He trudged barefoot along the dirt. Though he hadn't been walking long and he wasn't being weighed down by the heavy armor he usually wore, he felt as though he had been walking for days. He looked around him, noticing splotches of black ichor on the walls and the ancient architecture. A sign that he was nearing darkspawn territory, if he wasn't mistaken. Yet he didn't bother turning back. It's not as though it was any safer in the other direction. Either to be another victim of the darkspawn or a tasty snack for some deepstalker or giant spider that roamed the Deep Roads.

Was this how it was to end? To die at the hands of the darkspawn, his body left to rot in the ancient chasms? Few had to endure such a fate, even the Legion. When a member died they were returned to the Stone by their comrades, save the last who died, left unburied, never to rest in peace. He, a prince, was to die as a casteless legionnaire would.

Worst of all, his treacherous brother Behlen would live on, and if Behlen had no problem killing one of his brothers and selling out the other, who knows what he had planned for their father, the king. The Aeducan line was dying out, and Duran would never see his family again, not even in death. He could never apologize to Trian, or to his mother, whom he hardly even remembered.

He had been walking for several hours before he collapsed to the ground, an overwhelming sensation coursing through his body. A searing pain and an unbearable itch climbed up his arm. He scratched and scratched to no avail, and for a moment even considered chopping off his arm in order to end the pain. The only sources of light were some glowing plants here and there and the dim light given off by a pool of lava. He scooted over towards the river to sit by the warm air it gave off, and the light was enough for him to look at his arm and see what had happened. Maybe he came into contact with some sort of plant that had irritated his skin. He could see nothing on his arm, however, due to a layer of soot coating it.

He used the rags he was wearing to wipe at his arm, but when he took it away he saw that nothing had come off. He ran a finger over the black substance on his arm, shuddering when he felt a cool, slimy surface. He scratched at it, and continued scratching furiously until he realized that it wasn't coming off. He could barely hear the sound of his heavy breaths of panic over the strange melody playing in his head. The melody was oddly soothing, a beautiful symphony, a song recited in an unfamiliar language, almost like a lullaby that was reaching out to him. It told him to calm down, not to worry. It told him the pain would come and go, and that all would be well.

It was comforting at first, but eventually the tune became deafening, and it beckoned him to come to it, but Duren didn't know where to go.

He writhed in pain on the stone floor, scratching madly all over his body, wanting to rip off all of his skin to stop the itch until finally he passed out. It went on like that for a while, drifting in and out of consciousness and eventually not sure of what was going on at all.

It was odd. Despite however long he had been laying there, he felt no thirst nor hunger, as if some other force was sustaining him. The song was quieter now, but still clearly audible, and he set out to find it. After hours of wandering he ran into a group of genlocks, for some reason not surprised to see them in the least, as if he had sensed their approach. The genlocks made no move to attack him; they seemed slightly skeptical at first before walking past the prince to continue their search for the song which beckoned them all.

Duren ran to catch up with the genlocks, determined to help them in their journey. A journey which Duren, now a ghoul, had in common with the darkspawn.

Once again, Duren was an unknowing pawn in another man's game.