Author's note: A little while back, I was commissioned by FenixV to write a grand story featuring Aeducan and Brosca. Well, I decided to go a step farther and use all the Wardens, although most of them will not actually be Wardens. The idea of the story greatly intrigued me, and I have been itching to write it since I heard of it. Now, almost all of this chapter was written out long before he had ever commissioned me; it was actually typed out as a prologue of sorts to another idea I had, but I thought it would be better suited here. Big thank you to FenixV for asking this of me, as it was not only my first commission, but a darn fine idea.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins or any of the characters. Nor do I make any money off of this story.
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The sky was a dark, swirling mass. A green tinge hung over his senses, giving the vision a sinister aura. He could not feel his body, but his other senses were greatly heightened. He could taste the acrid air; smell the aroma of death and decay. His throat was clogged, chocking on this evil. His eyes took in the horrific scene, straight from the fiery pit of hell.
A black, roiling mass of grotesque shapes covered every inch of the area he found himself in. These monstrous creatures were horrible to behold; tall, hulking things dressed in dark armor, and wielding an assorted array of wicked looking weapons. Most of the behemoths had dark red splotches of blood embroidering their armor and items. Some were small and stumpy, though no less terrifying. Others were more humanoid; the thought disturbed him. Then there were huge Ogres, horns twisting out of their bulbous heads, mouths opened wide and roars bursting forth from their gaping maws. The sounds were deafening. A loud sound to his right startled him from the nightmarish scene. When his eyes landed on the former distraction, his blood ran cold.
There, at the forefront of the ghoulish army and looming over them, stood the biggest, most horror-inducing dragon he had ever had the misfortune to see. The dragon was colored an inky, dark black and its eyes were a luminescent green. The dragon extended its powerful wings, the two flapping masses spanning an impressive distance. The dragon's eyes roved around the motley assembly, its eyes burning with a strange intensity. Intelligence was present in the cold green pits. When it was satisfied with its perusing, the beast opened its gigantic mouth, rows upon rows of sharp black teeth glistening maliciously. A roar forced itself out of the dragon's throat and echoing loudly in the surrounding area. The clamoring monsters chanted back towards their leader in a language wholly foreign to the man. Suddenly, the troubling scene started flickering in and out, like the sun as it slowly says goodnight to the philandering day and allows the moon to claim the sky for the night. He tried to keep the scene in focus, but it kept dimming and cracking, until it finally shattered, escaping him completely.
"Duncan! Duncan, wake up!" The frantic words paired with a dose of unceremonious shoving woke the man up, jolting him from sleep. He hurriedly looked around, his dark eyes almost crazy in its pursuit of the elusive dream. Finally, he calmed down and his eyes landed on the person who woke him. A tall chestnut-haired warrior stood before him, young and impressive in his silver armor. His hair swooped forward on the tip, and his kind eyes were filled with worry. "Oh great, you're finally awake," the warrior spoke, relief evident in his voice. "For a minute there, I thought you would never awaken." The formerly asleep man rubbed at his tired eyes, the dream haunting his thoughts. "It has come, Alistair." The dark-haired Rivaini spoke in a voice laden with fear and weariness.
The warrior, Alistair, stared confusedly at his mentor. A frown marred his handsome face. "What has come Duncan? What did you see that has you troubled so?" The man opened his eyes with a sigh, dark orbs meeting lighter ones. His chilling words would echo in their minds and haunt them for days to come. "The Blight…has come."
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Deep in the forest known as the Korcari Wilds, an old woman whose skin was weathered with age stood, staring out at the landscape around her. Her eyes spoke of wisdom far beyond the years stamped out in the lines on her face." Mother, supper is on. Might I suggest that you get inside, before it is all cold?" Flemeth, as the old woman was called, turned around, not in the least bit surprised at seeing her daughter standing behind her; she had heard the footsteps signaling her approach. The younger woman stood impatiently before her, not even trying to hide it. Her golden eyes locked on her mother, trying to read the expression on her wizened features. "Mother? What are you smiling about? Is the thought of eating cold food a joke, nowadays? If so, I guess I have not gotten the memo." Flemeth quirked her lips at her impudent daughter. Ah, such fire in her! "No, child, it is not a joke, not that I know of. But, knowing your cooking skills, it might be an improvement." Morrigan, the daughter, colored at the barb. Her eyes flashed, hurt and anger the prominent emotions. "As you wish, Mother. I am going to go collect herbs. Don't wait up." With that, the woman stalked off, trying to reclaim her pride that had just been shredded. Flemeth watched her go, a smirk growing on her face. "Such spirit; she will serve me well. Ready yourself, Morrigan: the world is changing, and soon, Ferelden will be swept away. There are things here at work that you cannot know, but will surely be heard soon." Her gaze returned to staring off into the distance. Her time had finally come; the Blight was here.
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