@arsuledin His staff was broken- he couldn’t believe it. The thing had lasted them from Tevinter as it should have. It was sturdy wood and crystal and had never shown any hint of bending. Yet here it had snapped, rent in half by demon claws. Calef wasn’t sure what they would do now. They did not have the money for a new one and he wasn’t about to dip into the warzones and steal one from a corpse. Free goods were tempting but they were often a trap and being foolish enough to fall into the trap was just inviting an arrow to the neck.
Calef pressed his ears flat against his head as he lifted his gaze to Halas who was tucking his dagger back in his belt and the stranger-mage who seemed to be looking at them just as critically. Whatever. He couldn’t blame the elf- a couple of ex-dalish apostates wandering the countryside was probably highly suspicious.
He pressed the back of one hand against the back of his mouth, wiping blood and sweat from it. “Thanks for the help,” he humbled and had about adressed Halas about taking a safer rout when the taller elf pressed a blackened palm to his chest. “Fen’harel,” he called, voice dipping into an older accent. “Are you not dead like the rest?” Halas’ voice was thick with inquiry but there was an undertone of accusation under it. Calef snapped his head up, a sound of surprise on his lips as Halas turned the accusation full force as he looked at the younger elf. “You said everyone was dead!”
