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First Enchanter Irving was leaning on his staff utterly exhausted, and he was not alone. His fellow Circle Mages, relatively safe behind the clash of arms, were all showing their weariness. None of his fellow Circle Mages were used to fighting; sustained combat was completely beyond the experience of some, even after the demon attack on the tower. Discarded vials of Lyrium scattered the ground and supplies were running low. For all the damage they had done he knew the battle was still raging, and still in the balance.

A Dalish Keeper approached him. The Dalish, and those Apostates who had joined them, looked far better. A lifetime of living in the wilderness had evidently made them far more resilient than his own people, Irving quickly decided.

"How are your people faring, Keeper of the Circle?" Irving had been called that by several of Dalish. The Templars scowled behind their visors every time they heard it but the First Enchanter found it amusing.

"We are unused to this of course," Irving answered "but we will keep going all the same."

"They do fight well for prisoners," allowed the Keeper. The Templars redoubled their glares at that, which the Keeper loftily ignored.

"The Archdemon's coming!" yelled a lookout.

There was fear on every face. But there was no panic. They had been warned. They had time. Archers notched their bows. Bolt throwers were elevated skywards. And the Mages drained the last of their precious lyrium and remembered lessons that had learned for so many years.

Irving smiled. He had never been prouder.

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The great dragon was in agony. Its' ruined eye was crippling enough but the torn and punctured wings... it was time to leave. The horde below was weak; and too small. It would go back to the Darkness, recover and rise again, somewhere far from here, without warning...

The sky was ablaze. Arrows, bolts and magic of all kinds surrounded the Archdemon. Many missed, many did not. The creature attempted to evade them but its' wings were too damaged for such sudden finesse. Hexes slowed and weakened the fell creature further. One wing was almost frozen solid by half a dozen ice spells only to be hit by several shattering shots that barely left the bones in place.

It couldn't stay in the air. The Archdemon could only roar in impotent rage and pain. Its' glorious wings were damaged almost beyond repair. It was already falling, albeit slowly. The tainted old god tried to land as best it could and as far from the battle as possible. But the pain was too great... fatigue swept over it and the beast landed on a small hill, staggering clumsily with the effort. The battle was still clearly within sight and now an army stood between the horde and its' wounded master.

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The roar of the fallen Archdemon was indeed heard by all, despite the din of battle. Those responsible for bringing down the creature cheered, the more optimistic believing it was the beast's death throes.

On the front lines any reaction was muted, a few newer soldiers paused but the experienced troops fought on with steely determination. After all, the battle was still raging and any distraction could be fatal.

Upon the city walls Warden Commander Trevelyan barked orders at those around him. Time was of the essence and he knew it.

Behind the shield wall Odin Brosca lowered his crossbow. He had seen it, as had Loghain. Riordan, who had stood further down the line to help spread the Darkspawn strikes, joined up with them. He did not mince words.

"It's time."

The two Grey Wardens nodded, as did all those who fought with them. Horses had been set aside for this eventuality, time was short.

As for the Darkspawn the roar made them redouble their efforts. Their master had summoned them and they would slaughter all who stood in their way. And, by an infernal chance their path was through the weakest point of the allied army.

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In between the anvil of the Shield Wall and the hammer of the Feralden armies a gap had emerged. A gap that now had every Darkspawn charging straight for it in an effort to reach the fallen Archdemon. Everyone had been caught off guard by this sudden change of tactics. If they reached the grounded Archdemon the Grey Wardens would be overwhelmed and the day would be as good as lost. And at that moment only a handful of warriors stood in their way.

But they were not ordinary soldiers. They were the Legion of the Dead. And they do not run.

Leske stood next to commander Kardol who was murmuring an old verse. The former Carta thug found it oddly comforting as the horde rampaged towards them.

"When from the blood of battle the Stone had fled, let the heroes prevail and the blighters lie dead."

The Legionaries charged; armed with a variety of weapons they targeted leading Darkspawn. Alphas and Emissaries were slain in an attempt to break the cohesion of the horde. Outnumbered hundreds of times over the Legion's fearless strike caused mayhem but one by one even the most stalwart warrior were overwhelmed and killed.

Leske, like his oldest friend Odin, had learned to fight at a very young age. The gutters had taught him to shrug off injures, that almost anything can be used as a weapon and that no trick is too dirty if you're fighting for your life. He hacked, slashed and stabbed his way through the enemy. How many fell he could not say, even if he'd known how to count properly.

The Legion could not win this fight, but they did not need to. As the melee swung back and forth reinforcements arrived from all sides. A section of the Dwarven shield wall had broken off and swung around, slamming into the flank of the charging creatures. On the other side Feraldan knights, followed by men at arms and Dalish Archers also struck. Meanwhile those Darkspawn still at the city walls saw one of the great gates open and a stream of fresh troops sally out.

As for those Darkspawn who had lead the horde towards their downed Archdemon they faced an all together different threat. A force that had been held back precisely to stop any Darkspawn escaping the trap, and it was commanded by a Paragon.

Caradin, his soul still trapped in a steel cage of his own design, as he had done to so many others before him, stomped forward. He had planned to end his cursed existence as soon as the Anvil of the Void could do no further damage. But the Warden had been right; better to die killing Darkspawn and atoning for his mistakes. After all those monsters were why he created the anvil in the first place; without them... so much would have been different.

He was not the only Golem on the field, four others were with him. They had stood alongside him for centuries and would stand with him once more. When the Darkspawn made their move Caradin had led his fellow up a small slope that stood directly in their path. As the Legion fought and the other forces began to close in Caradin charged. His golems followed, the five of them forming an arrowhead. Their charge was truly thunderous, their bulk alone was dangerous enough but with downhill momentum it was cataclysmic. The first line of Darkspawn were trampled underfoot, many reduced to paste. Stone and steel fists crushed bones and armour and bodies were broken underfoot.

Caradin had never been a warrior. He had been born into the Smith Caste and Paragons do not fight unless they choose to. But right now he felt like a warrior, striking down all he faced. Were he still a dwarf he would be smiling, but there again if he were still a dwarf he would not be able punch an Ogre in the face.

The Darkspawn reeled from these counter attacks. In their desperation the Darkspawn had made themselves vulnerable and had been cut to pieces for their trouble. The breakout had failed and a ragged cheer arose from the soldiers as they advanced upon their foes.

But Leske did not see or hear any of this. He had already fallen, daggers in his hands and blood from a dozen wounds soaking the ground.

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