The Order of Silence, formed out of a variety of men and women from many walks of life, from the Qunari and Dwarves to the Elves and Humans, had been dispatched not long ago to the edge of the Tevinter held territories. Their overall goal was unchanging, kill the Magistrate mages of the enemy forces, silence the guiding power behind the offensive, and turn the war around in favor of the surviving defenders. The approach alone would not be easy, let alone finding enough time to rest and recover between striking actions deep into the Tevinter lines and territories.

The Order had to slip by some patrols, as many as they could as fighting would attract far too much attention, but the ones that needed to die, were dealth with in a swift and uncompromising manner. They had no room for prisoners, and all were executed. However, progress was well made, and eventually the Order of Silence thought it safe to break and make camp for a spell, after all, progress had been made well throughout their first foray into Tevinter territory, and they would need to rest eventually.

During the night, however, a Tevinter ambush fell upon the encamped Order. The sentries raised the alarm in time for the camp to avoid losing many to the surprise attack, but a few fell before they could reach their arms. A skirmish of most violent sorts was then engaged, While mages accompanied the Tevinter, the abnoral number of Templar accompanying the Order, their very mission falling in line with their natural talents, quickly defeated their attempts, and between the talented soldiering and magecraft available to the Order of Silence, the raiders were quickly and utterly dispatched, all in the matter of a few short minutes.

However, now the Orlesian and Fereldan soldiers were combing the dead Tevinter, slitting the throats of each corpse, or fake corpse, to ensure that none arose after they fled on to report the conditions and area that the Order had been in. However, not all would be doing this, instead, a handful of rather unique individuals, some of the best hopes in the Order of Silence, were busy tearing down tents and packing up equipment to ensure that, when the grim and bloody work of making sure the dead remained dead, the camp was packed up to completion and ready to leave at a moment’s notice once more.

Heather sighed as she sat on a rock and watched the soldiers make their rounds around the Tevinter corpses. She was on watch for more surprise attacks. It bothered her a little to be fighting other people. She knew a demon was bad, but you couldn't really tell if a person, even a mage, was bad when you meet them in battle. She didn't doubt there were many good people that lived and fought for Tevinter. She didn't enjoy killing people, especially innocent people, but she wasn't about to die or let others die to them...

She inspected her blade as she cleaned the blood from it. It was her father's and she took very good care of it. It was a fairly plain blade. Although, a little longer than most and had runes etched along the blade. In truth, they didn't do anything except look neat. The sword just felt so right to her. Good weight, sturdy, and versatile. She examined it one last time before laying it next to her. She took a look at her clothes to check for bloodstains. There was some on her armor, which she cleaned off, and there were some on her robes which would take some special cleaning.

She shook her head, crossed her legs, and rested her chin on her hands as she watched their surroundings. Heather was already ready to go, she didn't like spending too much time in one place. Well, at least without something cute to distract her... maybe a kitten? Oh, or a puppy!

Taskmage Alexander Atreides was walking the corpses, an aura of strange energy following him as he walked from corpse to corpse, thin trails of energy seeming to drain from every corpse near him, the ones that seemed to resist the mage directed someone with a knife to, and they would find someone trying to hide the fact they yet lived, and that was quickly rectified. Alex was utilizing an old, usually frowned upon, form of Entropy magic to drain the dead of their remaining energy, replenishing the reserves he had spent during the fighting. He didn't tell the poor soldiers that, however, he merely pointed out that if the strands were not coming from a corpse, it was highly likely the body in question was not dead yet. Anyone familiar with entropy magic would no doubt recognize the spell though, no doubt the Templar and former Templar among their numbers would especially recognize the magic and be curious as to his knowledge and use of it. Not many Circle mages ever were fond of the spell.

Using a spell for a use other than its original intention was all par for the course when it came to how the Apostate mage operated. Normally, he would not have been found dead, or alive, anywhere near any sort of Templar. They tended to not like him very much, on the grounds of something he had no control over being gifted with and making the best of it, but that was neither here nor there. The Tevinter would hopefully satiate the mage murder lust some of these Templar had, since he had no interest in having to deal with some mad Templar again. Those had never been fun encounters. But he would be keeping a close eye on his new Templar friends. One such Templar was on watch, cleaning her gear from the fighting, and he spared his own attire a brief glance to look for damage.

The clear blue of his robes were unblemished, he had been quite a few paces away from any blood spilling that had been going on during the brief fighting. Good, Alex decided, blood was a pain to get out of clothing, especially when it stood out as glaringly as it would on his own attire. Alex had directed several people who had not been busy to go prepare to move the camp, and while he was not formally in the chain of command, younger folks sometimes listened to what the middle aged mage had to say, once in a blue moon. But he was now storing extra energy from the corpses he was draining, instead of replenishing, just in case he needed to drop a lot of spells at once. Hopefully not, but with what they were doing, who knew?

Warden-Lieutenant Valana stood amongst the bodies, watching as the throat-cutters did their grim work. The blue uniform of a Grey Warden Mage was marred by spots of blood, but she paid them no mind, she had been in the very thick of the fighting, alongside the warriors, and a little blood was to be expected. The dark haired Elf watched the self styled "Taskmage" as he went about his business. She recognised what he was doing and was actually impressed. It was a clever use of Entropy, and honestly what was the alternative? To let the energy of dead men fade into the ground along with their blood? That would be a waste. And it was certainly a better way of restoring one's energy than drinking Lyrium Potions. She looked down at the empty flask in her hand, still tasting the unpleasant magical liquid on her tongue, and cast it aside with grimace.

Valana checked the bladeless hilt on her belt for the hundredth time since the fighting had ended and then started off back towards the main camp, ignoring the bodies being dragged away. A glint of light, reflecting off armor, caught her eye and she turned to see the Templar, Heather, seated on a rock. The Elf felt a knot of distaste in her stomach at the sight of the Templar armor, but she masked the feeling well, appearing completely indifferent as she strolled up the stand beside the seated woman. "Catching your breath, Templar?" She said, her tone intentionally neutral, as if she were simply discussing the weather. "I'm sure it's tiring work, slaughtering Mages. But at least it's work that you enjoy, right?" She stood casually as she spoke, resting a hand on the pommel of her Spirit Blade Hilt.

Heather looked up at Valana and shrugged, her quiet, melodic voice taking on a snarky tone, "Maybe if you Mages did a better job not being possessed by demons we wouldn't need to...." she looked back down to where she needed to watch, and her voice returned to normal, "Snarkiness aside, our purpose is not to slaughter mages, but to protect innocent people from what you mages can unleash. Would you prefer we didn't and simply let a bunch of possessed mages run amok? This world would no longer exist, or at least it wouldn't be one I'd like to live in."

"Most Templars, including myself, do not enjoy killing mages. Most of us a fine men and women, just as I'd expect most mages are actually fine men and women. It is the demons that can take you over I have a problem with not you yourselves. Nothing would please me more than to give you all the freedom to do as you wish, but the consequences are just too great. So we do what must be done."

She was a little bothered by the mage using Entropy to check for survivors. It was a dangerous school, and from what she had experienced most prone to become possessed by a demon. She had to admit he did it quicker than the soldiers ever could, however.

In a small crop of pillars near where the camp had been Gwenaelle kneeled praying before a statuette of Andraste that she carried with her everywhere. Slowly she stood and sighed a bit picking up the statue and placing it in a pouch on her belt before heading back to the camp. Her plated armor though heavy did not make much sound with the thick cloth padding beneath. She stopped at the edge of camp listening to the back and forth between Heather, and Valana. With a sigh she moved up next to them not feeling the need to intervene just yet, but that was when she noticed the Task Mage and what he was up to. The entire idea of how he was pulling the remaining life force from the dead made her gag a little.

After hearing Heather say her peace, Gwenaelle stepped between them a reassuring smile on her face as she tried to play the part of peace keeper just in case things got out of hand. She held up a hand and with a soften Orlesian accent spoke. “Perhaps this is a conversation left for later. We have been through much in the recent hours, and we should take in what just happened and learn from it. Perhaps a prayer is in order.” She raised her hands palms up towards the sky. “Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt, and wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peace keepers, champions of the just.” She felt it was a necessary interruption since she of how hard headed mages could be, and how stubborn templars were as well. She lowers her hands and takes a deep breath. “Do you not feel better now? Perhaps you wish to add more?”

Vinrel stood at the edge of camp, the hood to his dark green cloak thrown up over his head to conceal his grim face, his bow in his left hand as his right stroked his Red Hart's shoulder, Vinrel was considering going over the bodies once more for his arrows having loosed enough to put him in short supply, patting Lebanon once more Vinrel strode forward through the center of camp, slowing briefly to listen to the women chatter, deciding to stay out he continued on ward and began combing the remaining dead. Finding an arrow pierced through the heart of the Tevinter made him smile, all to often the memories of his harsh past would flow like water through his mind, how his Tevinter owners were non to caring, this was his revenge and peace of mind.

As Vinrel sweeped the dead bodies he nodded his head to the Taskmage, he knew most of the others didn't care for the mages use of magic, it didn't matter to Vinrel as long as it was useful, and it was, he watched the strands flow to the Taskmage and nodded once more in approval. Returning his collection of arrows to their place at his back he made his way back to camp to help finish up tearing down the tents, passing the ladies once more he bobbed his head "Ladies..." he flashed a kind smile hoping to help dissolve the situation before pressing passed them and helping the soldiers break down camp.

Valana, ignoring Vinrel's greeting, took a step forwards and turned to face both of the women. "A Templar, a former Templar, and the Chant of Light. This is sure turning into a sanctified afternoon, isn't it?" She raised her hands in a shrug before letting them fall back to her sides. "Let us hope we don't come across any Red Lyrium out here on the battlefield. Wouldn't want you ladies getting tempted and becoming a danger to the innocent..." She gripped her Spirit Blade a little tighter and turned away from the women, heading out into the small sea of bodies. "...At least Mages don't chose to put demons inside themselves." She muttered to herself.

Valana stormed through the site of the skirmish, muttering balefully, paying no attention to the death all around her. "Self righteous, sanctimonious... Spitting their holier-than-thou drivel... Maker my arse... Collar me just so they can sleep at night..." She didn't notice the hand reaching out until it was wrapped around her ankle. The grip was weak but it was unexpected and Valana very nearly feel flat on her face as it brought her to a stop. She looked down and saw a man, no more like a boy, wearing the armor of a Tevinter Legionnaire. His breast plate was caved in, likely by a hammer, mace or axe, and Valana could tell that he was going to die.

"...Please..." It was just one word spoken by a dying boy and, with her mouth set in a grim line, Valana knelt and drew a small dagger from the back of her belt. As she reached out to bare the boy's throat her hand touched metal and she saw the slave collar around his neck. She closed her eyes and drew the blade across the boy's throat, above the collar, and stood up as the light faded from his eyes. A slave. He hadn't been here by choice. He'd had this destiny forced upon him, swept up in events beyond his control. When was the last time he'd been able to choose his own path, she wondered. When was the last time She had been allowed to choose her own path? That thought hurt and she pushed it away, her eyes hardening as she wiped the blood off the dagger and sheathed it before continuing on her way.

Atreides had his arms crossed, looking over to the rather wonderful borderline verbal sparring going on between the Grey Warden, Templar, and an ex Templar, at least ex templar as far as he was aware. Seems the Grey Warden could have handled that a wee bit better, as could the Templar granted, but it seemed to be the usual problem that so plagued the front presented against the Tevinter. Templar and Mage could not stop backstabbing each other long enough to kill the threat to their survival. The Ex templar seemed to at least try and make peace between the two, which got an amused snort out of the Taskmage, who had seen the entire event transpire, dismissing the Entropy field he had as the last few corpses were being checked, having stored enough energy against the future to be safe. The Grey Warden stalked off, stumbling upon another almost dead slave soldier, and the Taskmage gave the elf archer an amused glance before stretching.

"If we're done pissing in each others meals for five minutes? The Tevinter are bound to either miss this patrol, or know their little ambush went down the latrine. Probably wouldn't hurt to start thinking about someplace not here that we could hunker down for awhile, figure out something that isn't akin to aimless wandering. Just a thought."

The taskmage shrugged, they would take his suggestion, or they wouldn't. He couldn't really control them and force the issue. Well, no, that wasn't quite fair, Entropy magic might make the issue forceable, but he didn't need to make enemies amongst the Templar of the bunch that quickly. Even if they didn't seem to overmuch mind his use of Entropy, although the ex templar looked a might bit queasy, which he smirked and made a remark on prior to wandering towards the tents. "What's wrong, prioress to be? The dead don't need it anymore, and I'm saving a fortune on lyrium potions."

The apostate mage laughed softly as he walked, waving off handidly towards the remaining few and glanced over at the Grey Warden, shooting a remark her way as well. "Playing nice might help us in the long run, Warden, just a thought. They might not like us, but long as we don't go pull a Kirkwall uprising we should be alright, yea?"

Heather was about to point out that many mages let the demons in for promises of power, greed, eternal youth, lust, or whatever else they desired, but the woman walked away anyway. She had some experience with a few of those types and they weren't pleasant. Mostly because they were all false promises.

She looked up at Gwenealle, "I don't recall arguing and I thought I was being quite amicable. It makes it hard to trust and fight beside someone when all they do is spit in your face. I suppose I'll just not talk to people from now on." she said, returning her gaze to where she needed to keep watch. "I suppose figuring out where we're going is a good idea, though...."

Atharen gazed over her squabbling companions and sighed. They should stop running their mouths and help her heal the injured. Her magic weaved through wounds as easily as water washed over a rock. Groans eased into sighs of relief as the cuts knit together and bones set with a pop.

It came as no surprise when some of the injured -mostly templars- glared at her. Never mind that she was an elf, Dalish at that. They all knew spirit healing required contact with spirits. To many people, spirits were just as bad as demons. Atharen sighed. No relief from the ever oppressive eyes of the under educated.

Looking over her charges, Atharen could see she could do no more for them. She stood and dusted off her gown, smearing dirt and blood into the fabric.
"Abelas!" She frowned down at the cloth. Lucky for her, these robes weren't even hers. The Circle mages insisted she wear this. To keep them from prying, they said. Who was going to pry? The templars? They could see clear as day that she was Dalish. She took the robes to ease their minds. With them ruined, perhaps it was time to don her own clothes.

As Atharen walked back to her tent, she decided to check on the two ladies that had taken the verbal beating from the Warden mage.
"Are either of you in need of healing?" She asked, hoping she sounded as pleasant as she was trying to be, "Don't worry about that one." Atharen said while gesturing toward the Warden that had now walked off, "She will know the good your templars do, even if she refuses to see it."

How did I find meself here? Ovserd thought to herself. These women here are bickerin' more about useless stuff. I'm knowin' that the poor Templar lass was just tryin' to help with them pretty words, but sometimes that's all they be.

Ovserd walked up to the man that suggested they all let the petty things go. "It's a good thing ye be sayin' them words like tha'! I'm guessin' me advice would no' be helpin'. T'was goin' to suggest they hide their bleedin' time better." Ovserd shook her head. These other species of women acted so frail and fickle over there issues. Give me a pint, and a good bit o' conversatin' and I'm happy. Ovserd had been on the surface a while now, and had fought along side a lot of brave souls. When in combat the other races focuses were on point. Why when the battling ended it went to nug poop, she did not know. Eek nugs! She blushed as the man had surely seen her turn in on her inner thoughts with such a strange face. She shook her head and got rid of the logic she was in. There were tasks to be had. She had a traps to pick up and to reset. A grin came across her face. She decided to use the bodies as bait.

She decided to find some of the more "important" Tevinter sodiers and place them on a pile of sticks with just enough weight to support those. Underneath a quick pitfall with some sticks she had left over from one of her unsprung traps. "Best not be wastin' a perfectly good pit, aye mate?" She threw the taskmage a wink. Yes, this was all terribly fun to her. Too much so, perhaps.