890 TE (-305 Ancient), The port city of Minrathous; Capital of Tevinter.

Fires burned. The city crumbled. The streets ran red with the blood of a people tearing themselves apart through fear and disillusion. For nearly 900 years the walls of Minrathous had stood firm, protecting the glowing heart of the Imperium from any and all outside threats. But a plague was rising from within.

It had started 90 years ago with the ruling lords of Tevinter; the Magisters had sought to usurp heaven. They had torn the Veil asunder, walked bodily in the realm of dreams, trespassed in a world no mortal man was permitted. They had sought dominion over all of creation. The Old Gods had whispered to them, swelling their hearts with pride and arrogance, told of false promises of power and immortality. The Golden City. The throne of the Maker, the seat of all creation…this was their prize. These lords of the earth would soon be the masters of all.

It was not to be…

For their transgressions the Magisters were cast down into the depths of the earth, just as the Old Gods before them. And as they fell the sleeping Gods watched….waited. As the Magisters dropped into the darkness; their bodies twisted and foul with sin, the Silent God rose to meet them. He had given these tainted mortals their wish. For now they were as gods; as the Old Gods were, cast down and un-loved by the Maker, sinful and wicked, destined to spend eternity in blackness and despair.

But even this fate the former Magisters would not accept. They gazed upon the dragon-lord Dumat and in him they saw perfection, as glorious as the Golden City itself. His voice a serene ballad of whispered beauty, his body an incorruptible vessel of immortal wisdom and power. Never again would they know such wonder, for the Maker had denied it them. They knew now that their dragon-god was to blame; Dumat: a mockery of the perfection that they could no longer hope to achieve. In anger they turned upon their betrayer; the Silent God. Into Him they directed their rage and their fury and all of their suffering. All of mankind's evils they poured into Him, and He was consumed by it. The Old God, their betrayer, now felt the Magisters pain. For He had tasted their sin and the Makers wrath and it was impossible to bear. Whilst mankind's sin remained in Him never again would He find peace. And so He would destroy mankind and purge the world of the Maker's mistake. He called out to those who had corrupted Him in a voice both beautiful and terrible to behold. The Magisters responded. He gazed upon their mortal bodies and saw that they were men no longer, for the Maker had deemed them unworthy of that name. As demons they had become, twisted by the waters of the Fade, and in turn He too had become a demon; twisted by their taint, full of rage and pride, desire and hunger and envy.

And it came to pass that the whispering Old God became the Archdemon, ruler of those that had tainted him. As one demon would feed upon a single aspect of human negativity, he would taste and embody them all. Through the mountains He led his army of corruption, through the Deep Roads of the dwarven kingdoms they travelled. The throne of heaven had been denied them, but they would still rule the land of men. The Deep Roads fell; they breached the surface spawned from the darkness of the deep. An invasion of the land had begun: The First Blight.

90 years later Minrathous still stood. Countless hordes of the beasts now known as Darkspawn had tried to take the port city. Wave after wave they came, as if they somehow knew Minrathous had once been the seat of their worldly power. But still the city stood steadfast; the giant walls resolute, the Nocen Sea impassable. Though times were changing. Civil war loomed on the horizon, threatening to tear the city apart from within. Many had turned away from the worship of the absent Old Gods and the ruling Magisters, neither heeding the call of a terrified people. Those still loyal to the old ways and to the Archon clashed daily with the new wave of reformists. Around the city the old temples burned. Outside the city the whole land was ablaze…The world was ending. And few were left or willing to do anything, save sitting and awaiting death.

Endran Vor'pero was a man who refused to let death claim him. For 30 years he had fought the Darkspawn menace and endured. Just a child of 10 when he was called to arms, he had risen through the ranks as around him his world collapsed and his people died.

Now he stood in the High Tower, a General of the remaining armies of a once grand Tevinter Imperium. Before him stood the Archon Osar Enovia, ruling lord of the magocracy. A man whose empire stood on the verge of collapse and all the magic in the Makers world could not save it. And so the Archon turned now to his General; merely a man not a mage. A man who had triumphed through will and by sword, not magic or miracles. The hope of a collapsing world rested squarely upon his broad shoulders.

The Archon sat upon his lavish throne, draped in luxury and surrounded by his scurrying Elven slaves. Light from high windows shone upon him, illuminating him so that to Endran's eyes he seemed a mockery of some valorous Fade spirit. As Endran came closer he rose, arms outstretched. Several slaves ran to the General, fawning over him.

"Come my friend. What news off our enemy? You return from Hossberg correct? What news from the Anderfels?"

Vor'pero dismissed the Elves, not content to be coddled by the Archon's servants. He stooped upon one knee. "My lord, King Ozill has declared his allegiance to me. He can spare little and is weakening, but his people are hardy and proud and will not submit easily. They face our impossible enemy daily, yet they do not waver in the face of annihilation and defeat. Tomorrow I intend to march my armies upon the horde that gathers near Nordbotten. They amass for another attack. The Archdemon itself is with them."

"Very well General. What are our chances of success?"

Vor'pero stuttered slightly. "The same as ever my lord. We can only do so much to push these creatures back. They will soon destroy us whole, this I know. Each battle only serves to delay our inevitable doom and thin our ranks further."

"And what of our other allies?"

"Rivain and Ciraine are quiet my lord. News from the south is sporadic at best. We dispatched emissaries to Kal-Sharok two weeks past, yet they have not returned. The dwarves ignore us, resigned to their own fate. It would take an alliance of nations to defeat this blight upon our lands, yet all the people see are hopelessness and death."

"And that is why it falls to heroes like you Endran, to unite this land and save us all." The Archon smiled, yet Endran sensed a degree of mockery in his voice. Maybe even spite. The magocracy had always viewed those without magical ability as inferior. In Endran's accomplishments they saw only their own weakness, knowing that in these desperate times their power would not be enough to save them.

"I am but a simple warrior my lord. But a man. Fighting for what little freedom remains. But I fear in my heart it will soon be for naught."

"My advisor will travel with you tomorrow General. His name is Enzi Rothqua. He is a powerful man whose magic should serve you well."

Endran knew that this was a ploy by the magocracy to supplant one of their own into his ranks. They didn't really trust him. And he trusted the magisters less. He was more content to rely on witches and hedge wizards than to entrust his life to the hands of those whose ancestors had bought this sin to the world 90 years past. "I have come to rely little on miracles my lord," Endran spoke bitterly. "It was the hubris of your ilk that begat this Blight, lest you forget."

"Enough Endran! Your blasphemy will not be tolerated in this place. Do not speak ill of those great men that came before!"

"Apologies my lord. If it be your will I will welcome your advisor. I will not turn away help when it is offered."

"Glad I am to hear it General. Do not forget your place. You are a man born of Tevinter. Your duty is to me, to the magocracy. Your victories ensure the rule of our empire, and our empire alone. Only through our rule will all men know paradise and peace. We are the last shining beacon of civilization in a disparate land filled with barbarians and thieves. Through us alone all shall know glory and heaven! Do not forget that your duty, and the duty of your army is to serve the Imperium."

"My duty is to stop this Blight, whatever the cost. Do not speak to me of the lost glory of this empire, for I remember it little. All I have known is hopeless war. And if not for men like me there will be little of this world left to rule...magister." The last word is tinged with a malice and implication not lost on the Archon. His face blackens and he prepares to continue the tirade with his insolent General. It's at this moment his advisor chooses to enter the room and end the unpleasantries.

"My lord?"

"Enzi! Come. The General was just leaving."

"So soon?" smiled Enzi. "General, before you go might I trouble you for one moment?"

Endran arose to his feet, no longer content to bow before the Archon; civility was pointless in such dark times, and the Archon's stubbornness and pride angered him.

Endran made for the exit, Enzi following close. "Very well mage. Make it quick."

Enzi came nearer, whispered out of earshot of the Archon. "In private perhaps? I may have a way to help your army."

"I will not trust my men to your spells mage. Regardless, your healing powers would be lost against men afflicted by the taint."

"Ah, but that is just the point General. I may have a way to combat even the taint itself!" The mage's eyes lit up. He had the exuberance of a puppy.

Endran's eyebrows arched curiously. "This I doubt. But very well, I shall hear you out."

"Excellent! But not here. There is a tavern in the servants quarters by the docks called the Archon's Folly. Meet me there after sundown and I will explain. Now, if you will kindly excuse me General, I must attend to Ser Enovia." The mage bounced away happily, casually adressing the Archon's Elves who ran off to perform some errand or another.

Endran stood for a moment, pondering what would be so important that even in the presence of the lord of Tevinter, Enzi was so keen to keep it quiet. It didn't matter anyway. There was little left to stand against the Blight. Soon the world would crumble and fall, the land's succumb to blackness and taint, and all that would be left were tainted monsters; dark mockeries of men who's pride had wrought ruin upon this earth.

But until that day came Endran would keep fighting. A fools hope was still hope. And until the last breath left his body he would never stop…