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Antius blinked a bit at Asmara's movements. She seemed to be shivering... He scowled and slapped his forehead. Of course, he should have remembered! Healing spells tended to take the very heat from your own body in order to help with the healing process. He walked over to her and conjured a flame in his hand to warm her. He smiled apologetically at her, "You should get warm. You did a lot more than any of us could have. My spells certainly couldn't have done anything."
He grinned a bit at that. Healing spells had always seemed mundane to him, but then, he had never seen people mend bones or restore the health of someone as beaten up as Blysse was. He decided that he should pay more attention to Senior Enchanter Wynne's lectures. His expression sobered at the thought, "I'm sorry I couldn't be as much help as I could have. Creation never interested me back at the Tower."
Antius stroked his chin as he wondered about Valen. Was Ser Sev still going to act as a slave to that.... bastard? The very thought of it made him sick. Really, Antius had hoped to meet someone from the Tevinter Imperium, someone to tell him what it was really like and not the stereotypes the Chantry fed them. Unfortunately, he and his sister proved them all to be all too true. The very thought of it made him ill.
The barbarian watched the woman leave with a bit of satisfaction his face. It wasn't worth getting in a fight with her anyway. He was about to return to this post when someone addressed him. He felt his features form a grin. It was a rather pretty someone in fact. Normallly, he took exception to someone touching him without permission, but he decided he'd let this pretty noblewoman slide by. He had already almost gotten in a fight with another, after all.
"I could use some help," the Avvar growled, not bothering how he eyed the Orlesian's form. She was pleasant to look at, though she did look as weak other noblewomen, "I am Connall Dale, second son to Chieftain Artur of the Frostbacks."
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"Well, forgive me I offend, but you Tevinter types seem ta 'ave some strange tastes in entertainment. If I was 'im, though, I would na do something like that again, least na 'ere. The teyrn's just as likely to 'ave someone executed as 'e is celebrated." Orik looked at his feet a moment, his face as hard as the Stone from which it was shewn. "The bugger's a might bit bloodthirsty, 'e is. But 'e pays well."
Orik looked back up at her and smiled brilliantly.
" Ah, but lass, it shouldna be so 'ard to keep your kin in check. You look as though you can 'andle 'im fine. I-" He broke off as another of the runners came up to him and whispered furiously in his ear.
"Lyss reports that the rumors are confirmed. It was not actually Jowan that sent us the message. Someone else has it out for this lot, and they were probably bending the truth, ser."
Orik nodded and sent him off again. He turned back to Blodwyn.
"Och, sorry for the interruption, seems a fire's broken out in the kitchen, but you need not concern yourself, it's under control. So, you are from the Tevinter? 'Ow's it like there?" Orik was having a hard time keeping his face straight. The fool boy had reported to him right in front of one of the 'lot' he was supposed to be checking out! He would be docking the boy's pay later...The dwarf searched Blodwyn's eyes, looking to see if she caught on, and relieved to see no indication of such. But, this left for consideration...it seemed that he was wrong about Severia's purpose here. What else was he wrong about?
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āEnjoying myself? I must say, this has been a most splendid ball. Enā¦Enterā¦Entertainment. Proper. Treatment for the servants. Of. Society, and wine which any wine lover would kill to get,ā Bruce said, having to stop every now and then to actually be able to pronounce the words which he was searching for.
Was it with every glass or sip that Bruce was becoming another person? He was overly enthusiastic aboutā¦Everything, his slurring was worsening, and he was even starting to smile towards Blodwyn. Not to mention, he was starting to become rather tone deaf, his voice jumping up and down, almost yelling at one point and then he would return back to his normal voice.
āDo not feel. Off.ended. By my ladyās. Per.Spect.Tive. She is not used to the balls. āere in āer.Elden.ā
Could it get worse? Bruce was getting drunk, he was now also starting to sway around with his arms as if he was addressing the hole crowd, and now he was being polite to Blodwyn, even smiling at her when he had called her for, āmy ladyā.
Bruce stiffened. He was listening to the speech that Loghain was giving to the crowd and then he did the unspeakable. āLovely, Loghain knows hows to address hisā¦People, subjectsā¦Supporters?ā
Bruce was raising his glass to Loghainās toast and agreeing to whatever that Loghainās speech mention. Quite honestly, he hadnāt actually understood a lot of what had been said, but the word, āMakerā, had penetrated his ear filter and made random ideas about Loghain spin.
āSuch a note.worthy speech must be. Celebrated and danced to,ā Loosing sense of dignity, sense of mission, his voice was becoming more and more louder, Bruce turned his head and looked at Blodwyn. āMilady. Can I have your-ā Bruce squeezed his eyes together and then opened them. Closed them and then opened them.
Bruce didnāt finish his sentence. A palm went up to his face and groaned. āLyriumā¦Whereās my bag?ā Bruce whispered and managed to open his eyes. In those few moments that his eyes had been closed, his eyes had gone from being absolutely normal to completely bloodshot. He kept scanning Blodwyn, then the dwarf before him, Blodwyn, as well as the other guests before he finally asked, āWhere am I? Whereās my bag? Whereās my lyrium? I need my lyrium.ā
All indications that Bruce was drunk disappeared in that instance. He didnāt slur, he didnāt speak with drunken confidence or fake bravado, he was fully aware of what was going on, however, he knew that in the next few moments, there were a lot of events that could take place; some which wouldnāt beā¦Appriciated.
His hand began to shiver violently and he needed to hold it before he could gain some form of control over it. By the Makerā¦Not. Now! Bruce was loosing control of himself already.
The Chantry used Lyrium to bind its Templars to it, for they controlled the Lyrium trade and thus also they controlled the Templars as they would become addicted to the Lyrium that they were provided. Bruce was addicted to Lyrium, however his addiction exceeded what was considered to being normal.
He could have hallucinations, sudden change in moods, and even go so far to mistake friends for foes, which was a reason for why he generally always had at least two bottles of Lyrium with him wherever he would go. However tonight didnāt allow the attachment of lyrium bottles, which was dangerous.
āExcuse me,ā Bruce said, and marched away from the group, his eyes were locked to the floor and his pace was brisk. His left side of his shoulder, and chest, bumped into a servant carrying a plate of glasses; Bruceās clothes were strained and the servant was knocked into a quick spin before falling to the floor.
Bruce needed his bottle of Lyrium, or elseā¦It could end with bloodshed.
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"Tevinter is a fine country, though not as grand as it had once been," Blodwyn replied to Orik, approving of his question, "sadly it is the only place which understands the full value of magic. Only fools condemn that which they do not understand." She said, making an off-handed reference to blood magic and the Ferelden Chantry.
And then Bruce went lyrium-crazed and that ended any civil conversation which the group of them could have been having. She knew that she had to do something about the situation - and quickly. But she had not taken any lyrium with her, not even bothering to have smuggled any in in her personal drinking flask. She could not just allow Bruce to wander off and get into trouble, as that would not help anyone, and certainly not after the scene that her brother had caused.
"Ser Orik, do pardon me, but I must go and see to my...fiance's well-being," her and Bruce were supposed to be pretending to be a couple, after all, "by your leave." She curtsied to him, visibly distraught.
"Maker's breath," she swore and then looked around the ballroom, trying to find Ceallach. Spotting her elven slave, she briskly made her way over to him.
"[b]Ceallach, I need you to get me some lyrium. My things would be in the storage. Sneak in and filch me a bottle of it," she told him hurriedly, grasping him by the arm. "I will be with Ser Bruce, but I need you to get me that lyrium and fast - before our Templar friend decides that throttling me would be a swell idea."
She hurried off after Bruce, leaving Ceallach in hopes that he would swiftly carry out her request. She catching up to Bruce and took him by the arm, walking alongside him. "You will have lyrium soon, just try not to butcher anything," it was odd, how suddenly he had become so affected...almost unnatural, "recite the Chant of Light with me, to help you focus." It was the only thing she could think of saying to him.
"Trials 1:14, listen," her grip on his arm tightened, trying to get him to focus on her, "Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder." She spoke to him in hushed tones, hoping that he would focus on the words of the Chant.
Ceallach, she thought and prayed, please hurry before something goes terribly awry. Maker help your feet be swift.
"Recite for me the words from Trials 1:10, please," she implored, turning to smile politely at some of the guests who looked at them and whispered in anxiety.
---
She hushed up the conversation whilst listening to Teyrn Loghain giving his speech and found herself nodding along. The man's gruff voice was pleasant enough to listen to and, instead of actually paying attention to what he was saying, Celestelle entertained a brief fantasy about the Hero of River Dane. She had always had a thing for men who were older than her.
When the speech was finished, she turned back to Connall, all smiles and courtesies. "Ah, je suis most pleased to make votre acquaintance," she replied to him with all the grace and propriety that she had been taught to possess since the day she was old enough to crawl.
"I must admit, j'ai pas recontrer un Avvar before. Your people, what are they like?" She inquired of him, honestly curious.
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Andor Hallvard
That man, the Templar, had been Blodwynās companion from before. Indeed, what was a Templar doing with a Blood Mage? They didnāt mix, that was one thing, and Blodwyn had avoided answering his question to what was going on. A brief frown passed his expression, but it was gone before anyone could take wind of it. He knew that Valen had been the one to take the elven girl away, but what had he done? Andor muted his doubts. The Akritas family was a well-respected family of slaversāhe was sure he would have handled it with grace. There would be no need to worry.
However Blodwyn excused herself along with the Templar, with only increased his suspicions. Were they really a couple? A Templar that held her in contempt? It didnāt seem too likely, but all options should be thought through, whether on the battlefield or a palace ball.
Andor met Valenās narrowed gaze with his own cool, distant ones, retaining his perfect composure, not at all affected by his distaste. āAnyone can see that your sister is beautiful,ā he said courteously. āBut mark my words, I am a man of honor.ā Though his voice was polite, there was an underlying edge of steel embedded into it. He understood that one could be protective of a sibling, but a hidden threat towards the General of Orlais would not be appreciated or taken so lightly by him or the palace. And yet he did not express anger or displeasure, as he was not a man to do so. Like he had said before, he could merely be in a foul mood because ofā¦the weather. Yes.
āI am surprised to see you are not participating in the dancing,ā he said nonchalantly, expertly changing the subject to a more general one. āI believe I have seen you dancing with many a beautiful woman in other balls. What makes this one so different?ā
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Ceallach Norrenddare
Ceallach blinked at the money but took it, a slow smile spreading over his mischievous face. āYou should have told me before that youād pay, milady.ā He watched her leave, smiling as he pocketed his newfound moneyāif only more garters would snap! He would gladly fix them for a coin or two. He began to wander once more, searching for more good things to eat. There was commotion about, but he paid it no mindāeven nobles could get drunk, right?
Well that was what he thought until Blodwyn hurried over and spoke to himāsomething about lyrium. His eyebrow quirked a bit but he nodded at the mention of the brutish Templar. āUnderstood,ā he told her before taking his leave, weaving amongst the crowds quickly but not too noticeably. This was very natural to himāstealing things and going unnoticed. He walked down the hall, stopping by the storage room where their things had been stored. His brow furrowed slightly; it wasnāt like the two siblings had brought only one bag each (he would know, he packed their things).
Nevertheless he had sensed that this was an emergency of some sort so he began to rummage through the bags quietly, searching for a bottle that would contain the lyrium potion. Being a mage, he supposed that Blodwyn had a supply of it for entering the Fadeāor something like that, but he was sure this was for the Templar, not Blodwyn. He didnāt really like the way how he had yelled at Blodwyn, but he supposed that if she wanted him to get it, he would.
At last his fingers caught ahold of a clear flask with the processed lyrium inside, and Ceallach lifted it up to examine it under the dim light. He had heard that regular, unprocessed lyrium was very dangerous to humans as well as elves. He sure hoped there was no mistake about that. He stood and tucked the flask into a fold of his clothing, sneaking expertly back to the ballroom. He found her walking with him, trying to calm the Templar. He quickly made his way to her, slipping her the bottle. āHere, this is it, isnāt it?ā Ceallach found himself looking strangely at the Templar; he seemed to be in a strange mood, like he was drunk or something of the sort.
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Bruceās eyes were in the distance, his entire body was shivering, not of cold, but terror, pure terror. āHe said that I would be immune to their strengthā¦He said I had to make my anger my weapon. My faith my shieldā¦But the painā¦Why?...Why did they have to torture me before they could see my true faith?ā
Bruce was loosing his sense of reality. Before his eyes the environment was swirling, twisting and turning, changing into previous places that he had been to. He looked at Blodwyn and then grabbed her by her shoulders, holding her tight, āWhy did you do this to me? Why Nicholas? Why?...Wasnāt it enough that the Dalish took everything from me, but now you want me to strip myself of the dignity that I have leftā¦Why?ā
Hallucination that was what Bruce was seeing now. He was reliving moments in his life when he had been under extreme pressure, hearing the voices of the ghosts of his past. His face bore the same anger and disgust that he had shown before his previous Templar teacher, however it was softening due to whatever sentences he was being told in his mind.
āI knowā¦I know,ā Bruce said with an almost pathetic voice, āI lost everything back thenā¦Everything. Please donāt take away my belief that there is good within peopleā¦Not all humans are like the Dalish. I-ā Bruce didnāt finish his sentence before the voice in his head had interrupted. āThat is not trueā¦I looked into the eyes of that woman when she told me she had done Blood Magicā¦She was afraid of what she was becoming, but she wanted to be freed from it. She is innocent, thereās no need to kill her, not likeā¦this. She isnāt an animal, even you can see that, donāt deny that!...What do you mean, Iāll never become a true Templar if I donāt do this? Templars arenāt murder machines, they-ā
Bruce stopped and walked around. He kept touching the burned skin on the back of his head and shook his head violently while he whispered, āThere must be another way to do thisā¦We canātā¦We arenāt animalsā¦We arenāt assassins!ā Bruce almost yelled and turned to look at Blodwyn, but his facial expression didnāt last long before it turned into a face of terror. Whatever the voice was saying, or whatever he was seeing, it was enough to horrify Bruce.
āVery wellā¦Give me the knife.ā Bruce said and exerted his hand to receive the unseen knife, followed by Bruce walking for a bit, before he stopped in front of a bush, grabbed it and seemed to stab it rather violently with the invisible knife.
āThere shall be no mercy for the soul-lessā¦There shall-ā Bruceās voice cracked, and for a moment there, small tears ran down his cheek before he stopped and opened his eyes. He looked with a hardened look at the bush-āThere shall be no mercy or respite for such monsters. Make show you the mercy which we didnāt see in life.ā
Returning to Blodwyn (or as Bruce saw her, Nicholas) he nodded and said, āIt is done.ā Bruce blinked for a moment before he regained conscious, and dropped to his knees, āWhere amā¦I? What happened?ā
Bruce continued to shiver before he managed to say, āI need Lyriumā¦Lyrium.ā
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Instead of being able to recite the words of the Chant, Bruce lapsed deeper into whatever hallucination was holding him. She took a step back away from him, but he was quicker than her, and his hands closed around her shoulders, holding her tight. Blodwyn immediately reached for the spare hair-pin that she kept in one of the hidden pockets of her skirt - which served the purpose of both holding up her hair if she need of it or being a tool which she could easily stab into her open palm.
But Bruce did nothing but rave and soon enough let go of her shoulders and she did not need to resort to any dire actions which may very well have spoiled the situation even more. This was exactly why the Chantry should have never imposed the use of phylacteries, why they should never have so ignorantly dabbled in blood magic themselves and chose to cover their actions with hypocrisy.
Blodwyn's expression changed from one of anxious concern to approval when Ceallach came back to them with a bottle of lyrium in hand. She could not have been more happy to see his face right then and there. She offered him a smile of sincere gratitude when she slipped her the lyrium, "Yes, this is it exactly. Thank you." And now all that had to be done was to offer the lyrium to the raving Templar.
She quickly uncorked the lyrium potion Ceallach had handed to her and held it out to Bruce, just as he turned to ask her what had happened and informed her once more that he required lyrium. "Nothing happened, Ser Le-Guy, you merely needed some fresh air," she said to him, polite as ever, choosing to not mention that this situation had just unfolded before her eyes and the things she had heard. Blodwyn glanced over at Ceallach, hoping that he would not make mention of it either. "Here, lyrium for you," she told the Templar, gesturing at the bottle that she was holding out for him to take, "it was Ceallach who so quickly procured this for you at my bidding, and it is him you should thank for being so quick."
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He looked at her up and down, noting her golden dress and the make-up smeared upon her, "And what about your own people? You're Orlesian, are you not? I can tell from your accent. Our tribes often play with your warriors. They're... Not very impressive."
He smirked at her, daring her to challenge his statement. In truth, Orlesian Chevaliers weren't that tough if what his father's tales of their occupation of Ferelden were to be believed. They depended on their horses and long lances as well as their heavy armor. Once they got in close and started beating on their armor, they were helpless. Of course, their sheer numbers deterred the Avvars from attacking until Maric and Loghain secured an alliance with them during the war. The battles the Avvars fought then sounded glorious.
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With that said, Bruce adjusted a bit on his clothes and then gave the two a lost glance, "You have my thanks though." Quickly as he said that he moved away from them and back to the ball where he immediately went to the wine stand, took a quick doze of wine and then returned his looks to the crowd. He wanted to talk to Ser Sev, he could feel his patience loosening and he wanted some answers now. Why hadn't they attacked yet? Had they decided that they would wait?
It frustrated Bruce. This entire situation, he knew little to nothing of their plans, he was a bloody Templar for crying out loud, and one of the better, and where were Asmara and Antius? Bloody mages and elves...Run off whenever you really need them.
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There's always an opening once she wants one to be there. With the guard walking off to supposedly do his duties the tense lady remains attached to Jasper's arm. Although Blodwyn had paired her to Raelnor, Jasper was the nearest gentleman (a questionable accusation). Teryn Loghain seemed busy with a flock of sycophant nobility. Severia knows not how to entirely feel about the man. She nearly grew up with him after all. And he has always insisted she get to know his son more better. Loghain sent Ferelden's king to his death. He framed the Grey Wardens for the slaughter, framed Severia unknowingly. And he possibly gave consent to the downfall of the Couslands. Something still isn't adding up and it's eating away at her. She willingly is led by Jasper before two familiar people approach them.
Severia wants to maintain the ruse of a doting maiden and absently plucks at Jasper's shoulder to groom him before looking to Gann and Merle. "Lord Valen saw fit to handle Blysse wrongfully. Very soon he'll undergo the same treatment after tomorrow." years of cordial training and balancing books on her head hide well the bitter acid in her voice. Her lips curl inward as she rubs them together in thought, eyes sifting towards where Loghain is before ascending to Gann. "The Teryn is here. Hopefully we can get some answers...I'll try to find an opportunity to speak to him soon." she has since lowered her hands from the rogue. The shield maiden pauses. This is a bizarre situation some of the others might be in. She arches a groomed brow to the two before her. "Are you both adjusting?" it's genuine concern.
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They were approached by Gann and Merle, who for all appearances were discomfited by something, albeit masking it. He would not have been able to guess at what, of course, but he knew that guardedness well enough, employing it quite frequently himself lately. Only until I know I need not. That was the oath he'd made to himself; he had no desire to deceive, however private the secret, any longer than necessary. It was not as though he planned on suddenly confessing everything he'd been hiding, merely that he hoped there would come in short order a day when he knew he would not lie if asked the direct question.
He raised an amused eyebrow when Ser Sev- but perhaps this was the Lady Cousland- brushed invisible dust from his shoulder, before ceasing in the endeavor and asking the other two how they were doing. It seemed an oddly-timed question; but then perhaps she had seen something there as well, and taken it differently than he. If not, he'd have to wonder why given the present circumstances she was bothering. They of those present had yet to cause quite as significant a ruckus as some, and frankly that made the answer evident enough for him.
He wondered how long it would be before this elaborate charade would fall apart, and who would be the trigger. Apparently, grievous bodily harm to a "servant" was inadequate, which meant that unless the Chasind girl, Zephora, stopped glaring daggers and started throwing them, it would probably be the Crows that did it. He had not missed the conspiratorial nature of Tiaryn and Ryuu, and he was no fool. They were planning something; he even had a fair suspicion of what it was. If he had to hazard a guess, Ser Sev disapproved, but this ultimately mattered little. The elven one- Ryuu- probably had more than enough reason to carry out his plan despite reasoning to the contrary, given Ostagar, and he doubted Tiaryn was the type to put up much of a fight on such a point.
For now, he personally would simply watch, wait, and intervene somewhere only if necessary. It was his preferred role, if instigator was unavailable, and he had to admit, it would be quite interesting to see how everything played out. If the smallest of mischievous smiles twitched his lips, Jasper played it off as nothing but interest in the conversation.
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Severia continued to go on and socialize. She even met with Loghain who for all the world of evil he's done was still an uncle to her. They were cordial but when she brought up her family and Howe, there was no trace of Loghain knowing. He used that voice he never uses. The most regretted one of any kind which would only tell the lady knight that he spoke the truth. Loghain was not connected to the murders of her parents, her sister-in-law nor her nephew. In this she thanked the Maker inwardly while feeling her chest expand, that accursed weight lifted to ease tension. She had since then calmed enough to be coaxed by Loghain to sing as she used to in the Chantry when she was a young girl. Afterwards she had found Raelnor and guided him in dance as the ball wound down. Most of everyone were dancing when disaster struck. True to his word Ryuu ended the Teryn after consulting Tiaryn. The Crows made it swift but it gave the panicked nobles no more comfort.
Escape was maddening but they had crafty rogues on their said; namely Jasper (which only raises nothing but suspicion for the lady knight. Why would he need to be that good at getting out of that sort of situation?) Ryuu and of course Tiaryn. The Dalish siblings kept up easily enough although Cash fussed over the haphazard rise each time Blysse took a bound that drove her dress up her thighs to flash undergarments. The struggle was brutal and Severia winced in knowing that Orik did have reason to suspect the group yet had taken it out on the wrong candidate. Outside of the estate the party rode hard with Severia and Ryuu barking at one another. Severia had started it not out of spite for what the assassin had done for she noted it was inevitable, but because he, her friend, had placed himself in danger. It was friendly bantering barks if anything.
Sadly Lisa had died in the process of escape. A poisoned row of darts found her system before Asmara or any other mage located and healed her. The strange couple, Gann and Merle, were nowhere to be found. Severia, stressed without an outlet, turned it into gossip for Ryuu and Asmara's ears, easy on them as they are all Wardens. Perhaps Gann and Merle whisked themselves off on romantic endeavor after too much drink and were too embarrassed to return to the group. Celestelle grasped Severia in a sisterly embrace which still made the warrioress flush. It had been in front of the others after all. The Orlesian admitted there were pressing matters back home. She had taken both Ceallach (with Blodwyn's bidding to let her borrow the elf) and Andor to Orlais.
A day after the ball Severia had held true to her word. She allowed Valen to enslave her for a day, collar and all. The group continued to make their way for the Circle as they need to act on document. Blysse seemed skittish of the group and would not sleep within the light of the camp's fire, instead shirking into the woods with Dareth. Cash could only wait anxiously for her at times as he cooked and cleaned beside Severia. Whom was haplessly instructed to be silent the duration of servitude. Her duties were rubbing the Akritas' shoulders and feet, polishing their weapons, and sitting in Valen's lap when he wished it. Although near sundown he dared whisper insulting things in her ear. A few more hours could not be waited until she was freed; Severia punched Valen in the face. He had bellowed at her through a bleeding (possibly broken) nose before suddenly withdrawing his blade. Valen had advanced on Dareth whom placidly grazed, oblivious to any in the camp bringing him harm. The Golden Peacock's blade drive behind the halla's shoulder and came out the other side of his broad ribcage. Dareth emitted a keening, panicked trumpet. Dark blood ran down in rivulets on his silken stilts as he raised his tail and darted into the forest. Blysse moved to help Dareth but Valen grabbed her wrists, berating her, not letting her go help her friend. The Dalish began screaming but her screams were soon drowned out Valen's own. Blysse's body ripped from its clothing as she grew to an eight foot tall beast. Her old body torn and shredded, blood stained her as she gripped Valen in her claws and wept for Dareth.
Valen was hurled around like a ragdoll before Blodwyn distracted Blysse. The effulgent she-wolf bit off Valen's ear before she chased Blodwyn to Dareth. Blood magic was used to restore the stag but Blysse was not seen after that nor was Dareth. Severia had drew her own blade, then still clad in a slave's outfit before she challenged Valen to the death. He had done too much wrong and Blodwyn did not seem keen on stopping the duel between her brother and her best friend. It was not a swift battle. Both warriors were without armor and stubborn. While Valen was filled with vanity, woeful of his lost ear, Severia was filled with contempt for the loathsome man and how he spoke of her mother. Valen was beheaded by the Grey Warden before fatigue took over. Kujo sat beside his mistress while she slept on the ground, bristled and snapped at anyone who tried to move her. Cash remained with the group, he had known of this and apologized to everyone for keeping Blysse's dangerous secret. Blodwyn, distraught (though grateful all the same) from the loss of her brother (as evil as he was) took leave of them. The next day the group began to move again.
It's officially been two days after the ball. Severia is still sore and feeling...mucked from battling Valen last night. Her body feels wonderful in all honesty. Fighting helps her relax, either that or running around with Kujo. Astride Blue Moon her eyes pick along the dirt road. Before them is a fork and the sun has begun to sink. Something else is bothering her. She rid the world of Valen's cruel tongue, wicked hands and deceptive good looks. Yet he was someone's brother. Had she felt too much pleasure when her sword seared through his muscles and cervical vertebrae to part head from shoulders? Did she not kill Valen but butcher and murder him? What of Blysse, why has she not returned to face them yet? Severia sighs, rubbing her temples before slowing her mount. She glances back at the others for a group vote of sorts. "It may be a fine time to set up early camp to get an earlier start in the morning. Any objection or thoughts?" she feels much older than she should be. Maker she misses her friends, Blodwyn and Celestelle. Around them all trees shield prying eyes but span out to give way to fields and the like. The hills provide decent shelter if they find themselves under attack.
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When the commotion with Valen and Blysse happened at the camp, Arvin had been out hunting, though he returned when the heated voices and shouting could be heard. The last he saw of his childhood friend was her running off after her transformation into a werewolf. He was gladly a witness to the battle that took Valen's life, though he sorely wished to rip at the man with tooth and claw, he doubted Severia's honor would allow for any aid, and so stayed put. Glad as he was that the evil man had lost his life, he was still upset that Blysse had run off. Should he go after her? Maybe follow her scent? Something told him that the distressed Dalish would not appreciate this, so Arvin stayed with the group.
Glancing back again the way they had come every now and again, Arvin's shoulders gave a slight slump. He worried for his friend. After the Templars had taken him to the circle, Arvin believed that he'd never get to see any of his clan again. Having to walk away from one of them was painful and depressing, and his ears still drooped as they walked. Though he'd stopped looking back altogether after a certain distance, it was obvious they weren't being followed. Arvin glanced up to the lady knight as she looked back to ask the all a question. Make camp? so early? Perhaps they'd all could use a bit of a rest after the eventful couple of days since the ball. Arvin sat back on his haunches and reverted to his elven form. The pack he awkwardly carried with him as a lynx was now hanging from his shoulder and he set it down. It was a small pack with Arvin's meager possessions. "No objections here. If anyone likes I could hunt some fresh meat for us all?" he offered. Though he'd go out to hunt for himself even if no one wanted the meat. Arvin couldn't get used to eating trail rations.
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Asmara leans heavily against Aliyah's neck, breathing in the sweet scent of meadow grasses and horse musk, but the only thing she really smells is blood and salt. So much blood, coppery, metallic, and always, always the same brilliant deep red. None of it is hers, but it hardly matters to the girl. It might as well be; her rose-tinted lenses are cracked, the perfect serenity of an innocent heart sundered, at least for a moment. It will heal; it always does. She cannot bear to look at things in the harsh reality of hue-less daylight, so eventually everything will become lovely once again.
Blood... Blysse's blood, the Teyrn's blood, the life-essence of Lisa and Dareth and Valen. Too much... she was rapidly losing her affection for the color crimson. She had not spoken much in the last few days, though she tried her best to wear a smile for everyone else's sake. In truth, she still felt awful about Lisa. She'd been unable to help the woman at all, instead only easing the pain of her passing, muttering spells for easy sleep and pain relief even as she slipped further away than even Asmara could follow. She had been able to do nothing to stop anything that happened after that, either, and she wondered (not for the first time) if she had any right to be a Grey Warden at all. She was entirely useless and silly and immature, and she knew these things to be true.
She'd been slipping in and out of the Veil as they traveled, allowing herself to be comforted in Compassion's arms, much as she had as a scared child, on the run from men in metal suits who called her horrible things and brandished their weapons and shields. She knew she shouldn't run from reality like this; it wasn't helping anyone, and she needed to be as helpful as possible, even if she didn't make a good Warden. Sighing, she pushed herself into an upright position and forced the listlessness from her eyes. She was worried about Blysse, but she needed to focus on the positives. Like... well, there weren't many, but maybe it would help to list them.
For the most part, they were still alive. That was good. They were on the move again, and had a goal, so that was a positive, too. Nobody seemed to be really fighting with each other anymore, at least for the most part, though whether this was truly an upside or not was a bit hard to tell. It could just be that they didn't have the energy or motivation anymore. Well... Gann and Merle had left, and Ser Sev seemed to think that they might have done so together, so there was a good chance that they at least were happy, she supposed. That certainly counted. Dareth had been saved, which was good, and she knew that wherever Blysse was, the halla was probably not far away. At least she wasn't alone, right?
None of them were alone, for that matter. Everybody was being so morose, and she understood why, but... it was time for her to stop it. Someone needed to take a step here, quit shying away from everyone else. She didn't see anyone else volunteering, so...
Ser Sev asked if anyone wanted to stop, and Asmara pushed aside her indecisiveness and nodded resolutely. Arvin spoke first; she siezed on the opportunity and expounded, grateful to the shapeshifter. "I think that's a very good idea," she replied with a smile. "We still have lots of supplies left, so I'm going to make everyone dinner if I can. It would be really nice if everyone would eat it..." She trailed off, shaking her head. Blysse would return when she was ready. No use trying to make it otherwise.
Without waiting for anything else, Asmara dismounted, landing lightly on the ground with a small puff of dust from the road. She supposed it might be considered presumptuous of her, and she really hoped that was not how it would be interpreted, but she still felt the burning need to do something, to fix things. It was something of a compulsion of hers, actually. If nobody stopped her, she'd be straight to gathering firewood and building herself a nice campfire to cook over, lighting the thing with a simple spell and unpacking their cookware as tents were erected. Spirits help her, if someone decided to keep going, she'd be embarrassed awfully, and her face would tinge the color of ripe tomatoes.
Tiaryn was not having any particular crisis of conscience about what had happened; she had been asked by a friend to help with a job, and she had done it. As far as she was concerned, Valen Akritas did not constitute a significant loss to humanity, not after what he'd done. She was no hypocrite; she would not deny that she'd caused worse pain on occasion, but she had never taken pleasure in the act of causing harm or death. Yes, there was a certain... satisfaction that she derived from doing her job well, but this was because of the evidence of increasing skill rather than the knowledge that one more person had ceased to be because of her.
The transformation of the Dalish girl, she had not expected, and still did not quite know what to make of. It had been explained to her what actually happened, and she could not imagine what it would be like to have such a change enacted upon one's body against one's will. Certainly not pleasant; she could understand the desire to be apart from others after such an occurrence. She had shrugged off the brother's apology- their business was not her own, and there was nothing to apologize for as she saw the matter.
When it was suggested that the group stop, she nodded her agreement, observing that the small one- Asmara- had apparently decided to take the task of feeding everyone. Perhaps... perhaps the blond elf could keep a secret. If so, she might find herself with some unlikely assistance.
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The escape, now that was the difficult part, staying behind the retreating group to draw the attention away as much as he could. He knew Tiaryn would probably complain latter about the fact he was risking his life even more, but this is what he was good at, even more so now that he had chose to be a warden. They lost good people along the way, though only one who had died; at least one he had watched die, to him that was an easy thing to accept; one death save many? This was what he was use to and would not allow himself to slow down for anything. Then came the day after the ball, the servitude of Severia; Ryuu teased her about it when he could find the time, though when the entire situation with Valen started; he could not help but try himself to end the man, but being stopped by Sev, and watching her duel the man, would have to be good enough.
Ryuu had, had a feeling that Blysse had a primal side to her, that encounter below the ballroom; that was an easy sign, to anyone who had spent a large amount of time traveling through forests that weren't exactly well known. He watched as she had ran off; leaving Cash behind to apologize for it all, he only nodded; though he did take the young elf off away from the motley crew to speak to him about it. The day rolled on though, and upon Lenwƫ He rode, he did offer a ride to Cash as well, far be it for him to have to walk now. Once asked for thoughts on the situation Ryuu, unlike his normal self looked to Severia. "I don't much care what we do, I'm fine continuing on I've the warm tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach knowing that; Loghain is no more then a corpse" He admitted gladly, this was the first true sign of any kind of violence or hatred from the tall elven assassin; the first true sign of a killer. Though his smile did return and almost to quickly, "Though, I guess in all we probably should; Lenwƫ might start whining if he doesn't get to rest soon" He joked chuckling as the Warg let out a growl and grumble like noises only making the elf laugh more.
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Ah, Habren is going to hate me for this, he mused with a smirk, pulling a piece of parchment from his doublet and setting it atop the bed she doubtless occupied. There was little time now, and certainly not enough for him to explain everything that was going on. This would have to do for now. Of course, his work was far from done, and the window of opportunity small. The Crows, he expected, were well-accustomed to escaping after a job, but the sheer number of people that needed to be dealt with here was something that no organization of assassins had reason to be familiar with.
Of course, his expertise was mostly in solo endeavors of this nature, but he was also used to taking care of an entire ship's crew. He'd studied the structure of the estate on the way in, and paid off the stablehands to keep their horses and other mounts ready to go at any moment. Paranoid, perhaps, but he preferred to think of it as savvy.
He had returned to the ballroom in just enough time to catch the aftermath of the act, and he had signaled those on this floor to exit in the appropriate direction at all due haste, before ducking downstairs to retrieve those still in the cellar. The rest of the escape was fairly straightforward, actually; they moved quickly and as quietly as possible. The darts had been unexpected; he would not have thought security forces would respond so quickly, if that was indeed where the poison had come from. He hastened the group forward after they lost Lisa, though: it was hurry or lose more, after all.
Since the escape proper, he'd made himself rather more scarce than he usually did; he was no Warden, and part of him still believed very strongly that none of this was his business. He'd kept a watchful eye on Valen the day following, firmly refusing to look at Sev. She'd not lose any dignity on his account.
Then all hell had broken loose. He'd been on the opposite side of camp, tending to Valhalla, when Valen drew his blade on Dareth. He knew he wasn't close enough to stop what was happening, and the the following conflict had shocked him quite a bit more than he'd thought anything could anymore. Blysse had disappeared afterwards, and that he did not like. It would be one thing if she only needed to recover from her wounds, but he had a feeling she was shamed by what had happened; why else would it need be a secret? Valhalla had been sent after her the following day; the bird would not return until she did, animal company perhaps easier to stomach than the human kind. He loathed the thought of interfering any more than that, given how far away from the center of all of this he stood.
Now, they were still travelling rather quickly, and he was a bit confused when Sev pulled them up. She explained in short order, though, and the responses seemed to indicate that this was received rather well. He noted that Asmara seemed determined to make something of the opportunity, and he had to admit that food did sound quite nice right now.
He said nothing, but set up his tent and tethered his horse before making his way over to the campfire. Asmara, Antius, and curiously Tiaryn were busy making food by that point, so he sought out Ser Sev and the mabari that was never far from her side. "You seem rather... disturbed by something," he noted mildly, leaving it at that. If she had no wish to speak of it, he would not press the point, but he had a feeling it had something to do with her recent duel. How many times had the woman killed something that wasn't a Darkspawn or food, he wondered?
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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.
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When the assassination was completed, Zephora tucked the lower tiers of her dress upwards, refusing to let the frilly garment keep them from escaping uninjured. She attempted to stay as close to Blysse as possible, though allowing Cash to maneuver in next to the Dalish huntress as he reprimanded her for the position of her dress. Zephora, unable to understand the words, could only glean a meaning from the way he pointed and waved his hands in the air; it gave way to the Chasind woman laughing briefly, hiking her own skirts higher and sending a wink in Blysse's direction before hauling herself onto Dubhradh's back once they had reached their mounts in the stable. Upon making a stop the first time, Zephora changed back into her own outfit and replaced her sword on her side. Thinking of returning the garment she wore to the ball, she shook her head -- she stuffed it within her satchel instead, intending on giving it to Blysse as soon as the strange brother and sister were gone of their group.
She had acknowledged that the party had lost a life and had lost numerous others to different causes, but, at this point, Zephora felt little for the missing individuals. The only person she had really started to feel connected to was Blysse, the elven maiden that kept her distance from the group after escaping. Zephora was startled from her rest at the screams of Blysse and her halla, Dareth. Dubhradh had first alerted her, responding to the halla's bleating with agitation. Drawn to the scene, Zephora watched with stunned silence as Blysse transformed, tossed Valen across the camp, and then disappeared into the forest.
Though she could not assist in healing the halla, Zephora remained close to the forest's edge from that moment on. She camped at the edge of the forest, traveled there, and rested there. Though she knew not where Blysse was, Zephora was determined to act as her protector in some way. To be honest, she missed Blysse... her smile and her carefree laugh, even her halla that caused Dubhradh to act as unruly as he possibly could. Zephora interacted with the group when she needed to, bidding them a good morning or good night, offering them something from her hunts or her pack to use in preparation of meals, and replies of common courtesy, should she be addressed -- though it was unlikely she knew what the others were saying regardless. She did not make a point to attempt conversation, at this point in time she had not the patience to attempt to understand someone and try and figure out how to get someone to understand her.
She observed the small group from atop Dubhradh when they stopped, she stretched as one of the mages dismounted, followed by another. It was nice to be back in her leather with her sword at her side, that she could admit. When it appeared that the group was setting up camp, or at least taking some sort of extended rest, Zephora dismounted. She patted Dubhradh on the haunches, the large steed shuffling off into the shade to rest. The Battlemage scoffed, addressing Dubhradh as an old man before lowering herself to the ground; Dubhradh only grumbled in response. Zephora leveled a gaze at the group from her position, nodding in understanding and approval. As usual, she left herself open to approach, not wishing to seem cold towards the party that had taken her in on such short notice.
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His small groups of guards reached the crossroads that Severia's group would have to come to a good several hours ahead of them. He had sent one of his rogues to scout them for assurance. He stationed the warriors and the qunari just beyond the trees near the crossroads, ready to come running at his whistle. The rogues were drop from the trees, or shoot from them, either way. The apostate mage was to stay behind Orik while he charged on Ironhide. But, he told the that once the trap was sprung, not the attack until he did. Orik had a feeling...He shook his head. It was not time to question his orders. He needed the moneys. And he didn't need his neck stretched in some arl's dungeon.
"All right! Get in yer bleddy places! I do na wan ta see a whit of ya! If I can see ya, they can too." He turned to the large qun'ari standing next to him and his brough softened some as he anger subsided. "Karashok, I will need your strength. If things go badly, you may need to kill in my stead." Karashok merely nodded. There were no words necessary.
When everyone was in place, Orik sat down on Ironhide's back his ashanderei at the ready, in clear view of anyone coming up the road. If he knew Severia, she would assume he had come alone. But...he could not speak for the others of her group.
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Back in Denerim everything had gone from being peaceful to downright chaotic. The sudden assassination against Loghain had come like a chock for everyone and Bruce, of all people, were pulled along with the many nobles and soon found himself in the middle of the streets, not knowing where the rest of the party members were. Through his old apostate instincts brought him to the gates of Denerim where he intercepted the party and joined them. That was when hell had broke out.
Bruce and Blodwyn had found themselves arguing a lot more than what was usual and many of the arguments were still frustrating Bruce, haunting his mind and his sanity within his darkest dreams. Valenās brought much joy to Bruce however Blysseās transformation to the abomination shocked Bruceās sanity and his sense of security.
Bruce sat down on the ground and took a while to stare into space, thinking over the past and then he glanced over at his bag and gave himself a small smirk. During his so-called escape from the ball he had managed to snatch a bottle of lovely Rose Wine, one of the higher valued wine brands that existed within Ferelden, and wellā¦This occasion sort of deserved to be celebrated privately.
Bruce then fetched the bottle, opened it and then looked around himself, the majority of the members seemed to be busy with one thing or the other so Bruce thought that no one would mind if he went a bit off from the group and enjoyed himself. Sitting a few paces off from the center of all the action, Bruce uncorked the bottle and sniffed to it. Heaven, Bruce thought at first, and then he took the first sip of the wine and he tasted a piece of life itself. The wine was wonderful and Bruce guessed that it would be but a portion of what it would be like to taste the 150 year old wine bottle that he had in his bag.
Time seemed toā¦Disappear. The more Bruce drank the more numb his skin became and the less his surroundings mattered. Was it day? Night? Did it matter anymore? Bruce was slowly ending the bottle of wine, shutting out everything save for the lovely taste of wine.
Bruce didnāt realize that his eyes were shut, he simply raised the bottle, drank half a mouthful, waited five minutes and then the next bit went down. The thoughts of Blodwyn, Blysse and Valen were all gone, all that mattered now was the wine. Simple, lovely wine.
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The weight of her silver armor is familiar, welcoming, as she removed the tack from her stallion. Blue Moon burred gently and ambled off a few paces to graze without offense towards the other equines. Severia watches him for a moment while feeling Kujo plod up next to her. His sugar brown eyes blink slowly, not understanding why she has yet to celebrate her victory over Valen. He's certainly pleased that wicked man is gone. Once Jasper approches the stern mabari loses all of his composure and leans heavily against the man's leg, pining for attention by shoving his snout under the pirate's palm. Wrenched out of a distant thought the Grey Warden turns towards Jasper while reaching out a hand to lightly tug one of Kujo's ears. He always needs a reminder to behave around those he fancies so readily. Which is basically the entire population of Ferelden.
"...I am." she hesitantly admits. If only she were as comfortable in battle as she were when speaking about such things. Severia opens her mouth to speak again but Kujo interrupts her. He suddenly stands upright, leaning away from Jasper to glare up ahead at the road. Along his spine and nape fine hairs erect and the mabari begins a steady growl. "Walk with me as I speak?" she invites Jasper, not wanting to stomp out the impending conversation and most certainly not about to dismiss Kujo's warning. She begins to walk up the road and if Jasper so chose to come along she would speak. "The sunlight will be glad to no longer cast itself upon Valen but I feel that it was wrong of me, in a sense. That I enjoyed what I did to him.", at this point she watches ahead, alert, with Kujo darting ahead with his shoulder hunched defensively, "Maker...I didn't even check on Blodwyn before she left." the siblings had been close, anyone knew that. Severia chews on the inside of her cheek. She must sound silly.
Although now she slows to a stop as Kujo begins barking agitatedly at...a rather familiar dwarf. Grand. Perhaps she'll dine on crow. The shield maiden raises her chin to better observe the dwarf ahead. This doesn't feel right at all.
~~~
Cash had ranted to Ryuu that night Blysse turned. He felt much closer to the assassin now, or at least that he had someone to bitch to instead of only bitching at someone. Blysse's secret is no taradiddle. Werewolves are deadly creatures. Especially unguided ones such as his sister without a pack. If they stumble into werewolf territory she'd most likely be ripped apart for being a rogue wolf. His hands form fists in the warg mount of Ryuu's. He had agreed to ride with the man since Dareth was no longer available to him, but did so stubbornly by sitting behind Ryuu. Golden head resting against the other's shoulderblades he dozed off until the party came to a halt.
Cooking sounds like fun, something to distract him. He slipped off of Lenwe without so much as a thank you to warg nor assassin. Scurrying off after Asmara and Antius he stays closer to his fellow elf, avoiding Antius really. Cash was certain if anyone would show ire over Blysse's secret, it would have been a shemlen. So far no one had confronted him rudely but he...has his suspicions. He cast a nervous glance at the nursing Bruce before he pulled out the stored food pack to hand to Asmara. "What's on the menu then?"
~~~
She had watched them leave with dismal dismay after hiding herself. Blysse has been following them but at a vast distance away. That hawk, Valhalla, had found her. It was easy to tell the hawk was Vahalla; she carried a faint trace of Jasper's scent. With no clothes she's been loping along in her wolf form. It feels natural now. The cream colored wolf dips her blackberry nose to the ground, snuffling against it. Behind her somewhere Dareth walks calmly with the hawk perched in his mighty antlers. A faint scar is all that was left of Valen's sword driving through him and he shows no fear of people. This is certain as the halla steadily makes his way towards the established camp. He came out of the foliage and swung his head playfully at the ever irked Dubhradh before observing the rest at the camp with sweet breath jetting from his nostrils.
The she-wolf did not follow her friend, instead slunk around the camp. Hidden by the fading sunlight leaking through branches she licks her charred lips. Someone smells exhausted. Most of the group does but someone more so. She can smell a sweet wine off towards her right. Peeping through a bush she spies Bruce drinking, smartly back-pedalling to avoid being seen by the Templar. Hopefully. Blysse's toes grip the ground as her large paws flex, claws scraping the earth. With a light chuff she flicks her full ear, halved one scabbed over. On the opposite end of the camp she can see Zephora, Dubhradh, and Dareth. She remembers the soothing energy Zephora gave to her after Blysse sought her out from the cellar at the ball. If only she felt she deserved that kindness again.
Tail dipping down to her haunches she turns to plod off, hearing something...big. Bristling and lifting her lips the ghostly wolf pounces vigorously into a clearing with a snarl ripping the sky open. She looks up at the sweating, panting Avvar faintly recalled from the estate. What is he doing here? Did he decide to join their cause or was he forced out? Still her body remains defensive as her eyes burn into the barbarian's forehead.
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Asmara smiled readily as first Antius, then Cash seemed inclined to assist. "Well, I was thinking vegetable stew," she replied to the elf's question, eyes lighting up for a moment as she reaches into a pocket of her robes. "I have these seasoning herbs that I picked before... well, the party. I've been waiting for a chance to use them." She knew Cash to be a good cook, so she handed them to him, so that he might offer his opinion, if he had one.
Turning to Antius, she shook her head a bit, still smiling. "I'm quite sure nobody ever considers the taste of potions," she chided him softly, still glad to have any assistance offered. "But... maybe the skills are similar. If you're comfortable slicing, would you like to start on the carrots? Remember to peel first!" She removed a sack from the pile of supplies she's managed to gather, flitting back and forth between horses and the campfire area on springy soles.
"Any suggestions?" she asked Cash, gesturing to the pile of ingredients. "We have onions, mushrooms, beets, celery, sprouts... and radishes." She scrunched her nose a little at the mention of radishes; she'd never been fond of them. It was mostly the smell, though. "I guess if Arvin is successful, there will be something else to throw in as well..."
Keeping an ear open to hear anything either of them might say, Asmara darts to and fro, picking up things here and there that she might need to prepare the food. She is startled when she nearly backs straight into Tiaryn, only the other woman's grace preventing the collision. Wordlessly, the Crow grasps her wrist, placing a few sprigs of something sweet and pungent into the mage's hand before closing her fingers over them. The startled Asmara can only stutter a thank-you before she is gone again. Hesitantly, Asmara brings the plant to her nose, and her eyes widen in surprise. ...Rosemary? A rarity in the climes of Ferelden, but certainly an ingredient that would not go amiss.
There was more than enough help; hers would be most unnecessary, but she did not leave the center of activity without imparting a silent piece of advice, anyway. How the girl took it would remain to be seen, of course, but she was ultimately not responsible for that.
Tiaryn sought a place further away from the main body of the group, but... perhaps solitude was not today's solution. Not precisely, at least. She considered seeing if that Templar was inclined to share, but quickly dismissed the thought. Unlikely at best, and not something she really wanted to deal with at any rate.
The Chasind woman seemed to have the right idea; perched at the very edge of the woods as she was. Tiaryn contemplated for a moment, honestly considering just climbing a tree and stopping there, but shaking her head minutely, she decided it wouldn't kill her to try and be a little friendlier. Ryuu seemed to fit in really well with this group, which meant that they wouldn't reject her on the basis of occupation alone, and it seemed to have helped him considerably.
She realized she had no idea how to handle this part of the journey. Without any alternative, she chose to simply do this as she did everything: cautiously. Approaching Zephora's encampment, she tried to remember the three or so Chasind words she'd ever read. Language barriers were something of a problem around camp, but she was well-used to nonverbal communication- the Crows had a whole system for it.
"Dia daoibh," she greeted quietly, taking a seat to Zephora's left, at enough of a distance to keep them both comfortable. She said nothing more, instead reaching into her pack and retrieving a parchment tablet and several sticks of charcoal. She was in the middle of a drawing at the moment, an image of the camp as it was usually set up. She thought she might add a few figures of the group members, maybe like the image she saw now of the three of them discussing cooking, and the Templar next to his tent.
She wasn't sure if she should try saying anything else to Zephora, but since the woman had not immediately snarled at her or otherwise displayed anger at her presence, Tiaryn would leave that for her to decide.
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Ryuu now alone in the camp sighed softly, he did not know what to do. He could offer his assistance to cooking, or he could just wander off and do his own thing. He wasn't to sure on this, though the sight of a drunken templar; made him laugh, he walked over hands on his hips as he tilted his head. "Oi Bruce, you know we ain't gonna carry your arse if you pass out," He tried to be playful, showing his friendly side, he didn't know how the male would react to him; seeing as he was probably in denial right now, everyone who drank alcohol had something they wanted off their minds. He knelt down, giving them some space in case the man was a violent drunk; Ryuu wasn't going to take the chance of coming to harm by way of a drunk templar; how embarrassing that would be. He watched the man closely; ready to spring back at any sign of hostility, though to be honest with himself he couldn't keep the smile off his face. This was just interesting; a drunk warrior. He wondered if the male could fight like this; or would he end up running through a tree with his blade. Oh the endless thoughts that entered his mind on what would happen if darkspawns jumped out of the woods right now, would that be enough to scare the templar sober; or would they be watching a man totally humiliate himself in front of darkspawns? Oh the thoughts that entered the elven assassin's head.
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It did not last, though; even as his mistress finished the first part of what was doubtless a larger explanation, Kujo stiffened beneath his fingers and warned them of an impending problem. Well, perhaps problem was not the right word; a confrontation need not be a problem, not to someone of his persuasion. "Walk with me as I speak?" she asked, and he simply nodded, for once choosing to stay his tongue and only listen. It was something he would have had the world believe he had no proclivity for, but he truthfully could have claimed to be a more contemplative man than even he had come to expect sometimes, and that he was willing to accept.
His tread made little noise over the soft turf, and he matched his stride to Sev's, listening with passive thoughtfulness etched over his features, for once uncovered. She described a familiar struggle, one he too knew and understood. He had encountered much the same thing, and still did. It was, he had discovered, all a matter of perspective. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he scarcely noticed, trying to formulate his response in a way that would make just as much sense to her as to him.
He made his living, his very style of combat, from the delicate balance between adrenaline and sadism. Sometimes, he wondered if he had not crossed the line, but then he always managed to bring himself back. A fierce joy, a fighter's rush, that was what enabled him to fight longer, harder, faster than another might. A duelist such as himself thrived on challenge, and the scarcely-tempered euphoria of overcoming it. This made that line even thinner, in all honesty, since identifying where his rush came from was not always the simplest thing to do. He had come to believe that as long as that feeling was limited to the scope of actual combat, it made little practical difference.
Severia wasn't him, though. She still held fast to notions of honor and justice that he had tried long ago to bury within himself, seeing as they were stubbornly difficult to destroy or abandon entirely. They surfaced occasionally, and he willingly considered them now. Of course, his manner was less serious than his thoughts, and he scratched absently at the stubble on his chin before glancing at her askance, self-assured smirk playing on his face as it tended to. "It is not so unusual for the just to take succor in justice, is it?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow.
Sensing that flippant was perhaps not the best tack to take, though, he elaborated a bit in the silence that followed. "It... is not an unfamiliar struggle. I have found that a fight itself, a good match... few things feel quite that exquisite. However, the act of killing itself... that is something that brings me no joy. Understand though that these two things are inextricably linked. A good duel ends in death, this is simply the way of it. So you did not sicken yourself; perhaps this is unnerving. The joy, though... very few people enjoy ending life. For what little it might be worth, I do not believe you are such a soul." He lifted his shoulders in affected nonchalance, and if he might have said more, it was interrupted by the appearance of the dwarf from the party.
"He is not alone," the pirate remarked in a low tone to the lady knight, sharp eyes scanning the trees and ground nearby for any sign of the others he knew were there. Even if he hadn't sensed it outright, he knew too much of the art of pursuit (and the even more subtle art of avoiding pursuit) to know that there was simply no way the man had come by himself. Jasper adjusted his footing, but did not draw his weapon. He was fairly sure he had spotted a couple of archers, but he would not move unless he needed to; such actions would provoke aggression. His instincts kicked in though, and the adrenaline floodgates opened, setting his every nerve abuzz and ready to act at a moment's notice.
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There were strangers in his forest.
Tal'Vashoth was not a territorial individual, but he was a cautious one, and he was intent on discovering why the animals were so unsettled. He was fairly certain there were two separate groups of people moving through his home, and an odd trio of animals also. The oddity of it led him to suspect that there was intervention there as well, and it was this group that he chose to investigate first.
For a form so large, he moved with consideration for the environment, much more quietly than whomever he was following, crashing through the undergrowth as this person was. A human, he had managed to ascertain, following the group of animals. His head, crowned with a sweeping pair of horns, shook from one side to the other, the only indication of his thoughts on the absurdity of it all.
The crashing stopped, the human having evidently reached a clearing of some kind, and the snarl of a wolf replaced it as the most predominant sound to reach his hearing. Tired of guessing, Tal'Vashoth entered the clearing himself, taking in the scene with an appraising violet glare before truning the weight of his gaze to the human man. Not as puny as most of them, but still small compared to himself. "Explain your presence here, human," he requested, though it carried the tone of an order.
There was something... off about that wolf, and he wondered if the human had been hunting it or something. It seemed a reasonable explanation for what was going on, though the beast was as yet uninjured.
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Turning back around to face the camp, Zephora was slightly startled by the appearance of a party member she had yet to really meet. She couldn't recall the woman's name, but remembered that she was quiet and usually kept to herself or stuck around the tall elf that Cash seemed so partial to. She was even more startled when the woman offered her a greeting. The Chasind froze for a moment, but bid the woman a greeting. She sniffled slightly, falling into silence before addressing the woman again, "A bheil thu ga mo thuigsinn?".
She had not encountered another that had spoken her language, not yet. Wouldn't it be marvelous if this woman could? She wouldn't be so isolated from everyone, then; she was certain that the other party members would rather conserve energy than expend it on a woman they must imagine just popped completely out of nowhere. Zephora's head tilted to the side slightly, eyes narrowed in wonder as she awaited a response from the woman.