Winter in Kirkwall, she was told, was a bit more forgiving than it was further south, but that didnât mean Nostariel had to enjoy it. Being of a rather small stature, she found that she became cold quite easily, and the fireplace in the clinic could only do so much to protect against the woes of the season. Outside, there was fresh snowfall on the streets, perhaps a blanket of three inches or so. People occasionally wandered by her front windows, bundled in cloaks and fur-lined gloves. Sheâd taken to wearing a wool hat lined with white fur of some sort to keep her ears warm, else she might well have lost the tips of them by now.
The clinic saw fewer people overall in such inclement conditions, but more injury from falls and a few more cases of colds and flu. Sheâd had to treat someone for frostbite, too, which was new in her repertoire of skills. Just because ice magic came easily to her did not mean she liked being surrounded by the stuff, to be sure.
Of course, the pervasive chill was hardly the worst of her problems. Sheâd never suspected to be the target of a coordinated attempt to kill someoneâthat was something she rather expected Lucien or Sophia would deal with. And indeed, both had, or come close enough, in Sophiaâs case. But her? It didnât make much sense, and stranger still was that the men whoâd assailed her on her way home from Ashâs barracks a few nights before had all been dwarves. A few of her friends were still looking into it, but she was willing to call it a very organized mugging and leave it be. Perhaps that was wishful thinking.
The water in the kettle over the fire started to boil, and she removed it from the hook it was suspended by, delicately transferring it into a smaller pot. Amalia had generously provided her with some of the milder varieties of Seheron spiced tea, and some of the leaves went into the pot to steep. It would certainly help take the chill out, she knew that much.
Content for the moment, she was considering the spare books on her shelfâmany of them there by recommendation from Lucien, who seemed to enjoy reading even more than she ever hadâwhen a noise downstairs caught her attention. Sheâd closed the clinic already, and she wasnât expecting anyone, but it may well just be Ash or Amalia with some news, or perhaps an emergency visit.
Padding down the stairs, she was met by someone she hadnât seen in a number of years, though one could hardly fail to recognize the rather distinctive moustache. Or the armor. âJean-Marc?â Though perhaps she should be calling him Commander Stroud. He was dressed rather more like the latter at the moment.
Stroudâs eyes found her immediately, and he ducked his head in greeting, though he did not smile. He wasnât given to it, usually, but something seemed especially worrisome about him at the moment. âNostariel. I believe we have a problem.â
She sighed softly, half-smiling. âSomehow that does not surprise me. Please, come upstairs. We can talk while you warm up a bit.â
Stroud sniffed the tea with a slightly puzzled look on his face, but he seemed to find the flavor of it agreeable enough, and kept his red-fingered hands wrapped around the ceramic cup sheâd served it in. There were still ice crystals in his hair and moustache, but they were melting into water droplets as he sat in the confines of her personal rooms. He looked like heâd traveled hard through the poor weather, if the way snow was packed into the joints of his armor was any indication. She wondered that he had not found an inn or something to rest at before coming to see her, but she wondered less as he explained. Heâd always been one to take his work extremely seriously, after all.
âFour weeks ago, reports reached me of some unusual Darkspawn activity in the Vimmark Mountains. Thereâs an old prison near there, one the Wardens used to maintain, so I went there first. It connects to the Deep Roads, and I thought they might be coming up through a structural breach or something of the sort.â It would be strange for such a thing to spontaneously occur at such an old site, but Nostariel had to admit, it was where she would have started too, for lack of better ideas.
âIs there such a problem?â
Stroud shook his head slightly, hefting a heavy breath out of his nose. âI do not know. I wasnât able to get close enough to determine.â When she looked at him worriedly, he shook his head again. âIt wasnât Darkspawn, though. It was the Carta.â
âThe Carta?â Could it be? Nostariel pursed her lips. It couldnât simply be a coincidence. Sheâd long stopped believing in those. âDo you think they knew you were coming here?â
Stroud grimaced. âPerhaps. They probably could have beaten meâI was not moving as quickly as I should have been.â She looked at him curiously for a moment, and only then was it that she noticed a slight discoloration on some of the fabric beneath one of the plates of his armor, concealed by the rest of it.
âJean-Marc! Iâm sitting right here! You should have told me about this!â Huffing, she stood and crossed to him, scarcely bothering to wait for him to set his cup down before she was at the armor, tsking as she unfastened the buckles keeping the plates in place to get a better look at the injury underneath.
He made a sound that seemed equal parts amused, surprised, andâthere it wasâa bit pained. âYou have changed, Captain Turtega.â
She supposed, crouching to get at the wound better, that she really had. How long had it been since she was regularly in communication with her fellow Wardens? Years, at least, and even then, she hadnât known too many of them all that well. Stroud was among the closest of those, and that because heâd been responsible for a large part of her trainingâand her own and Tristanâs recruitment. The last time heâd seen her, sheâd been bereaved, miserable, and well on her way to death by organ failure, courtesy of too much liquor. From that, she had come quite far.
âThis place has been good to me.â Not always, not even most of the time, at first, but being here had been exactly what she needed. There was no mistaking that. Nostarielâs hand lit a pale blue, and she passed it several times over the wound, which, though undoubtedly much more painful than Stroud was making it out to be, was more shallow than deep. It would indeed have impeded travel, though, positioned as it was between shoulder and ribcage. It would have twinged every time he breathed too hard, to say nothing of riding.
When she was done, she stepped back, allowing him to set his tunic and armor to rights.
âThank you, Nostariel. I came here to ask if you would assist me in investigating what is occurring in the mountains, butââ He stopped when he realized she was smiling, his brows furrowing together.
âIâll do you better than that, Commander. Iâll invite my friends along.â
Predictably, it had not been difficult to secure their agreement to help her. Ashton had been on board the moment sheâd finished explaining. Probably before then, honestlyâthey didnât go much of anywhere without one another these days, save he to patrol and she to clinic hours. Even then, they generally took lunch together. Lucien, Ithilian, and Amalia werenât hard sells eitherâthough sheâd hesitated to ask the Dalish man along. She knew how he felt about Darkspawn, but it hadnât stopped him from helping her before, and it did not seem to have been a hindrance this time, either.
Travel was difficult, as the mountains were cold at this time of year, the trails still passable but treacherous. Sheâd asked Lucien to provide horses for those of the party without themâthough Stroud had his own, she hadnât ever needed one before, and of course Ithilian and Amalia would have little reason to keep one. It did make the passage faster, though, and it took them only a day and a half to reach the place they wanted, or quite close, at any rate.
âIt is not much further now.â Stroud had taken the lead, turning back over his shoulder to advise the others of this much. It was slightly difficult to hear him over the wind, which blew snow around in various swirls and eddies, but it was possible. âBe wary; there could be an ambush waiting.â
Ithilian was not used to horses. He actually had more experience with halla, enough to know that the act of riding one was closer to cooperation than commanding. Still, the basics were the same. He kept near the front, a dark scarf pulled up over most of his scarred features. He'd said little during the ride here, and said nothing now, preferring to focus on watching their surroundings, a hand resting lightly on one of his blades. Nostariel had been careful about asking him to help her with a darkspawn issue, but she needn't have been. He was quite far enough removed from his past at this point to maintain his cooler head, and helping the Wardens with an official trouble was not something Ithilian would turn down, even if he were not close friends with one of them.
"I'd be surprised if there wasn't. This is us we're talking about," Ashton replied, though it was hard to tell if anyone aside from those immediately beside him heard over the wind. A wisp of a smile was present on his lips, but his eyes constantly scanned the horizon trying spot where the "inevitable" ambush would take place. Not that it was given, but it was how their luck worked. Ashton rode at the rear, throwing the occasional glance backward to ensure that they weren't being followed or attacked either. A dull gray cloak hid most of his guardsman plate and a scarf wrapped around his neck. City life seemed to have stolen some of his tolerance for the cold.
Lucien had to agree, but he didnât say as much. His own horse, the very same one Violette and Liliane had brought him from Orlaisânow called Mercure after her colorationâwas well-used to colder climes, as was he himself, being of southern Thedasian origin. As such, he knew how to insulate even plate against the worst of the chill, and was fairly comfortable with what they were doing.
Amalia was in essentially the opposite position. She knew how to ride, to some degree, but she was no expert, and what was more, her tolerance for the cold was very limited. The only part of her currently exposed was her eyes, and the skin around them bore evidence of windburn. She was fairly certain her extremities were going numb even encased in fur-lined leather, and she had to keep flexing her fingers and toes in an attempt to maintain feeling in them. She almost wished for a fight, if only to have a reason to get herself moving and warm again.
It wasnât precisely a fight they got, thoughâat least not at that point. As they wound their way over what terrain remained passable, the group encountered what appeared to be a caravan, overturned and destroyed, the brontos that had been pulling the cart destroyed. A few dwarven corpses could be made out under the snow coating them, and the red color of it was dark, old but not so old it had yet been covered by fresh precipitation. The dead did not appear to be outfitted like Carta, though Nostariel was no expert.
âMerchants?â She turned to Stroud, assuming he was likely to know more of this area than she did. If heâd come to investigate, he would have done at least some research beforehand, certainly.
He pursed his lips in reply, his expression unreadable. âThere are trade routes not too far from here, yes. But if so, I am surprised the Carta have killed them. It serves them no purpose.â Indeed, it didnât even appear that much if anything had been stolen from the wreckageâthe brontos were still wearing all of their equipment, and various crates were scattered where they had fallen out of the cart, no few of them destroyed. The only explanation seemed to be that they had been killed simply for being here. Perhaps it had been Darkspawn, and not the Carta at all.
Reaching up to pull her hat down tighter over her head, Nostariel directed her horse forward again with her knees. They had a while to go yet.
At about what Stroud estimated to be fifteen minutes from their destination, they appeared to have come upon⊠something. A ruin, most like, but with small signs of activity. Disturbed snow, the occasional piece of refuse or waste, that sort of thing. There was also a much clearer trail to follow here, and it seemed safest for the horses to continue to follow it. As they did, however, they were forced down into a shallow ravine of sorts, perhaps better called a chasm. It was then that the voice first reached them, someone shouting down at them from above.
âAt last! The witchâs blood approaches!â The voice carried in an odd way, echoing throughout the chasm. Nostarielâs brows drew together, and she looked up and around. For a moment, she could have sworn she saw the shadow of something move, but before she could so much as think of drawing Oathkeeper, it was gone.
âIf this is an ambush, it is the strangest one Iâve encountered.â They pressed on, having little other choice, and the owner of the voice followed, none of anything else he said making any more sense than the first thing. It was starting to make her uneasy thoughâit sounded like this person, whomever he was, was insane. What was more, she was beginning to sense Darkspawn nearby, and when she looked beside her, it was to find her expression mirrored on Stroudâs face. Reaching behind her, Nostariel removed Oathkeeper from her back and lay it across her lap instead. She wasnât sure exactly what to expect ahead, but it didnât hurt to be prepared.
The trail before them sloped upwards, carrying them up and onto what she initially suspected was a small rise, but turned out to be more of a plateau, ancient columns around it some mixture of fallen, tilted, and still standing, like crooked teeth in the mouth of some large creature. Her horse pulled up suddenly short once they capped the plateau, and it didnât take much to see why.
Standing there was a single dwarf, his garments indicating a more roguish trade, but his eyes glazed over with a foggy grey film that she at least was quite familiar with. Her own widened, and she was parting her mouth to speak when the dwarf beat her to it.
âYou!â It was not immediately obvious whom he was speaking to, and for a moment she assumed it must be Stroud, or perhaps just the group at large. âYouâve finally come! Everyone! Itâs the child of Enelya the witch, come to us at last!â
That certainly ruled out Stroud, considering how elven the name was, and Nostariel automatically looked at Ithilian. It seemed quite the long shot, honestly, and chances were good the man had simply been driven insane by the taint, but it was possible the name was some kind of reference she did not know. Perhaps more worrisome was the fact that when he said everyone, people answered, crawling out of gaps in stone and from behind pillars and wreckage. The group looked to be at least a dozen strong, all dwarves, all armed. She couldnât tell from this distance, but chances were good that they were all Blighted too. Why answer to this man otherwise?
As of yet, though, none of them made to attack.
Ithilian met the look Nostariel gave her, but the one he returned indicated that he didn't have any more idea what the dwarf was referring to than she did. He'd never heard of any Enelya, witch or no, though the name did sound elven. He was less concerned with the words of the dwarf, however, than the fact that he and his compatriots were to a man affected by the taint, but all seemingly in the same way, responding to the same call. He'd seen the taint do its work before, and this was not a normal result.
Needless to say, Ithilian held a blade in one hand, Parshaara flipped backwards in the other. He would not attack without being provoked, but he was not opposed to the idea of starting a fire here, in the tainted flesh of these wayward stone children.
Well, there went her only idea. If it wasnât a reference her only Dalish friend knew and wasnât anything sheâd ever heard, the chances of making sense of it were slim unless this poor man explained. The Blight-sick were usually not even this coherent, let alone this organized. Sheâd have expected them to be more, well, dying. âWhat does a witch have to do with this? How did you come to be here?â
âIt began with her, and it ends with you! Blood for blood, thatâs what we were told!â The reply this time seemed to be directed at Nostariel, though she wasnât sure if that was only because she had been the one to speak or not. âYouâve come to us now, and thatâs the only thing that matters.â
She wasnât honestly sure what to say in reply to that. âBlood? Butââ
âWeâll take it! Corypheus will walk in the sun once more!â It would appear that whatever else was strange about the form of the taint these dwarves had contracted, they had not weakened physically, and as the man in front stepped back, several more drew up to fill his place, baring their weapons at the ready.
The clinic saw fewer people overall in such inclement conditions, but more injury from falls and a few more cases of colds and flu. Sheâd had to treat someone for frostbite, too, which was new in her repertoire of skills. Just because ice magic came easily to her did not mean she liked being surrounded by the stuff, to be sure.
Of course, the pervasive chill was hardly the worst of her problems. Sheâd never suspected to be the target of a coordinated attempt to kill someoneâthat was something she rather expected Lucien or Sophia would deal with. And indeed, both had, or come close enough, in Sophiaâs case. But her? It didnât make much sense, and stranger still was that the men whoâd assailed her on her way home from Ashâs barracks a few nights before had all been dwarves. A few of her friends were still looking into it, but she was willing to call it a very organized mugging and leave it be. Perhaps that was wishful thinking.
The water in the kettle over the fire started to boil, and she removed it from the hook it was suspended by, delicately transferring it into a smaller pot. Amalia had generously provided her with some of the milder varieties of Seheron spiced tea, and some of the leaves went into the pot to steep. It would certainly help take the chill out, she knew that much.
Content for the moment, she was considering the spare books on her shelfâmany of them there by recommendation from Lucien, who seemed to enjoy reading even more than she ever hadâwhen a noise downstairs caught her attention. Sheâd closed the clinic already, and she wasnât expecting anyone, but it may well just be Ash or Amalia with some news, or perhaps an emergency visit.
Padding down the stairs, she was met by someone she hadnât seen in a number of years, though one could hardly fail to recognize the rather distinctive moustache. Or the armor. âJean-Marc?â Though perhaps she should be calling him Commander Stroud. He was dressed rather more like the latter at the moment.
Stroudâs eyes found her immediately, and he ducked his head in greeting, though he did not smile. He wasnât given to it, usually, but something seemed especially worrisome about him at the moment. âNostariel. I believe we have a problem.â
She sighed softly, half-smiling. âSomehow that does not surprise me. Please, come upstairs. We can talk while you warm up a bit.â
Stroud sniffed the tea with a slightly puzzled look on his face, but he seemed to find the flavor of it agreeable enough, and kept his red-fingered hands wrapped around the ceramic cup sheâd served it in. There were still ice crystals in his hair and moustache, but they were melting into water droplets as he sat in the confines of her personal rooms. He looked like heâd traveled hard through the poor weather, if the way snow was packed into the joints of his armor was any indication. She wondered that he had not found an inn or something to rest at before coming to see her, but she wondered less as he explained. Heâd always been one to take his work extremely seriously, after all.
âFour weeks ago, reports reached me of some unusual Darkspawn activity in the Vimmark Mountains. Thereâs an old prison near there, one the Wardens used to maintain, so I went there first. It connects to the Deep Roads, and I thought they might be coming up through a structural breach or something of the sort.â It would be strange for such a thing to spontaneously occur at such an old site, but Nostariel had to admit, it was where she would have started too, for lack of better ideas.
âIs there such a problem?â
Stroud shook his head slightly, hefting a heavy breath out of his nose. âI do not know. I wasnât able to get close enough to determine.â When she looked at him worriedly, he shook his head again. âIt wasnât Darkspawn, though. It was the Carta.â
âThe Carta?â Could it be? Nostariel pursed her lips. It couldnât simply be a coincidence. Sheâd long stopped believing in those. âDo you think they knew you were coming here?â
Stroud grimaced. âPerhaps. They probably could have beaten meâI was not moving as quickly as I should have been.â She looked at him curiously for a moment, and only then was it that she noticed a slight discoloration on some of the fabric beneath one of the plates of his armor, concealed by the rest of it.
âJean-Marc! Iâm sitting right here! You should have told me about this!â Huffing, she stood and crossed to him, scarcely bothering to wait for him to set his cup down before she was at the armor, tsking as she unfastened the buckles keeping the plates in place to get a better look at the injury underneath.
He made a sound that seemed equal parts amused, surprised, andâthere it wasâa bit pained. âYou have changed, Captain Turtega.â
She supposed, crouching to get at the wound better, that she really had. How long had it been since she was regularly in communication with her fellow Wardens? Years, at least, and even then, she hadnât known too many of them all that well. Stroud was among the closest of those, and that because heâd been responsible for a large part of her trainingâand her own and Tristanâs recruitment. The last time heâd seen her, sheâd been bereaved, miserable, and well on her way to death by organ failure, courtesy of too much liquor. From that, she had come quite far.
âThis place has been good to me.â Not always, not even most of the time, at first, but being here had been exactly what she needed. There was no mistaking that. Nostarielâs hand lit a pale blue, and she passed it several times over the wound, which, though undoubtedly much more painful than Stroud was making it out to be, was more shallow than deep. It would indeed have impeded travel, though, positioned as it was between shoulder and ribcage. It would have twinged every time he breathed too hard, to say nothing of riding.
When she was done, she stepped back, allowing him to set his tunic and armor to rights.
âThank you, Nostariel. I came here to ask if you would assist me in investigating what is occurring in the mountains, butââ He stopped when he realized she was smiling, his brows furrowing together.
âIâll do you better than that, Commander. Iâll invite my friends along.â
Predictably, it had not been difficult to secure their agreement to help her. Ashton had been on board the moment sheâd finished explaining. Probably before then, honestlyâthey didnât go much of anywhere without one another these days, save he to patrol and she to clinic hours. Even then, they generally took lunch together. Lucien, Ithilian, and Amalia werenât hard sells eitherâthough sheâd hesitated to ask the Dalish man along. She knew how he felt about Darkspawn, but it hadnât stopped him from helping her before, and it did not seem to have been a hindrance this time, either.
Travel was difficult, as the mountains were cold at this time of year, the trails still passable but treacherous. Sheâd asked Lucien to provide horses for those of the party without themâthough Stroud had his own, she hadnât ever needed one before, and of course Ithilian and Amalia would have little reason to keep one. It did make the passage faster, though, and it took them only a day and a half to reach the place they wanted, or quite close, at any rate.
âIt is not much further now.â Stroud had taken the lead, turning back over his shoulder to advise the others of this much. It was slightly difficult to hear him over the wind, which blew snow around in various swirls and eddies, but it was possible. âBe wary; there could be an ambush waiting.â
Ithilian was not used to horses. He actually had more experience with halla, enough to know that the act of riding one was closer to cooperation than commanding. Still, the basics were the same. He kept near the front, a dark scarf pulled up over most of his scarred features. He'd said little during the ride here, and said nothing now, preferring to focus on watching their surroundings, a hand resting lightly on one of his blades. Nostariel had been careful about asking him to help her with a darkspawn issue, but she needn't have been. He was quite far enough removed from his past at this point to maintain his cooler head, and helping the Wardens with an official trouble was not something Ithilian would turn down, even if he were not close friends with one of them.
"I'd be surprised if there wasn't. This is us we're talking about," Ashton replied, though it was hard to tell if anyone aside from those immediately beside him heard over the wind. A wisp of a smile was present on his lips, but his eyes constantly scanned the horizon trying spot where the "inevitable" ambush would take place. Not that it was given, but it was how their luck worked. Ashton rode at the rear, throwing the occasional glance backward to ensure that they weren't being followed or attacked either. A dull gray cloak hid most of his guardsman plate and a scarf wrapped around his neck. City life seemed to have stolen some of his tolerance for the cold.
Lucien had to agree, but he didnât say as much. His own horse, the very same one Violette and Liliane had brought him from Orlaisânow called Mercure after her colorationâwas well-used to colder climes, as was he himself, being of southern Thedasian origin. As such, he knew how to insulate even plate against the worst of the chill, and was fairly comfortable with what they were doing.
Amalia was in essentially the opposite position. She knew how to ride, to some degree, but she was no expert, and what was more, her tolerance for the cold was very limited. The only part of her currently exposed was her eyes, and the skin around them bore evidence of windburn. She was fairly certain her extremities were going numb even encased in fur-lined leather, and she had to keep flexing her fingers and toes in an attempt to maintain feeling in them. She almost wished for a fight, if only to have a reason to get herself moving and warm again.
It wasnât precisely a fight they got, thoughâat least not at that point. As they wound their way over what terrain remained passable, the group encountered what appeared to be a caravan, overturned and destroyed, the brontos that had been pulling the cart destroyed. A few dwarven corpses could be made out under the snow coating them, and the red color of it was dark, old but not so old it had yet been covered by fresh precipitation. The dead did not appear to be outfitted like Carta, though Nostariel was no expert.
âMerchants?â She turned to Stroud, assuming he was likely to know more of this area than she did. If heâd come to investigate, he would have done at least some research beforehand, certainly.
He pursed his lips in reply, his expression unreadable. âThere are trade routes not too far from here, yes. But if so, I am surprised the Carta have killed them. It serves them no purpose.â Indeed, it didnât even appear that much if anything had been stolen from the wreckageâthe brontos were still wearing all of their equipment, and various crates were scattered where they had fallen out of the cart, no few of them destroyed. The only explanation seemed to be that they had been killed simply for being here. Perhaps it had been Darkspawn, and not the Carta at all.
Reaching up to pull her hat down tighter over her head, Nostariel directed her horse forward again with her knees. They had a while to go yet.
At about what Stroud estimated to be fifteen minutes from their destination, they appeared to have come upon⊠something. A ruin, most like, but with small signs of activity. Disturbed snow, the occasional piece of refuse or waste, that sort of thing. There was also a much clearer trail to follow here, and it seemed safest for the horses to continue to follow it. As they did, however, they were forced down into a shallow ravine of sorts, perhaps better called a chasm. It was then that the voice first reached them, someone shouting down at them from above.
âAt last! The witchâs blood approaches!â The voice carried in an odd way, echoing throughout the chasm. Nostarielâs brows drew together, and she looked up and around. For a moment, she could have sworn she saw the shadow of something move, but before she could so much as think of drawing Oathkeeper, it was gone.
âIf this is an ambush, it is the strangest one Iâve encountered.â They pressed on, having little other choice, and the owner of the voice followed, none of anything else he said making any more sense than the first thing. It was starting to make her uneasy thoughâit sounded like this person, whomever he was, was insane. What was more, she was beginning to sense Darkspawn nearby, and when she looked beside her, it was to find her expression mirrored on Stroudâs face. Reaching behind her, Nostariel removed Oathkeeper from her back and lay it across her lap instead. She wasnât sure exactly what to expect ahead, but it didnât hurt to be prepared.
The trail before them sloped upwards, carrying them up and onto what she initially suspected was a small rise, but turned out to be more of a plateau, ancient columns around it some mixture of fallen, tilted, and still standing, like crooked teeth in the mouth of some large creature. Her horse pulled up suddenly short once they capped the plateau, and it didnât take much to see why.
Standing there was a single dwarf, his garments indicating a more roguish trade, but his eyes glazed over with a foggy grey film that she at least was quite familiar with. Her own widened, and she was parting her mouth to speak when the dwarf beat her to it.
âYou!â It was not immediately obvious whom he was speaking to, and for a moment she assumed it must be Stroud, or perhaps just the group at large. âYouâve finally come! Everyone! Itâs the child of Enelya the witch, come to us at last!â
That certainly ruled out Stroud, considering how elven the name was, and Nostariel automatically looked at Ithilian. It seemed quite the long shot, honestly, and chances were good the man had simply been driven insane by the taint, but it was possible the name was some kind of reference she did not know. Perhaps more worrisome was the fact that when he said everyone, people answered, crawling out of gaps in stone and from behind pillars and wreckage. The group looked to be at least a dozen strong, all dwarves, all armed. She couldnât tell from this distance, but chances were good that they were all Blighted too. Why answer to this man otherwise?
As of yet, though, none of them made to attack.
Ithilian met the look Nostariel gave her, but the one he returned indicated that he didn't have any more idea what the dwarf was referring to than she did. He'd never heard of any Enelya, witch or no, though the name did sound elven. He was less concerned with the words of the dwarf, however, than the fact that he and his compatriots were to a man affected by the taint, but all seemingly in the same way, responding to the same call. He'd seen the taint do its work before, and this was not a normal result.
Needless to say, Ithilian held a blade in one hand, Parshaara flipped backwards in the other. He would not attack without being provoked, but he was not opposed to the idea of starting a fire here, in the tainted flesh of these wayward stone children.
Well, there went her only idea. If it wasnât a reference her only Dalish friend knew and wasnât anything sheâd ever heard, the chances of making sense of it were slim unless this poor man explained. The Blight-sick were usually not even this coherent, let alone this organized. Sheâd have expected them to be more, well, dying. âWhat does a witch have to do with this? How did you come to be here?â
âIt began with her, and it ends with you! Blood for blood, thatâs what we were told!â The reply this time seemed to be directed at Nostariel, though she wasnât sure if that was only because she had been the one to speak or not. âYouâve come to us now, and thatâs the only thing that matters.â
She wasnât honestly sure what to say in reply to that. âBlood? Butââ
âWeâll take it! Corypheus will walk in the sun once more!â It would appear that whatever else was strange about the form of the taint these dwarves had contracted, they had not weakened physically, and as the man in front stepped back, several more drew up to fill his place, baring their weapons at the ready.