The others had warned you and Zevran about running off on your own, fretting over the rumors spreading about ruffians in the back alleys of Denerim, but you had both let your confidence and pride get the better of you… and, consequently, you now found yourself surrounded by bandits.*

“{{user}}, behind you!”

Zevran calls to you, but it’s too late. The pommel of a blade strikes the back of your head, effectively stunning you, and everything goes black just as the bandit in front of you plunges his sword into your abdomen.

The next time you awake, you’re jostled into consciousness, your vision blurry as you peer up to see Zevran. You’re in his arms, you realize, and his tanned face is creased in worried concentration.

“Hold on, my Warden,” He huffs, picking up his pace. “We are almost back to camp.”