Ell was quick to thrust the spear through the frozen Genlock's head before it could start moving again, the majority of its exterior shattering. He was careful to use what remained to shove the monster back and away from himself, and he scowled at the black blood that clung to the blade. "No need to remind me," he said softly. "I was in Denerim when Solona Amell slew the Archdemon. Or, they told me I was. Either way, we took pains to avoid prolonged contact to their blood. It burned like hot oil to the touch, and the ones who didn't get it off soon enough were lucky to simply die."<br/><br/>He paused and considered his spear. "Lana... would this work for a makeshift staff? If I were to snap the head off of it, could you use it to work spells more efficiently?" He glanced at her and shrugged lightly. "I don't honestly know how staves work at all. That's not the lyrium, either, I've never had a clue."<br/><br/>Either way, there wasn't much opportunity for talking after that. The genlocks came quick and dense, though thankfully never more than two or three at a time. It seemed to Ellion that they were lesser, somehow--not just for the lack of a guiding force, but more that their armor was tattered and rotten and their weapons were barely more than rust. He wasn't sure precisely how long this tunnel had been closed, but he would have bet solid gold that these darkspawn had been trapped within ever since.<br/><br/>Still, decayed or not, they were built for the sole purpose to kill, and it was busy work dispatching them with only the two. By the time they came to the far exit, hours later, his armor was stained with their corrupted blood, though he'd been lucky enough to keep all but a few drops from his exposed face. The door hung ajar on its hinges, the space above it too high for the shorter genlock to reach--and even if they had, they were too stocky for it. He looked up at the gap before he sheathed his sword and began to unbuckle and unclasp his ruined armor; it was compromised, tainted by darkspawn blood. More pointedly, he had thought on the wisdom of chasing a dangerous mage while dressed as an obvious Templar. A mage strong enough to affect the Fade would be able to handle him with ease, lyrium-bloated or not.<br/><br/>He left his desecrated armor in a neat, tidy pile, left wearing his tunic and pants beneath. Both were relatively clean, with only some minor stains--nothing he couldn't replace in a town when they found one. He put his back to the broken door and braced, fingers laced together between his legs. "Climb up," he told her quietly, "then give me a hand once you're up there." He paused as a distant noise rumbled through the cavern, and his eyes narrowed. It sounded again, closer, mere moments later, and he felt his blood run cold. He knew that cry, that animalistic howl. How they had avoided it in the dark up til now he would never know, but clearly it had found their scent somehow. "Ogre. Quick, Lana, up and over. Hurry, now."