He doesn't have any proof, not beyond gut instinct and the old truism: demons lie. The skies are clear, and blue, and no distant cities loom on the horizon. The creature still isn't attacking him.
But even if it's not attacking, the demon -- for whatever reason -- has chosen to focus on him. And so long as he keeps its attention, that means one less demon standing between Hawke, the Inquisitor, and their path out of the Fade. Some sacrifices don't have to end in death.
(Maker. He's so damned tired. The moment he stopped moving, Alistair became acutely aware of every ache in his body, every muscle strained past its limit. He's not even sure he could hold his own if it tried to run him through with that longsword.)
Slowly, he lowers his weapons. It doesn't look like a wholly controlled movement -- more like the weight has dragged his arms down.
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He doesn't have any proof, not beyond gut instinct and the old truism: demons lie. The skies are clear, and blue, and no distant cities loom on the horizon. The creature still isn't attacking him.
But even if it's not attacking, the demon -- for whatever reason -- has chosen to focus on him. And so long as he keeps its attention, that means one less demon standing between Hawke, the Inquisitor, and their path out of the Fade. Some sacrifices don't have to end in death.
(Maker. He's so damned tired. The moment he stopped moving, Alistair became acutely aware of every ache in his body, every muscle strained past its limit. He's not even sure he could hold his own if it tried to run him through with that longsword.)
Slowly, he lowers his weapons. It doesn't look like a wholly controlled movement -- more like the weight has dragged his arms down.