Fereldens in Las Vegas
Chapter 1
All was quiet during one breezy evening in the village of Honnleath; fallen leaves that had been swept and gathered at the village square marked the end the afternoon's chores, and shovels stood unattended by doorways. What little seeds had been left from feeding the livestock had been scattered for the birds away from the crops, and the sun had begun to dip behind the mountains as the sky turned a spectacular orange hue; all was serene, except for one establishment next to the windmill that had begun to bustle with activity.
A few nights ago, Honnleath's center of recreation, the Green Cheese Tavern, had not seen so much business as the company of a few farmers and merchants. The gradual recovery of the land from the darkspawn invasion and rebuilding of several damaged structures within the past months had kindled a renewed interest from the crown for making Honnleath a potential trading post; two Grey Wardens were assigned to visit the region and acquaint themselves with the common folk.
A cacophony of song, cheer, and the occasional snap of breaking furniture greeted one as he drew nearer to the inn's entrance. Hooded and dressed in a brown cloak, one would not look twice at this otherwise unremarkable image of a traveler, who then proceeded to join in the tavern's bustle.
"WHO'S UP FOR ROUND SIX?" roared a deep voice from within a circle of drinking villagers sitting in a corner.
"Hey, I zink he's down for the count," drawled another contestant, swaying in his chair. "Tha' makes me number two, righ' - ?"
The villager collapsed onto the floor, revealing the source of attention in the circle behind him; a red – bearded dwarf bearing two goblets of ale in each hand waved his arms victoriously in the air while some in the crowd cheered.
The traveler stepped forward and pulled down his hood, revealing his characteristically pointed golden hair. What followed appeared to be a pause in time as the tavern's clients immediately held their breaths briefly before hurrying to greet their new guest in all manners of courtesy and apology.
"King Alistair! It is such an honor to meet you – "
"Good King, we apologize for the scene, I hope you will accept a shoe shining as a condolence– "
" - do take a drink for yourself, I won't charge anything – "
"Please, calm down everyone," Alistair quickly held up his hand in acknowledgment, slightly overtaken by the magnitude of welcome. "Really, there's no need for all this, I'm just a consort you know, here to meet the good folk of this village and –"
There was a loud belch as the dwarf staggered up to him, laughing gleefully and looking half-attentively up at his face.
"Heeeey, lookin' good there honey," he said with a wink. "You look a bit tired. Mind if I cheer you up with a massage? I'll show you Oghren's special lava roll with a twist – "
"I see you haven't changed one bit," Alistair replied, rubbing his forehead with disdain.
"Uh, carry on everyone! Let us not stare, and greet our royal guest with the welcome he deserves!" the bartender announced, directing the waiters to their tasks.
The tavern was abustle again and activity resumed while Alistair grabbed a chair to sit at a table.
"So…Oghren, looks like you've made good company,"
"You know I'm just too likeable," Oghren replied, taking another swig of his ale. "This much I like about being a Grey Warden; killing darkspawn and drinkin' til I drop."
"Is this all you have been doing here?" Alistair asked, albeit knowing with a slight suspicion that his intuition would sufficiently answer the question.
"Don't you have anything else that's good – besides the ale - to say about this place? You know, the queen's advisors have been pestering me and they really need a report by the end of the month, and it's…already close."
"Oh cheer up, kid. They can report themselves," Oghren said. "I need a vacation, a good sodding one! You know how long we have been fightin' the Blight? All that work and no good repayment?"
"I thought you were all given a good share of coin," Alistair responded.
"Bah! Coin's good for princes, but a warrior needs a good celebration! Those girly elf Antivan assassins can get a whole lot of fame, so I say we Wardens deserve something equally worthy!"
"Ugh…" Alistair rolled his forehead on the table helplessly.
By nightfall, the tavern's denizens had either retired to their rooms or were sound asleep on the floor. Alistair haphazardly lifted a limp Oghren by the feet from behind the bar counter and proceeded to drag the "baby mule" out of the doorway and into the cold winter grounds.
"I'm looking to hire a caravan back to Denerim," Alistair told an elven farmer who had been sitting outside.
"That'll be twenty silvers…ten for you and the other for…uh, that thing," the elf replied, tilting his head at the red-haired lump at Alistair's feet.
The three were halfway across the Hinterlands when a loud blast within their vicinity prompted the caravan to stop in the middle of an open road.
"Maker, what was that?" Alistair immediately awoke to the strange sound. Looking behind him, he saw that Oghren was still asleep, and was grateful for being saved from the potential embarrassment of being heard squealing like a nug. The caravan driver opened the covers to face them.
"My lord, so sorry for the interruption, but our horses got startled, we'll be moving right away!" the farmer apologized incessantly.
"No, something's not right," Alistair deferred. "I feel something…strange, like a veil tear nearby…"
"…sir…?" the farmer looked at him with a confused expression.
"Wait a minute, I've felt this before…way back when…" Alistair closed his eyes in a forced concentration, trying to recall the mysterious feeling. "I swear I heard one of the templar captains talking about this – "
Before he can finish, a loud yellow blast enveloped the caravan and sent everyone spiraling out in all directions, hurtling them into a twisting, chaotic void that finally landed Alistair and Oghren in the middle of a desert.