Daeron watched the Warden commander fall, to the ground. He buried his sword in darkspawn and ran, nothing else matter right now he moved standing over Celica's body he gripped a Dark spawns blade hacking and slashing ruthlessly as he defended her. He prayed to Dread Wolf for the strength to carry on, to crush his foes and then take her back to Ferelden. The woman who had ended the blight and saved the world, she deserved and right now he going to stand and protect her. If she was dead, he would give her a heroes funeral and let them bury her alongside the other four who would never be forgotten. If she lived he would climb the mountain and get a pinch of Sacred Ashes, Maker's temple be damned.

Daeron was alone protecting her body as cut them down, Beaky soaring over head ripping away any Darkspawn that dared go for his blind spots. He screamed as if an animal cutting down any tainted creature that got to close in his minds he heard the words, his vow repeated over and over again. In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice. The words repeated growing louder, soon he began to yell them. A cry to arms, to let every Warden here now right now they would fight and die heroes or they would win and drive the beasts in to the darkness below. Beaky even cawed along as Daeron chanted. "In peace, vigilance! In war, victory! In death, sacrifice!" He yelled as he lifted his shield up, his griffin emblem coated in darkspawn blood as Beaky dropped him a fresh sword.

Nicolette didn't like magic. She knew it had its uses, but she couldn't find the heart to say magic was a blessing. She saw how mages were treated in certain Circles. The ones in Orlais seemed to be fine, but of course there were exceptions to this rule.

This situation was no different.

The Warden Commander who fell, there was nothing that could have been done. She accepted that face. The elven Warden seemed to be taking it harder than most as he began chanting the ever popular phrase among the wardens. Nicolette followed the warrior and his dog. Chaos was erupting from the camp as the Emissary rained down it's own personal hell.

Nicolette viewed the scene, trying to find some way to exploit the situation. Nothing was coming up. If anything had to be done, it was to get the Wardens to form and commence a counter-attack. She didn't know how to handle that, she wasn't a soldier, she was an assassin wanderer, someone somebody paid to handle messes.

This was a particularly nasty mess.

As a pair of charred skeletons clacked down to the soft muddy earth, Mireths body healed itself back out of lethal or long lasting consequences of his spell - the beauty of blood magic, its price was small, in return for incredible results it always baffled him as to why it was abhorred so much in the shems world.
From a quick scan across the battle field things seemed to be in the Wardens favour - or at least, that was the general feel until the Darkspawn commander came to the battle. It truly looked as if it had crawled from depths of hell itself, the guttural form of speaking it done was no better on creature that stood before the Wardens; it was Commander, against Commander.
But what came was not a fair fight, despite the fact that armour does little to protect against magic; unless specifically designed to do so, this spell would likely have torn through some of the sturdiest armour ever designed - it appeared to function somewhat akin to Chain Lightning and Virulent Walking bomb, it spread to the other targets after killing its previous one - this continued for what seemed like an eternity, effectively decimating the vanguard closest to the pit from where the Darkspawn had emerged.
And then, as soon as it had began, it ended.

It seemed as if the Warden lines would falter or break completely - but that didn't happen, they were resolute, and they would fight to the bitter end - but the question he asked himself was, should he?
Mireth had no cause to fight along side these people; true the Darkspawn are a menace, but they didn't have numbers, nor an Archdemon to be of any real threat to the world - this entire operation was likely an effort simply to keep the wardens occupied post-blight.

Mireth stroked his chin and contemplated for a moment, looking misplaced in the chaos that unfolded around him. It was then that someone started chanting the Wardens oath, spurring on the Wardens to strike at the heart of the enemy; they looked as if they were pissed off, more than shook to the core by their enemies grievous blow.

After a couple of seconds Mireth decided he would stay, at least until the battle was over - what harm could come from a good fight every now and then, he had to keep his mind sharp.
He pushed himself towards the front line closer to the chanting... Elf?
This took Mireth back abit, but it was true that there was no racism in the Wardens ranks.

But this was not the time to think of idle things - Mireth began to focus his mind on the task at hand, and when the charge took place, they would have the support of his magic - whether they liked it or not.

The collective roar from the Warden lines shook the earth beneath their feet. Capitalising on the opening granted by the Maker himself, they collapsed onto the stumbling darkspawn like flies onto a carcass. Blades clashed and whistled through the air, biting into flesh and removing limbs. Howls of pain, raw and inhuman hung over the battlefield just as much as the smell of death. Leading the charging line was Rannon, who had his eyes on some bigger game. Just behind him ran a woman in her late-twenties, struggling to keep up with the much fitter soldier. Gold and baby-blue robes, stained by mud, blood, and darkspawn ichor trailed behind her. Hair the colour of pale barley flowed in the wind.

Hissing, the Emissary dropped back to plan B. Since his advancing line was being hindered by an unknown mage, a new one was required. Taking a long burnt-bronze dagger from a sheath at his waist, the blade was placed lightly against the wrist of his left hand. “Qu-” Rippling and distorting as it left his lips, the word was unintelligible by the time it reached Rannon’s ears. A few too-long seconds passed. “-us.” Again, impossible to make out, the word came for the second time. Hysterically, at fever pitch, the Emissary chanted one final time. Flowing clearly out, now there was no doubt as to what it said.

“Quietus.”

Blade slicing deep into the creature’s wrist, ichor sprayed through the air, coming to rest inside the circle below. A single thundering pulse released from it, as the black rings blazed red for a brief moment. Silently, the fabric of reality tore apart before the soldier’s very eyes. A single rip, millimeters wide but around 9-foot tall, statically floated in mid-air. The woman stiffened beside Rannon ever so slightly, trying to run faster. Two hands, made from something resembling pitch-black leather appeared through the tear, foot-long blades protruding from each of the eight visible fingers. Light green and white energy sparked off as the hole was made bigger, stretched by the demon forcibly exiting the Fade.

---

As the dwarf ran towards the fallen Warden-Commander through every obstacle she met, it didn’t take long before she drew very close to Celica. Racing forward, slamming into a few more Wardens on-route, a figure in a long brown hooded cloak landed in front of the dwarf. Blocking her charge, the woman spoke, with a tonal mix of anger and intrigue. “The enemies are over there,” she pointed with the tip of one dagger towards the hole in the ground. “Perhaps you can’t
quite see it?” This time, her voice was sarcastic and cold, making the underlying challenge clear.

---

The thing walked out, struggling to squeeze through the gap which snapped shut behind him. Standing tall, it reached around 13-feet, just over double the average height of the Wardens present. Three large spikes crafted from dark red bone stuck out from its shoulder blades. A bone-plated tail whipped viciously at the wind. That armour covered most of the vital parts of the demon’s body, including the head. Two mighty horns curled from the tip of it’s head round and angled forwards, menacingly. Taking a deep breath in, the demon of Demise seemed to drain the energy still clinging to the dead and dying from both sides of the battle. A soft glow washed over the dark armour, as the thing chuckled.

“Come, little children. Come and play.” For it’s size, the damn thing was fast. It almost blurred past Rannon and the mage, bound for a much bigger prize. It crashed into the Warden lines and began digging in, skewering soldiers on it’s tail like kebab meat, tearing the top and bottom half of people apart, and using those powerful claws to render armour useless. The demon stalking unhindered through the dying ranks of soldiers, the mage behind Rannon didn’t stop, still heading for the Emissary.

The rugged soldier skidded to a stop, fear and anger mounting in his breast as he beheld the great Demon that surged forth. It passed him, and he lashed out with his huge sword on instinct, but it missed by stark inches. As his mind caught up with him, he yelled for Gideon to leave it be. He knew in his heart he wanted to face the bigger threat, but he couldn't let more demons be summoned. Still, he was torn. His heart and mind fighting an inner battle that his physical self couldn't deal with at the moment.

"You!" he heard from the woman running with him. He blinked, spinning to regard her. "We need to take that damn mage down. It’s imperative for it to live, but make it suffer."

His iron eye flitted to the ravaging Demon, before resting on the mage once more. Clearly she had a plan, and it coincided with what he had in mind as well. He didn't need to be asked twice. Even with the roar of battle, the mettle in his rough voice could be heard.

"It would be my pleasure."

He suddenly took off once more, Gideon at his left as he ran. He gave out a mighty battle cry that his companion echoed in an almost deafening roar-like bark. They thundered forward, gaining ground before the Emissary even knew they were fast approaching. "Split!" Rannon commanded, and Gideon began running in large leaps to and fro, back and forth, still advancing but moving in a serpentine line. Rannon did the same, he and his best friend having drilled such moves in their practices for years to confuse mages or archers. Still, the Emissary spun his staff and let out a word Rannon couldn't comprehend, summoning a damning Hex forth. A wave of roiling energy burst outwards. The soldier leaped to the side, but this wasn't something he could dodge.

Suddenly he felt weaker, sickly. The man's skin tightened along his bones and he coughed, his throat suddenly as dry as a desert. But still he moved onwards, shaking back the effects as best as he could and thanking the Maker that it seemed like most of the Emissary's magic was spent.
Rannon gave a cry as he pumped his legs to leap as far as he could, only for him to instead dive downwards. Gideon barked, causing the Emissary's next spell to go a fraction too slow, and Rannon's sword clove upwards from the ground, splitting the thing from balls to waist. Like a shot from a trebuchet, Gideon slammed into the Darkspawn and bit deeply into his arm as they both sailed to the ground, heavy paws planting on its chest.

"Don't kill it!" Rannon cried out, hacking another cough before standing up. This magic couldn't last, he knew that. He stood tall, gazing at the carnage that was being wreaked upon the wardens, and he heard himself say, "But you don't need to be gentle either."

Rannon shook himself, as if the magic was dust that he could scrub off of him, and ran over to kick the Emissary in the head to see if that would undo the effects of the Hex. It seemed to do nothing, but luckily, second by second, he felt himself getting stronger and hardier. His hold on his sword was more solid, and he steeled himself. "Keep him there!" he ordered his Mabari, and Rannon was preparing to charge back towards the lines, his weak legs now picking up speed along with power.

Offering a grim smile, the female mage spoke. “You two sure don’t do things in halves, do you?” Grabbing the free arm of the darkspawn mage, she dragged him into the circle of now-crusted ichor. Kneeling down, with both mages inside of the circle, the woman scanned the area briefly as though looking for something. Eyes fixating on Rannon’s boot, she gave the large Mabari a quick tap, signalling for it to let go. While preparing the spell, she spoke to the man. “You were running ahead of me. Did you hear it’s name!?”

He looked down at her with an incredulous stare.. “Yes?” he replied, not sure what the significance of that was, but told her anyway.

Grinning, she replied. “Perfect, we might have a shot at stopping it now.” Then, grabbing the short knife from the soldier’s boot, she pushed him back with enough force to move him outside of the magic circle which then snapped shut by force of will, energy swirling within. Her left hand planted firmly on the Emissary's head, the demon’s name roared from her lips. “Quietus!”

It responded instantly, twirling round and darting across the battlefield towards them. The woman’s right hand, holding Rannon’s dagger, slammed down into the heart of the darkspawn mage causing it to gurgle. A lance of unseen force blew through Quietus’s heart in a streak of red mist, just as it had the Emissary’s. It didn’t deter him, however. A second lance pierced it’s head, as the dagger landed between the eyes of the thaumaturgic link-doll. Bringing it above her once more, it dug deep into the thing’s stomach, but had no effect on the demon. The Emissary was dead.

Horror twisted the woman’s face, as she grabbed her staff, swore, and rose. Blood poured from the wounds, but it still continued on. Charging up a spell using the leftover energy which had poured forth from the Fade, lightning crackled around her left hand, pointed firmly at the demon seeking to end her. Watching from the sidelines, it looked like the blast might not cut it.

Rannon’s powerful legs pumped as he ran forward, scarred and ruddy face set in a snarl as he swept his blade up in a wide arc. A war scream tore from his split lip, and with frightening realization to all who looked upon him, he was suddenly within melee range of the Demon.

The blade came crashing downward, rending a tear into the creature’s flesh. But the experienced swordsman didn’t count on that to kill, simultaneously stopping and backpedalling as he struck to keep out of reach of a counter. Sure enough, a horrific clawed limb shot out, missing his head as he backed and ducked by a hair’s breadth. He rolled to the side roughly, narrowly missing another limb slamming into the ground.

He found his feet, and knew he was out of both energy and options. The hex had left him, but battle had taken its toll and he bled from tears and cuts from the Maker-knows-where. He set the last of his strength in his legs to send him launching forward, left hand on the hilt of his sword and right hand pressing into the bottom of the pommel to stab the huge blade through the horror’s head. Time seemed to stop as he stood there, poised after the strike. Rannon, covered in blood and grime, shuddered from exhaustion and adrenaline suddenly. He fell to his knees and gasped haggardly.

He couldn’t help but give a hearty grin when he heard a familiar whine and felt a huge Mabari tongue lapping at his face. “H-Hey, quit it.” He breathed, giving a very dry chuckle from a parched throat. Despite his words, he leaned over the dog and lifted an arm over Gideon’s broad shoulder, as much of a hug as to keep him upright. “I’m glad you’re safe too.” He whispered.

Blinking, unsure of what to say or do, the mage dispelled the gathered power around her. As it crossed the boundaries of the circle, there was an audible crack as it’s integrity was compromised. Deep down, she was thankful, as uncertain most definitely didn’t cut it with regards to her power winning out against a demon. Speaking of which, it was cleanly impaled on the massive sword. Finding purchase inside the jaws of Quietus, it has severed the spinal cord of the demon through the back of it’s head. The thing wasn’t dead. Not quite. Despite that, the only control it had over it’s body, now, was flicking it’s eyes back and forth due to the sword having paralyzed the beast. The hilt lay in the mud, propping the demon up.

It howled with a bubbling rage, before death finally claimed it. The darkspawn, having seeing the great demon fall, routed. Running as fast as they could, they began vanishing into the The Verge once more. Approaching Rannon, the female mage offered a warm smile and began working some low level healing magic, giving him some slight relief from injuries and fatigue.

Meanwhile Celica, lying in the ruined remains of a tent somewhere in the camp muttered about mages and their cheating ways.

Rannon felt a soothing warmth wash over him, and a calm light hovered around his form as the mage worked her magic. He still ached like a bitch and needed his wounds cleaned, not to mention he needed water. But he could stand! Slowly, like a tired man climbing the last bit of stairs, he got off his knees one foot at a time and stood. His iron eyes left Gideon, and fell upon the female mage that had helped him. "You're pretty handy in a fight." was all he could manage to start out with. He wasn't good with words. "Thank you."

He didn't know if this was the mage that had flattened the Darkspawn lines and gave them the opening or not, but he'd find out sooner or later. Right now they had bigger problems. He cleared his throat, and waved his hand at the scattering Darkspawn. "We need to rebuild these defenses just in case. And we need to pursue these bastards while we can!" He looked at the closest Grey Warden at that last pronouncement. "Do it!" he ordered, and soon a small battalion of Wardens were harrying the lines of running Darkspawn. Gideon barked in agreement and happiness. It took the Mabari a few moments to realize Rannon was looking at him expectantly, hands on his hips. Moments passed. "Well go on." Rannon said, pointing at the retreating monsters.

Gideon yelped, a big smile on his broad face. He bounded across the hellscape, leaping on and mauling Darkspawn as they fled. Rannon watched with a smile, his ruddy and dirt stained face suddenly lit with warmth. He only wish he had the strength to run with him, but he could barely move. In fact he was woozy enough to fall on his ass if he wasn't careful. "I need some water and a good place to sit." he said aloud to himself, and bent down to grab the hilt of his huge sword. He lifted it and sheathed it. He'd clean that soon too. Wouldn't want it to rust.

Daeron felt ready to collapse his arms ached, his legs felt like they were burning from the inside out. Slowly he made his way towards the camp, Storm Beaky dove down offering her partner a sword she had found. Daeron smiled and took the blade, it seemed in good enough shape and had no blood on it. Sighing he headed for the tent Celica was in, passing a few Wardens he gave them a smile. "Commander, we need to talk about these Darkspawn. About a few other things, Duncan being one of them." He told the woman as fished out a bowl of water and a cloth, unbuckling his armor he began to clean the armor.

"Starting with, what do you know about the Architect? I've read the report but I have something you might want to here, Duncan fought Architect before. The First Warden knew about it, he made sure Duncan's old journal was kept hidden. I read it recently and well, the truth isn't exactly fun. More importantly I believe the unique Darkspawn who called itself the Architect could be behind all this or at least some one like him." The Senior Warden said as he withdrew a small flask from his pocket sipping from it. "This isn't a Blight, you'd be dead chiefly and Ferelden would be over run if it was." He told her, they both knew it was true that a Blight erupting from a hole this big would be much larger than the horde's they had faced.

"My current theory is, Darkspawn civil war. They are fighting each other, some others who don't here the call of the old gods and those who do battle." He downed the last of the flask. "Now lets assume that the collapse and opening of this tunnel happened because they have been fighting ruthlessly. The ground below us was already hallowed out thanks to the deep roads, if Orge's and hundred of Darkspawn have been breaking pillars and supports along with lack of proper maintenance. That explains the hole outside, also if this fighting has been happening for years I would assume it happening through out all the Darkspawn.

Daeron paused as Beaky stuck her head in the tent, he gave his feathered friend gentle rub as he spoke. "However to know the truth... I'd like to take a team down there, see the damage and try to figure out if we can close the damn thing failing that we find a way to seal all the tunnels that lead up here and then get workers in here to pile more stones on top until it looks almost normal." He sighed looking at Beaky. "If you do this for me... Well you could borrow my friend here to use as a messenger and to go to Orlais and get the extra Wardens and soldiers you need here." He answered, knowing a few more fights like that and they would have no more Wardens or volunteers left standing to hold the line.

The Architect. Damn.

Celica knew exactly who Daeron was referring to. They had met several times in the past, and she had ultimately let him live, when given the opportunity to strike the beast down. If this really was orchestrated by him, one way or the other, that may have been a mistake. Pain rippled through her chest from the wound once more, drawing a grunt from her. Of course, admitting she had ties to The Architect probably wasn't wise, even if Duncan had at some point in the past as well. That had come as a true surprise, though. Duncan had quite a colourful life before he...

Memories from Ostagar still haunted her dreams, just as much as those of the Archdemon.

"No, I can't say I have. The name doesn't mean anything. There was another darkspawn behind an invasion here, once. Called herself The Mother. She, I know, is dead. T'was my blade that stopped her blighted heart."

Taking a deep breath, as another stabbing pain cut into her lungs, she began to continue despite the mage's healing magic taking far longer to give relief that she had hoped. "It most certainly isn't a Blight, to be sure. Had an Archdemon joined the ranks, well let's just say i'm not confident I can kill a second one and leave it at that." Celica took in the rest of the conversation with an open mind, cross-referencing the suggestions against her own ideas. "Darkspawn civil war? Is such a thing even possible? Granted, it might explain a good few things regarding the appearance of that Maker forsaken hole, but you would have thought they'd be conserving energy and numbers for their own infighting, if that were the case."

Several Wardens ran past the tent, carrying a badly wounded but still living soldier, writhing in pain. "I plan to direct any surviving forces here to charge the hole, once they regroup. The darkspawn have been almost endless in their attacks, and with a break in the battle lines comes a much needed opportunity to find out how and where from. As for the hole itself, i'd appreciate if you didn't close it, or the dwarves are going to have a fit. The only reason there isn't an archaeologist team down there already is because I made it clear they'd all be dead in minutes."

“So, Daeron. I need a favour. Find Mila and bring her here. Afterwards, lead the Wardens into The Verge and find out where they keep surging from. Return once you find something of note, so I can pass along word to the dwarves before one places my head on a pike.”

---

The routed darkspawn army sheltered within the murk inside the hole, cowering in fear as a Mabari war hound proceeded to single-handedly maul half of their retreating numbers, looking very proud of himself. Meanwhile, the female mage flitted around the battlefield from point to point, doing what she could to stabilise the small number of Wardens which she could with her only slight knowledge of the healing arts. Many more darkspawn lay gurgling out their last few breaths, either from dog puncture wounds, demon fire or steel.

Tall and strong, but tired beyond belief, Rannon waded through the battle weary Warden lines towards the late Commander Celica's position. Gideon galloped over to him, and walked side by side with him as he made his way. Grey Warden's parted before him, most having seen him slay the Demon and giving him at least a moderate amount of respect that almost made him uncomfortable. He wasn't used to being shown any kind of treatment, but he admitted he did fine back there.

Passed the lines, he wasn't sure on where to go. He didn't rightly know who was in charge now, though anyone with any kind of authority would be close to Celica's tent. The Griffon out front made him pause, and Gideon tilted his huge head curiously. "I have no idea." he whispered in response. As generously as he could, the battle hardened soldier made his way past the regal beast before him and into the tent.

He almost fell over from disbelief when he saw Celica alive and getting better. He was so sure that he had seen the hardy woman fall before his eyes. Rannon did his best to collect himself. "Commander," he wheezed, and then coughed. The blighted land they stood upon reminded him of his dry throat. He swallowed some spittle and did his best to continue. "Commander," he repeated, standing a bit taller and giving a salute. "What are your orders? We are willing to serve."

Daeron nodded and then sighed. "No offense but I think it would be better to take a smaller more focus group deep in after the first assault marching an army is just going to get the attention of more Darkspawn. We both know the last thing we need is all the Darkspawn descending upon a large force in those tight quarters." He answered the commander. "You can stay with the main force and protect the dwarves. We can't let this sight get taken, however we need more evidence of what's going on before I can start enforcing our treaties. This might not be a Blight however if Ferelden were lost to Darkspawn soon the dwarves and Orlais would follow.

He sighed. "More importantly we need to think about this like two armies fighting. If they are at civil war and it's lower Darkspawn fighting the upper. The upper need more room... Where is the most room? Up here under the sky." He said looking the commander in the eyes. "We need to think about this like an invasion, keep most of our forces here and skirmish and scout until we know what they want and how to stop them." He said, rational and collected, very much opposed to how he acted earlier chanting cutting down the horde as he stood outside the line alone. "Commander need to conserve and reinforce. I know that might sound rather boring but well... You can't always play the hero."

He sat down in a chair. "Anyway I wanted to also gift this to you and Alistair... It seems right you two should have it, I have read it and the First Warden doesn't know I took it. It's Duncan's journal, you'll it's rather an interesting read. More importantly it also contains information for Alistair. Namely more on his mother... It might not be something he wants to here but it is the truth." He answered flatly steeping the old leather book down in front of the woman.

Just as he was preparing to leave a young man burst in to the tent. He seemed to be asking for the commander. "Sorry boy, but as of my arrival I am in charge. High Constable Daeron, you want to talk to the person in charge its me let the commander rest." He said as he stepped outside Beaky eagerly followed along at his side, the elf didn't shrink back. He walked out his rank could seen open his gleaming armor, between scratches and dents it was clear this Elf was the Warden in charge.

Turning he began to look for Mila, he needed to find the woman and check in with her. Getting her back to the other would give them a little war council of sorts. "Beaky go stay by the tent... Keep away any unwanted visitors." The creature gave something between a purr and caw. Taking position outside the tent it shut it's eyes however it kept its nose alert able to pick out scents easily. Daeron continued to search the camp for Mila, she would have been the Warden Constable to the Commander no doubt.

Glancing over Rannon, Celica gave a small smile through the twisted pain her face displayed. “Better listen to him, I’m not in much shape to lead anyone, currently. When you head out, though, I do have a request.”

“Deliver them retribution for my men.”

She turned, then, to the journal left by Daeron. What secrets would it hold about the Architect? Would it show that her decision was a good one, or had she made a grievous error in judgement that day? Peeling the front cover open, she dared to begin reading.

---

The darkspawn army had vanished entirely into the dark mist of The Verge and had been there now for a good twenty minutes. Wardens everywhere took stock of the dead, helped the wounded and proceeded to get re-armed for any additional incoming attack. What they wanted to do more than anything was to descend upon the weakened forces like a tidal wave and cleanse the depths below, but with Celica out of action and no new chain of command yet emerging, no-one dared to act. Tensions among the wardens ran high, however, and they hung around twitchy and desperate for a chance to wreak havok upon their oppressors.