A/N: I'mma back muther fukrs!
This is purely fan speculation and theorizing, needless to say my ideas may be different than yours. I will recreate the lore as close as possible, but since Souls is vague there will be massive holes to be filled by me, debacle as you want in the reviews, but please don't bicker over who's right and who's wrong. This is also only a small taste of things to come, this will be a big huge massive project alongside Dragon Souls :3
Lore master of the millennium: Mason Tims. His theories are usually way better than mine and he will proof most of this story in all likelihood. Also I don't have omniscience, if you want to make sure I cover your favorite character/place/event please leave a review asking me to so I don't forget :3
Rated T so people will notice it, should be rated M for explicit blood and gore, demon slaying, implied sexual content, then actual sexual content later (though it will be changed to M by that point). Please don't be a hatemaster fundestroyer and report me, I am only doing my so/so job :3
Far in the east is a land torn apart by war. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say in the wreckage of the world is a land in the east. One can imagine the anarchy and devastation that swept over the battlements of the killing field, hundreds of thousands of soldiers slaughtered by one another, the slate grey mud running crimson around the greyed, bloated corpses under the overcast sky, the faintest rays of dull sunlight breaking through the torn sheets of cloud, illuminating the mist rising from the ground, cloaking the land.
Many of them were dead long before they ever joined the war, the Darksign upon them dissipating as the hollow's souls finished being drawn out, though many of the wretched things were up from the ground, their armor clacking and shifting as they made a slow, jagged lumbering over the dirt, their moans the only thing to indicate anything lived here at all.
The Dark had made a ruin of all the kingdoms and lands, the hollows outnumbering the sane, the desperate overpowering the moral, until only deadlands like this were left.
Or at least, that is what a glance would say…
Deep in the rotting field, crows feasting and making a racket as they scattered from the hollow figures, was a lone man, his wooden sandals making a low clack click upon the armor of the fallen warriors as he gingerly stepped over their weapons and arms. There was a change on the wind, somewhere a beacon of light had been lit, and humans, small but enduring as insects, were drawn like moths toward it.
There was no sign as to where it would take them or what their role would be, but the dark was passing, and the few mortals who had survived were emerging into the sunrise, searching for the unknown.
The easterner, one of the very last of his kind, scanned the environment, his small, intense eyes wary of hollows as he pulled his ragged cloak so tight to himself it almost tore, as though the scrap would provide him the faintest protection. In his mind, he considered grabbing one of the numerous rusty arms in case one of the hollows came for him, though the time since the ancient battle had left them near useless anyhow.
But, as he sniffed with cold, wheezing hard and stumbling further along in the rot of his people, he couldn't conceive stopping, the very notion seemed to eat at him from the inside as he was pulled along. There was something here, in waiting, its voice wailed to him in despair and loneliness, but he was the only one around to hear it, it seemed.
Then, he saw it, ahead, upon the crest of a hill, his pace increasing until he was ready to pass out with exhaustion, until he finally gave in and collapsed at the base, his hands turning red, and then ghastly white as they pressed into the frigid quagmire beneath him, sinking so that he feared the earth itself would swallow him.
He lay prostrated a few minutes, before he drug himself up, gazing upon the source of the voice.
She was long, long as he was tall, black as night without stars or moon, yet deep as the calm ocean. The pale rays of sunlight peeking through the clouds shone on her edge with glorious beauty, her hilt three handed, odd for her light, curved blade, yet inviting leverage and strength over the niceties of leaping around a fight.
He reached to her, grabbing her by the hilt with the gentle touch of a seducer, before drawing her from the dirt, the mire staining her tip sliding off like water, leaving her blade whole and sharp… almost transcendentally pristine even after laying naked in the bloody dirt, soaking it into herself.
The Ronin's numbed fingers seemed to heat as he ran them down her wet back.
She was simply… bewitching, a woman with skin like burnished copper and insides like oiled silk would not compare in the slightest, he only wanted to stand there and hold her more, her touch sending shivers through his body.
The Ronin's senses seemed to sharpen, his hand already tucking her to his side as he glanced to a hollow that had managed to creep up on him, the intrusion sparking anger in the frail, near starved fighter as the rotted warrior grunted and heaved his blade to the side, swinging it erratically.
The nameless fighter, as his name had vanished long ago, swung in retort, letting a feral growl escape him lips as he savagely rent the hollow's armor, the steel plates splitting like paper under her bite and sending it's corrupted black blood splashing to the ground.
They were both far from fighting shape, but she had a longer reach and a latent power that had only grown more violent in its age, the Ronin raising her again and grasping in both hands, slashing down and watching the hollow split from his shoulder to navel, the blade halting in his unworthy hands.
He pulled the blade back, the hollow stumbling, before finally getting finished off with a slash through the hip, finally halving him, another hollow coming behind him. The Ronin felt ripples of power through his body as the blade tasted blood, lunging for the hollow as the rotten warrior jabbed his spear forward. The fatigued Ronin nearly stepped around it, the blade lancing his side, only propelling him into a thrust that split the hollow's brain in his skull.
The Ronin pulled the head out, wincing and falling forward a little as some of the last drops of his blood left him. He'd seen the darkest the land could become, and it had left him beaten and battered, his form more staggering than walking as he took her sheath and stumbled down the hill, looking to hide in the wilderness, replenish his strength.
But, he was no longer afraid. She was his now, his and no-one else's, his own special mistress in this wreckage of humanity. He would clothe her in his sheath, defend her from rust and ruin, and above all, he would make sure to feed her the dishonorable blood of his enemies… as much as she desired.
The world is a ruin, but then again, the world is a ruin built upon a ruin, all the way down into the earth until you hit nothingness itself, some period long ago forgotten and uncared for. But, here is a ruin especially spectacular terror.
In a land of giants, far across the sea, is a swirling maelstrom of fire and life. There were some naïve enough to think a bed of life would be the first thing a wounded, nearly dead world needed, especially to weather the darkness that had held the land for so long, but the flame had a life of its own: it sought to corrupt and devour all it could grasp from the hellish underbelly of the world, craving souls and lives.
This corruption rose in the form of great, twisted abominations that knew only death. They devoured, they matured, copulated, then devoured more as they spread. Numerous men and woman, perhaps innumerable, both from mankind and the stone giants that seemed to have roamed the plain hills and gentle woods since time immemorial, had fought against them with great strength and determination.
But, the demons were nearly invincible, and seemed to be infinite in number, numerous small fiefs and villages attempting to fight back, but never coming anywhere near the Chaos as they held on by the barest threads.
And then, he came.
In a quiet, unassuming little fief, people were running in terror, wailing in agony as a building was shattered, a scream that made the largest amongst them tremble roaring into the winds. The fleeing mortals looked over their shoulders at the beast that had found their way to them. It's four hind legs looked spindly and reptilian, with its great claws tilling up the ground as it skittered about, it's chitinous armor rattling as it ran for the nearest people, it's long, slender spine bending the front of it into the air so it's toothy, wide maw could gaze down on them with the burning red eyes haphazardly strewn across his flat forehead.
One turned an instant too soon, the demon's hand sweeping down and snatching him up from the ground, his screams snuffed out as he pushed him hungrily into his angular jaw and crushed him in his teeth without a pause, it's budding tongues lapping up the gore as it smacked and chewed, the long, whip-like tendrils sprouting along his sides sweeping around and grabbing all they could, pulling his hapless prey into its waiting jaws to the point where it was crushing and smacking and chewing families at a time, it's swallowing constant as it forced everything down its repulsive gullet.
Arrows, spears, and a few bolts of magic hit his sides, its armor unphased and soft underbelly nearly impossible to get at as the engine of feeding and carnage kept up relentlessly. It charged down, ravenous, stopping only when it saw something it was not prepared for.
People, as few as they were, were running in all directions, searching for weapons and armor, or just away from the demon, even if they lost the very few possessions in their shanty huts it was better than their lives, as they were human thus vulnerable. One, solitary figure, shoulder high with most of the adults and slender as a rail, was simply standing, motionless.
His scruffy, overgrown blonde hair hid his expression from the distorted gaze of the monster, but he seemed still and motionless as stone, his posture rigid and battle-scarred despite his young age, a small straghtsword grasped in one hand, lightly trembling.
The beast roared so loud, the figure could feel it from down the dusty path, rattling him to the core, a small flinch appearing at the edge of his gaze. The monster charged him, shaking the earth with his gait, the distance closing in moments as he swung his claws down-
The boy jumped away, the claws racking down his front, causing slight bleeding but leaving him unphased as the beast stumbled forward, the small fighter lunging towards him and tearing into him with his swift blade. The demon let up a roar and leapt back, sending a tendril to crush him, the fighter grabbing the appendage and pulling it taught, slashing it off with the edge of his blade, the beast roaring and flailing towards him.
The smaller warrior stepped around his lunging arm, bracing his hand behind his blade and dragging it down the ragged skin, splitting his arm open with a howl of effort, the demon withdrawing it and coming around to stamp him with the palm of his other arm, bringing his full crushing force with him.
The child took a single bound backward, the dirt at his feet getting blasted into his face, his bones rattling from the sheer force, queuing him to drive his sword into the back of his hand, where the wrist met the palm, the demon struggling to pull back as the young man dug his heels into the ground and drug his sword to the side, the blade severing tendons and muscles-
With a crack, one of his whip-like tendrils batted the young man in the side, the fighter coughing a glob of blood as he felt a deep pain in the side of his crest, his breathing getting harder, his whole body thrashing to the side as he finished slicing through the wrist with a crunch, the beast staggering and moaning as its hand dangled limply from his arm by a few tendons, the warrior bounding in with a howl-
He lurched as he was speared through the gut with the tip of a vine, the best wrapping a second around his midsection and hoisting him up to that maw, gore blasting him in the face as the angular trap came open and overtook in his vision, the small warrior flipping himself upside down and slicing-
The tendrils severed, the young man falling, flipping upright as he was smashed in the side with the beast's free arm.
His head went numb, dots overtaking his vision as he flew through the air, making him feel light as wind, until he came crashing down, his body crashing against the side of a building and slumping onto haphazard awning meant to keep out the sun.
His whole side hurt, everything hurt as he felt a cold seep into the side of his head, a ring rising so high he feared it would drive him deaf as he looked to the injured beast, who, in a fit of rage, bit his useless hand off with a jerk of his head, his remaining few tendrils reaching out as he rampaged forward, opening his mouth wide and leaning down to eye level with the awning.
The young man saw his one good arm and two good legs, the other things near useless to him right now. When the demon prepared to bite down, he jumped forward with all the strength he had to give, taking the pressure off his chest and arm and springing upon his head, the beats lunging up in surprise.
The young man let go, letting the force beneath him carry him up, kicking down and getting sent skyward once again, free of the ground. The demon looked up to him, and he looked down on the demon, feeling free as he brought his blade down, seeing the edge would not hold up and angling the tip down, falling through the air, past the clumsy tendrils at his target and thrashing-
His stroke drove the tip of his blade into the skull of the demon, his body seeming to hold itself by the hilt of his blade an instant before he dropped, all the warrior's focus on his hand- grip the blade- hold it with all you have- don't let it go- even as his shoulder pulled up to a parallel with his legs with a sickening crunch that went to the core of his guts, the iron blade splitting the bone open and collapsing into that twice-forsaken mouth, ripping through the mouth into the jaw, separating the mandibles and shredding his gullet, the force of the world pulling that blade down his front and opening his throat, then his trachea and stomach, stopping only when the young man's feet smashed the earth to its bedrock, jarring him to a halt as he pulled the blade from the slit.
An ocean of blood spilt from the demon to greet the young warrior, his eyes squinting to evade being blinded by it as the demon bent in half, its split skull facing the sky as it unleashed it's last death throe, chocking on its own blood and coming out as an unearthly gurgling, until it begun to smolder, exploding into fire and burning into nothingness.
It's energy flowed into the young man in a flood as it disintegrated into the air, revitalizing him as he dropped his blade. He hurt. Everywhere he hurt, his arms hanging limply at his sides as his ankles tried to balance his weight, blood trailing from the sides of his mouth as he labored heavily, sure he pierced a lung with one of his rib, likely more. He couldn't walk, so he just stood still, a ripple of anxiety going up his spine as the people came from hiding, everyone silent, yet screaming to him.
No-one wanted anywhere near him, the young, half-dead man slumped in place, when a pair of boots entered focus, his eyes remaining averted. He imagined, based on the size and his brashness, that he was a large, muscular man, at least quadruple his age or more, wearing Dark Age armor, meaning it was a soldier. This was only made clearer by his gruff, commanding and faintly condescending tone:
"What is your name, kid?" He hurt. So much he didn't want to speak, but stopped breathing, gathering his strength to sigh out a plain:
"Andraste"
"Well, Andraste." The soldier nodded, taking him roughly by his dislocated left shoulder, though he bit his tongue as not to yelp, "It looks like this is the start of something very interesting, for all of us."
"Water," A long, rugged voice like a dying hen wheezed, "All I need is water." Not a single eye turned her way, as everyone was thirsty. And tired, and hungry. It seemed the only thing in plentiful supply was misery as they made their way around the makeshift shanty town, slumped over and dreading their turn deep in the bowels of the earth, excavating hunks of iron to turn into weapons, armor, and housing, assuming it could be purified with the minimal tools they had.
But, that was their own fault in a way. To escape from the horrors of the dead, distorted world, many humans fled high into the mountains, far from the wilderness or civilization to protect themselves, settling into stout buildings hewn from boulders and caves under the ground, waiting for the hard times to pass.
Dark creatures and demons left them alone for the most part, but, the flat they settled upon was barely habitable: only the heartiest meats and plants could survive, with periotic trips made far from the settlement to the wilderness for more food, nutrition, and water.
Most made it back, some didn't.
The heat was sweltering even in the dead of winter, ashlands stretching for miles and miles with cascades of lava and looming mountains as far as anyone could see. For a few that was the sight they had seen since birth, their inheritance as it were.
The people there grew up tough, harsh, and unbendable, like the iron they dug from the ground. The volcanos around them seemed to dredge up a limitless supply of minerals and iron to work with. Some even thought to themselves if they could just get enough to forge some good armor and weapons, perhaps they could escape and found a kingdom somewhere nice and cool, where they could see the sun through the endless smog and ash, where there were animals, and wildlife, even some of the scant survivors of the near total destruction of the human race would bring comfort.
It was barely passable as such a prestigious thing as "kingdom", for they had only one "king" figure.
Speaking of, some of the frail, ash dusted figures turned to their leader, the king, looking away more from fear and distaste than politeness to his stature as the armored figure plodded along, a few guards lazily watching their feet as they shuffled behind him, more a formality than anything else.
Chlodovech Kunigunde. At the start, there were numerous "noble" figures vying for the lead. With time, their numbers thinned and all of the would-be leaders died off, often to insurrections and their own greedy bid for power, plots that sprung upon themselves and would be victims that survived long enough to take the lives of would be assassins. In an age of darkness and anarchy, people show their true nature.
That is why Chlodovech had survived as a monarch for this long. He was young, barely into his twenties, his rule legitimized by some clan that went hollow and extinct long ago, the last vestige of his noble lineage a set of fairly plain steel armor and a large mace to fight with, plus the skills to use both.
He was more of a masterless knight than a king. In the previous era no-one would follow this unassuming, dull young man with barely a direction or strength to his name. But he was the leader they needed, for now: he was humble in appearance and practice, gentle when he needed to be, and firm when he wanted to be, soft spoken to children and ferocious and loud with adults. And above all, he had ambition.
Granted, he preached a frail, threadbare plan that did little more than moralize the people around him, if only slightly, but his thoughts were on bettering the lives of his people, and he delivered it with such iron resolve people couldn't help but stay together through the crisis.
As he made his usual rounds, he heard a sob, turning towards a young girl and stopping his guards, who nearly ran into him with their absentmindedness. Feeling a pain in his heart, he walked to her, kneeling down and hoping that, perhaps, the sight of her king would be of some comfort, though even he doubted himself most of the time.
"What's the matter?" He murmured softly, his firm voice echoing from the mess of reddish, frizzy hair he tried without success to comb down, her soft eyes rising to meet his. She sniffed:
"Mister, I'm afraid." She replied softly, Chlodovech giving a long, sad sigh and embracing her tightly, the faint scruff on his cheeks scratching hers, making her twitch a bit, though it was only because it tickled a little.
"Me too," he mumbled, squeezing tighter, like he could anchor himself to the world through her, "me too." He stood again, continuing his rounds and noting that each day, more life seemed to bleed from the miniscule settlement. If they only had armor, and weapons, something to take back the wilds to feed themselves and to grow…
But, it would take a miracle, it would seem, a miracle the lesser king was increasingly doubting would ever come.
But, in their infinite sense of humor, the gods did send them a miracle, but, this was not a miracle in the form of a transcendent ray of light, as Chlodovech thought. It was a tremor in the ground.
Long before the thought of an earthquake came to him, the king was knocked from his feet as the earth seemed to erupt in a great blast, a clap like thunder, which he hadn't heard in a great period of time, shaking his small world.
He clutched his head, Chlodovech struggling to stay lucid as the whoosh of a firestorm swept around him, though it didn't little to stop the rattle of his bones as he was shaken terribly. It passed slowly, the king getting back on his feet, when he heard the most fatal words known to their sorry community:
"That came from the mine!" Chlodovech was running before he even thought to, the king's lungs heavily laboring in the ashen air as everyone available ran to the mouth of the cave, a smoke so thick and black you could write with it if there were only a quill sticky enough.
He plunged into the smoke, the ether burning his eyes red and salty and he staggered though the caves, the other's just behind as they worked their way into the depths. He dreaded whatever he may see ahead of the torches and candles they brought with them, imagining all the horrors that could lie at the bottom, emerging from the dark.
His fantasies did not prepare him as he scrambled over the soot and sediment covering the grey halls, coming to the end of the corridor. The miners that had been working there were barely distinguishable, red gore liquefied and spewed onto the walls in swathes of paste, their bones smoldering charred and ashen.
Despite the suffocating clouds, the king lowered his hand form his mouth, his eyes widening and breath shortening as he cringed from the remnants of his people, bile rising in his throat as the viscera touched him… actually touched him, the king getting panicked as the other's filed in by him.
As he staggered through, hearing the moans of his people, he heard something else, rising from the throat of the earth that they had dug open, leading him on. His breath, now rasping and heaving as the sweltering bubble scorched his insides, was once again taken by what lay before him, freed from the wall:
It was ore, a massive hunk of ore, but so much more than that: it was like a great, lopsided dollop of burning hot magma, the outside crusted black, yet it wasn't cooling, and as the king stepped closer to it, he realized it wasn't burning him, until he reached out with shaky hands, and pulled it from it rest.
He gazed into the broiling mass, feeling the immense heat and energy through his steel gauntlets and holding it up, focusing-
He yelped and dropped the mass as it flared up, the heat wave knocking him back as it fell to the floor, rolling to a stop as it smoldered in its place.
Chlodovech had an affinity for metal. It was a rare gift, many would even say unique to him alone, and he had tried to help his people with it as he discovered it growing up, faintly remembering his lessons in the old kingdom.
But he had never seen anything like this. It was as though the earth itself had concentrated the power of the mountains into this one sliver of a rock, its power lying in wait to be released.
The king blinked. It reeked of death, it had burnt his people with the force of its energy. But, what could a man do with unlimited power… unlimited heat and energy… just waiting to be unleashed.
While he mourned their deaths, it seemed as though the minor's sacrifice would not go unrewarded, as the king coveted the scorching earth, his mind aglow with all the possibilities, all the work that could be accomplished with this blessed iron slab.
They backed away from him as the king strode down the way, cradling the precious wonder of science. From this day forward, everything was going to change.