# [Bellhan Hold, Northern Alps](http://controllercreator.com/ccblog/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/Dragon-Age-3-Inquisition.jpg)

In the high reaches of the Alps, it was as cold as ever, barely -6 Celcius by all thermometers. But, despite the freezing temperatures, it was also as beautiful as it always was around Bellhan Hold- A keep destroyed a millennium past, and restored only years before, named for the founder of the New Templar Order, and now housing its members, safely secluded far from the reach of your average hiker. Whispy clouds skated just over the keep, broken into reflective, shining strands of vapor by the surrounding mountain peaks, creating dancing colors against the sunny sky.

And yet, so few among the hold had the luxury of stopping to admire the natural beauty around them. There were more pressing tasks to tend to in a place such as this- Soldiers of the Royal Army guarded the hold from the stout towers along its walls, and stood vigil at the gate itself. In the courtyard, a dozen hopeful youths trained vigorously under the eyes of their superiors, working in the hope of one day attaining the prestige and rank of a Templar themselves. And yet, the illusion of old ages long past was broken among the scene- For those guards held guns alongside their blades, and their armor was of fiber and ballistic material rather than cold, forged metal. The trainees focused as much on perfecting aim with fire-arms as they did on perfecting form with a blade.

And inside the Keep itself, the war table far from matched its ancient surroundings, made of metal and glass, projecting holographic images over its surface, rotating and zooming, going from key point to key point as one man stood before it, watching. The familiar, worn face of Jason Bellhan, son to Jamie Bellhan and the latest leader of the New Templars, was bared to the eyes of others. His face was creased with a heavy frown, and he pointed a gauntleted finger to a specific point on one of the flickering, floating images, glancing to another image beside him, a wolf.

"Zoom in on that, Adam."

The wolvish image nodded, and the larger hologram spun about and zipped in on one specific point on the blueprints of a space station it displayed. After a moment, the image changed, showing a particularly large looking Anti-craft turret, along with its details, possible uses, and a few dozen different blueprints of it. Jason sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, thinking. He had summoned the Templars not already out on missions some half hour ago, but it didn't stop him from going over things beforehand.

"They shouldn't have that kind of fire power..."


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# [Jackson Communications Station, Lunar Orbit](https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTgutv4sqHuf1vSNXa0P4crR48pEE3DIwKT4zwa2dA8Gr1CcC39)

Little did the Templar Commander know, another high standing figure stood in that very station, staring at the same gun Jason looked upon. Only, rather than a frown, this face held a broad grin. A younger looking face, but one just as notorious... -Isaac- Bellhan, the younger brother of the famous family. He stood before a viewing port with his arms locked casually behind his back, peering down at the anti-craft turret now mounted to the simple communications station. Before now, the station had been a point of dispute between Humanity and the Free Men for decades. It wasn't the largest such tower- Not even the best placed. But, it was large enough to comfortably house and supply a hundred hungry soldiers for months at a time, and was invaluable as a strategic asset, offering dominance over radio signals and communications for nearly an eighth of the moon's surface... The same eighth that bore the few lunar colonies held by the Free Men.

Supposedly, it had been inactive before the wars began, housing only the required crew for maintenance. But, once the fighting began, it became a point of contest. Now, however, Isaac believed it was finally firmly and indefinitely in the hands of the Free Men. It had been overtaken the past week, and was now in the process of being armed and garrisoned. While those precautions were undertaken, a select group of... Added protection, had been moved to the station. A rather particularly skilled group of Beacons, including the Beacon Commander himself. Earlier that morning, he had overseen the shutting down and destruction of the station's many monitoring devices, leaving the people of the Free Men on Luna free to use their radios without fear of being listened in on by big brother once again. The communications towers themselves, of course, were left functional- The station couldn't simply go dark. But it was no longer a post to listen in on civilians, in the vain hope of hearing military plans. And now, he stood watching the armaments being applied, and awaited the Beacons he had requested to join him. As pleased as he was, he knew full well that the station wasn't safe until it was fully armed and garrisoned. Until then, he had to keep everybody alert.

.... And he had a chill running up his spine that made him inclined to double check everyone and everything. They would have to fight for this station. He had a feeling. And his feelings were rarely wrong.

"Jackal, send out another pulse. Make sure there's nobody here just yet. Make sure the watch teams are doing their job. I don't want another surprise like we had on the Hamilton."