Ceiling collapsing, traps on the ground, fighting half in and half out of the dark, Morrigan a spider? Zevran is right at home. Even with the light offered he slips in quickly, making a second pass through the huddle of mages. Ribs and joints, seeking out the soft, vulnerable spaces with his flashing blades. He leaps over one of the icy sigils etched into the ground to continue his darting attacks, sliding past the mage caught in Merrill's crushing prison. Dropping a bottle of Antivan fire at his feet to add to the chaos and obscure his fellow's attempts at traps he vaults over the skittering roll of Morrigan's spider form.

Familiar tactics for an unfamiliar place.