The guests filed back into the ballroom and made their way up to the balcony. Some, mostly Grey Wardens, brought with them plates of food. Oghren brought with him a barrel and an empty mug. The dwarf struggled only a little bringing it up the stairs, where he deposited it next to his stool and filled his mug from the tap sticking out of the barrel. After downing the ale in a single gulp, he proceeded to refill his mug.
"Welcome back! I hope everyone had a good break. We're on Round Three: The Sneaky Backstabbers.
In this round we have... wait, are they back yet? I don't see them." Mahariel looked around the ballroom frantically.
"Zevran? Isabela? Sigrun?"
"We are here. Actually, I don't know about the others, but I am here, at least." An Antivan-accented voice seemed to be coming from the direction of a pillar.
"I'm here too!" Shale said in a voice much higher and perkier than normal.
"Andraste's tits. We're ready!" Directly behind Mahariel and Hawke the female voice held a tinge of exasperation.
"Maker help me!" Hawke groaned. "We're having a tournament, not playing hide-and-seek. At least show yourselves for the introduction. We'll give you enough time to go back into stealth before we start, okay?"
"Okay..." chorused three voices. Out of the shadow of the pillar stepped the long-haired Antivan elf with facial tattoos. A small female dwarf crawled out from between the golem's legs, and the pirate wench moved forward next to Hawke.
"Isabela, please go downstairs. I don't want you guys fighting around me." The pirate wench nodded, and with a running start, vaulted over the balcony railing. She somersaulted once in the air before landing on the ballroom floor below. Hawke shook her head and sighed. Mahariel once again started the introduction.
"Alright! This battle we have Zevran; formerly of the Antivan Crows, Isabela; captain of the Siren's Call..." here Hawke whispered furiously in Mahariel's ear, "...Two, and Sigrun; Legion of the Dead and Grey Warden of Vigil's Keep! Let's have a good, clean fight!" The three rogues looked at each other, then back at the hosts before bursting out laughing. "Or whatever..."
"Shale... on my mark!" Hawke shouted. The rogues on the ballroom made a noise of protest.
"You said we'd have time to stealth!"
"I'll give you to the count of five. One... two..." The three combatants scrambled for the shadows. "Threefourfive. Shale!" Shale once again lowered her arm to begin the battle. Despite the rushed timing Zevran, Isabela, and Sigrun had all managed to disappear again. The ballroom was silent. Nothing happened for a moment. And then the moment stretched on, and on. And on.
"Well this round is really interesting. Tell you what, the first person to spot a rogue gets a cookie." Mahariel looked around the room. "Anyone? No?"
"While we're waiting for our friends to show themselves, Mahariel, I have a question for you."
"What's that?"
"Why are so many of your companions dead?"
"What do you mean? They're all right here."
"No, I mean, well... Wynne's already dead, or has at least died once, Justice was wearing the body of a corpse when he joined you, and Sigrun's been to her own funeral."
"Oh, that. I don't know. I'm a necrophiliac?"
"One – ewww, and two – seriously."
"Seriously? I don't know, they find me. But they are handy. See, once someone has died, I don't have to feel responsible if they fall while fighting for me. After all, why should I waste time worrying about someone who's already dead?"
"Good point. Maybe I should have a dead companion or two."
"On the other hand, they hate the battle plan 'run away and live another day'."
"Oh, and that's one of my favorites too." Screaming suddenly filled the air, and Isabela and Zevran came stumbling into the middle of the ballroom, both clutching their ribs. Sigrun strode behind them, swinging her twin axes nonchalantly.
"Oh good, there they are! Nice hit by Sigrun too. At least I'm guessing that was Sigrun. So who spotted them first? Anyone? Fine, more cookies for me." Isabela was doubled over in pain, but Zevran's injury apparently wasn't as bad. He turned to face Sigrun, sword and dagger at the ready. Zevran tried to move behind her, but the dwarf moved surprisingly fast, always keeping him in her sight. He flicked his sword toward her, she trapped it between her axes and with a yank, sent it flying. It landed point first in a pillar. Zevran used the opening to drive his dagger into the arm joints of her armor. The Antivan pulled the dagger out quickly and drew a second one from elsewhere on his person. Sigrun blinked and sweat beaded on her forehead, but she didn't budge an inch. Zevran apparently felt he'd done what he needed to, and went sprinting over to where Isabela was still bent over.
"Hawke, I think that blade was poisoned! Did we allow that?"
"We never disallowed it. And I think we specifically said 'anything goes', right? Besides if you were fighting, you'd use poison. I know I would."
"You're right, I totally would."
"Case closed."
Zevran took a flying leap at Isabela's back. Isabela seemed to sense him; as he came up and over, she went into a back walkover and the elf missed her completely. Zevran managed to twist around midair so he was facing her when he landed. They grinned at each other and closed the distance between them. The four daggers moved in a blur as the pair went into a complicated dance.
Up in the balcony, Varric blinked, and looked frantically at the floor below.
"Where did that cute dwarf go?" The white-haired elf laughed at his remark.
"Cute dwarf? Do you mean the one with the large axe, or the one who got hit with poison?"
"The female one, elf. Where did she go?"
"She's right... oh, I see what you mean." Apparently the poison's effects had worn off, and rather than get involved in the duel, Sigrun had gone into hiding again.
"Hah! She's too smart for the likes of them. Let Isabela and Zevran wear themselves out, and she'll come back, fresh as a daisy, to win the day."
"Varric, you sound smitten. You usually only talk about Bianca like that."
Isabela bent to avoid a high strike by Zevran. Still crouched, she swept her daggers low across Zevran's waist. Before he could blink she was at his back and slashed him with another sweep of her daggers. The pirate then leapt backwards a pace, and waited, smirking at her handiwork. Zevran stood confused for a moment, and then took a step towards Isabela. The minute he moved, Zevran's leather battle skirt fell away, leaving the poor elf exposed from the waist down.
Laughter filled the room and a slight blush crossed Zevran's cheeks. Recovering, he posed and made a slow turn for the benefit of the entire room. The guffawing got louder. Isabela was practically choking in her own amusement. When the elf finished his rotation directly in front of her, he flicked out his own knife and pointed it at her waist. Isabela bolted up in surprise. With a twist of his dagger, he somehow managed to remove the blue sash off her hips and in another second had tied it around his own. No longer exposed, he put up his daggers and made a very rude gesture to the pirate wench.
"You know, I don't think they're taking this seriously." Mahariel frowned.
"What ever gave you that impression?" This time, instead of closing with the elf, Isabela decided to run. Zevran took off after her and she led him around the perimeter of the ballroom. After dodging in and out of pillars a few times Zevran changed tactics. Instead of following her around the next pillar, he intercepted her as she turned a corner. The Rivaini woman didn't slow as she approached Zevran; instead she jumped practically straight up in the air and landed on his shoulders. She jumped again, catching the balcony railing and scrambling up the side. One of her feet kicked Zevran's head in the process, and he fell forward. He managed to channel the momentum into a roll, and came up on his feet.
He scanned the room for Isabela, and spotted her on the balcony, standing alone. Anybody who had been sitting near there had moved as far away as possible. The Antivan Crow sheathed his daggers and dashed towards the sword stuck in the pillar. He leapt onto the sword - it somehow managed to hold his weight - and grabbed the edge of the balcony with one hand. He stuck his foot into the sword's grip and kicked it out and up, catching it in his free hand. He pulled himself up the rest of the way and jumped over the railing onto the balcony.
Unfortunately, he was now on the opposite side of the room from Isabela. The two locked eyes, and took off, sprinting towards each other. Stools were knocked over as the people sitting in them got out of the way in a hurry. The rogues rounded the corner and were closing in, with only Mahariel and Hawke between them.
"Oh crap." Mahariel looked in both directions, but there was nowhere to go without running into steel. Hawke had already gone over the railing to the ballroom floor. Mahariel gulped, and followed her down, a mere moment before Isabela and Zevran collided.
"I said I didn't want you fighting around me!" Hawke called up to the rogues as she made her way towards the stairs.
"I don't think they care." Mahariel said, following close behind. Indeed, Zevran had grabbed Isabela's face in one hand, and was kissing her thoroughly. Slowly, one of his daggers crept up and along her back. She arched as the metal sliced upwards before twisting away from him. Her corset didn't follow, ending up in a pile on the floor, the lacing strings cut. There was cheering from a few members of the audience, but it was impossible to tell who as most were huddled together by the stairs. Isabela slashed at Zevran with one of her daggers and launched herself over the railing again. Without the corset and sash that normally kept her very short dress from riding up, the audience got an eyeful as she traveled downward.
Rather than going over the balcony, Zevran opted to run around sending the peanut gallery scurrying like mice. Isabela's last attack had split his tunic straight down the middle; it flapped around him as he ran. Clearly annoyed by it; he threw it off, leaving him bare-chested and bare-legged with only Isabela's sash saving him from complete indecency.
The other guests slowly returned to their seats. There was a lot of whispering and coin passing to Varric; apparently there was a new set of wages being made.
"Quick poll, everyone. How many of you have seen Zevran naked? Before today, I mean." Ten hands, including both Hawke and Mahariel went up. One of the mabaris barked.
"How many have you seen Isabela naked?" Thirteen hands this time and both hounds howled.
"Right, and who's had sex with either of them? No? Too much? Alright." Hawke shrugged.
"Why didn't they just do this naked in the first place? The fight would be so much more exciting, don't you think?" The Dalish girl sitting next to Aveline giggled. Aveline only groaned in response.
Apparently the rogues were done trying to rip each other's clothes off for the moment, and their duel had taken a serious bent. The daggers, and Zevran's sword, were flying in earnest, but neither was able to land a hit. At some point they had managed to find time to re-poison their blades; they glistened with an unholy sheen and the duelist and the assassin were taking great pains to avoid getting stabbed. Zevran lunged forward, only to have Isabela drop and roll to the side in an attempt to get behind him. Zevran did a backflip over her and Isabela only just managed to turn and parry his oncoming strike. Zevran advanced, forcing her to backpedal furiously to keep out of his way.
Something made Isabela trip. She stumbled backwards, falling on her butt. There was a clang and a glugging noise and a strange liquid oozed onto the ballroom. Zevran took a step into the goo and lost his balance. He windmilled furiously which only seemed to worsen matters, ending up flat on his face beside Isabela.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Oh no no no no no..." Mahariel moaned, and covered her face with her hands.
"What's the matter?"
"I just had this place cleaned too... It's never coming out..." The elf was crying now.
"Seriously, what happened?"
"Can't you tell? Somebody set a grease trap. And now I have to clean it up!"
"Just make whoever did it clean it."
"Well who was it?"
"How about that dwarf we haven't seen for a while?"
"SIGRUN! Once you come out of stealth, you are cleaning this ballroom ALL BY YOURSELF!"
"Oh great, we'll probably never see her again."
Isabela and Zevran were scrambling, trying to find their footing in the slippery muck. They were starting to glisten as their repeated tumbles left them covered in grease. Isabela's white shift was clinging to her and becoming more than a little transparent. The audience, especially the males, were looking at the pirate with unusual interest interest. The females seemed more interested in Zevran, and the way the light played off of his shiny, muscular chest. Finally, they manged to drag themselves to a dry spot on the floor. Isabela whipped off her head scarf and wiped off the soles of her boots. She tossed the rag to Zevran, who did the same. They were otherwise still very, very shiny.
Isabela made the first move, holding her daggers in a reverse grip and leaping up to bring them down on either side of Zevran's head. He lifted his crossed sword and dagger to block the blow, and the dance began again. Carefully avoiding what remained of the grease trap, they made their way closer and closer to the nearest door. Their duel took them out the door and around the corner, much to the confusion of the audience. Seconds passed without any sign of them. Seconds turned into minutes and rest of the party was starting to get restless. Eventually even Sigrun stepped out of the shadows, arms crossed and tapping her foot impatiently.
"Anders..." Mahariel said a little uneasily, "Can you go check and see that they're okay?"
The mage nodded and started sprinting for the doorway. Apparently he'd forgotten about the grease and tripped briefly as he crossed it. His pace had slown considerably by the time he reached the door. The audience watched as he went around the corner, only to reappear a split second later, his hand over his eyes, and his mouth wide open in shock.
"Anders... what happened?" The mage opened his eyes, and made a visible show of calming himself as he went up the stairs and around to where Hawke was sitting. He bent down and whispered in her ear. Hawke groaned, her hands flying to her forehead.
"What is it, Hawke?"
"I think this match may be over..." she said, massaging her temples slowly. Below, Sigrun looked startled.
"Really? Who won?"
"I believe Isabela is on top..." interrupted Anders. Hawke glared at him from hooded eyes.
"What in the Creator's name are you talking about?" Mahariel glance back and forth between Hawke and Anders.
"It's Zevran and Isabela... what do you think happened?"
"Oh."
"Right."
"Really? But... it's a battle..."
"Right, and now they're waging an entirely different kind of battle."
"Well, that's..."
"Completely to be expected?"
"Yes, but I mean... who wins now?"
"Sigrun! You're the winner!"
"But I barely got to fight anyone!" The newly championed dwarf complained.
"Well, you did manage to actually draw blood. And I assume it was you that set the grease trap." Hawke offered.
"Yeah, that was me." The dwarf said proudly.
"You could always go and finish them off if you wanted." Mahariel said kindly.
"I would suggest waiting until they finished each other off first."
"Did you have to go there, Hawke?"
"Yes. Yes I did."
"Ladies and gentlemen, in a rather... interesting turn of events, the winner of this round is Sigrun!" There was an uncertain round of applause from the balcony, led by two very enthusiastic male dwarfs.
"Okay then. On to the next round! After we clean up all the grease!"
"And by we, we mean Sigrun!"
"Don't worry Sigrun, I'm sure the mages will help you out. If you're nice." Sigrun's lower lip trembled as she looked pleadingly at the mages in the balcony. "We're halfway through. Up next, more mages!"
"More scorch marks. Yey."