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The Juggernaut towering above me cast a long shadow over the battlefield, obscuring the dozens — no, hundreds — of darkspawn corpses lying in mangled heaps across the ground. Most were little more than wet sacks of shattered bones and oozing blood, but some had been pulverized by the great golem’s fists into a red and black paste.

I was one of the soldiers sent out to assess the carnage from the darkspawn’s latest assault on Minrathous, as well as to confirm that there were no survivors among the horde. Soon our mages would take the field to set ablaze these corpses, but it was our responsibility to first ensure their safety.

In other areas around the capitol, dozens of darkspawn laid skewered by arrows or felled by magic. Once again, our city stood proud and defiant in the face of the Blighted hordes.

I felt little patriotic fervour at the moment, however, as I examined the bloody swath of carnage. What compelled these creatures to throw themselves at our walls only to be slaughtered? Did they not know fear? Did they not lose morale at the sight of so many of their kin slaughtered?

A sudden noise from behind me roused me from my musings. I turned to see a hurlock rise shakily to its feet from amidst the tangle of dead bodies, blood oozing from its mouth. One of its arms hung limply at its side, shattered and useless, but the other clutched a blade that had been broken in half.

I drew my own sword as the hurlock staggered towards me. It was clearly in great pain. I would put the darkspawn out of its suffering swiftly and mercifully, I thought.

I lunged out and neatly impaled the darkspawn through its chest, its broken ribcage offering little resistance. Though I missed its heart, the creature convulsed from the blow and dropped its ruined weapon.

But still, it kept coming.

In my shock, I froze. I watched with horror as the darkspawn pushed itself forward, sliding along my blade until its face was an arm’s length from my own.

Then it reared its head back and spat its black blood in my face. Were it not for my helmet, which blocked the droplets from entering my mouth, I would not be writing this account; my body would be burning on a pyre after one of my fellow soldiers slit my throat.

I recoiled beyond the hurlock’s reach, releasing my sword. The creature sank to its knees as I clawed at my helmet and flung it away.

Then, as I regained my composure, the hurlock let out one final laugh before it died. Its voice was garbled from the blood filling its lungs, but the malice in its voice was unmistakable. I still hear its laughter in my dreams, where it hounds me still.

I know now why the darkspawn press every battle regardless of whether there is a chance of victory. They care nothing for their own lives or that or their comrades; their only purpose is our destruction. Every single one of them would throw themselves on our blades just for the chance to tear out our throats before they breathed their last.

-An excerpt from The Blighted Codex, a classified collection of studies on the darkspawn, held safely in the Imperial Library in Minrathous, available only to members of the Magisterium