who is it you're fighting for? [open]

But the future is forgiven, so smile

[attr="class","wildlyrics"]We'll be lucky if we ever see the sun

[attr="class","wildpost"]It took little more than a lull in activities, a implicit suggestion that he would not have to be traipsing about to deal with this little rebellion or the next, and that was enough to spur the elf into taking a much longer route around the coast from Val Royeaux to the sprawling, arid desert known as the Western Approach to pursue a little mission of his own. Cyrlan hailed from the Free Marches and despite the clan's nomadic nature, the weather they encountered was hardly comparable to the blistering heat of this terrain, as if how pale he is wasn't enough to say so. He reconciled to heavy cloths that protected him from the worst of the sun, but there were moments where it did feel as if everything was going to go up in flames without the slightest hint of magic. Nightfall was, however, a completely different story.

He intended to simply spend it sleeping, like any other sane person. Yet now, he found himself chasing his horse across sand dunes because the poor beast got too startled by a pair of quillbacks and decided to bolt at the nearest opportunity. That left the mage cursing vehemently at the sturdy Dalish mare as she continued to lope ahead, now just to play an impromptu game of chase. Part of him was grateful for the exertion, keeping his mind off the biting cold which had set in so shortly after the sun's retreat. "Diya, is this really necessary?" His pleas fell unanswered, though it was scarcely as if he expected the horse to answer him anyway. Cyrlan considered simply letting the mare run off, but he was rather fond of the ornery mount. Pressing his lips into a thin line of annoyance, he continued onwards, though now his thoughts drifted to the target he pursued.

Normally, he would have been shuttled from city to city to accompany some other important figure or other, or perhaps busy mending rifts of the metaphorical kind between mages and templars (or between rival Circles). Whatever the case, he rarely had the time to seek out anyone in particular. This was, with such a reasoning, an exception. Someone had decided to make a valiant attempt in spying on the Inquisition and wronged plenty of other people on the way, and now they were an awfully lucky bastard to have the Inquisitor himself come down to pay them a visit.

Even if said Inquisitor was currently stumbling his way across shifting sand in total darkness (a feat aided greatly by his elven heritage), chasing after a horse that had too much attitude for such a small frame.

It was not long before such travel led him to the vaguely familiar dilapidated Still Ruins, yet another of the places he had come across in his quest to slay Corypheus (among other things). Diya had since slowed to a stop and in fact, completely frozen in place, ears pinned back against her skull. "Oh, so now you decide to stop. Why not, say, twenty minutes ago?" Yet again the horse did not utter a sound, but he received an answering snarl from ahead. "More quillbacks, yay!"

Only after flames burst into existence and illuminated just about everything in the vicinity did he consider to question whether he was truly alone. There were soldiers stationed not too far off, that he knew, since it would only be a matter of time before some decided to commence a search for their errant leader. But as for others, he had simply assumed the Ruins isolated. It would not have been the first time that assumptions had allowed others to get the better of him. Neither did it seem to be the last time, not when he rounded the corner to face a fully armored figure. For all the grandeur that tales and songs painted him with, creating what seemed like an invincible hero, he now wondered how they would react upon seeing that his first reaction to such a situation was to let out a rather undignified yelp, spinning the staff out of the way to avoid hitting a potential friendly acquaintance.