TAKING SULEDIN KEEP

[faderifting]

WHO: The Inquisition
WHAT: Capturing the Keep
WHEN: Guardian 23
WHERE: Emprise du Lion
NOTES: Violence, gore, etc. This log contains closed prompts for quest participants, but is open for anyone who wants their own battle- or post-battle logs. ICly it will take most everyone they have in the region to take the keep, so any character could be part of the assault and its aftermath. It's also forward-dated to the 23rd, so if your character isn't currently in Emprise, they could be by then!

By 23 Guardian, the Inquisition has pressed the Red Templars out of the hills and snow and into Suledin Keep. The assault on the keep starts before dawn and is long and deliberate; there are no trebuchets here. By the time the sky has turned a bright enough gray to pass for morning, the Inquisition has worked its way into the snowy, twisting maze of gardens in front of the fortress. Soldiers weave around the walls and the rubble and the spikes of lyrium. Archers climb up mounds of tumbled stone and into the ancient, twisting trees for better vantage points. By the time the fortress itself is breached, the sun is setting again behind the clouds, and snow is falling.

The Red Templar forces are many and though for them this is a retreat, a last stand in the region, they are well-organized. They fight with the single-minded fury of the corrupted, and indeed many of them show signs of advanced lyrium infection, eyes red, crystals jutting up out of skin, sometimes so numerous that they begin to form their own sort of armor. A few have been so completely consumed that it is difficult to tell they were ever human to begin with. The battle will be long and bloody. Courtyards and wall positions must be taken one by one and held, and more than once retaken again after a successful Templar resurgence. Any Inquisition member able to fight is likely to be pressed into service before the day is done.

As the forces press forward the snow behind them is left checkered red: lyrium, blood, Inquisition uniforms. There are bodies to identify. Wounded to tend to. Enemy soldiers beyond hope of recovery to be put out of their misery, perhaps, for those so inclined. A giant's carcass is laid out in the gardens for inspection; two more are already dead and rotting in cages and chains, with red crystals infesting their bodies. Bigger crystals have infected the castle itself, sticking up from the ground and out of walls almost as if they have been cultivated here. They must be smashed as the army advances, for any who linger near begin to feel its effects, particularly the wounded.

Comments

[disgracedchampion]

Michel froze for a moment, but it was only a moment, as Imshael's words rattled him to his core. The creature had a gift for peeking into the hearts of others, tugging at their most desperate desires, though with Michel he seemed to know just the thread to pull that would incite the most reaction. Knowing this he crushed it and crushed it quickly as one spider pressed for his attention over the uneven turf.

His reaction was quick, with quick swipes of his sword he took out the front-most legs before thrusting the sword through its anterior, directly into the creature's many eyes. He ignore the spray of ichor against his armor, wheeling about to check on his companions, knowing they would have their hands full with just the Red Templar horrors. Spiders were child's play compared to that.

[liberalum]

Dorian smiles back at the demon, but it isn't specifically a nice smile, even if his teeth are very white and symmetrical when he does it. No one likes to know their souls are legible, so there's no reply, save for that, ready and waiting. Imshael's pitch to their chevalier has him speculatively considering the back of Michel's head, but the swarm of hostility surging into the courtyard is a quick attention draw.

He spins, and launches a forest of crackling electrical magic that darts between the giant spiders scuttling over ice-crusted rock, which seems to do little at all hulking Templar horrors gliding closer, red lyrium growths jutting through convulsing, seizing flesh.

The air seems to shimmer with their corrosive version of spirit magic, but spiders are tangible things, and Dorian brings his staff around over his head to slice away reaching legs with another spray of ichor. A ripple of electrical energy dances across the stone, electrifying all hostiles that stray too near.

[el_tybs]

Sam wrinkles his nose as he finishes off his own spider, the blade at the end of his staff sliding sickeningly down between its eyes. Maker, he hated spiders, especially when they were giant, screeching spiders. Course Red Templars were no walk in the garden either, and seeing how the red lyrium split their skin and grew... always haunting.

Pulling his staff free of the arachnid, Sam turns with the momentum of the pull, sending a small blast of fire one of the templars, catching it squarely in the shoulder. Judging by how it yells it had to have hurt and probably angry for being interrupted in its attack.

Seeing another volley of shards heading towards Michel, Sam spends little time swinging his staff and slamming it into the ground, the area around the Chevalier lighting up as a newer barrier forms around him.

[visus]

"Ah, see! I know how you long for it, Michel. Your honor, so precious, so hard-won. So difficult to recover once tarnished. It's unfair, don't you think? That you should bear the burden for that knife-ear's scheming?" The demon has retreated to the center of the courtyard, hanging back just up the steps as he observes. And continues talking, naturally. "That she should get to be so bold and be rewarded with power and favor and escape unscathed? While you spend your whole life in quiet, loyal service, keeping your head down and trotting along dutifully at her heels and she kicks you aside like nothing. Like a little gutter-rat."

Imshael laughs, rich and unctuous. His attention remains focused primarily on the chevalier, perhaps because he senses some internal crack he can more easily wiggle his fingers in, or perhaps just because it's fun. Even as he does it, his mental tentacles creep into Dorian's mind and Sam's, seeking out ammunition to ready himself to turn on them next. "That must have struck close to home, eh? And for what? For doing what any honorable chevalier would have done! Surely this is an injustice that must be righted?"

The demon may be picking at the Orlesian at the moment but his minions have no such blinders on. Spiders lash out with quick, stabby legs, and explode when pierced or struck by lightening, bursting gooey ichor over their attackers or crumpling up with a noxious odor of burning putrefaction. One, swollen larger than the rest, releases a sudden, disturbing flood of smaller spiders that race toward Sam in a thick carpet across the flagstones, ready to rush right up his robes.

The red templars are slower than their unencumbered fellows but they are better armored: spells and blades seem at first to sheer right off the thick crusting of crystals, and they swing their blocky, jagged limbs like weapons. One emerges from the opposite direction of the current host, coming at Dorian from behind with no subtlety but surprising speed, its lyrium-shard weapon swung for his back.

[disgracedchampion]

In spite of Imshael's voice being conversational in nature, if not intentionally grating, it was a deep, full, reverberating noise inside of his head as well. It evoked memories and emotions that he was loathe to express and yet he could feel his even temperament crumbling bit by bit as the heat built up in his chest. He knew this creature, however, know it's intention, and knew how important it was to stay focused especially since the demon was upping the stakes.

It didn't matter how many limbs he lopped off or creatures he ran through they seemed to keep coming. He couldn't even offer Sam a proper nod of appreciation his attention was so fixed on their surroundings--and there was a reason for it. He glanced at Imshael, probing, cunning beast that he was and he knew that the only way to take care of this problem was to destroy it at the root. Attack the demon directly, a task he was ready to brace himself for, leaving Dorian and Sam to fend for themselves as the destruction of Imshael not only took priority, but it was the only way to end this.

But then he glance up from another slain spider to find that a spray of smaller ones were scuttling toward Sam while another Templar was shambling up behind Dorian and he knew he could not let that be. Spitting a curse in the Demon's direction he vaulted over a shriveled spider corps in Dorian's direction. Even Chevalier had their codes and attacking from behind was a disgrace and so he launched himself between the mage and his attacker before the Templar could bring its blade down on his back. This, of course, meant nudging Dorian out of the way, but there was nothing for it.

They needed to help Sam as well, "I...have to get at him..."

[liberalum]

Getting nudged out of the way is-- what Dorian is beginning to expect, really, after however many months fighting in ramshackle bands of mage and warrior and archer. He twists like a surprised, butt-touched cat, all bristling indignation until he sees the jagged red lyrium striking the Chevalier's blade.

Oh. Well, that's alright.

Not to be outclassed, however, he drags his staff through the air, meeting resistance as if physically tearing the Veil itself, and sends a very precise, very strong lightning strike past Michel, raw electricity slamming hard enough into the Red Templar's chest to stagger him back. Errant streaks of shimmering green dispelling magics ripple up off pulsing flesh and lyrium shards, for good measure, and Dorian turns a look at Michel.

"Slay your demon," he says, sharp and to the point. Which doesn't sound very much like thank you, or anything, but maybe his gratitude is expressed through not bickering on the battlefield. "We'll hold off this nonsense."

And to Sam; "Spirit magic. You're a spirit mage, so act like one, preferably at the Templars! I'll burn the rest."

True to his word, a wall of flame blisters across the ice, sending up steam and smoke, cutting through the nearest wave of spiders.

[el_tybs]

Add that to the list of reasons why he hated spiders; exploding into a swarm of smaller spiders that were hellbent on coming at you. Granted regular spiders probably could not do that, but it did not make him like them any more to these current ones.

The wall of flame that burns the lot of them coming for him is appreciated, but there is hardly time for that, especially with Dorian snapping at him - at least it sounded like he was snapping - about using his spirit magic. Sam gives a slight huff at that, not like he was concentrating on keeping the aura up or tossing out barriers when he noticed them going down, but doesn't talk back about it in the middle of a fight.

Instead he brings his staff down, brows raised, as he casts another barrier around both Michel and Dorian seeing as they were right next to each other. The new barriers helping both Dorian and Michel with replenishing their mana/stamina as they fight. With that taken care of, and with not having to worry about a wave of spiders, he turns, swinging his staff horizontally at a pair of red templars.

For a moment it doesn't seem like he did anything, but before they can come any closer they appear to stagger. A couple more steps and the templars completely stop moving, instead bending down slightly into themselves, reaching for their heads and letting out shrieks.