Ceyrabeth turned and stretched, feeling a curious lack of tension in her muscles. The wind blew soft and warm against her bare skin, scented with salt from the sea and rosemary from the Tranquil's kitchen garden. "Beth," Ceyrabeth turned toward the husky voice with a smile. Meredith stood by the open window, blonde hair tossed by the fragrant breeze, not a stitch on her strong, fair form. Beth propped herself up on her pillows and beckoned languorously with one finger. Meredith came to her with a smile, willowy limbs swaying seductively…long fingers reached lovingly for Ceryabeth's face…

Meredith's head split open like an overripe melon before transmogrifying into a ravenous set of jaws. A horrid chittering sound filled the air. Beth realized belatedly that it was not her lover reaching for her, it was the creature. It was far too late to run, but she fought anyway, ripping off tentacles, gouging the thing's eyes….

And she fell out of bed, flailing, for the fifth time in a week. She lay on the ground, thanking the Maker that it was a short drop, before pushing herself into a sitting position. She ran her fingers through her hair, grimacing when it met no resistance. She kept forgetting that her one beauty had been taken from her when Captain Sul decided that she looked better as a pointy-eared boy, damn him a thousand times.

But maybe, just maybe, tonight she could take his maddening arrogance and slam it down his throat. The Hoard was approaching; she did NOT want to take the risk that her still-captive brothers would be given to the Darkspawn. She dressed quickly, quietly slipping out of her tent and took the roundabout way to where Ser Quinlan and the others were staying. Quietly she whistled a three-note run that sounded exactly like the call of a songbird, waited ten seconds then repeated it. Quinlan appeared immediately.

"Ceyrabeth?" He had dropped his voice to almost silence. She felt a pang at the wariness in his face, but she didn't give him a chance to talk.

"Wake men, quietly. Out." She kept her sentences to as few words as possible, avoiding any sibilant sounds that would make her voice carry.

Quinlan immediately imitated her, "Gear?"

Ceyrabeth shook her head and indicated the pack on her back. She had carefully absconded with as much food and water skins as she could the night before, and most importantly had added the last of her lyrium vials. She had enough for each man for maybe two days if they ate little and foraged- not quite enough to get them to civilization but enough to get them out of the Legion's range if they moved quickly enough.

Ex-Templar though she was, she puffed up with pride at how fast the men dressed and gathered. She had also lifted a map of the area from Lieutenant Pellinore- he had been kind enough to give her the history of the Legion when she asked; he had also been kind enough to get her a cup of water when the 'smoke of the brazier' had given her a severe coughing fit. She had felt remorse for her duplicity...until the next time she looked in a mirror. Somewhere between the hair, the ears, and the new burn scar curving along the base of her throat from Osen's attack, her resolve hardened.

It was almost dawn when they reached the outskirts of the camp. Tregan stopped in his tracks.

"Tre…" Ceyrabeth began.

The man shook his head, ears tilted to something none of them had caught. They all halted without question. Tregan had been a scout in the employ of the Empress before joining the Templars. She watched him listen for a second, saw his expression harden, and she let out a sigh.

"What gave me away?"

"The map." Atiya said calmly as she and Sul materialized silently from the tree line on the left. "Information is our most precious resource, Ser Ceyrabeth, and as such is monitored carefully."

"I'll remember that for next time." She replied lightly, even though her hand clenched hard over her sword hilt. For just a moment she considered killing them both- Osen was nowhere in sight, and there didn't appear to be any other guards. She didn't know much about Atiya, so she put her odds at fifty/fifty for actually striking a killing blow.

Knowing Sul though, Atiya was probably some kind of secret automaton that could stretch her arms an obscene distance and was likely powered by elf blood from living bodies. Worse, if she failed, her men would likely die in horrible ways…

Not that that wasn't a possibility now.

"So," She said, injecting a bit of bravado into her voice. "What now Captain? Are we all to be thrown naked in a pit with rabid Brontos and no weapons?"

"Stop giving him ideas!" Mathias whispered frantically.

A fractional smile, coolly cordial, flashed across Sul's visage as fleeting as ripples in a still pond. "That won't be necessary," He assured them quietly, "But you should know that you're going the wrong way."

Tregan snorted. "That's absurd!"

"Then you are familiar with the Korcari Wilds?"

"Of course!"

"Have you heard of Barrows of Velcorminth then?"

Tregan's demeanor took a defiant cast, "They are the final resting place of the Chasind war leader Velcorminth who led the tribes against the darkspawn during the Second Blight."

"Very good," The blind man said approvingly, "Do you know where they are?"

"They are several leagues north of us," Tregan replied with the utmost confidence.

Sul turned his face to the side, "Atiya?"

Atiya scanned the horizon and then pointed into the distance, "There."

The others turned to look at Tregan. His face fell.

"Those are not several leagues away," Mathias whispered sourly.

"I have mounts ready for you," Sul gestured at someone unseen from behind him and continued to speak, "Head north along the Imperial Highway until you reach the West Road."

"North is that way, Ser Tregan." Atiya pointed, her face neutral. Tregan was glaring enough for the both of them. The slight smile flickered across Sul's face before he continued. "You will encounter refugees fleeing from Lothering in an attempt to avoid the Darkspawn horde. I would ask that you aid them in this."

"And why would you care about the well-being of refugees?" Tregan spat venomously, his eyes flashing.

Sul shrugged slightly, "Their deaths serve no purpose and I have no interest in seeing them added to the ranks of the Darkspawn."

Ceyrabeth's eyes narrowed, "The ranks of the Darkspawn? What do you mean by that?" She asked suspiciously.

"A story for another time. You must hurry however."

A squat man with surprisingly aristocratic features led several horses out from behind the trees behind Sul. They were clad in heavy barding from face to hooves, yet moved surprisingly lightly.

"Eregost!" Quinlan cried out, overjoyed as he recognized his mount's familiar coloration on the small patch of hide that showed between the gaps in the armor, "I thought I'd lost you in that damn bog," He reached up and under the armor to stroke the mare's nose, then frowned: the horse showed no signs of recognizing him or even acknowledging his presence, "What's wrong girl-?"

A thunderous roar tore through the relative quiet of the swamp as a huge purple dragon flew over their heads. The flapping of its enormous wings sounded like thunderclaps. It threw back its head and roared so loudly that the trees shook.

"That's a high dragon!" Mathias cried out as he and the other Templars dove behind cover, hands on their weapons.

Sul and Atiya by contrast did not appear startled in the least. Sul lifted his face to the sky and smiled, "Good, she got my message."

Ceyrabeth had also stood her ground as she peered intently at the horses: they had remained stock still during the entire encounter and even now, completely unrestrained, remained eerily calm. Carefully she approached Eregost.

"Ceyrabeth, what are you doing?" Mathias asked as he tried to clear the ringing from his ears.

Ignoring the other man, Ceyrabeth reached up to the straps holding Eregost's champron to its face. The scent of cinnamon and pitch overwhelmed her suddenly and she coughed, turning her face away.

"Eregost…?" Quinlan whispered, his face going pale as snow.

Ceyrabeth registered the scent of death a moment before she turned to face the creature.

"Maker!" She gasped, dropping the horse's helm to the ground. Eregost's flesh had been almost completely stripped from its head. What little remained was thin and desiccated. Large bandages had been applied over various portions of the creature's face and body which only added to its ghastly appearance. Green pinpoints of light glowed profanely from deep in its eye sockets.

"May I introduce Casper Pentaghast the Third," Sul offered by way of explanation, motioning to the squat man who was just now coming out from hiding after the dragon flown by overhead. "An extremely talented Mortalitasi of Nevarra."

"What have you done?!" Ceyrabeth demanded furiously.

"You are running out of time," Sul countered, "No living mounts could get you to the refugees in time to save any of them. These mounts require neither food nor rest. They will gallop tirelessly for as long as is required."

"They are abominations!"

Sul shook his head and gestured to the Qunari woman beside him. Placidly she handed him an apple.

"Eregost!" Sul called out and he lobbed at apple towards to reanimated creature. Eregost leapt forward, nimbly caught the apple, and began chewing on it.

"No demon inhabits these creatures. Each has retained a portion of its original self."

"That's not—"

"It's time to ask yourself what you believe," Sul hissed contemptuously, "What is more important to you: your lying, timid morality or making it to those refugees before they are butchered to the last child?"

Ceyrabeth swallowed an angry retort, digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand so hard that it drew blood, "I loathe you."

Sul nodded, "You have that right," His tone went cold as he approached the elf, "But you will obey me if you intend to serve within the Phoenix Legion. Are we clear?"

If Ceyrabeth could have drawn her sword and cut his head off right then and there, she would have done so with a song in her heart. Instead she carefully knelt before Sul, "What is thy bidding,…" She glared daggers up at him, "…my Captain?"

"You evil bastard!"

Ceyrabeth was bowled over as Quinlan charged Sul, his fists raised, "Quin no!" She tried to call out.

Sul waited calmly as Atiya stepped away from him. When the enraged knight was almost upon him, the Captain pivoted on the balls of his feet and slapped a hard palm against the back of the man's head as he charged past. The extra momentum of the strike was enough to set him off-balance. He overstepped and tumbled forward in a heap of rage and metal, plowing through a thick bed of reeds and landing in a large pool of bog water.

Ceyrabeth clamored to her feet as Sul calmly turned to regard the rapidly sinking knight, "Quin!" Shooting Sul a murderous look, she raced to the edge of the pool and stretched out her arm, "Take my hand!"

"I can't-," The rest of Quinlan's words were lost as he swallowed a mouthful of water as Sul regarded the entire drama dispassionately.

"Captain," She pointed at the pool, her tone suddenly strained: something that resembled an oil slick was noiselessly gliding over the surface of the water towards Ser Quinlan's flailing.

"Quinlan. Get out of the water. Now!" Sul's voice betrayed a hint of urgency that made Ceyrabeth's blood run cold. She had not seen him display the slightest hint of anxiety in her presence much less the urgency that now filled his tone.

She looked past Quinlan and frowned at the oily thing, "What is that?"

"Ceyrabeth, get him out of there," His tone was still carefully modulated but the undertone of urgency was rapidly becoming dominant.

Without a moment's hesitation, Ceyrabeth removed her dagger and with a few quick cuts, slashed the straps holding her armor in place. She clenched the dagger between her teeth and dove into the water towards Quinlan. The oil slick had gathered speed and was writhing back and forth, slowly becoming more substantial as it drew closer to them.

Focus! Ceyrabeth grit her teeth, driving the image of the oily writhing darkness from her mind and directing all her attention to saving her friend. She reached the man and began sawing at the straps to his armor while keeping his head above water and half-swimming, half-wading towards the shore away from the slithering menace.

"We're not going to make it!" Quinlan cried, "Leave me!"

"Never!" Ceyrabeth dragged the man closer to the muddy earth that marked the edge of the pool. They were so close….

The oil slick reared back up like a serpent and hissed at them, opening something that resembled a wide mouth. Bits of slime and detritus drippled from it and she was reminded forcefully of her nightmare.

We're not going to make it. Ceyrabeth thought bleakly. Maker….

There was a blur of movement and a loud splash. Suddenly, Sul was in the water between them and the malevolent entity in the water. He brandished a large red crystal towards the gelatinous creature.

"Ínvoco nomine Neriah ille qui stabat coram urente!" The red crystal flashed with light and Ceyrabeth suddenly felt lightheaded and strangely overheated. A pulsing sensation went through her body that set her teeth on edge, "Voluntas non valebit Vyrantus te!"

The crystal flashed crimson and the creature shrieked with a sound like a thousand claws across stone as it began to flow rapidly away from the red light.

"Ínvoco nomine Corin qui prohibuit rubiginem!" Sul advanced relentlessly upon the shrieking entity. The water in the pool had begun to bubble and foam as if it were boiling away. Ceyrabeth hoisted Quinlan out of the water into the waiting arms of the others and turned to watch Sul, "Voluntas non valebit Krayvan te!"

The creature shrieked long and loud and rose up out of the water and split into several different writhing pieces that hissed and snarled. It loomed high above the pool.

"Maker preserve us…" Ceyrabeth whispered in dread at the sheer size of the creature towering over them.

And with a chittering roar that nearly rivaled that of the dragon and froze the elven girl's blood in her veins, a writhing mass of flesh and claws burst from the trees.

"You shall not have him!" Chirak shrieked in a chorus of gibbering voices that emitted from all over its' contorting body. Ceyrabeth was shocked to her very core to see her former lieutenant's head dangling from a stray portion of tissue. His eyes were wide open and his mouth emitted a wailing, gurgling sound.

Tentacles burst from Chirak's rapidly shifting form and wrapped around the oily creature, pulling it close. Arms and legs and other limbs that couldn't be identified exploded from Chirak's writhing flesh to propel it forward, colliding into the viscous creature in the pool of water. Sul dove out of the way as gibbering flesh and oily putridness tore and clawed at each other. Mouths and horns tore their way free from Chirak to bite and stab at the thing. The knight-lieutenant's head began wail louder as the flesh bubbled and then split apart, bone and blood spraying the ground as the bisected face became another set of jaws that sank deeply into the other creature.

Chirak wrapped itself around the creature, bones stretching and then breaking before being reabsorbed into its body. Flesh melted and flowed like wax, tearing and then reforming as it coiled around the oily entity which continued to thrash and shriek. Chirak coiled itself around the other thing and constricted, its prey thrashing within the confines of its prison of flesh and tissue to no avail. Chirak squeezed and squeezed, the sound of skin bursting as jagged pieces of bone erupted from the seething cauldron of tissue filled the air.

And over all of that; the hissing of the dark entity and the chittering guttural roaring of Chirak, deafening in its intensity.

With a final wail, both creatures disappeared beneath the surface of the water and silence descended upon the scene like a pall.

Ceyrabeth didn't even have time to steady her shaking hands before she noticed a strange sight- Sul was half-draped over a log, making no effort to pull himself back to shore. And even stranger- neither Atiya nor the Mortalitasi were making any move to help him. She could clearly see the red bloom of his blood spreading rapidly over the water. He was going to be in serious trouble if he didn't get out of there soon. She was just opening her mouth to comment when Sul lost his grip on the log and soundlessly slid under the water. She waited for Atiya or Pentaghast to make a move, but neither did- Casper just shifted from foot to foot, wringing his hands, and Atiya stood there placid as a pastured druffalo, "He'll drown!" She finally expostulated.

Atiya nodded, "Yes."

"Let him, and good riddance." Quinlan muttered.

Ceyrabeth felt the moment shimmer with startling clarity- she could let him drown. Just stand and do nothing, walk away from the Phoenix Legion knowing that a dangerous man was gone from the world. There were two EXTREMELY horrifying creatures lurking beneath the depths- an excellent reason in itself to stay on land. But...

"Beth?" She barely heard Quinlan's questioning voice. A thought was screaming at the edges of her consciousness, drowning almost everything else out, a fact, a truth, unavoidable...

...She owed him. She owed him her life, and now Quin's too. She teetered on the edge of indecision for two ticks of a second and then...

"Maferath's flaming balls!" She exclaimed furiously before diving back into the vile, malodourous water.

It took three tries but Ceyrabeth finally came up triumphant. She hauled Sul up onto the bank, Tregan and Mathias helping her. "He's not breathing," Mathias noted. Ceyrabeth immediately flipped Sul onto his stomach and slammed both her hands down on his back.

"I...am not...breathing air...into your lungs!" She informed him between blows. "So you...had better...breathe, Maker damn you!"

Almost as though responding to her demands, Sul seized under her hands and expelled a gush of bog water from his lungs, following it up with great, hacking coughs as his body tried to rid itself of the foreign material. "That's it," Unconsciously, Ceyrabeth ran her hand up and down his back in comforting strokes. "Steady..."

"That cut looks nasty," Mathias crouched beside her. He gingerly pulled cloth away from Sul's side and examined what looked to be a claw wound.

Coward though he normally was, irritating and weak-willed, the second someone was injured Mathias transformed into a steady stomached, utterly exceptional field medic with a spine of iron and Ceyrabeth threw him her pack before she stood. "Patch him up," She commanded. He nodded acknowledgement but she didn't even see- she was already stalking across the short distance toward Atiya and Casper Pentaghast.

"What in the Void was that?!" Ceyrabeth, delayed fear and rage pumping adrenaline through her veins, exploded with the force of a thousand suns. "You completely, utterly useless sacks of steaming druffalo dung! Traitorous, cowardly, weak-willed...that was your Captain out there! Your leader! And you were just going to let him drown like the moony-eyed, minstrel maidens that you are...by Andraste's Ever Holy Tits, I could just flay you both alive...!"

"Violette..." The name was almost too soft, but somehow Ceyrabeth heard it through her tirade. "Violette!" She turned and saw that Sul had pushed himself up to a sitting position. He was facing her, and what she saw made the blood drain from her face. Mathias had removed the sodden bandages around Sul's eyes to keep filthy bog water away from a jagged cut on Sul's hairline, and Ceyrabeth caught full sight of the ravaged tissue that proliferated the top half of the Captain's face. The sight, along with the pleading tone of his voice, drained the rage right out of her. "You shouldn't talk like that...in front of...the baby. Promise me..." The light caught his eyes and Ceyrabeth gasped.

Where she had once seen only empty eye sockets were dozens of tiny shards of colored glass that morphed into different patterns and reformed. The likeness of pupils and sclera would emerge, assembled from minuscule pieces of glass before they would swirl and then fade away to be replaced by other seemingly random shapes and patterns. The effect was hypnotic as the prismatic shards spun transformed like a kaleidoscope.

It was bizarre. And alien. And beautiful.

"Violette?"

His voice broke the spell and Ceyrabeth shook herself violently to clear it; he was delirious. She turned her back on Atiya, who had stood like a deactivated golem under her onslaught, and went to crouch by Sul. Ignoring the fact that she had no idea who Violette was and there wasn't a baby anywhere in the Phoenix Legion that she remembered seeing, she reassured him, "I promise."

"Good." A brief smile flickered over his face, "She learns so fast now...remembers everything. Violette? Why can't I see? It… hurts, Violette!" He seized her hand, and she was completely unsurprised to find it already burning with heat from fever.

"It's time to rest now," Ceyrabeth patted the back of his hand gingerly, nodded when Mathias tilted a vial in Sul's direction. "Just relax."

"When will it stop?" He rasped.

Ceyrabeth felt the change like an electric charge in the air. One minute Sul was talking to the mysterious 'Violette' and the next second, she would have bet her left arm that he knew exactly who she was.

The honest answer was probably 'never' in Sul's case but she didn't have to decide whether or not to tell him that- Mathias waved the vial under Sul's nose and the Captain went limp. Ceyrabeth gingerly lowered him to the ground.

"Red poppy," Mathias said to her questioning glance. "It'll help with the pain too, but not for long."

"Help me get him up," She replied. "Quinlan!"

"Here," The answer was a bit sullen in Ceyrabeth's ears, but she let it slide.

"I'm taking Eregost."

"The demon horse?!" Quinlan recoiled.

She rolled her eyes, "Out of all the things we've seen and that's what gets you?" She huffed, "Yes, the demon horse. Help me get him..."

"No."

Ceyrabeth's eyebrows almost hit her hairline. "No?"

"No. You may be willing to jump into a poisonous bog for your new Captain, but I'm certainly not going to do anything that will prolong his life span."

Ceyrabeth bit her lip against the explosion of fury that sent stars skittering across her vision. "Fine," She replied through the taste of blood, metallic across her tongue. "Then get your arses on those horses and ride to Lothering. Or are you willing to let them die too?"

Ceyrabeth saw the flicker of indecision on Quinlan's face before he nodded consent. "Lothering, then Denerim. What do we tell the Revered Mother?" He asked.

"The truth, of course."

The truth that would brand both her and Keiran traitors, that would spell the end of the life that she had worked so hard for. Quinlan's face softened with pity as he nodded again and swung up into the saddle of the nearest horse. Tregan and Mathias followed him. "Maker be with you, Ceyrabeth."

"And with you all." That was all she trusted herself to say. She turned to try and hoist Sul into the saddle...and found herself face to face with Ser Corellan. She had almost forgotten he was there- he hadn't panicked with the dragon or the horses, hadn't made a sound when the bog monster attacked. But there he was, silently helping Beth lift the Captain and depositing him gently on Eregost's back before swinging into his own saddle. He briefly clasped her hand before riding away and Ceyrabeth knew with certainty that she would see Ser Corellan again.

But for now..."Let's take you home," She told the unconscious man draped in front of her. And with a loud "Hyah!", they were speeding off toward camp, Atiya and Pentaghast following closely behind on their own mounts.

When they returned, Atiya lifted the unconscious captain from the saddle as if he weighed no more than a child and carried him back into his tent. Ceyrabeth moved to follow, "No," Atiya said tonelessly, "I will tend to him."

Ceyrabeth opened her mouth to object, "Listen-!"

The rest was lost as Atiya dropped the flap to the tent cutting the elven woman off.

The Qunari woman lowered Sul onto his cot, his glass eyes wide and unseeing as she removed something from her belt and placed it beneath his nose. The effect was immediate: he lurched straight up in his cot coughing. Atiya placed one massive hand on his back to steady him.

"Well?" Sul croaked.

"All transpired as you commanded," She reported, "Neither myself nor Casper interfered when your life was imperiled. Ceyrabeth took it upon herself to rescue you after accosting us both," She shrugged.

Sul nodded as Atiya handed him his onyx pipe, "I'm pleased to hear it."

"Who is Violette?"

Sul remained still for a long time. Then, "Where did you hear that name?"

"You were delirious and talking out of your head. Is she important?"

"She is neither your concern nor your business," Sul's tone was glacial as he lit his pipe. "Are we clear?"

Atiya shrugged fractionally, "It would appear that Ceyrabeth passed your test."

Sul nodded and ran a hand through his graying hair, "The first of many."

Atiya tipped her massive head, "To what end?"

Sul's smile would have made the Qunari shiver if she were capable of processing emotion, "Why the only end that matters," He blew out a plume of smoke, "Victory: utter, complete and total."

.:*:.

Ceyrabeth bowled over a squire as she stalked away from Sul's tent. Whatever insults were hurled her way never penetrated the crimson fog around her vision and the roaring in her ears. She was furious. She had felt something during the battle when she saw Drachaen wounded that confused her, which only served to make her angrier—

She stopped dead. Since when did he become "Drachaen?"

She cast the errant thought aside and scowled harder as she approached her tent. If that manipulative son of a bitch thought she would just—

Without warning she was snatched up and spun in the air as a voice boomed in her ears.

"Non più andrai, farfallone amoroso, notte e giorno d'intorno girando!" A thickly accented voice sang, tossing the elf girl to and fro and around in circles in some bizarre combination of a waltz and a seizure, "Delle belle turbando il riposo Narcisetto, Adoncino d'amor!" She was dipped low and found herself bent over backwards staring at an upside-down version of the camp.

"Why, there's life in the young woman yet!" The booming voice called out and Ceyrabeth was yanked forward so hard it nearly caused whiplash and deposited onto her feet. She managed half a step before pitching forward. With a supreme effort she managed to keep her feet underneath her, even as her hand attempted to yank her blade from its scabbard. Then she got a look at the man and stopped dead, paralyzed by utter confusion.

He was tall with ebony skin and wore a wide brimmed white hat with gold trim. He was clad in emerald green leather breeches with matching vest that was cut so high his bare stomach-along with its well defined muscles- was exposed. Several earrings dangled from his ears and he was adorned with several straps and buckles around his waist and down both legs- all done in white and gold like his hat. Odd, low-slung holsters hung at both his hips which held a pair of strangely designed curved hilts.

He flashed a grin that could only be described as thoroughly roguish. Ceyrabeth was shocked to see that his teeth were filed to points and capped in iridescent purple which was almost certainly Nevarrite.

"Greetings and salutations!" The stranger gave a sweeping bow, removing his hat. His hair was an unruly combination of crimson Mohawk and white braids. A pair of horns, one broken off, extended outwards from his skull marking him as Qunari, "Ser Peloquin of Seheron, at your service!"

"Peloquin."

The foppish Qunari replaced his hat and peered past Ceyrabeth. She turned to look. Atiya and Sul were striding forward. The Captain showed no ill effects from his rough morning.

One tough son-of-a-bitch. Ceyrabeth shook her head ruefully.

"My dearest Lady Atiya, my love, my kadan!" Peloquin dashed forward and scooped her hand up in his, dotting it with several kisses, "Every moment without you was like an eternity of torment. We must not be parted again!"

Atiya stared at the man blankly and then removed her hand from his grip.

"Peloquin."

Peloquin's demeanor immediately became deferential as he addressed Sul, "My captain, I come bearing glad tidings: I'm pleased to announce our mission in Seheron was successful."

Sul nodded once, "Walk with me." The Qunari swashbuckler offered his arm which the blind man took and led him through the camp. Atiya following behind closely and at her beckoning hand, Ceyrabeth shadowed them from a distance. Peloquin and Sul began to converse as they approached a large group of men, women, and children that looked strangely out of place in the military encampment.

"We managed to acquire twenty slaves from Devon for just under a hundred sovereigns and—"

"What?!"

Peloquin spun around, dropping Sul's arm and going for the curved hilts at his hips as Ceyrabeth came rampaging up to them, "You're a slaver?!"

Sul turned more calmly, "No, I'm not," He replied icily and gestured. Ceyrabeth focused and saw that several people were working to force metal bracers and collars off their throats, tossing them in a pile of rusted metal.

"You're….freeing them?" Ceyrabeth asked stunned, "But..."

"I do not keep slaves," Sul replied, "Not now, not ever. They are free and will be offered food, sanctuary and an offer of employment in the Legion."

Peloquin regained his whimsy as he reached forward and scooped up a little girl," Except for this one!" He roared playfully twirling the madly giggling child around in a circle, "I am going to take her to Orlais and make her my bride and we shall go to all the wonderful parties, eat lots of cake and dance all night! Non più avrai questi bei pennacchini, quel cappello leggero e galante!" Peloquin sang and dipped, spinning the girl like a top.

"You're not seriously going to put a child on the front lines." Ceyrabeth scoffed.

"An army consists of more than soldiers," Sul replied softly, his tone still chilly, "There is food to be prepared, arms to be maintained, mounts to be tended, supplies to be organized. All of this requires the support of hundreds of people," He indicated the former slaves with a nod, "People like them. They shall receive food and lodging as well as compensation and in turn they will do their part to support the Phoenix Legion."

"All except this one, Captain," Peloquin grinned around a mouthful of purple teeth, "Her and I have to get married right away and eat Antivan cake until we are ill!" He poked the little girl's stomach, causing her to giggle, "Don't we, my little princess?"

"I like cake," The child exclaimed.

The Qunari swashbuckler grinned wider, "So do I," He began to twirl the girl around as he began to sing again, "Quella chioma, quell'aria brillante-."

"You should be careful!" Ceyrabeth scolded. "She's wounded!"

Sul stepped forward and grabbed Peloquin's arm jarring him to an abrupt stop.

"What's the matter Captain, you don't like cake?" Peloquin asked with a cautious expression.

Gingerly, Sul touched the little girl's leg and brought his fingers back smeared with blood. Bringing the blood to his fingers he inhaled once and immediately stiffened. The air around him became almost palpable with menace, causing Ceyrabeth to edge away despite herself.

"She has been defiled," Sul stated in a black tone, rubbing his thumb and finger together, smearing the blood.

"That she has," Peloquin nodded, his tone still jovial in contrast to his stern expression.

"Where is he?"

Peloquin peeled his lips back into something that might have been a smile if it held any warmth and gently put the little girl on her feet, "Run now, go to mama," He smacked her backside lightly and she ran towards the group of former slaves. Reaching down, he picked up large sodden bag, reached within…

…and removed a severed head. He casually tossed it to Sul who caught it. The head had been decapitated at the jawline and the flesh from his cheeks was missing, but the wide-eyed stare of terror was still affixed to what remained of his visage.

"Devon?"

"One of his lackeys who apparently cannot be made to follow our very clear instructions on the treatment of the slaves we procure."

Ceyrabeth was staring at the entire exchange with kind of a detached interest: it was almost as if after all that she had already seen, a severed head wasn't all that shocking. In fact, she found the man's gristly fate strangely satisfying.

"Where's the rest of him?" Sul asked.

Peloquin turned his head away and discreetly belched into his hand.

"Fair enough," Sul handed the head back to the Qunari.

"Whilst we're on the subject," Peloquin reached into his belt and removed a pouch, "Orlesian Black Truffles from the markets of Alam as requested."

Sul took the bag from him, opened and gingerly placed his nose above the bag and inhaled deeply. An intensely satisfied smile crossed his lips.

"The Captain's table eats well tonight aye?" Peloquin asked grinning.

"Indeed," Sul replied, "I shall make certain to include you in the festivities."

"What is it you plan on making again?"

"Never ask before the meal, it ruins the surprise," He held up the bag, "But these will make a fine addition, no?"

Peloquin licked his chops, "To die for."

Sul handed the bag to Atiya and then frowned, his nostrils flaring.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Atiya inquired placidly.

"A scent. "Something familiar-."

With a roar of rage, a hooded man burst from amongst the former captives, "Astia valla femundis!" He slammed his fists into first one guard then the other and leapt over them charging Sul head on.

"Captain!" Peloquin cried out.

Ceyrabeth tore her blade free and moved to intercept the lanky attacker.

Sul simply held up a hand and the man jerked to a stop, completely paralyzed. Ceyrabeth felt something akin to an electric shock run through her body that was so intense she dropped her sword from her suddenly numb hand, "There is no need for that," Sul stated calmly as he approached the now paralyzed attacker.

Ceyrabeth bent stiffly to retrieve her weapon as she scrutinized the other man, whose muscles were trembling violently, straining against whatever enchantment Sul had used on him.

Sul removed the man's hood to reveal flashing green eyes embedded into angular features and pointed ears.

"Well, well," Sul mused as he examined the strange silver lines that adorned the elf's arms lightly tracing them with a single finger. The lines began to glow and a strange humming sound filled the air. "…what have we here?" He looked up from his examination and smiled with a predatory pleasure, "It's been a long time…little wolf."