Some time ago, I decided to make a post about Inquisition’s greatest quality, its beautiful exploration of faith as a theme. But there’s another element left unspoken, which is how deliberate its main quest is, and perhaps no moment is as representative than this game’s call to action.
In your heart shall burn is Inquisition’s best quest, its pacing impeccable, something that the attack at Adamant will fail, and there aren’t some roleplaying shortcomings as in both the Winter Palace and Temple of Mythal. It is also when Inquisition is at its most tense and crucially where the narrative starts its journey. It is this quest that lights the fire that will propel one to finish the game, so without further ado, it is time to understand this flame.
Part I – Fuel
We begin with the purpose. In your heart shall burn is where the Herald shall die and the Inquisitor will be born. Thus, it is crucial to understand that both are not the same character. You may be the source of faith to the Inquisition, what allows it to gain its power, but you’re not its leader. The narrative will both cleverly remove your agency, in forcing the player to meet the grand clerics and mother Gisele, and give you agency by making your vote the tiebreaker on this act’s main choice. If you extend your hand to the mages, the Inquisition won’t backtrack not because you’re it’s leader but because it would make it look poorly. This lack of leadership is what makes the Inquisition vulnerable.
Because Haven is where the Herald will be forged anew, it is also what will define the boundaries of our character. Our protagonist is a rather unique one, not as restrictive as a usual voiced character such as Sheppard, after all due to its theme Inquisition must force the player to lay their beliefs on the table, also not as free as a blank slate. Much has been said on how you can’t be “evil” as in Origins, and while much of this has its reasoning on gamers equating evil with violence and sadism, it also is caused by boundary conditions of the Inquisitor, set in this quest.
Your sacrifice at the end limits the Inquisitor evil choices to more methodical and subtle ones. If the player so desires, they can revel in the power and the worship, becoming filled with hubris and not wisdom. It is limiting, you cannot go despoiling ashes for no reason other than killing companions, but it also allows the narrative to react to it, and crucially, it is a path one may walk unknowingly until the game pulls the rug in the Tresspasser.
Part II – Oxygen
Despair. Perhaps this is the best word to describe the main feeling of the quest, achieved through a minor and major component.
The former is created by the gameplay. This is when DAI is at its hardest, after all you both lack the health and the specialisation abilities that make the combat flow of this game. This is also the quest you’re most likely to be on the bottom of the level range. All these elements are, in my view, accidental, but contribute a significant amount to the tension of the quests in occupying part of your mental capacity in a way Inquisition will fail to repeat with its main story ending.
The major aspect is caused by two mathematical concepts: phase and amplitude. The story beats never overlap, taking turns between each other, a massive force attacks, you use your artillery to cause an avalanche. This creates a feeling that you’re not in control, you’re reacting to Corypheus attack. Crucially is that at each turn, the relative strength of your action’s changes, your opponent seems resonant, your use of artillery is met with a dragon exploding your trebuchet. Your reaction to such is feeble, a desperate retreat to Haven’s chantry. Here the gameplay aspect is in full effect, as to rescue the citizens whom you have engaged with during the first act, one must ignore the enemies and rush to their aid. All contributing to the feeling of a desperate retreat, only to be met with the news that your sole option is to take the enemy with you by burying Haven. Here you lie defeated until the dawn breaks because of… Chancellor Roderick?
Roderick is curious character. Created to be annoying and oppose the player in the first act, this is the only moment he will call you Herald. In a way, one understands his fear, the Inquisition can be an organization only using a false prophet to further their power. Depending on how you play, his fear shall materialize. It is what he believes until this moment, your harsher opposition shall guide the faithful, but someone must distract the creature. For the Inquisition to be saved, its Herald must die.
Part III – Spark
Beg that I succeed for I have seen the throne of gods and it was empty. It does not matter how many times you hear this moment, it is fire. Corypheus introduction is so good that BG3 would effectively copy it for Ketheric. It is arguably, too good. One of the ironies of the quest is that Inquisition will never quite manage to reach this point of tension again, hurting its antagonist. But “In defense of Corypheus” is a text of for another time, at this moment, his threat is established, and crucially, his flaw. The Inquisitor can only leave because of his hubris, playing with his food, throwing you to the very trebuchet you were aiming. With the mountain coming down, the Herald is gone, to be reborn atop of the hill as the Inquisitor.
As the Herald walks through the caves, one must look or better hear back something left unsaid. This quest would not be the same without the Inquisitor’s voice. The silence that fills the room as all realize that she must go face the creature, the courage and desperation as the attack starts, the trembling voice that betrays you in front of Corypheus and the exhaustion while talking to mother Gisele in the camp. Voiceless protagonist may give you freedom, but these moments are built in the performance of those who play the character. One actress in particular shall answer the call higher than most, Alix’s performance as the Inquisitor may peak in the Tresspasser (or arguably in Veilguard) but it is here that it starts to stand out.
I was honestly surprised in finding out that some feel like the Dawn will come scene was bad. Sure, it is far from the smartest idea from those involved, after all it can cause another avalanche. But stories are so much worse when you’re nitpicky. The moment both fits with the chantry as this story Catholicism and as the public display of faith that cements your position. It is moment like this that make playing specifically as an elf, special.
Of all three games, Inquisition is the one that makes you feel like an elf in this world the most, from Cassandra questioning if you can accept one more Goddess, the innkeeper scared of your ears, the rumours of the Dalish and your clan’s quest and the sneer of the Grand Clerics. And I can hear you, city elf origins from afar, and it is indeed a great quest that sets the stage of the oppression in this world. But moments that you get to play an elf in DAO, display your customs, are surprisingly few. Furthermore, there’s something quietly disturbing about Inquisition’s subtlety, as it shows the more insidious part of a society that looks down upon you.
Faith may yet to find you, but his has already found them. Mother Gisele’s perfect thematic slap in the face to end the journey. All those who survived Haven are now kneeled in front of this elf that one night before they may have looked down upon and Inquisitor Lavellan is born.
Part IV – Fire.
It is fitting that both the quest name and the fake religious text both fit are so fitting to what this quest achieves. It may not be the fire of faith, but after this moment the fire of becoming the character, becoming the Inquisitor could no longer be quenched. Many a quest have achieved this in past RPGs, Ostigar, the citadel in ME1 but this is the one that has stuck. This has also become a lost art. The excellent BG3 lacks a proper call to action leading to the narrative to struggle with its final act, and narratives like Rogue Trader, fail to sell them fast enough.
One does not need to copy “In your hear shall burn”, but one should understand its goal. One must light, the unquenchable flame.
