Ferelden

Arvin wasn't having any of the Templar, Raelnor's, justifications upon him or his fellow elves, and just did not get involved with the conversation so he wouldn't end up in an even more foul mood. His attempt at humor was not appreciated, either. Arvin finished his cider and attempted to curl up and sleep in a movement reminiscent of a feline. It might have looked like an uncomfortable position, but Arvin didn't seem to mind it. The light of the fire kept him from sleep, though not for long. The elven mage had soon drifted off to a hopefully peaceful dream in the fade. Unfortunately, it would not come to pass. Arvin swore he could hear it. Some distant melody, discordant, singing of slaughter and violence. Promising death to all unfortunate enough to be near. Then it was the dream again. The Archdemon, great and terrifying soaring overhead, bringing death and chaos beneath the shadow of his wings. A horde of darkspawn marching. A horde of death that would sweep across the nation, unstoppable.

Arvin's eyes shot open. Despite being almost dry from the fire, he' broken out in a cold sweat during his rest. Something didn't feel right though. As soon as Arvin sat up, he felt something cold in the pit of his stomach. As though the dream hadn't truly gone away. that unsettling feeling tingled in his blood, and Arvin knew then. "Darkspawn." He said to himself, barely a whisper. Then a little louder "Darkspawn." Frantically, he grabbed the closest person to shake them awake. Severia was a Greywarden, she should know too! Crawling over, he slapped at her form "Severia!" he hissed "Darkspawn, I can sense darkspawn nearby.. and something..something else." That feeling. Arvin hadn't experienced anything like it since.. since his harrowing. "They..they've brought demons." Arvin felt as though his breath had been stolen from his lungs. He'd never wanted to face another demon. Not after his harrowing. He moved away from the warrioress and began to shift his form. Seeing Ryuu and Raelnor awake and the others warned, Arvin wouldn't be needing to speak more. Spotted fur began to sprout all along his body, his snout began to elongate somewhat, and he fell upon all fours. After a few moments, a short-tailed lynx stood on the cave floor, emerald eyes similar in color to Arvin's glowing in the darkness, a quiet growl issuing forth from his throat at the danger he sensed. Fur sticking up and agitated and tail whipping from right to left, with the lynx's night vision, Arvin could see movements farther off in the forest.

Asmara knew something was wrong even in her sleep. The spirits that served as her nocturnal companions were restless, and reticent as well, a combination she had never seen before. Occasionally, they would seem to lose track of their words entirely, rather the equivalent of a person constantly looking back over their shoulder frequently.

It only got worse, and the dreamscape of the Fade changed drastically within a short space of time, especially in color, and, oddly enough, scent. Where one she would have stated that the Fade smelled of clean water or occasionally sulfur depending on the location, now it reeked with the metallic tang of blood, enough so that she could almost taste it on her tongue. Something was very, very wrong indeed.

Darkspawn. The presence of the creatures was known to her like a caress against her consciousness, albeit one followed by the sharp sting of embedded talons. So was most wickedness, she thought; velvet-soft one moment, and painful as soon as one was lulled to complacency with it. Asmara's eyes snapped open even as someone's- Antuis's, she realized belatedly- hand contacted her shoulder. Agony ripped through her muscles as she forced herself to spring to her feet, grabbing her staff of silvery, twisting wood as she did. As it always had been, the smooth texture was slightly cool to the touch, evidence that it would assist her in her ice spells.

She would not insult their courage by telling them to leave, but she could not help but want to. The innate instincts of a Warden were alerting her to the fact that they were vastly outnumbered indeed, and she knew she at least probably wouldn't last long. The Darkspawn even had a few casters of their own, and Asmara grimaced, casting an Arcane Shield first over Ser Le-Guy, then Antius, and finally herself. "Please, be careful," she implored of them, though her words were scarcely louder than a whisper, and she had no way to know if she was heard.

Raelnor stood perfectly still, his hardened eyes relentlessly trying to pierce the darkness of the forest to no avail. Curses! He had heard of mage’s having spells that allowed them to see in the dark, and for once, Raelnor wished he had such abilities. Someone cleared their throats behind him but the Templar didn’t tare his gaze away from the treeline. When the person spoke, Realnor recognized him as Ryuu.

"Did something catch your eye Ser Raelnor?"

What should he say? Raelnor was at a loss, so he didn’t reply, simply stood there. After a few moments he shook his helmed head and let out a sigh.

“I guess… it was nothing…”

Despite the words coming out of his mouth he didn’t move or relax the grip on his sword. He stood ridged, his very body expecting combat to erupt at any moment. At that moment one of the others awoke with a start. The one called Arvin, who Raelnor had sensed didn’t care for him very much, had awoken and was hissing something about Darkspawn. Had he said he could sense them? Raelnor didn’t have much time to ponder the subject because at that moment his attention was focused back to the tree line. A creature human but somehow different charged from the darkness with a cruel, blood stained saber raised in attack. It’s face was horrible, skin pulled tightly into a constant sneer with lips drawn back over blacked, filed teeth. Was this a Darkspawn? Raelnor had never seen such a hideous creature before.

Shaking himself out of contemplation Raelnor reacted quickly, shrugging his shield onto his arm and charging forwards to meet the creature. He slammed into it, lowering his shoulder slightly and making sure his shield met it’s chest. The creature fell onto it’s back with a terrible roar of frustration. The sound grated on Raelnor’s ears and made his very soul feel like it was crying out in pain. Quickly, he slashed at the beast with his Templar sword, the steel, folded with lyrium, bit into the creature’s neck and severed it’s head. But it wasn’t over… Looking up, three more of the supposed ‘Darkspawn’ had emerged from the woods, one with a shield and axe, one with a crossbow, and another with a great two-handed claymore. Raelnor needed help and he knew it.

“To arms! To arms! The enemy is here!”

Darkness wasn’t always bad, when it was dreamless nights then darkness was almost something that Bruce would welcome, for throughout the years of a Templar one didn’t just have to kill other humans and elves for a living, but a Templar also had to be ready to confront the beings of the supernatural, such as spirits, ghosts, and even demons. Most Templars had such fierce faith that they simply didn’t are what it was that they were facing, there were the few who would go mad at the sights of such unnatural beings, though they rarely lived to tell the tale, leaving the more hardened Templars to deal with the horrors of the Fade.

Bruce had faces demons before. Demons, abominations, he had even witnessed the consequences of being a blood mage; Bruce knew that horrors magic could conjure into the world, and he had lived to tell the tale. That didn’t mean that it hadn’t taken a toll on him, however, he had become paranoid against mages for these very reasons, and at times his nights were filled with nightmares, where he relived the most mind shredding moments in his life. Standing face to face with a demon of lust, having to watch as fire was everywhere as he and his friends had attempted to fight a rage demon.

Bruce had thus never truly favored mages for their constant threat of allowing such monsters into the real world.

Bruce’s sleep was then disturbed with the sudden panicking cry from Antius. Bruce’s eyes shot wide open at the sentence, and he found himself on his feet quicker than what he had thought possible, momentarily dazing him before he then took a survey of the area around them.
It was dark, pitch dark to be exact, and that was in no favor for the group. With only their campfire, which was slowly dying out, to light the area. Bruce cursed at their situation, he didn’t doubt that the darkspawns had a better night sight than the average human, and he knew that the demons had a significantly better sight than any mortal.

“Maker damn it,” Bruce hissed, then he felt magic surrounding him and it just became a hell lot more difficult for Bruce to do anything. He was a Templar, anti-magic, if he used any of his skills then it would result with Asmara and Antius being rendered useless with their own magic.

With the wind howling around them Bruce didn’t hear Asmara’s whisper and continued to look around, thinking of options that would make is significantly easier for them to face off their foes.

“Here they come!” Bruce warned as the sound of the Darkspawns coming crashing through the forest, straight at them. Bruce stepped forward; being the only experienced soldier amongst the three he took the responsibility of holding off the worst of the monsters.

A Hurlock came through the darkness and right at Bruce. “Andraste, give me strength,” Bruce muttered before his shield was smashed against the creature’s chest, sending it flying to the side. It barely got to hit the ground before Bruce’s sword stabbed it through its ribs, piercing its organs.

Barely seconds passed before another came, followed by a second. Their howls and shrieks piercing the silence, but that didn’t stop Bruce from joining in the contest to have the loudest war cry. The darkspawns were now emerging from the darkness, using their superior numbers in hope to push Bruce back; Bruce shield bashed, hacked, stabbed and kicked whatever Darkspawn that came within reach of his sword. His sword was lightly glowing with a blue aura as he attacked with righteous hits.

“By Anreaste, is there no limit to their numbers?” Bruce called out, though his rhetorical question was answered with arrows flying through the air, straight for him. Bruce was barely saved thanks to the magical shield that he had been protected with from Asmara.

Grosteque was the only way to describe how she felt when Arvin had reverted to his birth form. How...why would anyone be comfortable out of their own body and as some animal at that? Perhaps, one of these days, Arvin will have a hunting accident. She had held idle conversation with the Templar and reassured him it is a common assumption; after all both humans and elves had served as staff at Highever. With some time the lady knight excused herself for sleep after rolling Kujo off of her lap.

Being a Grey Warden has illuminated a new path for her yet it burned away all of the bridges leading towards the norm and comforts of what she once knew. Such as sleep. Since Ostagar Severia has easily gotten four, sometimes five hours of sleep a night. Not consistent in the least as bouts of panic force her to awaken. Sometimes images, engraved in her mind, highlight themselves behind her eyelids with such intensity she must keep her eyes open to will them away. Sleep is a luxury the noble can no longer fully indulge in.

Which is why she damn near punches Arvin in the face when he jostles her from her catnap before her watch shift. "Andraste's holy knickers Arvin, I'm going to turn you inside out and then--" she stops when the amulet still concealed beneath her armor (she never takes it off outside of civilization, there's always a battle to be had anyhow). And then the stuff of nightmares swarmed the space outside of the warm cave. The small scouting party coaxes her to rise swiftly and hurry out into the din of the storm. Alongside her plunders the cumbersome mabari, all shoulders and scruff.

Severia lunges over the decapitated corpse of the Darkspawn Ser Raelnor downed. She finds herself meeting the swings of the dual equipped creature. It criss-crosses its weapons to block a swing from her sword but she only brings up her leg to drive up between its thighs. In the courtyard she was taught to be honorable, surely, and had the grace in the courtrooms to kindly turn from unsavory persons. Against Darkspawn it doesn't really matter. A scream. Someone is hurting.

Kujo has taken a deep slash to his shoulder, rendering his right foreleg lame. The canine yelps as he tries to step on it in vain attempt to get away from the Darkspawn with the claymore. Severia's eyes widen as she slams the bottom of her shield across the kneeling Darkspawn's forehead, knocking it aside. The champion clenches her jaw and charges for the roaring hellion, her most cowing battle cry bellowing from the depths of her lungs. She had bounded a tad too hastily but safety means nothing when her best friend is in danger. Taking a dive and a swing her sword is knocked to the ground.

The mabari barks, snarling as he jumps and bites down, ripping out the Darkspawn's heel. It shrieks as it rounds upon Kujo only to be tackled into a tree by Severia. She hisses something in its ear before biting it off, twisting her head to spit it out as it screeches. An arrow flies past the lady knight from Blysse's bow to lodge itself into the Darkspawn's skull. Severia looks sharply to the west, feeling a myriad of Darkspawn there. Arvin was right. "More Darkspawn eastward!" With a sharp whistle she summons her horse, and after her sword is collected the woman is launching herself off towards the alarmed calls and swarm. Severia ignores a gash in her side that leaks with the wash of the rain. Before her is a small group surrounded by the demons.

Severia first and vanmost places herself between the weakened magick user and a monster. She utters a quaking battle cry to keep its focus on herself. As a champion it is her usual place to draw the enemy upon herself instead of her allies, giving her allies time to rest, attack, or hide. For now the warrioress cannot monitor what the mage will do. They're all weakening. This is too much for them to handle. Most surprise attacks are simply too much for anyone. All she can comprehend at this moment is her sheer hatred for Darkspawn and the fact that the mage needs a distraction until she can cast her voodoo. She leans forth and charges Blue Moon into a small cluster, breaking them up and jabbing her sword into a few as the war seasoned stallion bites, kicking for range.

~~~

Blysse was on watch but...not doing a very good job. She was too busy braiding her bangs. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? Darkspawn of course. Rousing her brother awake she readied her bow, feeling Cash hug the space behind her with his meager dagger and clumsy hands. The ranger swiftly drew two arrows to fire at the crossbow wielding Darkspawn, plunging them into a shoulder to hinder its ability to use that weapon. Her next arrow dove into the eye of a struggling hurlock pinned by the relentless and ruthless lady knight.

The scene stuns her briefly. Never before has this Dalish flower seen such bloodshed. Biting her lip she focuses and calls forth her halla at Severia's warning. She can't let the human go alone! The scout party will be simple to down for the others with less than half left. Dareth bugles and bleats, tossing his ivory head as she leaps upon his back and bounds after Severia's azure equine, arrows shooting through the sheets of now hard rain to slice into the Darkspawn filing before them.

Antius nodded briefly at Asmara as he felt the comforting familiarity of an Arcane Shield cast upon him. He decided to boost the power of his shield as well as that of Asmara's and Bruce's. Hopefully, the Templar would recognize this as beneficial magic. At the moment, however, he was distracted by a trio of darkspawn heading his way, one wielding a two-handed axe, the other a shield and sword, and the last, smallest and fattest one wielding a couple of daggers. Instinctively, the Mage raised his staff forward and cast a Cone of Cold towards them, fighting back a whoop of relief as they froze solid just a foot or two away from him, their momentum carrying them forward, causing them to crash at his feet, splattering him with ice and Darkspawn guts. He grimaced.

"My new robes! You're going to pay for this!" he cried, turning to cast Winter's Grasp on a Darkspawn that was throwing itself at Bruce, freezing it solid and leaving it to shatter against the Templar's shield. Antius grinned at his discovery. Frozen things shattered easily! His relation was short lived, however, as more Darkspawn began to converge upon him. He gulped as he stepped back, casting another Winter's Grasp upon the closest one to him before taking another down with Lightning. He was almost out of mana and he had no time to chug a Lyrium potion. In fact, his Lyrium potions were feet away, safely tucked in his pack. That meant he had only one option left. He drew his sword and frowned.

"I've only done this once before..." he mumbled as he back away. He thrust his sword and staff up and muttered an incantation as the Darkspawn began to strike at his Arcane Shield. When, at last, it broke, Antius felt a surge of energy run down his spine and he gave out a rather panicked cry as he thrust out his sword, beheading the Darkspawn, much to his surprise. Antius shivered as he clutched his sword and staff. He could feel the raw energies of the Fade coursing through him, as though he were a conduit to its power. This was Combat Magic, the first of the spells of an Arcane Warrior.

Before he could marvel at his newfound power, a group of Darkspawn again charged towards him, this time as though directed. Antius grinned and allowed Fade energies within him guide him, parrying blows and even managing to slice off an arm of a hurlock that got too close.

Once the Darkspawn attacked Ryuu whistled to arouse Lenwë and the next thing he knew he watched arrows fly Serveria off on her horse towards the east. He charged himself the Crossbow wielding Darkspawn he ran through with the long sword and through his throat from his dagger. Then hopping onto the back of his wolfish-mount he was off to help Severia. He watched Blysse launch arrows into the oncoming onslaught. His first reaction to the growing horde was that of disgust, though no visible emotion could be seen upon his face even if light had shown upon it, his sword coming down to cleave the head off the nearest monster, well Lenwë clawed and tore through several at time.

Ryuu hopped off the back of Lenwë watching as the beast went on his own to attack the hordes that surrounded him. Ryuu on the other hand began to carve through genlocks with ease, though when it came to the hurlocks he faltered alittle, it was easy to kill of the genlock but coming up to the brute force of the hurlocks he had trouble. He countered the sword of the hurlock with a dagger to it's gut rising the blade up through it's stomach and chest exiting it's shoulder. He was panting heavily his chest rising and falling quite quickly, his eyes locking on to darkspawn archers launching volleys upon another warrior. He put his bladed-weaponry away drawing his bow and letting loose his own volley of arrows piercing several through the shoulders and some luckily through the chest. "We need to find some sort of fortification, we'll not be able to survive this onslaught!" He called out to anyone that could hear him, he ducked just in time to dodge a large battle axe and unleashed two arrows directly into both eyes, thankful for close range. drawing the string back over his shoulder and then drawing both sword and dagger once more he jumped back into the fray. His mount Lenwë returning to his side to help as well

As the lynx turned mage darts out from the cave, Arvin could feel the cat's instincts wanting to turn tail and run. Ever since his harrowing, that Arvin had barely passed, he'd developed a healthy fear of demons. That same feeling of pure terror settled into his stomach, feeling as though he'd taken a Winter's Grasp spell to his abdomen. Arvin wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and retch out the bile that he was tasting in the back of his throat. Perhaps it was just part of the nightmare he'd had. Maybe there weren't any demons and he was only imagining it. He had to stop himself from continuing that though, however, as he'd already charged down one of the darkspawn scouts, who'd raised a crossbow at the blur of movement. The bolt fired, but it was too late, and the darkspawn's aim off as the Lynx barreled into him, ripping and tearing with tooth and claw. The creature flailed frantically to try and get the Lynx off, but Arvin's fangs had found its throat and latched down onto it. Giving a quick jerk, Arvin tore the darkspawn's throat out, spitting bits of gore and black, corrupted blood out.

Just like that, the fight was mostly over, but Arvin could see shapes in the distance, there were more. Thanks to the cat's excellent night vision, the Lynx moved back to where his companions had finished off the rest of the scouts. Letting out a low growl, Arvin did not want to waste mana be reverting to his elven form and telling them. His ears picked up the clash in the woods, and it was likely that the others could hear more darkspawn in the woods. Arvin could feel them, and knew that Severia could as well. The lynx waited for their group to get together, Severia called for her warhorse and charged. Arvin bounded after her, letting out a roar of battle lust before charging in Severia's wake. That was when the scent of the demons made it to his snout. Skidding to a halt, Arvin let out a terrified yowl. No, no no! Keep them away! Instead of completely halting his charge, which in the mud would have still sent him careening into the pack, Arvin skittered off to one side, circling and trying to avoid a strike from something. He didn't care what anymore, the instincts of the cat sent the lynx into a frenzy. The next thing that got near was clawed by several swipes, Arvin just tried to keep the demon away from him.

It pursued, and Arvin gave ground freely. As a shapeshifter, his animal forms were a tad larger than the actual animal he was copying, but the demon still dwarfed the cat. It leaped at him, and tried to bowl the lynx over. That was the point where fear gave way to feral anger. Arvin rolled with the demon, but was pinned beneath. Getting in close might have held off a longsword, but the lynx did not need reach with a blade to kill. Latching on with his front claws and teeth, Arvin's hind legs went to work. In any other situation, it might look comical, like the lynx was trying to run on two legs. His hind legs worked tirelessly, viciously raking and shredding the demon, tearing at its form until nothing was left but a lifeless heap. The lynx shakily began to climb out form beneath the body, and charged again to help out his companions with whatever fights they had, leaping upon the back of an enemy, or swiping and biting at a demon's back.

If she were being completely honest with herself, Asmara would have to admit that it looked bad. even so, she still held out the good-faith optimism that not all was as it seemed. They were, indeed, surrounded by Darkspawn, with no help in sight, and she was quite tired and liable to drop from exhaustion at any moment, but... they weren't dead yet, and that had to count for something.

Still, her heart was pumping frantically in her chest, and she knew when the Darkspawn charged for her that there was no way she stood a chance in her present condition. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she readied a Winter's Grasp spell, the icy magic cooling her fingertips as the mana lingered on the cusp of actuality, then abruptly halted any such process when a warrior came to occupy the space between herself and the creature that would end her, followed swiftly by many more.

She knew not from whence these reinforcements came, but she could sense among them at least three instances of the same taint that she possessed. "Grey Wardens..." she breathed. "There are Grey Wardens that yet live." Her exaltation was of the most temporary sort, though, for her attention was quickly drawn back to the battle itself. Even with the additional numbers, the Darkspawn could not be said to be outmatched; there were simply so many of them. Asmara's lips pressed together in a thin line, and she released the spell at a Hurlock headed for the large cat, who already was on its back, seemingly overpowered by the creature that had attacked it.

The prospects were not good, and the young mage attempted to assess where she might be the most useful. Glancing around, she knew it unlikely that she would survive in a close-quarters confrontation with a Darkspawn; she was simply neither built nor trained for that. Offensive magic was itself a risky prospect; there were many people in a rather small area, and the chances of friendly fire were great, especially the way everyone was moving about.

All right, so I do what I do best, then. She debated the possible use of a single Heal spell versus a Group Heal; as of yet, only a few parties were sporting injuries, and none of those too grave. Perhaps it would be best to wait until such time as they were. It was always a strange thing, waiting for tactical purposes. It was not something that she had thought to do until she learned of such things from the Wardens. Speaking of which... it might be an idea to inform the lady knight of this, though battle hardly presented the right opportunity for such a thing.

Rather than do this, then, Asmara moved to a back-and-center location, form where she could keep an eye on everyone to see how they were doing, and also remain somewhat protected from the Darkspawn. This at least was fairly accepted practice for mages without the means to fight up-close.

“More Darkspawn eastwards!”

After the scouts were killed Raelnor quickly lost track of what was happening. There was chaos, and the one called Avrin had shape shifted into a Lynx. The Templar wondered why he hadn’t mentioned being a mage before… was it that he was an apostate? Perhaps. He would save judgment, and stay his blade, till he could get a strait answer from the man. There was a flurry of motion as members from the group ran off like insane barbarians, not bothering to go as a group.

Raelnor jogged after the them, taking extra time in the darkness of the forest to make sure he didn’t trip over anything. Soon he saw a campfire a dozen yard off and the sounds of battle echoed from the area He assumed that’s where the others had run off to. Unconsciously he tightened the grip on his sword and shield, preparing himself physically and mentally for another battle.

Emerging from the forest he saw members from his group and strangers, all battling against a horde of oncoming Darkspawn. Ser Sev had placed herself between a rampaging Darkspawn and a man in robes who Raelnor sensed was a mage. The Lynx, Avrin, was busy clawing the innards out of a demon. Which soon fell into a crumpled pile and in the next moment the Lynx was off like a shot to find more Darkspawn to kill. The Templar allowed himself a moment to be impressed; very few people could kill such a creature in such a short time. Raelnor’s eyes were drawn to a mage and his incantation of Combat Magic, a spell the Templar recognized from an apostate hunt a year before. Ryuu joined the fray, hopping off his black Warg who then promptly charged into the ranks of Darkspawn with its large fangs dripping hot saliva. The elf retrieved his bow and fired a volley into an enemy archer column, felling three of the Darkspawn before shouting over the din of battle,

“We need to find some sort of fortification, we'll not be able to survive this onslaught!”

Raelnor knew this man was right, but what fortifications were there in the middle of the Wilds? The Templar doubted they would find any in time to make a difference. It’s not as though one can simply stumble upon a castle already prepared to defend on oncoming horde of Darkspawn. And right now, that was exactly what they needed.

He was forced to break his contemplative stupor as a Hurlock bounded up to him, a large hammer raised above its ugly head. As it struck downwards, Raelnor bent his legs and side-stepped the strike by inches. Before the Darkspawn could recover and strike again, he drew his sword across it’s belly. There was a squishing sound as the creature’s guts flowed out through the hole before it fell over dead and made no sound again. Two Darkspawn, shorter than the others and each carrying two swords, one in each hand, charged him next. Realnor raised his shield and blocked both strikes from one but only managed to parry one strike from the other. The strike that got through scrapped on his armor but found no perch in flesh, something the Templar was very thankful for. He thrust his sword’s point forwards, spearing one of the Genlock’s through the throat and sending it sprawling on the ground. The other quickly redoubled it’s efforts, throwing out strike after strike, most of which were parried and blocked, but some of which managed to get through and ping off the thick steel armor. It called for aid as it attacked, forcing Raelnor to take a few steps back in retreat. Two Hurlocks dashed over with large swords at the ready and another Genlock tore itself away from battle to come help fell the Templar. Raelnor was hopelessly outnumbered but refused to call for help, knowing the others were in similar situations. Gritting his teeth, he kicked the Genlock in front of him in the chest and as it stumbled backwards bashed the side of his shield into it’s face. The Genlock was sent flying to the ground, where to clutched its face before dying. At that moment, when Raelnor was about to recover and face the two oncoming Hurlocks with their Genlock minion, there was a thump and he felt something slam into his neck so hard that it caused him to stumble backwards. Pain flared in the left side of his neck and he felt heated liquid run down his chest. What happened? Raelnor tried to look down at where the shaft of an arrow protruded out from his armor, but the helmet prevented him from actually seeing the arrow. Filled with adrenaline, Raelnor continued to fight onwards, blocking a heavy strike from one of the Hurlocks before stabbing it through the heart. Despite his not insignificant skill in combat, without help, he was fighting on limited time. Soon the blood loss would be too great and the Darkspawn would overwhelm him.

Fighting with Combat Magic, Antius decided, was unlike anything he ever experienced. His body moved on its own, parrying attacks with his staff and sword while striking back tenfold, smashing a hurlock's face with the end of his staff at one point before gutting it and move on. It was like being controlled by Blood Magic, but not like Blood Magic. If he wanted to, he could redirect his body and choose other movement. He could even cease the spell anytime he wanted, though this was not the best time for it. Nevertheless, despite the Fade energies coursing through his body and the newfound combat experience it granted him at the moment, he was not a warrior nor was he equipped like one, something a hurlock decided to remind him of by slicing into his sword arm. Antius screamed and almost dropped his sword, but he held onto it instinctively and stabbed it through the stomach. Say what you will of elves now, but blades from their ancient civilization were vastly superior to Darkspawn armor.

Antius felt a tingle as a spell stitched his wound up and he looked behind him to see Asmara. He smiled at her before returning to the battle, parrying blows and stabbing with his sword. Thank the Maker for her. Without her healing spells, they'd all surely bleed to death. What caught sight next, however, was not his new apostate acquaintance, but a Templar, a different Templar than Ser Bruce. This one had an arrow protruding from his chest and was about to be overwhelmed by Darkspawn. He glanced to the side, seeing a genlock archer preparing another arrow to hit the Templar. Instinctively, he shot out a bolt of Lightning from his staff at it, receiving a little satisfaction as its smoking body dropped to the ground dead. He felt sweat begin to form on his brow. His mana was reaching an all-time low with all the spells he had been casting. Even his Harrowing wasn't this difficult. Wearily, he thrust his staff in the air and cast a Winter's Grasp on the genlock attacking the Templar before he felt rather than saw a blow dealt to his face. He fell to the ground, even his Combat Magic unable to defend him while he was distracted.

He groaned and looked up at a leering hurlock standing over him, armed with a wicked-looking sword and shield. Faintly, the scholar noted that this one appeared to be bigger than the other hurlocks, more muscular and fouler smelling. He groaned and tried casting a Cone of Cold, but nothing came out of his fingertips or staff save for a little frost. He grimaced and tried lifting up his sword, though he knew it was futile. If someone told him that morning that he'd be killed by a Darkspawn while saving a Templar, he'd have laughed at them. Oh, how he missed those innocent days.

At least the Grey Warden was pretty.

Jasper noted the Darkspawn with a cold knot in the pit of his stomach. He'd already taken one out, on their way towards the cave entrance. He doubted very much that any of the people therein had seen him do it, but he hardly cared about that. Rather, he'd followed the lot of them (disorganized as they were in terms of unit cohesion) to the site of another, far more dangerous, skirmish.

There was a slight tremor in the pirate's limbs as he surveyed the field of battle, but it was far from one of fear. Rather, it would be better to say that the tremulousness was nothing more or less than a feeling of anticipation sweet enough to addict far more iron-willed men than he, and it was a sensation he actively sought. Here at last was something to rid him of the cloud of apathy that ever hung over his soul. Was it dangerous to treat such a thing as though it were not in fact a matter of lives at stake? Certainly. But Jasper knew well exactly how risky it was, and that was the very reason he embraced it.

He'd been told frequently that he had a death wish. His response was always the same: Is it truly a wish to die if I'm always alive at the end? A small smirk twisted the pirate's mouth, and he drew the curved blades from his back noiselessly, approaching the first of his victims while still under the cover of stealth. A swift stab to the back blew his cover, but he hardly minded. Dark blood gushed from the Genlock spellcaster's wounds, but the rogue twisted out of its path, already smoothly slicing into another before the creature realized it was dead. This one was struck in the side with his larger weapon, but the wound was not as clean, nor as complete, and its resulting cry alerted the nearby Darkspawn to his presence.

Thankfully, most of them were presently occupied. He was a bit disappointed to discover that in all honesty, Darkspawn did die about as easily as anything else, but then he supposed that upped the chances of his surviving this stupid risk of his, which he could not interpret to be fully negative. A large Darkspawn (was it Hurlock? He was pretty sure it those ones were Hurlocks) armed with a two-handed axe came charging at him, raising the double-edged weapon to swing crudely at the black-clad man with one uncovered eye. Had anyone been observing the scene, they would have seen it roll skyward. Apparently, the rumor about the intelligence of these things was correct: they fought with less guile than most of the privateers he'd encountered, which was really saying something.

Stepping to the side, he avoided the downward arc of the axe, watching almost disinterestedly as it bit into the ground. Rather than give the Hurlock the opportunity to recover it and take his head off, Jasper struck viper-quick at the exposed (though still armored) back. He found a joint between the metal plates and slipped his shorter blade in, removing it in just enough time to dodge a swing from the much more lightly-armed creature who'd tried to sneak up on him. Unfortunately, his avoidance was incomplete, and he earned a rather nasty gash to his forearm for his trouble.

Hissing through his teeth, Jasper parried the next blow and closed the distance between himself and his opponent, engaging in a rather lovely set of formulations for combat pragmatists, colloquially described as dirty fighting. He preferred to think of it as practicality.

He freed his blades from the resulting corpse in enough time to notice that there was a rather large monster standing over a fallen mage, apparently about to strike. Well now, can't have people dying now, can we? Certainly not when they might be tomorrow's amusing diversion. Right then. He did not generally carry a bow, so his ranged options were limited, which meant his best course of action was to distract the thing long enough to get there.

"Oi, ugly!" he called to the creature, watching with satisfaction as its grotesque head swiveled towards him. Time to move. "Yikes. Now yours is a face only a mother could love..." Did Darkspawn have mothers? He might have read a reference to such a thing, but he really didn't want to think about it. Some things were simply too disgusting to be contemplated, and that was most certainly one of them.

Long, hasty strides had him close enough to engage before the thing could lose interest and turn back to its prey-of-the-moment, and the next minutes would be spent in a flurry of ducks, dodges, parries, and similar acrobatics as the pirate tried to find away through the Darkspawn's defenses.

Blue Moon acts as a flurried wall of muscled limbs to help block the Darkspawn and Demons from coming too closely to the elven mage. Severia is acutely aware that the female behind her is a spell caster but her contempt for magick does little to derail her from the duty of defending others as she had been unable to do weeks prior to all of this. Sadly she is aware she had to leave Kujo and possibly the young Cassius back at camp. Yet the general accumulation of Darkspawn keeps the lady knight here instead of there. The commotion of it all has her enraptured and chomping at the bit to raise the odynmeter among their enemies.

There is little rapport among the group and that much is obvious. And what can they do amidst the heat of ambush, in warring beasties? The most they all realize is they must fight together and not each other. Severia leans forth to slide her sword across a hurlock's jugular, kicking at a shadow coming too closely behind her mount. As a knight she was trained to better familiarize herself atop a horse and this much is clear. Just as in the court she honed her sevidical tongue to defend herself so in battle did she better the use of one's steed or animal companion in general. Highever is...was. Was known for their horses and mabari working alongside their soldiers.

With the Darkspawn downed around her she glances back, checking on the light haired elf woman. There. A moment, a pulse-she too is a Grey Warden. Realization widens the noble's eyes before Blue Moon's distressed bugle has her whipping back up front. A flaming Demon is coming at her. It's immense heat does little to her skin wrapped in armor. And still this demon's blazing energy is nothing short of perfection. It's like having your own outer layer of invisible protection. Severia's quite certain that if she were to touch this demon it would burn her to the bone and then proceed to embalm said bone to ash. Its cry is terrible, daunting, yet she persists to arch her arms and hack at its midsection. From behind it is relentlessly doused with arrows from Blysse before it clusters into a pile of soggy ash.

Severia has felled her first demon and isn't the least interested in finding more. Now with Blysse here to better help watch the dwindling mage the lady knight briefly scans the scene. Through the haze of the rain she can see the others vigorously pounding back the front lines. One is a tad too further off from the others, surrounded it would seem. Knees biting Blue Moon's sides she urges the stallion to barrel for the silhouette, glancing briefly at an unknown man with an eye-patch taunting an Alpha. Concern mars her visage before she dismisses the alarm, figuring he is with the group of the small elven mage.

Ser Raelnor has an arrow jutting out from his neck and still he fights. Times like these she wishes she would accept wearing a helmet. Headgear in general distract and irk the lady knight so she haphazardly neglects to don any. Charging the horse forth she extends her leg to slam the bottom of her armored boot into the standing hurlock's chest. It screams and flails before brandishing a weapon at the woman to which she jumps from her horse to flatten the Darkspawn to the ground, effectively jamming her blade into the crux of its collarbones to slice through the manubrium down into the chest cavity.

~~~

Blysse has no idea how these Grey Wardens do it. Ryuu, Arvin and Severia have already fought off at least three darkspawn attacks previously in the day, before the rain ushered them to make camp and before the night fell. With her halla spearing genlock by its antlers and gouging the passing hurlock she continues to dispel a barrage of arrows. Hard to imagine the initial party is in for a polite bout of xenization. It is not veteratorian that they can all fight and do it well, comfortably even. All save for her baby brother whom she prays will be smart enough to simply hide with the mabari.

The Dalish ranger allows her halla to speed for a pair of genlock as she deftly dismounts. A blazing enemy surmounts upon Ser Sev and Blysse strings several arrows into it to see it fall and succumb to inner darkness. She quickly goes to stand guard of the petit elf, flashing her an encouraging smile despite this grim event. "Emma elgar in ma!" (My spirit with you!) she calls willfully. Facing the pandemonium once more the trained huntress lets her arrows fly into the faces and dire limbs of the Darkspawn and few Demons heaping around the area.

~~~

Their numbers are dwindling, but not to be confused with retreat. From the small uncharted village they have gained the kindle they need for their planned inferno so to speak. The Lust Demon charms her entourage back into the cover of the Veil as a few began to sink back. A small herd still surrounds the pack of Grey Wardens and their unknowing companions, left in the dark.

Raelnor roars in furious anger, fighting for every second of consciousness as blood pours out from his wounded neck. One of the mages shocks a Genlock archer who was about to shoot him and Raelnor makes a mental note to thank the man later, if he lives to do so. He slams into a charging Hurlock, nearly hugging it as he presses his sword clean through it’s chest, feeling the blade scrape across its spinal cord, causing instant death. Darkspawn blood flows freely down his armored hand, some soaking into the glove and causing his skin to burn with intense pain. Don’t get the blood on your skin! He thinks in a haze of exaution.

Ruthlessly cutting done anything that came within reach, the Templar fights against odds quickly going out of his favor. A slash to the throat causes a Genlock to fall to the ground and satisfaction fills him as he watches the creature bleed out on the wet ground. A Hurlock swings a claymore in his direction, Raelnor razing his shield in defense. Due to the weakening from blood loss, the Templar’s shield isn’t a strong enough barrier, and the strike forces it down and hits Raelnor in the shoulder. He hears a thang as the strike contacts the armor and then a popping sound as his shoulder is dislocate from the force of the blow. Crying out in pain, he frantically lashes out with his sword, severing the creatures arm and sending it spiraling to the ground in a bloody mess.

Ser Sav rides in on her hours and kicks a Hurlock square in the chest, sending it sprawling to the ground where she then jumps atop the beast, shoving her blade home for the kill. He is glad to see her and rushes over, impaling a Genlock that was trying to come up from behind her.

“Their numbers are thinning!”

His voice is slurred and messy, but still strong and audible over the clang of metal on metal. Two more Genlock come up from behind the Templar, striking out with swords of twisted steel. Raelnor pivots on his heels, striking the blades away in one smooth motion that was a combination of skill and luck. The two Darkspawn go to renew their attack, but Raelnor is faster and cuts off the sword-hand on one and shoves his sword through the eye socket of the other. The one now handless falls to the ground in pain where Raelnor impales it. There are very few Darkspawn left now, and Raelnor believes he might survive this encounter, though barely. Gazing around he notices a great large Hurlock wearing a horned helmet and wielding one of the largest battle-axes he’d ever seen. It was shouting in some strange language at the other Hurlocks, as though he were commanding it. The Templar looked towards Ser Sev and pointed at the beast.

“It must be their leader! I’ll cover you while you make the killing blow!”

With that said, he charges off, intercepting three Hurlock and opening up a pathway for Severia to charge the Hurlock General and hopefully end the battle.

Ryuu felt his limbs growing heavy. The time they had to rest wasn't as near the amount of time they had to battle as well as travel. Ryuu was worn thin, his body felt heavy. Though he would not allow himself to stop, a genlock found him panting and without warning jumped at the chance to strike, dual daggers flying towards him. Ryuu felt anger surge through his form, the arrogance of this small creature, even a wild animal new when to retreat; and due to it's folly his sword twirled within his left hand and off went the small creatures head.

He then could see the templar Raelnor charging to intercept three hurlocks by himself. He felt alittle bad about him taking all three by himself sliding his blades away and drawing his bow he launched a pinning strike to both shins of one of the hurlocks sticking it straight into the ground. He then charged directly towards the hurlock general launching three arrows meaning to stun the creature; though only one seemed to hit it's mark. the other two countered off the enormous blade of it's ax. He growled in frustration and threw the bow to the side not having time to slow his momentum and string the bow over his back drawing his blades and jumping forward. He clashed with the creature his sword hitting the hilt of the weapon as the dagger locked in with the blade. Ryuu's stomach seem to have a fit of sickness; as if he was about to vomit at any moment. The stench of the creature was almost to much, and Ryuu falter only for a few seconds, though it was enough to give the hurlock a chance to counter pushing Ryuu off and making the tall elf roll backwards panting.

He was weak with fatigue, his arms felt heavy, the swords that were usual so light in his hands and were easily maneuvered with grace; were now like weights that were more of a hindrance then protection. The beast charged him and with the ax swinging down, Ryuu found his chance rolling to the side both weapons stabbing through the armor. Though the attack was well timed, it was no more then a wound to the creature of the taint. Ryuu retracting his blade and moved back several feet to give himself breathing room as the creature recovered. He didn't know if he could continue this battle; though he knew if it came down to it he could finish the creature off; though not without some personal consequences.

The beast recovered, and charged. Ryuu had recovered just enough to rise his blades to protect himself from the swinging ax, the impact made his arms vibrate and he bit his tongue to hold back the natural groan of pain, he was pushed back several feet and in return he pushed back as well the beast seemingly growling under it's helmet and Ryuu returning the growl with one of his own. He could muster the strength to hold this creature at by, though he hopped that someone came to help, or he'd be a very new stain upon that already nasty looking blade very soon.

The rush of death gusts across her face. Severia remains silent now, utterly delved within the goal this entire party shares. Surviving this onslaught of hellions and unspeakable evil. Adrenaline amplified within her veins the courageous lady knight responds in kind to all of this danger. Her heart drums wildly, internal organs ceasing their functions for such functions are not needed in battle and will only slow the body down. Severia's pupils are dilated as her senses attempt to absorb every little detail in hopes of prolonging their owner's life. Taking in visionary aid she glances at Ser Raelnor, barely hearing his words as her Tainted blood boils. Ryuu manages to cast himself towards the General and she eyes him. Her savagery nearly clouded her senses; taking those men as darkspawn.

Exhausted and down trodden, she's using the last of what she can muster from her body to remain upright and focused for this battle. A month ago she was happily in her plush bed. Now her body is subject to the ground or bed mats (notably hogged by Kujo). A month ago she would have never approached someone like Arvin, someone like she a Grey Warden. That was a month before this Taint was ingested into her body. She's survived it and has proven herself to be within Ferelden's first line of defense and offense.

The Grey Warden narrows her dark eyes, highlighted by her tattoo. Darkspawn are such detestable things. She doubts she would loathe them any less were she not a Grey Warden. With her jaw held firm Severia quickly charges in Ryuu's wake. Not only does the rogue need help but their Templar companion will require aid justly. The General is facing away from the lady knight whom carries no honor when it comes to slaying Darkspawn; they do not deserve a warrior's death. She jumps on its back, legs cinched tight to grip the taller creature. One arm wrenches its horned helm sharply to one side as her left arm brings her blade to the sliver of exposed neck, sawing and leaning her body weight to topple over the General and brutally decapitate it. Although it still has fight as it grasps a claw into the mouthing wound of her side, making her cringe and cry out. Just a little longer. A little longer and the General will be downed by the two Grey Wardens then the Darkspawn will be left in despair.

Do they have no ends to their numbers? Bruce thought as he killed yet another darkspawn. Human sized and dwarf sized, they all came at them and Burce had done his best to kill as many as he possibly could, however in the end he had simply given up actually killing them and just taken them as they came to him. Smashing them in the sides of their heads with his shield, stabbing them in their stomachs, kicking them off balance, and the likes.

Bruce wasn’t a soldier who fought in massive battles he fought individuals, mages and apostates and even then he had normally had his back covered by one or more Templars. In this situation there was no time to set a plan, there wasn’t any form of advantage that they had against the darkspawns, it was just Bruce, his allies against the darkspawns. A lost cause, but Bruce would rather see that he dragged as many of those bastards with him and left another large number of them here, rendered useless with wounds they wouldn’t recover anytime soon.

Bruce had received minor wounds. Stabs here and there, an arrow had managed to pierce through the Arcane Shield, pierced through his chainmail armor and through his flesh into his left quadriceps, and a broken nose from a punch of a Hurlock. A sneaky gemlock had then come from the back and jumped onto Bruce’s back, trying to get up to his head so it could slit his throat and end him right there, but Bruce knew that trick and bend forward and with his sword’s pommel, he hit it into the side of the little monster’s head, making it fall forward. The gemlock managed, whether it was out of skills or just pure luck, to pull Bruce’s helmet off as it fell down.

Getting back into the fight, Bruce managed to step back as a sword came flying through the air, scratching the surface of Bruce’s brow. Blood flowed down Bruce’s face, temporarily blinding him against the darkspawns. Certain that he was going to die but desperate enough to continue fight, Bruce continued to swing his sword while shaking his head to get rid of the blood that was blinding him.

The sound of screams and war cries suddenly intensified around him. The energies of more mages, and the voice of different people could be heard. Bruce couldn’t describe how thankful he felt. With renewed courage and determination, Bruce picked up his sword hand, wiped the blood off his eyes and then returned to battle.

He could feel his shield arm was starting to plea for a pause; his wounded leg was starting to feel the toll of an arrow, significantly lowering Bruce’s ability to move freely around in the battleground and making him a ‘first pick’ of the darkspawns that joined it. Though Bruce managed to discourage them from continue fighting with him, and wounding loads of those who challenged him, he wasn’t of the greatest assistance for the other fighters.

Bruce could feel his lungs burn, his heartbeats felt like an internal earthquake as it hammered more and more blood throughout his body. He had to endure; he knew that, he had no choice, not if he wanted to see his friends avenged for Teyrn Loghain’s betrayal.

Bruce didn’t know who the reinforcements were, however they looked to be a mix, warriors, rouges, and more mages, Why must there always be mages? Bruce thought, irritated. He had seen that there was a fellow Templar amongst the reinforcement, which was encouraging for Bruce at least, he wouldn’t have to stand alone against all of these mages, if it turned out that they were a traveling apostate group with rouge mercenaries.

Magic was shot, arrows were being exchanged and Bruce stood his ground. Quite literally, as he couldn’t move much, making him heavily reliant on his shield and his seeming ability to discourage and distribute the darkspawns around in the battle. With time the number of darkspanws thinned, though with that time Bruce had received another arrow in his left foot, several more cuts to his arms and a black eye. His neat armor and clothes were covered in blood from the darkspawns, as well as his own. His thick cloak had been filled with cuts, holes and arrows, making him look like a giant bloodied hedgehog.


Bruce turned his head as there was now no immediate foe before him now. Bruce saw his fellow Templar charging at a group of hurlocks; Bruce decided that it would only be noble to come to his fellow Templar’s aid. The man had an arrow pointing out of him, and most of his armor was covered in both his enemies’ and his own blood.
Bruce was partly jogging, partly limping towards his fellow Templar. Bruce couldn’t create much momentum, so instead of charging right into the darkspawns’ side, he came from behind them, stabbing his sword through the one to Bruce’s left, withdrawing his sword and then parried an attack. Bruce could feel his arm couldn’t endure much more of this fighting.

I’m glad I’m not a Grey Warden. I wouldn’t be able to put up with these monsters, Bruce thought as the darkspawn continued to send attack after attack which Bruce barely managed to parry or block.

Antius, for his part, was rather surprised that instead of dying a horrible, bloody death. Instead, it seemed that new fighter had arrived, a rogue judging from how he moved, and had thoroughly distracted the mage's would-be-killer. Not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, the mage quickly stood up, gripping his staff and sword, pausing for a moment to think about his options. He had only enough mana to recast and maintain his Arcane Shield, which he did. That meant he was going to have to resort to melee fighting, which was fine by him. It looked to him that the Darkspawn's numbers were dwindling, which meant he might be able to survive without casting anymore spells if he was quick enough. The first order of business, of course, was repaying his savior. Thus, with a grim smile, he attacked the giant hurlock from behind, stabbing it in the back through a gap of its armor. He twisted his sword and violently thrust it out, nodding at the rogue in thanks before rejoining the melee, this time taking a spot near Asmara and engaging any enemies that came near the healer. After all, if she died, then the wounded Templar would probably die too.

The Darkspawn were relentless. It was as though they had no true fear of death or pain. Did these creatures actually think? Antius asked himself as he parried a strike from a hurlock with his staff before removing its head, grateful this one didn't wear a helmet. They had to at the very least have rudimentary instincts in order to function and coordinate an attack like this. He had read somewhere that the emissaries, their version of mages, could actually talk, althought that could be hearsay. Still, he thought with a smirk as he again blocked a genlock's stab with his staff and sliced with his sword, it wouldn't be too surprising to find that magic-users were the most intelligent sub-sect of the Darkspawn. He'd have to remember to mention this to Ser Bruce later on, that is, if they both survived.

It was time. Asmara had been dutifully gathering to herself every bit of energy she could muster from her weary self, and was halfway into the Fade already. Luckily, this transition at least came easily to her. She had no way to know it, but the unique nature of her training made the crossing much less problematic for her than others, and so the energy required wasn't enough to prohibit what would follow.

The battle had dragged on, and watching while her allies sustained injuries without doing anything about it was the most difficult thing she was sure she'd ever done. Her instinct was to sling spell after spell, to relieve each of them of the pain they were suffering, but she knew that if she was going to be any real help at all, it could not be so. She'd have to wait.

Asmara reached for the solitary occupied pouch at her belt and extracted a crystalline vial. The blue liquid inside marked it as a lyrium potion, the only one she was presently carrying. The mage knew she'd need it if she were to execute her plan successfully. She noted with gratitude that even when the lady knight moved off, an elven woman and Antius remained, keeping the Darkspawn away, and it was with complete trust that she relinquished all but the most cursory connection to the outside world, and slipped into the Fade.

She was met with a familiar, wizened face. It belonged to the oldest of the Spirits she knew by name, Valencia, Spirit of Charity. The woman smiled at her, and Asmara could only return the gesture, already warmed by the presence of one she had known since childhood. "Please..." she said, and her voice echoed strangely, so she must have spoken aloud in the physical realm as well. "Help me. Help them."

"Of course, child," the benevolent spirit replied in gentle tones, and Asmara returned to her surroundings, this time filled with a spirit's energies. The resulting Group Heal was enough to reach anyone who wasn't a Darkspawn, even the animals, and the power left Asmara's body with the soft sigh of a summer breeze over ferns.

The young mage swooned on her feet, but held steady. She could feel the magic working on her own body as well, easing the soreness and tension in her muscles, and leaving her body itself as new. She still needed to sleep, and her mana was running on the low side again, but physically, she was back to being as fit as she ever was, not that there would be much time for anyone to enjoy it. Still, she knew well that the spell would knit torn flesh, expel blades or arrows and heal the body in their wake, and ease the pain of weariness, and this was all she could do.

He watched Severia charge the monster bringing it down to the ground. He watched as it clawed at her wound and within a second the creatures arm was lopped off. He himself was down to a knee the blood spurted from the lump of an arm that was left on the creature. He could barely keep himself up, his hands couldn't even grip the blades anymore slipping from his hand and falling to the ground beside him. Then unexpectedly the other arm reached for Serveria, and within seconds Ryuu had mustered enough energy to cleave off the hand from it's wrist leaving nothing but a stump, and spinning using his sword to cut off one of the legs. This creature wasn't going to allow it to get away.

He could no longer move his body the fatigue sat in as he kneeled there panting heavily his body heavy as he stared at Severia watching as she sawed through the neck of the general. He continued to pant for air; as if his lungs could not grasp enough of it. His hands found enough strength to grip his blades again though not enough to lift them. He stared down at the howling creature as it's blood began to pool into his mouth causing it to gag and cough. "That's right your already dead, you just don't know it yet. He cursed at the beast as he turned and watched other darkspawn moving about. none seemed to close the gap between them and themselves, leaving himself and Severia to finish the general. Ryuu felt relief in that, because he knew that if they did, he himself would be dead.

The extra-large-and-disgusting Darkspawn kept him occupied for a while, but just as it was starting to get interesting, the mage regained his feet and utilized the magnificent distraction that was Jasper to find himself a chink in the hulking thing's armor.

Oh well, the man thought flippantly, slicing the thing's head off with a powerful swing just to be sure it was dead. It's not like there aren't plenty more where that one came from... he nodded his acknowledgment to the spellslinger with a sword, and set about picking more of the vile beasties off from the edges of the fight, before they could become a nuisance to anyone else.

The odds were sharply against them, and Jasper's adrenaline was pumping hard and fast, enough to send him into that rather unique state of mind he only found when Dueling. His senses sharpened, and it was as though an extra layer of awareness overlaid his normal consciousness. It was a sharpening of everything, and there was nothing else quite like it. Over the course of the battle, he managed to steal a few interesting items from both live mutants and dead ones, including a number of potions, and also some daggers, which he promptly threw so as to embed them in other (still living) Darkspawn bodies.

The rogue accumulated a fair number of lyrium potions, which were next to useless for him, but might serve a purpose for that mage he'd seen. Searching the area with sharp eyes, he spotted him, as well as a slight girl who looked like a caster as well, and shrugged. That could work.

Fighting his way to them was a bit more difficult than he'd expected though, and he was left dealing with several monsters at once; two of the small ones and one larger. Grinning to himself, the duelist launched forward, pivoting to lend his short blade extra leverage as it dug into the flesh of the first Genlock. Without time to do otherwise, he released the long knife and shifted his grip so that his longer sword was gripped in both hands, which guided it straight through the Hurlock. Planting a foot on the thing so as to push it off, he grabbed his knife from the nearby corpse, but not in enough time to throw it at the remaining creature before it stabbed him in the side. Gritting his teeth, Jasper growled and ducked the next incoming swing, beheading the thing and simultaneously causing black spots to dance at the corners of his vision.

The pain, debilitating as it might otherwise have been, soon disappeared, to be replaced by a cooling sensation, and he felt the characteristic tug as his flesh knit back together with the assistance of magic. Well, that's useful. glancing up at the mages, he guessed it must be the tiny one who was responsible based on the body language of those involved. The numbers of Darkspawn had also thinned, so he seized the opportunity to jog over to the group of three that occupied the high ground. Two mages and a young woman with a bow, it looked like.

"Evening, friends," he greeted with a smile, adopting the jovial, if perhaps overly flippant, demeanor he used most often with strangers. Reaching for his belt, he removed his spoils: two lyrium potions and one for health. "I'd thought to offer these before the spell you just managed, but I think now might be suitably appropriate as well." With a flourish, he presented the blue ones to the mages and the red to the archer, owing slightly at the waist in a gesture of deference and courtesy that might have seemed out-of-place here. Should any of them refuse his action, he would simply pocket the corresponding flask, and either way he was back off to stab at demons and Darkspawn within moments of his arrival, with naught but a "by your leave" to herald his departure.

Blood left his body in pints, flowing freely out of his neck. As Raelnor met the three Hurlock to provide an open path of attack against the General, it was with spots in his eyes. His style was sloppy, his blocks half hearted. The three Hurlock wasted no time in striking out at him, one slamming a sword into his unguarded right side, putting a gash in his armor and tearing at the flesh underneath. Another one hit him in the left knee with a hammer, which caused his leg to buckle and put him onto the ground. Raelnor felt none of this, however, as his body was past the point of physical pain and well on its way to death.

Through blurred vision, Raelnor caught sight of another man, another Templar, also badly wounded. The knight skewered one of the attacking Hurlock before cutting down another. The third turned on his new ally and Raelnor didn’t feel the strength to even lift his sword to help his Brother Templar.

Just when he thought death was embracing him, new energies surged through him, magical energies, that restored his damaged body. A new fount of power flowed through his arms and Raelnor got up and raised his sword to attack the last Hurlock. His blade erupted in blue fire, energies crackling around it furiously as the Templar struck the back of the Hurlock’s skull with one mighty Righteous Strike. The enhanced blade tore through flesh, bone and armor with equal ease, cleaving the offending Darkspawn in two and sending it crashing to the ground in a bloody pile of filth and fluids.

Heavy breaths fogged in the cold air as they were forced through the slits of his helmet. He looked to the other Templar and nodded an understanding and thanks, a bond held only between Templar. Taking a moment, he grasped the arrow still jutting out of his neck and yanked it free. Blood squired out of the hole for just a moment before the magical energies coursing through his body repaired the wounds completely. At that moment he looked up and saw Ser Sev and Ryuu tackle the General Darkspawn. He would have rushed off to help them, but despite being healed, his body was exhausted and he fell to his knees in the muddied ground, surrounded by the gallons of blood spilt from the Darkspawn.

“Praise be the Maker…”

He murmured to the sky.

[Fly's intro!]

Severia watches the krioboly of Darkspawn unravel. The heavy rain still splatters the area, mingling with Darkspawn blood and the blood of the heroes present. Still those claws cinch into her exposed wound. Lips pulled back into a snarl she grimaces and whimpers. Her first reaction is to want to draw away from what hurts, but training keeps her literally right on top of her enemy and pushing the edge of her blade further through his neck. The sword halts at the cervical spine in the neck of the General's, making it hack more blood after Ryuu ran it through quite thoroughly. This feels nothing short of perfection. Grey Wardens becoming a unit to bring down their enemy.

Fatigue is cleansed from her muscles. Severia feels her side stitching itself shut. What manner of witchcraft is this?! As Ryuu lobs off the thing's hand she encircles its lower back with her legs as she twists--oh right. There are mages with hocus pocus. Apparently one of them can heal. Well, fortuitous for the group nonetheless. She reins her attention towards the flailing, disabled thing writhing beneath her. Severia shifts her weight a final time, sword trimming between the sisth and seventh cervical vertebra to completely behead the hurlock's General.

The body falls limp out beneath her as one hand elevates the head by its horn. Severia holds it up as far as she can, not putting it over herself for she is covered in enough blood, bellowing a rallying cry. It'll be useful to give the others that final bit of bite into the last stretch of the skirmish. The Darkspawn begin to scatter as vermin often do when facing a large predator. A hurlock runs at Severia and out of pigritude the lady knight spears the horned helm of its leader down its esophagus. She turns to find Kujo running full force into the muddy field, tackling down the stragglers of the waning Darkspawn line.

Apparently he had limped after her trail and was hit by the healing spell. Severia checks on Ryuu quickly, trying to encourage him to stand. "Thank you." the hardened woman offers the elf with sincerity. It is all too clear that everyone is about ready to collapse. Thank the Maker they've all survived. If they don't die from Darkspawn they'll all die from colds. This rain is like nothing she's experienced, not even back at soggy Highever. Severia scans the ground for Ser Raelnor whom she remembered seeing with an arrow protruding from his neck. That could not be comfortable in the least. Although the reassuring flash of the Templar's blade leaves her in some awe. The noble has only experienced warriors and soldiers, not knights of the Chantry. She spies not one but two Templars through the thick of the peppered rain, a lynx pouncing on Darkspawn and darkness. Yet again her attention is diverted to the haggard elf. Had the healing spell not helped him? "Ryuu?" Severia frowns and lightly touches his shoulder, idling only for a moment to check in on her fellow Warden.

~~~

The Dalish archer is tactful with her arrows. She seldom shoots to kill and more oft than not seeks to greatly hinder threats. Joints, tendons and ligaments are required for proper muscle function and body action to take place. Without a majority of those it leaves the quarry weak, a sitting duck. Blysse grimly readies her bow and continues to fire arrow after arrow. Her long hair, plastered now and darkened to a sandy hue, sticks to her shoulders and backside. She shakes her head to keep it out of the way but allows that short time for a genlock archer to spear its own projectile into her hip.

Hissing through her teeth she is avenged by Dareth's spiraled antlers. The halla dodges back into the woods shortly afterwards, a ghostly flash of salvation. Within moments the arrow is suddenly kneaded from her hip. With a startled yowl the Dalish bristles and turns to find nothing but magick at work. With an embarrassed cringe she faces the hobbling Darkspawn. They're weakening from lack of order and the rallying of their leader. Blysse blinks and a very tall man looms before she and the mages.

Blysse has rarely been around the shemlen nor anyone outside of her Clan. As such human tongue is still difficult for her to grasp save for small snippets. Still the man's offer is clear but her pointed ears redden and lower. The elf shakes her head and holds up her hands, palms outward and fingers extended, shaking them just as vigorously. "Nae ma serannas, you need it." she knows enough of the human tongue to sometimes get her point across but is utterly stumped by humans overall. And no Dalish would accept help from a shemlen.

Ser Bruce Le-Guy

For a moment, Bruce thought it was a miracle performed by the Maker in the most desperate hour of their fight, however as reality came back to him, he remembered that large number of mages that were also in the fight. One had to know how to heal, though what impressed Bruce the most was the fact that the mage had chosen to heal everyone instead of him, or her, self.

Although Bruce would have loved to stay and have thought over it a little while longer, time didn’t allow him, the Hurlock was already lifting its weapon to finish Bruce off, but thankfully his Templar Brother reacted to the danger and killed the Hurlock before it even managed to let its attack fall. The two exchanged a look, the look that showed the bond between Templars, one that wasn’t easy to break.

Bruce watched as his fellow Templar fell down on his knees, down on the mud. Not while I am here, Bruce though and then yanked the arrows out of his left leg, like Raelnor’s wound, Bruce’s wounds were quickly healed, leaving faint scars behind. Bruce, with his sword returned to its holder and his shield on his back, he stepped next to his Brother, bend down and took the man’s arm and helped him up; Bruce was shorter than the other Templar, which suited perfectly.

“Lend a hand to a fellow Templar. Never fall before the enemy of the Maker. Stand firm in the face of the demons of the Fade,” Bruce quoted. This was a very traditional saying for the newly appointed Templars as they were given their armor, and rank. Bruce didn’t know if this Templar had heard the same saying (some trainers held other quotes more dear than his), though he was certain that the message was clear. ‘I am here, brother, I’ve got your back.’

---

Lisa Smith

The door was swung open, letting in a strong wind of bone chilling wind into the tavern of Lothering. “Shut the damn door!” the inn owner called to the person at the door. The person shut the door, much to everyone’s pleasure, “Where are the stables?” the person called across the quiet room.

It was night, the majority of the population was asleep, soundly in their bed. The defeat at Ostagar had send hundreds of peasants this way, many were seeking a single night in the tavern before they would make the long journey further into Ferelden, in the hope that they would be safe.
“No need to shout,” the inn owner called back, more quiet in his tone, “Round the inn, there is a roof, some hay, water and a log you can tie it to.” With that said, the person returned to the dreadful weather outside to tie the horse in the stable, and was back, sooner than most people could possibly have hoped for.

The person, or, the woman who wore a large light brown trench coat and pointy hat walked through the room, shaking her coat to get the worst of water off, “No need to tell me, there aren’t any rooms available. I think every Templar told me while I made my way over here, however…I do trust that the chair would be for rent for the night, aye?”
The inn owner was surprised that the woman would rather have a chair than a comfortable bed to sleep in. “Well…I suppose so, one silver and thirty copper for the night, and then I can get you a meal.”
“How can I say no to that?” the woman said and smiled innocently.

Lisa made her way through the room, it as mainly populated by drunks who had lost everything that they had ever held dear. They should know better than spending their money on this. Every penny spend here is one less on the streets, Lisa thought, keeping her face polite.

She got out her pipe, placed some tobacco in it, lit it and began puffing smoke out, skillfully making circles in the air as she patiently waited for her food and drink to come. Lisa was a member of the Chantry, however she wasn’t of Ferelden where the women populated the Chantry and made the Templars enforce their will, no, she was from the Free Marches and that meant that things were run differently, a lot differently. The Chantry in Free Marches had held on to the ancient ways of the Templars and had two factions that enforced its will throughout the land. The Templars took care of the public, maintained the mages. The Inquisition, on the other hand was tasked with more politically sensitive tasks, such as hunting down corruption within the Chantry, taking care of political opposition and, whenever it was deemed necessary, they participated in the hunting of Apostates, serving as reinforcement when the Templars needed some extra swords.

Lisa is such an Inquisitor. With the news of a Blight rising, the fall of Ostagar, the lack of actual actions against the Blight by the Ferelden Chantry was more than enough to make the Chantry of the Free Marches to turn its attention to its former colonizer.

Lisa had been tasked with observing how vast this Blight was, why none had truly opposed it, and while she was at it, she was also to check for corruption within the Ferelden Chantry. The mission was of great risk, not just for the Free Marches’ political standing with Ferelden, but also if Lisa was to die, the information would never reach the Chantry of the Free Marches.

A lot was on stake. Political stability, the life of the innocent, the Chantry, ancient artifacts of the Chantry and pilgrim roads, Hell, when aren’t everything on stake here? Lisa mused as she nodded and smiled warmly to the inn owner as he gave her the food she had paid for.