Logical nuances would have to wait. Whatever that red substance was, it wasn't important. The fact of the matter was that whoever they were, they were attacking his people. His family was still here and Maker damn him, he was going to put a stop to it. He scanned the make-shift battlefield, quickly assessing a strategy. Barris seemed to be protecting the civilians well enough for the moment. Cassandra had apparently appointed herself to hold the line at the northern entrance. There was a notable gap in the southern entrance's defenses. That's where he was needed.

He launched himself into his personal tent as quickly as he could manage. He found his weapons within seconds, silently praising himself for the part of Templar's training that drilled organization into them. He glanced over at his armor stacked neatly in the corner. There was no time for that. He'd simply have to make do without it. He was ready to face this threat with confidence, but the moment he lowered his shield it slipped from his grip.

He nearly howled in frustration. It seemed his fingers weren't healed enough to keep a hold of the heavy thing. He angrily shucked the thing into the corner where his armor was. If he had time, he might have fastened the damnable thing to his arm. But every second he spent fumbling about was one that he could have been out there helping with.

Fighting with only a sword in hand was difficult for him. It took a couple of close calls to remind himself that he didn't have a piece of metal to hide behind. But he was a Templar, damnit. A Knight-Commander even. He'd trained for battle countless times over. He'd see this through even if it killed him. And he didn't need a damn shield to do it. Isn't that what faith is for, anyway. Maker, I truly hope you're listening now.

He was deliberate and methodical in his movements. He couldn't afford a single misstep. Without armor or a shield, it could very easily mean his death. Just stop thinking, he told himself, Let the Maker guide your sword.

That strategy worked well for a little while. He'd managed to escape suffering any serious damage until now. But when he spotted Meredith charging at him...he knew all of that was about to change.

She was crazed, completely mad. The woman was never the bastion of sanity to begin with but, Maker, she'd never have done something like this...would she? It's that red substance, he decided. She was nearly covered with it. There were even small crystals in bedded into her skin, which seemed to be affecting the veins below them. Even her voice was altered. She sounded like a bloody demon. He wasn't certain if that was his own fear taking hold or the actual reality of the situation.

But he absolutely could not let her win. Not with everything that was at stake here. He tightened his grip on his battered bastard sword, and went to meet his new enemy head on.

Fenris absently kicked yet another rock into the river. He wasn't even counting them anymore. He wasn't even sure why exactly he felt the need to do it. It just felt like the only thing that was keeping him relatively sane by now.

He silently cursed himself for how weak he was. When he was younger it never bothered him if he went days without talking to anyone. In fact, isolation used to be a solace. If there was no one else around then all that meant was that there was no one to abuse him in some manner. He hated every single moment of his upbringing with a vengeance, but he couldn't help but lament him losing that one small part of it now.

It had been only a couple of hours since his spat with Dorian. But already he missed the bloody bastard. He wondered for a moment if he'd been foolish in trusting him, in forming a bond of friendship. He wanted to believe his friend wouldn't turn out like the rest. Those weeks spent constantly fighting for their lives had meant something, right?

No, he decided harshly as he recalled Dorian's last words to him in painful detail. All Dorian saw was a tool. A bit of muscle to help him survive a fight. But now he wasn't needed and thrown away again. Fenris couldn't help but be hurt by the notion. But the disappointment he felt was even worse. He put his trust in someone that turned out to be such a damned coward. And he was so sure he'd gotten to know the real Dorian too. Magisters, he thought bitterly, you can never trust them.

His next immediate thoughts were to curse his name, to wish for the worst for him...but did he really want that? Did he really mean that? Should he mean that?

"No, that's not who you are."

The voice startled him right out of his thoughts. His reaction unfortunately led to him dousing his 'good' boot into the river, completely soaking it. Fenris growled at that more than anything. He clenched his fists, readying himself for a fight. He silently wished he had his damned greatsword back...Just get back to Ash and you'll have everything back.

"Not everything, no. But it's a start. A good one."

Fenris whipped his head around in ever direction, but there was no sign of anyone else in area. A sort of realization suddenly dawned on him. Something he chastised Ashley for regularly...she never looked up. When he did just that, he was met with a frightening sight. There was a figure perched in the branches of the tree next to him, totally cloaked in shadow. Only it's silhouette was visible, well, that and it's glowing eyes. There was something completely unnatural about the figure but it...didn't feel threatening? Was that some kind of trick?

"I don't do tricks, I help. Well, except the juggling I guess...but usually only the little ones like that. Would you feel better if I started juggling?"

It's a bloody demon. But assessing the entity for a moment yielded a different conclusion. "A spirit, aren't you?"

"You didn't say demon. I appreciate that. I know the distinction is hard. It will get better."

Fenris folded his arms as he looked up at the spirit. Whatever this thing wanted, it wasn't going to stop him. He knew what he wanted-no, what he had to do. He wouldn't entertain any more delays. "State your business and be quick about it. I've a long way to go yet."

"I know, but you need to wait-"

"No."

"Just for a moment-"

"No!"

"But someone needs your help!"

Fenris huffed an angry laugh as he began to trudge down the riverbank once again. "Goodbye spirit."

"What would Ashley think?"

He whipped back around towards the spirit, ready to punch a hole in it's face. "Don't you dare."

"She's good, too good, even. Always helping, always caring. The light to my darkness..."

"Out of my head, spirit." Fenris set a warning gaze upon it, readying himself to climb up into that tree and tear it down-if that were even possible.

"If she were here she'd help. And she'd want to know that you did the helping. She'd be happy."

Fenris sneered. "You're manipulating me."

"Yes."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "And you even admit it."

"I don't like lying. This is important. Ashley needs you. She loses more of that light every day you're gone. But she couldn't live with herself if you lost your humanity, too."

His anger was damn near overwhelming. All he wanted to do was strangle this thing...but it was right. There wasn't even much to argue about it. Fenris could already see her face...the tears in her eyes when she hears about what he's done...not just here, even. Outside the wall, it was worse...

Fenris shook the spiraling thoughts away for the moment. He eyed the spirit angrily once again. "Where?"

"You're close now, but still to far. Keep following the river and you'll find them. But you need to hurry. He could die soon, and that can't happen."

"Of course not." Fenris shook his head as he started walking quickly.

The spirit wasn't pleased with that, evidently. It appeared next to him suddenly. "You have to run!"

"Ah! Fenhedis!" Fenris growled at the thing once his initial fright had passed. He had a mind to tear into it, but if running could get it to shut up, then fine. He took a few cautious strides at first, still a little nervous about Solona's handiwork. But it held just fine, the leg felt strong even. It empowered him in an odd way. The only physically broken piece of him was mended and stronger for it.

His cautious jog turned into an all out sprint quickly. The rocks crunching beneath his soggy boots was an almost calming sound, the wind whipping by his face felt soothing somehow. It allowed him to focus his mind on his goal. He would be home soon. He'd be with Ashley again soon. And if doing this one thing would bring a smile to her face, then he'd fight the Maker himself to see it done.