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There's gotta be a punchline here somewhere...


Four Grey Wardens Walk into the Wilds…

"Don't mess around with your tricks" - Black Magic Woman ~ Santana


Our group entered the building. The clearing was bordered on all sides by rubble. I spotted the chest first. I darted forward to open it. No sooner did I have the key in my hand than I heard her.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

I spun around to follow the sound of her voice.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or are you an intruder, coming to these darkspawn-infested Wilds of mine in search of easy prey? What say you? Hmmm, scavenger or intruder?"

The speaker was a woman not much older than Alistair dressed in a leather and feather mess that looked as though she fell into an old trunk to dress herself every morning. She had on long boots and a skirt of long leather strips. Her top was a wide red-brown scarf-like fabric looped around her shoulders, revealing much, held in place with another piece. She also wore a couple heavy metal necklaces and an armband, which was opposite a sleeve, the shoulder adorned with purple-black feathers.

The woman's butter-yellow eyes narrowed in suspicion. Distrust was evident in her wary voice and crossed arms.

"We came to the tower to recover some documents," I answered, surprised Alistair didn't make any move to comment.

"'Tis a tower no longer, the Wilds have clearly claimed this desiccated corpse. I have watched your progress for some time" the woman continued. "Where do they go, I wondered, why are they here? And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair said aside to me, "she looks Chasind and that means others may be nearby."

"You fear barbarians will swoop," the woman threw her hands into the air with a flourish, "down upon you?"

"Yes, swooping is bad…" said Alistair slowly.

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is. She'll turn us into toads!" put in Daveth.

"Witch of the Wilds such idle fancies those legends. Have you no mind of your own?" scoffed the woman. "You there, women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

"You may call me Aira," I said calmly.

"And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish. Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest. Something that is here no longer?"

"You stole them didn't you? Your some kind of…sneaky…witch-thief!" Alistair accused.

"How very eloquent," Morrigan taunted, sarcasm soaking through her words. "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily it seems," quipped Alistair. "Those documents are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them."

"I will not for 'twas not I who removed them!" snapped Morrigan. "Invoke a name that no longer means anything here if you wish, I am not threatened."

"Who did then?" I asked

"'Twas my mother, in fact." Now she was smug.

"Your mother?" I gaped.

"Did you think I spawned from a log? Why is it so hard to believe I have a mother?" whined Morrigan.

"Oh, great, she's a funny sort of Witch too." Alistair let out a long sigh.

"Not all in the Wilds are monsters, flowers grow as well as toads," Morrigan said, addressing the forest from which we came. "If you wish, I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here and you may ask her for your papers if you like."

"We should get those treaties, but I dislike this… Morrigan's sudden appearance, it's too convenient," said Alistair in an undertone.

"She'll put us in a pot she will, just you watch," warned Daveth.

"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change," argued Jory.

"Follow me then, if it pleases you." Morrigan silently headed over the lip of the clearing.

Without another thought I followed the strange Wilder. When I noticed I was the only one who had made any sort of move I turned and rolled my eyes. "Look, if she turns you into a bunch of frogs or whatever, I'll fix you," I joked.

The other three practically tripped over themselves to be the first to prove that wasn't really what he was thinking.

The strange group of Warden recruits and our escort and guide made our way through the Wilds. Morrigan lived in a small clearing bordered on all sides by think swamp and heavy bush. The path we took into the opening with the squat hut closed behind Jory and opened on another side, complete with a string of lights I noticed along the track.

"Greeting Mother, I bring before you four Grey Wardens who-" Morrigan began addressing the old crone watching us from behind a bubbling cauldron.

"I see them girl. Hmmm, much as I expected." Morrigan's mother had messy grey hair that stuck up in the weirdest places and a weathered face. She also wore a rumpled mage's robe.

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" scoffed Alistair.

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide- either way, one's a fool," the crone admonished.

"She's a Witch I tell you, we shouldn't be talking to her!" Daveth exclaimed.

"Quite Daveth! If she really is a Witch, do you want to make her mad?" Jory hissed.

I rolled my eyes. If this kept up, I'd knock him over, dig a hole and stick Jory's head in it. Then fill it in, drop a tree and sit on it for good measure.

"There's a smart lad, sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will," the woman addressed the knight. "And what of you? Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint?" she spoke to me again. "Or do you believe what these boys do?"

"I… I'm not sure what to believe," I admitted.

"An answer that holds more wisdom than it implies. So much about you is uncertain, and yet I believe. Do I? Why, it seems I do! What is your name child?"

"Aira, pleased to meet you."

"And I am Flemeth. Such manners! Always in the last place you expect. A bit like stockings," and with that, the old crone bent to survey her own stockings with an air of disdain for the clothing.

"Sooo, this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds," said Alistair a tad on the sheepish side.

"A Witch of the Wilds, ah? Morrigan must have told you that, she fancies such tales, though she would never admit it," laughed the crone. Morrigan put a hand to her face behind her mother. "Oh how she dances under the moon!" laughed the crone again, hands clasped and head thrown back in mirth.

"They did not come to hear you wild tales, Mother," said Morrigan in exasperation.

"True, they came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago." Morrigan's mother grabbed some old scrolls from a pile near the door of the hut and handed them to me. As I passed them off to Alistair she said,"I have protected these."

"YOU- oh, you protected them?" Alistair cut off his angry comment.

"And why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize."

"What do you mean," I frowned.

"Either this Blight's threat is great or they realize less," Flemeth was overcome yet again with laughter. "Oh, do not mind me, you have what you came for."

"Time for you to go then," Morrigan put in.

"Don not be ridiculous girl, these are your guests!"

"Oh, very well, I will show you out of the woods; follow me," said Morrigan, in an exhaustive manner.

Abruptly, Morrigan stalked off. The four of us hurried after the witch. All the way back to the base of the hill Ostagar sat upon, Morrigan made us seem loud and oppressive. All except her and Daveth. He moved with a quiet precision, just as our guide; leaving Jory, Alistair and I to tramp through the heaviest undergrowth, breaking branches and snapping twigs. Cursing as thorns or burrs caught at our clothing. The other two skirted brambles I didn't see until too late and had to untangle myself. They treaded so softly and swiftly they might as well have been shades of the dead.

Not soon enough, Morrigan left us at the gate with only a quick glance at Alistair and me.

With our quest done, I noticed night had fallen. Pushing through the heavy log door, Daveth nodded to the guard. Alistair led us to the bonfire where Duncan stood waiting.

A brief conversation followed during which Duncan was informed of the apostates whom he brushed off as 'not our business.' After, Alistair relieved us of our darkspawn blood, turning it over to Duncan along with the treaties.

"You all have an hour then meet us in front of the statue of the boar beyond the tents," said Duncan. He nodded, dismissing Jory, Daveth and me.

I slowly walked over to the kennel. The master was standing before the dog I muzzled earlier.

"I brought your flower," I said, handing the man the white blooms with deep russet centers I had cut just outside the camp's perimeter.

He showed me how to prepare the medicine. I offered to administer it.

"Tell yeh what, the dog recovers, we'll see 'bout imprintin' him on yeh after the battle. If it goes alrigh' he can be yers," said the man gratefully.

I grinned and let myself into the pen. I stoked the dog's neck and murmured to him quietly. Then I offered him my hand, covered in the medicine. The dog sniffed suspiciously. I urged him to take it. He licked my hand, tongue peeping out comically.

"You really are clueless, boy," I giggled. "There's a good dog."


This and the last chapter reminded me how vehemently I hate Jory. Next up: the Joining! Am having too much fun editing these.