Called

The last entry in a small, battered, leather-bound journal found in a Deep Roads cavern.

•

Even the air is strange here. Dank, musty. It clogs your chest inside, makes you feel like you'll never be clean again.

They told us what to expect - that this would be our duty as Wardens, to walk bravely into this place and fight for death. They gave us tales of honour and glory in sacrifice, made it sound almost like a celebration; it nearly fooled me, even with my heart sinking and the dryness in my throat.

They didn't tell us about the smell of rot that follows you, the eternal, ever-pressing darkness; then there's the steady, echoing drip, drip that you can never find the source of, no matter how hard you look.

I said my goodbyes, spent a night preparing. Shaking in my darkened room, waiting for the dawn, strapping away any supplies I'd need for the short journey. No food, of course.

It was the pity, the look of weary, hollow recognition in their eyes, that almost made me turn back, bang on the doors and beg for just one more night of freedom. Maybe I should have, but I kept walking, determined not to show them my fear, like a fool. There was still a spark of hope in my heart then, that I'd be suddenly asked to return, told that it was all a mistake, invited in for ale, food and companionship; instead, silence rang through the mountains, and I pretended to myself that I was shaking because of the cold.

Yesterday, I found a small Chantry amulet on one of the ruined stone floors, blood-stained and broken, and tucked it into my pocket. I can't tell you why. Maybe it was simply comfort, that I won't be the only one.

So I sit here like a coward, back against a wall, my hands unsteady and my writing the scrawl of a frightened child. I can hear them, calling to me; the song has never entirely faded, but it was quieter for a time, when I was younger and happier, this day seeming far away. Somewhere inside me, I thought it would never come, that I would be strong and free forever.

Their voices are a harmony nothing can match, the sound as enticing as it is frightening, and for a moment I wonder if it is truly the darkspawn, their archdemon gone, or the Grey Wardens who breathed their last down here.

The Oath has always been beautiful, but useless to me - words cannot do what a staff or sword can. However, it rings in my mind now, and, in this forgotten place, I wonder... Today is the day I join them, the day it tells of.

I must leave sometime - the taint in my blood, condemning me in so many ways, means that they will find me soon enough anyway. The wisp I have summoned for its comforting light is fast fading, draining mana I can't afford to lose; it has been my only friend down here, ridiculous as the thought is, and when I extinguish it, the darkness will be my only companion.

I have written all that needs to be written. I will find them and face them as the Warden I was meant to be, not a fool cowering in the dark, and hope that the Oath's words hold true for me, too.

... Should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you.