Lissa, Solas, Morrigan and company follow Corypheus to the Temple of Mythal.
“It was difficult to appreciate the lush landscape when every bend they turned held fresh battles, but that did not stop Lissa from taking note in the intermittent reprieves. Tall trees, thick with age, were covered in crawling, heavy vines that flowered where they caught the dappled sunlight. The smell of earth was heavy, the scent of blossoms sweet in the cool, humid air. The rushing of waterfalls was a constant hum beneath the delicate melodies of swaying tree limbs yawning above them, and the song was punctuated by pretty little solos of birds complaining of their homes disturbed. And disturbed it had been. With a cry, Lissa let the full force of lightning course through her arm, directed through her staff until it wracked the approaching Templar to the bones. The hot blue lightning danced over his armor, the force of it cracking the protruding shards of red lyrium. The scent of blood and electricity mingled with the sharp, clean smell of freshly turned earth as their battles carved into the ground.”