Now without the fourth member of their group, they passed through the other door, Feynriel's dream once again wiping out the others aside from Nostariel, whose features this time took on the form of the elven First Enchanter, Orsino. Before Nostariel was a gathering of Dalish, the Sabrae clan, with Marethari in the center of them all, presenting Feynriel to the group.
"My people, I present to you... our hope." She held out her arms, and Feynriel came forward. "His features may mark him as human, but in his heart beats the blood of the Dales! He came to us to learn his heritage, to release the power from a lineage as ancient as our race." Feynriel seemed overwhelmed.
"I... I don't know what to say..."
Apparently, she had swapped forms yet again, and this time she was fairly sure she was⊠male. Choosing not to ponder the intricacies of that situation, Nostariel focused her attention on the scene before her. Oh, Feynriel⊠you really do just want a home, donât you? It was incredibly sad, in its way, and she understood it well. Enough to know that this wasnât the way to get it. âFeynriel, wait. Don't say anything. Itâs a trick.â
Feynriel seemed surprised to see Orsino of all people here. "First Enchanter? What are you doing here? Mother told me the Dalish are honorable! Why would the Keeper lie?"
This was going to be a bit harder. Feynriel had been living with the Dalish for years now, and though it was far from perfect, it was still probably better than the Circle, which was apparently what she got to represent in this phantasm. Thinking quickly, she echoed something heâd expressed to her once, something that ironically, sheâd always tried to dissuade him from thinking. âThink about this, Feynriel. Why would she entrust her people to a human?â It almost hurt to say it; she was playing right into his insecurities and she knew that well⊠but insecurity, if not modesty, was one of the better ways to combat Pride.
"You are one of us, Feynriel," the Keeper argued. "Your magic will restore our greatness." But now Feynriel looked confused, Nostariel's words striking a chord. "But... you told me this magic was outlawed for a reason. Even the Dalish don't practice it anymore."
Now Marethari appeared to be growing angry, a sure sign that the illusion was cracking. "The first enchanter is trying to keep you from realizing your greatness, Feynriel." But now Feynriel had seen through the trap. "No, he's trying to keep me from temptation, just like you were. You're not the Keeper! Begone, fiend!"
Marethari, or rather the demon posing as her, did not wait for Feynriel to run this time, instead simply banishing him with a wave of her hand, before snarling at Nostariel. "You! Why did you interfere?" She then rose into the air, arcane energy swirled around the Templar's courtyard, and a massive pride demon dropped to the ground in her place. "With my power joined to his, Feynriel would have changed the world!" Ithilian and Amalia reappeared as well, once Nostariel had returned to herself again.
"Yes, precisely as you dictated. Waste not your words on me, demon. I am not here to bargain." Nostariel was clearly rather upset by the whole situation, having to enter and then help shatter Feynriel's illusions. It wasn't an easy thing, to overcome such temptation, and to have to do it with others to bear witness was worse. At least they were almost done. She could nearly feel it, the most malevolent powers losing their grip on this dream.
"Perhaps you will not bargain, but your friend here is of a different mind, is he not?" the demon looked to Ithilian, at Nostariel's left. The elf scowled, crossing his arms. "What could I possibly want from you, demon?"
"Everything," he replied, waiting for a brief moment for Ithilian's reaction. Upon receiving none, he continued. "The Dalish have been spit upon, subjugated, oppressed for centuries, and you have been forced to watch those you love come of age in an atmosphere of hatred and death. As you are, there is little you can do but hold the tide back, but with a friend like me on your side, we could bring about something incredible, a change in the circumstances of the Dalish, of all elves, like the world has never seen."
Ithilian remained silent, staring down the creature that was easily twice his height and more, but he said nothing, and so the demon pressed on. "Think of the young girl you look after, and the two possible worlds that await her. The first is a filthy, dust-covered hellhole that she currently inhabits, her burgeoning prowess responded to with only fear and anger. The humans spit on her, or desire to take her as their own, for their putrid purposes. The other... it's a world even the Dalish can hardly remember, one where humans are nothing but the faintest shadow of a thought on the horizon, where life runs into eternity, a place of peace, prosperity, cooperation, and beauty... a world where the Dalish hold power, where they are no longer chained. With our combined might, that world will be closer than you would ever expect. Without me... there will never be a better future for you and those you care about."
âIthilianâŠâ Nostarielâs tone was much softer, almost hesitant. âItâs lying to you. It canât give you that.â Frankly, she wasnât sure anything could. âYou saw what that girl turned into, three years ago. Thatâs all that happens.â Just an abomination and more death. Maybe, if he was lucky, the possession would be for him as it was for Sparrow, but that was the most anyone could hope for, and in the end, even that would resolve itself the same way as that poor child had: a monster that was more demon than whatever it had been before, destructive but hardly powerful enough to change anything so drastically as it promised.
Try as he might... he couldn't seem to remember that girl. His mind was unable to move from the vision of the future, a place where they didn't have to breathe dust and inhale smoke and death every time they stepped out of their front doors. Closer, was all he had said. Ithilian knew what it meant. He'd die, but he'd always known he would die, it was just a matter of using the remainder of his life to do some good for his people, for the people he cared about. He would do anything to make that vision come even a step closer...
Amalia scoffed, a half-disgusted sound that she didnât quite succeed in keeping below her breath. There were many things she could say, and many things she wanted to, but as she had once told Aurora, it was not her place to shatter the illusions of others. That was something they had to do on their own. It wouldnât be of any good, in the end, if someone other than Ithilian refused this for him.
She was, however, disquiet about it, the words halfway to her tongue anyway. A reminder, a scolding, a plea, even. But she had not the right to argue with him about his decisions, because they were not of a kind. Was this not the barrier that not stood, at his behest and with her compliance, between them? I overstepped myself. I shanât do so again. That had been her statement, and she would not make a lie of it. So she swallowed her words, and grew further apprehensive that she didnât trust him to succeed. At least, not enough to stop her from reaching back for the ringblade again. She could tell herself it was because she desired to slay this demon like the rest. But the brutal honesty Amalia displayed before others carried no more softly to her ways of thinking, and she would not do herself the discredit of delusion. It was exactly why she was so clearheaded now, even when these hissra thought to cloud her with promptings of what could never be.
Silence had never felt so stifling, nor waiting such a trial.
"I'd put the future of my people above anything," Ithilian finally said. "Even if it means my life. You know that."
The pride demon grinned wickedly at Ithilian's choice. "Excellent. Help me with these, and then we'll be on our way." He leapt forward quickly, bringing both massive fists down, attempting to squash both Nostariel and Amalia, while Ithilian leapt away, drawing his bow and taking aim at his former allies.
Nostariel leapt out of the way of the crashing fist, pulling her own bow from her back. âYou vileâŠâ she spat, unable to finish the sentence in a way that would adequately express her disgust for the demon. Running off to one side of the room, she decided to draw the creature to herself, and leave Amalia to deal with Ithilian. She hadnât been able to change his mind, but the Qunari hadnât even tried. Honestly, the Warden really wasnât sure what to make of that, but then, she seemed to defy anyone elseâs understanding more often than not. That, and⊠Nostariel didnât really think she could bear to hurt a friend. That she was going to burden someone else with such a task was not at all good, but it was all she really could do. Against this⊠creature, she would have absolutely no reservations whatsoever.
The first arrow she nocked to her bowstring was coated rapidly in a layer of frost, cool air billowing from it and downwards, toward her feet. It was definitely a big-enough target. Releasing the string, she watched as the arrow sailed a bit too far right, hitting the demon in its shoulder rather than at center mass, as sheâd intended. The arrow exploded on impact, a sheet of ice, equivalent to a point-blank Winterâs Grasp, spreading outwards over the pride-thingâs flesh. This clearly surprised it, but with a great heave of its thick arm, it cracked the majority of the ice, allowing it slightly-restricted but otherwise normal, movement.
Next arrow. Focusing, Nostariel gathered the energy from the Fade around her and focused it into the arrowhead, which glowed an angry cherry red. Nock, draw, aim, release. The string snapped against her leather bracer, and this arrow was a bit high, but this time to her benefit rather than her detriment. Hitting the demonâs collarbone, it burst into a ball of fire, scorching down its chest and up the lower half of its face. The swing it aimed for her took her legs out from underneath her, though, and Nostariel found herself looking up at the not-sky, the breath knocked from her lungs.
At least sheâd managed to draw its attention. She really hoped she wasnât about to get shot for her trouble.
Hmph. This crude-fisted creature thought to hit her with that attempt? Amalia jumped back, springing off her hands for another good five feet of distance, landing in an easy crouch and taking her circular blade into the hand that was not bracing her against the floor. While Nostariel lined up her first shot, the Qunari darted forward, swinging the implement in rapid succession to leave several cutting welts over the still-grounded arm. Admittedly, it was not nearly so surprising as a new coat of ice, and perhaps this alone was sufficient to draw its ire in the Wardenâs direction, instead. She pursued.
Unopposed, Ithilian was allowed to aim carefully, though both targets were moving erratically, and would likely make a fatal shot not a possibility. His mind may have not been entirely his own, though certainly a good portion of him still remained, and in that moment, it fell to him to make a choice of which target to attack first. The arrow moved back and forth once between Nostariel and Amalia. For whatever reason, it stopped on the Qunari, and he released, drawing back a second arrow immediately.
Amalia hissed as a sharp pain blossomed in her side, an arrow thudding into one of the less-protected joints of her armor, the one where the back was buckled to the chestguard, about halfway down her ribcage. Gritting her teeth, she left the demon to Nostariel, and turned to face Ithilian. There were no words for the keen sense of betrayal she felt, but her face conveyed only irritation and not even the vaguest sense of surprise, as though sheâd been expecting it all along. Some part of her certainly hadâfor longer than she cared to think about. She threw her ringblade like a discus in an attempt to interrupt his aim, then reached for her chain, the weighted end just beginning to swing as she flickered from view.
If history was to repeat itself, it would not end in the same way.
Ithilian got off his second arrow just before the ringblade smashed into his bow, deflecting it enough so that his armor was not cut through by the uncommon weapon. It had sliced almost clean through the bow, however, and so he discarded it, drawing his short swords instead, lowering himself and remaining light on his feet, moving slightly in the direction of the pride demon. Parshaara remained notably sheathed at his hip.
The invisible Amalia tracked Ithilianâs movement, the part of her that was discipline and control clamping down on what might have otherwise been a surprisingly-miserable train of thought. A Ben-Hassrath had to accept that they might be called upon to hunt anyone, at any time. It was never an easy lesson to swallow, but sheâd learned it all the same. Spinning the chain around several times, she let fly, anticipating his continued movement in the direction he was heading, but the act of aggression revealed her again, and she resolved into visibility, ripping the arrow out of her side and tossing it away with a terse âtch.â
Nostariel barely rolled in time to avoid the enormous fist that came crashing down into the spot sheâd once occupied, and she scrambled to her feet with rather less grace than Amalia had taught her, desperation making her perhaps a bit forgetful of how to do these things properly. At least she hadnât been shot yet; that dubious honor appeared to belong entirely to the Qunari. There wasnât much time to think about it, though. In fact, there wasnât time to think about anything at all, for she found herself, delayed in her stand, immediately enveloped in a crushing prison spell, the sickly-green sphere encasing her before she could think to escape it, closing over her head like some bubble of liquid.
Someone had once told her that the dread of pain was worse than pain itself. That person had obviously never been caught in one of these. It was like gravity itself rebelled against her, forcing her to her kneesâor it would have, if she could move at all. Instead, it felt like she was caught in a vise, utterly unable to do anything about the increasing pressure on her arms, her legs, her head.
It was as the first bone in her left arm snapped that she felt the flames ignite.
Their experience with each other meant that Ithilian knew how this attack would go, but she was still lightning quick, and near impossible to put eyes on. The chain came from his side and clanged loudly on one of his swords before twisting around his left arm several times, constricting it painfully and preventing much motion on his left side. That would work against him defensively, of course, so he resolved to go on the attack instead, yanking backwards hard with his ensnared arm, trying to pull her towards him, before he moved to where she had appeared, slashing out with several swipes of his still unrestricted arm.
Ithilianâs superior strength was enough to yank Amalia forward a few steps, right into the path of his free blade. She caught one of the strikes on the arm, the blade finding yet another joint in the dragonâs hide near her elbow, and a third hit to the opposite side of her abdomen, this one slightly lower, near her waist. The all-too-familiar sensation of bleeding was ignored in the same way her conscience presently was, and she stepped forward rather than trying to retreat, attempting to drive the heel of one gauntlet-enclosed hand up and under his chin, then dropping into a low sweep, that intended to knock him off his feet and onto the ground. The necessary rotations of her abdomen pulled at the wounds, increasing the bleeding and slowing her somewhat.
Ithilian's current tactics weren't incorporating a good deal of defense, and so he continued attempting slashes even as her hand struck up under the chin, and he felt fractures crack his jaw. The stun was enough to let the sweep connect as well, and his feet were taken out from under him. He hit the ground hard on his side, responding by trying to take the Qunari woman down with him, attempting to stab into the back of her calf with his right blade.
The armor protection there stopped the hit from severing the muscle entirely, but not from doing hefty damage, and Amalia stumbled uncharacteristically, regaining her balance only by shifting her weight almost entirely to her other leg. Even so, the hit one shook, visibly unable to support more than a little burden. She didnât like her chances in a grapple, but with her ability to maneuver hobbled so, she was left with few other choices. Invisibility would help, but only for a little while, and he would regain his feet and be faster than her as well as stronger if she didnât keep him down.
Surrendering to gravity, Amalia tipped herself forward, falling in a controlled motion, leading with the left elbow, which was aimed squarely for the arm he was still attacking with. Her right hand yet held the chain, which would hopefully keep him from rolling too far away from the hit.
Nostariel couldnât think, couldnât breathe. All she knew was pressure and heat and pain, building to a pitch so feverish she was praying to gods she was almost sure didnât exist for deliverance. She was also screaming, but just as nothing from outside entered the sphere, nothing from within itâno blackening flames or shrieking sound. After what seemed like an eternity, she was released. Curiously, only the break in her arm, the first one, remained, as though the rest had been merely an illusion, but she was dazed, and with only one good arm, no longer able to fire. At least, not for the moment. The Pride demon looked faintly amused, as though her pain pleased it, but she was far too addled at the moment to remember her healing, or much at all really. Except⊠what? Something, something important. But what?
The blow was enough to disarm Ithilian, and though his left hand still clutched his other short sword, he could do next to nothing with it that would be of any danger to Amalia. He certainly made no effort to roll away from her or create more distance, instead choosing to fight unarmed, striking first with a headbutt, before pushing forcefully with his right arm to try and roll himself over her and into an attacking position, or at the very least side by side. Several punches from his right would follow.
Amalia muttered something under her breath in Qunlat when his head cracked against hers, dazing her for long enough that his pin attempt was quite-nearly successful and she found herself on her back, at a marked disadvantage. Well, at least being punched wasnât going to kill her quickly. âNostariel!â she shouted, taking a punch with an uncomfortable grunt and raising the hand that still clutched the chain in an attempt to leverage him off by applying its pressure to the throat. âIf I kill him here, is he Tranquil on the other side?â She had to know. She had to.
The sound of a voice she knew stirred something within Nostariel. It was enough to bring her from her daze, whatever it was, and she glanced over to see Amalia and Ithilian in a tangle of limbs, definitely not of the kind Aurora had hypothesized. It took a second to register why the question would matter, but then it hit her like a ton of bricks, and she answered quickly: âNo! Heâll just be ejected from the dream! Nothing permanent!â Speaking of which⊠Nostariel reached for her magic and sent a healing spell to both herself and the Qunari, knitting her arm together and following up with two brutal blasts of fire for the Pride Demonâs face. It was only a matter of time now, before this creature fell to her. She wasnât going to give it another opportunity to crush her.
Amalia took that as all the confirmation she needed. âParshaara, then,â she snarled venomously, âLose your resolve elsewhere.â A flick of her wrist, and the retractable blade inside her gauntlet slid outwards. She drove it upwards, towards his heart, then changed her mind at the last second and angled it for the throat. It was something sheâd seen him do countless times, to people he thought unworthy of living. She didnât quite echo the sentiment, but she was dangerously close.
Perhaps unwittingly, unconsciously, however, she closed her eyes and turned her head when she knew the course was inevitable.
Blood spilled quite normally in the Fade, and it did so from Ithilian's throat. When it was done, there was little point continuing his struggle, and so his last prepared blow never came at all, hanging in midair for a moment before his arm fell to his side. He pushed himself away from her as well he could, before slumping over in a kneeling position, motionless.
Nostarielâs fireballs lashed the pride demon repeatedly, each sending it staggering a little further back than the last, but she did not let up. She was not, as a rule, an angry person, but what was being done to them here, done to Feynriel here, deserved any rage she could muster. She didnât let up, either, advancing forward with more lit in each hand as soon as they went out, burning through her mana at a pace with the speed she burned through the demon. It began to let out horrid screeches as the tongues of fire ate through its thick hide, and she was relentless enough that she did not give it even a moment to thrash outward, a moment to charge another of those spells, nothing. She would give it exactly what it deserved from her: a death, and not one whit more.
At last, the creature toppled over onto its back and moved no more, and Nostariel straightened, panting, only to see Ithilian roll off Amalia, who bore a bloodstained blade from somewhere in her armor. It was something the Warden would never have thought to see, and for they who were both so devoted to their causes, and disposed to violent means, that was rather saying something. It was a little bit devastating, when she considered what the aftermath of it might be. Sheâd seen the way the Qunari treated those who they felt betrayed themâsheâd been that treatment, actually.
ââŠAmalia?â she asked cautiously, taking a few heavy steps towards the prone woman.
Amalia rolled to her feet, gathering her chain in silence and replacing it at her waist. Trotting on her still-tender leg to her ringblade, she picked that up, too, replacing it at her back. She eyed Ithilianâs broken bow for a moment, but in the end simply turned back towards Nostariel, expression so perfectly blank it could only be hiding something else. âCome, Nostariel. We must still save the boy.â She faced the exit and walked unerringly towards it, not once glancing backwards.
"My people, I present to you... our hope." She held out her arms, and Feynriel came forward. "His features may mark him as human, but in his heart beats the blood of the Dales! He came to us to learn his heritage, to release the power from a lineage as ancient as our race." Feynriel seemed overwhelmed.
"I... I don't know what to say..."
Apparently, she had swapped forms yet again, and this time she was fairly sure she was⊠male. Choosing not to ponder the intricacies of that situation, Nostariel focused her attention on the scene before her. Oh, Feynriel⊠you really do just want a home, donât you? It was incredibly sad, in its way, and she understood it well. Enough to know that this wasnât the way to get it. âFeynriel, wait. Don't say anything. Itâs a trick.â
Feynriel seemed surprised to see Orsino of all people here. "First Enchanter? What are you doing here? Mother told me the Dalish are honorable! Why would the Keeper lie?"
This was going to be a bit harder. Feynriel had been living with the Dalish for years now, and though it was far from perfect, it was still probably better than the Circle, which was apparently what she got to represent in this phantasm. Thinking quickly, she echoed something heâd expressed to her once, something that ironically, sheâd always tried to dissuade him from thinking. âThink about this, Feynriel. Why would she entrust her people to a human?â It almost hurt to say it; she was playing right into his insecurities and she knew that well⊠but insecurity, if not modesty, was one of the better ways to combat Pride.
"You are one of us, Feynriel," the Keeper argued. "Your magic will restore our greatness." But now Feynriel looked confused, Nostariel's words striking a chord. "But... you told me this magic was outlawed for a reason. Even the Dalish don't practice it anymore."
Now Marethari appeared to be growing angry, a sure sign that the illusion was cracking. "The first enchanter is trying to keep you from realizing your greatness, Feynriel." But now Feynriel had seen through the trap. "No, he's trying to keep me from temptation, just like you were. You're not the Keeper! Begone, fiend!"
Marethari, or rather the demon posing as her, did not wait for Feynriel to run this time, instead simply banishing him with a wave of her hand, before snarling at Nostariel. "You! Why did you interfere?" She then rose into the air, arcane energy swirled around the Templar's courtyard, and a massive pride demon dropped to the ground in her place. "With my power joined to his, Feynriel would have changed the world!" Ithilian and Amalia reappeared as well, once Nostariel had returned to herself again.
"Yes, precisely as you dictated. Waste not your words on me, demon. I am not here to bargain." Nostariel was clearly rather upset by the whole situation, having to enter and then help shatter Feynriel's illusions. It wasn't an easy thing, to overcome such temptation, and to have to do it with others to bear witness was worse. At least they were almost done. She could nearly feel it, the most malevolent powers losing their grip on this dream.
"Perhaps you will not bargain, but your friend here is of a different mind, is he not?" the demon looked to Ithilian, at Nostariel's left. The elf scowled, crossing his arms. "What could I possibly want from you, demon?"
"Everything," he replied, waiting for a brief moment for Ithilian's reaction. Upon receiving none, he continued. "The Dalish have been spit upon, subjugated, oppressed for centuries, and you have been forced to watch those you love come of age in an atmosphere of hatred and death. As you are, there is little you can do but hold the tide back, but with a friend like me on your side, we could bring about something incredible, a change in the circumstances of the Dalish, of all elves, like the world has never seen."
Ithilian remained silent, staring down the creature that was easily twice his height and more, but he said nothing, and so the demon pressed on. "Think of the young girl you look after, and the two possible worlds that await her. The first is a filthy, dust-covered hellhole that she currently inhabits, her burgeoning prowess responded to with only fear and anger. The humans spit on her, or desire to take her as their own, for their putrid purposes. The other... it's a world even the Dalish can hardly remember, one where humans are nothing but the faintest shadow of a thought on the horizon, where life runs into eternity, a place of peace, prosperity, cooperation, and beauty... a world where the Dalish hold power, where they are no longer chained. With our combined might, that world will be closer than you would ever expect. Without me... there will never be a better future for you and those you care about."
âIthilianâŠâ Nostarielâs tone was much softer, almost hesitant. âItâs lying to you. It canât give you that.â Frankly, she wasnât sure anything could. âYou saw what that girl turned into, three years ago. Thatâs all that happens.â Just an abomination and more death. Maybe, if he was lucky, the possession would be for him as it was for Sparrow, but that was the most anyone could hope for, and in the end, even that would resolve itself the same way as that poor child had: a monster that was more demon than whatever it had been before, destructive but hardly powerful enough to change anything so drastically as it promised.
Try as he might... he couldn't seem to remember that girl. His mind was unable to move from the vision of the future, a place where they didn't have to breathe dust and inhale smoke and death every time they stepped out of their front doors. Closer, was all he had said. Ithilian knew what it meant. He'd die, but he'd always known he would die, it was just a matter of using the remainder of his life to do some good for his people, for the people he cared about. He would do anything to make that vision come even a step closer...
Amalia scoffed, a half-disgusted sound that she didnât quite succeed in keeping below her breath. There were many things she could say, and many things she wanted to, but as she had once told Aurora, it was not her place to shatter the illusions of others. That was something they had to do on their own. It wouldnât be of any good, in the end, if someone other than Ithilian refused this for him.
She was, however, disquiet about it, the words halfway to her tongue anyway. A reminder, a scolding, a plea, even. But she had not the right to argue with him about his decisions, because they were not of a kind. Was this not the barrier that not stood, at his behest and with her compliance, between them? I overstepped myself. I shanât do so again. That had been her statement, and she would not make a lie of it. So she swallowed her words, and grew further apprehensive that she didnât trust him to succeed. At least, not enough to stop her from reaching back for the ringblade again. She could tell herself it was because she desired to slay this demon like the rest. But the brutal honesty Amalia displayed before others carried no more softly to her ways of thinking, and she would not do herself the discredit of delusion. It was exactly why she was so clearheaded now, even when these hissra thought to cloud her with promptings of what could never be.
Silence had never felt so stifling, nor waiting such a trial.
"I'd put the future of my people above anything," Ithilian finally said. "Even if it means my life. You know that."
The pride demon grinned wickedly at Ithilian's choice. "Excellent. Help me with these, and then we'll be on our way." He leapt forward quickly, bringing both massive fists down, attempting to squash both Nostariel and Amalia, while Ithilian leapt away, drawing his bow and taking aim at his former allies.
Nostariel leapt out of the way of the crashing fist, pulling her own bow from her back. âYou vileâŠâ she spat, unable to finish the sentence in a way that would adequately express her disgust for the demon. Running off to one side of the room, she decided to draw the creature to herself, and leave Amalia to deal with Ithilian. She hadnât been able to change his mind, but the Qunari hadnât even tried. Honestly, the Warden really wasnât sure what to make of that, but then, she seemed to defy anyone elseâs understanding more often than not. That, and⊠Nostariel didnât really think she could bear to hurt a friend. That she was going to burden someone else with such a task was not at all good, but it was all she really could do. Against this⊠creature, she would have absolutely no reservations whatsoever.
The first arrow she nocked to her bowstring was coated rapidly in a layer of frost, cool air billowing from it and downwards, toward her feet. It was definitely a big-enough target. Releasing the string, she watched as the arrow sailed a bit too far right, hitting the demon in its shoulder rather than at center mass, as sheâd intended. The arrow exploded on impact, a sheet of ice, equivalent to a point-blank Winterâs Grasp, spreading outwards over the pride-thingâs flesh. This clearly surprised it, but with a great heave of its thick arm, it cracked the majority of the ice, allowing it slightly-restricted but otherwise normal, movement.
Next arrow. Focusing, Nostariel gathered the energy from the Fade around her and focused it into the arrowhead, which glowed an angry cherry red. Nock, draw, aim, release. The string snapped against her leather bracer, and this arrow was a bit high, but this time to her benefit rather than her detriment. Hitting the demonâs collarbone, it burst into a ball of fire, scorching down its chest and up the lower half of its face. The swing it aimed for her took her legs out from underneath her, though, and Nostariel found herself looking up at the not-sky, the breath knocked from her lungs.
At least sheâd managed to draw its attention. She really hoped she wasnât about to get shot for her trouble.
Hmph. This crude-fisted creature thought to hit her with that attempt? Amalia jumped back, springing off her hands for another good five feet of distance, landing in an easy crouch and taking her circular blade into the hand that was not bracing her against the floor. While Nostariel lined up her first shot, the Qunari darted forward, swinging the implement in rapid succession to leave several cutting welts over the still-grounded arm. Admittedly, it was not nearly so surprising as a new coat of ice, and perhaps this alone was sufficient to draw its ire in the Wardenâs direction, instead. She pursued.
Unopposed, Ithilian was allowed to aim carefully, though both targets were moving erratically, and would likely make a fatal shot not a possibility. His mind may have not been entirely his own, though certainly a good portion of him still remained, and in that moment, it fell to him to make a choice of which target to attack first. The arrow moved back and forth once between Nostariel and Amalia. For whatever reason, it stopped on the Qunari, and he released, drawing back a second arrow immediately.
Amalia hissed as a sharp pain blossomed in her side, an arrow thudding into one of the less-protected joints of her armor, the one where the back was buckled to the chestguard, about halfway down her ribcage. Gritting her teeth, she left the demon to Nostariel, and turned to face Ithilian. There were no words for the keen sense of betrayal she felt, but her face conveyed only irritation and not even the vaguest sense of surprise, as though sheâd been expecting it all along. Some part of her certainly hadâfor longer than she cared to think about. She threw her ringblade like a discus in an attempt to interrupt his aim, then reached for her chain, the weighted end just beginning to swing as she flickered from view.
If history was to repeat itself, it would not end in the same way.
Ithilian got off his second arrow just before the ringblade smashed into his bow, deflecting it enough so that his armor was not cut through by the uncommon weapon. It had sliced almost clean through the bow, however, and so he discarded it, drawing his short swords instead, lowering himself and remaining light on his feet, moving slightly in the direction of the pride demon. Parshaara remained notably sheathed at his hip.
The invisible Amalia tracked Ithilianâs movement, the part of her that was discipline and control clamping down on what might have otherwise been a surprisingly-miserable train of thought. A Ben-Hassrath had to accept that they might be called upon to hunt anyone, at any time. It was never an easy lesson to swallow, but sheâd learned it all the same. Spinning the chain around several times, she let fly, anticipating his continued movement in the direction he was heading, but the act of aggression revealed her again, and she resolved into visibility, ripping the arrow out of her side and tossing it away with a terse âtch.â
Nostariel barely rolled in time to avoid the enormous fist that came crashing down into the spot sheâd once occupied, and she scrambled to her feet with rather less grace than Amalia had taught her, desperation making her perhaps a bit forgetful of how to do these things properly. At least she hadnât been shot yet; that dubious honor appeared to belong entirely to the Qunari. There wasnât much time to think about it, though. In fact, there wasnât time to think about anything at all, for she found herself, delayed in her stand, immediately enveloped in a crushing prison spell, the sickly-green sphere encasing her before she could think to escape it, closing over her head like some bubble of liquid.
Someone had once told her that the dread of pain was worse than pain itself. That person had obviously never been caught in one of these. It was like gravity itself rebelled against her, forcing her to her kneesâor it would have, if she could move at all. Instead, it felt like she was caught in a vise, utterly unable to do anything about the increasing pressure on her arms, her legs, her head.
It was as the first bone in her left arm snapped that she felt the flames ignite.
Their experience with each other meant that Ithilian knew how this attack would go, but she was still lightning quick, and near impossible to put eyes on. The chain came from his side and clanged loudly on one of his swords before twisting around his left arm several times, constricting it painfully and preventing much motion on his left side. That would work against him defensively, of course, so he resolved to go on the attack instead, yanking backwards hard with his ensnared arm, trying to pull her towards him, before he moved to where she had appeared, slashing out with several swipes of his still unrestricted arm.
Ithilianâs superior strength was enough to yank Amalia forward a few steps, right into the path of his free blade. She caught one of the strikes on the arm, the blade finding yet another joint in the dragonâs hide near her elbow, and a third hit to the opposite side of her abdomen, this one slightly lower, near her waist. The all-too-familiar sensation of bleeding was ignored in the same way her conscience presently was, and she stepped forward rather than trying to retreat, attempting to drive the heel of one gauntlet-enclosed hand up and under his chin, then dropping into a low sweep, that intended to knock him off his feet and onto the ground. The necessary rotations of her abdomen pulled at the wounds, increasing the bleeding and slowing her somewhat.
Ithilian's current tactics weren't incorporating a good deal of defense, and so he continued attempting slashes even as her hand struck up under the chin, and he felt fractures crack his jaw. The stun was enough to let the sweep connect as well, and his feet were taken out from under him. He hit the ground hard on his side, responding by trying to take the Qunari woman down with him, attempting to stab into the back of her calf with his right blade.
The armor protection there stopped the hit from severing the muscle entirely, but not from doing hefty damage, and Amalia stumbled uncharacteristically, regaining her balance only by shifting her weight almost entirely to her other leg. Even so, the hit one shook, visibly unable to support more than a little burden. She didnât like her chances in a grapple, but with her ability to maneuver hobbled so, she was left with few other choices. Invisibility would help, but only for a little while, and he would regain his feet and be faster than her as well as stronger if she didnât keep him down.
Surrendering to gravity, Amalia tipped herself forward, falling in a controlled motion, leading with the left elbow, which was aimed squarely for the arm he was still attacking with. Her right hand yet held the chain, which would hopefully keep him from rolling too far away from the hit.
Nostariel couldnât think, couldnât breathe. All she knew was pressure and heat and pain, building to a pitch so feverish she was praying to gods she was almost sure didnât exist for deliverance. She was also screaming, but just as nothing from outside entered the sphere, nothing from within itâno blackening flames or shrieking sound. After what seemed like an eternity, she was released. Curiously, only the break in her arm, the first one, remained, as though the rest had been merely an illusion, but she was dazed, and with only one good arm, no longer able to fire. At least, not for the moment. The Pride demon looked faintly amused, as though her pain pleased it, but she was far too addled at the moment to remember her healing, or much at all really. Except⊠what? Something, something important. But what?
The blow was enough to disarm Ithilian, and though his left hand still clutched his other short sword, he could do next to nothing with it that would be of any danger to Amalia. He certainly made no effort to roll away from her or create more distance, instead choosing to fight unarmed, striking first with a headbutt, before pushing forcefully with his right arm to try and roll himself over her and into an attacking position, or at the very least side by side. Several punches from his right would follow.
Amalia muttered something under her breath in Qunlat when his head cracked against hers, dazing her for long enough that his pin attempt was quite-nearly successful and she found herself on her back, at a marked disadvantage. Well, at least being punched wasnât going to kill her quickly. âNostariel!â she shouted, taking a punch with an uncomfortable grunt and raising the hand that still clutched the chain in an attempt to leverage him off by applying its pressure to the throat. âIf I kill him here, is he Tranquil on the other side?â She had to know. She had to.
The sound of a voice she knew stirred something within Nostariel. It was enough to bring her from her daze, whatever it was, and she glanced over to see Amalia and Ithilian in a tangle of limbs, definitely not of the kind Aurora had hypothesized. It took a second to register why the question would matter, but then it hit her like a ton of bricks, and she answered quickly: âNo! Heâll just be ejected from the dream! Nothing permanent!â Speaking of which⊠Nostariel reached for her magic and sent a healing spell to both herself and the Qunari, knitting her arm together and following up with two brutal blasts of fire for the Pride Demonâs face. It was only a matter of time now, before this creature fell to her. She wasnât going to give it another opportunity to crush her.
Amalia took that as all the confirmation she needed. âParshaara, then,â she snarled venomously, âLose your resolve elsewhere.â A flick of her wrist, and the retractable blade inside her gauntlet slid outwards. She drove it upwards, towards his heart, then changed her mind at the last second and angled it for the throat. It was something sheâd seen him do countless times, to people he thought unworthy of living. She didnât quite echo the sentiment, but she was dangerously close.
Perhaps unwittingly, unconsciously, however, she closed her eyes and turned her head when she knew the course was inevitable.
Blood spilled quite normally in the Fade, and it did so from Ithilian's throat. When it was done, there was little point continuing his struggle, and so his last prepared blow never came at all, hanging in midair for a moment before his arm fell to his side. He pushed himself away from her as well he could, before slumping over in a kneeling position, motionless.
Nostarielâs fireballs lashed the pride demon repeatedly, each sending it staggering a little further back than the last, but she did not let up. She was not, as a rule, an angry person, but what was being done to them here, done to Feynriel here, deserved any rage she could muster. She didnât let up, either, advancing forward with more lit in each hand as soon as they went out, burning through her mana at a pace with the speed she burned through the demon. It began to let out horrid screeches as the tongues of fire ate through its thick hide, and she was relentless enough that she did not give it even a moment to thrash outward, a moment to charge another of those spells, nothing. She would give it exactly what it deserved from her: a death, and not one whit more.
At last, the creature toppled over onto its back and moved no more, and Nostariel straightened, panting, only to see Ithilian roll off Amalia, who bore a bloodstained blade from somewhere in her armor. It was something the Warden would never have thought to see, and for they who were both so devoted to their causes, and disposed to violent means, that was rather saying something. It was a little bit devastating, when she considered what the aftermath of it might be. Sheâd seen the way the Qunari treated those who they felt betrayed themâsheâd been that treatment, actually.
ââŠAmalia?â she asked cautiously, taking a few heavy steps towards the prone woman.
Amalia rolled to her feet, gathering her chain in silence and replacing it at her waist. Trotting on her still-tender leg to her ringblade, she picked that up, too, replacing it at her back. She eyed Ithilianâs broken bow for a moment, but in the end simply turned back towards Nostariel, expression so perfectly blank it could only be hiding something else. âCome, Nostariel. We must still save the boy.â She faced the exit and walked unerringly towards it, not once glancing backwards.