"A settlement like this is called an Arling" stated Alistair halting his steps on an escarpment overlooking South Reach. His peaked dark blonde hair glistened in the afternoon sun as sounds of civilian chatter, applause, and the eerie ringing of wind chimes rose up on the breeze.
The Arl was Leonas Bryland, a man who served under King Maric during the rebellion against the Orlesian empire even though he was half Orlesian himself. The battle of white River, the most catastrophic defeat in the entire occupation had ran true for him; he now felt his true home was Ferelden. Alistair mused that The Arl had fought alongside Aedan's father, Teryn Bryce Cousland, in that particular battle. It was likely that they could rely on this man's loyalty despite the death of King Cailan at Ostagar. The warden chuckled as he recalled that the Arl's young daughter Habren was rumored to get a new puppy every week. No one knew what happened to the old ones.
The the village neighboured the enchanting Brecilian Forest. Many battles had ravished the trees along the Arling's eastern skyline. Spilled blood of Dalish elf and Tevinter mage alike had supposedly damaged the Veil. The barrier which separated the dream realm of the Fade and the real world had torn. The woods possessed a sinister air and harboured eerie flora within its ancient groves.
They arrived in the early morning while mist hung heavy over the Drakon River that lay in the nearby valley like a mystical serpentine beast. Alistair sensed the foul presence of the darkspawn taint. It crawled through the underbrush like a somber vapour. Genlock, Hurlock, Sharlock, and tainted beasts overcast the forest.
Spiders. He detected the blight oozing from the arachnid chitin as their hairy digits pulsed the ground with every encroaching step.
The wardens and their newest companions, an affable Chantry lay sister and a black mabari, strode into town expressing their amusement for the harmonious dwelling. Solona enveloped herself in her cloak and wolf pelt. This was her first visit to a Ferelden village and she dreaded making a lasting impression on the townsfolk as a Chasind witch. A crowd in the market split down the middle for the approaching newcomers. Two men who had been rolling a barrel of ale paused their labour to size up Alistair, the only man in the Arling wearing armour. His splintmail glittered radiantly against the sunrise like the waters of the Drakon River. Momentary suspicions passed and trade was bustling, however, the Arling seemed to be devoid of considerable, upper class merchants. Market stalls functioned by the hard work of farmers and their wives selling grain crops and root vegetables, alongside lambs and calves. In addition to the homesteaders, the market hosted reserved traders of modest leather and fur pelts.
South Reach Arling huts scattered along the forest border. The homes bellowed humble smoke from their hearth fires. A flock of sheep was being herded into the heart of commerce. The pulse of the city was its market. The townsfolk were dressed humbly in patched clothes, and those in the marketplace wandered inquisitively from one stall to another. Trade kiosks bent quietly with the wind, their colourful canvas roofs flapped in the breeze and the scent of trade spices spiraled up into the air.
A dirt road ran straight through the settlement where townsfolk tended to their families. Children in muddy clothes ran in circles around wagons and the youngest knelt in dry grass either catching insects or unearthing dry soil with their hands. On the edge of the bustling Arling stood a blacksmith and his fires glowed restfully. He crouched over a woodpile and chopped wood for fuel. A haystack exploded on the side of the road when an onyx dog leaped through it cheerfully. His barrel chest heaved and his muzzle shot high in the air as he wagged his cropped tail. The party watched the hound shuffle his paws tentatively around in the gravel and hay. A Dalish elf, slight of frame but proudly armed with keen daggers and an ironwood bow stepped into their field of vision. He was clad in tailored leather armour and magnificent tribal tattoos. He stared down the party of strangers for a moment, but was soon gone among the crowd like a fish beneath the flood of the river's current.
Promising smells tempted the mabari's snout but he fixated on the nearby hill. It was the apex of the town and the only high ground for miles: the South Reach Chantry. On the perimeter of the market where the daily bustle of villagers and animals was quieted, Leliana turned to the wardens and advised them to visit the house of prayer. The local revered mother was their best source for news on the darkspawn horde; patrons that had traveled to visit the chapel may have seen something.
"Good idea. I'd like to get out in front of this threat as best as we can", Alistair complied turning his gaze southward, "I'm not exactly sure where, but I sense darkspawn within the borders of the Brecilian. The woods give an ominous impression."
Solona tousled the dense fur on her mabari's stocky neck, pollen and grit leapt from the beast. She shook a clump of fluff free from between her fingers. Looking up from petting her with hound, Solona admitted that she was unable to sense darkspawn of any kind. She did not doubt her fellow warden's perception, however, it was difficult to relate when she could not sense the taint for herself. Alistair graciously nodded and disclosed that the darkspawn taint would become more... apparent in her as time passed. She would sense the horde, among other things. Naturally, the mage curiously pressed him for details.
"Only answer I got from Duncan was, you'll see", Alistair clarified with a ring of amusement in his tone.
"Don't even try that line on me", Solona reproved his response to her appeal.
"I have other lines for you. I'm a bad, bad man", he smile amiably. A full grin told of his delight. They had been together during all of their lulls and interludes at Ostagar. Alistair was athletic and had pleasant features. She mostly focused on the ground when she spoke with him. Seemed to her when their eyes met, he was staring at her. Solona found herself growing fonder of him. Especially his humour.
The ceiling of the world shed the grogginess of dawn to become a vast and regal blue. The hour was still early as the trio, followed by an energetic mabari, hiked toward the Chantry nestled high on the hill. Harsh angles of the canopy complemented the curvature of the stonework. Rounded stones and boulders collectively formed the foundation. The chapel was accompanied by a straw roofed barn and weathered Chantry board lurked by the door.
Ghostly wind chimes greeted the travelers as they approached the pinnacle of the Arling. A line of the village's poorer folk had jaggedly formed curving around the building all the way back to the barn. Ahead of the line was a bald male tranquil in Chantry robes. He slouched over a massive stew pot portioning out meals into weathered clay bowls. It was stew as best as Solona could tell. It had barley, chunks of carrot, turnip, and onion, as well as large and small bones with shreds of meat separating when turned over by the ladle. The aroma of the stew was choice yet heavy, acrid like smoked ham. Grease swam to the top, the mage was grateful for the light breakfast she had had just before dawn with the witches of the wilds. She recalled the appetizing boiled duck eggs, sliced apples, and rye bread slices topped with honey.
The Chantry board sat atop stairs in front of the parish's round stone doorframe marked "Where in days forgotten, voices there raised. Might be gift'd answer and those seeking find". A canticle from the Chantry's Chant of Light.
The Canticle of Andraste, if I'm not mistaken.
The board's papyrus flyers alerted the townsfolk that elf servants had deserted with some of the Arl's vault contents and a pair of prized mares from his stable after the events of Ostagar. Pinned to the board was also a few bounties for Dalish hunters seen in the area that did not appear to be endorsed by the Arl. Solona lifted her Chasind robe skirts and climbed the steps for a closer look at the poster pinned to the bottom corner. It was a Chantry bill for a dangerous maleficar escaped from the Circle Tower; it was Jowan. The sketched face was oddly elongated but it could be no one else. His sorry likeness was unmistakable. The mage tried not to draw attention to herself while she stared at it. Her hand dropped the fabric it had clutched and twitched as she stopped herself from tearing down the paper.
I can hate the templars for preying on Neria Surana, she never hurt a soul. But not Jowan. He… he was a blood mage.
Solona stressed generously over the matter for a moment but resolved to leave the flyer pinned up. She turned from his traitorous semblance, wondering how the Templar Order would hunt an apostate without a phylactery.
Two grand mahogany doors revealed the South Reach Chantry inner sanctum. Candelabra hung from the ceiling in pairs and enamoured by natural sunlight. The sustaining walls were made of the same rounded stone as the exterior, with arches that lead to cozy alcoves for silent prayer. The path to the revered mother was decorated by pews almost filled with the attending faithful and decorated scarlet rugs.
The dias had been repurposed into a makeshift altar for personal treasures. Candles and incense carred the prayers of the Arling's faithful to The Maker. Musky bouquets of frankincense wafted into the air reminding Solona of the Chantry chambers back at the Circle of Magi.
I feel sick trying to stay here, more than anything I want to press on. A darkness clutches me when I'm awake and claws me harshly when I try to find sleep.
In the mage's surroundings no templars or soldiers were present, only sister, scribes, tranquil, and a few elven servants. Solona covered herself once again in her purple cloak and stark white pelt - she had let it fall open when she was talking to Alistair. Her dread of meeting the Revered Mother of the Chantry grew, however, Leliana's presence soothed her worries.
There she was, the revered mother holding fast in the chapel, surrounded by awed children in patched clothing. Seated complacently in a wooden chair. Her grey hair bound in impossibly tight braids.
"We have forgotten, in ignorance stumbling. Only a light in this darken'd time breaks. Call to your children, teach us your greatness. What has been forgotten has no yet been lost". She soothed her audience with a low, almost gravel voice. The woman's accent more than her words sounded familiar to Solona. They resounded within her like the Chantry's wind chimes.
The revered mother is a Free Marcher like me.
Solona made her unease readable to Leliana, as did Alistair… in his own way. Solona recalled how easily the Mother at Ostagar had benefited from Alistair's eagerness to serve the Maker. He had been manipulated into harassing and wrangling Circle mages on her behalf. Their companion effortlessly spearheaded the conversation with the Revered Mother. The red-haired Sister conversed with and questioned the Chantry leader.
Leliana glossed over the Grey Warden's account of Ostagar which they has disclosed to the sister in great detail beforehand. The horde had spawned in the Kocari Wilds and would make their way across the countryside using the West Road. The mother rang her aged hands nervously and excused herself from the gathering of children. She lead the group to her personal chambers at the anterior of the Chantry. The newcomers followed her to where the scent of incense was even more potent. Sanguine rugs lead to a concave portion of the sanctuary. A single bed covered by modest cotton sheets had its headboard decorated with sunburst birch bark and a templar bastard sword. A lonely iron bound chest sat at the foot of the bed. The Mother was prepared to directly address her feelings on the darkspawn horde.
"No one believes the darkspawn to mimic the civilized traveling habits of resident Fereldens."
News of Ostagar had not yet traveled to South Reach. The revered mother knew nothing of the massacre on the Grey Wardens and King Cailan. Teryn Loghain was just a general in the king's army to her. Her doubt of the oncoming darkspawn horde was palpable. She compared the Warden's implied intelligence of the darkspawn to armed dogs.
Solona listened for a while but her rage of the slaughter of her Grey Warden brothers and sister swelled. Their loss outside of the Kocari Wilds had been too great. Comparing the merciless carnage to a dogfight was an outrage. She interrupted the mother to implicate the aptitude of mabari warhounds in Ferelden, and thus the erroneous nature of her statement. Dogs were the pride and joy of their country. She stepped up beside Leliana with her Chasind robes observable beneath her fur cloak.
"Don't undermine our dogs and don't underestimate the blight" the mage warned.
I too am a free marcher, and Ferelden is my home for better or worse.
As the traveling party left the chantry, doused of all hope, the pounding of approaching hooves drew their gaze. Men in chainmail atop chestnut warhorses halted on the edge of the town market closest to the Chantry. Their leader, adorned in steel full plate addressed the encroaching multitude on behalf of the Queen Regent and her father Teryn Loghain Mac Tir.
Solona energetically stood up on her tiptoes and craned her head for a good look from the back of the drawing crowd. The village crowded anxiously around the men that followed the Teryn, Hero of River Dane. They wiped their worked hands on aprons and stall curtains before bellowing into full applause. Alistair, full of judgement and loathing, started to push past citizens as the speaker commenced his false sympathies.
The Teryn's men left King Cailan to die with the Grey Wardens. Poor Alistair considers Teryn Loghain responsible for the Order's loss and Duncan's death.
The Warden fiercely questioned his surrounding countrymen, "Why is the Teryn a General under the Queen Regent so soon after the tragic loss of her husband, King Cailan Theirin?" Some of the present townsfolk claimed that the noble families in the Southron Hills denounced Queen Anora for retreating from the court out of grief.
Alistair at last cleared the last of bustling crowd. He passed a broad-shouldered man with dark braided hair. He was wearing a blacksmith apron standing fast next to a elf with grey tattoos across his face.
"He can't be the king's replacement in any regard. Ferelden's king would have his armies protect his people, not just those serving under Teryn Loghain's drake banner!" Alistair clenched his armoured fists but made no move for his weapon. His allies sighed with relief until he continued, "The Grey Wardens know what really happened".
Lelina urged Solona with a powerful elbow to make her way to the front and stop him, "Maker, say something!" She clasps her hands powerlessly. Solona mimicked the furrowed brow she observes in Leliana. She felt like she should be more worried than she was.
"The Queen Regent's army requires the recruitment of any and all men capable of combat", shouted the commander down from his formidable warhorse.
"The Queen already has the Teryn's army, and it's clear they have chosen to wait out the blight behind his castle walls in Denerim. Because of his fear of Orlais or of proving the Grey Wardens right about his treachery. It matters not!". Alistair looked at asides at his compatriots in South Reach. They stood around him eyeing the leader and his armed men atop their horses. "Even if settlements that survive darkspawn still stand, the creatures take prisoners during their raids. We are Grey Wardens against their monstrous dark tide and we have mastered our taint. Ferelden only has us."
Out of the rustled crowd push the tattooed Dalish hunter. He brushed his shoulder length hair aside as he seriously addressed the wardens.
"I propose a way to make the people of South Reach a little safer", he proposed
"What are you suggesting?" The commander inquired.
Solona observed Leliana freeing her right hand and placing it thoughtfully on her bow.
The Dalish elf shook his head in amusement, "what I have in mind is a darkspawn raid in the Brecilian Forest".
-ooo-
The Teryn's men left in a cloud of soaring dust and thundering hooves. There was a darkspawn Hurlock Alpha making camp in the Brecilian and they had refused to aid the Arling and their neighbouring Dalish clan. The sunlight was dulled by falling powdery earth.
Leliana conversed briefly at her companions before agreeing to a solitary stealth mission. Her faith in the quest against the blight was strong and she insisted that her Grey Warden friends continue to gather allies.
What's a few blighted spiders to a dedicated Chantry Sister?
Sister Leliana agreed to delve deep in the forest for the darkspawn camp to capture intel. Her aim was enemy orders, maps, and a detailed account of any prisoners.
The parley ended with an unofficial partnership. The Dalish elves would help defend the village while the Arl's men marched with the Wardens against the Blight. Not all the soldiers of South Reach would leave, some would stay so the Dalish were not overwhelmed.
Now we have to solidify the soldier's loyalty.
The Wardens hiked west toward the Drakon River bound for to the Arl's estate. It was a modest round stone and clay manor large enough for serving staff, but not as grand as the South Reach chantry. It's locale was practical along the flowing waters to serve as a prime spot for fishing.
Humble fire swelled in the belly of the home and rose from the stout chimney at the top of the sharp straw roof. The sturdy walls bore Ferelden carvings of dogs and the South Reach crest: a portcullis. Little more than matured barrels stood watch at the entrance.
They were acknowledged by a fat scullery maid with nervous hands and dark curly hair. She said little, but like the other residents, seemed not to know of the Fifth Blight rising in the south.
They swung open the heavy oak door and went forward inside the Arl's estate. As they entered the sounds of town fanfare, children playing, and the hammer of the Arling's blacksmith became muted. The residence was colder and emptier than the Chantry. Solona bid her mabari to remain on the threshold of the house as she followed Alistair through the manor's foyer and into a larger chamber. A glowing hearth greeted the pair of Grey Wardens in the main hall. A ladder leaned in the center of the room, promising to trail the central heat to the upper loft. A generous amount of basic armour and winter clothing was being pulled from storage. The estate was getting ready for something in the absence of if soldiers, which had all been sent to bolster the king's army at Ostagar.
They found the Arl of South Reach in an antechamber connected to the dining hall. He was adorned in steel pauldrons and greaves with iron chainmail. Armed with a decorated longsword and a humble linen tunic over his chainmail. Draped over his shoulder was the South Reach heraldry on a proud alabaster cloak.
Arl Bryland was a sturdy man in his late thirties with copper hair in a half braid and his fingers wrapped the tabletop pensively. He turned to face the wardens and smiled, he was happy to have visitors.
I don't recall seeing him at Ostagar.
Leonas Bryland had fought for the Ferelden rebels at the Battle of White River. His closest allies had been Bryce Cousland and Rendon Howe. The battle had been considered a colossal failure in the eyes of the rebellion, leaving only fifty survivors following King Maric. Leonas Bryland was one of them. He had left his friend Rendon Howe in the care of his sister Eliane Bryland when the man's injuries proved to be too much for him to carry on. After the dissent of the Orlesian Empire in Ferelden, Rendon Howe married Eliane for her delectable dowry and Leonas had fell out of contact with them as they retreated to Amaranthine to start a sovereignty under the sigil of the Howe bear.
"Ho there, travelers. What brings you to the Arling of South Reach?" he inquired spinning on his heel and quieting his restless wrapping fingers. The wardens eyed one another before responding. Here was a man with all the comforts anyone could ever want, and he was clearly preparing for something. Yet not a soldier was to be found in the marketplace, Chantry, nor his very own estate.
"Have you not heard of Ostagar? Where are all of your soldiers? Your people will need protection". Solona questioned trying her very best not to sound panicked. A look of bewilderment flash across the Arl's face. He reached a hand behind his head to either nervously scratch or adjust his tawny-coloured braid.
"If you don't know, you must listen. We've seen for ourselves what's to come," Alistair approached agreeably and Arl Bryland responded well to the warden's advice. "It won't be easy to hear".
Alistair and Solona did their best to retell the horrid advancement of the darkspawn. The horde fell on the armies of King Cailan in the valley at Ostagar's Tower of Ishal like a wicked tide. They flowed in from the south and out from the other side poured the blood of Ferelden.
He took it fairly well. Signalling for his uneasy and curly-haired servant to bring the Wardens food. She returned with a platter of smoked fish custards each topped with a single blackberry, as well as a modest clay bowl brimming with buttered, sliced beets.
He addressed the Wardens concerns at first, but soon his concerns drifted to memories and battles long passed. The Arl remembered Bryce Cousland very fondly, and was acquainted with Grey Warden Aedan Cousland. With limited details Solona was able to weave the tail about the fall of Higherver to Arl Howe, from Aedan's brief telling. The account left him laying his head into his hand and he sighed deeply. Solona fidgeted and resisted the urge to copy his body language as per her usual habit. Alistair stared at the Arl while chewing a delicious fish tart.
"I've sent left word that any soldiers returning to South Reach are to defend the Arling. But now I feel as though my men should regroup at the fortress of West Hill. It's our best chance against this horde you illustrate", countered Leonas Bryland within sudden conviction.
"It's likely any survivors will be scattered. A muster point in Redcliff might benefit them under the banner of Arl Eamon Guerrin", said Alistair.
The Arl was taken aback for a moment. "I will not send any of my soldiers or knights to Redcliffe. We've heard dark rumours of plague and death there. The Arling's soldiers will remain in South Reach until they are needed and when they leave…" he trailed off and nervously plucked at his sword's curved design.
"The neighbouring Dalish clan could be welcomed into the village as allies in arms against the darkspawn", the mage perked up. She was confident in the friendships Leliana was determined to forge.
Arl Bryland hesitated but continued, "It's a contingency plan that will need some work. Our relations with the Dalish aren't the best. However, I'm anxious for a fresh perspective on all this. Tell me Grey Wardens, how might the people of South Reach live out the blight?"
-ooo-
"It's a pity Aedan Silvertongue couldn't come with us," Alistair mused as he closed a sack of root vegetables and salted fish. He explained that nobles were the best at getting something from nothing, he likely could have gotten them thrice the score of men. Blood from a rock.
Solona agreed, when they rejoined their fellow Grey Warden they would let Aedan do all the talking. Their faith lay with his better success in diplomacy. The mage and former templar would let young Cousland navigate the nobility as the two of them did not have a knack for it.
"He's welcome to it," Solona expressed her agreement with Alistair. She fingered the vials at her belt in mimic of her companion's preparation of the sack of rations. Her hands made their way to the scrolls tubes gifted to her from Morrigan.
The Grey Warden treaties.
She exhumed the treaty scrolls and unfurled them one by one. They were regally adorned with the Grey Warden's griffon crest and addressed to: The Circle of Magi, The Kingdom of Orzammar, and resident Dalish Clans.
"Would the Wardens be welcomed in the Brecilian Forest by a resident clan?" Alistair inquired, headed toward the Arling stable to load up a pack mule with their supplies.
Not at this time, even if we can call these Dalish our friends. The Heart of the Forest is dark. It would be best to gather more allies, or at least regroup with those we have. We will need them.
The ringing of wind chimes and the blacksmithy in addition to the roasting meat in the marketplace once again saturated Solona's senses. She stared down into the bustling village and placed her hand flat at her side, moments later her ebony mabari forced his panting muzzle beneath her fingertips. Excited strings of drool glistened in the morning light as his muscular chest heaved with the effort of playfully chasing livestock and children. One last gaze upon the Arling told her little… but it was enough. The blight's savage taint had not yet come to South Reach, but it would. The barbaric darkspawn horde would descend on these people. It would do so savagely, with brutal, harsh, and unforeseen force.
"Shame we don't have a more capable voice for bargaining that Aedan's substantial claim in Highever", Solona sighed as she withdrew the treaty scrolls. Alistair grunted with contempt as he approached a mule and began securing their supplies to the beast's saddle panniers .
"That would be quite the scandal, don't you think?"