Return to Ostagar
CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Action/Drama
Language: yes
Violence: yes
Nudity: yes (m)
Sex: no
Other: desecration of a corpse
Author's Notes:
I really didn't want to do all this little skirmishy fighting. Hah, so it's sorta glossed-over. Sorry.
Recap:
The Sacred Ashes have cured Arl Eamon. While he gathers his knights and allies, the Wardens head eastward towards the Brecilian Forest, hoping to find the Dalish elves. On the way, they stopped by Honnleath to pick up a bird-hating stone golem, passed through Lothering, and then went onwards to Ostagar.
While crossing the Bannorn previously, the group had encountered the occupied town of Khenter, where a man named Elric Maraigne was sentenced to die for being a traitor to the Crown and sympathizer with the Wardens. Bannon managed to talk to the man, who told of some incriminating documents against Loghain that were stored in King Cailen's strongbox at Ostagar. He also told Bannon where to find the key hidden in the ruins.
Return to Ostagar
===#===
Party Banter: The Mighty Demon-Douser
Bannon: So there I was, minding my own business. You know... doing my business. When I hear this voice behind me. ::does a creepy deep voice:: 'Who dares water Gazerath!?'
Alistair: ::laughing::
Bannon: Hey, I don't know! So I whip around and there's this shadow demon-
Alistair: Ash wraith.
Bannon: Right, well ashes don't do too well when they get wet so I - you know ::gestures:: hosed him down and that was the end of him.
Zevran: You're having me on.
Alistair: No, that story is one hundred percent entirely true. I was there.
Bannon: ::winks at Alistair::
Zevran: You were there?
Bannon: Well, he wasn't there there, like watching me. He was around.
Alistair: ::winks at Bannon::
Zevran: So let me get this straight... You defeated a demon by whizzing on him!?
Bannon: ::laughs::
Alistair: Actually, that's a valid alternate tactic mentioned in the Templar Handbook, for dealing with fire demons. But of course, you know, you'd have to be able to produce enough volume to actually douse them.
Zevran: You are joking me!
Alistair: ::holds up one hand:: Templar's Honor!
Zevran: Hmmm... whizzing on demons... ::wanders off thinking about it::
Wynne: You boys are not talking about what I think you're talking about!
Leliana: Boys will be boys, Wynne.
Alistair: ::aside to Bannon:: You don't think he'd actually try it?
Bannon: I wouldn't put anything past that guy!
===#===
They took their time coming down the old Imperial Highway spur that led to Ostagar; they didn't want to come upon the battlefield too close to evening. Maker only knew what waited them there. The darkspawn horde had withdrawn from Lothering, but were they still lurking around the ancient fortress? Camping there?
Alistair led them through the back way, the steep switchbacks the supply wagons had used to come up into the elven encampment. There was very little left, a broken cartwheel choked with weeds, a bent spit fork that Bannon tripped over in the long grass. At least it looked as though Loghain had given the elves time enough to pack up and leave before the darkspawn overran the place. He probably didn't want his new castle to be without servants.
As they made their way to the gate that led into the fortress ruins, Bannon said, "Hey, Alistair." The human Warden turned. "After we find this incriminating evidence that's supposed to be here, Morrigan wants to go check on her mother."
Alistair made a face. "Flemeth, the swamp witch. That should be fun."
"It's all right; you weren't really invited."
"Oh, good."
"I'll go with her, and I'll take Sten and Shale."
"And the annoying assassin?" the Templar said hopefully.
"And the annoying assassin."
"I'm right here, you know," Zevran grumped. They ignored him.
"All right," Alistair said. "As long as we're not running for our lives from the darkspawn, you should have time for a visit."
Bannon nodded. He reminded his troops what the Tevinter statue they were looking for was supposed to look like. Inside the fortress, they broke off into smaller groups. Bannon took Zevran over to where the command tents were, so the elves could poke around in King Cailen's stuff.
Morrigan followed them. "What do you mean, I want to check in on Flemeth?" she said with a frown. "I told you, I can't go anywhere near her in case she is able to trigger the spell or ritual on me that will allow her to inhabit my body."
"I know that," Bannon said, turning to her. "Alistair doesn't. Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne don't need to know. Sten and Shale probably don't care, that's why we're bringing them for backup." He turned to a locked chest while Zevran rifled through the bedding. Bannon had no idea what the Antivan thought he would find, and probably didn't want to know. To the witch, he said, "You go off with us, then turn into a fox or bird or something, and go hide. Or whatever."
"Hmm." Morrigan mulled that over with narrowed eyes, toying with her necklace. "I see. 'Tis a clever enough plan."
"What is the rest of this plan?" Zevran asked.
"I'll distract her, you sneak up behind her and bam!" Bannon frowned at the stubborn lock. This must be the strongbox the King's guard in Khenter had mentioned. And why they needed the key.
Zevran said, "You don't have any problem 'murdering' an old woman?"
"Me? I thought you would - she's not exactly a hot-looking prince."
The Antivan shrugged. "No matter."
Morrigan said, "She is a powerful mage. Do not underestimate her for one moment."
"I can deal with mages, and old women." Zevran turned to Bannon. "It is you, Ser Soft-Hearted, I was concerned about."
"I am not!"
"You hesitated to kill that woman in The Grey Pearl."
"She was an elf!" Bannon snorted. "Don't worry, this woman is scary beyond all reason." He shook a finger at Zevran. "Just don't screw up, or we are seriously dead. Or even worse."
"Hmph." Zevran jutted his chin into the air. "I am the greatest Crow assassin in the world. I do not screw up."
"Right, right, you always get your target." He gave the 'Great Assassin' a pointed look that completely deflated him.
Morrigan said, "You do have a contingency plan, I hope?"
Bannon nodded. "I think yelling, 'Shale, help; the mage has a control rod and a flock of birds' ought to do. If not, then 'Sten, the evil sarry-bass is lose and going to destroy us all' will help."
She looked at him a long moment, her golden eyes unreadable. Then they softened, and she nodded with a slight smile. "That is actually a sound strategy. My faith in you is well-deserved."
Bannon shrugged modestly. He didn't want to count his apostates before they were burned, after all. "Well, the sooner we find the key and these papers, the sooner we can get started."
He ducked out of the tent, and met Alistair coming the other way. "I found the key," the knight said.
"Oh, good. I found the strongbox."
They began to turn back to the tent, but Wynne's shout of "Help!" had them running the other way. They ran towards the area where the mages had stayed, Zevran and Morrigan behind them. They found Wynne and Leliana casting magic and bolts at what appeared to be Fereldan soldiers. Dead ones. Sten and Shale waded into the midst of the group and started smashing with abandon. Bones and armor bits flew.
"Undead, great!" Alistair complained. He tucked the key down his breastplate and readied his sword and shield.
"I sense some darkspawn," Bannon said. "Where are they?" He unshouldered Melinda, deciding to stay back and pick off targets.
"Towards the bridge!"
This cluster of skeleton warriors was covered by the two massive warriors and two mages. Leliana retreated behind Alistair and Bannon. Zevran appeared at the latter's right side, his own bow ready to fire.
"A battle plan, mi patrone?"
"Just wait... here they come!"
A handful of genlocks boiled around the corner of a stone wall, mouths gaping hungrily as they spied the Wardens' group. Two went down with arrows in their skulls, moderately slowing those behind. A third staggered back, white fletching tagging its shoulder.
"You need to shoot faster than that," the Antivan goaded Bannon.
There was no time for a reply; it was time to pull blades an start hand-to-hand fighting. The skirmish was relatively short. The four of them had just about mopped up the genlocks by the time the heavy hitters joined the party. But then a taller hurlock rounded the wall. It stopped out of range and screeched alien words with a voice like fingernails on a chalkboard.
A fireball bloomed and headed towards the group. "Shit!" Bannon yelled. He didn't have time to do more than throw his arms up, as useless as that would be. He braced for fiery impact, but then the flames evaporated.
There was a moment of silence while everyone stood, stunned, unsure what had happened. Then, "Hah!" Alistair yelled. "Get him!"
Bannon and Zevran ran recklessly at the Alpha hurlock, eager to claim the kill. It gestured, chanted, and extended a hand at them. It looked confused a moment when nothing happened, then four swords slammed into it.
"Hah!" Bannon said, while simultaneously Zevran called, "Mine!" Before they could start arguing, an insane, inhuman giggling commenced. Then half a dozen undead erupted from the ground around them.
"Double shit!"
"Brasca!"
"That, too!"
The elves jumped back to back and took on all comers. The others ran to help. More eerie giggling rang out under the sounds of bones smashing and fighters panting for breath. Then it faded.
"What was that?" Wynne asked, peering at the elves to see how much healing they needed. They seemed fine, for now.
"The return of the giggling darkspawn?" Alistair half-answered, looking at Bannon for confirmation.
"It went that way, towards the bridge." The elf started off. "Come on, before it brings more of its friends."
They met another knot of undead coming off the bridge. They must be the soldiers, from the battle. Bannon shuddered. He hoped they didn't meet any Grey Warden corpses among them.
After a few minutes, the dead lay at rest once more, if in more scattered and broken pieces than previously. Bannon peered across the wide stone bridge. It looked clear of corpses. They headed out over the span, avoiding the gaping holes in the architecture, both old and new. On the west edge, the more intact side, stood a huge darkspawn totem, towering high over the bridge, probably visible from the ravine below. Beneath the totem was a wide circle of black smears, painted with clawed hands.
"Stop," Wynne called. "That could be a trap." She moved up between the companions and studied the markings. "It looks like a rune circle, but I don't recognize it. Morrigan, have you ever seen the like?"
The witch pursed her lips. "'Tis not swamp magic, that is certain."
While they contemplated the circle, Bannon looked up at the totem. "Oh, Maker."
The others followed his gaze. A man hung on the construction, naked. Curved spikes hooked through his body, holding him aloft. There was little blood, only reddish-brown scabrous clumps where the flesh was torn, but there was black ichor spattered over much of the legs and torso, and the ribcage was livid and misshapen.
The head lolled to one side, resting on one outstretched arm, partially veiled by a fall of matted gold hair.
"Cailen," Alistair breathed, his voice full of untold pain.
Bannon swallowed. It was the king, the man who had offered him his hand. That's all he could think about: the king of the humans treating him like a warrior, even though he'd been nothing at the time but an elven street rat, a thief, a murderer. Not even a Grey Warden yet. Bannon felt a pang of tragic loss. The lofty King of Ferelden had never before had anything to do with the people of the alienage, not until that day. This man could have changed all that, with help from an elven war hero.
Leliana shuddered. "King Cailen... what have they done?" She retreated past Morrigan and Shale and retched loudly.
Behind the Wardens, Zevran scoffed. "A rather crude job. You would think that after going through all the trouble to kill a king, they would have at least displayed his face properly."
Alistair tensed, a burning rage infusing his face. Bannon felt it, as well. He didn't want Zevran murdered on the spot, so he stepped around and grabbed the Antivan roughly by the arm. He shoved him away from the circle, to an intact section of the bridge railing. "Stay here," he snarled. "And keep your mouth shut." He turned back before the assassin could retort. Bannon didn't know what he would do; his whole body thrummed with outrage.
"We have to...," Alistair was saying, unable to take his eyes away from the grisly spectacle. "We can't leave him..."
"He's dead, Alistair," Bannon said gently.
"But he's our king! He doesn't deserve to be treated like this! No one does!"
"We don't know what kind of magic this is," Wynne said.
"'Tis most likely some type of necromancy," Morrigan offered, subdued. "To preserve..." She trailed off, but it was clear to see that the king's corpse hadn't decomposed as much as the undead warriors they had faced.
Sten moved up beside Alistair. "This is no way to treat a fallen warrior. But the area is not secure."
And Zevran's voice drifted over from his exile. "Should I be still keeping my mouth shut, or shall I mention that our demented little friend is back?"
They all turned. The giggling genlock was grinning toothily at them from the far end of the bridge. It began making arcane gestures with a bone-decorated rod. Blue lines formed in the air.
Bannon sprinted towards it, afraid of what it might animate next. "Alistair! Do the thing!"
He didn't know if the Templar had a chance to try. The genlock ran off before Bannon got to it. A pair of hurlocks stepped out, and the elf was dancing while his companions caught up with him.
The necromancer led them on a merry chase through the ruins and down into the ravine. Bannon could sense the scattered pockets of darkspawn, but then the undead soldiers would blindside him.
He ended up on the ground, a crossbow bolt in his side, as they caught up to the annoying little blighter. Wynne and Leliana stopped to tend to him.
"Ow!" he complained.
"It's not deep," Leliana reassured him.
"Just yank it out and let Wynne heal it," he grated.
"Are you su-?"
"Hurry!" This area was clear of corpses, but he could sense darkspawn gathering. In another moment, there was a roaring from the qunari, answered by darkspawn howls, and the clash of steel, stone, and flesh. It almost drowned out the pain ripping through his side.
It was only temporary. Bannon struggled to get up, but Leliana held him by the shoulders. "Rest one moment."
"Hold still," Wynne admonished.
"I can't! I have to help Alistair."
The rest of the company faced the darkspawn group. Sten and Shale hammered and pummeled with abandon. If Bannon didn't know better, he'd think they were competing for points. Alistair stood at the center, Zevran beside his shield. Morrigan stood a few paces behind them, calling down magic to strike their foes.
Beyond the skirmish, blue light flared. The genlock Alpha was up to its old tricks.
Alistair yelled, "Watch my back!" just as Bannon ran up. The Templar raised his shield and plowed through the darkspawn ranks, throwing them aside. Bannon and Zevran closed the gap behind him, swords flashing.
"Get back!" Morrigan warned, giving everyone a scant second before unleashing an explosion of ice amidst the darkspawn. A giant stone fist hammered down right afterward, pulverizing everything caught in the blast.
As the cold air and crystal powder cleared, they could see Alistair standing over the genlock, yanking his sword from its back. It wasn't getting up again.
The companions had only enough time for one breath before they heard an eerie, echoing wind. A ghostly blue glow played over the ground to a huge lump of - it was an ogre corpse, Bannon realized. A big one. The glow enveloped it, then settled into the dark skin. A low groan emanated from it.
Alistair began slowly backing away while the others remained frozen. The eye sockets of the massive skull flared with malevolent light, and the corpse began to rise. "Oh," the Templar breathed, "triple shit."
The beast heaved unsteadily to its feet, its armor hanging loose in places where chunks of flesh were missing. There was one sword stuck nearly to the hilt in its chest, and one through its neck. It didn't seem to notice. It roared a challenge, its voice rusty, but its breath a rotting stench that reached all the way to the Wardens' back ranks.
Alistair stopped backing away. "Sten, Shale, to me!" He set himself firmly before the creature, his shield up. The giant and golem flanked him, not so large any more, compared to their foe. "Watch out for when it - charges!"
The undead behemoth lowered its horned head and barreled towards the three. Its gait was stilted and uncoordinated. Sten, Shale, and Alistair avoided its first pass, then Shale threw himself onto the thing's neck and grabbed its horns.
The ogre bellowed and staggered about, thrashing and rearing like a wild bull.
Everyone scattered, except Shale, who hung on doggedly.
"Lure it over here," Wynne called. She began drawing a circle in the dirt with the end of her staff. "I can trap it."
That was easier said than done.
Bannon looked to the witch. "Morrigan?"
"'Twill be several minutes before I can conjure enough ice for a target that size."
The elf looked back at the fray. The ogre was slamming Shale repeatedly to the ground. The whole ravine echoed with the sound of stone impacting earth. Sten and Alistair danced around the edges of the ogre's crooked path, looking for opportunities to strike. Bannon didn't know how much good that would do - the thing was dead, so they couldn't bleed it out, and crippling it wouldn't work.
"We need to get it off its feet," Leliana said. "Do we have any rope?"
"Morrigan," Bannon said; "just a little bit of ice. Aim at its feet." Hey, it worked for Niall.
Bannon had doubts that the witch could accurately predict where the ogre's feet would land, but she skirted that problem by simply freezing the right foot itself. "Great, thanks! Wynne, how much longer?"
"Almost... it's ready!"
"All right, you two," he said to the mages, "get back."
Morrigan moved off, but Wynne said, "I have to stay and activate the runes. If I do it too soon, our friends may get trapped in it."
"Shit. All right." He moved to at least stand between her and the behemoth. Not that he would slow it down any. Leliana and Zevran spread out to flank him.
Bannon turned his attention back to the ruckus. The ice didn't slip so well against dirt, but finally the juggernaut hit a rocky patch and its foot skidded out from under it, throwing it on its ass.
It landed with a ground-shaking thud and a bellow. Shale flew off and crashed to the ground, tumbling like a dislodged boulder.
"Sten, Alistair! Lure it over here!" Bannon tried. "Zevran, you're annoying, go see if it will chase you."
"As you wish! Always appreciative of my talents," the Antivan said cheerfully.
Bannon shook his head. "And don't get behind it. They kick!"
Zevran waved in acknowledgement before trotting up to the ogre and insulting its mother. Do darkspawn even have mothers? Bannon shuddered.
The ogre's crooked gait made it hard to tell if it was going to hit the trap or veer off. Alistair and Sten helped herd it in the right direction. They raced Zevran across the rune trap and Wynne darted forward to activate it. Bannon held his heart in his mouth, hoping the ogre didn't decide to come after her.
It's malevolent eyes flared again, then the sigil's light drowned it out. The beast froze in mid-step and toppled awkwardly to one side.
Panting, everyone gathered around for the next step.
"Morrigan?" Bannon asked.
"I don't think I can ice the whole thing through. Wynne, is your stone fist ready?"
The old mage shook her head. "You need to hurry, this won't last forever."
"Well," Alistair said, "the only way to 'kill' something undead is to dismember it so it can't function, or remove its head."
Bannon eyed the tree-trunk neck. Sword stuck in it or not, that was going to be tough. "Really wish you had a big sword right now, Sten."
"My Asala is lost to me," the qunari replied cryptically.
The witch said, "Perhaps if I freeze the creature's head, Sten can smash it."
Bannon looked around. "All right, are we game for this plan?" Alistair and Zevran seemed as eager as he was to avoid meat-chopping duty. Sten agreed with some reserve - and where in the Blackened City had that golem gotten to?
They moved back, and Morrigan cast her spell. The qunari stepped in with a mighty swing and cracked off a twisted horn.
"'Twill have to be more than cosmetic damage to work," the witch goaded him.
Sten muttered something, then returned to hammering. After a few more minutes, chunks began to break off in earnest.
The body collapsed as the paralyzing sigil ran out of energy. Only a few shards of ice stuck out from the neck.
"Is it good and dead? Really dead?" Bannon asked. It seemed to be. "Anybody see where the golem went?"
Everyone looked around. "There," Leliana said. The golem lay where it had fallen. She, Bannon, and Wynne moved over to it. Maker, had it broken already?
"Shale!" It's eyes still held a glow. "Are you hurt?"
"Hurt?" the construct repeated, sounding vague and confused. "I am damaged." It - well, he - managed to sit up. One hand clutched his chest where a large crack split the stone. Slates crumbled off. "Yes! Yes, it... it hurts. I don't recall ever feeling such a sensation, but it seems familiar somehow." Shale's stony face crumpled in misery. "I do not like it."
"Wynne, can you heal him?"
"I can certainly try." She crouched at the golem's side. "Shale, will you allow me to cast healing magic on you?"
"It wants to cast magic on me?" he growled in distaste. It was a good thing Wynne asked. Who knew how he might react to that. Violently, probably.
Leliana put a small hand on the rough stone arm. "It is healing magic, Shale. The worst that could happen is it won't work, and you'll be none the worse off than you are now."
Shale looked at Bannon. He nodded. "That's true. I won't let her do anything bad to you."
Wynne snorted. "As if I would."
"Well, no, she wouldn't." Bannon gave Shale his charming smile.
"Very well. You may... heal me."
Wynne nodded. "Hold still. This will take but a moment. It may feel strange at first." She spread her hands over the crack. Her eyes half closed as a cool healing light flowed from her fingers.
Bannon watched the golem closely for any indication it was about to attack. Its face went lax, its expression blank. The elf hoped that was a good sign.
After a few minutes, Wynne sat back on her heels with a tired sigh. The crack in the stone skin was gone. The golem looked down, frowned, and poked the area with one finger. Bannon winced, but the stone knocking against stone didn't cause it to flake or crumble.
"I am... healed." Shale looked over at Wynne. "I am... grateful to the old mage."
"You're welcome." She retrieved her staff and used it to climb to her feet. Bannon jumped up to help her. "Who else needs healing?" She turned to where the others were standing in a knot, and headed over to see about Sten. Bannon followed, trying not to be too solicitous.
Alistair had pulled the swords out of the ogre. The blood had desiccated within the corpse, so they had come out clean. He was staring down at them, face drawn, unaware of what was going on around him.
Zevran was at his side, casting an appreciative glance at the blades. "Fine Rivani red steel," he commented.
"These were Duncan's," Alistair said to no one in particular.
"Who is Duncan?"
The Templar, remembering his earlier anger, shot the assassin a venomous glare.
"Zev," Bannon interrupted, "go check the perimeter. Take Leliana with you," he added as the assassin seemed about to argue.
Bannon stepped closer to Alistair. He did recognize the swords. A wave of melancholy washed over him, but it wasn't that he'd liked the shem or anything. Look at the mess he'd landed Bannon in. Fighting the Blight was harder than escaping from prison.
"Duncan...," Alistair said. "Duncan killed this ogre. The first time."
Bannon nodded. He itched to take the swords, to try their balance. But he refrained. Alistair had been friends with Duncan. He'd probably want to keep all that was left of him.
Alistair lowered the blades to his sides and turned. "Then this is where... he died." He swallowed. "Where the Grey Wardens..."
Where the Grey Wardens fell. Alistair couldn't say it. His face creased in a frown. "But there's no sign of them. No armor, no... bodies." The rest of the battlefield was littered with bones and metal, fuel for the necromancer. Bannon recalled what Morrigan had told him, about the darkspawn picking through corpses. Feeding, I think. He shuddered and decided not to tell Alistair about that.
Unfortunately, the witch was nearby, and she didn't mind sharing her morbid knowledge. "The darkspawn must have dragged them off after the battle."
Alistair scowled. "The darkspawn took them? But why? Where?"
Bannon shot her a warning glare, which she ignored, or didn't notice. "I know not."
"It doesn't matter now," the elf said, before she could speculate. "Morrigan, we should start heading out towards Flemeth's... home." He'd almost called it a 'hut,' but didn't think either witch would appreciate him insulting their domicile.
"You're leaving now?" Alistair asked.
"It seems safe enough, with that creepy genlock dead. Besides, if we want to get back before nightfall..." He squinted at the sky. It was nearing noon. He didn't expect the assassination to take all that long - if they didn't hit Flemeth fast and hard, they were going to be seriously screwed. But if they met pockets of darkspawn on the way, that would cause delays. He did not want to end up camping in the Wilds with Morrigan as their only guide again.
"You'd better get going, then," Alistair finished his thought. "We'll... take care of things here. Meet us up top, in the ruins. You know that grand hall?"
Bannon nodded, although the only thing left of the 'hall' was a floor and some broken pillars. It was where he'd been a part of the King's war council, a wide-eyed elf fresh out of his home city.
"The stone won't absorb the Taint like the ground. It should be safe there, for the night."
"All right. Hopefully, we'll be back in time to leave before dark." He turned to go.
"Wait."
Bannon turned back. Alistair seemed to realize he was still holding the swords. He lifted them. "You should have these."
"Me?"
"Well, you're the two-sword kind of Warden. Like... like Duncan was." Alistair's face began to crumple, but he controlled it.
"I thought you'd want to keep them."
"That would be... well, kind of selfish. And impractical. And... well... you... It would honor him better, I think, for a Grey Warden to wield them."
Bannon took the swords. "I... don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything. Or, you know... just say, 'Yes, I will kick darkspawn arse with these.'"
Bannon grinned. "You know I will."
===X===