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[Tau22]

At least one game playthrough is recommended, mainly for lore and stuff.

Three hundred years after Ferelden's great struggle against the darkspawn, another comes. At first, it seems short. But perhaps... things have changed.
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Chapter 1 - The found dragon
******

No less than a hundred creatures worked deep beneath the ground, driven by a force unseen, unheard to all other creations. Armed with crude pickaxes, they smashed against the rock before them, roaring in rage every other second. Smash after smash, a tunnel was slowly made. The diggers would have no rest. As soon as one fell from exhaustion, dead, ten more took its place from the horde in hours. And with every inch, the force driving them became greater, stronger.
And finally, after countless years of endless labour, one of their tools struck air. The diggers stopped for a few seconds, letting their minds evaluate the situation. And then, they entered a state of berserker fury, utterly destroying what remained of the wall. Their many eyes settled upon a massive cavern, formed from glowing, green crystals. And in the area's middle, slept its sole inhabitant.
He was huge, even by the standards of his species, his scales of a dark green hue. Above two closed, purple eyes, three blue horns rested, shining. His wings red like the blood on the diggers' armours. And from the mass, there appeared a new one, carrying a staff made of human bones. The warlock roared in delight and started channelling his dark magic. The power was soon released in the form of a black beam, which struck the dragon god.
The mighty beast roared for the first time in many centuries, as the unholy blight changed its body. The majestic was turned into terrifying. Bone-spikes shot from places all over its body, its bones were strengthened even further... and the soul within was turned into pure darkness.
The beast rose from the ground in all its frightening glory, gazing at its new servants. Hideous, of all sizes, innumerable, but most important of all, unquestioningly loyal. Yes, they would serve him nicely. And the former old god, now turned into the sixth Archdemon, emitted a terrible wail, which reached the far ends of the Deep Roads. Any of their denizens stopped quarrels and fights immediately and looked to where the sound was coming from. And the darkspawn then roared in answer. A new Blight had begun.


And across the lands of men, elves and dwarves, the greatest protectors, the Grey Wardens, all started waking from sudden nightmares. The new recruits in particular. They wasted no time and preparations for war soon began. Blades were sharpened, armours strengthened. They would not be unprepared.
And in their underground lairs, ghouls did the same, their corrupted forms serving only the Archdemon. The dragon watched the working hordes. He would not fail, unlike his brethren. This would be the last Blight. And it would consume all.

Modifié par Tau22, 11 septembre 2010 - 12:03 .

[AdorableAnarchist]

Hmm, interesting to see this from the Darkspawn's perspective. Cna't wait to see where you go from there.

[Tau22]

Already had this ready, heh. Originally wanted to upload it later, but here ya go!

******
Chapter 2 - Ostagar, take two
******
 
The walls of Ostagar seemed firm, impregnable. However, the fortress had been repaired after the last Blight, which proved such claims were a fool's words. But the Fereldans had learned since those times. Indeed, for on that day, soldiers from all over the kingdom were present, ready to die to protect their homes.
From Redcliffe, to Denerim, all joined the fray. The Grey Wardens, coming from their new fortress in Amaranthine, were naturally not left out. Their numbers had swelled since the tragedy over three centuries ago and they now had several hundred skilled mages, warriors and rogues on their side. The darkspawn were in for a nasty surprise. Both the Wardens' senses and scouts reported, that the bulk of the horde was approaching. It would be a bloody knight.


Upon the stone bridge, which connected both sides of the canyon, a lone figure watched the battlefield. The prepared defence line was uncannily similar to the one set up, before. At least, that was what the knowledge he had gained from the old tomes suggested. He knew, though, that one could never fully trust even historical writings.
An armoured glove trailed through his short, black hair and then rubbed the Warden commander's green eyes. Tan skin surrounded those, which only proved he always preferred staying in the sun and absorbing its rays. 'Knife-ears', as some would say, pointed from behind them. The elf was used to the rather insulting ways many-a-human would call his kind. After all, during battles, his blade would save their ungrateful arses. That was Grey Warden commander Grandel Belethar. Superior strategist and warrior, some saw him as the Warden leader of Ferelden. He didn't want to be, but the attention of others was rather flattering.
The pair of pointy ears picked up footsteps behind him and Grandel turned, only to see a man clad only in leather, as opposed to his chainmal. However, a wooden staff could be seen on his back, warning all, that he could turn them into toads. The commander wasn't sure if that was true, but he knew mages were not to be underestimated. This one was one of the new recruits. He knew, for he had been present at Mathius' Joining.
“Mathius! What brings you here, lethallin?”
The mage looked at his commander with two blue eyes and spoke:
“I just wanted to talk. Can't sleep, knowing they're so close.”
“That is understandable. Still having nightmares?”
“Yes, sir. They got so terrifying lately.”
“It is the Archdemon's doing, I suppose. At least that gives us more personal reasons to kill it, eh?”
“Heheh, I suppose. May I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“Why do you think they attack Ferelden, again? Surely, since we defeated them last time, in such a crushing victory...”
“You haven't read all of the old tales, I gather?”
“No. Some parts are really boring. The ones that contain peace.”
“Heh. Well, to tell you the truth, we only won because of a very, very special Warden. The armies were first crushed at Ostagar and, when all hope was lost, he gathered an army from allies and personally slew the Archdemon upon the highest tower of Denerim. The great king, Alistair, also started his rule in those days. I wish I had been there. Sadly, I am too young to have witnessed that.”
“You call two hundred and fifty 'young'? Twenty of which has been spent as a Warden.”
“Abelas, my quick friend. I forgot some might be jealous of our,” an image suddenly flashed before his eyes, of a purple-eyed dragon and he stood there, frozen. Mathius kept shouting the commander's name, until Grandel responded, “I am sorry for that.”
“What happened?! You had me scared there.”
“I saw something. Take a message to all the others. The dragon is coming.”
The mage's eyes grew wide and he swiftly ran towards the main camp, ready to warn the others. The elf looked to the horizon, his extra sense already feeling the coming darkness.


******


It took the darkspawn only three hours to arrive, uncountable clouds with them, blocking out the sun. The horde stopped not even half a mile from the defenders, their visage and screams filling the hearts of men with fear. Indeed, even the commander was a bit nervous and he had been part of many Deep Roads expeditions. He donned a silver, winged helmet, inscribed with protective wards, and looked around.
Grey Wardens of all races and strengths formed the first line, swords, staffs and bows ready to slay many of the dark ones. Behind them, stood the combined forces of Ferelden, ready to give their lives in the defence of their homes. A noble cause.


Suddenly, there came a roar, which echoed throughout the valley, followed by a pillar of purple flame. The Archdemon was indeed there. One of the commanding officers screamed from above and a the archers unleashed several volleys of arrows at the tainted ones, while the mabari were released. A strategy used three centuries ago. Grandel hoped it would actuallybe more effective this time. In response, the fiends charged, as well. For every one felled by an arrow or taken down by the hounds, ten more appeared over the hill. The horde seemed infinite and hell-bent on destroying everything in sight.
That would not happen, if he had a say about it. The commander grabbed an almost glowing greatsword on his back and pulled it out of its sheath. Many thought of the elf as strange. He just never liked bows or daggers, unlike the other Dalish from his clan. Some actually thought he couldn't lift the damned sword. Once they saw him in battle, all such doubts dissipated. The blade was raised and he shouted:
“Sons of Ferelden! Wardens! Send them back to the pits, that spawned them!”
The commander was at the head of the charge, the rest close behind. A fireball flew above his head, burning several darkspawn before the elf, while the sword beheaded another two. The two forces clashed, with the Wardens slowly, but surely pushing further into the mass, each fighting like a dozen.


But then, a whirlwind of energy materialised in their midst consuming friend and foe alike. The god had made its first move and soon rose into the sky like an angel of death. It landed before Grandel, the ground shaking under its clawed feet. Several looked at it in a mixture of fear and awe. The Archdemon then growled and released a blast of fire from its maw, which the commander dodged just in time. However, he was not swift enough to dodge its tail, which sent him to the ground with decisive force. Before the dragon could attack again, several arrows embedded themselves within its neck, forcing it to turn its attention to an unfortunate archer, who met his end under its foot. Grandel used the opportunity. He rose and ran at the beast, his blade cutting the sinews on its right wing.
A terrible wail filled the area yet again, followed by a mighty flap of wings, which sent all nearby combatants back several feet. The Archdemon then, probably sensing it was rather vulnerable, flew upwards, with visible trouble. A large boulder suddenly struck it in the head, sending it back down, dazed. The commander did love spells. Friendly ones, anyway.
He jumped onto the things back, which the god didn't approve of one bit. Going into a small frenzy, it tried to shake off the unwanted passenger, but Grandel held onto one of its spikes, before plunging his sword deep into the Archdemon's hide. The beast roared again, but was still only too alive. The elf pulled his blade out and stabbed the dragon again, weakening it further. Tainted blood covered his chainmail. One more strike would suffice. He was ready for it. The ultimate sacrifice, which would save countless lives. It was the only way.
Before he could land the fatal blow, one of the bone-spikes on its back suddenly extended, piercing his chest for a change. Somehow, it started draining his very life-force and soon, he could barely hold the greatsword. The dragon, now a bit renewed, turned to flee, its many servants breaking through the Warden lines to aid it. But a single, lightly-armoured mage stood in its way. Mathius was not going to leave a friend in peril.


The old god breathed its dark flames, but the spellcaster was protected by a conjured shield. It, not wanting to waste more time, charged straight at him. He dodged to the side and grabbed one of its three glowing horns and held on. It was too weak to shake him off, which let him take out his dagger. Always be ready. Within moments, the sharp piece of iron found itself in the beast's eye. The Archdemon found itself in another fit of rage, but its body was too weak to comply. Mathius' hand then moved to the exposed way into its skull, a ball of energy already pulsing in his hand. A massive pillar of light rose into the sky, blinding almost all nearby. A shock-wave then send all to the ground.


******


And then, it was over. The darkspawn fled after the shortest Blight the world had ever seen, beating even the Fifth one. Why had the Archdemon showed itself so early? No one can tell for sure. Perhaps more astounding, however, was that it was killed by such a young Grey Warden. Perhaps he was like the one before. And he had been a mage, as well. That gave the Circle bragging rights, which upset the Chantry. But other than that, there was peace.


Or perhaps?
Perhaps, some things were amiss... things not visible to the naked eye. Perhaps, things had changed. After all, it had been so many years. Was this the true end of the Sixth Blight?
A voice in the darkness shouted a resounding 'NO!'

Modifié par Tau22, 16 janvier 2010 - 09:14 .

[Tau22]

******
Chapter 3 - A triumphant return
******

 
The city of Denerim was eerily quiet that day, but not because of a plague or dark magic. Rather, because it was a time of mourning. The commander's eyes saw a massive crowd before the chantry in the Market District. Humans, elves and even dwarves stood, yet not let even a whisper escape their lips.
A sudden, sharp pain snapped Grandel out of his awed state and he clutched his side. They could have healed the wound completely, but that would have meant missing the funeral. And Mathius did not deserve that. Slowly, he made his way inside, through the masses. Finally, he reached the building's large wooden doors and, after receiving a nod from a pair of guards, opened them.


Wherever the elf looked, he saw nobles, commanders and other Grey Wardens. The most eye-catching, however, was king Barin Theirin. Standing there in a set of golden armour, his brown eyes were set upon a large stone sarcophagus. Short, grey hair rested above an old, wise face, which was plagued by wrinkles.
The doors shut and everyone looked at Grandel. The Warden walked to the kin's side, his face not showing the pain, which turned his walk into a crawl. Standing next to the king, the elf seemed no less imposing. Barin whispered:
“As you requested, a caravan is ready outside the gates. They shall take him to Weisshaupt as soon as the ceremony is finished. You may begin.”
“Thank you, my lord,” he briefly looked at the sarcophagus and then turned to the those in the chamber, “we have come here today, to show our gratitude to a hero no longer among us. Mathius Talarn was a wise and powerful mage, could be counted upon in any situation and a good friend. Thanks to his sacrifice, the ultimate one, Ferelden can now enjoy peace and prosperity, while most hadn't even noticed anything was amiss. He was a Grey Warden and truly our motto. Even better, he exemplified it. 'In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.' He never forgot our teachings and he shall forever be remembered as one of our saviours,” the many people listened to the speech, awed, “his remains shall be moved to Weisshaupt fortress, where he will rest for the remainder of time. I believe that is all, which needed to be said. We will now,” the commander, along with every other Warden in the room, felt a new presence. One filled with the Taint, “what in the...?!”


His scream was cut short, for an arm suddenly burst through the stone sarcophagus, glowing in a purple hue. A massive shock-wave shot from the appendage, sending everyone to the ground and filling the chantry with clouds of dust. One of the templars near the front tried to stand up, but dark tentacles soon lashed out at the poor fool, impaling him. The man's armour, shield and blade then vanished altogether, leaving only an almost naked body for the tentacles to smash against a nearby pillar. Grandel could not even attempt to stand up, the pain was too great. And so, his eyes merely watched the dust, waiting for it to settle. And when it did, he saw a being unheard of. The pure armour had been defiled by its blighted touch and was now black, with very familiar, black bone-spikes. From within the helmet, two purple orbs shone, practically radiating the creature's evil will. The sword and shield seemed to radiate an immense cold. But it was not his skin that felt the icy touch, rather... his very soul. The creature observed the rising mortals before it, terrifying. It then spoke in a deep voice:
“So, this is how you see the world around you? Interesting, heheheheh.”
“What are you?! Leave Mathius' body alone!” Grandel managed to shout.
The being was amused.
“Heheheh. Who I am? Can you not feel it? Oh, of course you can. I am your deepest, darkest fear, Warden. I am the devourer of souls, the tainter of lands, the destroyer of hope. I am a god. Call me Razikale, master of mystery and deceit.”
The elf's eyes grew wide. That had been one of the Old Gods.
“The Archdemon?!”
The room was silent, with many warriors drawing their blades.
“A name only you associate with my magnificence. But I suppose it is accurate.”
“Impossible! Mathius slew you, fiend!”
“Oh, yes, he did. Or maybe not? I cannot remember myself. Or perhaps I can? A true mastermind never reveals a secret, after all. But I must say, this body is not bad. For instance,” his hand glowed again, “it does give me more direct access to all these magical talents!”
Before anyone could react a wave of pure force struck Grandel and sent him flying through the entrance, crushing the chantry's doors in the process. The crowd stared in shock and only chaos ensued.
Still inside, the dark one encased himself in a potent arcane shield, which shrugged off any incoming attack and even shocked his foes with bolts of pure energy. Razikale's fists then slammed into the ground, creating another massive shock-wave, which also reached the outside, this time. Grandel lied on the ground, knowing a few more of his bones were broken. A humanoid encased in a blue aura then ran out of the chantry, heading straight for the district's exit. But he could do nothing to stop the creature, which had possessed his friend's body. The commander had no power left and he fainted, his limbs falling to the ground seconds later. The remaining Wardens then started appearing from the buildings, chasing the revived Archdemon.


******


This body was amazing! As a dragon, he could only control the spirit. But through the mage's hands, he could call forth lightning, wind and so much more! Oh, the dark one loved it, indeed. The city was in a state of high-alert. Hah, no one expected such a triumphant return! They had thought him vanquished, the fools. Not even the Wardens could have expected such a plot twist. He was truly the greatest! The others had died, but where was he?! Alive and ready to bring destruction!


Several armoured guards appeared out of alleyways, trying to block his path. Pathetic weaklings. An orb of flame appeared within his palm and was launched, scattering the defenders and ensuring they would have many scars to show in the future.
Archers shot at him from the rooftops, but their arrows harmlessly bounced off the magical shield. The brute strength of a dragon was one thing, but this new, vast arsenal, was incredible! Why, he could wield more kinds of magic than in the old days of glory, before that meddling 'Maker' interfered. But not even He could stop them.
But then, there were the Wardens. A quite dangerous breed, indeed. How could they have figured out their one and only weakness? But such questions would have to wait. After all, more of them were right on his tail. And he was not going to fight them again. After all, his trick wouldn't work again.


Denerim's massive gates were already in sight, with countless more soldiers in his way. There was no way around them, as far as he could tell. Of course, the dark one didn't have time to find another, anyway. He grinned within the ex-templar helmet. Straight through, it was.
Razikale reached for the blighted shield on his back and put it into a defensive position before his face. After casting another basic spell, his speed increased greatly. Flames then started dancing around his form, making him seem like a blue fireball from afar.
The Archdemon crashed into the men and sent several flying in many directions, while the rest just stared in terror. The magical shield finally faltered and dissipated, but he did not slow down. Doing so would mean eventual defeat.
At full speed, the dark one rammed into the gate's wood. A second passed and it seemed it would hold. But then, its structure cracked under the god's pressure and he crashed through, not even looking back. The Wardens gave up the search, knowing they wouldn't be able to catch him. The Blight was not over.


Not by a long shot. The ex-dragon sped through the land like lightning. Merchants and travellers stared at him as he passed, amazed. Pathetic weaklings. The taint led him south. There, he could find an entrance.

Modifié par Tau22, 24 janvier 2010 - 09:55 .

[The Gay Warden]

Nice! I can't wait for more. There were a few flaws, but it seems good overall.

[Tau22]

******
Chapter 4 - Travels and schemes
******
 
Two blades clashed in the middle of a massive, dark plain. But his foe's blade struck with much greater force and speed. He couldn't keep up with the dark entity. And then, his defences failed, letting the sword through and into his chest. He could only look up into his foe's glowing, purple eyes terror.
“You lose, Warden. And your soul is mine!”
The creature then turned into pure darkness, which slowly made its way into his wound. He soon felt himself changing, as his skin turned to scales and he grew wings and a tail. The Archdemon then growled terribly.


---


Grandel's eyes shot open and he swiftly sat up, sweat running down his brow. He then noticed the absence of any pain at all. Touching his side, he noticed it had been healed. Excellent. But how long had he been out cold?
“Nightmares, Grandel?” came a male voice from somewhere to his right.
The elf's eyes first adjusted to the light. He was dressed in simple white robes and located within a small, rather bland room with green walls. After turning his head, however, he saw a figure, which was anything but bland.
Short, like the rest of his race, he had a quite long, brown beard, below large green eyes and a completely bald scalp. The dwarf sat there in a suit of black armour, playing with one his two axes, which could become deadly weapons against any enemy. Grandel screamed with joy:
“Saran!”
“Glad to see you still remember me. Haven't seen ya in ages, commander.”
“Oh, knock it off! What brings you to a place so far from Orlais?”
“Well, we got word of a swift victory and I wanted to join in on the celebrations. You know, talk about the old days. Looks like I picked a sodding good time to return, too.”
“I suppose that's true. We'll need all the help we can get.”
“You bet! Now, get into your armour. The king called for us. And since I don't wanna' see your elvish arse, I'll wait for you outside.”
“Some things never change.”


******


The tunnels were void of any light, yet the god had no trouble navigating them. Dark creatures hid from his gaze, knowing of the power he carried. The ancient dwarven architecture all around him was quite intriguing, he had to admit. But not even their glory had been enough to stand against the might of the darkspawn. No one could stand against those in the depths. The sounds of battle suddenly reached his now-human ears. Battlecries left dwarven throats, while monstrous, terrible roars left the throats of his servants. Razikale's journey was at an end.


What in the name of Caridin had made these things so determined to break through?! News of the defeated Blight had reached them, too, but that didn't mean much to the Legion of the Dead. The tainted ones were always under the earth, after all. But by the stone, they were attacking relentlessly. It did not matter, of course. None would get past the Legion.
The darkspawn charged again and again, but the dwarves gave them no ground. Battleaxes and hammers struck true, sending beast after beast back to the darkness, whence they came. But then, from the corner of the Legion commander's eye, he spotted another figure approaching. A human. Just great. More things to babysit.
Suddenly, the sounds of battle ceased. He turned to the troops, bewildered, and saw, that the darkspawn had stopped dead in their tracks and merely let out a roar now and then. What the sod was going on?


He came closer, two purple orbs set upon the dwarves. Such pathetic creatures. He spoke, nay, shouted:
“Marvellously obedient to the right master, aren't they?”
The commander screamed back:
“What are you talking about?”
“Why, the darkspawn over there, of course. They can feel me. And know I am unforgiving when it comes failures. So, they listen. Now, dwarf. Step aside, or feel the power of the Blight itself within my palm.”
“The Legion of the Dead never retreats and never yields, no matter the foe! Charge, men!”


The legionaries listened and ran against the Archdemon at full speed. The former dragon merely grinned and drew his blade. The commander was at the head of the charge, but he would survive to serve as an example. With a single thought, a barrier rose around the dwarf, trapping him inside. Most did not even notice and soon were no more. Some ended skewered on his unholy blade, others were consumed by hellish flames. A few were crushed by the ceiling itself in a display of absolute magical might. It only took a few moments for the cavern to become almost void of any untainted creature. The force field finally dissipated and the commander gazed at darkness incarnate.
“What are you for a creature?!”
“I am devourer, destroyer, schemer, manipulator. I am eternal, dark, twisted. I am Razikale. But you may know me as your demise!”
“You will pay for all the lives you have taken, demon!”
“Demon?! You insult me! I am far worse!”
The last legionary clutched his hammer with even greater strength and closed the distance between them in a few seconds. Razikale had sheathed his sword in the meantime. This would be personal. As the hammer came crashing down upon his helmet, the dark one grabbed it with a single hand and then broke the top off. The dwarf stared in horror, as the same hand then reached for his face.


The god then walked before his servants, carrying the small creature. They growled at him and bashed their shields, sensing the supreme taint within their master. He grinned again.
“Very good, my servants. Now,” his palm closed, crushing the dwarf's face. Blood spewed from the wound, some even onto his armour. He did not mind, “feast. Then, we shall return to the horde.”
The creatures complied with delight and started tearing off limbs and armour. The sounds of cracking bones and chewing filled the tunnels. And delight filled Razikale.


******


Walking through the Royal District, the two figures gained many strange gazes from passing nobles. They had gotten used to such, so they paid the humans no attention.
“How long have I been out cold, exactly?”
“Well let's see. I've gotten into two bar fights and I only go to such places at night. So, two days, ya lazy elf.”
“Quite long.”
“Well, the priests, or whatever they are, told me you had some broken ribs. Took quite a beating, eh?”
“Looks like it,” his face showed hints of sadness, “I still have trouble thinking about that creature... defiling Mathius' body.”
“Aaaah, get over it! That's no longer Mathius! He was a man, who gave his life to protect his home! The thing left is just a shell. Let the Archdemon keep it. We'll still take it from the bastard later!”
Grandel's lips twisted into a smile.
“You always know how to cheer me up.”
“Yeah. And I haven't had any ale yet, either!”
They found themselves before the gates to the royal palace. One of the many guards nodded at them and then sent a signal for opening. They first entered the hall, with many pillars to their left and right. The throne room was straight ahead, so they rushed to the doors and opened them. The chamber was in chaos, with banns and arls from every region shouting at each other from the platforms at either side of the room. The king stood between the groups, trying to calm the nobles down, to no avail. When the door shut, silence ruled, until the king spoke again:
“Aahhh, there are you are! Thank the Maker, I could use some help!”
An old, bald man shouted form the platforms:
“Indeed! Perhaps you, Grey Warden, could tell us how so much damage could be done to the city in a single day!” 'twas the voice of Dalen Greymere, arl of Denerim.
“You want the truth, my lord? The Archdemon is back. We do not know how, he simply is. And in the body of one of us.”
“So, not even the Grey Wardens can stop them now? Then why do we still have you here?”
“Ser, remember, that three hundred years back, many lords like you had the same view on things. Without the Wardens, you would not be here now,” the arl obviously wanted to retaliate, but had no way to do so, “now, these arguments must come to an end, whatever their cause. To stand against the Blight, we will have to be united once more. For this time, there is no dragon blind with power and corruption. This time, we face a cunning tyrant with an army innumerable.”
Again, not a word pierced the air. Barin nodded at the pair, with a smile. They bowed slightly and then left the palace.


“I say, elfy, you still know your way with words.”
“I suppose. Now, come. We must travel to Amaranthine, to consult the records. We need to know how come the dragon is still alive.”
“And a smaller target.”
To the nearest stables, it was. The two rode on horseback through still not repaired part of Denerim's gates, with Saran clutching onto Grandel's back, almost in fear.
“How are you back there?”
“Oh, just fine and dandy. Only fighting a horde of ogres alone could be preferable to this. I hate this way of transportation.”
“Heheheheh. Hold on, my friend. It shall take us a day with no rest at this rate.”
“A day?! By the stone!”


******


Razikale watched the massive horde of dark creatures from a small, ruined tower. All of the clans and tribes had ceased their petty fights after his revival. Good. They knew what the priorities were. Raising his hands into the air, the uncountable wails and roars ceased. They were listening. And so, while he did not need to do so, thanks to the telepathic link between all, he shouted:
“My servants! As you can see, I have returned! And soon, the bloodshed will continue,” they bashed their shields like drummers, “but before we unleash our might, there are certain preparations, that need doing! Our victory is almost certain, but with a few final touches in my scheme, no force I this world will be able to stop us,” roars were added to the symphony of darkness, “we will burn, we will feast, we will kill and enslave! All will fall before us! For we are shadow incarnate,” and with those last words, the horde got out of control, like before. The old one turned to a hurlock behind him. An emissary, the one who had released him in the first place, “and as for you, Gjilagh, there is a certain task, that I will assign only to you.”
The warlock looked straight at its master, his bone-staff shining with energy, and spoke, in the language of surface-dwellers, as per the dark one's request:
“What is the task, master?”

[Tau22]

************
Chapter 5 - The dark grows darker

************

The darkspawn emissary made its way through dark tunnels, moving in the shadows to avoid countless dwarven patrols. The Legion of the Dead thought they knew the terrain, thought they knew their enemies. Oh, how wrong they were. Ordinary darkspawn, yes, those would charge into battle at the first sign of enemies. But not him.
He was ancient, by the standards of lesser races. A spellcaster of immense power, yet also a skilled warrior. A hurlock, who had had enough time and intelligence to master the speech of the surface dwellers. He had been there, during the final battle in Ferelden, all those years ago. Other blighted creatures knew him as Gjilagh, one of the few remaining darkspawn omegas.


The message he carried for the fools was short and to the point, just as master Razikale instructed. Even he had to admit, the old one's revival had been a surprise. Of course, a lord of mystery should have a few aces up his sleeve.
An outpost was finally in sight. If the shrieks had seen correctly, at least two dwarves wore golden armour, which meant they were nobles, or even royalty, descendants of Bhelen's line. A legionnaire's word could be seen as insane ramblings, but such dwarves would be taken seriously. Exactly what he needed.


Forming an arcane shield around his form, the warlock also grabbed the bone-staff and poisoned blade on his back. Slowly, he stepped out of the shadows. Almost immediately, an arrow got deflected off the field. They were good, he gave them that. Three short, armoured figures then ran out of the small camp, each wielding a massive battleaxe. A direct form of attack would be dangerous, especially because of their natural resistance to magic. However, such advantages could be easily negated.
Green bolts of energy danced around his staff as he smashed the ground with it, creating tremors in the immediate area. Their jog first turned into a crawl, before they collapsed entirely. And then, Gjilagh's black eyes spotted it. A glint of gold, among all the common hues of steel. With another movement of his rod, the earth's movements ceased. The dwarves were obviously surprised by such a turn of events and didn't know what to do. The warlock, however, did, and, after putting his blade back in its place, he spoke, with a raspy voice:
“Legionnaires! I come not in war, rather, in peace! I wish to speak to the noble among you, for I have a message, which must be given from one lord to another!”
Perhaps out of sheer curiosity, the golden one indeed stepped forward and shouted, his face hidden behind an ornate helmet:
“What could a tainted monster like you have to say?!”
Gjilagh laughed, his voice echoing within the tunnels, before replying:
“A creature like me, would say, that he has an offer from the future ruler of Ferelden and the world! An offer you simply cannot refuse.”
“Try me.”
“Heheheh, very well, dwarf,” he took a single step closer and spread his arms, “your kind has fought with ours since times long-forgotten. That could change,” the legionnaires were silent, hung on the emissary's every word, “my master offers you this. Unrestricted access to your old thaigs. You will regain your might, riches and honour. All for a simple payment.”
Whispers filled the campsite and soon turned into arguments. The noble ignored such interruptions.
“And what would that be?! Slavery to your kind?!”
“Nonsense! Simply avoiding conflict with us would suffice. You will not aid the surface dwellers, nor will you trade with them. The rest shall fall, but the dwarves will prosper. That is all. Deliver this message to your king. We will know of your decision, heheheh!”
And with that laughter, the messenger disappeared within the Deep Roads. The noble's only response was this:
“I need a few men to escort me back to Orzammar. The Assembly must hear of this.”


******


The great library with Sigil's keep was almost void of life, its white marble walls and towering bookcases creating an almost creepy atmosphere. The pair did not care, however. Grandel was too busy looking through tomes, while Saran sat in a corner, snoring during his slumber. The elf's eyes raced through texts, which had something to do with magic. Naturally, he first tried to learn more about the spells of the spirit, but found nothing. Not even the forbidden books of blood mages revealed anything about the archdemon's little secret. With a sigh, he closed the last tome and sat next to his fellow warden. Saran, as if somehow sensing a presence nearby, woke up almost immediately.
“No luck?”
“No. That means, it is either magic lost, or magic never seen before. Neither case is very good.”
“Yeah, well, does it matter?”
“Yes. If we don't know how to counter this power of his, he could just do it again and again. We must find a weakness.”
“I suppose that makes sense. Don't worry, we'll think of something.”
“I hope so.”
The dwarf suddenly stood up and headed for the exit.
“Yes, you do that. Now, come on, I'm hungry.”
“But you ate an hour ago!”
“Exactly! Now, come on, we have little time. I don't want the other grunts to get the last piece of boar!”
And with that, the dwarf ran outside, his commander close behind. It would be a feast to be remembered.


******


Razikale's eyes flashed within the corrupted helmet and he spoke to the omega:
“So, the dwarves acted swiftly?”
“Yes, master. The noble left with a few legionnaires almost immediately after the message was delivered.”
The archdemon's gaze shifted towards one of the chambers windows. Outside of his ruined tower, a legion of darkspawn was preparing for war. There was still one thing missing. Gjilag spoke through the silence, which had ensued, since he still had a question:
“Master, if I may ask?”
“Speak.”
“Do you truly intent on fulfilling the promise we have given?”
The dark one chuckled, then answered:
“Yes, but only if they fulfil their side of the bargain. And let's face it, such a thing will never come to pass. Then again, it doesn't have to.”
“How so?”
“Think. We have sown a seed of chaos among them. Most will undoubtedly not even consider the option, but some... yes, some will want to see their old glory returned. Conflict.”
Enlightened, Gjilag finished the speech:
“And when they are weak, we shall strike. And annihilate them with minimal losses. A brilliant strategy, my lord.”
“Indeed. And that brings us to the next phase,” swiftly moving to the nearest door, his hand rose, beckoning the hurlock to follow, “come!”
The emissary did so immediately, not wanting to keep his lord waiting.


They descended deeper into the tower, passing a small army of Razikale's elite troops, who were all clad in armour stolen from the dwarves and reforged. The figures stood there in their crimson beauty and bowed slightly when the pair passed. Soon, they entered the tower's dungeon, which was, surprisingly, void of life. Taking a left turn, the ex-dragon led his finest servant to an oval chamber, which had a large runic circle drawn on the ground, around a small pedestal. Upon the stone slab, a blue crystal rested. The omega had to ask:
“What is this place, master?”
“I have replicated it from this mage's memories. His mind is still rather intact. Added some of my own enhancements and I am now ready.”
“Ready?”
“As you know, we never rest, as our longing for blood and battle, along with the taint, give us all the strength we need. And so, I must enter the Fade manually.”
“Why would you want to enter, master?”
Razikale stepped closer, his red orbs practically shining mere inches from Gjilag's own.
“I am on the verge of creating the most terrible armada this pitiful world has ever seen. And I need you to make sure I am not disturbed. None may enter this chamber, be it foe or friend. Understood?”
The servant didn't move back an inch and returned the stare.
“I shall do as you command.”
“Excellent.”
Without another word, thearchdemon moved to the pedestal. His hand hovered just above the lyrium, while ancient words left his lips. His armoured fingers then grabbed the crystal and squeezed. As the crystal turned into dust, his vision started fading in a white mist.


******


Two red orbs scanned the surrounding landscape. Rather barren ground, with little to no plant life. Strange statues stood on a neighbouring island, which also floated in a never-ending space. But, the most glorious of all things floated high above his head, seemingly unreachable. Tall, black spires reached looked upon the countless landmasses below them. But they were no longer the grand structures of old. Razikale could feel the dark energies, which had corrupted the city so long ago. It was all so beautiful.
The Fade hadn't changed much since his slumber. But that had been a quite different experience, for he had been a mere watcher, drifting through the countless plains, powerless to do anything. Oh, how the mighty had risen.


Suddenly, he felt a new creature enter the area. It was energetic, impulsive. Full of incredible fury. And far, far below him, in every way. Which was expected, really. The demon materialised before him, in a shape reminiscent of a blob of lava. It roared and immediately attacked, not caring about its existence.
“Come, mage, I hunger!”
One of its paws reached for Razikale, but was met with his own palm, which was already charged with arcane energies. With a single touch, the creature was turned into a chunk of ice, which was smashed into tiny fragments soon afterwards.
A quite different presence could be felt almost immediately afterwards. The archdemon did not feel endless hunger, or a cunning, yet rather passive will. The mind he sensed was calm, sadistic, manipulative, even playful. The entity's power was greater, but still inferior to his. The desire demon appeared out of a black mist, her form rather... expected, somehow. A purple-skinned woman, with nigh-perfect features. Two blue eyes stared at him, a pair of back-curved horns above them. Thin, silver cloths concealed the more intimate parts. Somehow, she was quite attractive. Was it the human part of his body, which had created such an image? His thoughts were interrupted by a soothing voice:
“I appologise for my associate, mighty mage. He wasn't the smartest of us.”
“Indeed. But you are.”
“You flatter me. I can feel your heritage, great one. The taint is so powerful within you. But you are also no Grey Warden. A real puzzle.”
“Perhaps I am. But I have no time for small talk. Call your kin here!”
“And what would I get for such a-,” a magical barrier rose around her and forces unseen started pulling her apart, “aaaaaagh!”
He was grinning, for the demon was not the only sadist around. Moving the fingers further and further apart, her squeals intensified.
“Let's just say, I will not devour your very essence. Deal, demon? Oh, don't bother running away. I am very good at seeking.”
The forces disappeared and the desire demon vanished almost immediately. He stood there for a few seconds, just looking around. Ten, one by one, an entire horde of demonic denizens appeared all around, roaring, screeching. They were innumerable, but a few stood out. Towering above the rest and protected by thick, crimson hides, which were covered by long spikes, the pride demons' many eyes watched the intruder with hatred. One of them screamed, while walking closer:
“Who are you to disturb us in our own realm, mortal?!”
“You insult me, insect! I demand satisfaction!”
The demon, likewise offended, charged with the fury of the Fade, lightning dancing around its fists. The god was not impressed, however, drew his magic-enhanced blade and charged, as well. Razikale dodged the monster's strike and grabbed one of the spikes on its back. Pulling himself up, his sword pierced the denizen's skin before it could react, paralysing it for a few crucial seconds. The archdemon's hand then grasped its head and a green mist formed around his palm. The beast started slowing down, before stopping completely. Then, piece by piece, its body started vanishing, as its basic substance was absorbed by the dark one. In moments, only an annoyed lord of mystery stood there, before the crowd.
He shouted at the rest:
“Anyone else wants to meet my blade and arcane prowess?! I am still a bit hungry, as well.”
The demons looked ready to accept the challenge and one of the remaining pride demons was already readying a battle cry. But then, came another voice. Like a flame in a hurricane, the chatter ceased and the demons looked around in terror. Booming, authoritative, it echoed across the Fade itself, shaking the very foundations of the demonic realm:
“ENOUGH! I will not let you worms behave to a guest in such a way! Now,” smoke started rising from the ground and the demons stepped out of the way to let the cloud pass. It came before Razikale and formed a vaguely humanoid form, complete with three shining, green eyes. The creature spoke, its tone almost friendly, “welcome to the Fade, great one. I am pleased to meet you in person, lord Razikale.”


The mass around them seemed to freeze at the mere mention of the god's name.
“I see you are not as blind as your subjects. What is thy name?”
“Slaves is a more precise term, old one. After all, I rule them with terror and agony. You may call me Paurus. Also, I hope this form isn't annoying, I got it from a certain elf. A millennia or two back, I can't really remember the circumstances.”
Oh, this demon was quite more enjoyable to converse with.
“Oh, not at all. I have come here to make a deal.”
The cloud moved behind the former dragon, but he didn't bother with turning:
“And what might that be? Do you seek an item? Or maybe you want an enemy turned to nothing but a pile of flesh?”
“None of those. I offer an alliance.”
Chatter again, but this time, it was allowed to continue.
“Your predecessors never even entered the Fade, yet here you are, asking for aid, no less. Why such a drastic change?”
“The others were blinded by the taint's power. I have no such handicap,” finally, he did turn and talked to the section's master in a whisper, “I see the power of your kin. And we both know, that while darkspawn never enter the Fade itself, our origins are up there, in that blasted city,” his gauntlet pointed above, “they are soulless husks, but possess a mind, a body. Sustenance. Imagine. Together, we would create a force, which even the Maker himself will fear!”
The demon lord remained silent for a few seconds, but then laughed terribly. A rage demon actually froze because of the icy chill of Paurus' voice. The sound ended as abruptly as it had began and he replied:
“Oh, I can imagine. I see the greatest fears and phobias of mankind, marching along the armies of endless darkness. It is a glorious thought. My legions are yours to command, lord Razikale,“ the mist-man bowed slightly, “I am at your command, god of mystery. May this alliance create a new age of terror!”
Both dark lords then laughed and the denizens around them didn't know what to do.


---


'What is a demon of fear?', I hear you ask. Some of those lesser, unimportant entities? Quite the opposite, dear reader. These creatures are selfdom seen, or even heard of. Which is a good thing. Most humans think, that it is the pride demons, who rule over the Fade. In truth, it is the creatures within the darkest shadows.
A fear demon doesn't have a form of its own, much like those of desire. But where desire demons take on forms their prey can't resist, demons of fear seek just that. Terrifying images and subconscious phobias, which often send even the bravest running. It isn't surprising, therefore, that these denizens are so powerful.


After all, where rage can be fought with calm, pride with modesty... what counter is there for sheer terror? Every creature's soul and mind hide these dark secrets from the outside world. But fear demons see right through such thin veils and adapt.
And should a hero overcome their deepest, darkest fears... what then? How can a mere man battle a being, whose raw power can destroy entire battallions of trained warriors, even templars? It seems, that the best decision, is to run.


However, are you faster than darkness itself?


- from the writings of Leon Sakul, scholar, Mysteries of the Fade


---


The archdemon's body within the mortal realm stirred and Gjilag responded immediately:
“Master, are you there?”
Slowly, the possessed body rose from the ground and walked towards the omega. Taking off his helmet for the first time in days, the human face was revealed. The human's mouth was twisted into a devilish grin, as the archdemon replied:
“Yes, I am back. And I have new orders. Gather as many emissaries as you can and meet me at the battle pits. We have a few preparations to make, before our new allies can aid us.”
Knowing a question would waste valuable time, Gjilag merely nodded and ran off, while the dark one chuckled to himself.


******


A darkness unseen was descending upon Ferelden... nay, the whole world. If the horde succeeded there, amongst the proud folk of Denerim, Amaranthine and Redcliffe, would anyone be able to stop the darkspaw threat? Perhaps... perhaps not.
But, among the shadows, a light shone, somewhere among the trees of the Korcari Wilds.

Modifié par Tau22, 14 avril 2010 - 04:36 .

[the_gmole]

nice im likin the different perspective your usin!





if you hav time would you check out my own attempt? I need feedback and input, any input

http://social.biowar...7/index/2240899

[Tau22]

**********
Chapter 6 - The coming wars
**********

At Sigil’s Keep, a pair was mounted upon a single horse, ready to ride out. The dwarf looked at his elvish companion and spoke, sounding a bit bored:
“You really think the darkspawn will attack again so soon?”
“I can’t see why not. The horde is still numerous and it now has a far more cunning commander. If I was Razikale, I’d strike as soon as possible, while the post-resurrection chaos is at its peak.”
“Well, now that I know you can become an evil overlord, I only have one more question. Why Orzammar?”
“Put that head of yours to good use and tell me.”
Saran stared blankly into space for a few seconds, then replied:
“You can’t fight a Blight without dwarves.”
“Precisely. The Legion of the Dead keeps many darkspawn in or out of the Deep Roads and make life difficult for the scum. Problem is, Razikale knows that. And I don’t think he’s the type to tolerate attacks like that.”
“So, you think my home is target number one on the Archdemon’s list?”
“I’m afraid so.”
As he pulled out one of his axes, Grandel could see rage already building within the dwarf.
“Well, then! What the sod are we waiting for?!”
“Reinforcements,” at the other side of the courtyard, the stables’ gates were flung open, “and here they come.”
Out of the structure, came a couple dozen mounted knights. Silverite armour covered both riders and steeds and shone brightly in the afternoon sun. The warriors carried weapons of all kinds, from spears to broadswords, and were an awesome sight.
But behind all that, came a different rider. Her horse carried no armour at all, while she only carried a set of leather and a small, silver mace around her waist. She rode right past the more cumbersome knights and stopped next to the armoured duo, her brown eyes fixed upon Grandel. Short, raven hairs, along with human ears, were slightly visible within her helmet. She shouted at her fellow wardens:
“I got the troops you requested, commander. You could have told me, sooner. Still great to see you two again!”
Saran grinned like a madman. He’d recognise her, even if he was stuck in a keg of ale.
“Valera! I didn’t know you were reassigned here!”
She smiled right back.
“It was all rather quick after the Archdemon came back. Only got here a few days before you.”
“Indeed,” started Grandel, “and I just couldn’t leave without her at our side. You know, like old times.”
“Hahahaaaaah! Aye, like old times! Now, then, let’s go kick some blighted behind!”
“I couldn’t agree more! Guards!”
The elf signalled to the gatekeepers with his right hand and the keep’s massive gates started opening. The riders then rode out in two lines, led by the heroes, heading westwards. Unbeknownst to them, Razikale was preparing many, many surprises.
 
 ******
 
Within darkspawn battle pits, something unholy was about to happen. A small army of emissaries, nearly sixty strong, stood before their lord and his favourite omega, awaiting further orders. The dark one secretly grinned and spoke:
“Today, we shall force far deadlier than anything this world has ever seen. To do this, we must create a tear in the Veil, then make sure it survives long enough for the first demons to squeeze through. Afterwards, it will become a rather stable gateway between the Fade and this realm. I can create the tear, but you must supply it with raw magical power afterwards. Understood,“ countless growls came in answer, “excellent. Gjilag, coordinate them.”
“Yes, master.”
Razikale then turned, his gauntlets already charged with energy. He thrust into thin air and parts of his hands vanished into nothingness. He then moved them in opposite directions, destroying the very fabrics of reality. A vortex of changing colours and bizarre shapes then formed and he shouted:
“Now!”
The spellcasters reacted almost immediately and focused on the tear, sending their power into it, as if feeding it. It stayed there, just above ground, its size unchanging. A good sign. The god waited patiently for any reply from the other side and it came soon, in the form of a vague, humanoid shape forming on its surface. Black, with two glowing, green eyes. Paurus spoke, his voice a bit distorted:
“Aaaaaah, I see you’ve done what was required!”
“Yes. Now, when can you send me your troops?”
“Oh, Immediately, lord, heheheh. However, I can only send rage and hunger at first. The portal must grow for the rest, and me, to step through.”
“I see. Get them ready, then.”
“Of course. If I may ask, though, what will they go into?”
“Simple. Basic troops and anything that doesn’t need lots of brains. Hurlocks, genlocks and ogres. But I keep the alphas and older ones.”
Terror incarnate chuckled.
“Heheheh, sounds like a reasonable deal. I’ll round them up. Ready your own, as well.”
“I shall. Bring in the first group!”
The pits’ gate opened and a force of hurlocks came marching in without stop.
“I see you don’t waste time.”
 
******  
 
The riders finally reached Orzammar after two days of riding and minimal rest. They were greeted by an unsettling sight. Several dozen figures simply stood before the city’s massive entrance, their carts idle. Valera spoke, a bit nervous:
“Merchants doing nothing? Never a good sign.”
“I agree. Men, stay here, the three of us will investigate.”
“Yes, commander.” spoke one of the nights. The warriors then went off, to find a nice spot for their steeds to rest, while the trio approached the trio got off near the gates. A dwarven merchant noticed them and came closer.
“If you wish to enter, you might as well give up and turn back.”
Saran reacted with uncommon speed and asked:
“What’s wrong? Something like this hasn’t happened for a few centuries!”
“Two, to be precise.” added the commander, but was ignored.
“That’s the problem, we don’t know! The guards refused to tell us. But I don’t think the trouble will go away anytime soon.”
The other dwarf finished the dialogue:
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it,” he then walked off, the other two in tow. After a few steps, he spoke, “I bet it’s politics.”
“You always think it’s politics.”
“Grandel, I know my city. They may have branded me a ‘surfacer’, but I know one thing. A noble gets assassinated once a month. Kings are not an exception to the rule.”
Valera joined in:
“If I recall correctly, the current king was… active in his youth. He has many potential heirs. There has to be a different crisis. Like a plague or something.”
The elf ended their argument:
“No, the guards would have said something in either case. Something is terribly wrong.”
 
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Soon, a dozen guards came into view, each clad in the finest dwarven steel, dyed black. One of the armoured figures came closer and started, in a quite bored voice:
“I am sorry, but none may enter-,” he paused for a few seconds, then continued, a hint of joy in his voice, “Saran, is that you?”
He lifted his visor, revealing a terrible scar, which went from his forehead to his chin, through what was left of an eye, which was hidden by an eyepatch. Saran smiled, as well.
“Darim, you old nug! Good to see ya!”
“Same here. But who are those with you? Also wardens?”
Neither gave Saran a chance.
“Warden commander Grandel Belethar, at your service.”
“And Valera Norrath.”
Darim seemed relieved:
“Thank the stone! You might be just what we need right now! Quickly, inside! I may be ignoring orders, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna’ let my home fall into chaos.”
 
The gate closed behind them, the merchants’ protests still loud, and the guard walked towards the paragons, forever immortal in their statues. He gazed at those great figures, before back towards the rest. Saran spoke, impatient:
“Well, what the sod is going on?”
Darim sighed, before replying:
“We’re on the verge of a civil war.”
“What?!” exclaimed all three.
“Yes. Let me start from the beginning,” he took a deep breath, “three days ago, Lord Orlund’s son, Bael, was visiting Legion of the Dead outposts.”
“Typical Bael,” interrupted the other dwarf, “always liked the Deep Roads, for some reason. Most think he’s simply mad.”
“Aye, but none dare say it. Anyway, a Hurlock showed up, alone. An emissary. It disoriented most of the guards long enough to deliver a message, supposedly from the Archdemon itself.”
“What did the creature say?” asked the commander.
“Basically, the dwaves cease any and all hostile actions against the horde and they don’t turn what’s left of our kingdom into smouldering ruins and even give us back some of our old territories.”
“That’s nothing but sodding lies!”
“Most of the Assembly would agree with you, my friend. However, three houses would not. The nobles of Ghelon and Voldin, along with the warrior house Medra, think it’s a great way to restore our former glory. Bunch of idiocy, if you ask me.”
“A most dire situation. Darim, can you tell us anything about the emissary?”
“Only what I’ve heard in the taverns, commander. Protected by some sort of barrier, it could make the very rock shape with a motion of its hands. Yet it also carried a longsword. I wish I could tell you more.”
“You’ve helped enough. Now, after we clean this mess up, I’ll pay for the finest ale in any tavern. Deal?”
“The best deal. Good luck, my friends. Now, I really must get back to my post.”
With one last nod at Saran, the guard pulled down his visor and headed back outside.
 
She sighed.
“Well, looks like we have a lot of work ahead of us. What do you think of the darkspawn messenger?”
Grandel’s eyes seemed troubled.
“A Hurlock, skilled in the arcane arts, yet with sufficient confidence in his swordplay, that he would ready a blade against armoured dwarves?”
“Sounds like one with some sodding superpowers.”
“Or perhaps he is merely old, ancient… an omega,” the two nodded and her eyes went wide, ”great, that’s one more problem.”
“And there is always room for more, Valera. Let us take care of one, before we have a civil war on our hands.”
“Aye, an excellent idea.”
The three charged into the city itself, determined to not let a single dwarf die that day.
 
******
 
Within the Diamond Quarter, a mass of dwarved had gathered and split into two forces, one considerably larger than the other. Both groups kept shouting obscenities at each other, while most of Orzammar’s guards tried to keep them apart. It was painfully obvious, however, that things would come to blows. And while they were outnumbered, the three houses were ready to die in glorious battle. And then, the fooled ones finally lost all patience and charged, just like the dragon had hoped they would.
But intervention was one thing not located in Razikale’s plan. Clad in only light armour, Valera was much faster than her companions and rushed to the front, pushing through a crowd of surprised dwarves. She then abruptly stopped and looked at the approaching force. Her hands curled into fists and went close to her chest. The very air around her heated up and actually seemed to stop moving.
And then, with a single thrust of her arms, a massive wave of pure force was released, straight against the charging mass. Countless were thrown to the ground, while some here and there resisted the blast, but did not wish to charge without their comrades. The battlemage’s companions finally caught up with her and Grandel commented:
“You still know how to take care of yourself, I see.”
“Oh, definitely.”
 
From the force, one stepped forward, clad in a set of inscribed, crimson armour, with a massive, brown beard, easily the length of his forearm. Saran whispered to the elf:
“That’s lord Voldin. He’s probably in charge, hates being told what to do.”
“Got it, leave the talking to me.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The noble took a few more steps, before shouting:
“Who are you and why do you meddle in dwarven affairs?!”
Grandel stepped out of the crowd, as well, and stood straight.
“I am Grandel Belethar, commader of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. And I only meddle, when I can prevent unnecessary bloodshed.”
Several whispers within the crowd, still silent enough to be ignored.
“Very good. I am lord Ilendias Voldin and we share common goal. Could you remind our forgetful brethren, that our entire consists of two cities, one of which is still in ruins and under constant darkspawn raids? Tell me, commander, do you come from a city, or are you of dalish heritage?”
“I am Dalish.”
“Then you must know just how powerful the lure of old greatness is.”
“Yes, I wish for a new land for my people. One, where they could live on their own. But I would not let my dreams make me blind to the present.”
The lord’s blue eyes stared into the elf’s emeralds.
“My sight could not be clearer. Now, after countless centuries., we havee a chance of regaining our thaigs, our power. We can again be an empire.”
“And you are willing to make deals with your most ancient foes to achieve those things?”
“The dragon has changed, as evidenced by him even sending a messenger.”
Grandel actually chuckled a bit.
“Yes, the Archdemon is different. More cunning, dangerous, corrupt. Wielding powerful magics and an unholy weapon, clad in tainted armour and within the body of a man I helped become a warden. A friend. If you would trust such a creature, I’d really have to doubt your sanity, lord. His form may be human now, but he is still a dark, twisted monster.”
 
The soldiers around lord Voldin whispered constantly, their words filled with agreement. Even the noble could not ignore the truth any further.
“I cannot simply ignore your words, warden. Truly, I was blinded by visions of glory,” he suddenly knelt on one knee and bowed his head slightly, “I was a fool. We were all fools. I beg for forgiveness.”
A voice suddenly came, out of nowhere. Deep, authoritative, it easily travelled throughout the quarter:
“And forgiven you are, Voldin,” people turned to its source and started bowing shortly afterwards. There, before the gates of the royal palace, stood none other than Kamenus Aeduncan, in golden armour and surrounded by silver bodyguards. His bald and beardless head made the monarch stand out even more, as he approached the kneeling noble and beckoned him to stand, “you always were stubborn. Thankfully, the words of an outsider prevented death today.”
“What would you have me do, my king, as punishment?”
“I would have you prepare your men for the darkspawn. The horde will undoubtedly strike soon.”
Voldin muttered some general words of praise, before returning to his troops, while the crowd started slowly dispersing. Kamenus turned towards the trio of heroes.
“We are indebted to you, wardens. Come with me, we shall talk within the palace.”
All three nodded, before following the king back towards his residence, surrounded by the dwarven bodyguards.
 
******
 
Razikale watched his new armada from the tower’s top, Gjilag at his side, waiting for a signal to start speaking. The Archdemon gave it with a mere movement of his palm.
“I have three events to report, master. Firstly, Paurus believes he may be able to push sloth demons through the portal by the end of the day.”
“Put them into shrieks, maybe lesser emissaries. Anything that needs some intelligence to fight properly.”
“Yes, master. Then, we will be able to create over three thousand hybrids in time for your assault on Orzammar.”
 “We will supplement those with our other troops.”
Still not that interested, the god waited for the final report.
“Understood. Finally, spies close to the legionnaires report… celebrations.”
Unexpected.
“What?!”
“I am afraid so, master. One shriek even reported hearing ‘no dead’.”
Razikale smashed his fist against the tower’s wall and it went straight through.
“How? My plan was perfect!”
“There was also word about an elvish warden. A commander.”
The former dragon’s eyes flashed. The human’s memories were full of that elf. Grandel. Commader of the Grey. Hero of Glaniath. Purger of Maginot. Yes, many, many memories. A complication. But now, he knew his foe. And relaxed.
“Hmph, no matter. Heheheheh. With my new army, no one warden can hope to make a difference. Orzammar will fall!”
“Of course, master.”
 
Both then looked down below, at the massing host. Creatures of nightmare would soon consume all of Ferelden. And then, the rest of Thedas.
 
******
 
“Will I ever see you again, mother?” asked she, while looking at the other’s gray hair and wrinkled face. She knew the hair had been darker than a raven’s feather and that the other had possessed beauty enough to seduce kings. And that she now carried the very same traits.
“Perhaps, perhaps not. That is not important. What is important, however, is that you succeed. Do not forget what I have taught you, child. The world may depend on it.”
“Yes, mother,” she came closer and wrapped her hands around the old witch, in one final embrace, “farewell.”
 
And with that, the gifted child left for her greatest journey. One, which would take her to the very bowels of the world.