If you want to read 15 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/DeathGun24
________________________________________________Tomorrow, he thought. We'll see what kind of Warden Blackwall really is. And with that, he kicked dirt over the flames, plunging the campsite into darkness.
The first rays of sunlight painted the sky in soft gold as Daniel emerged from his tent, stretching the stiffness from his limbs. The Crossroads, which had been a quiet refuge the night before, was now alive with movement—a hum of voices, the clatter of pots, the occasional bray of a druffalo being led to pasture.
Refugees moved with purpose between the tents, some hauling water from the nearby stream, others tending to small garden plots that had sprung up in the shelter of the Inquisition's presence. A group of children darted past, laughing as they chased a makeshift ball of tied rags. The air smelled of baking bread and damp earth, a far cry from the smoke and blood that had clung to this place when they'd first arrived in the Hinterlands.
Varric stumbled out of his own tent, blinking blearily. "Ugh. Morning people should be outlawed."
Daniel smirked. "You say that every morning."
"And I'll keep saying it until someone listens."
Cassandra was already up, her armor gleaming in the early light as she spoke with one of the local farmers. The man—gray-haired and wiry—gestured animatedly as he explained something about his crops, and to Daniel's surprise, Cassandra actually nodded along, her usual stern expression softened by something resembling patience.
Solas appeared beside them, silent as always. "It seems our presence has brought more than just soldiers to the Crossroads."
Daniel followed his gaze to where a group of refugees were repairing a damaged fence, their movements quick and efficient. A woman with a baby strapped to her back directed the work, her voice firm but kind.
"Safety," Daniel murmured. "That's all most of them want."
Varric crossed his arms. "Yeah, well. Too bad it's in such short supply these days."
They gathered around a makeshift table near the camp's central fire, where a harried-looking scout had laid out a simple breakfast—hardtack, dried fruit, and a pot of something that might have been porridge or possibly mortar. Daniel poked at it suspiciously.
"So," he said, tearing off a piece of hardtack, "we head to Luthias Lake today. Find Blackwall."
Cassandra nodded, swallowing a mouthful of what was definitely porridge. "Assuming he hasn't moved on."
The scout from the night before—Renn, Daniel remembered—shook her head. "He's still there. Sent a runner at dawn to confirm. Apparently, he's got the villagers doing drills at first light."
Varric groaned. "Ugh. A Warden who likes mornings. Just what we needed."
Daniel ignored him, turning to Solas. "Thoughts?"
Solas sipped from a cup of bitter-smelling tea. "If he is training civilians, it suggests he plans to stay for some time. That works in our favor."
"Or," Varric countered, "it means he's really bad at hide-and-seek."
Cassandra shot him a glare.
Daniel pushed back from the table. "Either way, we're not getting answers sitting here. Let's move."
The farmer's weathered face creased into a knowing smile as he approached their group, his hands calloused from years of tilling the stubborn Fereldan soil. "You lot look like you're huntin' for a Grey Warden," he said by way of greeting, scratching at his stubbled chin.
Daniel straightened, wiping porridge crumbs from his tunic. "Yes. Do you know about him?"
The old man chuckled, the sound like dry leaves rustling. "'Bout Blackwall? Course I do. Good man, that one. Kept us safe when the demons came crawlin' outta the sky."
Cassandra's brow furrowed. "You mean when the Breach opened?"
"The Inquisition calls it the 'Breach,' huh?" The farmer spat to the side, his expression turning grim. "All I know is things got bad when that green bastard opened up in the sky. Lights flashin', ground shakin', then those... things started pourin' out." His hands trembled slightly as he mimed claws tearing through air. "Warden stood shield out front, cuttin' 'em down as they came. Like nothin' we'd ever seen."
Varric whistled low, pulling out his notebook almost unconsciously. "Sounds like quite the show."
The farmer's eyes gleamed with something between awe and remembered terror. "Said it was his duty, fightin' things like that. Didn't ask for pay or nothin', even though Wardens can take what they want." He shrugged. "Makes some folks nervous, that. But I say they deserve it. Especially after what I saw him do."
Daniel leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "So your friends were conscripted by Warden Blackwall? Did he force them to go after the bandits?"
The old man barked a laugh. "He could've. Wardens got that right, don't they? Seems fair trade for savin' everyone from blights and demons." He waved a gnarled hand. "Nah, didn't force 'em. Rallied 'em. Said blights and demons were his job, but we'd have to learn to fight thieves ourselves." A wistful smile tugged at his lips. "Damn if he didn't fire those boys up proper. Never seen farmhands so eager to swing a pitchfork at armed men."
Solas, who had been listening intently, tilted his head. "And you didn't join them?"
The farmer spread his arms, revealing a frame still strong but bent with age. "Look at me, son. I'd just slow 'em down. 'Sides..." His voice dropped, glancing toward the newly planted fields. "Someone's gotta stay back. Watch the farms. Keep the little ones safe."
Daniel nodded slowly, piecing together the picture. "So Blackwall saved your people from demons, then led them against the bandits?"
"Aye. Last I heard, they were trackin' the bastards toward Luthias Lake." The farmer's expression darkened. "Haven't seen hide nor hair of 'em since."
Cassandra exchanged a glance with Daniel. "That explains why he's still in the area."
The old man turned to leave, then paused, looking back over his shoulder. "You find that Warden... you tell him Old Thom says thanks. And that the barley's comin' in nice this year."
Daniel smiled. "We will."
As the farmer ambled away, Varric let out a low whistle. "Well. That's not your typical Warden behavior."
Solas' fingers traced the rim of his untouched tea cup. "Most Grey Wardens would consider demon-slaying merely a prelude to their true purpose. To linger and train peasants suggests either remarkable dedication... or a man with nowhere else to go."
Cassandra's hand rested on the pommel of her sword. "Either way, we have our confirmation. Blackwall is at Luthias Lake, and he's not running from his duty—he's redefining it."
Daniel stood, brushing dirt from his trousers. "Then let's go meet this unconventional Warden."
The journey to the lake took them through rolling hills dotted with the blackened skeletons of burned-out farms. The further they traveled from the Crossroads, the more evident the scars of conflict became—fields trampled by fleeing refugees, makeshift graves marked with simple stones, the occasional rusted weapon half-buried in the dirt.
Varric kicked at a broken shield as they passed. "Cheery place."
Cassandra's jaw tightened. "This is what happens when order collapses. The strong prey on the weak until nothing remains."
Daniel said nothing, his eyes scanning the horizon. The farmer's story had painted a picture of Blackwall that didn't fit the usual Grey Warden mold. Most Wardens he'd heard of were single-minded in their pursuit of the Blight, viewing everything else as secondary. But this one? This one had stayed.
The Inquisition party crested the final rise overlooking Luthias Lake, the tranquil waters shimmering in the afternoon sun. There they saw, a scene of organized chaos unfolded—a dozen villagers, armed with an assortment of farming tools and makeshift weapons, formed a ragged defensive line under the barked commands of a broad-shouldered man in Grey Warden armor.
Blackwall.
The Warden moved among the villagers with the practiced ease of a seasoned warrior, adjusting grips on weapons and nudging shoulders into proper stance. His voice carried clearly across the lakeshore, sharp but not unkind.
"They'll make this a fight, not us!" he called, positioning a burly farmer with a woodcutter's axe. "Line there. And there—Maker's breath, Tomas, close the gaps!"
A gangly youth fumbled with an ill-fitting helmet as Blackwall continued. "Keep focused! They'll know what it means when they see steel waiting for them!" The Warden snatched up a discarded shield, demonstrating the proper grip. "And remember how to carry these! You're not hiding behind it, you're holding! Otherwise it's just extra weight!"
Daniel exchanged glances with Cassandra and Varric. "Looks like we found our Warden," Varric murmured, already loosening Bianca in her harness.
Then they made their way there, as the crunch of gravel underfoot masked by Blackwall's ongoing instructions. The villagers hadn't noticed their approach yet, too intent on their drills.
Daniel cleared his throat. "Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?"
The Warden whirled, his hand flying to the greatsword strapped across his back. His eyes—sharp beneath the shadow of his helmet—flicked between the newcomers with wary recognition. "You're not— How do you know my name? Who sent—"
Thwip.
The arrow came from nowhere, a deadly whisper slicing through the air toward Daniel's throat.
Blackwall moved faster than seemed possible for a man in full plate armor. His shield came up in a blur of motion just as the arrow found its mark—thunk—the steel tip burying itself deep in the seasoned oak.
For a heartbeat, silence. Then chaos erupted.
"Ambush!" Blackwall bellowed, shoving Daniel behind his shield. To the villagers, he roared, "That's it! You lot can help or get clear! We're dealing with these idiots first!" He spun toward the tree line where shadows moved between the pines. "Conscripts! Here they come!"
Varric had Bianca unfolded and loaded before the first bandit broke cover. "Well, shit."
A ragged war cry went up as twenty armed men surged from the forest's edge—a mix of deserters and highwaymen clad in scavenged armor, their blades glinting wickedly in the sunlight.
Blackwall didn't hesitate. He charged forward like a battering ram, his shield leading the way to crash into the first bandit with bone-shattering force. The man went down without a sound.
Daniel's fingers tightened around the Staff of the Dragon, its carved obsidian surface humming with latent power. The air crackled as he drew upon the Fade, raw magic coalescing around him in shimmering waves. Across the battlefield, the bandits hesitated—just for a heartbeat—as they realized their prey wasn't defenseless.
Too late.
With a sweeping motion, Daniel unleashed a torrent of fire. The spell roared across the lakeshore like a living thing, engulfing three bandits in a conflagration that sent the others scrambling back. The stench of burning leather and charred flesh filled the air as the attackers' formation broke apart.
"Nice trick," Blackwall grunted, cleaving through a swordsman who'd been too slow to retreat. "Got more where that came from?"
Daniel grinned, already channeling his next spell. "Oh, you have no idea."
To Daniel's left, Cassandra Pentaghast became a whirlwind of steel and righteous fury. Her silverite sword flashed in the sunlight as she led a wedge of Inquisition soldiers into the fray.
"Push them back!" she ordered, her voice cutting through the din of battle. "Drive them toward the lake!"
The soldiers obeyed without hesitation, their disciplined formation a stark contrast to the bandits' chaotic assault. Shields locked together, they advanced like a moving wall, forcing the attackers into tighter clusters where Blackwall's conscripts could pick them off.
One particularly bold bandit—a hulking brute with a spiked maul—lunged at Cassandra. She sidestepped with practiced ease, her blade finding the gap between his chestplate and pauldron. The man gurgled, collapsing to his knees as she yanked her sword free.
"Pathetic," she muttered, already scanning for her next target.
From the relative safety of a moss-covered boulder, Varric Tethras worked Bianca with mechanical precision. Each bolt found its mark—a knee here, a shoulder there—never fatal, but always debilitating.
"Head's up, Chuckles!" he called as a bandit archer drew bead on Solas.
Thwip.
The archer dropped with a bolt through his hand, his own arrow sailing harmlessly into the trees.
Solas nodded his thanks before turning his attention back to the battle. His staff traced intricate patterns in the air as he wove barriers around the villagers, his magic shimmering like iridescent glass whenever a blade struck home.
"Hold the line!" Solas urged the conscripts. "Your shields are your strength!"
At the center of the chaos, Blackwall fought like a man possessed. His greatsword moved with lethal efficiency, each swing calculated to maximize damage while conserving energy. But more impressive than his skill was his presence—wherever he stood, the villagers found their courage.
"Tomas! Flank left!" Blackwall barked at the gangly youth, who obeyed with surprising alacrity. The boy's pitchfork found a bandit's thigh, sending the man stumbling into the path of another conscript's hammer.
The Warden didn't celebrate the small victory. His eyes never stopped moving, assessing threats, directing his makeshift troops. When a pair of bandits tried to circle behind the villagers, Blackwall was there—his shield smashing one in the face while his sword disemboweled the other.
"Maker's breath," Daniel heard one of the farmers whisper. "It's like he's everywhere at once."
The bandits, realizing their ambush had turned against them, began to falter. Their initial bravado evaporated as the Inquisition's coordination and Blackwall's leadership turned the tide.
Daniel seized the moment. Channeling the Staff's power, he sent a bolt of lightning arcing through the remaining clusters of enemies. The electricity danced from blade to blade, sending bandits spasming to the ground.
"Now!" Cassandra shouted.
The Inquisition soldiers surged forward, their charge breaking what little resistance remained. Some bandits threw down their weapons; others turned and fled into the woods.
The last bandit fell with a wet gurgle, Blackwall's sword sliding free from the man's chest with a sickening squelch. The Warden stood amidst the carnage, his breath coming in measured gulps as he surveyed the battlefield. With deliberate motion, he planted his greatsword point-first into the bloodied earth and knelt beside one of the fallen raiders.
"Sorry, bastards," he muttered, closing the dead man's staring eyes with calloused fingers. The words held no malice - just the weary resignation of a soldier who'd seen too much death.
Rising to his full height, Blackwall turned to his ragtag militia. The villagers stood in shocked silence, their makeshift weapons trembling in hands never meant for war. The Warden's expression softened fractionally.
"Good work, conscripts," he said, his voice carrying across the lakeshore. "Even if this shouldn't have happened." He gestured at the bodies. "They could've—well, thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole. Go home to your families." A rare smile touched his lips. "You saved yourselves today."
As the villagers dispersed - some weeping, others helping wounded friends - Daniel's vision swam momentarily. A familiar interface shimmered before his eyes:
*[30 EXP gained]*
*[Level Up! Now Level 6]*
The sudden rush of power coursed through his veins, the Fade's energy singing in his blood. He flexed his fingers around the Staff of the Dragon, feeling the difference immediately - spells that had once taxed him now came as easily as breathing.
Blackwall's sharp intake of breath brought Daniel back to the present. The Warden had finally taken proper stock of his unexpected allies, his hand drifting toward his sword hilt.
"You're no farmers," he stated, eyes narrowing. "How do you know my name? Who are you people?"
Daniel stepped forward, extending a hand in greeting. "Daniel Trevelyan, agent of the Inquisition. We're investigating whether the disappearance of the Grey Wardens has any connection to the murder of the Divine."
The color drained from Blackwall's face. "Maker's balls," he breathed. "The Wardens and the Divine? That can't—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "No, you're asking, so you don't know. First off, I didn't know they'd disappeared. But we do that, don't we? No more Blight, job done. Wardens are the first thing forgotten."
His voice took on a defensive edge. "But one thing I'll tell you: no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn't political."
Cassandra moved to stand beside Daniel, her hand resting lightly on her sword pommel. "We're not here to accuse the Wardens. Not yet. But we need to understand why they've vanished. You're the only Warden we've found in months."
Blackwall exhaled sharply, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. "I haven't seen another Warden in half a year. I travel alone, recruiting when I can." A bitter chuckle escaped him. "Not getting much interest these days. The Archdemon's been dead a decade, and there's no Blight coming."
He gestured toward the retreating villagers. "Normally, we don't need to conscript. The treaties give us the right to take what we need - supplies, arms, even people if necessary. These idiots forced the issue by preying on the defenseless, so I 'conscripted' their victims." Pride crept into his voice. "They had to obey, so I told them to stand. Next time, they won't need me."
Varric, who'd been quietly cleaning Bianca, looked up with interest. "Grey Wardens can just... command people like that?"
"It's complicated," Blackwall admitted. "The treaties are ancient - if there's a Blight, everyone must aid the fight. Without one?" He shrugged. "They're as binding as a clever tongue can make them. But Wardens can inspire, make ordinary folk into something more."
Daniel studied the Warden carefully. "Do you have any idea where the others went? Any rumors, whispers?"
"Maybe back to Weisshaupt?" Blackwall rubbed his bearded chin. "That's our stronghold in the Anderfels. But I can't imagine why they'd all vanish at once, let alone where they'd go." He fixed Daniel with a piercing stare. "You're certain they're gone? Not just... keeping to themselves?"
Solas spoke for the first time, his voice calm but insistent. "Entire garrisons abandoned overnight. Weapons left in their racks, meals half-eaten. This was no routine redeployment."
A shadow crossed Blackwall's face. "That... doesn't sound right." He seemed to come to a decision, squaring his shoulders. "Inquisition agent, you said? Hold a moment."
He paced a short distance, then turned back, his expression grim. "The Divine is dead, the sky is torn. For the Wardens to be absent now... that's almost as bad as being involved." His jaw set. "If you're trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me."
Daniel exchanged glances with Cassandra. "We need all the help we can get," he admitted. "But what can one Grey Warden do?"
Blackwall's laugh was sharp as a blade. "Save the fucking world if he has to." He stepped closer, his intensity palpable. "Look, maybe fighting demons from the sky isn't something I'm practiced at, but show me someone who is. And like I said - there are treaties. This may not be a Blight, but it's bloody well a disaster. Some will honor their debts."
Cassandra arched an eyebrow. "You would pledge yourself to the Inquisition?"
"For now." Blackwall met her gaze unflinchingly. "We both need answers. And perhaps I've been keeping to myself for too long." He drew his sword and planted it point-down before Daniel in the traditional Grey Warden salute. "This Warden walks with the Inquisition."
Daniel reached out and clasped the warrior's forearm. "Welcome aboard, Blackwall."
As their hands met, a strange energy passed between them - the same power that had crackled through Daniel when he'd leveled up. Blackwall's eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing.
Varric broke the moment with his characteristic smirk. "Well, this just got interesting. A Warden, a Seeker, a runaway mage, and the Herald of Andraste walk into a tavern..."
Cassandra groaned. "Don't start."
Blackwall chuckled as he retrieved his sword. "I like him." He glanced toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning its descent. "We should move soon. There are still bandit camps in these hills, and I'd rather not spend another night fending them off."
Daniel nodded. "We're headed back to Haven after we finish our business here. You're welcome to join us."
The Warden shook his head. "I'll meet you there. First, I need to ensure these people get home safely." He gestured toward the distant figures of the villagers. "After that... well, the Inquisition will have its Warden."
As Blackwall strode away to gather his scattered conscripts, Solas moved to Daniel's side. "An interesting man," the elf murmured. "There is more to him than he shows."
Daniel watched the retreating figure. "Isn't there always?"
The party made their way back toward the Crossroads, the weight of their new alliance settling upon them. The path ahead remained uncertain, but one thing was clear - the game had just changed. With a Grey Warden at their side, the Inquisition's legitimacy would grow. And in the dangerous days to come, that might make all the difference.
________________________________________________
Name : Daniel Carter
Race: Elf
Level 5 : 5/3000 EXP
Professions: Mage
Gold Coins: 2289 coins
Weapon: Staff of the Dragon
Armor: Light Armor of the Dragon and Templar Scribe Scowl
Accessories: Token of the Packmaster and Belt of Health
Inventory: Acolyte Ice Staff, Morning Star, Stiletto, Hunting Longbow, Fire Resistance Cowl, Mercenary Coat, Acolyte Fire Staff, Disciple Lighting Staff, Apprentice Armor, Qunari Battleaxe, Raider Hatchet, 2 Disciple Fire Staff, Apprentice Mail, Qunari Buckler, Medium Adventure Armor, Mindleech Staff, Soldier's Nemesis, 2 Recruit's Dirk, Reinforced Dagger, Sledgehammer, Disciple Lighting Staff, Apprentice Armor, Exacting Longbow, Barbarian Lord Maul, Lifeward Amulet, and Grenade Belt
Crafting Materials: 37 Elfroot, 62 Iron, 2 Blue Vitriol, 1 Dawn Lotus, 11 Silk, 17 Lambswool, 3 Royal Elfroot, 10 Ram Leather, 23 Drakestone, 4 Fire Essence, 3 Blue Vitriol, 11 Canine Leather, 4 Plaidewaive, 2 Frost Essence, 1 Fade-Touched Iron, 4 Blood Lotus, 5 Embrium, 10 Spindleweed, 16 Onyx, 3 Ironbarks, 2 Crystal Grace, and 1 Serpenstone
Upgrades: Sigil of the Gamordan Stromrider and Sigil of Deathroot
Valuables: 2 Shadow Essence, 1 Ram Horn, 1 Dreamer Rag, 5 Weapon Fragment, 2 Bowstring, 8 Mysterious Shards, Nevarra Skull, 1 Wisp Essence, and 1 Wolf Fangs
Potions: Lesser Health Potions x8, Lesser Regeneration Potions x5, and x5 Lyrium Potion
Skills: Chain Lighting, Flashfire, Barrier, Winter's Grasp, and Energy Barrage
Armor Schematics: Shokra-taar Schematic, Antaam-saar Schematic, Avvar Armor Schematics Acquired, Stone-Bear Armor Schematics, Vanguard Coat Schematic, Sturdy Defender Coat Schematic, and Scout Mail Arms Schematic
Weapon Schematics: Curved Dagger Schematic and Hunting Bow Schematic
Potion Recipe: Lesser Regeneration Potion recipe and Lyrium Potion Recipe
Bottles of Thedas: Vint-9 Rowan's Rose and Carnal, 8:69 Blessed