starter call ( selectively accepting ), @hellathan
The mages behind her were restless, especially after all of them being caught. Not by the Tevinters, that would have made the priestess spill their blood on the grass of those lands. And there she was, holding her anger, her fear, her anger. No, she looked at them, like a predator that had been cornered with her cubs would, studying them and checking all the exists. Just because the one in front of them, presumably leading them, had vallas’lin it did not mean much when there was a human with them. One with a chantry’s symbol on her armour. What an odd group, but not a harmless one.
It almost seemed like the beginning of a bad joke.
Her right hand held the decapitated head of a red templar and the priestess wanted to make sure that they understood that the same way that her bloody claws hard cup through their armour, they would cut through their too.
“Who are you?” her voice is low, even if the echoes that surround her, from the blood magic, make it seem all the more twisted, menacing. And the way that the priestess stared them down would probably not ease their fears.