Dragon Age: Swift, Silent Death
by O.G. Green
AN: Everything except my own, original characters is the sole intellectual property of Bioware/EA. This story takes place thirty years after the events depicted in Dragon Age: Origins. Last, but by no means least, I dedicate this story to the biggest DA fan: Blondie. My muse, my beautiful Valkyrie… you can take me to Valhalla anytime.
9:60 Dragon
100 miles south of Denerim
Base of Dragon's Peak
Ser Olin de Grise wondered for the umpteenth time why the Arl of South Reach couldn't allow his knights to forgo wearing full plate until they reached Denerim. He envied the men-at-arms and archers outfitted in chainmail or studded leather armor. All wore the emerald and ebony colors of South Reach on their tabards. As captain of the arl's household guards, Ser Olin had the responsibility of safeguarding South Reach's annual tithe to the Kingdom of Ferelden. It would be an easier journey if his lord had decided to stay behind in the arling. The knight wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief, wishing that one of the servants would bring forth water. Too bad they were all fawning over the arl in his private carriage.
Besides his arl's carriage, there were four other wagons laden with supplies and chests of gold. The chests were carved from pine, banded by iron, and secured by heavy locks. Ser Olin led a group of six mounted knights, ten archers, and forty men-at-arms. He had pleaded with the arl to muster a larger force but the lord of South Reach dismissed his concern. We will not enter Denerim with an army stated the arl.
We are merely bringing forth a payment to His Majesty, Alistair the Grey. We do not want to provoke the Royal Army or the Grey Wardens into rash action. Ser Olin could do nothing but grit his teeth. He sincerely prayed that the Maker watched over them as they traveled to the capital.
He was about to call out for a servant to bring his men water when the first arrow sped through the air then punctured his cuirass. Blood seeped down his tabard as the second arrow pierced his right shoulder and knocked him off his destrier. Ser Olin heard the cry, "To arms! To arms!". But he was now out of the fight, bleeding freely on the road.
The men-at-arms spread out in two even lines and took to either side of the road, longswords in hand. The knights spun their destriers around and took positions around the arl's carriage. Archers clambered onto the wagons, arrows nocked, and ready to let fly. Servants cowered under the wagons praying to a variety of deities for salvation. Everyone braced themselves for the coming onslaught.
Ser Olin could only watch in abject horror as explosions rocked the column with fire and smoke. One by one the archers were shot in the throat with unerring accuracy, their arrows still nocked in their bows. When the last one fell off the wagons, horns could be heard in the distance. The ground trembled as a group of Chasind Wilders charged forth from the treeline armed with swords and axes. They wore furs and patched leather armor. Some carried round shields and all had tribal markings on their faces. The war cry that they shouted forth stunned the hapless soldiers from South Reach. The sound of steel clanging and the wails of dying men assaulted the ears as both groups crashed into each other.
The captain of the arl's household guard struggled to sit upright. He took note of the black-shafted arrow that protruded from his chest. Then his eyes widened in surprise at the fletching. Two gold bands encircled the base of the shaft below the feathers. Only one archer in all of Ferelden carried this mark on his arrows.
"By the Maker…", sputtered the dying knight.
Ser Olin felt a vicious kick that lifted his broken body into the air only to crash into the hard road. He spat out blood as a hooded figure strode towards him. The dark cloaked warrior wore drakeskin armor dyed midnight black and inscribed with swirling, Dalish script that faintly glowed iridescent green. Belted at his waist was the silverite war axe known throughout the kingdom as Skull-Crusher. Also carried on that same belt was a wicked looking Dar'Misu fighting knife forged from red steel, Mage-Skinner, for its wielder had gutted over a thousand so-called wizards. But it was the bow that was carried in the other man's hand that Ser Olin recognized his assailant.
An ancestral heartwood longbow with white steel fittings, its center filled with a large sapphire. The bow's string was laminated dragon sinew. It had a crimson aura from the nobles it had killed in the last decade or so. For its arrows always hit their mark. The dreaded Liege-Killer…
The archer took off his hood, exposing fine Half-Elven features. His long raven hair was kept in place by an intricate white headpiece worn on the top of his head. Piercing, ice-grey eyes stared down at the wounded knight. No mercy or compassion would be found there. The pointed ears twitched once and his mouth curled up into a cruel smile. He took Skull-Crusher from his belt and struck off Ser Olin's helm. Then the savage half-elven archer smashed the silverite war axe into the stump of a tree. Grabbing the knight's hair, the dark cloaked warrior spoke in a low voice.
"Are you surprised, whelp of South Reach? Yes, Vorhonn the Red-Handed still lives, and I will sate my bloodlust on all of Ferelden!"