Breasts. Sweet, soft, wonderful. He could spend an eternity just burrowing into them.

Frannie came to with a choking gasp and shoved Donal off of her. There was a warm spot on the Tower's carpet where her body had been and a crick in his neck. The dwarf had hastily stood up with her hand wrapped around her bow and she looked more frantic than intimidating. He supposed it was fortunate that he didn't see any abominations marauding about. She staggered around their companions, all in varying degrees of consciousness, oblivious to Donal's drool spattered across her bust. It made him grin.

"Is everyone okay?" Wynne asked. She sounded old.

"Pardon me for asking," Alistair groaned, "but what in the bloody hell just happened?"

"Sloth demon," was all Nema would say. She was busy rummaging through the pockets of a corpse on the other side of the room. Donal wished he could say that it surprised him.

Sloth demon, indeed. Donal recalled them to be wretched, lazy little buggers. He would have never thought that Sloth would be able to move so fast, so viciously, with so much purpose. Had it not been for the quick reactions of Wynne, Morrigan and Nema, they would have all probably been done for. He didn't want to think about it.

"Well, I had a dream about a naked, six-breasted woman," Donal announced.

Nobody wanted to talk about it.

Faeron's knuckles were white around the hilt of his longsword and Frannie stayed within an arm's reach of her fellow dwarf. Alistair hovered over her and Donal had half a mind to join him, but Wynne's hand on his forearm stopped him. He wasn't sure if his mentor meant to offer comfort or was more exhausted than she'd care to let on. Donal didn't ask either way, he simply placed his free hand atop hers and smiled. Morrigan lingered apart from the others in the rear flank, shooting the back of his head icy glares. Nema drove the group onward and upward.

The higher up the tower they ventured, the more destruction. Instead of desks overturned and bookshelves knocked over and crippled, things were just missing. Where meeting tables or spirit founts were supposed to be, there were just burnt out sprays of effervescence. A dull moaning of psychic resonance pervaded the deserted hallways.

The sounds grew louder as the group approached the stairwell to the Harrowing Chamber and there, by the side of the stairs, caged in a magical barrier lay a Templar. Alistair shuddered as Nema stalked over to the barrier to study the craftsmanship. Donal found himself shaking his head as he recognized the man trapped.

"Poor slob," he muttered.

The Templar, Cullen, shoved himself to his feet and jutted his chin out at Nema. "This trick again? I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong..." And with that, the tortured man fell to his knee and readied himself for an attack.

Nema blinked. "Cullen. Don't you recognize me?"

"Only too well." He ground his fingers into the bridge of his nose. "How far they must have delved into my thoughts."

"The boy is exhausted," Wynne murmured. "And this cage... I've never seen anything like it."

Nema continued to examine the barrier. Her hand grazed across the glimmering pink of the cage and was rewarded with a harsh zap.

"Rest easy," Wynne said. "Help is here."

Cullen looked less than relieved. "Enough visions," his voice came out a hard, guttural choke. "If anything in you is human... kill me now and stop this game."

Frannie exchanged a confused look with Donal. The way Nema's eyebrow twitched made it look like the barrier was the only thing keeping her from backhanding Cullen.

"You broke the others," he continued. "But I will stay strong, for my sake... for theirs..."

"Stop," she hissed. Cullen ignored her.

"Sifting through my thoughts," he said. "Tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have."

That made Donal laugh. "No way! You're joking, right? Tell me you're joking."

Wynne's hand on his arm tightened noticeably and she shook her head at him.

Cullen paid no attention to them. "Using my shame against me, my ill-advised infatuation with her... a mage, of all things." His voice cracked. "I am so tired of these cruel jokes! These tricks, these..."

As the other man fell into sobs, Donal found himself averting his eyes. Others, like Faeron and Morrigan, had no difficulty in continuing to watch.

"Stop it," Nema repeated. "You're embarrassing me."

"Silence!" Cullen was to his feet again, spittle punctuating his ire. "I'll not listen to anything you say. Now begone!"

Nema just stood there and crossed her arms.

"Still here?" He swayed back towards the center of his cage. "But that's always worked before. I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them."

"Makes you wish you hadn't said those things, doesn't it," Donal commented. Wynne swatted his arm.

"I am beyond caring what you think!" Cullen bellowed. The poor fool appeared mad enough with rage to charge headlong into the barrier. "The Maker knows my sin and I pray that he will forgive me."

"Cullen," Nema said. "Are you ready to cooperate or have you not yet finished with your screaming and accusations?"

"Don't blame me for being cautious." His lip pulled back into a sneer. "The voices, images... so real. Why have you returned to the tower? How did you survive?"

"Cullen." Nema smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "I am Nema Surana. Everything that stood in my way is dead. Now it's Uldred's turn."

Cullen grinned rabidly and nodded his head. "Good. Kill Uldred. Kill them all for what they've done. They caged us like animals, looked for ways to break us. I'm the only one left. They turned some into monsters and there was nothing I could do."

"Be thankful it wasn't you." With that, Nema turned from him and gestured to the group to move on.

"Don't think I'm not grateful..." Cullen began. "Wait. Where are you going? You're going to kill them? You need to. If one malificarum escapes, Ferelden is doomed!"

Faeron sidled up next to Nema as she made her way up the steps to the Harrowing Chamber. "He does have a point about the blood mages," he said.

"Best not to tell him about the possibility of an archdemon, then," she replied. "The simpleton might wet himself over it."

"The memory of his friends' deaths is still fresh in his mind," Alistair murmured to himself. He looked pale in the light reflected from the barrier and his eyes darted everywhere save for Cullen.

Wynne let go of Donal's arm and hurried to Nema. "If we're to defend ourselves against blood magic, we first need the Litany of-"

"I have it," Nema said. "Focus on Uldred."

"You have it?" Wynne said. "How...?"

"Focus on Uldred," was all Nema would say.

The Harrowing Chamber was filled not so much with the screams of agony, rather the half-uttered groans of the dying and defeated. In the center of the chamber, Uldred stood to the side of a mage he had suspended in air.

"Do you accept the gifts that I offer?" the blood mage asked.

"Enchanter Donovan," Wynne said.

"Yeah," Donal replied. "I borrowed a book from him, once. Never gave it back."

Wynne nodded toward a corner in the chamber. "Irving's still alive. I knew it."

The First Enchanter was haggard, but breathing. His restraints were magical in origin and so, would only disperse if the mage responsible willed it.

"So, all we need to do is get Uldred to piss off and then everything'll turn out dandy." Donal nodded. "Wonderful."

Morrigan lingered just inside the doorway of the chamber. The only route of escape, her position was a smart, if pessimistic one. "This will prove to be an interesting battle," she said.

No sooner had the words left her lips that Enchanter Donovan rose up higher in the air, his face pointed up towards the ceiling. Blue light tore through his mouth and eyes and an otherworldly scream fought its way out of lips that were melting into something entirely different.

"I suppose I won't need to give Enchanter Donovan his book back," Donal said, his eyes on the newly-minted abomination.

Where Donovan had been, stood a mockery of the human form, with mottled pink and blistered skin. It blinked slowly, no more intelligent than a cow, and took its place behind Uldred. Uldred had since turned his attentions to Nema.

"Ah, look what we have here," he said. "I remember you. Irving's star pupil. Uldred didn't think much of you, then, and I certainly don't see your appeal, now."

Nema faced him with a quiet, frozen rage. "Well, forgive me if I'm not very impressed," she said.

Uldred sighed. "I suppose one can't be loved universally." He took a few steps towards her. "I'm quite impressed you're still alive. Unfortunately, that must mean you killed my servants." Her shook his head and began to circle her slowly. "Ah, well, they are probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible responsibility of independence."

Frannie was slack-jawed. "This is horrible."

Alistair placed a numb hand on her shoulder.

"This is bad, Wynne." Donal's whisper came out an obnoxious, rasping hiss. "Really bad. We need to end this fast."

"You know what happens to people who get in my way, abomination?" Nema said. "They die."

Uldred chuckled. "Really?"

"Really." Nema reached into her robes and wrapped her long fingers around the Litany of Andralla. "The Circle has much to answer for. You won't live to see it."

And with that, the elf mage began to glow. Faeron was the first of the group to charge in with his longsword raised and Alistair and Frannie soon followed after. There was a brief moment of shock that registered over Uldred when he realized he no longer had any of his mage thralls under his command, courtesy of the Litany of Andralla, but then the demon in possession of him no longer had any reason to hide his true form. He lurched forward as claws forced their way out of fingertips, his nose shrank back into a snout as fangs dislodged his original teeth. His stature grew and so did horns. The beast quickly abandoned his use of blood magic and switched over to more traditional spellcraft and melee.

Morrigan froze their world over and Donal melted it back again. So much fire, ice and lightning were flying around the chamber it was difficult to make any sense of it. Frannie picked one spot to aim at and fired her bow repeatedly, unsure of if she was hitting an actual target or merely adding to the chaos. The only indication Frannie had of receiving a wound was the refreshing tingle of the healing magic that Wynne wove.

It was over quickly, or maybe, it just felt that way. Flesh that clung to the walls seemed to retract, shrivel and die. Irving and one other mage was left intact; all others were scattered pieces across the carpet. Uldred was face-down and unmoving. He looked human.

"Maker, I am too old for this." On the ground, Irving looked more like a befuddled old man than the powerful first enchanter that he was.

Wynne was at his side. "Irving! Are you alright?"

He chuckled. "I've... been better. But I'm thankful to be alive. I suppose this is your doing, isn't it, Wynne?"

She smiled. "I wasn't alone. I had help."

Irving's gaze fell on the scattered group before him. Morrigan was still in the doorway, while Alistair circled Uldred's corpse and frowned. Irving locked eyes with Nema and nodded. "I was surprised to see you stand there, but I am glad you returned."

"Glad?" A single eyebrow shot up on Nema's forehead. "If not for manners, I would spit on you right now."

That made Irving laugh. "It is good to see you haven't changed, Nema. The circle owes both of you a debt we will never be able to repay."