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"So Vandahl, you a knight?" Loki inquires as the wagon bounces along the rocky path. With the village, Lothering, destroyed in the darkspawn attack, it left the survivors with little choice but to leave the ravaged land. I didn't think it was a big deal travelling with these good folk, but I didn't appreciate the many questions they threw my way.

Yes, it wasn't just Loki pestering me. "I take it you don't get many visitors in Lothering?"

"Ah come now, no harm in asking is there?" The old man says with a goodnatured fist against my shoulder.

"No, I suppose not." I answered, staring at the pebbles stacked against the dirt road, "You're right. I was a knight, but that was a different life." I kept the details simple, "The king and queen gone, the empire submerged beneath the sea, and the subjects scattered."

"Sorry to hear that, friend. Hmm, got a feeling the same thing's going to happen here in Ferelden."

"You mentioned the coming of a Blight?" I changed the subject, "What is that exactly?"

"Ha! I guess where you come from, you don't get that sort of thing? Must be a nice place, living without fearing them monsters."

I remembered the curse, "No, it really isn't."

"Well, it's kind of a long story, this whole deal with the Blight and all. But we've got time, and the road to Gwaren is long." Loki answered my question, "Now, where to begin?"

"Ah yes, it all starts with Seven Magisters. Long long ago, these powerful wielders of the arcane tried to enter the Maker's Golden City using blood magic. Naturally, those who stand univited in a god's home, things don't necessarily end well. As soon as they entered the gates, however, the divine citadel was corrupted, and what was once golden turned to darkest night. Thrown from its lofty heights, the Seven returned to this realm, changed and twisted by the same magics they've used to enter the Maker's city."

"And these were the first darkspawn?" I asked.

Loki nodded, "Or so the tale goes, give or take five hundred years ago."

"You do not believe it?"

Loki chuckled, "Boy, if takes a hundred enduring years, nobody believes it. But if you want an explanation for the Blight and where the darkspawn come from, that's the tale for you."

"I see."

The caravan continues onwards, and the journey proceeds without an interruption. From my experience, I knew this respite would not last. It only takes a few hours for something to go amiss.

"What's that over there? Atop the hill?" Someone asks, pointing at a clump of trees in nearby mountain range. Five men on horseback stare down at the cavalcade of refugees, their demeanour of unsavory ilk.

"Bandits." Loki scowled, "Just our fucking luck."

I disembark from the wagon and unsheath my blade, "How many of ours can hold a sword properly?"

"Not enough." Loki pulls the reins for the horse to halt and reaches back into the wagon to fetch a woodcutter's axe. "Just you, me, and three who remain unscathed from the raid."

I turn to the three freshfaced youths standing next to Loki, "You three, guide the caravan onwards, do not stop for anything." I signal the others to come with me, "We'll take care of this."

"You heard me, didn't you?" Loki protests, "There's probably more where they came from, if so then they out number us three to one!"

"Would you rather be the victim, or bare your teeth?" I retorted, "Besides, they won't be focusing on you or the caravan, they'll be focusing on me."

"Oh, that's reassuring." He replied sardonically.

I ignored the old man and continue my march uphill, heading straight for the bandits and their comrades hiding in the woods. To emphasize my point, I conjured a ball of fire and let it sail towards the clump pf trees.

The resulting explosion frightened the horses, giving me ample time to approach the first brigand and pull him violently off his mount. Downed as he was, I sank my sword up to the hilt through his chest.

Yanking the blade out, I had just enough time to swing it against my next opponent, who spurred his horse to a full gallop and thrusted his spear out. He missed, I didn't. The corpse slides out of its saddle and falls to the ground in a heap beside the first bandit I had slain.

A war cry sounds from within the woods, and a large band of marauders converge on us. There must've been thirty or more of them, but whichever the case, Loki was right about us being outnumbered.

The men with me turned tail and fled at the sight of them, leaving only the old man to stand at my side. "Didn't I tell you?" He said with a grim smirk, "Guess you gotta learn it the hard way."

"O ye of little faith." I replied, reminding him of my encounter with the darkspawn in the village of Lothering. If those monsters could not stop me, neither will these ill-trained brigands.

I've fought worse in the cursed lands of Drangleic.

Once again, I lose myself in the heat of contest, everything narrowing in the perception of my mind. There was the hard pounding of feet beating against the earth, of which my ears barely registered. There was the ringing left from the clash of steel against steel, of which rattled in the far reaches of my skull.

Then the blood, a whole fountain of it, washes all over me.

Of anything else, that was the only thing I was yet aware of. Warm life leaving their ruptured veins, adorning my armor and skin before dripping back into the trodden earth below.

Once the ruthless pounding in my head leaves my body, everything gradually clears, and the red mist leaves my mind. I look upon my work and feel satisfaction come upon my tainted soul.

And I didn't even need to use magic.

I let out a chuckle and turn to Loki, who joined the skirmish and now bore the wounds of the conflict. He shrugged as a response, wincing as the pain from a large gash in his arm grips him.

"Not too shabby." He comments weakly.

I nodded and proceeded to tear out the shafts buried in my left thigh and shoulder. I wasn't immune to wounds, though they weren't enough to kill me. It takes a lot to kill an undead.

I could feel curiousity coming from the eyes of the old man. Obviously, something as impossible as taking on a whole company's worth of men was something that begged a lot of questions.

But Loki did me the gracious deed of holding his inquisitive tongue, of which I was silently grateful for.

There was another tangible change in me. Souls from these uncorrupted mortals had restored me, enough to mend the many tears lining my body. It doesn't take away the curse, but at least the rotting stench and unsavory appearance has left until my next death.

I helped Loki walk back to the caravan down the road, intent on finishing this portion of the journey before night takes over day.


I had that dream again.

The hill of bones…

The cracked and bleeding earth, the burning sky of green fire.

And then, the Black City itself…

Lighting forks stab the sky, heralding the deafening claps of thunder. The air was filled with an unholy mantra, chanted by a thousand painwracked and tormented souls that spread across the realm farther than the reaches of one's eye.

Rifts opened, tearing apart the fabric of reality and ushering in more fodder for this abominable ritual.

The masses formed a circle around a lone figure tethered to a network of rune-covered chains. I did not recognize who he was, but from the looks of his golden armor and handsome albeit beaten and bloodied features, he was someone of great import.

Orchestrating the foul act were seven tall and darkly majestic archmages, their being matching what I could imagine was the Seven Magisters of Loki's tale.

But they were not alone.

Aside from the darkspawn horde clamoring impatiently for the culmination of the dark ritual, an army of stoic, disciplined warriors stood at attention. They wore armor as black as night, finely etched in a network of skulls and twisted visages of suffering, as if to show those who would look upon them that they served the gods of chaos and death.

Familiarity dawns on me. These were not men, nor darkspawn.

These were undead, like me.

The ground quakes as the mantra grows louder, drowning out the din of the skies with its profane cacophany.

I could feel the hairs on my body stand on end as the culmination arrives.

The cracked earth splits in two, a means of entry for something powerful, malevolent, and truly evil. A hand, big enough to blot out the sun, reaches out of the chasm and forms a fist.

A triumphant laugh forces the stars to hide themselves in fear, and the darkspawn let out a roar to greet their dark master.

The man in golden armor glares in defiance as the hand reaches down to pluck him from the earth, chains and all.

Two eyes of eternal hellfire burn through the black mist, barely obscuring the malevolent being behind it all. It was enough to unnerve even the most hardened of warriors to look upon those eyes.

The man screams in pain as the hand squeezes the life out of him, finally erupting in a ball of light and crumbling into ashes.


I open my eyes as the dream ends, squinting slightly when the moonlight shines down on my face through the narrow slits of my helmet.

I realized I had fallen asleep sitting next to the campfire.

The refugees had pitched camp for the night, most opting to sleep upon the grass and sacrificing the comfort of the tents for the young ones. Others remained awake, choosing to watch for any sign of danger to the caravan. With the events of the day fresh on their minds, it didn't come as a surprise.

The dream had its reason for harassing my consciousness, and I intended to find out what for.

I rose from my spot in the fireplace and started down the road without so much as a farewell to the peasants.

I figured I didn't owe them one. I was still a stranger in this land, and I was fine with it.

"Leaving so soon?"

Well, just me. "Our paths do not intertwine, Loki. I must find my own way in this land."

"Well." The old man pushes himself away from the tree he was leaning on, "Can't say that I'll shed a tear for when you ride off into the darkness."

"I'd rather you didn't." I addressed the awkwardness of that picture. "And if there's nothing else, I'll take my leave now." I turn to continue down the path.

"Wait." Loki stops me, reaching into the back of the sash around his middle. "Take this." He handed me a small bag of coins and a roll of paper, "It's easy to get lost out there, might wanna carry a map at all times."

I look up at him in surprise and take the gifts, "You are too generous."

"I'm an old man with only a handful of years left in my ailing body." He said with a shrug, "What use have I for money? You showed me a twice that there was more to cowering from those who think they are my betters. The least I can do is give you these in return."

Loki pats me on the shoulder, "Take care of yourself, boy. Maker be gracious, we will meet again someday, far from this nasty business."

I nodded and walked away, feeling my steps become lighter now that the old man helped me tie up that loose end.

But Loki was wrong about that last part. He probably won't see me again someday. And it certainly won't be far from any nasty business.

If the nightmares were close to the truth, then this world wasn't far from hurtling itself into a ominous end.

If so, why am I even trying to stop it?

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I'm so glad you guys liked it, gonna keep on going and see where this goes.

Hopefully somewhere where we all can enjoy it :)