Her reward for offering the demon a chance to end this peacefully had been only death. The guards in front of Sophia fell to their knees, losing the strength to stand, subject to unbearable amounts of pain as their very life force was drained from them, only strengthening the demon. Sophia thought to try and do something for them, anything, but then her enemy had thrown a precise and deadly needle to slice open Harley's throat, and her blood spilled out onto the sand in front of her. She dropped her weapons, hands going to her throat, but there would be no stopping her death. The Lieutenant collapsed onto her knees, a gurgling sound rattling from her throat and she fell backwards onto the sand, eyes staring blankly up at the sky.
Sophia should have just attacked, forced the demon on the defensive, fought the way she knew how. Instead she'd tried to save whatever was left of her friend, only to find that it had made the situation worse. Two of her allies were removed from the fight, and another was dead, all because of her hesitance. The demon's words cut through her. Uncertainty, doubt, hesitance, weakness, fear... all the things this demon represented Sophia felt coiling through her insides, poisoning her with every second she spent waiting. But she would not run, she would not falter.
"I can only offer you death now, demon," she said evenly. The Viscount's daughter threw herself into motion, kicking up sand behind her as she rushed forward past the weakened guards. There were still two allies on her side, and these took up arms at Sophia's side, the three of them rushing Sparrow. There was little defence against her magical attacks, so their only option was attack. Sophia dashed to close the distance between her and the demon, launching two swift horizontal slashes in broad strokes out in front of her, while her allies moved around the sides, to surround the demon.
Rapture reeled backwards, and spun again, weaving her arms in intricate circles. Her slender wrist came to her mouth and slipped back down, hands drawing together and pulling apart to reveal a thin rapier fabricated from her own blood. It had been ages since she'd been able to use blood magic—remnant abilities from an old body she'd taken and lost after he'd tragically plunged off the side of a cliff. Blood bonds and demons simply weren't matched for each other. He'd been too weak to hold her, and too stubborn to admit that the power she offered was something he could have only dreamed of. If one's desires were too weak, then perhaps, you were better off dead. She had no regrets, after all. Rivulets ran down her forearm, and dripped off her elbow as if admonishing what she'd done. Sparrow's clear revulsion made her smile.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyeing Sophia like a coiled snake, swaying slightly on her heels. The feeling of euphoria was immediate; it felt as if she was truly limitless, as if she could do anything. This body was her own, for the time being. She could feel the sheer power of her blood, singing siren songs and trumpeting in pleasure. It was as if she had been sleeping and the whole world had suddenly come alive; and in the most literal ways, perhaps this was truest of all. Every single sense seemed sharper and more distinct; she could taste the metallic tang of her blood in the air, smell it, feel it pulsing loudly. Rapture breathed in and out, in controlled bursts. “And death to your new companion, as well? Oh, Maker no. Mercy please,” She coaxed, lowering her eyelids.
Instead of remaining still, Rapture whipped her blade out, spattering the ground with ruby-red constellations and hurtled towards them. She looked as if she were about to collide with Sophia, but quickly sidestepped away from her, and her flurrying sweeps, slamming the pommel of her makeshift blade into the guardsman's head. Miasmic energy collected in her open palm, commanded forward with a sharp, crisp demand of, “Sleep!” It shot from her fingers just as Sophia's second assault caught her sanguine blade, sailing over her shoulder towards the other guardsman. She strained and pushed, locked together. Perhaps, if she were busy dealing with her unconscious guards—
Startlingly quick, Rapture felt something pulling at her, tugging her ferociously in all directions. The Fade became heavier, more tangent. Desperation tugged at her smug expression, until it completely collapsed. She'd lost to her. Fragments of confusion coloured her vision as her gossamer hull retreated from Sparrow's bodies, as if a much larger person had merely plucked her out of an unruly set of boots. Sparrow was quick enough to mewl her dismay, “No, no, no, no. This was, this wasn't supposed to happen. I-I didn't mean—” She sobbed, shoulders working to somehow hold this blade she did not entirely understand. Its firm shape wavered and became distorted, held together like a child holding a wet sand fortress. Her mucky-coloured eyes lost their glimmer, faded back to their original hue. “Sophia. Sophia!”
“I didn't mean to.”
Sophia had been about to strike another blow, but the cry of her name, in such dismay, was enough to stay her blade. She felt instantly that it was the wrong choice, that she should strike the woman down now and be done with it. It was only the two of them now. Harley was dead and all of the guardsmen with her had been incapacitated, but thankfully left alive. In all honesty, the fact that Rapture hadn't immediately killed them, but instead simply subdued most of them, gave Sophia pause, but this made her wonder if this was some kind of trick. Demons were deceptive above all. How was she to know this wasn't some ruse to get her to lower her guard?
"Didn't mean to?" she said, holding her blade steady. "I'm supposed to just turn the other way and forgive you for murdering that woman there because you didn't mean to? You were dishonest with me, you have been from the start. I..." Sophia wanted to be angry, she truly did, but she was just starting to feel upset instead. Why did this woman have to be a mage? Why did she have to be possessed? Her intentions were so clearly pure of heart, but the results had been so disastrous all the same.
"You have to know better than this, Sparrow!" Sophia said, her blade lowering ever so slightly. "I am hesitant to let apostates walk freely. The Chantry's laws, and those of the Templar Order, dictate that all magic must be accounted for by the Circle of Magi, and as the future Viscountess of this city, I must follow its laws. Only in the most extreme of circumstances will I allow an apostate to walk free. But I could never let an abomination do the same, and still live with myself."
Her eyes wavered from Sparrow. She could do this if the demon had still been in control, but with Sparrow returned like this, she didn't think she had it in her. But she would not falter. She lowered her sword more, her voice unconsciously taking on a pleading tone. Pleading for her not to resist, to let Sophia do what she had to do protect the city. Still, she couldn't meet Sparrow's eyes.
"I can't let you leave, Sparrow. Not knowing what you are."
“I made a mistake!” Sparrow bellowed, murky eyes swimming. She couldn't condone what she had done, but didn't Sophia understand that it was beyond her control? But, that might have been the point. No amount of explaining could weasel her way out of this situation—she'd done what she was always afraid of doing. This was her waking nightmare, pressed firmly into reality. She'd never wanted to kill anyone on her side. Her allies were her companions. Whether or not they'd known each other for two minutes or years, Sparrow considered all of her acquaintances chummy, elbow-rubbing friends, and now, she'd just slaughtered a handful of them. It was impossible to take that back. She swallowed thickly, blade-tip drooping.
All of Sophia's warmth was replaced by her defensive stance. Blade still held at the ready, hardly dipping any lower. Like birds screeching out in dismay, ruffling their feathers at the sight of shackles and chains, Sparrow's hard-earned freedom begged her legs to turn and flee. If she did not run, then she'd be lead away to... the Circle? Or execution. She wasn't entirely sure, and her irresolution caused her to hesitate. There was no way she'd turn her blade on a friend, even if it was the only means of escaping another hopeless situation. Perhaps, Rilien had been correct. It was safer for her to remain in one place, far from anyone she may injure. Gallivanting the streets of Kirkwall was just asking for trouble. “I made... a mistake. If I could trade places—” Her voice broke, creaking on the words she could not utter. Would she trade her life for strangers? Strangers she considered friends. Even so, no.
“You don't understand.” Bile rose in her throat, threatening to spill from her lips. All mages shared a common enemy within themselves. Shadows stood vigilant in the Fade, waiting for any sign of weakness, for any chink in their armour to infiltrate and take advantage of. No one else understood the enticement of having someone shoulder all of their burdens, heft them across their shoulders and promise that they'll protect them no matter what, forever and always. It would always be easier to open up their arms and listen. Demons paraded around in the guise of once-friends, whispering in soft tones and making promises that preyed on their individual weaknesses. She'd said yes and now, she was paying the price for it. “Apostate. The Chantry's laws and the Templar Order,” Sparrow solemnly echoed, knuckling at her eyes with her free hand. “I thought you were different.”
I can't let you leave. Those words said volumes. Sophia was already slapping chains to her wrists, appealing to her guilt to waddle along straight to the Gallows. How she wanted to comply. How she wanted to face what she'd done, what she'd been doing to her friends, to strangers, to anyone who'd come in contact with her. And all in one motion, Sparrow's spine arched straight, tearful eyes hardening and shifting colours, before she hurtled forward and closed the short distance between them. Instead of using the stiff sanguine-blade, Sparrow-Rapture's hand thrust out from her side, slapping over Sophia's forehead. She tried, desperately, to control her arm and yank it back, but Rapture only crowed at her. Just like in the Deep Roads, Rapture mustered the last remaining grip on Sparrow's body, and her magic, and cast her into her own waking nightmare.
And Sparrow stumbled backwards, unable to take it away. Unable to keep Sophia from snapping out at her, either. She'd seen, through hazy eyes, in another plane, what the spell had done to her companions. She didn't have time to wait around. It was a useless endeavour. She made a small sound in the back of her throat, and screamed in frustration. Half-stumbling over to one of the unconscious guardsman, Sparrow shook and slapped him. She turned to run as soon as his eyelids fluttered.
I'm sorry, for once, would do her no good.
Sophia's focus had wavered so much, her resolve melted away into nothingness, that she was horrendously slow to react to the demon's return. Her blade had only made it halfway back to her guard when Sparrow, or whatever she was, reached her and placed a hand on her head. The very fabric of her reality twisted and wavered as a splitting pain tore through her mind, and she felt instantly nauseous, the coast tearing itself apart in front of her. She wavered for a mere moment before her legs gave out from under her and she crashed heavily to the sand on her back, eyes firmly shut.
She found herself in her father's room, where she so rarely visited these days. By helping to take over the responsibilities of his public life, she rarely played a part in the Viscount's private life anymore. It was night, a cold wind playing across the bare skin of her shoulders and arms. She felt entirely naked, but looked down to see that it wasn't so. She was garbed as finely as any Hightown noblewoman ever had been, her dress the color of gold. How strange she felt when unarmored lately. She wished that were not so, that she didn't need to leave her front door prepared for battle every day. It was meaningless now.
Her father was dressed all in black, standing quietly on the balcony outside. The view from the Viscount's Keep was breathtaking, standing tall over Hightown itself, Lowtown so far below and away that one couldn't possibly see the state of it, shrouded in darkness and smoke as it was. She took slow, measured steps out to him. She always felt like she had to approach the Viscount with caution now, like he was some ancient vase precariously perched on a column, with one wrong touch plunging it to shatter on the hard floor below. She came to a stop by his side, placing her hands on the railing rather than his shoulder. He didn't like it when she touched him, he'd started slapping her hands away a few years ago.
The city, as always, was burning. The riots, the chaos, it had started a lifetime ago, and Kirkwall now consumed itself from the inside out. Man, elf, dwarf, Qunari, all had turned on each other, and the city burned. They'd been locked in the Keep, for their own protection, for weeks now, surviving on the castle's ever-dwindling food stores. Her father looked skinnier than ever. Sophia wished there was something she could do for him, but everything she had ever tried had failed. He didn't look at her, the words he spoke hardly leaving his throat. They cut through her as surely as any sword would, however.
"I thought you could have been as strong as she was. She could have saved everyone. If only you hadn't been born with my weakness, but instead her strength..." And he threw himself from the balcony. She screamed, reached out, but he was gone, leaving her to stand alone on the edge, and she watched him fall. Only when he passed from her sight did she turn away.
She turned to run from this horrid place, to leave, to go anywhere where less would be placed upon her shoulders, where less would be demanded of her. But she hadn't made it halfway across her father's room when the door burst open, and Saemus was there, and his eyes were alight with rage and hate. "You killed him," he said, as if it were that simple. A knife gleamed in his hands, and she raised her own, trying to calm him.
"Saemus, no, I tried, you have to believe me. I did everything I could." She wanted to scream at him, tell him how he'd done absolutely nothing to take the weight off their father's shoulders, but despite all that he was still her brother, and she loved him. He wouldn't hear it, though, and he advanced, forcing her to back up while she begged him to see reason. Saemus had never seen reason. Sophia was halted unexpectedly by the wall behind her, and Saemus reached her, plunging the knife into her abdomen once, twice, a third time.
She slid slowly down the wall to the floor, coughing and sputtering blood, while Saemus tossed down the knife to clatter against the floor, taking his leave of the room, abandoning her to bleed on her own. There was little else she could think to do. She'd become pale as a ghost, her shallow breaths all that sustained her, when a man crouched before her. She'd always thought he'd had cold eyes for everyone else, but for her they were warm. She wanted so badly to hate him, for a reason she couldn't even remember. She tried to lift her arm and touch his face, but even that much movement was beyond her.
"I just wished you had known," he said, gently touching his hand to her cheek. "They were never yours to die for." He stood and moved to the balcony to watch the city burn, while Sophia's head finally lolled to the side, and her eyes closed.
Sophia gasped awake, the sudden lights and senses assaulting her powerfully. She coughed several times, the effort feeling like it would crack open her skull. Leather boots staggered through the sand towards her, before a figure fell to their knees beside her.
"My lady," gasped one of the guards, clearly struggling himself, "are you wounded? Can you hear me?" Sophia coughed several more times, before nodding weakly. There was a sharp whistle from the guard, and it simulated the effect of an arrow passing through her ears. Hooves galloped towards them in the distance. "We need to return to Kirkwall, my lady. Before more bandits arrive. We are in no fit state to fight."
For once, Sophia agreed with that sentiment. The surviving guards painfully pushed themselves to their feet and heaved themselves back upon their horses, departing for Kirkwall.
Sophia should have just attacked, forced the demon on the defensive, fought the way she knew how. Instead she'd tried to save whatever was left of her friend, only to find that it had made the situation worse. Two of her allies were removed from the fight, and another was dead, all because of her hesitance. The demon's words cut through her. Uncertainty, doubt, hesitance, weakness, fear... all the things this demon represented Sophia felt coiling through her insides, poisoning her with every second she spent waiting. But she would not run, she would not falter.
"I can only offer you death now, demon," she said evenly. The Viscount's daughter threw herself into motion, kicking up sand behind her as she rushed forward past the weakened guards. There were still two allies on her side, and these took up arms at Sophia's side, the three of them rushing Sparrow. There was little defence against her magical attacks, so their only option was attack. Sophia dashed to close the distance between her and the demon, launching two swift horizontal slashes in broad strokes out in front of her, while her allies moved around the sides, to surround the demon.
Rapture reeled backwards, and spun again, weaving her arms in intricate circles. Her slender wrist came to her mouth and slipped back down, hands drawing together and pulling apart to reveal a thin rapier fabricated from her own blood. It had been ages since she'd been able to use blood magic—remnant abilities from an old body she'd taken and lost after he'd tragically plunged off the side of a cliff. Blood bonds and demons simply weren't matched for each other. He'd been too weak to hold her, and too stubborn to admit that the power she offered was something he could have only dreamed of. If one's desires were too weak, then perhaps, you were better off dead. She had no regrets, after all. Rivulets ran down her forearm, and dripped off her elbow as if admonishing what she'd done. Sparrow's clear revulsion made her smile.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyeing Sophia like a coiled snake, swaying slightly on her heels. The feeling of euphoria was immediate; it felt as if she was truly limitless, as if she could do anything. This body was her own, for the time being. She could feel the sheer power of her blood, singing siren songs and trumpeting in pleasure. It was as if she had been sleeping and the whole world had suddenly come alive; and in the most literal ways, perhaps this was truest of all. Every single sense seemed sharper and more distinct; she could taste the metallic tang of her blood in the air, smell it, feel it pulsing loudly. Rapture breathed in and out, in controlled bursts. “And death to your new companion, as well? Oh, Maker no. Mercy please,” She coaxed, lowering her eyelids.
Instead of remaining still, Rapture whipped her blade out, spattering the ground with ruby-red constellations and hurtled towards them. She looked as if she were about to collide with Sophia, but quickly sidestepped away from her, and her flurrying sweeps, slamming the pommel of her makeshift blade into the guardsman's head. Miasmic energy collected in her open palm, commanded forward with a sharp, crisp demand of, “Sleep!” It shot from her fingers just as Sophia's second assault caught her sanguine blade, sailing over her shoulder towards the other guardsman. She strained and pushed, locked together. Perhaps, if she were busy dealing with her unconscious guards—
Startlingly quick, Rapture felt something pulling at her, tugging her ferociously in all directions. The Fade became heavier, more tangent. Desperation tugged at her smug expression, until it completely collapsed. She'd lost to her. Fragments of confusion coloured her vision as her gossamer hull retreated from Sparrow's bodies, as if a much larger person had merely plucked her out of an unruly set of boots. Sparrow was quick enough to mewl her dismay, “No, no, no, no. This was, this wasn't supposed to happen. I-I didn't mean—” She sobbed, shoulders working to somehow hold this blade she did not entirely understand. Its firm shape wavered and became distorted, held together like a child holding a wet sand fortress. Her mucky-coloured eyes lost their glimmer, faded back to their original hue. “Sophia. Sophia!”
“I didn't mean to.”
Sophia had been about to strike another blow, but the cry of her name, in such dismay, was enough to stay her blade. She felt instantly that it was the wrong choice, that she should strike the woman down now and be done with it. It was only the two of them now. Harley was dead and all of the guardsmen with her had been incapacitated, but thankfully left alive. In all honesty, the fact that Rapture hadn't immediately killed them, but instead simply subdued most of them, gave Sophia pause, but this made her wonder if this was some kind of trick. Demons were deceptive above all. How was she to know this wasn't some ruse to get her to lower her guard?
"Didn't mean to?" she said, holding her blade steady. "I'm supposed to just turn the other way and forgive you for murdering that woman there because you didn't mean to? You were dishonest with me, you have been from the start. I..." Sophia wanted to be angry, she truly did, but she was just starting to feel upset instead. Why did this woman have to be a mage? Why did she have to be possessed? Her intentions were so clearly pure of heart, but the results had been so disastrous all the same.
"You have to know better than this, Sparrow!" Sophia said, her blade lowering ever so slightly. "I am hesitant to let apostates walk freely. The Chantry's laws, and those of the Templar Order, dictate that all magic must be accounted for by the Circle of Magi, and as the future Viscountess of this city, I must follow its laws. Only in the most extreme of circumstances will I allow an apostate to walk free. But I could never let an abomination do the same, and still live with myself."
Her eyes wavered from Sparrow. She could do this if the demon had still been in control, but with Sparrow returned like this, she didn't think she had it in her. But she would not falter. She lowered her sword more, her voice unconsciously taking on a pleading tone. Pleading for her not to resist, to let Sophia do what she had to do protect the city. Still, she couldn't meet Sparrow's eyes.
"I can't let you leave, Sparrow. Not knowing what you are."
“I made a mistake!” Sparrow bellowed, murky eyes swimming. She couldn't condone what she had done, but didn't Sophia understand that it was beyond her control? But, that might have been the point. No amount of explaining could weasel her way out of this situation—she'd done what she was always afraid of doing. This was her waking nightmare, pressed firmly into reality. She'd never wanted to kill anyone on her side. Her allies were her companions. Whether or not they'd known each other for two minutes or years, Sparrow considered all of her acquaintances chummy, elbow-rubbing friends, and now, she'd just slaughtered a handful of them. It was impossible to take that back. She swallowed thickly, blade-tip drooping.
All of Sophia's warmth was replaced by her defensive stance. Blade still held at the ready, hardly dipping any lower. Like birds screeching out in dismay, ruffling their feathers at the sight of shackles and chains, Sparrow's hard-earned freedom begged her legs to turn and flee. If she did not run, then she'd be lead away to... the Circle? Or execution. She wasn't entirely sure, and her irresolution caused her to hesitate. There was no way she'd turn her blade on a friend, even if it was the only means of escaping another hopeless situation. Perhaps, Rilien had been correct. It was safer for her to remain in one place, far from anyone she may injure. Gallivanting the streets of Kirkwall was just asking for trouble. “I made... a mistake. If I could trade places—” Her voice broke, creaking on the words she could not utter. Would she trade her life for strangers? Strangers she considered friends. Even so, no.
“You don't understand.” Bile rose in her throat, threatening to spill from her lips. All mages shared a common enemy within themselves. Shadows stood vigilant in the Fade, waiting for any sign of weakness, for any chink in their armour to infiltrate and take advantage of. No one else understood the enticement of having someone shoulder all of their burdens, heft them across their shoulders and promise that they'll protect them no matter what, forever and always. It would always be easier to open up their arms and listen. Demons paraded around in the guise of once-friends, whispering in soft tones and making promises that preyed on their individual weaknesses. She'd said yes and now, she was paying the price for it. “Apostate. The Chantry's laws and the Templar Order,” Sparrow solemnly echoed, knuckling at her eyes with her free hand. “I thought you were different.”
I can't let you leave. Those words said volumes. Sophia was already slapping chains to her wrists, appealing to her guilt to waddle along straight to the Gallows. How she wanted to comply. How she wanted to face what she'd done, what she'd been doing to her friends, to strangers, to anyone who'd come in contact with her. And all in one motion, Sparrow's spine arched straight, tearful eyes hardening and shifting colours, before she hurtled forward and closed the short distance between them. Instead of using the stiff sanguine-blade, Sparrow-Rapture's hand thrust out from her side, slapping over Sophia's forehead. She tried, desperately, to control her arm and yank it back, but Rapture only crowed at her. Just like in the Deep Roads, Rapture mustered the last remaining grip on Sparrow's body, and her magic, and cast her into her own waking nightmare.
And Sparrow stumbled backwards, unable to take it away. Unable to keep Sophia from snapping out at her, either. She'd seen, through hazy eyes, in another plane, what the spell had done to her companions. She didn't have time to wait around. It was a useless endeavour. She made a small sound in the back of her throat, and screamed in frustration. Half-stumbling over to one of the unconscious guardsman, Sparrow shook and slapped him. She turned to run as soon as his eyelids fluttered.
I'm sorry, for once, would do her no good.
Sophia's focus had wavered so much, her resolve melted away into nothingness, that she was horrendously slow to react to the demon's return. Her blade had only made it halfway back to her guard when Sparrow, or whatever she was, reached her and placed a hand on her head. The very fabric of her reality twisted and wavered as a splitting pain tore through her mind, and she felt instantly nauseous, the coast tearing itself apart in front of her. She wavered for a mere moment before her legs gave out from under her and she crashed heavily to the sand on her back, eyes firmly shut.
She found herself in her father's room, where she so rarely visited these days. By helping to take over the responsibilities of his public life, she rarely played a part in the Viscount's private life anymore. It was night, a cold wind playing across the bare skin of her shoulders and arms. She felt entirely naked, but looked down to see that it wasn't so. She was garbed as finely as any Hightown noblewoman ever had been, her dress the color of gold. How strange she felt when unarmored lately. She wished that were not so, that she didn't need to leave her front door prepared for battle every day. It was meaningless now.
Her father was dressed all in black, standing quietly on the balcony outside. The view from the Viscount's Keep was breathtaking, standing tall over Hightown itself, Lowtown so far below and away that one couldn't possibly see the state of it, shrouded in darkness and smoke as it was. She took slow, measured steps out to him. She always felt like she had to approach the Viscount with caution now, like he was some ancient vase precariously perched on a column, with one wrong touch plunging it to shatter on the hard floor below. She came to a stop by his side, placing her hands on the railing rather than his shoulder. He didn't like it when she touched him, he'd started slapping her hands away a few years ago.
The city, as always, was burning. The riots, the chaos, it had started a lifetime ago, and Kirkwall now consumed itself from the inside out. Man, elf, dwarf, Qunari, all had turned on each other, and the city burned. They'd been locked in the Keep, for their own protection, for weeks now, surviving on the castle's ever-dwindling food stores. Her father looked skinnier than ever. Sophia wished there was something she could do for him, but everything she had ever tried had failed. He didn't look at her, the words he spoke hardly leaving his throat. They cut through her as surely as any sword would, however.
"I thought you could have been as strong as she was. She could have saved everyone. If only you hadn't been born with my weakness, but instead her strength..." And he threw himself from the balcony. She screamed, reached out, but he was gone, leaving her to stand alone on the edge, and she watched him fall. Only when he passed from her sight did she turn away.
She turned to run from this horrid place, to leave, to go anywhere where less would be placed upon her shoulders, where less would be demanded of her. But she hadn't made it halfway across her father's room when the door burst open, and Saemus was there, and his eyes were alight with rage and hate. "You killed him," he said, as if it were that simple. A knife gleamed in his hands, and she raised her own, trying to calm him.
"Saemus, no, I tried, you have to believe me. I did everything I could." She wanted to scream at him, tell him how he'd done absolutely nothing to take the weight off their father's shoulders, but despite all that he was still her brother, and she loved him. He wouldn't hear it, though, and he advanced, forcing her to back up while she begged him to see reason. Saemus had never seen reason. Sophia was halted unexpectedly by the wall behind her, and Saemus reached her, plunging the knife into her abdomen once, twice, a third time.
She slid slowly down the wall to the floor, coughing and sputtering blood, while Saemus tossed down the knife to clatter against the floor, taking his leave of the room, abandoning her to bleed on her own. There was little else she could think to do. She'd become pale as a ghost, her shallow breaths all that sustained her, when a man crouched before her. She'd always thought he'd had cold eyes for everyone else, but for her they were warm. She wanted so badly to hate him, for a reason she couldn't even remember. She tried to lift her arm and touch his face, but even that much movement was beyond her.
"I just wished you had known," he said, gently touching his hand to her cheek. "They were never yours to die for." He stood and moved to the balcony to watch the city burn, while Sophia's head finally lolled to the side, and her eyes closed.
Sophia gasped awake, the sudden lights and senses assaulting her powerfully. She coughed several times, the effort feeling like it would crack open her skull. Leather boots staggered through the sand towards her, before a figure fell to their knees beside her.
"My lady," gasped one of the guards, clearly struggling himself, "are you wounded? Can you hear me?" Sophia coughed several more times, before nodding weakly. There was a sharp whistle from the guard, and it simulated the effect of an arrow passing through her ears. Hooves galloped towards them in the distance. "We need to return to Kirkwall, my lady. Before more bandits arrive. We are in no fit state to fight."
For once, Sophia agreed with that sentiment. The surviving guards painfully pushed themselves to their feet and heaved themselves back upon their horses, departing for Kirkwall.
The Chanter's Board has been updated. Raiders on the Cliffs has been completed.