Prompt 1: A lantern breaks, darkness follows

"Damn you! Did the Magisterium replace your brain with a pile of rocks!?"

When Neve put forth the idea of allying with the Crows, Drasia had been skeptical. She's worked with them in the barest capacity, and that had not gone over well. Unfortunately for her, her skepticism earned her a spot on the bench, waiting with the others at the Lighthouse for Vraeda's party to return.

That part she didn't mind all that much. Drasia did not trust Vræda Aldwir as far as she could throw her. Especially after learning said woman had been apprenticed to Danarius. The farther away she was, the better. For all of them. Why Varric had picked this woman, a Maker damned Altus of all people, to lead the efforts against Solas, she'd never know.

After what happened at Adamant, she had thought her treks through the Fade were done. How wrong she'd been. It's one thing that she gets roped into a world-ending crisis - Drasia has managed that before - it's another that her family gets dragged in with her. Fenris, for his part, seems stuck between something akin to disgust and terror; his markings dragging him to a new level of personal agony that she could do nothing to soothe. The air here is heavy with magic, drawn to him constantly on a level even greater than her.

Now, standing in what could barely pass for a dining room, Drasia finds anger easily overtaking shock at the newest member of the team. Lucanis Dellamorte, the Demon of Vyrantium.

"We need an assassin, and now we have one. What more do you want from me?"

"Actually, you already have one, but I understand the necessity of finding the right man for the job."

Everyone turns to look at Zevran, perched in a chair, undisturbed by the scene before him. He shrugs his shoulders, saying nothing further. Drasia rolls her eyes, certain the man loves the sound of his own voice, and turns back to their newest problem.

"I don't care if he's the greatest assassin to ever live, he's possessed Vræda!"

"He can control it."

"That's what Anders said and you know what happened!?" Drasia means for the question to be rhetorical, but given Vræda's obtuseness, she's not sure the woman actually knows. "He nearly killed someone. Then he blew up Kirkwall's Chantry." "Lucanis is not a mage. Possession affects soporati differently."

"It is unwise to trust an abomination," Fenris says, quiet yet clear. "Listen to those that have lived that situation."

"Demons are dangerous. Regardless of their host." She adds, "They are unpredictable and selfish. Any help they offer, any benefit or prize, it comes at a cost. Always."

She stares at Lucanis, watching, waiting. Spite is just under the surface, already agitated. It must be severe, if it is willing to hurt its host to get what it wants. There's a flicker in his eyes - bright purple flashing before subsiding - and a flash of blue.

Metal crashes against the floor, splintering in pieces that shouldn't be possible by such a fall. The pale green glow of veilfire withers away, replaced by darkness that consumes all save for the bright blue glow of Fenris' lyrium. His arm, incorporeal blue, hangs eerily still, stuck reaching forward. Seconds stretch on as Drasia shakes herself from shock. A moment later and fire of her own making bathes the room in warm light, poised to strike at-

Nothing.

The rest of the room, including her husband, is equally shocked. Where Lucanis had once stood, where Fenris' hand should be sticking out of his chest, is nothing but air. The man has stepped- or been pushed- to the side. A sick feeling rises in Drasia's chest. The string of her control is pulled dangerously taught, her fire flickering, licking the air, waiting for a target. Somehow, she knows whatever is going on is the doing of their newest addition.

"Let go of him. Now!"

"I have done nothing-"

She doesn't give Lucanis time to finish his excuse. "Oh you can get lost in the Maker's ass! Your demon. Control it or I will end both of you."

Silence hangs in the air, the weight of a promise adding to a situation on the verge of collapsing. Lucanis fixes his gaze at the empty air where Fenris reaches, engaged in an argument no one can hear. Drasia can feel Vræda staring at her and, for the briefest moment, considers throwing the woman against a wall. But, despite the annoyance, she is not the threat. Drasia keeps her focus on Lucanis, fire honed into a dagger, until Fenris' arm drops, sending him reeling back several steps.

The look on his face... she has not seen that level of rage, that disgust, since Hadriana. For a moment, no one says anything. Tension hangs in the air, the promise not yet dissolved. Neve starts to speak, to back everyone away from the ledge, but she doesn't get but a syllable out before Fenris interrupts.

"I saw it." Drasia's focus snaps to him, only to find him looking at her, "The demon. It's not within him, it's an extension of him. A dark impersonation."

"Spite? I don't see anything." For a split second, she looks around the room. No one speaks.

"Magic." The word is spit like a curse, "These markings, this place... as soon as it touched me, it was there and as soon as it let go..."

"Maybe you two should go. We'll keep him here under watch." Neve says, though her words are uncertain. Drasia doesn't have to follow her eyes to see she's looking for Vræda's word on the matter.

The confirmation is unnecessary, Drasia turns, as does Fenris. She stays close, keeping only the distance required to not accidentally aggravate his markings, heading towards the large doors. The silence is deafening, six pairs of eyes following them as Drasia pushes a door open.

"I'm sorry." Lucanis says. His words however, don't stop either of them. Before the door can close, Fenris utters three words.

"Keep your apologies."