It has been four centuries since the last Blight. The archdemon Andoral was the leader of the darkspawn armies that devastated so much of northeast and northwest Thedas. The Blight persisted for twelve years and it wasn't until the famed battle of Ayesleigh that the Grey Warden Garahel put an end to the corrupted dragon's life. So many darkspawn had been slain towards the end that many believed that would be the end of the tide of darkness that had haunted Thedas for so long. Four centuries is a long time, the longest time between Blights ever recorded. No wonder it was viewed as no more than a nightmare, a bad dream that would remain in the past.
The Grey Wardens, champions against the Blights and the dreaded darkspawn, are now viewed as antiquities, an order that has survived long past its use. Still, the Wardens are ever vigilant, fighting the small darkspawn raids that occur here and there on the surface, even occasionally venturing into the Deep Roads.
Their numbers are few now, as most people don't see the point behind joining what they consider to be a defunct order, warriors that are no longer of any use to the world, forever resting on the laurels of those who died centuries before them. They are far too few now. If a new Blight should come and they have not rebuilt their order, Thedas may not survive. They can only pray that they are given the chance to prove themselves once more, saving the world from a fate worse than simply death.
9:30 Dragon, Guardian 12th
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It was unusually dry for the time of year, Duncan noticed. There were a few clouds in the sky, yes, but he hadn't seen hide nor hair of a rainstorm in weeks. For the Korcari Wilds, this was indeed unusual. The southern forest was mostly swamp and ruins as far as the eye could see. A low mist was ever present, crawling across the wet, marshy ground like a swarm of insects. It was more than likely that there were actual swarms of insects creeping beneath the mists, actually.
There should be rain, Duncan thought to himself for the umpteenth time. Since he'd lead the Wardens to the edge of the Wilds, he'd known something was wrong. The darkspawn sightings were worrisome as always, but that wasn't why he'd insisted on bringing all of the Fereldan Grey Wardens to what was commonly viewed as the ass end of the kingdom. He feared that they may have a Blight on their hands.
No. He shook his head. He knew it was a Blight. He wasn't the only Warden that felt it, of course. Many of the elder Wardens that had joined him in Ferelden knew. They'd all had the dreams. Now they were beginning to see the signs.
Blights killed the lands they touched. The darkspawn were the carriers, of course, but it almost seemed as if the disease had a mind of its own. Crops withered, plants ceased to grow, rivers dried up, animals fell sick. It was death, plain and simple. Lands with few people were the first to go, but the last to be noticed. The Korcari Wilds could have gone completely unnoticed, the Blight festering deep in the forests, destroying the few Chasind tribes before they could leave and warn other civilizations. Then it would explode outward, scattering across Ferelden like cockroaches fleeing the light. It wouldn't take long for refugees, sick with the Blight to seek greener pastures, spreading the sickness before the darkspawn inevitably followed them across Thedas. With the number of Wardens being at an all-time low, it was likely that Ferelden would be gone before the other countries could mobilize against the darkspawn.
Duncan shuddered, pushing the dark thoughts from his mind. He had spared the world such a scenario, he hoped. Once the dreams had started, it hadn't been too difficult to pinpoint the source of his unease and dread. The Korcari Wilds were unique, in a way. They had not been as vastly explored as the rest of Ferelden, but everyone knew tales of the mysterious Wilds. Tales of bloodthirsty werewolves, savage Chasind, and most certainly the Witch of the Wilds had kept many young Fereldan children awake at night, fearing those creatures from the haunted swamplands.
Convincing his fellow Wardens had been easy enough. As Warden-Commander of Ferelden, it was his duty to lead them against any darkspawn incursions. If he said this was no mere raid, that it was indeed a Blight, then it was so. They knew it in their bones, in their very blood, even if he had not said as much.
The Fereldan army, however, was not so easily convinced. King Maric had been his friend and a trusted ally. He would have believed him without a shadow of doubt. His son, the new King Cailan, was not so easily convinced. His adviser, Teyrn Loghain, was even less convinced. He, like many across Thedas, did not trust the Grey Wardens. He believed that their time had passed and there was no danger of a Blight.
Luckily Cailan did not agree with the Teyrn on every front. He respected the Wardens a great deal, revered them even, likely after reading of their heroic deeds and even hearing of some of them directly from his father. While he did not believe it could possibly be a Blight, he jumped at the chance to prove himself a hero. Loghain was less than pleased, but as the general of the King's armies, he had to relent.
Now they have been camped at the edge of the Wilds, in the ancient fortress of Ostagar, for near on a month. They have sent scouts into the Wilds, searching for signs of the archdemon, while the army occasionally dealt with the darkspawn that attempted to move forward out of the swamp. The darkspawn were not randomly attacking, like they would in a mindless raid against the surface. No, they used cunning tactics that could only have been passed to them through the mind of the archdemon. Yet no dragon has been spotted in the forest.
Even if the archdemon did show itself, Duncan worried that their current forces might not be enough. The Grey Wardens were only recently allowed back in Ferelden. It was twenty years ago that he had met Maric, the young King of Ferelden, and they had grown close while travelling together. Maric knew the threat the Wardens faced, knew what they stood for and fought for. He had been the one to allow their order to return after two centuries of exile. In the two decades Duncan had spent recruiting and rebuilding, he'd been met with great resistances by the people of Ferelden. They did not trust the Wardens, did not believe in them and their purpose.
Their ranks were simply too low to take on the force of the horde and the archdemon. They needed the numbers from the Wardens of Orlais. Sadly, the war between Orlais and Ferelden was not long in the past and there was bitter resentment and suspicion from both sides. He doubted the men he'd sent for would make it in time if the archdemon was as near as he feared.
With all this in mind, he was now leaving Ostagar to take a tour of Ferelden in an attempt to gather new recruits. While he knew he wasn't likely to find much (certainly not anywhere close to the two hundred Wardens he'd called for in Orlais), he was hoping to find at least a few undiscovered warriors to join their cause.
"I'll start with the dwarves of Orzammar, Your Majesty." He'd explained this all to King Cailan earlier, before setting off. "From there I will work my way 'round Ferelden and return to Ostagar. I estimate it should take anywhere between five to seven weeks. In that time, I hope to find able recruits, brave warriors that will aid us against the Blight."
He knew playing up the heroic angle would please Cailan. He was a good man, but easily manipulated with the right words. It was no wonder that Teyrn Loghain's daughter had found a suitable husband in the lad.
Cailan's golden eyes were glowing with excitement as he looked up from the map Duncan had been prodding. "Excellent, Duncan! I shall await your return with these new recruits." He clapped the man on the shoulder and smiled. "Don't take too long. I would hate to go into battle without you by my side. I wouldn't want to take all the glory myself, now would I?"
Duncan returned the smile, shaking his head with a small laugh bubbling forth. "Of course not, Your Majesty. I promise I will return before any grand battles take place. I trust you can handle any skirmishes that should take place between now and then."
"Naturally! With Loghain as my general, I have nothing to fear my friend."
He was almost completely out of the Wilds now. The tree line was clearing a bit and he could see that he'd be descending into a valley that would lead him through a portion of the Hinterlands. From there he would eventually reach Lake Calenhad, skirting around the shore until reaching Gherlen's Pass in the Frostbacks. The road to Orzammar was reachable through there.
In the midst of his thoughts, Duncan became aware of a buzzing in the back of his mind. He halted, moving to find cover as his blood began to sing. He could feel the darkspawn nearby, two of them, scouts most likely. It was the farthest out of the Wilds he'd seen them thus far. Not a good sign.
They were not within eyesight, but they were not far. Not yet. They moved carefully, making no noise that he could detect. They were circling around behind him now, trying to flank him. Knowing this, he moved forward again, acting as if he were not aware of them.
Soon enough, he saw the bodies. They looked like scouts, some of them wearing light armor while others wore none at all. The missing armor had likely been scavenged by the darkspawn that had killed them. A few of them had been strung up while the rest lay scattered across the ground like logs. The corpses extended from the trees all the way to the edge of a cliff, thrown about carelessly.
Duncan closed his eyes after taking in the scene, focusing on the way his blood sang and buzzed in his mind. Moving to examine the body nearest the cliff, he felt the darkspawn creeping up behind him, silent as phantoms. He stepped back from the corpse, his eyes glowing like a cat's as he looked to his left.
The darkspawn struck; the one on his left lunged forward with its scrap-work blade and Duncan seized it from its grasp, kicking the monster down as he faced the other. It had barely begun to bring down its sword before the Warden struck, slicing it across the neck and stabbing it through the heart when it fell to the ground. Leaving the first darkspawn no time to recover, he turned and kicked it off the ledge, watching it as it bounced its way down before coming to a stop.
It was then that he saw the storm on the horizon. Lightning crackled across the dark clouds and thunder rolled out to greet him. It was not far.
Looking back over the expanse of bodies, Duncan worried that whatever recruits he returned with would not be enough, that perhaps nothing would be enough. He feared the coming storm. He could only pray that his gamble would pay off and that it would not be too late.
