faderift | Return to the Blackmarsh

As that first howl echoes throughout the area, Kain immediately gets his sword in hand. He's already preparing his ring of pain, readying himself for the inevitable battle. He'd been pretty much expecting that something would come after them soon enough... it was only a matter of time, really.

"Over there... and there..." He scans the area, pointing whenever he spots a glint of eyes stalking toward them. They're most definitely trying to surround the group, the sneaky bastards.

Kain waits and watches, holding steady... until the first one charges in toward them. After that first one, another howl goes through the pack as the rest take that as a signal to follow, rushing in for the attack. Kain starts in with the counterattacking immediately, his heavy sword slashing toward the nearest wolf.

Kain is mainly in a trance over the sight of the dragon. He's glad he witnessed its power, to be perfectly honest, and he would do it again if he had a chance. He's normally calm and measured about most things but dragons bring out a really dangerous, reckless streak. He has no patience for anything else at present.

"And? Inessa quite clearly did it first. We did nothing wrong, as far as I'm concerned." Petulantly, Kain stalks away from the group. He's still nearby and within sight and will follow to keep up with them, but for the moment? He really needs to not be directly near anyone, for a variety of reasons.

Anders sends spikes of ice outward, stabbing up to try to trap and freeze some of them, cut down on the numbers they have to deal with. It's not nice to be back here, really.

There are a lot of them, but there aren't too many, thankfully. Anders moves with confidence as he hurls his chosen element; it's nice when the opponent is a mindless beast. There's far less guilt there.

...Right. A full-grown adult, stalking off and acting justified when he could have brought down actual death on their heads. That will be in the report later, because it's a risk factor. A serious risk factor.

"No touching," he repeats, making sure his voice carries as they head deeper into the Marsh.

"Gonna be a long trip." She observes,

It's far milder than what she means to say, which is don't be a tit, we all did it, but Inessa's here, and Anders isn't anyone she trusts jumpy, and the day she comes riding to an Orlesian warden's defense is the day they toss her on the pyre.

One last, wary look to the bones. Not so hard as it was before to resist patting its nose.

Every one of us, back to mud.

There's also recognizing you aren't able to rationally deal at the moment and removing yourself from a situation before it escalates further. Sure, the bit of frustration and downright petty upset feelings set it off, given he's (in his perspective) not the only one at fault and all and is a bit grumpy over that aspect. But for the most part, Kain is just being careful that he doesn't make matters worse.

The apparition of the dragon Meant Something to him, and it clouded his judgment. Plain and simple.

After a while goes by, he rejoins the group. "I apologize. I would never intentionally endanger the group, but this specific situation... well. It's complicated. I won't ever do such things in the future. I take this place's darkness and dangers seriously." Dragons just fuck with his head, in a perhaps not so good way sometimes. "Admittedly I was also too entranced and intrigued to even hear the warning properly." Which made him all tunnel-focused and not paying attention to things and... well, and then he'd done something reckless. He's not someone to just risk everyone's lives for no reason, but... well... he's a bit unsettled, himself, by just how much it had overcome his mind. Enough that he'd ignored all else. "Who knows, our very proximity may have been just as much to blame as our touching it. Our merely walking through this place probably isn't such a good idea, if you consider it, but here we are."

Edited 2017-10-13 19:45 (UTC)

Relieved when Kain rejoins the group -the Blackmarsh isn't a place to wander too far away- Inessa nods, unsurprised at Kain's explanation. She could tell his state of mind definitely shifted when the dragon appeared, but...nonetheless, they must move on.

"It may have, yes, which means no more side-trips unless they are necessary. We cannot risk provoking what echoes in the Blackmarsh." Her look definitely says that she has more on her mind, but--"Let us refocus on the orb we must find."

(To the rift and the orb thread!)

The wolves' numbers are deceiving; this small party of adventurers is indeed being flanked.

"Mind the perimeter!" Loghain puts himself beside Melys and Myr in time to shield bash one of the blighted wolves as it comes charging towards them from the underbrush.The blow knocks it back, and before it can regain its sense and scramble to its feet, Loghain is quick to thrust his sword clear through its neck; it lets out a strangle snarl, but when he jerks the blade out of it again, it stays down.

"Welcome t'Ferelden."

Makes you wonder why Orlais even bothered, Myr thinks, knowing better than to put voice to it. Not that there's time--

He speaks a wisp out of the Fade to bolster his spells, marking as he does--"Mind the perimeter!"--where there may yet be a gap in their defenses. An abbreviated gesture and a sweep of his staff places a paralysis glyph opposite Loghain. It's none too soon--the glyph's only just brightened to life when another snarling wolf breaks cover and throws itself into the fray, clipping the spell as it leaps and tumbling to sprawled stop.

"Melys--" She's got eyes to aim a deathstroke before the beast regains the use of its limbs.

A pair of blight wolves attempt to cross her array but quickly become engulfed in ice, and she stakes advantage of this to hit one with Stonefist. The boulder shatters, staggering nearby foes. Mindful of Loghain's words, she turns upon finishing off the other to spot those charging from another direction. Narrowing her eyes, Inessa focuses and unleashes her skill as a Necromancer, casting Horror on the creatures.

Garahel, as promised, stands guard with Myr and growls at the beasts. Any blight wolf that looks as though it might get too close is met with heavy, muscled resistance and powerful jaws. While outnumbered, his kaddis does seem to be protecting him for the time being.

It’s there. It’s there and prone before her, primed for the strike. In another moment it’ll be up again, and —

(Spines growing crooked from its jaws, pitch slopping from the place where flesh meets bone,)

— She freezes. Her arm shakes, and she freezes a moment too long: The spell breaks. The wolf throws itself up, snarling, a lunge there’s barely time to shove Myr free of, with Garahel occupied at another of the beasts. There's still time, she can still put an end to this. Needs to put an end to it.

Contracting the Blight,

Her fingers curl, hand won’t move.

It's been a whole five minutes since Melys poked the sign against evil out over her chest, which means she's got fingers lifted halfway to it when that awful light flickers into life, sends her bent over her palm in sudden pain.

There aren't words to put to it. There's not a whole lot of thought, save that as she untwists herself up to get an eyeful of — of fuck, what the fuck is that —

It occurs to her, distantly, that no one's ever much explained how this ought to go. A desperate look shot between Anders (don't think about it too hard), Inessa, Kain.

"Right," She croaks, and it doesn't take a mind-reader to recognize the pictures behind the swamp reflections of her eyes, instinct screaming that now would be a good time to get out of here.

Edited 2017-10-14 18:56 (UTC)

Better death than the Blight. Still, best neither of those options come to pass.

In a decidedly un-warrior-like move, Loghain strikes out at the wolf's head with his foot as it poises itself for a rallying lunge at Melys. His steel boot connects with a solid-sounding crack against its skull, sending it staggering backward. Before it can recover, he slashes the blade of his sword across its throat, sending gouts of blood spurting into the boggy soil.

"Regroup!" he calls to the rest; it seems one can take the general out of the army, but taking the army out of the general is another matter entirely. He pivots to aid Garahel and Inessa.

The shove takes him mid-cast, splintering his concentration and magic alike when he's sent staggering. Protest wells up in his throat--what was that for--dies with the wolf as Loghain steps in to put the beast down. Too close, that was too near a thing--their barriers need reinforcing. He reaches to twist the Fade into a shield around them--

--And feels the oleaginous worm-track that horror leaves through the Veil like it's in his own bones. It's distant, removed, not cast on him, but last time it had felt like that too--for an instant--as the spell came creeping in around the edges of his vulnerable sleeping mind.

"Regroup!" This isn't Hasmal Circle. That isn't Knight-Commander Brycen's voice; the accent is wrong, all of this is wrong, unreal down to the rotten core of it. It's happening again--it's already too late--once the magic's crept inside your head there isn't any stopping it or ignoring what it shows you, isn't any unseeing but to stop seeing altogether. No running, no hiding, no hope except that the damage not be so bad this time, Maker please, not again.

Not again, not again, not again-- He stands rooted in place with his pulse singing in his ears, his tongue bitten to bleeding as he chokes back a scream.

Melys has frozen, Myrobalan has frozen, and there are still wolves. Loghain's call for regrouping is a good idea and it would work if they were all wardens, all trained for combat. They're not.

"Put them in the middle!" Anders shouts back. "Kain, Inessa, Loghain!" He's moving as he speaks, putting to action his words before there's any response. With a flash of green he renews the barriers around everyone before he gives up on some caution and creates a ring of fire around the whole group that any incoming wolves will have to cross.

The light reflects off two pairs of wolf eyes that he can see from his vantage point... but they don't turn away. Of course. They're blighted; fear doesn't do to them what it does to normal creatures. But that's fine, because they die like normal creatures and that gets demonstrated with an arcane blast of energy that he slams into the ribs and spine of the one on the left, crumpling it.

It's horribly bizarre seeing a younger copy of himself standing there, knowing what's about to happen back then. They're about to be thrown in, and then they meet Justice. It's just an echo. There's no changing it. That doesn't stop him from wishing he could do something until there are suddenly demons dropping in and he has far more pressing concerns.

He's about to try to quip, ask something about why pride demons are the largest, say something about egos tromping around, and then he catches Melys' look and the lack of her holding up her hand. She might not have done this before, there's a chance no one's explained it.

There's also a chance they have and if he says something she'll call him an ass, but really, he can't get lower in her opinion. He might as well try.

"Hand, or wherever the shard is, like this toward the center of the rift," he says, holding his hand up and pointing it palm-first at the rift. "It'll react." Then he's turning and casting arcane prison on the other pride demon, hoping to slow it in its tracks. Two at once is a lot for any party to take on.

Edited 2017-10-15 08:04 (UTC)

Kain responds to the call to regroup at once, automatic fighting instincts taking over. They've still got problems on hand... several snarling, growling problems. The eerie glint in their eyes is a look that Kain is all too familiar with... one that he's been trained to destroy. Blighted enemies are just terrible overall, really.

"Right!" At Anders' shout, Kain starts moving position, putting himself between the non-Wardens and the incoming wolves, already lunging with his sword to keep those wolves away from their frozen comrades. It's not the first time he's seen someone freeze up in the midst of battle... and like any of those other times, he's ready to defend them with everything he has, until they're able to regain their senses. Or they get rid of all the wolves. Whichever comes first.

He whirls about, his sword arcing through the air. The battle itself is already fueling him... the more wounded the wolves, the more they fall... the stronger he is. It's the reaver way. He activates his Dragon-Rage technique next, putting that to use to start really doing some more serious damage with each strike of his sword. He cries out triumphantly as he makes a heavy, killing blow on one of the creatures, smashing his sword right down upon its head.

Of all the things, it had to be a rift. By now, Kain has come across a few of them, but it doesn't get any easier to handle their presence. Especially since he himself has a shard. It's not something he advertises. In fact, he actively hides it, taking pains to keep the hand under a thick glove. He still likes to pretend it's not there, most of the time, but in the presence of a rift, he can't ignore it.

Especially not when that familiar sharp burning ache hits him. He clenches his hand into a fist, initially wanting to leave the task to another, but... no, not when Melys is so overwhelmed. Maker damn it. He knows he has to help.

He removes the glove, revealing the glowing green in his palm. "Like this!" Kain holds his hand up, planting his feet on the ground in a defensive, steady stance. As he holds the hand up, the shard starts reacting with the rift, the green energy bursting from his hand toward the rift.

"Understood!" Myr's state hasn't gone entirely unnoticed, though Inessa can't concentrate fully on him with so many blight wolves yet to defeat. Reminding herself that Garahel's sole task is to protect him, she obeys the order to regroup and keep those two in the middle, as much as they possibly can do so.

The renew of their barriers means Inessa can concentrate more on offense, and she does. She centers Firestorm on the outside of that ring of fire, flaming meteors pummeling any wolves in range for the next several seconds. Whatever is left after that will hopefully be easier pickings for them all.

The wolf goes down, the officer's shouting, and Myr's --

Something's happening to Myr.

There's magic all about them, terrifyingly close, but it whirls with the wardens in a space outside her immediate concern: Too fast, too slow; too easily-dismissed beside the black sheen of ichor.

(Beside the still rigidity of Myr,)

"Hey," She croaks, and can't say whether it's the chaos of the scene or something else that sounds her voice distant.

Her bad arm snakes out (don't be wrong, don't be wrong) to wrap about his, the necessity of reach dragging her close. Her side heaves, expression slack as she presses against him.

Maker, let this be over.

(Maker, don't let him have gone wrong,)

Edited 2017-10-18 16:12 (UTC)

This isn't Hasmal Circle. This isn't the Blackmarsh, either-- Nothing is real but each breath stinging in a throat made hoarse as if by screaming (but he hasn't been; he remembers--) and the crushing certainty of ruin.

All the rest impinges on someone else: Smells of smoke and fire, wet dog, burned fur, the stench of swamp (the feel of blood and worse on his fingertips); distant shouting, mabari growling, bone snapping flesh parting heartbeat racing (they'll come back and this time there's no driving them from the dark behind eyes no longer there)--

"Hey," and someone breaks through the fog of derealization to touch him, draw close. It makes him start in awful shock and go for his spirit blade--but it's pinned between them, slowing his response until memory can work.

Melys, this is Melys; Melys who came with him to haunted Sundermount, who's eaten spiders, who knows how corrosive pity is. She wasn't there three years ago.

She's here now, anchoring the present in flesh and bone pressed against his side.

(Melys, who's afraid of magic.)

Myr shudders and clutches at her, man to lifeline. "Here," he husks--here, not lost. He's remembered where he is.

Rift, echoes, demons-- If Myr had anything in him left to be alarmed with he'd be so now. All he can muster is a dull gut-churning unease at the feel of the hex bending a kink in reality.

Panic is exhausting, but doesn't absolve one of duty. He halts as Melys does, reaching out to her in a brief steadying touch. Nothing he can say on the subject of closing the rift--but he is here.

And here for more than simple comfort. There's a battle to be joined shortly and he'll be damned if he freezes for this one.

The Fade demands will but not conviction out of a mage. This is good: Myr doesn't feel much like anyone's champion right now, though he invokes the mantle of one with the mechanical surety of long practice. A pale gold aureole chases the gloom from around him--around them--bringing with it strength for sword-arms and spells, and bolstering might to fortify against the demon's attacks.

She stares dumbly at Anders, tries to make out the words, and then he's turning, throwing himself at that thing looks like some kid's drawing of an ox. The Orlesian's gone and wripped his own hand clear up, about to wave hello to all life's horrifying mystery.

(Myr's fingers on her, too small and strong for another's, and she'd have to bowl him over to bolt now.)

Force shakes the edges of the anchor, a burning conduit, a gate to something else. Melys lifts her palm --

(Is this what power feels like? She never wanted that.)

The immediate sense that something's gone wrong, bizarre in its certainty. The pressure in the air before a storm, or the first time you crack a bone; she knows even without a frame for the shape: Something's wrong with this.

It holds her fixed, marveling even as she waits for it to hit, for the cavalcade of shit just about to spill.

Her hand shudders,

The rift shudders, splits.

Edited ("I'm not going to double edit any more" I said, lying to us all) 2017-10-19 15:44 (UTC)

Grateful that Melys has the direction she needs, Inessa focuses on doing her part one the shardbearing duo's efforts produce results. The moment those demons kneel or freeze, temporarily stunned by the rift, she casts Stonefist on the same pride demon as before. Before the stun has a chance of wearing off, Inessa casts her ice mine array for added protection.

Garahel remains close to his charge, snapping and rending a nearby stunned Shade with his jaws. One down, several to go.

It would really be nice if one errand didn't involve things trying to eat his group, or stomp on them, or otherwise maiming or injuring. Being back here is exhausting in its own right but there are a flood of demons to go along with it.

A wave of energy hits him and he gives Myr a glance of thanks, reminding himself to say it later.

And he should probably be careful with what he says to Melys later, because there's no chance she's not going to be prickly about seemingly creating another rift. For now, he's setting fire to the pride demon he's focusing on, hoping to wear it down some, following it up with a series of flung rocks at its head. He doesn't really want to draw its attention, but considering how they may have more company soon dividing and conquering may be the best tactic.

Edited ( Read poorly) 2017-10-20 03:13 (UTC)

Return to the Blackmarsh

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Heard u liked rifts so we put a rift by ur rift

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