The cave reminded Nostariel of the one they'd found the Tal-Vashoth in, and she wondered if perhaps all bandits had the same interior designer. Presumably it had been a bandit stronghold at one point or another, since it was dubitable that runaway mages would have bothered to construct all these wooden platforms. It was coming to be a dangerous time to be a bandit outside Kirkwall, she supposed, what with the Qunari and the apostates around to run you out of your damp caves and suchlike. Then again, maybe they were just old mines. The smell was just as unpleasant either way, though she couldn't identify exactly why.
Rilien could, and he was quite aware that the stench of rotten eggs was due to sulfur, which meant that either one of these mages was using a very crude flame-based staff or there were natural pits about somewhere. These platforms were also of dubious structural integrity, and his eyebrows drew together nearly imperceptibly. "Watch your step," he said aloud, though he did not bother elaborating the reasons for this, instead picking his way carefully through debris and loose stone as a housecat might avoid puddles of water, minus the verbal indications of displeasure. The ground gradually sloped downwards, and without being asked, Rilien overtook the Warden, treading at the front of the group both to look for traps and because he was conscious that he and Sparrow were the most equipped for dealing with confrontation up close. Ashton was more than capable of guarding the rear against ambush.
That particular precaution turned out to be unnecessary, admittedly. They soon approached a more cavernous space, and as they did, the predominant odor transitioned from rotten eggs to putrid, decaying flesh. More than a few weeks dead, if the smell was already hitting them. Indeed, as they emerged into the opening, they quickly found themselves surrounded by fetid corpses, and in the presence of one very nervous-looking mage. The man (though perhaps he was closer to a boy, all told) appeared to be eyeing his surroundings with great trepidation and that was enough to put Rilien on edge. One of his knives slid from its place on his back with a quiet hiss, causing Nostarial to turn to him immediately.
"What are you doing?" the Warden hissed softly, reaching for the wrist that clasped the weapon. "We're here to avoid bloodshed. Don't you think that pulling a knife might just goad them to needless violence?" She'd seen too many mages resort to awful things when they felt threatened, and if she could forestall that here, she would.
Unperturbed, Rilien neatly avoided her reaching hand and drew his other knife, flicking his eyes to the corpse nearest the group. Confused, Nostariel gave up trying to speak to the obviously-reticent Tranquil and followed his gaze. Her own landed in the same place just as an unearthly howl filled the cavern, startling the poor mage standing by himself, but growing far too loud for her to hear anything he might have been saying. The air shifted, the stench growing only worse, and slowly, the corpses rose from the ground, taking up arms and apparently intent on the small group. Whatever words left her then were thick with her brogue and indesciperable over the fel sound of necromancy. Gritting her teeth, Nostariel summoned ice to her hands and threw it at the first three corpses she could see, falling back behind the Tranquil, who had already taken the hint and decapitated the first frozen body and moved on to the next, more mobile one.
Ashton for his part was relegated to the rear of the retinue, despite being second into the cave. T'was his lot in life, he supposed, always behind the ladies. Chivalry was not dead, no matter how many people said that it was. Seeing as caves weren't virtuous escapes from the danger that seemingly lingered all around Kirkwall, he had drawn his bow and nocked an arrow, but he left the string slack and carried it nonchalantly. The sulfur smell didn't seem to perturb Ashton, though as the scent shifted from that to something of a... darker flavor, his nose wrinkled in protest. This was not going to end up as any old simple meet and greet, he could have seen (or smelled rather) that right then.
However the party proved to be no longer alone in the caverns with a mage seemingly fidgeting nearby. The poor guy drew pity from Ashton and almost made him put up his bow... At least until Rilien drew his knife. While there wasn't much Ashton knew about the man for a fact, he seemed to have a penchant for sensing things like that. So instead of putting his weapon away, he drew the arrow back and awaited whatever the Tranquil had sensed. The scuffle between Nostariel and Rilien would have normally been turned into the subject of a joke for Ashton, but his own hunter's instincts had been ignited by the tranquil's wary ways. Instead he issued a calm, level, "Nostariel," devoid of any hint of jolly or silliness that was like him.
Right then, whatever had set off Rilien was made aware as a howl echoed throughout the caves and the corpses made their way to their feet. His arrow shot through the air, impaling one of the corpses with a dusting of ice in the chest with enough force to throw it down-- but it remained to be seen if that simple shot would be enough to finish off a creature that was already dead. He settled into his stance, knees bent, legs loose as he drew his next arrow and targeted the same, downed corpse and planted another one in it. If that did not outright kill it, then it certainly wasn't getting up, what with it being pinned to the ground.
What the hell was that smell? Sparrow's nose wrinkled receptively, though she fought the overwhelming urge to pinch her nostrils closed against the peculiar smell emanating from whatever was lurking in the cave. More like, rotting. If there weren't hidden copses filled to the brim with corpses and maggots and writhing insects, then she would've been surprised. She hadn't recognized the sizzling stench of sulphur, but rather bunged it down to animals dragging their prey back to their dens, where the mages also hid. Perhaps, this was some type of bear-cave they'd stumbled into. The wooden platforms appeared questionable at best – it certainly wouldn't take her mace to send one of those things tumbling down. They'd have to avoid walking across those treacherous things if they could help it. Sparrow's mace had been slung languidly across her shoulder, gripped in her hands all the same. It wasn't an issue of thinking that the mages would attack them, rather than simple forethought if they so stumbled onto something dangerous. She would not attack those mages.
She, too, overtook the Warden, but couldn't help glancing sidelong in the process. Had she been angry at her outburst? But, hadn't Sparrow been justified in forming her own opinion? Templars were ruthless individuals, and heartless in every sense she could think of. If Thrask was the exception, then it still couldn't account for all the others who stomped towards their destination in the cultivated hopes of extermination all of the hapless escapees huddled in a stinking grotto. Why didn't she, as a fellow mage, think the same way? Her mouth formed a soft line, fundamentally confused, before she looked ahead, picking her way through the scattered rubbish, much like Rilien had, though without any of his rhythmic dignity. Rather, she stomped, while he danced. He might've been a housecat, while she was an encroaching Mabari hound. Her footfalls slowed. The entire chamber was crowded with rotting corpses, with their arms twisted this way and that, and crumbling jowls hinged permanently open. “I knew it—uh,” She began to say, eyeing her surroundings, letting her mace drop onto the ground. As if the scene hadn't been stranger, there in the middle of the cavern, among all those corpses, stood a trembling boy-man. The familiar hum of Rilien's blades being freed from their hidden scabbards caught her intention, whirring her head around to catch the unusual sight of Nostariel trying to still his blades.
Sparrow hadn't had time to warn her against that, for if Rilien thought something to be wrong then something was assuredly afoot. Ashton beat her to it, murmuring her name. The dreadful howl rang in her ears. Her head whipped back, surveying whether or not it was the lonely mage's doing. Certainly not. The man-boy looked downright terrified. By the time Rilien moved around Nostariel, she'd already thrown herself into action by swinging her mace into a mass of animated ribs, cracking several in turn before throwing it bodily into the nearest corpse. Unadulterated energy pulsed through her fingertips, quickening her heartbeat, and searing hot through her lungs. There was a swift whooshing sound as electrifying pulses zipped from her upturned palm, breaking through bony arms and exposed jugulars – hanging loose from their fleshy cages – with phantasmal bars of heated energy. Just as quickly, Sparrow switched avenues, dropping her hand back to her mace and heaving it into another approaching moving-carcass like a swinging pendulum.
The corpses seemed now to be emerging from the ground itself, buried longer than any of the initial foes, perhaps. It was not of much consequence to Rilien, pivoting from one neat decapitation to the next. It was hard to say what would put them down for good, seeing as they were already dead in the first place, but that seemed to be working. Nostariel had settled back, usually tracking Ashton's arrows with magic, so that each hit with the force of fire or ice behind it as well. She hadn't the time to be concerned with her mistake, though she considered the very real possibility of being placed in a situation wherein she'd be apologizing to a Tranquil. Leaving aside the matter of whether Rilien would even have any feelings about that whatsoever, it seemed like something she should do.
Nostariel's pale eyebrows knit together, and the next corpse she hit incinerated entirely. Exhaling as calmly as she could, she tried to get her emotions back in line. It wasn't the simple matter of misunderstanding Rilien; it was the complex backgrounding collage of issues that underscored this whole venture. Her next blow was considerably more measured, and she could tell that the presence of the living dead was thinning considerably. She did not notice the one rising up behind her until a thin whistle rent the air, and Nostariel whirled in time to see the rotting head, some hair still dangling in greasy tendrils from one side of it, fly past her. She locked eyes with Rilien for a crystalline moment, nodding her thanks, but he turned right back around without any gesture in return.
There were a pair of archers homing shots in on him, but it was a problem he could solve with one word. "Ashton." It was all he needed. He trusted that the archer's sharp eyes would pick out the target he was about to leave behind. Rilien himself disappeared, taking out the target Ashton didn't choose from behind.
The archer had dug his heels in for the long haul and had planted a half dozen arrows at his feet for quick access. Sure and steady the arrows flew, striking each target true, though the effect of simple wood on rotten flesh and decaying bone was still questionable. The way the second body fell to pieces under his pointed assault told him that the arrows were doing something.. Or maybe it was Nostariel's chaser of magic that did it. He'd like to think that it was his arrows, painting a picture of machismo in his head. Or not. Who knew what went on in that warped head. The whole issue of Nostariel and Rilien seemed to be an afterthought to the hunter. It mattered little in the long run, and less in current circumstance as he saw it. She was already in an unusual state, what with being placed with so many of differing ideals. A bit of doubt in such circumstances was expected. But it wouldn't matter if they all ended up dead because of some soon-to-be fertilizer's lucky shot.
He was down to two arrows in the ground when Rilien spoke up with his name. His eyes shot to the Tranquil (his white hair making the acquistion all that much easier) and then they darted to the pair of archers that had eyes only for him. Pity. He'd have to help his buddy rectify that. There were two of them after all. "Left-- My left," Ashton answered, quickly adding an addendum to the answer. As soon as the words left his mouth, his own arrow left his bow, lancing through the air and into the empty chest cavity of the living corpse with a pinning shot-- rather, it would have been a pinning one, had he anything to pin it too. As such pinnable objects were missing, it just meant that the arrow carried an extra "umph", snapping the vertibrae of the undead creature and folding it in half like a piece of paper.
"Next customer?" Ashton called in a bored tone and nocking the next arrow.
Fortunately for Ashton, there were no more 'customers' to be had, as his companions obliterated the remaining skeletons. That left just the mage boy who had seemingly been hiding behind the corpse warriors. As the last fell, however, he came forth, clearly relieved. "Maker's blessing! I thought I was going to die down here in this... this tomb!" He took in the appearance of his rescuers, clearly not immediately placing them, and for good reason. "Are you with the Templars? Please, I need to go back the Circle. I never wanted to get involved in this." He gestured around him to the smashed skeletal warriors. "Not when he started making those... those things!"
"Ah... Necromancy. And here I was thinking that this job was going to be an easy one," Ashton said in a mirthless tone best described as "Rilien" in nature. After his little comment, he refrained from further gracing the conversation with any more of his wittisms, allowing his companions to do all the talky parts.
Nostariel was almost glad that the young man sounded so panicked; it was probably the right reaction to have to this sort of situation, even if she couldn't muster it in herself. Her companions seemed likewise jaded to the horrors of rising corpses and foul magic, sad as that was. "Be still, my friend. Ser Thrask is waiting outside. He will take you back. Before you go, though, I must ask..." The Warden cast a glance about herself at the pile of once again unmoving corpses, several missing heads, arms, or legs from the handiwork of the others. The piles of ash were probably her doing, though. "Who is he? Who is responsible for this, and what are we to expect if we should cross paths with him?"
"Sorry," he said, "I thought you would have known. Decimus... it was his decision. He kept saying the Templars would label us blood mages if we fled, and that in that case we should just use it. He slit his wrist, and the magic... it rose from the blood and woke the skeletons in the cave. I ran." He still seemed unsure of their intentions, even though he was clearly grateful for having been saved.
Decimus is wrong--blood magic is a work of evil, not just a power the Templars keep from us for spite. He's crazy. I think he was the one who started the destruction back at Starkhaven, thinking we would just be free with our phylacteries destroyed. I... I think there might be a demon working through him. No normal man would profane the dead like this, right?"
"Oh, blood magic. Great. Didn't get enough of that stuff the first time." Ashton quipped, sounding rather dejected. There was only the briefest hint of his gaze stuttering between the boy mage and Sparrow and then to Nostariel. Last time Blood magic and demons were involved, things didn't pan out too well for their merry little party. He didn't want to see another friend go through that again. He'd make sure that they'd escape this place, all in one piece. A lingering glance at Rilien made him wonder what was going on inside his own head. Ashton then turned back to the boy and spoke once again, "Think we can... Talk to this fellow? Talk him down or something? Blood magic bodes ill for all involved," and that was one of the more serious statements he had made in a long while.
"Decimus burned down a Circle tower to get away from the Templars," the mage said, "I'm not sure there's any force that could make him go back. But... you're not Templars. That's something, at least."
"I doubt we are to expect much quarter," Rilien concluded flatly. He was aware of Ashton's glance, but knew not what the archer was seeking. "Still, one blood mage does not make a coven." That was probably as close as he was ever going to get to something like mercy, all things considered. "If the rest do not fight, I will do as the Templar asks." That part was directed at Nostariel, who nodded solemnly. Perhaps she had moved too quickly to the wrong conclusion about the Tranquil, but even as she was opening her mouth to apologize, he shook his head.
"Such words are unnecessary. I do not act for the approval of others, and I do not require their assurances." Ah, well. Still quite cold, then. Even so, she nodded and turned at last to the boy.
"We have kept you here far too long. Please, do not hesitate to leave and find Ser Thrask. The way out is clear."
"Thank you," he said, "I never wanted anything to do with blood magic. Decimus has gone mad. I fear he'd kill us all just to take down a few Templars at this point." He departed, making his way towards the mouth of cave, and the Templar that awaited him outside.
Rilien could, and he was quite aware that the stench of rotten eggs was due to sulfur, which meant that either one of these mages was using a very crude flame-based staff or there were natural pits about somewhere. These platforms were also of dubious structural integrity, and his eyebrows drew together nearly imperceptibly. "Watch your step," he said aloud, though he did not bother elaborating the reasons for this, instead picking his way carefully through debris and loose stone as a housecat might avoid puddles of water, minus the verbal indications of displeasure. The ground gradually sloped downwards, and without being asked, Rilien overtook the Warden, treading at the front of the group both to look for traps and because he was conscious that he and Sparrow were the most equipped for dealing with confrontation up close. Ashton was more than capable of guarding the rear against ambush.
That particular precaution turned out to be unnecessary, admittedly. They soon approached a more cavernous space, and as they did, the predominant odor transitioned from rotten eggs to putrid, decaying flesh. More than a few weeks dead, if the smell was already hitting them. Indeed, as they emerged into the opening, they quickly found themselves surrounded by fetid corpses, and in the presence of one very nervous-looking mage. The man (though perhaps he was closer to a boy, all told) appeared to be eyeing his surroundings with great trepidation and that was enough to put Rilien on edge. One of his knives slid from its place on his back with a quiet hiss, causing Nostarial to turn to him immediately.
"What are you doing?" the Warden hissed softly, reaching for the wrist that clasped the weapon. "We're here to avoid bloodshed. Don't you think that pulling a knife might just goad them to needless violence?" She'd seen too many mages resort to awful things when they felt threatened, and if she could forestall that here, she would.
Unperturbed, Rilien neatly avoided her reaching hand and drew his other knife, flicking his eyes to the corpse nearest the group. Confused, Nostariel gave up trying to speak to the obviously-reticent Tranquil and followed his gaze. Her own landed in the same place just as an unearthly howl filled the cavern, startling the poor mage standing by himself, but growing far too loud for her to hear anything he might have been saying. The air shifted, the stench growing only worse, and slowly, the corpses rose from the ground, taking up arms and apparently intent on the small group. Whatever words left her then were thick with her brogue and indesciperable over the fel sound of necromancy. Gritting her teeth, Nostariel summoned ice to her hands and threw it at the first three corpses she could see, falling back behind the Tranquil, who had already taken the hint and decapitated the first frozen body and moved on to the next, more mobile one.
Ashton for his part was relegated to the rear of the retinue, despite being second into the cave. T'was his lot in life, he supposed, always behind the ladies. Chivalry was not dead, no matter how many people said that it was. Seeing as caves weren't virtuous escapes from the danger that seemingly lingered all around Kirkwall, he had drawn his bow and nocked an arrow, but he left the string slack and carried it nonchalantly. The sulfur smell didn't seem to perturb Ashton, though as the scent shifted from that to something of a... darker flavor, his nose wrinkled in protest. This was not going to end up as any old simple meet and greet, he could have seen (or smelled rather) that right then.
However the party proved to be no longer alone in the caverns with a mage seemingly fidgeting nearby. The poor guy drew pity from Ashton and almost made him put up his bow... At least until Rilien drew his knife. While there wasn't much Ashton knew about the man for a fact, he seemed to have a penchant for sensing things like that. So instead of putting his weapon away, he drew the arrow back and awaited whatever the Tranquil had sensed. The scuffle between Nostariel and Rilien would have normally been turned into the subject of a joke for Ashton, but his own hunter's instincts had been ignited by the tranquil's wary ways. Instead he issued a calm, level, "Nostariel," devoid of any hint of jolly or silliness that was like him.
Right then, whatever had set off Rilien was made aware as a howl echoed throughout the caves and the corpses made their way to their feet. His arrow shot through the air, impaling one of the corpses with a dusting of ice in the chest with enough force to throw it down-- but it remained to be seen if that simple shot would be enough to finish off a creature that was already dead. He settled into his stance, knees bent, legs loose as he drew his next arrow and targeted the same, downed corpse and planted another one in it. If that did not outright kill it, then it certainly wasn't getting up, what with it being pinned to the ground.
What the hell was that smell? Sparrow's nose wrinkled receptively, though she fought the overwhelming urge to pinch her nostrils closed against the peculiar smell emanating from whatever was lurking in the cave. More like, rotting. If there weren't hidden copses filled to the brim with corpses and maggots and writhing insects, then she would've been surprised. She hadn't recognized the sizzling stench of sulphur, but rather bunged it down to animals dragging their prey back to their dens, where the mages also hid. Perhaps, this was some type of bear-cave they'd stumbled into. The wooden platforms appeared questionable at best – it certainly wouldn't take her mace to send one of those things tumbling down. They'd have to avoid walking across those treacherous things if they could help it. Sparrow's mace had been slung languidly across her shoulder, gripped in her hands all the same. It wasn't an issue of thinking that the mages would attack them, rather than simple forethought if they so stumbled onto something dangerous. She would not attack those mages.
She, too, overtook the Warden, but couldn't help glancing sidelong in the process. Had she been angry at her outburst? But, hadn't Sparrow been justified in forming her own opinion? Templars were ruthless individuals, and heartless in every sense she could think of. If Thrask was the exception, then it still couldn't account for all the others who stomped towards their destination in the cultivated hopes of extermination all of the hapless escapees huddled in a stinking grotto. Why didn't she, as a fellow mage, think the same way? Her mouth formed a soft line, fundamentally confused, before she looked ahead, picking her way through the scattered rubbish, much like Rilien had, though without any of his rhythmic dignity. Rather, she stomped, while he danced. He might've been a housecat, while she was an encroaching Mabari hound. Her footfalls slowed. The entire chamber was crowded with rotting corpses, with their arms twisted this way and that, and crumbling jowls hinged permanently open. “I knew it—uh,” She began to say, eyeing her surroundings, letting her mace drop onto the ground. As if the scene hadn't been stranger, there in the middle of the cavern, among all those corpses, stood a trembling boy-man. The familiar hum of Rilien's blades being freed from their hidden scabbards caught her intention, whirring her head around to catch the unusual sight of Nostariel trying to still his blades.
Sparrow hadn't had time to warn her against that, for if Rilien thought something to be wrong then something was assuredly afoot. Ashton beat her to it, murmuring her name. The dreadful howl rang in her ears. Her head whipped back, surveying whether or not it was the lonely mage's doing. Certainly not. The man-boy looked downright terrified. By the time Rilien moved around Nostariel, she'd already thrown herself into action by swinging her mace into a mass of animated ribs, cracking several in turn before throwing it bodily into the nearest corpse. Unadulterated energy pulsed through her fingertips, quickening her heartbeat, and searing hot through her lungs. There was a swift whooshing sound as electrifying pulses zipped from her upturned palm, breaking through bony arms and exposed jugulars – hanging loose from their fleshy cages – with phantasmal bars of heated energy. Just as quickly, Sparrow switched avenues, dropping her hand back to her mace and heaving it into another approaching moving-carcass like a swinging pendulum.
The corpses seemed now to be emerging from the ground itself, buried longer than any of the initial foes, perhaps. It was not of much consequence to Rilien, pivoting from one neat decapitation to the next. It was hard to say what would put them down for good, seeing as they were already dead in the first place, but that seemed to be working. Nostariel had settled back, usually tracking Ashton's arrows with magic, so that each hit with the force of fire or ice behind it as well. She hadn't the time to be concerned with her mistake, though she considered the very real possibility of being placed in a situation wherein she'd be apologizing to a Tranquil. Leaving aside the matter of whether Rilien would even have any feelings about that whatsoever, it seemed like something she should do.
Nostariel's pale eyebrows knit together, and the next corpse she hit incinerated entirely. Exhaling as calmly as she could, she tried to get her emotions back in line. It wasn't the simple matter of misunderstanding Rilien; it was the complex backgrounding collage of issues that underscored this whole venture. Her next blow was considerably more measured, and she could tell that the presence of the living dead was thinning considerably. She did not notice the one rising up behind her until a thin whistle rent the air, and Nostariel whirled in time to see the rotting head, some hair still dangling in greasy tendrils from one side of it, fly past her. She locked eyes with Rilien for a crystalline moment, nodding her thanks, but he turned right back around without any gesture in return.
There were a pair of archers homing shots in on him, but it was a problem he could solve with one word. "Ashton." It was all he needed. He trusted that the archer's sharp eyes would pick out the target he was about to leave behind. Rilien himself disappeared, taking out the target Ashton didn't choose from behind.
The archer had dug his heels in for the long haul and had planted a half dozen arrows at his feet for quick access. Sure and steady the arrows flew, striking each target true, though the effect of simple wood on rotten flesh and decaying bone was still questionable. The way the second body fell to pieces under his pointed assault told him that the arrows were doing something.. Or maybe it was Nostariel's chaser of magic that did it. He'd like to think that it was his arrows, painting a picture of machismo in his head. Or not. Who knew what went on in that warped head. The whole issue of Nostariel and Rilien seemed to be an afterthought to the hunter. It mattered little in the long run, and less in current circumstance as he saw it. She was already in an unusual state, what with being placed with so many of differing ideals. A bit of doubt in such circumstances was expected. But it wouldn't matter if they all ended up dead because of some soon-to-be fertilizer's lucky shot.
He was down to two arrows in the ground when Rilien spoke up with his name. His eyes shot to the Tranquil (his white hair making the acquistion all that much easier) and then they darted to the pair of archers that had eyes only for him. Pity. He'd have to help his buddy rectify that. There were two of them after all. "Left-- My left," Ashton answered, quickly adding an addendum to the answer. As soon as the words left his mouth, his own arrow left his bow, lancing through the air and into the empty chest cavity of the living corpse with a pinning shot-- rather, it would have been a pinning one, had he anything to pin it too. As such pinnable objects were missing, it just meant that the arrow carried an extra "umph", snapping the vertibrae of the undead creature and folding it in half like a piece of paper.
"Next customer?" Ashton called in a bored tone and nocking the next arrow.
Fortunately for Ashton, there were no more 'customers' to be had, as his companions obliterated the remaining skeletons. That left just the mage boy who had seemingly been hiding behind the corpse warriors. As the last fell, however, he came forth, clearly relieved. "Maker's blessing! I thought I was going to die down here in this... this tomb!" He took in the appearance of his rescuers, clearly not immediately placing them, and for good reason. "Are you with the Templars? Please, I need to go back the Circle. I never wanted to get involved in this." He gestured around him to the smashed skeletal warriors. "Not when he started making those... those things!"
"Ah... Necromancy. And here I was thinking that this job was going to be an easy one," Ashton said in a mirthless tone best described as "Rilien" in nature. After his little comment, he refrained from further gracing the conversation with any more of his wittisms, allowing his companions to do all the talky parts.
Nostariel was almost glad that the young man sounded so panicked; it was probably the right reaction to have to this sort of situation, even if she couldn't muster it in herself. Her companions seemed likewise jaded to the horrors of rising corpses and foul magic, sad as that was. "Be still, my friend. Ser Thrask is waiting outside. He will take you back. Before you go, though, I must ask..." The Warden cast a glance about herself at the pile of once again unmoving corpses, several missing heads, arms, or legs from the handiwork of the others. The piles of ash were probably her doing, though. "Who is he? Who is responsible for this, and what are we to expect if we should cross paths with him?"
"Sorry," he said, "I thought you would have known. Decimus... it was his decision. He kept saying the Templars would label us blood mages if we fled, and that in that case we should just use it. He slit his wrist, and the magic... it rose from the blood and woke the skeletons in the cave. I ran." He still seemed unsure of their intentions, even though he was clearly grateful for having been saved.
Decimus is wrong--blood magic is a work of evil, not just a power the Templars keep from us for spite. He's crazy. I think he was the one who started the destruction back at Starkhaven, thinking we would just be free with our phylacteries destroyed. I... I think there might be a demon working through him. No normal man would profane the dead like this, right?"
"Oh, blood magic. Great. Didn't get enough of that stuff the first time." Ashton quipped, sounding rather dejected. There was only the briefest hint of his gaze stuttering between the boy mage and Sparrow and then to Nostariel. Last time Blood magic and demons were involved, things didn't pan out too well for their merry little party. He didn't want to see another friend go through that again. He'd make sure that they'd escape this place, all in one piece. A lingering glance at Rilien made him wonder what was going on inside his own head. Ashton then turned back to the boy and spoke once again, "Think we can... Talk to this fellow? Talk him down or something? Blood magic bodes ill for all involved," and that was one of the more serious statements he had made in a long while.
"Decimus burned down a Circle tower to get away from the Templars," the mage said, "I'm not sure there's any force that could make him go back. But... you're not Templars. That's something, at least."
"I doubt we are to expect much quarter," Rilien concluded flatly. He was aware of Ashton's glance, but knew not what the archer was seeking. "Still, one blood mage does not make a coven." That was probably as close as he was ever going to get to something like mercy, all things considered. "If the rest do not fight, I will do as the Templar asks." That part was directed at Nostariel, who nodded solemnly. Perhaps she had moved too quickly to the wrong conclusion about the Tranquil, but even as she was opening her mouth to apologize, he shook his head.
"Such words are unnecessary. I do not act for the approval of others, and I do not require their assurances." Ah, well. Still quite cold, then. Even so, she nodded and turned at last to the boy.
"We have kept you here far too long. Please, do not hesitate to leave and find Ser Thrask. The way out is clear."
"Thank you," he said, "I never wanted anything to do with blood magic. Decimus has gone mad. I fear he'd kill us all just to take down a few Templars at this point." He departed, making his way towards the mouth of cave, and the Templar that awaited him outside.