No Such Thing As Fair Game In Politics

Well, now this was interesting. With the sound of broken bones (not his) Bowen looked around while retrieving his sword from one of the fake guard's stomach. Full plate was good until many hits offered an open place in the hip.

Nygozy and Kai were gone, and Bowen wondered if they used one of the secret tunnels that crossed the palace. Many years ago while wandering, Calliara found one that connected the Grey Warden's quarters with the Palace and told Duncan, and the senior Grey Warden almost laughed his ass off thinking about it.

Caterina was dancing between the guards, making more damage than someone could expect. Sophia was fighting too, and that made him smirk with amusement, admiring her effort. Griffinhart was a natural disaster as always, guards never knew what hit them. Maker, but he liked that guy. It was a pity that he looked like he didn't noticed him trying to befriend him.

A beautiful dark haired woman was fighting close to Sinjan, and he wondered who was she, but he didn't have time. He saw two guards trying to get them both while they weren't watching, and the Nevarran rushed to fight them. He wasn't worried about Calliara, he saw already that Drake was protecting her, and Maker helped the man if the Dalish was hurt.

''Sinjan, unknown lady'' He announced himself politely while stabbing one of the guards, and then turned his back to them so they were guarding each other ''We should end this soon. I'm getting bored of this and I'm hungry''

This wasn't going well. There were too much guards in such a little space, and they were too much people in too much little space, and she was getting more nervous, and furious, and nervous, and...

Something barking excitedly, and one of the guards that was far away from them, like waiting to enter the fight, cursed and lifted his sword at something little that was growling at him.

Fenrir was bravely trying to frighten the guard so the bad bad man would let his people go, and he wasn't scared at all of the enormous sword that was threatening him.

Calliara's eyes went wide and just in a second she rushed there, pushing guards and friends alike in her crazy run, and jumped on the guard that was right then trying to kill her brave puppy. She wasn't strong enough to make him fall though, and when the guard tried to get her off of him by hitting the walls with her on his back, she had to bit her lips, pain, pain, PAIN and kept trying to cut his dirty throat just under the helmet

After knocking the helmet off of one of the men, her dagger fell across his throat, and he dropped to the ground with a barely-gurgled groan. Macha didn't look back at him, even for a moment. Some time during the fight, reinforcements for the impostors had filled the room, and now it was crowded, and the risks of injury to their party were getting higher and higher. Far be it for her to say that any of them were taking this lightly, but now they would have to seriously step it up. She had not fought this hard since the final battle in Denerim, months ago. The adrenaline that sang in her veins felt like fire, and sh suddenly felt as if she'd never put down her blade in all of that time.

She didn't move her head to look over at the booming voice that had called out to her and Sinjan, but she did nod her head. "I couldn't agree more, my friend!" She shouted back, bringing a leg up to kick hard at a man trying to get back to his feet. "Everyone!" She called, making sure her voice rang through the room. None of them had any reason to follow her orders - they didn't know her, and had never fought with her before - but she hoped that desperate times would give them a certain amount of leniency. "Regroup! Join together in the center of the room! Fight them off fro there!" Separately, they were doing little good. Worrying about watching their own backs was slowing their actions - if they fought together, they would make quick work of the men. "Also," she added with a bit of levity, injecting as much humor as she could into her voice. "If anyone has an extra dagger, I'd be forever in your debt." It was getting annoying, having to fight with only one hand.

Argos dodged around his mistress's feet with a practiced ease, making sure the men who were down stayed down. Just as he leapt off the chest of another mauled man, a pup
s cry caught his attention, and his ears perked, his head twitching to the side to look for the source of the sound. He found it, soon, and watched as a pup no larger than his front two paws barked at a man. He growled low in his throat, and then barked as loudly and as frighteningly as he could, and then dashed off towards it. His mistress could take care of herself for a moment - that foolish pup could not.

By the time he reached the pup, he swiftly grabbed it up by the scruff of its neck with his teeth, and then pushed all of his body weight into the man who'd attacked it. The man was struggling with a white-haired elf, and the large mabari pushed him away, caring more for protecting the pup than saving the woman. With the man down, Argos let the pup drop from his teeth, and then turned his jaws to mauling the guard. The throat broke with a satisfying crunch.

The beast forced off its attacker and leapt down onto the man, who was dazed and half-blind from the coursing blood that ran into his eyes. His helmet was ripped off, revealing the myriad cuts that Griffinhart's helmet had smashed into his face, but more importantly, revealing the identifying tattoos. With a wicked grin, hidden underneath the helmet, the beast went to its bloody work: reinforced gauntlets pounded away, shattered the false guard's face and reduced it to so much tenderized meat.

A voice woke Griffinhart from beneath the weight of the beast, a voice beseeching that everyone regroup. Everyone? Who was "everyone"? Their assailants, or themselves? The warrior woke from his unconscious slumber and took control of his body once more, and surveyed the hallway with a quick turn of his head, gathering his bearings from atop the gurgling corpse. While his eyes wandered, his hands, without conscious thought on his part, grasped the haft of the maul that had wounded him.

"There." Across the hall, back the way he had come, were his swords, still pierced into the floor. Directly in his way were a pair of soldiers, working in tandem and bringing pressure to bear on the party as a whole. Griffinhart rose, wreathed in the black flame that was his cloak, and charged across the battleground, his body improvising and dodging past fighters, boots splashing through pools of blood. He neared his next two opponents, and they raised their shields, locked against one another, bulwarks against the tempest.

Instead of crashing directly into the pair, Griffinhart whirled, using the maul he had taken as a counterweight, and spun low. Blood-slick soles skidded on the marble floor and carried him smoothly into the two guards, the maul low and angling upwards as it was released. The crunch of bones - arms, hoped Griffinhart - was audible over the crash of plate armor. The swordsman had come in low, and remained stable, knocked over onto his rear but still upright. His right hand snapped up to the sheath that always hung from his shoulder, drawing from it a stiletto-bladed, six-inch long knife. Now was a moment of close-in killing.

One man was on the floor, his arms bent at unnatural angles, groans of dulled pain emanating from beneath his helmet. The other was rising, half-dazed, but shield up and sword still in hand. Griffinhart rose to meet him, rolling his head, popping the vertebrae intimidatingly. The two stared each other down for all of a half second before the storm was in motion once more. The shield-bearer skidded backwards as Griffinhart's boot slammed into this shield; he stabbed outwards to gut the swordsman, but hit nothing but air - Griffinhart had feinted, and was around to the false guard's left side, moving with unnatural, Fade-augmented speed. His left arm grappled the man around the torso; the knife was up in a flash, stabbing into the armpit of the shield arm, where the plate armor was weak, and disabling that arm. Griffinhart kicked with bone-shattering force, deadening a leg by hitting a nerve cluster slightly above and to the side of a knee, bringing the man down into a kneeling position. His hands released torso and knife, placing themselves around the guard's head, pulling it back so that the neck was exposed. Once more, a tattoo.

Griffinhart wrapped his hands - arms - around the head in an all too-familiar way and twisted with his entire upper body: the neck snapped and the guard, who had been trying to grapple Griffinhart with his one good arm, went slack. As the body tumbled to the ground, the swordsman ripped his knife out of the armpit with a smooth pull. Total time passed from rise to kill: eight seconds.

The Weisshaupt Warden turned, his cloak flourishing like great, black wings, his Fade-shifted form all too much like a demon, and retrieved his swords. Now he was properly armed for a fight.

Fenrir.

Fenrir

All she could think was the puppy. Her puppy, the only thing as close as a baby she'd have, ever. A little, helpless thing that depended on her. She thought he was safe with the horses, and she told him to stay there, but the pup chose that very moment and place to disagree.

When the bigger mabari came from nowhere and killed the guard, Calliara whispered her thanks to him in his own language, and sighed with relief. Until she saw Fenrir running again to attack the next guard with all the fury of his kind in spite of his little body.

Damn dog

Fenrir!

While running after him (and kicking one or two guards on her way), she heard the dark haired woman

"Regroup! Join together in the center of the room! Fight them off from there!"

That made sense. Then she heard something about an extra dagger, and Calliara offered one of the daggers she hid in her arm bracelets, eyes looking hard and iced at her. ''Your dog saved my puppy. Here's my dagger. But I don't trust you, yet, and in the Commander's absence I give the orders unless she says otherwise. If you are a Warden, and I see Sinjan knows you, obey or go away''

She turned her head to look at the remaining soldiers. There were more death on the floor than standing. All of them were in a room with three corridors, the one they used to arrive there, the one that led to the King's quarters was blocked by an enormous door, and there was only one left, the one where the fake guards were coming from. The group was already blocking the corridor they came from, so the guards, if they had to retreat, had to use that same corridor they were coming from. And the corridor had a liftgate that was blocked at the moment, the mechanism almost hidden behind one of the curtains decorating the room.

''We have to push them back in that corridor, it leads to a restroom for the royal guards with no exit. If we imprison them there maybe we'll get some answers'' She whispered quickly ''We have to charge and make them retreat. There's a lever to use the liftgate that blocks the corridor. The first one that reaches it, use it. The very moment the guards, or the more of them are inside the corridor, one step back and the nearest one of us use the lever.

Sophia, if you have some kind of magic to paralyze, stun, or supress their senses like sight and hearing, use it now.

Bowen, Griffinhart, Sinjan, charge against them once the magic is done. You can kill if you want, but push them backwards into the corridor

Caterina, Drake, with me, three seconds behind them, to the lever

You'' She looked at the unknown woman ''Tell your dog to come back here''

While waiting for confirmation and for Sophia's magic to blossom, Calliara asked Torture to get Fenrir and come back with Argos

For a moment, Sophia didn't hear Calliara's orders. She couldn't hear them. The battle had taken on a life of its own, changing from a mere melee of mortal men, armour, weapons, blood and screams into an amorphous beast, intent on ripping itself apart. Overwhelmed, she had stood, unmoving, in the centre of it all, eyes so clouded as to be almost white, moving only on instinct. The beast lashed out a tendril of pulped gore: her elbow, bound in ribbons that were still so white, too white, smashed forth to crush it. Teeth forged from broken swords, claws with snarling faces spitting apart on their rusted tips... swipes to be dodged, brushed aside, or utterly annihilated with a blurred foot or fist. Embraced in the sound of her own thundering heart, the clashes, the cries... she lost herself.
The combat had become an ecstatic Symphony, in the true meaning of the word. Ecstacy: to be taken out of oneself to... somewhere else. Where Sophia was, she no longer knew. She could smell flowers mixed in with the blood: roses. Phantom smoke stung her nostrils. Children wailed where she knew there were none. And her ribbons, her lovely, faithful ribbons, shone white in the darkness, shrugging off the filth of battle like magic off a dwarf's back-

A coil of blood splashed against her cheek, disrupting her reverie. For an instant, she saw herself as the guard kneeling before her did, reflected in his tarnished helmet: a slender, smiling doll, holding his sword hand in her delicate fingers, twisting his arm until his wrist snapped, all in harmony with the tears of terror rolling down his exposed face. Sophia released him and smashed the poor boy in the temple in the same movement. Unconsciousness was the only gift she could give him for breaking him free of her trance. And not a moment too soon. Aria was shining, reacting to her mood, casting off blood and bone alike as the magics within stirred, eager to join the fight. For a moment, Sophia hesitated. Was it worth unleashing her weapons, even if her companions were being pushed into a corner? Surely there was another way.

Calliara's hissed orders changed everything. The situation was desperate, they were cornered, and (oh no, please Fade no,) the Mistress was missing. Was everyone else alright? Where was-?
A quick glance caught a burst of white hair, tanned skin. The claws of fear around Sophia's throat eased. Good. She was behind her. Protected. There was no need to hold back.

---

What was she doing? Although they were fully intent on crushing the Wardens where they stood, the vanguard of the remaining tattooed forces slowed despite themselves, mystified at the absurdity of the situation. The willowy fighter... a mage, they presumed, though her fists had brought more then one of them low... had stepped out, as delicately as if she were about to ask them to dance, her fingers flickering over the knots resting on her shoulders. As they watched, twin ribbons cascaded from her arms, descending in long, looping coils to the blood-slicked floor. Smiling up at them, the woman raised her wrists, one above her head, fingers poised, one by her left hip. Her feet slid backwards, one twining around the other, causing her hip to turn, hip-bound wrist flying out in a-

Scream?!

Shocked, a few of the smarter guards covered their ears. Those who didn't could only watch as one of the ribbons, Fade-soaked, shining-bright, lanced forward towards their front lines, impossibly long, catching the air as it flew and screaming like a child forced to watch her mother burned alive. It only struck once: a crescent-shaped lash, kissing the exposed throats of two of the closest assailants, but even that touch opened wicked wounds that cast them dead to the floor, blood gurgling out to soak into the murderous fabric. Blood that was pulled back with another pull of Sophia's wrist, shed from her howling ribbon into the open palm of her waiting hand. Standing near her, one could feel the Fade warp, once-blue eyes blazing crimson with Maleficaric light, the men before her crucified screaming as the blood within their veins boiled, betrayed by the handful of gore dripping from Sophia's palm. And above it all, the soft laughter of a Princess at a dance, melding with the wailing of her ribbons as they prepared for another assault.

"Senses stolen, lives ruined. Resistance unlikely. Let the dance begin."

((Disclaimer: I would never have used Sophia's ribbon-blade, Aria, unless it had been approved before character creation... and please excuse the gory opening: I simply wanted the reveal of Sophia's magic to be appropriately horrifying. If I've gone too far, then let me know, and I will be more then happy to edit, change or otherwise rewrite what I've written here. ~.^))

By now, the screams of men dying about her had faded into the background, drowned out by her own quickly beating heart. Adrenaline burned through her like pure energy, and even though her muscles were protesting at the abuse she was giving them, she ignored it, and kept up her deadly dance. All formality was gone from her. If her movements held any grace any longer, it was only because she was putting all of her skill into avoiding the swords of the wildly fighting impostors. She knew that daggers and throwing knives were of little use against such heavily armored opponents, but if she could manage to keep the heat off of Bowen, Griffinhart, and Sophia, then she would have accomplished what she'd set out to do - giving the ones who could do the real damage the opportunity and relative cover to do their stuff.

Now, though, the screams in the air around her changed. A shrill whistle filled the air, almost like a Chantry-girl belting out her highest note, melodic and beautiful but shrill nevertheless. She turned her head, wondering what creature might be making that haunting sound, and saw the source of it before her. The shining white sashes around Sophia's arms had unraveled, and were now twirling, twining, dancing in the air around the guards, and the men fell before them one by one, clutching bleeding wounds and adding their own screams to the chorus. Caterina shuddered a moment at the ruthless efficiency of the attack, but could not hold back her admiration, either. Clever, to use one's magic to fight a physical battle - mages so often delegated themselves to the back of a battle, separating their bodies from the blood and death around them. It seemed oddly appropriate that Sophia would find a way to use her magic to enter the fray herself.

But she couldn't spend all of her time appreciating the unique beauty of the attack. Sophia was closest to her, and no matter how much she wanted to take Bowen's back, she had to do what was quickest and most efficient. So, when a guard came towards Sophia's back, the Antivan assassin didn't waste a moment on setting herself at him, sparing only a moment to say a silent prayer to gods she'd never believed in that they would all walk out of here intact.

"Sophia!" she called over the sound of the singing ribbons. "Calliara needs your magic!" With the reverie the mage seemed to be in, Caterina couldn't be sure that she'd heard Calliara's orders at all. She, herself, had been instructed to follow with Calliara. "Cover our backs, Sophia. We need you." In what may have been the most stupid, instinctual reaction of her life, she placed her hand on the mage's shoulder when she finally reached her through the mire of guards. She realized her mistake a moment later, but did not remove her hand. If someone had done the same to her, she would have had a knife at their throat in the blink of an eye - a mage could do much worse. It was the sort of thing Griffinhard would have called her a fool for doing, and she couldn't help but mentally agree with him.

A scream of fabric. A snap of crackling magic. The mage's shoulder jerked out from under Caterina's hand, sending Aria looping in a lethal circle around the assassin's waist... but the ribbon did not cut her, instead biting into the eye of a twitching guard who had chosen, in the last moments of his short life, to swipe at Caterina with his blade.
"Don't. You. Dare. Touch. Her."
A death-threat, murmured as if Sophia were discussing the weather over one of her favourite tea-cups. Slender fingers reached back, brushing Caterina's hip as if to reassure themselves that she was still in one piece.
"Stay close to me. They'll recover from my spell soon enough, and you need to be ready to follow Calliara's instructions."
Aria's singing took on a new tone: wet fingers on crystal, the whining of some celestial instrument. Those men already crippled, unable to cover their ears, curled into balls on the floor, trying desperately to escape the noise. The standing guard? Some blocked their ears, laughing hysterically as the hall melted around them, walls breaking like glass to rain down into their wide-open eyes. Others hacked at their comrades, seeing demons instead of mortals, or turned their blades on themselves, humming harmonies under their breaths. Sophia gasped, faltering. A Waking Nightmare, one of her best... so easy, too easy to weave, but to make sure that they incapacitated one's enemies and not one's friends...
One has to live the dreams along with them.
"Don't leave me. Their blood boils, their minds rebel: the others will be able to scatter them now. Please. Aria will guard us both." The fingers looped into Caterina's belt, pleading.
"I need you too."

The fighting came as a normal escapade for Drake but the disappearance of Nygozy made the fighter unnerved, wondering what happened to the little woman and her assassin guard. If that man ... no he had been sent by Zevran which equalled someone trustworthy and with the way Kai reacted around Nygozy made him believe that even if she were not his job he would still protect her to the end.

So he concentrated on making sure that Calliara was alright and kept the guardsmen from taking her out while she rushed to the aid of her pup. He noticed Argo so did not worry about the man in front yet he gave an almost inaudible, deep "arh" sound to say hello to the Mabari. He spun at the sound of another attacker behind him and sliced the man's tendons making him fall. Noticing the tatoos he slashed downwards taking out the man's throat.

Everyone was moving into one area behind him and the screaming ribbons made their appearance so this was a good time to use his ace in the hole. All of his team was beside or behind him making it so none of their own would get any whiplash from this. He heard Macha and then Calliara but was already in the middle of sending off a bolt of lightning through Arcarla, a dark horror of striking tendrils which tore through nine opponents, shocking their hearts into stopping and making their adversaries notice him much more.

He heard the new sounds of Sophia's attack and waited calmly for the three to push the men back.

"Ready love." He said calmly, waiting for the next move. That was not normally a statement which would come from Drake's lips and he glanced at Macha, "Welcome back, Macha."

Torture had already grabbed Fenrir and was bringing the pup along with him, snapping at any who got too close. He had been rendering the last of the men who had seen where Nygozy had gone to a shredded mass of flesh and bone to make sure no other realized what had happened. No one was getting his mistress.

The Mabari took his puppy sitting duties strongly and moved the little guy to behind the group, snapping at any guard too stupid to stop. One came too close and Torture taught him the error of his ways, slamming the man to the ground then ripping into him. That should work to keep them away from his little friend.

Zevran had been surprised by Nygozy's arrival with the assassin he had supplied for her defense but it took him only moments to recover and get out of the area to the battle. He heard the fight and knew he would have no time to get any of his men so he grabbed a page to send off for two of his most trustworthy to the fight.

The assassin moved in swiftly, quietly and with such a speed within the shadowy veil of darkness that no one had noticed the sudden loss of several guardsmen. He ducked out of the way of the man wielding the veil like an unholy guise and grinned for just a moment before moving onwards. Nygozy was right about this but he had no time to figure out what exactly had happened. No matter. At the moment he only found that this was an exhilarating experience making him once again wish to be in the middle of things. Ah but what could one do when tethered to a King who was not so great at being a king? At least the man was not too stupid as to throw Zevran's concerns out the window and did tend to the suggestion he had given the cheese eating fiend.

Then there was sound like none he had heard as of yet and Zevran almost lost his concentration upon being able to walk the shadows. He smacked his lips at the beauty whipping out the ribbons and flitted behind her to take out one guard who had snuck in behind. Oh no no no. One dagger found a chink in the armour, pushing into the chest and the other found the man's throat before he could even take a break. Zevran then moved along to beside Calliara and let the darkness fade.

"Ah but you cannot start such a show without the wonderful Zevran!" He said with a wink to Macha and a lurid grin on his face to Calliara, "So what shall you have me do in this mighty plan of yours oh pretty snow hair?"

Caterina's breath hitched in her throat, and her eyes flicked back to look at the now-dead guard who'd collapsed at her feet. Sloppy of her, to have left him alive, though he'd only barely seemed so - it had been so hard to tell, with the blood that was splattered everywhere. She let the air loose from where it had constricted in her lungs, shaky as her nerves kept tingling with an awful anticipation. She turned to look back at Sophia, and offered a similarly shaky smile. The ribbons around her waist were tight, but not uncomfortably so - they felt protective, more than anything. She found herself welcoming their assistance as much as she'd welcomed Sophia's, as if they deserved their own regard.

"Thank you," she said, voice quiet as it finally came back to her. She didn't need to be told twice to stay close - there were few other places she could go, in the mess about them. Around them nine men fell - Drake's work. And around those men, more of their number than she could count clutched at their heads, fell upon their swords, screamed and cried and twitched away from phantom menaces. It was truly frightening to behold, but even Caterina could not bring herself to feel sorry for the men who had so easily attempted to steal their lives.

A tanned hand met a pale one at her belt, and she gave the fingers a quick squeeze, offering a smile that had re-gained its confidence, even if its owner had not. "I will not leave you, mi narradora. Come - Bowen and Calliara and the others are waiting for us. I do not pretend to understand her plan, but we had best be there to do our parts." She tugged on the hand quickly then, and then dropped it to take up her dagger, and turned to make her way back towards Calliara.

It was difficult to even walk across the blood soaked floor, littered with bodies and discarded pieces of metal armor. She'd barely gone several steps before another tattoo-ed man came at her. Before she could even react, he was felled by a whipping of knives, and an elf with a tan not unlike her own passed her by, not stopping in his own path towards Calliara. If she was stunned by the sudden assistance, she did not show it - hesitance would only get her killed. By now, she was liberally covered in blood and various human bits, and she mentally resolved to get a new set of leather armor while in Denerim. Maybe she could even take Sophia and Calliara shopping with her.

"Dayam." Sinjan shook his head as he saw and heard what Sophia was doing, "I will remember not to peek in on you when you have a shower."

He continued fighting, his sword slicing back opponents as he tried to gain the mid ground with the rest of his group. The fighter noticed a man fall beside him where there seemed to be no one and his eyes quickly searched for the other fighter but he heard a slight chuckle that told him exactly whom this was. He rolled his eyes and continued on to where the others were.

"Just make the call, Calliara, and I will go to it."

He readied his sword as Zevran made his appearance and rolled his eyes again, "Leave some women for the rest of us, bro."

Griffinhart wavered, his head split in twain - one half in the living, breathing physical world, concentrating on killing and not dying, acting against and reacting to stimuli almost outside of his perception; the other half being assailed by the gaping maw that had opened into the Fade, that cut across the Veil, that brought him into the Dreaming while still awake.

Griffinhart fought, his hands steady and swift, a whirling mill of silverite and lashing limbs, tearing across the battlefield with inhuman efficiency - here an opening, there a feint, sometimes not even in range to cut, instead striking out with a balled fist, cracking into helmets. He fought low and dirty, without a mind for fairness; for it was not his fault that plate armor focused on standing defense and staying power, not mobility, not adaptability.

Griffinhart wept, the sting of sweat pouring into his eyes. The Fade encroached into his mind and darkened his sight, and so he fought by sound and smell, with only the moments between thoughts open to sight, open to light. The world wore a mist shroud, and spirits - demons? - whipped by his sightless sight, ephemeral and menacing, just as they were in his dreams.

Griffinhart was free, for his was the realm of battle, of war, of killing. Here, he could express himself with the steps he took, the blows he laid, the screams he elucidated from his subject material. Here, he worked a deadly thing - not an art, for it was something he would never have ascribed artistry. It was a storm that brewed, and he was the eye. A shroud in the shape of the twisting Fade, limbs moving with supernatural speed, blades that bit at something deeper than flesh, piercing metal with magical ease. Here, Griffinhart was no longer a man: he was a warrior.

And Griffinhart stopped, blades and body thoroughly soaked with the blood of others. He spun to a slow finish before the gathering group, whipping his sword free of a hapless soldier that had the misfortune to be caught in the tempest without proper storm gear. Without stopping the motion, the blood-clad swordsman rotated on the slick soles of his boots and dropped into a low stance, nearly kneeling, blades down and ready to strike at a moment's notice. Here the whirling tempest stopped, still as stone, unmovable as a mountain, and waited. "I am at your command, Sister Warden," intoned the Knight to the White Wolf, entirely in command of his faculties even as his mind threatened to spill out of his head from his eyes and skitter down a corridor, away from her.

He would not abandon them, and he would not allow himself to abandon them, no matter the cost.

Bowen was ready as well, with his shield soaked in blood (and some teeth).

''Make the call, Wolf'' The Nevarran said, and nodded to Griffinhart and Sinjan, his face covered by his helmet ''Let me go first, I have a shield after all''

He was a bit worried, though. With all the noise, he wasn't sure of the plan, but he was determined to obey anyway, to his last breath

All of them were there, waiting for her call. That was terrifying. She was just a ranger, an archer, and yet now she had to give them orders in Nygozy's absence, orders while fighting, and that scared the hell out of the Dalish, she was scared of ordering something wrong that could get them killed.

An unknown elf appeared beside her, but when Sinjan called him by his name she assumed he was another of Nygozy's past companions. Her eyes wandered to his tattoo, and sadness threatened to possess her. So many years since she had last saw that tattoo, in another face of another clan, when she was told that...

''Welcome. My mother had that very same tattoo''

Calliara wiped some blood (her blood) from her face and nodded

''MOVE!''

Griffinhart wanted to retort, tell the Nevarran that no, he would lead the charge with the full might of his magics brought to bear, that he would call down a storm of fire, unleash death in all its primal fury, tear open a gash in the fabric of reality and let the Fade seep away the lives of the fools who dared to bring battle to them...

But no. Their orders were to push back the encroaching forces and open room for breathing, not stage a full-out assault on the castle. Logic overtook Griffinhart's well-bred desire for efficiency; he knew that he alone could not bring down this castle, for not was not a full-fledged battle mage, but a warrior trained in the arcane arts. There was only so much even one such as he could do.

But there were others...

"There will be a fire at your back. Take care where you step - I can only unleash the flame, not control who it burns," warned Griffinhart instead. If Pentaghast had replied, Griffinhart did not hear the words; he had closed his eyes and his mind, concentrating in the calm before the charge, and extended his own Fade-work to the two men that would charge with him. It was a significant expenditure of self, and an unspoken measure of trust (that he hoped would not be noticed, lest it be taken as a sign of weakness), but their weapons were imparted with telekinetic force and would pierce armor with greater ease; and their very bodies would move with greater speed.

And the moment hesitated - what kind of commander was she, that she hesitated sending her men to their victories, to their deaths? Sacrifices had to be made, they were Wardens-

"MOVE!"

-but the word cut the thought short and then there was only the rush of air and the breeze of motion as he charged alongside and behind Pentaghast, a fan of flame broiling in his hands.

Macha snatched the deftly thrown dagger out of the air, grabbing and feeling a wash of relief settle over her. With two daggers now in hand, she felt like she could finally make a dent in the remaining guards (who were blessedly few in the room, though more were coming, she suspected). She nodded curtly at the white-haired elf as she felled a man. Giving the orders had been instinctual - she wanted no part in a bid for dominance. Nygozy had given the white-haired elf the command position, and Macha was more than content to stick to the side-lines.

With a shrill whistle, Argos was by her side once again, blood tangling his black fur in places (especially around his mouth and chest). "Go with the other mabari," she instructed, jerking her head in the right direction, and Argos barked before running off to join Torture and the pup. Finishing off a man who was lying twitching on the floor, she followed after her faithful companion, and met with the rest of the group. She would be best for support - let the heavier-weight fighters take the lead. She nodded her head at Drake, smiling at him quickly in greeting. She was happy to see him - to see everyone - but right now, fighting came first.

"Argos," she called, and the mabari's ears twitched as he looked at her. "Listen to the white-elf. She's your Commander, for now." He growled low in his throat, but seemed to understand, because he went back to standing at attention. Macha didn't want Argos to refuse an order - thus messing up the plan - just because he was stubborn. It would be better this way, for now.

''MOVE!!''

Bowen charged as a bull. He had heard Griffinhart, and had time to nod at him when they two were running along with Sinjan towards the false guards. It felt good, actually, being part of something.

He felt the fire, but he chose to ignore it at that moment. All he wanted to feel was the bones cracking under his shield and sword, and that's what he got: the first two guards that he pushed almost fell back, and the Nevarran hit them hard with the pommel of the sword and one kick to one knee. Falling like cards, heh

Even in the excitment, he tried to protect Sinjan and Griffinhart with the shield from vicious attacks, realizing that none of them had shields to protect themselves. As if they needed protection, he smirked to himself

The word was said and Sinjan moved as he had been bade to. His sword slashed out as he yelled in his loudest voice, something between a hollar and a roar with no specific words, only anger and vice while his sword slashed out in front of him. He continued to roar as they moved forward, the pretend guards not seeming to know what to do with these three coming at them.

((sorry short post but brain died for this one))