The tunnels grew narrower and more constricted as they went, tightening around them until the group was forced to progress in single file. For the most part, it was also completely silent, save the occasional dripping sound as some liquid- Nostariel could only hope it was water- dripped from the ceiling down to the stone floor beneath. The tunnels were only moderately lit, and she imagined that the mages fleeing in here must have been quite afraid, the spooky ambiance of the place only adding to that heart-pounding fear of being pursued. It was a feeling she knew, though the creatures who had followed in her tread were not Templars but Darkspawn, and their method of tracking her more infallible than any phylactery could be.
It was not something she envied, and even as the tunnels widened again, gradually sloping upwards to more mining platforms, she thought to herself that perhaps, for some at least, the reality of 'freedom' away from the Circle was as jarring and terrifying as it had been for her. The fact that they had burned her Circle was not lost on Nostariel, and she wondered how many of her old friends and teachers had been hurt in the event. Her teeth clenched in her jaw. Harming those who pursued you was one thing- and even that seemed so wrong to her- but harming the inocent so that you could escape? Did that not make them into the very monsters everyone simply assumed they were? Did they not realize how much damage they were doing, embracing their power so irresponsibly?
She was no fool; mages were set up in lose-lose situations all the time. But even so, there were ways to handle that better than killing people. After a while, it became little more than selfishness, still cast only by the players as a brave bid for liberation. Stone changed to wood beneath her feet, and the murmur of voices became audible some distance away.
They were close.
The voices belonged to a man and a woman, the woman a young, pretty thing, dark brown hair tied back into a bun, a notable black tattoo snaking around her right eye. The man was middle-aged, and looked somewhat ragged, his dirty blonde hair grown long and unkempt, a beard reaching down towards his chest. Their Circle robes were tattered and worn from overuse, and so were their bodies. The mages gathered about the cave seemed extremely weary, though a brave few were staying alert, hovering near their leader's side.
It was likely that the party triggered some form of magical wards as they entered, as Decimus was almost immediately alerted to their presence. "They're here! The Templars have come to take us back to the Circle!" he shouted, rousing the boldest of his followers from their stupors. The woman at his side, however, grabbed hold of his arm upon seeing the intruders for herself. "Decimus, no! Stay your hand. These are no Templars." The mage leader seemed conflicted for the briefest of moments, recognizing the Warden's sigil, the Tranquil's brand, the presence of magic. But the blood of his followers was hot, and he needed to direct their aggression now, lest it be lost to him. "What do I care what shield they carry?" he shouted. "If they challenge us, the dead themselves will meet the call!"
He conjured forth more of his dark magic, the power of his own blood, and likely some of his allies, to summon more dead from the ground. They set upon the group from behind, while the mages willing to fight these strangers followed Decimus' lead, attacking from the front. More than half, however, chose not to fight, instead pushing themselves towards the corners, hoping to avoid being caught in the battle.
Another slaughter this was to be then, and for him it was simply passe. Not one to forget, the Tranquil made a beeline directly for Decimus, well-aware what had happened the last time he'd let a blood mage remain too long on a battlefield. Control was essential to someone with Rilien's mental makeup; he existed in a state of perpetual fine-tuning of his control over himself, his environment, and his craft. When one could or would not be able to waste time in more sympathetic pursuits, it was sometimes all that remained. He would be content playing puppet to no one, least of all some spineless mage who had already resorted to the desperate.
Of course, it wasn't so simple as all of that. Not every enemy present was simply going to let him waltz up to their leader and stab him in the eye. In fact, they seemed rather keen on putting more warm bodies in his way. He spent a moment deciding if it would be better to leave them in too much pain to move, but alive, or simply dead. Given that these had sided with a blood mage, he concluded that if he didn't kill them, the Templars would, and decided to save the time. Lethality was a much simpler choice than its opposite, actually, though not even he was so crass as to factor simple ease into his choices. A slight flash; a mage dropped with a stump where his arm used to be. Another hurled an orb of fire at the Tranquil, who ducked in time to recieve nothing but a few singed hairs, though he wasn't sure of the status of anyone behind him. He was in need of a haircut, perhaps.
In fact, the progression forward was the hardest part; these were not physical fighters, and after the first few had tried to be just that and failed miserably, the rest had wisely decided to stick to pelting the group with projectiles. It had been years since Rilien had shot a bow, and he certainly didn't make a habit of it, meaning that he'd simply have to find a way through the barrage and to Decimus. The next conflagration caught his sleeve; he ripped it off at the shoulder seam before it could burn its way to his skin. Ice gathered at his feet, but he skated across it, failing to lose his balance. The hissing of mixing elements was accompanied by a thick cloud of steam and debris- finding his target in this mess was going to be difficult.
"We just wanted to talk!" Ashton cried as he settled into an archer's stance. Even though he'd rather not fight these people, if the choice was the between the safety of the mages over the safety of his companions, he'd choose his friends every time. "Are you so blood drunk that you'd deny even that?!" he pleaded, though based on his recent experiences with blood mages he doubted that mere words would sway their demon addled minds. Speaking of demons, Ashton kept an especially open eye out for anything from beyond the veil, and those such creatures would become priority targets. He would not let another Sparrow happen.
His first shot connected with the shinbone of a mage, thoroughly tossing the man to the ground and interrupting whatever spell he had aimed at them. The next shot he fired cut deep into the outstretched arm of another mage, sending the frost spewing from his hand in a wide arc away from it's intended target-- The tranquil. Ever the efficent one, Rilien had opted to wade directly in towards the leader, and cut the head off of the problem. Ashton wouldn't be surprised to see Sparrow wade in directly behind him either flailing that mace about and casting whatever spells she had in her repertoire either, considering her brusque nature and had began to account for her in the plan that was beginning to fall into place in his mind. What they needed was to stop Decimus, else be subject to what he could summon from the fade, or worse, while at the same time reduce the number of casualities of the other mages. While he may not have been the biggest fan of the Templars on principle, the one outside the mouth of the cave had the right idea about saving these mages. No one's life should just be tossed away like trash.
"Remember where Decimus stands Rilien, Sparrow, I'll cover your approach!" Ashton called, withdrawing the fat shafted arrow that released smoke upon impact. He nocked it and let it fire, directly into the middle of the fray. He trusted them both to take full advantage of the situation. The impact was punctuated with a solid pop, and an obscuring white smoke was beginning to fill the cave and hide their presence. Ashton, however, would not be able to do much more as a large Spirit Bolt cut through the smoke and slammed directly into his chest. It was enough force to take him off of his feet and fling him a good couple feet back, landing ungracefully on his back, trying desparately to get air back into his lungs.
"Ouch... That stung. I think it broke something..." Ashton weezed, coughing a thick gobule of blood out. "Yep... Definitely broke something... Man down. Medic?" He whined, his deadpan tone belying the seriousness of the injury. Looks like he'd have to trust Rilien and Sparrow to this. Though truth be told, he wouldn't trust anyone else more.
Shlepping off the remnants of goo from her fingers, promptly smeared across a snippet of cloth she'd ripped off one of the animated corpses, Sparrow seemed intent on not showing how discontented she was at diving deeper into the cave. It wasn't enough that the caves tunnels were constricting like a snake's belly, forcing them to walk in a straight line. She'd taken the rear, glancing over her shoulder on occasion and gripping her mace all the tighter. Each sound of skittering rocks, disturbed by nocturnal creatures, screwed up her eyes in consternation. She might've been foolhardy enough to appear brave in the face of stumbling corpses, but she wasn't fond of darkness, of not being able to see what was in front of her, or more importantly, behind her. It wasn't her strongest suit. She couldn't help but imagine long-fingered hands slithering from hidden alcoves, ready to pull her in. No amount of squinting could adjust her eyes to the dim lights. The incessant itch demanding to look behind her shoulder – just to be sure, only grew with each step forward.
The flickering lanterns, barely illuminated, cast weaving shadows against the craggy walls. Distorted masses of tantamount-duplications, familiar in their shapes, but terrifying all the same. It was as if the darkness whispered do you fear, do you? And she was afraid. The darkness was all-encompassing, enveloping; an omnipresent thing that promised monsters and deeds she'd rather not carry out, immeasurably vast and unrestricted in its limitless infinity. It was a dreadful, malevolent thing. Whatever happened in the darkness, usually remained gloomy, forgotten-things. She resolutely resisted the urge to grip Rilien's flapping sleeve, ordering her hands to still themselves. Weakness would not do in a place like this. She seemed absent from her thoughts, as if she'd taken a break from her ceaseless barrage of snippy opinions, settling herself on some faraway bench. And somehow, this unsettled Sparrow. She did not search for her, did not reach out her arms like a frightened child, but instead lowered her head and trailed her empty fingers across the nearest wall, allowing her mace to dip low to the ground.
Sparrow breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the tunnels branched out, extending into a much larger chamber. Much like the one they'd found the walking-corpses in. It rattled through her bones, breathed through her lungs, drooped her eyelids a little lower. She didn't need to look behind her shoulder anymore, at least, not unless they'd have to squirm through another tunnel, which didn't seem likely, because they could hear a faint conversation going on in the distance. As soon as they rounded the corner, Decimus and his merry crew of less-than-pleased mages were already moving to intercept them, staves brandished and eyes thrown wide open, wildly alert. Her mouth went dry, hoping wryly that the woman could convince him that they weren't Templar-bastards after-all. “Stop that, idiot.” She snarled, eyes darting to Decimus' fingers, swirling in intricate circles, spewing his own blood force to raise more dead enemies around them. It was Sparrow who first hesitated. She was shaking. She could feel it. “We don't need to do this! We're just trying to help.” Said with little conviction, dying off into a strangled sound when Rilien unerringly amputated one of the mages arms, continuing his way through the throe of warm-bodied people.
She barely dodged the fireball, skittering backwards. Slight fumes of her burnt boot wafted unpleasantly to her nostrils, though she quickly kicked it through the dirt so that she wasn't another ambling corpse, afire, trying to pacify her opponents. Sparrow was not behind Rilien – she hadn't moved, aside from scrambling away from the nearest projectile that'd singed her companions hair. It was Ashton's voice that'd broken her out of her conflicted thoughts, reminding her where she ought to have been and where she needed to go if she wanted to keep her companions alive and well. “R-Right! And watch yourself, no heroics!” Her heart was not in this. How could it be? It'd been left on the precipice that she'd be able to convince them to lay down their weapons and flee from the Templars before they'd even stepped foot into the cave to retrieve them. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Instead of hammering through the mages, Sparrow took another more indirect approach, squaring off with the ambling-dead and smashing through, swinging her mace, and inefficiently weaving around those who were still consistently throwing projectiles.
For once, she wasn't directly behind Rilien, but she was coming up beside him, throwing energy-blasts to parry icy-cones and balls of flame, scattering frigid pellets and sparks around them. Sparrow would turn her hesitation, her anger, her despair onto the forerunner of attack.
While Rilien and Sparrow seemed inclined to rush the enemy, Nostariel hung back with Ashton, the group's other ranged combatant.There were enough fierce foes this tme around that she could not afford to simply choose her targets as he chose his, though, and doubtless, the efficiency they produced would suffer for it, but the important thing right now was to keep these mages off the Tranquil while Sparrow smashed through the corpses directly in front of them. All told, it was a sound strategy for such a hastily-devised one, and everything seemed to be going about as well as could be expected until a spirit bolt whizzed by her only to catch the archer full in the chest, throwing him backwards an immoderate distance.
Nostariel had switched tactics before he even made the request. Healing and damage-dealing required completely different mindsets, and it was hard to swap quickly from one to the other. It was a rare mage indeed that could manage both in any kind of swift succession. Nostariel was not yet such a mage, if she would ever be, and it took her a moment to adjust. With a couple of deep breaths, though, she was able to summon the energy to herself, and then direct it towards her fallen comrade. If there was one thing she was good at, it was trauma healing. She was passable with illnesses, but the battlefield was where she shone. Ironic, considering how little she liked them, and how often she had failed at this very job.
Not today.
Rilien, much further afield, had only dim awareness that someone behind him had been hit. What he had noticed was that Ashton's arrow had added to the fog already present, obscuring his target even further. It was more than worth the inconvenience, however, as the mages were no longer firing upon him with anything even resembling accuracy, and he was a much more mobile fighter than they. He would find his quarry, even if he had to stalk it. It was not terribly often that he vanished under the cloak of stealth, though he was capable of it. Mostly, he relied on complete silence to achieve the same result, and this instance was no different. Footfalls normally only incidentally soft lost all noise whatsoever, and he threaded his way carefully in the general direction of Decimus. More than once, he ran into a different mage, but he was much quicker on the uptake, and as a result, each of the three died before they could so much as choke out a warning.
At last, he found what he was looking for. The shroud of smoke was starting to thin, just a little, and the Blood Mage could see him, too, evidenced by the expected half-mad, half panicked ramblings that ensued upon sight of the sunburst resting so obviously over his brow. It was an unusual mage that was not unnerved by it, especially outside a Circle. After a while, it grew repetitive, actually. That Sparrow had not paid it much mind at all was one of the reasons they got along as well as they did. Decimus was nothing even resembling Sparrow, and Rilien had little conscience to delay his action. Surprisingly, his first hit was blocked by a desperate staff maneuver, the metal blades biting deep into the wood of the thing. Ripping them free with exactly no change in facial expression, the Tranquil moved again, this time catching a few shards of stone in his exposed arm for his trouble. Considering that the mage's arm now ended at the elbow, he wasn't very concerned by this.
Predictably, Decimus failed to control his reaction and dropped his stave, clutching at his stump with his still-whole hand and doing quite a lot of screaming. At this point, Rilien was forced away from what would have been the finisher by an incoming jet of flames; the others around them were regaining full visibility, and apparently would defend their leader to the death. He supposed that could be arranged.
Whatever amount of hatred she'd harvested from wheedling out the animated corpses had not been enough to weave into the fray and clock Decimus in the head – which would have been quite easy, since he was already distracted by Rilien's merciless assault, desperately attempting to block the Tranquil's impossibly quick hands with his staff. It was numbingly obvious how the situation would end. Instead, Sparrow stepped in while the fog cleared and slammed her mace into one of the mages stomach. Certainly not hard enough to bust all of his ribs, but enough to debilitate him, to discourage him from throwing any more funnels of flame at her companions. She whipped to the side to engage another, busying her mace against a creaking wooden staff. "Kill him first!" Perhaps, then, the others would lose face. They would give up. They wouldn't need to die. Then, Rilien could stop killing the others.
On the other side of the cavern, after Nostariel's burst of healing magic, Ashton had managed to drag his sore corpse over to one of the many stalagmites that littered the cave and leaned his back against it. Sure the immediate pain was gone thanks to the pretty little mage, but he still felt as if a horse had kicked him in the chest. What little blood that had remained floating around freely in his system was still interfering with his breathing, but all things considered, he could be worse. He could be dead. And not being dead was always a plus in Ashton's book. The hunter did look worse for wear though, left over blood flowing from the corner of his mouth. He looked a lot worse off than he was. He'd try to milk it for all the pity that it was worth.
He wasn't of the strongest constitution, to say the least. He wasn't a strongbacked, rough and tumble individual, like Sparrow. He couldn't take punches, hell, he probably couldn't even take a stiff breeze. Even Rilien, with his Tranquil stoicism, was more hardy than the Archer. At the very most, he put himself on Nostariel's level, and that was if she didn't have that Wardened hardening training whatevers. He knew what he was, and that was why he put himself in the back of the fight, flickering in and out of visibility. Though, he'd not allow a simple magical bolt to hold him back. He wasn't quite out of the fight yet, he wasn't quite done.
Ashton had nocked an arrow, and was beginning to draw before he paused. His sitting position would not allow him to fire his bow upright. He sighed and angled the bow horizontally and drew once again. "That was the plan..." Ashton murmured behind Sparrow's command. At that, Ashton let the arrow slip, and like a bolt of lightning it streaked forward towards it's intended target. Luckily, for those mages that had saw Ashton get hit by the Spirit Bolt, they thought him out of the fight. They didn't expect him to crawl back into the thing. That oversight allowed the arrow fly unmolested, right into the head of Decimus. Well. At least the chance of possession by Blood Mage was down. "Yaaay... Can we go home now?" Ashton whined, his arms dropping limply.
The arrow struck Decimus's forehead at about the same time as Sparrow downed her last one and Rilien disemboweled the remaining antagonist. All those that remained were cowering at the corners, and one flinched noticeably when the Tranquil leveled a dead-eyed stare at him. That was largely a normal occurrence, however, and he paid it no heed. His part of this enterprise was concluded, and frankly, it would have been impossible for him to care any less about what happened to the rest of them. For someone who had been a mage, their so-called plight was of precious little consequence to him, except as it occasionally pertained to what few people ever managed to bumble their way into mattering to him.
He picked up his discarded sleeve on the way back to the back of the ranks, using the deep red fabric to clean his knives before he resheathed them. Blood still dripped in rivulets down his bare arm, and he busied himself removing what chunks of stone he could from the wounds, tossing them onto the ground with apparent disregard for any pain it caused. There were still a few in there, and those would have to wait until he could make his way home and use a smaller instrument to dig them from his flesh. After that, it would be a simple matter of alcohol, bandages, and potions. It would not be the first time he'd gone through that particular routine, and it would doubtless not be the last.
"Not quite yet," Nostariel replied to Ashton. "We have to talk to the rest yet, and see if any more bloodshed might be avoided. I can take better care of that later, too," she added, noting the obvious fatigue under which he still operated. The Tranquil's bloody arm also concerned her, but it did not appear to be bothering him in the slightest, and she wasn't quite brave enough to ask him if he wanted any help. That left Sparrow, who looked fine, and the other mages, who were apparently looking upon them with more fear now that the violent among them were dead.
"Please," Nostariel entreated them, gripping her staff as firmly as she could muster and taking tentative steps forward, "do not be afraid. This is not what we intended, and a peaceful resolution to this affair is still possible." She shifted her posture just a little, so that the insignias of her station were easily-visible, and hopefully that would help. The Wardens were not harbingers of needless violence, and they were also not in the back pocket of the Chantry, which she hoped would lend her pleas some weight. "Ser Thrask of Kirkwall led us here to you. He wishes for you to return to the Circle, peacefully and without anymore needless death, but that window of opportunity will be brief." She waited then, for one of them to speak, or do anything at all, really.
It was not something she envied, and even as the tunnels widened again, gradually sloping upwards to more mining platforms, she thought to herself that perhaps, for some at least, the reality of 'freedom' away from the Circle was as jarring and terrifying as it had been for her. The fact that they had burned her Circle was not lost on Nostariel, and she wondered how many of her old friends and teachers had been hurt in the event. Her teeth clenched in her jaw. Harming those who pursued you was one thing- and even that seemed so wrong to her- but harming the inocent so that you could escape? Did that not make them into the very monsters everyone simply assumed they were? Did they not realize how much damage they were doing, embracing their power so irresponsibly?
She was no fool; mages were set up in lose-lose situations all the time. But even so, there were ways to handle that better than killing people. After a while, it became little more than selfishness, still cast only by the players as a brave bid for liberation. Stone changed to wood beneath her feet, and the murmur of voices became audible some distance away.
They were close.
The voices belonged to a man and a woman, the woman a young, pretty thing, dark brown hair tied back into a bun, a notable black tattoo snaking around her right eye. The man was middle-aged, and looked somewhat ragged, his dirty blonde hair grown long and unkempt, a beard reaching down towards his chest. Their Circle robes were tattered and worn from overuse, and so were their bodies. The mages gathered about the cave seemed extremely weary, though a brave few were staying alert, hovering near their leader's side.
It was likely that the party triggered some form of magical wards as they entered, as Decimus was almost immediately alerted to their presence. "They're here! The Templars have come to take us back to the Circle!" he shouted, rousing the boldest of his followers from their stupors. The woman at his side, however, grabbed hold of his arm upon seeing the intruders for herself. "Decimus, no! Stay your hand. These are no Templars." The mage leader seemed conflicted for the briefest of moments, recognizing the Warden's sigil, the Tranquil's brand, the presence of magic. But the blood of his followers was hot, and he needed to direct their aggression now, lest it be lost to him. "What do I care what shield they carry?" he shouted. "If they challenge us, the dead themselves will meet the call!"
He conjured forth more of his dark magic, the power of his own blood, and likely some of his allies, to summon more dead from the ground. They set upon the group from behind, while the mages willing to fight these strangers followed Decimus' lead, attacking from the front. More than half, however, chose not to fight, instead pushing themselves towards the corners, hoping to avoid being caught in the battle.
Another slaughter this was to be then, and for him it was simply passe. Not one to forget, the Tranquil made a beeline directly for Decimus, well-aware what had happened the last time he'd let a blood mage remain too long on a battlefield. Control was essential to someone with Rilien's mental makeup; he existed in a state of perpetual fine-tuning of his control over himself, his environment, and his craft. When one could or would not be able to waste time in more sympathetic pursuits, it was sometimes all that remained. He would be content playing puppet to no one, least of all some spineless mage who had already resorted to the desperate.
Of course, it wasn't so simple as all of that. Not every enemy present was simply going to let him waltz up to their leader and stab him in the eye. In fact, they seemed rather keen on putting more warm bodies in his way. He spent a moment deciding if it would be better to leave them in too much pain to move, but alive, or simply dead. Given that these had sided with a blood mage, he concluded that if he didn't kill them, the Templars would, and decided to save the time. Lethality was a much simpler choice than its opposite, actually, though not even he was so crass as to factor simple ease into his choices. A slight flash; a mage dropped with a stump where his arm used to be. Another hurled an orb of fire at the Tranquil, who ducked in time to recieve nothing but a few singed hairs, though he wasn't sure of the status of anyone behind him. He was in need of a haircut, perhaps.
In fact, the progression forward was the hardest part; these were not physical fighters, and after the first few had tried to be just that and failed miserably, the rest had wisely decided to stick to pelting the group with projectiles. It had been years since Rilien had shot a bow, and he certainly didn't make a habit of it, meaning that he'd simply have to find a way through the barrage and to Decimus. The next conflagration caught his sleeve; he ripped it off at the shoulder seam before it could burn its way to his skin. Ice gathered at his feet, but he skated across it, failing to lose his balance. The hissing of mixing elements was accompanied by a thick cloud of steam and debris- finding his target in this mess was going to be difficult.
"We just wanted to talk!" Ashton cried as he settled into an archer's stance. Even though he'd rather not fight these people, if the choice was the between the safety of the mages over the safety of his companions, he'd choose his friends every time. "Are you so blood drunk that you'd deny even that?!" he pleaded, though based on his recent experiences with blood mages he doubted that mere words would sway their demon addled minds. Speaking of demons, Ashton kept an especially open eye out for anything from beyond the veil, and those such creatures would become priority targets. He would not let another Sparrow happen.
His first shot connected with the shinbone of a mage, thoroughly tossing the man to the ground and interrupting whatever spell he had aimed at them. The next shot he fired cut deep into the outstretched arm of another mage, sending the frost spewing from his hand in a wide arc away from it's intended target-- The tranquil. Ever the efficent one, Rilien had opted to wade directly in towards the leader, and cut the head off of the problem. Ashton wouldn't be surprised to see Sparrow wade in directly behind him either flailing that mace about and casting whatever spells she had in her repertoire either, considering her brusque nature and had began to account for her in the plan that was beginning to fall into place in his mind. What they needed was to stop Decimus, else be subject to what he could summon from the fade, or worse, while at the same time reduce the number of casualities of the other mages. While he may not have been the biggest fan of the Templars on principle, the one outside the mouth of the cave had the right idea about saving these mages. No one's life should just be tossed away like trash.
"Remember where Decimus stands Rilien, Sparrow, I'll cover your approach!" Ashton called, withdrawing the fat shafted arrow that released smoke upon impact. He nocked it and let it fire, directly into the middle of the fray. He trusted them both to take full advantage of the situation. The impact was punctuated with a solid pop, and an obscuring white smoke was beginning to fill the cave and hide their presence. Ashton, however, would not be able to do much more as a large Spirit Bolt cut through the smoke and slammed directly into his chest. It was enough force to take him off of his feet and fling him a good couple feet back, landing ungracefully on his back, trying desparately to get air back into his lungs.
"Ouch... That stung. I think it broke something..." Ashton weezed, coughing a thick gobule of blood out. "Yep... Definitely broke something... Man down. Medic?" He whined, his deadpan tone belying the seriousness of the injury. Looks like he'd have to trust Rilien and Sparrow to this. Though truth be told, he wouldn't trust anyone else more.
Shlepping off the remnants of goo from her fingers, promptly smeared across a snippet of cloth she'd ripped off one of the animated corpses, Sparrow seemed intent on not showing how discontented she was at diving deeper into the cave. It wasn't enough that the caves tunnels were constricting like a snake's belly, forcing them to walk in a straight line. She'd taken the rear, glancing over her shoulder on occasion and gripping her mace all the tighter. Each sound of skittering rocks, disturbed by nocturnal creatures, screwed up her eyes in consternation. She might've been foolhardy enough to appear brave in the face of stumbling corpses, but she wasn't fond of darkness, of not being able to see what was in front of her, or more importantly, behind her. It wasn't her strongest suit. She couldn't help but imagine long-fingered hands slithering from hidden alcoves, ready to pull her in. No amount of squinting could adjust her eyes to the dim lights. The incessant itch demanding to look behind her shoulder – just to be sure, only grew with each step forward.
The flickering lanterns, barely illuminated, cast weaving shadows against the craggy walls. Distorted masses of tantamount-duplications, familiar in their shapes, but terrifying all the same. It was as if the darkness whispered do you fear, do you? And she was afraid. The darkness was all-encompassing, enveloping; an omnipresent thing that promised monsters and deeds she'd rather not carry out, immeasurably vast and unrestricted in its limitless infinity. It was a dreadful, malevolent thing. Whatever happened in the darkness, usually remained gloomy, forgotten-things. She resolutely resisted the urge to grip Rilien's flapping sleeve, ordering her hands to still themselves. Weakness would not do in a place like this. She seemed absent from her thoughts, as if she'd taken a break from her ceaseless barrage of snippy opinions, settling herself on some faraway bench. And somehow, this unsettled Sparrow. She did not search for her, did not reach out her arms like a frightened child, but instead lowered her head and trailed her empty fingers across the nearest wall, allowing her mace to dip low to the ground.
Sparrow breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the tunnels branched out, extending into a much larger chamber. Much like the one they'd found the walking-corpses in. It rattled through her bones, breathed through her lungs, drooped her eyelids a little lower. She didn't need to look behind her shoulder anymore, at least, not unless they'd have to squirm through another tunnel, which didn't seem likely, because they could hear a faint conversation going on in the distance. As soon as they rounded the corner, Decimus and his merry crew of less-than-pleased mages were already moving to intercept them, staves brandished and eyes thrown wide open, wildly alert. Her mouth went dry, hoping wryly that the woman could convince him that they weren't Templar-bastards after-all. “Stop that, idiot.” She snarled, eyes darting to Decimus' fingers, swirling in intricate circles, spewing his own blood force to raise more dead enemies around them. It was Sparrow who first hesitated. She was shaking. She could feel it. “We don't need to do this! We're just trying to help.” Said with little conviction, dying off into a strangled sound when Rilien unerringly amputated one of the mages arms, continuing his way through the throe of warm-bodied people.
She barely dodged the fireball, skittering backwards. Slight fumes of her burnt boot wafted unpleasantly to her nostrils, though she quickly kicked it through the dirt so that she wasn't another ambling corpse, afire, trying to pacify her opponents. Sparrow was not behind Rilien – she hadn't moved, aside from scrambling away from the nearest projectile that'd singed her companions hair. It was Ashton's voice that'd broken her out of her conflicted thoughts, reminding her where she ought to have been and where she needed to go if she wanted to keep her companions alive and well. “R-Right! And watch yourself, no heroics!” Her heart was not in this. How could it be? It'd been left on the precipice that she'd be able to convince them to lay down their weapons and flee from the Templars before they'd even stepped foot into the cave to retrieve them. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Instead of hammering through the mages, Sparrow took another more indirect approach, squaring off with the ambling-dead and smashing through, swinging her mace, and inefficiently weaving around those who were still consistently throwing projectiles.
For once, she wasn't directly behind Rilien, but she was coming up beside him, throwing energy-blasts to parry icy-cones and balls of flame, scattering frigid pellets and sparks around them. Sparrow would turn her hesitation, her anger, her despair onto the forerunner of attack.
While Rilien and Sparrow seemed inclined to rush the enemy, Nostariel hung back with Ashton, the group's other ranged combatant.There were enough fierce foes this tme around that she could not afford to simply choose her targets as he chose his, though, and doubtless, the efficiency they produced would suffer for it, but the important thing right now was to keep these mages off the Tranquil while Sparrow smashed through the corpses directly in front of them. All told, it was a sound strategy for such a hastily-devised one, and everything seemed to be going about as well as could be expected until a spirit bolt whizzed by her only to catch the archer full in the chest, throwing him backwards an immoderate distance.
Nostariel had switched tactics before he even made the request. Healing and damage-dealing required completely different mindsets, and it was hard to swap quickly from one to the other. It was a rare mage indeed that could manage both in any kind of swift succession. Nostariel was not yet such a mage, if she would ever be, and it took her a moment to adjust. With a couple of deep breaths, though, she was able to summon the energy to herself, and then direct it towards her fallen comrade. If there was one thing she was good at, it was trauma healing. She was passable with illnesses, but the battlefield was where she shone. Ironic, considering how little she liked them, and how often she had failed at this very job.
Not today.
Rilien, much further afield, had only dim awareness that someone behind him had been hit. What he had noticed was that Ashton's arrow had added to the fog already present, obscuring his target even further. It was more than worth the inconvenience, however, as the mages were no longer firing upon him with anything even resembling accuracy, and he was a much more mobile fighter than they. He would find his quarry, even if he had to stalk it. It was not terribly often that he vanished under the cloak of stealth, though he was capable of it. Mostly, he relied on complete silence to achieve the same result, and this instance was no different. Footfalls normally only incidentally soft lost all noise whatsoever, and he threaded his way carefully in the general direction of Decimus. More than once, he ran into a different mage, but he was much quicker on the uptake, and as a result, each of the three died before they could so much as choke out a warning.
At last, he found what he was looking for. The shroud of smoke was starting to thin, just a little, and the Blood Mage could see him, too, evidenced by the expected half-mad, half panicked ramblings that ensued upon sight of the sunburst resting so obviously over his brow. It was an unusual mage that was not unnerved by it, especially outside a Circle. After a while, it grew repetitive, actually. That Sparrow had not paid it much mind at all was one of the reasons they got along as well as they did. Decimus was nothing even resembling Sparrow, and Rilien had little conscience to delay his action. Surprisingly, his first hit was blocked by a desperate staff maneuver, the metal blades biting deep into the wood of the thing. Ripping them free with exactly no change in facial expression, the Tranquil moved again, this time catching a few shards of stone in his exposed arm for his trouble. Considering that the mage's arm now ended at the elbow, he wasn't very concerned by this.
Predictably, Decimus failed to control his reaction and dropped his stave, clutching at his stump with his still-whole hand and doing quite a lot of screaming. At this point, Rilien was forced away from what would have been the finisher by an incoming jet of flames; the others around them were regaining full visibility, and apparently would defend their leader to the death. He supposed that could be arranged.
Whatever amount of hatred she'd harvested from wheedling out the animated corpses had not been enough to weave into the fray and clock Decimus in the head – which would have been quite easy, since he was already distracted by Rilien's merciless assault, desperately attempting to block the Tranquil's impossibly quick hands with his staff. It was numbingly obvious how the situation would end. Instead, Sparrow stepped in while the fog cleared and slammed her mace into one of the mages stomach. Certainly not hard enough to bust all of his ribs, but enough to debilitate him, to discourage him from throwing any more funnels of flame at her companions. She whipped to the side to engage another, busying her mace against a creaking wooden staff. "Kill him first!" Perhaps, then, the others would lose face. They would give up. They wouldn't need to die. Then, Rilien could stop killing the others.
On the other side of the cavern, after Nostariel's burst of healing magic, Ashton had managed to drag his sore corpse over to one of the many stalagmites that littered the cave and leaned his back against it. Sure the immediate pain was gone thanks to the pretty little mage, but he still felt as if a horse had kicked him in the chest. What little blood that had remained floating around freely in his system was still interfering with his breathing, but all things considered, he could be worse. He could be dead. And not being dead was always a plus in Ashton's book. The hunter did look worse for wear though, left over blood flowing from the corner of his mouth. He looked a lot worse off than he was. He'd try to milk it for all the pity that it was worth.
He wasn't of the strongest constitution, to say the least. He wasn't a strongbacked, rough and tumble individual, like Sparrow. He couldn't take punches, hell, he probably couldn't even take a stiff breeze. Even Rilien, with his Tranquil stoicism, was more hardy than the Archer. At the very most, he put himself on Nostariel's level, and that was if she didn't have that Wardened hardening training whatevers. He knew what he was, and that was why he put himself in the back of the fight, flickering in and out of visibility. Though, he'd not allow a simple magical bolt to hold him back. He wasn't quite out of the fight yet, he wasn't quite done.
Ashton had nocked an arrow, and was beginning to draw before he paused. His sitting position would not allow him to fire his bow upright. He sighed and angled the bow horizontally and drew once again. "That was the plan..." Ashton murmured behind Sparrow's command. At that, Ashton let the arrow slip, and like a bolt of lightning it streaked forward towards it's intended target. Luckily, for those mages that had saw Ashton get hit by the Spirit Bolt, they thought him out of the fight. They didn't expect him to crawl back into the thing. That oversight allowed the arrow fly unmolested, right into the head of Decimus. Well. At least the chance of possession by Blood Mage was down. "Yaaay... Can we go home now?" Ashton whined, his arms dropping limply.
The arrow struck Decimus's forehead at about the same time as Sparrow downed her last one and Rilien disemboweled the remaining antagonist. All those that remained were cowering at the corners, and one flinched noticeably when the Tranquil leveled a dead-eyed stare at him. That was largely a normal occurrence, however, and he paid it no heed. His part of this enterprise was concluded, and frankly, it would have been impossible for him to care any less about what happened to the rest of them. For someone who had been a mage, their so-called plight was of precious little consequence to him, except as it occasionally pertained to what few people ever managed to bumble their way into mattering to him.
He picked up his discarded sleeve on the way back to the back of the ranks, using the deep red fabric to clean his knives before he resheathed them. Blood still dripped in rivulets down his bare arm, and he busied himself removing what chunks of stone he could from the wounds, tossing them onto the ground with apparent disregard for any pain it caused. There were still a few in there, and those would have to wait until he could make his way home and use a smaller instrument to dig them from his flesh. After that, it would be a simple matter of alcohol, bandages, and potions. It would not be the first time he'd gone through that particular routine, and it would doubtless not be the last.
"Not quite yet," Nostariel replied to Ashton. "We have to talk to the rest yet, and see if any more bloodshed might be avoided. I can take better care of that later, too," she added, noting the obvious fatigue under which he still operated. The Tranquil's bloody arm also concerned her, but it did not appear to be bothering him in the slightest, and she wasn't quite brave enough to ask him if he wanted any help. That left Sparrow, who looked fine, and the other mages, who were apparently looking upon them with more fear now that the violent among them were dead.
"Please," Nostariel entreated them, gripping her staff as firmly as she could muster and taking tentative steps forward, "do not be afraid. This is not what we intended, and a peaceful resolution to this affair is still possible." She shifted her posture just a little, so that the insignias of her station were easily-visible, and hopefully that would help. The Wardens were not harbingers of needless violence, and they were also not in the back pocket of the Chantry, which she hoped would lend her pleas some weight. "Ser Thrask of Kirkwall led us here to you. He wishes for you to return to the Circle, peacefully and without anymore needless death, but that window of opportunity will be brief." She waited then, for one of them to speak, or do anything at all, really.