Prologue: The Story begins in the End

A lone figure stands against a bleak landscape that has been scarred by centuries of erosion, the winds that pass through these plains empty out into the sea, providing a strong consistent breeze that collapses into your ears like a persistent memory. The man is robed with a durable cloak made of wool; the broad shoulder plates concealed beneath hiding his true form. His eyes looked toward the horizon, they were pained, tired, but determined; he carried with him the visage of a man who has lost much and overcame much. It seemed through these years that death came easy, but duty, for him, was as heavy as a mountain. A silent prayer left his lips, not so much the sound, but the motions of syllables; the Maker had been a constant companion for him in these years of adversity. It was no empty comfort, faith had played a key role in keeping his mind focused and his morals in place, and while he often had disagreements with Andraste's Chantry, it did not deter him from pursuing a meaningful, and some would argue more authentic, spirituality. These moments of peace gave him time to reflect and meditate on what experience has brought him, what youth showed him, and what struggle had molded him into. He closed his eyes to listen to the world around him, the smell of the salty mist that emerged from the gentle crashing of waves below calmed him.

A squire clad in leather, with a steel breastplate emblazoned with a Griffin, emerged from the silence; his boots cracking against the brittle rocks underneath his feet. His face was youthful, vibrant, a much more recent recruit who survived the Joining.

"Warden-Commander, are you ready?"

It was one of his many titles; Hero of Fereldan, Champion of Redcliffe, Slayer of Urthemiel, Sunburst Saint to the Prophet Andraste, Husband to Leliana, the Divine Victoria. To those who knew him, he was simply Apollo. He was the son of Revka, of House Amell, a former Circle Mage.

His green eyes looked to the squire, there was a sense of trepidation in his glare, it lasted only a moment, but it was enough to catch the young man off guard. It was instinctual, not intentional. He composed himself and allowed the silence to fade away.

"Yes, Squire, take point. We're moving out."