《龙腾世纪2》官网在之前曾公布过游戏Anders和Isabela小说，也就是相当于游戏剧情背景，经过翻译整理把Anders和Isabela小说中文版展示给大家。安德斯

这里的光线不太正常。有点偏黄，有点刺眼。而且所有的光线都来自头顶上。刚才我并没感觉到有什么不对劲的地方。太阳……它一直在头顶上，不是吗？我想起了什么？

我突然想起来那个词。幻境（fade，我不清楚fade的通用译法，暂且译成幻境）。我是一个法师。我在这里度过了很长时间。这个世界充斥着雾，或者说是梦。我知道我是对的。这里的光不同寻常。它从地上发出，从墙上发出，而不是从一个点光源发出。但之前我一直只是一个过客。为什么突然间我有种家的感觉？

我忘记了什么？
我坐起来，光线时暗时明。阵痛袭来，我用一点点魔法将它驱走。随着魔法缓缓地包裹着疼痛，我不再那么难受了。我试着去思考。从最简单的东西开始。我的名字。我的名字是什么？

我是安德斯。
我是正义（justice）。
这个问题从来没有这么难过。

突然我想起来了。正义的声音，我的声音，通过它曾经占有的那个腐烂的身体说：“是时候了。你向我展示了一个我从来没有遇到过的不公。你有没有勇气接受我的援助？

我很了解他提出的交易。

他需要一个宿主以停留在凡间。一个可以寄宿终生的身体，而不是一个慢慢腐烂的尸体。如果我给它身体，他会给予我他所拥有的一切。我们可以一起把Thedas重新变成一个由正义统治的世界，而不是由恐惧统治。

一个没有法师环（Circle，同样不知道通用译法）的世界。一个没有圣殿骑士（templar）的世界。一个每一个法师都可以学习使用他们的天赋，并在晚上回家睡觉的世界。一个没有母亲会因为邻居的恐惧而藏匿...甚至失去她的孩子的世界。一个魔法被认为是造物主（Maker）的礼物，而不是它的诅咒的世界。

我不需要去设想这个世界会是什么样子的。法师环和圣殿骑士改变了我的命运。他们来找我时我还不到12岁。当他们用铁链锁住我的手腕时，我的母亲留下眼泪，但我父亲却非常高兴。自从谷仓的那场火灾之后，他就一直很害怕。不是害怕我会干什么，而是害怕我本人，害怕我的魔法是造物主对他那些小小的罪恶的惩罚。

我知道我不会屈服。我从来不是他们希望的那样——顺从的，屈服的，充满罪恶感的。但在遇到“正义”之前，我一直形只影单。我只会去设想逃亡：我该藏在哪里？他们还要多久才会发现我？

现在这些想法使我恶心。为什么这么多的生命要偏离自己本来的路线？为什么要有法师环？仅仅是因为它一直就在那儿，仅仅是因为那些将Andraste的话扭曲成法师必须被囚禁的人们？为什么从来就没有一场革命？

“他醒过来了。”一个声音传来。这个声音我很熟悉。一名灰卫。
“他到底怎么了？”有两个人。这个声音我不知道是谁的。

“他刚才失去理智了。他的眼睛闪闪发光……充血的皮肤炸开了，看起来他体内好像着火了似的。他一直在语无伦次地说的什么……关于不公，关于一场革命。我刚想把他控制住，他一下子就晕过去了。”

“艹他妈（和谐）的法师”。

我努力的站起来，睁开眼睛像一个人去面对他们，而不是像一坨hurlock吐出来的东西。我可以看到他们了。是罗兰。当时是他。那个因为灰卫慷慨地在一群圣殿骑士的鼻子底下将我救出而使我不得不去为他效忠的王子。他也是一个灰卫。在他的教会被darkspawn（黑暗种？一直不知道怎么翻译）吞没，他就加入了灰卫。没有人说协议是被定死的。但当圣殿骑士们停止抗议之后，Rolan作为灰卫出现了。自从那以后我们在战场上并肩作战。很明显，圣殿骑士派他来监视我。

关于我和“正义”的交易他都发现了什么？

随着他的出现，我开始后悔刚才我所选择的一些词语。有些东西在我体内隐隐作痛。我怀疑对于“正义”来说在一个有清醒意识的身体上强加他的意愿是非常困难的。但这个问题其实很傻，因为他的想法就是我的，他就是我。我开始怀疑刚才怎么会有这样的疑问。

罗兰站在我正前方，胸甲上的白色狮鹫的图案在我眼中渐渐模糊，一把灰铁的火焰之剑印入眼帘。我确信罗兰背叛了我。

“灰卫们不会容忍一个恶灵（abomination），”他说着，厚重的鼻音中洋溢着一种沾沾自喜之情。我不需要再听下去了。他带了一群圣殿骑士，针对我，针对我们，而这正是我们一直等待的。

我无法看到我的变化，但我能看到他们眼中的恐惧，听到他们的惊呼。我的手臂猛然一挥，前方一片爆炸，融化的金属四处飞溅。剑融化了，顺着圣殿骑士的手腕流了下去。又是一波火焰，他脸上的肉烧焦了，只剩下一些冒烟的骨头。树在燃烧……还有帐篷……还有我周围的一切。

Rolan依然站立着，我闻到了他所饮用的魔晶（lyrium），这为他挡住的冲击波。但他很害怕。我看到他的盾牌在颤动，他仅仅可以抵抗住逃跑的欲望。我突然有一个问题：“我到底是什么？”因为我曾经看到他面对血母和恶灵时毫无恐惧。

他的剑挥向我的脖子。我没有去阻挡。一般的兵器已经无法伤到我，因为我不再是凡人。剑锋深深地刺入我的脖子，但我却没有一点反应。这是他放弃了。他转身就跑。而我则将他的脑袋拧了下来。没有用魔法，仅仅是我，仅仅是这个已经不知道是什么东西了的“我”。他的血溅如我的口中，这尝起来有点像蜂蜜，一股暖流穿过我。

他憎恶我，并且他已经死了。他害怕我，并且他已经死了。他追捕我，并且他已经死了。

他们都会死的。每一个圣殿骑士都会死的。每一个圣殿骑士，每一个教会修女，所有阻碍我们的自由的人都会在愤怒中死去，他们的死将成为我们的祭品。我们将怀有正义。我们将进行复仇。

突然我又形单影只了。我站在一片燃烧的森林中，脚下到处是圣殿骑士和灰卫的尸体。如此的多，我从没有想过竟然会如此的多。我无法相信我杀死了他们，但证据就摆在我身边。这不是我所熟悉的一场大战之后的战场，而是一场充斥着残肢和血肉的大屠杀。

这不是正义。这不是那个作为我的朋友的善灵（spirit）。他到底变成的什么？我到底变成了什么？我们必须离开这里。灰卫中再也不会有我的位置。

我的归宿在哪里？

伊莎贝拉

    那个刚刚走进“吊死鬼（hanged man）”酒吧的女人的样子可真够奇葩的，破旧的衣服上面沾满了泥浆，就像一只已经在污水中泡了一周的老鼠。她那件被风风雨雨撕的破破烂烂的罩衫上面满是煤灰，虽然她的鞋的材料是上好的皮革，却已经被磨的不忍一睹，到处是补丁。但是，她的耳环非常华丽，华丽的甚至有一点傲慢。她大步走进酒吧，好像她才是这里的老板娘。
    “他们说我可以从这里弄点喝的，”她的目的非常明确，把半打银币拍在我面前的柜台上。“这些能换给我什么？”
    “这足够让你一醉，”我说。
    “那就一直给我上酒，直到这些钱用完。把酒搞的冲一点儿。”
    我用围裙擦了一下陶杯，并灌满整个酒吧最浓烈的酒。她从我手中把杯子夺走，一饮而尽。
    “你看起来很想喝啊。”我又给她倒了一杯。
    “你无法想象我有多想喝酒，”她叹了一口气，揉了揉太阳穴。“顺便说一句，他们叫我伊莎贝拉。你可能需要知道这个，我想我会在这里呆一段时间。”

    过了一小会，一个满身酒臭的码头工人走了过来。当伊莎贝拉感觉到他的手时，她眉头一皱，低下身来。码头工人刚想说什么，但却没有机会了。伊莎贝拉抓住他的手腕，将他的胳膊反折过来。他的叫声最初只是因为震惊，但随着伊莎贝拉一肘将他的脸砸在吧台上时，这叫声很快变成疼痛的哭喊。
    “再碰我一下，你身上将有更多的部位被我搞残。”她嘶嘶地说。她一根根地将那只手上的手指掰断。我听到嘎吱嘎吱的声音和一声痛嚎。码头工人匆匆逃走，边摸着自己的手边恶毒地咒骂。

    “怎么样？”她把空杯递过来，让我说两句。我对这她的那件仅仅能遮住最关键部位的衣服比划两下。穿着这样的衣服，你会受到各种人的关注，不管你愿意还是不愿意。

    “什么？你说这个？”她指着衣服上的花边，苦笑着说，“我也许会为你穿着整齐的，但我所有的好衣服都在海底呢。”

    当我还在思索这句话的涵义时，一个Lowtown的恶棍靠近了她。他一脸傻笑，油腻的嘴唇紧贴着黄褐色的牙齿。这表情与其说是笑，倒不如说是做鬼脸。“我是好运（I"m Lucky）”，他说。

    “这是个名字呢，还是一个形容词？”她问道，根本不去看他一眼。
    “都是，如果你对柯克沃尔（Kirkwall）很陌生，那你会想跟我聊两句的。我和我手下了解这里所有的东西。”

    “你知道吗，”伊莎贝拉冷冷地说，“我碰巧知道有一条狗的名字叫‘好运’，它又小又蠢，根本不知道如果它再叫两声我就会给他一脚。”

    “好运”的脸涨红了，他向他的手下们看了一眼，试图找点儿精神支持。他的手下们都在嘲笑他，一点面子都不给。“好运”想撤了。伊莎贝拉玩着陶杯，正过来又倒过去，仔细观察那些破损的地方。她的眼睛眯了起来。

    “等等，”她突然说，“如果你确实知道柯克沃尔的一切，那我们可以聊聊。”

    “好运”笑着点了点头。伊莎贝拉转过身来面对他。我注意到她那有点恶作剧般的眼神。

    “你看，”她第一次笑着说。“我在一艘沉船上丢了一点东西，我希望这个东西能被找回。”

英文版：

Anders

The light here isn"t right. It"s too yellow. Too harsh. And it all comes from above. For a moment, I"m not sure why that seems wrong. The sun… that"s always been there, right? What am I remembering?
   
The word comes back to me. The Fade. I am a mage. I"ve spent time in the place I remember. It is a land of mist, of drEAms. And I"m right; the light there is different, emanating from the ground, the walls, not a single pinpoint source. But I"ve never been more than a visitor there. Why does it suddenly feel like home?

What else can"t I remember?

I sit up, and the light brightens, darkens, steadies. The throb in my head returns and without thinking, I draw on a breath of mana to drive it away. The pain lifts as the Magic settles over it, soothing and cooling. I try to think. Let"s start with something SIMple. My name. What is my name?

I am Anders.
I am Justice.
This never used to be so hard.

Suddenly it comes back to me. Justice"s voice, my voice, speaking through the rotting face of the body he once claimed. "It is time. You have shown me an injustice greater than any I have faced. Do you have the courage to accept my aid?"

I knew what he offered.

To stay in the mortal realm, he needs a host, a body to inhabit for a Lifetime, not a corpse which will rot out from beneath him. If I gave him that, he would give me all he had, all he was. Together, we could remake Thedas into a world where justice rules, not fear.

A world with no Circle. No templars. A world where every mage can learn to use their gifts and still return home at night. Where no mother ever need hide her child… or lose him to the fear of his neighbors. Where magic is recognized as a gift of the Maker, not the curse it has become.

It"s almost too much to imagine. The Circle, the templars, they"ve shaped my life. I was no more than twelve when they came for me. My mother wept when they fixed the chains to my wrists, but my father was glad to see me gone. He had been afraid, ever since the fire in the barn. Not just afraid of what I could do, but afraid of me, afraid my magic was punishment for whatever petty sins he imagined the Maker sat in judgment upon.

I always knew I wouldn"t submit. I could never be what they wanted from me -- compliant, obedient, guilty. But before Justice, I was alone. I never thought beyond my own escape: Where would I hide? How long before they found me?

Now, even that thought repulses me. Why should so many others live with what I will not? Why must the Circle of Magi stand? Just because it always has, just because those who read Andraste"s words twisted them to mean that mages must be prisoners? Why has there never been a revolution?

"He"s coming to." A voice, getting closer. Someone I know. A Grey Warden.

"What in the Maker"s name happened to him?" There are two of them. This one I don"t know.

"He just went crazy. His eyes were glowing… His bloody skin cracked open and it was like he was on fire inside. Just kept raving… something about injustice, a revolution. Thought I was going to have to put the blighter down like a mad dog, then he just collapsed."


"Damned mages."

I struggle to stand, to open my eyes and face them like a man, not the chewed-up pile of hurlock spew I feel like. I can see them now. It"s Rolan; of course it is. The price I had to pay for the Grey Wardens" generosity in recruiting me out from under the templars" noses. He was one of them, before his Chantry was destroyed by the darkspawn and he felt the calling to join the Wardens. No one ever said a deal had been struck, but as soon as the templars stopped their protests, Rolan turned up in the Wardens, and we"ve fielded every assignment together since. It"s all too clear the templars sent him to keep watch.

And whatever possessed me to make my deal with Justice anywhere he might witness?

As he appears, I regret that choice of words, because something stirs inside me, and I wonder if it"s harder for Justice to exert his will in a body that a living consciousness still inhabits. But it"s a futile question, because his thoughts are mine and he is me, and I"m no longer sure what I was even asking.

Rolan is in front of me now, and the white griffin on his chest plate blurs in my sight with the steel-grey sword-of-flames on his companion"s armor, and I know with white-hot certainty that Rolan has betrayed me.

"The Wardens agreed we can"t harbor an abomination," he is saying, nasal voice vibrating with smug satisfACTion, and I don"t need to hear more. He"s brought the templars down on me, on us, and this is just what we"ve been waiting for.

I don"t see myself when I change, only the reflection in their eyes and the sound of their screams. My arm lashes out and silverite doesn"t so much break as explode in a shower of molten metal. The sword melts, running down the templar"s chest, and I follow up with a wave of flames which scorch the flesh from his face, leaving only bone so hot it smolders. The trees are burning… the tent… everything around us.

Rolan is still standing, and I smell the lyrium he drank, which guarded him from the blast. But he"s afraid. I see his shield jerk and know he barely resisted the urge to flee, and I have a sudden thought, "What am I?" for I"ve seen him face both broodmothers and abominations without fear.

And then his sword is level with my chest, and I let it come, because it is only steel and cannot hurt me, for I am not of mortal men. And when it sinks hilt-deep in my flesh with no reaction, that"s when he gives up. He turns and runs, and from behind, I tear his head off at the neck, no magic, just me, whatever that is now. His blood splashes into my open mouth and it tastes like honeyed wine and the warmth spreads through me.

He hated me, and he is dead. He feared me, and he is dead. He hunted me, and he is dead.

They will all die. Every templar, every holy sister who staNDS in the way of our freedom will die in agony and their deaths will be our fuel. We will have justice. We will have vengeance.

And suddenly I"m alone, standing in a burning forest, with the bodies of templars and wardens at my feet. So many, and I didn"t even know they were there. Didn"t even know I had killed them, but the evidence is all around me. Not the aftermath of a battle as I"ve known it, but a bloody abattoir of rent limbs and torn and eaten flesh.

This is not justice. This is not the spirit who was my friend, my self. What has he become? What have I become? We must get out of here. There is no place for me in the Grey Wardens now.

Is there a place for me anywhere?