The First Blight
Author's Note
This is my first foray into fan fiction so I hope it turns out well. I'm fascinated with the lore of Thedas and especially with the Grey Wardens so I decided to try to write a piece on their founding and the First Blight. So therefore, this piece is set during what is known as the First Blight, when the first Archdemon, Dumat, rose and led the Darkspawn into the world of men and targeted the Tevinter Imperium. It will follow the struggles of the Imperium and how the Grey Wardens were founded, leading to the defeat of Dumat and the victory over the Darkspawn.
I have tried to remain as true to the Dragon Age lore as much as possible. For the Tevinter Imperium, I have tried to take my cues from the Byzantine Empire in our history in terms of its organisation and structure, mainly from the high-period when the Thematic system was in effect. It was both a military and administrative unit whereby the empire was divided into various districts which were responsible for raising men for the theme which was a division sized unit. This was not only to serve as a garrison for the district, but it could work with neighbouring themes in either defense or offense.
For the calendar, I will try to stick to one system, the Tevinter Calendar so dates do not start flying everywhere and getting mixed up.
I will expand this note as the story progresses to try to explain various things that may crop up.
Please review critically! I need all the feedback I can get! And I may be slow to update, depends on my schedule, I'm also trying to write a fan fiction on the creation of Thedas and the Fade from the point of view of a Chantry Scholar so that might conflict!
But if this one goes well, I might decide to focus more on this than the other.
Hope you enjoy the story!
Prologue
800 TE, 4 leagues north of Nessum, the Tevinter Imperium
Fires raged rampant, basking the field with a scarlet tinge; the smoke serving to cast a dark shadow, creating a hellish scene. Blood ran thick among the grass as it oozed towards the stream; the once pure stream now ran velvet, dark with the blood of many a man. Bodies littered the once fertile field like the leaves in autumn, the remains of a once magnificent army; corpses cruelly mutilated, many suffering multiple gashes and many a body now lacked a head. Crows flew overhead, some swooping down to perch and pick away at the bodies that lay strewn upon the ground, their harsh crowing adding the moans and groans of the injured and dying. Flies buzzed, landing on the already putrefying bodies; a foul odour permeated and hung over the scene. Death pervaded this scene; death and horror. John Lovias gazed around him in numbness, horror and despair etching his weather-worn face. This was his once proud army, now reduced to carrion and captives to this breed of monsters, this menace, this Blight.
"Blight…no word could be more appropriate…they really are a blight upon this world" he thought. These creatures, having herded the remnants together in the field, now gazed at them with their eyes, black as sin. In all his years serving the Imperium, he had never in his darkest dreams thought he would encounter such a travesty, such an unholy and vile creature as the ones that had butchered his men wantonly and callously. They came in various forms; one seemed almost human, tall but nonetheless had features reminiscing of a man. However, it was pale in colour, greyish was the colour of its skin, skin that was gaunt and sickly. Its eyes bulged from its sockets with black pupils while razor sharp teeth jutted from its mouth. The other was shorter, its skin was greyish green with many sharp teeth emanating from its mouth. From the barren steppes of the Anderfels to the fields of Antiva and Rivain, he had campaigned long in the service of the Archons and the Magocracy but these vile creatures fought as none he had ever encountered. He had watched as the monstrous fiends cleaved through his lines with a complete disregard for life and full of malice, inflicting many a cruel wound with their crude yet vicious weapons, even decapitating many of them. They seemed to revile in the pain they caused; even the barbaric Anders would not be so cruel.
He now wished that he had not responded to the urgent summons for help from the local governor at Nessum; anything would have been better than to watch impotently as his division, his men, his comrades who had been his pride were torn apart; the very men who he had led for years; the men who he doted on, he bled with and he fought with. "No…death or imprisonment for treason would've been better" hammered in his mind. He could see the faces now; Vespasian, his second in command who could drink anyone under the table but always dreamed of a retirement, gutted and despoiled by a brutal thrust with a sword; Comenus, the budding staff officer who seemed to be the Golden Boy with his impeccable attire and manners, decapitated. His vision swam in the myriad of other faces now, those of his friends, of the men he had been entrusted to lead, men who trusted him. Many now stared lifeless, never to smile or laugh again, never to see their families and their loved ones, never to fulfil their dreams and aspirations.
He shivered as he recalled the events leading up to this. The rider bearing urgent summons, John calling together his officers, poring over the maps, marching his men at breakneck speed. "Unknown enemy marching upon the town of Nessum in force, local garrison unable to cope, require immediate assistance" the message had read, and Demetrios had known what was to be required of him. As the commander of the division in charge of the protection of this province, he wielded a powerful force. Each province had one; a versatile division of 8,000 professional men raised and fielded in the province. They not only served to supplement the local garrisons, but also could be assembled and combined with those of other provinces or that of the main Imperial army to wage war, to suppress rebellions or barbarian incursions. They were organised on the lines that they could fight alone if necessary and it was this structure that provided the iron fist of the Imperium, upholding the rule of the magisters. He had marched his force to Nessum only to find smouldering ruins, its inhabitants and defenders butchered. Deciding to pursue the unknown attackers, he had followed the trail until he caught up with them a few leagues to the north. It was here that his men, drawn up for battle, were duly slaughtered by these savage beasts.
"So many had died…" he thought bitterly. He himself had taken a slash to his stomach, almost disembowelling him and it took all he could do to stop the bleeding. Tears did not usually come easy to him but now, he was but a broken husk, a shadow of his former self and glistening drops ran down his cheek. He now watched as the few women among the survivors were dragged away from the main group; some were soldiers, others formed the train of prostitutes, wives and hawkers that shadowed the division. He dared not think of what fate awaited them, he was certain that it would be one worse than what he and the men would experience.
The monsters now herded the men into an even tighter huddle while they formed a circle around them; they now gazed almost hungrily at them. John glanced past the ring; a jolt ran up his spine. "Are they…eating the dead?" he whispered incredulously. Renewed horror gripped him as he watched the monsters hack away at dead bodies, planting heads on crude spears while devouring the rest. The rest of the men shared his terror; they had never known such depravity, the dead were supposed to be honoured and buried or cremated, not eaten. Even the enemy dead were to be accorded some respect and buried, not this, never this. They now eyed with horror the encircling creatures, realising the grizzly fate that awaited them. That many of the remaining captives were wounded and disarmed with little chance of defending themselves only served to exacerbate their horror and dread.
One of the vile creatures now stepped into the circle; it seemed to be a leader or at least commanded deference from the others. It emitted a harsh croak and the ring started moving into the helpless victims. Cries for mercy and screams now punctuated the field as the fiends started butchering and hacking without mercy, occasionally dragging some off by their heels, presumably to be saved for later. The others were devoured. John could only stare as one of the creatures towered over him, yet there remained a speck of pride within him, no matter how broken he was, that urged him to face his death as a man. He drew himself up as much as his wounds allowed him, tilting his head up with pride and dignity that he had gained through his years in the service. "I am Tevinter, not a knife-eared Elven brat. I will not beg and demean myself before these monsters." He stared deep into the black eyes of the monster as it drew its blade and held it high. The sun shone through the clouds of smoke at last, basking the scene with rays of golden sunshine. "An omen?" he thought to himself, "Maybe so…but I will not live to see it…curse these monsters, these beasts, these Darkspawn".
And the sword swept down.