Morrigan: I have a thought.
Warden: Oh? What’s on your mind?
Morrigan: We have an opprotunity that I believe we should take advantage of. To the point: my mother was once divested of a particular grimoire by a most annoying templar hunter. It occured long before I was born, but even today Flemeth speaks of the loss with great rage.
Morrigan: With the Circle of Magi in such disarray, it occurs to me that this might be the perfect time to recover the tome from their posession, for surely it eventually ended up in their hands.
Warden: What makes you think the mages still have this book?
Morrigan: Flemeth is a sorceress of legend, is she not? And her grimoire would be more than a mere curiosity to mages that daren’t even glance towards the places that my mother has walked for eons.
Morrigan: No doubt ’tis considered something dangerous, perhaps locked away somewhere dark, yes? And if not? Then at least I know it does not exist. But there is no harm in looking, surely.
Warden: What do you want with this grimoire, exactly?
Morrigan: ’Tis a book of spells, of the sort that Flemeth has dabbled with throughout her long life. Not the sort of thing that would benefit a mage such as yourself, perhaps, for you were taught…a different path. I, however, was taught by my mother.
Morrigan: I know a way around the wards my mother would have placed on such a tome. I know the language that she would have written it in. I would find such a tome… most useful.
Warden: Useful in what way?
Morrigan: Useful in the way that it might increase my power. Useful in the way that I would become more useful to you. Does that not follow?
Warden: How do I know it is not dangerous?
Morrigan: Dangerous? All knowledge is potentially dangerous. If you have some fear of me such that I should not be allowed such knowledge, then by all means deprive me of it. I have no alterior motive for seeking it, however.
Warden: Very well. If we go back to the tower, I’ll look for it.
Morrigan: Good. I am most interested to see its contents, should it be located. The grimoire is leather-bound and adorned with the symbol of a leafless tree, should you come across it. If not, however, then I shall simply put it out of my mind.
Morrigan: What? You found Flemeth’s grimoire? When I spoke of it to you, I did not truly hope… ah, but this is a most fortuitous event! You have my thanks. I will begin study of the tome immediately.
Warden: What do you hope to find within it?
Morrigan: Secrets. My mother has many of them, and this tome represents the one time they were able to get away from her. I do not intend to squander this opprotunity to learn more than Flemeth wished me to know. This should be… interesting.
Morrigan: I have been studying Mother’s grimoire. Do you wish to hear what I have found?
Warden: What did you find?
Morrigan: ’Tis…not what I expected. I had hoped for a collection of spells, a map of the power she commands. But this is not it.
Warden: Yet you look disturbed.
Morrigan: Disturbed? Yes, perhaps that is the right word. One thing in particular within her writings distrubs me.
Morrigan: Here, in great detail, Flemeth explains the means by which she has survived for centuries.
Warden: Let me guess. She drinks blood? Eats children?
Morrigan: That is closer to the truth than you might think. Flemeth has raised many daughers over her long lifetime. There are stories of these many Witches of the Wilds throughout Chasind legend, yet I have never seen a one and always wondered why not.
Morrigan: And now I know. They are all Flemeth. When her body becomes old and wizened, she raises a daughter. And when the time is right, she takes her daughter’s body for her own.
Warden: So why would she risk sending you with me?
Morrigan: I do not know. Perhaps ’tis as she said: the darkspawn threaten her as much as they threaten anyone else. Or perhaps she believes that this journey will make me more powerful. According to the tome, if the…host…is already powerful and trained in magic, it takes much less time for Flemeth to…settle in.
Warden: So if you died she would have another daughter?
Morrigan: Not by any natural means. Perhaps I should take this as a vote of confidence from her on my capabilities? Or perhaps she simply wished me gone from the Korcari Wilds so she could prepare her ritual in peace. A disturbing thought.
Warden: Are you certain about this?
Morrigan: Indeed. That is primarily what this tome details. The various daughters that Flemeth has… acquired. Their preparation and training. I recognize all of it. I…am to be her next host. This is my purpose.
Warden: So is Flemeth immortal or not?
Morrigan: Whatever spark of the demon that made her what she is remains within her keeps her from dying of old age. But her body deteriorates. Eventually she would be so wizened as to be senseless and immobile. So she must seek a new body, a fresh body, and start the cycle anew.
Warden: Can this body be anyone? Or must it be a daughter?
Morrigan: I am… uncertain. According to her writings, certain hosts are better than others. The more a host is prepared, the quicker… the transition will be.
Morrigan: I am…sorry. This simply takes me by surprise. I would have thought I would have had some inkling, some notion…
Warden: You really had no idea?
Morrigan: Flemeth is capable of many things. I was a fool not to suspect her capable of using me for her own self-preservation.
Warden: So what do you intend to do about it?
Morrigan: There is only one possible response to this: Flemeth needs to die. I will not sit about like an empty sack waiting to be filled. Flemeth must be slain and I need your help to do it.
Warden: Why do you need my help?
Morrigan: Because if she is slain while I am near, I am not certain she will not simply be able to take posession of me right there. So obviously I cannot be the one to do it.
Warden: Very well. I’ll help you, if I can.
Morrigan: Then what needs to be done is for you to go back to Flemeth’s hut in the Korcari Wilds…without me. Confront her and slay her quickly. I doubt she will truly be dead then, but it will take her years to find a new host and recover her power…if that is even possible. The thing I must have is her true grimoire. With it I can defend against her power in the future. Everything else in her hut is yours.
Warden: Are you serious? Kill Flemeth, a Witch of the Wilds?
Morrigan: Bah! She would like everyone to think she is invincible, but I highly doubt that is the case. And besides that, you are not truly killing her.
Warden: Do I have a time limit on this?
Morrigan: Not really. But the sooner the better, no?
Warden: I’ll see what I can do.
Morrigan: I am grateful. The sooner this can be done, the sooner it will set my mind at ease.
Flemeth: And so you return. Lovely Morrigan has at last found someone willing to dance to her tune. Such enchanting music she plays, wouldn’t you say?
Warden: I should dance to your tune, instead?
Flemeth: Why dance at all? Why not sing? (laughs) What has Morrigan told you, hmm? What little plan has she hatched this time?
Warden: She knows how you extend your unnatural lifespan.
Flemeth: That she does. The question is, do you? Ahh, but it is an old, old story. One that Flemeth has heard before… and even told. Let us skip to the ending, shall we? Do you slay the old wretch as Morrigan bids? Or does the tale take a different turn?
Warden: I just want the truth.
Flemeth: “The truth,” she says, as if it were nothing! No, no. Far better the lie. Far better the comfort of blankets and shadows of a mother’s love. Morrigan wishes my grimoire? Take it as a trophy. Tell her I am slain.
Warden: You think she will believe that?
Flemeth: We believe what we want to believe. It’s all we ever do.
Warden: And what happens to you?
Flemeth: I go. Perhaps I surprise Morrigan one day… or I may simply watch. It would be interesting to see what she does with her freedom. Enlightening, even. Would you give an old woman that?
Warden: No. Forget it.
Flemeth: Shame. What will it be, then?
Warden: Now you die.
Flemeth: It is a dance poor Flemeth knows well. Let us see if she remembers the steps. Come. She will earn what she takes. I’d have it no other way.
Warden: So Flemeth is dead. What now?
Morrigan: Now I will have time to find some way to prevent Flemeth from stealing my body in the future, even without her grimoire. For she will be back. One day. I have no doubt about that.
Morrigan: And if I cannot protect myself, one day I will track her down again in whatever body she inhabits…and she will die again. And again, if need be.
Morrigan: But there is no need to think of such things now. I have you to thank for saving me, so let us… return to the task of dealing with the darkspawn, no?
Warden: You know you can always rely on me, right?
Morrigan: You… too much could happen in days to come to…make such promises. Yet I am…grateful. Let us go. There is much to be done before…there is still much to be done.
Morrigan: Ahhh. Mother’s real grimoire, is it? I’m glad you were able to find it after all. My thanks for retrieving it. I shall begin studying it immediately and unlock the power that it holds.