i'll be your shadow in the dark

[byblow]

WHO: Alistair, Dorian Pavus, Rafael Viteri, Scipio the Marvel, some horses, some darkspawn.
WHAT: Chekhov's vials of darkspawn blood.
WHEN: Early Firstfall.
WHERE: Mountain paths and what's left of Haven.

N—

Bunch of mining tunnels under ruins. Darkspawn peeking their heads through. Got Wardens up there don't you?

—J

Comments

@ Dorian

[byblow]

The invitation began with hey—you're a mage, and Alistair could not begin to explain why it worked, but here they are.

"I should have told you to bring wax."

This isn't the first thing he's said since they left, but it is the first thing that hasn't been purely logistical or aimed at corralling the two other Wardens, who have now drifted ahead on their horses. They could just as easily have drifted behind, but Alistair likes being able to see they're still pointed in a direction that isn't straight toward Antiva. That leaves him with the Tevinter, who is--probably--more sober than last time. He hasn't fallen off his horse or anything.

"For your ears," he clarifies. "We're noisy sleepers. And noisy in general, I guess, but that's not a Warden thing. Just your bad luck." He's not as bundled as some people, but he does have a cowl protecting his ears, and he doesn't look around it to see if Dorian is even listening. "Or your just desserts for the sins of your countrymen. But did you know the first Wardens were Tevinter? You probably know that."

@ Rafael & Scipio

[byblow]

They arrive in Haven too late to venture underground, where it will be dark regardless but less dark if they wait for sunrise, maybe, probably, or at least less likely for there to be a total massacre if their meddling rouses a whole swarm of darkspawn to the surface to overrun the sleeping laborers who are still here clearing the wreckage.

So: sleeping in a half-wrecked Chantry. It's warmer than a tent, but it can still only go so well and last so long, with the nightmares. One of the laborers kicks Alistair awake before dawn over some minor whimpering, and while he makes bland, sticky porridge over a fire outside, he briefly but seriously reconsiders his position on letting them all die of corruption. Light sleepers first.

There aren't actually any bowls, but there are metal tankards fished out of the wrecked tavern, only slightly charred. When Scipio and Rafael appear--perhaps also kicked awake, perhaps eager to get started, who knows (ha ha, Alistair knows, they were definitely kicked)--he slops porridge into mugs for both of them without asking if they want any. It's all there is, unless they have something better in their pockets, and he isn't taking them anywhere on empty stomachs.

"Have either of you done this before?"

@ Dorian again

[byblow]

They come out of the dark less subtly than spiders or deepstalkers, noisily and bearing torches, and not in too great a number. Alistair wouldn't have come down here with two untested thieves and a mage with no immunity if there were too many. Still: a few more than he would have liked.

Midway through the carnage, his sword sick through a hurlock's chest and into the icy tunnel for beneath him, he raises his head to look towards Dorian. "Coming up behind you," he barks. He pulls his sword free and ducks to cut the creature's throat, to be certain, and has time to wipe his face with his arm and adjust his hold on his shield before the ice and stone and wood behind Dorian begin to crumble and crash.

The other way, Scipio and Rafael have a handful of archers distracted and disabled and well in hand. And they aren't civilian(ish) volunteers. Alistair looks back at them to be sure they aren't dead, but he's at Dorian's side as the torchlight and stink of Blight-rot both seep through the falling wall.

"Watch the blood," he warns, probably for the fifth time, and rocks his sword low to the ground to loosen his wrist.