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"Why the fuck are we wasting time here for?" I grumbled as we stood in the empty courtyard of Hightown. Garret took a moment to speak with the Rivaini woman back in the Hanged Man, and now I find myself accompanying him as he acted as her second in a duel. "Did Hawke suddenly forget the urgency of his first quest for the sake of a pair of pretty legs and wanting eyes?"

"Whoa, slow down there, big guy!" Varric cautions, "There's no harm in lending a hand every now and then. In this case, we're making another friend for future quests. It's a wise move for Hawke, don't you agree?"

"No, I do not." I crossed my arms, "But alas, here I am, holding up my end of the bargain. You know what? That's enough whinging from me…"

"Argh." Isabela paced around nervously in front of us, "We've been here for hours, Hayder still hasn't shown up. I don't like this."

"And rightly so." I pointed up the path, "Look there. We've got company."

"That's the wench we're looking for!" A group of armed brigands emerged from the shadows. "Gut her!"

As soon as they were in range, I called down a bolt of lighting from the sky, letting the shaft strike the ground where our enemies stood. They were clustered together, so the resulting shockwave threw them off balance and disintegrated those unfortunate enough to stand directly in the way of the bolt to ash. "Finally, I was getting a little bored." The blade scrapes noisily against the scabbard as I drew it out.

I waded into the thick of it, as was my habit, calling the most of their attention while the pirate weaved in and out, slicing exposed wrists and throats wherever she could find. Archers came at me from behind and loosed their shafts. Arrows bit into my skin as they bore through the thinning chainmail, thumping loudly when I caught them with my shield- just barely saving myself from death.

"You alright, Langerd?" Varric calls in concern.

"I'm fine!" I growled angrily, wrenching a handful of shafts free from my body. "Fuck off, dwarf!"

The dwarf shrugs, unfazed by my outburst, "Just saying, those arrows are beginning to make you look like a pin-cushion."

My sword slices through the thin cloth covering the archer's body and lops his waist from under his chest, adding to the growing pool of gore under our feet. Lightning crackles through Hawke's hands as he conjures a blast to throw the enemy swordsmen off their feet. These brigands lacked the necessary training to see their ambushes through, which was fortunate for the group. I cannot allow Hawke to die on my watch, otherwise there would be hell to pay when his sister confronts me with the matter. I owe her that much, anyway.

A few minutes later, the battle ends, with us victorious once more. Isabela wipes the blood off her swords and bends down to inspect the corpse of the brigand leader. She whips out a crumpled ball of paper with some ink words scribbled hastily on its page. She frowns upon reading it, "Hiding in the Chantry and sending thugs to finish me off? Coward." The pirate walks in the direction of the cathedral, "He'll not get away with this, come on."

"Here." Varric hands me a bottle of red liquid, "This might help with your wounds."

I push away the gift and fish for the estus flask, "No thank you." The liquid fire purges my system of all injuries and cauterizes the wounds. "I trust my own miscellany than those pathetic excuses for potions."

"Hm, interesting stuff. Where can I get one of those?" Garret asks as we approach the threshold of the church building.

"Ask your Prophetess, maybe one day she'll throw one down from the heavens." I answered, knowing that sentence would be viewed on with skepticism.

The man rolled his eyes, "Fine, forget I asked."

The chantry doors swivel open with a loud creak, we enter cautiously, eyes scanning the large interior for any signs of another ambush. This time, however, it was a less subtle confrontation. A man walks out from behind the Maker's golden image, holding a large sword adorning strange markings from his homeland- probably from Antiva. This was Hayder, the man the pirate was supposed to duel this night. He caused a great fuss for the group, wasting our time, and so that was reason enough for me to kill him. "Isabela. Should've known you'd find me here."

"Tell your men to burn their letters next time." Isabela retorted.

"There won't be a next time." I muttered, clearing my mind to prepare a set of spells for the upcoming battle. I notice Garret do the same, and Varric keep a finger on the crossbow trigger.

"Castillon was heartbroken when he heard about the shipwreck." Hayder paced around in front of his men, all better armed and dressed for the occasion. "You should've let him know you survived."

"It must've slipped my mind."

Hayder chuckles and shakes his head, "Alright, Isabela, where's the relic?"

There was a pause as the pirate girl gauges her words carefully, "I lost it. Castillon's going to have to do without."

"Lost it? Just like you 'lost' a ship full of valuable cargo?"

"They weren't cargo, Hayder! They were people!"

"Those slaves were worth a hundred sovereigns a head, and you let them scurry off into the wilds! And now the relic's gone too, Castillon won't be happy to hear that- I promise you!"

This new bit of information made me frown at the pirate girl, "So, you're a slaver too?" My hand reaches for my sword, "Fucking degenerate."

"First off, I'm not a slaver." Isabela answered, "We can discuss this after we finish off my dueling opponent, then you can decide whether or not you'd have a go at me. Sounds good?"

I grunted as a response and readied myself as she whips out her dagger and throws it at one of Hayder's companions, killing the marauder instantly. The moment the body drops, Hayder and his men rush forward in a reckless assault, spurred on by a mad desire for blood as all pirates do when they lack the skill. I used this to my advantage and walked circles around each opponent I faced in the Chantry. I stabbed, parried, spun around, and tossed in a fireball or two, but never used all of my strength for the battle alone. Since Hawke dragged me along to this unnecessary fight, I'm gonna let him sweat for it.

The Chantry was filled with the noise of battle that I was surprised the city guard or the Templars hadn't shown up at the door by now. Kirkwall had fallen lax in its security, Aveline better step up her game.

It took a damn long while before Hayder and his men were defeated, their bodies were dragged across the church floor and out into the courtyard. I looted my share of coin from the corpses and prepared for my departure, having my fill of this endeavor and desiring a swift return home.

Riven's company was more preferable to me than this lot.

"Leaving already, Langerd?" Garret inquires.

"I've had enough for the night, Hawke." I replied, pushing the heavy doors out of my way. "I'll be ready when the morning comes. Just call when you need my services again."

I hear an amused chuckle from Isabela, "Oh, that just doesn't sound right."

I ignored her and walked out of the Chantry, heading into the main street that will lead me out of Hightown and into Lowtown. Through the dimly lit corridors, I watched with wary eyes on each side, seeing gathered bands of thieves and other scoundrels waiting for their next victims to wander in. They parted from my path when they see the gleam of my sword halfway out of its sheath, much to my satisfaction, and let me pass without incident until I came upon the street where my house stood.

But just as I was about to step into threshold of the inn, a dark portal opens up beneath me, and charred hands reach out from the chasm! They grab onto me and drag me down!

Cursing and struggling for all my worth to get free, I watched helplessly as the portal swallows me up, taking me to an unknown realm to face the forces of darkness.

I find myself upon a cracked and burning hellscape, where charred skeletons made up segments of the floor. I quickly regain my stance and draw my weapon, glancing about to get some semblance of an idea where I was.

The sky bled with bright red, mirroring the rivers of molten rock that flowed from the towering spires around me. Tormented souls moan in the wind, emanating from half-buried bodies that reached out and clawed at the air, desperate to grasp at something to lift them up from this purgatory.

This was not Limbo, it was an arena, where the Dark One watches me perform to its amusement.

So on one hand, I have the Maker concerned with saving his own skin when armageddon comes, and his malevolent twin who finds joy in thrusting me against his minions like a demented game. I'm not sure which god deserves to stand triumphant in the aftermath of the final war.

Red bolts of lightning strike from the hellish skies, shattering the earth and bringing forth the Dark One's champions.

I knew it was only a matter of time before they would make another attempt at me. But one thing stood out…why now? They had plenty of opportunities to do so before I even met Riven or Andraste. Could it be that they've caught on to the Maker's plan? If so, it seemed the darksign on me beckons great danger. Like a flame that draws the moth, I endanger not only myself but the child in my care as well!

For the moment, I set these thoughts aside, focusing all my attention on the Dark Champions.

Lately, I've faced the Pursuers- the bloodhounds of the Dark One, as they would seem. I've also faced against the Darkwraith knights, hunters called to the chase. But all those pale in comparison to the greater ones at the Destroyer's disposal. Even though I've grown accustomed to death, I began to fear the worst should it come to pass.

The ground gave way to the First, a titan that stood at a good ten feet above me. Yet this was just a hollow vessel. It stood motionless as it rose above the bleeding earth, hunched over and bearing massive twin maces that were easily the size of a grown man. A snake-like creature worms its way out of the magma-encrusted chasm and up into the open chestplate, uttering a brief snarl at me before beckoning the titan to close down on it.

The moment the chestplate shuts, the glyphs on the titan's armor blaze with green light, and the collosus rears back to prepare a devastating blow. I had but a second to react, and I did so quickly, narrowly dodging the attack as the titan barrels past me. So strong was the titan's swing that it broke the floor where I stood and the resulting shockwave threw me across the arena!

I grunted as I hit the wall, picking myself from the tormented souls grabbing onto my arms and moving towards the titan, sword and shield at the ready. "Come on! Is that all you've got?"

In response of my challenge, the chestplate opens, and I see the flash of green emanate from the creature within before a gout of flame spews from its mouth! I crouch low and bring up my shield, feeling the metal heat up from the hellish stream as the titan throws all it had at me.

Gritting my teeth and surmounting all my doubts, I push against the torrent and move ever closer to the titan, straining until I could no longer withstand the heat growing into my armor. I utter a curse as I feel the cloth of my cape catch fire and burn away from my back, grunting in agony as the flames seep into the chainmail, but I stayed true to my course- thrusting my weapon forward all of a sudden and stabbing the titan right in its chest.

The creature stops spewing flames for a moment and wraps itself instinctively over the sword and slithers up my arm. I drop the blade just as the thing lunges for my face! "Gah! Get off me, you son of a bitch!" I growled, feeling its body coil over my neck in an attempt to break it.

There was a brief struggle as I wrestle with the creature, until I managed to wrench it free, only to have the thing wrap around my arm instead. A pause was shared, before I heard the sickening snap of bone breaking and a sharp pain jolt up and down my left shoulder! Snarling in fury, I drop my heated shield and grab onto the snake's head, pulling against it with all the strength my undead limbs could muster. With a broken arm, it was difficult, but I managed to tear the creature in half and end the fight. Ink-black blood spurts from the creature's body, and though dead, it twitches about in my hands.

Heaving with my exertions, I took a moment to rest and drank deeply from the estus flask. That gift of Andraste turned out to be pretty useful, and I was grateful to have it.

The creature had a very strong soul, and I reveled in the feeling of satisfaction it gave when I devoured it. Like a lion savoring the lamb, I took another moment to gaze at my bloody handiwork, then moved on to find a way out of this hellscape. To my surprise, I found a Bonfire sitting outside the arena! A link to the other worlds, and the most convenient means of transportation compared to beast or machine. I smiled and cast my hand over the shrine, frowning with confusion when the flames that erupted from its pyre was as black as night.

The flames danced and rose higher and higher, until the blackness transformed into a malevolent being that could only be the manifestation of Darkness itself!

It had no voice, but the silence was deafening. It had no face, but fear found its icy fingers over my cursed heart. The darksign burns strong on the skin upon my back, driving me to my knees before the Dark One. Nahr Alma reaches into me, his thin and long fingers sinking into my mortal vessel until they dip into the well of souls swirling within me. I felt him taste of the waters, but he withdraws.

Though my intentions in performing Andraste's tasks were noble, I still served the Dark One by default, spilling blood and drinking souls as was the nature of the darksign- which was his creation.

I knew this to be true, and it shames me.

The Dark One departs as quickly as he appears and leaves the bonfire back to its original state. My eyes fall to the sword stuck in the middle of the shrine, and they widen as I realized what Nahr Alma left behind.

It was dark, like obsidian, as the skies when the moon and stars with-held their light. It gleams with eldritch energies as the fires burned around its blade. The handle was of polished silver- or some metal forged from a meteor. Also, it was shorter by a foot compared to my geisteel sword.

A gift from the Dark One himself? Why?

Oh, the irony of it all. He never spoke to me, yet by his actions alone, he claims me as his servant- the same way the Maker did when he plucked me from the woods in Orlais. At least in that instance, Andraste was around to smoothen things out.

Should I accept this gift? Or turn it away?

My hand was already upon its hilt, and I feel as though the blade called to me. The better half of me remained strongly against it, but the other…the beckoning was too strong. I pick the obsidian blade from the bonfire and hold it up, finding the beauty in its malevolent gleam. The moment I accept the weapon, I felt some piece of me detach and enter the blade, much like an inexplicable bonding ritual. It left me unharmed, but doubting the wisdom guiding my actions.

I kneel before the bonfire and thought of the last place I've been in Thedas- the threshold of my house- and allowed the mists of time and space to wrap around me.

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