Summary: The mage/templar war is affecting more than just humans. The Dalish are also feeling its bite.
Content Warning: Suggested violence, Language
Sequel to Birthright
Warlord Miran watched as the contingent of templars overwhelmed his hunters. The templars were heavily armed and had platemail to the teeth, while his hunters were mostly skirmishers – just the bows on their backs and leather skins for protection. Standing against them had been brutal. They had fortified their camp as well as they could, but this damned shemlen war was bleeding everywhere. They battered his clan for weeks now, unrelenting in their search for fugitive apostates, and his hunters were exhausted. They were losing this fight, and he faced losing the clan if they didn’t move.
All over a war they weren’t even part of.
The camp was set in an isolated valley outside of Wycome, but even that wasn’t safe from the conflict. It was now in shambles. The halla ran back and forth in their pens, distressed over the loud noises and cries. Aravels burned and a large amount of their food reserves were being cut down with axes by the templar forces. It was savage. Most of the clan were not hunters; non-combatants who spent their time practicing weaving and and herbalism and halla keeping. Clan Silure was relatively peaceful and very small. They had never drawn attention from the Marcher cities, and had good relations with the human traders. This was senseless violence.
He pulled back on his bowstring and let an arrow fly in the ranks of the templars. It did little good. Miran watched helplessly as he saw another hunter fall; a young one, the vallaslin fresh on his face. He had been a promising talent. Now he would feed the worms of the earth. Senseless.