"I'm watching the blood," Dorian sighs. It doesn't take too much restraint not to go ahead and snap something about definitely not wanting to catch the Blight, mostly because he is preoccupied with not catching the Blight.

Stepping side along and out of the way of the spill of filth and ice, Dorian turns his attention towards the figures shambling out of the darkness. They're offputtingly human in affect, intelligence and precision in their movements, in a way he doesn't associate with a demon driven mad by the sensory input of the waking world. Still, they aren't human. Intelligence doesn't connote humanity. You learn that in Tevinter.

With a sharp gesture of his staff, the leap of electricity branches off towards the gloomy passage way ahead, suddenly brightening it as lightning leaps from body to body, making them twitch and jerk like puppets.