Story note:

Dragon Age is property of Bioware. Original characters are mine, and are to be treated as such. If you want to adopt some of my AU changes then, please, do so.

A smaller chapter, that might prove to be a tad bit confusing, but is actually crucial for the overall plot of my story. And not just this story, but the overall plot that'll span into DA2 and beyond. At least, that's my plan.

In the next chapter, we'll returned to some established characters and look how life treats them in this alternate Dragon Age universe of mine.

Enjoy! And, as always, please leave a review and I shall be a very happy author.

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In An Age Full Of Heroes

Chapter IX

Arise ancient history

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The ghost wandered aimlessly. Though, did he really wander? He felt no fatigue in his legs. Upon looking down he remembered why. He had no legs. What ghost, after all, has a need for legs? How stupid of him to forget. His memory wasn't what it had once been. He was sure of that, because he couldn't remember anything. It must've been better once, mustn't it?

Like a reflection of the ghost's insides, were laid out his surroundings. As far as his non-existent eyes could see. Desolation. Forgotten and abandoned. A sea of grey ash, dunes here and there like seen in a desert. Just not out of sand. The air, putrid and tasting of ash. Anybody but him would surely choke on the miniscule flakes of ash occupying the breathless air like idle snowflakes. Thankfully the ghost had no need for air. Peeking out of nearly every crevasse, creak, peak, turning, cave and whatnot existing on this desolate ash desert, were brownish and cracked bones, some even brittle. Discoloured by the eternal passage of time. Bones, large and small, huge and towering, some three times as the ghost's non-existent eyes' height level. Like arches and balustrades of a lumbering domed edifice.

A despairing sight, even for someone past death's door.

A question he, surely, must've asked himself countless of times popped into his mind. How did he get here? Past death's door, that is.

It must've been an inconceivably long time ago, for him to forget his own death. Surely, it must've been. A soothing notion, yet also distressing.

Had it been through old age, a gentle slumber taking him ever deeper until darkness had swallowed him? Or a villainous foe's sharp blade eviscerating him on the battlefield, leaving him with unfulfilled hopes and dreams, dying on a bloody battlefield, begging his wife and children for forgiveness? Maybe the knives of politics had stabbed him in the back, hubris, his enemies underestimated in their cunning slyness or their brutal viciousness.

The ghost couldn't remember. But now that he thought about it, it suited him fine. Something to think about, filling the time he'd spend here, wandering aimlessly without legs. Thoughts were, after all, the only thing that could occupy him. Thoughts as food to quench his boredom.

Something caught his non-existent eyes ahead. A glimmering piece of something, the light falling down just in the right angle. Another mystery, that. The light and were it always came from. What with the ever overcast sky and the incomprehensible existence of this sickly illumination painting the ashen seas, yet nowhere visibly piercing the clouds. Alas, though-food for another time. He wasn't hungry right now. Later, maybe. That is, if he didn't forget to think about this intriguing puzzle. Back to more important things. Glimmering and glittering up ahead.

The ghost bent down, his non-existent legs still feeling no fatigue.

A piece of pottery. The first sign of life – or past life – he could remember. Writhing and wrenching, the ghost, overcome by a giggling fit of sarcasm, thrashed in the ashes, though they remained entirely undisturbed. What he could remember, ha! Good one.

With imaginary fingers, not actually matter in the sphere of existence the ghost wandered, he touched the broken piece of pottery.

Painful flaring.

Mind set alight.

Rivers rushing by his ears.

Slowly everything subsided. And something forgotten rose anew. From ancient times, long past, not even a whisper of it in history tomes. So long it has been. The ashen seas, rolling dunes like waves shifted into actual sand. Ragged stones and dry brushes rose out of the sandy ground. Life returned. Scorpions, spiders, salamanders, stray hounds and desert foxes among others. The ghost's viewpoint rose. No, the sand under him rose, forming a dune. And, with countless others of its kind, a huge basin was born out of long forgotten memory.

Then, from that very basin, cobblestone roads were born. Like a huge cobweb, criss-crossing over the entire flat ground below. Next came shabby huts and houses of all kinds. Made from wood and stone. A few temples, dedicated to gods and goddesses of ancient times, clad in bas-reliefs of beasts and humans alike. Bustling markets and bazaars, canopied by sun-bleached fabric rustling in the desert wind. Lastly, bipedal shapes appeared, wandering the desert town, all with missions of their own. May that be shopping for groceries, journeying to the local well or simply paying a visit to relatives, they all had a personal mission driving them. The newly arisen town bustled with activity. At the far end of the basin a decrepit looking tower stood guard, vigilantly gazing over the ancient town.

The ghost, eager, marched down the sand dune and into the town. He pretended to be just one of the living creatures here, though they all paid him no heed. A ghost after all. He revelled in the experience, joyful just to see life and activity around him. Maybe he'd even be able to remember something. What a cheerful thought, it elevated him.

With his spirits higher than ever – at least as far, as the ghost remembered – he walked down streets and alleyways at a languid pace. Watching people and their day to day activities. Sometimes the ghost even caught scraps and shreds of their conversation. Bartering, greeting and small-talk surrounded him.

Something shifted in the air, unnatural. Not right, it shouldn't exist here, the ghost felt as much. But the people didn't, or didn't care. He had arrived at a small plaza in the middle of a grand bazaar. A marble statue on a block of stone decorated its middle. A short man, features as regal as would befit a king or an emperor, he leaned on a cane.

A rumble shook the air, sounding as if it'd swallow the world whole. Now, peculiarly, people did notice. Heads turned, into the decrepit looking tower's direction.

A man stood atop, hands spread like an eagle. Cloth fluttering in the wind. His voice carried throughout the entire town. Yet, the ghost couldn't understand. For the man spoke in a language the ghost had never heard. It sounded very rustic, harsh.

When the man atop the tower finished his rant, a blinding flash of light arced down from the heavens above, striking the tower. Stone turned brittle, then exploded outward. Covering nearly half the town in a shower of stone and mortar. Shrieking ensued.

The sky tore open, alight with sickly green flame. The ground trembled. And out charged creatures of most horrid nightmares, unleashed and now happy to ravaged and terrorise the mere mortals below. The man atop the tower – clearly a sorcerer – had stared over the edge of the abyss and lost. Now everybody paid the price for . . . whatever it had been the sorcerer searched for.

Ghastly monsters, some with bodies of fire, and others only a shape of gnarled and twisted flesh, then some littered with thousands of mouths – tiny and large – snarling with dagger-like fangs. Savagely, they all attacked the citizens of the town. Tearing the limb from limb and piece from piece. Savagely breaking bone to suck them dry of marrow. The thousand-mouths often stopped to chew out chunks, nibble on an exposed organ, then continued on, in search of new prey.

The ghost could only stare, aghast at what he saw. Why, just his luck, to stumble upon this ancient piece of the past which drove stakes of terror into his being. All around him, buildings crumbled or caught fire. People screamed their deadly terror out loud, curses for the sorcerer on their lips.

Just then, the sorcerer appeared besides the ghost. His clothes hanging in tattered pieces from his battered frame. The sorcerer mumbled under his breath, 'Damned fool. What drove me to this, to think I wouldn't repeat past mistakes? Hubris, is the answer, you idiot. Now don't stand here and do nothing.'

The sorcerer sighed heavily, drew a dagger and cut his palm. Then, 'Witness, you all and make sure that no one repeats my mistake.'

Limping, the sorcerer stalked forward and unleashed wave after wave of his power. Even the ghost could feel its immensity, the raw strength emitted by this sorcerer's aura. Writhing waves battered away at the droves of monsters, driving the back, stripping them of flesh, extinguishing their fires. Yet, the sorcerer's wizardry couldn't distinguish between these ghastly creatures born from the deepest depths of the abyss and normal people. Everyone caught, sooner or later, lost the fight against the deathly sorcery, turned to ash.

The ghost could only watch on, doing the sorcerer's bidding in bearing witness. Hopefully he'd remember, what for he didn't know rightly. At least not right now.

Impressively, the sorcerer managed to destroy nearly all of the creatures pouring out of the angry-looking breach in the sky. Yet, it came at a heavy price. Nearly half the town wrecked, nothing left but a few blocks of scorched stone and wood. Other than that, only ashes of monsters, buildings and people.

For all his sorcerous prowess, the mage couldn't close the greenish breach dominating the sky. So, naturally, ever more and more creatures poured forth, each one ghastlier than its predecessor. Giant winged spiders with scything blades instead of legs. Stocky reptiles with arms and legs all over their torsos, keeping them in motion at any time, thus enabling them to swing their muscled tails like clubs. Tallish creatures made from wood, their limbs lanky, hoarding swarms of tiny blood-sucking insects, draining people dry of life. It continued on and on, the ghost already numb to the horrors and the suffering around him. With dull, non-existent eyes he witnessed. Nothing else to be done.

The sorcerer stood fast, holding the droves of eerie monsters back with all his might. Nonetheless, he slowly failed. His power leaving him, the creatures would soon overpower him.

Then, another roar split the air. There, out of the eye of the greenish breach in the sky, a massive scaled head appeared. Armed with fangs the size of razor-sharp daggers. It opened its mouth and spewed hellish fire, turning the rest of the town to smouldering crisps. Finally escaped into this new realm, the massive beast – a dragon of unfathomable size – circled above, content for now with its newfound freedom and the destruction it had wrought.

The short sorcerer, mouth agape, simply stared. Either no power or no fight left in him.

'No, no, no! Damned shite.' He backed away slowly, 'Fly you fool. But what about the people? Look around, you lunatic, nothing but ashes. Someone has to survive. Right, survive.'

With that the sorcerer took his legs into his hands and ran. Faster than the ghost could ever have anticipated. Soon only a dot on the horizon. None of the hellish creatures followed, they were content with finishing off and feeding on what few survivors remained.

Then, everything shivered and, like mist, the memory faded, the ashen sea slowly returned, embracing everything from horizon to horizon, once again. What few corpses and toppled carcasses of former huts, houses and temples still existed paled away into non-existence, leaving only bleached and cracked bones.

Once again, the ghost stood alone. Completely drained, everything inside him flat and dulled from what he'd witnessed.

Unexpectedly, the ghost startled at a soft whisper, floating in the air, caressing his non-existent ears.

'History, over and over again. A revisiting of mistakes. What once was can become again . . . '

'A convergence lies ahead.'

Then, nothing but silence.

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Author's note:

Please, tell me your opinion with a review or a private message (whatever you prefer), I'd very much like to hear it. They keep me going or, at least make it easier. Furthermore, without comments, criticism and encouragement I can't better myself. And I'm sure I can. Especially now, after my long absence, I want to know if you guys think I'm still on the right path or not. So, if you've anything to say, at all, please do so. I'm eager to listen.