9:50 Dragon Age – 7 years prior to the events
Silence fell the day the haven of the dead was tainted with life and thus becoming void of light and hope, while the abandoned magister-lords kneeled in shame before their impending destiny.
Worthy and noble was their goal, but with pride as the only fuel for their ambitions, any chances of success was forfeit from the very beginning. And even though the signs were clear, who else could've climbed so high and then fall further than ever before with no hope of gaining back that which was lost, if not them? Betrayal was the word on everyone's lips and as the master forgot about his most trusted disciples so did they, humbly turning towards the priests of pride and yielding to the foreign deity. Still, they did not come to know neither vindication nor serenity since their faith belonged to the god that lied dead in the bloodied fields.
Many ages fell upon time since then, until all that remained was an empty tune, chased away by the wind, crushed beneath the gentle rain or dimmed in the sun's shining gaze… for the words had faded out of memories long ago as their shadow chose to linger on, longing for a relief which was not allowed.
And thus it stayed till one night when all which had become so truthful and certain now bore the ghostly veil of change. Stars would soon end their journey, leaving a land of sorrow and despair in the shadow of another day. Yet silence was not to find its way to the forsaken god and offer soothing. Hundreds of torches burnt across the barren fields, just as though it all were a humble attempt of mirroring the night's sky. A soft chanting floated along while they marched across the foreign land. Were it to ignore the great numbers and, most importantly, the weapons carried by each man, one could simply assume that the entire performance was nothing more than a strange ritual, less terrible than in reality. With no divine signs to mark either the Maker's approval or disapproval, the armies continued their way undeterred through the last hours of the night, unknowing that their opponents watched their each and every move from the distance. The trespassing was not looked kindly upon and neither was it to be suffered for long.
But upon this stage where both attackers and defenders played the major parts, there stood another character with less clear intents and most often deemed as an observer – understatement which was entirely desired.
A hooded figure moved slowly up until the edge of the scarp overlooking the Tevinter encampment and as she gazed at the unfolding scenery, her lips contorted into a malign smile. Shortly after, a man paced with caution outside the improvised fortifications and headed up the steady slope. He motioned for his guards to remain behind as he approached the mysterious emissary but keeping at the same time some distance. His dark garments were adorned with golden threads, which along with the various signet rings and the ruby necklace revealed his noble rank. The man was in the early autumn of his life yet few marks of weariness had been etched on his skin and the thin lines on his forehead told little of his journey. Despite his features were generally kind on the eye, one could not easily overlook the man's hauteur. Perhaps it was the way he looked at others, a freezing cold stare, amplified by the pale blue colour of his eyes, or more probable it was his thin lips which seemed twisted in a disdainful expression almost at all times. No traces of kindness could be found throughout his appearance and his arrogance was only outmatched by his cunning. Throughout Tevinter, he was considered a vivid embodiment of the old magisters and not without good reason since both power and influence have never avoided him. If proven successful, the battle against the templars' armies would gain him most of the Senate's support.
"And this is how it all begins once more… a real pity that for many it shall be an untimely end," said the woman, all of a sudden.
"Ha, pity! Funny you would use such a word. Never have I heard that the great Flemeth would be renowned for showing compassion just for the sake of it."
She grinned in amusement and continued to gaze upon the seemingly serene valley.
"You should be more careful in choosing your words. Wouldn't want your acolytes be shaken before the battle starts, now would we?"
"They would be less shaken knowing they have you on their side."
"Overconfidence is a slippery path to tread on or would you wish to fall in your own trap?"
Even though the magister didn't argue against Flemeth's last words, she detected the merest sign of disapproval in his prolonged muteness and turned towards him. The corners of her eyes revealed a faint hint of anger.
"Much like you've pointed out earlier, I have very little compassion for any of the factions which will brawl here today."
"Ah, I understand; you simply desire to enjoy the bloodbath from the distance…"
"Not at all. And why would I since the outcome is so plain to see?"
I do hope your sight is not influenced by the weariness of your age, he thought while smiling in acknowledgement. The famous Witch of the Wilds did not seem as daunting as the legends would portray her to be – nothing more and nothing less than an old woman, all dressed up in rags like a common beggar; completely dull appearance aside for her emerald-green eyes. The magister shifted his gaze away from Flemeth, to avoid her piercing looks, and continued to comment upon the mages' combat prowess compared to the templars' army whose sole advantage consisted in their numbers.
"Everything is ready, Magister Kane," said one of his acolytes.
"Good. These plains have been soaked in Dumat's blood, the earth covered His ashes… and silence was all that remained – up until now. Today, that silence will be broken as our Lord Dumat shall rise again, a herald of that which has been lost for too long."
"It looks like you have outdone yourself this time but mere shadows will not win you this battle so easily."
"These impudent peasants seem to be under the impression that they will fight against their scared circle mages and not masters of the arcane arts. I shall change that view to one they will never forget ever again."
"Of that I am sure…" she said. "It appears that the scale weighs heavily on your side and despite that your victory will not come without great losses, you will rise higher than ever before. However, the abyss which forms behind you will become alluring, almost inviting I would say. When the time is right, hesitate not and embrace the fall since it shall lead you to what you desire most."
"They will return…" he whispered.
"You will die, magister Kane. Yet before it all ends you will gaze upon one of the Great Seven, telling the true one from the impostor, and as you will come to know he will know as well."
"He will know… but you speak as if… forgive me to ask such question but how would one of the Old Gods forget about his identity?"
"He became human, so to speak. 'Tis all you need to know."
"Have you learned anything about him? Is he someone renowned?"
"Far from it. No, if it were to guess, I would say he must be exactly the opposite. Rather hiding than staying in plain view."
"But surely you must be able to see more-"
"And what then, hm? I could swear that you humans are all the same! All the knowledge in the world can lie at your feet and you would still ask for directions. Even if I did find out who he was, it wouldn't change a thing. It will only be the human to take the actions. No, we need to grant him enough time in order to… lose touch with his humanity."
"I shudder to think the implications of that… What about the impostor you mentioned?"
"Two separate lives yet more connected than they would come to realise. One of them is the source of my visions' uncertainty as he will be granted a choice. It is when everything can be won and lost at the same time. I cannot emphasize enough how imperative is for both of them to survive until that point. Yet, somehow, they will. What follows next will become clearer…"
The idea of dying did not appal the magister and certainly not if it was to help achieving his goals.
"I have tarried long enough," Flemeth said. "Since our paths will never cross again, I offer you this last word of advice: as one kingdom falls, another will take its place; it remains only to be seen whom the tides will betray this time…"
She whispered the last words mostly as an echo of her own thoughts. Magister Kane bowed his head in bemused silence, without helping to feel slightly disturbed by the idea of treachery. However, putting forward another question seemed an ill-conceived idea so he chose to refrain himself from making any remarks. As he raised his glance, Flemeth had already climbed down the steady slope, becoming nothing more than a shadow before disappearing entirely in the morning haze. The first rays of light imbued the valley, revealing the approaching armies.
"We are outnumbered…" said one of the acolytes.
The magister frowned upon hearing the mere confirmation of the daunting sight.
"Tell me something, acolyte, if numbers are what frighten you most than I cannot fathom the horror that a colony of ants must bestow upon you," he answered with disdain.
Accompanied by the others' sniggering jests, the man muttered something asking for forgiveness and scowled at his fellow comrades. Without taking part at the sudden verve, magister Kane silenced the acolytes' laughter with a cold glare.
"I will say this only once so hear me well: for those of you who might contemplate the idea of deserting I must sadly inform them that any successful attempt of such kind will only end up in death. And by that I mean the exact ceremonial befitting any traitor. Do I make myself clear?"
He grinned seeing the acolytes comply.
"Very well. Send word to Sayyid to ready himself and his men. As for the little surprise we have prepared for our humble guests… await my signal."
Down in the camp, the soldiers were preparing to move out. The tension grew with every minute and restlessness soon took over the Tevinter troops which remained concealed in the lingering shadow of the nearby hills.
"This is wrong, even if we are to succeed," said one of the mages in the vanguard in reply to his ally, without having noticed the group of magisters passing by.
"What is your name, young mage?" asked magister Kane, turning towards him.
Startled at first by the unexpected question, the man regained his composure and answered with confidence:
"Rion, milord."
"So, Rion," he said grinning, "you would believe that defending our borders is wrong-"
"No! That was not…" the mage shouted but grew livid upon realizing his offence. "I… am deeply sorry…"
"You should."
"Magister Kane, if you will indulge me," said the captain, leading the mage unit. "I apologise for any inconveniences the young lad might have created. He's a good mage, yet sometimes a bit thick." The captained then scowled at Rion, thus trying to please the magister.
"Well, your regiment's misdemeanour tells a lot about their captain, wouldn't you agree?" said the magister and then joined the other mageocrats as well as the commander of the warrior units.
"Any news about our friendly guests, commander? Are they planning to attack us soon?" asked magister Kane.
"They must be waiting for the sun to fully rise," said the commander.
"And here I thought caution wasn't necessary when you have the Maker on your side."
"Scouts have reported that besides templars and seekers it appears that there are also some nobles who are here to join the fight, most notably prince Sebastian Vael from Starkhaven."
"Are you certain we can do without the reinforcements?" asked another magister.
"Have no worry, Cavillor, we have just about enough troops."
"I've also received word from our troops stationed further south. They are ready to attack the templar regiments from the rear as soon as they march into the valley."
"And thus caught in the trap, surrounded from all sides," completed magister Kane. "I say we should give them a little more time to decide which way to run."
"Ah, their pride won't leave room for thoughts such as retreating. There's no doubt about that," said magister Septimus.
Magister Kane nodded in approval and gazed at the approaching armies.
"And so the last standing bastions of the Andrastian Order have gathered for a new Exalted March," he said with disdain. "Oh, but this is just poetic! Let us see who will participate at this revival of the past. Orlais – not such a surprise yet not the power that it used to be. People's faith in the Maker is growing weary and even some of their templars prefer to aid the mages instead of fulfilling their sacred duty. The Nevarran – it is a wonder how they agreed to be allies after centuries of blood. Ah, and of course, the peasants from the Free Marches, with Starkhaven marching in front. Without the Champion of Kirkwall, who managed to outmanoeuvre an army of Qunari led by the Arishok himself, they really do not stand a chance I'm afraid. No worthy heroes wrapped up in titles dare to show up at this late hour when the clock will strike the end for the Divine's rule over Thedas."
Horns moaned in the distance as the noble defenders of the Chantry charged onwards clashing arms with the Tevinter soldiers. Suddenly, a thundering roar echoed throughout the entire vale, bringing the fight to a standstill. Slightly visible at first, a ghostly shape of a dragon appeared on the sky and after flying in circles above the battlefield, it launched its attack against the templars.
"Today, the Silent Plains shall drink blood once more," said magister Kane, as the slaughter resumed its course.