faderift | Return to the Blackmarsh

He places himself between Myr and Melys, and the last of the wolves who, undaunted by the circle of flames, lunge through it to meet their ends. He will give himself time to feel a pang of bitter pity for the poor creatures once they've been put out of their misery and the danger has passed. For now, he metes out death unrelentingly, until the last of the blight wolves gives a pained groan and collapses to the boggy earth under the weight of his blade.

Winded, he jerks the sword out and drags the back of his gauntleted wrist across his brow, then turns to look to the two the group had formed the protective circle around. He won't patronize them by crouching before them, asking if they're all right; they aren't.

"Clear," he says breathlessly instead, and waits for the flames to recede.

In the midst of battle, that's what Kain focuses on, that's all he has time to worry about. He keeps swinging and striking until his area is clear of wolves as well, and there's no sign of any others slinking out from the shadows. Still, Kain remains wary and watchful, eyeing the area for a few tense moments. Even after the all clear is given, he remains on edge, listening for sounds of anything moving out there. He's spattered with blood: mostly the wolves', some of his own from using his specialized skills... but he's in pretty decent shape, considering that.

He lets out a long breath after another moment, silently nodding agreement. It seems they're safe for now. Relatively. There's no safety out here, after all. He comes back over, looking at Myr and Melys with concern. It's not his place to get in the middle of things... he's not all that great at comfort, either... but he at least wants to see that everything is all right.

"Good, then we can move on... when we're ready." Waiting to collect themselves seems for the best, but they can't linger, either.

A little bolstering is definitely a good thing right about now. Kain is ready for this to be a long, challenging battle... rifts always cause that... But when the second rift appears, that's a total shock. He's stunned by the sight of it, wondering in that moment what's going wrong. That doesn't happen... that just doesn't happen...

But there's no time to just stand around gaping at the sight of the double rifts. The first wave are still pretty stunned, and Kain manages to get a good hit on one of those, before he's overtaken by one of the others that's just regaining its senses. He growls, sword slamming into the demon. Right now, with the rift... no, rifts to deal with... the demons are just more of an annoying distraction. He has to get past this one. He has to get in a position to try tackling at least one of those rifts.

"Get out of here, demon!" He whirls around, striking it, turning his attention once more to the nearest rift, the original and larger of the two. He aims his hand toward it, feeling that familiar unsettling tingle as the shard interacts with the rift. He puts all his effort and focus into this. He's got to work on closing it before...

...before yet another rift erupts, another smaller one nearby. "Oh, Maker's... Can we not have this!?"

He waits a beat after it's declared all clear. Last time he'd been here there'd been plenty of ambushes, many times where it had looked fine and then more creatures had stormed in, but nothing stirs and he lowers his hands, putting the ring of fire out.

"Is everyone all right? Does anyone need to be seen to?" Myr wouldn't notice if Anders was to look over at him, but Melys would so Anders speaks out toward the marsh itself. Every now and then he doesn't entirely fail at being diplomatic.

At the Crown and Lion inn, Inessa sits by the fire with a glass of mulled wine in one hand, and the orb in her other. As she sips, she inspects the device; inert for now, but that they found it intact gives her hope. At the very least, their quest was a success and there is no further reason to enter that unholy place. (Please, Maker, don't let her be tempting fate by thinking that.)

Glancing up, she offers a tired smile for whoever approaches. "Come, join me. It's been quite a mission, and your feet must be as sore as mine. Give them a rest for a bit." A weary Garahel, curled up at her feet, looks up and wags his tail hopefully. He was a good boy during the mission, right?

Edited 2017-10-24 03:15 (UTC)

"So what," he says, plopping into the chair and somehow not spilling his own mug, "do you think someone needs to do to never, ever wind up in that marsh again? Because I might be ready to do it. I'm so tired of the Blackmarsh."

But life tends to drag him to places he doesn't want to go, for some reason. Anders shoots Garahel a tired smile as he settles in.

"Ask someone else to take one for the team next time? It's only fair." Inessa darts him a wry smile, then shakes her head. "Not that there should be a 'next time', but I share that lack of enthusiasm."

She takes a sip, then sighs. "I can't imagine it was easy, seeing yourself in a Fade-vision, among all the other pleasant features of the area. It wasn't even your project, but you put yourself on the line to assist. I appreciate it, Anders."

"Seeing that and knowing what was to come for them? That was the highlight of the trip, I'm shocked you didn't think it would be." His tone is sarcastic and he follows up the words with a good gulp of his drink. There's no anger there, just resignation. Oghren and Velanna have drifted off again, Jonas and Justice are dead, there's no telling how or where Sigrun is. There's just him and Nate left here of their old group and it gets lonely sometimes.

"But I needed to be here. Nate's busy right now and I don't know how you could have found that spot without someone who'd been there before. There's not a chance I could have drawn a map." Seeing one landmark had lead to remembering another, and so on - it was the visual cues that helped him out.

Inessa invited Anders to sit with her in part so that he could vent if he so desired, so she's not offended regardless. After reuniting with that dreadful place, anyone would be on edge. Garahel lets out a soft wine of sympathy; he hates that place, too. His mistress puts down her wine long enough to slip him another treat. He's more than earned it, after protecting Myr.

"It's always better to have along someone who's been there, rather than rely on a map alone. At least you can say it has borne fruit; we found what we sought, so our time was not wasted." She stares down at the orb, thoughtful. "Now, to investigate the find. The project will have its hands full with this, I'm certain. I hope it will be key to understanding the one Corypheus possesses."

"I hope so. I hope it was worth this." He reaches out and perhaps unwisely pokes the orb, but at least he's not casting and nothing goes wrong. "The Mother was nowhere on his level, but she didn't make this, only found it. And yet she figured out how to use it."

He's glad she's dead. But that doesn't keep him from wishing they could ask her a lot more questions. ...Without having to look at her, that is, look at her and wonder who she was before that horrible transformation.

"Maybe this was once his, or maybe he only found the other orb and figured out how to use that. It's a shame there's no artist's mark carved into it." He's mostly joking. Someone had to have made this.

Inessa doesn't flinch when Anders pokes the orb, partly because she did it earlier and nothing happened. Whatever needs to be done to reawaken the artifact, they've not found it yet. "An intelligent broodmother...I absolutely do not envy you that hair-raising experience. It's a shame we can't learn just where it was found, but we'll make do with what we have."

Another sip of wine and she can almost feel it chasing away the cold and damp of the marsh. Almost. The note about an artist's mark may be a joke, but it has Inessa looking thoughtful. "None that we can see with the naked eye, though perhaps with enough research and resources, we'll find a way. If we could unlock its past, we could unlock its potential with that knowledge. I can only hope that's not an entirely unrealistic goal."

At some point while everyone else is distracted with drinking or resting at the inn, Inessa heads over to whatever corner Myr has placed himself. Garahel reaches him first, resting his large head on the elf's lap and wagging his tail. There's as much warmth as weariness in his mistress' voice as she sits down on the other side of him, mindful of personal space.

"You two made a good team, today."

"Her army is long dead, along with whichever one of them found it for her. I suppose..." He closes his eyes and sighs heavily. "We could have a team of Wardens go through the area she controlled and try to search for it, but Andraste's asscheeks would that be a slog. The Blackmarsh was bad. Those sections of the Deep Roads were worse and I would literally, actually pay to not be on that trip."

He regrets bringing her up already.

"And I'm not going to poke at the orb with magic to see what I can find out here, because I hate going in the Fade, too. I would truly like a mission where I get to go somewhere nice that doesn't involve Corypheus' forces trying to murder us in the middle of the night, because the Anderfels trip was nice until that point." And now they get to go back to Kirkwall. Traveling with the Inquisition, and Hawke, and Jonas, has always been so luxurious.

The thought of such a mission, far more unpleasant than what they'd just faced, has Inessa grimacing briefly. "Trust me, I will avoid such an outcome at all costs. What we have now is more than enough to keep us occupied, I believe." She pats Garahel, who whines at the notion of going to such a place. Even brave war hounds have their limits.

Swirling around the remaining wine in her glass, she nods sympathetically. Anders has already done so much for this project, and pressing more on him isn't going to happen. He deserves a reprieve. "Perhaps another will surface before long? Or you can always try suggesting a mission that just happens to take us to such a place. I have a feeling there are plenty of us who would not refuse."

"Mm." The noise is thoughtful, a little amused, and a little aware of this not likely happening.

"I shouldn't. Not because it would be a waste of resources, which it might be, but because any missions I suggest are approved by a biased authority and I don't want to come close to possibly taking advantage of that. He'd let me go if I asked and..." Anders shakes his head. "I don't want to ever have to fear that I may have used him."

He'd used Hawke. She'd used him in return, yes, it had been mutual, but it's something that will always make him question the feelings he'd had for her and how true they were. This relationship is special and precious to him.

"If something comes up I'll volunteer for it. Until then, I'll get to enjoy Kirkwall, and the Deep Roads, and every other hellhole that is sinking deeper into the mire thanks to Corypheus or Darkspawn or bandits or, I don't know, everything."

Inessa nods, expression softening a little as considers that's said. "That's a fear I would rather not live with as well, so I understand." That he's self-aware is a good sign, but if he's not comfortable she won't push for it. Besides, the whole idea is a great what-if, right now.

"There are an overabundance of locations which have been rendered hellish or already were, it's true. We go where we're needed, but saying that doesn't make it any easier to deal with one such area after another." She glances around the inn, pleasantly lit and lacking in blight wolves. "I have no complaints about what I've seen of Amaranthine, though. Does Nathaniel's sister still live here?"

"She does."

That's another area with memories, some of them good, some of them painful. He looks through Inessa for a moment before shaking his head.

"I... I don't know if she'd want to see me again. Considering everything." Kirkwall. "But I'll call Nate on the crystal, and see what he thinks. There's a chance she still has... Well. It's been a long time. Probably not."

He realizes, on reflection, a large part of that probably made no sense to Inessa and he looks down. "Sorry. The Wardens made me give up my first cat, said it was making me too soft. I think he went to her. But he'd be old now, and I don't know if he's still around."

He is, honestly, a little worried about Myrobalan and Melys. He is also aware of the fact that neither of them likely want him to be worried about them and that leaves him dithering a little when he sees Myr seated at what's got to be the warmest table in the place, over by the fire. Eventually though he buys a pitcher of cheap ale, takes two glasses, and brings it all over.

"Would you mind it if another Northerner sought so soak up warmth over here? I've brought tribute in the form of ale that's not technically awful."

It's a good corner. A quiet corner. A corner where no one's likely to notice him as he nurses the same slowly warming mug of ale and tries not to think very much. (What he wouldn't give for a loose stack of paper to fold, to keep his hands busy, try for something like meditation--running through Trials verse by verse without anything else to do is a poor substitute, but it's better than listening to his own anxieties--)

He starts as Garahel's head lands in his lap, raising his head sharply to fix Inessa's direction with a look both faintly resentful and disoriented. Weary neutrality replaces it once he's had a moment to collect himself. "Thank you, Warden Serra." The gratitude's mechanical, not heartfelt. "I wish only I could have done more," like not panic.

Almost by itself, his hand settles on Garahel's head. You two made a good team, well, a mabari's clearly worth a mage by himself, but Myr won't give voice to that thought.

Edited 2017-10-27 04:10 (UTC)

He's made some progress as the night wore on, gone from nursing his ale in weary silence to doodling on the tabletop with the condensation from the mug. It's an activity he doesn't raise his head from as Anders approaches and speaks; instead, he gestures mutely to the seat across from him.

Anything he'd say in this situation would be wrong for both of them and I don't mind would be a lie. He's just enough left in him to manage a simulacrum of decency without words.

Edited (word choice) 2017-10-27 04:16 (UTC)

When it comes to this mage, he'll take it. Anders plops the vessels down before plopping himself down. For a few moments he stays silent, enjoying the warmth. Then he's uselessly gesturing at Myrobalan's doodles due to lack of things to say and a general dislike for silence.

"Glyph patterns? Or something else? I used to draw cats in the margins of Circle books." Granted, the cats were great cats, and they were generally eating Templars, but details, details.

Small talk.

The man wants small talk.

It's so far and away from what Myr expected at the end of this hellish day that he makes a noise a little like a laugh, raising his head to fix Anders' direction with an expression of weary incredulity. "Glyph patterns," he affirms, tone even despite the unvoiced what do you want? behind it.

The look and the way the response is an answer but nothing else suggest Myr really doesn't want to chat about nothing. Anders is quiet for a few moments. It's hard to approach people who don't like him, and sometimes he thinks he should just stop trying and steer clear. But it's not his way and as there are a few things he's still not sure are his way or Justice's way, he'd like to keep doing the things that he knows are him.

Maybe it's time to do what he does best and blurt stuff out.

"I... I don't know what it's like to face an ambush and be unable to see them. But I know what it's like to be new to that sort of thing, and surprised by it, and I thought that maybe, maybe you'd like company. Or something. Like another drink."

By best, it's really worst.

He could, he thinks, find a graceful way out of all this if the aftermath of panic hadn't left his mind so dull and cobwebbed. As it is the best he can do is keep his face turned toward Anders in what would be a stare from someone with eyes, and listen.

And listen, as he's handed a fine excuse for what happened out there, a plausible story he could submit to and then he wouldn't have to explain to anyone-- But it wouldn't be true, and the idea he's some novice to take fright at an ambush stings, besides. (Leave aside the comment about not being able to see.) He's not craven. He isn't.

"We were ambushed more than once on our way to Kirkwall." The words are quiet and precise. "It fell to me to deal with anything that got past our templars.

"I don't want anything--but thank you for your consideration." At the very least he can put a crumb of sincerity in the words. Kindness is kindness, no matter the source, no matter how undesired.

Edited (call me niantic because i've got even more minor text fixes) 2017-10-27 22:45 (UTC)

Inessa shakes her head, not needing an apology. She smiles warmly, unable to resist encouraging a reunion if the cat is indeed alive. "If he is, I'm certain he would enjoy seeing you again. It's an opportunity worth investigating, isn't it?" At the very least, it will give Anders some closure, one way or another. "If you don't feel comfortable going alone, I'm willing to accompany you. At any rate, we won't be departing for another day, so there is time."

Return to the Blackmarsh

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Closed to Myr

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Closed to Myr

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject