As one should have perhaps expected of a bloodmage, Gascard drew his staff and promptly summoned a demon. Several, actually: no less than four Desire Demons emerged from the ground beneath his feet, and Rilien had to actively work to stop himself from simply leaping forward and tearing into the nearest one with his blades. He was... especially unfond of those particular demons, but the number present was enough to demand some tactical thinking, and if there was anything Rilien could do well, it was thinking tactically. Also fortunately, he knew something of the skills of both of the individuals he was working with, Lucien considerably more than Aurora, for obvious reasons. Less fortunate was the fact that Gascard's next move was to draw a dagger from his belt and stab himself in the hand. Why it was always the hands, Rilien really didn't know. Scarring too badly there could lead to permanent dexterity reduction... and that spell was blood control. He recognized it well, and its target was the Chevalier.
Apparently deciding that the elf was the next-largest threat, Gascard sent all four of the demons (and attempted to force Lucien) after him, whilst the mage himself took up his staff against Aurora, casting a Hex of Torment upon the young woman, to plague her with phantom pains.
The spell was immediate and devastating. Pain snaked it's fingers into Aurora's mind and gripped tight, doubling her over. It balled her up and sent her crouch, her hands reaching for her temples. A pretty poor showing for all she learned in three years. It was so sudden though, and she was so unprepared. Now that the spell had been active for a few moments, and her reflexes now had time to kick in, she began to rise again, tearing one hand from her face, leaving the other covering the side of her face. Through the gaps in her fingers, she stared down Gascard and she began to shake her head. She looked almost... Disappointed. She took a singular step forward and broke free of the spell.
She was embarrassed that it even effected her in the first place. "Illusions. There is no pain, only what our minds imagine. But in the end, I know what's real and what's not," she said, taking her hand from her face, and pushing ahead one more step. "Vengeance clouds your mind. What you think gives you purpose and drive only holds you back and chains you down. The power you think you possess, through either your veins or even through them," She then pointed toward the demons that were currently assaulting her friends, and then dismissed them entirely. Four Desire demons against a Tranquil and a Chevalier. She pitied the Demons' odds. There were no tempting either of them.
"It's all an illusion," she finished, drawing both arms out to her side. She then clenched her fists tightly, drawing the stone tiles from the floor. The tiles lifted into the air and plastered themselves to Aurora's arms, going all the way to her shoulders, connecting at her back, but nowhere else. Her body and her legs were left bare. She then settled into her stance, pulling her arms up in front of her. Her face was a porcelain, emotionless mask.
"I, on the contrary, am not."
There was hardly time to lament that yet another person had chosen the bloody way out, as Lucien swiftly found his limbs locked up and unresponsive. He felt as though he were being tugged at like a puppet, the strings buried somewhere underneath his skin. For all his experience in battle, he had never been under the sway of blood magic before, and it took him a moment to realize that this must surely be what the strange feeling was. It was as though something else, something other sat quietly, insidiously, inside his limbs, and that thing woke like a sleeping bronto, stirring and moving him in ways he did not will. His first, visceral reaction was to fight it, and for several long moments, there was only an internal struggle that left him entirely immobilized, vulnerable.
He could see the fight moving before him, the quartet of demons setting upon Rilien, and the contortion of Auroraâs face as she was assailed by some pain whose cause he could not discern. That he was so useless in this moment struck something in the very core of his being, tearing past all the layers of defense and affectations, though few, to hit a pealing note against his innermost convictions, and he would not be useless.
With an exertion as much of the will as of the body, Lucien heaved, breaking the invisible chains that bound him down with an unheard snap, his hand flying to his axe and swinging it in a devastating downward arc, smashing right through the skull of the nearest Desure Demon. He felt as though heâd just run a marathon in full plate, his breaths coming in great heaves to and from the bellows of his lungs. âAurora,â he entreated. âIf you can avoid it, please donât kill him.â It was not an orderâhe wasnât in the business of giving those, not anymore. It was an appeal to her better nature, a request from someone whoâd just fallen victim to the worst part of Gascardâs. But those womenâDuPuis had information that could help the investigation, could see to it that no more were victimized in the same way, and they owed it to those victims to bring that information, whole and intact, to the attention of people who could do something about it.
Rilien, faced with an oncoming tide of demons, leaped into the fray, unwilling to waste his time with constraint any longer. He expected Lucien to be right there beside himâthis was a pattern heâd grown used to, grown, even, to trust, but a sidelong glance over his shoulder confirmed that the Chevalier had not followed. In fact, he was standing, unmoving and still, as a stature might, a monument carved to the foolish daring that belonged to knights. The flare of magic was enough evidence for the Tranquil; his erstwhile companion was overtaken by a blood control spell. Such things were not easily broken, and the last time heâd been put under one himself was a number of years ago. He had perfect logic and experience with magic to aid him in escaping. Lucien did not.
His divided attention cost him, and Rilien found one of his forearms bathed in flame when he moved too slowly. He drew it back, laying the flat of the ice-knife against it. The hissing was harbinger of a sharp pain, but the ice soon numbed the limb anyway, and he refocused on the task at hand, darting forward and puncturing one just below the clavicle with his other knife, this one crackling with electricity. Wrenching downwards, he disemboweled the armorless creature, whatever mind magic she was attempting to work on the elf and the soldier utterly ineffective on one whose mind had been stilled by the Rite of Tranquility.
"I didn't plan on it," Aurora replied, slowly circling the blood mage. "He might not be in one piece though..." She added, rolling out of the way of an Arcane spell. She jumped back to her feet and went straight, looking to close the distance. They could both sit around and throw spells at each other until one hit, or she can get close and finish it. She would have to fight through the Mind Blast first, as Gascard recovered from the miss quicker than she expected. Again, she was assualted by illusory magic, but unlike the other, this one had force behind it. It took her off her feet and blew her backwards, sliding on her back.
Aurora was just as quick, bringing her feet up and over, flipping back to a standing position, with her hand down in a three point stance. Fine, if he wanted to throw spell, so be it. She leveraged one rock encased arm back, reaching into the fade as she did, and flicked it forward sending out a blast of ice. She followed close behind. He conjured a arcane shield, fizzling out the ice and sent another spell forward from his staff. This time she fell to a knee but recovered. She felt the strength drain from her body as the Hex worked its way to her core. But Aurora wouldn't be stopped, not by some illusion.
Lucien smiled at that, a grim warriorâs smile. Heâd not killed people into pieces before as wellâit was a distinction that he understood was sometimes necessary. Some men just didnât deserve to be able to hold weapons anymore, much less the swords of a Chevalier. Or staves, he supposed, if they were mages. He had no doubt that there were those who bore the power theyâd been given well, just as much as there were those who did not deserve it.
Rilien having disemboweled one of the remaining demons left them down to two in total, and Lucien faced one of them squarely, raising his axe to strike, exceptâher image wavered, replaced quickly with a very familiar one. It flickered through a few, actuallyâa redheaded woman with a handsome face and an infectious smile, a more solemn, feminine blonde lady, also in armor, his mother again, his father⊠then him. In the end, Lucien was looking at himself.
Only, it wasnât really himself at all. This Lucien bore no eyepatch, no scar, and the eye that should have been damaged wasnât at all. His armor was the full Chevalier battle regalia, a brilliant crimson in color, but the cloak he wore over his own back was the jet black one trimmed in gold, that belonged only to the Lord General of the Orlesian Army. A circlet over his brow was one he recognizedâit had once belonged to him, the tangible mark of his status as heir. The faces heâd seen before stood arrayed behind him, along with all his friends from the Academy, even the dead ones. âWell, well. Now this is interesting,â his own voice spoke to him. âYou do not have small aspirations, do you?â
His brows drew together at the words. âNot that I blame you of course. Few are in a position to do so much good as the future Emperor of Orlais, after all. Yes, thinking about it, about all the people you could save, all the downtrodden you could lift on these shoulders of yours, it makes perfect sense. And it is all yours by right, anyway. They took it from you unfairly, branded you traitor, insubordinate, heretical for your choice to help a soulless husk instead of the divine providence of the Chantry. Three worse things to be, there are not.â
The Chevalier snorted. âIn Orlais? There are many worse things to be. An elf, a mage, and unfashionable, for a start.â The words were harsh, but he did not yet heft his axe to attack, either.
âMaybe so,â the other Lucien conceded, âBut you could change that, couldnât you? With you leading them, your people would come to accept the others among them peacefully. Your country would have a Golden Age the like of which your ancestor could only dream of. I could help you; I could give you all of this.â
Lucienâs smile softened, and his answer was touched by a weighty melancholy. âA demon, give me a world without subjugation? No, I really donât think you could. And I wouldnât want you to.â If people didnât build that world themselves, if it was nothing more than an elaborate working of magic, then it would have no strength and no permanence. He aspired even higher than a Fade-creature could climb, it seemed. Raising his axe, Lucien brought it down on his double, cleaving through the armor as though it were mere fleshâwhich it was. The creature fell, vanishing, and he straightened. That had been⊠peculiar, to say the least.
The last demon understood well enough that one could not tempt a Tranquil with a possessed friend, and she didnât even try. If Rilien was in the business of giving credit, she would have received a small amount of it for that. As it was, he ducked backwards to avoid a strike of her claws, then darted rapidly to the side, a fireball exploding in his wake. Two more followed, driving him further backwards, but none of them hit. He was peripherally aware of Auroraâs fight with the blood mage and Lucienâs odd mirror image, but if Rilien could be said to trust anyone to overcome the mirages of his own desire, it was Lucien. The man was not the kind to accept what he wanted being handed to him on a platter. For whatever convoluted reason, he felt the need to earn things.
Then again, that was the only reason Rilien trusted him at all, so he supposed there must be some merit to it. You donât have to take me on faith. Iâll prove myself to you, and then there wonât have to be anything standing between us. Thatâs what friends do. If heâd bothered to ask Rilien if he even wanted to be friends, the answer would have disappointed him, and yet here they were. Results spoke for themselves, perhaps.
Rolling back into a crouch, Rilien sprang forward with coiled force, catching the demon off-guard and forcing her to abort the next spell, lest it hit far too close to spare her, either. Another relatively intelligent move that would count for absolutely nothing in the end. The Tranquilâs feet were soft as catâs paws on the ground, but the force with which he streaked past the demon, flaying into her exposed side with the electrically-enchanted knife, could not be denied, and it carried her right off her feet, and she slammed against the ground, breathless. The last thing in her field of vision was the utterly stoic face of the white-haired elf, and then there was a sharp pain in her chest, and she was no more.
"Are we done?" Aurora asked. Over on her side of the room, she was sitting victoriously on the unconscious form of Gascard. Around them both lay the scattered remains of Aurora's partial rock armor, and nearby that the splintered staff Gascard had wielded. Aurora even looked the part of a battered mage, her cheek bruised and in the process of swelling, her breaths came out in ragged pants, and even her arms seemed leadened, even at a distance. No matter how much she despised blood magic, that did not mean it wasn't effective. She'd never actually felt the blood coursing through her veins til then, and then it only furthered her displeasure of the school.
However, whatever effort she had put in, she still heard the desire demon's entreaty to Lucien. True, it was none of her business, but she could help but feel curious. If either of them get a moment of down time, she decided to ask him about it. But not right now, not with a blood mage sitting under her. Now that the demons were taken care of as well, she hoped off the prone body (slowly, she was still sore) and flagged Lucien down. "If you will? I don't think I can carry him out of this room," She said, pointing at him.
"Let's... Take him to the guard. Templars tend to get righteous about blood magic," She mentioned.
Lucien glanced over at Aurora and chuckled. âSo itâs to be one piece, after all. Probably for the bestâI have a hard time imagining the Guard would take too well to separate bits.â The same could not be said for the manâs staff, which was also likely better than the alternative. Obligingly, he lifted the noblemanâs unconscious form, placing him over an armored shoulder with a distinct air of respect. Not for the man himself, of courseâhe didnât really deserve it. But he wasnât going to mistreat someone whoâd been knocked out. That was far beneath all of them.
With nothing more for them here, the odd trio headed for the guard barracks, which at this time of night were long closed to the public. There was still an outpost, though, from which the Night Watch issued and to which they returned, and they managed to wake up the guard on Hightown duty and explain the situation as well as they could. It took a while⊠a really long while, actually, and by the time they managed to convince the people they were dealing with that yes, Gascard DuPuis was a blood mage, here were some correspondences and vials of blood to prove it, but no, he was not the serial murderer they were looking for, they were dragged up to the barracks anyway, to repeat everything to the Guard-Captain. Fortunately, the woman was acquainted with Lucien for his role in exposing the corruption of her predecessor, and much more willing to take his word for it.
DuPuis was taken into custody, and the group let out around midmorning. âWe should go inform Emeric,â Lucien suggested. Granted, theyâd begun this ordeal almost twelve hours ago, more, if one counted the initial meeting, but he wouldnât be happy with leaving the rest undone, and he sensed that the others were of a mind with him on this, so they all headed back for the Gallows.
âŠOnly to find that, once again, things were not so simple as they should be. They were greeted by a young woman, her strawberry-blonde hair shopped quite short, wearing the armor of a Templar recruit. âMaria, Lucien, and Rilien, right? Emeric left not long ago. He said youâd agreed to meet tonight.â The mercenary was quite certain theyâd agreed on no such thing, but then perhaps one of the other had made the arrangements beforehand?
âDid we?â he asked the other two, but the Templar broke in again. âDonât you remember sending this message?â She handed him a piece of paper, which did indeed appear to be a summons, requesting a meeting with Emeric at a spot in the Lowtown Foundry District. The place where the first body parts had been found, if he was not mistaken.
âI think,â he said cautiously, handing the paper to both of the others in turn, âWe might have a problem.â
After confirming that the letter had not been written by any of them, the three took off after Emeric, probably quite a sight hastening through lowtown and to the Foundry District. It was harder to pick an odder three people than a mountain of muscle in armor, a light, fleet girl with bright red hair and a Chantry-branded elf who made no noise. The truth was even stranger than the appearance, in this case, but of course none of them were the type to spare a thought for that. They caught their Templar detective just outside of the Foundry District, explaining that the letter had likely been a trap, and a relieved, if slightly confused, Emeric headed back to the Gallows, promising not to leave at their behests again unless the inquiry was made in person. He promised, however, to continue his investigation, using the leads theyâd pried out of Gascard DuPuis.
The group split thereafter, all of them quite fatigued from the long hours spent fighting, and then explaining why they were carrying an unconscious nobleman into the guard outpost. Rilien headed back to his shop, and the rooms he kept above it. A bit of silver in his belt-pouch for his trouble. They knew not who was responsible for the crimes, but they had quite a bit more to go on than before. Until Emeric contacted them again, it was no longer any of his business to deal with, anyway.
Apparently deciding that the elf was the next-largest threat, Gascard sent all four of the demons (and attempted to force Lucien) after him, whilst the mage himself took up his staff against Aurora, casting a Hex of Torment upon the young woman, to plague her with phantom pains.
The spell was immediate and devastating. Pain snaked it's fingers into Aurora's mind and gripped tight, doubling her over. It balled her up and sent her crouch, her hands reaching for her temples. A pretty poor showing for all she learned in three years. It was so sudden though, and she was so unprepared. Now that the spell had been active for a few moments, and her reflexes now had time to kick in, she began to rise again, tearing one hand from her face, leaving the other covering the side of her face. Through the gaps in her fingers, she stared down Gascard and she began to shake her head. She looked almost... Disappointed. She took a singular step forward and broke free of the spell.
She was embarrassed that it even effected her in the first place. "Illusions. There is no pain, only what our minds imagine. But in the end, I know what's real and what's not," she said, taking her hand from her face, and pushing ahead one more step. "Vengeance clouds your mind. What you think gives you purpose and drive only holds you back and chains you down. The power you think you possess, through either your veins or even through them," She then pointed toward the demons that were currently assaulting her friends, and then dismissed them entirely. Four Desire demons against a Tranquil and a Chevalier. She pitied the Demons' odds. There were no tempting either of them.
"It's all an illusion," she finished, drawing both arms out to her side. She then clenched her fists tightly, drawing the stone tiles from the floor. The tiles lifted into the air and plastered themselves to Aurora's arms, going all the way to her shoulders, connecting at her back, but nowhere else. Her body and her legs were left bare. She then settled into her stance, pulling her arms up in front of her. Her face was a porcelain, emotionless mask.
"I, on the contrary, am not."
There was hardly time to lament that yet another person had chosen the bloody way out, as Lucien swiftly found his limbs locked up and unresponsive. He felt as though he were being tugged at like a puppet, the strings buried somewhere underneath his skin. For all his experience in battle, he had never been under the sway of blood magic before, and it took him a moment to realize that this must surely be what the strange feeling was. It was as though something else, something other sat quietly, insidiously, inside his limbs, and that thing woke like a sleeping bronto, stirring and moving him in ways he did not will. His first, visceral reaction was to fight it, and for several long moments, there was only an internal struggle that left him entirely immobilized, vulnerable.
He could see the fight moving before him, the quartet of demons setting upon Rilien, and the contortion of Auroraâs face as she was assailed by some pain whose cause he could not discern. That he was so useless in this moment struck something in the very core of his being, tearing past all the layers of defense and affectations, though few, to hit a pealing note against his innermost convictions, and he would not be useless.
With an exertion as much of the will as of the body, Lucien heaved, breaking the invisible chains that bound him down with an unheard snap, his hand flying to his axe and swinging it in a devastating downward arc, smashing right through the skull of the nearest Desure Demon. He felt as though heâd just run a marathon in full plate, his breaths coming in great heaves to and from the bellows of his lungs. âAurora,â he entreated. âIf you can avoid it, please donât kill him.â It was not an orderâhe wasnât in the business of giving those, not anymore. It was an appeal to her better nature, a request from someone whoâd just fallen victim to the worst part of Gascardâs. But those womenâDuPuis had information that could help the investigation, could see to it that no more were victimized in the same way, and they owed it to those victims to bring that information, whole and intact, to the attention of people who could do something about it.
Rilien, faced with an oncoming tide of demons, leaped into the fray, unwilling to waste his time with constraint any longer. He expected Lucien to be right there beside himâthis was a pattern heâd grown used to, grown, even, to trust, but a sidelong glance over his shoulder confirmed that the Chevalier had not followed. In fact, he was standing, unmoving and still, as a stature might, a monument carved to the foolish daring that belonged to knights. The flare of magic was enough evidence for the Tranquil; his erstwhile companion was overtaken by a blood control spell. Such things were not easily broken, and the last time heâd been put under one himself was a number of years ago. He had perfect logic and experience with magic to aid him in escaping. Lucien did not.
His divided attention cost him, and Rilien found one of his forearms bathed in flame when he moved too slowly. He drew it back, laying the flat of the ice-knife against it. The hissing was harbinger of a sharp pain, but the ice soon numbed the limb anyway, and he refocused on the task at hand, darting forward and puncturing one just below the clavicle with his other knife, this one crackling with electricity. Wrenching downwards, he disemboweled the armorless creature, whatever mind magic she was attempting to work on the elf and the soldier utterly ineffective on one whose mind had been stilled by the Rite of Tranquility.
"I didn't plan on it," Aurora replied, slowly circling the blood mage. "He might not be in one piece though..." She added, rolling out of the way of an Arcane spell. She jumped back to her feet and went straight, looking to close the distance. They could both sit around and throw spells at each other until one hit, or she can get close and finish it. She would have to fight through the Mind Blast first, as Gascard recovered from the miss quicker than she expected. Again, she was assualted by illusory magic, but unlike the other, this one had force behind it. It took her off her feet and blew her backwards, sliding on her back.
Aurora was just as quick, bringing her feet up and over, flipping back to a standing position, with her hand down in a three point stance. Fine, if he wanted to throw spell, so be it. She leveraged one rock encased arm back, reaching into the fade as she did, and flicked it forward sending out a blast of ice. She followed close behind. He conjured a arcane shield, fizzling out the ice and sent another spell forward from his staff. This time she fell to a knee but recovered. She felt the strength drain from her body as the Hex worked its way to her core. But Aurora wouldn't be stopped, not by some illusion.
Lucien smiled at that, a grim warriorâs smile. Heâd not killed people into pieces before as wellâit was a distinction that he understood was sometimes necessary. Some men just didnât deserve to be able to hold weapons anymore, much less the swords of a Chevalier. Or staves, he supposed, if they were mages. He had no doubt that there were those who bore the power theyâd been given well, just as much as there were those who did not deserve it.
Rilien having disemboweled one of the remaining demons left them down to two in total, and Lucien faced one of them squarely, raising his axe to strike, exceptâher image wavered, replaced quickly with a very familiar one. It flickered through a few, actuallyâa redheaded woman with a handsome face and an infectious smile, a more solemn, feminine blonde lady, also in armor, his mother again, his father⊠then him. In the end, Lucien was looking at himself.
Only, it wasnât really himself at all. This Lucien bore no eyepatch, no scar, and the eye that should have been damaged wasnât at all. His armor was the full Chevalier battle regalia, a brilliant crimson in color, but the cloak he wore over his own back was the jet black one trimmed in gold, that belonged only to the Lord General of the Orlesian Army. A circlet over his brow was one he recognizedâit had once belonged to him, the tangible mark of his status as heir. The faces heâd seen before stood arrayed behind him, along with all his friends from the Academy, even the dead ones. âWell, well. Now this is interesting,â his own voice spoke to him. âYou do not have small aspirations, do you?â
His brows drew together at the words. âNot that I blame you of course. Few are in a position to do so much good as the future Emperor of Orlais, after all. Yes, thinking about it, about all the people you could save, all the downtrodden you could lift on these shoulders of yours, it makes perfect sense. And it is all yours by right, anyway. They took it from you unfairly, branded you traitor, insubordinate, heretical for your choice to help a soulless husk instead of the divine providence of the Chantry. Three worse things to be, there are not.â
The Chevalier snorted. âIn Orlais? There are many worse things to be. An elf, a mage, and unfashionable, for a start.â The words were harsh, but he did not yet heft his axe to attack, either.
âMaybe so,â the other Lucien conceded, âBut you could change that, couldnât you? With you leading them, your people would come to accept the others among them peacefully. Your country would have a Golden Age the like of which your ancestor could only dream of. I could help you; I could give you all of this.â
Lucienâs smile softened, and his answer was touched by a weighty melancholy. âA demon, give me a world without subjugation? No, I really donât think you could. And I wouldnât want you to.â If people didnât build that world themselves, if it was nothing more than an elaborate working of magic, then it would have no strength and no permanence. He aspired even higher than a Fade-creature could climb, it seemed. Raising his axe, Lucien brought it down on his double, cleaving through the armor as though it were mere fleshâwhich it was. The creature fell, vanishing, and he straightened. That had been⊠peculiar, to say the least.
The last demon understood well enough that one could not tempt a Tranquil with a possessed friend, and she didnât even try. If Rilien was in the business of giving credit, she would have received a small amount of it for that. As it was, he ducked backwards to avoid a strike of her claws, then darted rapidly to the side, a fireball exploding in his wake. Two more followed, driving him further backwards, but none of them hit. He was peripherally aware of Auroraâs fight with the blood mage and Lucienâs odd mirror image, but if Rilien could be said to trust anyone to overcome the mirages of his own desire, it was Lucien. The man was not the kind to accept what he wanted being handed to him on a platter. For whatever convoluted reason, he felt the need to earn things.
Then again, that was the only reason Rilien trusted him at all, so he supposed there must be some merit to it. You donât have to take me on faith. Iâll prove myself to you, and then there wonât have to be anything standing between us. Thatâs what friends do. If heâd bothered to ask Rilien if he even wanted to be friends, the answer would have disappointed him, and yet here they were. Results spoke for themselves, perhaps.
Rolling back into a crouch, Rilien sprang forward with coiled force, catching the demon off-guard and forcing her to abort the next spell, lest it hit far too close to spare her, either. Another relatively intelligent move that would count for absolutely nothing in the end. The Tranquilâs feet were soft as catâs paws on the ground, but the force with which he streaked past the demon, flaying into her exposed side with the electrically-enchanted knife, could not be denied, and it carried her right off her feet, and she slammed against the ground, breathless. The last thing in her field of vision was the utterly stoic face of the white-haired elf, and then there was a sharp pain in her chest, and she was no more.
"Are we done?" Aurora asked. Over on her side of the room, she was sitting victoriously on the unconscious form of Gascard. Around them both lay the scattered remains of Aurora's partial rock armor, and nearby that the splintered staff Gascard had wielded. Aurora even looked the part of a battered mage, her cheek bruised and in the process of swelling, her breaths came out in ragged pants, and even her arms seemed leadened, even at a distance. No matter how much she despised blood magic, that did not mean it wasn't effective. She'd never actually felt the blood coursing through her veins til then, and then it only furthered her displeasure of the school.
However, whatever effort she had put in, she still heard the desire demon's entreaty to Lucien. True, it was none of her business, but she could help but feel curious. If either of them get a moment of down time, she decided to ask him about it. But not right now, not with a blood mage sitting under her. Now that the demons were taken care of as well, she hoped off the prone body (slowly, she was still sore) and flagged Lucien down. "If you will? I don't think I can carry him out of this room," She said, pointing at him.
"Let's... Take him to the guard. Templars tend to get righteous about blood magic," She mentioned.
Lucien glanced over at Aurora and chuckled. âSo itâs to be one piece, after all. Probably for the bestâI have a hard time imagining the Guard would take too well to separate bits.â The same could not be said for the manâs staff, which was also likely better than the alternative. Obligingly, he lifted the noblemanâs unconscious form, placing him over an armored shoulder with a distinct air of respect. Not for the man himself, of courseâhe didnât really deserve it. But he wasnât going to mistreat someone whoâd been knocked out. That was far beneath all of them.
With nothing more for them here, the odd trio headed for the guard barracks, which at this time of night were long closed to the public. There was still an outpost, though, from which the Night Watch issued and to which they returned, and they managed to wake up the guard on Hightown duty and explain the situation as well as they could. It took a while⊠a really long while, actually, and by the time they managed to convince the people they were dealing with that yes, Gascard DuPuis was a blood mage, here were some correspondences and vials of blood to prove it, but no, he was not the serial murderer they were looking for, they were dragged up to the barracks anyway, to repeat everything to the Guard-Captain. Fortunately, the woman was acquainted with Lucien for his role in exposing the corruption of her predecessor, and much more willing to take his word for it.
DuPuis was taken into custody, and the group let out around midmorning. âWe should go inform Emeric,â Lucien suggested. Granted, theyâd begun this ordeal almost twelve hours ago, more, if one counted the initial meeting, but he wouldnât be happy with leaving the rest undone, and he sensed that the others were of a mind with him on this, so they all headed back for the Gallows.
âŠOnly to find that, once again, things were not so simple as they should be. They were greeted by a young woman, her strawberry-blonde hair shopped quite short, wearing the armor of a Templar recruit. âMaria, Lucien, and Rilien, right? Emeric left not long ago. He said youâd agreed to meet tonight.â The mercenary was quite certain theyâd agreed on no such thing, but then perhaps one of the other had made the arrangements beforehand?
âDid we?â he asked the other two, but the Templar broke in again. âDonât you remember sending this message?â She handed him a piece of paper, which did indeed appear to be a summons, requesting a meeting with Emeric at a spot in the Lowtown Foundry District. The place where the first body parts had been found, if he was not mistaken.
âI think,â he said cautiously, handing the paper to both of the others in turn, âWe might have a problem.â
After confirming that the letter had not been written by any of them, the three took off after Emeric, probably quite a sight hastening through lowtown and to the Foundry District. It was harder to pick an odder three people than a mountain of muscle in armor, a light, fleet girl with bright red hair and a Chantry-branded elf who made no noise. The truth was even stranger than the appearance, in this case, but of course none of them were the type to spare a thought for that. They caught their Templar detective just outside of the Foundry District, explaining that the letter had likely been a trap, and a relieved, if slightly confused, Emeric headed back to the Gallows, promising not to leave at their behests again unless the inquiry was made in person. He promised, however, to continue his investigation, using the leads theyâd pried out of Gascard DuPuis.
The group split thereafter, all of them quite fatigued from the long hours spent fighting, and then explaining why they were carrying an unconscious nobleman into the guard outpost. Rilien headed back to his shop, and the rooms he kept above it. A bit of silver in his belt-pouch for his trouble. They knew not who was responsible for the crimes, but they had quite a bit more to go on than before. Until Emeric contacted them again, it was no longer any of his business to deal with, anyway.
The Chanter's Board has been updated. Prime Suspect has been completed.