“And the Maker despaired once again, for He had given the power of creation to his new children—and in return they had created sin.”
-From The Maker’s First Children, by Bader, Senior Enchanter of Ostwick, 8:12 Blessed.
For nearly four hundred years, the friable kingdom of Ferelden has been free of meaningful darkspawn activity. Now, panicked rumours from the south say that Ostagar has fallen; what’s more, the good King Cailan is dead, betrayed by his beloved Grey Wardens, who themselves were slaughtered to a man by an unusually large darkspawn army. All hope rests with the hero Teyrn Loghain, who is said to have fled the field and is now travelling to Denerim; it is assumed that he will assist his daughter, Queen Anora, in uniting the banns and arls against the so-called Blight. Still, a frightened nation is gripped by paranoia, chaos, and tragedy.
But these are matters of politics – weather patterns, of sorts, from which mercenaries near and far can deduce how business shall fare in the coming weeks and months. In the southernmost territories, one ragtag group in particular will discover that business is indeed booming, unaware of the heavy cost such good fortune necessitates. Deep below the earth, after all, lurks the archdemon itself, howling madly at its minions, marching them to war against all of Thedas. And to the north, a pained Mother and her Architect do quiet battle, with the very nature of the darkspawn hanging in the balance.
Nevertheless, a possible Blight, the end of the Wardens in Ferelden, the death of a King, the rise of new heroes, a new breed of darkspawn – these are matters of public record, and inevitably they shall be handed down to future generations through legends and songs. What people are unlikely to ever discover, though, is how severely the world itself was threatened – how close all of reality came to annihilation due to the ambitions and secrets of ancient orders and would-be revolutionaries. These won’t be tales fit for a populace at large; these will be conspiracies held tightly to the chests of those same mercenaries who once considered themselves lucky to find their services in demand…