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It was difficult for Odin to imagine just how vast the Deep Roads were, even with the aid of his Dwarven stone sense. It was even harder to believe that had once been part of a great Dwarf Empire that has stretched across the world. Still when the Blight ended… these tunnels would be deserted and relatively easy to reclaim. Such plans had kept Odin's mind busy as they trudged through the darkness. So many ideas… he if survived long enough to use them. Surely Bhelen would listen and with that support well, the defeat of the Blight would be the beginning of a new age for Orzammar. Provided they were swift and careful.
The rest of the group found the Deep Roads even more alien, not even the relatively brief trip to meet Lord Dace had prepared them for this. The fighting through Cardin's Cross and the old Ortan Thaig had been brutal and unrelenting. Not just Darkspawn but Deepstalkers, Giant Spiders, Ghosts, Golems and, for some reason a Pride Demon. Ironically it was only because of the Blight that this expedition was possible, the roads were usually so overrun with Darkspawn that death was certain. Nevertheless they appeared to be on Branka's trail (which was frankly more than Odin expected) after they found her old campsite and journal. Unfortunately it led straight to the Dead Trenches, one of the most Darkspawn infested areas known to Dwarf.
Still the journey was made considerably easier by two people. First was the timely arrival of the latest member of their distinguished company, Oghren Kondrat. Odin knew this member of the Warrior Caste by sight, reputation and smell. He was one of the most ferocious Berserkers Orzammar had and was the only person who had downed a full quart of Tapster's notorious Stone Gargle Blaster and survived. He was also Branka's estranged husband and had spent the last two years drunkenly arguing to everyone in earshot that she should be found and assaulting anyone who disagreed. It was only thanks his previous battlefield accomplishments that he was not rotting in a cell or executed for his antics. As it was once Oghren found out about the mission to find his long lost wife (curtsey of some very off duty Palace guards) he raced to incept them. Odin accepted the help; after all he needed an experienced guide who knew Branka. The fact that Oghren happened to be a violent alcoholic with a large axe was only a mild eccentricity in this very strange group.
The Luggage had also once again proved invaluable. Every Deep Roads venture was always hampered by the fact that all supplies needed to be carried on the backs of those taking part, fresh water sources were rare, food practically nonexistent and carts impossible. With the Luggage however its' seemingly infinite space allowed the group to go without backpacks and fear of starvation or thirst. Especially thirst. In addition to his contribution as a warrior and a guide Oghren had made a wonderful discovery.
The Luggage had a drinks cabinet.
A drinks cabinet that restocked itself, Oghren got very misty eyed at the prospect. Even Wynne had been seen spending the night with a bottle of fine wine, though the exact vintage was unknown. As for their new dwarven companion as soon as his not inconsiderable private stash was finished he took to following the Luggage around with a glimmer in his eye. He had even taken to sleeping by the chest hugging it, even as the Luggage tried to frantically get away. Eventually Odin had to intervene, Oghren grudgingly agreed to back off and the Luggage gave Odin a bottle of mead in relief and gratitude.
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Brother Genitivi had propped himself next to a small window, trying to read and forget about his current predicament. With hindsight he should have been a lot more careful. His travels had always had some danger, be it from bandits, wild animals or weather but being imprisoned by a dragon cult was a new one. In the back of his mind the scholar had always suspected that his wandering would get him in trouble, he had no real combat training and was not getting any younger and now…. Well his foot was seriously injured making escape all but impossible even if he did find a way out of the room (the door was securely barred and the window far too small to fit through). His only consolation was that the cultists, rather an isolated lot; wanted information on the world so had kept him in the library where his information could be recorded, hence the reading to keep his eternally curious mind busy.
Quite suddenly his reading was interrupted by noises coming outside. Screaming, shouting and steel clashing with steel, whilst he was no soldier Genitivi was experienced enough to know the sounds of battle. He stayed as quiet as possible hoping against hope that he would be rescued and not killed. The sounds outside died off, for the next few minutes Genitivi heard only a few muffled footsteps before the lock clicked. The scholar was expecting bandits, rebelling members of the cult or, if he was fortunate, Ferelden soldiers. He was definitely not expected an old man in a loincloth.
"Hmm" said the mysterious old man "Washn't expecting hoshtges here."
Brother Genitivi took heart from the fact he hadn't been immediately stabbed yet. "Are you here to help me good ser?"
The old man stroked his beard in thought, "I ushually have to reshcue a damshel in dishtressh, closhe enough."
Genitivi was rather annoyed at being described as a 'damshel in dishtressh' but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"If you could help me up that would be appreciated, my leg is injured and can't feel my foot."
"Alright, but you better not do me back in, otherwishe we're both dead."
Gradually the two men got themselves together; Genitivi had some medical knowledge and was able to bind his wound properly. In the meantime Cohen searched the building, and the fresh bodies, for anything useful. He found a decent supply of food and some maps.
"Sho where are we?"
"The village is called Heaven," explained Genitivi.
"How bloody ironic of them."
"Yes, I'd noticed that to still, I believe this village, or rather the mountain upon which it is built holds something remarkable." The scholar paused, partly because he still couldn't quite believe it but also because he was a good storyteller, "The Urn of Scared Ashes."
The reaction was not what he was expecting; the old man just looked confused.
"The ashes of the blessed Andraste herself." Elaborated Genitivi, more confusion, "Andraste, the prophet, bride of the Maker," still a blank look, "surely you must know, even if you do not believe."
"I'm new to thish land and not really the religioush type."
The scholar's all consuming curiosity got the better of him. "Where are you from?"
"A different world, but the Wizardsh did shome shtupid magic thing and called me in to get shome old friendsh and fix thish messh."
Incredulity and hundreds of questions burst into Gentivi's mind but Cohen, who seemed to have noticed this cut him off quickly,
"Have you sheen a wizard with a walking chesht?"
The good Brother's mind jammed at this bizarre question.
"No"
"Bugger, alright then. What'sh sho shepcial about theshe Ashes then?"
That question made far more sense. "According to my research they have miraculous healing powers."
Now Cohen had been an adventurer long enough to know exactly how useful healing powers could be, particularly in an unfamiliar land. And at his age he had a long list of aliments that could do with treatment. His decision was made.
"Shounds dead usheful. Let'sh go get it."
This was not what Genitivi had imagined when he had begun this quest but he was feeling inexpiably inspired by this loincloth wearing lunatic. But his last shred of caution made itself known.
"It won't that simple; these cultists are numerous and I'm certain that they worship a high Dragon."
"Well that makesh thingsh simple."
Genitivi looked hesitant, "What do you mean?"
A slightly manic gleam appeared in Cohen's eyes.
"We've got a dangeroush mountain, a dragon, an inshane cult and an ancient relic? Shounds jusht like home, let'sh go and kick shome ashre."
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"This is it isn't it? The legendary Dead Trenches?"
"Yep, no one but the Legion of the Dead goes near this place."
The group looked at the vast chasm stretched out before them; the other side was in almost total darkness and the chasm itself went hundreds of feet down. Indeed it would have been utterly impossible for any of them to see the bottom.
But there was light coming from below.
"Is that…lava?" asked Leliana, trying to sound hopeful.
Odin however was a Grey Warden and sensed otherwise. "That is the Darkspawn Horde."
"There must be thousands down there," choked Alistair.
"Tens of thousands, marching down to Ostagar in torchlight," said Odin "How much time do we have I wonder?"
Any further discussion was interrupted by an ear-splitting roar.
"Take cover!"
Behind the rocks no one moved, no one spoke, most dared not breathe. The mighty Archdaemon perched upon the stone bridge they needed to cross. It looked down towards the force that had answered the call. Its' terrible and tainted face appeared to be triumphant as it peered down, mercifully blind to all else.
The minutes went by as the concealed group waited in absolute silence. Finally the dragon let out another roar and flew off towards the head of it's' army. No one moved for some time afterwards. It was Oghren, after taking an especially large swig from his re-filled hip flask, who first poked his head into the open.
"C'mon you nughumpers, the sodding lizard is gone and Branka is waiting."
Still the journey that followed was a quiet one.
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