He could smell her. The fear. The stench of panic that drenched her, and her clothes. These roads were wll known to him - he could smell her everywhere. The mage darted from the road that would have led her to the village up ahead - safety, security. And she dived into the woods, in hopes to lose him. Cullen pounded through the forest like a dog on the hunt, always keeping pace with the frightened woman. A small clearing met him and she tripped up with a cry, slamming painfully into the ground. Rogue mages. Dangers to all. They must be eliminated and made an example of - stupid Gregoir. So blinded by Irving's pacifcation that he couldn't see the threats before him! Told him...told him he needed to rest awhile. Calm his mind after the Ordeal. Ordeal - like it had been some small trial he had to face.
Cullen's face ripped into rage as he found himself hovering above the sobbing mage, sword at her neck. "Cullen!" She was sobbing, "Cullen please!" She knew him? Knew his name? The red fog cleared from his gaze and he finally Saw. Saw her - the mage, the girl. Reddish eyes and black hair - Decayence. His first love. His savior. His torturer. She trembled and sobbed beneath him and she wasn't the girl he remembered. The girl who snuck up on him in the Library. The girl who laughed at his pathetic jokes. The girl who stole his first kiss on Winter's Solstice when the mages had given her too much spiced nog. No. She wasn't a girl any longer. There was a woman with a heaving chest in strange black leather - it was Decayence's face, her voice - "Never again demon. You will not taint me."
Her eyes widened and she rolled to the side, shrieking. He missed his target and he scowled. "You will die demon!" He yelled, and she ferverently tried to cast a spell to ward him away but his Templar talents were still very much in affect. Cullen grabbed her by the hair and yanked her screeching face close to his - her eyes were wide and terrified, sobbing his name softly, begging for his mercy. Mercy. Demons never begged, for pleasure, for death and especially not for mercy. "...Decayence..?" He whispered hoarsely, and she sagged a little as his gripped softened in her hair - silky and like an oil spill on his fingers. She was praising the Maker for him seeing sense. "...Oh Decayence..." He whispered, and tilted her head up - his mouth met her slack surprised one, but it didn't take long for her to begin kissing him back, wrapping slender arms around his neck.
Their tongues dueled and lust raged within him but...he had her where he wanted her. Plush and soft against him, curved in all the right places. He nipped at her lower lip as she moaned his name sweetly, and he smiled upon her so breath takingly that she...hadn't noticed the blade. The blade made a wet 'gshnk' noise as it entered her unprotected middle, up into her chest. "You, more than anyone, need to die...sweet Decayence." He whispered, and gave her one last kiss as her tainted blood bubbled up into his mouth, while she died in his arms. He reverently lowered her onto the ground, stroking her face as looked up at him with betrayal in her eyes, even as she crossed into the Fade.
"Sleep sweet, dream mage..." He mumbled, and stood to finish his task.
His blade glinted in the air.
There were screams of agony, of anger and one gaze of sadness that was locked on the features of the head that was lodged on a pike. The King of Ferelden grasped his wife's hand tightly, and Anora squeezed back as she looked upon with disgust. "You know who it was, husband mine?" She asked quietly. Coldly. There was death in her tone today.
"Yes." Alistair whispered, and pressed his lips to her temple, one word whispered against the pale skin there. Stretched with child, she was still a formiddable woman. "...Bring me the head of the mage killer, Cullen. They shall have a reunion in the Fade, Maker rest his soul." She said coldly.
The hunt was on.