Hello all. I apologize for neglecting this fic for so long. I had to deal with some pretty traumatic life events over the past few months and was just lacking the energy I needed to dedicate to this tale. Life is getting back to somewhat normal now, and after taking some time to evaluate where I want this story to go, I will be getting back at it. There is going to be a time hop, and the following is just to get everyone up to speed on where we will be picking up from here. Thanks to everyone who stuck around, and I hope you continue to read and enjoy. – Riddle of Strider
Chapter 20: The Sundering of Thedas
Two years after the Antivan Uprising…
War rages across Thedas. In the north, the Empire is engaged in a vicious conflict to wrest control of Antiva from rebel Nationalists and subdue their allies in the Free Marches. Kirkwall, Ostwick, Markham, and Windervale have all fallen to Imperial forces. Only a valiant counterattack by the combined forces of Starkhaven, Ansburg and Tantervale under the command of Prince Sebastian Vael managed to halt the Imperial advance.
In the south, the Grand Army of Thedas, comprised of the Inquisition, Orlais, and Tevinter launched a full scale invasion of Imperial occupied Ferelden, crossing the Frostbacks from Skyhold, Sahrnia and Sulevin's Cradle. It is the largest military coalition in recorded history with the blessing of an Exalted March declared jointly by the Andrastian and Imperial Chantries. The allied army penetrated Ferelden as far as the Hinterlands before encountering the Southern Imperial Army, setting the stage for the largest confrontation between Thedosian and Tamrielan forces since the invasion of Thedas over three years ago.
For several months, the two colossal armies clashed in the Hinterlands, neither able to gain the upper hand before the Emperor marched from Denerim to personally take command of the Imperial Army.
The Battle of Calenhad's Hold was the turning point. The Dragonborn unleashed the full fury of his Dragons and Centurions on the Thedosian forces. Victory for Tamriel seemed inevitable until, unlooked for and unexpected, another score of Dragons descended from the skies and attacked the enemies of Thedas. At their head was a great white Dragon, larger and more powerful than any ever seen. Both armies fell back, and for three days watched in fear and awe as the dragons battled each other. By the end, the field was littered with the carcasses of the great beasts, the survivors of the maelstrom having fled in every direction.
Once again the armies drew up their lines for battle. The Dragonborn Emperor donned his armor and sword, and for the first time in over a century, was at the front of his army. The Emperor was a force of nature. Fear went before him and followed after him. His mere presence was enough to send stout-hearted soldiers from three of the greatest armies in Thedas running in fear. Those who remained could not touch him, could not even get close to him. He laid waste to all in his path with sword and spell and the power of the Voice. Once again the Imperial Army seemed on the verge of victory, and that the Emperor would single-handedly break the Thedosian Alliance.
One soul stood against him. He walked calmly onto the field of corpses, eyes shining with the light of a thousand stars and wreathed in blue flame. With a cry that echoed like thunder in the mountains, Solas Fen'Harel challenged the Dragonborn.
What followed was a cataclysmic clash of wills between two men who were more divine than mortal. It climaxed with a flash of blinding light and a deafening explosion that laid waste to everything for miles around.
Fen'Harel and the Dragonborn were nowhere to be seen.
The shock and awe of the clash of gods sapped the will to fight from both armies with neither able to claim the victory. The Imperial army withdrew to the town of Lothering and fortified battle lines that stretched from there all the way to the edge of the Kocari Wilds. The Inquisition and its allies established headquarters at West Hills. Both armies have been holding their respective positions for the better part of eight months.
According to official reports from the Empire and the Inquisition, both Solas and the Emperor were found alive but severely wounded shortly after their encounter. However, neither has been seen since.
The once verdant Ferelden Hinterlands were left a blackened wasteland now known as the Desolation. Nothing grows, and even the carrion eaters do not venture there to feed on the veritable banquet of rotting flesh. Rifts in the Veil are abundant, and the land is rife with demons and restless spirits. Darkspawn war parties scavenge the land, drawn from their subterranean strongholds by the scent of death and decay, spreading their own Blight sickness.
Patrols sent by both sides into the Desolation rarely return, and those that do recount the horrors that lurk there. The war is far from over, but neither the Imperials nor the Allies are willing to risk a full scale assault across the Desolation, and so they hold their positions. Planning, waiting for an opportunity.
But today, one man is braving the long dark of the Desolation. Alone and surrounded by dangers and terrors, a single Imperial soldier is picking his way through the killing fields. His back is to his own comrades, his face is toward the enemy. He is driven by desperation and fear, fear of what he has discovered.
He must stay alive long enough to reach the Inquisition and its allies, and he must get their leaders to listen to him. The fate of both Tamriel and Thedas hang in the balance, and if he fails, a fate worse than death awaits them all.