He dragged himself across the blood-stained floor on the roof of Fort Drakon. His Templar plate anchoring him down, his lungs failing on him. He felt weaker and weaker as the seconds passed, the dawning realization of his failure growing and growing.
He looked to his right, the broken form of Leliana limp across him. Her open, empty eyes staring accusingly into him. Shaming him for his weakness and uselessness. His barely beating heart ached as he looked at her beautiful face. She promised herself to him, and he broke that promise. He should have never allowed her to follow him back in Lothering.
He turned to his left. His loyal hound was pierced by many arrows, the ever reliable Mabari was an exemplar of his kind. Never wavering in his dedication even if his master was such a clueless lout. He had saved his life, only to waste iT on a charge against the Archdemon.
Several paces next to him was Morrigan, why did he feel such regret staring at her cooling corpse. He had hated the witch, she never relented in her constant taunting and catty remarks. Yet she had been with him the longest, the only one who had been with him since the start of this tragic quest. To see her dead just hammered the point even further.
They had failed.
His ringing ears picked up heavy footsteps, he looked above and saw the beast that had snatched their victory away so cruelly.
The creature smelled of piss and taint, it held a wicked longsword in its hand. He raised it above overhead. The Hurlock Alpha bellowed darkly as he brought it down.
The Vanguard twisted the blade that sank into the flesh of royal blood, ending the line of Theirin and bringing victory to the Darkspawn.
The creature's master spread its wings, one of which was torn by a blade. The recovered Archdemon took flight. It roared it triumph as the last of Denerim's defenders were overwhelmed.
Fereden had fallen.
The Fifth Blight had begun in earnest.
In 9:31, Denerim had fallen to the Darkspawn horde. In the months that followed the remnants of whatever resistance was present in Fereldan had been overwhelmed. The only thing holding back against the tide of Darkspawn were Orzammar and the Frostback mountains.
Now it is 9:32, the Grey Wardens in Orlais have announced to the world what they had feared the most.
A new Blight was upon Thedas, and it has already destroyed an entire nation. The Orlesian Empress Celene has mobilized her forces in preparation of a Darkspawn invasion; however, the Orlesian peerage and nobility as always have their own agendas, with many seeing the Blight as an opportunity to regain what land had been lost in the Orlesian-Ferelden war.
The Grey Wardens meanwhile were not idle in the midst of all this, after months of deliberation they had finally began their first steps in combatting this Blight.
Using the Deep Roads, they pierced through the siege of Orzammar and relieved the Dwarves from the Darkspawn attacks. King Bhelen Aeducan, grateful for the relief effort, surprised the Grey Wardens as he introduced to them one of the few Fereldan nobles that were allowed to take refuge in Orzammar.
Fergus Cousland, the last of the Couslands and the current King of Ferelden as elected by an impromptu Landsmeet in the base of the Frostback Mountains during the long retreat from fallen Denerim.
Through negotiation and politicking they acquired permission from the King in only name the right to rebuild Ferelden's Grey Wardens.
Among their ranks, they have selected an experienced Warden to spearhead the rebuilding of Fereldan's Grey Wardens. While the rest of the order attempts to acquire aid from as many nations as they could, the newly elected Commander of the Grey in Ferelden was sent to Jader, the nearest settlement in Fereldan.
From there he would be tasked with the defense of Orlais's borders, securing of Orzammar's surface entrance and the first push into Ferelden proper.
This is his story.
Warden-Commander Aulay Caron was quite amused by the situation that was plaguing the simple rustic town of Jader. He had directly left from Val Royeux, honored by the Empress herself with the important task of organizing the first stages of the fight against the Fifth Blight.
The juxtaposition between decadent Val Royeux and rural Jader was striking. He was lavished with gifts and political bribes, his favor curried and attention sought for back in the capital and now he was here in a meager settlement, saddled with a task of gargantuan proportions. His surroundings rife with misery and filth. He was supposed to rebuild Fereldan's Grey Wardens by himself. The others were too busy with coddling and begging the other Kingdoms for their aid. Even in the face of the apocalypse people seemed to be too busy with the Game.
He was also suspicious of his sudden and dramatic rise to power, from a mere Warden-recruit three years ago to the leader of an entire nation's detachment of Wardens, especially considering his particular magical talents.
Although that might actually be why he was chosen in the first place.
"We are here milord." The drive of his carriage mumbled out as they reached the center of the now bustling town. From a distance the quaint little settlement looked to be busier than usual, looking as squalid and chaotic as a city.
Jader had become home to a massive influx of Ferelden refugees, poor destitute souls looking to avoid the wrath of the Darkspawn horde and to escape with their lives. The irony of seeking aid from their hated enemy of Orlais was not lost on them, with many being torn between resentment and desperation.
The center of Jader was like strange combination of market, military encampment and refugee camp. He saw armored Templers intermingling with terrified merchants, uncouth Fereldens and outright barbaric Chasind and other primitive tribes.
The carriage he was on was instantly swabbed by howling refugees as soon as he stepped off. A gang of town watchmen followed suit in order to stem the mob.
He quietly in his mind went through the contents of the missive he read earlier before. He was to meet with Warden-Constable Blackwall, using his expertise in handling the protection of Orlais' borders with Ferelden.
He approached one of the Templers standing by the side of one of the many deserted stalls in Jader's small market.
"What do you want, mage?" The man beneath the plate spat out with venom as he noticed Caron's approach.
He quickly regretted his actions when he realized just how threatening Caron looked.
The Orlesian mage was a giant of a man, built like a golem. He was completely hairless except for his eyelashes and a big bushy beard that was colored in fiery copper-red. Hiding his eyes was a simple domino mask, it was copper and had a great big nose that covered his own. What it hid was his eyes. They normally looked pale blue, but in certain lighting it looked lilac. They were haunting eyes.
The robes he wore was simple in their opulent finery. The damask cloth was colored in bloody crimson, it was embraided with silver stitching in the imagery of griffins. A gift from the Empress, it's beauty hiding the powerful enchantments that made it more practical than it looked.
His staff was in contrast lacking in any ornamentation, either gaudy or subtle. It was a long staff of iron. On the top, it terminated in the head of a screeching griffin. At times, would could see, if squinting hard enough, the eyes of the griffin glowing dimly with an ethereal purplish light.
This was a man Orlesian in character.
Yet that did not diminish the sheer intimidating aura he excluded.
"I wish to know where I can find the Warden-Constable." The Templar straightened himself, that meant only one thing.
"A-Are you the new Warden-Commander?" The templar sound panicked, he had just offended the man responsible for the offensive into Ferelden.
"Why yes." Caron smiled, he reveled in how quickly a templar's tune changes when confronted with a mage possessing legitimate authority.
"He's in the Chantry, Warden-Commander." Warden-Commander Caron nodded his head slightly, the Templar unsure on what to do nodded back awkwardly.
"Where is the Chantry?" The templer raised his hand to the right.
"It's just up ahead over there, you can't miss it. It's probably where most of these blighters are." He said, obviously dismissive about the Ferelden refugees.
"Any more questions?" He tilted his head.
"What's the situation in Jader?"
"Situation?" He outstretched his arms, showing him the chaos in the market.
"It's been only three days since I was posted here and I've had a gaggle Ferelden children and their nan's throw feces right at me. It's chaos here. This town wasn't made to house this many people." The templar spoke with resentment.
"I have no more questions." The templar shrugged his shoulders, shifting his attention back to his guarding duties.
The Warden-Commander jogged towards the Chantry, passing by a bridge that divided the market place and the rest of Jader between a small river. The templar was right, this town couldn't accommodate so many people in such little space. There was tension and if things weren't resolved soon it'd become bloody.
The Chantry of Jader was just like any other of its kind, it was small but possessing of sound masonry. Its halls adorned with the statues of the blessed Andraste, rows of candles lined its single hall.
"What is it now? Haven't Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Chantry?" An elderly woman shrilly said, even amidst the chattering of the refugees that were dotting the floor of the Chantry she was able to be heard clearly.
"I simply came to deliver a message from the senior enchanter, reverend mother. She desires your presence." A large burly man said with a tired sigh, clad in black armor that bore the griffins of the Grey Warden Order.
"What the enchanter "desires" is of no concern to me! You have overstretched the good will I have afforded to you lot. I refuse to let you trample over us any further." The obvious warden rubbed his head.
"Should I have asked her to write a note?" He exasperatingly said.
"Do you wish to vex me further?" The Reverend Mother glowered.
"The Senior Enchanter insists." He preserved with more caution
"Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must! Now get out of my chantry, fool!" The Reverend Mother screeched out.
The warden quickly left, stopping as he noticed that the route to his exit was blocked.
"The Blight really does bring out the best out of people, doesn't it?" The Warden that was obviously Blackwall asked.
"I know exactly what you mean." Caron responded.
He chuckled.
"It's the end of the world, and yet we continue bickering like children." He sounded immensely tired of it all.
"Wait, aren't you the new Commander of the Grey? The mage from the White Spire?" The warrior realized as he took note of Caron's dress.
"My name's Aulay Caron, and you must be Warden-Constable Blackwall." He was a large man, larger than even him. He had hazel hair and grey eyes to spoke of great wisdom. He carried himself like a man who was accustomed to violence but not broken by it. His beard hugged his chin and was well trimmed. His accent was decidedly not Orlesian, more belonging to a Free Marcher.
"Right that's the name. Well it is certainly an honor to meet the youngest Warden-Commander in recent history. Maybe now we might actually do something about this damned Blight." He said with relief.
"So are you ready to get to work?" He crossed his arms, ready for Caron's response.
"What's the situation here in Jader?" Aulay asked.
"Not good, it's probably not going to last at this rate. I've been in this town since Denerim was taken by the darkspawn. There used to be larger crowds of refugees if you can believe it; however, with you here that's bound to change now."
"What do we do first?" Blackwall smiled.
"The first order of business is the Joining, I've managed to recruit three promising potential wardens who've been waiting for your arrival. When you're ready we can begin with their initiation."
"Where are they?" Blackwall looked at the ceiling for a moment.
"Leske is probably harassing the pretty dwarf girl who works in the smithy; Thom might be in prayer with one of the chanters in the war camp and Hawke can be found in one of the refugee tents, still with her family." He finished.
"That's enough questions."
"Good, let's get to work."
Warden-Commander Caron with Warden-Constable Blackwall in tow proceeded to exit the chantry. They spent some time exploring Jader and the environs surrounding it. The first thing they noticed as they left the immediate vicinity of Jader was the newly erected sea of tents that served to house the excess populace of refugees and the border troops tasked with fending off the Darkspawn incursions.
On the way to the camp they discovered a smithy near the town's outskirts, standing outside were two dwarves. One was female and the other a male who wore massive dwarven armor.
"Have any last requests I can fulfill? Life is fleeting you know, that pretty face might decorate a darkspawn's spear. Do I take that quiet glare for a no? Oh well." The dwarven girl went back inside the smithy, not at all impressed by the dwarve's efforts.
"This is Leske, Riordan found him in the Deep Roads fighting with the Legion of the Dead." Blackwall introduced as the dwarf flashed them both a roguish smile.
"Well you're everything I expected you to be." He commented, his face was branded with a strange tattoo and his hair was tied in the styles of human barbarians.
Aulay didn't know what to make of him, he wore heavy looking armor; but he carried himself more like a rogue rather than a warrior.
"What did you expect I'd be?" Aulay asked in confusion.
"I expected you to be a giant who can shoot lightning form his eyes, seeing at how you're lunging that staff around I think I might be right on the money." He said glibly.
"Watch your tongue Warden-Recruit. You're talking to Ferelden's Commander of the Grey." Leske rubbed his head sheepishly.
"Ah, sorry boss. I guess this means I'll meet you near the bonfire?" Blackwall nodded as Leske turned to him.
The dwarf left by their lonesome, jogging deeper into the camp ahead of them.
"What bonfire is he talking about?" Aulay asked of Blackwall.
"It's where we're meeting the new recruits after we've collected them all. There I'll explain the rest to the recruits. I hope you remember your own Joining commander."
"I remember it well." It was an experience that matched his Harrowing in difficulty and pain.
"Good because now it'll be your turn to oversee this one." It felt odd being on the other side.
As they continued onwards they noticed a chanter standing atop a wooden scaffold, invoking the Chant and administering over a crowd of soldiers. One among them was very distinct for he wore a ramshackle heavy armor that differentiated him from the almost uniform scale armor of every other soldier.
"Thom." The soldier turned towards him, his sleek black hair and growing beard gave him a veteran sort of look. His grey eyes were heavy with fatigue.
"Constable Blackwall." He smiled and nodded his head, noticing quickly the man's companion.
"Are you the new Commander of the Grey then? An honor." He crossed his arms on his chest and bowed.
"This is Thom Ranier, he has great promise." Thom scowled at that hint of praise, now entirely convinced by it.
"I don't think I'm that special." He added.
"Don't be so modest. You saved my life after all." Blackwall beamed more like a father than a superior officer.
"You're embarrassing him Blackwall." Caron chuckled at the man's awkwardness.
"I suppose I am, are you done praying?" Thom nodded his head.
"Good man." Blackwall patted the man's shoulders, seeing him off with a grin.
"You are quite fond of him." Aulay was unsure if this sort of fatherly compassion was an aspect of Blackwall's overall personality or something reserved only for that particular recruit.
"So, this leaves Hawk then?" Blackwall cringed at the name.
"Yes…it does. I have to warn you though, Hawke is an eccentric sort. Talking to her may require a certain level of patience that in my case tends to run out fast."
Blackwall guided him towards the refugee camp housed where Hawke and her family.
He found it difficult to differentiate it from an Alienage and he found it even harder to try to dissociate himself from the suffering of the Ferelden folk.
Aulay Caron was, by blood, half Ferelden. His mother the daughter of some minor Bann of Ferelden nobility who had married the Comte Henri Caron. Their lands had bordered Ferelden, which explained the match. Jader was in fact not that far from his family's lands.
His mother had imparted on him a sort of respect and appcreation of the people of Fereldan. A love for directness and bluntness that s
His noble House was quite unremarkable, considered backward and boorish by the more extravagant of Orlais' nobility. They were nestled on the base of the Orlesian side of the Frostback Mountain range, isolated from the rest of the Empire.
The only notable thing about his bloodline was the fact it produced more mages than usual. Indeed, when at the age of ten he had first discovered his gifts, it did not elicit much surprise. It was common enough that they even had a familial tradition for such an occasion.
This strange set of circumstances had meant Aulay was not completely cut off from his family when he was sent to the circle in the White Spire.
That came much later.
"Nice mask. I didn't know someone was having a party, I'm sort of insulted I wasn't invited." Hawke was a glib one. She had a short waft of black hair and mischievous blue eyes that invited danger. She wore leather that hugged her form with a great bow on her back.
"Hawke not now. You're talking to your new Commander." Blackwall spoke as he bowed respectfully to Leah Hawke, the kindly woman bowed back in courtesy. She was beautiful for a woman her age, reminding Aulay of the elderly Orlesian matrons who did not forget the skills they learned when they first played the Game all those many years ago.
"Commander? A mage? That's weird. I didn't think the Chantry would allow such a thing." Blackwall sighed, no doubt annoyed at the casual disrespect she showed.
"We are Wardens, we do what we must, damned what others think." Aulay responded coolly.
"Nice answer." Hawke smiled.
"Hawke here has had the gall to offer us her talents in exchange for safe passage for her family into Kirkwall, including her apostate sister." Aulay eyed the aforementioned girl. She did not have that coy look her sister had, she was demure and meek in her demeanor; however, mage she no doubt would take advantage of any fool who'd be disarmed by her pretty looks.
Aulay however was not a fool.
"What skills do you possess?" Hawk gave him an audacious grin.
"I can sing, dance, cook and do a little bit of murder." Blackwall was apt in describing this Hawke eccentric. He wasn't even sure if she was supposed to be here.
"Where'd you find this bundle of joy?" Blackwall scratched his scruff of a beard in contemplation.
"I found him." Hawke cheerfully intervened.
"I was leading a patrol before we heard of a darkspawn raid on a large group of refugees. Hawke and her sister did most of the work for us." At the mention of his sister he returned his focus back to the girl.
"I suppose the Chantry is not too pleased about her?" Hawke instinctively stepped by her side, blocking his line of sight towards her.
"I've already said, she goes to Kirkwall." Hawke said dangerously.
"Hawke mind your tone, that business is over and done. The Reverend Mother begrudgingly agreed, which she never fails to remind me of." Blackwall sighed out with consternation.
"Do you have a name my dear?" Hawke's sister seemed a bit caught off guard by the sudden attention.
"Hey now, don't you start flirting with my sister in front of my mother. "Hawke wryly said.
"I'm sorry to interject, but I do believe we're in a middle of something." Blackwall thought it prudent for him to finally refocus their attention on the matter at hand.
"Alright then Warden-Constable." Enough time had been wasted, now was the time for action.
It was an actual bonfire, he didn't know what he was exactly expecting when Blackwall had described their meeting spot. It was a gigantic conflagration that was burning a neat stack of various types of firewood and kindle.
"So on to business. Warden-Commander." Blackwall gestured to Caron to take center stage.
The mage gladly took his offer, standing beside the blazing fire and crossed his arms.
"You three need to go into Gherlan's Pass to kill and collect the blood of darkspawn for the Joining." All three recruits quietly nodded.
"Another thing Warden-Commander. A young boy that one of our scouts rescued tells us that he was with a large band of refugees. He doesn't know what happened to them, but apparently one among their number were a number of nobles. It would do us good if we rescued them." Blackwall added.
"Why do we need darkspawn blood? Isn't it poisonous?" Leske the dwarf asked. His question was something that could not be answered right now.
"That will be answered in all of due time. Now all that remains for discussion is who'll accompany you lot. We can't let them go unsupervised." Blackwall pondered loudly.
"I'll go. You have seen enough of their talent Ser Blackwall. I think it appropriate that I gauge their strength for myself." Warden-Commander Caron said, suspiciously eager of leaving Jader.
"Tired of the scenery I bet. I entrust them to you Warden-Commander." Blackwall bowed, taking Aulay's place in the bonfire.
The Warden-Commander looked over his wards.
Leske looked eager, his daggers ready to be unleashed; Thom was stoic and grim, his sword and shield ready to protect his peers ; and Hawke was still glib, her bow ready to pierce darkspawn hearts.
They looked promising.
He only hoped that they would not disappoint him.