Author's note:
Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age 2 and Dragon Age: Inquisition and all related characters and trademarks are property of EA/Bioware. Rated M for language, violence and suggestive and explicit themes.
Welcome to the first chapter of my newest story The Sword's Edge Every Hero Treads Upon. This story will feature some AU elements regarding lore and story-wise. If you're averse to such things, please turn back now.
The origin of the Hero of Ferelden in this fic will actually be kind of a blend between two already existing ones with my personal, twisted spin to it. Obviously, I won't tell you which, because that would just take all the fun out of it. For me and you, as a reader.
First chapter is kind of a prologue to the actual story and there to give you a taste of what to expect. If you've come looking for rainbows and happiness, then you'd better look elsewhere.
Edit on 11-March-2015: made this chapter, previously the ninth, the first, because I felt it better to start the story off with. Sorry for any confusion.
Enjoy.
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The Sword's Edge Every Hero Treads Upon
Chapter I
At The Shores Of Time Itself
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During the height of their empire, though they knew it not to be thus, they all simply presumed in their pride that it'd last now and forever for eons long uncontested, they gathered.
Each of them different. Yet, the same.
Seven of them. Masters in their craft, unparalleled in knowledge and power. Unequalled, they stood upon their pedestals in matters arcane. Together they'd enslaved an entire race of immortals and bound them to death itself.
Seven of them. All without a name to go by. Their identity not even known to the one standing next to them. Clad in monikers and aliases because they knew what lay ahead and it warranted caution.
Treachery. Is what lay before them, any heartbeat now. The Gods had whispered to them of this. The inevitable moment of betrayal. Only one of them could claim the seat of godhood and ascend to power. But seven of them were required to even get this far. Supplemented by a swirl of energies far beyond even their capabilities.
Slaves gave their lives, throats slit and oceans turned red. Priests and conjurers of lower standing surrounded them, their minds connected, thrumming and ebbing with the enternal song of power. An agglomeration of will was all it took for them to sunder the Veil guarding this world from the next.
Seven stepped through. The thousands others died of fatigue.
They walked the Fade like an alien beacon, not belonging. But the spirits had nothing to oppose them with. Their powers childish in comparison to the seven of them marching through their plane of existence, dead set on the glittering spires ahead.
By unearthly powers they glided to the very slopes of the heart residing in the midst of the Fade, beneath their feet could only be spied a yawning abyss of nothing filled with wisps of strange sorcerous currents.
They regained purchase, solid ground underneath. As far as anything ever could claim a state of solidness in this place.
Impenetrable shawls of darkness surrounded them.
No strange sun could be spotted, neither stars nor moon riding hard the wheel of time. Yet, in the distance, they made out glittering domes of midnight obsidian, even though black curtains surrounded them. They rose impossibly high, towering far away. Unreachable they seemed. But in the Fade everything was an illusion, warped imagery, twisted beyond recognition for any mortal soul.
Before them stretched a massive courtyard, no end in sight in either direction. Perfectly cut marble tiles, all of the same shape and size covered the entire expanse. They shimmered and shifted, as if with a life of their own, hurting the eyes after prolonged inspection.
Together they strode towards the blackened city. The echoes of their steps disturbed the air like thunder. On and on and on. Like cool waves lapping against a dark shore, again and again, relentless.
The seven of them arrived at an arched gateway, seemingly cut into the black keep's front. Perplexed, they looked around, at each other, seeking sudden wisdom which would not arrive. In their brashness they gathered a sliver of their combined might. From their fingertips it rolled out and clashed against the gateway. Nothing happened.
A whisper. A slight breeze. It faintly brushed their skin. Sent shivers wrecking through each of them.
And with that, the slender gate disintegrated into grain sized pieces and flew off. Simply gone. Like countless stars glittering in a myriad of blackish facets.
Inside, on a slightly raised dais, perched upon an unremarkable chair sat a man dressed in dark rags and shadows curling around him like thick clouds. A wide hood hid his face in the gloomy comfort of anonymity. One bony hand clutched the knob of a twisted wooden cane.
A low giggle escaped from the shadows on the throne, knowingly.
'I warmly welcome you all into my abode,' spoke the figure, giggled again. 'But you are intruding and thus must leave.'
The figure seated upon the throne gestured and all seven of them were cast out. Hit by a wave of terrible power far beyond what even an ocean of blood could achieve.
In that moment, one of the seven, a cartographer, an architect of this strange plane of existence, realised their defeat at the hands of a god.
Avitus of house Pavus screamed out his terror along his fellow magisters.
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I presume most of you know what this is supposed to be. Oh, sense of mystery.
Thanks for reading!
