Snippet #2060781

The massive fist that headed her way belonged to the single-largest Darkspawn she'd ever seen. It was actually a bit surreal; she had spent the last year and a half doing virtually nothing that didn't involve these creatures. She had memorized movement patterns, typologies, learned just where to stick a spear in a genlock to hit a major artery, measured the amount of force required to decapitate a hurlock, and discovered just when to smite an emissary, but never had she seen the like of this incredibly-sized hand, curled in upon itself and intent on crushing her bones with its knuckles. Solvej didn't have much time to consider the implications of this, however, because she was fairly certain that a few good hits from this creature would be putting her in the ground on a permanent basis. Gripping her spear, the Templar moved under the swing, flowing forward smoothly and hoping that the creature would overextend itself. At least it didn't seem all that fast; it was perhaps the only advantage she had. In an effort to exploit her positioning inside its guard, she thrust with her spear, aiming for the monstrosity's lesser-protected armpit.

The ogre, committed to his strike, was unable to pull back in enough time to hit the woman, and he bellowed when the sharp point of the spear came in contact with his unarmored underarm. Unfortunately for the Templar, however, the ogre's grey skin was much more durable and hardy than that of the average darkspawn, and though Solvej drew blood, it was nowhere near a fatal wound. Enraged at the pain-sensations ricocheting from the shoulder joint into his head, the creature wasted little time in striking again, this time a lateral blow, open-handed and aiming to swat the armored foe away from this close proximity. His other hand withdrew, intending to capture the woman if she made to duck away like last time.

Up until this point, the thought had not occurred to him, but the comrade within his proximity seemed familiar, yet at the moment he could not place it. Such ponderings however were silenced by the bellow of a hulking mass of dense flesh, thundering footfalls, and voracious intent of all within its sight. As he gawked in awe upon the creature he found no recollection of any such like description discussed among peers, or written in any text he’d ever read. What’s more was that he could sense the Taint within it, but how could ‘Spawn come in such a goliath form?

Two others of the like accompanied it and divided themselves among the ranks of himself and his team. Solvej was the first to contend with one, and at first it seemed she struck success, but the hulk proved to be as hardy and dense as it appeared to be as little blood was let from Solvej’s infliction. Retaliation was inevitable, what the massive beast lacked in mobility it more than made up for in raw power, and though perhaps the Templar would be able to withstand an assault of that caliber, those were limits that our kinetic inclined manipulator wasn’t willing to test.

Drawing upon his own might, Lukas expelled a large portion of his power in the form of a Telekinetic Burst, plowing it way in full force at the oversized creature. If it hit, in the least it would give his friend time to counter attack.

The blast of raw energy struck the ogre in the chest, sending the behemoth creature stumbling backward a few steps. It was enough that his pinser maneuver would fail, though, and if anything, he'd graze the Templar with his open hand. Granted, that was still a hit that could pack considerable damage, but she was certainly at no more risk of losing her life. What she would do with the disadvantage the Darkspawn now faced, off-balance and stumbling, remained to be seen. For all its current positioning, the creature had no visible weak spots, and it seemed that the massive plates of armor at its chest and shoulders were largely unnecessary.

Solvej's exhale whistled through her teeth, transforming into an abrupt hiss when several fingers the size of your average greatsword clipped her hip, throwing her off-balance and connecting with enough force to bruise beneath her armor. That alone was not unbearable, and she thrust her weapon into the ground for balance, intent on remaining upon her feet. The giant was stumbling, but she wasn't really sure what to do with that information. It was clearly much stronger and more durable than the average Darkspawn, and certainly more of both than she was as well. That greyish skin, she noted, was more the consistency of smooth, hardened scales than anything else, but it could bleed. She had drawn blood already.

Straightening her winged helmet on her head, Solvej grimaced and pulled her spear from the sand. Sand. The former Templar's eyes sparked as if with some uncanny light, and she realized that if the sand was making it difficult for someone of her size and weight to stay on their feet under force, than it would be damn near impossible for the behemoth. And who was her ally in this mad rush but a mage who specialized in just that?

The slow grin that spread its way across her face had heralded more than a few untimely ends, her own never among them. What was it Suicide had said? The path does not end here? The words were as appropriate as any. Solvej, growing up fighting people that were bigger and stronger than she was, had forgotten if only for a moment that there were times when that was a disadvantage, if only the smaller, weaker opponent had the wits and the guts to make it so. "Lukas! Aim for the legs! We're gonna bring this sodding giant down!" For her own part, Solvej hurtled forward, glad of the fact that she wore a good deal less armor than most of those in her profession, for the extra lightness of foot it lent her now. Trusting her fellow Warden to target well enough not to hit her, she veered to the right, aiming her spear for the creature's corresponding knee.

Her call was clear and concise, and it was then he made note of the small dust clouds billowing with every step each person present made. Lukas felt his lips tug upward, relishing the spectacle he would participate in making. Again drawing upon his reserves, draining most of what he had left.

He focused his attention to the specified target as the energy bubbled within him, small distortions in the air around him occurred, not unlike visible waves of heat from a fire. And just before he released, he knew he wanted to say something memorable for all to hear, but there wasn’t sufficient time to think of one as the pressure reached its culmination. He did however settle for shouting at the top of his lungs, “Insert witty quip here!”

A focused pulse shot forth like a beam as sand and grime gave chase to the energy, but unable to match it.

The business end of a spear sliced across his kneecap, sharp enough to lay the skin there open and expose the cartialge and bone underneath. Roaring pain and rage, the Darkspawn, swiped for the Templar but missed, forcing all of his considerable weight onto his opposite foot, in order to alleviate the agony he felt. Unfortunately, this was exactly what he should not have done, for the concentrated blast of magic hurtling towards him was well-aimed, and his inability to shift his bulk away from the shot meant that it caught him just below his second knee, the kinetic energy sufficient to shatter his tibia and send him reeling. Perhaps he could have pushed past his injury and retained his footing, but there was simply too much give in the sand, and his feet came out from under him, topping him backwards with all the force of a small aftershock.

On the groud and bellowing his agony, the ogre abandoned all tactics and thrashed blindly, murderously intent on ending the black-armored woman and the loud mage that had reduced his lower leg to bone-splinters poking out of flesh. One hand alighted on a loose stone, knocked from a nearby outcropping, and he hurled it in the magic-user's general direction, but his efforts were concerted on the closer enemy, the one he could reach.

Solvej, unable to jump out of the way in time, gasped as the ogre's massive fist knocked her own legs out from under her. Luckily, she managed to retain her grip on her spear, and she rolled away from the flailing of limbs, well aware that she'd just cracked a rib or two. Spitting a globule of blood from where she'd bitted the side of her cheek, the warrior leveraged herself to her feet, controlling her breathing so as to avoid painful gasps that would only further pressure her torso and thus deprive her of more air in the long run- when she was forced to hold her breath against the sensation of being stabbed with a thousand hot needles.

By sheer bad luck, the ogre's madly-swingling limbs managed to find her again, and his left closed around the Templar, encircling her from thigh to torso, though leaving her hands free. Like a child with an oversized toy, the behemoth shook the woman, bringing her down against the ground- hard.

She choked back a scream as the thing squeezed, a wat crack signaling the breakage of yet another rib, and it was about then that the black and red spots began to fight for dominance in what little remained of her visual field. Without her armor, she surely would have died already, but even as it was, she couldn't be sure she'd survive. In fact, she wasn't certain of much at all, except trying to bunch up her legs as she was hefted high into the air and slammed to the ground. It saved one of them, but the other snapped, the bone at the back of her shin breaking cleanly in half. Her shout was not a scream, but it was ragged and hoarse. With an exercise of the mental discipline her kind were known for, the Templar forced herself to ignore the pain and the bile rising up in her throat, but most of all to ignore the sweet call of unconsciousness. If she went to sleep now, she was dead.

Her arms were still free, and by some tiny miracle of fortune or else her own stubborn tenacity, she'd managed to retain her hold on her spear, and with as much strength as she could muster, she plunged it into the ogre's forearm.

The strike, fueled as it was by equal parts desparation and determination, slid through the skin like an overlarge needle, traveling for a good two feet along the line of the creature's limb. There was no mistaking it: she'd hit a large artery, and the spray of Drakspawn blood that followed was itself monstrous, spattering Solvej with a good gallon of blackish ichor. The muscle, too, was damaged, and the grip holding her in place went slack, even as the ogre itself fell silent, still moving, but clearly bleeding heavily now.

Coughing weakly, Solvej watched the results of her handiwork with a certain distant satisfaction, even as she thudded to the sand with a muffled sound. With the last of her effort, she managed to roll herself onto her back, arms splayed out in either direction, one of her legs bent at an awkward angle, plated leather boot and all. Her head lolled limply to the side, and she wasn't able to do much but keep breathing and kep her eyes open. "Hey Lukas," she muttered, halfway to delerious with pain but refusing to succumb to it, "any chance you could take care of this? I think I'm a little... occupied." It was a poor stab at humor, but then she couldn't think too well right at that moment, so it was the best anyone was going to get. He could probably just snap its neck without much trouble now, anyway, right?

A clear frown was shown on the force mage’s face, seeing the Templar in such a state. Had he any more reserves at the time from that last expulsion of magic he would have seen to it that such injuries wouldn’t have been sustained. Hopefully it wasn’t anything their resident healer couldn’t handle. At her attempt of humoring the situation, however, he couldn’t help but let out a wry chuckle despite her state, “I think I could manage, sure.”

He needed to take only two steps toward the beast, reduced to an almost sympathetic creature, making pitiful moans as the life-blood slowly poured out. Yes, almost sympathetic. Having regained enough of his pool of energy, Lukas raised a tightly-clenched fist and looked upon the hulk with the grimmest of intentions. Lukas was not a man to hold grudges, or bear ill will or disdain for another, but the darkspawn had earned a special, dark place in his heart. He knew not if it was simply a Grey Warden instinct to repel the Taint, or his own sense of righteousness- misguided or not- that dictated such disgust, but one thing was for certain, as he said to the despicable creature with a grim throat: “You’d think by now you’d learn, Blighters. Never cross a Warden!”

And lo, did the Fist of the Maker did smite the hulking beast, as the vertebrae suddenly contorted beyond the limits of any creature with that short a throat. The mage was rewarded with a sickeningly satisfying snap that reached his elfish ears, the new corpse’s eyes bulging and tongue passing between its teeth, the tip tasting a mix of its own ichor and dust as its last meal.

Done, the force mage turned his attentions to his comrade, quickly coming to her side to assess the damage. “You miss, are an absolute mess,” he remarked, another wry smile creeping on his scraggly features. Not waiting to hear her response the man called to their rear lines, "Hey, miss twiggy! Think you could send some of your magic moonbeams our way?”