Orders were orders, so when Cassian had been told to go and find the other Warden, and drag him back to the barracks kicking and screaming if he had to, Cass hadn't questioned the order. He had spent a good portion of his life following orders, this one was no different from a dozen others he had received over the years, and would no doubt, not be the last.
Find and bring back Felix De Villers.
The man was AWOL again, and it wasn't the first time. Typically Grey Wardens were in it for life, at least, ones like him and Felix. Murder, that had been the charge, at sixteen. He'd be told he could hang, or join up and do something with his life. And that had been twenty-nine years ago. Shit, he was getting to old for this at this point. Traipsing all over the country side looking for a man that probably would be the death of him at some point.
Hopefully not soon, Cass had a few more things he had to do before he could make the "grand sacrifice" everyone was always talking about. Shit, he didn't want to sacrifice anything, he'd fight a man in a fair fight, or if needs dictated, but this whole dying for a cause, he'd never quite swallowed the doctrine on that, fully. Never fully. Never to the point where he was volunteering to be one of the first out the door to fight a dragon, or dark spawn. Never to the point where he couldn't ignore the small tug inside him towards danger.
Or so he'd keep telling himself, as he rode down the road that could only be described as dirt path, letting the horse take him towards the next inn where he'd spend the night, restock supplies, and continue to the next town, asking questions about the man he was in pursuit of. Except, that really wasn't how the plan was going to go today, he realized as he heard the yelling from up ahead, children, and a woman's voice, amid gruffer male voices.
That just wouldn't do.
He spurred the horse from her sedate trot into a full out canter towards the screams, his eyes assessing what was happening before him as he rounded the bend and made the tactics in his mind in a split second.
Six men, probably slavers, a woman, most likely a skilled fighter, and at least ten kids, more may be hidden in the underbrush already, but they were all under the age of ten. None of them would have even begun the drills small frontier towns would have put the boys through as an extra body against darkspawn and the Blight, so the woman was incredibly outnumbered. And thankfully he wasn't in his full plate.
Letting the horse have her head, he pulled his greatsword from it's strap on his back and released the catches splitting it into two smaller swords. Get away from those kids! He yelled, as he launched from his horse and into the man raising a sword to strike at the red-headed woman from behind. DUCK.
What the actual void— Calista spat as the slaver's blade stopped short of her neck, courtesy of the rather unexpected intervention. She didn't duck so much as collapse sideways, shoving a small, terrified elf girl further into the underbrush before springing back up like a flame catching dry tinder.
Her twin daggers flashed in the weak sunlight as she turned on her heel to face the nearest slaver. The man’s surprise at the arrival of the newcomer cost him; Calista plunged one blade into his thigh and dragged the other across his throat in a seamless, savage motion.
She grinned, feral and sharp. Not so tough when the odds aren’t stacked, huh?
The man gurgled a reply before crumpling, but she didn’t spare him another glance. Instead, her sharp green eyes flicked to the armored stranger now engaged in a furious dance with two more slavers. She hated owing people favors, but maybe this one could earn himself a pass.
She darted past a third slaver who lunged at her with a cudgel, ducking low under the swing and slicing tendons in his arm. The weapon clattered uselessly to the ground. I’ve got the kids! she barked toward the armored man, hoping he’d get the gist and keep the bastards busy.
Crouching low, she waved her hand toward the underbrush. Move, now! Quiet like mice, just like we practiced! Her voice softened for the children, though urgency still laced her words.
The little ones began crawling through the dense greenery, and Calista remained a red blur at the periphery of the slavers’ vision, cutting down any fool who tried to pursue. You don’t get to touch them, she hissed at a particularly bold man who managed to get past her defenses for a moment—a moment too long for him to regret it before her blade found his kidney.
The stranger seemed to hold his own well enough, his movements efficient, deliberate. She recognized the signs of a trained soldier, but she didn’t have time to assess much further. Another slaver barreled toward her, forcing her to meet his charge head-on.
Could you maybe bleed faster? I’m on a tight schedule, she muttered as she sidestepped, dragging a blade along his ribs. When the man doubled over, she smashed the hilt of her dagger into the base of his skull, dropping him.
The longer of the two blades found a home in the gut of one of the briggans, a spin pulling the blade back free from the now corpse that had dropped his innards all over the ground in a stinking, steaming pile. He was going to traumatize these poor kids, he thought absently, as the next bandit stepped forward and he thrust both swords into the man's gut, a foot coming up right after to kick the man away. He noticed the woman moving, getting the kids away, heard her instruct them, and then call to him. Yes. Yeah, he could keep the slavers busy while she got the kids hidden.
Cassian dodged a sword stroke, aimed at trying to cleave him in half, from crown of head to balls, stepping backwards, and in a practiced motion, flipping his grip on the shorter of the two blades, catching one of the slavers in downward stab into his back, and using the momentum to bring the longer of the two blades down through the back of his neck, into the body, another kick sending the corpse to the forest floor. Blades freed, he swung them once, down ward to clear the blood from them, his blood pumping loudly through his ears as he caught the quip from the woman, and he came over to look down at the one she had just beaned on the back of the head.
I tend to find that bigger blades, he started, as he stabbed the long blade down through the man's back, through the heart, a quick death, rather than bleeding out for prolonged period. Help with that. Are any of the kids hurt? He didn't know a lick of magic, but he had his emergency kit of potions and healing herbs and bandages that he carried everywhere with him that could help bandage up a couple of scrapes if needed. Are you hurt? He asked belatedly, it taking a moment to register that she might have caught a blade in the process. She moved so well that his first assessment had been that she was fine, but he knew better -- once the battle started to wear off, wounds would make themselves known quickly.
Cassian Maxwell, before you ask, and no I've no designs on dragging you all anywhere but somewhere safe right now. She had fought hard for these kids, so, he knew it had been the right call. They were close enough to the Antivan border that they were probably heading through to Arthlan, and the more he had a moment to think, the more certain he was of that fact.
Hurt? Calista scoffed as she rolled her shoulders, though her wince betrayed her. Her left arm hung a little too stiffly at her side, and dark crimson streaked the fabric of her tunic. Takes more than these bastards to keep me down. Nothing a stiff drink and some stitches won’t fix.
Her gaze lingered on Cassian, sharp with scrutiny but tempered by a flicker of grudging appreciation. He carried himself with that no-nonsense demeanor she’d come to associate with seasoned warriors, but there was a deliberate lack of cruelty in his movements. That was rare enough to notice.
As the children vanished into the underbrush, Calista straightened, flipping her daggers to their sheaths in a practiced motion. Kids are fine, she said. A bit shaken, but they’ll live. Can’t say the same for our dearly departed friends here, but hey, better them than us, right? She flashed a lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
When he introduced himself, her brow arched. Cassian Maxwell, huh? Well, that’s a name with all the pomp and circumstance of a Fereldan war hound. She paused, tilting her head in exaggerated thought. Though you fight better than one, I’ll give you that. Calista, by the way. But you can call me Cali. Or don’t. Depends on how much longer you’re planning to stick around.
She glanced back toward the underbrush, listening for the rustling of the kids retreating further away from the carnage. Satisfied, she returned her attention to Cassian, her demeanor shifting slightly, less combative but no less intense.
So, Cass, what brings you to this lovely slice of nowhere? Something tells me you weren’t just out for a scenic ride when you stumbled into this mess. She gestured to the scattered bodies with a sweeping motion of her hand. Not that I’m complaining. The theatrics? Solid ten out of ten. I especially liked the part where you stabbed that one through the heart. Classic hero move.
Her smile softened, but her stance remained guarded. It always did. Just trying to figure out if I should be thanking you or watching my back.
He noticed the stiff shoulder, and whistled, loudly, the mare starting to trot back over from where she had ended up after he had launched off her back. I got a potion you can take for that, no stitches needed. Standard kit too, so don't think about refusing. It would get restocked when he went to check in at one of the fortresses along the way, or the prison, he could always head down that way if needs be. And he usually was carrying three, so the loss of one wasn't a huge deal. Let's move away from this, they don't need to see intestines at their age. None of them have had border town pike training yet, have they? He asked, as the mare stopped at his side, and he went digging in his saddlebag for his med kit.
Dead is dead. Cassian murmured as he handed her the potion, and kicked the man near their feet, for good measure. Cali, I like it. Easy to remember and say in a variety of different situations. As for me, I'm hunting someone down, no one you need to worry about, and damn sure no slaver that will come after you the moment they get a chance. But, the way this outfit moved, I'm supposing there's going to be more from where they came from. Escaped slaves? He asked, the words feeling like ash on his tongue. Slavery was still legal in placed, and he detested it. Having grown up in the Free Marches, he had pretty much been assured his personal freedoms, that was, until he had accidentally killed someone. Then his life had belonged to the Wardens.
Still did. Just, he had a job to do in hunting Felix down and dragging him back. But, he was pretty sure he could catch back up to the man, and they were only about a day or two off Arthlan, I like thanks, that's always good. Makes me feel all special inside, in a not creepy old guy way. Hells that just sounds creepy saying it. Scratch that, you're heading for the forest aren't you? I guess I'm sticking around long enough to get you and them there. He squinted some as he took the mare's reigns in hand, and made to move after the kids, But you'll go back after you drop them off, won't you?
She seemed the type. Even under all the snark, she seemed the type, and the line about being a mouse, he had heard her tell a kid as he'd stabbed one of the slavers? Practiced. How many have you helped get out so far? He started walking in the direction the kids had gone off in, not waiting to see if she would follow, leading the horse along as he went.