faderift | [Open] Phylactery Phun

WHO: Anders and open
WHAT: A lot of magic hitting
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Gallows/Darktown
Content warnings: Does a nathanders thread count...

Healing, open

He's tired. He's tried sleeping in, but that doesn't work very well when the full effect of the captured phylacteries is on display. There's grim determination pushing him forward now as he and Mercy do what they can to keep up. He's moved office away from the main infirmary, though, just in case, and is now in a spare room, set up sparsely.

Mana Clash, open, happening a couple of times

Since the first report of attacks on mages, he's steered clear of people as much as he can, but that's not the easiest in a fortress.

One mana clash hits him in the kitchens, trying to get food while not endangering the mess hall, dropping him to his knees in pain and a mess of shattered plate with peas bouncing everywhere, radiating its mana draining effects all around. Another gets him in his makeshift healing room, as he's trying to mix elfroot potions, making for a slippery disaster. The third catches him as he's getting out of the baths and he cracks his head on the side, mixing blood in the water.

Paralysis, open

It's bizarre. One minute he's cutting herbs, and the next he's stopped, unable to move or do anything except feel panic well up.

For Nate

"Howe, is that feeling?" He's tired, but a large part of his stress has been dealt with and it's nice to tend to his husband. Even if he'll never be able to get rid of the arthritis in Nate's chest for good.

For Vandelin

He's tense when Van comes into his research room, but the elf isn't the source of it. In fact, a little bit of the tension eases and he waves the elf over.

"If this mess doesn't convince people on the fence that what's done to us is unaccepta--"

He doesn't get a chance to finish as the spell hits and spills outward, pain, sudden exhaustion, and paralysis all at once.

For Teren

He knows her fears. For that reason he's steered clear of Teren as best as possible, above and beyond how much he's trying to avoid most.

He needs tea though, needs it badly, so he risks a run to the kitchen... and nearly walks into her.

"I'm sorry. I'll be quick."

[Feel free to wildcard me with any of paralysis, mana drain, or mana clash! Poke me if you'd like something else.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nathaniel drops the crystal and kneels in front of Anders. "Sit with your knees to your chest, love, if you can. I'm here."

It's hard to make out what's being said, hard to think at all, but after a few seconds Nate's words make sense and Anders shifts slowly, sitting up and trying to keep breathing. Nate's there. Anders isn't alone. It's all he has but it's enough.

"Good. Elbows to your knees, palms to your forehead." The key is protecting the vitals. These spells have a finite amount of power, and the key is to survive until they run out.

Elbows to knees, first step. He's slow, repeating it over and over in his head as he manages that, and then he pauses to recall step two. Palms to forehead. Okay. It winds up being clenched fists to his forehead, but the position lines up.

"Help me," he pleads, unable to do anything to fight this off.

"I'm here," Nate repeats, just as helpless as Anders against this force. "I'm right here and you're not going to die. It'll hurt, love, but you'll be all right. Alistair is coming."

Alistair won't make it before the spell runs out of power. He knows this, and has no idea what to do about it.

"I love you."

Alistair is coming and Nate loves him. Those two thoughts get held onto, repeated mentally over and over as the cage continues closing in. He's panting now, the only thing keeping him from crying out while the spell runs its course. Finally it lets him go and he slumps on the ground.

"Love," he manages, trying to hold out a hand but it's cramped closed, knuckles bloodless from tension.

"Anders?" Nate pries one of those hands away and kisses it the way he did one minute ago, though that minute felt like hours. "Anders, I'm here. Are you hurt? Can you be moved?"

That's a lot of questions. His brain feels like he's sludging his way through the Black Marsh again, this time with weighted boots. Is he hurt, can he be moved? He hurts, but he has no idea if there's serious damage done. Figuring it out would take magic. ...he's a mage. Right. He has magic.

"Mercy," he says as if she could hear him and know what he needs. He tries to cast, fails, and tries again, and this time his free hand glows a very faint green. There's damage, he can feel it right away, but it's not life-threatening.

"You can move me." His voice sounds a thousand miles away to his ears, about as far away as the kiss on his hand.

Heavy lifting isn't the best thing for Nate right now, but he doesn't care. He lifts Anders in his arms and lays him on the bed tenderly, pulling the covers over him. Since Anders isn't healing, he begins to look him over for damage the old-fashioned way: with his own eyes. Not without a kiss to the forehead first.

The (presumably unlocked) door slams open, and Alistair leans in the door frame, huffing. He's in decent shape, honestly, but that was a lot of stairs. And—

"Maker's sake."

Of course there's kissing.

But he does know things are probably fairly serious, even if the immediate danger seems to have passed. Breath caught, he stands up straight and comes closer. "Alive there, Anders?"

The slam has him jerking a little toward upright and instantly regretting it, but he manages a faint smile anyway as he relaxes again. Of course Alistair comes in at the kiss. Anders feels a little bad about that even though the kiss had been welcome.

"Still breathing," he says a little faintly. There's a few bruises forming from burst capillaries, along with a red spot in his left eye, he's pale, but he's breathing. And he's also a little surprised by Alistair's arrival; Nate must have called during the attack.

"Sorry about the..." Anders trails off, gesturing tiredly with a few fingers to try to take in Alistair's need to catch his breath and his own state. Someone bursting in to try to help him is touching, but he's fairly certain stating the sentiment wouldn't go over well so: "I'm keeping everyone on their toes. New drill for the Wardens. Seems to work."

A flash of guilt crosses Nate's face as he sees Alistair burst in, having forgotten to let him know everything was already over and done.

"I ought to locate a templar who lives closer," he says. "My apologies, Alistair, I ought to have let you know the spell was over."

In another situation, Alistair might have milked this for something, but at the moment—with Nathaniel's frantic bellowing still in ringing in his head—he only says, "Who doesn't like exercise?"

Not him. He loves it. Clearly.

"You look like shit," he tells Anders, "that's been kicked in the face." Here to help. But also, seriously, "Who did it?"

"There's one single Templar-shaped-ish person I'm all right with bursting into here and it's the one telling me I look like shit, love."

He doesn't need the stress of someone he can't trust barging in on top of this. Not when he's getting this worn down and his jokes aren't even getting him rolled eyes.

"And we don't know, Alistair." There's even more exhaustion showing in his voice with this answer because it's not an answer at all and he wants one badly. "Someone has a lot of phylacteries from different Circles and is attacking with them. We, being mages formerly held in Kinloch Hold, haven't found out who or where yet."

[Open] Phylactery Phun

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