I'm kind of nervous about posting this here ^^' Anyway, the characters who'll be involved in this story are the ancestors of the Wardens from the Dragon Age and I'll be using Malcolm Cousland (the guy from the Urn of Sacred Ashes trailer) because I think he's a perfect model for a Grey Warden plus I've been wanting to work in his character for some time now. :)

So...right, disclaimers:

Dragon Age does not belong to me and the concept of Malcolm does not belong to me (but his personality will, I presume).

The Magister in Tevinter

800 T.E.

He could hear them so clearly now: the Old Gods, even when he was awake. Before he could only hear their calls when he was his spiritual self wandered in the Fade: that ethereal realm that all living things go to when they sleep. It was during his dreams did he first hear the call of the Old Gods. But he heard more than their calls, he heard their desperation, their torment; he felt their pain of being trapped underground, with tons of crushing rock above their heads, with only darkness for company.

And Thalsian[1] now had the power to end it.

He had never dreamed that he could possess magic of such caliber, but today, he did and it was all because of the Old Gods. They taught him everything that he needed to learn about magic and today, he was going to repay the favor: by releasing the Old Gods' from their imprisonment, by breaking their chains and creating a new age where magic is not to be feared, but worshipped.

By usurping the False God sitting in his throne in the Golden City…

It was this False God who condemned magic, who prevented mages from being so much more than they are and it was this False God to whom most humans bow to. Just the thought of it made Thalsian sick to his stomach. Why turn away from the Old Gods, those who would grant you true power? It made no sense to him. But soon, he will show the whole of Thedas who the real gods are.

Let the Elves have their false deities…

Let the dwarves bow down to the stone…

Let the ignorant humans turn to the Maker…

Thalsian had so much more. The power.

And the blood.

Chains jingled noisily against each other as slaves entered the dome, every one of them looking frightened and confused, as a precaution the other magisters had their wrists and feet fettered, one slave's chain linking to the next so that the chances of escape are almost nonexistent. Although in Thalsian's opinion, this was not needed at all. He and the other magisters had spent weeks combing the slave pens for just the right kind of slaves they would use for the ritual. Every one of these pathetic souls had the same glassy eyes, the same slack-jawed expression that hung heavily on their faces. Thalsia did not even need to hire guards to bring them in, they all heeded his orders dumbly, not one of them even trying to escape their fate. Although they may not know it, they share two things in common: all of them had given up hope of ever being set free and resigned themselves to a life of servitude.

And all of them are to be used for a higher purpose. They should be honored.

Beside Thalsian, Magister Corypheus wrinkled his nose at the multitude of slaves who shuffled listlessly into the dome.

"Would it not have hurt to give them a bath before you sent for them, Thalsian? They smell a little rank," he complained.

A little rank was an understatement, the mingled smell of sweat, body odors and urine that rose from them made Thalsian want to vomit, but instead, Thalsian shrugged at his fellow magister.

"It would have been a waste of water. And besides, these gutter rats have probably never even bathed in their life, giving them one now would kill them out of pure shock," he drawled.

Corypheus chuckled at that. "Droll as always, Magister," he said. Thalsian inclined his head slightly at the comment. The ringing of chains stopped as the slaves took their places in the middle of the room, looking around at their magister masters with confusion.

"Should we begin?" Corypheus asked him. Thalsian nodded and raised his voice so that the rest of the magisters scattered around the room would hear him.

"My fellow magisters," he intoned. "Every mage in this room has turned away from the False God, the peoples' so-called 'Maker' and have turned to the Old Gods, to the ones who have been imprisoned deep beneath the earth. All of you have found solace in their arms, have been given power beyond your dreams and today…" he smiled around at his fellow magisters, all of whom were eerily silent throughout the whole process. "…today we return the favor, by freeing them from the cruel cages that the False God has built for them," A wave of whispers erupted among the magisters and Thalsian could feel their approval. He raised his staff and his magic erupted out of it in the form of blue lightning, which sparked across its surface.

"With magic," he cried, and suddenly his voice seemed to be ten times louder, more powerful, more confident than it had ever been his whole life. "With blood," Lightning sparked at the end of his staff, arced and struck one of the slaves. Her wasted body lit up brighter than the sun; her mouth opening in a silent scream. The metal chains connecting her to the slaves allowed the electricity to travel to the others. Not enough kill them, but definitely enough to hurt them. Cries of pain echoed throughout the room. Soon, too soon, the slave was dead, her skin blackened and peeling off to reveal the flesh underneath.

With blood…

Thalsian's plan had been simple: to open a doorway to the Fade using the blood of hundreds of slaves and the power the magistrates. Once they were inside, the magistrates would use their power to overthrow the False God from his Throne in the Golden City and force to free the gods of old, the ones with the true power. After all, what were the spirits of the Fade compared to the might of the most powerful magisters of the Tevinter Imperium?

Never before in living memory had this been done and that is why it was with a soaring heart did Thalsian gaze at the portal that was being summoned into existence. It was they had torn a whole into reality itself, a gateway into two worlds that never should have been united. From his vantage point, Thalsian could see the Fade: a pathetic imitation of the world he knew. The magister could see the tendrils of the Fade reaching into the real world, like the realm itself was trying to leech the colors out of the real world, on account of it having no real colors of its own.

No longer could Thalsian hear the chant of the other magisters as they, too, chanted their individual spells nor the screams of the slaves. All he could hear was the voice of the Old Gods, welcoming him home.

This was where he belonged.

This was power.

When the portal had gotten big enough, the magisters had stepped through and entered the Fade. The realm was stranger than he thought: it was a world of faded colors, where everything seemed liquid around the edges and the only thing he can hear was the voice of the Old Gods, calling him…calling him. They are waiting for him to release them from the cages. He could see it: Golden City, shining like a beacon against the faded colors of the realm.

"Now that we're here," one of the magisters said slowly. "I hope it has not escaped your notice that there is no way to get to the Golden City?"

Thalsian smiled. "Will is everything in the Fade," he said softly. "With this much magic, we will able to summon a bridge leading to Golden City,"

The air thrummed with power as the magisters reigned in their power, as they focused their will and called a bridge into existence. The air between the Golden City and their part of the Fade seemed to become more solid, the colors becoming less washed out. Several gasps of disbelief punctuated the chanting as a bridge began to form. This feat however, took a lot more effort than Thalsian had anticipated.

By the end of the spell, his knees had turned to water and icy sweat soaked his robes. More than half of the magistrates had collapsed from exhaustion. But none of those left standing turned back to help them. Most likely they would fall prey to the demons; indeed Thalsian could already see a few wisps drawing nearer in curiosity, but that's how it was.

The strong prevail, the weak get left behind.

As Thalsian neared the Golden City, he could hear the screams of the Old Gods growing louder…louder…

Soon…he promised them. Be patient. And he was also made aware of a cold, hard anger that reverberated at the back of his skull. This was the anger of the False God, unable to understand what was happening, that he was being usurped; this was his only retaliation: a niggling emotion at the back of his mind.

Pathetic.

The False God didn't deserve the throne.

So confident was the magistrate that he didn't realize that the stone beneath his feet had blackened and that the Old Gods had fallen silent. And when he stepped into the Golden City, he raised his eyes to take in the glory of the palace of heaven…

And screamed.

The vague but persistent anger at the back of his head exploded white hot into his brain. He could feel the heat of the False God's anger threatening to burn him, swallow him whole, consume him.

Fight…he told himself. He is but a usurper…and you are a magistrate. He summoned, tried to reach for his power, the one constant thing in his life. Before, it had always responded to his touch, eager to be wielded once again. But this time, he couldn't feel it. That place where his magic used to be was empty.

"No!" Thalsian screeched. "NO!" But as he denied it, the fire consumed him once again, the flames boiling his blood, searing his every thought until all he could do was scream and beg for mercy.

From what god(s), he did not know. It was then that he heard a voice echo throughout the Golden City; a voice both beautiful and terrible at the same time, a voice that he knew belonged to the True God.

"And so is the Golden City blackened

With each step you take in my Hall.

Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.

You have brought Sin to Heaven

And doom upon all the world,[2]"

The last sight that Thalsian ever saw as a human were the beautiful golden walls of the city blackening, aging, becoming corrupted by a dark entity that he could not see. Their shapes becoming hard and twisted as the darkness spread. All around him, he could hear the screams of the other magisters as their bodies burned, as the anger of the Maker boiled their very blood.

No…

It wasn't supposed to be like this!

Thalsian screamed.

He screamed for mercy.

He screamed for redemption.

He screamed for the Old Gods, the ones that had led him to this madness, the ones that he had believed in for so long.

But for the first time for as long as he can remember, they were silent.

[1]:
Thalsian is an actual character from the Codex, he was the first one who was able to utilize blood magic.

[2]:

Although it seems a bit obvious, I want to point out (in the name of copyright) that the Maker's speech was copy-pasted from the Dragon Age Wiki, (.com/wiki/Chant_of_Light)

I hope you enjoyed! Please review? I'd really like some feed back! Thanks for reading! :)))