Lowtown’s foundry district always smelled of sulfur. It hung there, thick and toxic, in the air, and Rilien’s nostrils flared, his nose crinkling just slightly in distaste. For someone sensitive to changes in his olfactory sensation, it was not at all pleasant. He imagined it wasn’t much better for people who usually didn’t bother paying attention to what they were smelling. It was overpowering that way.
The buildings here were run down, plaster and stone chipped, peeling from the facades of buildings like the skin could from an orange, or the papery outside of an onion. None lived here, for what foundries were still working operated day and night, and even Darktown was preferable to living in one of the derelict, hollowed-out shells that had died here. Their passage kicked up a fine layer of dust, mixture of chalk, crushed stone, and ash, he was willing to bet. The building Emeric had indicated as the endpoint of Mharen’s phylactery’s trail appeared to be one of the old shells from a time long past, but unsurprisingly, the dust on the way up the stairs to the door was disturbed considerably.
The Tranquil’s eyes narrowed. From the patterns in the dust, something heavy and reasonably-sized had been dragged through here, recently. Shooting a glance behind him, he made sure both of his companions were still present and alert before padding up the stairs. His knives made no more than a raspy whisper of sound as he drew them from their sheaths, putting his back to the wall and approaching the door. It was just slightly ajar, but there was no way any of them would be able to get through without moving it still further. A quick scan of the area indicated no other acceptable method of entrance, and so the Tranquil bit the arrowhead and nudged the door open with his foot, entering as soundlessly as he was able.
Not soundlessly enough, it seemed. The metal door gave a squeak as it was nudged further, only a small thing, but enough to give them away. The three of them would be able to get a glimpse of a human presence within the foundry, a robed man fleeing their sight on the second level of the interior, towards the back, leaving naught but a small bag behind him. Not long after, the entire foundry began to rumble beneath their feet, a blinding flash of light erupting from the center of the ground floor.
A pride demon was left in its wake, a massive creature of thickened flesh and claws, beady eyes gazing down at the intruders, clearly with hostile intentions. It was safe to say that Emeric had not encountered this on his trip into the foundry.
For once in her life, and perhaps the only time in it, as well, Sparrow decided to lag behind, watching Rilien's movements, and acting accordingly, to direct whether or not she should continue moving forward or remain where she was. She'd learnt her lesson the last time she bumbled into an apostate's clumsy traps, strewn across the cobblestones as apparent, and noticeable, as a prostitute's exposed bosom. It might've seemed unusual, but she did learn, sometimes. Her collected weaknesses were small, insubstantial things, that pushed her to greater, reckless heights. Or else, it might have been the asserting voice whispering against her collarbone, or into the contours of her earlobes, that kept her impulses in check, as if it was protecting her property from any further compromise. It would do her no good if she had to fight another needy demon's promises, scrambling for a better hold on Sparrow's body, on her mind, on her thoughts. Her fingers finally conceded to holding the flanged mace in her grip, tightening with each step closer to whatever it was they were going to face. Someone had obviously been through the Foundry before them. Sparrow glanced towards the doorway, slightly unlatched, then towards Aurora, who she shared a capacious smile with, mouthing a silent ready? Ready.
A recently prepared mantra repeated in her thick skull, resounding against her temples, trying to drown out the singing of her blood. The loud, echoing drumbeat of her heart, impatiently waiting for Rilien to signal them. She must be patient. She must be disciplined. She must be hopeful, shedding off whatever weary thoughts that might hamper her ability to protect, to fight. Sparrow was none of those things, and so she watched intently as Rilien's foot slowly lifted towards the door, easing it open with a rusty, unexpected squeak. She inwardly cringed, stepping forward. Through squinted eyes, Sparrow spotted a departing man with his robes flapping behind him, quickly scrambling up the stairs to the second level of the foundry. “You! Stop running, fool—” She called after him, gritting her teeth and slamming the door open with an open, ball-faced kick. She hadn't even noticed the small bag he'd dropped in the wake of his haste. Instead, Sparrow's hands pinwheeled from the sudden quakes, flinging down onto the wooden railing to keep herself from stumbling into her companions.
“Always with the demons.” She cursed loudly, eyeing the creature who'd erupted from the centre of the foundry. It was quite clear what kind of individual they were dealing with – a cowardly mage who wasn't so keen on letting them walk away unscathed, and this particular mage was running instead of facing them himself. They'd have to give chase after dealing with his lackey. She whispered again, pressing her to move. She looked over her shoulder, towards her companions, and added a quick, “No need to hold ourselves back, now.” Directed towards Aurora, because she needn't hide her abilities when not in the presence of any Templars. Sparrow threw herself down the rampart to her right, nearly hopping down the entire case of stairs, while ripples of rock created a thick protective structure, more akin to armour, that enveloped her chest and joints. If she needed to, then she would distract the creature while Aurora cast her spells, and while Rilien sunk his daggers from the shadows. Her arms tensed, and then she closed the distance between her and the pride demon, swinging her mace towards its midsection.
The first thing Aurora did instead of berating the fleeing mage or quip about the pride demon was stumble backwards in surprise. First abominations then straight to Pride demons? No middle ground? No hunger demons, no desire demons, just a pride demon. Marvelous. At least it was only one of them right? And three of them? Though, the thing was big enough to count as much as three of them... Her breath hitched as the creature looked at them with disdain, as if they were trash. There was no positioning or bravery from Aurora, as the creature was easily thrice her size. Instead, now backed up against the wall, she crossed her hands in front of her breast and dipped into the fade, drawing a sheath of ethereal rock armor around herself. She mentally steeled herself as she repeated the oft recited name in her head once more. Rosaline.
So intent she was on the chosen word and the hulking pride demon, she nearly missed Sparrow's words. She offered no reply in her own words, just a curt nod. It seemed like these people already knew she was a mage. Strange. She thought she was very careful about that. Though with Sparrow's own rock armor spreading across his chest and joints, she figured that her secret was safe with him. Now it made sense why he was so stand-offish with the Templar. As Sparrow darted towards the pride demon, Aurora couldn't help but be impressed and envious of the man's bravery. Head first into battle, mace in hand ready to fell all that stand in his way. So sure, he was, it even gave Aurora strength to step forward, and ready her repertoire of spells. A sidelong glance at the Tranquil Rilien and she strode up to the railing and readied a spell.
She called to the fade with her hands, drawing upon the natural forces of the world. The air around her hands shimmered as the warmth was sucked out and replaced with cold, the skin of her hands taking on an icy texture. Then she pushed into the air with her frigid hands, casting out a cone of cold and caused a fine layer of frost to build up on the demon's head and shoulders. Pride always was a hot-headed emotion, so why not cool it down?
Sizing up the Pride demon with a cool, appraising stare, Rilien was perhaps the only one in the room who could have matched it for haughtiness. Not, perhaps, in the same way, but he appeared as unimpressed and unruffled as ever upon the conclusion of his inspection, and possessed neither the apprehension that belonged to Aurora nor Sparrow's drive to attack as quickly as possible. Flipping one of his blades so that it lay parallel to his forearm, he kept the other as it was and calculated his attack. Unimpressed with the result, he shifted his tactics, and instead chose to part his lips and sing. An Orlesian ditty, translated into Ferelden for the sake of a wider audience. It was a lively thing, and the way the words rushed over his tongue, infused with that certain something that only a bard could manage, he was quite certain that his allies would benefit from it.
"And she shall bring the birds in spring, and dance among the flowers. In summer's heat her kisses sweet, they fall from leafy bowers." The result was immediate to his own reckoning, his reflexes and strength enlivened, and the next verse shifted, focused instead on slowing and befuddling the demon itself. "She cuts the grain and harvests corn, the chill of fall surrounds her. The days grow old and winter cold, she draws her cloak around her." If the Tranquil had still smiled, he would have done so when the mighty demon seemed to hitch in its stride just a bit, as though its body were no longer to move perfectly-aligned with its thoughts. As it was, he chose the moment to join the fray, heedless of the light coating of frost that fell from above like snow, dusting his head and shoulders. Sparrow's blow connected with the creature's midsection, forcing it to a temporary standstill, and Rilien took full advantage of that, ducking in towards its other side and drawing his knives over the skin of its arms and legs, angling and applying pressure so that the blades bit deep into tendon and muscle, leaving eerily-precise, bloody lines in their wake.
Before the demon could so much as raise one of its massive arms to crush him in retaliation, he simply vanished, forcing it to redirect and try to bat simultaneously at Sparrow and Aurora, both of whom would by now be well aware of its intent.
Had it been Aurora's choice words, or her elusive fib towards the Templar? It might've been Rilien's subtle exclusion in Darktown, but if anyone asked, then Sparrow would have shrugged her shoulders, professing that she just knew. The Fade did not taste as bitter as Rilien described and she wasn't as compellingly in tuned as he was, but still, there were quiet whisperings, and a heaviness that pressed against her skin. She'd whispered to her, nudging her in the proper direction, indicating that she wasn't alone. Her methods were mysterious, unknown to her. It burned pleasantly on the back of her tongue, leaving no compromise. The last remaining bits of rock-ribbed armour encased her cheekbones, head and mouth area, appearing uncannily like a horned mask. Perhaps, if one looked close enough, a lapidarian Qunari. Her eyes were nothing more than two nebulous slits within the craggy crown, occasionally catching glints of Aurora's glacial stream and quick flashes of Sparrow's gritted teeth, bared like a beast.
It had always been his voice – her Tranquil companion who seemed more alive, more animated than anyone else she'd ever known while singing. Unusual, unexplainable. Like long forgotten memories of violins howling through the night, painting temporary pictures across boulders with damp fingertips, dipped in water. Watercolour paintings made up of oyster tones, washed away by the sunlight. He was a shadow with a morning dove's voice. Even now, Sparrow's breath hitched in her throat, momentarily struck by how he sounded. Rekindled spurts of energy wound it's way across her arms, warmed her fingers, and tightened the muscles corded in her shoulders. She was able to pull back her mace and strike again, slightly lower than her initial swing. This was not a song of hushed lullabies and codling whimsy – it breathed fire in her belly, extorted it into something wild and uncontrollable. His voice was copper. Utilizing the Pride Demon's disjointed movements, Sparrow swung again, and again, before careening to the left to gain a better vantage.
Rather than exert itself moving towards the mage that had cast ice all over its upper body, or struggle to locate the vanished bard, the pride demon instead called upon arcane magic that would affect a large area around, enough to encompass all three of them, and likely hit the bard as well, invisible as he was. Its hands lit with magical energy, shimmering airwaves twisting around its feet as the spell activated, an altered form of the crushing prison spell. In addition to inflicting considerable pain on the joints, the spell also carried with it a powerful pull, a strong force to bring the pride demon's enemies into very close range. Regardless of any damage suffered, the demon laughed as though enjoying itself, a deep, rumbling, throaty sound echoing about the interior of the foundry.
When the spell was complete and the magic released, the pride demon immediately lashed out with backhanded strikes towards both Aurora and Sparrow, the two that it could still easily locate, and the two most visible threats.
The spell caught Aurora by surprise. The day was just chock full of surprises. Aurora hated surprises. One doesn't normally expect a creature the girth of a pride demon to also be able to cast spells, and she paid the price for her ignorance. At first, she tried resist the spell by grabbing on the railing in front of her and holding on for dear life. That helped her from diving off the edge and to a painful drop below, but it did nothing to the screaming pain in her joints. Her elbows, knees, ankles, and even fingers felt like they were being poked repeatedly by red hot needles. It was an annoying, and painful experience, she tried to push it out of her mind. It was all an illusion. There was no pain, no real pain. It was just an illusion of pain. Rosaline.
Her heart was not docile. It did not slow, or stutter in fear when the Pride Demon conjured arcane magic, alighting it's proffered claws with raw, unholy energy. She had never been frightened every time a blade came too close to ending her life, leeching her lifeblood. She merely laughed and moved on to face and conquer another danger or obstacle in her way, heedless of how reckless she was becoming. This was another battle, another fight to be won. Weren't they all equally dauntless when facing such disgusting creatures? Creatures better off left in whatever damned hole they'd crawled out of. She disagreed.The Fade felt heavier, much more potent. With a war cry springing from her lips, she suddenly lunged towards the Pride Demon with her mace ready to batter flesh and spill blood. However, Sparrow didn't exactly follow through her wild swing – instead, faltering when her joints seized, as if they were tying themselves into awkward knots. The creature's rumbling laugh echoed in her chest, hollow as an empty chamber. It rang through her ears, temporarily muzzling her unwanted occupant. Her teeth chattered noisily, grinding against the sweltering pain prickling across her skin.
Her mind thrashed against the disillusioned agony. Deep fissures crackled down her armour, rattling her concentration. Fear clung to her skin, coalesced to her being. Unfortunately, Sparrow was already in close vicinity, digging her heels in the dirt to keep herself from falling face-forward. She still felt the uncomfortable pull.The throbbing in her joints beat in time with her heart, rising to a crescendo, then to a low roar. Two seconds of hovering in a borderland between triumph and despair. And while immeasurable agony spread from a point just below her ribcage through her whole body, into shoulders, arms, hands, fingertips; hips, legs. toes; into her scalp, into the tips of her hairs even in her fingernails. It was the remnants of Rilien's song that kept her from tumbling straight against the Pride Demon's knobby knees, and forced her limbs back into movement.
Then the railing began to creak. Then it began to creak again, although louder. Aurora wasn't even able to coax a single complete Antivan curse out of her lips before the railing gave away and dropping her to the ground below. She landed with a hard thump, and though no cracks or pops resulting from broken bones were heard, it still hurt. She felt every single stone that comprised the back of her rock armor in her back, and it was uncomfortable, if not painful. Even if the pain she had experienced before was an illusion, this pain, illusion or not, felt very real. She laid on the ground breathing deep and hard trying to force the air that had escaped her lungs back. It was not the time to be lounging around, not while a pride demon still stomped around. There was an urgency, but she just couldn't find her way back perpendicular to the ground. She lay, unawares of the demon's back hand strike, scabbling about trying to force the ground beneath her feet once more.
Rilien grit his teeth as his feet left the ground, drawn towards the manifestation of Pride like a moth to flame, entirely against his own will, and inexorably. The situation, and all others like it, was one of a scarce few things that managed to stir the Tranquil's irritation, and even as he went still, not bothering to fight the gravatic force pulling him in, his eyes narrowed to slits, his hands tightening around the hilts of his knives until his knuckles were pale. Pain was inconsequential like everything else, and he bore scant thought for the pressure inflicted upon elbows, knees, fingers, vertebrae, too intently focused on his whirring thoughts.
It was a funny thing, what people thought about the Tranquil. It must seem, on the face of it, that his stillness of emotion was somehow reflective of a stillness of mind, as though he didn't think just as he didn't feel. On the contrary, it was as if the cognitive capacity required to feel anything was now free for his use, and he at least put it towards thought. Constant calculation, the ticking away of some inevitable time-bomb, the explosion of which was action. Always decisive, always focused. Nothing was extraneous, nothing went to waste. Which was why, even now as he was thrown unceremoniously to the ground, he was observing, thinking, planning. The noisy protests of the stair railings alerted him to Aurora's predicament, and even as he picked himself up off the floor, still invisible and unnoticed by the demon, he observed that she was having considerably more difficulty doing the same.
His next sequence of thought was quick, which was just as well, for her anyway. Even as the demon's arm headed towards the mage-girl, Rilien applied a burst of speed, made all the easier by his own quasi-magical bardsong, to stand a good few meters in front of her downed person. His arms, he crossed in an 'x' over his chest, the points of both knives upside-down but outwards, blades facing the ceiling. The creature paid the price for ignoring what it could not see, and even as the massive hand swept towards the redheaded woman, it was forced to a paintful halt, the momentum from its swing now working against it and forcing it further onto the Tranquil's weapons. Rilien dug his feet into the ground as well as he was able, trying to preserve his traction as he wavered into view again, but the effort was about as useless as he would have expected it to be, and his boots tore furrows in the ground as he was lifted, effectively tossed from the area as the Pride demon snarled at great volume, sending the elf flipping end-over end and into the nearest wall of the foundry, only one of his blades still in his grip. The other remained staked in the creature's hand, both wounds now oozing ichor at an impressive rate, and it aborted its attack on Aurora, that hand now dangling more or less uselessly by its side, clearly a source of considerable agony.
Perhaps the pain it was under approximated something like the amount he was feeling now, slammed bodily into stone and mortar, the breath leaving his lungs as he slid to the ground. He'd avoided hitting headfirst only with some tricky midair acrobatics, which accounted for his present state of, well... life. Even so, he heard with a distant sort of antipathy the sound of one of his own ribs snapping, then another, then a third, in a quick succession of popping cracks. He landed with uncharacteristic heaviness in a crouch, pulling breath into his lungs evenly, minimizing the pain as much as he was able. Pushing off with his free hand, Rilien regained his feet with a wobble, his perfect composure for once disappeared. For all that, he still looked as though nothing was wrong, at least if his expression was anything to go by.
The blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth spun a different yarn, perhaps.
Her head whipped around to see where her companions had wound up, and whether or not the Pride Demon's magic was effecting them too. Drawing them in like mice pulled unceremoniously by their tails, except they weren't scuffling into holes to hide. It was the Pride Demon's greatest folly. Even though she couldn't see him, Sparrow imagined Rilien gravitating towards the creature, daggers held tightly in his hands, irrefutably poised to rip the creature's advancing legs into something less than limbs, and a little more like skewed beef. It was almost like tugging a wild animal's chain towards you, instead of back-peddling away, with its killing intent clear as day. Surely, the Pride Demon underestimated them. Pride, the deadliest sin, in her opinion, was going to be his downfall. It was predictable, ironic. This was nothing like the sweet promises the Desire Demon relayed, near constantly, reaching out to her with promises and waving it's propositions in her face like a banner that couldn't be denied. Where was Rilien? Probably whirring possibilities and probabilities and possible solutions through his mind. In these moments, even in the midst of pain tingling through their limbs, it was difficult to imagine that Rilien felt nothing at all. He felt nothing, and it wouldn't scare him because she didn't think he remembered fear. In his world, there were no emotions, no wrath, no loss of control. Nothing to dampen his concentration. He was unhampered by tedious responses, unaware of the startling acidity that crawled it's way from her throat, throttling her with violence.
The penetrating shriek of metal, as if a force were pushing against it, snapped Sparrow from her thoughts. Her eyes flew away from Rilien, and caught sight of Aurora as she was falling from the first level of the Foundry, toppling along with the broken railing like a sack of potatoes – certainly not like a monarch butterfly, because she hadn't landed on her feet, or rolled away from the Pride Demon's scaly limbs. Her mouth hung open like a hinge, as if ready to call out. Sparrow's reflexes were stunted, riddled with energy she couldn't seem to harness. She'd been too far away, hadn't she? It still didn't stop the quick pang of guilt, tasting coppery in her mouth. There was a brief thought of splintered bones and empty sockets before Sparrow's entire body was swept from underneath her.She caught a quick glimpse, already listing to the side, of Rilien appearing in front of Aurora, arms crossed, and both knives glinting like two pieces of transposed objects. Like quicksand, like a sucking swamp, like damp dirt, Sparrow's vision blossomed, then contracted in a spray of pinpricks and slithering worms. The Pride Demon's scaly fingers, knobby knuckles, had felt like anythingbut a hand hitting her – it was a brick wall, or a horse trampling her. She was ungracefully thrown across the chamber, past Rilien and Aurora, and past the initial stairway she'd hurdled down. It'd been her stoney-armour that kept her mobile, kept her from suffering the same fate Rilien had experienced. She flipped over backwards, into an awkward somersault, and teetered to a stop when her shale-like plates shlepped off like snake skin, pebbling across her feet. Her mace clattered on the ground.
The Pride Demon's guttural snarl jarred her back to her senses, as did the horrific scene of Rilien slamming against the furthest wall, slithering down the brickwork like a broken puppet. “Ril!” It came out like a nervous, crackling croak. She had already regained her composure, revelling in the fact that her limbs no longer hurt as they did before. The needles had stopped. Rilien was shallow-breathed, and sluggishly moving. Obviously, something was wrong. He was hurt. It seemed an impossibility, as if he were an impenetrable force – but, he wasn't immortal. It was certainly something that Sparrow needed to constantly remind herself of. The slight wobble awakened her voice, her anger, her weaknesses. The dribble of blood threading down his chin, starkly contrasting against his temperate repose. Unbeknownst to her, Sparrow's mace was back in her hands.It felt as if molten lava was spilling from her lips, bubbling past her clamped teeth. Like a hurricane swirling in the midst of an ocean. She erupted. Shedid not try to brush the crags away, or push her impulses back into a sea shell. She did not pacify as Rilien could. Inhale, exhale. Her heart paced, erratically. Her pupils dilated. Shereleased the reigns, whispering lies. Her awareness expanded. Sparrow darted forward, and threw herself around the creature's knurled elbows, only to come back up swinging her mace, utilizing her momentum, straight into the creature's jaw.
The buildings here were run down, plaster and stone chipped, peeling from the facades of buildings like the skin could from an orange, or the papery outside of an onion. None lived here, for what foundries were still working operated day and night, and even Darktown was preferable to living in one of the derelict, hollowed-out shells that had died here. Their passage kicked up a fine layer of dust, mixture of chalk, crushed stone, and ash, he was willing to bet. The building Emeric had indicated as the endpoint of Mharen’s phylactery’s trail appeared to be one of the old shells from a time long past, but unsurprisingly, the dust on the way up the stairs to the door was disturbed considerably.
The Tranquil’s eyes narrowed. From the patterns in the dust, something heavy and reasonably-sized had been dragged through here, recently. Shooting a glance behind him, he made sure both of his companions were still present and alert before padding up the stairs. His knives made no more than a raspy whisper of sound as he drew them from their sheaths, putting his back to the wall and approaching the door. It was just slightly ajar, but there was no way any of them would be able to get through without moving it still further. A quick scan of the area indicated no other acceptable method of entrance, and so the Tranquil bit the arrowhead and nudged the door open with his foot, entering as soundlessly as he was able.
Not soundlessly enough, it seemed. The metal door gave a squeak as it was nudged further, only a small thing, but enough to give them away. The three of them would be able to get a glimpse of a human presence within the foundry, a robed man fleeing their sight on the second level of the interior, towards the back, leaving naught but a small bag behind him. Not long after, the entire foundry began to rumble beneath their feet, a blinding flash of light erupting from the center of the ground floor.
A pride demon was left in its wake, a massive creature of thickened flesh and claws, beady eyes gazing down at the intruders, clearly with hostile intentions. It was safe to say that Emeric had not encountered this on his trip into the foundry.
For once in her life, and perhaps the only time in it, as well, Sparrow decided to lag behind, watching Rilien's movements, and acting accordingly, to direct whether or not she should continue moving forward or remain where she was. She'd learnt her lesson the last time she bumbled into an apostate's clumsy traps, strewn across the cobblestones as apparent, and noticeable, as a prostitute's exposed bosom. It might've seemed unusual, but she did learn, sometimes. Her collected weaknesses were small, insubstantial things, that pushed her to greater, reckless heights. Or else, it might have been the asserting voice whispering against her collarbone, or into the contours of her earlobes, that kept her impulses in check, as if it was protecting her property from any further compromise. It would do her no good if she had to fight another needy demon's promises, scrambling for a better hold on Sparrow's body, on her mind, on her thoughts. Her fingers finally conceded to holding the flanged mace in her grip, tightening with each step closer to whatever it was they were going to face. Someone had obviously been through the Foundry before them. Sparrow glanced towards the doorway, slightly unlatched, then towards Aurora, who she shared a capacious smile with, mouthing a silent ready? Ready.
A recently prepared mantra repeated in her thick skull, resounding against her temples, trying to drown out the singing of her blood. The loud, echoing drumbeat of her heart, impatiently waiting for Rilien to signal them. She must be patient. She must be disciplined. She must be hopeful, shedding off whatever weary thoughts that might hamper her ability to protect, to fight. Sparrow was none of those things, and so she watched intently as Rilien's foot slowly lifted towards the door, easing it open with a rusty, unexpected squeak. She inwardly cringed, stepping forward. Through squinted eyes, Sparrow spotted a departing man with his robes flapping behind him, quickly scrambling up the stairs to the second level of the foundry. “You! Stop running, fool—” She called after him, gritting her teeth and slamming the door open with an open, ball-faced kick. She hadn't even noticed the small bag he'd dropped in the wake of his haste. Instead, Sparrow's hands pinwheeled from the sudden quakes, flinging down onto the wooden railing to keep herself from stumbling into her companions.
“Always with the demons.” She cursed loudly, eyeing the creature who'd erupted from the centre of the foundry. It was quite clear what kind of individual they were dealing with – a cowardly mage who wasn't so keen on letting them walk away unscathed, and this particular mage was running instead of facing them himself. They'd have to give chase after dealing with his lackey. She whispered again, pressing her to move. She looked over her shoulder, towards her companions, and added a quick, “No need to hold ourselves back, now.” Directed towards Aurora, because she needn't hide her abilities when not in the presence of any Templars. Sparrow threw herself down the rampart to her right, nearly hopping down the entire case of stairs, while ripples of rock created a thick protective structure, more akin to armour, that enveloped her chest and joints. If she needed to, then she would distract the creature while Aurora cast her spells, and while Rilien sunk his daggers from the shadows. Her arms tensed, and then she closed the distance between her and the pride demon, swinging her mace towards its midsection.
The first thing Aurora did instead of berating the fleeing mage or quip about the pride demon was stumble backwards in surprise. First abominations then straight to Pride demons? No middle ground? No hunger demons, no desire demons, just a pride demon. Marvelous. At least it was only one of them right? And three of them? Though, the thing was big enough to count as much as three of them... Her breath hitched as the creature looked at them with disdain, as if they were trash. There was no positioning or bravery from Aurora, as the creature was easily thrice her size. Instead, now backed up against the wall, she crossed her hands in front of her breast and dipped into the fade, drawing a sheath of ethereal rock armor around herself. She mentally steeled herself as she repeated the oft recited name in her head once more. Rosaline.
So intent she was on the chosen word and the hulking pride demon, she nearly missed Sparrow's words. She offered no reply in her own words, just a curt nod. It seemed like these people already knew she was a mage. Strange. She thought she was very careful about that. Though with Sparrow's own rock armor spreading across his chest and joints, she figured that her secret was safe with him. Now it made sense why he was so stand-offish with the Templar. As Sparrow darted towards the pride demon, Aurora couldn't help but be impressed and envious of the man's bravery. Head first into battle, mace in hand ready to fell all that stand in his way. So sure, he was, it even gave Aurora strength to step forward, and ready her repertoire of spells. A sidelong glance at the Tranquil Rilien and she strode up to the railing and readied a spell.
She called to the fade with her hands, drawing upon the natural forces of the world. The air around her hands shimmered as the warmth was sucked out and replaced with cold, the skin of her hands taking on an icy texture. Then she pushed into the air with her frigid hands, casting out a cone of cold and caused a fine layer of frost to build up on the demon's head and shoulders. Pride always was a hot-headed emotion, so why not cool it down?
Sizing up the Pride demon with a cool, appraising stare, Rilien was perhaps the only one in the room who could have matched it for haughtiness. Not, perhaps, in the same way, but he appeared as unimpressed and unruffled as ever upon the conclusion of his inspection, and possessed neither the apprehension that belonged to Aurora nor Sparrow's drive to attack as quickly as possible. Flipping one of his blades so that it lay parallel to his forearm, he kept the other as it was and calculated his attack. Unimpressed with the result, he shifted his tactics, and instead chose to part his lips and sing. An Orlesian ditty, translated into Ferelden for the sake of a wider audience. It was a lively thing, and the way the words rushed over his tongue, infused with that certain something that only a bard could manage, he was quite certain that his allies would benefit from it.
"And she shall bring the birds in spring, and dance among the flowers. In summer's heat her kisses sweet, they fall from leafy bowers." The result was immediate to his own reckoning, his reflexes and strength enlivened, and the next verse shifted, focused instead on slowing and befuddling the demon itself. "She cuts the grain and harvests corn, the chill of fall surrounds her. The days grow old and winter cold, she draws her cloak around her." If the Tranquil had still smiled, he would have done so when the mighty demon seemed to hitch in its stride just a bit, as though its body were no longer to move perfectly-aligned with its thoughts. As it was, he chose the moment to join the fray, heedless of the light coating of frost that fell from above like snow, dusting his head and shoulders. Sparrow's blow connected with the creature's midsection, forcing it to a temporary standstill, and Rilien took full advantage of that, ducking in towards its other side and drawing his knives over the skin of its arms and legs, angling and applying pressure so that the blades bit deep into tendon and muscle, leaving eerily-precise, bloody lines in their wake.
Before the demon could so much as raise one of its massive arms to crush him in retaliation, he simply vanished, forcing it to redirect and try to bat simultaneously at Sparrow and Aurora, both of whom would by now be well aware of its intent.
Had it been Aurora's choice words, or her elusive fib towards the Templar? It might've been Rilien's subtle exclusion in Darktown, but if anyone asked, then Sparrow would have shrugged her shoulders, professing that she just knew. The Fade did not taste as bitter as Rilien described and she wasn't as compellingly in tuned as he was, but still, there were quiet whisperings, and a heaviness that pressed against her skin. She'd whispered to her, nudging her in the proper direction, indicating that she wasn't alone. Her methods were mysterious, unknown to her. It burned pleasantly on the back of her tongue, leaving no compromise. The last remaining bits of rock-ribbed armour encased her cheekbones, head and mouth area, appearing uncannily like a horned mask. Perhaps, if one looked close enough, a lapidarian Qunari. Her eyes were nothing more than two nebulous slits within the craggy crown, occasionally catching glints of Aurora's glacial stream and quick flashes of Sparrow's gritted teeth, bared like a beast.
It had always been his voice – her Tranquil companion who seemed more alive, more animated than anyone else she'd ever known while singing. Unusual, unexplainable. Like long forgotten memories of violins howling through the night, painting temporary pictures across boulders with damp fingertips, dipped in water. Watercolour paintings made up of oyster tones, washed away by the sunlight. He was a shadow with a morning dove's voice. Even now, Sparrow's breath hitched in her throat, momentarily struck by how he sounded. Rekindled spurts of energy wound it's way across her arms, warmed her fingers, and tightened the muscles corded in her shoulders. She was able to pull back her mace and strike again, slightly lower than her initial swing. This was not a song of hushed lullabies and codling whimsy – it breathed fire in her belly, extorted it into something wild and uncontrollable. His voice was copper. Utilizing the Pride Demon's disjointed movements, Sparrow swung again, and again, before careening to the left to gain a better vantage.
Rather than exert itself moving towards the mage that had cast ice all over its upper body, or struggle to locate the vanished bard, the pride demon instead called upon arcane magic that would affect a large area around, enough to encompass all three of them, and likely hit the bard as well, invisible as he was. Its hands lit with magical energy, shimmering airwaves twisting around its feet as the spell activated, an altered form of the crushing prison spell. In addition to inflicting considerable pain on the joints, the spell also carried with it a powerful pull, a strong force to bring the pride demon's enemies into very close range. Regardless of any damage suffered, the demon laughed as though enjoying itself, a deep, rumbling, throaty sound echoing about the interior of the foundry.
When the spell was complete and the magic released, the pride demon immediately lashed out with backhanded strikes towards both Aurora and Sparrow, the two that it could still easily locate, and the two most visible threats.
The spell caught Aurora by surprise. The day was just chock full of surprises. Aurora hated surprises. One doesn't normally expect a creature the girth of a pride demon to also be able to cast spells, and she paid the price for her ignorance. At first, she tried resist the spell by grabbing on the railing in front of her and holding on for dear life. That helped her from diving off the edge and to a painful drop below, but it did nothing to the screaming pain in her joints. Her elbows, knees, ankles, and even fingers felt like they were being poked repeatedly by red hot needles. It was an annoying, and painful experience, she tried to push it out of her mind. It was all an illusion. There was no pain, no real pain. It was just an illusion of pain. Rosaline.
Her heart was not docile. It did not slow, or stutter in fear when the Pride Demon conjured arcane magic, alighting it's proffered claws with raw, unholy energy. She had never been frightened every time a blade came too close to ending her life, leeching her lifeblood. She merely laughed and moved on to face and conquer another danger or obstacle in her way, heedless of how reckless she was becoming. This was another battle, another fight to be won. Weren't they all equally dauntless when facing such disgusting creatures? Creatures better off left in whatever damned hole they'd crawled out of. She disagreed.The Fade felt heavier, much more potent. With a war cry springing from her lips, she suddenly lunged towards the Pride Demon with her mace ready to batter flesh and spill blood. However, Sparrow didn't exactly follow through her wild swing – instead, faltering when her joints seized, as if they were tying themselves into awkward knots. The creature's rumbling laugh echoed in her chest, hollow as an empty chamber. It rang through her ears, temporarily muzzling her unwanted occupant. Her teeth chattered noisily, grinding against the sweltering pain prickling across her skin.
Her mind thrashed against the disillusioned agony. Deep fissures crackled down her armour, rattling her concentration. Fear clung to her skin, coalesced to her being. Unfortunately, Sparrow was already in close vicinity, digging her heels in the dirt to keep herself from falling face-forward. She still felt the uncomfortable pull.The throbbing in her joints beat in time with her heart, rising to a crescendo, then to a low roar. Two seconds of hovering in a borderland between triumph and despair. And while immeasurable agony spread from a point just below her ribcage through her whole body, into shoulders, arms, hands, fingertips; hips, legs. toes; into her scalp, into the tips of her hairs even in her fingernails. It was the remnants of Rilien's song that kept her from tumbling straight against the Pride Demon's knobby knees, and forced her limbs back into movement.
Then the railing began to creak. Then it began to creak again, although louder. Aurora wasn't even able to coax a single complete Antivan curse out of her lips before the railing gave away and dropping her to the ground below. She landed with a hard thump, and though no cracks or pops resulting from broken bones were heard, it still hurt. She felt every single stone that comprised the back of her rock armor in her back, and it was uncomfortable, if not painful. Even if the pain she had experienced before was an illusion, this pain, illusion or not, felt very real. She laid on the ground breathing deep and hard trying to force the air that had escaped her lungs back. It was not the time to be lounging around, not while a pride demon still stomped around. There was an urgency, but she just couldn't find her way back perpendicular to the ground. She lay, unawares of the demon's back hand strike, scabbling about trying to force the ground beneath her feet once more.
Rilien grit his teeth as his feet left the ground, drawn towards the manifestation of Pride like a moth to flame, entirely against his own will, and inexorably. The situation, and all others like it, was one of a scarce few things that managed to stir the Tranquil's irritation, and even as he went still, not bothering to fight the gravatic force pulling him in, his eyes narrowed to slits, his hands tightening around the hilts of his knives until his knuckles were pale. Pain was inconsequential like everything else, and he bore scant thought for the pressure inflicted upon elbows, knees, fingers, vertebrae, too intently focused on his whirring thoughts.
It was a funny thing, what people thought about the Tranquil. It must seem, on the face of it, that his stillness of emotion was somehow reflective of a stillness of mind, as though he didn't think just as he didn't feel. On the contrary, it was as if the cognitive capacity required to feel anything was now free for his use, and he at least put it towards thought. Constant calculation, the ticking away of some inevitable time-bomb, the explosion of which was action. Always decisive, always focused. Nothing was extraneous, nothing went to waste. Which was why, even now as he was thrown unceremoniously to the ground, he was observing, thinking, planning. The noisy protests of the stair railings alerted him to Aurora's predicament, and even as he picked himself up off the floor, still invisible and unnoticed by the demon, he observed that she was having considerably more difficulty doing the same.
His next sequence of thought was quick, which was just as well, for her anyway. Even as the demon's arm headed towards the mage-girl, Rilien applied a burst of speed, made all the easier by his own quasi-magical bardsong, to stand a good few meters in front of her downed person. His arms, he crossed in an 'x' over his chest, the points of both knives upside-down but outwards, blades facing the ceiling. The creature paid the price for ignoring what it could not see, and even as the massive hand swept towards the redheaded woman, it was forced to a paintful halt, the momentum from its swing now working against it and forcing it further onto the Tranquil's weapons. Rilien dug his feet into the ground as well as he was able, trying to preserve his traction as he wavered into view again, but the effort was about as useless as he would have expected it to be, and his boots tore furrows in the ground as he was lifted, effectively tossed from the area as the Pride demon snarled at great volume, sending the elf flipping end-over end and into the nearest wall of the foundry, only one of his blades still in his grip. The other remained staked in the creature's hand, both wounds now oozing ichor at an impressive rate, and it aborted its attack on Aurora, that hand now dangling more or less uselessly by its side, clearly a source of considerable agony.
Perhaps the pain it was under approximated something like the amount he was feeling now, slammed bodily into stone and mortar, the breath leaving his lungs as he slid to the ground. He'd avoided hitting headfirst only with some tricky midair acrobatics, which accounted for his present state of, well... life. Even so, he heard with a distant sort of antipathy the sound of one of his own ribs snapping, then another, then a third, in a quick succession of popping cracks. He landed with uncharacteristic heaviness in a crouch, pulling breath into his lungs evenly, minimizing the pain as much as he was able. Pushing off with his free hand, Rilien regained his feet with a wobble, his perfect composure for once disappeared. For all that, he still looked as though nothing was wrong, at least if his expression was anything to go by.
The blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth spun a different yarn, perhaps.
Her head whipped around to see where her companions had wound up, and whether or not the Pride Demon's magic was effecting them too. Drawing them in like mice pulled unceremoniously by their tails, except they weren't scuffling into holes to hide. It was the Pride Demon's greatest folly. Even though she couldn't see him, Sparrow imagined Rilien gravitating towards the creature, daggers held tightly in his hands, irrefutably poised to rip the creature's advancing legs into something less than limbs, and a little more like skewed beef. It was almost like tugging a wild animal's chain towards you, instead of back-peddling away, with its killing intent clear as day. Surely, the Pride Demon underestimated them. Pride, the deadliest sin, in her opinion, was going to be his downfall. It was predictable, ironic. This was nothing like the sweet promises the Desire Demon relayed, near constantly, reaching out to her with promises and waving it's propositions in her face like a banner that couldn't be denied. Where was Rilien? Probably whirring possibilities and probabilities and possible solutions through his mind. In these moments, even in the midst of pain tingling through their limbs, it was difficult to imagine that Rilien felt nothing at all. He felt nothing, and it wouldn't scare him because she didn't think he remembered fear. In his world, there were no emotions, no wrath, no loss of control. Nothing to dampen his concentration. He was unhampered by tedious responses, unaware of the startling acidity that crawled it's way from her throat, throttling her with violence.
The penetrating shriek of metal, as if a force were pushing against it, snapped Sparrow from her thoughts. Her eyes flew away from Rilien, and caught sight of Aurora as she was falling from the first level of the Foundry, toppling along with the broken railing like a sack of potatoes – certainly not like a monarch butterfly, because she hadn't landed on her feet, or rolled away from the Pride Demon's scaly limbs. Her mouth hung open like a hinge, as if ready to call out. Sparrow's reflexes were stunted, riddled with energy she couldn't seem to harness. She'd been too far away, hadn't she? It still didn't stop the quick pang of guilt, tasting coppery in her mouth. There was a brief thought of splintered bones and empty sockets before Sparrow's entire body was swept from underneath her.She caught a quick glimpse, already listing to the side, of Rilien appearing in front of Aurora, arms crossed, and both knives glinting like two pieces of transposed objects. Like quicksand, like a sucking swamp, like damp dirt, Sparrow's vision blossomed, then contracted in a spray of pinpricks and slithering worms. The Pride Demon's scaly fingers, knobby knuckles, had felt like anythingbut a hand hitting her – it was a brick wall, or a horse trampling her. She was ungracefully thrown across the chamber, past Rilien and Aurora, and past the initial stairway she'd hurdled down. It'd been her stoney-armour that kept her mobile, kept her from suffering the same fate Rilien had experienced. She flipped over backwards, into an awkward somersault, and teetered to a stop when her shale-like plates shlepped off like snake skin, pebbling across her feet. Her mace clattered on the ground.
The Pride Demon's guttural snarl jarred her back to her senses, as did the horrific scene of Rilien slamming against the furthest wall, slithering down the brickwork like a broken puppet. “Ril!” It came out like a nervous, crackling croak. She had already regained her composure, revelling in the fact that her limbs no longer hurt as they did before. The needles had stopped. Rilien was shallow-breathed, and sluggishly moving. Obviously, something was wrong. He was hurt. It seemed an impossibility, as if he were an impenetrable force – but, he wasn't immortal. It was certainly something that Sparrow needed to constantly remind herself of. The slight wobble awakened her voice, her anger, her weaknesses. The dribble of blood threading down his chin, starkly contrasting against his temperate repose. Unbeknownst to her, Sparrow's mace was back in her hands.It felt as if molten lava was spilling from her lips, bubbling past her clamped teeth. Like a hurricane swirling in the midst of an ocean. She erupted. Shedid not try to brush the crags away, or push her impulses back into a sea shell. She did not pacify as Rilien could. Inhale, exhale. Her heart paced, erratically. Her pupils dilated. Shereleased the reigns, whispering lies. Her awareness expanded. Sparrow darted forward, and threw herself around the creature's knurled elbows, only to come back up swinging her mace, utilizing her momentum, straight into the creature's jaw.