Snippet #1446038

Antius had been relatively relieved when they found that Blysse had stabilized and was going to be okay. He had felt angry at Valen for his cruel actions and wanted to avenge his comrade (they were comrades, right?), but the ball was not the right place to have it out with the slaver. Not if he didn't want to be hung as a dangerous apostate or worse, be declared a maleficarum. Instead, he had to content himself to helping Asmara treat the Dalish elf. Then, all hell broke loose.

Those foolish assassins had went ahead with their plan and murdered Teyrn Loghain. He wish they had stayed their hand. They should have figured out why he had done what he did, maybe put him on trial. The Hero of the River Dane deserved that much at least. Regardless, what was done was done and they had to escape the ball quickly if they wanted to survive. His magic had at least been useful, particularly his cols spells as he didn't want to kill anyone. Then, Lisa had been poisoned. He grimaced. That night was the night that he wished more than ever that he concentrated on the Creation School of Magic. Perhaps he could have done something to save her.

Then, of course, was the one agonizing day where Ser Sev had to be Valen's slave. It took all of Antius' willpower to keep from striking down the arrogant Tevinter slaver where he stood. He reminded himself that making an enemy of the man's family wasn't a good idea, not when the Wardens were considered outlaws throughout the country. He did, however, tease Ser Sev slightly about her outfit. He found it a little funny. Then Valen tried to kill that halla after Ser Sev punched him and it all went downhill. First, Ser Sev fought and killed Valen in a duel, which he approved of, then Blysse transformed into a werewolf. It had intrigued and frightened him in equal measure. She then ran off. To tell the truth, Antius was worried for her.

As soon as Ser Sev asked if they wanted to stop, Antius nodded in agreement. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. When Asmara volunteered to cook dinner, he was quick to follow, however. He walked after her and commented, "I can help if you'd like. Potion-making isn't so different from cooking, after all."

Connall, for his part, stamped through the woods, an aggravated expression on his face. True to his honor as a warrior, he had followed the group that caused so much (welcome) mayhem at the ball, particularly to make up for his failure in protecting the elf girl from the Tevinter brat, Valen. The previous day, he had sworn a blood oath to find a way to repay her and by the Sky Mother, he kept his oaths. When Blysse had transformed into a werewolf, he had been rather impressed by her ferocity. True to form, Avvars held great respect, and caution, for werewolves, seeing them as distant cousins. All Fereldens did believe they were related to a distant werewolf ancestor, after all. It was good manners to show respect to your kin. He was, however, frustrated that Blysse had ran away. He was determined to find the elf. He would be damned by the Mountain Father if he didn't and so, despite fatigue, he stomped through the foilage and plant-life unceasingly.

"Women," he murmured.