Gray guards. Other Guardians Gray Guardians

Description:

The modification adds a full set of weapons and armor of the valiant Gray Wardens to the game, and also dresses all the Gray Wardens in Ferelden in these same armor.

In addition, as a bonus to the modification, eleven retextures of the Gray Wardens armor are attached, namely: Aremeta texture pack Bright v1.0, Aremeta Texture Pack Dark v1.0, Aremeta Texture Pack Medium v1.0, Aremeta Texture Pack Semi-Bright v1.0, Aremeta Texture Pack White v1.0, Blight Buster Texture Pack v1.0, Blood Warden Texture Pack v2.5, dragon knight Texture Pack v1.0, Gray Warden B Texture Pack v1.0, Mirror Wardens v1.2 and Warden Armor Textures v1.0.

Installation:

one). Download the archive with dazip files I posted.
2). Run DAUpdater in the root folder of the game.
3). Use it to install the dazip files from the archive.
four). Launch the game and activate the modifications in the downloadable content.
5). start new game and look for the Gray Wardens.

Installing retextures:

one). Download the retexture archive I posted.
2). Extract the archive somewhere and view the screenshots.
3). Select the retextures you want and drop them into the "override" folder.

(!) Retextures can be combined in any combination. That is, you have four (the set of the great Gray Guardian cannot be retextured) different sets of armor, each of which can be equipped with a separate retexture. All folders with retextures are located in an intuitive way, so I think you will not have problems with this.

Removal:

one). Delete from "...Documents\BioWare\ dragon age\AddIns" folders:
- 11_Warden_Armours_ORG - Starter version.
- 11_Warden_Armours_AWK - Version for awakening.
- 11_Warden_Armours_GLM - Version for Amgarrak golems.
- 11_Warden_Armours_WTCH - Witch hunt version.
- 11_Warden_Armours_LLN - Version for Leliana's song.
2). Remove from "...Documents\BioWare\Dragon Age\packages\core\data" files:
- 11_Warden_Armours_ORG_package.erf - Starter version.
- 11_Warden_Armours_AWK_package.erf - Version for awakening.
- 11_Warden_Armours_GLM_package.erf - Version for Amgarrak golems.
- 11_Warden_Armours_WTCH_package.erf - Witch hunt version.
- 11_Warden_Armours_LLN_package.erf - Version for Leliana's song.
3). Remove from "...Documents\BioWare\Dragon Age\packages\core\override":
- Folder "Grey Wardens".

Note:

one). First of all, I would like to say that this is not full version fashion. It has only the base part and stable modification details, like a fix that allows you to recolor armor using a set of paints, etc. The following were removed from the bugged fixes: a fix that put guards on armor for two recruits in Ostagar (I don’t remember their names anymore), a fix that changed clothes of all Gray Guardians in rune armor was removed (I still didn’t get the guards to walk in rune armor (mod rune guard was installed), they became naked all the time for me) and the fix that changed Duncan into light (instead of the commander’s armor) armor of the guard was removed (he also became naked).

2). I also want to note that versions for official campaigns are just correct support for armor in them, but not mods that change guards into this armor.

3). All sets of armor and weapons are scattered throughout the game and you will have to work hard to find them (for example, in the return to Ostagar you can find a set of armor of the commander, and in the peak of a soldier - a great guardian, etc.). But nevertheless, if someone does not want to look for them for a long time, or they need more than they have, you can buy armor and weapons from the Banaka merchant from the weapon set modification.

Thanks:

***
1:90 Divine Age

Neriya is not afraid: the one who was born during the Pestilence, and the one who dies before it ends, forgets about fear too soon. If you are afraid - constantly, shaking from gusts of wind, from the howling of wolves and from the downed march of the Creatures of Darkness through villages and cities - then you do not live. Not at this time.

She joins the Gray Wardens against her will, but she still has nowhere to go and nowhere to return. Neria is not afraid of anything, but she does not want anything. She has nothing - except magic and useless memories, more burdensome than supportive.

Here is the mother stroking her head, burying her fingers in her hair (now the hair is so short that no one can grab onto it), and tells old bedtime stories. The room smells of hay, milk and herbs - dried twigs of elven root and mint hang from the ceiling. Mother's hands are warm and rough - from housework and with the land - and fairy tales are the best. In them, brave heroes save the world, defeating evil, losing friends and loved ones, and in the end they die. In them, the Gray Wardens stop the Blight - and life immediately becomes much easier. Without fear, without hunger and without war.

Her mother has been gone for several years, the house where Neria grew up, too, and under her feet is the scorched earth of Anderfels. The Gray Wardens who escort her and a few other recruits who wish to join the Order to Weishaupt are spitting at their feet, complaining about the gritty sand and squinting into the scorching sun. Fairy tales lie: the heroes turn out to be ordinary thugs, the war does not end.

Only one thing turns out to be true - everyone around continues to die, and it doesn't matter if you save the world or not.

Welcome to the Order, sister, one of the Gray Wardens, Korin, tells her in the morning.

Neriya does not immediately remember him - he smiled at her and gave her a cup, he read out a stupid oath, as if now oaths meant something.

She wakes up in a soft bed for the first time in months, her legs tangled in a huge duvet; the head is cracking, and the memories of the dream are trembling in the hands.

The huge dragon burns the lands the way its predecessor once burned the barren lands of Anderfels, only people burn along with forests, crops and houses - they writhe in agony, while the skin peels off from them.

Writhe in agony for a long time - for almost a hundred years.

***
1:91 Divine Age

Weishaupt is a huge fortress, home to a thousand Guardians and the heart of the Anderfels.

At least at first, it seems to Neriya that way: they walked here through the desert for so long that the sand on the lips is felt for several more days, and the mountains with snow-covered tops surprise and alarm her at the same time - as if she had not woken up, but had fallen into the trap of a demon in the shadow. For Weishaupt, there is no war, because he always lives in it - cruel, bloody, senseless and devalued by many - and decades of massacre have not changed this at all. What happened before them is by no means forgotten.

Then Neria remembers that the miracles that the demons showed, wanting to get her body, she has not dreamed of for a long time; instead, as soon as they close their eyes, a huge dragon appears before them, followed by an unstoppable horde, driven by the desire to kill and exterminate. Where the armies of the creatures of darkness pass, the earth ceases to be habitable, and death reigns.

But even in the midst of death, in the midst of lifelessness, something can exist - the same Weishaupt, whose heart will beat to the last Gray Guardian or to the last griffin.

Neria likes griffins - huge, much bigger than horses and, moreover, a frail elf - and when time permits, she walks with pleasure from one stall to another, carding their wool and is silent. Silence and solitude - this is what Neriya really lacks: the first is taken away by a talkative and friendly mentor who teaches her magic, the second is the common barracks.

Have you thought about learning to fly? - asks Neria Korin.

His head is wrapped in an incomprehensible rag, it stretches from the cheekbone to the neck, a new scar flows. The clothes are still road - did not have time or did not want to change.

She shrugs vaguely.

Korin's attention - rare due to his constant departures - she likes and dislikes at the same time. He performed her Initiation, and she was the only survivor of it. Maybe Corinne just feels... obligated? Responsible?

How are the workouts?

Okay, Neri responds.

At first, it’s always like this: awkward and wary. She, like a wild animal, looks at Korin with apprehension and, with her unsociableness, wants to scare him away, not to let him get closer. Then the tension subsides, and Nerija remembers: he is her friend.

I stopped by to let you know that next time you will come with me.

Next time?

As soon as my head stops bothering the healers. It seems that your mentor is now the owner of the infirmary? She thinks that with such an injury, it is contraindicated to walk, and she is not interested in the fact that I somehow managed to get here with her. Korin smiles. “And I thought I could use my personal healer.

Neriya smiles back uncertainly.

If in Weishaupt all the talk is about the war, then outside of it there is nothing but it.

***
1:93 Divine Age

Korin grimaces, tilting his head to his right shoulder to make Neriya more comfortable: a shallow but very unpleasant bite bleeds in the crease between his left shoulder and neck. She wipes the blood with a rag soaked in water, looks at the marks of teeth - almost human, only sharper - and brings one hand to the wound, sighing and concentrating, the other burrowing into someone else's slightly grown hair.

A stream of healing magic heats up in the center of the palm, and then breaks down to a bite. A minute later, only pale marks remain, visible on Korin's tanned skin, but hidden under his shirt.

Thank you,” he says, closing his eyes.

Neriya nods and allows Korin to squeeze her hand and bring it to her lips for a kiss, as if she were a noble lady, and not a rootless elf, as she allows him to squeeze her in his arms at night and already allows himself to whisper his name.

It still seems to her that everything that is happening makes no sense: they both lived and will die - unnoticed by anyone, erased from history; will perish at any moment, leaving no trace.

In her three years in the Gray Wardens, Neriah rarely had to light funeral pyres, but it was an integral part of the life of anyone who had filth and filth in their veins. Any fire burns brightly - and it doesn't matter if the branches burn in it or the bodies.

Neriya is afraid that next time she will have to watch how smoldering - how it turns into ashes - Korin, and her heart shrinks from pain, hatred and her own powerlessness. Not every fairy tale ends with the words "they lived happily ever after", but every life ends with death.

But even more, Neria is afraid that it will be Korin who will have to set fire to her funeral pyre.

***
1:95 Divine Age

The city is on fire, and Neria does not even remember its name, staring wide-eyed as a huge dragon, flapping its wings, soars over the army of the creatures of darkness. She had seen him in her nightmares for so long, she had listened so hard to his cry that she could not believe her own eyes.

Korin, who is standing in front of her, turns around and smiles reassuringly and forcedly at the same time. Behind them is a whole army, and at the head of it are the Gray Wardens.

It is today that everything must end - so he said the day before.

For the sake of victory, Korin is ready to die without regrets. Neriya... Neriya - no, but she doesn't want to live without Korin either, and that's the only reason she doesn't run away, frightened by the otherworldly whisper that gets into her ears and doesn't let her sleep.

I can't think: there are too many creatures of darkness to waste energy on thoughts. There is no fear, only action. The smell of smoke, blood and ozone hits the nose - because of the burning city, because of the dead and because of the magic, from which it almost sparkles around.

Neria tries not to lose Korin at least with a glance, so that, in case of anything, she can help him. She notices the darkspawn emissary too late.

She dies instantly, without having time to get upset or scared. The fate of the Gray Warden is to die in battle with the creatures of darkness.

The fate of the worthy is to protect the one you love.

When it's over - when the remnants of the horde scatter, having lost their leader, when the corpse of a huge lizard is dragged aside, when a huge funeral pyre is assembled - the bodies of Neria and Korin lie side by side.

Name: Neria
Author: FW Gray Wardens
Pairing/Characters : Neria
The form: art
Category: jen
Rating: G
The size: 598x807
Note: refers to a historical figure.

Name: About raising pets
Author: FW Gray Wardens
Pairing/Characters : Gray Warden, griffin
The form: art
Category: jen
Rating: G
The size: 480x668

Name: All that remains
Author: FW Gray Wardens
Beta: FW Gray Wardens
Pairing/Characters : OZHP/OZHP
The form: text with illustration
Category: femslash
Genre:angst
Rating: PG-13
The size: drabble, 462 words
Note: the author brazenly takes advantage of the fact that the hero of the Third Blight has no name, no gender, no clan-tribe.

Anthea watched from the top of the hill on which she had made her makeshift camp, watching the town below.

Fires still flared up in parts of the city, and the smell of burning lingered steadily in the air, barely dulled by the scent of spring flowers. Flashes of flame faded and reappeared, especially brightly in the hour before dawn. People, elves, gnomes fussed, flooded their conflagrations, tried to save their belongings, shouted to each other. But the Spawns were no longer visible. A pair of griffin scouts soared in the sky, looking out from a bird's eye view to see if the enemy had fled, if there was not a single Spawn left in the area. In the main camp of the Guardians from the side of the main gate, there was a revival, especially around the bowls of food.

A temporary truce with a natural disaster in the form of Generations is like a breath of happiness for ordinary people. Not for her.

The sorceress adjusted the staff so that it lay more comfortably, and winced, brushing against the bandage on her arm.

Are you sad again? - she felt someone else's sharp chin on her shoulder and could not help smiling. Sulanne chuckled almost in his ear, touching his breath: - Do you Tevinter, this is a special kind of competition? To fight, and then be sure to mourn alone? Me too, Master.

Laetan,” Anthea corrected out of habit, chuckling. Out of habit, she reached out to cover someone else's hand, which lay on her shoulder, with her own. She shuddered, as she had every time for the past two months, remembering that Sulanne had died in Hunter Fell.

There was a rustling in the temples, as often happened in recent times. The song rang out in a few notes - and disappeared from consciousness.

Anthea is not a tenant; she herself knew it. If she does not die in one of the battles during the Blight, then the Call will take her.

But still. But still. Her becoming a Gray Warden was the best of her misadventures.

Dalish misunderstanding, one of its kind leading to the sacred horror of any reasonable person. Tattered clothes, somehow hidden under barely fitted leather armor, bare and always dirty heels, boyishly loud laughter. And yet it was she, Sulanne of the Ralaferin clan, whose name Anthea never ceased to distort, pulled her out of the despondency into which the Initiation plunged her and because of which the magician sometimes wished that she would then refuse help and die from Fel.

Sulanne held her hands in the early days, when nightmares - ordinary, not plague - made her wake up in a cold sweat and with loud screams. She held out her flask of herbal drink, which had a terrible taste, but after which the head cleared up in an instant. Entertained with tales about the nomadic life of the clan, and sometimes - old stories of his people.

And much after ... Kissed so that the world did not exist; caressed at night with unprecedented tenderness and patience, and then lay quietly, in a homely way, poking into someone else's collarbone or notch on the neck.

Anthea missed Sulanne more than she missed her quiet life.

For a second it seemed that someone soothingly stroked her shoulders, as if in an awkward half-embrace. The corners of her lips twitched, and she blinked away the moisture.

Leaning on the staff, Anthea rose, straightened up, straightened her robes. She squinted as the dawn sun hit her eyes.

There was no time to sit.

The Third Plague will not end itself.

Name : ***
Author: FW Gray Wardens
Beta: FW Gray Wardens
Pairing/Characters : OMP Guardian and his griffin
Category: jen
Genre: angst, drama
Rating: PG-13
The size: drabble, 485 words
Warning : killing a mythical animal
Summery: When the Fourth Blight ended, the First Guardian ordered the killing of all gryphons that showed signs of aggression, due to the fact that the Blight was spreading too quickly in their ranks.
According to the article from the Code : "Majestic brats"; the author also used the text of "The Last Flight" as a support

Barry was tangled, screaming loudly, even hysterically, if that word could be applied to him; whipped his tail on the sides, snapped his beak angrily at anyone who wanted to get closer. Whether to calm down or pull the ropes tighter - the golden eyes twitched nervously in the direction of the approaching one, and the griffin itself flexed its whole body, screeching even more furiously at that one.

Einar, biting his lip, twitched every time his griffin twitched in exhaustion.

His fingers touched the hilt of a dagger that hung in a sling at his side. Trembling, shrinking, but did not get the blade out of its sheath.

Barry's real name was Barristan. A beautiful, long, heroic name - the hatched griffin, which the young man who had just passed the Initiation once looked after, looked painfully lively and pretty against the background of the rest. Although what "once" - I still kept an eye on, they became attached to each other tightly. So much so that the older Guardians could not dissuade the somewhat overweight Einar from wanting to become a rider, and in fact he became one. And Barristan only let him and a couple of servants near him.

Until the Blight hit the gryphons.

Einar, - the hand of the Guard-constable fell on his shoulder. - This is only your duty, both to the Order and to your griffin. We are waiting.

But Einar could not move, it was so painful for him to look at his friend.

But still. Better to let Barry die with dignity, in peace, and not like a crazy, thoughtless Spawn.

Shhh," he extended his hand in front of him as he carefully approached his gryphon.

He chuckled loudly, but then cocked his head to one side, listening to his friend's soothing words. Einar softly reassured him, called him by name, affectionately "tshshsh" cal. Even the three Guardians holding the ropes entangling Barristan had loosened their grip a little, but they were still watching them both warily.

(the dagger fell into the hand easily and smoothly, exactly as it should be)

Well, what are you, what are you, - Einar came very close, touched the bridle; Barry groaned again at this, tensed, but then relaxed, allowed himself to be stroked, and completely rested his head on someone else's shoulder.

(maybe everything will work out? maybe he’s not sick with Filth? but dark and swollen veins, but heavy breathing and sweat soaked in wool, speaks otherwise)

Everything will be fine, - Einar's voice broke when he said these words. He persuaded himself more than his friend, and held the hilt tightly, and firmly held the bridle, himself afraid that he would run away. The griffin purred incomprehensibly, just like every time he asked a silent question to his rider, his partner in flight.

They no longer fight side by side, and do not soar into the air in a single creature, and do not wallow and tease on the fresh grass.

The blade entered Barristan's chest lightly at first, and then with force, so that he had to lean on the dagger with all his weight.

The scream rang in his ears, like his own, and the claws scratched at his armor, his exposed skin, leaving scratches and, in some places, deep wounds.

Einar was able to release the hilt only when he felt the full weight of the more unresisting Barry, when two pairs of alien hands pressed on his fingers, and when, as if through a dense fabric, “Call the doctor!”

Well done, then the Guard-Constable patted him on the shoulder, visiting him in the infirmary. But Einar did not feel good.

Dead - even very much.

Name: Jewel
Author: FW Gray Wardens
Beta: FW Gray Wardens
Pairing/Characters : Sophia Dryden/Avernus, Demon of Desire
Category: get
Genre: romance
Rating: R
The size: drabble, 696 words
Warning : the author's headcanon about the fact that the description of Sophia Dryden was invented by Avernus
According to the article from the Code : “Sophia Dryden is the light of Ferelden and its most brilliant diamond; nothing in this world can extinguish her fire."

Sophia Dryden is Ferelden's most brilliant diamond, its majestic light, Avernus speaks with undisguised respect of his Guardian Commander to anyone who asks him what she is.

She is his passionate, wild fire, pacified by a biting mind, and nothing can extinguish it.

After his words go to the people, and this is surprising to him. He is even somewhat embarrassed when later, with a grin, the commander hands him a handwritten journal with new poems from Ferelden bards, where Lady Dryden is sung - in his words.

A few - because the commander laughs, touches his chin with his fingers, slightly turning towards him, and kisses him on the corner of his lips. It's so chaste and meaningful that Avernus blushes to the ends of his hair and Lady Dryden laughs a little louder.

It would seem that they could be connected: he, a Tevinter by blood, a descendant of the Soporati who lived in the Free Marches, an unremarkable and ugly magician, albeit blood, and her, a native Ferelden, a real lady knight, charming and attractive, two years older times. But - connected.

Only then, after this kiss, does Avernus notice how she watched with delight every time how her mage summoned magic with ease. He remarks? - with a completely childish admiration, with the same admiration that he himself had when he watched the commander's training.

Lady Dryden - Sofia - a couple of weeks later asks him to summon a demon. Just like that, not for any purpose. Just watch how a powerful being bows to someone else's will.

And he gladly gives in. Summons in her rooms, where no one will disturb them, after several hours of preparation, after a long drawing of runes and seals, after drawing blood from another creature. He feels the touch of her fingers on his neck, rapid breathing at the back of his head, and even the look clinging to every movement of his fingers - he also feels.

The Demon of Desire emerges gracefully from the Fade, only to fall to its knees a second later, obeying someone else's will. It cost, of course, the life of one servant elf, but what is this before the sparkling admiration of the lady of the heart of Avernus?

His lady, he realizes, as Lady Dryden lowers herself curiously beside the demon, touching his tense back. He hisses, curses the mortals who tied him to reality outside the Shadow, and the woman continues to bewitchedly move her fingertips up the spine (it's amazing how accurately they copy mortals), and then grabs one of the horns and makes her bow her head even lower to hiss and touched the floor with his forehead. Avernus barely manages to keep control when the daemon boils with indignation and sweat trickles down his neck, dripping down his temple. But - it succeeds. All for his commander.

Can I do whatever I want with it? - she looks inquisitively from the bottom up at the magician, slightly pulling the demon by the horn, forcing him to shake his head.

Whatever you say, Lady Dryden.

He doesn't even have to lie; for whatever the Lady Avernus commands, he will do for her. How much strength and skill is enough, but this lady is not worth knowing.

And then she laughs with her unique laugh, which seems to be an overflow of crystal. Releases the demon, rises; waves his hand to disappear altogether into the Shadow, and he disappears when the tired magician himself lets him go. His whole body is trembling from overexertion, and he can hardly keep his feet.

He almost falls at all - when someone else's lips greedily dig into his.

When there is not enough air, Sophia finally lets it go; and her eyes still burn with admiration:

You wizards are amazing. Keep such a powerful force literally at arm's length, - she looks fascinated at how her fingers are intertwined with others. After - he looks slyly at Avernus:

- You stunning.

And Avernus is drowning in this word - stunning.

The way they kiss again like they're biting; in that amazing moment when she clings to his shoulders and pulls him into the bedroom, in those amazingly sparing movements with which she frees them from their clothes, and in how perfectly they fit together, and how she saddles him, moves, moans, exhales in a trembling voice, when, out of arrogance, he launches a light charge through her body:

Amazing!..

The ending is not so amazing. He, like a youth who has no control over magic, sets fire to the canopy during the peak. Sophia laughs again, watching from under half-covered eyes as her lover rushes around the room in search of water, completely forgetting that he is a magician.

But still, she does not drive him out of the bedroom, but pulls him by the hand back into bed and purrs something familiar, but at the same time unrecognizable into his neck.

She is worse and better than any demon, and Avernus does not know how to resist her. Or - does not want to.

Name: Long Last Journey
Author: FW Gray Wardens
Beta: FW Gray Wardens
Pairing/Characters : Larius, m!hawk, Gray Wardens
Category: jen
Genre: angst, drama
Rating: PG-13
The size: drabble, 806 words
Warning : character death
Summery : My dear brothers and sisters! I'm leaving on my long final journey- Larius, Commander of the Gray Wardens

A pair of recruit boys escorted Larius all the way to the entrance to the Deep Roads, one of those that only the Guardians knew about, lost among the ruins that were either elven or Tevinter. This place was considered cursed by the inhabitants of nearby villages, and therefore there was no trodden path, they had to go through high wet grass.

Larius ordered the brats to return three times, but they stubbornly refused and only tried to sniff quietly. They helped him move the slab with half-erased drawings, crushing thick lingonberry bushes and smearing themselves with scarlet berry juice. Larius could have done it himself - he was still strong in body - but the boys wanted to help, and he did not object.

Larius thought involuntarily - someday they too will go down to the darkness, the sweetish smell of filth and an indistinct whisper. There was no regret; everything went as it should.

They said goodbye in silence; the boys' eyes shone, the tips of their noses turned red as if from cold. With them they gave him provisions twice as much as he needed, and another bottle of good wine - I suppose they spent all the money they had on him. Larius had recruited the boys a month ago - about that time the awakening stopped banishing the quiet, obsessive whisper from his head.

He understood well what that meant. Looking in the mirror, he noticed that the blue had completely disappeared from his eyes.

Larius did not like to delay and did not know how; a month was more than enough to complete all the work.

He did not hesitate even now, stepping into the darkness of the earthen passage. A brittle voice behind him began to say a prayer.

The Deep Roads after the Blight were like a city in which the inhabitants locked themselves in their homes - life was felt on them, but was not visible, subsided.

Five more came out of Orzammar with Larius: two Orlesians, a Fereldan, and a couple of Marchans; two bearded men, a youthful dandy, a woman who had been a commander for ten years, and a young girl with thin arms and a thick braid.

Her name was Octavia, and the filth in her blood would have allowed the girl to live another twenty years, but she herself decided otherwise.

The girl made her way to Orzammar secretly, using only her own paths - but Larius knew what strength love and despair give people - and when she went to their fire, the Marchan groaned in a dull, painful groan. All in all, it was a simple story.

They stayed together for another two weeks; every day the Marchan persuaded the girl to leave, she shook her head, resolute and pale. He was thirty years older than her, she was incredibly beautiful, and Larius could not stand it, exchanged a few words with the girl when it was their turn to be on duty by the fire to the quiet moans of the sleeping ones.

He, of course, could not dissuade her. She died first, two days later - her lover.

The former Lady Commander was next to die, and one of the Orlesians who had shielded her. Larius and Morris were left alone; the Orlesian turned out to be surprisingly steadfast, joking to the last - exquisitely, Larius did not always understand - he tried to shave, he cleaned his boots in the evenings.

He died falling into a narrow mountain fissure.

When Larius was left alone, only with a whisper in his head, he no longer wanted anything but death. He wandered through the underground labyrinths for about a day, and he was finally lucky - he felt the approach of defiled creatures - sharply, like never before.

Larius drew his sword and waited in the narrow passage. He was weak, moving uncomfortably, dragging his leg, but the hilt of the blade still lay comfortably in the palm of his hand. He was ready to die, he wanted to, and the sight of the white-eyed creatures made him smile broadly and take a fighting stance.

The creatures of Darkness did not attack him, they passed by, sometimes hitting him with their shoulders or prickly armor.

Hawk turned out to be like his father - his eyes and decisive gestures stirred up memories like a wave on a muddy bottom.

Malcolm, with a lecherous smile and nervous fingers. He talked a lot about magic and little about the Circle, was very curious and did not rush to the surface too much. The smell of lyrium, dark hair. A grimace of disgust when it came to blood magic. Malcolm Hawk.

Larius forced himself to think, struggled with the voice in his head and the ache in his body, pressed the scream in his throat, pushing the words through him. He still wore the armor of the Gray Wardens and was still mindful of his duty. Hawk looked at him with pity, but followed him, and that was enough.

Everything made sense - of the six that descended into the Deep Roads, only Larius survived to finish what he once started; it could not be anything other than the will of the Creator, calling for the last time to serve the Order - and his blessing, promising Laria death in battle with the most powerful of the Creatures of Darkness.

Even if it wasn't Larius who struck the last blow, but Hawke - he saw it, and the feeling of triumph made him breathe faster. He felt tired, as after a long walk, and he knew that he would soon be able to rest. Everything turned out as it should.

No one looked at him when the body suddenly shuddered from head to toe - the fair-haired magician ran his palms along Hawk's chest, the barefoot elf wiped the blood from his face, the dwarf fiddled with the trigger of his crossbow - and Larius suddenly felt the touch of someone else's consciousness, someone else's will.

He fell to his knees, managed to feel the pain in them, managed to reach for the dagger on his belt, overcoming the trembling. Fingers touched the smooth handle - and could not squeeze.

Weak body, weak will. The song sounded in the blood with overflows, a whisper, a howl.

He got up differently.

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