Jasper Bryland
Jasper swept low, driving his elbow into a shriek's ribcage, causing the thing to remind him shrilly why they were so named. When it staggered under the impact, the pirate deftly slid one of his blades into the juncture between chin and throat, removing it only when the tip scraped against skull on the other side. Flicking the knife sharply to rid it of excess blood and brain matter- interesting, darkspawn had reddish brain matter- he looked around for something else to engage-
-and was sorely disappointed. The last spawn fell beneath the blade of another, and Jasper took stock of himself. A few bruises as one would expect, but nothing so minor as a cut. Perhaps it was time to consider another handicap. Would it help them hear him coming if he wore bells around his wrists and ankles? Oh, that idea had merit. It brought to mind several jokes and puns on he word 'fool.' As far as he was concerned, the more people thought of him thus, the better. Who was it that said that bigger lies were more believable to the populace at large than small ones? Not a pleasant individual, in all liklihood, but he might have been on to something, whomever he was.
Resolving to properly clean the things later, he stabbed both his knife and his sword hilt-deep into the earth to clean them enough for now, then sheathed them, only to find himself part of a small conglomeration of people being held in place by the more territorial version of Blysse. He had missed her earlier entrance into camp, being with Severia and dealing with Orik at the time, but there was little doubt in his mind that this was she.
Jasper's face betrayed absolutely no shock or revulsion at this, rather quite the contrary. "Emma reth, Blysse," he offered reassuringly. The words Asmara had told him were not an exact translation of 'I'm fine,' but the sense of them was apparently close enough. He was inclined to lay a hand on her shoulder (though she was now taller even than he, he could still have reached), but decided that this was both unneeded and rather ungentlemanly besides.
When the healer approached and asked if everyone was okay, he simply nodded. Though he would never say it out loud for fear of being called tactless (and this was one negative adjective that had never applied to him), he was actually rather disappointed. What he wouldn't give for an emissary or an alpha or something to duel... now that would be fun. But the battle was over and everyone was still alive. He supposed he could ask for little else.
Tal’Vashoth
Tal'Vashoth took the few minutes of the battle's wake to bring himself down from his berserker fury. This was considerably easier when Kadan was around, but he did not wish to interfere with her other duties. It was clear that she had a place here, and that others had come to rely upon her as he had. He hoped she could rely on them just as much; she involved herself in grave matters that should not be hers.
It was not that he did not think her capable, but rather that he simply did not wish to see her harmed, especially not for the sake of a world that condemned her on more than one front. But those events were not the direction to move his thoughts if he wished to calm himself, and thus he turned from them to ones only slightly more pleasant. The former Qunari had not had much cause for happiness in his life; indeed, there was only one cause for it. It was perhaps only fair that his greatest fury derived from the same source.
Slinging his large axe over his back, Tal kept his distance from the others. There was no mistaking that not a few of them were uncomfortable around or intimidated by him. He did not begrudge them this, it was simply the way of things. In another time and place, their survival may have depended on such wariness, but he was a conqueror no more.
Efriel Gruenwald
Efriel cradled the child close to his chest with one hand, and felt little hands wrap about his neck. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions for either party, but he needed at least one free arm, and she needed a way to keep a grip on him. With his other hand, he gathered magic to him and, hesitant to unleash an earthquake in the middle of the Circle Tower, went instead for a shock, releasing the charge only when his gauntleted fist met the flesh of the desire demon.
She shrieked and fell, and he took the opportunity to leap over the body and dash for where he knew the doorway to be, having entered it only a few minutes before, in search of this very same little girl. The child whimpered into his shoulder, and he murmured something consoling under his breath in Ferelden. It was not his native language, but he was good with all of them, so it scarcely mattered.
The two reached the barrier separating the surviving enchanters, mages, and children from the rest of the demon-infested tower, and Efriel spoke through it. "Senior Enchanter? I have returned. Isabelle is here as well." He spoke quietly, as was his wont, but not enough so that he was inaudible. Sightless eyes were for the moment closed, as he did not see the point in continuing the farcical imitation of blinking which he usually assumed.
The response was a while in coming, and for a moment, he assumed the worst. At last, though, a voice came through. "Ser Gruenwald? We thought... we rather thought we had sent you to your death." The voice was laced with regret, but Efriel simply offered a small smile and shook his head.
"I am sent to my death almost daily, Madam, but it seems he is even more blind than I, for he has not found me yet. Please, let us through."
There was another silence, and patient as he was, Efriel was growing concerned. Chances were, Isabelle would need some kind of medical treatment, and that was something he could not provide. "I'm sorry, Ser, but... how are we to know you have fallen victim to no demon?" The battlemage sighed; he had feared as much. Fereldens, even the magi, were so misinformed about what demons truly were, it was scarcely a wonder that they fell prey to them in the worst ways.
"Madam, if you wish, I could recite for you then entire Litany of Adralla, but we have not the time. This child is in need of assistance. Subject me to whatever test will satisfy you or keep me out here, I care not, but please. You must assist her." That at least seemed to get him somewhere, for his sharp ears could make out the sound of conversation going on behind the barrier, and then he felt it dissipate.
A pair of hands attempted to remove Isabelle from his arm, but she clung stubbornly to Efriel's neck, half-choking him in her attempt to remain where she was. Gently, he reached up and pried apart her little hands, smiling warmly and reassuring her that she would be fine. She still didn't seem to like it, poor thing, but she went along because she had to. Efriel remained on the wrong side of the barrier, though, for he did not know if he was going to be allowed across. He stood like this for a few moments until the enchanters remembered him.
"You may enter, Ser Gruenwald," one of them informed him hurriedly, and he nodded, stepping over the threshold and selecting a spot against a wall a bit of distance from most of the others. Crossing his legs, he settled into a meditative posture, at last deactivating stoicism and allowing the emotions of battle to process. He examined each, including his awareness of the child's fear, the unmistakable allure of what the desire demon had promised, and the wretched twisting of his stomach that he felt every time he took a life, no matter the nature of the opponent.
Efriel was not by any stretch of the imagination a violent man. Quite the opposite: there were few milder people around. Of course, that had not stopped the people here from being wary of him. He was a foreigner, and oddity for more than one reason. And ordained member of the Chantry (thought neither priest nor Templar and thus without an equivalent here in Ferelden), he was accorded the title 'Ser,' but he was also a mage. He was a professed demon-slayer by trade, and a blind battlemage by mechanics. Built like a rogue or a speedy warrior, he nevertheless hummed with magical energy to those who could sense such things. Quiet and unobtrusive, but the first one to volunteer when someone had said there was a child still missing from the group of apprentices here. Twin brother to the rather unconventional Templar that accompanied him, and yet in so many ways her opposite. Seemingly at peace with the world, and a force to be reckoned with when the time for such things was upon him. It was little wonder they did not quite know how to take him.
Sometimes, he didn't quite know what to think of himself either. Right now, though, he did not bother doing any such thing. Instead, he meditated to clear his mind and restore his tranquility, aware of but not bothered by the fact that several of the children and for some reason the younger enchanters and mages gravitated in his general direction. He answered any questions directed at him patiently and kindly, and did his best to set everyone at ease. Truthfully, though, he also prayed to the Maker that somehow, Hilde would find a way to get all of them out of here. There was little more he could do from this side.