You Know What They Say...(Fenris)

[Azalea Valdea]

Opposites attract.

Well now, this was a peculiar city. Certainly...interesting. This was only the second city Azalea had ever really visited, and really, she wasn't quite sure what to make of Orlais. The young mage had been here for a total of two weeks or so, and she still found herself bewildered by this place. It was nothing like Ferelden. It was...just strange was all she could think of. The people were all so fashionable in looks, and they had an air of superiority about them. They seemed snobby, and acted as if they were too good for everyone else. It annoyed Azalea a bit, and she tried to steer clear of these people as best as she could. At least it was a nice day though. Not too hot, and clouds were dotted in the sky, covering the sun on occasion.

She wasn't sure why in the world she had come here in the first place, of all countries, she chose to come here. Azalea already missed Ferelden, because it had been the only home she had ever known. That, and the wretched Tower. Of course, she had been free of that for a good few years now, and it felt great to be free. It was an odd feeling though, freedom. Azalea could still hardly grasp such an ideal, even though she had been living in it for so long now. Was a mage ever truly free though? Certainly not. Not ever. There was much tension towards mages, especially since the war started. Azalea wanted to join the fight, but found that she was terrified. Perhaps, she would gain the courage one day to fight alongside her fellow mages, and fight against the Templars. It took courage to escape her fate in the tower, but it would take more courage to fight.

Until then though, Azalea would travel. Helping in any small way she could. She tried to show, or tell rather, that mages weren't bad. Not all of them anyways. There were a few who were insane enough to degrade the name of all mages, and some were so desperate in just trying to survive. Azalea prayed she would never fall to such desperation, and turn to Blood Magic just to survive another day. She was far from ready to face the Maker, far from ready for her life to end.

Azalea found she was lost in thought, and had wandered a street where it wasn't too cluttered with other people, but enough of them to run into if your mind was absent. And, being as she was indeed lost in thought, Azalea did not see the man she had roughly bumped into. The man was much taller than she was though, and as the two collided, Azalea found herself toppling back, landing right on her butt. She looked up, apologetic looking towards the man despite that she had been the one to fall. He however, seemed irritated, and scowled down at the young woman.

"Watch where you are going damn girl!" The man barked, brushing off his arm as if Azalea had gotten it dirty.

"I-I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention." Azalea stammered, picking herself up.

"Damn right you're sorry! Are you thick in the head or something?" The man growled, his frown deepening.

"Hey! I said I'm sorry! No need to be so rude!" Azalea retorted, balling her hands into fists.

"If I were you, I would watch that tongue of yours child." The man sneered. "Now get of my way." He said before roughly brushing past Azalea, causing her to stumble and nearly fall once more.

"You're bloody lucky I don't just...set you on fire or something." Azalea grumbled, her fists now emitting a flame around them. Oh, how she was tempted to just set fire to the man. But, she restrained herself this time. He was lucky. Azalea grumbled and turned on her heels, frowning as she walked in the opposite direction. Damn this city and their incredibly rude citizens. The young mage cursed in her mind, not even realizing she was still casting a flame over her still balled up fists. She sighed, and extinguished her spell. Ok, she was just about ready to just leave this place. She had just about had enough. Surely things wouldn't get worse.

[Fenris]

Ghislain, quite likely the least likely place he'd ever visit.

The otherwordly overlapping steel plates of his breastplate glinted in the sun as though it was made of silverite, drawing in many glances from the occasional passersby.

The people in Orlais seemed to fancy silverite, or perhaps he just was such an exotic sight, an elf with sword and armour wanderign around as if he was his own master. Few elves truly were free, except the Dalish. That did not concern him, though.

It seemed so unreal to be here, running after a rumour like a crazed war dog. And as vindictive as a blood mage.

Fenris could tell it was true, though, from the the holes sun seemed to drill in his breastplate and through it to his skin. He frowned at the Palace in the distance. The magister was too important to let the sun bother him right now.

He had chased a rumour to Ghislain, rumour of a certain magister.

An accomplice of Danarius in Orlais, doing Maker knows what.

The magister had to be aware of his presence by now, surely. He was alert and waiting for him, but he was going to outplay the mage, just like so many before him. His face turned into a snarl. Sooner or later he would corner hi--

Something hit his breastplate hard, sending him staggering backwards a few steps. He immediately reached out for his sword, and had already half-drawed it out of the scabbard as he realized what exactly had happened.

"Watch where you are going damn girl!"

A girl had simply walked into him, nearly getting herself killed in the process. The girl stuttered over her words as she murmured an absent apology. She would have to do better than that.

"Damn right you're sorry! Are you thick in the head or something?"

Her reaction was to ball her hands into fists and look angry and hurt like a child. Perhaps she had never really grown up. If she had any backbone, she better show it now.

"If I were you, I would watch that tongue of yours child." He sneered, a gesture with a purpose. "Now get of my way." He brushed past her, just barely hearing her grumble as he moved on.

"You're bloody lucky I don't just...set you on fire or something."

He stopped abruptly and whirled around, catching a glimpse of dying flames around her hands. A regular apostate or a maleficar? All mages turned to blood magic sooner or later, though. This would not do. He could not allow yet another blood mage running rampart.

Jumping after her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and bent closer.

"What's an apostate doing here? You have perhaps heard... disturbing news of this city, no? I suggest that we move somewhere else. You'll guide me." He strained his hands on her shoulders, pushing her forward in an encouraging way.

(OOC: Hopefully you don't mind that last sentence)

[Azalea Valdea]

Azalea continued to grumble to herself. A fine example of her "maturity". It was no wonder others treated her as a child. It was irritating, but she couldn't help being who she was. Perhaps growing up in the tower stumped her mental maturity growth. After all, she was never really allowed to be a child. There was always work to be done, studying, and you couldn't run around without the bloody Templars glaring at you from behind the helmets. They never seemed to show a lot of kindness to the young apprentices. Well, there was one or two that was always nice, but that was rare. You would think though, with the constant studying in the silly Circle, she would have matured. Sure, she was smart in her own way, thanks to her constant need to be reading something, but that didn't eradicate the fact she couldn't just...do silly things like a normal child. Like, go outside and play in the mud, chase fireflies, play tag, you know, kid things. So, because of this, Azalea was just....child-like. She had her mature moments, but, she had a foul temper, especially when it came to being here in Orlais. The young mage felt...harassed, constantly. She was planning to leave here as soon as possible, that was for sure.

Well, things could be worse. Thankfully, she was able to restrain herself from going crazy on the rude Orlesian man. Azalea felt a small sense of triumph, proud that she was able to control herself sometimes. Now if only she could learn to keep her mouth shut and stop saying stupid things. And if only she could change her sense of luck, because no matter what, trouble always followed the poor young woman. Perhaps that was the curse of being a mage? Azalea rolled her eyes to herself before glancing around. Now...what to do? Something to eat or drink perhaps? Hopefully without being heckled about her light chain-mail attire. Seriously, why did these people care so much about fashion? A frilly dress wasn't going to stop arrows of slashing blades or anything. And she had long since ruined her original mage robes from the Tower, and it was long hone anyways.

She started walking forward, already starting to forget about her little accident. She even started humming an old nursery rhyme she always heard as a young girl. Though her bubbly nature was starting to surface back up, she became oblivious to what was going on behind her. Had she actually been paying attention, she would had known someone was coming up behind her. Hands gripped firmly into her shoulder, and a low voice sounded in her ear. Azalea tensed up in her captor's grip, and she whipped her head to look over her shoulder to look at the one holding her. Her amber eyes widened a bit from shock and surprise. Shock because well, not many people grabbed onto her like that, interrogating her at the same time. Surprise, because the man was an white haired elf, with some very...interesting marks. Sure, Azalea had seen many elves before, but there were so few who were out walking around by themselves, so this came as a surprise to her.

Azalea shook her head, trying to look as innocent as possible. "Apostate?" She murmured nervously. "What are you talking about? I'm not an apostate." Ok, she wasn't fooling him. She was a terrible liar. She always gave herself away with her eyes, because every time she lied, she always looked down and to the left. Plus, her voice wasn't as confident as it should have been. The elf then said something about "disturbing news" in this city. Ok, she was sincerely innocent in that matter. She knew little of the news in Orlais. The only country she wanted to really steer clear of was the Free Marches...where this whole war started anyways.

"Hey! You don't need to shove me!" Azalea snapped as the elf pushed her forward, saying, or rather, demanding she guide him somewhere else. As much as she wanted to break free, she felt like she would have a very hard time doing so without resorting to magic. Sure, she already gave herself away to this elf, but no one else had seen. If everyone else seen her trying to defend herself with spells, surely more trouble would arise for her. Plus, if they did go off somewhere else, what was to stop Azalea from defending herself then? So, reluctantly, she allowed the male elf to continue holding onto her shoulders while she looked for somewhere that didn't really have people at. Azalea looking around, discovering an alleyway between two stone buildings. She veered off to the left, taking her captor with her, frowning all the while. Great, juuuust great.

After venturing into the ally a good distance, far enough to where they shouldn't be over heard, Azalea whipped around, attempting to knock off the elf's hold on her. "Ok, there. I did what you asked. Now what do you want from me?" She demanded, lifting her chin up some, trying to be as confident and unafraid looking as possible. Really though, she felt a small sense of fear. She didn't like close quarters with strangers, nor possible potential fights in close quarters. If this man did decide to attack, she had better act quick otherwise she would die in this place. While Azalea waited for a reply, she couldn't help but look once more to the elf's strange markings. They were fascinating, and very intricate looking. Tattoo's perhaps? They looked like they hurt a bit, whatever they were.

ooc: oh I didn't mind at all~ no worries :3

[Fenris]

Fenris assured himself of his surroundings as she led them to a shadowed alleyway: few had business in the city then, and none saw them enter the place. Turning his attention back to the female apostate, he winced with disgust. He hated mages. He hated touching mages.

But then the glow of lyrium enveloped him, the power rushing through his veins suddenly feeling chilly, causing shudders in his body that he had never experienced before. The mage used the opportunity to break her hands free, but in the instant she did his sword slid out of its scabbard, and anger and fear suddenly marred Fenris's face.

"You are a mage... apostate." His voice mirrored that same hate, but the fear was nowhere to be seen. He seemed oblivious of a shrill cry from above, indicating that his sword had been noticed. It would not take long until the guards came.

"What is your business here? Are you here to kill me? Are you a servant of the magister? WHY are you here?" He didn't seem to care that any passersby could overhear his words, yet he was ready to strike the apostate down would she show any sign of hostile activity.

He moved closer, slowly moving his sword back to its scabbard, yet the glow still enveloped him as an aura. He was not quite sure could the mage sense its power: there had never been any sign of that before, at least. One hand he placed heavily on her shoulder, ready to attempt to slide it through to grab her heart, as the other softly slid the sword back into its scabbard.

"Don't fail me now," he said softly. His gaze slid from her face into an unlocked door. Suddenly his eyes flared with an idea, yet his voice remained distant. Well, barely distant - the anger shone so clearly through his attempt of sounding absent-minded that one could wonder about his mental health.

"Turn around. Quickly. Get into that building. Go, now. I don't have the world's patience, apostate."

A little more time. He needed more time. How could Danarius reach out to seize him even from his own grave? A snake, like all mages. And this was an apostate, another Anders perhaps. He could not help but to foment his own fears, yet he knew the result of that. There simply could not be another result...

[Azalea Valdea]

Could she ever just go one day without trouble catching up to her? It would seem fate, or possibly the Maker, was not on her side today. Why were there so many people who hated mages so much? Azalea never did any harm unless provoked...then again...that's what a lot of mages did. She swore she would never become like her fellow mages and resort to Blood Magic. Azalea was desperate for survival, but not that desperate.

She studied the elf before her, very much not liking the look of pure disgust and hatred. Azalea felt her insides turn jelly like from the look alone. What had she done to anger the man so? Other than being a mage that is. The young woman let out a little squeak of surprise and fear as a sword was pulled on her, and a strange glow appeared around the strange elf. She raised her palms up. "Ok yes I am a mage, but I'm not here to cause trouble or anything...I swear!" She dropped her hands and took a small, careful step back. Close quarters...not her thing. Azalea couldn't help but wonder how the elf was producing the unearthly glow...it seemed to have an energy of it's own, and it brought up a distant memory from her Harrowing. Why, she wasn't sure.

The venom in the elf's voice as he accused her stung a little. So much hatred. He began moving closer, barking out interrogations as he did so. Fear registered in Azalea's amber eyes, and any bravado she had managed to scrounge up was lost. She took a few steps back as he approached, a natural instinct. "I'm just a traveler! No one sent me to do anything. I Don't even know who you are, or why in the Maker's name I would want to kill you! I-I just came here from Ferelden a couple weeks ago." Would he even believe her? Azalea doubted this. But she was telling the truth after all. She barely made contact with anyone during her travels, except to write the occasional letter to her brother in Redcliffe.

The elf grabbed as her shoulder again, fairly firmly in fact, as he sheathed his sword. Despite her fear, anger started to bubble up in her, mixing in with her bewildered, scared features. How many times was this guy going to touch her? "How many times do I have to say I'm not going to cause trouble? If you would so kindly, let go of me." Azalea demanded, irritation lacing her tone as she tried shaking her shoulder away again.

Now once again, the elf was making another demand, telling her to get into the building. Azalea turned to look back at the door-way, then back to the elven mage-hater. It looked like she had little choice in the matter. If she did try to attack right now, who knows how quickly the elf could strike her down. She would have to think of a plan...the building could provide excellent cover should she decide to try something drastic.

Reluctantly obeying the elf, she turned away and walked towards the door. Would it be locked though? She reached out to jiggle the handle and pushed the door. To her surprise, it opened. She ran inside and stopped in the middle of the room and looked around. It was a barren building...a warehouse at one point maybe? Or something of that nature maybe. Azalea paced around a bit, something she normally did when nervous. She kept glancing at the door, waiting for the elf to appear after her.

[Fenris]

Fenris stopped to listen for sounds before going in. All was quiet around him. He could not hear the woman above him any longer, but he was sure someone had heard it. He followed the apostate in just as he saw her hair disappear through the doorway, leaving a faint smell of perfume behind her. Queer how even apostate women wanted to wear perfume. Perhaps it was an Orlesian thing that made one want such things. Fenris stepped into the building through the oaken door to find Azalea pacing about nervously. He had heard her say that she was not up to any trouble, but he found it very hard to believe. Her nervousness was probably due to his crude manners, yet he found it hard to believe she would not give in to the temptation at some point. She did not seem very strong-willed.

"Every mage will be trouble at some point during their life, apostate. That is a cold fact," he said as if in passing to her as he stepped towards a wooden beam, already leaning against it, eyes moving to nail her down just as he finished.

"You must know something about the magister. I must kill him. He's trying to hunt me down for what I am, and I've been on the run ever since they heard of their master's demise in my hands. Do you want to help me to see justice done? Or will you cower in a hole and run away like all mages do? Make a bloody difference. Perhaps I will ask for your name, too, then.", he said half-bitterly, half-challengingly.

The one mage who had not ran away from her duties was Marian Hawke. Would there ever be any mage who could match her? As much as it pained him to admit, he did respect her. She held more of his respect than he had for all the other mages in the world, not just partly for her commitment and willingness to finish it for once and for all. And for her assistance in killing Danarius, of course. She couldn't have been completely evil, although lately Fenris had come to suspect her word that she had never fallen to Blood Magic. It... did things to people, changed them, so he had heard. Perhaps Hawke was no longer a person anymore, if that was true. Certainly nobody to moon over after years, yet he felt strangely affected to her...

Almost horrified, he snapped back to his thoughts in an instant. For a moment he looked around, confused, but only momentarily before rage swelled in him again, a feeling he had grown so accustomed to lately. Hawke and the conflict between mages and templars had again caught his mind, absorbed him almost completely. He could not afford to lose himself like that, not at any time. He had to be wary. He had to be hard, harder than iron or steel.

His gaze had drifted off to the ceiling as he had fell into his thoughts, but just as soon as he snapped back his eyes also flicked back to her, now listening instead of nailing. Apply too much pressure, and she breaks or lashes out with her powers. He wanted neither.

[Azalea Valdea]

Azalea was utterly stumped. She looked around the building, unsure. If she chose to fight this man, there was a chance she would bring the building down. Maker knows she wasn't the most accurate with her offensive spells. She was use to just simply staying off to the side, or healing the wounded. Not fighting certainly. Her only option was to run, and honestly, she despised the idea. She had already acted cowardly enough to the mage-hating elf. No need to give him more fuel. She needed to stand up for herself, and for other mages. Azalea breathed a soft sigh to herself, and ceased her pacing. She crossed her arms over her chest, and erased as much emotion as possible from her face.

She watched as the tattooed elf entered through the doorway. He leaned up against one of the wooden support beams. He glared at her, throwing more venom laced accusations at her. Azalea glared back, growing more and more irritated by the way he spoke to her.

"Oh? So you are an expert on mages then I take it? Are you some sort of elven Templar?" Azalea snapped in annoyance. "You don't know me. So don't you dare act as if you know what I will do. And stop calling me apostate, elf." She said scornfully, taking a bold step forward. She had nothing against elves personally, but, calling him 'elf' was the only thing she could call him since all he called her was 'apostate'. Now, here was the attitude that got her into trouble. At least she wasn't acting quite as weak as she had been. Just senseless. Azalea breathed a long sigh and looked up for a moment, before returning her gaze back to Fenris.

"I no nothing about a magister here. I don't even live in this country." She grumbled before silencing herself as the elf spoke again. Azalea dropped her arms and placed her right hand on her left hip as she leaned on her left leg some. She quirked an eyebrow as if to say "are you kidding me?"

"So, let me get this straight. You want to kill this magister, because you are being hunted down...for what you are? Gee, isn't that a familiar tale." She rolled her eyes. "And if I do help you? How do I know you aren't going to kill me afterwards?" She crossed her arms again, and dared another step towards him. Azalea scowled at the elf as he dared to call her and her fellow mages cowards. It was no doubt just words he said to rile her up, and to make her agree to help him to prove a point. Sadly, Azalea fell for the little ruse.

"I am not a coward!" Azalea retorted, flipping her hair as some strands fell on her face. "I'll...help I suppose. I'm not going to kill anyone for you though." She said firmly. "And if we are going to be working together, wouldn't it be better to tell our names? Or must I say "hey elf!" the whole time?" The mage said with another roll of her eyes.

Oh Maker, what is she getting herself into now?

[Fenris]

An amused smile rose on his cheeks as he saw her look about uncertainly, definitely shaken by his relentless onslaught. Or so he hoped. Abruptly she looked up, fiery-eyed, beginning throwing her tantrum at him. He would not be impressed. He would just stare at her while she went on. No matter what. He would not lose himself, this time.

She took a step towards him as if to emphasize what she said, but intimidating a stone wall would've had the same effect. He answered her gaze with a look that made a winternight seem warm.

''I am not a templar, but I do know too much about magic and mages. And you seem a childish enough girl to me to dabble with Blood Magic, eventually. You quite remind me of two women I met once, the other more like a girl than a woman, but only one of them dabbled with Blood Magic. What will you choose, I wonder?"

It was all grim talk and cool tones, yet just thinking about Hawke still made his blood boil for two reasons. First, she had been quite lovely. Second, she was a mage, perhaps the second worst mage in the world after Anders. She had helped him to blow up that Chantry, and Maker knows what else with it. He could not forgive her, or any mage, after seeing that. It felt impossible to forget or forgive - the bitter hatred ate his soul bit by bit. He had begun to feel a constant gnawing pain inside him whenever using his lyrium-enhanced abilities, too, which only made things worse. How much longer till it became too bad to bear? How long till his abilities would be seared out of him?

"I believe that you do not live here, but you still are a mage. Can you turn to your brethren, worse, a blood mage of your own kind? He most likely has the City Council under his thumb. If you will truly want to do this, to do what is right, I will let you. You must obey me, ho--

"So, let me get this straight. You want to kill this magister, because you are being hunted down...for what you are? Gee, isn't that a familiar tale," she intercepted with that cuttingly sarcastic tone. Somehow it angered Fenris more than her words.

"Yes, I was a slave to a magister once, a powerful magister. I managed to escape - eventually killing him when he tried to claim me back - but ever since I've been on the run.

It was only a small lie. In a way, he had been on the run - but not for the reason he suggested. Really, he had been running because of Hawke and Anders's little masterplan.

"Names? I'm Amrath."

Another small lie that he would not regret. She had no reason to know his real name, and if things went well, she never would.

[Azalea Valdea]

Why in the Maker did she even bother to argue with this elf? It was like arguing with a rock. It was pointless, and got her no where. And now he was mocking her, smiling in amusement at her frustrated attempts in fighting back. This only irritated the mage further, and she sighed heavily, rubbing at her temple for a moment. When she looked back at him, he had once more returned to glaring at her. A small smirk pulled at one side of her mouth. "Aw, what happened to that smile? Did that hurt you too much?" She asked, sarcasm heavily lacing her tone. Though actually, the look he was giving her now was a little unsettling. His face was colder than Ferelden in the dead of Winter. And that was cold.

When the elf spoke again, she clenched her fists as he practically called her a child. Out of everything, nothing infuriated her more than being told she was childish. She would admit that yes, she did have childish qualities, but she didn't need others telling her this all the time. Perhaps if others took a moment to stop judging her for everything, she wouldn't be acting like one.

"So you think because I act like a child, I would be stupid enough to succumb to Blood Magic?" She glared at the elf, her amber eyes narrowed dangerously. But the mention of Blood Magic tampered with the anger in her face, saddened it in fact a great deal. Azalea fell silent for a moment, shuffling through old memories that dreaded name brought up. Blood Magic was a filthy, evil thing. She watched how it could change you, how it brought in those horrible demons from the Fade to possess and take control of you. Azalea shuddered at the thought. No, despite her flaws, she would never fall to such desperation. "I would never fall into such a horrid thing. I would sooner die then sell my soul out for such wicked powers." She said quietly, her anger cooling down.

She was silent as he continued to speak, mulling over his words carefully. On one hand, if he was saying the truth, then this magister he was after was a Blood Mage. Azalea didn't like them as much as the next person, but at the same time, it felt like she was betraying her own in a way. Not all mages that used Blood Magic were evil after all. Some just became so desperate to survive that they had broken down and turned to the wretched demons for help. Azalea had been about to ask what this supposed magister was like, if he was truly evil, or just a desperate mage trying to live another day. She would have to find out for herself.

Azalea had been looking away as she thought, but she returned her gaze back to the elf as he told her he had once been a slave to a powerful magister, whom was now dead apparently.

"Why do you keep running then? What have you to fear and run from if your master is dead?" She asked curiously. To her, it sounded as if the man could cease his running, settle down somewhere without the fear of his master coming back to claim him again. Azalea could never stop running. A twinge of envy sparked up inside her. Only a small twinge though. After all, she did choose to escape. But, would she be dead now had she not though? The Towers had fallen after all. Maybe it had been best that she ran when she did.

"Amrath? That's a...unique name." Of course though, she had no idea she was being lied to. Well, on some level, maybe she did know. After all, how much could she trust from this very bitter, mage hating elven man? Nevertheless, she accepted the false name without question. "I'm Azalea." She said, fighting the urge to outstretch her hand in a handshake that she normally did out of sheer habit. "Amrath" here looked like he would snap her arm off if she tried to do so.

"Now that those pleasantries are out of the way," She fabricated a small smile, "Who is this magister then? And what are you proposing we do?" Azalea asked, a bit skeptical.

[Fenris]

Fenris looked about, gathering inspiration from his surroundings, but finding none. Finally he settled his gaze on her face again, smiling back at her sarcastically, although a trifle unsteadier than before. His words still shone confidence, though.

"I saw a First Enchanter of a Circle, a more dutiful mage than most I've seen, turn to Blood Magic when he lost hope. But you don't want to hear about Blood Magic, do you now... Azalea."

The sarcastic smirk turned into a mischievous grin as he said her name, his gaze rolling to the left carelessly.

"As for what to do with the magister... we go to him. Now. He does not know about you yet, and with you we can take him by surprise. He's expecting me, not another mage."

Well, she was pretty, and more besides, perhaps worth a test. A small test. What would she do if faced with very hard odds, perhaps a deadly situation with no other way out than blood magic? Honestly, he doubted her word to die before doing... turning to her last option. He honestly didn't like this at all, but he was supposed to make a change. To set things right. Might as well begin with the little apostate, as ignorant as she was.

A flicker of motion caught the corner of his eye and his hand went for his sword hilt, but when he turned to look at it, it was just some dust falling off the ceiling. He had became too accustomed to being hunted. He was safe in this house, for the moment, and he was the hunter. He had reminded that to himself several times today, but it never really felt real. If the blood mage had the city council under his thumb, enthralled, then he really stood little chance in reaching the place undercover without using his abilities. But how to get her in?

"Can you disguise yourself somehow? With magic?"

It would make things a whole lot easier, for one thing. For the second, they would have more chances of entering the palace without being discovered. The magister could not expect a direct assault from him, not something so crude. He was the hunter. He would succeed with or without the mage's help. But the mage would make things much easier.

[Azalea Valdea]

Another frown tugged at Azalea's lips. She hated hearing about good mages turning to Blood Magic. The girl felt a wave of resentment fill her at the sheer thought. If Templars weren't so cruel, so controlling, though now bent on destroying them, mages wouldn't need to turn to such a sinful thing. It wasn't a mages fault they were born they way they were. It was Templars that took away mages at such young ages, ripping them away from their families and locking them away like monsters. It was unfair.

"No, I particularly do not wish to hear about Blood Magic." Azalea spoke calmly, looking in straight in the eye. She felt a small shiver trail down her spine at the way he said this and spoke her name. Not sure if it unsettled her or not. She shrugged away the feeling and placed it at the back of her mind for now.

She pondered over carefully over the elf's next words, mulling them over as he spoke. "How am I even supposed to get even close to this magister?" Azalea wondered aloud. It was clear she was not from this country by the Ferelden accent and the way she dressed. She stuck out like a sore thumb here in Orlais. She wondered why she was even going to help "Amrath" at all. It was clear he detested mages after all. But, suppose eliminating another blood mage would help...the less blood mages there were, perhaps the better the entire mage population looked? She doubted this, but, it couldn't hurt to remove a threat anyways.

Azalea watched as he quickly turned his head to the side, grabbing at the hilt of his sword while doing so. Was someone in here? On impulse, she reached back to grab her staff, but when looking over to see nothing, she dropped her hand back down. "A little paranoid aren't we?" She said, only half teasing. Truthfully, she was always paranoid. She was always half expecting a pack of Templars to be right around the corner, ready to haul her away at any given moment.

The elf turned to her again, asking if she could disguise herself with magic. Azalea frowned slightly in thought. As far as she knew of, she never heard of mages disguising themselves with magic. Or if there were any known spells that could achieve that. Even if she did know, she would be skeptical of using the spell for fear of it back firing or not being able to turn herself back. Knowing her luck, it would be the first of the two that would happen.

"No, I don't know if I could use magic for that." She pondered again. Her eyes lit up after a moment as an idea struck her head. "I can however, make shift a disguise." Azalea said with a sly grin. Ah, her obsession with having to buy dresses every so often would pay off. The other day, she broke down and ended up buying herself a nice looking emerald green dress she seen at one of the shops. She had yet to actually wear it though seeing as soon after she had been out traveling to the next city. She had it with her right now in fact, folded away in her pack. Her grin faded some though. Sure, she could probably just barely look the part...but sounding it? That would be a challenge. "Now if you are expecting me to talk and distract this magister of yours...that could very well be an issue." Suppose she could try to fake the accent, though it would look rather suspicious. She looked back at him, waiting for some sort of response.

[Fenris]

Tugging his brown breeches with one hand unconsciously, Fenris tried to avoid looking at the apostate, turning his gaze to the ceiling as a compromise. They could slip into the palace with a little luck, if they followed his plan.

"It's quite simple. You gain entrance to the Palace while I slip in by other means. How you will do that, is up to you. If you still want to help me."

He was pushing it, but he didn't really care. He was sure he could do it without her help. Absolutely sure. His lips curled into the same mischievous smile as he watched dust falling off the floor. The dust marred the walls everywhere; it just covered the place. He had not noticed it before.

"If you do, then we should just get this done sooner rather than later. The city guard might be looking for us, too."

He tried to keep the hopefulness out of his voice, though. Maybe he wasn't so sure after all. Having the mage would... would... Would she be a help? He kept asking himself the same question, hoping for a different answer each time, but he received none. She could be useful. Not all mages were evil. She seemed trustworthy. But so did Hawke.

It was a neat and thorny puzzle, yet he just wanted to get the affair done quickly. Maybe he could give her one chance. Show a little mercy for once. Maybe. If she betrayed him, he would make a promise - silently he promised to himself:

If she betrays me, there is no mage I can trust. If she betrays me, I will kill every mage I encounter.

His anger was controlled, now, aimed for a single target, but it radiated from his words with a touch of impatience.

"Let's just go."

[Azalea Valdea]

Another small frown tugged at the edges of her mouth. Now how in the Maker was she supposed to just...waltz into the Palace like she belonged there? Perhaps, with a little luck, and should the Maker for once smile on her, there would be no issue.

"Very well. This is going to turn out rather interesting." Azalea said with a small sigh. And surely by the end of this day, I'll probably be executed. Good work Azalea. She thought to herself with irritation.

Azalea flashed a little crooked grin at the elf as he spoke about the city guard looking for them. "Well, I don't know about you, but surely they aren't looking for little old me already." She said, placing a hand on her hip. "But, you have a point. We should get this done quickly." She turned away from him for a moment, studying the large room they were in. Suppose she could stash away her things in here for now. After all, she did have quite a bit with her. She would need to change as well without being seen. Thankfully this provided as a good cover.

She could hear the slight impatience in her voice, saying that they should just go. Azalea returned her attention back to him, and gave him a small roll of the eyes. "Now hold on. If I'm the one sneaking into the Palace here, I need to change." She said, looking around her once more and striding towards one of the empty rooms. Azalea quickly shut the door behind her and quickly got to work in swapping out her light chain-mail attire, and switching to her newly bought green Orleasian dress and shoes. Sadly, she couldn't do much about her hair. Ah well. So long as she was dressed "properly". She set aside her possessions in the little room, save for her staff that she had to her back.

Azalea walked out of the room as confidently as possible. "Alright, let's get going then. You'll have to point me where I'm going though." She said with a slight sigh. Seeing as she had no idea where she was going...though surely the Palace stood out.

ooc: sorry, this was really rushed >.<;

[Fenris]

She came up with many different reasons to stay, but he simply ignored them: if she wanted to change, she was free to do it, but not with time borrowed from him.

"Let's go," he said again, taking three long strides to the door. He pushed it open hard, stepping out ferociously.

Abruptly a muffled cry of a man hit hard in the nose cut the air behind him.

He drew fast, pulled the door aside and out of its rusty hinges, but saw none of the guards he had expected. No guards at all. Instead, he saw a short, dark man clad in a pitch-black coat embroidered with silvery ravens. The man had a clean white shirt tucked under his coat and, oddly, bright green gloves and boots to complete his habit. The fellow drew fast, as well, a short sword in his right hand and a sword-breaker on the left, and held the latter in front as if hoping to catch Fenris's sword in one of the sturdy slots cut in one side of the sword-breaker. It didn't look sturdy enough to withstand a blow from his two-hander, but it did have a vicious look about it.

Fenris leaned back, holding his blade almost horizontally, and gave the man a look that could melt ice. The man eyed him back with a level look, but it didn't look like he really wanted to fight him, or so it appeared from the way the man stood upright and unblinking. Neither of the men made a move to begin the fight, but both were eyeing each other, Fenris furiously, the man calmly. Finally the black-coated fellow cast his glance aside and relaxed, groping his hair nervously.

"You've caught me, then... I should've taken the hint when you said you'd go, but I thought she would hinder you at least a bit," he said with a surprised voice. He seemed to be recovering already, but did not seem much of a fighter to Fenris at all.

"So she's with you?", Fenris asked, suddenly furious that he had spent time with the apostate. Was it all another trap, a snare to catch him off guard? It--

"No, but I just hoped that because the first time she had kept you inside," he said quickly with a tone that somewhat resembled impatience, but was not quite the same. "But we can...arrange something? Believe me, I was not hired by anyone. I saw you go in, and I... I was overly curious. I wanted to hear what you were speaking about," he continued, and surprisingly he sounded quite sincere. Despite his clothing and weapons, he did not look older than perhaps on his early twenties. He was surprisingly child-like, too. Like he had never really grown up, or grown accustomed to setbacks. Perhaps a minor lord? Fenris eyed him askance, though, and asked a question that was now burning in his head. Did the man think him stupid?

"Do you expect me to believe that? You're armed, coated and apparently ready to spy on anybody your lord wanted to spy. If you were not hired, then do you have a master? A liege-lord? Who gave you the orders?"

His anger was liquid fire, now, and there was no room left for sympathy for the poor fellow writhing under his gaze. He could not afford sympathy. The black-coated lordling became even more frightened, though. He sheathed his weapons with trembling hands and, the most surprising of all the things he had done so far, kneeled in front of him.

"My name is Alecar. I am sorry to have spied on you. My...employers... threatened my family, but I doubt they have a chance now that I have failed. ...If you will accept it, I-I will pledge to you," he said with a trembling tone. His face was nothing like a child's, but his manners certainly resembled a frightened kid.

If nothing had amazed Fenris before, this did. His jaw dropped before he could control himself, but he still eyed the man warily, and if possible, even more askance than before. He quickly reminded himself of the possibility that the fellow was just trying to get close up to him, and more besides, he hated the idea of having servants. Suddenly an idea came to his head; would the apostate, Azalea want the man? She looked like the kind of woman to have servants, and he certainly looked well-garbed enough to be hers. Plus, it would be a great way to get back at the woman for being so sarcastic. He frowned in spite of himself; he did not like the way his thoughts were going. But he did not want to let go of that man now that he had offered to pledge, though.

"There is a mage inside the building. You will pledge to her, not to me. Do not ever speak of pledging when I hear it," Fenris said scornfully, and surprisingly the man stood and went inside. Fenris could only imagine what was going on in the fellow's head. Who would volunteer to serving?

[Azalea Valdea]

Azalea rolled her eyes at the elf's impatience. Was there really that little time? Surely not...right? Perhaps he was just that impatient. She had been half tempted to take her time with dressing, but, it was hard telling what he would do should he entirely lose his patience and temper. The mage was unsure how all of this was going to play out. She was doubtful anyone would buy into the ridiculous idea that she was from this country at all, and doubtful she could get herself into this palace. Let alone make it back out wounded or worse.

She heard noises from just outside, and a jolt of fear ran through her. Cautiously, Azalea peeked out from her self appointed dressing room, and took note the larger room was empty. Quietly, the young woman made her way across the room, careful to not step into the center to avoid being seen by whoever was outside. She silently made her way so she could press herself to the way beside the door, and she listened. For several seconds, there was silence, until a male voice spoke up, a new voice. Saying something about being caught and how "she" would delay "Amrath" from leaving. She furrowed her brow in confusion as the elf asked angrily if she was with this unknown man, to which he denied this. Azalea puffed a small sigh of relief and continued to listen. The new man spoke about pledging allegiance as a form of apology, which confused the mage even more. Amrath barked an order to the man, Alecar, to go inside and pledge to her. Why her and not him? What was Azalea supposed to do with this unknown man?

Alecar walked in, while the elf remained outside. She jumped back a little, startled by how suddenly appeared. She fabricated a small smile, though she was truly annoyed. He just had to go and announce to this possibly dangerous man, that she was a mage. This was starting to become a more, and more horrible idea by the second.

"Ha...I heard to conversation you two were having...why in the Maker's name would you pledge yourself to strangers?" She asked skeptically before stepping towards the door frame. Azalea turned her head so she could look at the elven man while Alecar could not see her expression. Her fabricated smile faded and turned into a look of sheer annoyance. Her eyes narrowed as if to say "what in the hell are you thinking?" Though, now that she thought about it...she turned to look at Alecar again. Perhaps he can be her ticket inside the palace then? He looked like he had some sort of power about him...but she could be wrong. At least he seemed to be a true native here, which would be helpful. She didn't like the idea of this man pledging to her in any way. It sounded like such a caging oath. Of course, once this silly mission was over, Azalea could simply let him go, and therefor, little guilt would have to be suffered. Of course...she was still irritated by this. She was just ready to get this over with.