My first attempt at writing Zev - hope I haven't mangled the character too much!
In For The Kill
Zevran
He idly runs a finger over a dagger, licking the blood away afterwards and yawning. Considering how much he's paid her for the job, she's taking an awfully long time. Unless... surely they can't have worked it out? He shakes his head, tapping a foot impatiently and looking to his cohorts.
He is just beginning to think that that charming fellow Loghain has not paid him nearly enough for this wait, when the Wardens make their grand entrance.
Quite the beautiful party - the fair-haired fellow is of broad shoulder and good build, followed by a prettily pouting little redhead and a... dour woman who takes in their surroundings with golden eyes, as if surveying her territory. He approves. He approves also of her wonderfully flimsy robes - he knew the whores had their tricks, but there must be some magic involved with those... It is a shame that this will probably be a simple assassination.
Ah. The other Warden. She runs behind the others, looking worried, clanking in splintmail similar to the man's and carrying a longsword, which she seems to look at nervously every few seconds, as if to check it hasn't fallen out of its scabbard.
Which is why it surprises him that when he announces his merry little band's less-than-noble intentions, she pulls a fireball to hand, nodding to the warrior.
He carefully avoids the pouty (and impressively deadly) redhead's daggers, watching this odd, sword-wielding mage finish off his archers with a few arcane bolts (He shrugs. They were always replaceable) and ducks another of the woman's stabs - he would have hated to lose his pretty face, after all. He shakes off the block of ice that the hawk-eyed mage has grown round his hand and looks in puzzlement as one of his nastier moves, a little twirl and feint, doesn't fool the redhead, who smiles. "I have seen better than you."
He severely doubts it.
By the time he notices that his men are all dead, it is too late, and soon, with the help of her friends, he surfaces from unconsciousness to be greeted with the sight of the woman Warden standing over him, her sword at his neck. Her colleague stands a little to her side, sword remaining almost casually in his hand.
Mierda.
The question now, he supposes, is death by Crow or death by Warden?
Unless...