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Tevinter: Blight	By : BJMichaels Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 738 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: BioWare owns Dragon Age, not me and I make no money for writing fanfiction.

Chapter List
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"Those vile creatures wouldn't dare attack us, here, Valoria, dear," Hera – Valoria's mother – said as they walked through their spacious home. "Oh, do be careful, Balthazar," she said to the slave elf who was dusting an expensive piece of pottery from Minrathous – it was a gift from a powerful family. "Slaves; they're so stupid and lazy," she whispered to her daughter.
"Especially if you treat them as less than human, Mother," Valoria said, even as she knew she wasted her breath.
"But they're not human, dear," Hera said, scowling at her daughter. "Elves are a waste; why the gods created them, I'll never know." There were human slaves, of course: the Tevinter Imperium had been built on a foundation of the blood and bones of thousands of slaves.
Changing tack, Valoria touched the hilt of her sword. "Mother, it's only a matter of time before Ostwick is besieged by the undead. I must do my part to try and stem the tide."
The war against the mysterious beasts some called the undead and others named the Spawn, or the Dark Ones, was going poorly. Whole Tevinter legions were being wiped out. What was worse, some of the dead legionnaires seemed to join the ranks of the undead.
"Oh, pish, Valoria," Hera said. "The Spawn cannot long defeat our glorious armies. Your father will see to it that Ostwick remains safe."
Valoria sighed. Her mother was stuck in the safety net of the old Imperium. Barbarians to the south, far beyond the Waking Sea, which was Ostwick's border, had been attacking in waves for over a century. Each year, they encroached a little more on Imperial lands. The Imperium itself was weakening from internal strife; the Magisterium was full of self aggrandizing Magisters who cared little for anything beyond the walls of their own strongholds.
"Mother, the only reason Ostwick has remained safe thus far, is that the undead haven't attacked us." She'd said that a dozen times already. Her words slammed hopelessly against the wall of Hera's denial. Still, today was the day, regardless of what her mother wanted.
"We've done our best to show you the right way, dear," Hera said. "It was a great disappointment to us that you never developed magic."
How many times had she heard that? It was what every young girl needed to hear; how much of a disappointment she was to her parents. Perhaps her lack of magical ability was a blessing, rather than a curse? It had forced Valoria to develop her bodily strength, intelligence and agility.
When they reached the front door to their home, Valoria made a fist with her right hand, crossed it to touch her copper breastplate over her heart and bowed to Hera. "I will make the Nighthawke family proud, Mother, regardless of my magical ability or lack thereof."
Hera gave her the slightly irritated look she'd turned on her daughter too often the last few years. Like she'd bitten into a sour lemon. "You'll do what you have to, dear," she said, turning the term of endearment into something approaching a cuss word. "May Razikale, god of Mystery bring you back home. Someday." Hera took Valoria's hand, squeezed something into it. Quickly, her harsh brown eyes darted away and she turned. "Oh, dear; take your hands away from that priceless antique. Must I do everything myself around this house? I never get much rest, looking after you louts." She hurried toward another servant – slave, was the accurate term – who seemed about to drop a dusty object.
Sighing again, Valoria opened the door, stepped out into the bright sunshine. When the heavy door clanged shut behind her, she smiled, for the first time since the last time she'd gotten out of the manor. The small pouch Hera had pressed into Valoria's hand was full of gold coins. Her parents couldn't be bothered to speak kindly to – or about – her, so they let money say what they should have to their daughter.
The cobbled streets teemed with life. Refugees from all over the marshlands and foothills of the Vimmark Mountains streamed into Ostwick day and night. All told horrific tales of the undead, how they seemed to rise from the ground, taking entire villages unawares in the night. The cities all along the Waking Sea bulged beyond capacity.
"Seems like the undead are making us easy targets," Valoria said to herself as she made her way along the busy street. Humans, dwarves and elves sat dejectedly along the sides of the roads, clutching their ragged worldly possessions. They had nowhere else to go.
"There you are."
Valoria turned, then smirked. "Larius; good to see you." She reached out, grasped the leather wrist protector he wore, as he took hold of her wrist – the standard greeting in Tevinter. "How fares the city?"
Larius was a tad shorter than she, but stockier through the chest. He scowled as he gazed at her through slits. "Not well, Valoria," he said. "More troops disappeared in the night. They tell me they're being dispatched to the villages in the area, to help evacuate, but I think they're moving north."
"Where north?" Valoria asked. "And why?"
"It's no secret Minrathous has been threatened of late," Larius said. "Some villages around the capital have been attacked. Say what you will of those greedy bastards, but if the capital falls, we will truly be on our own in the south."
"Aren't we already?" Valoria asked. She spread her arms to show the chaos in the streets. Few soldiers patrolled these days; bandits had already capitalized on the reduced presence. The scum of Thedas preyed upon their fellows, even as civilization crumbled around them.
"Not saying you're wrong," Larius said and smirked. "Just saying the Magisters think you're wrong."
"We should see if there's anything we can do today," Valoria said, rather than give her opinion about what the Magisterium could do with itself.
The guardhouse by the western gate was nearly abandoned. One soldier stood there, pike in his hand. "Oh, greetings Lady Nighthawke," he said when he recognized Valoria.
"Heard any news?" she asked.
"Everything's gone too quiet," the soldier said nervously. "Ain't had no refugees come down the road in days."
"Maybe that's a good thing." But Larius didn't sound any happier about it than Valoria felt.
"Some bandits took up old man Tutorius's place, though," the soldier said and pointed west. "I hear they's making more trouble than the local villagers can take."
"That's where we can start, then," Valoria said to Larius, who nodded.
"Be careful, Lady Nighthawke," the soldier said. "There ain't enough of us to come to the rescue if you get in deep."
"Valoria," Larius said as they walked. He sounded ambivalent, unlike himself.
"What?" she asked in return.
"Why do you think you turned out... the way you did?" That was why he fretted saying anything. Having been born into the Soporati class – barely more than a slave – he had no idea what it was like to be an Altus – one of the highest of the high. Of course, without magical ability to speak of, Valoria would likely tumble from her caste, once her parents died. Her name would fall as well, unless her parents managed to have another child, one gifted with magic.
"A blessing of the Creator?" Valoria shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, nor do I care much, Larius. In fact, I'm grateful; your life isn't really your own as an Altus. If I'd been born with magic, my parents would have doted on me, sure, but only to make certain I acted right and looked right, so they could fix me up with another powerful Altus mage. Then, they'd keep all their body parts crossed, hoping to have powerful grandchildren who might become Archon and rule the Magisterium. It's so not the life I wanted."
Instead, at eighteen, she had the world at her fingertips. Except for the attacks by the undead, of course.
As if thinking along with her, Larius shuddered. "Do you suppose those fool Magisters really are responsible for the Spawn?"
"I don't know," she said, then thought about it as they followed the dirt road westward. "Papa said he remembers the Black City always being thus, though Grandpa, before he died, used to tell me wondrous tales about his grandfather's glimpses of the Golden City in his dreams. Back almost ninety years, I reckon."
When Magisters tried to usurp the power of the Creator, almost a century in the past, they'd sacrificed hundreds of slaves in Blood Magic rituals to breach the Fade – the veil which separated the material from spirit realm – and enter the Golden City, seat of the Creator. Due to their vile intentions, the city turned black and expelled them and the priests of Dumat who followed them, changing them into the first of the undead.
Every child growing up for the past nine decades had heard the stories. They were told around campfires and at bedtime so the children would be good and not turn into the Spawn. Valoria believed what she could see, hear, smell, touch and taste. Stories were to teach and inform. Whatever else they might be, might come to her with age and wisdom, or they might just be nothing more.
"That's what I figured," Larius said. "I think this is old man Tutorius's farm."
Valoria frowned. Instead of bandits, the place looked deserted. Then, she heard a commotion, past the house, farther west. Absently, she grasped the hilt of her sword, unsheathed the copper blade. "Come on," she said. Larius was already sliding the Ash bow from his back.
Skidding to a stop, Valoria gaped. The largest man she'd ever seen stood on the road, just beyond the farmhouse. She could see the tops of other people's heads, but little more. The giant stood, head and shoulders above the tall, dilapidated fence, which had apparently divided Tutorius's farm.
A handful of bandits swarmed around the giant, who wasn't making any hostile moves toward them. "I said gimme all you got! What are you, stupid? You can't understand simple talk?"
Weapons drawn, they were angry and ready to strike. The giant was unarmed, but the bandits circled him warily. Until they saw Valoria.
"Hey. That one looks like easier pickings," one of the thugs said. "You there, give us what you got, or this'll get violent."
"I guess this'll get violent, then," Valoria said eagerly. From her back, she slung her copper shield, reinforced with hard elm wood behind its shiny surface. There were those, farther north, who worked with copper and another, weaker metal. Together, they surprisingly made a stronger, less brittle one, called bronze. But, around Ostwick, everyone still used copper, stone or wood.
"Uh, Valoria." Larius's voice was quiet, ghostly.
All around them, bandits stalked from the bushes and trees and countryside. Where some had hidden, she wouldn't have been able to say. Some held bows and arrows, others clutched daggers in their hands. Still others carried swords and a large fellow – not nearly so large as the confused giant, but a head taller than Valoria – grabbed a two handed sword from his back.
In all, more than a dozen bandits now approached. Rather than fear, Valoria grinned, though her palms were a bit sweaty. "Take careful aim, Larius," she said, "and I'll do the same. We can do this."
The giant said something. His deep, rumbling voice stole everyone's attention. No one, however, could understand what it was. Valoria saw the worry in his eyes, though; his green orbs sought her out and she clearly understood that he didn't want her risking her life to help him, though she couldn't have said how she knew.
However, when the bandits turned their attention back to her, she knew it would be fight or die at their hands. For better or worse, this was her fight, now.
One of the bandits lunged forward, daggers ready to pierce her sides. She struck out with her shield; it thudded against his shoulder, deflecting him away. The point of her blade struck out to her right, to keep another bandit at bay. Then, she twirled toward the dagger wielding fellow. He tried to stop her blade with his daggers, and she hit him a glancing blow to the torso. An arrow to the neck dropped him to the ground, gabbling and clawing at it, but only for a few seconds.
Valoria twisted, turned and struck out at the bandits. She'd used her parents' allowance wisely since she turned twelve, hiring a slew of mercenaries to teach her the ins and outs of sword play, hand to hand combat and organized fencing.
Several bandits were down and the largest, the one with the two handed sword, raced toward Valoria. An arrow whizzed by, barely glancing the side of her face. It tugged at her loose hair, drawing her attention to her left. Just in time, her left arm flinched, causing her bent and dinged shield to collide with a knife. The weapon still struck her, but not deeply. Still, she screamed and thrashed, slamming the shield into the bandit who'd gotten too close.
Then, she heard it. The giant's roar nearly shook the earth. When she turned, the man with the two handed sword was nearly upon her. In the next moment, she might have died. Instead, a bandit flew into the one who charged her, knocking the two handed sword from his grip.
The giant rushed toward Valoria. For the first time since that first mercenary had stuck a blade beneath her chin at age twelve – to teach her a valuable lesson, rather than to harm her – her feet froze to the ground. He was going to pound her to death with his meaty fists.
Instead, the giant lowered his shoulder, passed Valoria, and ran, full speed, into a bandit who'd been sneaking up on Larius. The bandit groaned and flew back a dozen feet.
Released from her paralysis, Valoria blocked another sword. She turned it with her shield to expose the villain's side, then sunk her blade into it. The bandit crumpled to the ground. At last, the others began to scatter.
Now that the bandits were running, the giant seemed to relax. He glanced at Valoria and said something. "I don't understand," she said. "Can you say anything sensible?"
The giant's eyebrows knitted together and he cocked his head to the side. After a moment, the left side of his mouth arched and he spread his hands, palms up, before her.
"At least he seems intelligent," Valoria said.
"How, when he can't speak." Larius had come to stand beside her. He had an arrow in the calf of his right leg; the blood had already clotted and was drying on his flesh.
"Look at him," Valoria admonished her companion. "He makes gestures at the right moments. There's intelligence in his eyes and he has his own language; just because it isn't ours doesn't make him stupid."
She stepped toward the fellow. He looked human, despite his enormous size. Slowly, so he wouldn't think she was attacking, she sheathed her bent and scarred sword, then touched her equally bent breastplate. "Valoria," she said slowly. "Valoria Nighthawke."
Surprising a squawk from Larius, the giant placed his hand on his chest and said, "Jack Vedis."
"By Dumat," Larius said and the giant's eyes immediately darted to him and his scowl returned. "I didn't mean anything bad," Larius said, quickly throwing up his hands before him.
"Maybe he knows that name," Valoria said. Dumat was the chief god of old Tevinter. By some accounts, the dragon led this onslaught of undead. "Dumat," she said slowly and the giant's – Jack's – scowl deepened.
"I'd say he knows that name, all right," Larius said. "Thing is, what do we do with him now?"
Valoria took another step closer and winced in pain. The stab wound she'd received during the fight began to sting. Now that adrenaline was wearing off, every knock she'd taken was starting to hurt. She reached to the flesh just above her hip, halfway around her back. Blood soaked her hand.
Quickly, Jack moved forward. Valoria yelped and grabbed for her sword, but the giant's hands were on her. Rather than crack her spine like a twig, the fellow's grip was firm but yielding. His hand warmed against her body and pain slipped away.
"Let her go," Larius said, drawing a dagger. The giant arched an eyebrow at Valoria and a ghost of a smirk played about his lips.
"He's not hurting me, Larius," she said. "In fact, I think he's healing me. Put that pig sticker away; you really think that'll do anything but make him mad?"
"I... guess not," Larius said and sheathed the dagger. "Truth be told, I'm glad he's not hurting you. Don't think there's thing one I could do about it. Did you see the way he picked up that thug and just... tossed him like he was tossing his small clothes?"
"I doubt his small clothes are... small," Valoria said around a grin. Soon, all the pains in her body were gone. When she twisted herself to get a look at the wound on her flank, she marveled that it seemed to already be scarring over.
She raised her right hand, placed it over her heart and stared up into those sharp green eyes. "Thank you," she said slowly. Jack nodded, then turned toward Larius, gazed down at the other man's leg. "I think he wants to help with that arrow, Larius," she said.
"All right," Larius said. "Not like I could hobble away fast enough, anyway."
Jack placed his hands around Larius's leg; the meaty palms made the calf disappear. Instantly, Larius's face went slack and he sighed. "Feels good, I have to admit."
All at once, Jack yanked the arrow from Larius's leg, but her friend didn't cry out, or even seem to notice. "Incredible," Valoria said.
"What?" Now, Larius looked down and gaped when he saw the arrow lying on the ground.
Suddenly, the soldier from the gate ran toward them, pike in his hands. Eyes bulged and the soldier skidded to a halt before them. "Lady Nighthawke!"
"What is it?" Valoria asked.
"The Spawn is attacking Emerius," the soldier cried. "We ain't got enough soldiers on the whole southern coast to help."
"We should head there, then," Valoria said. At last, a chance to battle the undead. She looked to Jack, who was watching the soldier and Larius's concerned faces. She touched his hand, then her breastplate. "You, come with me, to help?" she asked.
Jack looked at the soldier, then to Larius, then finally back at Valoria. He touched first his chest, then her shoulder, then nodded vigorously.
Valoria smiled warmly up at him. "Thank you," she said slowly, trying to teach him her language, a bit at a time.
"Thank you," Jack said back, slowly and awkwardly. However, when she replayed his tone in her head, he might have been emphasizing 'you'. Maybe he was trying to thank her for helping him, rather than dismissing him as a fool. He scooped up the two handed sword; he held it easily in one hand.
Whatever Jack's situation, he would be a great help. "It's good to have a giant on your side," Valoria said as they ran toward the city stables. She owned several horses. With luck, Jack would be able to ride the strongest. They had work to do.
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Tevinter: Blight