Unlike the ravaged forestation around Lothering in result of the Darkspawn invasion, the road outside Redcliffe Village remained remarkably unaffected. The warm rays of the sun sprayed down onto the path and ruthlessly heated the armed group of humanoids that freely descended the trail. Only a few stray trees provided momentary shade from the blinding sun, glinting off from their steel weapons and attire. If a closer inspection were taken, most of Ferelden's population would find the sight of their strange companionship almost fictional.

A bulky tanned male with stark white hair wore heavy plate iron, yet showed no sign of immediate exhaustion, though a layer of sweat skimmed over his forehead. Beside him strode a proud male in typical templar designs, a Redcliffe shield in one arm and a thick shortsword hung along his back securely. Behind them both was an elderly female, grey hair pulled back loosely in a tail and blood red robes loosely hung around her form. She clutched a slim grey staff and seemed to heavily rely on for support, yet her expression revealed nothing but static determination, though the effect of the heat impacted her severely.

Leading the three of them was a slender elf with very dark hair cut sharply at her shoulders. Although the most immediate difference was the fact she wore nothing but form-fitting leathers. Dark fabrics clung to form, contrasting highly to the standard leather skirts and pauldrons rogues or thieves would commonly wear. Instead the vestments curved around all her limbs and midsections and gave her plenty of unrestricted movements. Multiple straps wound itself along her thigh, waist and bicep to house small blades or potions. Though the most prominent of her belongings being two sharpened dalish blades glinting at her waist. Normally they only reached conflicts when cocky bandits viewed them as viable prey on the exposed roads or creatures emerged far enough from the woods to feel threatened by their presence or even driven mad by hunger and taint. But for now things were relatively quiet, not for long.

A slain ox and tipped cart littered the road ahead and a distressed female in commoner robes ran out to meet the party, her waxen hair untidy and her posture frightened. She pointed down the road and shook with fear, "Oh thank the Maker! We need help! They attacked the wagon; please help us! Follow me, I'll take you to them!" She blurted out suddenly before spinning around and running down the remainder of the road and turning a corner.

Alistair gritted his teeth and took a step forward, the plate sidings clinking together as he moved, "We've got to hurry, she's probably rushing back to danger!" Already unsheathing his sword and gripping his shield protectively, jogging after the female.

Quickly at his side was Sten, the Qunari warrior in thick metal armor, and the weight of such encumberment showed in his sluggish run, though he still managed to keep pace with Alistair. Wynne shot a quick look to the raven-haired elf, but breathed inwards in preparation. Starting off after the two men at a slow pace.

The Dalish elf pursed her lips, eyes trained to survey the area. There were minimal footprints and tracks, a fact she found odd considering the typical number required for an ambush. And how could that woman have escaped unharmed? Drawing her blades, and narrowing her eyes, she followed in her group's stead.