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*DISCLAIMER: this is a product of Bioware, and pure fan fiction on my part. Once again NOT mine, just having a bit of fun with it. updates will maybe be weekly, maybe longer, as college will allow. Hope you enjoy.
DRAGON AGE: FORGOTTEN ORIGINS . . .
For generations, your family has lived in the southernmost reaches of the Korcari wilds, living off the land, away from the harsh politics of Ferelden to the North. When the Orlesians invaded, your father's father took the clan deep into the forest to escape detection, and there you have dwelt to this day. But dark rumours are afoot, scouts who know the forest intricately go missing on a large scale, and neighbouring clans disappear completely. What this new threat is, none can say . . .
Summary Anida Korcari is 55 years old and was born on. Anida Korcari currently lives in Jacksonville, FL; in the past Anida has also lived in Westland MI. Other names that Anida uses includes Korcari. Myth, Legend and Truth It is said that in the midst of the Black Age, when werewolves stalked the lands of Ferelden in numbers that kept every farmholder indoors and a hound on every doorstep, a powerful arl of the Alamarri peoples stood and declared that he would put an end to the threat. View Mikel Korcari’s profile on LinkedIn, the world's largest professional community. Mikel has 2 jobs listed on their profile. See the complete profile on LinkedIn and discover Mikel’s.
-oOo-
The wind blew a stubborn beat against the walls of the hut, sending frigid bursts of air snaking through his thin leather armour. Outside, the endless forests of pine did their best to hide away his village from the world, but now the world had forced itself onto the Korcari. A large man, dressed head to foot in robes of a subtle red, stared down at him from atop a carved throne. He knelt, as was proper.
'My son' he addressed him. 'Today, you will travel south, and find out the source of this evil that threatens our forest. I know I ask a lot of you, but if we do not know whom we face, we are defenceless. We might as well slit our throats now.'
Nordja looked up at his father. A strong man, usually displaying a harsh demeanour, but a secret fire played in his eyes. The greatest Thane in the Korcari wilds. But today, something was wrong. His father did not look as commanding as usual. Was there a trace of . . . fear?
'Yes father. I shall leave immediately.' he kept his eyes downcast.
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His father stared down at his son. A young man now, a boy no longer, he had his father's giant frame, but his mother's silver tongue, Lady protect her. If he could ever get him to speak. his answers were always curt, andhe never strayed into deep conversations, not when he could help it when a nod and a smile would suffice. He would make a fine chief. The only problem his father saw was his unthinking brash streak, which often put him at odds with the rest of the clan. But he saw his son as a strong leader, above all else. He would make a good Thane. One the people would look up to
Provided he survived that long, of course. The Wilds were harsh enough with the dangers of wildlife, Chasind and the dreaded Witch. Flemeth, the Chasind called her, in hushed tones. Nordja's tribe had their own name for her, but they never uttered it, for fear that she might be summoned.
Nordja had laughed at such superstitions. There was no great Witch, just a few powerful lone spell-casters through the ages to keep the legend alive, he always claimed. 'Apostates' he remembered the lowlanders called them. Their religion hunted them, up north, which is why so many fled south into the Wilds. A dangerous place to live, eking out a living in these woods. And with the clans disappearing, made even more so. Everyone suspected the Orlesians were making the push south, and claims they were driven out long ago by the lowlanders were treated as Chasind wishful thinking. The only problem was that the unknown threat came from the south, not the north.
Nordja left his father to his thoughs and headed out of the hall. He gazed at the hearth, wondering if the mighty Dane, or his son, Hafter had ever been nervous before heading into danger. Surely even heroes felt fear knawing at the back of their minds?
And afraid he was. He had strayed from the village to hunt, every month or so when it was his turn, but to track unknown quarry through the Wilds? dangerous for even he most experienced hunters.
Nordja was so wrapped up in his worries he didn't notice as he left the main hut and the gates of the village long behind him. By the time he noticed his thoughts had carried him adrift, he found himself lost in the unforgiving Korcari. The trees crowded overhead, cutting away at his view. He struck out at what he guessed was south, his foosteps carrying him for many leagues, until the Lady began to devour the sun once more. With night closing in overhead, he began to feel panic welling up in his chest. He gripped his bow tightly, knuckles whitening and his senses on alert. Every footstep was an echo, telling the nearby predators where he was. It was maddening.
Hours passed, and the day died and gave into the night. The moon shone full overhead, and Nordja was starting to feel the first pangs of hunger. Rather than hunting in this darkness, he found a strand of Elfroot and began munching the petals, grimacing as he did so. The taste was non-existent. He found a boundary tree from another clan, carved with angular animal motifs, marking the edge of their territory. He didn't recocnize the clan, well off the map now. He pressed on, into unknown territories.
-oOo-
For three days, he travelled south, sleeping only when he had to, and taking whatever food he found. Starving, tired and grumpy, he found no evidence of the Orlesians, but in a trail of mass devastation a mile wide, he found many clumps of a curious fleshy sac growing, that burst in a spray of blood and gore when he poked one with his arrows. He learned to leave them after that.
Unless the flesh sacs were the invasion force, and people were fleeing from the smell, Nordja guessed they were a residue from something else. Demons, perhaps. Had another so-called Witch bartered their soul for fleeting power? The Veil was still strong as far as he could tell, however, he had had no visions, there were no whispers from nowhere, and his neck hair lay flat.
-oOo-
It wasn't hard to follow the devastation the unknown force had left. Thousands of footprints, sometimes small, sometimes large, but always thousands. The foulness in the air stuck to the back of his throat. His skin itched. His hunger intensified. He suspected he had caught a fever; the early stages were beginning to show. But his tribe was now far east him, and still he had not found his quarry.
By dawn of the fifth day, he found them. As he travelled along a ridge high in the southernmost mountains overlooking a great valley, he saw them for what they were. The vast horde was camped far down in a valley, making an unholy din as they trudged through. Though they were thought to be extinct, and no one had seen them in living memory, he knew them from the tales that Kaart, the storyteller occasionally told. Even from here, he could tell that a great will guided these monsters, to band toghether in a great horde. Guided them, urging them onwards, to devour the whole world.
Darkspawn. The name invited terror, and the threat was suddenly much more poignant. He had to get back, and warn the others. Now.
He sprinted through the forest, hurtling over rock and under tree. He paused only to regain his breath, eating on the run. The long path he took to avoid the horde took him along unfamiliar paths, but it wasn't long before he noticed the same, unfamiliar boundary tree. He estimated another day and a half at his pace, and he would be back. That was when he ran into a scouting party.
He survived, because the darkspawn were as shocked by his sudden appearance as he was of theirs. He quickly got over his shock, and drew his bow. He did a quick headcount, finding twelve, and put arrows in five of them before they reached him. A short creature, squat and beyond ugly, took a swipe at him. Without pausing, he dropped his bow, and brought his great sword to bear. He hacked down at the stunted creature, the weight of the blow caving its head in, festering gore exploded outwards, radiating blood. A pair of taller ones, more similar to men, as if mimicking their appearance, came charging in after, roaring in their bestial tongue, striking with ruthless efficiency. He parried their blows, and returned them in kind, hewing one open and crushing the others shoulder. Three more joined it, and soon their decapitated bodies were strewn about the forest floor. Only one remained, another squat, with a short bow aimed directly at him.
An arrow sped through the air and punched through his arm, its filth encrusted tip already spreading poison through his veins. He cried out in pain, and charged towards the vile little creature, screaming in hate. He swung a vicious backhand blow, severing the beast at the waist. Panting, he studied the carnage. The little clearing was drenched in blood, but most of it, thankfully, was not his. He gritted his teeth and pulled the arrow from his arm, its barbed head tearing out his flesh. Screaming in pain, he grabbed a healing poultice from his pack and jammed it into the wound, feeling the pain recede almost instantly, but not completley. It was apparently poisoned he thought, as the last of his strenght drained and he fell, the forest floor rising up to meet him.
-oOo-
He caught glimpses of a strange man carrying him over his shoulder. Weary from food shortage and his wound, he drifted back into the arms of the Lady.
Sweet life his greatest hit singles. -oOo-
He awoke in the great hall, on a hastily put up bedroll. A strange man was talking to his father. He steadily rose to his feet, and walked over. Now that his arm had been treated and he'd had a few hours to sleep off his exertions, he could take in his rescuer's features. He had tanned, swarthy skin, and long black hair tied back by a leather cord. A thick beard covered his jaw, and a roguish earring decorated his face. He spoke softly, with an accent that was unfamiliar to him. He supposed it was Orlesian. Typical. His armour was like nothing he had seen before, gleaming silverite, with robes covering his legs. He looked important. Apparently, he was.
'My son' his father called out. 'Come and meet, Duncan, was it?' he paused, checking he had pronunced it correctly. 'The head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.'
A Grey Warden. That at least explained his presence in the Wilds, rather than a desperate thief of bandit. Bandit king, he thought, appraising the armour once more.
'I'd like to thank you for coming to my aid, young man. The darkspawn you slew were hunting me, and I would have been hard pressed to slay a dozen' he spoke, with a genuinely warm smile.
'It was no problem, i'm sure this arm will heal' he said gesturing to his bandaged wound, eyes downcast. He hated praise; it always made him sound more than he was worth.
'To tackle a band of darkspawn and triumph is no small feat. You would do well amongst our ranks.'
'Join the Wardens?' he asked incredulously. 'That would be a great honour indeed.'
His father stiffened. 'He'll be going nowhere, honour though that might be. His place is here, with his clan. The clan he will rule over in a few years' his father warned, casting his eyes over his son. 'He has travelled the Wilds, and come through victorious. He found the source of this threat. He saved your life' he said, directing that withering gaze onto Duncan now. 'He has proved his capability, and I'll not see him taken away from us. This is his home. He is going nowhere.'
'I could always use the right of conscription,' Duncan warned. 'But I will not force the issue.'
Nordja tried not to hide his disappointment. Trading the life of a Grey Warden for that of a Thane was difficult to digest, especially when it was so tantalizingly in reach. He pressed the issue; but to no avail, his father would not be budged this time. He took his leave, while Duncan and his father discussed the possibility of a 'Blight' further. Heading out of the doors he homed in on the cooking hut, like a Mabari on a rat, and took a leg of deer from the rafters, cooking it quickly and devouring the meal to sate his empty stomach. The venison tasted good to his famished stomach. When friends and relatives found him gnawing the bones, the offered their praise for his actions. They fell on deaf ears. He was not worthy of praise. He had found the source of the problem, and killed a scouting party. Simply following orders. Besides, all he could think about was the offer of joining the Wardens, and how it was now beyond his grasp. He didn't hate life here, but he loved to explore, and he wanted to see the world, not just the lands belonging to him one day. Once he was Thane, he would not be able to leave, the people would depend upon his actions, and he would be bound by his position. He washed down the meal with a jug of mead, and returned to the great hall, eager to press his case once more. He would not give up easily. He never did.
-oOo-
Land Korcari Sabri Fejzullahu
His pleas were rejected once more, shot down like a bird in flight by his father.
'For the last time, no. Your place is with your clan. See Duncan to the guest hut.' His father's gaze told him the matter was at an end.
He took the opportunity to learn as much as he could from Duncan, quizzing him on the Grey Wardens and the horde to the west. Duncan answered his questions dutifully, and he suspected the man wanted nothing more than to sleep, after carrying him the remainder of the way. Which reminded him.
'One last question?' he begged.
Duncan nodded his approval, albeit wearily, so he continued. 'How did you find the clan?'
Duncan chuckled. 'I had no idea, to be honest. Eventually I saw smoke, so I found them that way. It's all blind luck sometimes.'
Land Korcari
Nordja nodded, and politely excused himself, going back to the main hut, to sleep by the embers of the dying fire.
-oOo-
Horns blasted apart the tranquillity of the night. Nordja woke with a start. The hounds were baying, the people of the clan screaming, and he could hear the crackle of fire, along with an unholy din and the clashing of swords. Grabbing his great sword and buckling on his leathers, he rushed outside, into the raging inferno.
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The Darkspawn had found them. Hundreds swarmed through the village, a great ogre had smashed through the gate and was now tearing the huts down, crushing those trying to hide. The slaughter made him gag. These were his friends, his family, and all dead. Thane held the line with his warriors, but they were struggling against the horde. His father traded blows with a group of man-sized beasts, but he was bleeding from several deep gashes, and noticeably slowing down. He ran to his father's side, cutting down two of the monsters before they realized the threat. The remaining darkspawn concentrated on him, and suffered for it as his father hewed them open.
'Glad you could make it' grunted Thane. 'I was beginning to think you'll sleep through all this fun.'
'And miss out on a chance to show off? Never!' replied Nordja, with a desperate grin. For all their jokes, they would soon be overwhelmed, and to be torn apart by these monsters was not a fate he wished upon anyone, least of all himself.
As more surrounded them, death looked to be inevitable. Endless leering faces pressed on against their wall of blades, exploding in showers of blood, but occasionally one attack slipped through the cracks. Thane fell to his knees, exhausted, finished. Nordja grabbed his collar and dragged him away while the remaining warriors sold their lives dearly. Duncan removed himself from the fray, slicing open a squat nose to groin, its entrails spilling over the floor.
'Your village is lost, Thane, we must escape while we can!' he cried.
His father snorted. 'You always do get your way, don't you?' he grinned, teeth stained with bile. Nordja grinned back.
'He, he is right my son' he murmered, dribbling a bloody phlegm down his armour. 'Leave with him, and avenge us! He was coughing up blood now. 'Avenge us!'
Land Korcari Havale
Nordja cradled his father close and wept as he died. He screamed, and felt a part of his soul shatter within him. Screamed, until there was nothing but an all-consuming black fog of hate
'We must leave now, while we can!' Duncan urged. 'I cannot defeat them here! We must find the king's army, or be lost! Make a decision!'
He gazed once more at the fray. He had nothing left, now. Better to die with those he loved . . .
He was interrupted from his reverie by a slap from Duncan. 'Death or vengance, you cannot have both!' he cried.
He made his decision, for better or for worse.
Forcing himself to rise, Nordja ran. There would be no time for a burial. His father's corpse would be taken by these . . . things, and despoiled. He and Duncan ran, leaving the sounds of fighting and dying men behind them. They ran, as the last cries of pain were cut short. He wept, and continued running. His hatred burned inside him all the while. Gasping for breath, Duncan stopped. They rested beneath the pines, the burning village lost behind the endless pines of the Korcari.
'South then?' he asked, turning to Duncan.
'Aye, south to Ostagar, and war'
thanks peeps, hope you all enjoy it, and PLEASE REVIEW! next chapter uploaded shortly, if i can figure out how . . .