tabriswarden

In the weeks following Hawke's failed rebellion, Knight-Captain Cullen ordered many of the Templars moved into the city proper, placing them in temporary quarters in the Kirkwall Chantry, the Viscount's Keep and even some of the abandoned estates in Hightown. This was an effort to facilitate a thorough "cleansing" of the Gallows, as a small army of cleaners was brought in to remove the wreckage and wash the dried blood from the flagstones. A month and a half later, the work was still only half-done. And so it was that when Kirkwall's Templars were called back to the Gallows, many of them observed with some discomfort that the stone beneath their feet was still stained red with the blood of comrades and Hawke's rebels. It couldn't be avoided, however. Meredith had made it clear that every Templar in Kirkwall was to be present to hear her pronouncement after returning to the city. Some weeks earlier, after conducting a thorough "interrogation" of Varric Tethras, Meredith announced to the

As flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows upon the wall, the two guardsmen wearing armour emblazoned with the crest of an eye set at the centre of a blazing sun dragged the semi-conscious dwarf down the corridor, his bare feet sliding across the stone. They reached a heavy wooden door and threw it open with a loud crash. Beyond the door was a darkened chamber that was completely empty, save for a stone chair illuminated by a shaft of light. The guardsmen stepped into the room and forcefully shoved the dwarf into the seat, prompting him to grunt in pain. They departed the chamber as silently as they had entered, closing the door and leaving their prisoner behind. But not alone. Standing in the shadows, the Seeker examined her captive as he struggled to sit up in the chair. His clothing was a set of filthy rags and his feet and hands were caked with dirt. His hair, which had not been cut in years, hung loosely about his face. Scars marred his once-handsome features, and he was

Darian Tabris always knew he had been destined for greatness. Even when he’d been a lowly elf living in Denerim’s squalid alienage, he knew he was on the road to being a hero. And now his destiny had brought him here, to the top of Fort Drakon, about to face down a corrupted god. The Grey Warden that would one day become known as the Hero of Ferelden stepped out from a darkened archway. It was mid-day, but the blood red clouds that covered the sky blotted out the sun, leaving the land cloaked in a dull crimson dusk. Throbbing muscles could be seen from the gashes in his leather armour left behind by darkspawn blades. The pain from his wounds would have killed a lesser man, but the Warden could not rest until this day’s dirty work was done. Darian’s lover, the deadly Orlesian bard Leliana, stood by his side. But her Chantry robes had been torn by grasping claws, revealing a full, shapely bosom that was filled with faith in the Maker and the love of Andraste. She hoisted a bow in