Weisshaupt Fortress
Malcome Cousland stood on the battlements of the greatest fortress, quite possibly, in all of Thedas. The home of the Grey Wardens, the seat of power of a most powerful and independent organization, owing allegiance to no King or petty princedom yet having allegiance from all of them. It was grand, perhaps too grand. A testament to the Warden's skill and ability, but also a sign that they weren't perfect, a vision of the damage the Darkspawn could wrought to the world if they were able.
The fortress stood in the middle of a great and barren land. One of the victims of a long forgotten Blight, a permanent scar on the face of the world, the vegetation, what their once was of it, was no more than simple gnarled branches sticking up out of the ground.
He gazed across this great expanse, waiting for his audience with the Warden Commander, reflecting on the history of the order he was still surprised to be a part of.
Admittedly he knew next to nothing about the Grey Wardens before Duncan had shown up, and demanded he join them in order for him to be safe from Arl Howe's depravity in the coup attempt.
Which then led me to becoming the Hero of Ferelden, slaying the Archdemon, and preventing the Blight almost before it started, and yet, I am still very much alive thanks to Morrigan.
"Commander," A woman's voice spoke behind him.
He turned, and saw a young woman, a girl really standing there, meek, fair, and quite pale.
"Yes Warden?"
"The First Warden will see you now."
"Thank you," Malcome grimaced before following the young woman down the stairs towards the entrance to the Keep proper.
The First Warden looked up as the two of them entered the hall, an ancillary room on the side of the keep. A sturdy table dominating the center, the First Warden towering over it, staring down at the map rolled across it.
"Ah, Commander Cousland, the first Grey Warden who has ever survived the slaying of an Archdemon. I wonder if the soul of the Demon survives still and has yet to appear, only to appear one day and begin a brand new blight, but welcome to Weisshaupt."
"First Warden."
The elder man rounded the table crossing to face the younger Cousland almost chest to chest. He grunted, but now the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden could look at his boss and study him.
The man was bearded, dark gray and bristled, his skin tight, but still entirely smooth. A model of perfect health at his old age. Yet something was off about him. It was as though his physical condition, his outward appearance, only hid a roiling corruption deep beneath the surface. Malcome had to restrain the urge to physically shiver, as if he could feel the taint literally crawling through the elder Warden's skin.
"I tell you, I did not expect the Warden Commander of Ferelden would come all the way north to the Anderfells for any reason. After all your command is still brand new, and important. You are technically the Arl of Amaranthine, and the Warden Commander of the contingent at Vigil's Keep, yet there are few Wardens in the area, Ferelden is still one of our smallest outposts throughout Thedas. We need all the Wardens we can get and an experienced Commander leading the rebuilding efforts."
"I believe Nathaniel Howe can handle himself…its right, he is Arl by blood and a competent leader."
The First Warden smiled wryly at him, "Howe has taken several field trips sine you left, led an expedition into the Free Marches a few months back."
Malcome's face blanched, "oh."
"Oh indeed."
Malcolme felt a small sliver of sweat dribble down his back despite the relative cool of the office. The First Warden nodded at him and went to a side table, pouring two tumblers of a thick liquor before handing one over to Malcolme.
He took it and gunned it down in one pull, it tasted bitter, but the Warden Commander had worse and often in his home town of Highever during one of the many brewery festivals.
"And why are you here?" The First Warden asked finally getting to the heart of the matter.
"The Wardens here have access to libraries, Warden Records dating back to the First Blight. I want to look through those records."
"For what purpose?"
Malcolme couldn't help but gulp with the question, he couldn't refuse the First Warden, but he knew the answer likely wouldn't lead to a satisfactory outcome. At least to his purposes.
"I need maps of the Deep Roads…where the remaining Old Gods are being kept," He started, and as he did so he found it easier to go along with the rest of the proposal. "I want to hunt them down and kill them, or make them immune to the taint if I can, but primarily I want to prevent the next Blight before it even starts, once and for all."
The First Warden grinned at him, Malcolme was convinced he was trying to not laugh at the peculiar upstart in front of him.
"That is…quite the suggestion…but how do you propose to crawl through the legions of Darkspawn who are in your way?"
"I have my ways."
The First Warden snorted. "The Architect?"
Malcolme stiffened at the mention of his name.
"Yes, we have heard of him. Reports have reached even my ears. A Darkspawn who can talk? Should be interesting. But can we trust him? After everything you have seen."
"He seems willing to try…sir."
"That does not fill me with confidence."
Malcolme turned towards the leader of his order and glared in his direction, he couldn't help it, even though he did not want to be disrespectful.
"Even still, there is a legion of Darkspawn in your way between Orzamaar, or any other entrance of the Deep Roads, and the Old God prisons. It would take an army to reach them, and even then it is unlikely they will make it without getting entirely wiped out. It is a fool's errand, and we do not have the Wardens to spare, not now, our order has to deal with the Darkspawn on our terms, as they come out for raids, or if another Blight comes, we have to be vigilant, and the Darkspawn have had the chance to replenish their numbers, we do not have that luxury easily."
"We have to try."
"No, we don't. Especially with an uncertain ally who aims to do what to the surface world. We need time."
"You will not even give me permission to pursue this matter on my own?"
"In your current mood, no, I will not."
Malcolme heisted.
"Was there anything else?"
"No sir."
"Dismissed then."
Malcolme inclined his head and walked out the door heading around the corner, and out the fortress.
Outside Weisshaupt.
Malcolme Cousland stood in the shadow of one of the great watchtower stones, away from the sight of the fortress proper, not a single fellow Grey Warden in sight.
"It did not go well?" The Architect's voice broke behind him.
The Cousland did not even flinch. "No, it did not."
The Architect appeared over his shoulder and Malcolme glanced over at him, and nearly recoiled at the sight of him. Working with a talking Darkspawn, how did it come to this? He wondered.
"I expected as much, the Grey Wardens are fearful of my mere existence, fearful of plunging into the dark."
"Fearful of losing the few of us which are left." Malcolme countered.
"Then perhaps it is time to do what we do best, and take the fight to the enemy before it is too late."
"They won't listen, and we have been traveling Thedas for months now, through Orzammar, seeking information on the Old Gods. The Warden Archives was our last real bet."
"The Wardens are not the only ones who had an interest in the Blights and the Darkspawn, not the last ones with ancient history." The Architect wondered.
"You want to go to Tevinter?" Malcolme asked folding his arms over his chest.
"It is the last place we can look without stumbling through the Deep randomly. It is our last hope. And is not far from here."
"We've come this far?" Malcolme asked with a twist of the mouth and an arching eyebrow.
"Indeed. Shall we?"
"We have to secure Horses or other means of transport, and the food. I think the Warden Quartermaster will help us out nicely and free of charge. At least for now. I am a Commander of the Grey, in the South, and should be able to appropriate one."
"I will find…my own transport." The Architect said before stalking off.
"OK…that is not creepy at all.
