Times Of War: Chapter One- The Witching Wood

Re: Times Of War

Following the lithe Neviha closely, Vale took on a cautious demeanor, his mind turning over the worst-case scenarios that could occur when they met with the templar. Even if he didn't get his head chopped off on the spot, the possibility of being locked in what was essentially a towering prison cell looming over Lake Calenhad didn't seem like much of a favorable prospect either. He shook his head, pushing those thoughts down. Must stay positive, he thought quietly to himself.

As he caught sight of the two, he slowed his pace, soaking in the details of his newly met companions. The white-blonde woman had an athletic build, garbed in a rather elegant set of armor. She had a tough look about her, but not so much that he'd want to sleep with his one good eye open. The other, however... The stony-faced templar gave him an uncomfortable vibe, a slight chill running down his spine. The holy warrior seemed to exude an air of conviction, faith, doctrine, traits Vale could maybe see as commendable if they weren't potentially going to work against his favor.

His gaze ran down to the symbol emblazoned on the templar's breastplate, a sword with flames around it. He seemed to go into a trance, deaf to the world around him. In his mind, he saw the symbol ablaze, hearing the clamor of men fighting to the death around him, bloodcurdling screams and swords clattering...

When he heard the Dalish woman speak, he seemed to snap out of it, shaking his head as he returned to his senses. He cleared his throat, preparing to introduce himself, despite his reluctance to do so. "A pleasure to meet you as well. You are Colette, I presume? I am Father Vale." He put on his best smile, sticking his staff under his arm momentarily, he'd offer the blonde warrior woman his one good hand in greeting. "You must be a dog enthusiaist," he commented cheerily, grinning at her reaction to the mabari.

Regardless of her response, he'd turn to the templar, cautiously offering him a handshake as well. "And you must be Morven, correct?" He kept that friendly smile on his face, but there may have been a hint of unease hidden in his expression. "Nice to meet you."
 
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Morven glanced at the maimed man, and then, at what he assumed was the ranger. His slate green eyes spent the longest period of time staring at the dog. His mouth corners twitched, but his neutral expression did not change. He let his hands brush at his sides, his heavily gauntleted fingers brushing against the scabbard of his sword. Morven tilted his head to the side, examining the dog for a moment, before his eyes flicked back to the maimed man. He was offering his one-good hand to the Templar, and Morven did not understand why. Mages were afraid of him. Mages were the root of all evil.


Morven did not, suffice to say, take the hand. Instead, he looked down his nose at the man. He studied him for a moment, and he could hear it too. In the depths of his mind, he recalled slaying apostates. He had never met a bloodmage, but he had known those outside of the Circle's control. Morven had watched as men slaughtered mages - slinging spells that were soon sanctified away; burned back by the fire of the prophet Andraste. There was the humming sound as a bolt of pure energy whizzed by his ear, and then the satisfying crunch as a shield slammed against a ribcage, shattering it to pieces with one push. The choking up of blood as fire danced at their finger tips - a fire that they did not deserve. It was not the fire of the Lady of Sorrow, and its falseness was soon whittled away. He could hear the sound of the spells fizzling away as this maimed man was rendered impotent -- no. Focus, Morven. His voice came out softly, like smoke given form in words - a husky thing, but light as air.


"And Eileen spoke unto the masses,
"My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours.
For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one."


Morven bowed his head, and his voice returned to him - more like the voice of a man than a ghost. "I am Ser Morven Dayne of the Templar Order. You are Neviha and Father Vale." His hands tense slightly at his sides. "We are now acquainted. Why are you called Father?" Tact, evidently, was a skill lost on the templar.
 
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From the look of the healer, Colette suspected he was expecting a confrontation as well. She was sure everyone could feel some immediate tension, knowing the reputation of the templars. She would keep quiet about it until it became an issue though, and hope everyone could be polite and civil, or at least not violent.

"You presume correctly, Father", she said as she rose to take the man's hand, her smile still drawn across her otherwise worry-riddled face, "I suppose that could be said of me, I have never considered. I do admire some of the common traits in mabari." She somehow hadn't noticed his lack of an arm until curiosity as to why he didn't simply transfer the staff to his other hand drew her attention. When she did look more closely, she frowned briefly, but quickly replaced her smile and averted her gaze.

She looked back at Morven when he spoke, relieved that his first words weren't any along the lines of "Taste my steel, apostate!" She let loose a soft, quiet sigh, reaching down toward the mabari. Now she idly scratched the dog's head, remaining silent so as to allow the healer to respond to Morven.
 
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Esessar was good at getting attention, which sometimes seemed like less of a wardog trait and more of a desperate puppy begging for comfort. She had trained him to be a fearless wardog, but when he wasn't in that mindset, it was obvious that Esessar needed a gentle hand to reassure him. The Warrior woman, by name of Colette, seemed fond of him, bending down to give him the attention he so desperately desired.

For the elf though, there wasn't much else to do but stand still.

Remaining silent, Neviha watched the Templar witha suspicious eye, shocked that he did not terminate or question the Mage right away, but waited until after offering his own name. The Templar, though a bit offstandish, was quite handsome or so she though from what she could see of his face. Not that it mattered, but having attractive travelling companions made it easier if anything.

Neviha could sense the nervousness coming off the priest as the Templar asked the origin of his title, purhaps he was not offiliated with the tower as she thought. That would be a problem for him. The elf didn't care either way, a job was a job and hopefully the Templar would keep his personal agenda towards the back of his mind until the appropriate time. On the other hand, perhaps it was common for mages of any kind, under watch or not, to feel afraid of Templars?

The Dale couldn't think of anything to say, waiting impatiently for their greetings to be over so they could head into the wilds. They would be going in the opposite direction of the other team, which meant they were completely alone.
 
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Truth be told, Vale was glad Morven didn't accept his gesture. In his mind, he saw the templar shaking his hand with one, then swiftly driving a dagger through his heart with the other. He wasn't sure why he even offered it in the first place, perhaps he just thought it would be rude to greet him differently than the other woman. He blinked, realizing that he was probably dwelling on his thoughts for too long. After the templar finished his chant, he politely returned the holy warrior's bow of the head with one of his own. When Morven inquired about his name, he tilted his head just slightly, averting his gaze briefly as he tried to figure the best way to word his response.

"Well, to be honest, it's an unofficial title. Many of those I've lent aid or spiritual advice to in the past mistook me for a man of the cloth, and I suppose after being called 'Father' so often, the name just stuck," there was a hint of reservedness in his voice, as if he wasn't telling the entire truth about the matter. He glanced over at Neviha, noticing the impatient look on her face. Before he could let anyone question him futher on his name, he turned back to the others and quickly attempted to change the subject. "I hate to be rude, but perhaps we should get right to the mission, yes? The men we're being sent to look for might very well need our help." Giving them another warm smile, he walked a few feet towards their intended path, then looked back at the group, nodding in that direction.

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Esessar didn't move at first when they were talking, he kept his eyes trained on his Elf until he noticed the templar looking at him. He turned his glance and starred straight back and, had his elf not told him to be quite, he would have been growling. He didn't like the templar, he was the reason for all the tension in the air and Esessar could smell the nervousness coming off of the priest. The templar looked away just as a woman bent down to greet him. She held his hand out and he glanced at his elf whom didn't seem to care what he was doing so he sniffed her hand quickly then licked it to show his approval. He was happy to feel her hand stroking his head and happily accepted the scratch behind his ear. Esessar had completely forgotten about the templar now, with all the words of praise and pats he was receiving from the human warrior it didn't matter anymore... as long as no one got hurt.
 
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Morven's jaw tensed, a twitch at the skin near his ear. His gauntleted hand brushed a piece of dark hair away from his face, but then, rested neatly at his sword's hilt, grasping it loosely - it did not appear that he had intention to draw it, as there was no strength behind the gesture. His grip was wrong, twisted at an angle that it could not be drawn. His other hand smoothed out his cloth and chain mail skirts, but the gesture seemed less smooth than any gesture a man would make; it was the action of a golem, with each brush of the hand pre-planned.


Morven's voice came out thin, but present. His own voice, not that of the Chant, but it was hardly more than a whisper. "There is no-one in our Church called Father." He cocked his head to the side, and made a movement of his non-sword-grasping hand, which reached behind him to yank down his shield, a heavy tower shield emblazoned with the sword and flame sigil that had been seen many times before. He began lacing it wordlessly to his arm, the weight of it not seeming to bother him; but, then again, he was a large man with good training.


As soon as it was laced, he followed the mage. His thoughts were black and bloody, but he ignored them.
 
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Finally, they were moving. An awkward step in the right direction by the mage brought Neviha to her senses, calling her hound to her side with a sharp whistle as her thin legs carried her forward in nimble strides. She met Vale's pace easily and turned her head to shoot a daring smile.

"You certainly have a way with words, ser mage" She giggled slightly, turning her tanned face forward again to watch as they neared the wilds. "I've never seen a Templar so soft spoken. You must have struck fear in his heart~"

The dense greenery gave the elf a half hearted calm, if she didn't know that there were blood thirsty darkspawn lurking around; she might have been more inclined to enjoy herself. At the first available moment, Neviha took out her map and turned it the right ways around. The map had been marked with carcoal around the last known place the hunting party had been; they would have to start there.

From the ground, it was hard to tell where they were in relation, so, the Dalish woman did what she did best. She climbed.

Neviha stopped for a moment, now a bit ahead of Vale and the others. Her soft hands carressed the moss that designed the heavy barked trunk, as if she were feeling for information and not just a steady place to climb. Soon enough, with what could be considered a feline grace, the elf was up in the tree, jumping and spinning from limb to limb until she was high enough to get a clear view.

"We've got a bit of time to make up, it seems they went a bit off course. Smoke lines the trees at the opening of what should be a clearing. This doesn't bode well..." Her youthful face tilted down to look at the others, who by comparison were small and feeble. Her dark chestnut hair slowly creeped over her shoulder and dangled as she waited for a response.

Falling-asleep-forest.jpg
 
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Vale shook his head, chuckling a little himself at her comment. "Doubtful, he looks as thought he might be incapable of fear," he responded quietly, keeping his voice low enough that the others behind them wouldn't hear, casting a wary glance back at the templar behind them. With his staff in hand, he continued walking alongside the Dale for a short time before she went on ahead. She seemed to be at home in this dense forest, at least moreso than in the crowded camp at Ostagar. It made sense, since the Dalish elves generally spend most of their lives in similar environments.

The priest halted a moment to watch Neviha ascend to the top of the tree. He couldn't help but admire her dexterity; Even if he'd still had his other arm, he doubted he'd be able to make it up so high, and so swiftly at that. Stopping just a few feet away from the base of the tree, briefly glancing about in case there might be anything nasty lurking nearby, before turning his attention back up to the tree climber.

As she reported her sightings to him and the others, he casually leaned against his staff, listening intently. After a brief pause, he called back up at her, "It might just be coming from a campfire, right? They could be alright after all." There he was being optimistic again.

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Esassar looked over at the sound of the whistle to see is elf running, with great joy he followed until he noticed they were going out into the forest, that's when he had to be serious, he no longer could go around begging for attention. His strides were almost like large leaps as his hind legs shot him forward as his front steadied him for his next lunge though it was quickly slowed to a trot when they came upon the priest. He looked up at his elf as if questioning her, he always liked to run but staying next to her was more important. Instead he began to sniff the air and ground as they continued. He tried to smell out any Dark Spawn, traps, or any other dangers they might face though it was pretty clear until they came up to a tree that his elf climbed. He sniffed the air again to smell some smoke that was covering some type of sent. It was too deluded for him to tell what it was with the slight sent of the smoke blocking it. Whatever the other smell was, it was around the same place as the fire. He scanned the area and sniffed but nothing was nearby... unless they hid their sent. He looked back up the tree then at the templar, which reminded him. He never exactly got the sent of the templar so with out hesitation he walked over and casually sniffed his hand before returning to post. Just as he did he heard a sound in the bushes, he barked at it and pointed by holding his snout to it and straitening his tail behind him after picking up a paw. It was not a small animal, and he couldn't smell whatever it was because it was fairly far away and downwind.
 
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Now that introductions were out of the way, everyone was moving, venturing out. Without a second thought or word, Colette followed. She was eager to see the sights and do her part in felling this supposed 'Blight'. The other mercenaries she was with before Morven came along seemed so sure it was nothing more than a small uprising that could easily be put down. Right or wrong, it was still going to be dangerous and exciting.

As they trekked out into the wilds, Colette was never more than a step or two behind the Dale, who was sure to know the forest much better than any other in the party. She was at home, and it showed. Colette was positively giddy, and it showed. Her face seemed to glow, and a wide excited smile was plastered to her face. She understood the seriousness of the situation, but she couldn't help herself. Could one blame the girl, really?

Colette's eyes flicked upward as Neviha made her way up a tree. So graceful and dexterous, she seemed completely in her element. Her show of acrobatics was actually kind of mesmerizing. So much so in fact, that the Orlesian girl ran smack into Father Vale. "Oh! I apologize good Ser", she said in a higher, somewhat panicked voice. With her earlier nervousness and her tone now, one might think she was a completely different person than the young woman who had dealt with those annoying mercenaries in camp. "I was distracted..", she said, rubbing at the back of her head. She looked back up at the Dalish woman and then to the healer as they spoke, afterwards adding her own input, "I pray these people are unharmed, but I would also hope for a fight.. Does that seem.. Strange?"

The reason for her pause near the end of her question was Esessar, who seemed to have found something. Maybe it was just her hopeful mind playing tricks on her, but she could swear she heard something too. Without half of a thought that she may have been hearing things, she quickly drew her blade, her grip firm and steady as she watched the brush the hound was focused on.
 
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Morven was not giddy.


Morven wasn't even sure he knew what the meaning of the word 'giddy' meant, when it was applied to himself, but he watched from behind his clear slate green eyes as the travelers smiled and walked with good cheer and health. His own thoughts and expression were cloudy. His lips twitched downward in a frown, and his eyes were similarly. His eyes scanned the ground, looking for clues and traces of the things that he knew were deep below. The Old Gods dwelled beneath the ground, cast out of Golden City; they were false gods, that the Maker imprisoned underground where they dwelt in darkness. It was because of them, that the prophet Andraste burned. It was because of them, that there was evil in the world.


Morven watched the ground carefully, knowing that there were dark things beneath the earth, but his head jolted up at the warning that Neviha called out. His mouth corners twitched. "A fire. A campsite. Or burning." How Andraste had burned, he was not certain. He did know, though, that a death by burning was a terrible thing; that skin crinkled up at the corners and your eyes melted from your eye sockets. He had seen it happen to mages, when they became things instead of men.


"Examine the area. Stay behind me. " He says flatly, voice cool and controlled in his throat. He held up his shield bringing it close to his chest - using it as a barrier between himself and the space infront of him; perhaps to keep something from bouncing off. "Approach quietly, if possible. To avoid drawing attention." Morven glanced at his companions. "Fair?" As he spoke, his eyes rolled back to the ground.
 
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"Doubtful, Ser. The wilds are not a common place for campfires during the day..." Ever positive was the Mage with his comments as she stayed atop to the highest tree limbs. The others seemed a bit distracted and the young elf knew that it was indeed Esessar that had been distracting them. The bush was small, not large enough for a man to hide in at least. The warrior and the Templar treated it causiously, while the Dale drew her bow, bothered none by possible dangers.

She pulled back on the bow, letting a narrow headed arrow zip down and into the small space of dirt between bushes. Instantly and with a faint squack, a carrier bird flip flopped out of its hiding place. With a wing injured from what looked to be a previous attack, it was on it's last leg of life; flitting about in the green and brown before going still in front of the party. Attached to the birds topside was a dirtied parchement, one with only a small peice of leather to hold it closed.

"Well, don't just stand there, someone grab it" The Dalish Elf has silently made her way down the tree, sheathing her bow where it belonged on her back.
 
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"Hm, I suppose you're right... though they could be trying to signal someone?" Now I'm just reaching, he thought silently to himself.

Vale had been listening to Neviha so intently that he didn't notice Colette meandering directly towards him, distracted by her own thoughts. Strangely, when she walked right into him, he didn't budge a single inch; the crippled priest's footing was somehow as unyielding as a statue. He whirled around instantly, his single eye staring her down so intensely before his expression changed back to a kindly smile, shaking his head. "No need to apologize, I was distracted myself," he assured her, briefly glancing back up at the tree-perched elf, then back at the embarassed looking warrior woman.

Just as he was about to respond to Colette, Esessar interrupted him, drawing the attention of the others with his barking, noise pointed straight at the bushes. His grip tightening on his staff, he took on a cautious stance like his allies, nodding at Morven in response to his orders. He only took a few small steps forward before the elf let her arrow fly, the sound of the projectile embedding in the ground making him momentarily believe they were taking fire, before quickly realizing it had come from the ranger's bow above. When the bird came ambling into view, he gave a small sigh of relief, glad the only 'danger' they were facing at the moment was a wounded animal.

Stealing one last look upward at Neviha, he nodded to her, slowly approaching the prone creature. Kneeling down in front of it, he'd set his staff aside, untying the parchment from the bird and letting it rest on the ground, more interested in the carrier than its message at the moment. "Poor thing," Vale whispered, gazing down at the bird with a look of sympathy in his eyes. Placing his hand on its damaged wing, an ever so transparent light blue aura began emanating from his palm, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. A second later, the carrier bird would jump to its feet, turning it's head to stare at the man looking over it, then cocking it sideways, as if it were confused. In an instant, it would take off, the flutter of it's wings quickly fading as it took off in the distance.

Vale retrieved the note from the ground, standing up straight. He turned to the others, a look of satisfaction on his face. Holding it up to show his teammates, he said cheerily, "Perhaps this is from the recon party?" Wasting no more time, he unraveled the letter, his dark brown eye flitting back and forth across the page as he read it's contents. His expression went from happy to grim in an instant, taking a long pause before reading the last line to look up at the others. "...Or perhaps not. I think we may have stumbled onto something... unpleasant."

Before giving them a chance to inquire further, he cleared his throat, then reluctantly began reading the note aloud:

"Armigur,
Our Matriarch was wise to bring us here. The camp is secure and our sisters grow, but do not assume we have forgotten our task.

Your time is almost up and we will not skulk in the shadows, making petty plots with rabble and sycophants. When we strike, we will do it with cunning and power, your occupiers will fall before us.

The Matriarch grows weary of your hesitation. Our people control the entire eastern slope of the wilds- all save Ostagar. Leave it, and the invaders will be allowed to retreat. If not we will strike, while your defenses are still weak.

The coven has been summoned. If you do not act, my sisters will not be so leniant about your hesitations as I."

He paused after that last line, glancing about his fellow party members as he tried to gauge their reactions. "Signed, Rolgi." He let his arm drop to his side, still clutching the piece of paper tightly. "This was... definitely not meant for our eyes, to say the least. What do you all make of this? It almost sounds as if they're planning to attack the camp at Ostagar. Have any of you heard of these people? Or this 'Matriarch'?" he held the parchment out in front of him, hoping one of the others would take it and have a look for themselves.
 
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Morven grimaced. Rolgi. He knew that name. No templar had ever been able to catch her, despite being outside of the Circle for so long. Apostates usually did not survive the transition out of the Circle; they were caught by templars and then, they were slain. Morven had witnessed it, just as he had participated in it. Rolgi. He had never met her, but he knew something about her, from a dying man in a military camp, not so far from here. He screamed and cried; not dying with the dignity of a templar or the inferno of a mage, simply screaming one word over and over. Maleficarum, Maleficarum!


Morven did not hate mages. It was a misconception that templars hated mages, and it was unjust to say. Justinia I had preached at those who honored the maker were as worthy as he was; but those who rejected him were apostate, and to be driven out. They were all Maleficarum in the eyes of the church. And he killed Maleficarum. The dying man's screams echoed in his head, after his encounter with Rolgi. Morven strode up to the mage, sheathing his sword, but keeping his shield out. He made an effort to take the paper from him with a creak of his arm-plate. His green eyes carefully looked over the words, and his lips moved, as if to speak what he was reading. He folded it neatly, and handed it back to the mage.


"She is maleficarum. She has allied with those below. She prefers the company of darkspawn to men, now. " His gauntleted hands twitched, before moving back to grasp at his sword. "She is undoubtably an abomination, now." His sword was drawn once more. Morven looked down his nose, and his voice came out as a croak.


"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.
Foul and corrupt are they
Who have taken His gift
And turned it against His children.
They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.
They shall find no rest in this world
Or beyond."
 
Esessar, after seeing it was only a bird... an injured one at that, he quickly lost interest and looked back up at his Elf. He walked around the tree a little before stopping to sniff the air. The fire was still burning some distance away but he knew better than to run off to check it, he must wait for his elf. After looking up at the tree again he noticed she was coming down and he moved his front paws in excitement. They must be about to go, maybe find something interesting this time... really he just wanted to run. After being cramped up in that strange city it was nice to be out in the open. They all seemed to be interested in the note that he bird had carried so he walked over and sniffed it, he didn't get why people could look at the sheet with strange pictures on it. He went to stand next to his elf and waited for her to say something. He hoped they started to run again.
 
Colette's eyes widened briefly as Neviha's arrow flew past, quickly glancing back to be sure it had really been hers. She turned back to the brush, watching closely. The moment the bird fumbled into view, she dropped her guard, frowning a little as she sheathed her sword. Maybe next time, she thought. Her eyes flicked back to the Dale as she spoke, then to the mage who approached the wounded creature.

She smiled faintly as the kindly man mended the bird, it was pretty sweet. Sort of like something in a children's story. She listened intently as Vale read the letter, it sounded a bit troubling.

Someone was plotting to attack the camp, it sounded like.. And did Morven say maleficarum? She had mixed feelings about the possibility of facing such a threat. On the one hand, it would be a new experience, a challenge. On the other, it would undoubtedly be much more dangerous than hunting down bandits and wolves.

"Do you think that maybe.. The fire is meant as a signal?", she asked, looking back toward the elf, whose dog ran over to her. He appeared eager to actually do something more than walk around in the woods. She was too, even still with the gravity of situation. She was just as easy to read as the dog, unable to keep entirely still for more than a few seconds, if only shifting balance from one side to the other.

"We should investigate, no?", she spoke, unable to stay inactive much longer.
 
It has been asked, "What are maleficarum? How shall we know them?" I have been asked by this question as you. You have come to me for the wisdom of the Maker, but none have seen the Maker's heart save Beloved Andraste. And so I have done as all mortals must, and looked to the words of His prophet for answers. And there, I found respite from a troubled mind.

For she has said to us, "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him." Therefore, I say to you, they who work magic which dominates the minds and hearts of others, they have transgressed the Makers law.

Also, Our Lady said to us, "Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker." And so it is made clear to me, as it should be to us all: That magic which fuels itself by harming others, by the letting of blood, is hated by the Maker.
Those mages who honor the Maker and keep his laws we welcome as our brothers and sisters. Those who reject the laws of the Maker and the words of His prophet are apostate. They shall be cast out, and given no place among us.

--From The Sermons of Justinia I.






There were many reasons the Elf was happy to not be a mage. The chantings of the Templar were one of them. Despite her natural born gifts, which was normally expected by the Dalish, she was weary too of magic. Her healing abilities were often kept secret by her own demand, simply to avoid attention.

As she witnessed the mage share his healing light with the wounded creature, she grimaced, but as he let it free, she growled. Her bow was readied in a second, trying to get a clear line on the carrier before it disspeared within the confines of the trees.

"N'uma! Those birds are trained with only the back and forth path. Now we run a risk of this 'Coven' finding out their message has been intercepted..." Again, the bow was on her back, arms crossed defensively as the Templar handed the parchment back to the Mage.

"I suppose uuvanimo, an abomination is more of a threat than a trained bird..." She held her head low, looking down her nose as the Templar had done to himself.

"Ohtar...The Warrior is right, let us follow the smoke. We need to finish up this mission as soon as possible to get back to Ostagar and share this news..." Her hand went down to ruffle Esessar's fur, waiting to be on the trail again. They would follow the 'signal' and hopefully they would find the scouts, not Darkspawn.​
 
Vale hadn't considered the consequences of letting the bird go free; he just couldn't stand to see anyone in suffering, regardless of if they were man or beast. He wasn't sorry for what he did, though the look Neviha gave him almost made him feel that way. Before he could explain himself, he saw the templar begin walking towards him out of the corner of his good eye.

The priest's gaze followed Morven as he approached, though he let his guard drop when the templar put his weapon away, mentally breathing a sigh of relief. He remained silent as Morven took the note and read the message for himself, waiting to see how the holy warrior reacted. When Morven returned the parchment, the mage gave him a brief stare, then folded the paper twice, placing it safely within a small pocket on the inside of his robes. As the templar spoke of what he knew, Vale turned away, leaning down to retrieve his staff from where he'd placed it previously. The SHING of Morven's blade being drawn while the mage had his back turned made him pause momentarily, for a split second he assumed there would be an imminent beheading, before the templar began his chant. Another mental sigh was had.

Standing up straight, he turned back to the others, staff clenched tightly in his hand. He spoke, his soft and kindly voice containing more than a hint of reservation. "You're right, we should deal with our current task first. Let us proceed." Vale began walking towards the path, keeping his wary gaze focused on Morven as he passed by. Oddly, he seemed to be the one to take the initiative again.
 
Morven nodded once, and followed the mage for a few moments. However, he made a swift movement of his skirts, a twist of his heavy-armored frame to quickly over-take him in pace. His eyes flicked to the mage, and his expression was grim. He did not know how to communicate 'Get out of the way' without words, but he resorted to a stony expression and a quick nod before pressing onwards. He needed to be infront, if it was a maleficarum. He had to stop her, if she was. He remembered letting loose a column of light on a single spot, and watching mage's magic bleed away into the cold ground. They were useless, against the judgement of the Maker; rendered impotent by the gift that he had bestowed upon his chosen knights. Morven glanced at the priest warily with his dark eyes, studying him over his shoulder for a moment, before continuing on forward.

"Be wary." He said softly, to those behind him. "Lareau, stay by the side of the mage; protect him. I'll neutralize the maleficarum, if we see her." Morven's jaw tensed, and his grip on his sword tightened. His shield remained up, and ready to defend him, his sowrd pommel was drawn back to his hip.
 
For Colette, her readiness to proceed was more about the chance of finding some real action than the urgency of finding the recon team. Not to say she didn't worry for their safety, just that it wasn't her primary motivation. Regardless, she was pleased that everyone agreed on it being time to move, and happily followed.

She blinked once as the templar pushed forward past Vale, issuing the command that she guard the mage. She frowned momentarily, having originally hopes to charge right in if it came to a fight. It made sense that he would lead though, she supposed, although defending the healer would have been easier for someone equipped with a shield. For a moment, she thought that perhaps he was trying to prove something by taking the head of the party, but soon realized it was a silly thought. "Understood", she replied simply, running to Vale's side.

As Colette walked along beside the mage, hand resting on her blade's pommel, she looked over at him curiously. It hadn't really donned on her at the moment, but the mage really hadn't moved at all when she crashed into him. She looked down at his feet as they walked, looking for spikes or something that would keep him planted firmly into the ground. But she found nothing. Perhaps he was just used to being run into, or just had excellent balance. Still, it seemed odd.
 
Finally, the Templar had taken his role as leader. His orders were clear as day; the warrior was to protect Vale.

Funny how it seemed he ignored the Dale completely, letting her do as she wished. As the made their way further into the wilds, Neviha made it a point to walk foot in time with the Templars stride, keeping Esessar between them for good measure. Her skills of tracking were driving them, though it didn't seem the Templar was aware of that anymore.

The young elf wondered what exactly was going on inside the Templar's head. What exactly he was recalling from deep within his memory. What had he sceen and experianced? From the down cast look he wore, it seemed something about the situation haunted him. Purhaps it was simply the fact that this Rolgi woman had excaped the hands of the Order before? She didn't feel right outwardly asking him, so the thought stewed inside her brain as they travelled.

The tint of smoke grew thicker as they grew closer, stinging the elfs sensitive nose the closer they strode. Neviha swivled her head to look behind every so often, making sure that the mage and warrior were not having hardship through the forest path.

Soon enough, her head was turned again to the Templar, finally brave enough to speak.

"Do you have the ability to sense when something of such power is around? Or are we blind to wolves in sheeps clothing?" Her voice was kept low, delicate brows arched up in question as she dedicated the man's face to memory and waiting for his response.
 
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