Kneeling by the prone form of an injured barbarian, Albrecht Krieger applied a medicinal salve upon the wound of a man with a sword slash that cut across his chest and into the rib cage. The other barbarians, men and women who surrounded him were also tending to the injuries of their kin, some of whom would likely not make it without a proper surgeon or someone capable of using healing magic which the Warrior Priest doubted they would have. At the moment, he had no idea where in the world he was for it should not even be winter upon the Old World and yet he could feel the chill wind which cut to the bone like the blizzards of Kislev.

He could hear the foreign speech of the barbarians as they talked amongst themselves and he couldn't quite pinpoint what language they spoke for it certainly was neither Kislevarin nor was it Breton, Estalian, Tilean or any language spoken across the Old World. Each of them were dressed in thick furs with bows, axes, spears and other weapons which suggested that this group may be a hunting party. At the very least, he did not see any unholy symbols which would hurt the eyes to see nor were they murdering their wounded which at least showed that they were not like the savage northmen of the Chaos Wastes.

Was he perhaps somewhere in the east, past the World's Edge Mountains? Maybe close to the Mountains of Mourn where the Ogre Kingdoms lay or the Spice Route which led to the mysterious land of Cathay? It was possible but wherever he was, it definitely was not in either Middenland or the Empire for that matter. There was also something about this place which seemed… off, not in a purely physical sense to his surroundings but something much deeper. He inexplicably felt as if something which had been a part of him was now just gone and in its place was an emptiness, a sense of loneliness that affected the warrior at a deeply profound level.

Maintaining his composure and keeping an impassive face underneath his wolf skull mask, the Warrior Priest continued to assist in tending to the wounded. Until he could figure out where he was, it would be in his best interests to ingratiate himself to the barbarians who at least seemed human enough to the Albrecht.


'So I just drink this?' skeptically questioned Lothaire in Breton towards the rangers who had called themselves Grey Wardens while holding up a flask with a thick, syrupy red liquid inside. He sat upon the still armoured body of a dead monster with his left cuisse having been removed to reveal the breeches he wore under it, blood soaked the fabric which at least would not be expensive to replace.

Although the Paladin had in the past, imbibed restorative items such as healing draughts or elixirs, there occasionally was the chance that the alchemical mixture had already spoiled and some rather unpleasant side affect could occur such as a goitre, scabies, poisoning, mutation, death or bunions. As much as possible on the regular occasion of when he did need healing, Lothaire would have preferred to be tended to by a member of the Shallyan Sisterhood or perhaps even a physician with leeches to remove the ill humours from his body. Still, he supposed that these fellows knew what they were doing for the pale, tattooed man had been able to quite painfully but quickly, extricate the crossbow bolt which had pierced the Bretonnian's thigh.

'Do not worry, it is quite safe I can assure you Ser Knight' nodded the lead ranger who was named Arion as he his hands rested upon the pommels of two odd looking blades which were made of a whitish metal with rune stones placed along the hilt as the man, along with his companions were keeping an eye out to the horizon as they checked to make sure the the creatures they had called Darkspawn, were truly dead.

With a nod, Lothaire then set the flask down beside him with the bottom lying flat on the ground and he placed his gauntleted hands upon the side of his antlered helmet. Lifting up the protective headgear which was decorated with the horns of a stag he had once hunted, he soon felt the frozen air caress the bare skin upon his bearded face. Picking up the flask again, the Paladin gave a quite prayer of protection to the Lady of the Lake before drinking it and as quickly as the thick concoction went down his throat, he immediately began to feel much better for the pain on his thigh faded away and the wound closed.

'Huh, well that's much better' commented Lothaire as he placed his helmet back on before strapping the cuisse to his leg.

Reaching for his mace and using the great weapon to help him stand up to his feet, the Paladin then nodded to the rangers and they silently turned away with him following in their wake as snow continued to fall from the sky above. Wishing that he had a thick cloak of Kislevarin fur to keep himself warm, he was forced to stoically bear the cold while maintaining a dignified stride. He followed these Grey Wardens out of the monster encampment where he could still see the tracks of those Darkspawn who had fled, if he had a regiment of his fellow knights or men at arms, he would have taken it upon himself to hunt down the foul things but such was not the case.

Before they left the camp, Lothaire picked up a torch along the way which he used to light his path as well as offering some much needed heat to keep himself warm. The journey through the harsh cold proved to be a grueling one for the paladin as he trudged through the snow which reached up to his knees. He wished that he had his steed with him but the noble creature had not been dragged along with him to wherever this place was.

In silence they would travel along the frozen wasteland with howling winds which cut to the bone blowing against them. Throughout the journey, Lothaire whispered prayers to the Lady of the Lake as a mantra, reciting passages from prayer books which gave him the will to persevere.


As the night passed and the sun rose in the sky, the hunting party were also relieved that the blizzard outside had abated. Roanoke organized his clansmen between those who could carry the wounded by using makeshift stretchers crafted from the bones and furs of the bears and others to keep watch for any more dangers which may hide among the snow, they soon set forth, moving as quickly and carefully as they could for there were those among the injured who needed far more care than the hunters could provide. At the front of the group was Roanoke with bow and arrow in hand while his daughter and those with keen eyes kept their own ranged weapons ready.

The wolf shaman, the old man of whom all he had been able to learn was named Albrecht, accompanied the hunting party with his maul tightly held in both hands. Despite the weight of his armor and the wolf fur cloak which offered some protection from the elements, the shaman did not seem to be bothered by even the slightest with the intense cold which surrounded them and it looked like he could even set the pace.

The hunting party would then travel for sometime throughout the cold morning, occasionally stopping to check on their injured clansmen before carrying on. It was later until almost noon that they finally arrived the temporary village of tents their clan had set up. Children, wives, husbands and other family members were quick to greet the returning hunters but the reunion which was usually one of joy would turn into tears and grief.

Seven hunters had died in the fighting with the Darkspawn, two more had expired in the morning and at least one man was running an intense fever. Those injured who had survived were quickly sent to the tent of their clan's shaman and the rest of the hunting party dispersed within the camp. Among those who were there to meet them was their clan's leader, Thane Ivar who was dressed in thick furs with a mighty greenish-grey Great Maul made from Veridium sheathed upon his back.

A worried look was on the face of the large, bearish man with a thick mane of black and grey hair who was well known as a wise leader and skilled warrior. Roanoke had much respect for the Thane who was fair and just in his judgment and would often ask others of their opinions on situations and how to make the best of it. For some time now, Roanoke had also been something of a right hand man to the Thane.

'What happened out there Roanoke?' asked the Thane as he briefly made a head count of the returning hunting party.

'We were attacked by Darkspawn' replied Roanoke in a quite tone and the Thane had a stunned look over his face for he too had also dismissed the Darkspawn sightings as only stories.

'Gods' whispered the Thane with disbelief as he looked away for a moment with a thoughtful expression. 'We will need to move the camp then' said the Ivar in a calm manner which carried with it a hint of more worry 'our village is just out in the open'.

'I agree' nodded Roanoke for they had no walls or even palisades around the camp 'but where do we go?'

'North' the Thane then said 'some of the other clans there have set up villages in the Kocari Wilds which have walls or deep water which surrounds them'.

'I will make sure to inform the others then' nodded Roanoke.

'No, you and your daughter should take what rest you can, I will organize the relocation' said the Thane as he laid a meaty hand upon Roanoke's shoulder and gave him a nod friendly which the huntsman returned.

'By the way' asked the Thane 'who was the outsider you brought in, the one wearing all that armor.'

'I don't know' shrugged Roanoke 'I think he is a shaman, definitely not one of us, Avvar maybe or even further from the north, doesn't speak a word of common.'

'I will try and have a talk with him then' spoke the Thane and the two parted ways with Roanoke wearily heading towards his tent.


The Grey Warden party and their knightly companion finally stopped at perhaps two hours past midnight to rest within an ancient circle of standing stones atop a snow covered hill which the Wardens had previously camped in. Many centuries worth of frost and rime covered the formation of stones which the local Chasind tribes knew nothing of who had built it; just that it had been there long before their ancestors had even begun wandering this land. Were Arion a scholar or some learned fellow who studied at an academy, perhaps he would have taken a deep interest in trying to figure out the history of this place but he was neither and as a Grey Warden, he appreciated the defensive position it held.

Aside from being placed upon high ground, there oddly were multiple positions around the hill which resembled redoubts. A small force of armed soldiers or mercenaries would have been enough to turn the hill into a make-shift bastion but such a thing would have only drawn too much attention for the chief weapons of the Grey Warden party was surprise and fear. Of course that may now be changed with this Chevalier who insisted that he was not from Orlais and that rather, he was from some country none of the Wardens had ever heard of called Bretonnia.

Still though, considering that the knight had fought very well against the Darkspawn, Arion was unwilling to turn away such a skilled a warrior who could be of great use to them, if the man did not freeze to death first that is for the Wardens all wore enchanted apparel which guarded them from the chill. Garth had given the Chevalier a few Ice Salves which offered only a temporary reprieve yet fortunately for their new guest, Anna and Cortez were already setting up a fire (by burning animal dung) and before long, they had a warm flame going on.

They melted snow for fresh water and roasted the meat of some local breed of deer which had been recently hunted by the Wardens and wrapped in a papery foil. Throughout the night, Arion further questioned the knight who seemed convinced that they were in some place called the Chaos Wastes which was supposed to be north from a nation called Kislev and that the knight had arrived here after a battle against some creatures called beastmen. The Grey Warden believed the knight must have either been insane or taken quite a few blows to the head for none of what the man said had made any sense.

In the end he decided to drop the subject and instead had focused on the current threat of the Darkspawn. By the time morning came, Arion had informed the knight on what was needed to be known about what the Darkspawn were and along with the duty of the Grey Wardens. Of course, he did leave out certain parts which of course was not needed to be known by those outside of the Grey Warden Order.


'You and you companions have an honourable duty monsieur Arion' commented Lothaire with a measure of respect for these Grey Wardens were dedicated to fighting evil and protecting people.

His respect for these Wardens, while fairly good, had lessened when he had learned that that everyone within their order was equal, regardless of whether they were born peasant, noble man or especially woman. It somewhat reminded him of those ridiculous followers of the southern goddess Myrmidia whose Knightly Orders such as the Blazing Suns of the Empire were known to accept peasants and women into their ranks. Still, he supposed that as bizarre as the ways of foreign folk could be, as long as they remained focused on smiting the servants of darkness and if they could do so with utmost efficiency then he would leave them to such uncouth methods.

'It is a bit of a thankless task on most days' shrugged the Grey Warden who was the only one among these Rangers whom the Paladin could commune with.

'But a necessary one for if what you say about these… Darkspawn are true' Lothaire then said as he took a sip from metal cup fill with melted snow-water 'vigilance itself should be its own reward'.

'Most people do not see it that way since the last Blight' then said the Grey Warden as the rest of his companions prepared to strike up their camp.

From what Lothaire had learned, these Blights which they believed was also happening now, was something similar to the great chaos invasions which occasionally occurred in the north. He had heard stories of The Great War fought in Kislev centuries earlier where the Men of the Empire, the Dwarfs and even the Fay of distant Ulthuan had stood united along with the armies of the northern Tsars.

'In Bretonnia' said Lothaire 'the king occasionally grants the title of Marquis towards high skilled knights who are then put in charge of fiefs which often are the targets of attacks from savages such as the beastmen or the greenskins, often this is done for the sake of creating a bulwark to help further defend the Realm.'

'I can't imagine the lord who inherits that position after would not be very thrilled to have to defend that fief' then said Arion.

'It happens at times' nodded Lothaire with some disdain 'there are some young lords who forget their duty to the Realm and would rather be off advancing their own personal glory rather than performing the royal charges the king had given to their fathers.'

'Well with us Grey Wardens, it is not a duty we are born into but one which we all agree to uphold, willingly or not' spoke Arion with a hint of resentment in his voice.

'And that is why it is an honourable task' repeated Lothaire 'for the man who was born with the mantle of duty and chivalry, it is merely something to be expected of but for others who would give up commoners life of simple toil and stand up to face the darkness makes them all the more of a hero for it'.

'I guess you would fit in well with the Wardens' Arion then said before one of his companions, the fellow who looked like an Estalian named Cortez had called to the ranger and by Lothaire's guess, they were ready to move out.

He had already learned that this particular group of Wardens he was now travelling with were supposed to be harrying these Darkspawn creatures before their horde marches northwards to nation called Ferelden which was still marshalling its forces. As much as he did not believe the absurd notion that they were in the far south of some continent called Thedas, the fact that he was not up to his neck with daemons and Chaos worshippers did add some credibility to their claim. Being all the way the out here in the middle of nowhere in this strange land, Lothaire immediately decided to assist these Grey Wardens for until he had some way of getting back to civilization, it seemed that his best chances of survival lay within them.


After a long and fruitless conversation with the barbarian chieftain, Albrecht Krieger was not one step closer in finding out where he was. He exited the tent of the chieftain with a warm feeling in his gut for the barbarian leader had at least been hospitable enough to share some potent, alcoholic drink which helped banish the chill inside of him. Another of the barbarians, an old shaman who carried many small trinkets of animal bones had tried to converse with Albrecht but he proved to be as unsuccessful as the rest of their clan.

The shaman had preformed some sorcerous spells upon the wounded which caused their flesh and bones to mend like the healing spells of a wizard or a priest of another faith. It also somewhat reminded Albrecht rather uncomfortably of the Northmen Zealots, rabid witch-priests of the Dark Gods who often wielded knives and sorcery which could also heal the injuries of Chaos followers and place hexes upon their foes. Some instinct within Albrecht told him that these barbarians were not kind to the Chaos tainted savages of the north but still, that did not mean that they could still be capable of the same brutalities which other humans were just as easily capable of achieving on their on.

He would have to remain vigilant and alert for treachery while at the same time, he should try to gain their trust until he can find some proper civilization. Carefully surveying his surroundings, the Warrior Priest of Ulric found only tents made from bones, hides and furs with fair skinned men, women and children busily preparing to move the camp. A somber mood had fallen upon them since his arrival, no doubt brought by the deaths of their clan members from those monstrosities which attacked the cave.

There was something about those creatures which reminded Albrecht of Chaos mutants but at the same time, there was none of that foul, sickly miasma which followed the followers of the Ruinous Powers. Whatever they were, they radiated with corruption and evil like the undying Vampire Counts or the verminous Skaven. He then heard the slight sound of snow crunching underneath one's foot, it was done in a quiet way which only a skilled hunter could achieve and he turned his masked visage towards its source.

Albrecht then heard a frightened gasp as a young girl with bright red hair and green eyes meekly stepped away from him and he recognized her as of being among the hunting party. He had seen how the girl remained close to the leader of the hunting party and he was quickly able to deduce from the similarities in their faces that they were father and daughter. For a moment, the green eyed girl looked to him with a slight expression that was a mixture of fear and uncertainty before taking a deep breath and stepping forward.

In her hands, he noted a small necklace which looked to be made from a lace of catgut with bear teeth attached to it. The girl then offered the necklace to the Warrior Priest who slowly and gently took it from her as she spoke something in a tone which seemed grateful. He of course remembered how he had saved the young girl the previous night. He saw her being attacked by a squat orc-looking creature and without thinking of it, he hurled his hammer at the monster.

Nodding to the girl who then gave a slight nod of her head to the Warrior Priest, she quickly then went off to rejoin her kin. Perhaps he should re-evaluate his opinion of these barbarians thought Albrecht as he looked at the small necklace which he then added among his collection of many bone and tooth trinkets.

Unsure of what he should be doing next, Albrecht then began to get an itch upon his palms and he picked up a foul scent in the air. Tightening the grip upon his blessed hammer, the Warrior Priest knew well enough to trust his instincts for it seemed that trouble had just followed them.