The dead were restless in their eternal sleeping places within the forest's floor beneath Piro's softly padded feet. Her bare fingers scraped and scratched against the rough bark as she bolted, twigs snatching her long golden hair maliciously. The circle robe covering Piro's thin form was torn into shreds that yanked and stretched in the grip of the brambles thickly covering the damp soil of the forest's floor.

The mud beneath Piro's leather boots slipped and slid with the perfect timing, sending the mage tumbling down a sharp hill that quickly lost it's underbrush as it leveled out to the enterance to a dark, empty cave. That traitorious Templar, Piro thought maliciously, forcing her weary bones to rise with more effort than it really should have taken.

The plan had been for the templar, Norwin to allow Piro her freedom, upon the price of quite the wealth upon her travels. Promises were exchanged, words were taken, the plan had been set. And yet, as he'd said upon noting a rather sum reward in Tevinter for elven ears, particularly mage ones, plans changed.

Now, she was hunted once more.

But you don't have to be, her mind whispered, as it tended to do since the occasion of her Harrowing. That's true, Piro supposed traitorously, eager for any sort of power to fight back for her cause, for her right to exist, free as she chose to be.

Voice, Piro addressed with a thoughtful breath, You've never been wrong before. You knew about the Harrowing, you knew how to pass their test. It was your plan for bribing the Templar, and your warning that gave me my day's head start. You've led me this far, Voice. Piro aknowledged, forsaking her Circle training, forsaking the Chantry, What is it you are suggesting?

The voice she'd agreed to harbor within her mind was no voice of a demon. It was merely the voice of the past. A voice of an immortal spirit that meant her well from the other side with no intentions of leaving its world for this, Maker abandoned one.

I'll show you how to make real power, true power. The voice promised, taking the softened voice of a child as it weaved in and out of Piro's defenses, The kind of power that the Circle keeps from your hold, so as to keep their pet mages in the confines of their walls.

And no one will be harmed? Piro pressed, getting the strange sense that she was losing her footing upon solid, sane ground.

Harming people is what demons do. The voice chided softly, Do I seem a demon to you?

OoOoOoOoOo

Piro felt hate, a deep, burning, fierce burn that settled deep within her soul. Searing through all that she was, gnashing it's nightmarish teeth at everything kind within her, everything that once knew anything else. For one, heart pounding moment, Piro felt true fear, a recollection of all her mistakes.

Before hate enveloped her entirely.

The creature once Piro snarled, her magic twisting around herself without constraint, destroying her once beautiful elven body to replace it with the form of a demon. Bringing herself to her full height, the creature's features nearly split in two with a toothy grin, sliding it's burning gaze across the cave's walls.

"Burn." The creature demanded of the world, slicing through the air with its newly found magic, destroying the thin barrier between the Veil and the pathetic world that would soon be at the creature's feet. Demons of a green shade streaked through the air, slamming into the disused bodies of the burial sites across the hill. Rotting flesh pushed and pulled at their confines, deep within the ground.

OoOoOoOoOo

"Bah, we are to save Fereldon, and here we stand. Among the 'Welcoming' Dalish, standing guard to an imaginary danger." Morrigan complained bitterly, resting her pale hands upon the crooked staff planted firmly into the ground. No sooner had the words left her lips than the very sky cracked with energy and thunder, raindrops filling the air upon a simple, weary whim.

"Ah," Morrigan muttered aloud, tilting her head back to the darkened sky, "And here comes the rain. Splendid." She spat sarcastically, raising a hand and muttering a soft spell to catch the falling water and direct it from her thin form.

Sten offered no condolences, merely giving the dark woman a sharp sort of look, his stoic features dripping with the fresh rain water.

"I will offer you no kindness, Sten." Morrigan informed curtly, a sarcastic smile dressing her features, "Your puppy dog eyes are best spent elsewhere."

"I have no 'puppy dog' eyes." Sten remarked in the same unflinchingly bland tone that he forever held within his voice, "I am considering how you would fare in the case of a Qunari invasion."

"I wouldn't linger in this place, were it to be taken by your kin." Morrigan dismissed, adjusting her hold upon the dark staff between her palms as the rain water slid around the shield hovering softly around her form.

"A wise choice, for once." Sten noted aloud. Scoffing unamusedly, Morrigan's fingers twitched to drop the collective water on the man. No spells left her lips, however, lest it provoke the rather large man to some grand duel over the fire pit where the group took their meals.

The air crackled and splintered, fraying at the very seams to show plainly into a world aside from their own. The Fade tore into the mage's mind, bringing a soft gasp from her surprised lips, her grip tightening upon the staff within her hands. Sten's hard gaze left the forest surrounding the Dalish camp, turning to the mage, a hand resting upon his dual handed sword.

Raising a hand in a careless gesture his way, Morrigan lifted the sword from damp soil, striding without a hesitation down the path. "Mage." Sten accused shortly, making no movement to follow, or release his weapon.

"The danger is perhaps, no longer imaginary." Morrigan informed, resting both hands upon the gem of the staff, stamping the dark, curving wood to the damp soil at her feet. Muttering the powerful incantation beneath her breath, shadows erupted from the staff's end, wrapping around the woman's figure with inked movements.

The form of the woman doubled up, falling forward to the size of a bird resting upon the soil. The enveloping shadows released the figure, revealing a large crow of golden rimmed eyes and dutifully aligned feathers. The crow beat its wings, lifting from the ground, its flying form quickly disappearing over the treeline. Morrigan's golden eyes rested upon the traveled path of the smaller group, banking upon the coming storm's winds expertly.

- Author's Notes -

This is a REALLY short chapter, as you can tell, but hoenstly, I'm at a loss for anything more. To be honest, the Brecilian Forest is a bit muse hungry. Eats everyone's muse, really. Very boring. Regardless, I saw that a LOT of people were still reading this story, despite the fact it hadn't been updated in months (This story is nearing 12,000 views) and I felt like I just owed it to you people. I started a story, I made you interested. I'd better keep my side of the deal and finish the thing :) Anyway, as it's been some time since I last posted a chapter, you'll note that I'm really trying for character specific dialogue, making more characters important, rounding the companions, that sort of thing. So it may be a tad bit better than before? Who knows.