Adrasteia would like nothing more than to focus on putting out the fire before the entire room is alight. However, having both a knife and a chair thrown at her are distraction enough.
The spirit blade dissipates after a final swipe, and Adrasteia puts her staff up in front of her arms to knock the chair aside. It mostly works.
She's definitely got a concussion though, so. Good times had by all.
Tirena's bleeding twice over now, from the ribs and from the hip where Adrasteia's spirit blade bites at her, as she launches herself at the window, but she still has the clarity required to see Ellis' flame-lit shape hurtling into her peripheral vision.
She changes course as quickly as she can. Which is not quickly enough. But her twisting, skidding slide means only her legs are in Ellis' path, rather than her entire body, and she goes down flat on the floor instead of hitting the wall or the window sill. Immediately she's struggling—struggling to free a leg to fulfill the dream of kicking Ellis in the face, struggling to free a second blade from where it's strapped to her hip—with the urgency of someone who expects to die shortly.
The fire on the bed crawls toward the headboard and the walls.
Caladrius emerges from his blackout in time to turn his head, choking and gurling blood until he can breathe again, too dazed to do much else.
It's a good kick, right to Ellis' mouth. The immediate consequence: a split lip, maybe a broken nose. Either way, blood is streaming down his face into his beard.
But it's not enough to dislodge him. It is enough to keep him from reeling her in, so he just remains an obstacle, preventing her from standing.
"Adrasteia!" comes as a bellow, aware of the gurgling that heralds Caladrius' potential return to the brawl.
The great thing about Tirena throwing a blade at her is that now Adrasteia has an extra blade easily at hand, instead of just tucked under her robes as her own is.
Ellis' yell has her turning fast enough to make bile rise in her throat (head injuries, yay) and while she doesn't know what she could immediately do with the kicking and bleeding whirlwind that is Tirena on the floor, she knows what to do with a man coming to who might complicate matters; she crosses the small space and hits him, square in the jaw, with the end of her staff before he can completely rouse, putting a knee on his chest to keep him there.
Then she throws Tirena's blade back at her, aiming for her shoulder.
Caladrius goes slack again, face a mess, limbs akimbo. He's definitely winning the competition for worst morning, here, in his opinion. Or that will be his opinion when he's capable of having any. If that ever happens again.
But Tirena isn't far behind anymore, when her lost dagger embeds into her shoulder—the shoulder she needed for her other blade, specifically. It skitters across the floor like a noisy metal spider, just further than she can reach when she tries twisting to grab it.
The attempt squeezes more blood out of her wounds, and it's finally pain she can't block out. She exhales and lies flat for a moment, takes a deep breath, and looks toward the light in the room. The fire, threatening now to catch the wooden headboard, a side table. The mattress aflame. If it falls it might catch the floorboards, and if Adrasteia knows the wrong bag of magic tricks to stop a fire, then there's a glimmer hope for all of them dying here together instead of only her and stupid stupid Caladrius.
So she resumes putting up a squirming, clawing, increasingly blood-soaked fight—not with any hope of getting free of Ellis, so much as hope of not letting him have a moment to turn his attention elsewhere.
And it works, because Ellis isn't letting go of her. Pinning her might be a near-impossibility, but letting her escape gets them no answers, sets them up for a second attempt at whatever they'd been trying to accomplish.
"Can you put this out?" is a wasted question, shouted through a mess of blood. What he's really considering is the likelihood of getting the pair of them out. Below them, screams and clattering signals the rest of the inn fleeing, and if either of them had any sense they'd join them, and yet—
"I'll try," comes her answer, and she takes a breath, gets off of Caladrius, and lays hands on one corner of the mattress. Ice spreads from her fingers along the fabric, battling the fire for dominance over the space, but the ice, for once, is working in Adrasteia's favor. Once a pillow is entirely covered in icicles she picks it up and begins hitting the fire on the headboard and the nightstand until she's managed to put it all out.
There's no rescuing that mattress, not really, or the blankets and sheets that were on it; the bedframe is singed in places that means it probably will need replacing, and the wall is still smoking a little, but considering the fact that they're all alive and not currently on fire she'll take it.
She'll also just. Throw up in a corner quietly when her spinning head refuses to stop said spinning.
As the flames die and the room grows dark again, the fire recedes from Tirena, too, until she's lying still and breathing hard, with no more spite or hope or adrenaline to push her past the pain and blood loss. The only thing to distinguish her from Caladrius, who's still passed out cold from Adrasteia's blow, is the glint of her open eyes, fixed furiously on Ellis' face.
The relative quiet—relative due to the noise below and outside, as people panic and rush around, and whatever quiet sounds Adrasteia's concussed nausea might be causing in the corner—is shattered by the door rattling, then a fist pounding on it.
As Tirena stops trying to thrash her way out of his grasp, Ellis levers himself cautiously upright over her. Pinning her underneath his weight, he turns only enough to catch sight of Adrasteia.
The yelling at the door is more or less ignored.
"Are you alright?" is very much for Adrastiea. Tirena is clearly fine, or fine enough to have put up an irritating, exhausting fight.
She pushes some hair out of her face with a groan, using her other arm to lean against the wall — which is still smoking, but she's used to fire magic, so it doesn't bother her any. "My head hurts," is very elegantly put.
The door rattles again and she yells out "Nous sommes bien ici!" before groaning and peering at Ellis from across the room. "How's your nose?"
She does fetch Ellis the rope, while muttering "oh, do shut up," at Tirena. That probably just means she'll talk more or something, right? Possibly.
Adrasteia picks up the knife from the floor and removes the one from Tirena's shoulder with a tsk, wiping it on the ruined bedspread. She does not offer to do anything for the bleeding, instead gesturing towards Ellis. "Do you want me to heal it?" She imagines he'll turn her down, but.
Tirena hisses through her teeth at the admonition, but she doesn't talk more. If it were only a question of having an attitude, she absolutely would do it out of spite. But various things hurt a lot, she's feeling slightly faint, and most of all she's turning her furious stare from Ellis' face to locate her other knife—the one that wasn't in her shoulder, the one that's just out of reach on the floor.
It's still too far to reach. It doesn't come any closer while her hands are bound.
Caladrius doesn't stir until it's too late for him to resist the ropes, and then it's only to groan and spit congealing blood, with so little force that it only flops out of his mouth and slides down his chin.
For him and that pathetic attempt, Tirena musters up the will to speak again, Tevinter accent on full display now that she's moving past curses and monosyllables: "What is even the point of you?"
Tirena's vitriol draws a thick chuckle from Ellis. Both threats dealt with for the moment, Ellis sits down heavily on the floor beside Tirena. He sniffs, winces, then shakes his head. His knuckles are swelling, but that barely merits a downward glance.
"Make sure they'll live first," he tells her. "The Scoutmaster and the Commander will want to speak with them."
And Ellis' nose will keep. It's been broken before, and repaired before, and has come out well enough.
"Clearly the point was not to win," Adrasteia says archly. Because. That's what happened, isn't it?
Either way. She puts the knives away, first, and then reaches out a hand to Tirena's shoulder, breathing deeply as the knife wound knits itself together beneath her touch. She doesn't heal it enough to do much more than stop the bleeding and clear any infection from the wound, so it's still going to hurt quite a bit. Plus she'll have trouble using it for a while.
Caladrius' injuries are a little more complex. She's not going to regrow his teeth, and his jaw is still... a mess of pain, but she also stops his bleeding and aligns the bones for the slow process of healing properly.
She puts a hand on Ellis' shoulder when she has to climb to her feet again to keep herself from toppling over. Her head is still spinning a bit, and it's not something she can do anything about except wait it out.
She won't address the break in his nose directly, but she does what she can to take the pain away in the few seconds they have contact. Side effects might include a lowering in the swelling in his hands as well.
Under Adrasteia’s care, Caladrius looks like a confused but grateful dog; Tirena looks maybe an inch of maturity above snapping her teeth.
“I think,” Caladrius says, sounding congested and reasonable, “we should—“
Tirena snaps, “Shut up,” and he does.
For a moment, at least. It’s less obedience than a pause to see if she has more to contribute before he says, reproachfully, “This was your idea,” in a tone that really means, stop being mean to me.
Adrasteia's ministrations don't go unnoticed. Ellis' hand comes up briefly to steady her at her hip, though he doesn't look away from the pair of trussed up captives on the floor.
"You should sit, Adrasteia," Ellis tells her. It's the kind of suggestion that is actually an order. She's hurt and there's not much Ellis can do for her, but if she collapses it will be bad for them both.
To Tirena, Ellis directs, "Your idea to ambush in the night, or to follow us in the first place?"
Presumably the former, and someone directed them to engage in the latter. He's obligated to ask, but doesn't expect much of an answer. Interrogation is for others more skilled than him. Toting the pair of them back to Kirkwall will be inconvenient, but what's the alternative?
Adrasteia sits, rather like a bag of potatoes she thinks, on the floor at the foot of the burnt bed. She'd rather splash her face with some water, or drink some even, but doing much more than sitting seems like quite a feat at the moment.
She's trying to sort out the logistics of taking the pair with them. Probably tied to horses; two riders per horse is doable, especially given Adrasteia's Avvar horse, but that is too close quarters most likely. The woman will pose a problem no matter how they do it, she's certain of it.
Caladrius gets a tight-lipped smile as Adrasteia begins the process of taking the braids she'd slept in down. It's something to do with her hands, to pull her attention from the dull pain in her head, and she's not feeling overly friendly at this exact moment.
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no subject
If Ellis steps directly on Caladrius as he attempts a full on tackle on his fleeing accomplice, surely it's only a coincidence.
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The spirit blade dissipates after a final swipe, and Adrasteia puts her staff up in front of her arms to knock the chair aside. It mostly works.
She's definitely got a concussion though, so. Good times had by all.
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She changes course as quickly as she can. Which is not quickly enough. But her twisting, skidding slide means only her legs are in Ellis' path, rather than her entire body, and she goes down flat on the floor instead of hitting the wall or the window sill. Immediately she's struggling—struggling to free a leg to fulfill the dream of kicking Ellis in the face, struggling to free a second blade from where it's strapped to her hip—with the urgency of someone who expects to die shortly.
The fire on the bed crawls toward the headboard and the walls.
Caladrius emerges from his blackout in time to turn his head, choking and gurling blood until he can breathe again, too dazed to do much else.
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But it's not enough to dislodge him. It is enough to keep him from reeling her in, so he just remains an obstacle, preventing her from standing.
"Adrasteia!" comes as a bellow, aware of the gurgling that heralds Caladrius' potential return to the brawl.
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Ellis' yell has her turning fast enough to make bile rise in her throat (head injuries, yay) and while she doesn't know what she could immediately do with the kicking and bleeding whirlwind that is Tirena on the floor, she knows what to do with a man coming to who might complicate matters; she crosses the small space and hits him, square in the jaw, with the end of her staff before he can completely rouse, putting a knee on his chest to keep him there.
Then she throws Tirena's blade back at her, aiming for her shoulder.
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But Tirena isn't far behind anymore, when her lost dagger embeds into her shoulder—the shoulder she needed for her other blade, specifically. It skitters across the floor like a noisy metal spider, just further than she can reach when she tries twisting to grab it.
The attempt squeezes more blood out of her wounds, and it's finally pain she can't block out. She exhales and lies flat for a moment, takes a deep breath, and looks toward the light in the room. The fire, threatening now to catch the wooden headboard, a side table. The mattress aflame. If it falls it might catch the floorboards, and if Adrasteia knows the wrong bag of magic tricks to stop a fire, then there's a glimmer hope for all of them dying here together instead of only her and stupid stupid Caladrius.
So she resumes putting up a squirming, clawing, increasingly blood-soaked fight—not with any hope of getting free of Ellis, so much as hope of not letting him have a moment to turn his attention elsewhere.
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And it works, because Ellis isn't letting go of her. Pinning her might be a near-impossibility, but letting her escape gets them no answers, sets them up for a second attempt at whatever they'd been trying to accomplish.
"Can you put this out?" is a wasted question, shouted through a mess of blood. What he's really considering is the likelihood of getting the pair of them out. Below them, screams and clattering signals the rest of the inn fleeing, and if either of them had any sense they'd join them, and yet—
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There's no rescuing that mattress, not really, or the blankets and sheets that were on it; the bedframe is singed in places that means it probably will need replacing, and the wall is still smoking a little, but considering the fact that they're all alive and not currently on fire she'll take it.
She'll also just. Throw up in a corner quietly when her spinning head refuses to stop said spinning.
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The relative quiet—relative due to the noise below and outside, as people panic and rush around, and whatever quiet sounds Adrasteia's concussed nausea might be causing in the corner—is shattered by the door rattling, then a fist pounding on it.
"Hé!" That's Orlesian for hey. "Fire!"
Someone's just letting them know.
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The yelling at the door is more or less ignored.
"Are you alright?" is very much for Adrastiea. Tirena is clearly fine, or fine enough to have put up an irritating, exhausting fight.
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The door rattles again and she yells out "Nous sommes bien ici!" before groaning and peering at Ellis from across the room. "How's your nose?"
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But Ellis declines to admit it, instead asking, "Can toss me the rope out of my pack, please?"
Presuming she does, he'll bind Tirena's hands first before using the rest of it to deal with Caladrius.
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Adrasteia picks up the knife from the floor and removes the one from Tirena's shoulder with a tsk, wiping it on the ruined bedspread. She does not offer to do anything for the bleeding, instead gesturing towards Ellis. "Do you want me to heal it?" She imagines he'll turn her down, but.
She's asking anyway.
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It's still too far to reach. It doesn't come any closer while her hands are bound.
Caladrius doesn't stir until it's too late for him to resist the ropes, and then it's only to groan and spit congealing blood, with so little force that it only flops out of his mouth and slides down his chin.
For him and that pathetic attempt, Tirena musters up the will to speak again, Tevinter accent on full display now that she's moving past curses and monosyllables: "What is even the point of you?"
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"Make sure they'll live first," he tells her. "The Scoutmaster and the Commander will want to speak with them."
And Ellis' nose will keep. It's been broken before, and repaired before, and has come out well enough.
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Either way. She puts the knives away, first, and then reaches out a hand to Tirena's shoulder, breathing deeply as the knife wound knits itself together beneath her touch. She doesn't heal it enough to do much more than stop the bleeding and clear any infection from the wound, so it's still going to hurt quite a bit. Plus she'll have trouble using it for a while.
Caladrius' injuries are a little more complex. She's not going to regrow his teeth, and his jaw is still... a mess of pain, but she also stops his bleeding and aligns the bones for the slow process of healing properly.
She puts a hand on Ellis' shoulder when she has to climb to her feet again to keep herself from toppling over. Her head is still spinning a bit, and it's not something she can do anything about except wait it out.
She won't address the break in his nose directly, but she does what she can to take the pain away in the few seconds they have contact. Side effects might include a lowering in the swelling in his hands as well.
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“I think,” Caladrius says, sounding congested and reasonable, “we should—“
Tirena snaps, “Shut up,” and he does.
For a moment, at least. It’s less obedience than a pause to see if she has more to contribute before he says, reproachfully, “This was your idea,” in a tone that really means, stop being mean to me.
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"You should sit, Adrasteia," Ellis tells her. It's the kind of suggestion that is actually an order. She's hurt and there's not much Ellis can do for her, but if she collapses it will be bad for them both.
To Tirena, Ellis directs, "Your idea to ambush in the night, or to follow us in the first place?"
Presumably the former, and someone directed them to engage in the latter. He's obligated to ask, but doesn't expect much of an answer. Interrogation is for others more skilled than him. Toting the pair of them back to Kirkwall will be inconvenient, but what's the alternative?
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She's trying to sort out the logistics of taking the pair with them. Probably tied to horses; two riders per horse is doable, especially given Adrasteia's Avvar horse, but that is too close quarters most likely. The woman will pose a problem no matter how they do it, she's certain of it.
Caladrius gets a tight-lipped smile as Adrasteia begins the process of taking the braids she'd slept in down. It's something to do with her hands, to pull her attention from the dull pain in her head, and she's not feeling overly friendly at this exact moment.