Commander Levine stood solemnly under the shadow of the Tower of Ishal, in the same place that the wardens of the Fifth blight had over two hundred years earlier. He had sent out over thirty new recruits from the Ferelden area, however Levine had decided that the time had come for him to find some to accompany him, so tonight he'd gathered the most promising recruits he could find from all across the country. He had just blown his battle-horn and was waiting for the recruits to gather, they'd been told that to come to his location as soon as they'd heard the noise. He had tried to make the place as regal as possible, torches lit on all sides, the moon directly above and vines growing majestically around the stone arches made it look nice, but it felt more like a place you'd bring a lover rather than a hardened soldier. It would serve. Just as we serve, Marc thought honestly.

His only fears rested with the Half Elf, Val. Val seemed the least likely to survive the joining ritual, but then again he'd seen weaker people go through it and be fine. These were, after all, his most promising recruits. It was odd that he hadn't found any humans to accompany him but he had played it off as having sent the best ones out of the country already, perhaps it was due to a slight tinge of racism that even Marc was unaware that he'd had inside of him or perhaps it was true. All that really mattered was getting these fine people through the joining. Then they could be counted among the wardens and start to serve a purpose rather than live by their own selfish needs and wants.

The joining had fallen far from the graceful ritual that it had been several centuries ago, mostly due to the fact that you couldn't make a baby go out and kill a darkspawn. Though Marc had tried his best to recreate the ceremony based on what he had learned about it. Tonight he wouldn't be sending the recruits out to do their own killing though. He'd done it himself. He knew that most of them had encountered Darkspawn before and all of them could fight so it seemed like a waste of time. The goblet stood ready for them, as soon as they arrived.

A lone dwarf stood atop an ancient tower. It looked to have been in a state of poor physical repair, but still standing strong. 'Turret is pretty sturdy too,' Scout joked internally. Still, the view was captivating. In Orzammar, which he'd visited but twice, a person could look a vast distance from the safety above the magma lake. In this place, and at this height, the scope was infinitely magnified. He felt as if a light breeze might carry him away, into that mysterious sky.

On cue, a horn called from some short distance below him, and Scout allowed only a glance more into the wood and swamp of the Korcari, before descending through a trap door of much more recent make than the castle itself. The state of said door attested to how little that distinction meant in that ruin. When Scout had made his way down to the floor his Commander had called from, he looked to the human.

"Commander," he greeted, before settling onto a block of wood quite clearly used to split the smaller logs around it. Scout tossed one of the cut logs into the nearby small fire which warmed the room, seeing it in sore need of one. The smoke from Surface fires had boggled Scout's mind, in his adolescent smuggling, he remembered. It was a nice distraction from the fact that he would be the first to drink the Darkspawn blood as a symbolic Joining, and a demonstration for the recruits. Of course, it wouldn't do much good to drink it last, when he recruits had all passed out or died. Sadly, the taste merely put him in the mood for violence, which was best directed at Darkspawn.

"Gotta wonder which ones will live through it," the dwarf openly declared. His keen senses assured him no one was near enough to eavesdrop. Not that it was a great concern, since they were about to find out the great risk of Taint exposure. Another joke came to mind, which Scout had the sense to ignore.

Maas cut down the last overhang that crowded over his path. He had been in the Korcari Wilds for about three days now, and he was only just starting to get used to the smell. Though he could have stayed with the others in the Tower, he had insisted on doing survival training while they waited for the Joining to begin. After all, sitting idle was not something he preferred to do. "Your body is like your blade," his instructors had taught him. "Let rust accrue, and it will break when most needed." Maas had lived for 58 years, and he had never let a speck of rust accrue, either on his sword or on his body. Maas wiped the leaves and splintered bits of bark from Orn and resheathed it. As he continued on his path, his mind began to wander to the past couple of days.

He had been searching for the Grey Wardens for eight weeks in Ferelden, travelling as far as Redcliffe and Orzammar - or rather, the most assuredly sealed entrance to Orzammar - before finally hearing rumors of a Warden being sighted en route to Ostagar, the ancient ruins to the south. Normally, Maas did not rely on mere rumors to find what he was looking for. However, after eight weeks of fruitless searching, he decided that, at worst, he would be no further from them than he was now. After traversing a quick path through the Korcari Wilds, he came across a large tower - and sure enough, there was the Warden: a human who introduced himself as Commander Levine. There had also been others there: a dwarf and a half-elf. To say that the meeting was unorthodox would be the greatest understatement of the time: Maas stepped out of the wilds covered in leaves, splotches of wolf blood covering his armor, and his massive two-handed sword drawn and ready. The Wardens had had quite the reaction to that sight. After introducing himself properly, Maas was (cautiously) welcomed to the tower. As Maas continued his walk through the wilds, his memory and his mood significantly darkened; that was when he had met her.

At first Maas had been thrilled to see another of his kind. Then he realized what she really was: Saarebas. Worse than that, she had apparently broken free of her Arvaraad (though Maas still very much suspected that she had killed her Arvaraad herself) and had her stitches removed. He had been entirely unwilling to tolerate her presence in the group; even having discarded the Qun, Maas was still very much aware of how dangerous a renegade Saarebas could be. It was only after the weapons had all been drawn that Maas was willing to calm down. He had since excused himself to the Korcari Wilds, undertaking his survival training for as long as he possibly could.

It was then that he heard the horn's note reverberate through the air. Turning to look, he realized that it had come from the Tower. "The Joining," he said to himself. Despite Commander Levine's offer, Maas had no intention of partaking in the ritual; "My fate was once chosen for me," he had told Levine. "It will not happen again." Still, he was curious about what this ritual entailed. Turning back toward the tower, Maas made his way through the now-familiar areas of the wilds and headed back to the others. He would deal with the Saarebas only when he was required.

A torn and tattered sheet of paper lay undisturbed by the wear of time, encased in a glass bottle, hidden amidst the rubble of what was once a masterpiece of architecture. The fortress was a ruin two hundred years ago, and now was nothing more than a shameful memorial; no better than a landmark marking the place where something long forgotten once stood.
Gentle hands embraced the cold glass and plucked the bottle from its resting place, and for the first time in two centuries the paper was disturbed. Preserved in ink on one of its sides was a map of the ruin, and scrawled across the map were clearly defined battle plans. According to history, these battle plans were only followed halfway through; and in the midst of the battle, the greatest betrayal to ever befall the Grey Wardens occurred, mere yards away from where Val stood, clutching the piece of history.

With hands still ever gentle, she tucked the map within the bottle into the pack on her belt, along with the rest of numerous etchings and scrolls and books that filled it. Her heart was filled with a curious mix of reverence for the artifacts, and an uncontrollable passion to read them. She wanted nothing more than to sit and begin to digest their contents, searching for what secrets of the veil would be left within them; but the call for the official ceremony of the Grey Wardens would come too soon and disrupt too precious a moment.

The resentment towards the Wardens peaked a little just then; not because they were cutting into what should be an incredibly joyous time for her, but because with them came the memories of all those she had lost in the Circle Tower. She was unwilling to come to terms with the idea that she could no longer learn or study in peace and safety. Even now she nearly blocked out the howls of wolves and other creatures of the Wilds around the ruins. She found solace only in the idea that here, in the field, she could find the places where the Veil grew thin; where the world of dreams and the world of waking men collided, and the impossible did not exist. An idle fancy, in reality; but reality was always two steps too far away from Val, and she usually enjoyed that.

As she continued to rummage through the shattered bricks and ruined remains of the fortress, a loud sound rang out; and nothing so natural as a wolf’s cry. The resounding horn was undoubtedly the call for the recruits to gather; Val’s wake-up call to return to reality. She reluctantly stood from the wreckage and turned away, toward the sound’s origin: The tower of Ishal. There she would be greeted by the Grey Warden and the other recruits, whom she had only met briefly. The only one she was really looking forward to knowing was the Qunari with the staff. As she made the walk toward the tower, her mind was filled with fascination and wonder at what the Qunari taught of magic, and what things they might learn from each other.

If only they could have met under better circumstances.

A set of robes laid nearby, flat as they could be on the uneven ground. Pieces of metal stuck out here and there, standing out against the blue robes and green grass. A few yards away, a lone qunari woman stood, body poised as if in preparation for a fight. A pair of pants and a bra were the only thing that covered her grey skin, other than a broken gold mask. A silver mane fell over her back, laying heavily against her shoulders and between the shattered horns that protruded from her head. Solid steel gauntlets covered her clutched fists and most over her forearms.

In one swift motion, she began to shadowbox, striking swiftly at enemies that only she could see. In her eyes, the weak enemies fell with a few punches, or were debilitated by a strong kick to the jaw. It wasn't anything special, what she was doing, but for someone who had been trained to be a mage, with little martial training, it was quite impressive. Still, it was not quite enough for her. Minutes ticked bye, and countless enemies were slain, sweat forming and falling off of her grey flesh. With a final, powerful uppercut, she let her arms fall to her sides, and allowed the first of a long line of heavy, panting breaths escape her.

Issala strolled over to where her things were, relishing the cool air of the south against her hot skin. It was so different from Seheron and Par Vollen, where it was so hot nearly all year. With a wave of her hand, a wave of cold blasted over the area just above her head, and then a few flakes of snow fell over her, gathering on her shoulders. Within seconds, the sweat had stopped, and was replaced by frozen droplets of ice that clung to her body. With a few quick brushes, she was clear of unwanted debris, and was free to redress herself.

As she did, the horn sounded in the distance. Good, it was finally time. In under a minute, she was clad in her modified robes, and was making her way back towards Ostagar. She had heard the stories, the legends of the one they only called the Warden and his companions. It was quite amazing, being at the place where it all started. A small smile formed over her face as she neared the Tower of Ishal, twirling her staff idly in her right hand. She figured she'd be the last to get there, unless that other qunari, Maas, made it first. She despised that man, but it couldn't be told by the others; she'd refused to say anything to any of them, other than the Commander, and had then gone off to train on her own while she waited.

Entering the area where the others waited, she squatted down, laying the staff on the ground in front of her, and silently waited for the Commander to proceed, ignoring the others as if they didn't even exist.

As the recruits entered Marc counted them off to ensure that all of them had arrived. He knew Maas had no interest in actually joining the wardens but he didn't think it would be necessary to make him leave, after all one more person having the knowledge it takes to create new wardens couldn't possibly be a bad thing could it? Marc didn't think so. Once all of the recruits had gathered Levine looked over them. He had prepared the words that had been said at every recruitment drive since the dawn of the order but first he had to address them.
"I'm sure you've all heard the stories, those of the fifth blight and the ones before. But hear me now when I say that the threat that they faced paled in comparison to what stands before us now. The blight now reaches from southern Ferelden to western Orlais to the Anderfells and damn near everywhere else. We're the last line of defense, I've chosen all of you because I know that you're the best that the world has to offer, and you will have to be." Marc turned and slowly approached the chalice containing nearing a half a gallon of Darkspawn blood. As he reached it and turned to slowly walk back to his place he began to chant the words.
"Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry out the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you." Marc held the chalice out to Scout, after Scout took his drink Marc would sequentially hand the chalice to the following recruits and then wait.

Watching the individual recruits gather proved a bit nostalgic for Scout. While accruing them one at a time had been unceremonious, this Joining reminded him of when the Legion would make their way into a thaig, where criminals and fools would line up to join their number, before having the ritual funeral.

The faces here weren't dwarves, of course. As mages -- and one a Tal-Vashoth -- they were quite disparate from the Stone-honoring folk Scout had seen exclusively for most of his life. For this reason more than the open sky, the Surface still felt alien to him.

The other.... Was it a Qunari? Scout didn't much understand the distinctions of that culture, aside from the basic Tal-Vashoth opposition to the Qunari. Regardless: the soldier did not totally approve of someone who was not joining their ranks being present for their rituals. He did not complain though, as it was not his place, and the enormous warrior would be fighting alongside them despite nomenclature.

When the time came, and the Commander called for the collected to Join, Scout finally stood from his splitting block. Taking the cup, he made a point not to grimace at the contents, or their smell. Darkspawn blood was marginally less palatable than Ferelden cuisine, and the odor betrayed this. After some small delay, he slowly downed his portion of the dark stuff, ignoring the taste. When this was complete, he returned the cup to Commander Levine, and made his way back to his spot.

Then it was time to watch the others. Scout faintly wondered which would live, if either did. More distinctly, he recalled the vision of the Archdemon he'd had the night after his own first exposure to the Taint. It had been something of a shock, since dwarves, as a rule, don't dream.

As Issala waited for the ceremony to begin, she allowed her eyes to wander around the room, the mask decently hiding this from the others. Quite the odd group that they had here, to say the least. Who would have guessed that a human would have not one, but two qunari under his command! It almost brought a smirk to her face, but she made sure to keep herself looking passive. Her golden gaze turned to the half-elf girl, who looked more like a human to Issala. Another mage in their merry band of misfits. It would prove to be quite fun. And then their little dwarf companion. It would never cease to amaze her that a race so short could grow to become so powerful. Though, perhaps size wasn't everything.

Finally, she rested her gaze onto the Commander. Now, he was giving his pre-ceremony speech. She vaguely wondered if this was generally part of the process or if he was just trying to make them feel better. She subconsciously shrugged, and waited silently for him to finish. Damn, humans were wordy. Or perhaps qunari just didn't use their words enough. Either way, she wasn't used to this much talking. Her mind began to drift before the rite was even spoken, and soon enough the chalice had already gone through one recruit.

Her eyes settled down on the almost-black liquid, and her hands slowly rose to cup the bowl of the chalice. She took a deep breath, then raised the chalice to her lips. A hefty drink was taken, in which her eyes tightly shut and her throat nearly closed on it. It was a horrid taste of iron and rotten meat that lingered too long in her mouth. She lowered the chalice and pushed it back into the Commander's hands, raising a robed arm up to cover her mouth as she coughed into it. Was that it? The feared and secretive Grey Warden ceremony? Other than the horrible aftertaste, it wasn't all that bad.

Suddenly, her vision went dark. Across her field of view, open plains tinged with black came into view. Armies of darkspawn surged across it, pillaging the bodies that littered the area. Some women that had refused death, she could see them being dragged, kicking and screaming, away, to who knows where. And flying above it all, lording over the death and destruction, was a huge, deformed dragon. The Archdemon? It roared over the horde, unholy flames spouting from its maw, the cry sounding something between mightiness and pained anger.

Issala fell to her knees, hands raised to clutch the sides of her head. The visions kept coming, swirling across, changing by the seconds. Her body shook, and then she lurched forward, falling onto the ground, metal clanging around. She was still breathing, but she was out cold. And whatever it was she was dreaming of, it was obvious by the look on her face that it wasn't pleasant.

Maas watched with silent interest as the Commander began the ritual, though he did wish he would stop talking and simply get it done. He hated waiting for nothing. The dwarf was first to drink the mixture, which Maas could smell from here. It was not a pleasant scent. As the dwarf passed the large goblet on, Maas was somewhat disappointed; the Commander had informed him that the Joining was a carefully-guarded secret within the Wardens. If that was so, it was kept pointlessly; passing a foul drink around was hardly worthy of such attention. His eyebrows drew together as the Saarebas took her drink, but he said nothing and remained motionless. It wasn't until the Saarebas fell to her knees in pain that Maas realized exactly why the Joining was so secretive: the dwarf was the only one not affected by it, but the Joining was dangerous. As the Saarebas fell to the ground, Maas grew somewhat hopeful. However, a quick look told him she was merely unconscious, not dead: her eyes were moving rapidly beneath their lids, and her face was tightening in pain. Or was it fear? It didn't matter; she had survived, and that was that. Maas waited, this time far more interested, as the goblet was passed to the elfling.

Levine held the goblet in hand and approached the half-elf Galavandis Ruarc. The look on her face was nervous after seeing the much more imposing Isala fall to the ground unconscious after doing just what was being asked of her now. Levine held it out and the elf slowly took it into her lightly shaking hands. She brought the goblet up to a set of quivering lips before slowly tipping it and letting the blood flow into her throat. Levine took the back back from her and mere seconds later the elf's eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she fell entirely silent. Marc waited, eagerly expecting the elf to survive and join the ranks of the wardens; however he was disappointed. Galavandis let out a loud cough, then another and then brought her hands to her throat. She let out several rasping breaths before falling to her knees. She looked up, her eyes were white yet still quite sad as she peered into those of Commander Levine. He could see the reflection of the full moon bouncing off of the large spheres in front of him until he shut his eyes.

"I'm sorry." Was all he could muster. Levine wanted to help her, end her misery perhaps, but he did not want to look weak in front of the others. Despite his desire to do something for Val, he let her choke and move on to Maas. "I know you've said that you don't want to join the order. But there is enough left for you in this chalice now if you've changed your mind. We need all of the wardens we can get." Levine had extracted enough blood for all of the recruits to drink as well as Maas. He'd been hoping that after he witnessed the joining he might feel the need to show his strength and endure it himself. After all the more hands they had on deck capable of killing the Archdemon the better.

Scout watched as both recruits attempted their Joining. When the Tal-Vashoth succeeded, he had only the slightest nugget of temptation to smirk in satisfaction. This was easily brushed aside, as he knew what might well have followed. As a result, his mood did not fall unnecessarily when the supposedly half-elf mage began to choke. He'd seen this before, more than once, in the Deep Roads. Even the Dead were susceptible to the Taint. The memories did not improve the experience, aside from the reduction in surprise, but Scout was as Stone.

When his Commander -- officially so now, no less -- spoke to the Qunari... or whatever the horned created was termed, Scout's eyes moved in that direction. Throughout his still-brief life, the dwarf had met criminals, guards, soldiers, and mercenaries of all stripes of dwarven society. He had recognized Maas and his blade for what they were the first time they'd met the Warden party. Still he remained silent, speech not his place at this juncture. Watching, however, was quite within his jurisdiction.

Maas looked down at the offered goblet, the foul stench even worse from up close. In it, he saw a future of battling Darkspawn. He saw himself standing atop the Archdemon's broken skull, stabbing it with Orn. He saw the honor, the duty, and - most of all - the sacrifice.

He looked at the dwarf, who had taken the goblet so easily. Their eyes met. Both merely watched the other, silent and waiting.

He looked at the Saarebas, unconscious on the ground, but most certainly alive. She still shuddered and twitched occasionally; whatever was happening must have been terrible.

He looked at the half-elf, now gone from this world, just like that. The very same fate could await him, whether he took the goblet or not.

He looked at the Commander, his eyes solemn and serious. Those eyes left no doubt: if this was done, his path would be set.

Finally, he unsheathed his sword, and in the metal blade, he finally saw himself. Here he stood at the ultimate crossroad: somehow, he just knew that once his decision was made here, regardless of what it was, he would never turn away from his choices. That was who he was. With a slow nod to his own reflection, he resheathed Orn and met the Commander's eyes.

"...No."

Marc sat waiting quietly for Maas to make his decision. He was taken aback when Orn was unsheathed, he found himself stumble backward half a step and forced his muscles to forget their training to instantly reach for his sword.

"No." was all that escaped Maas' lips and with that Levine knew that the decision had been made. His people were not well known for their indecisiveness.

"Very well." Marc said as he backed away from the four that had recently become three. "I'll save the brunt of the plan for when Isala wakes up. It shouldn't be long. But until then I have a gift for you, Scout." Levine set the chalice on a marble podium above a set of four pure silver necklaces. Two of them would not find any use, but the others surely would. Levine said a few quiet words and then tipped the Chalice onto the two necklaces. A drop of blood fell onto each and formed intricate swirls as they filled the small glass containers fixed to the bases of the chains. Levine turned and approached Scout, the first necklace held out to the dwarf. "The Warden's Oath, All wardens carry one, it serves. As we do."

Scout nodded, ever so slightly, when the Qunari refused their order. Half of the dwarf's profession revolved around observing potential enemies, so he was quite used to assessing people and beasts, and always felt immense satisfaction to have judged correctly. Still, for a moment, he'd thought Maas might actually Join.

Scout turned to Levine when he was addressed, and watched the pendant's surface swirl and morph. The ex-Legionnaire did not much care for magic, having no fond memories of it, but he'd never met anyone who did not want arcane assistance on their side, including himself.

"Thank you, Commander," he said, simply, taking the chain. After a moment spent observing the swirl of dark ichor in the pendant, Scout pulled the symbol over his head, finding his shaved head and short beard particularly advantageous in this.

"How do Imperials handle their dead?" he finally asked, turning to the young half-human mage, now more motionless than her unconscious counterpart. While not so pious as some other dwarves, attending to the dead in proper fashion was important to Scout, and, if only for a moment, this girl had been a Warden; an ally.

Maas stepped over to the dead girl, and before the Commander could respond, said, "What is there to do? She is dead." Maas, like most Qunari, believed that a person was no longer themselves in death; their bodies remained, but their "self" left this world. Maas was not sure where the "self" went, nor did he particularly care. "We should leave her and be on our way. Our work here is concluded."

Levine looked over at Maas before he answered scout, hiding the distaste he had for the emotionless tendencies of his people. He rested his palm on his sword hilt as he turned and approached the body of the girl.
"Whether it's true or not, I believe that you're a warden from the moment you're conscripted. Whether you survive the joining or not. And despite that she still drank from the cup and the body still contains the taint. Scout, there are plenty of rituals we humans use to send off the dead, but the wardens keep the tradition of the funeral pyre. I'll hear no protest, Maas, and actually you're the strongest here so you get the honor of carrying the body." Levine was doing his best to sound powerful, he knew that if anything Maas would respect power. "Scout you need to remain here for Isala when she wakes up. If she does tell her we've gone to the bridge on the western side of the ruin." Levine had already ensured that there would be enough wood readily available for each one of the recruits to have a funeral pyre if necessary, but he had only assembled one. Thankfully they would only have need of one.

Maas did not agree with the Commander, but if nothing else, he was the Commander. Wordlessly, Maas bent to pick up the body. Rather than cradle it, however, he unceremoniously tossed it over his shoulder. His face showed no emotion, but it was at least clear that he thought nothing of what he did; it was merely the task he had been assigned ((In other words, he's not TRYING to be rude or offensive)). Moving to the pyre, he laid the body down on top. It flopped down like a rag-doll, and he left it there to lie as he stepped back and turned to face the Commander, awaiting any further instructions.

((Breaking posting order but I'm just trying to move us along, we'll be done soon))
Levine had carried a wooden torch along to the bridge, past wardens had likely taken part in more ceremonious send-offs but this was the best he could do for the half-elf due to pressing circumstances. Marc was unsatisfied with how Maas dropped the body and took a moment to even her out on top of the pyre as best he could, placing her feet closely together, and folding her hands on her stomach with her staff laying next to her.

"Rest easy." he said, touching the torch to the bottom end of the pyre and holding it for nearly a minute before it finally took light. As the flames jumped upward Levine stepped back. "It would be in bad taste to watch her burn, Head back to Isala and Scout." Levine said, beginning the walk back without waiting for a response.

Maas did as he was told, though he would not have stayed anyway. In fact, had the Commander not insisted on doing this, they would likely have already been on their way to Redcliffe.

It is no wonder we do not entertain those without the Qun, Maas thought to himself. Their disorganization and lack of defined purpose is apparent. I sometimes wonder if leaving the Qun was the best choice for me. Regardless, Maas had chosen this life, and he did not regret a thing. As he returned to where Scout was standing over the unconscious Saarebas, he reached down and picked up his bag: a large backpack that was still dwarfed by his height, but served his needs appropriately. He slung it over his shoulder without a word and waited; he was ready to go.

The Qunari really did annoy Scout, he'd become increasingly aware, but he ignored the larger soldier's disrespect. No good would come of an outburst, as many days in the dark of the Deep Roads had taught him. The dwarf instead listened to his Commander, and nodded slightly at the mention of a pyre. The extent to which it was almost the opposite of the dwarven practice of returning the dead to Stone was somehow reassuring.

Again though, the silver giant carelessly disregarded the dead Warden, treating her as a sack of mushrooms over his shoulder. Scout idly wondered how difficult it would be to leap up and put a knife in the warrior's eye. For safety's sake, he kept his hand from the hilt of an applicable blade as he watched his Commander and their ally leave the tower.

Only when they were gone did he relax, turning his vision to his new, less-than-conscious peer. Scout recognized that before his Death, he would have spent a goodly length of time contemplating the young woman's looks, despite her being twice his height. The years since that day though, had left him mercifully capable of dousing any such fantasies, and at this state of his life, he was more concerned with the fact that she was a mage.

This was only the third mage that Scout had met in his life, not including Surfacers he'd smuggled Lyrium to. After all, one didn't know what someone met under such circumstances used the stuff for. Still, all three of those he'd known to be magical had been Warden recruits, and both had died for that cause, only one making it to her Joining. Scout wondered if it meant anything about this third mage that she'd survived the Joining, but decided it didn't. He'd seen many comrades die from the Taint, regardless of their virtues or vices. The Joining likely had a similar illogic.

Eventually though, despite Commander Levine's request in case Isala woke, the two taller males returned from the pyre with their only living mage unawake. Scout stood when the Qunari readied himself, though not with any great haste. He walked over to Isala then, pulling her unconscious mass into a sitting position against a wall.

"Almost wish we had horses," he opined, not particularly meaning it. He didn't trust the creatures, having only met a very few in his weeks on the Surface.