I'm back.

As the hunting party moved through the woods at a brisk jog, Ronin was glad for the Templar's heavy plate armor. It would keep them going slow, so it would be relatively easy to catch up to them, despite the head start. Despite the time it felt for Ronin to get ready and the rest of the hunters to gather their gear and help with the pack up of the camp, they had wasted a good three-quarters of an hour.

Another thing that helped them vastly was the fact that the Templars were not natives of the forest and their trails reflected this. Large detours around simple things like small cliffs and ravines kept them from making good time on the three day journey to Ironbrook.

Unfortunately for the Elvhen hunters, the Templars were prepared for hunting parties. The Ronin and the Dalish had stumbled upon the remnants of a camp an hour into their journey, the coals of the bonfire in the center still warm to the touch. Ronin had seen enough tracks to estimate the current force of mage hunters at thirty, double the force they had seen earlier.

Cίrdan was right, he thought as he knelt by the tracks, grabbing a scrap of cloth that had probably torn off one of their tabards. The former wearer's scent was all over it, tempered by the scent of oil, dirt, body odour and what he thought was shaving cream. He used this part of his armor as a rag, thought Ronin as he stood, passing the scrap to Tamlen.

Tamlen took a sniff as well, catching the scent as quick as his lethallin. Ronin looked concerned as he bared his teeth in a grin that looked very out of place on his face. Tamlen was usually smiling, or at least smirking. He'd never shown a smile like that. Animalistic. Hungry. Almost deranged

"Ronin!" shouted Theron from other side of the disturbed ground of the campsite, distracting him from his friend. His voice was filled with frustration and worry, which made Ronin rush over as fast as he could. Theron was usually calm, soft spoken, rarely panicking.

Things just got worse, thought Ronin as he looked down at the animal tracks beneath his feet. The tracks were familiar from both of his lives.

The Templars had horses.

When Theron had called him over to look at the tracks, Tamlen had followed. Ronin had winced in sympathy as Tamlen looked over his shoulder. Tamlen started cursing under his breath as Ronin looked westward, where the tracks led away from the scrapped camp. The speed of the horses would balance the advantage about knowing how to quickly traverse the terrain. If they didn't move now, the Dalish would be left behind.

"Lethallin! Move out!" he shouted, jogging into the forest, quickly followed by the other hunters. A new sense of urgency filled them, giving them a boost of energy to improve their haste. They weren't going to lose without a fight.

The scent was growing stronger, slightly diluted against the scent of horses, but stronger nonetheless. Something else that made it clear that they were catching up was the neighing of horses, sounds of conversation and the glow of fire beneath the cliff line.

Ronin gave a quick birdcall, bringing them to a halt on top of a tiny cliff, about thirty feet above what appeared to be the Templar's new camp. The dozen hunters dropped prone and crawled to the edge, smearing their faces with dirt as they moved as to keep their faces from being easily spotted, should the Templar's look up. Ronin did so as well, despite nearly half of his face covered in his black vallaslin.

The camp was simple: a large central bonfire with a few large tents nearby, their backs against the cliff, a few smaller fires for cooking, and Merrill, Marethari and Altáriël tied to a trio of stakes driven into the ground. Four pairs of fully armored Templars travelled along the perimeter, just outside the light of the bonfire. The rest were milling about the camp, clustered around the cooking pots in varying states of undress, their armor strewn around their feet. Some were down to the regular clothes they wore beneath the armor, while others still had their boots and greaves on.

Ronin did a quick head count and found out his assumption of thirty wasn't that far off. Thirty eight Templars were in their makeshift camp, which wasn't as bad as his worst case scenario. They were only outnumbered a little fewer than three to one, but they had the high ground and the element of surprise.

As all Dalish are hunters in some form or another, they have all been well trained in archery. The dozen hunters atop the cliff could easily kill nearly half the group in a few volleys, but then it would be possible for the Templars to get to the mages and slit their throats as a last act of spite.

Therefore, Ronin signalled the hunters to stand down and move back from the cliff, despite the glare sent his way from Tamlen and a few who had drawn their bows and laid arrows across their strings. He shook his head at the rest while he looked Tamlen dead in the eye.

"We attack now, we risk getting them killed," whispered Ronin, his voice barely audible.

Tamlen shook his head, his bow still in hand and arrow nocked. "We don't move now, who knows what will happen to them!"

Ronin roughly grabbed his friend by the collar and pulled him close, nearly head butting him. "Can all twelve of us guarantee two kills in less than five seconds? Even if we each killed two or three, it takes time and one could kill Merrill, Marethari and Altáriël before we could stop them."

"What do you propose? Let them stay down there, in the presence of Templars? They hate mages!"

"I know. But Cίrdan put me in charge, and I say we wait. We can try to get them out during the night, but not now. I'm not letting you get Merrill or yourself killed by running off without a plan." With that said, Ronin gave Tamlen a shove and crawled away from the edge to join the other hunters in a circle.

With a low grow of frustration, Tamlen replaced the arrow in his quiver and slung his bow back across his shoulders. He crawled back with the rest of the hunters, getting out of sight and earshot should the Templars be able to hear anything over the crackling of bonfires and through their helmets.

Ronin looked at all the hunters, all of whom were looking to him as their leader. He swallowed, as his mouth was suddenly dry. Both Ronin and his former self were not the "leader types," and it was all coming back to him now. He was more used to being on his own, rather than part of a group, let alone commanding the group.

"Okay, here's what we'll do…"

Ronin perched on top of the tree branch directly over a pair of Templars, a dagger in one hand and a noose in the other. He was above the pair furthest from the commander's tent and the captured mages. A disturbance here would draw everyone to this side of the camp. Hopefully.

"Are you sure these elves are coming after us?" asked the Templar just below him. Ronin knew he was a novice, judging by his armor – a cheaply made suit of armor formed from grey iron – and by the age his voice betrayed. He was eighteen, maybe nineteen. Probably just took his vows to the Chantry.

Oh, yes. We've come after you, thought Ronin as he dropped the rope, sunk his claws into the branch, and prayed it fell right. He only had one chance and if he got it wrong, the three hunters ten feet behind him would be on a short trip to the ground thirty feet below.

Humans were heavier built than the Elvhen, which is why three elves were now hurtling to the ground clutching at the other end of the rope Ronin had dropped. With the heavy Templar at the other end of the cord, the elves combined weight made the Templar spring up into the treetops with remarkable speed.

Just in case the noose around his neck didn't kill him, Ronin hung from the branch pierced by his right hand claws and flipped the dagger in his left hand around to stab it right up into his target's throat. Ronin's side of his abilities made him ambidextrous, luckily, or he would have missed the Templar's windpipe with his strike.

As the Templar's eyes glazed over in death, Ronin swung himself around and started swinging back to the cliff where four Dalish hunters waited for him. They nodded at their leader over their nocked arrows, each picking a different Templar as they emerged from their tents.

Ronin grinned as the Templars clustered around the hysteric novice, which nicely diverted their attention from the single Dalish elf who slipped down a tree above the two Templars who had remained guarding the three mages. Despite the cuffs, the Templars were taking no chances with their captured mages.

Despite his lack of training, he was light enough on his feet to not be detected until he leapt out of the tree and landed on the Templar below him. He had drawn his hunting knife in mid-air and planted it between the Templar's collarbone and shoulder blade, angled to pierce the heart.

The other Templar was surprised for an instant, which quickly gave way to training made instinct. The Templar drew his sword, ready to take Tamlen down with a single blow. Tamlen wrenched the knife out of the dead Templar's neck and dropped into a knife fighter's crouch, albeit clumsily.

Tamlen is a warrior, not a rogue, thought Ronin as he calmly put an arrow on his bowstring, drew and released in a fluid motion. A second arrow was on his string in an instant, despite the shaft sprouting from the second Templar.

Tamlen threw a smile over his shoulder in the direction of the top of the cliff as he searched the two newly made corpses. He quickly found the keys to the shackles and released his wife, Keeper and friend from their bonds. Within seconds, Marethari and Merrill were on their feet and ready to move, helping Altáriël to her feet.

They all quickly climbed back up the tree and leapt onto the cliff, rejoining the other elves arrayed across the cliff top. Each of the hunters nodded to the Keeper as she passed, keeping their greetings to themselves until there was no chance of them being discovered. When they no longer had active targets to worry about, they would greet her properly.

"Well done," said Marethari, smiling at Ronin. She rolled her eyes when she glanced towards Tamlen, who was currently oblivious to the world, due to his bondmate kissing him passionately. "What's the plan? Merrill and I are fine, but Altáriël is in bad shape."

Damn, thought Ronin. He'd planned on making a clean getaway, now that they had rescued the mages. With Altáriël injured, she would slow down all the Dalish hunters without major healing. Despite the two well-trained mages they had, healing would also be incredibly dangerous, as the Templars would sense the magic and home in on it in an instant.

With eight hunters up on the cliff – plus the two mages – and four out in front of the camp, Ronin effectively had the Templars surrounded, despite the small size of his forces.

Even with the element of surprise, the Templars have the advantage due to their armor, thought Ronin, running through different plans for engaging the enemy. We can't score a clean kill with every shot, even if we aimed for their armor's weak spots and we can't fight them on equal ground with a smaller force and lighter armor. Unless we have another advantage, we can't win.

Something occurred to him, something he remembered from his journey in the caves. He smiled, something that made Tamlen smile as well.

Ronin had found his edge.

"Marethari, Merrill, be ready. Theron, circle around to contact the warriors on the other side of the camp. Tell them to attack on my signal."

"What's the signal?" asked Theron as Ronin smiled under the layers of bud and dirt, his plan formed.

"They'll know."

All but eight of the Templars had retired for the night, leaving one pair looking over the three mages, still bound in magic-resistant cuffs, and the other three duos facing outwards, away from the camp. They kept a constant sweep of the surrounding trees as the leader of their hunting party felt uneasy.

"This forest is making me feel…watched," he had said, which made the others double the effort they put into keeping an eye out for any possible enemies. The Brecilian Forest was the home of the Dalish and they knew the terrain better than the city raised Templars. They also were expert in the field of stealth, which is the reason they had several torches burning between them and the rest of the forest.

As stealthy as the Dalish are, they can't walk past flaming torches without casting shadows.

"Are you sure these elves are coming after us?" asked one of the Templars, standing close enough to talk to his fellow guard. His helmet quickly swiveled between his ally and the surrounding darkness, his actions nervous. "I mean, they'll leave us alone since we've got their mages, yeah?"

The other Templar didn't respond to the question in a form of words, making a sort of choking sound, which made the other Templar focus on his friend. The space that his fellow guard had occupied an instant before was empty. The only thing that indicated a Templar once had been there was the trademark helm lying on the grass.

"Oh, Maker," he whispered, terrified. Fully grown and armored humans do not up and disappear into thin air. It does not happen! "Help! Help me!"

At his loud cries, the entire came alive. The armored sentries rushed over, swords raised and shields ready, while those who had previously been asleep tumbled out of their tents whilst trying to fasten armor to their bodies. Those who wore leather armor were first to arrive

"What happened?" said one of the armored Templars, grabbing the hysteric sentry by the gorget and pulled him helm to helm. "What's wrong?"

"He's gone! He's gone!" shouted back the novice, still terrified of the shadows despite the presence of every Templar in the camp around him. "He was right there, but now he's gone!"

"Who was on guard with this novice?" asked the most senior Templar, his armor heavy silverite with the Sword of Mercy emblazoned in silver across his chest. His robes were made of a deep red silk, and his blade a polished great sword of red steel.

"Athur, Commander. He said he would take first watch with Adam."

The Commander walked over to the helm and looked around the ground, looking for a sign as to what happened to his subordinate.

The ground was already marred with many footprints, his Templars having walked across the dirt and trampled the tall grass. He could see no sign of any other footprints other than his Templar's boots.

"I sense no magic," he said, stretching out with his lyrium aided senses to feel the area around him. "Nor do I see any ash or other sign that his body was obliterated by magic."

"What do we do, Commander?" another asked. "Do we look for him?"

The Templar commander nodded slowly before pointing out three of his men, two heavily armored in steel armor and one in leather. "You, you and you. Spread out and find Athur. The rest of you, back to your posts and beds. I want you ready to move out come-"

Plink.

The commander swore under his breath as he heard the small sound echo in the confines of his helmet. "And make sure we have enough wood to keep the fires going through the night. I don't want the rain to put them out."

"Commander…" began a Templar, armored except for his helm, sounding quite worried. At the commander's inquiring look, the Templar pointed up into the foliage. With the amount of armor Templars wore – especially the heavy helm – they couldn't look up to well, so the commander tucked it beneath his arm and followed his subordinate's gaze.

Swinging from a rope wrapped around its neck thirty feet in the air, Athur's corpse swung lazily in a circle, blood dripping from the dagger hilt protruding from beneath his jaw.

In an instant, all the fires died. Not even the coals glowed in the sudden darkness. The only light that filled the forest was that of the stars in the sky.

Unfortunately for the Templars, the Elvhen can see in the dark.

Humans can't.

As soon as the mages took out the lights, the hunters proceeded to eliminate as many targets as they could before the warriors could get into melee range. Arrows silently perforated the Templars, punching through the weak leather-covered weak spots in the heavy armor.

The commander was the first to go – Ronin's arrow taking him in the eye slit of his helmet – along with his lieutenants. Officers controlled the lower ranked men, so cutting off their chain of command would turn an organized defence into leaderless men scrambling to survive as unseen adversaries picked them off one by one.

The Elvhen worked from both sides of the crowded Templars, half of them working from left to right and the other doing the opposite. Ronin wanted them pinned where they were, unable to make a run for it until the archers had thinned their ranks enough for the warriors to engage.

Tamlen's normal place would be with his fellow warriors, but he would not leave Merrill's side for an instant now that he had her back at his. Ronin smirked as he watched his lethallin glance aside after every shot, making sure she was still there beside him. Safe and sound.

As the Templar's numbers decreased, they started to realize that the arrows weren't coming from in front of them, nor to the rear or either side. The deadly rain of arrows came from above.

One of the men had the bright idea to galvanize the rest into action with a shout of "Shields up!" Their newly created phalanx protected from the arrows, but they were pinned down for now. They couldn't break formation without taking more losses, but the Dalish couldn't kill them as long as they stayed where they were.

Or so they thought.

Without warning, five blurs became shadows that wielded blades, cutting into their backs as they tried to figure out what to do next. Eight fell before the Templars even knew they were under attack from a different front altogether. Four more fell across their allies' backs as they heard the other collapsing, their heavy armor clanging and thudding into the ground.

Swords began to swing back at the shadows, keeping them far enough away so that they could regroup and retaliate without any more dying.

They were down to eighteen Templars.

The Elvhen conserved their ammo once the hunters on the ground began hacking into the Templar's rear, keeping their arrows for when they needed them and to avoid accidentally injuring the other Elvhen. A few Templars broke the shield wall, making small gaps, and received arrows in sensitive places for their trouble.

As the Templars became aware of the threat, the shield wall started to fall apart as the Templars tried to defend multiple fronts with little command structure. Those who kept their shields up were safe from the hunters on the cliff, but vulnerable should the elves on the ground get within striking distance, while those who dropped their shields were soon dropped as well from arrows on high.

Theron waded into the combat easily, wielding his dar'misaan with grace, or with as much grace as one can wield a two-handed sword. He cut into a Templar's leg, sending him crashing to the ground as his leg collapsed beneath him, allowing a quick stab under the helmet into the throat.

Counter. Cripple. Kill. The pattern had been ingrained into him as he learned how to wield a blade with the rest of the Elvhen. His strokes were fluid and his head clear as he slaughtered his way through those who would kidnap his friends and harm his clan.

He fought well, his brothers and sisters harrying the Templars at his side as he danced into range, ready to take another Templar down.

Ronin kept firing as new targets showed themselves to him. The eye slit of a helmet. The inner elbow joint of an arm bearing a sword. The bent knee of another Templar trying to drag a wounded Templar back towards the others.

In the back of his mind, he wondered how he had become so very violent. Before he woke up here in Thedas, he had been a simple guy who worked at a grocery store and had a penchant for RPGs. Which is not to say he wasn't a fan of fighting or a pacifist.

Now, he methodically and remorselessly aimed arrow after arrow into the mass of shifting bodies and armor, killing or at least crippling with every shot he let fly from his bow. Eleven men lay dead by his hand in this battle.

He'd killed thirteen men in cold blood since he got here. Not bad, considering it's only been about two weeks or so since he arrived in Ronin's body. But he had not killed anyone while he was human, so it was a rather sobering change to the way he looked at things. It's not a game anymore.

His slight amount of guilt was tempered by the experiences of his Elvhen half. He was used to the way of Thedas, where the strong survived and death wasn't going to come from old age most of the time.

The Elvhen cleaned their blades on the tabard of their fallen enemies before sheathing them across their backs or at their hips. The battle was won, with only several shallow cuts on their side of the fight and no casualties.

Ronin swung down through the trees to land among his kin, retrieving as many reusable arrows as he could. He also went through their pockets, putting all the copper, silver and gold coins in a sack to be divided later. The lyrium potions some of the Templars carried were handed to Tamlen, who would give them to the three magi up on the cliff. The healing poultices and potions he handed to the uninjured hunters, who would heal the injured.

The last thing he took from the Templars was the amulets around their necks. A small oval of steel with the Sword of Mercy on one side and the name of the Templar inscribed on the back. When he got to Denerim, or the next village with a Chantry, he'd leave them with the Revered Mother with a warning.

Do not bother the Dalish.