"You don't belong here, Shemlen." The Dalish guard stood before her, perhaps he would have been more of an intimidating sight if he wasn't wearing light armor with a skirt on the end. It really didn't matter how fearsome a man was, how impressive his skill with a weapon. In the end, he was still wearing a skirt.
"What about my..." The woman before the Dalish guard slowly turned her head to each side, mocking shock. "Dear Maker! Where did my self righteousness and pointy ears go?" Bri's eyes flashed with annoyance, a sense of rage seemingly just below the surface. Her body was clad in the armor of a nearby assassin's guild, the one that had purchased her enterance into Kirkwall. She wore it with pride, a large sword embellished with the crest of the guild on the hilt, shimmering with well taken care.
Here, unlike in Kirkwall, it bore little weight.
"Why, you.. You.. Shemlen!" The Dalish hunter stuttered, moving his hands as if this one word was in itself a terrible utterance. Bri raised an eyebrow shortly, rolling her muddied eyes with a scoff. "How articulate. Step aside, little boy, we adults have buisness to attend to." Bri moved to step aorund the man, who shot her a glare and moved into her way.
Giving a sigh, Bri flicked her unevenly chopped black hair out of her face with a challenging grin, sadistic to the edges, and merciless to the eye. "Ooh, so you want to do it the HARD way, eh? You should know, killing people is my expertise. I would so ENJOY taking you and your homeless, stinking species out with you on my way up that DAMNABLE MOUNTAIN TOP."
The Dalish glared furiously, his own mop of black hair shaking at the movement as he drew dual blades from his back. Bri gave a wicked sort of grin, stepping a bit closer as she trailed her fingertips on her duel handed blade upon her back.
"Hawke.." Varric's voice rang with warning, disapproval, and annoyance.
Bri gave a near silently disappointed sigh, releasing her fingertips from the hilt of the blade with a pointed look at the Dalish guard. Holding up her hands as a show of peace, fingers spread, the Dalish slowly put away his own weapons, stepping aside to allow enterance into the Dalish clan. She supposed it had a name, but who cared about it, really?
As they strode through the makeshift camp that consisted of strange and temperary buildings that were forced to be painfully perminant. Bri glanced from the hostile, short and elven faces to the dwarf at her side scornfully.
"You always ruin my fun." She scolded.
"That's what I'm here for, Hawke." Varric smirked back.
Even for bitter Bri, he was a likable man. Cunning and witty, his mind was ever turning, and forever seemed to be cooking up SOME odd story to tell the others in the Hanged Man. So often she stood in the doorway, not quite entering, not quite leaving as she took in the tales he spun.
She'd always wished she could be anything like he portrayed her to be.
Bri'd demanded he'd stop. It wouldn't do to wish for the impossible things in life.
"Is there something you want, Anders?" Fenris growled to the ever so smug looking mage to his side as he followed after Bri, turning his eyes to the ever free Dalish. Most of them shot glares back at Fenris, save for two women, one of which, barefoot and small, tiny and frail. The other was scarred, one eye blind with a mad slash down her features, the other watched him with eerie interest.
Her black hair was tied back in ties of leather, noticing his glance her way, she gave a sly sort of wink, chuckling beneath her breath.
"You really don't have the temperment for a slave, you know." Anders explained, smirking to Fenris slightly, unobservant to the black haired woman that watched the group so carefully, as if terrified to give into the hope that bubbled up at their enterance.
But terrified not to.
"Is that a compliment or an insult, mage?" Fenris growled in response, if the mage wanted to make him believe all mages were different, that the temptation of power was not imminent in every mage. This was not the way to go.
"I'm just wondering how your master didn't kill you." Anders replied shortly, turning his attention to the eyes of the Dalish as they strode through the camp. Bri was stopped, and briefly spoken to by the Keeper, he'd heard of those, he'd done a lot of reading in his time in circle. However brief it was.
"How have the templars not killed you?" Fenris snapped back, turning his head from the back of Bri, towards the woman with the strange eyes.
She was gone.
"I'm charming." Anders laughed to himself, enjoying antagonising Fenris for his many quips against himself and mages altogether.
Fenris shot Anders a glare, openning his mouth to argue that slaves under the oppression of power crazed mages didn't tend to have charm to them. Or, perhaps, that Anders was charming enough, unable to get any to desire his company in the slightest.
"Both of you, shut your faces before I SEW your LIPS shut!" Bri glared with a spin, dangerous in every sense of the word. Holding out a warning finger, she growled between her teeth as she spoke further. "And you both know I'll do it."
"Hawke..." Varric gave an exhausted sigh, rubbing his head. "This isn't how you're supposed to play nice."
"Oh hush, it worked, didn't it?" Bri argued back, but, she conceeded.
Though, no one was truly certain if she didn't make true on her threats due to a lack of bickering, or a lack of vengence.
As it turned out, Merrill, the bootless, blood mage, dalish outcast would accompany the party up the mountain top, whether they liked it or not.
Regardless, she was the only one to know the ritual, something that finally came in handy, after dealing with misaimed spells all the way up the damnable mountain. Lying the amulet on the pedestal, Bri boredly looked away, disinterested in the ritual. In truth, she wouldn't have bothered even taking the amulet had she known that it would have made such a big deal.
Truly, it would end here.
Oh she'd hunt down that witch dragon and give her a piece of her mind.
A flash of light lifted from the amulet as it's casing was cracked from the force. Shadowy smoke lifted into the open air, forming the silohette of a woman, hovering just slightly above the pedestal. The black gave depth, defining her features to that of a beautiful woman.
Color spread through her skin, turning her long hair to a brilliant shade of red, elven ears poking through the silken strands. Oh lovely, another elf. It wasn't like all of THOSE she'd met were all uptight and broody. No tattoes covered her skin, though a gold earring pieced her left ear tip, hanging as a hoop in beautiful simplicity. Driplets of blood hung from it, as if it were newly pierced.
Her armor was of Dalish make, boots of Antivan. Weight took her once more, and with a light bounce, the woman stood upon the pedestal, her hands upon her hips a moment, speaking with someone not apparent for an instant. "Landsmeet? Damn it Zevran, how is it you always involve me in all the.. boring.. diplomatics.. of this country..?" She stopped, noting the world around her with a slow look, or rather, the absence of the man she spoke to.
The woman's eyes flickered back and forth a moment, surveying her surroundings in quiet contemplation. "Well," She started, voice smooth and sweet. "Don't I feel like I've missed something.."
Looking down, the woman cracked a likable sort of grin, cocking her head as if admitting to something. "Oh, it's damn lucky Zevran isn't here. He'd get a kick out of me standing on a pedistal. I'd never live it down."