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First day, they come and catch everyone.
Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.
Third day, the men are all gnawed on again.
Fourth day, we wait and fear our fate.
Fifth day, they return and it’s another girl’s turn.
Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams.
Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew.
Eighth day, we hated as she is violated.
Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.
Now she does feast, as she’s become the beast.

“What’s this? An elf? Exotic and impossible,” the tainted dwarf before me murmured. It was hard to make sense of her mutterings. It almost seemed her mind was gone as she spoke of Laryn and Branka. Oghren recognized the woman as Hespith, a captain of House Branka.

I couldn’t get a straight answer out of her as to what Branka had done, though. Or what Branka had become. I could only hope that we would find the Paragon alive soon. As Hespith ran away from us, we gave chase, running into two Ogres. The battle was fast and furious. It didn’t take too long to take them down between two dwarven beserkers, a qunari warrior, two rogues and Morrigan’s offensive spellcasting.

Then we entered a grand hall full of relics from the Legion of the Dead. Both Duran and Oghren seemed to be in awe of the place. “Bownammar,” Duran offered, as he knelt on one knee before an idol he called The Gangue Shade. I could hear him whisper something to the Ancestors, but couldn’t make out his words. This was a sacred place to his people. He turned to me. “I never expected to see this hallowed ground in my lifetime. On this day, I pledge before I return to the stone, I will see Bownammar reclaimed for Orzammar. The darkspawn filth have no right this place.”

“I’d have long figured this place would’ve crumbled to dust a long time ago,” Oghren spoke up, earning a glare from the exiled Aeducan.

We found a key on an altar and ended up battling the restless spirits of the Legion. We had disturbed the sanctity of their realm and they were only defending what was theirs, but we needed to continue on. Duran spoke a few words in dwarven, laying their spirits to rest, “Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc.” Then he turned to me, “Let us go, Warden. We have disturbed their peace long enough.”

The key we found unlocked a nearby door, one that the Ogres seemed to have been guarding. As we made our way down the passage beyond, I could still hear Hespith’s voice, echoing through the foul corridor. She continued to speak of Laryn, of atrocities the dwarven woman had committed. To say her monologue was a bit unnerving would be putting it mildly.

My ‘Warden senses’ seemed to be tingling again. I could feel the buzzing in my blood. I knew something was close. Something I know I’ve never felt or seen before. As we pass fleshy pods and walk upon layers of what seems to be congealed blood and fat, a horrific stench reaches my nose. I gag at first contact and the fire in my blood intensifies. Creators, please, help me.

Then I hear Hespith’s voice again, “And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned gray and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them.”

Broodmother…