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Ellie and Purples in Thedas
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As crowded as the rest of Denerim is, the alienage is even more so. A squalid maze of dilapidated shacks stacked one atop the other, cut through by winding dirt paths far too narrow to be termed streets.

The one open spot is the square in the center, where the vhenadal spreads its branches over a small wooden stage. It's here that the elves conduct their community business, festivals, weddings. Today the crowd that has gathered is a restive one. Their ire is focused on the small group of humans standing in front of the door to one of the buildings facing the square. Humans are a very infrequent sight in any alienage, and these are Tevinter by the cut of their clothes, making them a doubly odd group.

Three of them are wearing robes and carry staves, telltale signs that they are mages. The rest are in armor and bear conventional weapons, arrayed in a semicircle around the mages blocking the crowd from approaching.

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"Fifty sovereigns to walk away having lost the slaves, my men, and the Archon's pet project?" He shakes his head. "No."

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"You're a remarkably inconvenient person," says Stalas. "I don't normally have to pay my enemies not to kill themselves."

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And then the knife in the magister's hand leaps away.

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He makes an abortive fumble after it, curses, then shoves the elf away from him. He shakes his hands free and raises them, chanting some sort of ritual.

His guards tighten their ranks, two with bows nock arrows and fire up at the group on the platform.

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"It's a sacrifice stop him now!"

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Stalas gestures subtly at Metella as he and Hesta and Kador jump down from the platform—

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The golems get in the way of the first volley of arrows, the combined impact of Hesta and Kador shakes the floor badly enough to affect the archers' footing, and Stalas flies three times as far as the other two and lands almost directly on top of Caladrius.

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He stumbles backward, his casting interrupted. He hastily raises a flimsy barrier to buy the two seconds he needs to get a more solid one up-

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How does the flimsy barrier handle being punched by a golem? Most things handle that poorly, but you never know.

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It gives way. Saps a considerable portion of the energy of his swing, enough so that when the follow-through connects with the magister's body only the breath is knocked out of him, and not his actual life.

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"Reconsider your choices," Stalas suggests, grabbing the magister by the throat.

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"Yrgrk," says the magister.

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And if Stalas graciously allows him to talk...?

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"Yes! Yes! You win. The contract is in my office, here, the key. Just let me go."

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"Don't. If he goes, he'll tell the Archon what happened here and then someone will be sent to collect me."

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"And I don't suppose there's any chance of him reliably agreeing not to mention it?"

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"There's no promise he can make that I would trust."

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He waits a moment to see if Caladrius has anything to add.

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"You can't kill me now! I've surrendered!"

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"Yes, and you do get some consideration for that, but if I know in advance that you're just going to run off and get my friend in trouble..."

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"Your friend? You can't have known her more than an hour."

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"I make friends quickly. It's a talent."

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(Meanwhile, cages are opening and elves are being escorted quietly out of the room.)

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(Elves are very relieved to be leaving this place.)

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"Stop talking to him and just kill him. He's not going to offer any guarentee of silence, because he knows he can't."

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