Well, it turned out the "new horror" was pride abominations. Apparently, the second-tier mages were arrogant enough to attract a better quality of demon. Hooray.
Hunchbacked and hideous, they slunk through the halls on oddly elongated legs, their long, bony arms tipped with spidery clawed fingers like the hunger abominations, but their massive, muscular shoulders gave them the strength to throw me right across the room, which I discovered the hard way in our first encounter.
The beast swung its warped, eyeless face towards Alistair and I pounced, sinking both blades in its back and twisting them – this was before I'd learned how fast they were, or else I'd have slashed and dodged instead, before the brute could whirl and elbow me in the chest with such speed that I smashed through a wardrobe against the opposite wall, sliding down its back to lie gasping and tangled in a pile of robes. It knocked the breath out of me and gave me an impressive bruise, but the springy wooden doors absorbed most of the impact and Alistair hacked at the beast's shoulders when it tried to lurch after me and finish me off.
Then we got another nasty surprise when the it sagged limply to the ground and gave up the ghost: Its misshapen body lay dead for an instant and then, without warning, burst into bluish flame that billowed out to fill nearly the entire room, leaving only a pile of ash and two very disgruntled Gray Wardens.
The padding under Alistair's leg armor caught fire and he hurriedly doused it from his water flask; the broken, swinging door of the wardrobe I'd fallen through more or less shielded me but I still got scorched boots and burns up both calves. Rocky, who'd gone to check on Wynne and was thus mostly out of range, nevertheless had markedly shorter whiskers now than he'd sported moments before. I pulled out the burn lotion and got busy.
"Well," I said, finally retying my bootlaces. "This may call for a change in tactics."
Alistair looked up from inspecting his disintegrating under-armor padding. "What do you have in mind?"
"I think we should inflict bleeding wounds and then run away. When it bleeds out, we'll be far enough away that it won't burn us when it explodes."
He grimaced and waved his longsword. "I'll try, but this isn't the most precise weapon."
"Chop off arms and legs," Wynne suggested with a wolfish grin.
The corpses of hunger abominations lay scattered on the floor throughout this level. I suspected the pride abominations had killed them or driven them off and was glad of it. Alistair and I leaned our heads into a room and saw our next foe pawing feverishly through its host's book collection, scattering them across the floor.
I gave Alistair a "shush" gesture and darted across the floor on silent feet, stabbed it in the upper back with both daggers in search of lungs, and immediately turned and ran. Alistair slammed the door shut behind me and we leaned on it as the monster hammered its fists on the heavy wood, listening to its coughing howls as they slowly weakened, then ceased. The thump of a body falling was quickly followed by a roar as its death-fire immolated the room. I hoped none of those books had been valuable.
We made it to the Templar armory and found it surprisingly intact, probably because the heavy steel door was locked and bolted. It took me several minutes and cost two broken lockpicks to open it, but eventually the door swung ponderously inward and I straightened with a satisfied smile.
Once inside, Wynne found kaddis for me and helped me to inscribe fire-retardant runes across Rocky's coarse brown fur, to protect him from future fire-bursts.
"You know, if you'd asked me a month ago what I'd be doing today, I would not have said 'Making demons explode,'" I commented, putting the finishing touches on Rocky's kaddis before looking over at Alistair, who stood staring at the racks of enchanted Templar armor. "Do you think you should trade in your armor for some of the Templars' stuff?"
He thought about it. "That's not such a bad idea. Normally, of course, that's forbidden, but who's going to complain?"
"You realize, though, I'm going to have to make fun of you for wearing a dress," I warned, eyes twinkling.
"You're just jealous. You only wish you looked this good in a dress," he teased.
I put a hand to my mouth and widened my eyes in a great show of surprise and hurt. "You don't think I look pretty in a dress? But... But I thought..." I sniffled theatrically.
He blanched, horrified. "Maker, no, I didn't mean – I – you're not serious, are you? Tell me you're not serious."
I removed my hand so he could see my wicked grin, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "You're a cruel, cruel woman," he accused, turning to the racks of armor stands against the wall.
"You know you love it."
I helped Alistair pull off his own armor and buckle on a heavy full-plate Templar suit, adjusting the dozens of straps and laces that held it and its thick horsehair padding in place. When we'd finished I stepped back and folded my arms.
"That stuff weighs a ton and you look like you're wearing a castle," I told him as he settled a helmet onto his head. "Can you even move?"
"It's not as bad as it looks, the weight's really well-distributed," he said, his voice echoing hollowly from the imposing helmet. "I'm more worried about getting hot. It's a furnace in here."
"Let us know if you want a break. We don't want you dropping dead of heatstroke, you're way too heavy for us to drag out of here," I warned, only half in jest; heatstroke was a major issue in Orzammar and our berserkers' handlers had to keep a close eye on them to ensure they didn't drive themselves to death in their frenzy.
And with that, we continued our circuit of the third floor and progressed to the fourth. It contained even fewer demons, only a few pride abominations, but they were fast and clever. We picked up a few more scrapes and bruises and I sprained a wrist when one spun quickly after I'd just stick a dagger in its ribs and didn't let go in time, but Wynne fixed it up quick.
We finished in the bath room, and after securing the room, I explored it a little, admiring the plumbing that funneled hot water into a dozen individual bathtubs. The largest had a sign on it indicating it belonged to the senior mages, and I poked my head inside and discovered a vast array of soaps and lotions, laid out on a carved table below a mercury-glass mirror. I unscrewed the top on a pink bottle and sniffed it.
"Rose!" I exclaimed, taking a deep breath of the delightful fragrance.
Alistair came up behind me and picked up another bottle, gave it a sniff and grimaced, putting it down quickly. "Sandalwood," he grunted. "Not my favorite."
I read the label and apparently it was perfumed hand cream, so I pulled off my gloves and rubbed some on. "I smell like a Queen," I told him, pleased.
"What do you mean?" he asked, falling noisily onto a slatted wood bench and pulling off his helmet for a swig of water.
"Our Queen loved rose oil. All the noble ladies imitated her. They left a trail of rose in the air when they walked through the Commons," I said dreamily.
I was remembering stepping into the air through which a lady had passed in order to breathe the scent, and then I thought how good it would be for Rica to have this lotion when she finds her nobleman, and all at once a wave of sorrow flooded over me, filling my lungs. I tossed the bottle back on its table and dropped down to sit on the bench, hugging myself miserably.
"You know, roses are a flower," Alistair said, oblivious, but when I didn't reply he looked down at my face and frowned, turning slightly to face me. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I muttered automatically. Then I changed my mind and said, "I miss Rica. And Leske, I guess. And I miss Orzammar, even though it was a hard place to live. I miss having a damned clue."
"We're going back eventually, for the treaty," he said, leaning his shoulder against the wall and offering me the rest of his water.
I shrugged. "I guess. Eventually." I didn't want to go back yet. I didn't feel ready to face being street trash again, especially not in front of my new friends.
"Why am I even here? I don't know anything - I feel useless and stupid," I burst out finally. "It's my nature to jump in and grab the wheel, but I don't even know where I'm going."
For a flaming instant, I was furious with Alistair for not being a strong leader, for leaving this power vacuum that I couldn't help but try to fill. It wasn't fair – I was the one who got dragged from her home and thrust into an impossible situation, he should bein charge.
"You're not useless and stupid," Alistair protested predictably, and I made an irritated sound. We're going to sit here until I say it's time to go, I realized, even after what I just said. He's just going to mouth platitudes until I take over again. Oh, he'll advise me, he'll make suggestions, sure - If I ask him to.
Rocky plopped his jowly head into my lap and gave me his gift of slobber, gazing adoringly into my eyes as he panted and drooled in the demonic heat. When I leaned over to hug him I became aware of Wynne standing just outside the door, giving me a critical look, and just like that, I went from being mad that Alistair trusted my leadership to being mad that Wynne didn't.
"Eh, I'm just tired and hungry," I said with finality, starting to get to my feet. "Let's eat the rest of our food and take a break. We've got … oh, Paragons protect us, we've got five floors to go." I dropped back again with a groan.
"Eventually we are going to have to take a real rest and get some sleep," Alistair said as he crossed to the sink and started refilling his water flask..
I nodded. "That's not good news from the food perspective, but I don't think we can get around it. If we push too hard, we'll get sloppy, and that's how people get killed." I took a deep breath and got up again, shouldering my pack. "Let's see how we feel after a snack and a break."
Not much better, as it turned out. We chewed and stared into space while sitting on the stairs to the next level, leaning back on our elbows and trying to relax. Wynne attempted to make conversation, and asked us how Ostagar had gone – she'd been sent home the night of the battle out of concern for her safety, and then been sealed up in the Tower before news had reached her of the outcome. That topic did very little to raise our spirits, and, judging by her reaction when she realized that the fate of Ferelden rested in the hands of two desperate young recruits with goofy senses of humor, it didn't raise hers much, either.
"Well, let's not keep the demons waiting," I said eventually, heaving myself to my feet and offering Alistair a hand up.
"Yes, they get really cross when their schedules get messed up," he said, jamming his helmet back on. "They like to plot their whole week out in these little planners," he went on, his voice echoing hollowly. "Only it's hard for them because they keep catching on fire."
"I can see how that would make them irritable," I agreed as we braced ourselves behind the door and prepared to open it and meet whatever lay beyond. "I should talk to them about using slate tablets instead. Maybe we've been wrong about demons all this time – maybe they just need better stationary and they'll be perfectly content and not homicidal at all."
He chuckled briefly before pushing the door open slowly with the face of his shield, tensed and ready, but the room beyond lay empty and silent before us. A long desk stood in the center, stacked with books, and a massive card catalog covered the entire far wall from floor to ceiling. A small plaque on the desk announced that we'd entered the library's circulations room, and warned us to return books on time or face disciplinary proceedings.
We'd all entered the room and were about to open the next door when we heard a rolling sound, as of wheels on the stone tiles, and Alistair thrust Wynne behind the desk and raised his shield while I ducked behind him, just before the door swung open and a middle-aged man wearing simple gray robes and a serene expression pushed an empty trolley into the room.
Wynne stood up to greet the man and Alistair lowered his sword, but I grabbed his arm and hissed, "There's something wrong with him! Look at his face!"
"There's absolutely nothing wrong with him," Wynne snapped. "What a rude thing to say."
"Be at peace, sister," the man said, his voice a calm monotone. "I am not offended. Indeed, how could I be?"
"Listen to him talk!" I tried to drag Alistair backwards, away from the man who was so horribly off. "He's not all there – he must be mad!"
"He's not mad, he's Tranquil," Alistair told me, as though that explained it.
"Tranquil? You're damned right he's tranquil! He's the tranquillest tranquil man that ever was tranquil in the middle of a demonic infestation! You don't think there's something wrong with that?" I was looking from Wynne to Alistair to the incredibly creepy man with an expression or stunned bafflement.
"Tranquil with a capitol T," he explained. "They're always like this. It's safe."
"The Tranquil are a treasure to the Circle," Wynne said, and I heard the affection in her words. "You recall the Harrowing? A young mage whose training has gone poorly or who doubts their ability to survive the Harrowing may choose instead to become Tranquil. They are separated from the Fade and cut off from all emotions, by which a demon might find entry into their minds. Their sacrifice gives us an invaluable ally who is completely immune to all demons, as well as lyrium, enabling them to work enchantments and survive magical environments that would kill a normal human."
"Tranquil indeed," I mused. "That doesn't sound so bad. No grief, or fear, or anger ever again."
"No happiness either," Alistair pointed out. "No joy. No love."
"So why hasn't some demon eaten him yet?" I asked.
"Demons fear us," the man replied. "They do not understand what we are, and so they stay away. I have been continuing my duties. There is much to be done. Many books have been damaged, and there is smoke and dust everywhere. The other Tranquil have been helping. Have we done well, sister?"
"Very well, dear," Wynne told him, patting his hand. "Thank you. You may rest if you like."
He shook his head. "I am not tired. There is much to be done." And he began stacking books on his trolley.
"If demons fear them, shouldn't we bring them with us?" I asked, watching the peaceful librarian speculatively.
"No!" I looked up at Wynne, surprised by her emphatic tone. "The Tranquil are to be protected and cared for. They are not some human shield for us to hide behind!"
"Okay, okay, I didn't mean anything by it," I said hastily, waving my hands. "But at least they could rest with us when we sleep, right? Their presence will keep the demons away, and they'd be safer resting with us than by themselves. Then they can go back to dusting."
"Fine." She didn't look happy about the idea, though.
We did a cursory sweep of the library, but found nothing but contented Tranquil going about their business. Then we prepared to enter the next floor, which Wynne told us contained laboratories and classrooms.
The outer ring of this floor contained no living creatures of any kind, only the occasional scorched and mangled body. Most of the doors hung open and the contents of the classrooms and labs, supplies for classes and spell components, had been gathered up and moved somewhere. Finally, Wynne beckoned us over to give us a whispered warning.
"I believe the lack of minor abominations means an intelligent one has moved into this floor and taken steps to keep others out. We should expect traps, and a powerful adversary, probably a magic-user."
"Well, that's just peachy," Alistair grumbled. "And here I was worried this would be too easy."
"We'd better move together instead of letting you go first," I told him. "If you're ten feet in front of me, I might not see traps until it's too late."
We moved as quietly as possible, hoping to sneak up on the monster, though nothing could completely stifle the clank of steel on stone.
"Sssh!" I scolded after a particularly loud footstep on the polished marble tiles.
"I'm trying, but I'm at a bit of a disadvantage here," he whispered back.
The sparkling magelights, recessed into shallow alcoves in the ceiling, provided excellent lighting and made my usual brand of stealth impossible. On the other hand, they revealed the tripwire stretched across the main hallway quite clearly. I couldn't see the trap's mechanics so I just clamped and cut the tripwire.
When we'd completed our circuit, we concluded that the monster had moved into the largest laboratory/auditorium used for lectures and demonstrations; three of the four doors had been blockaded. I inspected the fourth, muttering curses to myself that the one broken magelight in the entire floor just happened to be right over the door, casting an annoying shadow where I needed to see.
Duh, I realized, and looked straight up. The lighting alcove right over the door contained a large glass vial of something purplish-green and ominous. I couldn't see any wires anywhere, probably because the trigger was on the other side of the door – no need to place it out here where I could disarm it easily.
"Alistair, can I sit on your shoulders?" I asked, pointing up at the vial. "I need to reach that."
He nodded and crouched so I could climb on, then stood under the alcove. I examined it for a long moment. Wynne conjured a magelight of her own for me, and I muttered a distracted thanks. I didn't like the conclusion I was coming to.
With a resigned sigh, I pulled out my lockpicks and hoped I wouldn't break them all. The vial was held in a sort of mechanical claw, under pressure from a spring that, when triggered, would crush the delicate vial and rain its contents down on the head of anyone dumb enough to open the door without checking for traps first. I couldn't reach the spring, or the trigger, or the wire; I began wedging lockpicks around the claws, propping them open one at a time until the fist-sized glass vial dropped into my hand. The trigger went off and the claws snapped shut, breaking half the lockpicks and flinging the others across the hall.
"What are you going to do with it?" Alistair whispered, crouching again so I could slide off.
"Throw it at him," I whispered back, grinning evilly. He grinned back and we made ready to open the door; I stood behind him with my free hand on Rocky's collar.
Alistair nudged the door open and it revealed a tall, gaunt figure in elaborate robes bent over a laboratory desk strewn with beakers and gaslights; clouds of multicolored smoke rose from whatever it was doing. Mounds of spell components lay in rows on the floor according to some sort of insane pattern, and towers of books rose teetering from every surface.
Without further ado, I stepped out from behind Alistair and lobbed the delicate glass bottle at it, hearing Wynne's gasp of shock and belatedly realizing that perhaps tossing a volatile liquid into the midst of an ongoing magical experiment wasn't the best idea.
The vial smashed against its back and oily smoke curled out as the potent acid – for that's what it was, apparently – eagerly consumed its clothing. It turned with a hiss, and I froze for an instant at the blazing hatred in its eyes, literally glowing from deep within a face so cadaverous, it was barely more than a skeleton. With an irritated flick of its hands, it tossed a fireball at us.
I ducked behind Alistair's shield, but Rocky tore himself free from my grip and lunged, such that when the fireball detonated, he was on the side closer to the arcane horror; its blast hurled him teeth-first at the skeletal figure. He struck its shoulder and ripped long gashes through its robes and flesh as his momentum swung him around, paws flailing and scrabbling for footing and sending glass flying from the desk. The horror responded by releasing a crackling sheet of electricity, and Rocky stiffened and fell to the floor, twitching.
As soon as the billowing flames subsided, we ran to join the fight, and as we ran, I saw Alistair's eyes set into an expression of absolute concentration. He raised his sword and slashed at the fiend, and though the strike opened what looked like a minor flesh wound, the creature shrieked and threw itself backwards, knocking more glass and bubbling liquid from its desk.
When Alistair raised his sword again, the blood coating its tip mingled with a glowing blue liquid that sizzled as it ran along the blade. The desperate creature raised its hands, and a ripple of force flew outward in an expanding circle; I recognized Morrigan's mind spell and braced myself, but instead of the stunning blow I'd expected, I felt only an odd buzz as the spell slid over my skin and fell away. Alistair, however, staggered and overbalanced himself, landing hard on one elbow with his shield stuck underneath him and shaking his head dazedly.
Expecting its spell to work, the horror had already begun to flee around the desk and get some distance between itself and its attackers, but as it passed me, I slashed at its thigh, tearing through the flapping robes and gashing the skinny limb beneath. It fell sprawling and tangled itself in its robes.
I jumped after it, ready to deliver a coup de grace, when it rolled over and flung a handful of purplish powder in my face from one of the piles on the floor. I coughed and choked, my eyes closing involuntarily while I wiped frantically at them, trying to clear my vision before we lost our advantage. I heard Alistair get back to his feet and run after it, and a snarl told me Rocky was up, too, before I managed to squint my watering eyes open again.
I chased after them, and this time Alistair's sword didn't even seem to touch the creature, yet it squealed and flinched and more blue liquid spattered across the floor. A few drops hit Rocky and he yelped and shook himself violently to fling it off.
For whatever reason, the creature now abandoned magic and attacked with its claws, scrabbling uselessly at Alistair's armor once before changing its focus and stabbing at his visor's eyeslit. He swore and jerked back, flailing at its arm with the edge of his shield, and it released him, turning to swipe at me with frightening speed.
I caught its blow with a forearm and, grabbing its wrist, I twisted and yanked it forward, forcing it to overextend. It stumbled but seized the opportunity to grab my knee, sinking its claws into muscle and sinew. I gasped in pain and my grip slackened for an instant, and it escaped, scuttling under my arm and away, Rocky in hot pursuit.
My dog caught up to it in two bounds, leapt gracefully into the air and latched his jaws onto its neck. With a crunch, the horror collapsed to the floor, dead.
"Run!" Alistair yelled, grabbing my arm, but my injured leg buckled beneath me and I fell, hanging helpless from his grip. Rocky looked up from his kill, confused, and started to trot towards us; Alistair heaved me up off the floor and threw me over a shoulder by main strength and took a step towards the door, and the body exploded.
It wouldn't have been so bad, except the demon's death fire ignited whatever it had been working on, the liquid now splattered all over the floor from the fight. Blue fire turned green and red with yellow sparks as all kinds of weird stuff burst into flames all around the room.
Rocky howled in terror and bolted for the door. I screamed and covered my face, cringing against Alistair's armored back even as the steel turned scorching hot against my skin. He braced his enchanted shield over our heads and strode through multicolored fire until I heard the door slam behind us and felt the cooler air of the hallway wash over us.
Wynne sucked air through her teeth in dismay, and I risked a look around. Whole swaths of Rocky's fur had burned off and left reddened, blistered skin, and my leg bled freely from five puncture wounds. Alistair lowered me to the floor and twisted off his helmet with a grunt, revealing a row of claw marks along his brow frighteningly close to his right eye, which was squinted shut – I suppressed a shiver of fear that something permanent had been done, and waved Wynne off when she bent over my leg, thrusting her attentions at him.
She tutted and slapped his hand away when he tried to rub his eye, prying it open and examining it carefully before handing him the salve and telling him to get to it. Evidently nothing serious enough to require her magic had happened, thanks be to the ancestors. She did the same to my leg, telling me bleeding cuts healed just fine with elfroot alone, and focused instead on Rocky. Skin healed and fur regrew like grass under her glowing hands, and Rocky panted happily as she ministered to him.
Finally we all lay breathing long, deep, relieved breaths on the cool stone floor, listening to the crack and pop of spell components exploding as the fire gradually died down. I washed my sore eyes with water from my flask, and asked Alistair about the blue stuff on his sword.
"Oh, that's magic," he said casually.
"Magic," I repeated. "You're telling me he was bleeding magic."
"Not bleeding exactly. It's a Templar thing. Mages have only so much magical energy, and the first thing they teach us is how to sap it. You saw he stopped using magic after I hit him the second time."
"Useful," I murmured.
"Speaking of useful, I noticed you didn't react to his mind blast. Is that a dwarf thing?"
"Yes, it's a dwarf thing. The ward curtains don't hurt me either. Don't ask me why."
"It's because of the low-level lyrium contamination in the water, the food, and everything else in the Undermountain," Wynne cut in. "Dwarves have evolved tolerance for lyrium from centuries of exposure, eventually resulting in completely separating themselves from the Fade as well as some degree of magical resistance."
"Right, it's an evolved tolerance... thing." I nodded sagely. "You wouldn't understand, of course."
"Of course," he agreed with a mocking grin.
When silence fell on the other side of the door, I stood carefully and tested my leg. It stung, but it would do. I opened the door with the others hovering behind me, and revealed a scene of blasted devastation. In the middle of the char-broiled lab desk, however, lay a leather-bound book with no apparent damage aside from old age.
I approached it and the carved symbol on the cover, a leafless tree, stirred a memory somewhere; I remembered the brief glimpse of Morrigan's grimoire I'd caught back at the Redcliffe Inn. I wrapped the book carefully in a scrap of scorched leather and stashed it in my bag to show to her later. It made sense that a witch's grimoire would be fireproof, and I suspected she would be very interested in the contents of such a book.
Alistair was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, but I shook my head in response to his inquiring look. "I think now is a good time to rest," I said.
"What, here?"
"If you want, but we could go downstairs to be with the Tranquil just as well. Look – that door's trapped, too." I pointed to the explosive powder kegs packed against it. "If anything comes through it, it'll blow up, unless there's a really good rogue. Like, an awesome rogue, really good with her hands. Sexy, too."
"Oh man, all we've got is you, we'll never get through," he said in mock dismay, and I threw a chunk of charcoal at him.
We trooped downstairs and talked to the same Tranquil we'd met before; he seemed to be a sort of head librarian. In the end, Alistair and I dragged mattresses from the dorm rooms up to the library's study hall, and laid them in rows to accommodate the ten or so Tranquil living in the Tower, plus our own party. Various Tranquil agreed to keep watch in shifts, and I flopped gratefully onto an empty mattress and sank into sleep.
When I awoke, the first thing I noticed was an odd sensation of radiant heat, like reflected sunlight – subtle, but definitely there. I thought of demon fire and sat bolt upright, instantly awake, but saw nothing except the others around me stirring; no doubt their movements had been what woke me.
I looked for Alistair but he'd already gotten up and left, so I pulled on my boots and leathers and started following the heat. When I bumped into the wall, the stones felt cold under my hands. Mystified, I followed the wall until I came to a door, and went through it to see what weirdness could project heat through a wall without warming the stone in between.
On the other side of the door lay the broad corridor that circled the library, and as I entered it I saw Alistair come out from the washroom, toweling his hair. He let the towel fall around his shoulders, his damp hair spiked up every which way and turning his welcoming smile boyish.
"Do you feel that?" I demanded, holding my hands out like a blind man and feeling along the wall. "There's some sort of warm thing in here. I want to find it."
I brushed past him following it, but then the warmth swung around behind me – I must have passed it.
"I think it's really close," I said, turning around and waving my hands vaguely, but he just stood there like a lamp, lighting up the whole hallway with his huge grin. I frowned at him, wondering why he wasn't more concerned, and suddenly figured it out.
"It's you!" I cried, pointing at him. "It's that Warden thing!"
He held his arms over his head like a performer who'd done a neat trick. "Ta-da! Told you you'd get it sooner or later."
With a cry of delight, I ran to him and jumped up for a hug; my momentum spun us around and he laughed, squeezing me gently before letting me slide to the ground again.
"Now we can get serious about our Hide 'n' Seek Championship," I said gravely.
A million thanks to everyone who's given me feedback, especially mille libri, without whom this chapter would be twice as long. A girl's gotta draw the line SOMEwhere.
If you get tired of the dungeon crawl, wait for chapter 23, "Secrets." It's got love for Leliana, Morrigan, Carroll, and of course, our heartthrob ex-Templar.