Slightly late update. Sorry about that.
Return
Zevran
Well, the Wardens and their companions certainly know how to make an entrance.
Sitting on a log, absently throwing a pebble and snatching it from the air, he hears the ripples, the murmurs of "Shems", before he actually sees them. The pebble stops as he catches sight of the little group.
Looking round with gritted teeth, hair greasy and matted, Morgana wipes blood from her mouth; he notices streaks of it on her palms, and briefly wonders how it could have got there, then his attention turns to the others.
The bard is slightly better-groomed, but there are still blood spatters on her face and armour, and he sees those pretty, long-fingered hands opening and closing, opening and closing, as her gaze darts around the Dalish camp.
The witch and the other Warden are clearly bickering once again, the man glaring briefly at Morrigan before darkly muttering something; he is unsure whether to sigh or laugh.
Morgana's greeting to them is brief, curt. "Evening."
He looks up at the gore-streaked, angry woman warrior, and his mouth twitches - even in times like these, such a novelly polite greeting. How very Fereldan. "It is lovely indeed," he replies smoothly, gaze coming to rest upon her.
She looks away from him, to the rest of the camp. "Be prepared," she says to the others, her voice low. "We bring bad news to the Dalish. Zathrian's dead, and we must explain ourselves." She sighs, hastily adding, "Sorry. It is good to see you all again."
Brian barks, looking at his mistress, and Wynne nods with a small, "I see."
This unfamiliar, brisk fighter looks to him, gives him a quick nod of acknowledgement, and he returns it, remembering slightly wistfully the nervous way she had clutched her sword, constantly looking to Alistair for reassurance, when he had so nearly fulfilled his contract; now he notices the situation reversed, the poorly-disguised way the man's eyes rarely stray from Morgana, and his smile widens. Oh, this trip shall be interesting indeed.
She turns and walks from the camp, followed, of course, by her fellow Warden, and his hands stray to his daggers.
They shall see what the evening brings.