Morrigan is back. Not that we've missed her or anything-it just means she beat the demon. Her body just lay there on the floor, not moving for so long, I thought she'd passed on. That room in Castle Redcliffe where Jowan, an apostate mage hiding from the Templars, did the deed stank of blood and spent magic-kinda like the battlefield us Grey Wardens lost to the darkspawn at Ostagar.

Thanks to her, the demon that possessed the Arl's son and wasted Redcliffe went home to his mama. That Connor lost his ma to do it bugs me. If I could've gone, I would've. The Fade is a mysterious, dangerous place, but it's nothing I can't handle. They say only magicians can go there. Me? I say they're just afraid of being upstaged by a casteless pile of nug-shite from a toilet called Orzammar. They also say the wardens'll take anybody that survives The Joining. At least they're right about that-I'm living proof.

My choice was simple; Join the Grey Wardens or the Legion of the Dead-Go to the Deep Roads or to the surface. The option to get the stone out of Dust Town and try the surface for a while won out. No caste to lose, right? It's a win-win for Myrnah-the-shadow, that's me.

How did I get here to this cold wind-swept collection of tents around a too-small fire we call camp to the south-east of the village of Redcliffe… become a Grey Warden, hunt demons, kill stinkin' darkspawn? You sure you wanna hear? Have a seat, here goes;

I won't bore you with my life story. My sister, Rica and me managed to survive by doing what we know best; She flirted with the nobility in hopes of catching the eye of some lecher who couldn't stay home, while I did the street trade there in the backwater of Dust Town. Don't misunderstand me-she sells her pretty arse, I sell my ability. You want to get something stolen back or an arm twisted? I can do that. I'm not even afraid to carry out a contract, if you know what I mean. There's always more room in the stone for an unlucky soul.

Abilities? What am I selling? I can get to anywhere in Orzammar and no-one's the wiser. I've seen almost every hand-width of space in the Diamond Quarter-That's where the nobles call home. There's no lock on any door that can keep me out for long. I'll find a way through or around it… eventually.

Am I well off… rich? You could say I am. I don't show it. What good would it do me? I have all I could want and the thugs leave me be. The secret is to be a better ally than enemy. A casteless dwarf can only go so far. Rica tells me I have no ambition-Maybe she's right.

Like I said before, I grew up running the streets of Dust Town. School for the casteless is in session every day of the week there. If you don't learn quick-You die… quick. Besides learning to read and write, I hated drawing those letters and numbers over and over, I learned the art of fighting. The book-learning was thanks to a mother who didn't believe in raising fools, no matter what people said about her. Writing with one hand and then the other led me to what the surfacers call dual-wielding. Dwarfs normally don't do that. If you don't carry a shield, both hands are for a single weapon. I don't know why, it just is. Maybe it's tied up with the honor nonsense.

Where was I? Right …An elf that was smuggling refined lyrium to the Circle of Magi at Lake Calenhad took me under his wing about two years ago. In the two seasons I ran with him, he taught me how effective swinging two blades could be. Only thing, I showed more talent with my off-hand, the left one-the sinister one. Nothing he could do would change my backwards style. He wouldn't admit it, but fighting wrong-handed had advantages. Your opponent didn't expect it, and your strong side was his weak side.

The lyrium trade dried up eventually, helped along by the Templars at Lake Calenhad. Even so, my skills were in demand and the jobs piled up. There was seldom a day when my partner, Leske, and I didn't have something to do that would pay.

My best job was at The Proving. An arena in Orzammar where the nobility's champions are forever butting heads to prove who's right. That it led to me being made a warden was just my good luck. The proving is a big deal there in Orzammar. It goes way back a thousand years. We dwarfs believe that our ancestors speak to us from the stone and their influence in arena battles can settle the most bitter disputes. Believe you-me, those noble whore-mongers can't stay outta each other's way;They live to fight. Might-makes-right, you ask? Damn-stone-right, I answer. That makes it easier for me. I can usually win by out-thinking them.

Well, anyway, my then-boss, Beraht, with his usual good sense bet on a loser named Everd who was fighting in the next round just when I got there. I forget why the bastard even sent me, but Everd was down already… dead drunk!

I had an inspiration… it was brilliant! Could I take his place in the arena? My chest isn't that big and the helm would cover my branded face. Brands are tattoos given to all casteless babes born to the slums of Orzammar-called Dust Town by anyone in the know. That scorch mark on my cheek was supposed to be an insult, but unlike most dwarfs, I like it. You can even call me Duster, which most hate-I like that too.

After stuffing myself into Everd's armor, why was there so much room too far below?, I mopped the floor with those losers. The secret is to fight smarter than your opponent. You don't have to be stronger. The crowd was on their feet the whole time. I put more warrior-caste bodies on the floor for the healers to work on than they could carry out.

Then my luck ran out-Doesn't it always? Somehow that idiot Everd got away from Leske and ran out into the arena before anyone could stop him. The nug was outta the bag when I lifted that cook-pot offa my head. A Brand… a Woman… beat the nobility's best warriors? The uproar did my scarred heart good. They booed. They hissed. The bastards shrieked… at ME! That showed 'em! Me shaking my fists at them and screaming, "PARAGON! I. AM. PARAGON!", did nothing to help my situation. Well, it sounded good to me at the time.

The sentence for the casteless bearing arms is death-no appeal. Thank the Stone, Duncan was at the arena to bail my sorry arse out. Like I said before; The wardens or the legion. How do you want your darkspawn blood… warm or cold? Some choice.

Ostagar… Ostagar-that brings the whole Blight thing home to me. I look up to Duncan in more ways than one. And not just because he's taller than me. Beraht better stay in D-Town, the new man is a Grey Warden… was a Grey Warden, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was the only one to survive The Joining at King Cailan's fortress at Ostagar. You see, The Joining is when a new warden proves he can survive a fight with the darkspawn. It's something I don't want to do again, ever. But this is about Duncan, the Stone rest his soul.

Why did I look up to my recruiter? Not just was he a head-and-a-half taller than me, and not because he pulled my fat from the fire. The man was hard-core. He had what it takes to fight a soul-less, brutal bastard of an enemy and still help the weak. Surfacers call this humanity-I don't know. You tell me. How can a man who coldly stabs a guy who backs out on his word to join and then tells him he's sorry, keep from going crazy? The thing is, Duncan did regret it-I have no doubt. I'd regret nothing, you need to depend on your partner-no questions. That coward, Jory, just didn't measure up. The wardens are better off without him.

The thing I remember most about that battle was the sheer numbers. The blighters just kept coming… rank-after-rank. We were assigned a do-nothing task that made little sense to Alistair and me, more about him later. From do-nothing to worth-while to all-for-nothing, things didn't go as planned. Do they ever?

It was simple-Climb to the top of the Tower of Ishal, a pile of rocks built to watch over the approach to the fortress. An easy climb, sure. What no-one told me and Alistair was that the darkspawn had moved in. After drafting a mage and an archer, we went to work. We recaptured that tower from the 'spawns and managed to light the signal fire on top before the lights really went out.

We woke up in a hut in the Wilds of Korcari. It seemed a witch had taken an interest in us. A witch of the wilds-Flemeth was. She was… is Morrigan's mother. If not for her, me and Alistair would be just as dead as his half-brother, King Cailan, and our warden-leader, Duncan-The Stone rest their souls.

From Flemeth's hut in the wilds, us four; My dog, Alistair, me, and her daughter, Morrigan, set out for the village of Lothering. After putting our heads together, we came up with a plan; Stop by the village to get the lay of the land and then continue on to Redcliffe, where the Arl, Eamon Guerrin was his name, lived.

Another little item we'd learned while recovering from our wounds at Flemeth's;The group of warriors waiting for our signal fire didn't show once we got to the top of the tower and managed to get the damp tinder lit. Word is, they about faced and marched their sorry surfacer arses back to Denerim to keep from missing high tea. The name of their leader is burned into my memory as sure as this S-shaped brand was burned into my face-Loghain Mac Tir.

Alistair tells me he can't believe that Loghain would do such a thing. Our boy-in-a-man's-body needs to toughen up. I haven't been a warden as long as he has, but if a man, if ya could call him that, leaves his allies on the field and then turns the blame on those allies, he's hiding something. For him to shift the blame to the wardens and then outlaw them? Those Stone-cursed lyrium-crazed nobles in Orzammar would be proud of him. He'd fit right in.

I'll leave the judging of thaig-rat Mac Tir to them's that care. I'm just glad to know which way the bastard'll jump when the roof comes down around our ears. My battle with him is half-way won already.

Morrigan-now there's a piece of work. Like most witches, there's more there than meets the average eye. Speakin' of eyes, there's the eyes of a predator if I've ever seen 'em. That woman's power makes her a respectable ally or a dreaded enemy. I'm keeping my eyes on that one.

The Village of Lothering, I've been told it's pronounced Leathering, yeah, that village was like getting a beating, a real good beating, is where we collected two more members of our traveling troupe. A towering grey hulk with amethyst eyes and the manners of a stone was caged and left for dead just past the local tavern. A murderer of a local farmer and his family, he was. We learned from him that the Revered Mother of the local Chantry held his key.

Me saying, 'I want him. We need him,' turned heads, and not just in our group. They sided against me-All of 'em, the villagers in Lothering and my cohorts. Alistair and Morrigan thought I'd gone nuts, but I knew better. The villagers think that the Qunari are beasts, but they aren't. They don't just kill for fun. Unlike most of these cursed surfacers, they always have good reason for what they do. The trick is to stay a step or two ahead of them. They're not big talkers, but they know their way around a battlefield. If you get their respect, your hard work is done. I proved that with my hound, Mabari-Gar. He's loyal to the end. Why that name? We both need to remember where we came from-Where we met.

Before taking up the Qunari's release, we stopped at the local tavern, Dane's Refuge. Didn't see any Danes there, but a squad of that turncoat's men was there. From them, we learned his title; Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir. He actually had those mis-fits believing he saved his troops from a Grey Warden inspired trap. Alistair was fit to be tied. Poor fellow, a dose of Aeducan politics would have had him right in no time-Everyone is out for himself. Loghain has the people believing that we personally killed their king. A stroke of genius. We've got our work cut out for us now.

I'm getting away from my point. During our tavern diversion, the best entertainment in Lothering for years they tell me, a young Lady of the Lay Chantry assisted us in putting the Teyrn's devils down. Her name was Layanna-She talked even funnier than Morrigan. …and she informed us that the Maker told her she'd be joining us! One of Leske's sayings came to mind when I heard that; Whatever you're smokin' or drinkin'… Put it down! Leske was good at that. In spite of her begging us, I hate beggars, I… we… politely declined her offer. Alistair disagreed, the big softy, not in so many words, but his eyes told all. I left the Dane's Refuge before things between us got ugly.

Releasing the Qunari murderer was a snap. The Revered Mother, like most of her soft-hearted kind, was easy to influence. Getting her to believe his path to redemption, whatever that is, was ours as well, got us the key to his cage. Getting him away before the villagers found out was more of a challenge, not impossible, just a little work.

My intuition about the Qunari, he calls himself The Sten, was on the mark. He was unarmed as we made our way out of Lothering, but not for long. A group of villagers barred our way out, claiming there was a bounty out on us. Grey Wardens and murderers were the same to them, I guess. The gold spends the same. Our newly released murderer did more with a broken shovel handle than Alistair did with a forged double-edged sword. He was art in motion as Morrigan told him later. I think she's a little sweet on him. I'll have to try to keep them apart for now.

One last thing about Lothering, that long-lost village; I was right about the Qunari. I was wrong about the Lay Lady. She was waiting at the last gate to the High Road, hoping for one last try. Alistair brought me up short on my refusal, with a second from the Wild Witch. Both he and Morrigan thought I was wrong…

…they were right. Stone-damn it! They were right. The girl that talks funny pulls her weight and more. She's opened more chests and saved more arses from traps… even a very valuable dwarven one. I'll admit more than I want to admit. What galls me the most? They won't let me forget it. Sod em!

The village of Redcliffe, in the shadow of Arl Eamon's imposing castle bearing the same name, wasn't what we expected. From running lyrium a few years back, my impression was there was a cluster of shacks for fisherman and castle servants here. Now, trade with Orzammar and Orlais made this a stopping point on the road west, running through the Frostback Mountains and beyond. From here, goods traveled east to Denerim.

We hadn't been there long, but something was up. Groups of nervous looking farmers and tradesman, that was what they were, in spite of the odd leather armor and the occasional forged blade on display, stood about in small knots or pretended to spar-more to work off nervous energy than to sharpen their spare abilities. These guys were not warriors. Where were the Knights of the Realm?

Our first stop was at the Chantry where we met a minor noble, a Bann in this part of the country, who told us to call him Teagan. From him, we got the story that the village was under a curse. After sundown, an army of corpses descended the trail from the castle to prey on the living here below. The number of defenders was shrinking-Soon there would be no one left alive. The fallen that fought them last night would be among the dead that appeared tonight. Although the Bann's home was in near-by Rainesfere, he hadn't been here in some years. He came to look in on his brother. No one had heard from the Arl or anyone at the castle for at least a week now.

Alistair and the Lay Lady, she told me her name was Lel-i-ana, were all for helping the villagers and by that, the Arl. Morrigan didn't see the benefit until the warden pointed out that Arl Eamon could unite the realm against the darkspawn. How Loghain fit into all this, I wasn't sure. I chose to keep my silence-For the moment.

We all finally agreed except The Sten. He seemed put out by our decision, but said little about why. Then to my disappointment, he pulled me aside and told me he had to make a journey to retrieve something of value-He'd return within a few days, no more than a week. That said, he turned and left us, carrying the darkspawn greatsword he'd liberated from a Hurlock Emissary we met on the road. He didn't like it much-said the steel was too soft, but it'd have to do until he got 'his own' back.

Helping Bann Teagan whip the village's defenses into shape was part of our job, so we turned to while there was still time. The only thing of note was an elf passing the time of day at the local tavern. It turned out he was a spy sent by Loghain to see if his plot against the Arl was working. A rumor that the Arl was deathly ill was making the rounds and he'd already reported this to his contacts in Denerim. Loghain had the word by now. That the knights charged with the defense of Redcliffe were off searching for a cure-The Ashes of Andraste- and had left the village defenseless was good news to send to Mac Tir. The Arl was the only man standing in the way to the throne now.

The battle was a let down. As soon as the sun went down they came. They were like a rock-slide. Step outta the way and get them from behind. That worked so well, it got to be a routine. It was no more thinkin' than shoveling sand.

We were at the foot of the path leading to the castle when a messenger from the village found us; They had been flanked. The few knights spared from the search for Eamon's cure held the path while we descended to the village.

Our group moved as one. Passing the villagers engaged with a group of walking dead, we ran up the cart-path following the lake shore to engage anyone following. The few there were quickly put down, then we turned and flanked those in the village. Alistair was in the lead, with me and Morrigan close behind. Leliana was there, doing what she does best; Throwing her weight into any skirmish that was uneven. She was everywhere. Many lives were owed to her that night. So I was wrong!

Only when the fighting was over did I notice… where was my dog? I hadn't seen him since… The Sten left us. A search of the village turned up no dog, alive or dead. I guessed he was with the fates, now.

The rumor is true. The Arl is deathly ill, but we don't know how it was done or why. We're standing at a trap-door in the mill waiting for Lei, that's what Leliana wants us to call her, to fit a key that Teagan gave us to a back door of sorts. He's going up to the castle with the Arlessa, Isolde. We all agreed it was a trap… at least for him. The evil presence, the Arlessa wouldn't say much about him-or it, doesn't know we're on our way. We can't leave Teagan to face it alone.

We don't have any idea what we'll face, only that Arl Eamon has to get away from here at any cost.

Now we know. By the very Stone, do we know! Our gift from Orlais, Leliana, has come through again. Without her bottle of Demonbane to coat our blades, we'd be in the Stone. They would've been useless against the wraiths here in the castle's lower levels.

We now also know what we face. It seems Isolde hasn't been straight with us. After putting down some evil spirits, who but a blood-mage would we find locked up in the first cells we find? He says his name is Jowan and he wants to make up for what he's done.

What he's done… I don't know whether to believe him or not. He says that Isolde and Eamon's son, Connor, is possessed by a demon. The demon has been raising the dead to menace the village. He doesn't know why.

It seems that Connor has a glimmer of talent with magic. To keep him from being taken away to the Circle of Magi's tower, the Arlessa hired Jowan to teach Connor how to control his talents. The plot gets really tangled here; Loghain, knowing that Jowan is being hunted by the Templars, hires Jowan to poison Eamon, removing the Arl from the game. Only thing-Eamon's not dead. That's why his knights are looking for Andraste's Ashes-The only thing rumored to cure this kind of poisoning. Jowan says he wants to make it right. Not sure I trust him. He'll stay locked up-nice and safe-'til we find out about this mess.

Jowan was right. He's now standing before Bann Teagan. We have three ways to go here; First, kill Connor to send the demon back to the Fade. Or second; allow Jowan to use blood-magic, sacrificing Connor's mother, to send a mage to the Fade to confront the demon. Or third; Travel to the Circle of Magi to get aid from the mages there, using lyrium and greater numbers rather than blood to perform the ritual.

Time was shorter than a Harrowmont noble. I had to make a decision… I did! Killing Connor was out-He did nothing wrong. The time it would take to reach the Circle and convince them to side with us was an unknown, just like where my bloody dog went.

I slid all my chips to Jowan's side of the table. It was the best bet. Isolde was firm, she would do it. Was it guilt or guts with her? Probably a little of both. As I see it, it was the only way.

The stage was set. Jowan had his knife, Isolde was kneeling in prayer, and Morrigan was ready to confront whatever waited in the Fade. Connor in his innocence, possessed by we knew not what, was in his room… unaware.

Jowan's eyes held mine. The unspoken question; Are you sure?

I closed my eyes and nodded.

Then, let us begin…

The camp was quiet as the day drew to a close. Bodahn and Sandal, our new-found camp followers were tending pots on the fire. The evening meal would be ready soon. Every member of our group was here or accounted for. Morrigan was fussing with an odd structure she called a lean-to, set up just far enough from our tents to satisfy her. Lei's voice, coming from her tent pitched next to mine, was reciting one of her endless chants-Odes to the Maker, she called them. Her song was little more than a murmur. The Qunari was still away on business that only he knew about. Then a thought jarred me; Where in the Stone is my dog? Where could he…

Alistair stood in front of me. He didn't seem too pleased about something. When he saw my reaction to his interruption, his face darkened even more. 'Now that we're back in camp, I want to talk about what happened at Redcliffe.' His manner wasn't like him at all.

Sighing, I set aside my worry for my canine friend and asked Alistair what was on his mind.

I wasn't ready for his reply. 'You let Lady Isolde sacrifice herself!' he almost exploded. Turning away, he took a few steps then turned and charged back. He towered over me. 'How… how could… you do that?' he stammered.

He was getting to me, but I was damned if I'd show it. Looking up with my eyes, not lifting my chin, I said, 'So, you think we should've killed the boy instead?' trying to keep the anger from my reply. I failed… miserably. 'You're a Templar now?' I couldn't help taunting him. 'What happened to the Grey Warden?'

He chose to ignore my challenge. 'We could have gone to the… circle… anything but use… blood magic!' he almost choked on the last words. He seemed to collect himself and continued. 'This is the Arl's son we're talking about here. What do you think he will say when we revive him?' That earnest tone was the Alistair that I knew.

He's showing his nobility. Why is it the heir they always worry about? What about the heir's mother? flashed through my mind. 'He'll have to see there were larger things at stake.' I shot back, refusing to back down. 'Would it bother him as much as losing his wife? It was her will!' My frayed temper was slipping when I felt a wet muzzle in my right palm. My heart lifted. It was him! He knew which was my weak side.

I fondled his ears and patted that massive shoulder. Pressing his hind quarters down got him to sit. A firm hand on his shoulder said Stay! A pat on the head gave him a silent Good Boy! His rumble of a growl helped me rein in my anger.

Alistair took a step back. I couldn't blame him. 'I just don't know how you could do that… how you could make that decision. I owe the Arl more than that.'

That last made me feel better about making the decision to sacrifice the Arlessa. My warden friend just disqualified himself. My brief smile made him uneasy. 'A decision had to be made… I made it and when we revive Eamon, I'll be there to tell him why we, Alistair… we did what we did.' I refused to look away.

He finally did, throwing up his hands. 'Yes… yes, and I will just have to understand won't I?' He stalked away. 'Forget I said anything!' he flung back over his shoulder.

I felt an arm around my shoulder, leading me towards the fire. The smell of surfacer flowers, they call then Lilacs, spoke of Leliana. 'He will be fine. He is still, how you say, growing up? I will speak to him if you wish?'

'He'll be fine,' I agreed. 'Let him know he's not alone.' I'd been where Alistair was… once, a long time ago. Looking over my shoulder, The Sten looked at me sternly and nodded his head once, uncrossed his powerful arms and made his way to his tent. He'd been watching the whole time. I could only take that as his approval, we'll see.

The camp's quiet. We all ate in silence and most turned in when it got dark. Sitting by the fire with my dog asleep beside me is a time to think. Did I… did we do the right thing?

Yes! A good card player plays the hand that's dealt. The Qunari have the right idea-Duty above all else.

I was thinking, to reflect my new phil-os-a-fee, Lei's teaching me new surfacer words, I'll change dog's name. Just a little. The Mabari-Gar. Not just a name, a rank! I like it!

A/N Thanks to my friend, Wyl, for help in editing.