The Templars looked at each other and shrugged. They didn't really care, they were just there t-
The man on the leader's left dropped his sword. his back was arched and it looked like every single muscle was spazing out of control. The templar fell onto the floor, and a few more followed. One was puking blood through his helmet. The Leader's eye's opened wide, but he found that he couldn't move either. The pain was so intense. It was like every nerve was being fried, every bone was burning. "Gah-" was the only thing he could say before dropping to his knees. He wanted the blackness of unconsciousness to free him from this experience. but something was forcing him to stay awake, denying him that pleasure. He could feel it. Holding him in place as his life was slowly ground away from him.
"Ahh, t-t-the Warden," stammered someone behind him. He couldn't see who it was but knew that he was one of the local Chantry Templars that had been recruited at the last minute. He was new, young, had a family in the village. So when he was approached with the promise to make a few easy coins, he jumped at it without question to make life better for them. Now, it was going to kill him. If not this elf witch, then he would. "We... ARGH... c-come to... k-kill her a-and, Mmmmahh! allies." Valmyria Windstrider
- Redcliffe Castle - Corridor.
The knife was trembling in her hand when the necromancer thing, person, guy, it, approached her. The mention of her name had chilled her blood and caused her ears to perk up. This was it, it was all over. she might be able to deflect a spell and then dive back out the window, but she wouldn't be getting to far. But then she heard him say
Seirui wrote:"She is wounded badly. Protect us while I apply what help I can." His attention turned back to Valmyria, the skull mask gleaming in the dim torchlight. "We're no enemies of yours... I am Valas, and that is Isador "
He came at her with his hands raised; a sign of good will and peace.
The knife fell out of her hand and clanged to the floor. She soon followed as she slide down against the wall to the floor. Her breathing had become shallow and the blood was flowing more freely than before. The green healing light had sputtered and died. It was a bad blow, a coward's blow. She reached up and took the vial from the mage, poped off the cap, and downed the contents as best she could. It tasted like burning rubber, with the hint of peppermint. "So... the Black Axe and the Shadowmancer then?"
she asked, coughing up some blood. Valmyria knew of them both. One was a legendary Templar gone rogue. The other was a sort of a myth to her people. A mage scared and cursed by the power of pure magic. The potion was working as she could feel strength returning and some tingling near the wound. The healing potion would do its job, but she was still going to need some medical attention after this... If there was a after this for her. "What a strange world this is."
Knight Captain Gregor - Deacon
"You think I had any control over that," hissed Gregor as used his sword to push himself up. He was going to have to be careful now. Disarming his opponent like that had been a stupid movie on his part. The shield could have hindered him, now he had just forced his enemy to forfeit defense and gain speed. Great.
"You think the Templar Order has any control of the Seekers?" he said. "They are a separate branch from us, and yes, you did betray the Order. Do you know who else we were seeking? A mage, a Maker forsaken blood mage, that YOU had so foolishly seen the need to look the other way and allow him to escape. We lost him in the Wilderness. I don't know if the Seekers caused the burning, seems out of their character to be honest. Little bastards usually stalk you, looking for every little mistake you make. OR if it was that damn mage you
Gregor was angry now. Accusations being thrown against him, HIS beloved Order. Sure no single group as perfect, hell look at the Wardens. The Order had faults, but they existed to protect people from mages, and mages from people. He'd never forget the time he had been a escort with a mage on his way to Denerim from the Circle Tower. The King had summoned representatives to council to decide a course of action with the growing hostilities between the Quel'Elhen and the Dalish. On their way through a particular village, a man had tried to rush the mage. He was angry, bitter. His wife and son was killed by his daughter, a little girl that had tapped into her magic on accident, leveling the house in a fiery explosion that had claimed their lives. He had resented all mages since then, and was looking for a outlet; a crack at one. Gregor did his best to keep the man away, but the formidable Templar armor only gets so far. In the end, he was forced to cut the man down to save the mage.
No. He would not be addressed like this. He would not tolerate his Order being slandered by a man who couldn't even hold onto the basic parts of it.
The Knight Captain bought his sword around again, but let it dig into the earth. He used the momentum of the blade to swing himself around and land a armored fist into Deacon's face, knocking the man into the dirt.
"You were a Templar, Deacon!" yelled Gregor at the fallen man. "A champion of the light, a defender of the weak, and a brother to me. I loved you like a brother... and now this..."