At least, he thought, the flaming swords were mostly obscured by mud and grime. Even if he looked filthy he wasn't obviously a Templar, not unless you squinted. Ell was about to say as much when she turned to change, and he directed his interest to the window instead. Redclffe had come a long ways since the days of Arl Eamon, the expansion considerable. Ellion wondered how Connor was doing. The young man had been a mage at the tower for years now, studying the Fade with a deep passion. He might not have been a bad choice to bring along for this, now that Ellion thought of it. His knowledge could have come in useful.<br/><br/>When she mentioned their next step he glanced at her, then shrugged. "We should start wherever you found those rituals. That was in the Marches, wasn't it? Starkhaven? No doubt this mage has gone much further since then, but a ritual to open the gates can't possibly be easy to execute." He looked away, ignorant of her discomfort as he tried to put himself in the madman's shoes. Where would he go, if he were an insane mage trying to unleash literal hell on the mortal world? The answer seemed almost stupidly obvious; Orlais, to the Divine's seat. But that was almost too obvious. Either way, she had the right of it. New clothes first, then destination after.<br/><br/>The pair left the inn and made their way to the lakeside, where dozens of stalls stood around the town's heart. More extended out over the docks that were built onto Lake Calenhad, peddling wares from Orzammar, Orlais, even a couple of bawdy merchants who loudly and proudly declared that they had authentic Antivan wares. There was even a quiet and solemn Qunari merchant at one stall, sitting with arms and legs folded, his horns unwavering as he glared down anyone who came near his wares.<br/><br/>Ellion was quick to purchase a full set of fresh clothes, the tailor swiftly measuring and adjusting the garments to his needs. A plain cream tunic and brown pants would do just fine, and his boots only needed to be dried out properly to be wearable again. The tunic, at least, he wore right away. When the tailor gave his muddy, faded Templar shirt a squint he shrugged. "Bandits. They tore my shirt, so I had to take one of theirs. Not sure I got the bloodstains off just right, though." The shirt was summarily thrown into the small furnace the tailor kept in his tent to keep warm.<br/><br/>On top of that he bought himself a good, sturdy backpack, a water skin, and a fresh spear. Of the lot the spear was the most expensive, enough so that he decided against armor for the time being, unless they decided eating was optional. More opportunities would come for them to earn coin. On the way back up to the inn he glanced at her, both of them cast in orange-red hues from the setting sun. "You really went as far north as Starkhaven, didn't you? I guess when you escape a life of enslavement, you don't do it halfway." He looked back up the path. "I remember once we talked about... something like that. I know I told someone once that Tevinter might be nice... if not for the rampant demons and abominations." He tugged at the strap over his shoulder. "This... isn't going to be easy, is it?" he asked softly. It wasn't clear if he meant the quest, or something deeper than that.