Tor's Second Dream

You're standing at the peak of a blight dune next to a familiar face. Solas the scholar is sitting below you, cross legged. He appears as he did in life, except that his flesh is somewhat transparent, allowing you to see his bones moving beneath his skin as he talks. He carries on as if you've been speaking for a while already.

"As I've told you before, blight is a facet of nature. This particular patch may have been laid by artificial means, but a flower grown in a pot is no less natural," Solas explains while gesturing at the horizon, the bones in his wrist shifting unsettlingly.

"This place has as much right to exist as your homeland did, before it was destroyed. Unlike your homeland, however, once the tree finishes its job, the Mage Blight will likely be gone forever. As a conservationist, I cannot abide by that."

Solas looks up at you, his semi-visible skull outlining his eyes with dark sockets. This is not the Solas you remember, who was set on eliminating this violet scar from the face of Glade. Perhaps his opinions have changed with time.

"Death is as natural as life, and it too possesses a great and fearsome power. You have a rare gift, Tor. You are attuned to blight, which means you can harness this power to save the Mage Blight, your friends, and all of Feylin. All you have to do is destroy the invader parasite that gnaws at its heart."

Solas stands up, flesh sloughing off of him and dissolving into blight dust at your feet. A bare skeleton reaches up to put a hand on your chest.

"Burn the tree, Tor. Do it for me."