[OPEN] Smoke and Mirrors: Perendale

[minrathousian]

WHO: OPEN!
WHAT: The Inquisition's forces fight against the Venatori to prevent Corypheus from seizing power in Perendale.
WHEN: Early November.
WHERE: Perendale, Nevarra
NOTES: Violence.

On the edges of Corypheus' territory, Perendale is the site of a major Venatori offensive--a push by Corypheus' forces to take control of the city and push his influence further across Thedas. The Inquisition's forces have rallied to answer the Nevarran governor's desperate plea for support. The battle for Perendale will decide the fate of hundreds within the city's walls.

Comments

for wren - heading for the archives

[galvanising]

By the time she reaches the city's main boulevard, Nell is covered in blood. It's spattered across her forehead and smeared across a cheek, the contrast of it--true, brilliant crimson--making her hair look more orange than usual. Darker blood drips steadily down one sleeve and the side of her ribcage, invisible against the black of her blouse except for where the light catches, and soaked patches lacquered to skin by the steady but sluggish flow glisten in the sun. Blood dries on her hands, beneath nails, cracking where knuckles bend. It sprays in artful arcs as her staff is thrust and spun, the bladed ends, one steel and one spirit, slicing through air and flesh alike with deadly precision.

She's just tugging the true blade free from the body of a soldier, a shove with the sole of her boot required to send him off to join the other corpses littering the ground at her feet, a pocket of enemy resistance summarily dispatched.

Or so it seems. There's one more, a mage tucked just out of sight behind the rubble torn from a stately home and the remains of a carriage. Nell doesn't see him until it's nearly too late, some small noise or maybe the prickle of magic being drawn or just the sixth sense of a survivor alerting her at the last possible second. But that doesn't save her either: she turns so abruptly that her boot slips on blood-soaked cobbles, tumbling onto her ass, the barrage of energy bolts she'd aimed spraying uselessly into the sky, no time to raise a barrier.

[limier]

His hands raise, power lifts at the edge of perception. A static crackle —

— And a foot of steel extends abruptly through his chest, gleaming with silver fire to smother the pull of the Fade. Wren snarls, frees her blade with the hard shove of a shield.

"Clear," Shouted over the din of the city around them; it won't be true for long. She doesn’t linger, picks over a splintered beam, a fallen body (then another), to draw close. Her shield lowers, ready to grant cover, but to stoop and offer Nell a hand can’t be afforded so close to the fray. If the girl’s done herself some injury, Wren can’t tell for all the blood. "Can you walk?"

Can you still fight?, is the better question, put paid to by the ring of dead. Her own armor is a familiar battering of steel and spine, and as much streaked with viscera. Uniforms have been a kindness of the enemy, but as the battle wears on, everyone begins to affect the same shades.

[minrathousian]

Further down Perendale's central boulevard, the Venatori have set up a barricade designed to keep the Inquisition's forces from taking the most straight-forward route to the archives. There are a number of other side roads that could be taken instead.

[OOC: The route clearest of immediate opponents is to the west, winding through the city's market district; however, the market square itself contains a small contingent of zealots and one very competent spellcaster. Combat with these two opponents would require DM tags. This route to the archives is more circuitous.

To the east they will meet heavier resistance in the narrower corridors of some shabby residential neighbourhoods. However, this is the more straightforward of the remaining routes to the archives. No DM tags required for this route.]

[galvanising]

"I'm fine," Nell replies, using the butt of her staff to lever herself back up off the ground. She scuffs the soles of her boots across a dry scrap of robe, the wide sleeve of a fallen mage spread across the cobbles, its pointed cuff just shy of the spreading puddle of blood. Nell side-steps it and climbs over the bodies of his fellows to meet Wren where she stands.

It would be a stretch to say that Nell is happy to see her in particular, but a familiar face is not altogether unwelcome, and Wren did just save her life. Nell is many things, and believe it or not, team player is actually still one of them. "Thanks," she says, and it's more reflex than anything, but she follows it up with a nod of acknowledgment as she lifts her weapon. The handle is bloody and so is her hand, and she spends another moment wiping both on a dry bit of her pants before re-settling her grip on the staff. She uses it to point down the road.

"I saw a few others head that way as I arrived, retreating back to the city center through the market. It's open, but the other way is through the old city, too many choke points, places for an ambush." She seems to assume Wren will be coming along now, and if the easy way she falls into that assumption and the sense of familiarity that comes with it set her teeth on edge, she doesn't show it.

[limier]

A nod back, glance down the road,

"We will do better out of close quarters," She agrees. The girl’s yet clear-headed, and the assessment’s fair: Swords and spells alike require room to move. One needn't be trying friendly fire in times like these, and flames won’t take stone so easily as shacks. (Smothering to death, what an Orlesian way to go — )

The market's the smart play, it also means they’ll be seen coming. She takes point, doesn’t bother about unnecessary explanations as they start off: One to draw attention, the other to repay it.

If Wren hasn’t recognized who Nell is, the what’s far less a mystery.

[minrathousian]

They are seen coming.

The Spellcaster has secured the square, but perhaps got a bit cocky in the process. While she maintains a small contingent of zealots at her disposal, she appears to have over-estimated the security of her position.

When Wren and Nell are seen, she's quick to cast a barrier across herself and four of her sword-wielding zealots, who all charge forward to accost the interlopers. She lays fire and ice mines to protect herself.

[galvanising]

Nell falls into formation, a few paces back on Wren's flank, ranging as wide as the street allows, the better to keep a clear line of sight to any enemies ahead. It would be a shame for Wren to get caught in her crossfire, after all. At least right now.

When their enemy appears, Nell's not as quick to cast a barrier as their foe, instead firing off a barrage of energy bolts and flinging a hail of stones and debris at the mage opposite, pummeling her shield with projectiles. It's only at the last second, once the soldiers are nearly within reach, that Nell throws a barrier into place around Wren and steps near enough to put herself within its cover as well, spirit blade suddenly glowing to life on the flat end of her staff as she prepares to engage from closer quarters.

[limier]

Here they go —

It's been too long since she was in the field before today. Nerves grind, heart slams a rapid pace beneath plate and bone. But it always does: What the body doesn't learn, the mind doesn't listen to. Fear's a funny thing,

And you learn to tune it out.

The first of them, the fastest, meets shield with blade — with an opening low and stupid, to step into and shove him down. Stomp on his face (once, twice) to find the second’s already cut within her guard. Turn the blade, step aside (a third now) only to catch another across chain and that’ll leave a mark but not one written in her arteries, so it'll do; gives her a wide slash, a feint. Gives someone else a reason to fall on rent on hamstrings.

Spit and hiss the whole while in a bid to look the fucking madwoman, to keep them off the true threat behind. The girl's shown herself more than capable, still, better not to be swarmed.

Wren jams a blow, pushes ahead with stubborn insistence. Pale light gleams to collect about each swing. It’s not enough to keep them all (one, two) from slipping aside her, bearing down towards Nell.