Aurora wheezed a heavy cough as the needles in her joints subsided and the world around her ground to a halt. She had managed to come out of her daze sore, but alive. She could still feel the pebbles and rocks that comprised her armor still digging into her skin, but they provided her the protection that perhaps shaved her bones splintering from falling at the upper levels. She rolled over on to her hands and knees and coughed again, as the shattered railing and awkward landing lifted up a fine layer of dust around her. But something was off. During all the time that she spent immobile on the ground, the demon could have easily taken the opportunity to crush her. What stopped it. She shot a wayward look to her side, and there her answer lay. Rilien was on his feet, yes, but something about him was off. The dribble of blood at the corner of his mouth and the way that he no longer possessed a feline agility told her something was wrong.
She shoved herself to her knees and looked for Sparrow. He too was apparently knocked away, though he seemed to have suffered less though than the Tranquil. Perhaps due to his own stone armor, or perhaps because he hadn't hit suddenly decellarated against a wall, he seemed to be alright. That was good. At least they were all still alive. She couldn't help but resent the fact that a demon was getting the better of them. It was a pride demon, but a demon still. A perversion of nature, of a mage. Rosaline she steeled herself once more. With that, she rose to her feet once more and dipped right back into the fade, allowing it to envelop her like an old friend. She began to look for a weakness, and almost immediately, she came upon one.
Something in the creature's hand glinted, something metallic and sharp. It was Rilien's blade, probably stuck him when he lashed out, throwing Rilien into the wall. The thought brought her eyes to the man himself and realized he would probably need healing... Eventually. Aurora was not as well-versed in the healing arts as Nostariel, though she was satisfactory enough. She would need time to concentrate and will the bone, blood, and sinew to knit back together, not something she could do in the midst of a fight with a large demon. As much as it made her feel guilty, she would have to make Rilien wait until the demon was dealt with. All that much more reason to kill it quickly.
Her eyes darted back to the demon with purpose in her eyes. The blade would provide the perfect conduit for what she had in mind. While She summoned the natural energies in the air, weaving them between her hand like a true artist. As she weaved, sparks arced between her hands and fingers, dancing a mesmerizing ballet. She couldn't help but think how marvelous and graceful lightning was as it flew from her fingertips and struck Rilien's shining blade. The lightning arced from the blade and ran rampant through the interior of the beast, causing internal damage and frying the nerves in its hands. The voltage of the lightning would stun the creature, allowing one of the others the perfect opportunity for a follow-up.
It was an opportunity that Rilien would not let go to waste. Seeing Sparrow making a running jump, followed by a swing for the right shoulder, he went left, darting by Aurora even as the lightning left her hands. It was a motion that his body violently protested, but Rilien showed it exactly the same regard as he paid other inconsequential difficulties: absolutely none. Mind over matter was a much easier affair when you no longer possessed things like pain aversion. The glistening bolts of electricity homed in on his already-planted blade, and there was a flicker of something like appreciation for the cleverness of that tactic, one which he ignored in the same fashion. Sparrow's mace dug furrows in the Pride demon's shoulder thereafter, and the creature gave a great howl of rage, shaking itself in an attempt to rid its limbs of the offending half-blood.
Rilien was having none of that. Aware that he was currently severely lacking in upper-body strength, he decided that his remaining blade would need to go somewhere with little resistance, and he knew exactly where. Taking advantage of its inability to move much and its preoccupation with his cohabitator, the ex-Bard gathered his legs beneath him, bunching his muscles and launching himself into the air, sailing forward and landing in the crook of one simian elbow. The force was enough for the creature to pitch forward slightly, but he did not linger, pushing off again. This time, he focused on his arms, and found that, with the proper calculation, his remaining knife slid home into the Pride demon's left eye socket with little resistance. Letting it remain there, the Tranquil flipped over the massive monster's shoulder and landed, harder than he would have normally, but otherwise still as unruffled as he'd ever been.
"Lightning to the brain will do much more damage than to the hand," he pointed out blandly, his glance flickering from Sparrow to Aurora. Something warm and wet filled his nose, and he brushed one callused thumb over the smooth skin between his nose and his lips, apparently undisturbed when the digit came back smeared with red. He'd expected a maneuver like that would make the damage worse. Assuming the battle ended with the next pass (which it surely would if they did as he'd suggested), he'd be able to remain conscious long enough to take the requisite potions, though his ribcage and lungs would be at suboptimal capacity for several days.
The half-blood's absolute, unmitigated focus was centred in swinging the bulk of her mace in savage arcs, allowing her momentum to be thrown in the direction of her swing to avoid any of the Pride Demon's flying elbows, or whipping horns. It was doubtful that Sparrow even noticed the supreme conduit, Rilien's glistening dagger, anchored in the creature's hand. Her thoughts were elsewhere, so hellbent on barbaric, unrestrained destruction, which might've worked in Aurora's favour, anyway. He would have to face her, or she'd constantly assuage him with blows until he was forced to deal with her. There was a quivering tension set in her square shoulders, shadowed bruises beneath dulled eyes, a reckless soul striking out with abandon, without acknowledging that she had companions that could help her fell the beast. Her magical abilities seemed a moot point, as if they'd suddenly been forgotten, as if it weren't even a possibility in such a maddening state. The Fade, it seemed, had momentarily abandoned her. Left her to her own devices as she darted to the left, then the right, only to dive under the Pride Demon's extended elbow – an irritating gnat buzzing around the creature's eyelids, unrelenting in it's assault.
She wouldn't even have noticed Aurora's plan, electrocuting Rilien's dagger, if it hadn't been for the Pride Demon's spontaneously sluggish movements, as if he'd been dunked into a vat of molasses. Sparrow did not slow, did not stop to wonder at the creature's puzzling posture, frizzling and twitching. Flecks of something spattered her cheek. It wasn't raining, was it? The thought had no foundation, so it shook apart with her mounting acrimony. An ear-shattering roar came from the Pride Demon, and Sparrow squeezed her eyes shut, willing the sound to be blocked from her senses, but to no avail. She backpedalled enough to avoid the swinging arm, momentarily receptive of the wind kicking through her hair, pushing white locks out of her eyes. It did nothing to rattle her nerves. The Pride Demon was desperate to dislodge her from bombarding his limbs, in impetuously futile attempts,from another mindless onslaught, which she achieved with renewed vigour, or vicious stubbornness. It was a perpetual rage that could not be quailed, or extinguished, until the creature was nothing more than a sifting pile of ash, and they were free to leave the foundry alive. Brief flashes of another figure blinked in her peripherals, launching into the air, at considerable speed.
Sparrow did not falter in her steps, or relent her ferocious swings; one high, one low, then another sweeping across as if she were brandishing an axe rather than a blunt weapon with it's star-flanged knobs. She demanded it's attention. She issued another battle cry, grunting with the effort it took to swing the bulk of her two-handed mace. Her muscles twitched with each impact, rattling straight through to her bones. Another speckle of blood rained down across her forehead – not her blood, she wasn't bleeding. Each time the Pride Demon manoeuvred away, possibly towards Aurora, Sparrow stepped in it's path. Lightning to the brain... Rilien's voice.
When had she stopped hearing them? When had she stopped whispering?
Mage as he was, Sparrow didn't seem to rely as much on the fade as Aurora did. Sparrow seemed rather inclined to hammer the demon with relentless blows from his deadly mace, looking to make the creature bow in the face of martial prowess over magical arts. Not that Aurora found fault in it. Everyone was different in the way they did things. She actually envied the man, having the strength to protect himself with only physical power. Yes, she was well versed in the art of the fade, but that counted for nothing out in the day, where one ill-timed spell could send to the Gallows for the rest of her life. This man did not have to worry about that. She did. She was small compared to these men-- even if they were elves. She didn't have the aclarity that the Tranquil had nor the strength that Sparrow possessed. All she had was magic, which was both a blessing and a curse.
However, that did reveal one thing. She wasn't going to count on Sparrow halting his assault in order to fling a lightning bolt the demon's way. That was seemingly left up to her. Sparrow did give the demon enough of a hassle to draw attention away from her as she prepared her second lightning bolt. Strange it was, how the Tranquil calmly implied her next course of action, despite him not being in the best of shape himself. It always surprised her how calm and... well.. Tranquil the Tranquil were. It only made sense that that mindset should carry over into combat. Though, to be honest, she had never seen a Tranquil fight before... It was a learning experience. One she could analyze after the demon had fallen.
Lightning cracked the air as it began to dance around her arms once more. The air around her became dry as the lightning evaporated all moisture around her immediate vicinity. The time it took her to prepare this spell was longer than the other, thanks to the time afforded by Sparrow. It was with that bolt that she was going to end it. She didn't want to risk just mildly damaging it with a weak spell, no, she was going to ensure the demon fell. The cracks and pops around her arms sang a dangerous symphony, begging to be released. Which she did with a forceful throw of both arms.
The lightning ripped through the air as it streaked towards the blade lodged in the creature's eye. The air ruptured with the heavy thump of thunder as it struck the blade and fried the brain and nervous system of the Pride Demon. The beast uncontrollably convulsed for a few moments, foam spewing from it's mouth, before it went limp and fell to its knees. Smoke rose from the husk of the demon as it's glazed eyes rolled to the back of it's head. It fell forward, issuing forth a tremor as it landed and nearly causing Aurora to topple from the force. But the creature lay dead, and the battle was won. Which left one more issue to be addressed. Aurora ran to the Tranquil, already working on her next spell. A Healing Spell.
"Where does it hurt?" She asked between pants.
Only when the Pride Demon had toppled did Sparrow regain her senses, shaking her head as if she'd suddenly awoken from a particularly nasty dream. The Fade seemed more prevalent, thrown across her shoulders like a cold bucket of water. It was strange how she hadn't relied on her magic this time around – as if it weren't so important, though she knew she would've been better off using both her physical prowess, and her array of spells. Sparrow scrutinized the sizzling demon at her feet, splayed across the ground with it's tongue lolling out. Her gaze didn't linger long. She found herself looking back over her shoulder at the smaller, unassuming magelet, Aurora. Underestimating her would surely be someone's downfall if they so chose to judge her weak, for she was anything but. There was a cleverness there, more akin to her wayward companion, Rilien. “You're strong, you are.” She mouthed softly, more to herself than anyone else, though she'd stated it loud enough for both of her companions to hear. Her smile soon faded, replaced with an expression of singular concern. She nearly dropped her mace, though it only slid in her palm, dragging against the ground as she half-jogged, half-ran towards her companions.
The flecks of blood. The wetness against her cheek, her forehead. She quickly swiped her fingers across her face, eyeballing the sticky smears on her fingertips. His blood. How hadn't she noticed? Her mouth hardened. Any childish thought that her friend was invincible, or beyond any afflictions, was quickly swept away, hidden under a metaphorical rug. She was pleased. For her, it would be easier if the nosey, troublesome Tranquil was injured, less likely to present any offers to distract her husk, her vessel. “You're bleeding?” She queried stupidly, resisting the urge to swipe away the blood from his chin. When Aurora enquired about his injuries, and where exactly did it hurt, Sparrow sat back on her heels, resolutely focused on Rilien's feet. It hadn't even occurred to her to stop and help him – all that mattered, at the time, was destroying her opponent.
Rilien blinked slowly, then moved off to retrieve his second knife from the Pride demon's hand. With a sharp gesture, he cleared it of most of the blood and grime, then resheathed both, returning to his companions, both of whom were regarding him with some concern, which he took to be sentimental and rather unnecessary. All the same, he lifted a hand and prodded carefully at his ribcage through his leathers. "The second and fourth ribs on my right side are broken, and the third on the left is shattered," he reported blandly. Before he could say anything else, he was forced to turn on his heel, a wracking cough spattering a significant quantity of blood onto the ground beside the fallen corpse. Pausing to catch his breath, the Tranquil dabbed at his bloody lips and chin with one long, flowing sleeve.
"It would appear that one of them managed to puncture or abrade my left lung," he concluded. He was more concerned with the shadow of a person they had seen disappearing deeper into the foundry, but realistically, he knew there would be little chance of being effective against the mage that had summoned this demon unless he could move about properly, and so he would simply have to spend the time. More properly, he supposed Aurora would, as he had never seen Sparrow to use a lick of healing magic. He'd never been terribly interested, either, in his prior life. An odd shrugging motion produced several vials of liquid from his sleeve, one of which he immediately held out to Sparrow, who'd also taken something of a fall. One, he left aside for Aurora, as her injuries were not as severe as his own and could probably be attended to afterwards, and one, he drank himself, to assist her healing process.
Truthfully, he was not fond of having magic worked upon him, as it tended to draw the Fade into close proximity. In this case, that meant the pain was going to get much worse before it got better, and admittedly the potion was partially an attempt to mitigate that somewhat. If the situation were any less dire, he probably would not have allowed the assistance. As it was, he still could not say Aurora had the full measure of his trust, but he was willing to allow her this much, which was startlingly-fast acceptance for him. If Ashton had been a mage, Rilien would have put off any such attempt. Logic had its own rules, however, and he did make an attempt to conform to them. Loosening his muscles, he half-closed his eyes and set his jaw into place, as close to a signal as the mage with the healing spells was ever going to get from him.
Aurora felt the caress of the Fade once more, though this time not for a bolt of lightning or a dusting of frost. Rather, she dug into the little used area of herself that held the power to knit flesh and bone. It had been a while since she had performed a healing spell on something so severe. Recently, it'd only been used for a stubbed toe or a mere flesh wound. As she rooted around, grasping for that knowledge, the rock armor she had summoned around herself cracked and crumbled around her, the hardened defenses no longer needed. It freed up a bit of reserves to better cast the magics.
The way she healed wasn't the same as Nostariel's, hers required a bit more effort and time. A mage, her mentor, in the Antivan Circle once likened her skill "Rapid natural healing". In essence, she used the body's natural drive to heal itself and enticing the process to do it faster. It fit in with her own inclinations to use the magics of the natural world like ice and lightning, only this time it applied to the body. She lightly placed her hands on the left side of his ribcage, targetting the most damaged rib first. Her hands began to a light bright green aura enveloped her hands as she set about willing the rib back together.
Aurora had never had to fix a rib in this manner before, so she didn't know what it felt like. Her guess was a ticklish, itchy feeling sparces by brief pinches of pain. That's the way her toes always felt when she stubbed them-- minus the pinches of pain. That was an educated guess. Knitting bone couldn't be comfortable. At least with this he could breathe. Such as it went for the next couple of ribs, and then finally stitching the lung back together. She stopped and took a step back. Drained was the word, she felt drained. Never before had she needed to call upon her healing arts so intensively, and the lack of practise left her winded. Even then, she believed that Rilien was still tender.
"Let's... See if the mage is still here, yes?" She said, hints of her Antivan accent slipping between pants.
There was an uncomfortable grinding sound as Rilein's bones rearranged themselves, trying to fit back into place to accord with the will of the mage. This was considerably more difficult with the shattered one on his left side, and Aurora's estimation of the amount of pain this caused was quite considerably under-done, especially since the presence of magic so near to him was disturbing his Tranquility. It didn't amplify the sensations themselves, but it did make them harder to ignore. A muscle in Rilien's jaw jumped as he clenched his jaw, still stubbornly refusing to make his discomfort evident.
With time, she finished, and he repeated the process of checking his ribcage, satisfied that though they were considerably weaker than normal, they were now simply bruised rather than broken. Since the block was sliding over his emotions again, it was nearly completely inconsequential to him. Turning the last vial about in his fingers a few times, he offered it to Aurora. The liquid inside was blue rather than red, with a strange pearlescent quality to it that marked its potency for those who knew to look. "My thanks," he said simply. Rilien did not leave debts unpaid, and this time would be no different.
After that, he shot Sparrow a glance, double-checking that she was in passable condition, then headed up the stairs to where they'd seen the mage disappear. As he'd suspected, there was nobody still present and visible, and a slightly-ajar door leading out a back exit explained that well enough. What he did find, however, was far from nothing.
It didn't take too much guessing to figure out what was in the smallish sack, judging from the way it was seeping blood. Rilien sniffed the air quietly. Oh yes, that was most certainly blood, and though his nose could do no such thing as differentiate between species, logic provided him the conclusion that it was probably human. Withdrawing a much smaller knife from his boot, the Tranquil knelt beside the sack and deftly cut the twine holding it closed. The bag fell away, and his eyes narrowed as he stowed the knife again.
Inside the burlap lay a severed human hand amid several older-looking bones, an ornate-looking ring still attached to one finger. From the make of it, he'd hazard that it was from the same location he was; Monrenny was famous for producing fine jewelry from the nearby diamond mines. He did not move to touch the hand or the ring, instead rising to his feet and folding his hands into his sleeves. "Mharen was unmarried. It would seem this belonged to Ninette."
He was so methodical, so precise, when numbering off his injuries, that Sparrow winced, lowering her head as if to examine the offending ribs. As if they were laid open, spread open like puzzle pieces. She very nearly sprang forward, hands extended, when Rilien coughed off to the side, flecking the dirt with bloody constellations. Her knuckles dug into the ground, halting her forward momentum.Again, Sparrow needed to remind herself that even though he couldn't feel distraught, or upset, over his bodily nuisances, that he could still feel pain all the same, right? She wasn't so sure. It did nothing to dampen the worry blossoming in her chest, spilling over like an overflowing sieve. He was just a man made up of cells and muscle tissue and nerves wrapped around bones – broken bones, shattered bones, cracked bones. This Tranquil didn't need any emotional balms, or comforting words, needn't be asked whether or not he was okay, because his responses would come out levelled, assured. He didn't need to be glued back together.
Sparrow followed Rilien's gaze, settling where they'd last seen the mage, robes a'flapping. It was typical that he wanted to give chase, follow the man until they solved this increasingly challenging mission. It suddenly struck her as strange, and perhaps a little more to Aurora, then to herself, that she wasn't making any movement to offer any healing spells. She may have been a mage, too, but she could never heal. She'd tried before—everything between closing a paper cut to trying to mend a blistered sunburn. Instead, Sparrow was anything but a healer: she was a devastating killer, she could make things freeze and burn, or harden her defences so that her opponents' swords rang off as if they'd struck a brick wall, much like the one her companion had ricocheted off. She was a barbaric warrior, a wily thief, a woman, a man. An apostate, on all accounts. She accepted the proffered vial of whatever-it-was-that-Rilien-created and gulped it down. How many times had Rilien created some sort of potion, or vile concoction, that had helped her survive in Darktown, in the less pleasant parts of Kirkwall? Far too many times. How many times could he have poisoned her, done off with an inconsequential nuisance? Far too many times.
She watched as Aurora's hand gleamed anew, pressing with a light tenderness she could only admire. An accomplished herbalist, and a noteworthy healer. She'd only prove useful when it came to breaking things, not setting things back together. Sparrow settled her hand on Aurora's back, thinking she were about to topple over, then dropped it as soon as it was apparent that she was fine, if not a little tired. It appeared as if she were about to say something. Forming her own words of thanks seemed appropriate, on both their behalves, but she concerted with a sly grin. “You're amazing. You know that, right?” She glanced sidelong at her companion, flitting gaze meeting her own, before pushing herself to her feet, hands planted on her knees. They weren't finished yet, so they'd continue on their way. Neither Rilien, nor Sparrow, were particularly inclined to leaving anything unfinished. It was an unspoken acquisition between them. More likely than not, and without even truly knowing for sure, Sparrow felt that Aurora shared the same dedication. There was a certain goodness in her that she hadn't encountered in a long time.
Aurora looked at Sparrow gratefully before shrugging skeptically to her compliment. "Not that amazing, there are others who could do so much more than me," she stated, gaze lingering on Sparrow. The warrior-mage was bold, bolder than she was. To streak straight for the demon without a moment's hesitation, gleaming bravery the entire way. And to top it all off, he was a mage too, yet, he seemed unfettered by that fact. While her true identity hung over her head like a dark cloud, Sparrow accepted his strength seemingly with the same boldness and bravery exhibited. No, there were others more amazing than she was. It was sweet serendipity though that she had the chance to meet them.
Following closely behind, nearly double-hopping the steps, Sparrow let out a puff of disappointment. The likelihood of the caped gentleman sticking around to meet them face-on had been next to nothing. But even still, she couldn't help but feel as if they'd just missed him by a hair's breath. She'd almost stepped on the bloody sack Rilien had been scrutinizing, drawn towards the exit-door, which had been thrown wide open. It was Rilien's kneeling, in close proximity, reaching underneath her foot, held aloft, that caused her to move backwards. Her nose crinkled. “Uh—gross. What was that mage doing with those?” When Rilien rose to his feet, unmoved by such disgusting things, all gathered up in a neat pile, Sparrow took his place and stooped down to inspect the slim fingers. A soft sigh escaped her lips, “I was hoping she'd escaped. Not this. We'll have to report back, in any case.”
Upon finding the hand, Aurora did neither what the Tranquil nor what Sparrow did, inspecting it and acting nonchalant about the whole thing. It was to be expected from the Tranquil of course, but still seeing the way he acted when faced with the bloody stump was disconcerting. However, for her part, Aurora gasped loudly and took a step back. A hand was not was what she was expecting. Truth be told, the ever smiling optimist in her believed that she would find Ninette alive and no worse for wear at the end of the excursion. Instead, she was reminded of the harsh reality of the world. There were no fairy-tale endings, and the truth of the world was a bloody thing. She quickly averted her gaze and began to study a loose brick on the wall.
"We-we should go... We should bring the news to... Ghyslain," she stammered, still shaken up.
"...Indeed," the Tranquil replied, stooping to slip the ring from the clammy finger it rested upon. He took perhaps more care with the action than would be expected of one so unmoved, and he couldn't exactly say why he'd even bothered in the first place. He reasoned that the article would help them confirm that the hand belonged to Ninette, and that was the sole motive for his retrieval of it. Sentiment fit ill upon him, like a cloak made for a man much smaller. Or perhaps, one much broader, who wore his armor like it weighed nothing and spoke always of honor and dignity.
She shoved herself to her knees and looked for Sparrow. He too was apparently knocked away, though he seemed to have suffered less though than the Tranquil. Perhaps due to his own stone armor, or perhaps because he hadn't hit suddenly decellarated against a wall, he seemed to be alright. That was good. At least they were all still alive. She couldn't help but resent the fact that a demon was getting the better of them. It was a pride demon, but a demon still. A perversion of nature, of a mage. Rosaline she steeled herself once more. With that, she rose to her feet once more and dipped right back into the fade, allowing it to envelop her like an old friend. She began to look for a weakness, and almost immediately, she came upon one.
Something in the creature's hand glinted, something metallic and sharp. It was Rilien's blade, probably stuck him when he lashed out, throwing Rilien into the wall. The thought brought her eyes to the man himself and realized he would probably need healing... Eventually. Aurora was not as well-versed in the healing arts as Nostariel, though she was satisfactory enough. She would need time to concentrate and will the bone, blood, and sinew to knit back together, not something she could do in the midst of a fight with a large demon. As much as it made her feel guilty, she would have to make Rilien wait until the demon was dealt with. All that much more reason to kill it quickly.
Her eyes darted back to the demon with purpose in her eyes. The blade would provide the perfect conduit for what she had in mind. While She summoned the natural energies in the air, weaving them between her hand like a true artist. As she weaved, sparks arced between her hands and fingers, dancing a mesmerizing ballet. She couldn't help but think how marvelous and graceful lightning was as it flew from her fingertips and struck Rilien's shining blade. The lightning arced from the blade and ran rampant through the interior of the beast, causing internal damage and frying the nerves in its hands. The voltage of the lightning would stun the creature, allowing one of the others the perfect opportunity for a follow-up.
It was an opportunity that Rilien would not let go to waste. Seeing Sparrow making a running jump, followed by a swing for the right shoulder, he went left, darting by Aurora even as the lightning left her hands. It was a motion that his body violently protested, but Rilien showed it exactly the same regard as he paid other inconsequential difficulties: absolutely none. Mind over matter was a much easier affair when you no longer possessed things like pain aversion. The glistening bolts of electricity homed in on his already-planted blade, and there was a flicker of something like appreciation for the cleverness of that tactic, one which he ignored in the same fashion. Sparrow's mace dug furrows in the Pride demon's shoulder thereafter, and the creature gave a great howl of rage, shaking itself in an attempt to rid its limbs of the offending half-blood.
Rilien was having none of that. Aware that he was currently severely lacking in upper-body strength, he decided that his remaining blade would need to go somewhere with little resistance, and he knew exactly where. Taking advantage of its inability to move much and its preoccupation with his cohabitator, the ex-Bard gathered his legs beneath him, bunching his muscles and launching himself into the air, sailing forward and landing in the crook of one simian elbow. The force was enough for the creature to pitch forward slightly, but he did not linger, pushing off again. This time, he focused on his arms, and found that, with the proper calculation, his remaining knife slid home into the Pride demon's left eye socket with little resistance. Letting it remain there, the Tranquil flipped over the massive monster's shoulder and landed, harder than he would have normally, but otherwise still as unruffled as he'd ever been.
"Lightning to the brain will do much more damage than to the hand," he pointed out blandly, his glance flickering from Sparrow to Aurora. Something warm and wet filled his nose, and he brushed one callused thumb over the smooth skin between his nose and his lips, apparently undisturbed when the digit came back smeared with red. He'd expected a maneuver like that would make the damage worse. Assuming the battle ended with the next pass (which it surely would if they did as he'd suggested), he'd be able to remain conscious long enough to take the requisite potions, though his ribcage and lungs would be at suboptimal capacity for several days.
The half-blood's absolute, unmitigated focus was centred in swinging the bulk of her mace in savage arcs, allowing her momentum to be thrown in the direction of her swing to avoid any of the Pride Demon's flying elbows, or whipping horns. It was doubtful that Sparrow even noticed the supreme conduit, Rilien's glistening dagger, anchored in the creature's hand. Her thoughts were elsewhere, so hellbent on barbaric, unrestrained destruction, which might've worked in Aurora's favour, anyway. He would have to face her, or she'd constantly assuage him with blows until he was forced to deal with her. There was a quivering tension set in her square shoulders, shadowed bruises beneath dulled eyes, a reckless soul striking out with abandon, without acknowledging that she had companions that could help her fell the beast. Her magical abilities seemed a moot point, as if they'd suddenly been forgotten, as if it weren't even a possibility in such a maddening state. The Fade, it seemed, had momentarily abandoned her. Left her to her own devices as she darted to the left, then the right, only to dive under the Pride Demon's extended elbow – an irritating gnat buzzing around the creature's eyelids, unrelenting in it's assault.
She wouldn't even have noticed Aurora's plan, electrocuting Rilien's dagger, if it hadn't been for the Pride Demon's spontaneously sluggish movements, as if he'd been dunked into a vat of molasses. Sparrow did not slow, did not stop to wonder at the creature's puzzling posture, frizzling and twitching. Flecks of something spattered her cheek. It wasn't raining, was it? The thought had no foundation, so it shook apart with her mounting acrimony. An ear-shattering roar came from the Pride Demon, and Sparrow squeezed her eyes shut, willing the sound to be blocked from her senses, but to no avail. She backpedalled enough to avoid the swinging arm, momentarily receptive of the wind kicking through her hair, pushing white locks out of her eyes. It did nothing to rattle her nerves. The Pride Demon was desperate to dislodge her from bombarding his limbs, in impetuously futile attempts,from another mindless onslaught, which she achieved with renewed vigour, or vicious stubbornness. It was a perpetual rage that could not be quailed, or extinguished, until the creature was nothing more than a sifting pile of ash, and they were free to leave the foundry alive. Brief flashes of another figure blinked in her peripherals, launching into the air, at considerable speed.
Sparrow did not falter in her steps, or relent her ferocious swings; one high, one low, then another sweeping across as if she were brandishing an axe rather than a blunt weapon with it's star-flanged knobs. She demanded it's attention. She issued another battle cry, grunting with the effort it took to swing the bulk of her two-handed mace. Her muscles twitched with each impact, rattling straight through to her bones. Another speckle of blood rained down across her forehead – not her blood, she wasn't bleeding. Each time the Pride Demon manoeuvred away, possibly towards Aurora, Sparrow stepped in it's path. Lightning to the brain... Rilien's voice.
When had she stopped hearing them? When had she stopped whispering?
Mage as he was, Sparrow didn't seem to rely as much on the fade as Aurora did. Sparrow seemed rather inclined to hammer the demon with relentless blows from his deadly mace, looking to make the creature bow in the face of martial prowess over magical arts. Not that Aurora found fault in it. Everyone was different in the way they did things. She actually envied the man, having the strength to protect himself with only physical power. Yes, she was well versed in the art of the fade, but that counted for nothing out in the day, where one ill-timed spell could send to the Gallows for the rest of her life. This man did not have to worry about that. She did. She was small compared to these men-- even if they were elves. She didn't have the aclarity that the Tranquil had nor the strength that Sparrow possessed. All she had was magic, which was both a blessing and a curse.
However, that did reveal one thing. She wasn't going to count on Sparrow halting his assault in order to fling a lightning bolt the demon's way. That was seemingly left up to her. Sparrow did give the demon enough of a hassle to draw attention away from her as she prepared her second lightning bolt. Strange it was, how the Tranquil calmly implied her next course of action, despite him not being in the best of shape himself. It always surprised her how calm and... well.. Tranquil the Tranquil were. It only made sense that that mindset should carry over into combat. Though, to be honest, she had never seen a Tranquil fight before... It was a learning experience. One she could analyze after the demon had fallen.
Lightning cracked the air as it began to dance around her arms once more. The air around her became dry as the lightning evaporated all moisture around her immediate vicinity. The time it took her to prepare this spell was longer than the other, thanks to the time afforded by Sparrow. It was with that bolt that she was going to end it. She didn't want to risk just mildly damaging it with a weak spell, no, she was going to ensure the demon fell. The cracks and pops around her arms sang a dangerous symphony, begging to be released. Which she did with a forceful throw of both arms.
The lightning ripped through the air as it streaked towards the blade lodged in the creature's eye. The air ruptured with the heavy thump of thunder as it struck the blade and fried the brain and nervous system of the Pride Demon. The beast uncontrollably convulsed for a few moments, foam spewing from it's mouth, before it went limp and fell to its knees. Smoke rose from the husk of the demon as it's glazed eyes rolled to the back of it's head. It fell forward, issuing forth a tremor as it landed and nearly causing Aurora to topple from the force. But the creature lay dead, and the battle was won. Which left one more issue to be addressed. Aurora ran to the Tranquil, already working on her next spell. A Healing Spell.
"Where does it hurt?" She asked between pants.
Only when the Pride Demon had toppled did Sparrow regain her senses, shaking her head as if she'd suddenly awoken from a particularly nasty dream. The Fade seemed more prevalent, thrown across her shoulders like a cold bucket of water. It was strange how she hadn't relied on her magic this time around – as if it weren't so important, though she knew she would've been better off using both her physical prowess, and her array of spells. Sparrow scrutinized the sizzling demon at her feet, splayed across the ground with it's tongue lolling out. Her gaze didn't linger long. She found herself looking back over her shoulder at the smaller, unassuming magelet, Aurora. Underestimating her would surely be someone's downfall if they so chose to judge her weak, for she was anything but. There was a cleverness there, more akin to her wayward companion, Rilien. “You're strong, you are.” She mouthed softly, more to herself than anyone else, though she'd stated it loud enough for both of her companions to hear. Her smile soon faded, replaced with an expression of singular concern. She nearly dropped her mace, though it only slid in her palm, dragging against the ground as she half-jogged, half-ran towards her companions.
The flecks of blood. The wetness against her cheek, her forehead. She quickly swiped her fingers across her face, eyeballing the sticky smears on her fingertips. His blood. How hadn't she noticed? Her mouth hardened. Any childish thought that her friend was invincible, or beyond any afflictions, was quickly swept away, hidden under a metaphorical rug. She was pleased. For her, it would be easier if the nosey, troublesome Tranquil was injured, less likely to present any offers to distract her husk, her vessel. “You're bleeding?” She queried stupidly, resisting the urge to swipe away the blood from his chin. When Aurora enquired about his injuries, and where exactly did it hurt, Sparrow sat back on her heels, resolutely focused on Rilien's feet. It hadn't even occurred to her to stop and help him – all that mattered, at the time, was destroying her opponent.
Rilien blinked slowly, then moved off to retrieve his second knife from the Pride demon's hand. With a sharp gesture, he cleared it of most of the blood and grime, then resheathed both, returning to his companions, both of whom were regarding him with some concern, which he took to be sentimental and rather unnecessary. All the same, he lifted a hand and prodded carefully at his ribcage through his leathers. "The second and fourth ribs on my right side are broken, and the third on the left is shattered," he reported blandly. Before he could say anything else, he was forced to turn on his heel, a wracking cough spattering a significant quantity of blood onto the ground beside the fallen corpse. Pausing to catch his breath, the Tranquil dabbed at his bloody lips and chin with one long, flowing sleeve.
"It would appear that one of them managed to puncture or abrade my left lung," he concluded. He was more concerned with the shadow of a person they had seen disappearing deeper into the foundry, but realistically, he knew there would be little chance of being effective against the mage that had summoned this demon unless he could move about properly, and so he would simply have to spend the time. More properly, he supposed Aurora would, as he had never seen Sparrow to use a lick of healing magic. He'd never been terribly interested, either, in his prior life. An odd shrugging motion produced several vials of liquid from his sleeve, one of which he immediately held out to Sparrow, who'd also taken something of a fall. One, he left aside for Aurora, as her injuries were not as severe as his own and could probably be attended to afterwards, and one, he drank himself, to assist her healing process.
Truthfully, he was not fond of having magic worked upon him, as it tended to draw the Fade into close proximity. In this case, that meant the pain was going to get much worse before it got better, and admittedly the potion was partially an attempt to mitigate that somewhat. If the situation were any less dire, he probably would not have allowed the assistance. As it was, he still could not say Aurora had the full measure of his trust, but he was willing to allow her this much, which was startlingly-fast acceptance for him. If Ashton had been a mage, Rilien would have put off any such attempt. Logic had its own rules, however, and he did make an attempt to conform to them. Loosening his muscles, he half-closed his eyes and set his jaw into place, as close to a signal as the mage with the healing spells was ever going to get from him.
Aurora felt the caress of the Fade once more, though this time not for a bolt of lightning or a dusting of frost. Rather, she dug into the little used area of herself that held the power to knit flesh and bone. It had been a while since she had performed a healing spell on something so severe. Recently, it'd only been used for a stubbed toe or a mere flesh wound. As she rooted around, grasping for that knowledge, the rock armor she had summoned around herself cracked and crumbled around her, the hardened defenses no longer needed. It freed up a bit of reserves to better cast the magics.
The way she healed wasn't the same as Nostariel's, hers required a bit more effort and time. A mage, her mentor, in the Antivan Circle once likened her skill "Rapid natural healing". In essence, she used the body's natural drive to heal itself and enticing the process to do it faster. It fit in with her own inclinations to use the magics of the natural world like ice and lightning, only this time it applied to the body. She lightly placed her hands on the left side of his ribcage, targetting the most damaged rib first. Her hands began to a light bright green aura enveloped her hands as she set about willing the rib back together.
Aurora had never had to fix a rib in this manner before, so she didn't know what it felt like. Her guess was a ticklish, itchy feeling sparces by brief pinches of pain. That's the way her toes always felt when she stubbed them-- minus the pinches of pain. That was an educated guess. Knitting bone couldn't be comfortable. At least with this he could breathe. Such as it went for the next couple of ribs, and then finally stitching the lung back together. She stopped and took a step back. Drained was the word, she felt drained. Never before had she needed to call upon her healing arts so intensively, and the lack of practise left her winded. Even then, she believed that Rilien was still tender.
"Let's... See if the mage is still here, yes?" She said, hints of her Antivan accent slipping between pants.
There was an uncomfortable grinding sound as Rilein's bones rearranged themselves, trying to fit back into place to accord with the will of the mage. This was considerably more difficult with the shattered one on his left side, and Aurora's estimation of the amount of pain this caused was quite considerably under-done, especially since the presence of magic so near to him was disturbing his Tranquility. It didn't amplify the sensations themselves, but it did make them harder to ignore. A muscle in Rilien's jaw jumped as he clenched his jaw, still stubbornly refusing to make his discomfort evident.
With time, she finished, and he repeated the process of checking his ribcage, satisfied that though they were considerably weaker than normal, they were now simply bruised rather than broken. Since the block was sliding over his emotions again, it was nearly completely inconsequential to him. Turning the last vial about in his fingers a few times, he offered it to Aurora. The liquid inside was blue rather than red, with a strange pearlescent quality to it that marked its potency for those who knew to look. "My thanks," he said simply. Rilien did not leave debts unpaid, and this time would be no different.
After that, he shot Sparrow a glance, double-checking that she was in passable condition, then headed up the stairs to where they'd seen the mage disappear. As he'd suspected, there was nobody still present and visible, and a slightly-ajar door leading out a back exit explained that well enough. What he did find, however, was far from nothing.
It didn't take too much guessing to figure out what was in the smallish sack, judging from the way it was seeping blood. Rilien sniffed the air quietly. Oh yes, that was most certainly blood, and though his nose could do no such thing as differentiate between species, logic provided him the conclusion that it was probably human. Withdrawing a much smaller knife from his boot, the Tranquil knelt beside the sack and deftly cut the twine holding it closed. The bag fell away, and his eyes narrowed as he stowed the knife again.
Inside the burlap lay a severed human hand amid several older-looking bones, an ornate-looking ring still attached to one finger. From the make of it, he'd hazard that it was from the same location he was; Monrenny was famous for producing fine jewelry from the nearby diamond mines. He did not move to touch the hand or the ring, instead rising to his feet and folding his hands into his sleeves. "Mharen was unmarried. It would seem this belonged to Ninette."
He was so methodical, so precise, when numbering off his injuries, that Sparrow winced, lowering her head as if to examine the offending ribs. As if they were laid open, spread open like puzzle pieces. She very nearly sprang forward, hands extended, when Rilien coughed off to the side, flecking the dirt with bloody constellations. Her knuckles dug into the ground, halting her forward momentum.Again, Sparrow needed to remind herself that even though he couldn't feel distraught, or upset, over his bodily nuisances, that he could still feel pain all the same, right? She wasn't so sure. It did nothing to dampen the worry blossoming in her chest, spilling over like an overflowing sieve. He was just a man made up of cells and muscle tissue and nerves wrapped around bones – broken bones, shattered bones, cracked bones. This Tranquil didn't need any emotional balms, or comforting words, needn't be asked whether or not he was okay, because his responses would come out levelled, assured. He didn't need to be glued back together.
Sparrow followed Rilien's gaze, settling where they'd last seen the mage, robes a'flapping. It was typical that he wanted to give chase, follow the man until they solved this increasingly challenging mission. It suddenly struck her as strange, and perhaps a little more to Aurora, then to herself, that she wasn't making any movement to offer any healing spells. She may have been a mage, too, but she could never heal. She'd tried before—everything between closing a paper cut to trying to mend a blistered sunburn. Instead, Sparrow was anything but a healer: she was a devastating killer, she could make things freeze and burn, or harden her defences so that her opponents' swords rang off as if they'd struck a brick wall, much like the one her companion had ricocheted off. She was a barbaric warrior, a wily thief, a woman, a man. An apostate, on all accounts. She accepted the proffered vial of whatever-it-was-that-Rilien-created and gulped it down. How many times had Rilien created some sort of potion, or vile concoction, that had helped her survive in Darktown, in the less pleasant parts of Kirkwall? Far too many times. How many times could he have poisoned her, done off with an inconsequential nuisance? Far too many times.
She watched as Aurora's hand gleamed anew, pressing with a light tenderness she could only admire. An accomplished herbalist, and a noteworthy healer. She'd only prove useful when it came to breaking things, not setting things back together. Sparrow settled her hand on Aurora's back, thinking she were about to topple over, then dropped it as soon as it was apparent that she was fine, if not a little tired. It appeared as if she were about to say something. Forming her own words of thanks seemed appropriate, on both their behalves, but she concerted with a sly grin. “You're amazing. You know that, right?” She glanced sidelong at her companion, flitting gaze meeting her own, before pushing herself to her feet, hands planted on her knees. They weren't finished yet, so they'd continue on their way. Neither Rilien, nor Sparrow, were particularly inclined to leaving anything unfinished. It was an unspoken acquisition between them. More likely than not, and without even truly knowing for sure, Sparrow felt that Aurora shared the same dedication. There was a certain goodness in her that she hadn't encountered in a long time.
Aurora looked at Sparrow gratefully before shrugging skeptically to her compliment. "Not that amazing, there are others who could do so much more than me," she stated, gaze lingering on Sparrow. The warrior-mage was bold, bolder than she was. To streak straight for the demon without a moment's hesitation, gleaming bravery the entire way. And to top it all off, he was a mage too, yet, he seemed unfettered by that fact. While her true identity hung over her head like a dark cloud, Sparrow accepted his strength seemingly with the same boldness and bravery exhibited. No, there were others more amazing than she was. It was sweet serendipity though that she had the chance to meet them.
Following closely behind, nearly double-hopping the steps, Sparrow let out a puff of disappointment. The likelihood of the caped gentleman sticking around to meet them face-on had been next to nothing. But even still, she couldn't help but feel as if they'd just missed him by a hair's breath. She'd almost stepped on the bloody sack Rilien had been scrutinizing, drawn towards the exit-door, which had been thrown wide open. It was Rilien's kneeling, in close proximity, reaching underneath her foot, held aloft, that caused her to move backwards. Her nose crinkled. “Uh—gross. What was that mage doing with those?” When Rilien rose to his feet, unmoved by such disgusting things, all gathered up in a neat pile, Sparrow took his place and stooped down to inspect the slim fingers. A soft sigh escaped her lips, “I was hoping she'd escaped. Not this. We'll have to report back, in any case.”
Upon finding the hand, Aurora did neither what the Tranquil nor what Sparrow did, inspecting it and acting nonchalant about the whole thing. It was to be expected from the Tranquil of course, but still seeing the way he acted when faced with the bloody stump was disconcerting. However, for her part, Aurora gasped loudly and took a step back. A hand was not was what she was expecting. Truth be told, the ever smiling optimist in her believed that she would find Ninette alive and no worse for wear at the end of the excursion. Instead, she was reminded of the harsh reality of the world. There were no fairy-tale endings, and the truth of the world was a bloody thing. She quickly averted her gaze and began to study a loose brick on the wall.
"We-we should go... We should bring the news to... Ghyslain," she stammered, still shaken up.
"...Indeed," the Tranquil replied, stooping to slip the ring from the clammy finger it rested upon. He took perhaps more care with the action than would be expected of one so unmoved, and he couldn't exactly say why he'd even bothered in the first place. He reasoned that the article would help them confirm that the hand belonged to Ninette, and that was the sole motive for his retrieval of it. Sentiment fit ill upon him, like a cloak made for a man much smaller. Or perhaps, one much broader, who wore his armor like it weighed nothing and spoke always of honor and dignity.