Ostwick was an experience unto itself. It was a port city, much like Denerim in some ways, but while Denerim had the grandeur of a capital city combined with the economic advantage of being a major trading hub, Ostwick seemed to have only the latter and the overwhelming smell of fish. The only reason it was considered to be a city was perhaps because of its sprawl, because the streets were nearly all narrow dirt roads and the buildings were ugly squat wooden shacks splotched with gaudy paint. Yet for all that, there were clear signs of prosperity everywhere. Amell could spot many shops, each with colorful, but weather-worn signs hanging over their doors with artistic pictograms advertising wares. The people wore a different style of clothes than the ones in Ferelden, slightly brighter and slightly more elaborate, as if in defiance of the dull brown dust that hung in the air and the gray sand that seemed to pool against the walls of buildings. Amell looked rather drab in her old Circle robes and the black traveling cloak she wore over them.

She picked her way carefully through the strange city, stopping at stalls occasionally, unhurried and hesitant like a proper foreigner would be. In many ways, her curiosity for the city was genuine, but she still had to be sure Ashaad would be able to follow her. She hadn't seen him since leaving the ship, but him being a scout, that did not necessarily mean anything.

It was getting dark and small lamps were getting lit at windows. The streets were being bathed in dull, flickering firelight. They were also emptier than earlier in the evening, Amell noticed. While shops were still open, the stall owners had packed up for the night and left, most of their customers disappearing as well. There were no more women with shopping bags and loud children straggling after them, no more servants loudly haggling for their masters' groceries, noticeably lesser old people, the few that remained looking hurried; instead, the streets were being prowled by jolly packs of sailors, mostly men, but women as well, tattooed, scarred, missing eyes or fingers or ears, smelling of alcohol and armed to the teeth (or to the gums, for those who no longer had teeth to speak of). They laughed loudly and cursed coarsely and whenever she passed a group, she'd get at least a wolf whistle (usually from one of the men, though not always).

After facing down an Archdemon, there were few things that could scare her anymore. But Amell was still unnerved by the increasingly rowdier groups of sailors. If she were to be heckled by one of them, she might reveal too much. She had no idea if Ashaad even suspected she was a mage and for all he knew, the staff she carried around, made out of gnarled wood and burnt black at one end, could be no more than a walking stick.

As the moon started rising on the horizon and Amell found herself no closer to luring Ashaad into the open than she'd been before, an encouraging sign caught her sight. An inn. She was far away from the docks and unlikely to find her way back to the ship anytime soon. There was no use wasting this opportunity.

So she entered the Well-Hung Moose Inn and Tavern, wondering idly what a moose was, who'd hung it and from what, as well as what differentiated being well-hung from being badly-hung. Sturdy rope, perhaps?

As soon as she opened the door, the tavern part of the establishment was displayed before her. Humans, in preponderance, but also dwarves and a few elves, as well as one or two individuals not of any species sherecognized, they filled the room to the brim, occupying every table, drinking, singing terribly and shouting. A few harassed waitresses (though, perhaps the term "wenches" was more accurate in this case) walked about the room with their trays. An ordinary enough scene for a tavern, not unlike others Amell had been to, albeit a greater number of patrons looked like sailors.

She made her way to the bar as stealthily as possible, which still drew the attention of more... amorously-inclined customers, but she finally made it to the owner of the establishment, sitting behind the counter.

He was a huge old man, with slightly more muscles than fat, his scalp a patch of scars and tufts of white hair. He'd watched her progress across the room with a strange smile she could not guess the meaning behind and addressed her as soon as she came up to him.

"Lost yer way, sweetheart?" He asked, his voice friendlier than she'd expected.

"Yes, terribly so," Amell replied. "I don't suppose you have any rooms for the night?"

"Well, we 'ave rooms, a'right, but th' only ones appropriate enough fer a lady such as yerself cost a pretty coin, they do," the proprietor replied.

Amell nodded, expecting that, and placed three gold coins on the counter top. The old man picked them up carefully and bit into one, appraising. It was soft, high-quality gold.

"Well, fer this, I guess ya got yerself th' good room. Throw in a free bath, too, I will," he said with a toothy grin.

Amell suspected the reason he was being so generous was that she'd overpaid. It mattered little enough to her, since she had more than enough money to spare, so she didn't argue.

"Oy, Pedlham, what'cha got here? Pretty lady and a rich one too?" bellowed a drunk man sitting at the bar.

He'd probably witnessed the exchange, because he was now looking at Amell in the same way the innkeeper had been looking at her coins. Though, he was giving more attention to some parts of her anatomy more than others.

"Mind yer own business, Spitter," Pedlham, the innkeeper, groused.

"Runaway, are you, girlie?" the drunk continued, ignoring Pedlham to address Amell. "Prob'ly one a' those noble bints, ran away 'cause ya think daddy's mean to ya, eh? Or castle life got too boring for ya? Took some a' daddy's coin an' ran off?" He started chuckling, but it rapidly turned into a cough. After this subsided, he seemed to grow pensive, his brow furrowing in thought as he continued to examine her. "Well... bet daddy'd pay more ta get ya back--"

He reached towards her, but Amell pulled back before he could grab her. This seemed to annoy Spitter, because he snarled and reached for her again.

"Oy, sit still, ya stupid nob cu--" He was cut off by a bolt of electricity running up his arm and propelling him back and onto the floor. His hair stood on and there was a burn on his hand.

This, of course, attracted attention. The tavern did not exactly go quiet-- most of the patron were completely oblivious to the exchange, as there were more than a few bangs and shouts filling the room-- but a few people turned her attention to her. She hoped desperately none of them were Templars, but then, she could not imagine this was the kind of place they made a habit of visiting.

"I'd like to go to my room, now," she said tersely at Pedlham's surprised look. He nodded dully and showed her through a side door.

As she was being led away, she heard the whispers behind her back.

"Ya don't mess with mages, y'know. Bad sort, those. Turn people into frogs."

"Ya mean toads."

"Frogs, toads... ya'll be green an' hoppin', is what'll happen."

Amell sighed. She didn't even know how to turn someone into a toad.

* * *

It seemed the disruption she'd caused down at the tavern did not change Pedlham's promise of a free bath. As she sank deeper into the hot water, she couldn't help making slight noises of contentment. The baths on the ship were, by necessity, filled with sea water and perhaps because of its green tint, no amount of soap ever made her feel clean. But this was a proper bath, with perfectly clean fresh water and long tendrils of steam swirling upwards, hypnotically.

Eventually, she had to get out and dry off. She dressed and considered going back down for food, but she'd learned during her travels that this was the sort of establishment known for its drink, rather than its food. Still, she had other business to attend to.

The tavern was still in full swing. If word had gotten around that a mage was seen attacking someone there, it had done little to deter the revelers. She caught Pedlham's eye and he nodded towards her. After showing her to her room, Amell had given him another gold coin to keep an eye out for Ashaad. Sure enough, the Tal'Vashoth had followed her in and taken a table in one of the darker corners. He watched the room with undisguised contempt.

She was not a stealthy individual by nature, but she was slight of body and the room was in such chaos, that by the time Ashaad noticed her, she'd already slipped into the other chair at his table. He looked at her, trying to appear unperturbed, but he tensed in such a way that she was sure she'd startled him.

"Why are you following me?" she asked in the most accusatory tone she could muster.

The delay in response was very small, but Amell still caught it.

"I have questions," Ashaad replied. "Though part of them have been answered, still others arose from those answers."

"Oh? And what answers are you talking about?" Amell asked, her tone just the right mix of belligerence and nervousness to give the impression that she was afraid.

"I have been informed that you are a mage," Ashaad said calmly. "Since I am given to understand that mages are not allowed to run free in Ferelden, I would assume you are a-- what are they called? Ah, yes, an apostate."

Amell turned her head towards her staff, which she'd leaned against the wall. Sten had informed her of Ashaad's unfortunate habit of drawing rash conclusions from minimal evidence and had advised her to use this against him. Partly, this tendency was because of his relative youth (because even if he was younger than Sten or the other Tal'Vashoth, she could still tell he was older than her), but most likely, it was cultural. Ashaad attempted to assign his own reasons for events around him, rather than seek the actual causes or understand the context.

She took a deep breath, as if building up her courage, and turned to look at him.

"And who might have lied to you that I am a mage?" she asked.

Ashaad's eyes flicked towards Pedlham. Ah, she thought. Of course. Gave him a pretty coin, did you?

"Perhaps he was lying," Amell suggested sweetly.

"Possible, but not likely. You have more of a reason to lie than he does."

She glared at him coldly.

"And what would you do with this information, hmm?" she asked.

"At the moment, nothing," Ashaad conceded. "I require more of it, you see."

"And how do you plan to get it?"

"You will tell me."

"I should think not," she laughed.

"You forget yourself, apostate. You no longer have the Qunari to watch over you."

That was a threat, Amell realized. Not the best she'd heard, not the most frightening and somewhat lacking in ingenuity, but definitely a threat. She was at least getting somewhere.

"No, he was a poor body guard, I must admit," she grumbled bitterly.

"He did not focus on the task. He allowed his emotions to override his sense of duty."

Amell gave Ashaad a sly look.

"It happens sometimes," she shrugged.

"Yet the Qunari would have us all believe it does not," Ashaad said darkly.

"You dislike them," Amell observed.

Ashaad only stared at her tensely. If he was angry, he hid it well.

"What have they done to you?" she continued.

"They are Qunari. That is enough to incite dislike," Ashaad only replied. "You should be more mistrustful of them as well."

"Oh, why is that? They live terribly far away from here," Amell replied carefully.

"Yet one day, they will fall upon the southern lands like locusts. You should hope that the Tevinter Imperium will not fall in your lifetime, lest you wish to have your tongue cut out," Ashaad growled.

"They will attack Ferelden?" Amell asked, and part of her worried about this as well. Sten had hinted at this once, though he'd changed the subject quickly. Her apprehension was real as she spoke the question.

"They will attack everything in their path, in the name of their Qun," Ashaad replied. "They will slaughter all who deny it."

"Even you? Even... the Gray Ones?"

"We have the means of fighting back," Ashaad seemed to smile imperceptibly. "They will arrive to these foreign lands and find that we have been waiting for them."

That's it, Amell thought. Ashaad had given away the Tal'Vashoth's plans, albeit only partially. Apparently the fanaticism most Qunari displayed for the Qun was only mirrored by the fanaticism the Tal'Vashoth displayed against the Qunari.

"Waiting for them where, exactly?"

"It is no concern of yours," Ashaad spoke harshly, making it clear that he would not reveal anything more. "If you ally yourself with Qunari, you will fall as well."

"Ally myself with them? Why would I, if they are to attack my homeland?" Amell shrugged.

"The homeland you are fleeing?" Ashaad asked glibly.

"...It is complicated," she could only say.

"Then explain it to me in detail," Ashaad growled low. While Amell was not particularly scared by him anymore, she did appreciate the fact that he was more intimidating now than when he made his rather lackluster threat earlier. However, she did not wish to continue this conversation. She'd gotten all that she could out of Ashaad, she suspected, and all she wanted to do was run back to the ship. That it was now her own turn to talk and possibly reveal something made her uneasy.

"I wouldn't know where to start," Amell demurred. She was starting to run out of patience.

"Allow me to ask, then. Where are you going?"

Amell had no idea what to say. Caught off guard by the question, she could only reply with the truth.

"To Seheron."

"Why?"

She froze. Why? She needed to answer why? Why, why, why, why... Think, by the Maker, why?

"I-- it-- it is very far away from Ferelden," she choked out after a few panicked seconds.

"There are other places that are also far from Ferelden," Ashaad pointed out.

"Ah-- yes, there are. Perhaps I should go there-- to those places," Amell said hastily and immediately realized she'd botched it.

Ashaad looked unreadable. He stared at her silently and she stared back, unsure what he would do next. It was only on account of the adrenaline coursing through her veins that she not only saw his hand grab onto the hilt of his sword, but had the presence of mind to react before he drew it.

She called forth frost, freezing him into place for a few valuable moments while she grabbed her staff and launched herself to her feet, knocking over the chair. She stepped to the side and away from the table, trying to gain distance. Lightning arced around her arms and upper body, gathering and springing towards him with a mere motion of the hand.

He fell back, but the frost now gone, he drew his sword and lunged at her. Just as he was about to bring the blade down on her, she swung her staff in a flailing motion. From thin air, conjured stone swirled around the tip of her staff before being launched at great speed towards Ashaad's face. He was pushed back, but his sword grazed her shoulder and blood came gushing out. Her body did not yet process the pain and she took no notice of the wound. She was still in battle.

Ashaad was on his knees, clutching his face with one hand as it bled and his sword with the other. He'd moved too fast for her to gather the full strength of the spell, but she'd seen enough to know that he must have been blinded by the rocks that struck his eyes. He did not scream, however, a fact she found unsettling. Even the darkspawn screamed or hissed or growled when they were injured.

With one last gesture, just as he attempted to rise to his feet again, she brought the butt of her staff down on him. There was a dull crunching sound as the back of his head was caved in. He flopped to the ground, unmoving, blood rapidly pooling under his mutilated head.

Amell panted. Magic still crackled around her, but she calmed herself. Relaxing her stance slightly, she took stock of the situation.

The tavern had gone completely silent. The fight couldn't have lasted even a minute, yet all eyes were turned towards her.

She imagined most of the fights that took place in the tavern would have been brawls. The usually rowdy crowd had no idea how to react to magic.

"Carry on, don't mind me," she said towards the room, using her official Gray Warden commander voice. This did the trick, because everyone slowly went back to what they were doing. A low murmur of conversation started again.

Amell made her way towards the bar, where Pedlham looked at her warily.

"I don't suppose this is going to cause any trouble for you?" she asked him conversationally.

"We-ell, you know, I might need ta be com-pen-sate-ed for my inconvenience-- ah, thank ya, lass," he grinned, catching the coin she threw him. "Ya go an' take care a' that scratch there, ol' Pedlham's gonna get rid a' th' trash."

Amell looked down at her robes. Her left shoulder felt like it was on fire and blood was dripping down her robes, but it did not feel like a very deep wound. She raised her left arm shakily and blood gushed more rapidly, so she quickly strapped the staff to her back and pressed her other hand to the wound.

"Yes, I think I'll go," she agreed.

Looking over her shoulder, she made note of the fact that the tavern's patrons seemed to have fully resumed their drinking and general noise-making. Ashaad's body had disappeared, leaving only a small puddle of blood which a serving wench threw a rag on in a half-hearted attempt to soak it out.

As she carefully made her way back to her room, she heard one last whispered conversation.

"Methinks the fellow woulda preferred ta be turned into a frog."

"A toad."

"A frog, a toad, he woulda been alive then, wouldn't he?"