Chapter Two: Attack of the Clones

At long last, there was only one person left in the camp that they hadn't talked to, so they figured he had to be Alistair. As they approached, they overheard one of the mages speaking to him rather heatedly. "Get out of my face, you geeky little Templar wannabe!"

"It was nice to meet you, too," Alistair chirped affably.

Darrian paused. "You know, I can't quite place it but his manner reminds me of someone I met recently."

Alistair turned to face them fully for the first time, and all six recruits gasped. "King Cailain?" Lyna asked, startled.

Alistair glanced nervously over his shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about. My name is Alistair."

"But you look just like—"

"A young Brad Pitt?" Alistair supplied frantically. "Yes, I get that a lot. But that's not important right now."

"Don't change the subject," said Duran. "What's going on, here? Is this some kind of soap opera? Are you the king's evil twin or something?"

"Nonsense!" Alistair squeaked, his voice shrill with anxiety. "Cailan and I look nothing alike. I've got a different hairstyle and a marginally darker skin tone, see?"

"But—"

The junior Warden stubbornly clamped his hands over his ears. "Lalalalalala! I can't hear you!"

"Fine, keep your secrets for now, if you want. But we all know there's going to be a big reveal sooner or later," said Faren. "This is, after all, a Bioware production. Now let's get down to business. Duncan asked us to come and find you."

Alistair's face lit up. "Duncan sent you? Well, that's different, then. Isn't he the greatest?"

"Actually," said Neria, "we all found him kind of unnecessary."

"Hey, you can't talk like that about my BFF!" Alistair protested. "Duncan's a real hero. He risked a stern talking-to from the Fantasy!Pope for me. And someday when I'm all grown up, I'm going to have a cool Jedi attitude and manly ponytail just like his!"

"Jeez," Neria muttered. "Somebody's got a serious man-crush."

Alistair led the recruits back to Duncan's tent. They found Jory clinging fretfully to Duncan's man-skirt, and Daveth making out with a vaguely effeminate rock. "Ah, good," said Duncan. "You found Padawan Alistair."

"No thanks to you," grumbled Darrian.

Alistair shot the elf a dirty look. "Don't listen to him, Daddy-kins. He's just jealous because you've got better hair than he does."

Duncan looked tired. "Padawan Alistair, I've asked you time and again not to call me that."

"Don't say that." Alistair sniffled, wounded. "You're the closest thing I've ever had to a father."

The Warden-Commander rolled his eyes. "If I'd have known how clingy you were going to be, I'd have left you in the Chantry. Or in a locked safe at the bottom of the sea."

Alistair just laughed. "Aw, Daddy-kins, you're such a kidder." He threw his arms around Duncan's neck. "Let's go play catch!"

"Quit suffocating me!" Duncan snapped, shoving him away. "Maker, it's no wonder Maric and Eamon both put you up for adoption. Just take the kids and the redshirts out for some orc blood and get out of my face." He turned to the recruits. "Oh, and one more thing. While you're in the Wilds, I also need you to go rescue some ancient treaties, vital to the security of Ferelden and possibly the world. I would have retrieved them myself, but I didn't feel like it. Any questions?"

Lyna raised her hand. "What's the blood for?"

"You'll need it for your initiation."

"Blood? Why? Are the Grey Wardens some kind of vampire coven?" She eyed Duncan warily. "Bella Swan isn't a member, is she? Because I refuse to fight beside that crazy bimbo!"

"Maker's breath, no!" Duncan denied. "Just move out, I'll explain later."

Six recruits, two redshirts, and a Warden walked into a bar…er, into the Wilds, and began their search. Faren Brosca fell into step beside Ser Jory. "So tell me, aren't you nervous about fighting darkspawn? I mean, with that shirt of yours and all…"

"Oh, don't be silly," scoffed Jory. "I couldn't possibly die right now. I've got a beautiful young wife who loves me and a new little baby on the way." He pulled out his wallet. "See? Here's a picture of us in standing in front of our car. I just finished paying it off last week."

"Yikes. Well, I'd love to chat some more, but I'm getting the feeling I shouldn't get too attached to you." The casteless dwarf pointedly moved away.

Meanwhile, Daveth had finally given up on Lyna and gotten around to flirting with Elissa. "Hey baby," he purred, eyes lidded seductively. "You look cold, want to use me as a blanket?"

Elissa ignored him. "Sorry, bucko, but it's too little, too late."

"So, where to first?" Alistair asked.

"Why are you asking us?" Duran asked. "You're our superior, and you're the one who knows where the treaties are."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm a follower, not a leader. I'd rather someone else took over."

"Well, then, let's go to the east," said Ser Jory.

"Someone whose name isn't Daveth or Jory."

"That's not fair!"

"Sorry, Ser Jory," said Alistair. "But the dwarf's right. I don't want to get too attached to you."

Jory pouted, but nobody was paying any attention to him. The other recruits were huddling around a dead body that was floating in the swamp. "Hey, look, he's got some kind of lockbox on him" Neria observed.

"All right!" Faren took out his lockpicks. "Now it's Faren's time to shine."

"Brosca, what are you thinking?" Neria chided. "We must keep this intact so that we can give it to his grieving widow, on the off chance that we run into her at some point in the future."

Faren joined Jory in pouting.

They pressed onward, nearly tripping over a wounded man. "Who is that? Grey Wardens?" he gasped.

"How did you know that?" Elissa demanded. "It's not like we have griffons tattooed on our foreheads."

"I'm glad you asked me that," he wheezed, "because there's a perfectly logical explanation for—

"I don't want to hear it!" Darrian interrupted. "Kill all humans!" he roared, breaking out a dagger and gutting the soldier like a fish.

Alistair scowled at the elf. "That was mean. But no sense crying over spilled milk. Let's get back to the quest."

The rest of the recruits gaped at the junior Warden incredulously. "But Alistair," said Duran gently, "he just murdered a helpless man. Shouldn't we do something about that?"

"I did," said Alistair. "I told him how mean he was and gave him my sternest frown. What more do you want?"

"This is what you humans call a justice system?" Duran exclaimed. "First there was that idiot in his underwear about to be hanged back at the camp, and now this! You people will execute an innocent man over a misunderstanding, but let a brazen murderer off scot-free?" The dwarven prince grimaced. "Suddenly I feel right at home."

"Glad I could help," Alistair replied warmly. "Let's get a move on."

"But that man said his patrol was attacked by darkspawn!" Ser Jory protested. "Nobody said anything about fighting darkspawn!"

Alistair quirked an eyebrow. "Are you serious? What did you think the Grey Wardens were all about?"

The knight shrugged. "Well, based on Warden-Commander Duncan's example, I assumed that they just stood around looking tough and modeling cool armor."

Alistair glared. "I'm telling Daddykins you said that when we get back."

Before Jory could protest, a stumpy little creature with green skin lumbered into their path. "Aw, how precious!" Neria cooed, scooping it into her arms. "A little baby orc!"

"RAUGH!" the genlock snarled in protest.

"Aw, isn't that cute? He must have the sniffles." She bounced the little creature playfully. "You want a cookie, sweetie?"

The genlock immediately stopped slavering and took a nibble of the proffered chocolate chip cookie.

"Surana! That's a darkspawn! Put it down this instant!" Alistair ordered.

"Wait a minute. These are the darkspawn everyone's so afraid of? Chubby little bald guys no bigger than E.T.?" The elven sorceress broke into peals of laughter. "Why, they're not half as ugly as Knight-Commander Greagoir, and not a tenth as frightening!"

"Neria, put it down!"

"Oh, fine. Spoilsport." She sat the genlock on its feet, patted it sadly on the head, and followed her comrades deeper into the Wilds.

And so the recruits ground their way through the mysterious forest, collecting plot coupons, searching for hidden treasure, and summoning demons just for the sport of it, until they reached the ancient ruins.

As the Wardens filed in, a scantily-clad witch descended on them, accompanied by a burst of ominous music. "Are you a vulture, I wonder?" she drawled. "A scaveng—AAAAH!" An arrow suddenly zoomed through the air and thumped into her bare chest.

Lyna lowered her bow, pumping a fist triumphantly. "Heh heh! Nailed her!"

"Gah!" the witch howled, clutching her wound. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Oh, come off it," the huntress snapped. "We all heard the ominous music. You're obviously up to something."

"Am not!"

"Really?" Lyna bit her lip guiltily. "You mean you're not planning to lie to us, manipulate us, sleep with our boyfriends, or anything like that?"

"Er…no. Of course not."

"In that case, I apologize, but this is still partly your fault. If you weren't strutting around as naked as a Desire Demon, you might have had some protection from that arrow." She indicated the skimpy ribbon of cloth draped over the witch's shoulders. "In what universe is that considered practical combat attire?"

At the mention of a woman in skimpy clothing, everyone looked to Daveth, waiting for him to rattle off some cheesy pickup line. But the rogue just backed away nervously. "Sorry, but I'm not getting anywhere near that chick. We all heard the ominous music when she walked in, and with this shirt of mine, I can't afford that kind of risk."

Morrigan irritably yanked the arrow out of her chest and chugged a health potion. "Yeah, yeah. Let's just get to my mom's place and grab your treaties. That quest marker isn't going to move itself."

The other recruits started to follow her, but Daveth hung back. "No!" he whimpered. "We can't go with the scary lady, or she'll turn us into toads. And it's not like we have the benefit of weapons, combat training, or superior numbers that we could use to defend ourselves."

"Oh, don't be such a wuss," Elissa snapped. "I think you've been around Ser Jory for too long."

As the Wardens approached her hut, Morrigan's elderly mother looked startled. "Maric?" she asked Alistair. "Is that you? What are you doing back here?"

Alistair paled. "M-m-maric? Who's that? Never heard of him."

"You know, King Maric the Savior," said Flemeth. "You look just like him. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were his clone or something," the old witch mused.

Alistair snatched off his helmet, pointing vehemently at his head. "Are you all blind? Look! Different hairstyle! Totally different!"

"Whatever. Here, take your treaties, enjoy your Blight, see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Elissa repeated.

"Whoops, I've said too much." With that, Flemeth disappeared in a burst of flame, lightning, and tortured screams.

"Wow, Morrigan," said Faren. "Your mom's almost as creepy as mine."

Back in the king's camp, Duncan was still standing in the exact same spot by the exact same fire, looking as stoic as ever. "Ah, good, you're back. Now we can start our top secret, ultra-classified initiation ritual. We'll need lots of privacy, so let's do it in that ruined temple without any walls."

"In full view of the entire army?" Darrian asked quizzically.

"Oh, don't worry about them," said Duncan dismissively, leading them to the temple. "Have you forgotten the teyrn's shifty eyes so soon? None of them will live long enough to rat us out. Now, then, time for the juicy secrets."

Elissa looked worried. "Uh oh. That doesn't sound promising. Are you about to tell us we're Bhaalspawn?"

"No."

"Amnesiac Sith lords?"

"No!" He took the joining chalice off the altar and handed it to Daveth. "You're going to have to drink darkspawn blood."

Daveth hesitated. "But won't this kill me?"

"Probably," said Duncan. "Bottoms up, now!"

Daveth took a sip, choked on it, and crumpled to the ground at his fellow recruits' feet. With his dying breath, he took one last peek up Surana's skirt.

"Sorry kid," Duncan apologized, prying the chalice from the rogue's cold, dead fingers. "But it's your own fault for wearing a red shirt to a secret initiation rite. Oh well. Who's next?"

He offered the chalice to Ser Jory, but the knight just screamed like a girl. "Are you crazy? I'm not drinking that stuff! I've got a wife, a family, and a new car!"

"Well," said Duncan, drawing a dagger. "If you're determined not to go through with it, I guess there's no point in trying to calm you down or reason with you. Sayonara, sucker!" He shoved the dagger between the knight's ribs, then offered the chalice to the other recruits. "Come on, kids, die of the dagger or die of the drink, it's all the same to me."

"Screw you!" said Lyna. "I'm taking a third option." She pulled a handful of berries out of her pocket. "Come on, friends, let's eat these poisonous nightlock berries and die on our own terms!"

"Lyna," Duncan laughed. "Those are huckleberries."

"Oh well, it was worth a shot." Lyna sighed. "Gimme that chalice and let's get this over with.