The words echo, bouncing off the cracked and crumbling walls of the ruined outpost. There's a playfulness to them, but even so they are guarded. A little taunting, certainly more than a little sharp: like the claws and teeth of a cat as it plays with its meal. It takes Talvinder a moment to turn, to find the source of the voice, but by the time she does, the woman is speaking again, the same tone of predatory curiosity animating her speech.
"Are you vultures, I wonder?" she muses, eyes raking their group over, coming to rest on Alistair, whose hand has flown to the hilt of his sword. "Scavengers, poking amidst a corpse whose bones are long since cleaned?" As she speaks, Tali looks her over. Her skin is a warm chestnut brown, her frame willowy but strong, several inches shorter than Tali. Her black hair is twirled into a messy bun, bangs framing her angular face. "Or," she continues, eyeing Daveth and Jory, "merely intruders, come into these Darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" Here, her eyes fall on Tali, and she can see their brown flash amber, yellow, gold in the sunlight, molten and piercing. She moves her gaze on to Savreen, and it seems as though it is to her she speaks next. "What say you, hmm? Scavengers, or intruders?"
"I believe I would first know who you are and where you came from." Sav's answer is measured, cautious, and though the woman's response is pointed, Tali thinks she can see something like respect in her eyes.
"You are the intruders here, are you not? I believe the first question is rightfully mine." She approaches them now, and Alistair tightens his grip on his sword, earning a withering glance from the woman. "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go,' I wondered, 'why are they here?'" Her approach brings her to circle the group members, eyeing them, and Tali notices faint points to her ears as they poke out from beneath whisps of her hair. While she speaks, she gestures around herself, to the ruins at large, and then toward the chest sitting open in the corner. "And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that? What is it that you seek?" She turns her attention to Tali, directing the questions, it seems, to her, but before Tali can answer, Alistair interjects. Not that Tali has any idea of what she would say were she to speak to the mysterious raven-haired woman.
"Don't answer her. Who knows what she's here for. What's more, the Wilds are dangerous. She might not be alone." She scoffs and turns, firing an answer back quickly.
"You fear my entourage will swoop down upon you?" Alistair doesn't back down, but instead attempts to deflect the tension into his brand of humor.
"Yes, of course I fear that," he drawls out, "swooping is bad." A derisive snort escapes the woman's lips, and then Daveth's voice, shrill and slightly afraid, diverts her attention.
"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is! She'll turn us into toads!" As a smile spreads across her face, Tali swears she's enjoying this. The cat comparison appears remarkably apt in this moment. The woman's smile only grows, her eyes glinting with yellow light once more as she leans toward Daveth, gazing intently at him until he begins to tremble.
"Witch of the Wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no mind of your own?" She shakes her head, and then returns to Sav when Daveth finally breaks eye contact, ruining the fun. "You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. You asked for my name. Let us make an exchange: tell me yours, and I shall tell you mine." Talvinder would rather Savreen handle this, to be sure. Her cousin is certainly less likely to offend the woman than anyone else here, including Tali. But she still feels a touch of guilt as Sav deals with yet another situation on her behalf.
"I am Savreen. It is a pleasure to meet you." When Sav speaks, inclining her head slightly in deference, the smile on the woman's face widens. In an exaggerated motion, she half bows, half curtseys, flourishing her arms and moving her feet with what Tali can only describe as a feline grace.
"Such a proper, civil greeting, my lady! Even here in the Wilds. Chivalry and fine society are not dead, it seems." She stands straight again, mirth dancing on her features. There is something unnatural in the way her eyes glimmer, even when not caught in motes of light, as though lit themselves from the inside. "You may call me Morrigan. Shall I now guess your purpose here? You sought something in these ruins, in that chest, something that is there no longer." Suspicion flashes across Alistair's face when Morrigan gestures toward the chest he had only moments ago opened, and though his hand is no longer clutching his sword, his stance is taut, ready for action.
"There no longer? You stole them, didn't you? You're…some kind of…sneaky…witch-thief!" At this outburst, the whole group turns to look at him, and Daveth gasps in undisguised terror while Morrigan rolls her eyes.
"How very eloquent," she speaks slowly, as though to a child, or to a pet. Tali winces ever so slightly—she cannot deny that the words were hardly possessed of the same sharpness in Morrigan's clearly acerbic wit. "And pray tell me, young Warden, how does one steal from dead men?" Alistair crosses his arms, glowering at the woman.
"Quite easily, it seems." His dry sarcasm is back, and he meets Morrigan's stare in an attempt to hold his own. His fumble a moment earlier doesn't seem to have affected him too much, and Talvinder wonders what is an act and what is real with him. "The documents we seek are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them." Indignation, sour and resentful, sweeps across Morrigan's face in response, and when she speaks, it seeps into her words.
"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them." In two smooth, fluid steps, she is directly in front of Alistair, eyes narrowed, challenging him. She seems taller than her height, larger than her frame, even as she is forced to look up to meet Alistair's eyes. Perhaps it is the curling snarl of her lip, the way her teeth are but inches from his jugular. "Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish, boy Warden; I am not threatened by children playing dress-up, repeating old tales of the dead." Alistair doesn't flinch; he hardly moves, even as his eyes snap. Tali can see the muscles of his jaw tighten as he grits his teeth, nostrils flaring, and she worries that they are mere moments from an altogether more dangerous battle than any they've faced so far. Driven by urgency, Sav and Tali speak at the same moment, words jumbled over one another.
"Then who removed them?" Tali asks, stepping closer to Morrigan even as Sav grabs her arm and speaks her own piece, words careful.
"She's toying with us," Sav says, appraising. The suspicion in Sav's tone surprises Tali, though it doesn't seem as though she's angry. Light on her feet, following the pressure of Sav's hand, Tali moves with the pull of her arm, retreating to stand next to her cousin as she continues speaking. "No matter what questions we ask, she intends to dance around them. We should go and search elsewhere; we're wasting our time as much as she is." For a brief moment, Morrigan looks at Sav again, really looks at her. Her expression is almost unreadable, and Tali wonders if it's her imagination when she thinks she sees approval in her eyes, like the respect that seemed to glimmer there before. When Morrigan speaks, Tali would swear that some unknown test has been passed. The woman speaks as though there's been no altercation, no awkwardness at all. Her voice is light and airy.
"'Twas my mother who took the scrolls. She has kept them safe, worry not." The words hang in the air, suspended there as the others consider their meaning. Her mother? When would she have taken the scrolls? How? Morrigan's 'answer' has done little other than raise more questions. Tali looks to Sav yet again, praying that she at least has an idea of what to say. Anything, really. She finds her cousin quiet, practically contemplative. The only indication on Savreen's face of any stress or suspicion is the faint way the skin around her eyes tightens, holding back a squint. When she speaks, she chooses her words with precision, betraying none of her emotions.
"Then will you take us to her?" A small hint of a smile tugs at Morrigan's lips, even flashing up to her eyes for a second.
"Tis a sensible request; short and to the point. As sharp as your perception, it seems. I like you." Sav returns the smile, but hers is all diplomacy, the skin around her eyes still taut. In contrast, Alistair makes his distaste plain.
"I'd be careful," he grumbles. "First it's, 'I like you,' but then zap! Frog time." He might have a bit of a point, but the absurdity of it forces Talvinder to turn the snort of another laugh into a cough when she feels both Morrigan and Savreen's eyes on her. But they need not direct their chagrin to her, for she has enough of it herself. Laughter, again laughter, and the awareness that she has laughed sours her mood even further. Morrigan is clearly even less pleased by Alistair's words, though she doesn't seem to suffer the same guilt for her reactions. Her voice is even sharper—if that is possible—when next she speaks.
"Not all those who live in the Wilds are monsters, fool boy. Flowers grow, as well as toads, and I've turned far greater a number of men to plants than to beasts. Take care that you are not next." She pauses, and Alistair raises an eyebrow, scrunches up the corner of his mouth in an expression that Tali thinks looks like doubt. If he doubts he can annoy this Morrigan to the extent she'll turn him to a swamp lily, Alistair is most likely wrong. But before he puts Tali's hypothesis to the test, Morrigan speaks again, turning her attention back to Sav, of whom she already approves of far more. "If you wish, however," she says, and Alistair sniffs in a disgruntled manner, showing that the emphasis of Morrigan's words is not lost on him. "I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your precious little papers, if you like." She gazes expectantly at all of them, waiting for an answer. When she is not given one, she throws up her hands, exasperation writ plain across her features. "Unless you desire to have a quorum before deciding upon that which is clearly your only course of action!" She turns away, muttering and mumbling. "When you have finished chasing your own tails and have caught the true scent of your quarry, come and find me by the entrance to these ruins. But do not tarry; I have no patience with fools beyond that which I must brook."
As she leaves, Alistair turns to the others, chewing the inside of his mouth. He looks to Tali and Sav, Daveth and Jory, and sighs.
"We should get those treaties, but I dislike this." Another glance across the group, his eyes landing on each of them in turn. "Morrigan's sudden appearance, just as we find the empty chest? It's too convenient, and it feels like a trap." Next to Tali, Sav shrugs, then speaks pointedly. Her mind, at least, is already made up on the subject.
"I say we go with her. I don't see that we have many other choices."
"If we have any at all," Jory adds. Tali turns to him, meeting his eyes with undisguised surprise. That Jory would agree that they ought to go with Morrigan rather than run from her is uncharacteristic, to say the least. Then Savreen and Alistair look to her, expecting an opinion from her as well. Despite the fact that she has not yet formed one.
"Oh. Ah, uhm...I think Sav is right. She seems more interested in making us feel silly than in actually hurting us." When no one interrupts her, Tali continues, her voice a bit more confident. "A cat might play with its food at times, but I believe her to be more interested in preening her coat and humiliating us than in actually harming us." Alistair nods, rubs a gauntleted hand across his chin, thinking. It is at this moment that Daveth speaks up, voice bordering on shrill as he does so.
"She'll put us all in the pot, she will. Just you watch! We'll be witch food before the sun sets!" Tali is certain she sees Alistair just barely suppress an eye roll. He lowers his hand from his face and ignores Daveth's words. In fact, he ignores Daveth altogether.
"As much as it pains me to admit it," Alistair says to Sav, Tali, and Jory, "I think the three of you are right. I don't see how we can move forward without at least following her a while. This is a fine mess we've gotten into, though." He looks over his shoulder, out toward the dilapidated archways, to where Tali can see the corner of Morrigan's shadow peeking into view. "If the treaties aren't with her mother as she says, well. We'll have to—that is…we'll think of something, I guess." With that, the conversation seems to be finished, but Alistair waits to leave, doesn't try to lead them out back to Morrigan. Instead, as he looks at the others, Savreen seems to pick up on some cue that Talvinder misses—a cue that, judging by Alistair's faint surprise, she thinks Alistair doesn't even know he was giving—and abruptly she steps forward, beckons the others to follow her. Though they are moving, and though it passes in an instant, Tali is certain she sees relief flit across Alistair's face. Then they are walking out of the small chamber, back into the sunlit, ruined, roofless hall, and Morrigan is turning to look at them. She sees Sav leading the group, and again she smiles, but there is a meanish mirth in her eyes as they flick back and forth between Alistair and Savreen, thinking her his usurper, Tali guesses.
"Ah, and so the clearer heads have prevailed. I am to show you the way to my mother then, am I?" Alistair glares suspiciously; it only widens Morrigan's grin. Savreen nods, holds out her hand, gesturing for Morrigan to lead the way.
"Follow me, then, if it pleases you. Or do not. I mind not either way." With a final look to Alistair, whose face is somewhat glum, Tali follows, and their small group begins to wind their way through the swamp, towards an unknown, towards a witch's home.