Dragon Age: The Sixth Blight [IC]

[Bears]

l THE WITCH, HER AGENT, AND THE WARDEN l
The witch was beginning to think that perhaps she had overestimated the Prince in the courtyard. Back then he had been able to use his brain to think critically but the effects of having both a loud mouthed city elf and an unstable lyrium addict allowed in the group was beginning to annoy her. Fergus was still young and relatively untested in the grand scheme of things. Scowling silently to herself in the front Isadora prepared herself to take the reigns if he proved too weak for the task.

The decision to camp or not had brought on the first of what Isadora knew would be a series of conflicts between her and the Prince. But despite her warnings the majority voted to camp the night and she had no intention to begin a rebellion so soon. Instead the witch shot Fergus a glare as she stepped off to the side while he began to make orders. It was at this time the chevalier approached her with an odd glint of severity in his eyes as he addressed for for the first time.

"I know this is their territory, chevalier. I'm afraid my magic does not extend to tracking their movements in detail." She answered with a glib tongue. One ivory eyebrow raised above her amber gaze as she grew curious. Isadora wanted to know what was his intentions behind asking but much to her annoyance Fergus began giving out orders.

He had the warriors of the group and the lyrium addict set up the tents with the women's tents a fair distance from the men's. Each one housed two tenants but the leader left who bunked with whom to them. Fergus had the Dalish keeper as well as the witch herself create a fire big enough for the lot of them. It was then the rogues he had go out in search of food.

---

Night beset them by the time the rogues returned with enough game to feed everyone. Isadora volunteered to bunk with the Famished though she had no intentions of sleeping anywhere near that disgusting creature -- instead the witch would let it have the tent to itself while the she would sleep in one of the nearby trees.

Isadora, who had earlier turned into a bear to hunt fish in a nearby creek as that was what she was craving in particular, dropped her catch on a spot near the fire before taking to her place on the outskirts of the camp. With curious eyes she watched as everyone began to settle down.

Now that there was nothing to distract them would they turn to sharing stories of glory? Or would annoyances begin to take place? Isadora did not know -- though she paid extra attention to the Famished who up until that point had remain solitary.

 

[Kitti]

Despite her initial misgivings about the group in light of the prince's somewhat awkward leadership demeanor and the lively personalities that had gathered to answer his call, nothing of particular note had happened yet. Only a motley assortment who all seemed keen on complaining about the forest. Their disgruntlement had brought the tiniest of smiles to Solavir's lips. It seemed almost recompense for her uncomfortable nights spent in that noisy, cramped, dirty city that so many of them seemed so fond of. It wasn't particularly malicious, though. In fact, she agreed in her head that this forest was particularly dense and its growth was not welcoming, especially to those unfamiliar with navigating such conditions.

Making camp had gone well, in Solavir's opinion, with scant few hitches. She'd been taken up on her offer to gather wood for the fire and set about the task with enthusiasm. She could tell just by feel which branches were green and would make for damp tinder as well as which ones came from which wood, to try and avoid burning something that would smell like wet Mabari. It was not demanding work and she had soon amassed a decent amount, which went in with the witch's to make a lovely large fire.

Isadora had volunteered surprisingly quickly to share a tent with the qunari woman, something that Solavir was a little put out about. Imryll seemed like the most welcoming of the three, no question on that, but Solavir already had a quite satisfactory understanding of elves. Those raised in alienages had, in her experience, some bastardized remnants of Dalish tradition mixed with a heaping amount of shem culture and the mannerisms of slaves. It made her more sad than curious, really. Imryll did not, as far as she could tell, seem like she had been broken by it and that did make her a sight more appealing to speak with but she didn't have horns.

Before Solavir could approach the witch - she knew she had seen the woman turn into a bear earlier - she realized that she had been beaten to the punch by the chevalier. She scrunched her face up and looked him over. His movements were reserved, his body language awkward. She didn't want to intrude on that conversation. Instead, she cast a glance around the group and landed on the dwarf. She'd hardly heard him speak a word since they'd banded together at the castle.

"Don't think I caught your name before."

 

[Artorias]

Ser Ethan Urbain Rose | Chevalier
​

Isadora didn't appear to be any help on where the Dalish where. He asked for their camp location, not where they are currently moving around in the forest and to him it seemed like she avoided a simple answer of yes or no. Perhaps she did know where the Dalish people hid in the forest, or maybe she was telling the truth in only knowing that this was their territory so to speak of. Annoyed with the general outcome of the answer, Ethan turned on his heel and walked away from the witch with nothing else to speak about to her. The specifics would stay with him because he wasn't about to confide his secrets with a Witch of all people in the group to tell. Prince Fergus was handing out orders on what the group should do to contribute to setting up the camp, with the 'warriors's setting up the tents. Sleeping in a tent with someone else wasn't ideal for him. If he had to choose, might as well go with the quiet dwarf who doesn't take up much room unlike the obnoxious male Qunari who would take the tent for himself practically.

"Then I suppose I will bunk with the Dwarf here, who's name is still a mystery." He truly wasn't interested in knowing the dwarf's name. Since he was the only dwarf, then calling out 'dwarf' in a fight or anything that would involve Ethan to call for the dwarf would do well enough.

When the tents were set and the rogues returned with the food and fire was blazing, everything almost seemed peaceful. Ethan's eyes were focused on the fire as his mind was lost in thought. He wasn't on the first watch so he wasn't too concerned with having to keep his eyes out for the group and making sure no one was sneaking up on them. Instead the Dwarf was the one that finally spoke and took the first shift, and mentioned that his eyesight was still fine. Not a reassuring thought actually, seeing as the Dwarf was the one that brought up his own eyesight and no one else had.

He was thinking about the Dalish camp that was somewhere here. How long had they been here? Had they ever moved like most Dalish do, or where they set in their ways of staying in this dense forest. The thoughts of them being there was bringing a wave of unease over his mind which wasn't suppose to be happening. He was trained to be calm in every situation, and never have shaken nerves but he couldn't help it at the moment.

If they missed the Dalish by the time they were getting ready to leave the Forest. He would leave the group for a bit to look through the Forest awhile longer until his questions were answered and his mind was put back to ease. ​

 

[Aero Blue]

Vamaro | the Silent Dwarf.
​

Vamaro would have preferred to conserve his energies, instead of being immediately sent for a hunt. Granted, he felt no resentment towards Fergus for ignoring his tired and aged legs; he was a member of this expedition – elderly or otherwise- and was rightfully expected to pull his weight. The dwarf preferred daggers over the crossbow, doubtlessly because he was rather hopeless at long range.

Bodily heaving himself onto an unsuspected deer had been even more uncomfortable than expected, although it was a worthy contribution to their meal. It also, unfortunately, added to the medley of aches and bruises Vamaro had collected in what was little over a week. Carrying the game, however, was the worst part by far. His old frame was used to carrying daggers, not bundles of meat. Oh, the humanity.

The dwarf was not at all adverse to sharing a tent with Ethan – lack of space, as it happened, was typically not a concern for his ilk. The Chevalier had seen fit to address his apparent namelessness, which was just as well. The Orlesian had still not seen fit to ask, and Vamaro would not trouble himself thusly. Besides, his body still ached from the deer, which was a fine excuse for not speaking, yes?

Free of his deerly held burden, Vamaro contented himself by scanning through the group, taking their measure once more. In turn, it seemed as if the quieter of the two elves had been taking his. He sincerely hoped the young one would not attempt to engage in conversat-

Of course.

"Vamaro."

His response to Solavir's inquiry had been curt. Overly so, as even Vamaro – years, decades removed from civilization though he was – could realize. He scrambled to rectify his social misstep.

"Vamaro d'Evaliste, I hail from Antiva. Very pleased to be your acquaintance and traveling partner, Solavir."

The dwarf realized that this was perhaps even worse, as he had affected the accent and inflection of a jolly traveling dwarf merchant, a drastic change from the glum, solemn diminutive assassin. This drastic shift could likely be construed as some form of mockery, or scathing condescension.

And so he forced himself into a coughing fit, as if that would absolve him.

---

The Famished | The Madwomen​

"I object, golden one. I will not share my sleeping space with one such as… this. Untamed energies, unmuzzled. I will find respite in the mud, if I must."

Hunting had been a pleasant distraction from her more urgent hungers, although sticking hares with crossbow bolts was far less visceral to her than it would be to the novice hunter. She was – as ever – on edge. The elf and the Vashoth spoke too much, and the rest of them simply grated upon her eyes. Troublesome. And it seemed as if they were always watching her.

"Golden one," The Qunari addressed Fergus, as if a hound barking after its beleaguered master, "I require it. I grow famished beneath the tiresome eyes of you all."

 

[InkaDinkaDoo]

Asaara made quick work of the tents, having gained much experience in the revered art of 'tent setting' during the past few weeks. He was more than a little proud of his handiwork as what had once been clumsy progress, was now second nature. Beaming at his work, he kicked his feet up while others decided who they would share their tent with.

He didn't feel particularly slighted when the Orlesian passed him up for the Dwarf. In all honesty that was Asaara's pick too; although he did get a little cuddly in his sleep. Images of the old Dwarf snuggled under his chin. The image made him smile, which then evolved into a vain attempt to conceal his laughter, and then a tearful choking fit as he tried to regain his breath. Coming down from his spontaneous bout of laughter, he was hit with a realization. Would he be sharing a tent with the prince? Already his palms began to sweat. What if he stunk up the entire tent? What if he snored? What if he talked in his sleep? Asaara let out a small groan. He'd have to find a way to convince the Orlesian to switch with him at their next stop.

When Vamaro returned with an entire deer, Asaara could feel his mouth beginning to salivate. He also watched the Dwarf with no small deal of respect as he hefted the deer on his own. Asaara remained seated by his spot near the fire, unsure of whether to help or encourage him. He chose neither, not wanting to disrespect him or appear patronizing in anyway. When the food was prepared he would take his portion happily, taking up a seat by the fire as he hummed a simple tune. Mouth focused on eating, he would busy himself studying the interactions in the group, as well as listen in on Solavir's conversation; picking up on the Dwarf's name in the process.

Asaara soon found himself fidgeting restlessly. He was excited to get to the action. Glancing longingly at his greatsword leaned against his tent. "Don't worry baby. Soon.", he would whisper to it. His voice barely audible near the warm crackle of the flames.

 

[Kitti]

If Vamaro's curtness offended Solavir or really curbed her interest in any way, her expression didn't show it for even a fraction of a second. The continuation, in a far more jovial tone, piqued her interest rather than cause her any offense either. Aside from instances where she found her worth questioned, Solavir was surprisingly difficult to rile up, in fact. Everything was interesting. Every word, offhand comment, careless action, facial tweak... they were all information. She soaked it in, watching him. She knew that most of the group would prefer to keep to their own affairs, several had made that abundantly clear, but they were rather stuck with her. She would have to fight alongside them and she wanted to know their measure first.

"Antiva? I hear that the flowers bloom the whole year long on wine-soaked beaches. Or the bard said something to that effect."

She smiled, hoping that he would take the proffered prompt to talk more about the country. It seemed most were willing to offer something to rebut, particularly if you presented the most luxuriously naive interpretation of something. She wanted to know more about the country and could only hope that he would oblige. If not, well, she would have to ask more questions. Belatedly, however, she realized that she had forgotten to return part of the pleasantry. She was many things but rarely intentionally rude.

"It will doubtless be a pleasure to be in such company, Vamaro. I have had scant few opportunities to learn about Antiva but it seems a place with enough mysteries to fill a bard's repertoire thrice over."

She was aware of Asaara nearby but he didn't make a move to approach them. Perhaps later she could seek him out to ask... but no. Looking for the qunari later in the evening to ask about his horns might be a bit daring, even for her. She was curious, not oblivious. Propriety would continue to frustrate her.

 

[Bears]

l THE WITCH, HER AGENT AND THE WARDEN l Introducing: @AceSorcerer & @Tyrannosaurus Rekt

Fergus crouched at his place around the fire, a golden clad arm propped atop of his knee. He didn't speak much as a few members of the expedition had. In truth, the hike into the forests had done their part in draining his energy. It wasn't what he was accustomed to and the Prince regretted doing it in full armor. Still, he smiled as he saw the others attempt conversation.

But then she spoke and immediately the corners of his lips drooped. His eyebrows narrowed as the Qunari demanded her fix. Fergus glanced at his personal pack where he had stored the lyrium given to him before turning back to her and offering a stern shake of his head.

"It's been only one noon...er..." Fergus paused as he realized he did not know what the Qunari wanted to go by. A moment later he figured it didn't matter much and his tone remained commanding."You'll get a vial tomorrow morning and every other day following that. Understand?"


A sultry laugh came from Isadora, who had joined them closer by the fire during the short exchange. Her lips curved into a lopsided smile as she let her eyes roll, the Witch gestured over to the Famished with a finger. "Do you really think that thing is capable of patience?"

But the sudden sound of pain ridden elvish in the distance stopped the conversation in its tracks. The Prince got up to his feet and looked off into the distance concernedly. Soon enough the shouts became louder and more distinct, to the point where no one in the camp was able to ignore it. The words were foreign to the Prince but judging from Solavir's reaction, whatever was being said did not bode well. Isadora turned to the group, her unnervingly sly smile still held by her lips.

"A raid." Isadora explained with a lackadaisical tone before she turned on her heels and stepped away from the fire. "It seems the darkspawn has found the Dalish before we have." Fergus glared at the Witch for a moment, clearly not amused by her lack of seriousness, but then drew his blade before holding it strongly in both hands. He turned back to the rest of the Expedition.

"It seems this will be the first of many battles against those blighted creatures, let's make a good impression, shall we?" He told them with a confident tone that hid the nervousness rising in his stomach. The Prince had fought their blasted kind before but each and every time he began, and ended, the battle with an uneasy feeling.

He motioned over to where the commotion was coming from and soon enough the Expedition was maneuvering through mangled roots and thick vines once more. A while later the group found themselves once more in a large clearing. A small regiment of Dalish archers were locked in fierce combat against Hurlocks in the center. It was also there where a small and recently bloodied campsite stood and where most of the Dalish laid already slain. This wasn't where the entirety of the clan had been staying, but it was where their scouts had been ambushed.

Two figures in the fray stood out in particular. Both wielded magic capably and comfortably though their techniques differed heavily. Isadora's face grew surprisingly grim when she realized who they were and without a single warning to the rest of the group she transformed once more into a large bear and charged into the field head first.

With no time to be bewildered by the Witch's sudden change of behavior, Fergus charged forward as well knowing that they had little choice but to join the fray. The number of darkspawn that filled the field vastly outnumbered the Dalish scouts, even with the Expedition's numbers here to aid them. With a mighty swing, Fergus beheaded the very first hurlock that ran at him.

"KILL THEM ALL!" The prince commanded to the rest of them as his steel met more rotten flesh.
​

 

[Aero Blue]

It dawned on Vamaro that the word 'Antiva' would only conjure up memories of hearsay and tall tales from those who had never set foot upon the land. It was almost a shame, Vamaro reasoned, to have ones first taste of a nation or city be the song of a bard. They were ever so capable of bloating the truth like a drowned man's corpse, of stretching the mundane into the fantastical. And, of course, planting the seeds of disappointment and underwhelming discovery.

Although he wondered if even he could be relied upon to provide an accurate depiction; it had been decades since he had touched upon Antivan soil.

"Hrm, yes. Antiva does have well enough climate for the flowers to bloom year-long. As for wine-soaked beaches," Vamaro could not help but offer a chuckle – he almost envied a bard's capacity for embellishment. He continued, his intonation and accent less the typical dwarf of the Stones and more a Dalish merchant of sunny Antiva. "It's not near so poetic, although the vineyards are quite beautiful. The hordes of merchants peddling their vintages are… loud, shall we say, which either kills the wonder, or adds to it. Perhaps both, depending on time of day and the state of your migraine."

Vamaro wondered what Solavir would think of Antiva, if she knew of the city's mysteries as he did, the shadow cast by the Crows. Perhaps she would be as of the wandering child that heard of the spirit in the forest, and yearned to learn ever more. Curious beings were strange in that way, inquisitive against logical nature.

The screams of Elves interrupted his burgeoning Antivan lecture, causing him to abruptly turn away from Solavir and head to his tent.

He re-emerged with a vial of cobalt blue, and two daggers upon his waist.

---

The Famished lacerated Prince and Witch alike with a glare that burdened upon murderous. Doubtlessly she would have entered a verbal rampage, lambasting the two of them for imagined slights. The screams in the distance, however, would draw even her attention.

"If this is a fight, golden one, I expect my fill tonight. For a job done well."

There was a horror to the sight that the expedition were met with. To most, it would have likely been either the death, or the monstrosity of the Darkspawn that informed this horror. To the Famished, it was the mess of it all, the roars, and the screams. Loud, reverberating.

This could not stand. The Famished would have to drown all this out with a roar of her own.

She reached into her pack as she spotted the dwarf, enraptured in some sort of bluish tinge, descending down the flank at a greater pace than he had any right to. A shaft emerged from the pack, a sphere of obsidian at its tip, and found itself mounted upon the Qunari's crossbow.

The Famished glanced at the dwarf once more, observing as he scurried his way towards an assembly of Hurlocks.

She fired.

The shaft's trajectory was flat, as expected given the hefty 'arrow-tip', but the Famished had adjusted accordingly. The obsidian sphere impacted the ground in between a group of Hurlocks, and splintered, immersing the Darkspawn in a maelstrom of steel.

As if on cue, Vamaro took advantage of this chaos, his form – tinged almost to the point of spectral – leaping into the mass.

 

[AceSorcerer]

[fieldbox=Arrahel the White, grey, solid, 8, book antiqua]
"Wake up, Arrahel. The Grey Wardens are needed all over Thedas, and your duty is only just beginning to reveal itself…"

It was to that voice that the elf known as Arrahel the White awoke, having slept for more than three years amidst the chaos of the rising Blight. The elf felt as if all of the life in his surroundings beckoned him to consciousness, their collective will amplified through the matronly voice that had resounded throughout his mind. But that mattered not immediately, as the Dalish healers ran forward to tend to the Grey Warden, ensuring he had suffered no permanent injury during his sleep.

It was during the days that followed that the Dalish clan informed the Grey Warden about everything that occurred in the past three years, including the loss of public faith in Orlais and of some of the northern countries. Furthermore, when Arrahel asked if any of the Dalish clans they had come into contact with had sighted any other Grey Wardens. Due to the extent of the information that the Dalish could provide, Arrahel learned that the previous Warden-Commander had been found dead near Redcliffe.

It was with this news that the elf had to rise and take upon himself the duty and rank of Warden-Commander of Ferelden. The burden felt like great millstones had fallen onto his shoulders from miles above, but he could not forsake it. To forsake this duty when he was the last Grey Warden he knew of would be to condemn Thedas to the darkness of the Blight, a place from which the continent may never rise again. His duty, at least, was clear; to unify the people of Thedas against the Sixth Blight and begin to rebuild the Grey Wardens.

It was a daunting prospect, to say it in the most minimal terms, but it had to be accomplished.

The first step, Arrahel would determine, would be to call upon the obligations written down in the treaties signed with the Grey Wardens. And with the expedition to Weisshaupt the Dalish had informed him of, Arrahel wouldn't have a better opportunity. Somehow he needed to catch up with them before they reached Guerin, which according to hearsay was their initial destination. Hopefully he could convince the Dalish to uphold the ancient treaties before he needed depart for the port city.

It would be soon that the healers allowed the Grey Warden to exit the healing tent after a few days, wherein the elf donned his garb and armor. His garb consisted of a white, long-sleeved tunic- under which he wore his Warden's Oath pendant- and grey traveler's pants and matching socks. His gloves were made of inscribed leather, and his vambraces were of a central layer of red steel that was covered with twin layers of inscribed leather. His cuirass encompassed the pauldrons, chestpiece, and a short tasset that also acted as a codpiece. Arrahel's legwear, however, was simple and only consisted of red steel poleyns (knee-guards) and grey, roughspun adventuring boots that were equipped with red steel greaves.

However, Arrahel's most valuable garment was his cloak. A parting gift from his parents before he left the Circle to join the Grey Wardens, the white, hooded cloak was woven and enchanted to mimic a dragon's scales in the aspects that it could resist and protect the wearer from elemental magics, softening the blow and preventing the destruction of the cloak though not negating attacks completely and scarcely dirtying as a side-effect (this was much to the mother's approval). On the back, the Grey Warden had modified the cloak (after taking upon himself the ways of the Arcane Warrior and learning how to weave the enchantment) to have three holsters. The topmost was for his sword and its scabbard, the middle holster was for his staff, and the bottom most holder supported the weight of his metal targe, upon which was the heraldry of the Grey Wardens.

Aside from these garments, the elf wore two satchels beneath his cloak. One carried lyrium, ingredients for potions and poultices, the instruments necessary for the aforementioned, and bandages while other carried copies of the Grey Wardens' treaties, his personal accounts, items for correspondence (including sealing wax, the seal to which was a ring he wore on his right ring finger), what little correspondence he received from other Grey Wardens, and the equipment necessary to perform the Joining, save for vials of darkspawn blood.

He did have one more bag, a single-strap rucksack in which he kept clothing and personal effects, along with preserved food and drink. It was well used, but the fabric and rope held taut and firm even after the elf's years-long slumber. With his bags packed equipment holstered, the Grey Warden pulled out his staff- which was carved predominantly from dark sylvanwood- and used it to ensure his legs were fully awake as he walked through the camp and speak to the healer, leaving his mage's satchel and rucksack in his tent as he made his way to the Keeper.

The clan's Keeper, an elderly elf named Thelralan, had the same angular racial features as Arrahel. But while Arrahel's hair was white naturally, Thelralan's hair was white due to age. But soon enough, the Grey Warden's steel-blue eyes met the Keeper's green ones, the former turning to speak on serious business with the latter. The Keeper, resting on his silverite staff, greeted the Warden-Commander as they stood under the shade of the aravel he shared with his family. The voice of the Keeper was a hardened, gruff bass while the Warden-Commander's was a lower, more serious baritone.

"Aneth ara, Arrahel."

"Aneth ara,Thelralan. I'm glad to see you're still living after my slumber, falon."

"Mas serannas, falon. Likewise, it is good to see that we did not lose you to the Fade. Did you dream any while you were in your sleep?"

"Sometimes, sometimes. At times I was conscious of the living world, observing the affairs around me, and other times I was pulled in and out of the Fade, speaking with the spirits I passed as I had control over my limbs, despite it only being in dreams."

"I understand, mithradan. But from what I understand, you Grey Wardens have different dreams than the rest of us, that it is your dreams that affirm whether or not Thedas is truly subject to a Blight."

"Unfortunately, that is true, falon. My dreams while in that state have shown me that we are, indeed, subject to the Sixth Blight. Therefore, it is with some sadness that I must ask you to uphold your end of the ancient treaties and begin to prepare, likewise informing the other Dalish clans as to the fact they are to be called upon."

"Mithradan, we cannot yet fulfill our end of the treaty. The People are scattered all across Thedas. We need time to rally the clans- and when that is done, the People will be with the Wardens again."

Then, spotting an unusual figure, the Grey Warden spoke once more.

"Falon, who is that human?"

"That is a Tevinter who found us about a month ago- searching for you. She claims someone sent her, though she hasn't said who. We've kept her under a close watch to ensure she isn't some Tevinter magister here to sabotage our clan or harm you during your slumber. I imagine she will be rather... excited to see that you've awakened."

It would be then that one of the Dalish hunters who guarded the entrance to the camp, the young hunter speaking slightly worriedly to the Keeper.

"Keeper, news from the front watch! There is a group here, but a horde has emerged but is going to assault them!"

"Call the hunters! We fight the Blight on this day!"

Arrahel then cast the magic of the Arcane Warriors, drawing his sword and his shield as he immediately led the elvish charge into the group of darkspawn. With the superhuman strength he derived from the taint and the powerful lightning magic at his disposal, the Grey Warden took his duty upon him as he cut through the horde in search of the leading alpha. For when the horde's alpha was killed, the darkspawn would retreat back to whence they came until a new alpha was bred to lead them by their broodmother. It took many minutes, but soon enough Arrahel found his enemy and smote it where it stood, the hurlock's head falling upon the ground as the other darkspawn refused to shamble away as the Dalish archers and mages began to pick offf the stragglers that approached the Dalish camp, the darkspawn defying the norm as their assault continued, the Grey Warden standing in the middle of the battle as he whittled the darkspawn down in large numbers.

[/fieldbox]

 

[InkaDinkaDoo]

Asaara felt himself drifting off. The warmth of the fire combined with the light conversation of those in the camp made his eyelids grow heavy. Slowly but surely they began to droop, Asaara fought back the encroaching sensation of sleep as best he could but ultimately he was failing. Just as his eyes closed, they instantly shot back open at the sound of screaming. He was up in moments, sprinting towards his tent and snatching up his greatsword. With practiced ease he would sling the blade over his shoulder, before taking off into the forest with the Expedition.

"Finally some fun!"

First following behind the group, before overtaking them and leading the charge. The atmosphere was grim, despite that a Cheshire grin adorned Asaara's features, the prospect of battle making his heart beat that much faster. Roots and vines seeked to impede his progress, but they did little as he charged through them all with reckless abandon. Soon the forest fell away and Asaara found himself in the middle of a large clearing; bodies already littering the field.

His gaze drifted first to the Darkspawn, then the bodies of the Dalish elves. Asaara needed no orders, already rushing into the fray. His sword flashed through the air, he cleaved into the first Hurlock, his blade wedging itself between meat and metal. Warm black ichor splattered his chest and jawline, painting Asaara in the creatures life essence. The Darkspawn wretch died on impact. With a grunt, he'd keep hold of his sword with right hand, backhanding the Darkspawn with his left, knocking the corpse to the floor and dislodging his blade simultaneously.

"SO UGLY -- BUT YOU DIE ALL THE SAME!"

With that, Asaara would throw himself into the horde. A devastating Qunari whirlwind of steel, muscle, and sex appeal.

 

[Kitti]

It was a sword through the heart to see Solavir's own cut down. Her hand had felled human bandits and what might have been a dwarf but it was different to see vallaslin unrecognizable through smeared blood and hear the frightened cries in the tongue of her people. Common tongue did not grip her chest in anguish in the same way, the words that danced in her mind like music should not sound like this. Her features had contorted, first in pain with her eager smiling falling away. Now her expression made her features seem sharper, unforgiving and dangerous.

"Na din'an sahlin!"

The smooth staff of braided dark wood that was normally kept pressed against her back was in her hand in an instant. She kept paces behind Asaara with no desire to be hit by either his blade or the darkspawn. She had seen Vamaro, surprisingly spry for what one might expect seeing him, throw himself into the fray. The other qunari had held back as Solavir was trying to do, though Solavir had never wanted so much to have a blade in hand to end the darkspawn herself. Her thoughts were so focused on the battle, on saving the Dalish that remained, that she almost overlooked the white-haired man and the woman at his side. Under any other circumstances, they would have drawn her attention like a beacon and they still managed to give her a moment's pause.

The fade danced around them, turning around their bodies and mirroring their whims. Mages. She didn't reflect on it overlong, though the prospect intrigued her almost as much as the qunari man. One did not frequently find non Dalish mages just wandering in the forest with a Dalish scouting party, after all.

Gesturing with her staff, a breath of icy wind gripped a gaggle of darkspawn, rooting them in place within hitting distance of Asaara as she flashed them an almost feral grin. If she couldn't extinguish their miserable existences herself, she would be happy to lay them at the feet of a blade that could. A few follow-up streaks of magic would lay low those trying to run away and regroup as well and they were her next target.

 

[Tyrannosaurus Rekt]

The darkspawn rammed against the Dalish in waves of decay and terror. Their blades and arrows overpowered the elves. Not to make less of the elves' struggle. They did put up a strong fight. Yet, they inched closer and closer to Caecia with every moment. She questioned why she was here.

It all started with the Black City. She wasn't one to discuss it, but it haunted her mindscape. So, she poured all of interest into the Blight and the signs leading up to it. It was no surprise that she found them quicker than most. Yet, her words fell on deaf ears, until she received a message from Isadora. A witch, and yet she reiterated all the things that Caecia had been saying since the beginning. She found fellowship in the other woman. Their messages rose from folly into importance.

Now she'd went from silly-ole-Magister to being fully submerged in the wilderness. She'd discovered all about the heat. The murkiness. The mud. The uncomfortable bedding. The bears. And the insects. Why would the elves want to live here? Eh. They were elves. Maybe, they didn't understand what buildings were. Yet, Caecia had come here voluntarily. Upon learning about one of the last Grey Wardens being imbedded here, her journey was unstoppable. She'd helped in rising him from his sleep, in helping in the few days after that. Sure, he enjoyed the company of the Dalish more, but she was always there to tend to him when he needed it. While he was a Grey Warden, he was also an elf. Apparently, their engrained prejudices kept them from fully communicating. So, it was not surprising that he looked at her with a stranger's gaze when he laid eyes on her. Caecia would have said something had the darkspawn not taken that moment to attack.

She spewed ice walls all around her, forming a barrier between the darkspawn and her and a Dalish elf. He was coughing blood, clutching the wound on his side. Caecia placed her hands upon the slippery gash.

"Tell me, Dalish, why do you fear a wolf when bears are far more terrifying?" she asked.
The elf glared at her.
"I mean, is it so hard to make roofs? To worship things that aren't carnivorous? To not paint your face in a cultish manner? To not speak a garbage language."
The elf reached for his knife.
"Knife me and die," Caecia said, smiling. The spirit erupted through her at that moment. Her irises and pupils went white. The Fade poured through her into the elf. His wounds began to stitch itself up. Organs, muscle, bone, and skin, all became one again. Immediately, the Dalish went from nearly dying to needing a day of rest. He paused. His fingers listlessly slid from his dagger.
"Sleep, Elf," Caecia said, her voice having a soft reverberation. "Remove yourself from this fight, sleep and rejoin your family." It was not the magister, but a power far beyond her. The Dalish scampered from Caecia's presence quickly.

She came to herself a moment after that. She was drained, but that didn't mean she was incapable. Her ice barrier was melting and being cracked through. A bear shot into her peripheral.
"Kill it!" she exclaimed, before she realized it was attacking the darkspawn. She let out a weak laugh. "I'm just kidding. It is one of ours. Oh, Isadora, you kidder."

The rest of the witch's group fell into battle, keeping the darkspawn at bay. Caecia shot bolts of ice and streams of it when needed. Her Tevinter staff fluttering around her in quick movements. She was exhausted given what she had just done

 

[Bears]

l THE WITCH, HER AGENT AND THE WARDEN l
The battle went on for hours but the arrival of the Expedition had helped turn the tides. Before long no darkspawn was left standing in the field, all laid slain at survivors' feet. That wasn't to say that the event had no casualties as plenty of the Dalish had died as well. The one who survived were heartbroken but ultimately appreciative of the help. While they tended to their late kin, the expedition had a moment to regroup.

Fergus took that moment to catch his breath. Soaked underneath his armor he scanned the field, his eyes stopping to rest on the two individuals they came into the forest to get. He would've considered the woman of the two attractive had he not seen her casting magic earlier. The other was a warden, an elf of the very same order that his parents resurrected. He bit his tongue, wondering for a moment if the Warden had known his parents or at the very least worked alongside them. They loved him and his sister dearly but rarely spoke about the Order.

He called everyone to gather around and asked for a verbal status update. Personally he was exhausted and his shoulder ached where it had been hit by a darkspawn flail but it seemed that a certain member of the expedition had fared much worse. The elf woman, Imyrll was nowhere to be found. A quick survey of the bodies did not answer the mystery either. He frowned preferring to not think on the worse case scenario.

"Hail, warden." Fergus then called out to Arrahel. "You do not know how easing it is to know you are of the Order."

Meanwhile, Isadora remained in her bear form licking off what wounds she had sustained during the battle. When she saw an opening by Caecia she moved to her side and transformed. The injuries remained even as she changed forms and so approaching the healer she gestured towards her wounds.

"You were awfully nice to that elf, Caecia. I do hope you aren't getting soft on me." The witch teased while she wiped her forehead from sweat.

 

[Artorias]

Ethan had charged into the battle with the rest of the Expedition, but he was more cautious about flailing himself into the heap of them. His sword was drawn and he cut down Darkspawn with precise movements and attacks. He never swung with more force than was ever needed to preserve his strength and energy. He didn't swing his sword around wildly hoping to hit either, but gave precise strikes that would mutilate or kill whoever he was attacking. When the Darkspawn began to run from the fight, Ethan gave no chase after the beasts of darkness but instead sheathed his weapon and began to comb through the bodies of dead elves, looking for familiar faces.

"Not here, but this can't be them all."

There wasn't an obvious place any Elf would be living, so the real camp had to be nearby and this was only a group of scouts that had the unfortunate demise of being ambushed by Darkspawn.

Fergus called for the group, asking for updates. "Perfectly healthy." The Chevalier responded with, but his attention was never on the Warden or the Tevinter. He continued to look at the elves that laid dead, mixed with the bodies of Darkspawn. His stomach churning at the thought of the camp being attacked while they wasted time here talking to the Warden.

They should be preparing to move soon. He never heard of Darkspawn running from a fight. Perhaps they are bringing more.