Snippet #2127981

Rhapscallion's smile widened, then simmered slightly at it's edges. His own pendant, sloshing indefinitely with blood, swung around his neck like a pendulum, except it was a few shades more foreboding and slightly disturbing given the fact that the majority of his group had pitched forward like heavy sacks of potatoes. Frothing at the mouth like broken-bodied animals. His unconventional joining of the Grey Warden's had involved hiding in a great elm tree above a Darkspawn encampment, and being discovered by a baffled Commander Malik and an incredulous Solvej, who'd wryly suggested that such skills might be useful – the act of hiding from your enemies and remaining undetected whilst wrecking havoc. It brought back good memories. He bobbed his head, enthusiastically. “You've got some stories, I can tell.” He added as an afterthought, then grinned. “After this is all cleared up, you've got to share some with me.” Like moth wings fluttering peculiar patterns, Rhapscallion's eyes danced, flicking hopefully towards Mirabelle's companion to steal a glimpse of a smile. Fat chance. The man seemed completely rigid! And he wasn't very pleased with the turn of conversation, going as far as rolling his eyes up towards the skies as if the Maker would make sense of everything. He stepped forward, two steps to Solvej's right, past the tumbling Darkspawn, and slammed his own borrowed dagger through a bulging, red-rimmed eyeball, kicking the creature in the chest so that it'd slump forward and free the blade from it's gooey target. He turned towards Mirabelle, shrugging his shoulders and waggling his fingers inquiringly. "Is he always so gloomy?"

She simply shrugged. "Looks that way. You and I will have to fix that, won't we?"

With Solvej's next words, Rhapscallion's head whipped backwards like a dog who'd just been told it's caregivers had arrived at the door. If it was even possible, the half-breed's smile brightened, spreading through his eyes. He hopped towards them, stopped short, and swung back to look at the grimacing Templar. He blinked once, then twice, before tap-tap-tapping his index finger on his dimple, waving the proffered dagger a few inches from his eyelid. He didn't seem perturbed by it's proximity. “Negativity will age you, y'know?” He retracted his finger, and the dagger's glistening edge, before turning back towards his approaching companions, throwing out his arms wide. He decidedly tucked them back towards his body where they remained safe and unrequited. They were breaking through dark, double-blinds and they'd come through whole and alive, celebrating another victory and lives they'd managed to save. The sureness of this belief rocked his core. These alliances, as strange and unlikely as they stood, were important to him.

Somewhere in this whole mess, Mira had managed to figure out that all these random people were actually together, and were planning on getting through that barrier, and generally just doing good deeds and stuff on the other side. She wasn't exactly sure why she was following along, then. It seemed a hell of a lot safer to just hang back here with the burly men and women in loads of plate armor. Her former Warden companions had wanted to get through that barrier, too, and look where that got them... dead to the last man. These people weren't much more impressive, so she figured a similar fate awaited them, too. But... Andraste's perfectly shaped tits, she couldn't just leave them. As much as she wanted to save her own skin... well, she was a Grey Warden, and this kind of stuff was the price she had to pay for still being able to breathe.

She ended up alongside an adorable elf girl, though she was a little spattered with blood, casting spells at passing darkspawn, and the first thing she did was apologize. Mira herself was saving her knives, as if she used one at this point, she probably wouldn't have time to go retrieve it again. And besides, the others seemed to have things under control. She could always toss a stun vial if a troublesome hurlock got too close or something, and let one of the others finish it off.

"You know, I'm starting to get used to sudden," Mira commented to the elven girl, "since we're running towards the ugly black thing and not away from it, I'll just assume we're doing something really heroic and really stupid, and we could leave it at that. I'm Mira, by the way, Grey Warden, and the second most flexible girl in Val Royeaux, at your service."

Though she would be informed later by a snickering pirate captain that it had not been a particularly decorous question to ask, Ethne was rather quick to blurt the first thing that came to her. "Second-most flexible? Who is the most flexible, and how do you know?" The questions, though punctuated by a blast of chain lightning that sent three genlocks to their knees, was for all that asked with nothing but innocent curiosity. Whether Mira would have the chance to answer was debatable, however, as a cluster of Templars collapsed in on itself not far from their location, bringing the armored soldiers of the Maker low, and a good dozen Darkspawn left the finish to their allies and swarmed the motley collection of fighters headed for the gate.

The Darkspawn themselves were not particularly intelligent, mused Rudhale, but it seemed as though something in them was an animal sort of cunning, and that hive-mind of theirs must allow whatever strategist was pulling their strings to do so on short notice. He noticed that every once in a while, the group would be on the recieving end of a rather nasty sort of look, like the one Jack gave anyone who got too handsy with her. It managed to express the surprisingly-complex sentiment of 'I'm going to kill you in the most violent, painful way possible' with all the eloquence of silence. Fortunately, Delacroix appeared to have caught onto the fact that their endeavor yet stood a chance of success, for even as they advanced to the gates, the Orlesians made a corresponding surge, effectively preventing the body of the Horde from turning back to deal with the smaller incursion.

Let's hope the native lads last long enough to make a difference.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Ethne turning towards the new Warden, which in itself was nothing he was too concerned with. As it happened, however, he had to rotate a bit more to meet the oncoming charge, having positioned himself not far from the tip of their little spear-formation, a space which was, perhaps fittingly, occupied by the lovely Solvej. This action enabled him to actually see the newcomer, and his brows ascended his forehead. "Well, well, well. Jack was ever so distraught when the updates stopped coming from her favorite brothel-girl contact. I don't suppose that was much by choice, now was it, Mira?" A hurlock charged for him then, and perhaps if he'd not learned to fight in close quarters long ago, he might have struggled with the notion of moving enough to be effective without shifting so much as to expose his less-armored comrades.

As it was, he stepped into the swing of a longsword and parried with his katar, using the opportunity to open the creature's chest with a broad slash from his kilij.

Solvej had stepped, unhesitating, to the front of their little formation. She would not have it said that, when things truly came about in such a way as to test their mettle and endurance, that she was anything less than poised to meet them. Pride might be her greatest vice, but it had its uses as well.

An arrow clanged off her helmet, causing her to see stars for several long moments, during which she was forced to close her eyes and rely on her other senses to keep her alive. The whistle of a blade through the air; the metal haft of her spear raised to meet it, and she lashed out with a swift kick in the direction of the assailiant, rewarded only slightly when she heard a scraping- steel greaves on stone- that meant she'd caused the other party to stagger backwards. Opening her eyes again, she used her blurry vision to judge the shot as well as she could, thrusting forward with the spear. It skittered on a chest plate, but sheer stubborn strength gave it enough momentum to slide to a softer point on the 'Spawn's body and sink in there. Not as deeply as she would have liked, so she twisted to compensate, opening a bloody gash that forced the thing to retreat, likely to be finished off by one of the group's ranged combatants.

The Darkspawn were renewing the charge, however, and she blinked the last spots from her vision, steeling herself against the onslaught to come. This bravery, they said, was something not taught but only learned, and she combined it with a taunt, planting the butt of her spear in the ground and reaching forward with one arm, palm up, then flexing her first two fingers forward, lupine smirk fimly in place, the universal gesture for 'come and get me.' It seemed to work, as the majority of the dozen made right for her. Shoring her defenses, she also engaged her ability to turn the blade, but with those three things going at once, the fight would be seeing no fancy tricks from her.

Her job simply became to juggle the Darkspawn about and endure everything they threw at her, hopefully with the chatty elf-girl's support, and let everyone else glory in the kills and the flash-bangs. A longsword glanced off her side, and Solvej growled under her breath, knocking back the offending genlock with a swipe of her weapon. One of her gauntlets met an incoming knife-slash, but she rotated her hand to grasp the rogue's forearm, using her abominal strength as well as that in her arms to pitch him towards Kerin, stumbling and all. "Incoming!" She didn't have the opportunity to see the dwarf's axe meet the unsuspecting 'Spawn, but she was sure it would be ugly, and conversely, damn beautiful.

Another charged her, and she managed to actually slay that one, finding the open space between his helmet and chestplate and finessing her blade into it. It cost her, though, and the next two genlocks managed to score her a pair of wounds, one on her left arm, just above the elbow, and another to her right hip. Her punch to the first reverberated against its shield, but she ignored the miss and flowed into the next thing, in this case a pommel strike to the cranium of the other one.

Not to be outdone, Kerin had Solvej's right flank, fighting step for step with the Warden- perhaps moreso considering the height, and therefore stride distance. Both to keep the formation and to give Solvej and herself enough room to flail their deadly weapons about, Kerin did allow herself to stay a couple of paces behind point, though not without a hint of jealously. Though she more than made up for it with an offering of flesh. Armor, flesh, shield, tainted steel, it mattered not to a Dwarf's axes in the throes of her rampage. Her axe sweeped in a Killer arc opposite to that of the pitch, and the effect of the combined momentum of both objects was grisly, if morbidly satisfying, as the darkspawn split in half before Kerin's axe. She really hoped someone seen that. Mainly her enemies.

Kerin bellowed a harsh cry at the onslaught of 'Spawn. A wordless challenge that dared her enemies to approach her with the promise of blood. A pair of 'Spawn that once had their attentions turned on the Spearwoman decided instead to take up the challenge issied forth by the dwarf. A choice that would soon to prove fatal. They rushed her, but Kerin was faster as she scythed ahead of the formation and cut through the challenged 'Spawn. However, the scythe alone did not kill these Hurlocks. It would take a bit more than that to topple these foes. Fair enough, as the stunt she pulled had put her past Solvej and ahead of the formation. By the time she finished her work though, the formation would bound to have caught up.

She turned just in time to catch a bloodied sword with the haft of her axe. Another Hurlock approached with a mace, so she locked the sword under the beard of her axe, and yanked towards the mace, and instead of blocking the blow with her axe, she instead used the sword arm of the Hurlock. A wet crunch and a pained howl was her just reward as she smiled a wild chesire grin. The sword, now free from the mangled limb, slipped from the axe beard, only to be grabbed by Kerin's off hand. Using the blunt face of her axe, she batted the mace carrying Hurlock away and returned the sword to it's original owner-- in it's belly. Now free of one nuisance, she spun on her heel and drilled the remaining Hurlock at the edge of her reach. Just in time as the formation caught up to her. As she ran she tossed back a rib directed at Twig-bean and Mira. "If you fought as good as you talked, then you may even could match me!" She cried, punctuated with manical laughter.

Even Emil had to crack a grin as he let loose another arrow.

Continuing with the theme of suddenness, Mira was struggling to keep up with everything that was going on. She'd been initally occupied by the elven girl's preciously innocent curiosity, but indeed she didn't have time to respond, as the darkspawn were pressing them hard. That was probably for the best, however, since it was a rather long, albeit interesting, story, and not one best told during a pitched battle.

But that didn't mean she didn't have the time to greet an old acquaintance, one who she'd not expected to see here, of all places. Then again, the unexpected was starting to become a normality for her. Mira's face lit up at the mention of Jack, and she found herself wondering where the pirate might be, since she was not at Rudhale's side. "We'll have to save the catching up for after the fight. Jack and I certainly have some missed appointments to catch up on. Unless we all die here, that is."

As if to stress the seriousness of the situation to her, a hurlock that the tough-as-nails spear woman up front hadn't managed to goad made a rush at her, one that she was rather unprepared. Mira had just been about to attempt running behind Rudhale when the hurlock rather abruptly turned to stone in mid lunge. A spiky ball on the end of a wicked-looking staff swung sideways into the hurlock's head, shattering it into quite a few pieces, and leaving the rest of the body to crumble apart. Mira looked to her newest rescuer, who just so happened to be a massive, bare-chested, savage looking individual with a look in his eyes that was more akin to an inferno than a fire.

"This is not," he said, driving the business end of his double business ended staff into a second darkspawn, "a good place," he ripped the blade free, before swinging it about in a graceful arc and slicing horizontally, sending the creature's head flipping away from its body, "... for talking." With that, he promptly turned into a giant bear before Mira's eyes, and charged off to crush a few of the darkspawn that were swarming the spear-lady. Mira looked to Rudhale. "Interesting company you keep nowadays. But I'd say he's right. Should probably get to work."

She followed in the shapeshifter's bloody wake, being quite overlooked in all the carnage, most of the spawn's attention being drawn by larger people and more obvious threats. Spear-lady in particular had goaded a bunch of them without any help from Mira's vials, and so she seemed a good person to work around. Mira was able to slip up behind more than one enemy, slitting a throat here, slicing an exposed hamstring there, protecting her ally's blind side, never getting too close to any enemy that looked her way. It was unfair fighting, and it was just the way Mira liked it.

"You bet your heathen asses he's right, now shut your mouths and get to work. All of you," he ordered. Despite loathing himself for even putting up with a heretical pirate, An airheaded Warden, a couple of mages, and a traitorious Templar, he was not stupid. These people posed perhaps the best chance they had available to end this nightmare. And if he could help put an end to it, he'd aid in whatever capacity he was able. He wouldn't like it, but it seemed as if the Maker wasn't in a bargaining mood. He had to take what ever little threads Andraste dangled for him. He just wished the threads weren't mage colored. The smell of magic coming off of them made his nose itch. Though he'd keep in mind not to tell the fellow who had just became a bear. Again, cynical, not stupid.

He drew his bow back far past the normal draw length and let the arrow fly. It whistled past Mira, the shapeshifter, and even the traitorious Templar as it Lanced through 'Spawn during it's entire journey. Some it killed, some it only maimed-- and he had enough sense to realize that this rag-tag band of warriors were either intelligent enough, or blood hungry enough, to not allow a wounded 'Spawn escape their ire. Live or die, Emil would fight his salty heart out, as he did in everything he did. Though, that did not stop him from hoping that a few members of their merry band wouldn't returned across the barrier.

“What sad lives you lead, if this is naught but work!” Rudhale replied easily, sweeping under a broad slash and countering on the rebound motion, taking a hurlock’s arm off at the elbow. Heedless of the gore that welled from the wound, the creature bellowed and went in for a shield bash, catching the fleet pirate in the shoulder. Mentally shrugging, he followed the movement, spinning to the side and allowing his momentum to carry his longblade forward.

The tainted one didn’t manage quite so well without a head.

Ethne was a little more chagrined, and obediently closed her mouth at once. A comment like Dekton’s was taken for what it as worth: the wisdom of someone who’d seen much more battle than she. It probably would have been sufficient on its own to remand her to silence, but if nothing else, Emil’s barked order guaranteed it, her acquiescence automatic and without pause. The realization of that fact lodged something uncomfortable in her chest, and had she the time, she would have wondered if she were truly free of her captivity at all. She knew she’d be avoiding the Templar for more than one reason if the choice was hers to make, but their predicament was bound to necessitate otherwise.

Gardens; gardens and friends and people she’d never met. That was what this was for, and endure it she must.

Darkspawn still clambered over corpses, building wreckage, and rolling barrels, alike. As if there wasn't a difference between the three. The dull thumps of lifeless bodies provided constant background noise, along with shouts of warning when an enemy came too close, and the accompaniment of wringing blades meeting metal and slipping through flesh. Gurgling screams of agony. He was relieved when he quickly whipped about, dancing as graceful as a wily gypsy, and noted that none of those cries belonged to his friends. What would've he done if they did? It was best not to think that way. As usual, Solvej dipped ahead of the group as if she were boulder whisking across a riverbed, protecting them all from flying projectiles and Darkspawn alike – a perfect hoodwink, a perfect diversion while they weaved around her and downed their own targets. The smell of burning and smoke and ash rippled through the air and crashed against them, carried along with the stench of unwashed bodies and Maker-knows-what-else the Darkspawn carried with them. Speckles of dirt and blood rained down on them with each splendid blade slicing through throats, or brutal axe swipes, or ferocious claws gripping and tearing. His own blades, not so balanced now that they weren't equally matched, slipped through openings and sent his targets tripping so that someone else could finish them off. He went along unnoticed, unseen – just another puff of smoke mingling with it's predecessors. His eyes could not close to these sights. “Here!” Rhapscallion's hunched shoulders pushed against his Mentor's back, rolling off with it's momentum, and succinctly moving Solvej so that she'd be in a better location, before hooking his blade against the first genlock's throat and brutally snapping it across the creature's upraised snout.

They were approaching the gate now, the portcullis relatively unguarded due to the tide of Darkspawn now swelling out into the open field. Still, their window of opportunity would be small, and they had to take it soon. For a moment, Ethne paused in her offense. As much as she wished to find herself as capable as the rest, there were other considerations to be made- like how they had no idea what they’d find behind that gate and needed every advantage they could take. Planting the blunt end of her staff in the ground, she activated a group heal with one hand and a heroic aura spell with the other even as the party passed beneath the gate. In the nick of time, too- the iron grate clanged shut behind them, barring the way out or in. There would be no more assistance from any of the Orlesians outside.

Oddly, there were few Darkspawn about, and those that still were fell beneath the group’s onslaught without difficulty. This, while perhaps fortunate, still left them with one rather glaring problem: the barrier. They drew up to it, the feelings of nausea and discomfort stirring now at twice their previous level. Anyone sensitive to magic would be experiencing at least some level of dizziness, and she was willing to bet that even the others would feel distinctly uncomfortable.

The bile rose at the back of her throat, and Ethne breathed only shallowly, fighting down the urge to vomit. She needed to understand what it was in order to have some inclination of how to break it down, and so she closed the last few feet between herself and the shimmering opacity, steeling her nerves as best she could and reaching outward. Her fingertips contacted the surface, producing white ripples in the image, but no give in its rigidity. She was less concerned with that than the fact that she was quite certain that she understood at least part of its nature.

“It’s… it’s like this is made of the Fade,” she pronounced, torn between awe and physical illness. Fade it may have been, but it was more twisted and corrupt than she’d ever known anything from there to be, demons included.

Beside her, the pirate rapped his knuckles on the surface and shrugged. “Well, that explains why they needed another wall. Can’t Templars and the like just tear right through this?” He shot an aside glance at Solvej and the sour one, raising a brow speculatively.

Ethne frowned. “Perhaps. This is… well, it’s a lot of Fade.” Rudhale was incredibly curious, but he knew the difference between occasions for scholarly discussions and occasions for action.

“Might as well give her a go, then. Perhaps if the two of you-“ he gestured broadly to the Templars in the group- “do that blue-glowy magic-cancellation not magic thing you can do, it will weaken for our favorite incredibly-tall shapeshifter and charming little miss to have a go at, hm?”

Ethne, too distracted to be embarrassed, nodded slowly. It was as good a plan as any she could think of, and she glanced over her shoulder at the three other necessary parties, hoping for the sake of expediency that they’d be willing to risk it. Solvej, the new Templar, and Dekton together would hopefully be sufficient for her to finish the job, but even then, this wasn’t going to be easy on her. There was a lot more involved than simply ‘having a go at it,’ but she wasn’t about to bring that up right now.

When the group came to a stop around the barrier, Solvej pulled off her winged helmet, deciding that no, right now the smell of blood trapped closer to her nose was not going to do her considerable intestinal fortitude any favors. She was trained to be sensitive to the workings of magic, but it had never affected her physically in quite this way before. Frankly, she would be perfectly content if it never did so again, and her lips turned down in a pronounced scowl. Running a hand through her hair, the Templar-Warden exhaled through her nose, watching the young woman carefully probe at the barrier.

Her conclusion was unexpected, but Sol could not claim that it was particularly surprising. Blighted Fade. There was no denying that magic was the root cause of most of her problems. It had been for the better part of her life, but all the same, she couldn't bring herself to resent that... much. The plan of action saw the woman leaning on her spear, her other hand on her hip, helmet tucked beneath her elbow. "Explains the gate closing. I doubt even this thing could stand up to all the Templars in Val Royeaux." She tilted her head to one side, eyes sliding over the darkened surface of the barrier. "All right. I'll give it a shot. The shiny bowman back there's gonna have to make his own decision though; I'm not sure it'll work the way we expect." The black-armored woman wasn't a scholar from habit, but she did know enough about magic to say that predicting it was kind of like trying to predict the weather- it only kind of worked sometimes.

Taking a couple of steps backwards, she squared her shoulders and fitted her helmet back over her head. No telling what they were about to face; best be prepared for the worst.

"It's not not magic pirate. We suppress it, then we kill it. Get it right before you find a new hole to breath out of," Emil snapped. Normally he would have accomplished this with a cold glare, but present circumstances were certainly not normal. The barrier felt like a physical manifestation of the fade and it was assaulting Emil's senses, making him feel more on edge than usual. Moments ago, where he smelled smoke, ash, and the death of battle, now he smelled nothing but the metallic scent of his own blood running freely from his nose. He wiped what he could with the underside of his gauntlet before grunting. It no doubt wouldn't let up until something was done about the barrier.

"Ah, so it's not not magic. Thank you for the clarification, though I must admit I'm surprised that you understand the similarity between what you 'suppress' and what you are," the pirate quipped offhandedly. He chose not to mention the man's bleeding nose as further evidence of a commonality between Templar and mage. He was probably pushing it as it was, and he had no desire to actually interrupt proper proceedings with a more physical confrontation when the enemy was not a Darkspawn.

There was that cold glare. He made no effort to put his irritation into words, only allowing his wild olive eyes to stare a hole into the pirate. While keeping his glare level on the pirate he continued, "And this shiny bowman has a name, Traitor," he said as he approached the barrier. As much as he hated to get closer to the twisted monument to the dangers of magic, he would not let the Black Templar do what was a true Templar's job. As he passed the mousey lady-elf mage, he tossed her his bow adding, "Try not to enchant it, mage." If he was to try and dispell this barrier he would need both hands. Ethne quite nearly fumbled the catch, but managed not to drop the surprisingly-heavy instrument of death, unsure as to how she was supposed to cast while holding it. Rudhale spared her the indignity by plucking it from her grip and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Feeling up to it?" He asked Solvej, "Or have you been away from the Order too long?"

The shapeshifter had heard the plan, what there was of it, but that was about it. As the others, including one of the newcomers, began to argue something, Suicide dropped to a knee, the world spinning about like it had the first night he'd drowned himself in mead at his clan's camp. He held up a hand as if to say "one moment", pounded the ground once with his fist, and proceeded to unload the contents of his stomach in one massive hurl. And, much like the first time he'd been swimming in alcohol, throwing up worked excellently. No doubt the barrier would have him puking more in a while, but for now, it was manageable. He stood, spit into the ground, before glancing to the others. "Better. Let's get on with this."

Mira hadn't been faring so well herself. Of all the group, she was perhaps the least built for situations like this, considering that even the elf girl seemed to have some experience in battle. Mira just knew how to kill things, not how to cleave through armies! She had already been a little woozy from the fighting, and this ugly stinky barrier wasn't helping. When the shapeshifter let it all go, she couldn't help but gag herself, a hand instinctively covering her mouth as she immediately turned away and crouched down. After carefully confirming that her single long braid of hair was not in danger, she spit the nasty taste out of her mouth, rubbing her stomach and breathing slowly through her nose to steady herself. "You guys... do your magic stuff. I'll... watch your backs."

"Smooth Buttercup..." Kerin said flatly. She out of all of her companions was the least affected by the barrier. She only experienced a mild discomfort, like an itch that couldn't quite be scratched. Chalk it up to natural dwarven hardiness, she looked no worse for wear than she had earlier. She stood with her arms crossed and looked as enthused as ever. A bored frown sat on her face as she spoke. "Do that for a couple of weeks straight on a rocking boat, then we'll have something to talk about."

Solvej had been about to reply to Emil's challenge when what she had long ago termed the 'barroom chorus' started playing, and she fought to stifle her snickers instead. Okay, so the fact that her team members were so badly-affected by the barrier wasn't really funny on its own, but there was just something about the whole situation that was starting to seem a little surreal. At least they weren't all dead yet, right? That damn well had to count for something.

When the putrid retching ceased and Kerin had indulged in her small revenge, the Black Templar glanced to her left and raised an eyebrow, lupine smirk firmly in place. "You know what they say," she replied lightly, "You can take the girl out of the categorically-oppressive patriarchal knight-Order, but..." she trailed off with a casual shrug, taking a deep breath and channelling her power through the haft of her spear, concentrating it at the business end and watching the blade light up like Andraste's Day magelights, before passing it through the air in a couple of test spins before directing the force at a point on the opaque surface she picked because Emil, Ethne, and Suicide would all be able to hit it as well.

The hit rebounded hard, but she struck again, unrelenting until the spear-light disappeared, and then stepped aside quickly to allow Emil to take over immediately, hoping that the barrier wasn't in some way self-repairing.

As Solvej channeled her power through her spear, Emil cupped his own hands in front of his chest, gathering his own power. Much like Solvej, his own power lit up the length of his arm. By the time he was up to belt the barrier with the power of a real Templar, his arms were shining a magnificent blue. With a sudden jerk, he took Solvej's spot and his hands flew out in front of him. Like a wave the powers of the Templar washed over the length of his arm and shot forward like a beam, striking the same spot that Solvej's power did. He kept the continous beam concentrated on the spot until he began to feel his own power wane, at which point he quickly ducked out of the way and let the next have his or her turn.

The first two blows to the barrier produced a slight thinning appearance, the opacity wavering until it was almost possible to see the buildings beyond, but not quite. As soon as Emil backed off, however, the obfuscation began to gain strength again. Clearly, it would take considerably more work before it came down. Ethne, watching with wide eyes for the right moment, knew it wouldn't break for her just yet, somniari or not. Her blue-green eyes swung to Dekton. "It just needs a bit more," she pointed out, swallowing somewhat thickly. She hoped. hoped that this was true.

The shapeshifter had widened his stance somewhat, dropping his staff to the ground in preparation for his own attack, which would not have nearly so much bright blue and white lights as the pair of Templars had produced. Suicide's approach was more primal. His eyes closed as his hands reached out before him. He really had no clue what it would take to bring down such a barrier, but he had also learned long ago that the forces of nature were something that should never be underestimated. With a low, growing, rumbling growl the shapeshifter used his powers to attempt ripping open the wall before them. The ground around him began to shake slightly, growing in strength. At first a few small rocks began to swirl about him, but then larger ones joined them, pieces of the earth beneath his feet ripping themselves free and creating something of a storm of rock about him. The ground at the base of the barrier cracked in places, the earth loosening at his command, and the occasional bolt of lightning struck the wall with vicious force from seemingly nowhere.

The barrier did not falter, but he was sure he was at least having some effect. A structure could not survive with its foundation utterly ruined, and Suicide was currently in the process of attacking the barrier's foundation, both in the physical world, and in the Fade. The act of combating the horrendously dark magic was making his stomach rumble in displeasure, but he pushed it aside, losing himself in the struggle. Sooner than he would have liked, however, his magical reserves were spent, and with a last roar he sent the storm of rock flying about him hurtling into the barrier. He grunted to Ethne to signal that he was through, and scooped up his staff once more, working to slow his breathing.

Ethne backed up somewhat when Dekton let loose, not particularly graceful and particularly unfond of the idea of tripping and falling flat on her face. It was almost funny, that even at a time like this, she was conscious of the fact that she didn't want to humiliate herself in front of such hypercompetent people. They weren't all skilled in the same way or with the same attitude, but there was no mistaking the prowess involved, as the swirling storm of rock and lightning was reminding her most effectively. Beneath the onslaught, the barrier wavered, each concussive hit producing white flashes upon its surface, rippling outwards and clashing with each other in tumultuous patterns. By the time the mage was done, it was indeed possible to see through the barrier somewhat, and what was there- or rather, what wasn't there, dropped a weight of doubt into Ethne's stomach.

There was simply nothing. Buildings and their edifices remained in place, but there were no Darkspawn, no people, no sounds, no signs of life whatsoever. Were they perhaps too late? There wasn't time to consider it properly; she had a job to do. It took considerably more effort than it should have to apprach what remained of the barrier, and it seemed now to almost be reacting to its damage, and she doubled over when another wave of nausea swept through her, dizzying her to her toes. Lurching forward, she caught herself on the dome, both hands pressed flat to the surface. This only made things worse, but it would be much more troublesome in the moments to come. Inhaling deeply through her nose, Ethne reached deeply into her wellspring of magical energy, drawing the stuff up through her arms and curling her thin fingers, letting the fingertips find what scant purchase they could on the slick surface. Closing her eyes, the little mage let the world grow silent, and slipped into the Fade.

The object- though it was also almost a presence- reacted violently, and she felt insidious magic trying to creep into her own body, as if to infect her with its darkness and malevolance. Though her physical form did not move, Fade-Ethne gasped, recoiling in shock and batting away several tangible tendrils of shadow as they made to latch onto her. One wrapped itself about her wrist and tugged, but her Fade-self blasted it away with a raw spell. Still, the force was persistent, and though such was not usually her wont, she found herself growing irritated. Several more tendrils wound about her wrists, and one ventured dangerously-close to her throat. Of this, her companions would only note a crease developing in her brow, and, perhaps if anyone was observing closely, her knuckles growing paler. The barrier itself was instead of a steady, even color, a swirling mass of smoke in glass, drifting and undulating by turns as if recting to something, which in fact it was.

Biting down on her tongue, Ethne tasted the coppery tang of blood in her mouth in both worlds, reminding her of a very important fact. She was of both, and this... thing, whatever it was, did not master either, not while she was here to stand against it. Her Fade self flared, disintegrating her bonds, and she went on the offensive, hurling as much magic as would answer the call of her will. For once, she didn't bother too much with aim or finesse, taking a leaf out of Dekton's or Kerin's book and attempting to win by simply brutalizing the opposition. This place answers to me, not you! It was an ingrained thing, an arrogance of a sort, perhaps, but here, if one didn't believe with certainty, one held no power, and powerless was something she had no wish to be any longer.

To the eyes of the group, a strange thing happened then. From the places her hands touched the barrier, there was a distinct sound- like a distant ringing, and white fissures formed in the surface, spreading slowly outwards and up, over and down, much like glass under too much pressure. With an exhale almost like a sigh, Ethne gave all she had, and all at once, the magic shattered, the shards disintegrating in midair, and all attendant feelings of illness or unease disappearing completely.

Smiling gently, she pulled herself back into reality, and her knees buckled, eyes rolling back in her head as unconsciousness claimed her. That wasn't so bad; she'd been worried the effort was going to kill her, and silently thanked the others for sparing her that much, at least.