Once upon a time the Elf would have given anything to see the grand spires of Minrathous crumble and see the arrogant Magisters in chains. Not once in his wild fantasies, however did he imagine that he would be sharing those chains. There were twelve of them in total, all chained together, Magister, Soporati, and Slave alike, all being dragged through the rubble strewn streets of one of Minrathous' outer districts. The inner city was gone, the Magisterium, Minrathous Circle, Argent Spire, and the surrounding noble houses and shops replaced by an immense sinkhole from which marched a seemingly endless army of Darkspawn.

The troupe of prisoners were marched out into a cleared courtyard, under the watchful eyes of over a dozen Darkspawn overseers where they joined a seething mass of other prisoners. An aura of uncertainty pervaded the air as the prisoner's milled about, trapped and waiting. The Courtyard had once been used as a place to auction off Slaves and so to one side was a raised wooden platform. All eyes turned to this stage as a figure strode into view, armored boots rotting and twisting the wood under him as he walked. As one the prisoner's shivered in fear, staring up at the Black Warden. Despite being unable to see the face behind the helm, the elf fancied that the Warden was observing them all. When he felt the figure's gaze sweep over him he felt a cold tingle run up his spine.

Suddenly, after what felt like an eternity, the Black Warden raised his hand, sword clutched in an armored fist, and the elf felt the atmosphere in the courtyard change. It began at the outer limits of the crowd of prisoners, small cries of fear and pain. Panic grew in his chest as whatever was happening got nearer. He looked down as something below him caught his attention and saw, with horror, tendrils of blood, blackened with the Taint of the Darkspawn snaking between his feet and those around him. Sudden he cried in pain and the blood attacked him, lashing out at his exposed ankles and digging through skin and flesh in search of veins. A fire burning agonisingly inside him and he clutched at his chest, the world going dark. The last thing the Elf saw was the eyes of the Magister next to him as they turned black and he knew that his own eyes had done the same.

---

The camp lay sprawled out before Mirianne as she rode down and incline towards the nearest sentries, preparing for the inevitable challenge. The tents were pressed up against the southern banks of the Minanter River, where the soldiers had dug in, erecting what fortifications they could to ensure any army attempting to ford the river from the north would find the task nigh impossible. Just to the south lay another camp, a sea of multicolored tents that had been erected with haphazard randomness even as the ones by the river were ordered with military precision. Mirianne had read reports about the number of refugees that had fled Tevinter, but seeing the sheer number of tents laid out made the numbers on paper seem woefully inadequate to convey the truth. On the other side of the Minanter lay the Silent Plains, an inhospitable looking grassland that looked all the more barren for the endless ocean of Darkspawn that lay camped several leagues but from the river, their number stretching north to the horizon.

The sentries called out to her and her guards as they reached the base of the incline, demanding they identify themselves and state their business. She left the talking to her guards and before long they continued into the camp, directed to a large pavilion above which flew the standard of Lord Commander Theodore Van Markham. The trip through the camp was a sullen one, tired faces looked up at Mirianne as she passed. Finally she reached the pavilion and dismissed her guards, sending them to join the defenders near the riverbank as agreed, and then stepped into the command tent.

Van Markham was waiting for her, along with a few advisers, standing around a low table over which was laid a map of northern Thedas. Miriane made her introductions to the Lord Commander and asked after the state of affairs. "Things aren't good, My Lady." Said Van Makham, gesturing at the map. "The river hampers the Darkspawn's movement so we've been able to hold the south bank so far, but we've had to fight tooth and nail to do so. If we don't get relief from the south soon, the bastards will just roll over us eventually. Forgive my language." Mirianne was aware that the news would not be good, but there one other point the Lord Commander had failed to mention. "What about their leader? This Black Warden?" Van Markham sighed, leaning against the edge of the table. "We haven't seen him on the field of battle for many months, and we're sorely grateful. Twice he's come out to engage us directly and both times we've been sorely defeated. First was here." He pointed at a spot on the Silent Plains, where the old Tevinter/Nevarra border had been. "He broke our forces and forced us into a fighting retreat to and old border fort here." Again he pointed, this time over a dozen leagues south of the original point. "We held there for over a month before the Warden appeared again. The fort fell within the night and we were forced to retreat to where we are now. We destroyed the bridge along the Imperial Highway, along with about a hundred more bridges in either direction, meaning this ford here," His fingers stabbed down at the point where the forward camp was. "Is the only place where any sizable army can cross and here we've held them, at least until that Monster comes out to kick us even further south. But that's all that Inquisition Wench's responsibility now." He said a distinct tone of dislike in his voice as he spoke about the new Grand Marshal.

Mirianne took a moment to digest all the information she'd just heard. Warcraft hadn't been a big part of her education, but she knew enough to understand that any small aspect could make all the difference in the world. "What can my taskforce do?" She asked simply. "The Southern Alliance will be here in a few months, so what do you need to hold until then." Van Markham didn't hesitate. "Magic. We need magic. Every time the Darkspawn attack the river we lose countless men to their damned mages, those Emissaries. Their magic cuts us to pieces with impunity while they remain unassailable behind their infantry forces. We don't have enough Mages of our own to combat them." The man glanced at his advisors before continuing, dislike once again colouring his tone. "We need the Tevinter Mages from the refugees, but their too busy quarreling amongst themselves. They scheme and plot against each other while Nevarran blood drains into the Minanter to protect their worthless hides!" He slammed his fist down on the map table before making a visible effort to contain himself. "Unfortunately the situation is even more complicated than we originally expected." He looked to one of the men standing off the the side and nodded.

The man stepped forwards, revealing himself to be a youth, not much older than Mirianne herself, with short brown hair and blue eyes. he was wearing the armor of a Tevinter Mage, with a light blue mantle over his right shoulder. "I am Killian Tavus, my lady." he said, affording Mirianne a formal bow. "I am, or was, a junior member of the Magisterium. I well understand that my countrymen can be...stubborn," He ignored a scoff from Van Markham and continued. "But we were making progress toward unification. All of us want to see the Darkspawn defeated and driven back. It's just a matter of convincing my brothers and sisters to work together. There was a Magister who was working towards that goal and, had infact convinced a great many to follow him, but-" The lord Commander stepped forwards, cutting Killian off. "But the blasted Darkspawn managed to sneak a raiding party past our defences further down the river and kidnapped the man! Snatched him right out from under our noses and the bloody Tevinters won't budge without him!" Killian cleared his throat, ignoring the insult. "Yes, quite. Also it seems rival powers within the...former Magisterium believe his absence to be an opportunity. They're eroding his influence and threaten to undo everything he's accomplished." Van Markham spoke up once again. "We need that man back, alive. If you want to help, that's how you can do it. I have scouts out tracking the raiding party. They went east, likely to try and find another place to cross the river. My scouts will meet you and whoever you can muster at the next river outpost out that way, they'll help you find the Darkspawn. And take this Tevinter with you. He wants to helpful, so let him help. You're all dismissed."

Mirianne didn't take any offense at the Lord Commander's gruff dismissal, neither did the Young Tevinter mage seem offended. Together they left the command tent and at the young man's insistence, Mirianne began to lead the way over to where she'd been told anyone willing to join her task force would be assembling. When the Divine had decided, in her wisdom, to form the task force, she had her agents distribute handbills all over Orlais, Ferelden and the Free Marches, requesting anyone with will and ability to aid in the Darkspawn Crisis to report here, to the Forward Camp, where they would be directed straight to Mirianne. She and the Tevinter Mage arrived at the meeting point, where a tent had been placed aside for her. It was on a small hill on the eastern side of the camp and afforded them with a decent view of the river and the Silent Plains beyond. Mirianne was disinclined to conversation for the moment, her thought occupied by the wealth of information she'd just absorbed and Killian, for his part seemed content to stare off to the North, watching the blighted horde that was slowly devouring his homeland.

Colin Roche

Colin stared into the eyes of yet another Tevinter man, his elbow pressed against his throat whilst his other hand held the man's arm behind his back in a lock.“For Andraste's left testicle man, if I catch you going through my tent again I'll shatter your skull, you understand me Tevinter? Refugee or not, I enjoy my little bit of personal space and I'm getting very damn tired of strangers invading it. There's nothing to steal! I keep my belongings on me, so if you want my shit you'll have to become a pickpocket. Spread the word friend, my next intruder is getting the example beating that seems so badly needed.”

With that Colin released his hold on the man and watched as he ran deep into the maze of refugee tents. Satisfied, he headed back inside his own.

“Tell me, why did we set up our damned tent on the edge of a refugee camp? Oh wait, I remember! The fucking thing wasn't there! Who in the Baker's name pitches a tent expecting to be overrun with refugees? I know I didn't! I mean sure, there were a few, but I didn't expect to end up living next to Tevinter shitting city!”

Colin looked around, wondering whether Eloen was out in the camp somewhere or whether she was just troubling herself trying to come up with actual answers for his ramblings. It seemed it was the former.

Getting out there, eh darling? Good on ya.

Today was the day they were expected to meet up with the others supposed to be in the Divine's special force of volunteers. He was looking forward to meeting the people he'd be fighting with, but hoped they wouldn't all be knights and daddy's boys with silver swords up their asses. He was also looking forward to fighting the darkspawn again. He was only ten years old when the blight struck Ferelden and didn't actually see many darkspawn. During the battle of Denerim he hid in a tavern with a friend of his, the door bolted and guarded. Luckily none broke through, probably too occupied fighting Cousland and his army. He saw plenty later on though, there was a lot of work to be found protecting idiots in the deep roads. He'd never seen them in such numbers though. Never seen a darkspawn army, until recently anyway.

Thinking about the days events he strapped on his steel longsword and dagger before heading back out into the camp. He still had time and decided to go and check up on Eloen. Her talent for archery was obvious when he had first seen her practice it, but he wanted to see how the sharpening of her skills was going. He turned away from the refugee tents and walked towards the military ones. He'd find the archery range facing the river. Safer that way, less chance of stray arrows hitting refugees or soldiers. As he approached from the side of the range he spotted various archers, most of which were soldiers, but among them stood Eloen. He smiled when he saw her. She no longer had her usual submissive look about her. She looked completely focused, like a fighter. With most people he would have taken the piss out of the seriousness of it, but in her it was refreshing. He enjoyed it. She loosed an arrow downrange that seemed to him to hit her target spot on.

“Yeah! That's how you dead a fucking darkspawn! You soldiers taking notes?” Colin smiled, nodding at Eloen from the short distance before approaching her.

"Meeting for the Divine's volunteer force is happening shortly Eloen. You should come along, let them know you're interested and get a feel for the people we'll be working with. Keep nailing those shots, and I'll see you there, yeah? It's just down along the river there."

With that he headed off. He still had a while before he'd need to be at the rendezvous spot, but he wanted to get there early anyway, see what types turned up. He wondered if there would be any who he thought he could have watch his back or who he reckoned might get him killed. Approaching the designated spot he clocked two youngsters, or people who were obviously younger than him anyhow. They both stood silently, seemingly in contemplation. Of course, Colin broke the silence.

“The fuck are you two so solemn about? Hey, it's not like the darkspawn are marching in the thousands only seventeen years after the last blight... Oh wait.” Colin laughed, looking from the young lass to the young man with a wry grin on his face. “Colin Roche, at your service. Who might you kids be? Wait... Shit... I haven't gone to the wrong area and ended up in 'Lover's Lane' or something have I?”

More change had happened to the young elf in these past few weeks then had happened to her in her entire time in Tevinter. Two months ago she was a slave in Tevinter, braiding the hair of her mistress and listening to her gossip with one of her friends about the newest affaires of Tevinter women. A month ago she was stumbling through the woods starving to death and lost with arms full of chains. Luck had struck her, as well as the ground, and her life began to alter. Meeting Colin in the woods, loosing the chains. A full meal in her stomach and a long walk with good company later and Eloen found herself being trained for an army of sorts. Eloen wasn't quite sure what she was fighting for, but Cloin had insisted something about glory, and it wasn't like she had anything better to do with her time.

Eloen now found herself in the camps archery range, practicing her new found abilities. Eloen found herself taking to archery quite well, perhaps thanks to her practice in her old life, or maybe because archery was just remembering all the little details.

The Elven women took a deep breath, going through the steps in her head as she notched an arrow.

"Take a deep breath."

Eloen shifted her position on her legs, moving her right foot in front of her left foot. She turned her left foot into a more ninety-degree angle. Her right foot pointed towards the target down the range.

"Widen your stance."

Eloen bounced on her knees slightly, trying to keep her legs from going stiff. Eloen exhaled slowly through her nose. Before raising her bow she took another deep breath.

"Don't lock your elbows."

Eloen had learned the hard way that locking you elbows put them in danger of getting stung by the string as the bow was fired. Not only that but it put too much strain on her arms. Eloen relaxed her arms, rolling her shoulders back.

She placed three fingers on the bowstring, hooking them around it.

"Pull it back to your eye."

Eloen pulled the string back, feeling it resist as she moved it onto position. Eloen tilted her head to the side slightly, fearing catching one of her ears. Eloen released and took one more deep breath before closing one eye, looking down the shaft of the arrow. In her concentration Eloen found herself slightly sticking out her tongue, as if it would help her aim.

"Don't. Breathe."

She held her breath, keeping her arms steady on their target. Before her body could feel the strain of the lack of oxygen Eloen let her fingers slip off the string, sending the arrow flying through the air.

Eloen watched the arrow hit its target, sinking several inches into the wood and straw dummy with a satisfying sound. It wasn't a perfect hit, but it was still a pretty good one. Eloen waited several seconds after watching the arrow land to release the breath she had been holding. She then lowered her bow.

A few moments after this Eloen allowed her breathing to return to normal, she looked around casually. There were few people around her, most of them not paying attention to the Elven archer. And once she was sure no one was watching her Eloen allowed her formal and polite exterior to falter for a moment, jumping up and down with excitement at her achievement.

Her excited jumping quickly turned to a startled jump when Colin suddenly shouted out, praising her archery. She closed up on herself slightly, suddenly feeling many more sets of eyes on her then she would have liked. Eloen sheepishly waved at Colin as he continued along. He had mentioned to her the meeting of the Divine, and suggested that she went along too. Would she really be an asset to such an elite team?

She would think about it. She didn't want to disappoint Colin by not showing up.

Eloen took a deep breath, pushing down her nerves of being seen, and notched another arrow.

Killian Tavus had been watching the Darkspawn in the distance, silently wondering how many he would have been able to destroy before they overwhelmed him had he remained at the family estate rather than fleeing with the other servants when the beasts had come marching south from the capital. Tevinter wasn't perfect, he knew that better than most, but it was his homeland and he loved it. Leaving as the Darkspawn destroyed his home had been the second most painful experience of his life and now all he could think about was going back.

His contemplations were suddenly interrupted by the decidedly vulgar invocations of the older man who joined him and the young Orlesian woman at the meeting place. Killian had always had an ear for accents and the newcomer's rang clearly of Ferelden. Many in the Magisterium thought of nations outside of the Imperium as less civilised, and Fereldens in particular were thought of as little better than their barbarian Avaar cousins. Killian was one of the few who did not hold to such negative stereotypes, and yet this man's manner helped Killian to understand why others might hold such views.

The young Magister cleared his throat and gave the newcomer a polite smile, though no bow. "Killian Tavus, at your service as well, Mr Roche." He said formally. It seemed that Killian had only two modes: Stiff and formal or silent and brooding. "I am a Magister of the Imperium, such as it is..." He illustrated his last point with a vague wave towards the north.

Colin Roche

“A magister, eh?” Colin asked, his voice losing it's almost default tone of humour. He screwed up his face and looked the lad up and down. After staring intensely for a few seconds he took a step forward. He placed his hands behind his back, puffed his chest out and took a quick look to the right and left as if addressing a crowd before shouting in what was obviously a tone of mock nobility:

“Excuse me master, teacher, magister ser, but isn't it awkward sharing a camp, food, safety and indeed a title: Refugee! ... With all those you would previously have called and treated as slaves?” He leaned his head forward slightly, raising an eyebrow as if he were a teacher awaiting an answer. Suddenly he regained his normal posture and his face softened.

“Oh, but don't think me heartless. I do indeed remember when my homeland was tainted, plagued and massacred by those darkspawn bastards, so I can empathize. I was just ten years old during the Battle of Denerim. I remember feeling... Hold up, I was ten...” His face turned from soft to a look of remembrance and humour and suddenly he was mashing his clenched hands together making a slapping noise. “I 'skinned the sausage' every fifteen blighted minutes when I was ten, but I don't remember caring about much else... My apologies, I guess I can't empathize.” He smirked, nodding as if to signal he was done talking, but of course, he wasn't.

“So we know who you are... We ALL know who you are!” He grinned at the Tevinter before turning to the lady present. “But who's the weirdly nice on the eyes knight? Or did you steal daddy's armour and decide to go on an adventure? Nope, not that. I can see you separating me from my limbs in your eyes. You really are a knight! Damn, and I thought I was a talented youth.”

The burly Dwarf used a trunk-thick arm to move the tent flap out of his way, grumbling and still nursing a hangover from the night before. Garlenn cleared his throat and hocked a big hunk of something onto the dirt, almost hitting a Tevinter woman's foot. He didn't seem to notice, anyway. The press of refugees were packed tighter than an Elf's ass, but they moved out of his way once his hefted his huge Axe.

Armored and heavy as an anvil, the Warrior waded through the masses, pushing aside anything dumb enough or unwary enough to get the way of this avalanche of a Dwarf. He'd been in Tevinter before, hired to quell a small Qunari incursion, supposedly a forward camp to make a foothold on mainland soil. That didn't end well for them, Garlenn remembered. Of course, his next assignment in Tevinter had some of it's own people getting sliced to ribbons by the Dwarf. Didn't matter, really. They'd both been well paid jobs, and good fights. He wouldn't complain.

This however, was different. Garlenn would truly have fun with this job. Darkspawn filth was something he particularly enjoyed killing, and there seemed to be no end to them in sight. Selfishly, he was glad for this new blight. Gave him plenty of stuff to do and lots of anger to mete out on those hellish bastards. He chuckled at the thought of what was to come as he made his way out of the refugee camp and up the hill towards Mirianne d'Fleur's tent. Some flowery ass name, that was. From what he'd heard she didn't live up to it. He'd just have to see for himself.

Before long he found himself heading straight for four curious figures. An Elf, a Man, a Woman Knight, and a Tevinter. They were all ugly. Then again, that must have been the hangover keeping his mood down. Either way, he didn't care past his initial impression. As long as he got a job. “But who's the weirdly nice on the eyes knight? Or did you steal daddy's armour and decide to go on an adventure? Nope, not that. I can see you separating me from my limbs in your eyes. You really are a knight! Damn, and I thought I was a bad ass youth." he heard the man say. The Dwarf spoke up as he made to their little 'circle.' "Talkin' like ye got nothing to lose, eh? Suren if the lady cuts yer stones off ye'll be right talkative then."

"Ignore the cries, we know where the slaughter yet lies..."

"Slow us down, they will, ignore their cries..."

"You cannot suppress us forever, ignore their cries"

"Would you lot be silent for one Maker blessed day?"

Angstar had a habit of muttering responses to the voices in his head, especially when they decided to complain and rant about the fact he wasn't halting any prior courses of action and throwing himself head long into the next slaughter. He couldn't call them fights, most days, not when the enemy could not kill him fast enough. He wasn't proud of that, mind you, it was merely the state of the matter, and he glanced down at the notice that had reached his hands. He couldn't remember how, the how of many things oft eluded him around the times he had been fighting, but the daemons in his head had seemed to agree with at least the part about heading towards the thickest concentration of the Dark spawn seen in years, and of all the people still alive in the world, human wise, he had a very good handle on large concentrations of Darkspawn. Ostagar rang clearly in his memories of this, but he pushed that from his mind. He didn't need to remember how he became what he had, not so readily. He knew what his kind were called, so he left it at that when making introductions.

He arrived at the camp after several days quick march, something he still thanked his service in the Fereldan army for learning how to do properly, he knew rookies who just outright ran all day and were dead the next day, relatively speaking of course, because they didn't know how to move fast, constantly. That and he often went days without sleep or rest as it was, even if he did try to lay down he often couldn't sleep, mostly because of his unwelcome companions in his head, so he just kept marching until he found himself tired again, and could lay down for a blessed rest before awaking to reality again and marching on to his next destination. Sure enough, the Minanter river and its fortified camp came into view, and he was not left unchallanged for long, sentries approaching the forboding, solemnn looking warrior and demanding his name and purpose for approaching, clearly expecting a fight. "I am Ansgar Staudinger, of Fereldan. I come to answer the call by Lady d'Fleur, here, this explains it better than I." Upon offering the note he had acquired, the sentries seemed trained on what to do.

He was directed to a tent to the East of the camp, on a small hill, and he bid the men farewell, ignoring the urges by the demons. They always wanted the same thing, and were rather unimaginative about how they went about trying to get him to do it. Brute force, driven by the bloodshed of the real world. They had some strength when Ansgar was stuck in with the enemy, but otherwise, it was annoying at best. But, as he approached the tent, he had to wonder what sort would have answered such a call. The note called for heroes to stand against the Darkspawn, and he was anything but a hero. He did pull his armored hood down, no sense concealing himself from future allies. He made it clear, mentally, to the demons that anyone he fought with were not targets as well. He could easily control that much in a fight, and they cared little as long as they shed blood. But, the Reaver focused on the now as he opened the tent, entering and taking stock of his surroundings.

The woman in knights armor was likely Lady d'Fleur, going off the word that the brave few to have exchanged words with him about the subject knew. Looks were oft deceiving, so he gave her fair look little other thought. Next was the Tevinter Magister, they had a nasty habit of standing out. It was the air they held, even the decent ones still had it, and the demons particularly loved when mages were around of any sort. It rather grated on his nerves, but it was hardly their fault. Young looking rogue scrapper, from the words he caught approaching the tent, had quite the mouth on him. Last from inside the tent was a dwarf, good lot they tended to be, he looked like a prime example of their kind. Sturdy, well armored, and ready for a fight. He had no misgivings about that one. All these thoughts ran by in scant seconds, enough time for him to incline his head towards Lady d'Fleur and offer his greeting, the what to him would be explained upon request, although everyone likely noticed the unpleasant air that seemed to haunt him. "Lady d'Fleur, and associated allies of her, I am Ansgar Staudinger, of Fereldan, answering the call."

The icy air that chills even the thickest of skinned to their very bone, the jagged mountain paths that felt like walking on daggers, the thick snow one would sink knee deep in, Gereth missed it all as he lumbered his way through the sea of people. It had taken weeks for the grey brute to make his journey this far north from the Frostback mountains that he called home and the farther he traveled the more and more be began to detest the lowlands. He had trekked through marshes full of the undead, battled through woods teeming with all manners of beasts, climbed parlous mountains, and even sailed across a nightmarish sea, all of that Gereth took to with stride, but the towering individual couldn't tolerate the nearly constant complaints of his lowlander companions. Since the beginning of his trip Gereth managed to acquaint himself with a group of Ferelden mercenaries that were also on their way to this gathering of arms, but if he had known what weak stock they were made of Gereth would of taken the risk of navigating the lowlands on his own. He had to pull this band of whelps from destruction caused by their own stupidity countless times and now that they had finally made it to the meeting grounds Gereth couldn't rid himself of them fast enough, offering little more than an agitated grunt as a farewell.

After making his leave of his less than pleasing travel companions Gereth found himself facing a whole new nuisance, the sea of people he their cacophony of hushed murmurs whenever he passed. Another annoying trait that Gereth discovered about lowlanders, they always hid their grievances behind false smiles and whispers. It was after the fifth time that Gereth heard "What is a dirty oxman doing here?" whispered behind that he truly longed for the bluntness of the people of his hold. Resisting his urge to demonstrate just how much of the brute they assumed him to be he could become Gereth pushed further into the sea of people, eventually finding the right person who pointed him into the direction he sought.

His patience that had been far more than wearing thin seemed to finally managed to receive some sort of break as Gereth broke away from the mass of people and found himself observing an odd, but far more tolerable size gathering. A dwarf, two younger looking humans, another human that looked about a decade or so older than the other two, and one more even far older than he. He listened to the small exchanges the group made for a few moments, resisting his instinct to simply walk away from the nonsense he was hearing Gereth pushed himself forward. "Are you the one I have to see in regards of this." He said bluntly to the armored young lady, cutting through the little comedy scene that was unfolding. As he spoke he presented the letter he and so many others had received that had brought him here. He hoped to have his question answered quickly and to avoid anymore of an annoyance that this whole endeavor was already proving to be.

Patience, Patience, Patience.

That was his mantra, at least since he had left on his next adventure, and he had held it in his minds eye for what seemed like a long time now. BUT! He had been as patient as a stone, as patient as three stones and he had grown quite tired off it. Thankfully, as his calm had begun to shatter, the camp had come into view. It was unlike anything he had beheld before and an odd chill ran up his spine.

This is for true...

Part of him had used the handbill as an excuse to make a small adventure away from the outskirts of Brecilian woods. He hadn't really given any REAL thought to what he might be getting himself into, in some small part, he wasn't sure if it was actually true. The sight of the immense camp had dashed what ever doubts or misconceptions he may have had to flinders. IT was real, IT was war, IT was many dead, IT was many dying, and many upon many in danger. He steeled his resolve, and made the rest of his way to the camp among the quickest of his land traveled. Now was, most assuredly, not the time to dally. He was needed, even if it was in a small facet. All the wandering, learning and training he had gone through would amount to something, anything.

As he approached an entrance of the camp he flashed the handbill to the first human that would look in his direction. They shooed him off towards, what Talon assumed was, the direction of the gathering spot. The behavior he was encountering from the guards was a bit off putting but, to them, he likely looked like some lithe moron looking for a quick way to fill a grave. It was unlikely that they could tell he was of elven kind, as he kept his hood up and was not currently dressed like anything the average soldier would imagine an elf wearing. He shrugged it off, he hadn't come to be treated any special way anyways. He just imagined... something else?

What COULD I have possibly thought to be treated as...?

This thought, and this thought alone, occupied his mind as he made his way through the labyrinthine cluster of tents that preluded the meeting spot. It wasn't his fault he hadn't been more in touch with his elven roots. He had been taken away from all of that at such a young age and he hadn't been reintroduced into it until just a year or so ago. No one had ever taught him how to “Elf”. An annoyed scowl had his faced screwed up by the time he had finally reached his future comrades. He was far too deep in the ramblings of his own mindset to make any such off hand comment on their ragtaggery, which he most definitely would have liked to, and instead held the bill out in the air in front of himself as he stood on the outer rim of the group. The darkspawn, the war, and the meeting had all been put on the back burner of his mind as he debated within himself how much of an elf he truly was.

Eloen had remained at the archery range for awhile after Colin disappeared into the tent. She tried to focus on her training, but her mind felt worried and distant. She kept getting caught up in her thoughts, missing steps in the preparation to fire arrows. The next two arrows she fired hit the training dummy's, but just barely. One only sunk in a few inches and the other found its mark in the dummy's foot.

The girl sighed as she notched another arrow.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched as a variety of people also entered the tent, likely moving for the meeting about the special group. A tall, heavily armored man. A rough looking dwarf, an elf, and a qunari. Eloen had never seen a qunari before, but heard of their kind through the gossip of her Mistress.

What if something bad was happening to her friend in that tent? Why would such dangerous and untamed looking people be agreeing to join up with a religious group? Eloen's arms tensed anxiously, locking her elbows as she fired off the arrow.

Eloen bit back a yelp of pain as the bowstring stung her arm. The sudden pain came as a shock, causing Eloen to drop her bow and pull back her arm, examining the damage. A thin line of blood ran along the inside of her arm. Just a minor cut, nothing to worry about.

And yet Eloen couldn't shake the feeling that her new friend might be in trouble, and that propelled her towards the tent that the others had entered. Taking a deep breath Eloen reached a trembling hand towards the flap-covering of the large tent. Eloen stole quick glances up at the figures in the tent, taking note at what a wide array of people had taken the call. Humans. Elves, dwarves and the qunari.

Colin was among the group, but he was located closer to the front of the crowd, completely boxed in by all the others. Eloen swallowed nervously, trying to think of a way to get her friends attention without drawing attention to herself. Eloen, keeping her head and eyes respectfully downcast, moved slightly into the tent. But she kept herself along the wall, out of the way of the others.

Astyth had been at this encampment for more then a few days and yet each morning she somehow seemed to find herself completely and hopelessly lost. Hell, being a mere four and a half foot tall woman with an inclination towards kindness made navigating a battlefield seem like a cakewalk when compared to the shifting sea of dirty and desperate refugees she had been dealing with in growing numbers each day. She had actually been thankful when she received the note of parchment that had been calling for experienced warriors: any mission that actually got her out of this blasted camp was welcome in her opinion. Sure, she was here to fulfill a specific task for a certain little bird-a task she quickly decided could be just as easily accomplished while helping this “Lady d'Fleur.”

Doing her best to totally look like she knew the exact direction she was going Astyth wandered around for a bit more, her heavy surface world crafted dwarfen plate mail clanking as she walked navigated the crowds: of course along the way she let out several of her usual lines “Oh excuse me.” “Pardon me.” “Could you please stop stepping on me?”-you know, all the normal things one has to say around abunch of careless longlegs.

She'd been in the middle of thinking I swear this whole section of tents wasn't even here yesterday when she spotted a gray skinned horned giant of man cutting his way through the vast crowds of people like a shark through water-if she were a betting girl anyone that big and deadly looking had to be going to the same place she was.

For a brief moment she toyed with the idea of trying to climb the walking mountain in an attempt to see over all the damned bumbling long legs. She quickly decided against such a brash course of action though as the various possible outcomes played through her head. Probably not a good idea she thought to herself afterall, I never learned if the rumors about them biting were true or not...

For all her travels in truth Astyth knew little about the famed horned men who went by many names: most of which held very different meanings. She found her mind trailing off as it often did, her thoughts finally wondering just what name this behemoth might use. Wasting no time she followed in his footsteps with the full belief this would work out. Sure enough in a rather short amount of time he had unknowingly led her to a a decently sized pavilion styled tent. This had to be the meeting spot for the little band of misfits being assembled by a “Lady d'Fleur.”-a fact Astyth so brilliantly deduced by the odd menagerie of men and women she soon saw gathered.

Following directly in after her unnamed guide the mood of the group was...odd. Normally Astyth stood out as an odd duck and therefore usually worked alone but so far, well, she didn't think she needed to worry about being the “wierd one.”

With her iron mace fastened in a hand made leather rig to her left hip and the round steel buckler hanging on her back she had the free hands necessary to lift the full faced helmet off her head. As her armored hands removed the protective metal mask that resembled a skull wearing a crown the face that took its place was almost comically different: the hazel eyes and slightly crooked nose tracing around everyone in sight. She seemed to like everyone she saw save for Garlenn, whom she gave a brief look of disgust in the form of a scrunched up nose and slight less friendly smile. Quickly though her facial expressions went back to a genuine full toothed grin as she looked at the same woman Gereth was addressing “What the big guy said.” She chimed in a voice that could almost be described as squeeky. Without saying much she seemed to take a bit of thunder out of the horned giants entrance.

Colin Roche
The Rag-Tag Force Meeting Spot

Colin looked down at the dwarf, his mouth agape in mock indignation. “Nothing to lose!?” He exclaimed, his eyes shining. “I doubt you've got a very good angle my stout friend but I can assure you I have a very handsome face on me, a face that gets me a lot of attention from the ladies when combined with my winning demeanor. To say I have nothing to lose if this pretty killer here cuts my gonads off is like saying you Dwarves have nothing to lose if someone introduces your people to shaving razors! I do say my good man, I am hurt.” Colin smiled, chuckling as he turned back to the front.

Over the next several minutes a whole gang of different people turned up. Everything from another Dwarf to one of the grey giants. Colin just observed, enjoying the rag-tag group that had now crowded the large tent. Soon Eloen turned up and Colin flashed a smile at her.

“Hey, move ya big and small blighters, let my slender friend through there.”

Unwilling to wait Colin stuck himself in the small crowded space between where he was and the back and held his arm out to Eloen.

“Come forward El, might be a tad difficult for you to hear what's said through the thick wall of grey muscle here.”

"Nothing to lose? I doubt you've got a very good angle my stout friend but I can assure you I have a very handsome face on me, a face that gets me a lot of attention from the ladies when combined with my winning demeanor. To say I have nothing to lose if this pretty killer here cuts my gonads off is like saying you Dwarves have nothing to lose if someone introduces your people to shaving razors! I do say my good man, I am hurt." the man replied to Garlenn's remark. The Dwarf shrugged and sighed. "Guess we got a real class act here. And here I was thinking I'd be alone in that regard." he replied wryly. Hefting his axe and setting it upon his shoulder, he turned casually to the new members of the group approaching.

He gave a toothy grin and a wink to Asyth, before his face twisting in confusion at her less than excited facial expression. Huh... He looked past her and saw an Elf and a horn boy walking up to speak to the Knightly lady. Seems the gang was all here, or so he believed to be the case. Judging by the variety of the ragtag bunch of misfits gathering around now, perhaps they'd invite a Genlock next to heal the party when wounded? He huffed at the inner sarcasm.

Eloen stood timidly in the back of the tent, back of the group. There were so many people, so much potential danger. Luckily no one had seemed to notice her, even a dwarfed women entered the tent without noticing Eloen.

She could only see the backs of everyone but quite a group had gathered. There the was aforementioned squeaky voiced dwarf and a dwarf, who's voice was anything but squeaky, who seemed to have been engaged with Colin in conversation. The qunari posed a rather difficult question for Eloen. She had no idea how to engage him in a respectful manner. There was also an elf, much to Eloens delight. She had never really gotten to have a conversation with another elf, at least not a long or meaningful one.

Towards the front of the group was a beautiful woman in armor, clearly the leader of this group of misfits. And next to her was a sight that made her want to run back into the woods. She had served a Tevinter family her whole life, and the man near the armored women carried several characteristics. His expression, his clothes, the way her carried himself.

Eloen happened to be looking at Colin when her friend took notice of her entrance and gave her a smile and a wave, Eloen returned the two gestures in her own quiet way. Her smile quickly became a look of shock and fear as Colin began commanding the others to move over so she could fit her way into the crowd.

Eloen tensed up when Colin announced her presence to the group. She kept her head and eyes down but raised her hands in a sort of 'I'm unarmed' gesture. Her eyes glanced up at the Qunari when Colin referenced him, startled Eloen looked back at her human friend. She spoke in a soft and meek voice.

"Oh, I am quite alright my good sir. I can hear just fine from the back."

There had been allot going on, and it was easy for him to be sort of pushed to the wayside. Everyone had been practically clamoring over each other to talk to the young knight and this had snapped him from his thoughts. The young woman that seemed to be the center of just about everyone's attention had her hands full to bursting. It was obvious that if he were to get a chance to talk to her, it wouldn't be quite this minute. He decided, instead, to look of the cavalcade of adventurers, scoundrels, brutes, and all together well wishers. This was the kind of group you'd find in a bar, in an academic city occupied by a military force. The pouring rain of this now wet, forever unnamed, city drawing in those that would never find themselves in such seedy surroundings in the first place. This was the second place though, this phantom place, and such meetings were a dime a dozen. Maybe even twenty a nickle, who could know such things? Either way, back to the backless analysis of a young and book smart, and only book smart, elf. None of what he saw really surprised him. What he would call “The Usual” had shown up. Great mountains of metal and flesh had shown up, and big hills; his eyes found a half second's rest on Asyth's face.

Then there were the ones he had not expected, the ones he would have bet on not coming. There was a rather... outspoken man who seemed to say the first thing that was weighing on his mind and the weight never lost any substance. He was ready with the next word before anyone else had the chance to digest the first. This made Talon grin, honest and true, through the whole of his thin face. As was aforementioned, he had spent the last bit of his life living amongst the forest dwelling Dalish and they were not one to “waste” words. Some of them said so little that it could fit in a thimble with Talon's own finger still in it. This man would be an unending source for Talon's forever expanding pool of cultural knowledge, not to mention coarse language! The coarse man carried himself with confidence, aggressive confidence. If Talon hadn't been so interested in him, he might have been afraid. Not that there weren't many among the group that didn't already make him feel quite destructible. His eyes narrowed, there was someone something... in the teeming mass of fighters in the attention center of the room that blew an ill wind straight through his bones. Hunger, so much that you could eat until you were holiday sick and still keep going back for more.

That was something he noted in his mind in twice bold lettering

Betwixt the oddities a flower, all folded up on itself. Further quiet then a night without a breeze. The counter opposite of the man who was now calling her forward. The man was obviously smarter then most would take in at first glance. He seemed to understand that even a sickly plant can be made to dazzle, and THAT Talon would put his money on. Whether dazzling at the time or not, Talon made a decision to get in some time to talk with the elven woman. He hoped against hoping that, even as quiet as she had initially seemed, he could hold a conversation with her.

There had to be some heart hidden among the petals

He decided to smash the proverbial birds and made his way towards the gardener and the flower. It wasn't hard, mostly, as the lady had kept herself on the outskirts of the group and the man had practically made the group himself. There was a problem, one problem. It hadn't been bothering him too much at first but he could feel it now. Like when you pull out a splinter but it leaves a bit behind. Not enough to keep trying to cut it out but enough to stare at and wonder why it couldn't have just been done. It was what ever it was in the air, that insatiable hunger. There were too many people to hold it down and identify but he wanted to itch all over because of it all the same. He gave the group an oddly wide berth and walked along the wall of the tent. It didn't really help and what ever he felt didn't seem to be bothering anyone else... maybe he had spent too long on the road alone.

He made a small bow before the adventurers and spoke towards both Colin and Eloen.

“Might I trouble the two of you a minute? Our lady in waiting seems well waited on and I have a few things I'd very much like to discuss with you.”

Having not been around many strangers in his adulthood, he didn't have much a gauge when it came to whether bothering people you had just meet was appropriate or not. On finishing his request of the two newly met recruits he pulled an odd looking staff free from his pack and rested it on the floor against the crook of his neck. It was straight, pole straight and it looked allot like a pole. Like a pole wrapped in leather, or rather bound in leather. Nothing Talon was doing seemed out of the ordinary to him in the least and he waited with what appeared to be bated breath.

Eloen jumped when the other elf addressed her. She had been watching the group so intently from the back that she hadn't expected someone to come up on her side. Eloen instinctively took a step away from the stranger, closer to Colin. She kept her gaze locked on the ground, bowing her head as a way not to be seen by the other elf. She had been hoping to eventually make contact with the other elf, but now that it was happening Eloen wasn't quite sure she was ready for interaction.

He said he had things to discuss with them. Her head started going a hundred miles a minute, thinking of every worse-case-scenario. Slavers after Eloen, or Assassins after Colin. Whatever it was it couldn't be good.

“I...I...uh...” She sputtered out, closing in on herself.

She looked up to Colin for some form of guidance in the situation. At least the other elf wasn't asking to speak to Eloen alone or, worse, Colin alone. Eloen didn't think she would survive being left alone in the tent with so many strangers.

Not really wanting to cause Eloen too much stress Colin relented in his desire to bring her to the front and instead simply decided to stand with her. It wasn’t long before an Elven lad that looked quite a bit younger than Colin approached and introduced himself, asking whether he could discuss some things with them. Colin looked down at Eloen who stuttered a few words before looking up at him. He took that as a hint that he should do the talking.

“Alright, but two quick questions first. Firstly, how old are you? I figure you’re a few years younger than me, but it’s difficult to tell. You Elves always have such youthful glows to you, even with your often stressful lives. It’s inspiring really... Secondly, you’re not planning on turning me into a toad with that thing are you?” He grinned, nodding at the long pole looking thing. “I’m quite fond of my current form, and honestly it’d be mighty damaging to my budding independent mercenary career.”

Eloen relaxed a little at her friends joke, not changing her tense expression but allowing herself a quick and sudden exhale through her nose. A weak attempt at a laugh.

Ugh, he fuckin winked at me. Astyth found herself groaning to herself at Garlenns display of...some form of emotion. What, were they supposed to just be friends all of a sudden because they were the only two dwarfs in the tent? Sod that

To her he looked like the atypical drunken sort of dwarf that gave her kind so many negative stereotypes, the very kind she did her best to dispel during her travels: people like him were the very reason she neither drank nor picked fights like in her youth. Of course this was still all jut assumption on her part, infact she knew nothing of Garlenn and his only real offense had been "looking the part" in her mind. She'd been so caught up in staring back at Garlenn with a painfully strained smile that she'd been completely unaware of the goings on behind her until the the chatty longleg barked for people to make room for his compatriot in the back. The commotion caused Astyth to turn and see a meek looking mouse woman-but then again, the woman in question was an elf so it wasn't entirely her fault Astyth reminded herself. As if proving her sheepish nature to Astyth the little lamb piped up with an “"Oh, I am quite alright my good sir. I can hear just fine from the back."

Astyth made sure the sheepish girl noticed her rolling her eyes. So far this meeting was turning out to be as dysfunctional as the group itself-she was painfully reminded why she preferred working alone. The whole thing was starting to put her into one of her rarely seen sour moods. As she toyed with the idea of putting her helmet back on she noticed the noisy longleg and his little lamb beginning to converse with the only other knife ear in the room-Astyth was quick to make note of this ones “walking stick.”

As Gereth waited for the young female knight to answer his question he toke note of the fact that the tent was starting to fill with ever more people. The first to enter after Gereth was another dwarf, though this one seemed to be of the fairer sex as opposed to her heavily bearded counterpart, but she held the same sturdy air as him. She had came just in time to hear Gereth's question and simply included herself into it, Gereth found this curtness refreshing compared to the pointlessly drawn out conversations he had been subjected to in the proceeding weeks, but besides that he thought little of it. The next was a smaller looking fellow wearing a hood, it didn't take all too long to figure from his small frame that the man was an elf. Gereth had seen quite a few of his kind, one of the groups that calls themselves the Dalish often found themselves wondering not too far from Gereth's hold and the two groups would occasionally trade, but if this elf was anything like them Gereth couldn't tell yet as he had only simply made his way to the back of the group and remained silent. Rounding up the last of the group was yet another elf, but unlike her predecessor Gereth could practically see the nervous energy emanating from the young elven girl. The massive grey mound couldn't help but groan inwardly at the thought of being paired with what seemed to be such a whelp so shortly after what felt like a lifetime of traveling with a group of men that couldn't defend themselves from a nug. To say the lease Gereth's view of the lownaders was not improving with this trip

Gereth found himself pulled from his observation of his would be partners when the rather talkative human forcibly attempted to part the crowd that had formed in order to speak with the skittish female elf that had taken up refuge in the back of the tent. But his efforts appeared to be in vain seeing as the young lass seemed to be refusing to move from her spot, it seemed that the ball of worry had some firmness in her. Gereth let out a low grunt, a borderline growl, as the man referred to him as a wall of grey muscle, the statement wasn't wrong but it was an annoyance all the same. He stifled his urge to correct the man, no need to get him talking more than he already was, and besides he had already moved on to talk to the two elves of the group. Gereth removed his attention away from the loud mouth lowlander and went back to his observing the group as a whole. He eventually ended up back on the dwarf that had entered after him and he took note of the painfully dirty look she was giving her fellow dwarf, it seemed there was bad blood between these two stout folk. Seeing as his question had still been unanswered he took it upon himself to make something clear so he would stop being referred to a various large objects. "It is Gereth" He said in a clear tone as he turned his head to the side and starred down at the lady dwarf. "Not big guy." He finished his statement, referring back to the women's earlier nickname for him.

Ansgar stepped out of the way once he had made his introductions, and not in a less timely manner as others approached, including what looked like a Qunari. But, the old warrior reminded himself, the 'Wall of Grey Muscle' as the man was called, did not carry himself like a Qunari. Nor, as far as he had encountered, would one have so readily thrown his lot in with such a group. Ansgar had trouble remembering the term for them, he was not very fluent in the language used by those following the Qun, though he had encountered their ilk before. They didn't respond well to what he was, so he oft made it a point to not tarry overlong in lands populated by Qunari and such followers of the Qun. Didn't appeal to him, anyways, even if he considered it from before his corruption. But the giant named himself as Gereth, and seemed to leave it at that, not preferring big guy. Some folk did not take kindly to nicknames, Ansgar could see the why, so he would merely keep the name in memory should he need to converse with the not Qunari. No, he was tired of thinking not Qunari, so he spoke quietly, voice carrying volume enough to be heard however, the cold chill that Talon felt in his bones only grew harsher when Ansgar spoke, giving him a subtle indication of the source of the gnawing, insistent hunger. "Gereth, I do have a simple question, if you would humor an old warriors curiosity. I recognize you do not follow the Qun, they would not subject themselves to this of their own will, alone, but I have not heard of what one of those outside the Qun would refer to themselves as. Would you be willing to enlighten me upon this matter?"

Ansgar spoke politely, as he would to any fellow warrior, not concerned with the difference in species. After all, get into a fight with the darkspawn, they hardly care what race you are, killing is killing. But as he awaited the man's response, the daemonic whispering in his head grew insistent, they cared not for this waiting, and were convinced that they would be found out before it was opportunistic to reveal his nature. Mainly, they wanted to start fighting again, so close to a, at casual observation, army to dwarf that faced at Ostagar so many years ago. They knew his memories of the matter, and had lusted at the chance of having another fight like it. He drowned out their voices with his own thoughts on those present so far. Gereth, he had addressed, and left at that. The dwarves seemed to not overly care for each other, the female dwarf was an indication of this at any rate, while the wall flower seemed unhappy with the fast talking rogue's proposition to stand up front and center. Another elf decided to go talk to the two, and the daemons whispered that he knew something was wrong. Ansgar ignored them, outside of a fight, they merely sought to create conflict to revel in.

Despite the rather rag tag, disorganized look the group had, Ansgar was confident in the well rounded appearance it had, if equipment was anything to go by. Mages, plenty of warriors, at least one archer, for a task force meant to vanguard the main Southern Army, it seemed like it could prove rather effective. Assuming they were all competent enough to stand against the worst the Darkspawn could throw at them, this apparent Black Warden included, something that left him rather uncomfortable. The rumors that wherever he arrived, the defenses were smashed and torn asunder in a single night, something rang too close to home for him, as it sounded like another being corrupted, only falling to another side of things. He was not looking forward to the idea of facing such a being, but the daemons, of course, relished the thought of a real fight instead of slaughtering more peons, as they saw the world. But the aura of insistent, gnawing hunger remained, something that Apostates that tried to help him in the past described as unpleasant at best, and he sadly could do little to suppress. He had no gift with magic, nor could he readily focus on such things in a fight with his condition even if he did, so it was something they would have to tolerate or comment on. Perhaps they might have something to help him, when the time came for a fight. He would ask of either of them later, the Magister especially might have some knowledge on the matter, known for blood magic as they were. Certainly something to keep in mind...

What he had done had been unintentional, what he had done was set the poor girl to sputtering. He looked down and checked his appearance a bit, picking at his clothing a bit as he did.

I'm not really imposing...am I?

Before he could try to defend why HE didn't believe himself to be off putting in anyway, the forthspoken man stepped as forth.

“Alright, but two quick questions first. Firstly, how old are you? I figure you’re a few years younger than me, but it’s difficult to tell. You Elves always have such youthful glows to you, even with your often stressful lives. It’s inspiring really... Secondly, you’re not planning on turning me into a toad with that thing are you?”

He then eye'd Talon's stave.

“I’m quite fond of my current form, and honestly it’d be mighty damaging to my budding independent mercenary career.”

He couldn't help it, the question caught him wholly off guard and he started laughing. There wasn't any meaness in it but it came off louder then he would have wanted due to the smallish enclosure. He only stopped once he had thrust his chin into his chest and placed both his hands over his mouth. After a moment or two of heaving, he was ready to reply.

"Who told you I could do that?! If that was in my repitior then this would be a short fight indeed! We'd only need two small groups to finish the whole of the war! One to mash frogs and the other to prepare the soup!"

He had a horrible sense of humor, this being something they would all learn in time... Well, not too much time.

"Oh, and I'm... 24? It's a long story, my guess is only marginally better then yours. That seems like an odd question to ask. What draws your curiosity there?"

He asked the questions truly wanting to hear answers but he turned to face the woman elf all the same. It was obvious that she wasn't one to say much, but it wasn't the same literary shortage he had meet among the Dalish. Her's was her own reason and his sense on inquiry knew little of personal boundary. Don't misunderstand the young knowledge hungry elf, he wasn't a barbarian but his understanding of personal space and inappropriate questioning was woefully out of practice.

"Miss, If I've offended in some way, I apologize. I'm a bit out of practice in... well, communication. I mean you, and none other in this tent, no harm. I have many, many questions for you and I'm willing to ask them to you in what ever time or amount you require; if at all."

The words that escaped his mouth were barely audible, he couldn't have said them more quietly if he had been whispering them from his death bed. He faced back towards Colin and smiled again, awaiting an answer from what he considered a great well of wisdom. There was a vast difference from wisdom and intelligence and he believed himself to be quite short coming in the prior.

AS he awaited his lesson, he felt it again. This time, if only for one long moment, he felt it strong. Like being pinched right under the arm but all over. It took a vast amount of concentration to hold back a startled yelp and he tightened hands around the leather of his stave. He held tight to the conversation at hand and did his best not to think of a spot outside of the tent where he could await their orders in peace. His eyes flicked towards the largest of the company's men, only for a quick breath, and he knew that it had to be one of those two. He partitioned a small portion of his analytical brain and started working on why someone with... that, would be finding their way here. Surely a lady of the church could feel that kind of a presence? Perhaps not, either way he was far to invested in what was going on in the present to let go of it right at the moment. He relaxed his shoulders a bit, only now just noticing that he had physically tensed up.

His need to distance himself from the situation grew more and more each passing moment