It holds strong

Your retinue of heavily armoured knights and mages rides hard from Denerim to Ostagar, covering the distance in just a few short days. The presence of several horse-resting stops allows for the quick exchange of horses from tired ones to fresh ones, drastically shortening the journey.

The fortress of Ostagar was as awe-inspiring a sight as it was a decade ago, when you were still a prospective recruit for the Grey Wardens. Its ruined stone walls loomed like the stalagmites of an ancient cavern, glistening like polished gems in the reflective light of crystal-clear ponds, smooth and free of blemish, as if the stones joined into one ubiquitous whole. The Dwarven-made Tower of Ishal - named after the Archon who ordered the fortress's construction - quite literally towers over all other structures in the fortress, stretching towards the heavens like the finger of a dead god.

As soon as your retinue arrives, the guards salute and announce your presence. You hastily dismount and approach the nearest soldier.

"Where's the commander of the fortress?" You inquired.

"Commander O'Neil's over there, by the wall," The soldier answered, "Big, tall woman clad in heavy silverite armour. You can't miss her."

You nod and hastily made your way towards the ramparts.

Looking around, you take in the changes made to the entire fortress; cracks, holes and deteriorating foundations were rectified with recent repairs, and with only the best Dwarven and Elven architects instructing the local Humans in their craft, Ferelden shall be able to handle its maintenance long after the job is done. Many more old buildings were restored and in working condition, playing host to barracks for soldiers, training grounds, warehouses and apothecaries along with an assortment of different shops.

The outer rampart itself was in tip-top shape, the gates replaced with brand new ones far sturdier and stronger than the old gates, made of enchanted wood and silverite and capable of withstanding the stampede of a hundred Ogres. Towers and walls played host to a variety of archers, gunners and cannons, which were currently blasting a staccato of sustained fire on an encroaching horde of Chasind barbarians.

Compared to the hordes of Darkspawn, however, and with a fresh garrison and gunpowder weaponry, the barbarians scatter and flee like madmen, unused to the deafening sounds and power of cannons. The defenders cheer and jeer at the barbarians, leaving you to identify the Commander O'Neil of Ostagar.

Tall, clad in silverite plate armour, grim-faced and confident, her green eyes carrying a tempered steel that spoke of years of experience. Her eyes catch you and she bows in deference, her sword-hand never leaving her sword pommel as the other thumps a fist on her breastplate. Her red hair is tied in a neat braid, perfect for wearing under a helmet and in a messy battlefield.

"Your Majesty," She bowed, her face implacably stoic.

"You must be Commander O'Neil," You said.

"Aednat O'Neil, Your Majesty," Said the warrioress.

"Mm. Report."

Aednat bows, "The Chasind have been testing our defenses for the better part of a fortnight, relentlessly assaulting our positions with all manner of tricks and magical spells. Thankfully they have made no progress, not with the new guns and wards we placed."

She allowed herself a snort of amusement, as if uncivilised barbarians could hope to breach the fruits of modern technology and spellcraft with brute strength.

"Regardless, the leader of the barbarians has yet to show himself. Not that his hare-brained schemes will come to fruition," Said Aednat.

"Excellent. I also heard the remnants of defeated Chasind tribes reside in the fortress. Where is their leader?"

Aednat seemed to not give the refugees much consideration, with the kind of dismissiveness she reflected in her emerald eyes. Nevertheless, she points to a single woman whom the refugees deferred to, clad in simple leathers and wearing a skull headdress, a totemic staff in her hand.

"She goes by the name Zoryana, and she's apparently a high-ranking shaman," She stated, "She's over there talking to her kind right now."

"Very Well, that will be all," You nod.

Aednat bowed and returned to ordering her men, and you quickly made your way towards the Chasind refugees. Those closest to Zoryana do not take notice of you, but the rest at the periphery quickly part ways upon seeing you and the intimidating knights accompanying you. Clad in armour of the finest make by every standard - even the Ancient Elvhen - they loom like statues yet behave like guard dogs, ready to lash out at their master's command. Their armour shone like alabaster, gilded with gold-looking metal, flowing capes of finest enchanted fabric bearing your personal heraldry: A Tree of Emerald over a field of burgundy.

None dared go against mighty knights armed with shield and axe, and soon enough the Chasind Shaman named Zoryana takes notice of you, and she quickly makes a hasty bow in respect.

"H-Hail Your Majesty Alaras Surana, King of Ferelden," She spoke with a thick accent, positional and intonational, with a rising intonation on accented long syllables, "I be Shaman Zoryana, of Bozhani tribe of Chasind, leader of friends who reject tyrant Vladislav."

"Hail, Zoryana," You greeted back, "I take it this 'Vladislav' is leading the Chasind attacking Ostagar?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Zoryana nodded, "Vladislav lead many tribes, kill chieftain and demonstrate power, win control through strength and promising plunder."

"So he means to pillage Ferelden," You frowned deeply.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Zoryana nodded, spitting to the side, "Bastard Vladislav killed my father, stole half our tribesmen. I lead survivors and many others here, to flee his power."

You surveyed the mass of refugees gathered before Zoryana and now you. A few tens of thousands were no large number, compared to the full might of the Royal Army, but it was certainly an impressive number. Seeing several other Shamans interspersed among the refugees, you conclude that they all just happened to be running in the same direction, and Zoryana seemed to be the overall leader by popular vote. That could change at any time though, and trying to integrate a people with several different chieftains was a messy process you could do without.

But that was for later. For now, you had a wannabe conqueror to deal with.

"Rest assured, Zoryana, you and your people will have the chance for vengeance soon enough," You declared, "I am mustering my armies, and together we will put an end to the threat Vladislav poses to all of us."

Zoryana smiles savagely, "Great news, Your Majesty. We desire vengeance. We want to join your war."

"Good. I am convening a war council soon," You nod, handing her a token bearing your insignia, "When you find the war room, show this to the guards, and they will let you in."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Zoryana smiled, "Many thanks."

As you took your leave, you glanced at the score of Shamans among the refugees, many eyeing both Zoryana and each other for any signs of potential betrayal, calculative and discerning, each playing their own games. As they say, politics never stops for anything, least of all a war threatening their survival.

You simply shake your head and leave.

The war council is called, and you soon meet with four people in the room. One is Commander O'Neil, one is Shaman Zoryana as Chasind representative, and the last is none other than your Royal Marshal, Fergus Cousland.

The elder brother of fellow warden Alice Cousland, he sadly lost his wife Orianna during Howe's treacherous coup in Highever, though his son Oren managed to survive. Recently, he remarried to an Elf woman and is expecting twins on the way. His Highever heraldry shone bright and proud upon his polished armour, and his once-haggard face had new life breathed into it.

"Gentlemen, I gathered you all here to determine what to do about the tyrant Vladislav, leader of the Chasind horde that assaults the fortress even now," You spoke, "Anything I should know about them, Commander O'Neil?"

Aednat nodded and spoke, "The barbarians are being held under a tight leash, with Vladislav killing any and all who disagree with his methods and his lackeys enforcing his rule over them. If we get rid of them all, the Chasind should be willing to surrender or disperse."

"Vladislav kill all veteran Shamans and warriors," Zoryana shook her head sorrowfully, "He commit blasphemy, but kin don't rebel for fear of ****, as Commander says."

"Fergus, how do you think we should deal with them?"

"Brute ****," Fergus answered, "The Chasind are exhausted from the relentless assaults and lack both the technology and tactics to take us head-on. The swamps may be their home, but these amateurs are simply no match for us right now. In fact, if we attacked them before they ever dared attack Ostagar, I daresay we'd come out on top with little damage."

And that was just the simple truth. The Chasind had never had to continually fight Ferelden for control of the Kocari Wilds, content to dwell in their own little huts of dried straw and wood. If they did, they would have slowly modernized over the course of several centuries, becoming organized enough to pose a threat to the Kingdom.

"Vladislav slippery, a coward who never fights his own battles," Zoryana sneered, "He will be at main camp with his closest lackeys."

"Aye, and our scouts have located their main camp here," Aednat pointed to a hidden grove a fair distance from Ostagar, a camp hidden within a clump of trees, the perfect hiding place for a small camp, "We can mount a surprise attack in the dead of night."

You stroke your chin thoughtfully, and then declared to the council, "It won't be enough to **** them to scatter; we're going to take all the Chasind under our wing."

Everyone else looked at you like you sprouted three heads.

"No offense to Zoryana and the other Chasind, but why would we do that?" Fergus asked.

"It is simple: It shall be our long-term solution to future attacks from the south," You answered, "The Kocari Wilds is no-man's land, and the Chasind are familiar with its dangers. We integrate the Chasind, they become loyal citizens, and they can help us colonise the uncharted south for the glory of Ferelden."

Aednat regarded the thought with a deep frown, while Zoryana looked contemplative.

Then, Zoryana said, "If we join Ferelden, you help us heal from war?"

"On my word as King of Ferelden," You smiled.

Zoryana nodded, then said, "I must discuss with other Shamans first, get their acceptance."

"Please give me your answer once Vladislav is dealt with," You nodded, then faced the rest, "Are we in accord?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Aednat nodded.

"Then it's settled," You said, "Tomorrow, once the army has been rested up, we attack at dawn and end the threat of Vladislav once and for all. Dismissed."

And with that, the war council was adjourned.