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Fog, more soot and ash than mist overcame the chateau. The party goers continue to mill about, adding the weather to their list of complaints as they sample cheese. Fenris senses it first. The air is foul like the nights his master would commit crimes against a person’s very soul in the name of blood magic. His stance becomes more defensive than it had been before and on instinct the lyrium in his tattoos glows hot, causing the mist around him to shimmer.
Aveline puts down her drink as she watches him, tensed and ready to snarl. She turns to Hake who has her hands on her blades. Setting aside her drink, Aveline readies her shield and ax. They are a team. When one of them — especially Fenris readies for battle they all do.
"Keep close. I don’t want to lose you in the fog," Hawke commands. Aveline sharpens her stance and Fenris has enough sense left in him to take his absurdly large sword in his hands. Aveline half expected him to fight barefooted for how agitated he is.
"Of course. We’re not going to leave you now that the party has finally gotten interesting." She and Hawke share a laugh. It’s a quick thing, a bark of air before they center themselves.
Party guests start to scream. They each recognize the sound, that of a person being torn apart by blood magic. They’ve encountered it enough times to know this particular sort of agony. Screams bounce off the courtyard’s walls. Through the fog the crowd runs, panic making them blind. Hawke cuts through it, both blades ready. Aveline and Fenris follow without word.
When they see the first monster Aveline hesitates for the smallest of moments. Grey skin, sickle hands, a head hanging between it’s legs with beetle-like eyes and a maw of fangs. It’s evil unlike anything she’s seen before — including all the Darkspawn she’d slain in Ferelden. Fenris makes a noise, choked and startled like a horse being struck. Hawke leaps at it and starts gouging the creature’s middle. It bleeds.
Aveline grins and charges. If it bleeds it can be killed.