faderift | Return to the Blackmarsh

"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.

As with Kain, Inessa spends the next few moments intently watching and listening for signs of more blight wolves. But there are no answering howls, no snarls...nothing. The Blackmarsh is unnervingly quiet once more, at least for the time being. She grips her staff and looks back to Melys and Myr, as Garahel makes a Myr sandwich by sticking to his other side.

She shakes her head and straightens, unhurt if tense. Normally, she would give all the time needed, but this isn't an area where they have that luxury. Sooner or later, something else will be drawn to them. "A moment, and then we ought to continue. This marsh doesn't seem a forgiving place to linger."

"No need for healing here." Which is something Kain would say anyway, but it's more or less true at the moment. Actually, he really isn't too bad off this time around, not having had to go quite as crazy with his abilities this time. He's saving his stamina for the really tough battles that surely lay ahead though. Already, he's glancing out there, watching and waiting, expecting the next threat to be upon them soon.

"Yes... who knows what's out there watching..." he says quietly, as he stares into the darkness surrounding them. "Best not to let it get too interested in us." But he'll wait for now, wanting them to be completely certain they're up for heading away.

Return to the Blackmarsh

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