DDO/DRAGON AGE: DEATHSTAGE
BASED ON DDO AND THE UPCOMING RPG DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS

All mortals fear the Deathstage--the end of the world, and the end of time as they know it. Never before has the realm of Ferelden faced such a crisis, not even when the Blight infiltrated the land via the hubris of men. The Grey Wardens were victorious and fought them off, but who can truly fight floods, plagues, earthquakes, famines, and an all-encompassing war? These things have been happening all over Ferelden, and what is worse, the races of the realm have been conspiring against one another instead of allying with each other. They believe each other to be instruments of the Deathstage and of their own gods, rather than working for the salvation of all.

One man, a devout Cleric of the Chantry, and his followers especially believe themselves to be the harbingers of the end of the world. They are violent extremists, and they will stop at nothing to bring about the reckoning that they believe the world deserves. Either Ferelden will be saved through the shedding of the blood of all evildoers, or Ferelden will be damned through sparing them. Can one of this man's contemporaries, a young Human Paladin lass, and her brothers and sisters-in-arms turn the tide--and turn back the Deathstage? Or, is it already too late, being that the Chantry's chosen sides?


PART ONE: ORIGINS

Lucien Drathart, loyal and unwavering Vicar of the Chantry, was on a sacred mission. One of the things he had been taught in his Church, the foundation of religious faith for almost all the realm of Ferelden, was to look for signs. He looked for signs of trouble, signs of suffering, signs of war and plague and death. Most of all, he looked for signs of the Deathstage--the end of the world. After sensing nothing for twenty-five years, the time was now at hand.

Ever since he was a boy, Lucien had wanted to go into the priesthood. As a member of the stolid middle class of Human citizens, he learned much about the crime that went on throughout the realm--murder, rape, robbery, theft, prostitution, and even ritual sacrifice. His parents, both modestly-successful merchants themselves, had been victimized many times by those who sought to steal their goods instead of work for them, as all good and able-bodied people should. He had almost wanted to become a guard or a magistrate, but his mother once told him that only the Chantry could provide true justice.

Thus, kneeling by his bed every night, Lucien prayed to a higher power to show him the way. At ten, the way was shown, and young Drathart decided to be schooled in the ways of the Church instead of the ways of a trade. His parents approved, for if Lucien became a priest, more prestige and wealth--not to mention security--would soon follow. No one dared attack a cleric.

Lucien's greatest fear, and greatest source of anger and suffering, was watching others suffer. He hated it when common folk were robbed and left for dead. He hated it when gamblers set up tables in the market square and cheated their opponents left and right. He even hated it when his parents' customers tried to shortchange his mother and father on their purchases.

"Only the Deathstage," his mother said sadly, "can make things right now."

Indeed. Death was a great leveller, and made all mortals realize their weakness and utter powerlessness before a greater force. This was why, upon hearing reports of disease, famine, earthquakes and floods throughout Ferelden, Lucien's heart leapt up with joy. This was his chance to amass an army of righteous men, righteous men who would kill the thieves and robbers and murderers. Once Ferelden was washed clean, Ferelden would be spared.

Lucien saw it as his sacred mission to bring the vaunted Deathstage about.

****************************

Paladin Shakhmaty Travaillant, born under an unlucky star but being very lucky herself, barely survived her birth. It was only through the grace of a power beyond all mortal men that she did not die, weighing only three pounds, three ounces. Her parents, being the poorest of serfs, did not know how they were going to keep both themselves and their child alive. Thus, as soon as their fast-growing daughter could walk, they asked her, at five years old, if she would be willing to go to the Church and study there. As for little Shakhmaty, she was heartbroken to leave her parents, but eager to learn and to help them. If leaving would give them food in their bellies for one more day--food that they could not afford to provide her--then why not leave?

At first Shakhmaty, being a peasant who could not read or write, was set to menial work, chiefly washing, scrubbing and polishing everything in sight around the Church. She was fed well, and she soon grew strong and intelligent. The Vicars taught her to read and write, and also to play chess. This became one of her greatest talents, and Shakhmaty thought that one day, she'd become a priestess herself. However, she soon fell in love with the fighting ways of the holy warriors, the Paladins. Battle quickly became her main focus, and not preaching or healing. That was the domain of one cold, intense, and supremely-focused little boy whom Shakhmaty did not really like. He looked down his nose at her, a washer of dishes and scrubber of steps.

Her parents, slaving from before dawn to after dark, soon died of lack of food and being worked to the bone. They did not toil for good King Caillan Theirin, but rather for a petty manor lord who took all of their food for himself. At Shakhmaty's begging and tearful insistence, the Vicars gave them both a burial that most peasants would have killed themselves to get. She grew into the most beautiful Paladin in the realm of Ferelden, or so the bards all sang.

The only truly dark cloud on her horizon was Lucien Drathart, full of anger...

(If you don't mind, I'll have my characters start out in Eberron, then cross over to Ferelden)

Khyber

Nierra was sick of it. All this talk from her fellow drow of being superior, and the most civilised race in all of Eberron. She had met surface elves before, and they seemed no better or worse then herself. And yet her people's arrogance, passed down from the elders to the younger generation, persisted. On her 103rd birthday, she made the decision to leave Khyber for the surface, hoping to find a place in one of the surface cities, like Stormreach, or Sharn. There were drow on the surface, but there, she would be free of their influence. Eventually, she found herself in the island village of Korthos, under attack by Sahuagin, and Devourer cultists.

Korthos
Alkonium Kaltas, a mercenary from Sharn, wasn't sure how his day could get worse. One his way to Stormreach, his boat crashed near the village of Korthos, with everyone else dying, all his equipment had been stolen by a halfling rogue, who then managed to get him to help him, a Warforged Wizard, and a Human Cleric, through some cave and into Korthos, in exchange for subpar replacement gear. Then she showed up. A lovely looking Drow Ranger, with a pair of scimitars that could give his greatsword a run for its money. It seemed that the villagers had enlisted the help of both of them in fending of the Devourer cultists and the Sahuagin. Together, they had eventually saved the village, even freeing a White Dragon from a Mind-Flayer's influence.

Stormreach

Realising how well they worked together, they decided to travel to Stormreach together as well. There, they discovered a planar rift within one of the sewers, and upon crossing it, found themselves in the realm of Ferelden, with no way back.

Zero Vadam was born a peasant in Ferelden, like many others. He was the only son of Avery and Scarlet Vadam. Avery was a hard working shopkeeper, so Scarlet was usually at home raising Zero. She learned the hard way that Zero was an odd one. For one thing he loved to climb, and that meant on anything. His mother always teased him, calling him a little Spider Monkey. As Zero entered his teen years he began to question why they lived poor and others lived rich. Rather than complain, Zero decided to do something. He placed a cowl over his head and began to steal from the rich. He would give most of his findings to fellow commoners and saved some for his family. Zero was eventually found out and guards were sent to get him. Both his parents denied Zero was at there home so they were both taken captive. Zero refused to give up doing good deeds but decided to change up his strategy. Under the new Alias The Scarlet Spider, he became a symbol of hope. He made himself armor that would move as quick as he could and taught himself to fight both with a weapon and without. He's worked his way from stopping thefts to taking down monsters. Now the legendary rogue is faced with the greatest task of all, saving all of Ferelden from corruption.

PART TWO: THE CIRCLE OPENS

INSIDE THE CATHEDRAL OF THE CHANTRY

Lucien Drathart, having been promoted to Vicar only two days ago by the Archbishop of the Chantry, celebrated his newfound success in the only way he considered appropriate: praying. Other men drowned themselves in wine, women, and song after such good fortune occurred in their lives, but Lucien knew it was more than just simple luck. Thus, he knelt in his priesthood robes upon the cold stone floor of the Cathedral, giving thanks unto the Chantry.

One of his fellow clerics, a man named Roland, offered him a pillow upon which to place his knees. "Are ye doing hard penance, Vicar?" he joked.

Lucien turned his head to stare at him. "Hardly. I am expressing my gratitude and faith toward the one who gives me strength, and I care naught for my own comfort." Roland nodded, albeit with some hesitation. It seemed to him that Lucien always chose the path of hardship, of suffering and refinement, on purpose--maybe a little too purposefully. Nevertheless, he set the pillow nearby in case his comrade changed his mind. Roland then went back to perusing the Canticle of Threnodies, or the Chantry's holy scriptures.

Noticing something rather odd, Lucien asked him, "Hold a moment, Roland. Why is the Cathedral so empty today? Where are all the Paladins?"

Roland laughed merrily, a sound not uncommon even within the walls of the church. "Don't ye remember, Lucien? They're at their war games today."

The Vicar scoffed. War games. Blunt swords and maces, and tattered leather armor. Battered shields. How do the Paladins think that things such as these are going to prepare them for a real fight? The fools! He kept silent, however, knowing it did no good to speak ill of one's Church brethren.

"Va'ya'di, tirzaroi, chtumiya-di-xa..." He humbly returned to his chanting.

**************************

IN A FIELD AND FOREST NEAR THE CATHEDRAL OF THE CHANTRY

War games! Shakhmaty Travaillant, Paladin with the Second Rank of Four, absolutely loved them. She knew that some of the other clerics, especially those at and above the rank of Vicar, disdained them as being foolish and childish. However, they were good practice at battling real, live opponents. The Sacred Four, meaning all the ranks of the Paladins of the Chantry, had long ago abandoned training dummies and wooden targets in favor of practice such as this kind. It was why they were so powerful--and so relentless.

The day was overcast and gloomy, heavy with rainclouds, but that did not make any of the Paladins wish to retreat indoors. War games were the highlights of their year, held in both the summer and the winter. If you could not fight in the midst of the greatest temperature extremes, rain or shine, then you were not a true warrior. It was summer now, and steamingly humid despite the threat of a thunderstorm in the air. All were in very high spirits!

Shakhmaty thought up a plan. She knew that if she snuck through the woods surrounding the fields of battle, she could ambush the "enemy" camp on the other side of them. Thus, she bade farewell to her brothers-in-arms with the Red Pennant. The Blue Pennant camp lay safe (or not) through the thick forest. Trying to be careful not to snap any twigs or give away her position otherwise, the Paladin crept through the brush and trees, unaware that six pairs of eyes were watching her from behind their own hidden vantage points.

The eyes saw a woman with long, honey-golden hair, skin like fresh cream, and a figure that would make the bards sing about it for centuries. True, she was covered in dirt from being knocked down several times, and even from a considerable distance, she reeked. Nevertheless, the figures wished to attack.

A large stone suddenly found its way to the back of Shakhmaty's skull. Thrown with nearly-lethal force, it succeeded in knocking her unconscious. When she awoke, the Paladin found herself smudged with grass and dirt from head to toe, drenched in sweat, and bound hand and foot to a tree.

"Good afternoon, milady," said a stubble-bearded man, advancing toward her with an enormous hunter's knife. "We're only some stranded hunters who have lost our way..." Five other menacing figures emerged from behind trees and bushes, all male. Brigands! Why had she not been able to see or sense them before she'd been knocked out cold? She'd been focusing so hard!

"I have no gold," said Shakhmaty, breathing hard. "I have no jewels, either."

"True, true," replied the swarthy scum, "but you have something else I want!"

It was then that Shakhmaty realized: not only was she firmly lashed to the tree, but she was also completely naked save for her mud-strewn hair. She tried to scream, but the man dashed up to her and slapped his hand over her mouth. With his other hand, he signaled for one of his fellow brigands to come and hit her--this time with a club. He bludgeoned her hard, but not hard enough to damage her faculties or kill her--just to incapacitate her again.

"Now, then," said the leader of the gang. "She stinks to high heaven, but..."

He suddenly found an arrow lodged in his throat--first one, then two, then three, one right after another in quick succession. He toppled to the ground.

As for the other brigands, they soon found their chests emblazoned with wide gashes straight through to the heart, or their heads suddenly missing from their shoulders. Once all six were slain, other pairs of eyes surveyed Shakhmaty. There was a bloody gash in the left corner of her lip, but other than that and being filthy and unconscious, she was otherwise fine.

Who were the brigands' mysterious killers, and Shakhmaty's mysterious saviors?

Shakhmaty then heard two voices, one male and one female, arguing from within the woods. "We need to be more careful. We know nothing of this world, Nierra." The male voice said. "They were going to kill her; I'm pretty that's the same in every world. We should check her out, and make sure she's alright." The female voice, presumably Nierra, replied, sounding a bit cheeky. "You're right." The male voice commented. The two stepped out of the bushes, revealing a male human, with flowing black hair, and wearing strange looking plated armour, and a female elf, but like no elf the Paladin had ever seen before. Her skin was a dark blue, her eyes were red, and her hair was as white as the clouds. "Are you alright, miss? My name is Alkonium Kaltas, and this my companion, Nierra Diral." Alkonium said to her, while Nierra unsheathed one her scimitars and cut her free.

The Paladin, supported by her new allies, let them take her down from the tree even though she was still naked and dirty. To be honest, both her forehead and the back of her head were still throbbing murderously from the blows struck by the brigands--one by a club, and one by a well-aimed rock.

"Thank you," she said, her mouth dry as cotton and parched as the desert. "My name is...Shakhmaty. Shakhmaty Travaillant. I'm a Paladin." She shook her head. "Brigands--there were six of them. One of them wanted to help me break my holy vow of chastity, if you...discern my meaning." Looking around her, she said, "I have the gift of laying on of hands, but I cannot lay hands on myself. That gift is only to be used for and upon others." Slowly remembering more and more of the circumstances that had led her to the forest, she decided to give them the short version of her long story:

"My comrades and I, my fellow Paladins, that is, were taking part in our"--she winced in pain--"semiannual war games that happen at each solstice. The Blue Pennant camp was on the other side of the very woods in which you found me. I was trying to ambush them and capture their flag. Silly, eh?" Shakhmaty tried to smile, but she found it painful due to the gash near her lip. "Anyway, a rock suddenly hit me in the back of the skull, knocking me unconscious. When I awoke, I found myself lashed naked to that tree, and it wasn't long before I discerned the intent of the five brigands and their leader. One of the other ones, the lesser lackeys, clubbed me over the head--and then you two seem to have come along." She winked. "Thank you both."

It was another quiet day for Zero Vadam. People were out talking to one another and all seemed to be at peace. That's what it looked like from the roof tops at least. Today Zero decided to patrol the upper class area. He was about to head off when he noticed a couple warriors running through the streets. He jumped down and stopped one of them.

"What's going on here?"

"Uh...," the man began slightly shocked by Zero's look, "One of our comrades Shakhmaty Travaillant went missing during our war games. We've got a party searching for her right now."

"Don't worry, with The Scarlet Spider on your side nothings impossible."

"Yeah... well do you even know where to go?"

"Yeah I've watched you guys before."

With that the Scarlet Spider took off to the fields. He looked around until he found some footprints in the ground. He followed them until he spotted a body print. He found more footprints and followed them until he came across a very horrible scene He looked out to see a woman bound to a tree. She was naked, covered in mud and looked badly beaten. He was about to make a move when someone else did it for him. He watched as someone was shot with mutiple arrows. Seeing that they too were against these people, Spider decided to make a move. He ran in and cut the head off of the first person he saw. The battle was over as quick as it started. He walked over to the woman with two others. One of them cut her down and he took off his cape. He handed it to her so she wouldn't have to be seen naked.

"Now I'm not an expert on being a Paladin but something tells me being nude is part of the job description Are you alright miss?"

Nierra reached into her pack, and produced a set of chainmail armour, handing it to Shakhmaty. "We really don't mind seeing you like that, but your fellow Paladins might. It should fit you." She explained. "We're not without problems of our own. Not long before we found you, we were in the Sewers of Stormreach and we came across a strange portal. Out of curiousity, we crossed it, ending up out here. Unfortunately it closed behind us, so we must find alternate means back to the city. This place looks like nowhere in all of Xen'drik, but I must still ask, do you know of anyway who can give us passage back to Stormreach?" Alkonium inquired, remembering that the two of them had been hired to deal with an infestation of Kobolds and Troglodytes, for a rather hefty reward. Though, helping this Paladin seemed more important, even if they wouldn't likely see eye to eye on much.

Shakhmaty scratched her head, having heard absolutely nothing at all about these 'troglodyte' or 'kobold' creatures. That was why she answered in the negative, but also added, "Stormreach? I have heard of it in our bards' tales. It is depicted as being a mystical land, something out of a fairy story, where strange sentient beings stand side by side with Dwarves, Elves and Men. You say you are from there?" The stunning dark elven female and the human male nodded. "By the Chantry--pardon my language! This is absolutely incredible, if not impossible. Perhaps one of our mages will be able to help you find the portal back to where you came from?" She suddenly noticed the arrival of a roguish figure in costume, who offered her his cape to clothe her nakedness.

"Thank ye," she said, accepting the dark elf's gift of chainmail as well. "Wait here a moment," Shakhmaty requested of the three. Half-stumbling her way toward a nearby river, she scrubbed herself with sand and liberal handfuls of the soapweed growing nearby. When she was clean, she dried herself off with the long, red cape and then proceeded to don the suit of mail. It was light and comfortable--not made by amateurs, that much was sure. Returning to the site where the Human and Elf had found her, and also the rogue, she said: "Perhaps it be time for us to find my comrades. They're probably--"

"Searching for you?" The shocked and alarmed voice of one of Shakhmaty's fellow Paladins, a man by the name of Thoren, made her jump clear out of her skin. "Shakhmaty! We wondered where you'd gone, and the Red Pennant camp sent me to go into the woods to look for you. Although," he said, gazing suspiciously at the three newcomers who were with her, "it seems like someone else already has. Identify yourselves, please. I am Thoren Vald."

"Calm down," replied the other Paladin, laying a hand on her comrade's. "They just saved my life. I was attacked by a band of six brigands--knocked cold and then bound to a tree. Since I was naked--they'd stripped me bare--the leader decided he'd have a go at me. Before he could, however, these three saviors of mine appeared!" Shakhmaty blushed sheepishly. "That is no lie."

"Indeed?" asked Thoren Vald, wondering how one of the most skilled of his sisters-in-arms could have been so foolish. "Why were you in the forest?"

"I was trying to sneak up on the Blue Pennant Camp and get their flag."

Thoren tried hard not to laugh. "A large price to pay for such a small victory! Come," he said to Shakhmaty, "and the rest of you as well, if you will. You three are heroes, and we here at the Cathedral of the Chantry intend to recognize you as such. Please, come dine with us, and perhaps spend the night in a bed that's not a wooden plank covered with a tick-infested straw mattress." He beamed. "Perhaps King Cailan Theirin will come visit us, too."

"We would be honoured. Tell me, if we are no longer in the world of Eberron, where are we exactly?" Alkonium inquired. He never trusted religious organisations, but considering the courtesy they were offering, he kept that to himself. "Paladins? This could get awkward." Nierra whispered to him. "You're right on both counts, but given our present situation, we need all the help we can get right now." Alkonium replied. "You only mentioned surface elves. Are there other Dark Elves, like me?" Nierra asked. Though not fond of her own people, she wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of being the only one of her kind in this strange world.

Rub it in why don't ya The Scarlet Spider thought to himself when the paladin poked fun at how the poor lived.

He really didn't like being rewarded for things, it was one thing his dad always told him. You earn things when you work for them, not when they're served to you on a platter. However, he was pretty hungry and a good sleep would do him good. He turned his head to the other two strangers. They were quite an odd couple, talking about another world.

"You're joking right?... Your in Ferelden. You both look very serious, well in that case I'll help you out. You're gonna need someone who knows this world and I do a lot of moving around."

"In Ferelden," replied Shakhmaty, "all Elves are--surface elves, as you call them. Their skin color varies with how much time they've spent in the wilds and the sun, but I have never seen one with your...unique hue." She was about to say exotically beautiful, but checked herself just in time. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Also, in our realm, Elves are treated the most poorly out of all the chief races--Dwarves, Elves and Men. I have tried to talk to those around me, explaining to them that in the sight of the Chantry and the Maker, we are all created as equal beings. However, no one will listen, and yet I continue my crusade though it be in vain." A sad gaze was in her deep blue eyes, the color of the sea after a storm. "Fear not. I am on your side. You saved my life, as did your warrior friend and the rogue."

"Well, come, come, then!" Thoren Vald clapped his hands merrily. "Off to the Cathedral of the Chantry, where there are wild boar, leeks and potatoes right now roasting on the fire!" He signaled with a beckoning arm, and Shakhmaty, Nierra, Alkonium and Zero followed him out of the forest and back towards the rear entrance of the Cathedral. It was not much of a walk, and the tempting aromas of the meat and vegetables made the mouths of all water.

Within the Church, asceticism was revered and encouraged, but not for all. The Archbishop and other high priests understood that not everyone could subject themselves to the strict regimen of prayer, fasting and self-denial that the monks and even a few of their own number embraced. Thus, the ascetics dined on bread and water only--including Vicar Lucien Drathart--while the rest supped on the luscious victuals that the Cathedral's cooks had prepared. Everyone was having a good time, whether they drank water or wine. As for Shakhmaty, she was not an abstainer, so she had the latter.

After the meal was over, a knock was heard at the Cathedral door. Three thunderous echoes reverberated throughout the dining hall of the Church.

A humble footman's voice cried out: "Open in the name of His Majesty!"

Shakhmaty froze. The King was here! What in Ferelden did he want? If her suspicions were correct, how quickly news had spread about her rescue...!

As a little boy, Coryn had always been a little rambunctious, but for the most part he wasn't that bad of a kid. That is, of course, until he began to grow up. He soon began to understand his place in the world, as when his parents finally let him go out into the world, he would always return crying. The humans out there in the cities never treated the way his parents had, and so he spent most of his time with the other Dalish elves.

One day, as Coryn was meandering about with his friends, they spotted fire in the distance, and approached hesitantly. Suddenly, they heard the whinney of many horses, and ran for their lives back to the village. There they saw even more of the horses, and many armed men. Their village was under attack by raiders.

Coryn ran to his home, only to find his mother badly beaten. She reached out her arms to him, but instead of hugging him, she only had to the strength to place an ironbark amulet in his hand.

With a whisper, she was gone.

"May the Gods protect you."

Coryn slipped the amulet around his neck, and headed over to the village plaza. In the carnage, no one noticed him, and he fled from the city, without any weapons at all. Escaping his village forever, Coryn would eventually take to the streets, and from then only time would tell his fate....

*****

Despite the light weight of his leather armor, Coryn was having a hard time moving. He had nearly worn himself out running, and he had finally escaped. Things would be so much easier if could just stay out of trouble, but that was not his way.

He had been wandering through a forest he had never been to before, and had encountered a strange, vicious beast. He had no idea what it was, except that it was very dangerous, given the amount of dodging Coryn had had to do to avoid the fire that came from its mouth.

Now here, however, was a very large city, and a very prosperous-looking one at that. In the distance he saw much more buildings, but this must have been the outskirts of the city. If he had any idea where he was, he would have known that was in one of the most important cities in Ferelden, but he hadn't seen a map in a long, long time.

Wandering across the streets of stone, he looked for any kind of interesting landmarks or people. Ahead was a Cathedral, a very grand-looking one at that, and in front of it was a very adorned man, with a crown, surrounded by guards clad in steel armor and symbols. Coryn assumed this was a Count, but--had he really been wandering for so long that he didn't even notice the King when he saw him?

A nearby guard immediately blocked Coryn's way with his sword.

"State your business, Elf." The man said it with a great disdain, and Coryn knew he was back in human society again. This really got old sometimes.

"Where am I?" he asked.

The guard nearly started laughing, and then simply said, "Get lost."

Coryn kept a distance from the man, and continued watching the scene from the other side of the road. The guard paid no more attention to him. Stupid Shemlen.

Well, one thing is for sure. I'm not in any place friendly.

King Cailan Theirin, legendary son of His Majesty Maric Theirin, glanced at the lithe Dalish Elf with some concern. Had he really trained his personal guards to be so rude? Then again, there was a look about him that suggested this particular Dalish Elf might be a pickpocket. Nevertheless, Cailan barked:

"Lay off of him, Skeld. This is an important assignment, and I'll have you keep your mind on the matter at hand." Pausing, he added, "Besides. This is the Cathedral of the Chantry. If this young lad is searching for shelter and a bit of food--which I believe I smell inside--then why deny it to him? The Church provides sanctuary to all, whether or not they are perfectly obedient to the law. Not that you--I mean--" Stammering, he looked the Elf squarely in the eye. "Enter." He squared his shoulders as a servant of the Archbishop opened the door slowly. As for Skeld, the guard, he backed away and bit his tongue.

"Your Majesty!" The Archbishop almost rushed to greet him, but he did not want to seem overly ingratiating. He, being the spiritual leader of Ferelden, had just as much power as the leader of the land, if not more. "Come in!"

The King and his royal guards entered the dining hall of the Cathedral, politely declining the priests' offer of food. "We're here on a particular mission," the King said, "but, thank you for offering. It smells like a fine meal tonight."

"Move fast!! Take everything of value!! Take all food!! Slaughter all of their animals!! Whatever we don't take, we burn!" Shouted Razael Krahl.

His company of soldiers raised their weapons and shouted back.

"UUU-UURAAHH!! KRAHL!!"

They then ran down the hill towards the small village in the valley. Several of the village's gaurds moved to combat the large company, but a few soon realized it was lost and ran away, leaving the villagers to fend for themselves.

Krahl spurred his horse on, and he charged down the hill himself, his sword high above his head.

The Warlord caught up with one of the gaurds that had not decided to flee, and he swung his sword down upon him, decapitating him.

He pulled back on the horse's reigns, and turned over to the other gaurds. His men finally caught up, and began to butcher the remaining resistors.

The whole village was no in chaos, with Krahl's soldiers running through it, stealing everything and setting the thatched huts on fire.

Suddenly, a male villager ran out of one of the nearby burning huts, a sickle in his hand.

He singled out Krahl and charged, shouting, "MURDERER!"

Krahl didn't even bother to raise his sword, he rode his horse straight at the man. Soon, the peasant began to panic, and turned to flee, but Krahl was much faster.

He rammed the villager, and trumpled him underneath his horse's hooves.

All of the buildings were burning now, and Krahl's black-armored soldiers were loading their new-found goods into carts. The women, children, and remaining men of the village were running off towards the woods that were not too far from the village.

Krahl's horse raised up on it's hine legs, he raised his sword for theatricallity, as the villagers were watching him as they ran.

He looked to his second-in-command, Cedric.

"Cedric! Get a squad together and capture the remaing villagers....try to take them all in alive, but remember that the women and children bring a high price these days...so keep them in top priority!! Move now!"

Cedric nodded, "Yes Milord."

The man then jumped on his horse and rode off with several other soldiers towards the fleeing villagers.

Krahl sheathed his sword and jumped off the horse. He then grabbed another, much larger claimor sword off of his horse's pack.

He began to go through the maimed bodies of those that were killed, making sure they were dead. His other troops did the same, burning everything and collecting some rare gold artifacts, which caught Krahl as strange, this being a poor village.

The Warlord hoped that none of the Gaurds had survived...if word of this got to the King of these lands, their situation would not be good. Krahl needed more time to recruit more men to his crusade.

He kicked one of the bodies over, and noticing that the person was still alive, plunged his blade into them.

Razael Krahl then kicked the body out of the way and walked to the well, taking a mug of water off of it and drinking out of it deeply. He found it ironic that not 5 minutes before, one of the villagers had been drinking the same mug.

The Archbishop couldn't help but be curious. "What is thy mission, Sire?"

King Cailan Theirin smiled. "Patience, Archbishop. I shall see if the Paladin I have in mind for it wishes to disclose it to you--if she accepts, that is."

"If she accepts?!" The head of the priesthood of the Chantry could not have been more honored. One of his very own was being selected to perform a special assignment for the King--and it didn't sound like His Majesty wanted her to scrub the walls of the royal stables after the grooms had finished cleaning them! He gestured to the diners at the long, polished wooden tables:

"Excuse me, everyone! His Majesty has suddenly arrived, and he demands your full and undivided attention!" The hall fell as silent as the grave. No one even dared cough as the lord of all Ferelden stepped forward valiantly. True, he would have preferred it if the Archbishop hadn't made such a big to-do about his visit, but since the damage had already been done, he continued:

"I am searching for a Paladin colleague of yours: Maid Shakhmaty Travaillant, of the Second Rank of Four." Another hush fell. As for Shakhmaty herself, she couldn't believe her own ears! Why did the King want to see her? Surely...

She stepped forward, kneeling before Theirin as a jealous Lucien looked on.

Krahl walked up and down the line of the captured villagers. All of them bowed their heads, and a few were shivering in fear.

"So...you could only capture this many?"

Krahl pointed to the 15 that had been captured.

Cedric walked next to Krahl.

"I ask forgiveness, Milord, but the villagers had somehow discovered a few of the Paladin Gaurd. They put up a fight, but we killed them without taking any casualties. We do not know why the Paladins were here...usually they would be in the Northern Monastaries, at least what reports say."

Krahl raised a hand.

"Remember, their Holy Order actually was originally based in this area until the Geraul Heresy...which lead to the creation of the Monastaries...but still, their High Command remains here, so as to prevent a single force in their church from rising without notice. Such weak philosophies..."

Cedric bowed his head, "I am sorry, Milord."

"Yes, I know. Be sure that all intelligence of the area is known by all officers of the Black Gaurd. We cannot afford to not know what lies ahead..."

Krahl stopped in front of one of the villagers, a young boy.

"Here...this boy seems old enough, but not too old...there's hope for him yet."

Two soldiers came over and unshackled the boy, and led him over to a small group of other boys, who were watched over by the Training Commander. These boys would be trained to fight, and would be utterly forced to accept the doctrines of Krahl's Private Army. By the time they grew up, they would be completely loyal to Krahl, and would be willing to fight to the death. It was always best to get them when they were young...it was alot easier to teach them who their real commander should be, at that age.

One of the woman stood up, "NO! Not Roland!! Please, let him stay with us!! Not my son!"

Krahl pointed to the woman, "Shut her up."

Two more soldiers came over, manhandled her, and stuck a thick gag in her mouth. She continued to try her best to scream and protest, but Krahl took a step forward.

"If you continue, we'll cut out your tongue, understand?"

With that, she became quiet, and the others became even more solemn.

Cedric walked towards Krahl.

"Milord? You're orders?"

Krahl thought for a moment, looking back at the line of prisoners.

"We'll let this group live...they'll work for us and do our bidding until we reach one of the major cities, there we can get rid of them, selling them or killing them. Right now, they could be of use."

Cedric bowed, "Yes Milord."

The second-in-command then motioned for the soldiers to load them into the carts. They now had hostages and a labor force, the crusade would begin soon.

Krahl jumped up onto his horse.

"We ride for the next village...we have no time to lose. ONWARD!"

He spurred his horse forward, and the large military caravan began.

Coryn smiled after the King began to stammer and break off. Indeed, he certainly had the look of a rogue, and that was his intention. After all, Coryn had only moderate experience with a blade, and often made use of intimidation. However, when all else failed, Coryn could rely on magic, and that was something that he had become quite good at. He was not anywhere near the level of expertise that most mages had, but in time, he hoped that would change.

Slipping silently into the Cathedral slowly behind the King, he walked over to a corner of the building and stood in shadow. No one really noticed his presence what with the King's arrival and all, at least not that he could tell. This city must be the capital, then, if the King is actually here. He had been wandering for so long that he didn't really know where he was going to end up. Eventually, however, if he ever got his skills in magic advanced enough, he had been thinking about becoming a mage, but that day was very far off.

Looking around the Cathedral, he noticed it was very decorated, and made note of the different kinds of people inside. So far, he did not notice any Elves. But if all were welcome here, then he supposed that maybe someone would treat him with kindness.

One very adorned man suddenly began to speak. No doubt he was the Archbishop. One of the Paladins kneeled before him after he had spoke.

What a day this was turning out to be.

"Milord?" asked Shakhmaty. "Why have you called for me?" She still knelt.

"Rise, Paladin," replied the King. She did so, saluting him crisply. "I have come to ask you a question. Tales are flying about Redcliffe Castle and the places beyond: tales of a daring rescue from six brigands. These tales also specify that a lovely, bare young damsel almost lost her life--and her maidenhood--while sneaking through the forest to capture a precious...blue pennant?"

She blushed to the roots of her hair. "That is entirely true, Your Majesty. I am ashamed by the disgrace this has brought upon me and upon my fellow Holy Knights. If you have come to reprimand me for my lack of vigilance during our semiannual war games, please do so. It is no more, and no less, than I deserve." She almost knelt down again, but quickly decided against it.

King Cailan Theirin laughed, and his merriment contained no malice. "On the contrary! That is the mark of a true Paladin, honest to the end, who is willing to admit her faults and expose herself to ridicule and humiliation for the sake of avoiding a lie. Thus, that is why I have decided to select you for the assignment that I have in mind. Do well, and you shall be rewarded."

When would unbelievable things finally stop happening to Shakhmaty so she could lie down and sleep in peace? Not fully understanding her good fortune, the young Paladin asked just what sort of an assignment this one was.

"You know of widespread plagues in Ferelden?" Shakhmaty nodded. "You know of floods, and tremors of the earth?" She nodded again. "You know that some have searched for signs for years, and only now have found them? The Deathstage is upon us, Paladin, and there has been a rash of ritual murders within the confines of the city. The dead are lain upon crude altars, after an inverted cross has been slashed into their wrists. That's how they bleed out."

Shakhmaty shivered. "That is a sure sign of a cult, Your Majesty."

"A dangerous one--one that has read the signs and believes the Deathstage to be close at hand. I want you to investigate this cult, and what is more, you may take anyone you choose with you into the city. If you can find a connection between the dead, the cult, and its possible leader, I swear upon my honor that I shall have another place for you, Maid Shakhmaty." Cailan's eyes were somber. "Do you accept this mission, Paladin, or do you withdraw?"

"I accept." The Paladin placed her hand over her heart. "I loathe cults."

"Very well!" The King raised his head to the crowd. "There is another grave matter at hand--that of a marauding warlord who has already attacked three of our nearby villages. Krahl is his name, or so it's said. I need someone, or preferably a team of skilled warriors and hunters, to track him down and help bring him to justice. If he will not come alive, then bring Krahl back dead."

Lucien's eyes brightened. By the Chantry! That fool of a Paladin lass wasn't going to be the only one receiving a mission of great honor on this day!

He stepped forward, not kneeling down, feeling it was beneath him as a Vicar. "I shall search for this warlord," he replied. "I am Vicar Drathart."

"Oh, yes?" replied the King. "You are a priest. Do you not need some allies?"

"I may be a man of the cloth," replied the Vicar dryly, "but I am not helpless. Still, I will do as you ask and find some allies, yes. Ones who can fight."

His eyes lit upon a Dalish Elf, presumably one who had snuck into the Cathedral. A pawn is small, but powerful, he thought to himself. Of course, once I tell Krahl about my plan, he might be more interested in fulfilling it than fulfilling his course of wanton slaughter. The King trusts me? Ha! He's even more of a fool than 'Maid Shakhmaty' is. I'll soon betray him!

After hearing all of this, Coryn's interest perked up greatly. He nearly felt like speaking outright at this, but decided against it. The Deathstage was coming? Only moments before he had been wandering through a forest like he had usually been doing, and now the King of all Ferendel was announcing the end of the world.

Suddenly his eyes locked with the Archbishop, Vicar Drathart. Something wasn't right about this man, Coryn thought. Or maybe Coryn simply disliked him because he was a priest.

Nevertheless, Coryn thought about the King's announcement. A warlord who had destroyed three villages.

Wait....No, it can't be....

Coming out from the shadows now, Coryn spoke straight towards the king.

"This warlord...did he attack a village eight years ago?"

Cailan Theirin turned his wise eyes toward the young Dalish Elf.

"I do not know if it was he," the King replied honestly, "or some other warlord that remains unknown. However, if you are interested in discovering his identity, perhaps you might go with the Vicar to accomplish this goal?"

Lucien Drathart resented the King's presuming who and who would not go with him on the journey to "capture" the marauder. Nevertheless, he turned toward the Dalish Elf. Something interested him about this dark-visaged spawn of lower-class beings. Perhaps it was his eyes, his instant look of mistrust, his pale and tautly-drawn features, or a combination of all three. Whatever it was, Lucien intended to use it--and the Elf--to his advantage.

"It takes a hound to catch a hound," he said, "and the more vicious, the better. Would you accompany me in our assignment to take this fiend down?"

He waited for an answer, not knowing--or caring--that Shakhmaty listened.

******************************

She had never liked Lucien Drathart. He had looked down on her from the moment she had first stepped inside the Cathedral of the Chantry, as a scullery maid-cum-warrior-in-training-cum-Paladin of the Second Rank of Four. Shakhmaty had always found him too serious, too arrogant, and too unwilling to listen to any of his teachers, Archbishop or not. What was he up to? She shook her head. Never mind. He has his mission, and I mine.

Turning to Nierra, Zero, and Alkonium, who had just finished eating, she said, "I know you wish to find your way back home, most likely, but would you wish to help me in the investigation of the Deathstage cult?" She paused.

Coryn was now inflamed with anger, and he was bitter with yearning for revenge. This had to be the same warlord, whether the King told him so or not, and he had waited a long time to find the destroyer of his village.

His eyes burned into Drathart's. For some reason, he did not trust the man, but if his goal was the same as Coryn's, the perhaps they could work together.

Coryn did not know whether he was ready for such a dangerous mission or not, but the opportunity was not one he could simply pass up. Approaching Drathart, he said darkly, "I will join you."

When he found this warlord, he would kill him, whether Drathart or the king wanted him alive or not. Everyone he had every known was slaughtered in his village that day, and Coryn wanted his vengeance for it.

This was turning out to be an interesting day, indeed.

Lucien Drathart smiled. That was easier than I thought. I had believed all Elves to be weak, spineless, and unfit to be true warriors. However, this one has an insatiable and unconquerable lust for revenge in his heart. I can use that lust toward my own ends, and when the time comes for betrayal, I will tell the lad that I am only using Krahl in order to lure him into a trap. The Elf is so blind that he'll fall for anything I say, as long as the lust is there.

"Hey, Elf!" One of the Paladins, granted only a place on the First Rank of Four, threw his dirty pewter plate at the young rogue's head. "You'd be good for the kitchen! Go wash that, and maybe I'll give you a copper coin!"

The plate, catching the Elf off guard, made him tumble straight to the ground. Shakhmaty, reacting in a split second, sprang towards her lesser comrade and pinned him to the wall. She wrapped her hand around his neck and squeezed. "Say you're the son of a Darkspawn!" she hissed in his ear.

"Shakhmaty!" The Archbishop was furious. "Want ye to be demoted?"

She let him down, and he sank to the floor with a thud. "Nay, sir."

"Then I suggest you humble yourself and try not to be so rash next time."

Shakhmaty nodded, gently helping the Elf to stand without slipping on the mess of meat sauce that had dribbled on the floor from the soiled plate.

"Clean that up." The Archbishop frowned. "Not the Elf, Shakhmaty. You."

Zero stared at his new paladin friend. She wanted his help on a quest and it sounded important. Something that might finally make Ferelden peaceful again. Zero couldn't possibly say no to such an important thing like that.

"Why with a cute little smile like that how can I possibly say no. I'm in."

She seemed like a good hearted person but how could he be sure he was making the right call. He watched as a Paladin threw a plate at the elf rogue. Shakhmaty jumped at the paladin and helped the elf up. What was her reward for doing something kind, she had to clean the jerk's mess up. He hated to see good people suffer for other people's actions. He took his plate and dropped what ever was on it to the the floor. He watched as his mess added to the other.

"Well would you look at that, I guess I'll take care of it seeing its my mess."

He didn't see anything to clean the mess with so he had to improvise. He was able to find a bucket and that was all he would need. He knelt down and pushed the food into the bucket with his hands. After a minute or so he turned the bucket back up.

"There we go, it looks just like it did before ol meathead over there messed it up." Zero said as he pointed to the Paladin who threw the plate at the Elf.

Shakhmaty slapped her hand over her mouth, pretending to cough, but she was actually giggling. She knew the Paladin who had thrown the sauce-covered plate at the Elf. He was ill-suited to the religious life, and yet his parents, being nobles, only wanted the best for their son. Meaning, they wanted what they thought was best for their son, and they thought he needed to have the "fear of the Maker" put into him. She had certainly done that, though not in the exact way that the Archbishop had intended!

Walking over to Zero, she said, "Thank you, friend. I appreciate your kindness and willingness to stick your neck out for me. That goes for the mission as well as the--unfortunate incident with the plate." She winked. "It is dark now. Tomorrow we will go into the city to investigate the Deathstage cult, for I dare not risk such an act except in the light of day. If my suspicions are correct, the ritual murders often take place under cover of night's shadow."

"I agree," replied King Cailan. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be off."

Noticing the Dark Elf, the rogue, and the soldier, he cried, "I almost forgot! Guards? You remembered to bring the Badges of Rescue, did you not?" Skeld and another one of his companions removed something from their belt pouches--badges shining of pure gold, radiating with a hidden power.

"Eyewitnesses--or at least the bards and tale-tellers--place you, Elf, you, rogue, and you, warrior, at the scene where Paladin Travaillant was saved. Thus, I award you these Badges of Rescue for your brave deeds. If you find yourselves in danger, simply touch the badges, and they will give strength to your body and focus to your mind. They are not objects of the occult, or any strange cult. Rather, they are imbued with the power of the Chantry and the Maker himself. Wear them with honor and pride. I hope to see you again."

He saluted the congregants and turned to leave with his royal entourage.

Coryn had been extremely careless to let the plate take him off guard like that. His fall was an extremely hard one, and that mixed with his anger did not make a good combination. Still, he was right about one thing. A Paladin was willing to help him up. Of course, the scene that unfolded before him allowed him another look at the instability of human society.

He said nothing, but merely nodded at the Paladin, and then turned back to Drathart. The man looked very happy about something, although he tried to hide it. Perhaps no one else noticed, but Coryn had spent too many years on the streets not to be able to read people, at least to an extent. There was something strange about this man.

Still, he approached and reached out his hand for a shake. When the man reciprocated, Coryn held on to the other man's hand with an iron grip.

"So tell me just how we are going to find this warlord," he said.

"We will find him the way any Mabari War Hound finds its prey: we hunt."

He turned to the Elf. Good. The Pawn has made his move, and it is two steps forward. Not only did he shake my hand in return for my own gesture of comradeship, but he grasped it with the strength of iron, promising betrayal or mutiny in the end. Lucien Drathart smiled. Just as I expected.

"The Paladin and her--foreign ilk--allow time for sleep, preferring to amble about aimlessly once the dawn has broken. We shall do no such thing. Warlords do their own hunting at night, and that is why we must set out now. If we must slumber, we shall do so for only a few hours at a time. You're an Elf. Surely you have enough hardiness to endure such a schedule?" Reading no response on the young Dalish's face, Drathart nodded. "Yes, then. Move out!" He pointed towards the door, drawing the curiosity of onlookers.

Why was the Vicar, keen and newly-promoted, taking that with him?

Krahl stared out at the hideous image in front of him. Of course, it didn't seem hideous to him, but a regular peasant would be revolted, and no doubt regurgitating.

The image was a row of heads.

The Paladin's heads.

The ones that Cedric's men had killed. Krahl felt a need to show an example of what happens if his will is resisted. Hopefully, the Holy Order of Paladins would pay strict attention, and not resist the inevitable.

They had placed the heads in front of the next village they had burned. This time, they took no prisoners, destroying everything, and stealing food, livestock, any form of riches, everything.

Krahl pulled on his horse's reigns and began to trot over to his troops.

"We'll set up camp here tonight. Half the men are to sleep, the others are to form a perimeter around the ruins....I want 3 scouts set up in the trees in the woods, blow up a red flare if you see any intruders. We need to be ready."

Cedric saluted and began to order the men back and forth.

Krahl dismounted and led his horse over to a wooden post, where he lashed the reigns to the wood, so the horse wouldn't run off.

He then went about setting up camp, and planning the next move.

Zero turned his head to the man who got the Elf to follow him and just stared at him. There was something odd about him, he'd have to keep and eye on him. He nodded his head at Shakhamty's thanks to him. He listened on what she said about this cult and didn't like what he heard. People were being murdered at night and they wanted to wait until daylight.

"How can anyone sleep knowing there are murderers out there. I can't sit by and let innoncents die. I'm The Scarlet Spider, I defend the good from the wicked."

"Certainly. I've always had my doubts about cults, and this one sounds particularly bad." Alkonium commented. "I agree. There are plenty of other adventurers like us in Stormreach, and this seems more important. That, and I'm starting to get tired of the curious looks from all these Paladins. Other than from you, of course." Nierra told Shakhmaty. Seeing the spectacle between Shakhmaty and that other Paladin, Alkonium felt compelled to ask her, "Does that happen often?"

Coryn made sure not to show any emotion on his face. Of course, by now this had become almost an involuntary action, but he didn't want Drathart to know what he was thinking. He was studying the man's face, trying to figure out anything that he could about him. Unfortunately, this time the man had clear control of his countenance, and obviously that was the end of it.

Not particularly enjoying where this was going, Coryn followed Drathart anyway. The man was a priest, after all. Still, it only added to Coryn's hesitation around religious people. In particular, it made him think of the new cult springing up.

The Deathstage was coming. And here Coryn was, longing for his revenge on the man that slaughtered his entire village. But perhaps this could gain him something valuable....

Following Vicar Drathart out the door, Coryn grasped the amulet around his neck. Should the time come, he knew that he was not defenseless. No one in these parts knew of his abilities, and hopefully that would work to his advantage. But for now, it was time to find this warlord. This might be kind of fun.

Shakhmaty snorted. "No. He's a rawblade, a recruit that hasn't even passed his first year of training. Most of us are promoted within the first few months after our first year, to the Second Rank of Four, as I have been. Not he. As you can see, he lacks the proper discipline and respect for others that truly qualifies you as a Holy Knight. He seems to want the glory and the power--not to mention the divine gift of laying on of hands--but not the humility or the responsibility. Let us retire." She looked at Zero sadly. "I am sorry," she said, "but trying to stumble over tree roots and rocks in the dark will do no wonders for my balance or my throbbing head." She winced in sudden pain, stumbling backwards and almost crashing into a pillar, chainmail and all.

"I need rest," she said softly. "I can do no good in my present condition."

Closing her eyes, she hoped and prayed that her new companions agreed...

**************************************

Tracks. Hunting required a keen eye and a honed bow--not to mention sharp arrows that met their mark--but when it came to locating prey, tracks were almost sacred. Without them, how could you ever hope to find your quarry?

It was easy to scout out the tracks of the warlord, Krahl. The muddy prints, the burning hovels and straw huts, and especially the heads on spikes--these were the marks of his territory, and his conquests. Finding them was easier than catching fish in a barrel. Finding him, however, was another matter. How long would it be before Drathart and the Elf met Krahl face-to-face? There was only one way to find out: cast a spell that would act as a flare. If Krahl or his scouts were anywhere nearby, they would see it and either go to investigate it themselves or send some other lackey to do it.

Thus, the Vicar cautioned: "Stand aside." He cast a blaze of Holy Light into the air, illuminating the night sky with a sun that only lasted a few seconds. No one who was paying any attention to the nearby firmament would miss it. Even those who had been staring at the ground would be half-dead not to hear the hiss-pop! sound that the spell made. This was all too easy...

A loud hiss and short pop of a flare woke Krahl from his sleep. He immediatley stood and already in his armor. He grabbed his sword off of his horse and then looked at the red light in the sky, and he saw that his soldiers had awoken as well.

"ALARM! EVERYONE! TO YOUR POSTS! CAVALRY! COVER THE FLANKS!"

He mounted his horse, untying the reigns and lifting his sword in the air, the sign for his men to rally.

Suddenly, he saw the three scouts that had been setup in the trees.

"You three! What are you doing here so soon?"

"Forgive us, Milord...but the flare that was launched was not ours...."

Krahl acknowledged their mistake, but it wasn't their fault..so he wouldn't punish them...yet.

"Fine....join the perimeter defense...we'll find out who launched the flare....and kill them for disrupting my army's rest..."

He spurred the horse forward, beginng the search.

((Can we please start over? I have TOTALLY screwed up the Dragon Age lore without meaning to--in several respects, from my very first post onward. I've since 'done my homework,' so to speak. Please don't totally hate me!))

(We could do that, or, we could just write it off as "taking a few liberties". After all, I'm pretty sure there's no real link between Eberron and Ferelden.)

((I just came up with this idea for a villain that's way cooler than Lucien, for starters, and I think you'll think she's cooler, too. You see, in the Dragon Age world, mages are feared because they can summon spirits from the Fade, or spirit world. Some mages are attracted to Blood Magic, which means they can fuel their magic powers with their own blood and control the minds of others. I can just imagine a Blood Mage, an apostate on the run from the Templars of the Chantry, using her minions--and undead corpses--to become the Second Blight. :) What do you think? Also, a lot of mages get the Blood Magic talent by making a pact with a demon, so this mage is POSSESSED!!!))

(Well, who says there has to be only one villain?)

((What do the rest of you guys think? Tired...need some sreep. :)))

((I agree with Alkonium, there's nothing wrong with two villians. That just gives us another challenge.))

((TWO VILLAINS! I SAY 2!!!:D))

((Okay! :) Now then--back to our regularly scheduled DDO/Dragon Age RP! I'll try to include the ACTUAL Dragon Age lore as best I can now...))

Lucien Drathart's blood ran cold for a moment. He heard angry noises in the distance--the noises of Krahl and the men at his camp rallying to arms. I seem to have made a mistake, he thought to himself, but with the right words and the application of guile, even a mistake can turn into a golden opportunity. He turned to the Dalish Elf, squatted down, and said:

"This is our chance. Even I believe that the warlord and his men are going to try and kill us if they find us, and so that's why we're going to pretend to be their prisoners for a moment. Once we're at their camp, that is where we're going to spring a trap. I'm going to try and recruit Krahl to join our side, because there are...objectives...which I wish to accomplish sooner rather than later. Once Krahl is recruited, and once he has helped us fulfill our aims, then we'll kill him. We'll give him over to the King if need be, in order for him to be hanged, drawn and quartered, but I would rather we kill him first."

After a pause, he continued, "You will have your revenge, Elf. We both will. You will have yours upon Krahl himself, and I will have mine upon...the people I will recruit Krahl and his marauding army to remove beforehand. One more thing: I am going to cast a spell upon us, the most powerful one I know, in order to protect us from death for a limited time. Through my strength of will and mental fortitude, I can make it last a single hour, but no more."

He raised his arms. "Dava, gibora, vespa!" The magnificent spell was cast, and a nearly-invisible shield of invulnerability enveloped the both of them. Krahl would not be able to slaughter them now, nor his men, unless they kept them prisoner for more than an hour. After that--all bets were off.

Finding a pennant nearby--a light-colored pennant, if not white--he waved it toward the nearest scout of Krahl's and cried, "A truce! We surrender!" A trap, more likely, he thought to himself, and we'll never truly surrender. However, I suspect that Krahl is bloodthirsty enough that he'll fight for anyone and any cause, as long as he gets to go to war. That's our 'trump card,' and that's the card we'll play in this particular case--the Pawn and I.

It wasn't long before the Vicar and the Elf were completely surrounded by enemy fighters and scouts. "Take us to Krahl," they said. The men complied.

As Shakhmaty, Nierra, Alkonium, and the rogue Zero slept--it being nearly midnight--the young Paladin, the 'rawblade' who had thrown the dirty plate at the Dalish Elf, stood before the leader of them all and asked, perturbed:

"What did I do wrong?"

"You know your error, rawblade. Even though Elves are lesser pagan beings that need to hear the Chant of Light in order to be saved, it is still cruel and compassionless to mock them as you did. You threw your soiled plate at that Dalish just as ignorant and unenlightened people threw stones at the first Priestesses and Priests of the Chantry! That is why you haven't been promoted to the Second Rank of Four. You're a poor Paladin."

The recruit scoffed. "Paladin! That's not even an official term in the Church."

"Indeed. We call ourselves Holy Knights, yes, but we are truly Berserkers and Templars. The former call upon the rage of battle to aid them, increasing their brute strength and stamina so that their foes are completely stunned and overwhelmed. You, on the other hand, are a Templar. What is your duty?"

"To hunt mages," he said sourly. "Specifically, to hunt apostate mages."

"Aye. Those who do not practice their art within the laws and confines of the Circle of Magi are dangerous, and if caught by Templars, they are to be either killed on sight or captured and put to the torch. Do you know why?"

The rawblade rolled his eyes. "Many know Blood Magic," he said, "and that is where you fuel your arcane power with your own liquid of life--an abomination. You can also control the minds of others, including your friends as well as your foes, if you're a Blood Mage. To get to do Blood Magic, although it is not fully necessary, several mages make a pact with a demon."

"Indeed. Then they are possessed, and they themselves become monsters. You have learned well, rawblade, but you lack the compassion and humbleness that you need to truly rise within our ranks. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Bowing his head, the recruit retreated sullenly to his chambers.

The leader of the Paladins sighed. He was a Templar himself, and he was training the rawblade to be one. Still, with him as his colleague--disaster!

((NOTE: Berserkers and Templars, and what they do, are official DA:O lore!))

In the bed so generously provided by the church, Nierra couldn't sleep at all, too troubled by the thought of being the only one of her kind. There have to be other Drow in Ferelden, I can't be the only one. She thought. Why do I even care? I've never liked other Drow. Maybe it's that feeling that I'm alone in this world, but I'm not. I've still got Alkonium, right?

All this tracking was making Coryn very tired, and he wished that it would stop. Finally, Drathart suggested casting a flare spell. How a priest was able to have such knowledge of magic, Coryn did not know. The important thing was that he did know of Coryn's abilities yet. And that was key.

The warlord's army did not take long to find them. Upon Drathart's suggested invulnerability spell, Coryn nearly started laughing, but controlled himself. Again, he grasped the amulet around his neck. Such a simple thing, that provided so much....

Rather than argue, Coryn went along with Drathart's plan. After all, what better way to get closer to the warlord? While the two of them likely could have killed all of the soldiers along the way, having seen Drathart's ability with magic, this would make things much easier--and provide Coryn the upper-hand should anyone betray him.

*****

They had been dragged along for quite a while now. The invulnerability spell Drathart had cast on them was still quite active. Coryn could feel the magic flowing through him, and into the--

In the distance, a loud shout was heard. Probably one of the sentries. And there, not too far away, Coryn noticed a figure clad in all black armor, even sporting a very intimidating helmet. The look almost managed to scare even Coryn.

It seems that they had arrived at the warlord's camp.

Cedric came over to Krahl's side.

"Sir...we've got them...whoever they are, the troops say that the prisoners wish to speak to you."

Krahl dismounted his horse and began to walk towards the group that surrounded the prisoners.

He made it there quickly, and his men parted for him, giving him alot of room.

"Who are you!? And who wanted to speak!! Don't waste my time, or I'll finish yours!"

Lucien Drathart, usually deep and eloquent in his sermons at the Cathedral, decided to forgo all the art of his speeches and get right to the point. "Do you like to kill, warlord? Do you like to see the weak exterminated and the strong enhanced through eradicating them? Do you like to see fools suffer their due, which is being trapped like a rat and then being disposed of like one? If so, I have a proposition for you--one which you may find appealing."

"As you know, in Ferelden there are those who refuse to work for their daily bread. They beg, which is weakness; they sell themselves, which is carnality; or they steal, which is the worst crime of all--preying upon honest men. My proposition to you is this. Under my banner, in the name of the Chantry and all that is good and holy--not that you would care, of course--I would like you to sweep the filth from the streets of Ferelden and wash them clean with the blood of the very wretches of whom I speak. King Cailan shall not know of this, but he shall be much relieved when he finds there is no more crime within his kingdom. There are several quarters where the rats congregate. Wipe them out. In return? Name your price. I could offer you gold, but you scoff at it. I could offer you land, but you won't use it. I could offer you salvation, but you believe in no god but yourself. What, then, do you want?"

*********************************

Shakhmaty awoke with a start, sensing something dark within a dream. In her mind's eye, she saw a lonely silhouette, much taller and thinner than her own. The shadow swirled within an acrid smoke, a spaceless void where her isolation was her torment.

Sensing the pain of one nearby, she crept to Nierra's room and sat down on the bed. Was the Dark Elf only pretending to be asleep? Softly, the Paladin Berserker whispered:

"I, too, am the only one of my kind. I am quite close to having the talent of a Blood Mage, without the demonic pact that is commonly the price of such a thing. I can sense the thoughts of those nearby, though not read them outright. I can attune my awareness to the tide of events, and sometimes predict them before they happen. If the Paladins knew of my true nature, my 'soul's gift', they would think it a curse of the infernal regions and have me put to the torch. I am not of your race, but I find it beautiful. I am not of your heritage, being human, but I respect all sentient beings. In loneliness, I am your ally, and in isolation I shall be your sister if you wish it. Know this: I shall stand with you, whatever comes, and with your fellow soldier as well." She stood up, blowing out the candle near Nierra's bed. Her long hair gently brushed the Elf's neck.

"As you know, in Ferelden there are those who refuse to work for their daily bread. They beg, which is weakness; they sell themselves, which is carnality; or they steal, which is the worst crime of all--preying upon honest men. My proposition to you is this. Under my banner, in the name of the Chantry and all that is good and holy--not that you would care, of course--I would like you to sweep the filth from the streets of Ferelden and wash them clean with the blood of the very wretches of whom I speak. King Cailan shall not know of this, but he shall be much relieved when he finds there is no more crime within his kingdom. There are several quarters where the rats congregate. Wipe them out. In return? Name your price. I could offer you gold, but you scoff at it. I could offer you land, but you won't use it. I could offer you salvation, but you believe in no god but yourself. What, then, do you want?"

Krahl cocked his head to the right as he walked toward the loud-mouth priest, as his clothes identified him as, who had just spoken.

He used his tall height and muscular frame to make him more intimidating, not that he needed to, he was an ominous figure even when he wasn't trying.

Krahl grabbed the priest's, or Vicar's, decorative collar and lifted him up.

"You are in no position to negotiate anything, scum...."

He threw him down to the ground.

"But it just so happens that this perks my interest.......but I don't know if you can pay me for it..."

He stared down at the priest, "Because I doubt even you can give me the power to control everything...to lord over everyone."

Zero tossed and turned in this new bed. He wasn't used to sleeping in a bed such as this. It was much more comfortable than his own bed so it should give him a better sleep. The problem was that it wasn't his bed, it was someone else's. By sleeping in such a fine bed he was pretending to be something he was not. He would be acting like a higher up when in reality he wasn't. Not only that but he couldn't get the cult of out his head either. Just picturing people getting killed without being able to fight back made him sick. He sat up in the bed and looked around at the dark room. He knew it would be foolish to go out on his own but he could not just sleep right now. He got out of the bed and decided to take a look around the place. He wanted to get familiar with the place in case he ever needed to take a little trip here. He his cape, cloves and mask where they were and let his face take a break from it for once. He ran his hand through his blonde just to make sure it was still there. He rubbed his blue eyes and tried to adjust to the dark. After a few minutes, Zero could see. He exited his room and began to walk around. He knew no one would be out so he decided to take his time. He walked only a short distance before he heard a sound. He turned his head to see a figure making its way towards the hallway. He jumped at a wall and leapt at the ceiling. He spread his arms and legs to keep himself balanced to watch the figure. He was surprised to see Shakhamty leave her room to go into someone elses. Curious, he leapt down and leaned up against the wall. He wanted to make sure she wasn't up to anything suspicious, than again he too was out of his room. He leaned his head and whispered into the room.

"It's pretty late Shakhmaty, why's someone like you up at this wonderful hour?"

Nierra heard every word of Shakhmaty's little "speech", but continued to act as though she was asleep. However, she couldn't help but feel something when the Paladin's hair brushed against her neck. There was something she always found appealing about human hair.

That morning, Alkonium approached Nierra, who looked visibly unwell. "You look tired." He commented. "I had a rough night." She explained. "Listen, I know you think you're alone out here, but you're not. I feel even less kinship with these humans than those back in Eberron, and we came through that portal together. We're the only two beings from Eberron in this world, so as far as I'm concerned, we're in this together." Alkonium told her, to which she responded with a hug.

Despite being thrown to the cold, hard ground so forcefully and unceremoniously, the Vicar's eyes brightened. He himself may not have been able to deliver the prize that the warlord wanted in return for practicing his bloody trade, but he knew how to get into the King's good favor. What was more, he knew how to get Krahl into the presence of Cailan Theirin.

He was always too naive for my taste, though the Vicar. He still believes in the innate goodness of all creatures, whereas I know that at heart, we are completely evil and depraved. We are worthless, due to all the vices we've committed. We have made ourselves unworthy of the Maker. Once Krahl is King, or rather, when he thinks he has a chance at being King, I'll spring the final trap. I'll betray him to Theirin, and THEN who will be rewarded for his noble deeds? Of course, the Pawn mustn't kill him first...

"So you want to be King," smirked the Vicar. "Very well. I am on good terms with His Majesty Cailan Theirin, and you have my glad permission to either make him your slave or impale his head on a spike once you take the throne." There. Did that sound sincere enough? Talk about naivete! Lucien Drathart was fooling himself completely. Not only was he fooling himself into thinking his plan would work flawlessly, but he was also under the delusion that if he didn't deliver on his promise, Krahl wouldn't kill him. Of course he would. However, the Vicar had chosen to block that truth out of his mind.

**************************

NIGHT

"I woke up suddenly," the Berserker Paladin replied, "after a strange state of dreamlessness that unsettled me. Usually, I remember my dreams clear as day, but this time it was different. The void of my unconscious thoughts isn't something I often experience, and it scared me." She was telling the truth. "I also had...a sense...that some of us weren't sleeping peacefully, like the Dark Elf. As a Paladin, I have a strong intuition as to when someone is suffering in silence. I went to tell Nierra that she was not alone in Ferelden...and neither are you." She smiled and closed her robe further. "You may be from an entirely different realm, but you have allies here--namely, the Church and I."

She caught herself just in time. "Of course, not all in the Church are friendly."

MORNING

After a good, honest scrub in the large tub near the fireplace in her room, with good and honest lather and two washrags, Shakhmaty was ready for the day. She donned the lightest pair of armor that she had--some reinforced and yet lightweight leather--before greasing her two short swords and slipping them into the metal sheathes at her belt. If she found a torch, or a magical source of fire, she could and would ignite her blades and fight.

She went downstairs to breakfast--bread and water--and then went to see the Archbishop. "Come here," he said as he led her over to a weathered trunk. "These are where all the monk robes are kept, it's true, but there is also a special Investigator's Robe for you, and those who wish to wear it."

It was a long, silky, quartz-gray masterpiece, embroidered with the Cross of the Chantry on the lapel. "This is the standard uniform-cloak for Church investigators. Of course, you should wear something underneath it, which you already are, and so now you can be on your way." Shakhmaty smiled, noticing Zero, Alkonium and Nierra in the next room--or she thought she did!