struck true:
Beast and spirit—both felled at once,
Though neither hunter knew.

Now, wounded and in darkness,
Hunters separate made their way
From the bottom of the cavern
Toward the rising light of day.

Ameridan found Haron
Stumbling, wounded from the cave,
And both rejoiced to find the other
Yet free from the grave.

As night passed into day, the two
Did tales of valor spin,
And to this very day, each claims
That he alone did win.

The Judgment of Mythal
Codex entry The Judgment of Mythal
Number: 100
Location: Temple of Mythal

Whenever one the People wronged another, they would not call on Elgar'nan to avenge them, for his fury would destroy all it touched. Mythal saw this bring strife among the People, and went to Elgar'nan; she offered to deliver justice when the People warred amongst themselves. Elgar'nan saw her wisdom and agreed, binding all to abide by her verdicts.

Some petitioning Mythal for justice hid jealousy, accusing those who had done them no wrong. She saw their lies, and struck them down. Others petitioning Mythal for justice burned with wrath for imagined slights. She saw their weak hearts, and struck them down. Those coming to her with clear minds and open hearts were granted judgment and protection, and Mythal harried their enemies until the end of their days.

--Story of the elven god Mythal, author unknown

The Keepers of Fear
Codex entry The Keepers of Fear
Number: 101
Location: In front of the screaming statue in the Raw Fade during Here Lies the Abyss (after meeting Justinia V for the second time turn right at the crossing)

This was not a place of honor. Here came beasts from the north, carrying a poison called "the blight." They killed many warriors and sickened the land, and even their blood could kill.

We feared them, and it was right. We were strong, but still they came to feed upon our screams.

These stones hold the screams of the Alamarri. Wherever the spawn of darkness have come, these stones were raise, so the beasts might take their bounty of fear and depart. If they did not, every man would put his screams into the stone until none were left inside him. Then he would light the fire to burn the screams away, and take up sword and shield to fight until death came.

When all the men were dead, the women did the same, whether it was the tradition of the tribe or not. Then the children, even if all they held were fire pit sticks.

Remember our warning. Give the stone your screams, burn them so that they cannot master you, and fight.

--Runes etched near the base of the screaming statue

The Lady of the Skies
Codex entry The Lady of the Skies
Number: 102
Location: In a camp north of the third beacon across the marsh, Fallow Mire

My father died with honor, so we gave him to the sky. My husband and I led the procession to the peaks, singing. With knife and hammer, we scoured the flesh and split the bones. As we left, I saw the carrion crows descending to carry my father home in pieces. I knew the Lady of the Skies smiled.

Our tribe has never failed to do the Lady honor. The flights of her birds reveal the future to our shaman. We sacrifice wolves upon her altars. In return, she sends prize game in the hunt and victory in war. When a couple is bound together by the sacred knots, it is the Lady's hymn we sing.

We Avvar never leave the ice and the stone. We never bowed to Calenhad as the Alamarri did, nor shall we be enslaved by the words of their new prophet. We are constant as the sky, and from us our Lady shall have her due.

--From the meditations of Anashe, Avvar tribeswoman and falconer

The Lost City of Barindur
Codex entry The Lost City of Barindur
Number: 103 (+7JoH, +1TD, +14T)
Location: Fallow Mire - house south of third beacon

On the fifteenth day of my journey across the Tevinter Imperium, our caravan reached a great rolling plain. Swaying grass hid flocks of birds so vast that when they took flight, their numbers blocked the sun. This, our guide informed us, was the great city of Barindur, wonder of the ancient world, famed for its fountains which were said to grant eternal youth.

Legend has it that during the celebration of the winter solstice, Carinatus, High King of Barindur, turned away an envoy from the High Priest of Dumat. The priest called upon his god to punish Carinatus for the offense, and the Dragon-God of Silence answered him.

Months passed. The Kingdom of Barindur fell silent. In distant Minrathous, the priests of Razikale dreamed of dark omens. Their oracles declared that a dire fate had befallen King Carinatus. Finally, the fearful High King of Minrathous sent a company of soldiers to Barindur.

The men reported that the road which led across the northern plains ended abruptly. They walked for leagues over barren, empty rock where the Kingdom of Barindur had once been. All of it swept from the face of the world by the hand of a god.

Not a single stone of Barindur remains, and nothing of the once-powerful city has ever been found. A secret now, that can never be told.

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

The Lost Temple of Dirthamen
Codex entry The Lost Temple of Dirthamen
Number: 104
Location: The Lost Temple of Dirthamen, during the quests, God of Secrets and Runes in the Lost Temple

We few whisper here where shadow dwells.
Some words remain unuttered.
Truths are pushed down, down
Where they shall never arise again.

Dirthamen is gone, he said.
Our Highest One brings to us this gravest news.
What shall we do? Where shall we go?
What of the old secrets that burn within our hearts?

They will come for us in the night
Those who could steal the words from our lips
And our god no longer rises to our defense.
We claw at the walls, at the walls.
Now we pray for a dawn that will never arrive.

Our Highest One, he deceives us.
The honeyed words that drip from his tongue
We know the despair they mask.
We disciples of Dirthamen know truth, now as ever.

The Highest One promises safety.
I shall protect our ancient secrets, he claims
All that Dirthamen once granted us will be safe.
But it is our blood he seeks
A sacrifice dark and unholy
A prison of evil to keep us in and all else out.

We will not have it, will not have it!
The secrets are madness in our ears, but they are ours
The Highest One cannot take them from us.
Only Dirthamen, our Keeper, only he
And if he does not take the secrets
They are ours forever.

His mind which cannot think
His tongue which cannot speak
His hands which cannot touch
His ears which cannot hear
His eyes which cannot see
And thus shall our Highest One be bound.
He shall join us in our Silence.

For his heart, for his heart
Our Highest One is bound.
The secret that he keeps, he keeps with us
The vigil that he keeps, he keeps with us
His fear will not weaken us
No-one shall come, dear mentor.
In our eternity, only darkness reigns.

The Lover's Alcove
Codex entry The Lover's Alcove
Number: 105
Location: In the corner of the garden in Val Royeaux

Every district has one. At least one. And the question must be, "Why is a place meant for dalliance declared in such an obvious way?" And the answer, of course, is that obviousness is the entirety of the point.

When manners and station will not allow impassioned words, such corners are places to be seen not being seen. Entering with a paramour is as much a declaration as singing out in joy, which one of good standing must never do. The alcove is thus a dignified means of announcing romantic affiliation, either for genuine partnership, or to appear as such in order to spare a suitor a refusal. Dignity of course requiring that one does not also make use of the darkness for actual physical gratification.

This has, of course, never occurred.

--From Our Orlesian Heart by (formerly) Sister Laudine

The Naming of Stone-Bear Hold
Codex entry The Naming of Stone-Bear Hold
Number: 113
Location: Stone-Bear Hold: bear statue inside Finn's house
DLC: Jaws of Hakkon

It starts with a man: Ivar Jerriksen.

Driven from their hold by war and misfortune, their thane dead, Ivar led what remained of his people through the mountains. The winter was harsh. The winds of Hakkon echoed through the peaks. The beasts fled, and the hunters could find little game. Ivar's people grew weak. They feared themselves cursed. When the blizzard struck, they built a meager fire and huddled for warmth. When the blizzard lasted three days, they knew that they would die.

On the third night, while Ivar stood watch, he caught sight of a great grey bear through the snow. Though the beast was distant, Ivar could feel its eyes upon him and knew he must follow. Alone, he made his way through wind and snow. The great bear walked ahead of him, always distant but never out of sight.

At last, the bear stopped. Ivar came to stand beside the bear and saw before him a sheltered place where his people might be saved. He reached out a hand to his guide, but instead of fur, he found grey stone. So Ivar knelt before the stone and gave thanks to Korth, for he knew the Mountain-Father had taken the form of a bear to guide him here.

Ivar returned to his people and led them to the sheltered place. Ivar Jerriksen became Ivar Snow-Favored, and the people swore to honor him as their new thane. The hold was given the name Stone-Bear in honor of Ivar's vision, and in this place, we have grown strong.

--From Stories of the Wild South: A Collection of Tales of the Barbarian Nations of Ferelden by Lady Susanna Ashwell of Ansburg

The Nug King
Codex entry The Nug King
Number: 116
Location: Inside a bedroom after building the bridge in the Ruins of Heidrun Thaig
Second part unlocked upon meeting the Nug King.
DLC: The Descent

All praise the Nug King.
Sate his appetite with cheese.
Older is better.

--From Songs That Only Nugs Can Hear by Paragon Ebryan, 5:84 Exalted

A hot debate among nug admirers is whether the king in Paragon Ebryan's songs was royalty of some kind or merely an especially magnificent specimen of the breed. Every year, scholars, bards, and rodent enthusiasts bring offerings of cheese to the Deep Roads, hoping for a glimpse of the Nug King, who remains elusive.

The Perils of Bard Life
Codex entry The Perils of Bard Life
Number: 106
Location: Speak to Leliana about her past as a bard

As a bard, you are welcome anywhere in Orlais. Doors are opened to you with generous smiles, their wearers confident that no one would falsely pretend to such a title for fear of retribution. Your slightest request is immediately seen to. Your services are expensive and yet actively sought, and those who cannot afford them beg only to not have your displeasure turn their way.

One day, however, you will awaken. You will realize the smiles are false, and behind them lies revenge. At the first moment of weakness, your brother and sister bards will be unleashed upon you like a pack of hounds, and you will realize they are not your brothers and sisters at all. For all your fancy intrigue, you have spent your life creating nothing of worth. You have been swallowed by the web of your own deceits, and the Game of which you believed yourself master? It moves on without you, uncaring.

--From a letter signed "Sister Nightingale"

The Pyramids of Par Vollen
Codex entry The Pyramids of Par Vollen
Number: 107
Location: In the Vault Library of Skyhold

The island called Par Vollen was the first land in Thedas to be taken by the Qunari, and has been held by them ever since. But while the Qunari have raised their own marvels on the island—the famed city of Qunandar comes to mind—Par Vollen had a rich history before the Qun ever came to its shores. Tear your eyes from Qunandar's wonders and look instead to the jungle. There you'll see the ruins of vast cities that proclaim in silence: "We were here."

Par Vollen's distinctive pyramids, looming from the overgrowth, have remained largely intact, even if their intended purpose has been lost. They do not seem to be tombs, though some chambers contain bodies that have been carefully preserved. Amazingly, the pyramids' proportions are mathematically perfect. Since their alignment is so precise, one suspects they served some scientific purpose. Observatories, perhaps? Andvan Therastes has observed that the shape of the Par Vollen pyramids seems perfectly to match the constellation Solium.

We know more of the pyramids than we do of the humans who built them. The Qunari came to Par Vollen as conquerors, but there is no history and little sign of battles fought on the island's shores. A civilization that could build such vast cities would surely have defenses, armies, perhaps weapons alien even to the Qunari. So why is there so little proof of resistance?

One answer may lie in what remains of their temples. Beneath the leaves and vines covering the walls, you can still make out the stylized carvings that adorn them. The paint has long since flaked away, but the silhouettes are clear: intricate sea creatures, shipwrights, musicians, archers, and kings. Here and there, odd figures are depicted, tall, horned, always in a position of authority and respect.

What were these horned figures to the ancients of Par Vollen? Priests, ritualistically crowned? Heroes? Gods, perhaps? We may never know the truth. But when the Qunari arrived from the sea, horned and carrying the word of the Qun, perhaps instead of conquerors, the people of Par Vollen saw an old legend returning to them.

This is all supposition. The humans of Par Vollen are Qunari now, their ancient civilization discarded like a child's toy. Yet the pyramids remain, along with the old cities, the island itself. One day, greater scholars may hear what they have to say.

--From A Compiled History of the Occupied North, by Renatus of Ayesleigh

The Randy Dowager Quarterly
Codex entry The Randy Dowager Quarterly
Number: 108
Location: Spring: Val Royeaux docks, behind some barrels
Summer Skyhold, in the library
Autumn: Haven, on a bed in the house across from Solas
Winter: Val Royeaux, mid level SW, end of the walkway
New Year: Val Royeaux, upper level, edge of a planter near the NE fast travel point

A waterlogged quarterly missive of suspect virtue:

The Randy Dowager welcomes the blooms of spring with the collected Callipygian Cuirassiers, being a scandalous representation of Her Majesty's favored caught in flagrante delectable. Can their uniforms--and modesty--withstand the assault?

The Randy Dowager: Exhibitions for the noble of thought, but spry of step.

The Lady herself says: "Hardly a Tethras, but generously arousing if "polished cuirass" does it for you. And it should. Three scarves fluttered in shock out of five." - RD

A smartly bound quarterly missive of suspect virtue:

The Randy Dowager greets the summer with the complete Obeying Her Order, being a ribald tale of templars standing firm before division by a secret cunning. An exhibition of inspiration at its most urgent, and the Chant at its most passionate.

The Randy Dowager: Exhibitions for the noble of thought, but spry of step.

The Lady herself says: "Such an assault to modesty that I publicly swooned lest my own honor be impugned. Twice. Five scarves fluttered in shock out of five." - RD

A well-worn quarterly missive of suspect virtue:

The Randy Dowager welcomes the cool of autumn with the fall of another, the collected Dreams of Desire, being the confessions of an apprentice and training more "furrowing" than Harrowing. Forbidden dalliances at their most spirited.

The Randy Dowager: Exhibitions for the noble of thought, but spry of step.

The Lady herself says: "Enchanting. One supports the Circles, if only because closed doors offer the imagination more. Three scarves fluttered in shock out of five." - RD

An unread quarterly missive of suspect virtue:

The Randy Dowager ignites winter passions with the collected Conscripted By Love, being a tale of heroes-come-legends, the Grey Wardens, and their shining duty to claim those of promise who most suit their Joining.

The Randy Dowager: Exhibitions for the noble of thought, but spry of step.

The Lady herself says: "Always a classic when Wardens come calling. Or, dare one suggest, the reverse? Four scarves fluttered in shock out of five." - RD

An extra-thick annual edition of the suspect quarterly

The Randy Dowager welcomes the new year by scandalizing the old, with the collected romantic epic, The Horned Ones, being a tale of conquest, both of nation and of heart. Demands are satisfied as bronze giants share their explosive passions.

The Randy Dowager: Exhibitions for the noble of thought, but spry of step.

The Lady herself says: "Only for those of particular taste. Delicate buds should remain in the garden while the bold of us flower. Five scarves fluttered in shock out of five." - RD

The Silver Knight
Codex entry The Silver Knight
Number: 109
Location: Exalted Plains - in a pink house west of the Triumph of the Light landmark.

The question has always fascinated me. What happened to Ser Brandis, the Silver Helm? Lord Demetrius—the only champion killed—died before the victory, but both Sister Amity and Brandis survived. Amity established the chantry; history is filled with her name. Yet Brandis disappears from the story after his confrontation with the last Emerald Knight.

I took it upon myself to unravel this mystery. I learned that there are tales even the Dalish do not know. In lost verses of a song, painstakingly unearthed, I found the answer to my question.

Who could bear the weight of a people destroyed by his hand?

---Lord Avery of Montsimmard, 9:39 Dragon

The song follows:

Bright silver were his helm and chain,
Bright silver on his horse's rein;
He rode upon the golden plain,
The brave and comely knight.

The elves stood fast, their banners high.
They would not flee, they would not fly,
Though knowing they would surely die,
The last of Dalish might.

He met them on the golden field,
The fate of elvenkind now sealed,
In mercy, urged them all to yield,
He sorrowed for their plight.

But prideful were the Dalish kin,
Their vengeful hearts could not give in,
With raging cry and dreadful grin,
They struck against the Light.

Beneath the red and fading sun,
The elven stand was swift undone,
'Til they were vanquished, all but one:
Defiant in her fight.

Her brothers on the field lay slain,
He would not see her die in vain,
In grief, cried "Yield!" to her again,
That good and gentle knight.

He could not strike; his shield dropped low,
She lifted sword against her foe,
They did not see the far-off bow,
Its arrow loosed in flight.

A sharpened thorn, a searing brand,
A shot the elf could not withstand;
The sword fell lifeless from her hand,
With drops of crimson bright.

He said no word, he made no sound,
But caught her, falling to the ground.
Her dark hair flowing, all unbound:
A veil as black as night.

And up around him came the call,
That celebrated Dalish fall,
The cry of vic'try came from all,
Except the silver knight.

The glimmer of his helm and chain,
Now dull with dark and bloody stain.
He looked and saw upon the plain,
The dying elven light.

Elf sword in hand, heart filled with woe,
No one would ever see him go,
But with a solemn prayer, spoke low,
He vanished into night.

They say he rode on easterly,
The sword he placed beneath a tree.
And there remained, on bended knee,
That grave and mournful knight.

The Singing Maiden
Codex entry The Singing Maiden
Number: 110
Location: Haven, outside the inn

Have you ever heard the story of King Bedwyr? Bedwyr, like most kings, was a man of great pride, who expected nothing but complete loyalty from his subjects. He believed the best way to achieve this was through fear—after all, those who feared him would never cross him or question his rule. Most importantly, those who feared him would always seek to please him.

Bedwyr cultivated terror in his subordinates through the gleeful and unrestrained use of a contraption referred to as "the maiden." The maiden was a hinged iron casket, as high and wide and deep as a man, with vicious spikes within, meant to pierce through the poor soul locked into it. Bedwyr's maiden was a prized possession, and stood in a place of honor in his throne room, often with a screaming victim inside it. Political rivals, suspected assassins, treasonous ministers—the maiden consumed them all. But as time passed, more people were given to the maiden for increasingly trivial offenses: the cook for over-salting the king's food, the pageboy for dropping his sword. The maiden cast a pall over the kingdom, and its people prayed for deliverance from their cruel king.

Then one day, a strange woman rode into the city. She called herself Ember, and was an emissary from a far-off land. Her leaders had heard, she said, of Bedwyr's wisdom and authority, and she sought the king's counsel. The thought that he had earned the adulation of brother-kings across the sea made Bedwyr swell with pride, and he granted Ember an audience.

They dined and danced, and through it all, Ember flattered and fawned on the king. At the end of the night, Ember asked to see the maiden, the infamous device that had given Bedwyr all his power. The king, giddy with praise, proudly presented Ember with the empty contraption. Ember looked at the maiden, sighed with disappointment and said, "That does not look terrifying at all. I should have imagined the spikes to be much sharper."

Bedwyr grew red at her comment and replied: "The spikes are sharp enough. Look at the blood that still clings to them!"

"But it is so small," said Ember. "Are only children and women its victims?"

Bedwyr grew redder still, and replied, "Of course not. The maiden has devoured many men."

Ember shook her head and said to the king, "I do not believe it. Surely no warrior could fear this thing. A man like yourself, tall and muscled, would not fit within."

The king laughed, and saw a way to prove the merit of the maiden to Ember. "I will show you how easily a man like myself could fit," he said. And with that, he stepped into the device. But Ember was waiting, and no sooner had Bedwyr squeezed himself into the iron casket that Ember slammed it shut on him.

Ember took the maiden, with the screaming Bedwyr inside, through the castle, and down into the city. And the people, finally free from the king's tyranny, cheer and danced to the "singing" that echoed through the streets, until Bedwyr was dead and it finally stopped.

--A tale often told in the Singing Maiden tavern

The Soul Canto
Codex entry The Soul Canto
Number: 111
Location: Inside the barracks of Victory Rise, in the Exalted Plains

A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"

The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story."

A vast granite stature stands on an island, holding back the sea.
The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.
The sea drowns its feet with every tide.
The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back.
The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again.
The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.
Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against.
The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea,
And is whittled away with each wave.
It protests the setting sun, and its face is burned looking upon it. It does not know itself.
Stubbornly, it resists wisdom and is transformed.
If you love purpose, fall into the tide. Let it carry you.
Do not fear the dark. The sun and the stars will return to guide you.
You have seen the greatest kings build monuments to their glory
Only to have them crumble and fade.
How much greater is the world than their glory?
The purpose of the world renews itself with each season. Each change only marks
A part of the greater whole.
The sea and the sky themselves:
Nothing special. Only pieces.

---Tome of Koslun, the Soul Canto

The Stone Tree
Codex entry The Stone Tree
Number: 112
Location: Unlocked upon finding The Stone Tree landmark in the Storm Coast, next to the southern-most astrarium

So Galen made his way though the wood until he saw the light of the quarter moon shining on the rock. Elise emerged from the pines, and they shared a quick embrace before making their way to the waiting ship.

--From a local version of The Resourceful Lovers

It's said that lovers who kiss the stone tree will be blessed with a long and happy marriage. Those fond of the superstition tend to ignore renditions of the tale in which Galen and Elise drown at sea,

--Sister Holda, from her unpublished work Folk Nonsense and Other Absurdities

The Storm Coast's Claim
Codex entry The Storm Coast's Claim
Number: 113
Location: On a hill overlooking Long River in the Storm Coast, south side of the river, almost directly south of the cave icon next to Small Grove Camp

See also: Patron of the Arts
On the Waking Sea I ply my trade.
Wink, good ser, and tell a saucy tale!
The yarns I spin do please the maids.
So buy the lads a round!

Oh, the Storm Coast may yet claim these bones,
But I'll sail until they do.
So tell the girls I'm coming home,
With coin enough for two.

Drowning in the waves, a girl I met.
Wink, good ser, and tell a saucy tale!
I plucked 'er up with a fishing net.
So buy the lads a round!

Oh, the Storm Coast may yet claim these bones,
But I'll sail until they do.
So tell the girls I'm coming home,
With coin enough for two.

In the Nocen Sea, swims a might beast.
Wink, good ser, and tell a saucy tale!
I'll show you the scar where he sank his teeth.
So buy the lads a round!

Oh, the Storm Coast may yet claim these bones,
But I'll sail until they do.
So tell the girls I'm coming home,
With coin enough for two.

A cheerful salt, that's what I be.
Wink, good ser, and tell a saucy tale!
A'shore for the night and seeking company.
So buy the lads a round!

Oh, the Storm Coast may yet claim these bones,
But I'll sail until they do.
So tell the girls I'm coming home,
With coin enough for two.

---From Songs of Northern Ferelden, by Sister Adalaide

The Troubles of a Chantry Scholar
Codex entry The Troubles of a Chantry Scholar
Number: 114
Location: Found in the chantry, Redcliffe Village

As students of culture, it is important to always recognize your biases. I wear my Chantry perspective openly, for if my readers do not understand the lens through which I view the world, they cannot account for how these biases may color my writing.

Gathering accurate information is challenging in a place as vast and fragmented as Thedas. One man may go on at length about lurid dealings with a king, then refuse to provide his name or some proof of the account. Other sources may conflict wildly. Fixing travel to some of the more remote areas of the continent is nothing compared to the difficulty I've had finding contacts I can trust. I cannot tell you how many times "reputable people" have tried to deceive me, sometimes for personal notoriety, more often in the interest of a pet cause. Trustworthy Qunari, Dalish, and Tevinter contacts are especially scarce, and I prize those I have kept friendly. Often it is I who must earn their trust.

Texts too can be unreliable. From extensive readings, I have determined that Andraste was a Fereldan Orlesian who was born in every town from here to Hossberg. What little remains of elven history has been told and retold, shifted and skewed, until the tales are unrecognizable. I have particular respect for the dwarves, for there is no other people so obsessed with recording an accurate and complete history. If only the Shapers were as open as the skies they fear.

If I can be honest, the long reign of the Chantry has made the recording of reality at times a trial. Most common histories have been rewritten through the filter of my religion. Everything has meaning as it pertains to the Maker. And while this is unavoidable, it sometimes leads to conflicts between what is officially taught by the Chantry and what I have seen with my own eyes.

While my belief in the Maker is absolute, only a fool would ignore the lessons to be learned from other societies and religions.

Take the Fade. Was it the kingdom of the Maker, as common knowledge dictates, or the realm of the Tevinter Old Gods? Few people would contest its existence, but beyond that, there is little agreement among scholars. Though there are many who would disagree with me, I have come to believe nothing is for certain. I've met too many people and encountered too many perspectives not to keep an open mind about these things.

--Excerpt from a lecture by Brother Genitivi at the University of Orlais, delivered shortly after the release of his seminal work, In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar

The Wellspring
Codex entry The Wellspring
Number: 126
Location: Landmark in The Wellspring
DLC: The Descent

In a time that only the Stone remembers, there was a thaig in the deepest caverns ruled by a wise old king. The riches in the Stone had provided well for the thaig: lyrium flowed like water from the ground, gold and jewels sprouted from the walls like mushrooms, and the people wanted for nothing.

One day, the king returned to the Stone and left behind two sons to vie for his throne. Neither had been named heir, and so each sought to prove to their father's Assembly that he was best suited to be king.

The first son journeyed far and wide across the Deep Roads, forging alliances with the other thaigs, and returned home bearing word of the goodwill of distant kingdoms and their promises of future friendship. But the Assembly was not impressed with words and promises and would not name him heir.

So the second son mined the ground for wealth. Every last scrap of lyrium, every nugget of gold he dug up and gifted to the thaig. But the Assembly, accustomed to abundance, was not impressed. So the second son dug farther and farther into the Stone—so far that he broke through to the other side and found the sky. And this he claimed for his thaig. And the Assembly named him king.

But the Assembly wanted him to bring back his treasure for the thaig. The new king climbed down and down the endless mine until he reached the sky, but try as he might, he could not pull the sky up, nor strike it to pieces with his pickaxe. The new king mined out more and more earth, trying to carve a path to the sky, and finally, he undermined his thaig so much that the whole kingdom broke loose and fell far, far into the ground and up into the sky.

King, Assembly, and thaig were never seen again.

--"The King Who Claimed the Sky" from Songs That Only Nugs Can Hear by Paragon Ebryan

Three Little Empresses
Codex entry Three Little Empresses
Number: 115
Location: Inside a shop on the south side of the main level of Val Royeaux. It is the shop that sells glass and drapery upgrades for Skyhold. The codex is a note attached to the bunk beds.

Simple bunks in the style of the Three Little Empresses, the triplets who were not triplets. Humble in their youths, but a symbol of something more sinister, it was rumored that Empress Merise (6:19 to 6:43 Steel) had given birth to one child, but adopted two look-alikes to protect the lineage from assassination. Wise in a way, but it presented other problems, if we're to believe the outcome of the popular children's skipping rhyme that we associate with the time:

Three little empresses, which of them is true?
A simple glass of almond tea and now there's only two.

Two little empresses, which will be undone?
A dagger from beneath a cloak and now there's only one.

One little empress child, reaping what was sown,
Only she knows which she was, and now she's on the throne.

--Excerpted and torn from A Disposable Walking Tour of the Capital by Philliam, a Bard!

To Be Corrupted
Codex entry To Be Corrupted
Number: 116
Location: Therinfal Redoubt, lower level;
Sold by Willvan in Val Royeaux for 17 silver

The corruption is taking hold now. What doesn't hurt is numb. Head's all foggy, but the scientist in me can't help but describe what this feels like.

My body is breaking down. The fingernails were the first to go. I started to itch all over, and when I scratched, they peeled back. Clumps of hair fell away. Then clumps of flesh.

I hear a song in my head. It's deafening. The most beautiful thing I've ever heard. But I don't hear it with my ears. It's in my brain. A blissful sound. This must be the call for which the darkspawn yearn, what causes them to dig so feverishly.

I'd still rather die. Suppose that's something.

--Missive found in the Deep Roads, signed only "Warden Pierse"

Tower of Bone
Codex entry Tower of Bone
Number: 117
Location: Tower of Bone landmark in Emprise Du Lion

The Tower of Bone is so named for the hundreds of human bones discovered in a hidden chamber beneath the flagstones. The bones were cremated in accordance with Chantry law, and the chamber cleansed and sealed.

Local tales of the tower and its grisly contents abound. Some believe Tevinters built the structure, reinforcing its foundations with blood magic. In other tales, elves built the tower. My favorite is particularly imaginative. In this story, a blood mage summoned a greater pride demon, who then possessed the entire tower. When the mage died, his sons were unable to control the demon, so they commissioned eight monstrous iron chains intended to hold it. The touch of the cold iron chain is the only thing holding the stone abomination in place. Should they break, the tower will pull itself off its foundations and walk, destroying everything in its path.

--From The Highlands of Orlais by Lord Ademar Garde-Haut, royal historian

Trading with Kal-Sharok
Codex entry Trading with Kal-Sharok
Number: 118
Location: Obtained after capturing Suledin Keep in Emprise Du Lion, on the desk near Baron Edouard Desjardins.

My approach was carefully observed. This was not a thaig unused to watching its boundaries. I got the impression that if I'd been one of his Orzammar cousins, our meeting would've been swift and bloody. That is, if I'd been allowed to find the passage at all. As it was, he was polite and efficient, and he knew well the current market for everything he offered. Clearly their isolation is not because of fear, and certainly not disinterest. Among his wares, I saw the latest fabrics of Val Royeaux and volumes by a Free Marcher poet three centuries dead. This only added to my doubt of the official year of Kal-Sharok's "rediscovery" as declared by the Assembly of Orzammar. I didn't mention this to my host. As curious as I was, there was an undercurrent I found unsettling. I must stress that he and his helpers were professional and honest throughout. But there was something I can't describe. While he remained hooded the entire time, he looked me square in the eye when our deal was struck, unashamed.

I lived through a time of Blight. I've felt the gaze of a Grey Warden and seen the corruption of his prey. Why I remembered both in that moment, I still can't explain.

--On meeting Novas Sturhald in Kal-Sharok, excerpted from the journals of Ser Evrain Abernache, noble merchant-scholar

Two Marked in Battle
Codex entry Two Marked in Battle
Number: 127
Location: Frostback Basin: speak to Skald Fullna in Stone-Bear Hold
DLC: Jaws of Hakkon

In a hold past our own, there were two men. One was born Ivatt Jovsen, the other Rekkas Hildsen. When word came lowlanders marched on Ivatt's hold, he searched for them. He found the lowlanders in a valley, and his heart was grieved, for they wore mail, and spoke eagerly of battling Avvar, and came in great numbers. But clever Ivatt studied the rock above the lowlanders. When they camped for the night, he climbed up to the tallest peak, and rolled a great boulder to the edge, aiming for the light of their fires. The boulder slid with other rocks into a mighty wave of dirt and stone. More than half their numbers were crushed, and the others fled in terror to the lowlands.

Ivatt's hold held a great feast to celebrate and said the songs would now call him Ivatt Stone-Thunder. Rekkas Hildsen grew jealous. Did he not shoot better than Ivatt? Did he not run faster than Ivatt? A great monster lived at the top of the mountain by the hold. It had feathers of gold, and taloned claws, and stole their game from the valley. Rekkas swore he would kill the beast to make his own legend-mark and went hunting on the mountain.

The first night, Rekkas found and killed a ram. The second night, Rekkas found and killed a hart. The third night, Rekkas found the nest of the feathered monster, and it was empty. The hunter laid the hart and the ram on the nest, then climbed above it. When dawn broke, the monster returned. It greedily tore open the meat. While it was distracted, Rekkas leapt down and plunged his sword into its back.

The monster screamed, but its hide was thick, and the sword stuck. The beast took off into the sky with the terrified Rekkas still on its back. The monster twisted and looped to shake him off, and the sword dropped into the deep valley. Desperate, Rekkas held on to the feathers on the monster's neck. He saw the beast would soon fly over his home, where all his friends and kin were gathered in astonishment at the sight above them. Rekkas threw his weight, trying to force the monster closer to the ground. It worked, and when the beast soared over the hold, Rekkas twisted and threw himself off. The gods were kind, and as the beast flew off, Rekkas landed on a midden heap, torn feathers floating about him.

Rekkas was humble the rest of his days, never again letting jealousy take his head. The hunter knew, in the end, his legend mark could have been far worse than "Rekkas Feather-Fall."

--From Stories of the Wild South: A Collection of Tales of the Barbarian Nations of Ferelden by Lady Susanna Ashwell of Ansburg

Unsigned Journal
Codex entry Unsigned Journal
Number: 119
Location: Storm Coast, inside the cave Daerwin's Mouth

The red potion was bitter and burned my throat. It was nothing like the lyrium I know. There was a hum in my mind, a held note that seemed to course through my entire being. The power it brought was incredible. I felt as if I held all the world in my palm, and I could crush it with a thought. Is this what the Maker feels?

I can think of nothing else but that power now. A taste of the limitless makes it impossible for a man to be content with the ordinary. Why be what I am when I can be more?

Codex entry Vallasdahlen
Number: 120
Location: All entries are added when you find the landmarks in Northern Emerald Graves, near the giants.

Elves have their heroes, just as we do; they honor the Vallasdahlen--Life-Trees--of these legendary figures. Planted in remembrance of those who dedicated their lives to the Dalish kingdom, these trees grew into a mighty wood, a testament to the elves' force at their height.

Walk beneath the Vallasdahlen with reverence; remember that each of them once had a name.

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

The Dalish believe Mathalin was the first of the Emerald Knights, and the first to hold Evanura, the blade of honor, forged in Halamshiral for his hand.

Tanaleth was a smith and the High Keeper of June; she spent her years rediscovering the arts of Arlathan.

Briathos protected the Dales from human incursion. When humans sent missionaries and templars, he turned them away.

Vaharel conquered the human city of Montsimmard.

Lindiranae was the last to hold the blade Evanura. With her fell the Dales; the sword was lost.

Dalish revere Elnora for her tireless work reviving the magical arts of lost Arlathan.

Ralaferin was a great lord of elven Halamshiral. The Ralaferin tribe existing today believes they descend from him.

Calmar was Elnora's apprentice and First, and friend to the halla.

Sulan was Mathalin's squire. He walked always with a wolf at his side.

Walking the Fade: A Harrowing
Codex entry Walking the Fade: A Harrowing
Number: 121
Location: In the Raw Fade during Here Lies the Abyss (After meeting Justinia V for the second time)

I found myself on a plateau of swirling smoke and mist. I could not see my feet, or perhaps I had no feet in that place. Each step was treacherous. I had to believe there was a ground. If I didn't, there wouldn't be, and I would fall into nothingness. I was protected only by my will and my magic.

The demon they made me face took the shape of a great cat. As we battled, it spoke in my mind. It told me that I would eventually stumble, and then it would pounce. The demon talked to me of the templars beyond the Veil, standing over my paralyzed body, their swords pointed at my heart, waiting for the moment of my failure. All it would take was a splinter of fear, a seed of doubt, and I would be unmade. The demon would devour my mind, and the templars would destroy what was left of me.

This was my Harrowing. They force this upon all mages and call it good. But it is neither good nor right. It is evil and unjust.

--From a partially destroyed journal bearing no name, found in a Kinloch Hold cistern.

Walking the Fade: Frozen Moments
Codex entry Walking the Fade: Frozen Moments
Number: 122
Location: The Raw Fade during Here Lies the Abyss, north of the stairs leading to the Divine encounter.

I once studied the Fade as a scholar, dissecting it, as a child might a rat or a frog. I was young and craved the power conquering the Fade could bring. I tried in vain to chart its paths, and when that failed, I attempted to secure them. In my arrogance, I struggled against the Fade's very nature. How does one pin down a dream? How can one control a thought so that it might travel always the same course from conception to completion?

Only when I let go of my desires and humbled myself was the Fade opened to me. The spirits came and took it upon themselves to be my guides, my lanterns in the darkness. At their command, the paths grew still, and I could walk them again and again. I was shown vast oceans, containing not water, but memories, drawn from the minds of dreamers. I drifted through frozen moments, like paintings, perfect in each detail. As I explored this impossible realm, the spirits kept darker things at bay. I came to trust them, even love them, and I saw my own love reflected in them.

To know the Fade, one cannot seek to master it. The Fade is the master, the teacher. We are merely apprentices.

--Writings of Magister Callistus of Taraevyn, known to some as "Callistus the Fade-Touched"

War Hounds
Codex entry War Hounds
Number: 123
Location: Inspect a dog statue in the main hall of Skyhold, after the Fereldan decor has been chosen.

Good work here. Solid stone from the Frostbacks. Kikhol's Peak on human maps. Highhall's Roof on proper dwarven ones. As for subject, I heard the story once from a Fereldan trader. Hounds of war: one for the battle won, head raised high to chase the enemy's dead into the Fade. The second is for the battle lost: head raised, calling to a fallen master, baring its neck to the blade to join them. Any efficient sculptor will tell you they create a design and then apprentices copy it for sale. I asked why she had two meanings for the same pose. She said "Would you rather sell one statue or two?" Smart lady.

--Stonework evaluation for Lord/Lady [Inquisitor surname]'s consideration, Mason Gatsi

What Discipline Achieves
Codex entry What Discipline Achieves
Number: 124
Location: Storm Coast, south of the location where Iron Bull is encountered

We came first from the sea. The dreadnoughts took Par Vollen at a stroke. We marched on the land called Seheron, then Rivain and the Tevinter Imperium. Our viddathari told us the Tevinter capital of Minrathous was unassailable; though it did not fall, its walls were cracked with steel and baqoun fire. Tevinter saw what discipline achieves.

The bas called us conquerors when we brought them purpose. When we tamassrans teach a child to read or a wilderness is made fruitful, is that conquest?

Without the certainty of the Qun, there can be no reason. The bas raised three retaliations against our forces, pushing back in Antiva and Rivain. The kabethari, still adapting to the Qun's rule, suffered worst--the very people the bas sought to "liberate." The land burned, while the bas called us savages.

Such madness and hypocrisy needed another answer. We signed the treaties of the bas to silence them, and left.

We will return. Patience is the manifestation of self-control. While the bas bicker amongst themselves, we prepare. What is time compared to the demands of the Qun?

---Tamassran teaching notes, recovered and translated

What is Green?
Codex entry What is Green?
Number: 125
Location: In the Vault Library of Skyhold

What is green? Imagine I should present to you an object which, to my mind, is of indisputable greenness and ask, "Does this thing appear to you to be green?"

Naturally, you might say that it does, for you have come to recognize the appearance of the color of the object to be "green," associating the word with what your eyes see. But could it be my understanding of "green" differs entirely from yours? What if, perchance, you could see into my mind? You might realize that all things that I name "green" are actually "red" in your understanding.

Ah, without the moorings of objective truth, we are set adrift in oceans of solitary experience.

---The promising opening to a lecture given by Karsten Groeke, philosopher-poet at the University of Orlais. The lecture's quality dropped significantly after this point, and ended quickly when Groeke subjected audience members to a poorly constructed Ode to Chartreuse. He fled from the auditorium under fire from students armed with overripe "red" tomatoes.

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