faderift | Return to the Blackmarsh

Kain does, in fact, get curious when Anders brings up the skeletal dragon. He has so many questions. But at Inessa's expression, he knows he has to keep his excitement in check. Skeletal dragons can wait. Their purpose here is already set, and he plans to stick with it.

As he grabs a bunch of rocks, he shakes his head. "I hadn't planned on any dragon hunting on the side," but then he hadn't been aware of them being a thing out here. Undead dragons... what could reanimate such a creature? Though he supposes it's similar to whatever allows skeletons and other undead to walk about. "Besides, it sounds like it's been vanquished already... and if this place is as haunted as they say, we'll have plenty of other deathly enemies to face."

Ok, maybe he sounds rather fascinated there by the prospect of what they might face.

The air is foul, the earth incapable of growing anything that doesn't seem to have a touch of rot to it at all times, but it is Fereldan soil and for this reason alone, Loghain cannot find too much fault in it. How many opportunities has he had to return to his homeland in the intervening years since his ill-conceived tenure as regent to his daughter's throne? It seems another lifetime ago, mistakes belonging to another man.

And so he walks at a slight distance from the rest of the group, an ear turned to Anders' instructions which he dutifully follows, trusting to his familiarity with and recollection of this area. He sees no cursed dragon bones yet, nor any indication of the fallen, crumbling walls which might serve as the resting place for the orb; still, he moves in a decidedly south-eastward direction, and keeps his other observations to himself. (For now.)

"All right, all right," there's laughter--strained laughter, but laughter all the same--in Myr's voice as he drops a pat on Garahel's head for the mabari's enthusiasm. "Don't pummel me to death. --Right. All due caution and keeping my voice down, then. Lead on, Warden Serra."

Sandwiched between Melys and Garahel he's unlikely to get lost--but he's oblivious to the trail markers the others are using, and there's no saying he might not lose his escort if things become difficult. He weighs Anders' words in his mind--considers how paper-thin reality feels here--and at last sketches a crude glyph in the road with his staff. It winks dimly from the dust once it's complete, silent and barely visible in the filtered light. Unlikely to attract attention. (He hopes.)

He glances back to see the glyph being made and makes no comment. It's not so powerful as to draw something, he thinks. Instead Anders pulls his staff off his back and starts using the non-bladed end to poke the ground in front of him and check his path.

"There were a lot of destroyed buildings, old things, broken before the Fifth Blight. We need to find them, but we also need to be wary. There were blighted wolves that traveled in packs back then, and I've no doubt they still do. There shouldn't be any Childr grubs left; we killed... their source. If you see a large egg, though, say something. And then Melys and Myrobalan will want to stand back, because there's a high chance of contracting the Blight from what's in them."

It's such a cheerful thought to march forward on, really.

Inessa can't blame Kain for his fascination, but nonetheless, her silent glance to him urges caution. The Veil is thin here, probably even worse than before the Breach, and there's no telling what it's attracted. So she'll err on the side of keeping everyone together and intact, as much as possible.

Anders is doing the leading more than herself, as Inessa's never set foot in this area before...and upon doing so, really has no desire to repeat the experience ever again. Hopefully, they'll find what they came for soon enough and escape with minimal scars to show for it. She periodically renews a Barrier spell over them, while listening to Anders as they walk. It may not be a cheerful thought, but still a necessary one to hear, and she nods grimly. "Indeed, that's enough reason to keep a Barrier spell up as often as possible. Garahel, mind what he says. This is not the time or place for a Joining--"

And she stops abruptly, as a series of howls are heard from not too far away. Garahel growls, already placing himself before Myr and settling into a defensive stance. Inessa takes that cue to back up and set an array of ice mines just before the pair, as well. The wolves can try to get them, but she won't make it easy.

"Form up," Loghain suggests in a low voice that isn't truly a suggestion. He has his sword unsheathed and his shield hefted in the space of a breath, his eyes tracking the shadowed hills for signs of the beasts that hunt them. "Eyes all around--they'll try to flank us, if they can."

Contracting the Blight. Her neck stiffens, shoulders sharp at a hard angle (Fucking Inquisition —), one that doesn’t ease as spell-light flickers overhead, as cold wicks out before them.

A string of uninventive profanity tumbles unsaid in the space between her lips. She’s dealt with more than a few hungry jaws on worse odds, but the short sword in her hand seems abruptly far too little to be of any use. Her back’s to Myr’s before it quite registers whose orders she’s followed; something in her palm feels slick at that. She tightens her grip.

Wolves scare off easy enough. But sick beasts don’t scare, just hurt and hurt until there’s someone else for the hurting.

"Welcome t'Ferelden," She repeats, far lower than before. It's not for Myr's sake.

Edited (double edits forever i guess!! sorry dudes) 2017-10-12 22:40 (UTC)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

It's a long moment before she notices Kain watching. Her lip curls up reflexive, bares teeth —

"Clear," She echoes at the lot of them, hears herself too late to catch it back. "We're clear."

But she doesn't move from Myr's side just yet. Won't, for half the long walk ahead.

Edited 2017-10-28 06:27 (UTC)

"Does anyone need to be seen to?"

A shake of the head; there's no healing spell that will clear the aftereffects of panic from Myr's system and he's magic sufficient to heal his own bitten tongue.

He won't pass up the opportunity to stick to Melys like a burr.

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