It's not the first time they've fought together. She knows better than to think it the last.
Wren's lost her dirk, acquired a sword along the way, and pay no mind to how precisely — there's no time for it. There's no time (breath) for Anders' little quips either, but when has that ever stopped the man?
(Why is it always fucking corpses?)
"What," It's hoarse, ragged; there's only so loud she can force it, from a throat unrecovered of the past night's revelries. "Could sweep them all so?"
Someone's revered forebear sinks dessicated fingers into her arm, gets its face smashed in for the trouble. How many hours of Mortalitasi work have just been wasted in that- crunch? It's another moment before she can spare a moment to pry off bones still latched about bicep. White light flares, dims, held yet in reserve. It's not the tides of dead that worry her, but whatever else Tivadar may have planned.
They'll survive this. Whether the Inquisition's reputation will?
no subject
Wren's lost her dirk, acquired a sword along the way, and pay no mind to how precisely — there's no time for it. There's no time (breath) for Anders' little quips either, but when has that ever stopped the man?
(Why is it always fucking corpses?)
"What," It's hoarse, ragged; there's only so loud she can force it, from a throat unrecovered of the past night's revelries. "Could sweep them all so?"
Someone's revered forebear sinks dessicated fingers into her arm, gets its face smashed in for the trouble. How many hours of Mortalitasi work have just been wasted in that- crunch? It's another moment before she can spare a moment to pry off bones still latched about bicep. White light flares, dims, held yet in reserve. It's not the tides of dead that worry her, but whatever else Tivadar may have planned.
They'll survive this. Whether the Inquisition's reputation will?