A/N: Uh, this is a poem for DAI, which I don't own.
The pain comes.
It's a bright wave.
It tugs and pulls against.
A Herald, given a mission unwanted.
Because I am magic stained, I lead.
I'm the line between here and the Fade.
Rifts between this World and the Next tape open.
They are sores upon the Fabric that spew forth demons.
It's a viscous cycle of forever opening and closing the sky.
Inquisition, Inquisitor, the mighty hand across Thedas, holding fate within your grasp.