<strong>Marc Alton: Heh<br/>In the Korcari Wilds Northwest of Ostagar</strong><br/><br/>Standing at a lofty 187 centimeters, with dark Antivan skin and a shock of straight black hair, Marc Alton looked every bit the foreigner out here in the cold woods of the southern Ferelden.  And what a j--<br/><br/>The mage froze, one hand on a pine tree, both feet planted firmly in the soft loam of the forest floor.  His head tilted, an ear to wind...<br/><br/>Crashing armor, distant yells.  Human.  Getting closer.<br/><br/>Marc set off at a dead run.  He kept his arms up in front of his face to deflect branches and pine needles.  He barreled between two young saplings, jumping the small patch of muddy water just beyond.  He landed unevenly, one foot sinking deep into the loam.  The apostate stumbled, paused, and yanked.  The limb came free with a dull<em>splop</em>.<br/><br/>The yelling and clashing armor was practically upon him now.  How had they moved so fast?<br/><br/>Marc whirled around in time to see a templar - tabard fluttering and singed, helmet discarded, shield dented and cracked - sprint out of a nearby thicket of tall bushes.  The woman was wild-eyed and young, her sword gone, and she used the shield like a ram, pushing aside tree branches and smashing through shrubs blindly.<br/><br/>Marc simply stood still, watching her.  He remembered her as one of the templars from his escort: Alla.  She was on her first assignment out of the tower, fresh out of training, and the butt of many mage jokes behind the backs of the other templars.  If she had a spine, it must be as soft as loose dirt.<br/><br/>Alla finally saw Marc standing near the thick pine tree.  Her expression shifted instantly to despair, but then a hopeful look appeared.  "Marc!" she called out, standing ten paces from him.  "Gale's gone mad in the head.  Don't let her kill me!"<br/><br/>Gale was another mage, one of those who went in on Marc's little plot to go rogue.  Or rather, go apostate.  She had been a loose cannon even under the supervision of the Circle and the templars.  He could just imagine that bitch now.<br/><br/>The templar took a pleading step towards Marc, and Marc took a step back.  He felt pity for Alla.  No weapon, no nerve, and unlucky enough to be wearing templar armor in the same area as Gale.<br/><br/>Marc was about to speak when Gale burst out of the bush thicket.  With short red hair, very pale skin, and a pinched face that made her look like she was always angry, the pint-sized apostate was disproportionately terrifying.  Alla's eyes went wide, and Marc knew that whatever thought was going through her head was going to be her last.  Unless he stepped in.<br/><br/>"Gale!" he shouted, suddenly aware of how far his voice had to have carried.  "She's unarmed, not a threat!"<br/><br/>Gale, who had been focused on Alla until Marc spoke, swung her tight eyes to stare at him.  "She's a templar Marc."<br/><br/><br/>((OOC: Gale and Alla are NPCs; feel free to use them.  Also, if someone could jump into the situation to get some plot going, that'd be awesome!))