Black clouds hung ominously in a blood red sky, twisted and shaped into horrific wispy sculptures. Nature itself was tainted and corrupted into an alien landscape. Trees were cut down savagely to be used for machines of war. Animals that escaped slaughter for food were lost to the blighted disease of the black blood.
The aggressors and reason for the corruption stood proud and tall amongst blasphemous obelisks and macabre decorations of blood and sinew from the fallen brave.
Darkspawn.
Abhorrent creatures that were the result of man's greed and heresy upon the Maker Himself. Ranging in size and shape they all had diseased, rotted, blemished skin and features of a risen ghoul. In the eyes, you could see naught but madness and need for wanton slaughter and destruction. Ears, deformed and pointy. Their lips looked as though someone had cut them off to always present a gruesome and grotesque smile.
A whole battalion of these monsters now stood in a singular line, all screaming guttural cries and growls, whilst brandishing weapons towards a lone mounted figure atop a green hill.
Their oppressors stood as a symbol to all life as it's protector. For where he and his mount stood, the grass still was green, the sky above them still blue. He was clad in shining silver plate armor, armed with a deadly broadsword and kite shield. A single white helmet was tucked securely under his left arm. Below him, growled a fearsome and majestic white griffin, it too suited in battle dress.
The knight was none other than the bravest and mighty of all the Grey Wardens – Alistair, slayer of darkspawn, savior of the innocent, and eater of gravy. His hard set eyes and scowl betrayed his boyish features, making him look the warrior he truly is.
A foul wind seeped through the corrupted forest, lightly blowing the warrior's sandy blonde hair. With a final glare to his hellish opponents, he donned his helmet, ready to do battle.
The darkspawn seemed to sense that it was time to fight, as they all released a singular scream and charged up the hill towards the final beacon of light that stood between them and the destruction of humanity.
"For the Grey Wardens!" Alistair yelled, as he spurred his mount forward, charging for the living wall of evil.
The great bird let out a roaring cry and folded it's wings in to give it's master's sword easy access to the flesh of the enemies of mankind. Then, with a great forward heave, it began to run down the hill.
Alistair raised his sword high into the sky, the tip of his mighty steel gleaming a white light of utter purity. Seconds seemed to last minutes for the brave templar as he concentrated naught but on his foes.
Then, in the back of his mind, a strange yet familiar voice brought him out of his reality and into a small garden underneath a stone balcony. He recognized it as the gardens that lay behind Arl Eamon's estate in Denerim. The voice once again called out to him. He traced the sound to it's origin and could only smile as he saw a beautiful goddess clad in only the finest dress stand above him. He knew this lovely goddess well, for it was his one true love, Lady Cousland.
"My Lady, what is it you ask of me?" Alistair asked, his voice deep and manly. He kneeled, bowing his head as he spoke.
Then, in a voice like cracked glass spoke Lady Cousland. "Oh my sweet Alistair! My strong and brave Alistair! My wonderful and powerful Alistair! Go forth and kill all the darkspawn!"
For some reason he couldn't comprehend, his Lady sounded like himself imitating her voice. He simply shrugged it off as her having a cold. "Of course my Lady, I – Alistair the mighty – shall slay every last one of the miscreants!" his voice again more manly than he could remember.
A sudden jostle of his mount, as it bit into the head of an unlucky darkspawn hurlock, knocked him out of his lover's garden and back into the battle. Remembering why it was that he fought now, he felt a renewed vigor rush through him as he let out a fearsome battle cry.
Bringing down his sword onto a darkspawn's defending axe, he completely overpowered the beast and made it's arms buckle in as his steel cleaved it's skull to the teeth. Quickly pulling out the now stained blade, he brought it up to parry and riposte the next darkspawn. The sword found it's mark within the darkspawn's black heart, piercing through the steel breastplate.
By now they were surrounded, and even with his superior and awesome swordplay, not even the mighty darkspawn slayer could counter or defend against every move. With a quick tap to the griffin's side Alistair yelled, "Fly!"
With that, the mount lashed out with it's tremendous and beautiful wings, knocking back several darkspawn. A quick and mighty downward stroke of the griffin's wings brought it into the air as it fell back out of the horde's reach.
"Come on then, you blasted fiends! I'll slay every last one of you in the name of my Lady!" He yelled, once again raising his gleaming sword into the air.
` The battle raged on. Alistair the Powerful was as a whirlwind of death to the horde, tens of hundreds falling to his steel and quick wit in battle. His griffin was no different, as it tore through both steel and bone with it's piercing beak and talons.
If the darkspawn could feel such a thing as fear and despair, Alistair the Awesome would be their source of dread.
But they knew no such thing, as the the group mind led by the Archdemon ushered them forward. The spawn may know no fear, but it's leader did. Deep within it's sinister underground lair, the evil dragon could do naught but watch as Alistair the Brave brought the Maker's own fiery wrath upon the monsters.
The Archdemon slammed it's massive claw down, causing dirt and rock to shake free of the roof above and fall onto it's colossal body. It didn't even register it as it roared in human tongue. "Curses! That templar seeks to ruin my plot to take over the world! Curses!"
Back above ground, the tremendous and epic battle went well for Alistair the Destroyer-of-All-Nasty-and-Mean-Things. Every time he swung his sword a darkspawn would cry out in agony as it's wretched life was cut short.
Laughing triumphantly he attempted to turn his mount to the right to meet an oncoming genlock rogue, when the strangest sensation washed over Alistair the Confused. It passed as quickly as it came however, and he shook his head, not wanting to lose his focus in the heat of the fray.
But, his enemies had frozen in place, their eyes locked on him.
Looking around he tried to figure out what the problem was, when he noticed he was no longer mounted on his mighty griffin, but rather sitting on the world's largest and pinkest Nug.
Before he could die of embarrassment, Alistair the Nug Wrangler looked at it's gigantic teeth and smiled. While he couldn't figure out for the life of him why his mount transformed, it would do.
"Charge my mighty steed!" he yelled, spurring his pink mount. His shout combined with the physical attack, however, scared the hell out of the ugly creature as it screamed and took off.
Alistair the Unsuccessful Nug Wrangler was thrown to the ground, having not been secured to any sort of saddle. He groaned as he rose to his feet slowly, his embarrassment taking over any sort of fear for being surrounded with no way out.
That's alright, he thought smirking, I don't need a mount to defeat these bastards. His smirk still plastered onto his face, he began to rise his arm into the air to begin the attack again when he noticed something. . .odd.
A cold breeze ran through the mauled forest, the direct contact on Alistair's flesh caused goosebumps to run up and down his skin.
Wait. . . why did I feel that, I'm completely covered by . . . OH MAKER! Alistair the Naked thought in horror as he glanced down to realize he was covered by his birthday suit. Nothing else.
The darkspawn all dropped their heads down and locked their eyes onto the same thing. A low chuckle started, then it rose to a uncontrollable unholy laughter as they began to fall back laughing.
Alistair followed their eyes in trepidation and almost screamed like a small child as he realized the source of their laughter. In the absence of his sword, his body seemed ready to defend itself with it's own.
"Maker! Why me?" he cried out as he covered his protruding shame. Alistair the Hard wished someone would come and kill him right then, as the darkspawn continued their seemingly unending, taunting, laughter.
Covering his head with his arms Alistair let out a loud whine as everything went black.
Alistair woke up in a cold sweat, as his eyes snapped open quickly surveying his room for any and all darkspawn. His breathing was hard as his heart raced uncontrollably from the fright of his life.
Maker, I haven't had a dream like that since I was ten and in the Chantry. Alistair remembered that dream with a haunting clarity. He had been in the small room dedicated to teaching young initiates about not only the Maker and His holy prophet Andraste, but language and arithmetic as well. He had been seated in the middle of the class room with not a scrap of clothing on him. That alone was bad enough, but the entire class seemed to not notice his lack of clothing!
The dream was a tortuous experience of ducking from desk to desk, praying no one would notice. They never did, but the dream haunted young Alistair for days afterwards. Since then, he made sure to double check whether or not he was clothed before leaving his room – or tent, as it was these days.
Before he could think any further, a tight squeeze around his midsection brought him back to his bed and pain. He groaned in slight protest, for he knew his lover liked to get possessive at times when they slept. He never minded it before, thinking it was cute, but her grip wasn't exactly this strong. . .
He then grew rather alarmed as he felt a strong gush of warm air to his back and another tight squeeze. Then, he could distinctly feel hairy whiskers brushing his back. Alistair looked down in fear, as best he could, only catching a glimpse of the large hairy arms that encircled his waist. Before he had time to sigh with false relief, his mind kicked him in the arse.
Wait. . .large. . . hairy? He all but mentally screamed.
The large breath of air he had felt earlier finally wafted over his shoulders and towards his nose. He almost gagged as he the smell was so rancid it made him want to vomit. It smelled like a combination of old meat, mead and morning breath, but ten times worse. A small voice in his brain told him right away whose breath that had to be, but he extinguished the thought quickly, preferring beautiful denial.
Then, as to rub salt in his actions, he heard a loud shout of "Asschabs! Buwhaha!" followed by a quick snort and snore.
OH BY THE HOLY PROPHET ANDRASTE, IT IS OGHREN!
Thus began Alistair's Bad Day.