The village of Lothering was dying, yet few knew it. Refugees from the southern reaches of the Bannorn were overwhelming the meager supplies of the once prosperous village, and the stories told of the ravenous hordes that came from the Korcari Wilds had caused many of the more well-off citizens to flee north in hopes of saving their own skins. The only thing that held the people of Lothering up in these dark times was faith in the Maker and His Chantry. The Revered Mother and the Templars did their absolute best to care for and protect all the children of the Maker, but even the mighty Templars could not hope to hold off the Horde if the King's Army failed at Ostagar. Word had come from camp followers and messengers that the King had yet won three victories against the Darkspawn without much in the way of casualties, and the King's army had still yet to be reinforced by the men of Highever, Amaranthine, Redcliffe, and the various Banns that had yet to gather their men. For this, there was much hope. Hope that just maybe this was no true Blight and that the refugees may yet be given back their homes.
In an ancient shrine that had sat behind the Chantry since its founding ages ago there came noise. Sister Marion had been taking a stroll through the gardens when she heard it. A scratching that reminded her of metal against stone. Her curiosity piqued, she walked into the old shrine and tried to find the source of the annoying scratching.
"There had better not be any rats here, Brother Gerald will have a fit" she spoke
absently to herself, giggling lightly at the image such things brought. "Ah! There you are" she had found the source of the noise, a door that she was certain was not there yesterday. The gate- for what else could it be?- was wrought of stone. Its edifice bare, but a small switch was present on the wall to its right. Her curiosity got the better of her, and not for a minute did she think to tell someone of her discovery. She pulled the small switch and flinched back when the gate began to descend into the stone floor. The other side of the gate was dark, unnaturally so, and she had to squint to make out even the large shape of the walls as they sloped down. It was then that she saw two pinpricks of light. Two glowing blue orbs floated about six and a half feet off the ground. As her eyes adjusted she saw a figure clad in armor. At his side, she saw a sheathed blade and it reached out to her. As his hand broke the threshold, Marion let out a panicked cry and bolted out of the shrine, crying all the while. The figure let his hand fall to his side and let out a sigh.
The Ashen One stepped through the threshold of his prison and sighed yet again. He had awoken on the cold, hard ground of the shrine's antechamber and had almost panicked as the absence of the Firekeeper became known. However, he had forced himself to remain calm. He knew he had to keep a clear mind, now more than ever. He would find the Firekeeper, Gwyn help him if he failed. The Ashen One walked out of the shrine just in time to be confronted by three men in heavy plate, a burning sword emblazoned upon their tabards.
"Halt, who are you and what business do you have at this Chantry?" the man in the front demanded. He appeared to be the leader of these knights.
"I am Sir Aaron, a Knight of Carim. I awoke in an antechamber of this shrine" the Ashen One replied, his voice surprisingly smooth for one such as he.
"What? And how did you get there? I do not have time for games," it was clear that the knight did not believe what he had said. He would have to come up with a reason other than death, for there was no mistaking the feeling he had felt as he passed out in the Firekeepers lap. He had died once again, so soon after completing his quest.
"I know not, the last thing I remember was engaging in combat with a group of brigands. They thought me dead and dragged my body into the chamber, I believe they said they would come back for my armor and weapons when night had fallen," the lie came naturally and convincingly, despite the unlikely thrift of the imaginary brutes.
The knight hummed, and Aaron was sure that he did not truly buy his lies. With a sigh, the knight spoke again, "Just get out of the Chantry Gardens, I cannot have you scaring the refugees or the Lay Sisters for that matter."
"Ah, yes, is the young woman from before alright? I did not mean to frighten her, but I was quite disoriented at the time," he spoke with sincerity, he truly had not meant to frighten her.
The knight's face softened somewhat and he said, "Yes, well that I will believe. Sister Marion is fine, it was quite a shock to find you, I'd say."
"Good, I should apologize, I think. Could you please point me in her direction?" The Ashen One inquired.
"She is inside, praying at the altar. If you are going inside, please, take off your helmet. You look far too intimidating as you are," the man all but ordered. Aaron obliged, his Cariman Basinet helm was pulled off to reveal the, apparently, young man beneath. His dark, shaggy hair fell messily about his face which was laid bare before the Templar. His appearance would not look out of place on a man just into his twenties, and indeed he had only been twenty-three at the time of his first death. However, his eyes told a far different story. They spoke of an ancient wisdom, and Ser Bryant had to stop himself from attempting to Smite the man where he stood. His eyes reminded him far too much of a possessed mage, the same feeling of ancient power was behind those eyes, yet he felt not the dark, foreboding malice that came with all demonic possessions.
"Thank you, you may go in, but please do not disturb the refugees and villagers. They have enough problems without having to worry about heavily armed brigands," Ser Bryant was doing what he could for the people here, and could ill afford brigands in the village itself.
"Of course, Ser. I will likely take my leave of the village before nightfall," Aaron then entered the door pointed out to him and came into a small chapel. It reminded him greatly of the churches of his homeland Carim. Though instead of Gwyn, Gwyndolin, and Gwynevere this church seemed to be devoted to a woman by the name of Andraste and the 'Maker'. In any case, he moved through the throngs of desperate refugees and came to the woman he frightened in the shrine. She looked to be a young lass, maybe around his physical age, and had her blonde hair done up in a bun. All told she was a rather fetching woman. Aaron cleared his throat and spoke, "Hail Milady, I am Sir Aaron of Carim, and I have come to apologize for frightening you. I was rather delirious, please forgive me." With that he kneeled before her, head bowed and right arm across his chest.
"Oh! Please, Ser, do not kneel. It is I who should apologize. I overreacted," Sister Marion appeared thoroughly embarrassed by her reaction to him. Though this did confuse the Cariman Knight, as he could imagine he made for a terrible sight in the dark of the shrine. Still, he rose from his position of supplication and gently took her hand, raising her knuckles to his lips and lightly kissing them.
"No, I can imagine how terrifying a sight I would have made. Now then, I must be on my way. I should be on my way out of the village by the end of the da-" he was cut off a feeling of pure dread. There was a darkness in the air. The room seemed to get colder, but he seemed to be the only one to notice. He could feel a presence, no... multiple presences, making their way towards the town. This feeling, one of dread and hunger, could have only come from one thing. Darkwraiths. They were here and they were advancing on the village.
"Ser? What's wrong?" came the concerned voice of the Sister. She looked ready to continue speaking but before she could he had jerked his head back up and shouted an order to Ser Bryant.
"You! Gather your men, the enemy is here!" with that the Knight all but threw his helmet on his head and rushed out the door. Ser Bryant looked astonished before motioning for Ser's Andrew and Geoffrey to follow him.