"Calm yourself, Jacob," said the templar. The man nodded, but it did nothing to stop his shaking. His eyes were wide, and his skin fervent. If he didn't know that the man before him was one of his colleagues, Doyle would've assumed him to be possessed. The thought still lingered at the back of his head. "Tell us what happened."

"I already have!" shouted Jacob. Tears in his eyes. "You all don't believe it! I didn't when I saw it. Maker's breath, she moved so quickly… I—"

"You say she flew."

"Not like a bird, no. But she might as well have. I couldn't even catch sight of her. I've seen nothing like it."

"Blood magic, perhaps?" said another man. Jacob shook his head.

"I didn't see her cut herself. She only used that dagger when—" he cut himself off. Tears welled in his eyes and dripped down his face. "Maker."

"Take another sip, Jacob." The man did as he was told. "So no blood magic?"

"No, sir. It was something just as evil, though— something more powerful than that. She simply… spoke. The words themselves gave her magic."

"Any specific movement she did?" Jacob shook his head again.

"She said something, and then Samael and Ralph flew through the air. I— It was like a dragon. Yeah, I think that's what she was."

"Jacob, you aren't making any sense."

"None of this does," muttered Jacob. He looked up at Doyle. "May I rest now?"

Doyle hesitated for a moment. He gave Jacob a once over and obliged. "You may."

Once the man was out of earshot, the other templars who'd been listening in began to speak. Comments of 'Has Jacob gone off his rocker?' and 'Damn, apostates are getting crafty' spread through the camp like wildfire. Doyle clenched his fist. There'd been a trail in the woods. Dead men strewn about at various patrol spots, all of them dead in similar ways. Either singed by fire, stabbed, or blown apart. If what Jacob said and the report was to be believed, then this was all caused by one elf.

Maker's breath.

"You there, Vergil," the man got off his stump and quickly walked over to where Doyle stood. "Inform Hartley of what has happened in the Hinterlands. Tell him to send a letter to the Lord Seeker. Perhaps this will make them see the severity of the situation."

Vergil quickly nodded and scampered off. Doyle then looked to the group of templars sitting around the camp. "And to you all," he said. Everyone stood at attention at once. "Keep an eye out for the apostate in question. Let this be a lesson, men, even the meekest looking of them, bare daggers under their cloaks. Do not let your guard down. Andraste guide you all."

The templars then went back to their business. Doyle specifically went to set up patrols while the others ate and talked about how long the war would last.

None of them knew about a raven perched on a tree branch nearby. It watched with curious eyes.

A week or so later, Evette had just turned around when a small tap on her shoulder stopped her. She turned to see the spymaster still there. She looked worried, which wasn't exactly new for Leliana. That seemed to be the only two expressions she knew.

Evette didn't exactly have any care for most of the shemlen here, but she and Leliana seemed to be in the same vein. Get things done as quickly and as precisely as possible. She'd grown something of an understanding towards her.

"Is there something more?"

Leliana cut right to the chase. "I have gotten a report from the Hinterlands. There seems to be something amiss."

Evette snorted. "It's the Hinterlands. Everything is amiss."

"It is more… odd than that," said Leliana. "There is talk of a rogue apostate stalking the woods. An elf, like you. They say she has odd abilities. She has blown men off their feet and can cross a field in just a second."

"Isn't that just normal mage stuff?" Evette asked.

"Typically, yes. However, the concern comes not from what she does, but how she does it," when Evette quirked a brow, Leliana continued. "She speaks her magic."

"Speaks?"

"She speaks. That is how she casts her spells— powerful ones I am told. According to the scouts, she left a… trail."

"What do you mean?"

"Templars. Some report that there was a small crater of impact on site or nearby, others report scorch marks. From what we hear of the rogue templars, she accomplished all of this with solely her words up against groups of men. And all but one is dead. That would be a feat for any mage."

"No staff?" Evette asked, almost incredulous. "No incantation? Or spirit?"

"Not that the scouts have heard of or seen. Of course, these are rumors. Take them as you will."

"Perhaps the Templars have finally gone off their rockers," Evette muttered.

"As I said, these are rumors. But I would advise you to be wary, If a mage like that is running around in a time like this…" Leliana paused. "Then the situation in the Hinterlands is much more dire than we thought."

Evette bit her lip. "Any clues as to how she looks?"

Something of a faint grin appeared on Leliana's mouth. "Hair as black as a raven's feather and eyes the color of a rift. You can sense the evil radiate off of her when she comes near, and her voice is as shrill as a cat's cry. She carries a large, feral rat on her shoulder and a staff made from the skulls of the men she's collected on her back."

Evette whistled. "They really went all out with that rumor, didn't they?"

"She has made quite the sensation among the people."

"That's an understatement," it was unclear what was fact and what was fiction. However, Evette did at least have three things that were certain— she was an elf, she had black hair, and her eyes were green. That was enough.

"Watch yourself out there, Lavellan. We have no other 'Herald,'" and then Leliana walked off down the hall. Evette frowned in distaste at that word, but she said nothing as the woman left. Instead, she too turned to leave the hallway, eager to get out of sight of nosy priests and sisters. She looked at the rift on her hand and clenched it.

And so, another week passed.