Dragon Queen: Exalted

Prologue: Revelation

The world is a fragile thing. In an instant what was known can become strange and what was once considered impossible can become reality. In the blink of an eye dynasties can crumble and be made unto dust. Even gods fade.

The poet once said the that the legions on the march were like the massive tempests that on occasion that wracked the islands of Par Vollen and Seheron or like the quakes that sometimes shook the ground with a terrible furry. It was said that they were unstoppable, unconquerable and capable of unimaginable destruction.

Unfortunately the poet who had said those words was long dead along with the Imperium he had once described. That Tevinter Imperium had been the Imperium of ages past when the rule of the holy city of Minrathous had stretched from Par Vollen to the borders of modern day Ferelden. Now the Imperium held barely a fourth of what it once possessed, but even still it was mighty.

Tevinter's legions were still the most disciplined fighting force in Thedas capable of standing against the myriad of foes that still sought the Imperium's blood. These legions had held the line against the Quanri, and the Andrastian Kingdoms to the South.

Now once more the Imperium was threaten from the heathen Qunari from across the sea. The heathens had landed with a vast host in the Kingdom of Rivian. A kingdom considered borderline heretical by the Chantry of Orlais and the Imperial Chantry of Minrathous for its beliefs and close relations to the invaders since the last great qunari invasion an age ago. Its rulers folded without taking the field, surrendering to the heathens without a fight.

The horde of the grey skinned giants was massing their strength for an invasion of the Imperium's vital eastern provinces. All that stood between the qunari horde and the rich trade cities of Venna and Arium were the venerable Legions of one of the Imperium's finest generals, Claudius Rufus Glaba. The Warden of the East had massed his three veteran legions, the eighth, ninth and twelfth and headed east intent on halting the qunari incursion.

Three legions and their auxiliaries, thirty thousand legionaries, five thousand horse a mixture of Tevinter's own cataphract and southern knights, a thousand bowmen and a hundred war mages from the Imperium's Circle of Magi. It was the might of the east assembled to drive the heathens back from the sacred boundaries of the first men from across the sea.

Among these proud men was one Lucius Castus, the senior Tribune and second-in-command of the Ninth Legion who sat at the far right flank of the battle formation with his wing of cavalry nearly five hundred strong.

Lucius stared at the vast horse spread before them as the ox-men moved into their formation opposite the legions. The Tribune felt unease worm its way into his belly as the full scope of the warriors of the Qun became apparent. He had been of the opinion that the Eastern Legions should have held their ground forcing the Qunari to dash themselves against the walls of Venna and the other lowland fortress cities while they waited for reinforcements to arrive from the rest of the Imperium.

But the General had other things on his mind. He had decided to leave the safety of his billets to fight the Qunari on the open battlefield… to break and scatter the heathens before they could penetrate deep into the Imperium's underbelly. They would destroy the Qunari before this war truly began.

At least that was what Glaba had said before the assemblage of his officers, but in his heart Lucius had his doubts. His cousin Scipio Alexius Decimus, a senator of patrician stock had mentioned that Galba's command had been questioned among the Senate and the Plebian Assembly and he was on the verge losing his bakers within the senate. Without a victory to bolster his status the general's chances of holding onto his command was waning.

And so they were the legions arrayed for battle that should not have needed to fight. The legions were the most disciplined force in the entire world, they had to be or the Imperium would not have endured as long as it has. The legions had a long storied history of winning against more numerous foes, but those battles had been commanded by brilliant generals on the legion's terms.

This… this was the folly of a vainglorious man that brought them here this day.

To the center mass a trumpeter blew a series calls that were repeated down the lines. It was a signal he knew well… advance en-masse. As one the legions stepped off marching in unison as the checker board formation advanced towards their ancient foe. The legionaries marched shoulder to shoulder each man suited in a flexible suit of steel plates over chainmail, a steel helm on their head with a large rectangular shield strapped to their left arm. Each held a pilum in his right hand with a second held by a loop of leather on the back of the shield itself and a short stabbing sword called gladius sheathed on their hip.

It was the kit of the legionary which had not changed in nearly three thousand years since the first men had landed in Thedas from their lost homeland across the sea to make war upon the elves who inhabited these lands. It was a war that had reduced the elves to naught but slaves.

On the flanks of the legionaries the right and left wings of cavalry moved into a slow trot keeping pace with the advancing footmen. Unlike their Southern neighbors the Tevinters were not natural horsemen and they had no great skill or love of it. So they did something very, very Tevinter… what they could not raise themselves they bought.

The Imperium augmented what few horsemen they did produce with mercenaries and adventurers from the Southern Kingdoms. After all a knight was a man or woman raised from birth to do a single thing… and that thing was killing and while there was peace in the South many knights and chevaliers found employment elsewhere.

With a fearsome roar and a sound like a clap of thunder the legionaries threw their spears and charged slamming into the Qunari with terrible wrath. The legions were a machine and reaped a terrible toll in the front ranks of the Qunari, but then again that was to be expected. When the Qunari came to a land they found converts some willing and unwilling to serve them many capacities… including fodder for their armies.

It was this fodder, peasant elves and humans seduced by the Qun's promises; they were dying under the swords of Tevinter's legions while the true Qunari, the ox-men… the grey-skinned gaints, waited husbanding their strength for when the legions had wearied themselves. Then the Qunari horde would strike and strike hard hoping to break the legions ranks.

The Qunari themselves were far superior individual fighters to the legionaries and so that would be their stratagem. Once amongst the legions they could reap a terrible toll but until then as long as the ranks and the flanks held firm the legions would take the field.

On the right Lucius found himself in the middle of a terrible struggle as he fought against Qunari lancers mounted on their massive pale horned goat-like beasts called Aurocks brought with them from the mountains and forests of Par Vollem. Though slower than horses they were more surefooted and were more durable.

The Tribune swiped down hard his cavalryman's sword cutting a deep gouge across the lancer's naked chest while the reverse stroke took the heathen's heath from its shoulders. Even as he did so he noticed something strange amongst the wild mêlée that consumed both wings of horse. As the knights, cataphracts, and the Lancers fought the Qunari did not press the weight of their numbers, they did nothing but hold their foes at bay.

"Something's not right," Lucius whispered under his breath as his eyes scanned rapidly for what must be eluding him, what he must be missing.

In the end it was the gleaming Aquila, the golden eagle of the Legions, which cued him to the eminent danger. The eagle and the Legions were advancing hard in the Qunari center pushing them farther and farther back. No doubt sensing his much needed victory Galba was throwhing his reserves into the center… nearly all the men held in reserve if Lucius counted the standards correctly.

And then it hit him like a bucket of icy mountain water and he knew what was going to happen. The Tribune called for his Centurion Primius to take command and turned his horse sharply to the rear and with a kick of his spurs launched towards were the general and his guards commanded.

"General Galba," Lucius called, "You must halt the advance and reinforce the flanks!"

Glad in ornate armor with a cape of blood red hanging from his shoulders and sitting on a pure white Public Horse was the Warden of the East, the General Claudius Rufus Glaba. From atop his steed the general barely gave him passing glance.

"Sir the army-"

"Silence man," the General snarled, "Do your eyes fail you? Victory is ours. The ox-men are breaking and all we needed to is shatter their center and they shall flee," he turned to the trumpeter, "Signal 'full advance' and send the rest into the center. I want the heathen's back broken and then we can destroy them piecemeal."

"General," he shouted but it was too late.

In an instant the world titled and everything turned against them. The Quanri flanks struck hard, lurching forward and catching the Tevinters horsemen off step forcing them back and back until like a piece of iron that would not bend it broke.

In the same instant the retreating Qunari center found new resolve and stood firm while the flanks swept in encircling the three legions cutting off any hope of withdrawal. As the noose tightened Lucius led a dozen sorties in an attempt to find a weak spot in the Qunari lines, but each time he was beaten back and the noose tightened still. And then the legions, the pride of the Imperium broke, its iron cast discipline falling to the wayside as it became a fight for mere survival no longer victory.

XXX

"So begins the fall of the corrupt and the wicked," the Arishok of the Quanri people quoted as he saw the destruction of the legions in the East. He watched as the Sword of the Qun exterminated these ba'as who dared to deny the truths of Koslun written in the holy Qun.

The men of the Imperium were surrounded falling perfectly into the trap he had laid for them and now they were to die. Surrounded and cut off they were pressed in from all sides and harried by a constant stream of arrows and spears falling in amongst them. The Arishok had known since the moment they took his bait and became enraptured with his retreating center that he had had them.

"Still the struggle," he said in gravelly tone and glanced in the direction of the leader of the Ari.

The "Ari" the Worthy as it translated into the Common tongue were the personal Honor Guards of the Triumvirate that guided the 'People of the Book' through life and struggle. They were the fiercest warriors of the Qun and sworn to defend him with their live and avenge him in death.

"A useless pointless struggle," the grey skinned giant intoned emotionlessly, "They are beaten. Those who live will serve the needs of the Qun or they will join their companions in death."

The Arishok the Commander-in-Chief of all the military forces of the Qunari nodded slowly though he did not quite agree with his subordinate. The Arishok was the martial head of the Triumvirate was a lifelong position. Once elevated to the position he could only be dismissed by death… whether natural, on the battlefield or by his own sword.

During his younger years as a member of the Beresaad, the Qunari Vanguard, he had spent time in the South and in that time he had learned much. Most of his experience had taught in the truth of what was said in the Qun. The Southern lands were chaotic, corrupt and wasteful and lacking the light that was found in the Holy Qun.

But he had found exceptions. He had found warriors of skill, courage and honor amongst the chaff fit for only thralldom in service to the Great Truth of the Qun. These had been few, but they had taught him a respect for Man that his fellow Qunari lacked.

"They have spirit and belief," the Arishok intoned as he pointed down towards a Tevinter officer of some sorts judging by his attire cut a bloody path through several Qunari warriors. The man's sword spun and slashed as he half stumbled his way through the fight with more wild abandon than actual skill. Still he cut down Qunari regardless of the risk to himself.

"He shall be our messenger."

XXX

His arm felt like lead, but Castus still struck out catching a ox-man across the belly and spilling his guts across the blood slickened grass. Stumbling forward, his cavalryman's cloak nearly catching on a headless legionary, he thrust forward his gladius driving the steel tip into the chest of the nearest Qunari piercing the sternum, slicing the heart in two and severing the spinal column.

He withdrew his bloodied blade and glanced up and when he did he grimaced. Across the field he saw a armored figure, a head above the others and all around in painted deep arterial red markings stood the Qunari Arishok and his private guard, the Ari.

The war leader of the Qunari and his band. If he was here then this was no mere raid, this was war…a full scale invasion of the Imperium. Lucius Castus gripped his blade tighter. If the Arishok could be killed here before this continued into its bloody climax… thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of lives could be spared the cruelty of war.

Pushing his exhausted, bruised and bloodied body forward with the ragged remains of his command, weary but determined. He cut, slashed, stabbed and killed his way through his foes with care for the cuts and gashed inflicted on his armor and his flesh. He was filled with a single purpose.

"For the Imperium and the Ninth," he cried a cry that was soon picked up by the other desperate legionaries as they threw themselves into one last desperate charge.

The men of Tevinter fell by the droves but still they pressed on driven by fear mixed with courage, hatred and most of all desperation. They were dead men, they all knew this, but their hatred drove them to make sure that their lives were not sold cheaply. And though die they did it was costing the Qunari dearly.

Before him he saw the Ari unsheathed their massive swords and advanced through the ranks of their lesser brethren eager to shed the blood of the infidel. The massive beings strode forward their serrated swords cleaving legionaries in two as they sought to cut down the last desperate surge of the Tevinter legions.

Castus blocked deflected a strike turning it aside before driving his elbow into the Qunari side. He brought his sword about but before he could his weapon was knocked from hand. The Tribune turned even as his free hand fell to his waist to grasp his dagger, but before he could react he saw a large object out of the corner of his eye and then his world black.

XXX

By the time the Tribune stirred the battle was far over. Those handfuls of legionaries who had survived the battle were gathered up under heavy guard. They would be given two choices… to either convert to the Qun or be executed. If they accepted the grand design of the Qun they would be allowed to live and serve perhaps as menial laborers or farmers working on the vast Kollacks, collective farms that fed the People, for the greater glory of the Qunari.

"Wake him," the Ariskok of the Qunari said with a flick of his wrist.

The Commander of the Ari grunted acknowledgement and delivered a viscous kick to the man's ribs. The Tribune spluttered as his eyes opened wide and he cradled his ribs and coughed up blood. The man tried to stand but two the Ari seized him and forced him to his knees.

Blood flowed from the legionary's nose and mouth. With a defiant glare the officer spat a bloody phlegm at the Arishok's feet; an act rewarded with a punishing punch to the face and a kick to the ribs that once more doubled the man over in pain.

When he was hauled back to his knee the Arishok took a knee to bring the nearly to eye level, "You do not need to fear me Tevinter… not at the moment."

"Save your words heathen," the Tribune spat, "I will not betray my oath and my god! Kill be and be done with it for nothing you can say with convince me to turn upon my brothers."

The Arishok grinned. He had heard this many times before from many different fellows and in the end the tender mercies of the Ben-Hassrath had convince many of these hardened men the error of their allegiance, "You misunderstand me Tevinter… I have no need of your soul. I have need of you to deliver a message to your Senate. "

The legionary's eyes were full of rage and hate, but he also saw a glimmer of hope within those eyes. No doubt this man had expected nothing but torture and death. "What message do you wish me to deliver?"

"Tell the senate that the Qunari have come. Seheron and Rivian are ours and even now we march as the largest host ever assembled for a single purpose. We will fall upon the Imperium like the wolf upon the sheep and your empire will crumble into dust. I the Arishok of the Qunari people and one of the Triumvirate offers you this… surrender submit the Qun and you will live. Refuse me and rivers of blood will run staining all of Thedas red in its passing."