Asmara Surana
Asmara was just as overshadowed by the man's towering height as Blysse was, and though it was unnerving, she was used to it. Almost everyone she had ever met was taller than her (excepting children...sometimes) and she'd never known a dwarf before. Even so, she noted that there was nothing hostile in his demeanor, and that was enough to make her forget that he'd been slicing through Darkspawn as though they were nothing (or at least that's how it had looked to her) but moments before. Chances were, this man was highly dangerous, but all awareness of such a fact faded in the face of his generosity.
"I thank you, Ser," she said with a wan smile, accepting the lyrium potion gratefully, though he was already half-gone by the time she said it. What an odd person. Nevertheless, she was not about to say no to the one thing she needed most right now, and she knocked back the potion quickly, grimacing delicately at the taste. She had never enjoyed lyrium, beneficial properties or not, and her exposure to it was actually rather limited. When one used magic only for oneself, one seldom had to worry about hitting the wall in terms of mana consumption.
Blinking after him, she turned to the archer who had taken up residence at her side. "Ma serrenas, falon," she tried in halting Dalish. She knew only the most basic of the words, but hopefully her meaning would be clear enough. It only seemed right to try and speak the same way she had earlier, after all, even if she did sound silly in the effort.
"Are you okay, Antius?" She asked her fellow mage. She'd seen him fall earlier, and was still a bit concerned even despite the spell she'd used. The battle was not yet completely over, as the rallying cry from the lady knight informed her, and with the restored strength from the lyrium potion, Asmara tried to find the best place to utilize the strength she had left. Summoning Winter's Grasp to her staff, she spotted a Hurlock large in size headed for the large cat, whose eyes had long since convinced her that it was a shifted mage. That would do.
Swinging her staff in a downward arc, she launched the frosty spell and was rewarded when the thing froze fast in its tracks. She'd have to rely on someone else to shatter it, though; she was far from strong enough to manage it.
Tiaryn Ormet
Tiaryn pulled the hood up over her head, relishing in the shadow it cast over her face. She was approaching civilization now, she knew from the increased wagon tracks. She had studied maps of Ferelden before, but she was not exactly certain what was out here. Redcliffe was a while to the west, and to the east, she'd find naught but the realms of the country's Dalish. Though she did not doubt her ability to go absolutely anywhere undetected, that was not the problem. She was in serious need of supplies, and while she was not above stealing, exactly, she'd rather obtain what she needs by more honest means. What was the use of running away from a corrupt life only to begin another, after all?
Of course, showing her face to another living being meant the risk of being recalled later, as she was rather distinctive-looking to say the least. Someone who knew the right questions to ask could easily get that kind of information, and then she would be that much closer to her recapture, or her death. Whichever; they were essentially the same thing. Tiaryn shook her head- such contemplations were useless in the face of necessity.
The terrain changed underneath her feet, and she was aware that she was now crossing a stone bridge. A small town could be seen off to her right, and she reassured herself that anyone who considered themselves important enough to be tasked with hunting a wayward Invisible would hardly think to stop in such an insignificant place. Oddly-colored eyes were drawn back to the path in front of her, though, when she spotted a block in the path. It would seem that bandits had taken up residence on this road. Sighing, Tiaryn removed her cowl again, deciding that to sneak around them would not be worth the effort.
"Hail there, miss!" called one of the bandits, the leader from the way the others fanned out around him. For a second, she was quite conscious of being given the once over, but she wasn't concerned. As usual, he got a better look at her face and reconsidered it. Whether the scars themselves were so disfiguring or merely the thought of what kind of person she had to be to have obtained them, she neither knew nor cared. In this case, she was actually able to use them to her advantage, which made it all mildly more tolerable.
She said nothing, but simply stared the bandit down. He shifted his weight into a more battle ready-stance, a slightly-strained smile plastered over his face, into a more combat-ready stance. She, much more conscious of her own body language, did not. "This is a toll road, you see."
"Is that so?" she replied flatly, Antivan accent thick, and the large one over the first man's shoulder nodded slowly. Resisting the urge to sigh again, Tiaryn reached for her purse, or rather the purse-like pouch on her belt that contained a knockout poison of her own construction. Coming back up with a few pinches of the stuff, she blew the powder out of her fingers and into the nearest man's face. He coughed and spluttered for a moment, before dropping like a stone to the ground. "I'm afraid I carry no currency."
The leader, poking his subordinate with a toe, cringed visibly when the man twitched, but did not wake. "Ah. I see. Well, then. I suppose we can't go demanding money from those who have none. That would make us poor bandits indeed, wouldn't it, men?" There were nervous murmurs of consent, and the bandits parted to let her pass. She did not entirely trust that they wouldn't attack her back, so she kept her senses trained. They seemed new at it, though, and probably likely to simply let her go and avoid the trouble.