Hey Everyone! I hope you enjoy the story. It will be told mostly through the eyes of original characters, and I am unsure yet if I am going to integrate the POV's of any of the know characters. Read & Review please! Let me know what you guys think.

This is the first story that I have put up and will be posting each chapter as I finish it. Give it a chance and tell me what you like/dislike, love/hate about it. I'll respond to all comments and reviews. The writer is nothing without the readers so I hope you guys like it! To avoid confusion I will tell you right now that in the Prologue each paragraph represents a different character.

So without further ado, here is the prologue of Dragon Age: After The Fall.


Prologue

The rain hadn't stopped for days and the crowded tavern smelled like mold, wet wool, and sweat. The room was filled with smoke, which rose from the pathetic excuse for a fireplace on the back wall, only about half of which was finding its way up the chimney. A weathered warrior, adorned in a robe of black sat at the bar, enjoying the local ale. Kirkwall had fallen, the rebellion of mages had caused many innocent lives to perish, but the weathered warrior had survived. His escape from the burning city was harsh, violent, and lucky to say the least. Nevarra had become quite the refuge for the escaped, and the man found himself completely out of place in the city, except for in the taverns, where the brew was cheap and the rooms were quiet. The Tumbling Crown had been his frequent as of lately, and seemed to be the only in the entire city still refraining from becoming direly overcrowded. To this man, there was nothing like a good drink to wash away the memories of a life so cold. He had grown up on his father's farm, trained in the ways of the sword under his uncle, who was an ex-Grey Warden, and more importantly a master of sorts when it came to the art and dance of the blade. He and his brave uncle defended the family farm from the invading Qunari when the bastards attacked the city, himself being the only survivor. Cold and alone the young warrior drinks his sorrows away day by day, a task that is proving much more difficult that he imagined. As the weathered warrior finished his drink, he stood; his blonde hair falling loosely around his shoulders. He laid his three bits on the table, and pulled his hood over his head as he walked out into the Maker forsaken rain.

After all he had seen the doubtful Templar had all but regained his faith. From the beginning of Meredith's fall to insanity, he had begun to question his life in the Order. He felt the same as many of his comrades; he knew she was right, but…her methods were to extreme. His mother had been a mage, alike was his daughter; they both were put to death during the outrage; his beloveds killed by the very hands that he had sworn to serve. Meredith killed them without mercy, his daughter, only seven years old; fell before his eyes as he was bound. He was looked upon as a traitor, a conspirator to apostates, and now as an enemy to the Order. The accusations were not fair, but true, he told himself. He had sacrificed everything for the Templars…for his Maker; even his own family under the conviction that it was the right thing to do. His mother had despised him for it, and the look in his daughter's eyes, her disappointment, her sadness destroyed a piece of him. The night of the rebellion, the doubtful Templar's heart changed and he attempted to aid his loved ones in their escape, but even with these new intentions, he failed. It turns out that a change of is far from enough to redeem the wrongs of yesterday and he blames no one but himself. Now, a fugitive, he runs from his own Order, one he refuses to deny, one he has sworn to avenge, and one he has vowed to return to its justice. Looking to the sign, he knew he had finally arrived at his destination, Nevarra city. With a sigh he looks around, lost but determined, and continues on his path.

Her beauty would never go unnoticed, for the beautiful assassin was a master of deceit. She had been trained in many arts of battle, seduction being one of her most dangerous weapons. The information she had just received had of course come with a price; a price she found both pleasurable and fun. She positioned her bow perfectly on her back and her daggers at her waist. She was after a man, and she knew now exactly how to track him down. The Crows had taught her well, and she loved the thrill of a hunt. Everything about her screamed perfection, her pure black hair blowing sensually in the wind, her bright green eyes shining with the light of the fire, and her body moving with the grace of the most legendary of angels; all assets that proved ideal for her craft. For a human, she had done quite well for herself in the Crows, and now that her contract had taken her out of Antiva for the first time, needless to say, she couldn't be happier. The beauty of Nevarra spoke to her; its buildings and cultural artwork were extravagant in their own ways and totally unlike anything she had ever seen, but she knew her mission and would not let anything distract her...not even the Maker himself could pull her from the task at hand. She was a master of her craft, poisons, traps, archery, dual-sword play, all were in her repertoire, each one proving as deadly as the last. Her life had been hard, but she had always found the fun in her job, her way of life. Murder was her bliss, and the hunt was her drug.

The old mage's body ached all over. He hadn't traveled like this since his days as an apostate, which even to say was a long…long time ago would be an understatement. He had decided as a young man that submitting to the Circle was the wisest decision, but he had always possessed his doubts. Over time, the old Mage mastered his magic, his face now weathered from a rough life as well as age, and his hair now gray; he is only a shadow of who he was in his prime. The man held knowledge of things, things about magic that had seemed long forgotten in this land. From Ferelden he made his journey to Kirkwall, only to hear of the rebellion about half way. The old mage was a peaceful man, a man of trust, and of honor...a dying breed. Long ago he had fallen in love with a young Templar woman, who through fate's irony became the only thing holding him to the Circle. Their love was one of unnatural appeal, and despite the hopes and dreams the two carried within their hearts, they both new their togetherness would go nowhere. His lover was killed in duty, on a routine mission, shattering all the old mage held dear. He pondered his place in life, searching for a new path, and after years of lone travel caught word of the stirring tension between mages and Templars, the feud giving him a reason to continue on. He believed his skill would be of more use there than in Ferelden and so he left, venturing out towards a land that he had never seen and into a growing fray that he knew would be his last. He was to late though; the battle had ended even before it had really begun. The Champion had been victorious and the mages of Kirkwall through rebellion had been set free. Not a religious man, the old mage sought a purpose, and hoped that the refuge city of Nevarra would hold his fate's destination.


What did you think? Read & Review to let me know how you felt about the story so far! Thanks for reading :)