Greetings, adventurer! While the tale of the Inquisition draws nearer, many mysteries in the Mage-Templar War must still be uncovered. The year is 9:40 Dragon, in the midst of the conflict. We're looking to you to tease out a tale from this momentous period in Dragon Age history. Welcome to our latest collaborative writing project!
We're going to tell that story as a community, one paragraph at a time. You'll see that we've started the story below. Anyone can add to it. Even better, three lucky contributors will have a chance to win a copy of Dragon Age: Inquisition! (Check out the official rules for the giveaway here).
A FEW RULES:
- Each user is allowed to contribute one paragraph (made up of five sentences max) at a time.
- Please don't edit again until three new users have contributed. In other words, there must be three paragraphs between contributions from any one user.
- Please leave your signature at the end of your contribution.
- Respect the work of your fellow Wikia community members and do not revert, delete, edit or alter portions of the story that have come before yours.
We'll allow entries for several weeks, and may jump in to help tie up any narrative loose ends. Until then, let's begin...
You arise from your shopworn cot in what you assume is some sort of local inn. Last night is a blur, but you are relieved to find your gear intact, lying in a heap in the corner. The autumn sunlight beams in through a slightly grimy window as you rub your head. You assume your companions are stationed somewhere else in the building...
You open the door, bracing yourself against the expected liquor-induced cacophony that you are already so used to. Instead you find a most grisly scenery: the downstairs area are soaked in blood and covered in entrails so putrid that you almost vomit. After ten seconds of mental recollection, because obviously being a badass hero, this is nothing new to you, you head downstairs with your staff drawn to survey the situation. However, as soon as you take a step, the floorboards underneath you come apart, plunging you into a dark abyss. As you free fall through the cold, black nothingness, you wonder what kind of unholy being you upset to suffer this kind of madness.
You awaken screaming from the hell you just witnessed,head booming your chest pounding wondering was it a trick a dream or vision what would it all mean. You reach for what's left of the bottle and down it's content's before standing up you look at the vision of a proud male Tal-Vashoth in the mirror There was no place in The Qun for a Serebaas of your power.
But the image in the mirror quickly begins to wobble and shimmer, oddly unstable. Incandescent, green demon fire bursts from the image and consumes it. And then the mirror itself begins to shake with otherworldly power, threatening with some terrible evil. Why had the image of the Qunari appeared in the mirror and then so promptly burned away, what did it all mean? And then you remembered.
A voice, endlessly repeating words with seamingly no meaning...Chanting, summoning... Maddening ! And there was a shadow, looming over us from a forsaken tower... A dark, prophetic tapestry led us to the abyss and then... The void. It took control over your body... The formless one ! But it couldn't be, could it? He was supposed to be nothing but a myth, a tall tale, something to frighten magelings with the fade... Still, it wasn't time to ponder aimlessly on the past. It was time to act.
The Qun do not feel fear, but then again...you no longer are welcome among your people. Fully exiled from Pol Vollen and now a Tal-Vashoth Mercenary you are still searching for your new path in life. Shouldering your staff across your back you run a hand overyour horns as you approach the door. They are still rough and uneven from where they were cut from your head and the grooves are familiar to your fingertips. You carefully avoid looking in the mirror as you leave; even if it were not for the previous images that still set your senses tingling you have no time or place for vanity. Pride is something you wear and not something you have ever gloried in. Shutting the door firmly behind you begin to search for your companions.
Out of the blue you are encountered by a group of Elves, claiming to be representatives of the Aldmeri dominion, the Thalmor. They claim that you're to be executed here and there for the crime of worshipping Talos. This baffles you, since you were certain nobody followed you when you stepped from Mundus in to the realm of Dragon Age. This bothered you, but luckily, unknown to them, you've secretly known the secrets to CHIM your entire life, much like Talos himself and how he wished away the jungles from Cyrodiil - past and present. You grasp your power, wishing away the elves until they became a gust of wind, and you carry on with your search.
Your powers and strange ability is both a gift and a curse you must live with, and the Ariqun warned of your coming and the powers you would one day possess, telling you that “To walk on different planes and affect creation should be a power exclusive to the gods.” He argued with the Arishok over your powers. It was a day in training when it first happened and when you realised what you were. You caught your reflection in a mirror but the reflection started to twist in green flame your reflection, becoming more demonic in form before a sinister voice echoed a word in your mind, “Truth”, as the universe shifted.
As the chaos in your mind clears, you see your companions, a small band of mercenaries across the inn. You notice the inn's features are different to the one you dreamt, before the bar had been to the left and the door to the right. You realise the dream was the opposite as if it had been a reflection but why worry your comrades? Noticing a stranger talking to them, a hooded figure, a client perhaps, you wander over. By the time you reach the table they've already left, so you pull up a chair and wait to be briefed. Meanwhile in the remnants of Lothering......
The young girl grunted as she pried the chestplate off the templar's thankfully lifeless body. She thanked the Maker for her powers and ran her hands along the wide gash in the man's chest, drawing the blood out and putting it in the large skin at her waist. How ironic, she thought. The Maker's servants fall to the powers He has allowed me to possess, to wield how I see fit. Surely, if He didn't protect the holy templars from her blood magic, the mages would no doubt win this war?
She stood and closed her eyes to survey the landscape with her minds eye, her delicate robes of deep fucia and purple flowing softly in an aftermath wind. Loose sand coloured strands from her roughly bound bun swayed before her healthy, portly face. "Silent mind" she commanded herself in thought. "Maker, show me". The walls of her awareness crumbled once more and she left the confines of her mundane senses. The lay of the land was before her in a clouds eye mental map.
A familiar feeling of dread filled the dwarf, and she could sense the old one was near. It was the same as the night that she had given birth to Sandal. Flemeth had come to her that night in her dreams, and offered to seal the boys powers. Lamaya knew that if she didn't agree her own secret would be revealed; her sons magic was more wild and uncontainable than her own. She agreed, but eventually realized that not only had Flemeth sealed her sons magic, but also his mind. Regret and shame wracked Lamaya until she could no longer look at her son without seeing the mistake she had made. On the day she left him, she made a vow to kill Flemeth and remove her son’s seal by any means necessary. By the Maker’s Will, revenge would be hers.
Back at the Inn you and your party are ready to depart uneasy about your quest and it's detail's you can't help but to worry as you head north but, atleast your out of that damn Inn you placerock armor over yourself you know all to well the suprises of the road you continue on with one question that you whisper to yourself "Are we ready for this".
As you step outside, a freezing gust cuts through you, and you pat yourself on the back for covering yourself in stone. "How are you doing friends? You must be chilly." you chuckle. Your companions laugh along, but then they say something that chills your blood further than the wind ever could have. "There's no wind, the weather is beautiful here!" You turn to see a violent storm brewing just a mile or so away, and you realise that whatever malign being has a hold of you, it's holding damn tight. You hold your staff tightly and head towards the darkening skies.
Your bulky fingers clench around your sturdy, reliable staff, but it is no mere staff just as you are no mere qunari. Carved from a single piece of ironbark, it's blueish hue hints at something out of the ordinary, the Dalish do not treasure their ironbark for no reason. It is an artefact from your nomadic travels, etched with masterful glyphs and wards from a multitude of tongues, both natural and unnatural. Crafted by a Dalish hermit in a supposed haunted forest, this staff named spectral bane seemed energised in your hands, maybe it too could sense what was coming.
Your staff, still firmly grasped in your hand, continues to glow with it magical properties, with no sign of disappearing at any time. The malevolent energy is still present, as you continue to head deeper into the eye of the storm. In fact, suffice it to say, it seems that the energy is growing ever more stronger as you continue to press forward, covering you as if it were a blanket used to warm one in the cold. Your companions, though they know not what is wrong, know better than to doubt you, considering that it was your magic and your skills as a leader which have kept both you and them from Death's hands on numerous occasions. As you reach your destination, with darkness swimming around you at every turn, you can muster only one thought before you sense something large coming your way, "The Veil is thin here..."
An Ogre coming out of nowhere emerges and swipes at you with its claw-like fingers; you barely dodge the blow. Like others of its kind the creature was large and muscular, pale and colourless apart from the blood splattered across its body; it looked truly intimidating. "I'll handle this!" declared Lukas, the youngest member of your band confidentally, grinning as he drew his broadsword sheathed behind his back. He roared as he charged at the beast, his weapon raised high. Why must the foolish boy always charge into battle so recklesslly, you groan.
The ogre roars, a deafening clamour that makes your ears ring, and as Lukas swings for it's stomach, it sweeps him up by the legs and holds him 8 feet off the ground. Thinking quickly, you send a blast of elemental magic at the arm holding Lukas, freezing it solid. "Grazno, your hammer!" you shout, and almost instantly a spiked maul flies from behind you and shatters the ogre's icy appendage. You turn to see the stout old dwarf grinning with pride at his feat of strength, and Lukas falls to the ground amidst chunks of frosty ogre flesh. The creature screams in pain, and Lukas thrusts his broadsword into it's knee, bringing him eye to eye with the mighty beast.
Lukas wrenches his sword free of the ogre's knee and, with only the greatest of the Maker's luck, manages to duck beneath the ogre's one remaining forearm as it swings forcefully over his head. Exhaustion is beginning to burn in his lungs, but he notes that the ogre is still grounded. Lukas staggers to his feet and throws all his remaining might into the swing of his broadsword. You and your fellow companions watch on in awed silence as Lukas's sword cleaves, whistling, through the air, ceasing only when the blade is firmly lodged within the beast's heart.
Lukas turns, wobbling noticeably. "Well, that went well. Why are all of you..." Whatever nonsense was about to come forth from his mouth is silenced as he pitches forward, a welt already growing on his forehead. The healer in your party, a Nevarran mage, quickly rushes forward and examines him. "Concussion, probably from a flying chunk of ogre," he says, already attempting to heal the young warrior. "He'll be okay, but we'll have to stay here for a few hours." Seeing your discomfort, the Nevarran adds, "I don't like it any more than you do, but if he's going to live, we don't have a choice."
A few hours passed and Lukas awoke, good as new, so when you asked his healer if a mild blow to the back of the head would cause him any serious injury and he hesitantly said no you reply "good" before smacking the youth across the back of his head hard with the back of your hand."You idiot boy!" you snarl, "You almost got yourself killed today, and what's worse, your reckless actions have lost us three hours, so next time you feel like jumping into danger, I suggest you restrain that impulse!" Lukas stared defiantly at you with those amber eyes, before relenting. "Fine, I'll only fight together with the group next time."
Surprisingly, the storm had remained at the same strength the whole time Lukas was being healed. As soon as the group begins to move forward however, the wind starts to lash at your skin just a little harder and you feel flecks of rain on your cheeks as you stare into the eye of the tempest. After half an hour of walking, you realise that by now it should be morning, but there is nary a hint of sunlight coming through the dark veil above you. Spinning your staff around your feet in a half-moon before clasping your hands together and thrusting them forwards, you create a shield to protect the entire party from the elements. As the others dry themselves, you hear a faint whispering coming from ahead of you, so you send a ball of light into the shadows to illuminate whatever being could be hiding in the unnatural darkness.
You continue to press forward into the unknown, the wind and rain still pelting against your face. You can tell that the morale of the group is steadily declining, as Lukas continues to complain, while Granzo is grumbling under his breath. You sigh to yourself, wondering if you are just going around in circles. The Maker seems to smile on you, however, as you spot a cave in the distance. Checking it for any wild or desolate beasts, you call your men inside and tell them to get some rest, as you resume moving at dawn.
As dawn breaks the cave fills with a bright light, bright enough to blind you. You turn over and groan, wanting to staying laying down. The dreams taking so much sleep from you during every nights rest. The sounds of Granzo snoring wakes you fully, 'Stupid boy' you mutter trying to get yourself up. You stand up fully stretching and trying to pop your back, stuck immobile another great perk of sleeping in caves.
"Granzo, wake up please your snoring will raise the dead." You mutter lightly tapping the boy with your foot. He turns himself over ignoring your foot, "Fine sleep, you'll miss out on breakfast... If I find any." The last part you whisper sorrowfully. Being a traveling mercenary had far and few perks, lacking breakfast was not a perk you ever desired.
You stood at the mouth of the cave with a nary an idea of where you were going to head off to, the only thing you knew for certain was that your party needed food, and badly. Low morale and empty bellies never mixed well, and they had traveled through this unnatural storm for far too long to turn back now. You looked around and saw that the storm had dissipated somewhat whilst you were pondering, and decided that now was as good a time as any to explore the strange surroundings for edible, well, anything at this point. If only we hadn't lost those three hours to that damnable Lukas! You weren't exactly sure why you kept him around, and aftering a few moments of fruitless guessing, decided to be more careful recruiting in the future.
Wandering the countryside, you gathered mushrooms that you deemed edible along with nuts and berries. You also thought about setting a few traps as well for some rabbits in order to get some meat into your men as well. It was then bychance that you saw a deer. Although hungry you and your men likely were, it was probably too early for deer. The deer suddenly looked behind and ran away; as you wondered what it was that frightened a giant spider let out a screech as it crawled over a rock.
Just as you are about to produce a gout of searing flame from your fingertips, the spider lifts its front legs and flicks its swollen abdomen forwards, a mess of sticky silk pinning your hands to your chest. It's all you can do not to melt your own face with the spell you had been focusing on, and you stumble backwards. The monstrous creature advances, its fangs clicking as it readies its poisonous glands for injection. Thinking quickly, you lift your left leg into the air before swinging it down as you kick with your right foot, focusing again on the flame you had almost unleashed. You feel a slight warmth in your calf, and suddenly the spider is screeching in pain as it finds itself engulfed in arcane fire.
You breathe in and out heavily, as you try to regain your breath after the short, but perilous fight you just had with the very large arachnid. It would seem that your skills are slowly starting to disperse and weaken, as you would normally be able to sense and destroy such creatures before they would even get the chance to try and ambush you. Brushing it off for now, you resume your mission to retrieve some hard-earned food for your hungry allies. Just as you prepare to shoot down a young eagle flying high above you, you swear you that can hear a loud roar coming off in the distance. And in case your ears are failing you, you are almost certain that the noise is coming from the direction of you and your allies' temporary stay...
"What trouble has Lukas gotten himself into now!", you groan, running back towards your cave campsite. As you draw nearer, you decide that the roaring sounds must be that of one very upset cave-bear. Cursing your ill-fated luck you break through the treeline and into the clearing which surrounds the cave. You look on as your allies fan out in a semi-circle around the cave's opening, brandishing their weapons, then you look beyond them, right into the gaping maw of a dragon.
- Benjamin Silver
As you ran to aid you companions, you watched them defend themselves and try to fight the dragon; saw young Granzo shield himself with his axe before bringing it down with all his strength when the dragon got close enough; impulsive Lukas holding his sword eager, wanting to dive in yet remembering his promise; Aristotolus an elderly mage yet able to dodge a shot of fire from the dragon, and return it with his own fiery blast; Ivia an icy elvish mage protecting herself with a shield before shooting at the dragon its opposite element. Iohanus your nevarran Mage kept away from the battle as far as he could. Isaleth, a hot-headed warrior fellow Qunari, let the heat of battle get the better of him, roaring as he charged into the inferno with sword in toe; he was whipped aside by the dragon’s tail, crashing into nearby rocks and falling to the ground, lying motionless. “That’s it, I’m ending this!” Lukas declared as he leapt up the wall of the cave. “No Luk, no, no!” You cried. Anonymius (talk) 21:25, December 9, 2014 (UTC)
Unfortunately, your words fell on deaf ears, as the brash, young warrior bravely, but foolishly disobeyed your orders and broke his promise as he charged headfirst at the beast. The dragon, as if insulted by the spectacle, hit the young warrior aside with one of its large intimidating claws. You and your followers watched in slow-motion as Lukas's body flew through the air, and then slowly, but surely, hit the wall of the cave hard, and fell onto the ground, unmoving. You looked as blood appeared on the young warrior's back, staining his clothes and armor. Upset, you growled and ran to the forefront of the group, staring hard at the dragon, who unleashed a mighty roar, fire pouring from its gaping maw.