Anders_icon.gif Adeline_icon.gif Fenris_icon.gif

Scene Title Not Today
Synopsis Anders loses his ability to wait at home like a good little mageflower and gets backup to go after his broody elf. Shit goes sideways.
Location The Hanged Man, Lowtown, City Warehouses: Qunari Compound
Date Justinian 3, 9:31 Dragon
Watch For Soccer Mom Adie and her rock band of Poor Life Choices
Logger Anders

Early enough on a Friday morning that the sun has only barely risen above the city's walls, there isn't usually much going on in the Hanged Man. At all. On this particular Friday morning, however, there is an agitated Darktown healer busting through the door and headed straight for the stairs in the back. Bounding them three at a time, he rounds the corner at the top and scans the area for the face he needs. This is definitely an Adeline type of problem.

Adeline is still asleep. Mercifully, she'd been able to manage it tonight. Somehow. Though she's the type to sleep in her armor. Always. Dark hair is a riot of waves and tangles, hanging over the side of her cot as she rests quiet. It does not seem Anders' arrival has roused her yet. She's plenty used to the sounds of people moving around in the tavern as she doses.

Spying Adeline fast asleep, Anders has one of those unique moments in life where he is simultaneously overjoyed and terrified. Oh great, she's gotten to sleep - she'll be rested and less likely to eat either him or Fenris alive! … Oh great, she's gotten to sleep - he's got to wake her up and she may possibly make him into mage-flavored breakfast tea. Working around to the side of the Senior Warden's cot, Anders kneels down and rests one hand gently against her shoulder. "Adie," he hisses. "Adie, wake up."

Adeline has grown accustomed to waking suddenly. The minute Anders' hand is upon her, her eyes open. She turns, taking a deep breath, processing quickly that it is Anders. "Anders?" She says, blinking, pulling herself to sitting, swiftly to standing, "What is it? What is wrong?" Ah, Warden training.

Anders is quick to scramble back out of Adeline's way as she rises - which is no mean feat when he's as equipped as he can be for a fight and there are cots EVERYWHERE. "Stupid elves overestimating their own invulnerability, that's what," he grumbles, but is quick to clarify. "Fenris went into the Qunari quarter last night, after some slaves that had been left in one of the warehouses before Summerday's disaster." Which is as accurate in as few words as he can be. "Wouldn't let me go with him, and now it's been almost twelve hours and he's not come out of there." Which means Anders is about at the end of his patience rope. It is not a very long rope to begin with.

The Senior Warden pauses, considers. "Well, alright…" She turns, takes up her bow, her quiver, and rouses Sterling, removing his hood gently. He hops to shoulder. "Lead on, Warden."

Well then. Honestly, with the people he knows, Anders had been all geared up to give detailed information - accounts of where he'd been and what he'd been doing and why he hadn't stopped the hurricane that is Fenris on a mission and - … Maker, he'd been with Sidona too long. The look he shoots Adeline when she's ready to march out on almost a direct turnaround is a mix of gratitude, relief and adoration - the kind big sisters are due when they turn around and help you save your foolish elf from getting himself killed.

"This way, c'mon." And he's down the stairs and out the door before anybody can convince Adeline there are better uses for her day.

The Qunari have been remarkably efficient over the last few days. Not all of the western warehouses have been cleared, yet, but they've done a solid overhaul on the places that have been. Barricades block all entrances on the docks side bar one - and that one is guarded by two Karaasad of the Antaam with enormous greataxes on their backs.

Coming with Anders to the very edge of the Compound, Adeline curses a little. "How did we intend to get in exactly?" She says quietly, looking over her shoulder to Anders. "I mean, if you have a lock of his hair or something, I could send Sterling to search, but I somehow doubt that."

Just behind Adie's shoulder, Anders curses hard and crass right along with her. "I don't… somehow he got in there." At least Anders hopes the bastard made it this far, otherwise they have no leads whatsoever. "There's… I know a back way into one of the far warehouses, but I don't think you or Sterling could get through." He chews on his lip, a sign of both thought and worry. "If they'll let you through this way, I should be able to meet you on the north side of their compound?" Provided he doesn't get nabbed along the way, of course.

"Yes, well, he seems to have something of a reputation with them, doesn't he?" Adeline says, shaking her head. "Though… I don't know how conscious you were at that point." She sighs. "Alright, I'll try…" She takes the ribbon from her arm, attaches it to Anders'. "If I can't meet you, Sterling will."

"A reputation?" Fenris had mentioned something similar too… which means that provided everybody makes it out of this in one piece, Anders apparently has some questions to ask. "Nevermind. I have faith in you." See? He even cracks a smile. "You've got all the charm." And with the ribbon tied to his arm, Anders pulls a face and moves off. He doesn't at all like this plan, but he likes leaving Fenris in there even less.

That just leaves Adeline and the two Karaasad. If that's not a tawdry drinking song already, it will be now.

Adeline sighs as Anders moves off. Nothing for it though. Straightening up, the Warden sets her shoulders, brushes off her armor, and moves to enter the Compound. Walk like you belong, maybe they will think you do, right?

Anders is not a master spy by any means, but he does know how to sneak about when needs must. He's off on his own (only mildly humiliating) adventure and not in anyone's line of sight where it might be problematic. That ribbon's gonna have to be moved, though. Poor Sterling.

The Karaasad guarding the gate seem surprised to see Adeline approach. At least… as surprised as Qunari ever seem. There's recognition in the quick appraisal and in the looks exchanged before they lower their weapons into her path in an eerie unison. "What business have you, Warden? There are no Darkspawn here." Great. A Qunari joke. Wonderful. What next?

"I wish only passage through. A friend of mine has gone missing, and I have reason to believe he is within, I wish to retrieve him." Adeline says. "I will cause your people no trouble if you will allow me." All the backbone she can muster. All the Warden stubbornness, all the pride of a noble of Starkhaven.

Of the two, the Karaasad on the left definitely looks surprised - impressed and surprised by being impressed. The guy on the right simply stares at her for a minute before huffing out a sharp exhale out through his nose. Not helping the 'oxmen' label much, him. "No Wardens have passed this way." It is a simple answer, on the barest fringes of 'respectful tone', and seems to be the end of it. Because obviously the Warden would only look for other Wardens, right?

Damnit. Risk time. "No." She says firmly, returning that fringe respect with her own touch of impatience, faint but present, "But the Ghost did." She shifts her weight to one side, hand coming to her hip, looking like a woman who does not like to be kept waiting.

Uh oh. Risk does not go over so well, it would seem. The Karaasad from whom it looked like Adeline was earning some respect rears back at such a… such a human display. "Why, you petty - "

"Peace," his partner urges, using his free arm to bodily restrain the forward motion initiated by the first. "The bas know no better," he continues, talking to his fellow as though the human amongst them is not even present. "They have not been Enlightened." The first Qunari does not look particularly happy about this, but he settles all the same. The more reasonable one then turns to face the Warden. "The Lyrium Ghost is no concern of ours. Nor yours. I suggest you return to your own kind, Warden. You are not welcome here."

Adeline pinches the bridge of her nose. "I am not trying to insult you." She says, "But he is a friend a of mine. And I know he came through here. He may not be a concern of yours, but that is precisely my point." She considers another risk, but thinks better of it. "I am not here to trouble you. Only to retrieve him."

The first of the Karaasad laughs. Laughter is almost universally a good sign - of amusement and joy and positive emotions - and can't mean anything bad, right? … Well, not so much. "Then you must possess a natural talent for it, Warden. You would be better served to be silent than to speak on things of which you do not know."

But the second soldier is silent, his expression thoughtful while assessing both Warden and situation. "The Ghost should have returned several hours ago. We can spare none of the Antaam. You will be on your own. You must not interfere with the cleansing of this quarter. Are these terms acceptable?"

Because even when there isn't one, these Qunari seem to really enjoy giving choices.

Make a Qunari laugh, she can check that one right on off the ol' bucket list. Not that this was exactly the context she would like. But, hey, beggars can't be choosers. Deciding to not rise to the laughter and the insult, she turns to the second of the Karaasad. "Yes, these are acceptable." Adeline says, some of the tension in her shoulders easing.

The second of the Karaasad nods sharply before jerking his head back toward the gate, a signal for his fellow - who does not at all look like he is happy about any of this - to open the gate. "The Ghost went to the north. The Ashaad will guide you. He will not assist you. He will leave you at the edge of our front and await your return. If you do not, we will notify your Kithshok of your deaths."

"Aqun Athlok!" When the gates swing open, the second Karaasad lifts his hand in one sharp gesture toward a figure in the shadows and exchanges words that sound an awful lot like they're both music and noise all at the same time. The figure rises and splits, becoming two figures - a tall, muscular Qunari that… despite species differences, doesn't look all that much like a 'he', and a great hulking varghest who looks, if possible, even less friendly than the first Karaasad. Neither Ashaad nor varghest make a single sound, but they will wait and they will lead the bas to the northern line. It was an order; they will obey.

"Very well." Adeline says, and nods. She's not about to argue with it at all. She follows, she doesn't touch her bow, and she doesn't even look around all that much. She wants to deal with them just as little as they seem to want to deal with her.

This suits the Ashaad just fine. The varghest is a little more curious about Adeline, but she is squishy and smells like feathery snacks. The journey is rapid and shows little of the compound except for stacks of supplies and materials. The one impression left indelibly, however, is meticulous, nigh-perfect organization. These are not amateur invaders, but rather a well-oiled mechanism that has laid waste to much and claims everything for its own. It is not long before they reach the northern line, the place where the Qunari have placed their temporary barricades and metaphorically dug their trenches against those that would oppose their presence here.

If Sterling is following Anders' blue ribbon, he'll be still further to the north, above a series of not-quite-so-rotted buildings.

Adeline follows, only taking vague notes in her mind. Walking past the barricade, she lets out a breath she didn't really know she was holding. A few paces past, she whistles sharp, a call to Sterling. Not a summons, but a 'hear and respond back' signal, so she may find him by his cry. The buildings of Kirkwall are too many and too tall, finding him by sight would be difficult.

There's a weird game of Marco Polo going on in the old warehouse districts. It definitely gets some head turns from a few lookouts, but there's no one to accost Adeline on her way toward her bird and the mage he's tailing. Anders doesn't… look that much worse for wear; a little dustier, a little crankier - the ribbon's tied around his ponytail now, but that's not so…

Okay, he looks entirely ridiculous, but it works. "I heard Coterie changing patrols." Though he is very quick to brush past how. "No mention of Fenris, but there's a building in the far western corner they say has been lighting up really weird since last night." Which means it's their best bet. Or at least, he sincerely hopes it is. "There may also be a few very confused smugglers chasing me, so we should probably, you know." Run!

"Damnit, Anders." Adeline says, sighing. "Alright, let's go." She doesn't take the ribbon back. If they get separated, Sterling is her best bet for keeping an eye on the mage. Knowing, more or less, where they are going now, she takes off at speed. She may not have the strongest arm, or magic, or apparently the most charming tongue, but damn if she wasn't quick when she wanted to be.

And thankfully, Anders has spent a good majority of his life running away from things. Well, usually people with very big swords and incredibly shiny chestplates and far too underdeveloped senses of humor, but STILL. He's not quite as fast as Adeline (mostly because he lacks the fear that would be propelling him secretly if he was being chased by Adeline) but he does a fairly good job of Not Falling Behind. Which is good, since there are four smugglers chasing after them about fifty yards behind. They look pissed; a little freaked out, but mostly pissed.

The building they're headed for has some doors that look like they're in very good order. The problem is that they're locked. All of them.

"Buy me time!" Adeline calls, having tried the doors. There's nothing for it, she's gonna have to break in, and with smugglers on their heels, she's just going to have to trust Anders to Make It Work. Kneeling before the door, pick's tools are pulled from her hip, and she focuses, trying to work as quickly as she can. A stream of curses is muttered under her breath, but that just tends to be how she worked. Why the hell had she agreed to do this again?

Time! Right. Time. Welp. Perhaps there is some truth in the statement that men never do outgrow the childishness of little boys. Because the first thing Anders thinks to do is to cast Cone of Cold down the alley they're running and freeze them solid. It's an excellent cast and a brilliant result… but alas. He doesn't freeze the smugglers so much as the water flowing from an overturned rack of barrels. It's not a permanent solution, but watching the poor buggers slip and slide and fall on their asses is pretty damn great. See, Adie? This is why you love him, really.

You know, she'll take what she can get. She has another distraction tactic, though. "Throw the damned ribbon." She says. After all, she has more where that came from. Returning to her stream of curses, she continues to work at the lock, giving a silent prayer to just about anyone that will listen.

Anders jerks a little - honestly he'd forgotten about the ribbon - and reaches up to tug it free from around the bit of leather that normally keeps his hair out of his face. A concentrated burst of willpower freezes one end of it into a ball of ice. This will throw much better than the ribbon alone - he pelts it and hits the closest smuggler square in the knee. The ice shatters and the ribbon gets caught in the guy's belt, but it's maybe not the best place for it to end up.

That lock, though, for some reason, is just not budging.

As the ribbon is thrown, Adeline whistles, sharp and high. The attack command. She's really getting done with this whole endeavor. Cursing louder now, Adeline kicks at the stupid door as one of her picks breaks. "Stupid, fucking, blighted, piece of shit-" Adeline just continues, pulling another pick out and trying that one. At least she keeps multiple.

Adeline is done and so are the smugglers. Death by bird is just not the best way to go, but they're wising up to this ice business now and starting to gain more ground than Anders would like. "Damn it, Adie, just - move!" And Anders… bless his poor little heart, does something he's spent his whole life watching very chiseled Templars do that made doors look like paper. He takes his shoulder to it. Hard. It does… exactly what anyone with sense would expect, which is nothing more than bruise up the damn shoulder pretty bad. However, the smothered shout of pain and the hissing string of curses are display enough that now Anders is also done. So when he takes a swing at it the next time, it's with Stonefist instead.

The door explodes inward. Smarter, not harder, Anders.

It is only the seriousness of their situation that keeps Adeline from laughing. Oh Anders. Sweet, sweet, weighs as much as a swimmer after a bad bout of food poisoning Anders, that was never going to happen. Adeline pulls her bow, loosing arrows toward smuggler feet, aiming to pin.

The arrows are helpful - even if only one pins an actual foot, the process of dodging a repeat keeps the smelly bastards quite busy. Anders - perhaps eager to gloss over his terribly embarrassing failure - chivies Adeline inside as quickly as he can, throwing willpower into repairing the door behind them. It is… possible that the sound of one of them cursing the 'unnatural wild witch' can be heard through the door, but Anders is doing such a good job of ignoring it, so that can't possibly be it.

Unfortunately, the view inside is not better. There's a large area in the center of the building covered with blood-spattered sawdust that looks disturbingly like a combat training ring. But instead of training dummies or grandstands surrounding the pit… there are cages. There are a seemingly endless number of people - elves, mostly, but a few humans here and there - crammed into them, filthy, sick and starving. There is only one cage that remains mostly unoccupied and though it is far bloodier than the rest, it is the one Anders runs to first - before he can even get his feet under him properly - bracing his uninjured arm against the cage wall with bated breath to make sure there's still breath in the cage's familiar occupant.

There has to be. There just has to be.

Adeline follows Anders in. The sight before them makes her pause. She knocks and arrow, pulling back, not rushing in as Anders has done. She doesn't trust this, she does not trust this at all. Looking for windows, looking for movement. Mostly windows, though, something she can bust out to let Sterling in if need be.

This had been a very, very bad day, and a very, very bad decision. Fenris lays at the base of that cage, empty otherwise, not asleep, but not waking either. It's the listless dozing of exhaustion and blood loss. His breathing is there, yes, and not going anywhere as of now, but it doesn't sound comfortable. The familiar rattle of someone breathing through the pain of broken ribs. An agony they must put themselves through to keep drawing breath, drawing sweet life into lungs that burn, and twist with pain as they expand. White hair is stained with blood, but whose, or whats, is very questionable. Near all of him is stained with blood, really, dark red or black, drying to different degrees. His hands are caked with it, between the articulations of his gauntlets, so that it is cracked like a dry lake bed.

There is a thunderous pounding on the door that they'd just come in, but the smugglers don't have recourse to do much else. It's a small mercy in a day not likely to be full of them. Watchful Adeline can hear the soft, slow creak of a floorboard coming from the landing behind her - so much sooner than the cause of said noise ever anticipated.

The sight that meets Anders on the floor of that cage enrages him in a way he is not very much familiar with at all. It feels… different than the anger he knows - and he learned a lot about fury at Kinloch. It's older, somehow, deeper, brighter. He is still himself. He can't hear even an echo of the booming voice he has always associated with Justice, but he also feels like he is about to drown in the kind of protective rage that will consume him entirely. It is a battle of wills, but Anders loses. He can't see the way the Fade-blue cracks appear down his neck and chest and arms, he can't see the way his eyes glow an unnatural blue from their golden iris. He does rip the cage door off its hinges, which the display with the outside door had shown he absolutely should not be able to do.

Ohhh, no you don't Mr. Creeping Around Upstairs. Adeline turns, backing out into the bloodied 'arena' as it were, arrow training up toward the landing. She couldn't exactly fire through floorboards, after all. She is totally and completely distracted, however, as the door to the cage is thrown aside. "Andraste's tits, what in-" She turns to glance behind, sees that glowing, her gaze narrows, "Justice, so help me, keep your shit together, there are bigger problems." She doesn't have time for chiding him, so her gaze turns back on Mr. Thinks They Are So Sneaky.

The sleep of exhaustion is a fitful thing. The screeching tear of the metal cage coming asunder rouses Fenris in a way he can't explain. He has no energy left, he's so tired. So deeply tired, bloodied bruised. How much of this blood was his, he really did not know. All he manages is to lift slightly however, before his elbow gives way and he falls back to the base of the cage. His back is to the door, though, and he can't see who it is who has come, who has pulled the door away. That voice, though, he knows that voice - He has heard that voice - Justice - What? Fenris forces his eyes open, coughs, pulls himself over with force of will and the sparked hope the thought of Justice, and therefore Anders, being here.

And there he is! Fairly young, it looks like, but with dark eyes and sunken cheeks - skinny as all hell… definitely the young buck of the group. The saddest part is that as he turns just in time to stare down the nocked arrow of Adeline's bow, he looks… he looks afraid.

Pulling from the Fade in this place where the Veil is so, so weak would normally be a piece of cake. Doing so while flooded with energy that comes from the Fade is a bit like picking up a brick and finding that it is only the painting of one; light, flimsy, insubstantial. It is practically child's play to gather the energy he needs into his palms, but still the being that glows with the Fade's light kneels down on the ground next to the battered, bruised elf. There is a moment, when he first looks down into a beloved face, that Anders' eyes are entirely subsumed by the gloving blue light emanating from him. But it lasts only a moment, for the sight of Fenris still fighting for his own survival is enough to push Anders much more decisively into control over this nebulous, directionless energy - rather than it having a control over him. It's a difference that is marked best when (before he even lays hands on skin) he pauses and leans forward with a simple two word inquiry spoken on a voice that both is and is not Anders.

"May I?"

"Answers, now, unless you want the business end of this arrow between your eyes." Adeline calls to the frightened looking man up top. Looking that scared, she doesn't need to loose this arrow, not yet. Well, at least it seems that Justice is taking her instruction seriously. No maddened magic, no angry outburst, just what sounds like the start of healing. That'll do.

Fenris opens his mouth to speak, but he can't manage it. Breathing is hard enough, the pull of air to manage words is too much for him to will through. That voice was so different, but so familiar, it was almost disturbing. He can't focus, though, the world is turning to vague shape and light. Mostly, just the light that cracks through skin he has come to know, the elf shudders. Lifting his hand, he cringes, but it's better than trying to speak, somehow. Or at least quicker. He needs the will for his chest to keep breathing, his arms are a different matter. He takes hold of Anders' hand, pulling it down onto him, the best way he can express the 'yes' his breath will not give him.

"Answers to what?" the mage shoots back. Maker, with that crack and roughness he can't be more than fourteen. Sixteen at most. He's still visibly frightened, but does a fairly good job of injecting a hefty dose of bluffing arrogance into his voice. "Sometimes extreme measures are called for when one is trapping a dangerous and recalcitrant pet. Danarius will pay whatever ransom we set, so long as the beast isn't dead."

There are words being bandied back and forth around him. Anders is paying attention, really. It's just that all of that feels so unimportant right now, when the elf on the cage floor is pulling his hand down in silent acquiescence. Both hands move, cupping each side of Fenris' jaw and letting the slow flood of magic wash through the battered body. It is so much more intense than it has been before, the honeybee buzzing almost overstimulation. And yet the contact is better than it has been before, the resonance of their skin actually audible to the others in the room like a ringing hum. There is so much energy - more than is needed - and the rest ends up twisting around inside Fenris like it had that first time, carrying with it echoes of the fear and protective fury that still course through Anders, but also a keen affection so sharp that it aches. It's more than he'd like to give away, but since he doesn't routinely have this much of the Fade at his command, there are things he hasn't quite perfected. Even so, it should be more than enough to serve the immediate purpose.

Adeline laughs. She laughs! Barking it, but it is an wrathful, mocking sort of thing. "If you know what is good for you, child, you will turn, you will leave, and you will let my friend and I take him, and all of the people you have here, away." Adeline says, sounding wholly unamused, "I promise you that you do not wish to tangle with a pissed off Warden, and right now, there are two… Arguably three… Of those you are having to contend with." She's not playing, and the further pull upon her arrow, the way the bow string creaks, shows she's not bluffing. The humming behind her makes her blink, but she's not looking away from this kid. She'll ask about that particular weirdness later. Or not. She's thinking maybe that not might be the better option there.

That healing, it doesn't hurt. It never hurts. But Fenris is so tired, so exhausted, so worn thin in every way that the surge of energy is has him reeling. His skin alights at the touch, fueled not from within like normal, but from the magic happening throughout his body. So, so much mana. The last time he could even think of this much mana was… Well, frankly, his memory of losing his memory was a shattered, white hot thing and this… Isn't that. He doesn't know what this is. Fenris gasps in air as his ribs knit back together, opens his eyes. His body is knitting, but there is little to be done for just how tired he is. It's certainly awakening, this ringing, buzzing, humming contact, but it's… The room is spinning, or at least he feels like it is.

The boy evidently mistakes the humming for something else. He hears it first with a flash of pale dread, before swallowing and screwing the little courage he has left to step forward and meet Adeline's challenge. Unfortunately, this puts him right into a perfect shot line-up. "There are no Darkspawn here - and where there are no Darkspawn, the Wardens cannot interfere." He sounds so sure of that. Obviously he's never met Adeline.

Sensing the unease left in his wake - which had not at all been the intention - Anders pulls back, withdrawing the energy he'd sent forward until there is just a single thread connecting him with Fenris and projecting calm and stability. Somehow he's managed to put the elf's blood-stained head in his lap - and the irony will actually kill him later - and fishes in his bag for one or two of the Stamina Draughts he'd meant to bring along last night before… Well, before. "Here," he offers quietly, voice still Anders in pitch, rhythm and syntax, yet altered unmistakably - augmented with something much older than himself. "Can you drink? These will help."

Another rough, mocking laugh. "Oh," Adeline says, "I'm not here on behalf of the Grey. I'm here because you've threatened someone I count as a friend. And that, little boy, is a whole lot more dangerous." Her voice turns dark, touched with an almost feral growl. She is really done with losing people, and she wasn't about to add any more notches to that particular belt. Not today.

Maker, Fenris knows what the hell those are just by color. "Yes, just… Give me the damn thing…" He's not trying to snap, and the look he shoots up to Anders is touched with apology, but he's just so overwhelmed. He reaches, taking the vial with a still shaking hand. Uncorking it with a pop, he drinks. Bitter, but it would do, it always did. As the draught takes hold, Fenris takes a deep breath, finally calming from that strand of contact. The shaking stops, and he his mind catches up with his situation. There's a shiver that has nothing to do with his fading pain or exhaustion or the contact from the mage. Something like bitter memory, one he can't quite parse. Like this arena had stirred something in his mind, under the surface of murky water that shielded his conscious mind from the truths of his past, but moving like a shadow, stalking him and building a dread in his stomach. "They've been sacrificing them, calling demons." He says, his voice gaining strength as he moves to push himself to sitting.

The boy scoffs. "How could a slave be counted among friends?" It sounds like he's repeating something he's been told often - or at least heard often enough to repeat to himself. It has the flavor of rote about it. All the same, he manages to bring his tiny dagger to bear and slice open the skin on his palm with only a small wince. It's a decent sized cut, too, the blood splattering on the floor like rainfall. From the residue springs a great hulking Rage Demon… headed straight for Adie.

Anders doesn't take the snapping personally, but the dry look shot down at his grumpy bastard - despite the way his eyes are once more overtaken by the consuming glow - says they'll be having Words about this WHOLE THING later. After. Provided they survive. And the chances of that look really, really good… But then Fenris has to go and say the 'd-word' and now there is a surge of blue-white light that takes all of Anders' willpower to stay abreast of. "THIS INJUSTICE MUST NOT - " but that is the only part of his declaration Justice makes it to before the combination of fatigue and a host at war with him makes it impossible to continue talking. He doesn't need talking to kill them, though. That he can do without a word. He has enough of himself left to help Fenris stand and then immediately stalks off to join the fight.

"Maker judge you fairly." Adeline says as her final comment to this young man. The heat behind it, however, says that she thinks that fairness will not be a kindness. Demons. Always with the demons. Why always with the fucking demons? The arrow she fires is not aimed for rage demon, but for mage. Yes, demons suck. Yes, this was likely about to hurt a whole hell of a lot. They did not need more of the creatures.

Small mercies, his captors seemed to have had some hope that Fenris would change his mind and wish to go for another round of entertainment. They had left him his blade. Finding his feet again, the elf shakes his head. Well, at least the room has stopped spinning. "There are two others." He calls, to the both of them, finally seeing who has come along with Anders on this rescue mission… It's the Warden. That had been the voice. Of course it was. That made sense. Pulling his blade, the elf does not immediately engage a target, searching the room to try and see where the other two have run off to. He's been mostly unconscious for a good while and has lost track.

The good news is that Adeline's arrow flies true, sinking in the throat of the boy and dropping him immediately to the floor in a slowly-spreading pool of his own blood. The bad news is that this leaves her painfully open to the attack of the Rage Demon. Flinging itself forward, Rage takes an unapologetic swing of its fiery fist only to find it caught on the heavy part ot her bow. It's probably a little hot in there.

There is turmoil inside Anders, a splitting of purpose that makes him ungainly where he is usually so graceful in combat. Half of him wants to hang back, to protect Fenris and Adeline and let the beast wear itself out. The other half is raging at this thing even existing, coming to dinner, ruining all the nice clean family fun. The indecision costs him; the turmoil costs him. In preparing to take out the demon, he leaves himself open to attack and takes a particularly painful burn right in his left side. It's harder in that moment to stay in control, but he does (eventually) manage it.

Well, at least she's still a decent shot. Cursing as the demon strikes her bow, she hisses and backpedals, trying to buy distance. Knocking and loosing, focusing more on speed that precision. At least the beasty is large. There is another glance to check for windows. Something in shooting distance, preferably. Was the Maker that kind? Or providence?

A mage and a rogue. What's more, a healer and an archer. This was what he had to work with. Fenris growls as the demon burns the healer, and steps in. Wherever the other two have disappeared off to, he's not going to find them by simple glancing. And an archer and a healer were not going to hold ground. There's a glance back to Anders, as he steps between him and their newfound Demon Not So Much A Friend. "Your magic will have to be my armor, mage." He says. Sure, he wears armor, but it's, honestly, not the sturdiest set in the world. Made for fast, vicious fighting, glancing opportunistic blows, not for holding a line. But there's nothing for it, and frankly, Fenris has absolutely no concept of what Justice might capable of when it comes to dispatching demons. So he's striking, hoping to draw attention away from the backpedaling archer and the healer whose injury has gotten Fenris' hackles raised. As if they weren't already.

Adeline's arrows hit home, sticking out of the simmering rage demon like some kind of demented porcupine. It seems to slow the creature and aggravate it to no end, but little more. There is a window here - several, in fact - high up on the walls just beneath the roofline. It's too slow now to avoid the deadly strike from Fenris' (frankly ridiculously) enormous blade and there is an unholy screech that fills the building and echoes pain and fury. Livid now, it burns brighter still, taking a swing this time at the elf that so injured it. This close, it is a certain hit, but there is one thing the demon (in its primitive idiocy) cannot have taken into account.

Anders is still in control of his own body. Not to say that Justice would not have put forth the necessary effort to safeguard his allies and friends, but the Spirit is somewhat detached from everything except the pursuit of his solitary purpose. Anders, on the other hand, is the furthest thing from detached. Fenris must be protected; Fenris will be protected. When he gives permission, even, there is nothing to stop the mage from doing exactly as he is asked… and then some. His Barrier has behind it so much more power than he is used to. The magic settles over Fenris like a second skin, thick and pulsing with strength that feels like Anders and also not like Anders. It's as good as heavy plate, but it comes with the same kind of resonating hum as when Anders touches him outright. Let the demon strike that. His Fenris will be safe.

Windows, good. Adeline's next arrow is a different sort. The kind she only keeps two of in a quiver. Heavy, very heavy, weighted, with a large, blunt arrowhead. The kind that will shatter glass if she needs it to. Right now, she needs it to. Shot up to the nearest window, she continues to try and gain distance between her and the demon. No point in staying in 'easily pissing it off' range. The shot is followed by one of her whistling calls, hoping the arrow does as intended, and that Sterling will figure out the entrance quickly. Not that she thinks he's the best bet for fighting a rage demon, but Fenris did mention there were others… Somewhere.

Well, that… Huh. That was more effective that Fenris had actually been anticipating. Not to mention just the tiniest bit distracting. Okay, not the tiniest, that hum is actually pretty damn distracting in combat. He's used to focusing himself via pain not shiny bright resonance of Fade-y harmony. Shaking his head, the elf luckily only reels from it for a moment. And that moment is mostly taken up by a really pissed off demon taking exception to him having cut him. That is, however, precisely the goal, so he does so again. This time, he's even smirking.

That heavier arrow - either because of the distance, the angle or just plain bad luck - hits the glass in the window, but only cracks it. The flash of light and shadow outside of it means that Sterling probably knows which one he's meant to come in… he just can't make it through. And that hum might be more distracting than anticipated - Fenris' next swing is only a glancing blow; the demon is not more than skinned and now has another opening to slam into that bright barrier around the elf. It does not feel great to slam into, but it knows the light must be destroyed before it can get at the flesh underneath.

Anders is not idle, casting a quick Cone of Cold in the demon's direction. It's not as effective as he'd like, slowing it down to a dark and barely simmering mass, but not freezing it entirely. He lifts his hands for a second attempt when the sound of an unearthly scream from one of the rooms behind them breaks into the silence. There is a surge inside of Anders that makes him feel like he is going to throw up and cry and pass out all at once. "ABOMINATION." The voice of Justice - familiar at least to Adeline - booms loud and low around the room. "THIS DEPRAVITY WILL NOT STAND." And pulling the spear from his host's back, Justice sends Anders racing full-speed into the demon like he's going to run it through for a spit roast.

"Not the time, bow, not the time." Adeline says, though she doesn't waste time in drawing and shooting the second of her weighted arrows. The scream makes her turn once it is loosed, trying to discern which room it had come from. Knocking another arrow, this time a standard one, her attention is pulled back once more at the sound of Justice's voice. "What did I just tell you?" Adeline says, exasperated, but she doesn't really think it's going to be listened to. Just battlefield banter at this point.

Well, there's at least one of the others. Not that Fenris exactly has time for wherever the hell that scream came from. And oh sweet Maker what in the world? Great, fantastic, absolutely precisely what they all needed right now. Damnit, Justice. There's not much to be done for that either, though. Just flanking, and hoping that whatever crazed bright-blue-light-bringing power that Justice granted Anders (Fenris was fairly familiar with the efficiency of bright-blue-light-bringing powers, after all) would be enough to not have him die horribly if the Demon decided to take grander exception to him than the elf who is continuing to put a ridiculously large blade into its form.

Adeline's arrow hits home, striking somewhere that must be particularly painful because the smoldering Rage demon is spending all its energy trying to rip it out. It's enough of a distraction that Justice and Fenris both land their blows in almost synchronized displays of violence. The demon hisses as it fizzles down to a puddle of foul-smelling goo on the ground and for a moment there is silence. Blessed silence. At least for the two men trying to catch their breath over the remains of dearly departed Pissy over there. For the Rogue behind them, there is not that kind of relief. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh-thunk. Shhhhhhhhhhhh-thunk. It's a soft, low sound, drawing up behind her. The problem is that when she notices it… It notices her, too.

Braced on the spear - whose tip is buried in sand and goop at this point - the next thing Anders knows is that he is out of breath and standing almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Fenris over what he can only assume used to be the Rage demon. Staring down at the way he can see what look like cracks of blue along his own arms and chest through the fabric of his shirt, Anders squeezes his eyes shut and curses under his breath, turning to look almost pleadingly over at Fen with eyes still unnaturally saturated in the Fade's light. "I don't actually want to know, do I?" And though there is an alarming, throbbing pounding in his temples telling him to turn around, Anders is not quite mentally ready to acknowledge the fact that there is now a Pride Demon standing at the other end of the room.

Demon down! Excellent. It almost makes her smile. Except, well, that's certainly a strange noise. Adeline blinks, trying to process what in the world… She looks behind her… No. Nope. Nope nope nope. With a barking laugh that leans toward the hysteric at finding herself entirely too close for comfort with Mr. Giant Horns Ugly Mug over there. The archer leaps backward, because like hell is she staying there. It's not until she's gained ground that she is able to start knocking another arrow, even.

There is no moment of relief for Fenris. He's been fighting the forces of these people long enough. He's exhausted himself doing it. He'd bloodied himself terribly doing it, and he was well prepared for the minute that Rage Demon falls apart there to be yet another Big Bad Problem to attend to. "Likely not, no." Fenris answers Anders. He doesn't have time for a lot of things, but especially not for explaining. Again, an archer and a healer. A healer who occasionally, it seems, has something of a problem with rushing into the thick of things. To be fair, Anders had proven himself fairly proficient with that spear on a number of occasions, but… Fenris moves as Adeline jumps away from the Pride Demon, closing distance. Archer, healer, elf with a ridiculous sword. He was still the best option for Least Likely To Die If Hit By a Pride Demon.

Adeline's jump comes just in the nick of time. Her arrow lodges itself into a vein on the underside of one enormous wrist (which sends pints of black blood splashing down into the sand and sawdust) but the edge of that swing just barely grazes her. On any other opponent, the strike would be laughable. Coming from a very pissed off Pride demon? That shit's gonna send her spinning to the right at least a few feet. Fenris' rush is met with a roar and a kick that isn't so much a kick as it is one massive leg swinging forward to its next step. That ridiculous blade definitely cuts - and being mostly phased certainly helps - but he'll be eating sawdust for a minute, too. This leaves the path clear for the demon to stomp his way over to Anders, who is just not quick enough to get out of the way. The hand that isn't bleeding scoops the Warden up like a doll, lifts him into the air and starts to squeeze. If there is going to be blood feeding the ground today, it will not be all his own.

Anders cannot help but take a moment and wallow in the realization that today could have gone so much better. Good night's sleep, waking up in a warm nest of blankets wrapped around a nice-looking elf. Cuddles! Sex! Breakfast! Not being chased by a Pride Demon four times his size. But instead, here he is, trying his damndest not to panic over the impact of demon limbs against first his best friend and then his lover - and also trying not to be next. He is, as it turns out, remarkably bad at that second part. It is not a fun time, being crushed. Ribs crack, hips pop, something just above his spleen just ruptured, he's almost positive. With the edges of his vision once again going grey and black, Anders does the most sensible thing he's probably ever done in his life, he Stonefists that cracked window. Shattering glass is a nice sound… The rest is up to Fen and Adie.

Ah, hello there, ground, her old friend. It's not the first time Adeline's been on the ground, and it certainly won't be the last. Have you seen and ogre? She has. Not a good day, that. Not a good day at all. Pulling herself up just in time for Anders to be picked up by the demon, the Senior Warden ruffles. If she were a bird, every bit of feather would be fluffed unhappily. Oh no you don't, Mr. Giant Horns Ugly Mug, not one of her Wardens, you don't. The window is blown out just as Adeline is pulling back a particularly hard draw. Her bow creaks, at about the limit of what it can manage. But that window is gone, and the release of that arrow, flying through the air much more like an Archer's Lance than an arrow, is paired with that sharp, high whistle that tells Sterling to rain down taloned horror on whatever poor, unfortunate fool has blue fletching attached to its flesh.

Fenris and this sawdust, they really needed to work out the unhealthy relationship they seem to be having regarding him always ending up back here. He'll be finding flakes of the Maker forsaken sawdust in the articulation of his armor until the end of time, he just knows it. Worse than sand, almost. At least the warrior has the good sense to not stick around long, these reunions never ended well if he lingered. Rolling to his feet, Fenris turns on his heel just in time to see the beginnings of that squeeze to his lover. Did demons have brains? Lets find out, shall we? Adeline's arrow flies, and Fenris closes distance again. This time, though, he has the beast's back. He's not going for a strike to the thing's leg though, or hip, or even chest. No, the elf has gotten the mad idea to leap, bury that ridiculously massive sword into the beast's shoulder, haul himself up by it, and reach through the thing's skull.

That's one fancy bit of bow-work, that is. Handy, too, for ripping a sizable hole right through the demon's chest. More of that black, runny tar blood pours down onto the ground, leaving the great hulking thing stunned for a moment. That moment is all it takes for Fenris' blade to dig deep into the demon's shoulder; it's an excellent launch venue for that upward grab, but the blood gushing down both back and front makes it hard to do anything but hold on for dear life. The Pride demon, enraged by these new pains, thrashes back to try and crush Fenris against one of the support beams. It doesn't manage to shake him, but that definitely crunched something. The arrival of the bird takes the demon's attention momentarily from the burning pain in his shoulder, but Sterling is more a distraction than an actual martial aid at the moment. And a distraction can be a pretty useful thing…

This is pain like Anders can only barely remember; crushing, stabbing, throbbing. It's nausea and dizziness and the feelings of a tightness in his abdomen that his healer's mind knows is not good news. He tries desperately to heal himself, but it's almost impossible to hold onto the necessary focus when he's struggling just to hold onto consciousness. Perhaps if he'd been able to hold on longer - if Justice could have been kept at bay - everything would have been fine, but in this much pain Anders loses his hold on his own body. Justice, enraged at the sensation of captivity, begins to bodily fight his way out of it. But things are not so simple in the physical world and the struggle puts his body at a terrible angle as the demon squeezes down again. For a moment there is blinding pain in his hips and lower back… and then there is nothing. Nothing at all.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Adeline knows that listless limp hold of a person's body when they've gone dark. She's seen enough people die, or come damn close to it. Okay, so it's bad decision time. It's really, really bad decision time. Anders limp, Fenris crushed against a support beam, nothing for it. "'Ey, Beastie!" She cries, "Want another?" Arrow knocked, but not loosed, a threat. A Goad, if you will. Trying to catch the Demon's attention. Yes, that's right, drop the nice mage and pay attention to the really annoying bitch with that bow that hurts a whole lot.

Ow. That hurt. A lot. Fenris curses, holding onto his blade, and trying to gain purchase against the beam that has just been used to crush him against. A springboard, if you will. His back isn't having much of it at all. As he tries to pull himself up, though, Fenris takes a deep breath, despite the stabbing burn of taking breath with broken ribs. This ride again. Focusing the energy in the lyrium upon his skin outward, with all the rage he can muster, which is quite a fucking lot, actually. A Spirit Pulse bursts from the elf, thankful for the considerable amount of demon between him in Anders, hopefully stopping any of that energy from reaching him. Though… With Justice present… It might just help. Maybe. Who knows? He certainly doesn't know how this shit works.

Adeline's taunting manages to get the demon's attention, but it's not until the blast from Fenris knocks him nearly silly that he lets loose his hold on the mage - flinging him across the room as the demon staggers forward and falls to its knees. There is black blood everywhere - likely on Fenris too at this point - and the demon is gasping raggedly for breath, but there is still life there for the moment.

Anders, on the other hand, is a terribly-still pile of limbs slumped sideways against the side of the cage he'd ripped open to get to Fenris. Irony, thou art a cruel bitch.

Thank the Maker for small mercies. At least the thing had let go of Anders. That knocked arrow is loosed, but Adeline isn't focused on whether it lands. Fenris will have to deal with dispensing of the creature. Adeline is crossing the field a sprint. "No, no no no, Warden Anders, you stay alive. That's an order." Taking a knee beside the mage, her hand is reaching into a belt pouch already, drawing forth a sharp smelling healing potion and popping the cork free. Bow set beside her to free her hands. Taking Anders' jaw in her hand, she tilts his head back, pouring the potion back into his throat. She holds his mouth closed, holds his nose closed, hoping he has at least enough life left to instinctively swallow. "Live, damn you."

Finding the ground again, Fenris pulls free his blade as harshly as he can. But his main focus is in his hand. He'd gotten an idea in his head, and how he really needs an answer on if demons have brains. And he's going to find out the horrific, gorey way he finds any such questions out. Besides, he's angry, unthinkingly, undeniable seething with rage, and this is the only thing that ever gives that quiet.

It would appear that demons do, in fact, have brains. Or at least, some lump of fetid, disgusting tissue that's vaguely grey in color and looks like it might be a brain. Whatever it is, it's dripping nastiness from its place in Fenris' fist and the body of the demon it came from is as limp as Anders'.

Speaking of their trusty healer, Anders is currently undergoing the unique experience of waking up while choking on health potions. He coughs and sputters and goes a little cross-eyed, but he's aware. Still not moving, but aware. There's the slightest upward twitch to the corners of his mouth like he really wants to make a crack about Adeline gagging him, but just doesn't have the energy. In fact the only thing he does say is one word, harsh and barely rasped out. "Lyrium."

As Anders coughs, Adeline lets out a sigh of relief. He could be beat up all he wanted, he's not actively in his last moments alive now, and that's all she can hope for. Lyrium. Now that, that is something Adeline doesn't keep on her. "Maker, tell me you brought some…" Adeline says, standing and moving into the cage, rummaging through the bag Anders had packed.

Well, that's good to know. Fenris tosses the grey tissue to the ground, it makes a sound that is certainly somewhere in the realm of disturbing. You know, if you aren't someone who makes a regular practice of ripping internal organs out of people's bodies. Fenris, it seems, doesn't think anything at all of the sound. Then again, he's in a lot of pain, he's pissed, and he doesn't trust this at all. That's two demons. There were three mages. Despite the snarling wince that comes with each step, the elf moves to inspect their surroundings. He's not about to trust this, and he's not about to let his guard down. He's a sight, really, covered in blood and gore of all varieties. His hair has never looked this dark. Demon blood would do that. He was never getting this out of his armor. Never.

There are vials of lyrium and vials of Stamina Draught and a few handfuls of health poultices among various other instruments of healing. Anders, given a few moments to let the initial potion do its work while Adeline digs, manages to push himself up to a better sitting position, but it's done with both legs still laying limp and unresponsive in an arrangement that can't possibly be comfortable - or couldn't be, if he could feel it. He still doesn't have the energy or the focus to say much, but his eyes track Fenris' movements around the now-quiet warehouse. There are slaves cowering in their cages, stacks of cargo and other commodities, some manifests, some meagre gold and a box full of charred remnants of letters - some of which bear the Grey Warden seal - but there are no more demons. Two more mangled mage bodies in the room from which the pride demon came, but nothing beyond. For the moment, they are safe.

Adeline brings over every vial of lyrium she can find, kneeling beside Anders and looking worried. "Would another help or has it done what it can do?" She asks. Adeline is no healer. She's no mage. She can splint a break, she's stitched herself up before when she she's needed it, she can apply a bandage, and she knows that the shiny green ones make the wounds better. That's about it.

Yeah, Fenris is going to have to deal with things like frightened slaves and whatever the hell those papers are when he doesn't feel like he's been ground to dust. Finding the two mage's bodies, he does relax some. Lost control of their little pets. Makes sense. Stalking back toward Anders and Adeline. With a rumbling growl, the warrior puts his back to the cage and slides down to sit beside Anders. "There are papers… No idea what they are… They have your griffon symbol on them." He says, almost as an afterthought, to Adeline. So done. So very done with today.

"No." Anders - Anders - down to monosyllabic responses means that this day deserves to be over. He takes the lyrium, downing three of them with increasingly nauseated expressions. The bottles he drops when they're empty, reaching out with the hand closest to Fenris to grip his forearm. There's the Right Way - what Anders uses with all of his patients - and then there's the Quick and Dirty Way. It's what he uses on himself to conserve energy for others, but the pain involved with the snapping of bones back into their proper place and the jaw-clenching hum that comes with restoring broken nerve fibers mean that having something else to hold onto is a welcome comfort. Once just enough has been healed to make him functional again, he starts pushing himself up like 'oh okay time to stand up now'. "Fenris, Adeline, is there anything I should see to?" In other words, are they hurt?

Adeline did always hate it when Anders did that. The sound of bone resetting suddenly, it made her flinch. But the healer could do as he needed. The Senior Warden shakes her head. "No, I'm fine." She says. Some bruising, but Anders didn't need to waste his time with that. Blinking, she looks at Fenris confused for a moment. Papers? Well, that… With Anders not dying, Adeline moves off in search of these mentioned papers.

The sudden touch makes Fenris blink, looking down to the hand on his arm. His opposite hand comes to rest over the mage's own, though its no comfortable thing with those gauntlets, and the still wet blood covering… Well, most of him. He's about to ask what in the world the mage is doing when the righting of his joints and the associated squeezing of his arm makes it obvious. That… Certainly seemed unpleasant. There's a look that says Fenris considers protesting when Anders pulls himself to his feet, but the reprimand dies before it ever jumps his lips. "Not sure exactly what is broken, but I don't think any of this is supposed to grind the way that it is." Fenris says. He's been in pain for so long, pinpointing pain and its source has become a strange and difficult thing for him. It also doesn't help that the ever present pain of his markings has returned. Having to activate them as much as he has recently, especially this last day, it was just a matter of time.

For Adeline, there is a box of papers - letters, between two individuals identified only as D and R. Much of the writing is illegible, but there are passages that talk about a possible cure. Doesn't say for what, but a name appears at least three times. Fiona. Fiona. Fiona. Some of the last letters mention Kirkwall and the thaigs beneath. Something sleeping? None of it makes much sense, at least on first perusal, but it's all there, for what good it does.

For Fenris there is a sharp look that dissolves into something thoughtful. Anders glances after the retreating Adeline, but doesn't follow. She knows what she's about. Instead, he lowers himself again to kneel where he'd been sitting and grabs for two more lyrium vials. For Fenris, he stomachs more of the bitter stuff and when he reaches again, it's to rest his palm against the first bare skin he can find. With tacit permission given when Fenris admitted to being hurt at all, Anders sends his tendrils along to find out where, what and how to fix it. Along the way, he finds the damage done over paths he's already healed once - the price for the power Fenris wields. It makes him hurt and if there weren't so many others who needed attention… "If you let me take care of that when we get home, I won't even so much as peep an 'I told you so'." There's no heat in the threat, but there's enough stubbornness for certain. For now, though, he'll see to what's broken and alleviate what pain he can without delving deeper than his grumpy bastard will let him go when they're not safely tucked away somewhere.

Going through the papers with some care, Adeline crinkles her nose. "Why were these here?" She mutters under her breath. They'll come with her, certainly, but she can't make heads or tails of what in the world all this babble is about, at least not yet. Figures. Always with the secret documents, Wardens. You would think she would be used to it by now.

"Then you can have your 'I told you so.'" Fenris says, though the tone he uses is strangely apologetic. He has reasons. It's even likely he'll provide them, later. The elf takes a deep breath, letting Anders knit him back together. Pulling himself to his feet when he is able to. There's a shiver, at the recent pain, at the trauma of the past day, of the hum that comes along with Anders' touch. "I have no idea what to do with them…" He eventually admits, gaze turning to the cages that surround them, and the frightened slaves there.

Anders pulls a face at that, heaving out a heavy sigh and turning away. "I don't want it," is his only answer, but he's already walking to the other cages, so that would appear to be that. It's a long process, seeing to the needs of so many - all of whom need so much - but it is made easier by the fact that they all bore witness to the debacle in its entirety; he is no slaver. By the time he's done, Anders has drained everything from his bag and there are still countless minor injuries that still need seen to. Turning finally back to Adeline and Fenris, Anders looks… done. "I have to get out the way I came in. Adie, you and Fen lead them out through the Qunari gate. A number this large rescued from blood mages by a Senior Warden? The city will have to do something - for appearance's sake, if nothing else."

Adeline has been helping where she can. Soothing frightened people where her surprisingly gentle demeanor can help. There are even a couple of cookies handed out from a belt pouch, split in half to be shared amongst younger people. Distributing potions of Anders directs. But mostly just keeping people's minds busy while Anders sees to them as he can. But what man, it's no quick process. When Anders speaks though, Adeline's brow knits. "I hope you are right about that, Anders." She says, voice casting quietly so not to spread her doubt too far.

Fenris seems oddly thankful for that statement. Honestly, he didn't know if he could stand the mage gloating after this. In fact, he's barely managing even handling still being here, in this place. This arena that still stirs dark shadows in the murky surface of his memory. Goodwill has been a thing that Fenris has seen in short supply through much of the world. Anders' hopefulness does not spread to him, but he doesn't say as much. No, Fenris is not a terribly comforting person. He's no healer. He is just a grumpy elf with a lot of pain to bear and way more blood on his person than he cares to think about. "No. Anders, whatever way you came in, you're coming out with us. And if the Qunari want to give me hell for it…" Fenris just looks down at himself, "Well, I think I'm wearing plenty of reason for them to not try that."

Anders takes a moment to inhale, hold it and exhale once again. "I am exhausted, Fenris. I have no more mana and I think if I look at another of those lyrium vials I will be sick. Even if I was willing to march seventy-five civilians into a possible confrontation with the Qunari - which I'm not - I don't know that any of us would survive it." Because while the great horned invaders should be reasonable about a lot of things, they, well, weren't. "If you want to come my way that's fine. I can take you. But no one else can go that way and I'm not risking another Summerday incident." His voice goes a little quiet, then. "Not over me." He shakes his head and turns to his commander, then. "Adie, the Qunari hate slavery almost as much as they hate mages. If the Viscount won't help, they will." And - judging by the tired quirk to one side of his mouth - that might be enough of a prod to make the Viscount help. Adie's smart, he's sure his drift will be caught.

It takes her a moment. A long moment where Adeline just looks at Anders as though he has grown a second head. "Ar-" She stops, "Ah… Nevermind. Yes, yes." Nodding, her attention turns to Fenris. "Get him home, Fenris. I can manage this." She's not brooking an argument about it. "Alright, you lot. Come along." She says, rallying the group to her as best she can. This should be an adventure all on its own.

The Senior Warden does this tone so well. This voice that says the conversation is over. Even Fenris can't really argue with it, not when he's this exhausted. He sighs to Anders, but this just seems to be the situation they're in. "Well, lead the way, then." Fenris says to Anders. He doesn't seem amused, but whether that's anything specific or just… This. All of this. It's hard to say. Though, he can't say there is any remorse in leaving these cages and arena. They feel too much like home and he can't abide that.

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