Prologue: It's Raining Demon Here!
The day the Herald of Andraste stepped out of the Fade, it was raining demons (awkward wording). Well, Sh*t.
There I was, in Haven in the middle of this chaos. I remember that day well, I was in the tavern. Flissa, that sweet red-headed serving girl was passing me another mug of dwarven ale. She never failed to keep my mug filled. I liked that girl. She reminded me a lot of Edwina from Kirkwall’s (in)famous tavern, the Hanged Man. Ah, home. How I missed that place (complete sentence).
It was the eve of the Conclave, tensions were high even (omit) among soldiers and villagers. Everyone in the tavern was kind of edgy. There were songs and music and laughter but you can really (could may work better here) feel the nervousness that fills the place. And (omit) of course, some stupid bastard let himself drink too much ale that Bianca and I had to pin him to the wall to stop him aggressing (awkward wording) Flissa.
Then, suddenly without any warning, BOOM! It happened, the big explosion that ripped the sky open and shook the walls until all of the bottles fell out from their shelves and several people and chairs (omit?) got knocked down. I can see a pillar of green light and weird greenish-grey (redundant) clouds forming above the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where the Conclave would take (was taking may sound better) place.
Then demons started to pour out from the sky. Sh*t. Whatever happened, it’s bad. Real bad.
Not again.