"Hmm? Oh that? It's, uh, it's nothing. Really," She said, trying to downplay it. "It's not that different from enchanting weapons with an element, just using your hand instead-- Bad idea with fire though. It leaves a nasty burn," She said with a nervous giggle. There had been an incident back when she was training with Amalia, and it taught her that magical fire was still just as hot as real fire. Even the ice was chilly, but a quick summon and dispel saw to it that frostbite never sat in. Still, she responded with a smile and nod. "Any time, there's a lot you can do with magic if you just open your mind," Not that she had much of an opportunity to experiment, what with the Templars breathing down her neck in the streets.
It didn't take long to find something strange. Aurora found herself standing in the middle of a room that really wasn't a room at all. There stood bookshelves, dressers, a table and chairs and even a fine bed off in the corner. It had the makings for a master bedroom-- had the room itself not been the usual grey Darktown squalor. It was... odd to say the least. Loose papers and book spread haphazardly from the small table, books were stacked in an ordered chaos upon the shelves, and even the covers of the bed were thrown into disarray. The strangest part wasn't the pale facsimile of a room though, but the "shrine" looking over it all. And make no mistake, it was a shrine.
Candles sat lit on either side of a portrait of a woman. Chalices of gold and silver occupied a nook beneath the portrait, smoking with what smelled like incense. And the portrait, with its gold painted frame, was of an older female. Strands of gray fell from her head, but she still possessed a dignified presence. Once, Aurora would have thought the woman was beautiful, but with the surrounding area bearing a hostile air, the image only further added to the creepy atmosphere.
"Uh... I think I found something," she called out to the others, taking a few cautionary steps away from the painting. As she did, she backed into the table. The table shook, sending a single piece of parchment out onto the floor. Aurora stooped down and took the paper, reading what was on it. A few words into it revealed the paper as something more and so she began to read it aloud. "Today is our anniversary. Had hoped to complete my work before now, but one piece is missing. I'm so sorry love. Please wait a little long. I haven't forgotten my promise. When I see it, I'll know. I would know that face anywhere."
She turned her eyes back to the painting and then to Sparrow, silently mouthing a single word to her. What?
āNothing?ā Sparrow gushed, flicking her hands as if to dismiss her modesty. āThe Templars are lucky you aren't retaliating with abilities like those.ā She might have enjoyed it if she did given their circumstance in Kirkwall. Auroraāthe great vigilante, sweeping up the streets of all of those sodding wretches, stomping around in their heavy plates of armor. Mages were forced to hide away like unwanted stowaways, skittering for a safe place to stay. There was much she'd like to change in the city, but for a poor pauper (not so poor since adventuring in the Deep Roads) keeping her head low in Darktown, Sparrow could only hope that the world would come to its senses and see how wrong they were about them. She could not profess to belonging, in any case. She sat somewhere in the middle, grinding her teeth at the injustice of it all. Perhaps, someday, she'd approach her little magelet-friend and inquire. See if anything could be done, and if there was nothing to accomplish, to still count on her as an ally in any future-event. She could never understand being hunted down, nor could she understand having her freedom ripped away by someone else made up only of flesh-and-blood. Good note to jot down. Certain elements were fine, but: fire bad. āMaybe after we're finished with all of this messāā
She continued sweeping the room, switching positions every now and again. Rocking back on her heels to stare at the ceiling for any indication of a secret shutter door leading to an atticāor something else underneath the nearby carpet; a latch, perhaps. Nothing. She grumbled softly, scratching her chin between forefinger and thumb. Her imagination, if anything, hampered her ability to find anything useful. And her patience was whittling down to nothing. Barely stifling a loud, obnoxious yawn, Sparrow extended her arms above her head and stretched her muscles out. She dropped her hands back down, glanced over her shoulder at Rilien and opened her mouth to question whether or not he'd found something on his hand. A trap, a clue, something to look at. It was then that she noticed that Aurora had moved into another room. Edging closer to Rilien, she kicked a broken, lop-sided chair that stood in her way and posted herself halfway into the next room. I think I found something. Finally! It beat sitting around, twiddling her fingers. She motioned to her silent-companion to follow her (which he would have done anyway but she liked to pretend she was doing something useful) into another chamber, following Aurora's voice.
The stupid grin quickly died on her lips, replaced by something closer to revulsion. This room felt off, as best she could describe. As if it were caught halfway between a dungeon, and a comfortable, snobby house. If someone were to move their things into a cave, she thought it would have a similar effect. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the large painting hanging above the fireplace mantle, surrounded by candles. Unsurprisingly, Sparrow did not recognize the woman's face; graceful, somewhat pretty and noble-looking. The atmosphere cast an ugly shadow across the bridge of her nose, until she was sure the thing was staring straight through them. She was not easy to scare, and she would never admit to it, but if someone were to offer, she'd gladly leave the place. Unfortunately, they still had no answers. This place, if anything, only posed more questions. Questions she wasn't sure she'd like to know. āEh, is this a shrine?ā She said, wrinkling her nose. When Aurora began to read the letter, she scooped up handfuls of paper, sifted through them and tossed them back on the ground. Pieces of many books, it seemed. āOne piece?ā Sparrow repeated, circling around Aurora to get a better look at the letter.
āAnniversary. Shrine, promise,ā she checked her fingers off, motioning to the fireplace, āDead person, obviously. But, wait a little longer? He's delusional. We're dealing with a delusional person.ā
"It would have to be someone delusional to assume that he or she could continue to kidnap mages from the Circle without it coming to someoneās attention,ā Rilien pointed out in his usual dry fashion. He could not, of course, be disturbed by the feel of the room or any such ridiculous notion, though he could sense residual Fade in it, like someone had been doing spells at length and over a period of a very long time nearby. Whatever this place was, it had been in use for a considerable amount of time, and there were Fade-beasts about.
"I believe we will find our answers in the next room,ā he said simply, as that was where he sensed most of it to be coming from. "And most likely yet more demons.ā It was a safe bet, considering what theyād run into so far. Another piece of parchment, this one written in a surer, more rounded hand than the shaky and spidery letters the others had been looking at. Rilien tucked it up his sleeve. He could give it some examining later, for now, the thing they needed to be doing was looking for that woman. He doubted very much that she was still alive, but if they could find an actual corpse this time, it may well give them something more for Emeric. Perhaps they would even be fortunate enough to find the killer.
As things turned out, the next room contained both a corpse and a killer. Rilien was relatively certain there were words spoken, and in fact, he would likely be able to repeat them back to anyone who asked for them, but they were, in point of fact, simply the ravings of a mad man. No more evidence was necessary for this than the thing he had created. He counted himself rather fortunate for his Tranquility, in some abstract sense, because it meant he was incapable of feeling the revulsion that he was fairly certain must be turning the stomachs of the other two. The moving cadaver, stitched together at the joints and animated by some fell, tainted magic, took a few lurching steps towards them and then stumbled. A step forward and a deft motion caught it, and he lowered the misbegotten creature to the ground with a measure of care perhaps unexpected in him.
It attempted to speak, but the words were incomprehensible, and he closed its eyes as the stolen life it had been granted left its body. It was his concern no longerāhe now knew what had become of several yearsā worth of missing women, and how they were connected to the shrine in the previous room. When a pride demon erupted from the ground on the other side of the room, he went for it, leaving whichever of the others wanted to slay the puppeteer to do so. He had not thoughts of revenge or anger, but he knew at least that Sparrow certainly would, and probably Aurora as well. Since it made no difference to him, he accounted for their likely preferences and took the lumbering Fade-creature, leaving the mage alone.
"Necromancy?!" Aurora exclaimed, her voice stained with shock and disgust. She expected blood magic, she expected rituals, what she didn't expect was it all being done for love as the madman put. Power yes, but never love. What he had created was an affront to nature far beyond simple blood magic. He'd desecrated the bodies of who knew how many other woman, and desecrated the memory of whoever it was he was trying to bring back. Anger was an emotion Aurora had long since tried to seal away. Anger caused her to be reckless, and it threatened to drive her further into the fade, and into the clutches of the demons that waited there. But she found the rage hard to contain, and she was on the verge of attacking the man when Rilien moved first.
It wasn't to kill the man, like she expected, but to catch the creature he had created. In that moment, Rilien displayed a level of tenderness unusual to a tranquil, but also allowed her to regain a hold on herself. Anger, love, hate, if she let herself fall too deeply into any one of those, she could very well become the creature that stood before them-- for no simple man could do what he'd done. She caught herself, closed her eyes, and let all of her emotions flow out of her mouth and nose with her breath. What remained was the Aurora she'd worked so hard to become, and the Aurora Amalia had spent so many years teaching.
On the other side of the room, the fade ripped open and a Pride Demon stepped through, and Rilien, ever efficient, darted off to take on the monster himself. Aurora placed a hand on Sparrow's shoulder and pointed at Rilien as she ran, and she spoke with a certain level of calm, "Go help him, I'll deal with this monster."
He. It must have been a he. It may have been all of her biases piled on top of one another, screaming of the injustices men had done to people like herālike he'd done to these vulnerable women, snatching them off the streets like discarded goods. She was never good at sorting out gray areas, or thinking clearly when she ought to, so Sparrow only grit her teeth against the correction and nodded her head. Delusional, alright. Her skin itched and she had the eery feeling they were being watched. A quick scan around the spacious chamber found nothing to be worried about, which only made her feel worse. There was no one else in the room. Ironic, how she'd feel so strange in a building built in squalor. Sans expensive furniture and creepy love-letters scattered around an equally unsettling portrait. Darktown was her home and still, Sparrow knew little of it's inhabitants (though in this case, she didn't think she'd mind not knowing). This person, toiling away at whatever-he-was-working-on, had been here for a good length of time. What else was she unaware of?
In the next room. The words brought her back from her thoughts, anchored her in place. She wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to go into the next room, for fear of what she might see. She, too, could feel something from the next side-chamber, pulsing louder and louder. Like a cloud of energy expanding towards them, stifling the air with Fade-stench. She'd spent far too long lingering in places she never wished to be, trapped in Fade-spaces that confined and restricted her. Her fingers fumbled for her mace, and unwound the leather straps. She needed something solid in her handāa weapon, a means of protecting herself from everything that frightened her. A small, whispery part of her wondered if Rilien could feel the discomfort raking its teeth across his bones; being so close to the Fade as they were. Wondered if he felt eyes peering from the dark corners of the chamber. Wondered if feelings and colors dripped into the monochrome portrait that made up his world. Was it heavy enough? Her grip tightened, white-knuckled and already growing numb. She persevered after him and fell short of the door, coming to a jolting halt.
What had she been expecting? Certainly not this.Not this. The perversion was overwhelming. She felt heartsick and mortified and disgusted all at once. It came in a startling wave, rushing over her until her ears and cheeks felt hot with flushed, unbridled anger. Sparrow did not share Rilien's detached Tranquility. She did not have any of Aurora's discipline (possibly handed down from her once-friend), either. She felt things in loud proportions, and echoed her response in equally bright colors, painting the walls in large, relentless sweeps. Her responses were not always beautiful or smart or well-thought out. Her sense of control was dubious, at best. But, this was revolting. What he'd done to these poor women; to these vulnerable, shambling puzzle-pieces that made up something monstrously heartbreaking. This was the ugliest use of magic she'd ever seen. She wished it'd been something that made sense, something as simple, as barbaric as blood magic. At least, she could understand that. This wasn't love. Her breath hitched and tangled in her throat, constricting like a coiled serpent. Necromancy. She did not know what the word meant, but if it described a patchwork woman stumbling towards them with milky eyes, searching; then that was it.
She took another step forward, finally entering the room, and tensed the muscles in her shoulders. Her eyes were glued to the second figure in the room, rambling like a madman. With dulled senses, Sparrow hadn't even noticed Rilien moving up beside and in front of her, preventing the handmade-woman from falling on her face and gently laying her down, as he would. As she'd come to expect over the years of knowing himāit never occurred to her that someone who'd undergone the Rite of Tranquility behaved in such a peculiar way. Her heart bloomed, retracted and grew colder as she drew nearer to the blabbering man, cursing them for interfering. Fury threatened to overtake her better sense of judgment, slowly sifting out from her mouth in heated, hitched breaths. This was one horror she was sure they would not forget. It was Aurora's hand, pulling her away from her outrage, that softened the creases in her forehead. āMake him pay,ā Sparrow replied thickly, turning away from him, and joining Rilien, instead. For once, she needed someone to lead.
And though Rilien had generally preferred to do his work in silence and from shadow, he knew a thing or two about leading, thanks to his strangely-forged friendship with someone who did it for a living. He and Sparrow were nearly matched in terms of physique, save that she was far too thin and he had never lost his musculature, but the basic principles of durability and damage-dealing were more or less similar. That meant they would be best served by splitting the pride demonās attention and confounding it, something which it was trying to do to him.
The words it whispered to him were louder than he remembered them being, almost as if he were somehow more susceptible to them now, lessā¦ Tranquil. It was perhaps an unsettling thought, but the truly unfortunate thing was that he felt vaguely unsettled by it. He had never been perfectly Tranquil. This was something he used to his advantage. But he was unmistakably very close, and for the whispers to be this hard to ignoreā¦ well, pride always had been his sin, before. Before he was wiped of them all and made into this. His steps faltered a moment, a hitching irregularity almost tripping him up, but in the end, just because something was said at greater volume did not make it more appealing, and he set his jaw, sweeping low with his knife and slicing deep into the creatureās hamstring.
Without pause, he turned on a hairpin and reversed his direction, jumping as high as he could without any sort of assistance and plunging both daggers into the middle of the demonās back, his feet finding no purchase on its flesh but his arms and weapons holding him firmly in place nonetheless. With some effort, he yanked out one of the daggers and raised it, sinking it in again higher up, then repeating the process with the other side. At this point, the thing had chosen to stop paying attention to whatever Sparrow was doing and kill him first, which was precisely the intention. It would give her time to kill it, as there was no doubt that repeated stabbing from the man climbing it like a wall of ice or stone was weakening it.
Pride. She'd never had much use for that. Desire and wants and needs had always been a different story. She never had pride in herselfānot until she hurtled into Kirkwall, meeting her companions in much of the same manner. It was a different sort of pride, she thought. She felt fortunate to have them with her. Fortunate to have met them, and continue to stand by their sides. The Pride Demon's whispers were laughably weak in comparison. Her eyes trailed back to Rilien, focusing on his side profile. After they'd banished Rapture, she'd asked Ashton what Rilien had been like, with all of his powers and feelings regained, and learned that he'd been confident, reckless, and even jubilant. She'd tried picturing a smile on his face, eyes alight with wonder. Like someone who was busy taking in a beautiful sight for the first time, drinking it up. Selfishly grateful for being spared of her foolish possession, Sparrow had small parts of her that were beginning to blossom, growing out into something new, that made her wonder what kind of life Rilien would have led had he not sacrificed so much. For her.
Sparrow braced herself, as she did in every fight, and tensed the muscles in her shoulders, gripping her mace all the tighter. She waited until he advanced, moving along at a respectable distanceāand nearly hurtled to his side when he faltered in his steps, thinking the Pride Demon had cast some sort of spell she'd missed. Only a breaths second passed and Rilien jerked back into motion, as if he had reset himself, and Sparrow grimaced, eying him with concern. She watched him duck beneath the demon's spitting strike and weave his knife through the thing's leg before following up herself, moving to the creature's forefront with her mace lagging slightly behind, shoulders running parallel. Even now, Rilien's agility surprised her. Leaping onto the Pride Demon's back from such a precarious position, and sinking his blades into the creature's back, holding on with nothing but his blades. It reminded her of Amalia. Pure, raw power. Grace, as well. She whispered under her breath, conjuring arcane energy into her forearms, straight through to the tip of her mace; connecting them as one.
The distance closed between them and with the Pride Demon scrapping at his back trying to dislodge Rilien, Sparrow had no problems with her questionable accuracy. She squared her shoulders and shouted as she swung the beefy end of her mace against the creature's face, rolling up on her toes with the explosive impact. Spikes, teeth and spit splattered away from them, and its jaw hinged slack. It's beady eyes widened, as if it were about to retaliate, but they only stared straight ahead. Its flailing arms flopped down on the ground, away from Rilien's relentless assault and it leaned heavily on its knuckles for a few seconds before giving away and thudding on its belly. Sparrow hopped away before being showered with ash, breathless and red-faced. The anger she'd felt before felt like a dull ache, smoldering like a doused-out flame. Perhaps, he had the effect on her. She turned to see how Aurora fared.
Sticking out in stark contrast with Sparrow's ferocity, Aurora faced her own opponent with the utmost level of calm. Like an oiled spring, she darted forward toward the necromancer, her eyes steady and her breathing collected. She was herself, not diluted by feelings of anger, of rage, of vengence. The fact of the matter was that the Necromancer was something that should not exist, and she would be the instrument to ensure that he no longer would. It was mages such as him, using their connection with the fade to further their own goals, and not the goals of the whole. It was people like him that saw to it they were kept under lock and key in Towers.
But she wasn't angry. No, she felt the opposite. She felt pity. This man was so deluded by his love, so blinded by illusions of his own make that he slaughtered women to see that illusion become reality. But it was never to be, what was would always be what was. There was no use in living for what was they had to live for what will be. The Necromancer lived for what was once his love... Aurora lived for the future where she will be free, along with Milly and every other mage locked away in their cages. The Necromancer attempted to summon a shambling corpse to block her path, but the undead creature was dispelled as fast is it was summoned as a hidden blade bit deep into it's exposed spinal cord.
Another corpse was summoned, and that one was incinerated before its toes even felt solid ground. Aurora's path would not be halted. She ground to a halt as the Necromancer shrouded himself in the fade, drawing a ward around his shoulders. Likewise, Aurora dipped into the fade with every fiber of her being, ignoring the whispers of the power that it promised. Illusions, worthless illusions-- power was something that was earned and not given. She whipped both hands forward and a thunderstorm erupted from her finger tips, tearing the tape wrapped around them off and charring the ends of her fingernails. She easily overwhelmed the ward, and showing an amount of control, she cut the lightning before she fried the necromancer. She hadn't killed since her emotions took over in the warrens of Darktown, as they guided Ketojan out of the city.
For him, she grabbed the edge of his collar and pulled down, while she thrust upward with the open palm of her other hand, slamming it against his chin. Dazed, she then pulled, and threw him into the ground behind her-- where she planted a hard knee into his back. She leaned over so he wouldn't strain to hear her "You won't drag me down with you," She said, pulling back, and stepping off the man. She then looked up to Rilien and nodded. She might not bloody her hands, but she wouldn't stop anyone else from bloodying theirs. There were many paths, but only one choice. If not by them, then the necromancer would find his end, elsewhere.
Rilien had no qualms about doing someone elseās killing, and he certainly did not need permission. As heād managed to leap clear of the falling pride demon, he now collected his weaponry and advanced on the pinned necromancer. His fingers threaded through the manās greasy head of hair, and he tugged upwards to expose his throat, across which he drew the blade that crackled with electricity. All the tension in the mageās body slackened, and the Tranquil let go, sheathing both daggers and folding his hands into his sleeves. "Emeric will want to know what we found,ā was all he said, and then the turned to lead the way out.
It didn't take long to find something strange. Aurora found herself standing in the middle of a room that really wasn't a room at all. There stood bookshelves, dressers, a table and chairs and even a fine bed off in the corner. It had the makings for a master bedroom-- had the room itself not been the usual grey Darktown squalor. It was... odd to say the least. Loose papers and book spread haphazardly from the small table, books were stacked in an ordered chaos upon the shelves, and even the covers of the bed were thrown into disarray. The strangest part wasn't the pale facsimile of a room though, but the "shrine" looking over it all. And make no mistake, it was a shrine.
Candles sat lit on either side of a portrait of a woman. Chalices of gold and silver occupied a nook beneath the portrait, smoking with what smelled like incense. And the portrait, with its gold painted frame, was of an older female. Strands of gray fell from her head, but she still possessed a dignified presence. Once, Aurora would have thought the woman was beautiful, but with the surrounding area bearing a hostile air, the image only further added to the creepy atmosphere.
"Uh... I think I found something," she called out to the others, taking a few cautionary steps away from the painting. As she did, she backed into the table. The table shook, sending a single piece of parchment out onto the floor. Aurora stooped down and took the paper, reading what was on it. A few words into it revealed the paper as something more and so she began to read it aloud. "Today is our anniversary. Had hoped to complete my work before now, but one piece is missing. I'm so sorry love. Please wait a little long. I haven't forgotten my promise. When I see it, I'll know. I would know that face anywhere."
She turned her eyes back to the painting and then to Sparrow, silently mouthing a single word to her. What?
āNothing?ā Sparrow gushed, flicking her hands as if to dismiss her modesty. āThe Templars are lucky you aren't retaliating with abilities like those.ā She might have enjoyed it if she did given their circumstance in Kirkwall. Auroraāthe great vigilante, sweeping up the streets of all of those sodding wretches, stomping around in their heavy plates of armor. Mages were forced to hide away like unwanted stowaways, skittering for a safe place to stay. There was much she'd like to change in the city, but for a poor pauper (not so poor since adventuring in the Deep Roads) keeping her head low in Darktown, Sparrow could only hope that the world would come to its senses and see how wrong they were about them. She could not profess to belonging, in any case. She sat somewhere in the middle, grinding her teeth at the injustice of it all. Perhaps, someday, she'd approach her little magelet-friend and inquire. See if anything could be done, and if there was nothing to accomplish, to still count on her as an ally in any future-event. She could never understand being hunted down, nor could she understand having her freedom ripped away by someone else made up only of flesh-and-blood. Good note to jot down. Certain elements were fine, but: fire bad. āMaybe after we're finished with all of this messāā
She continued sweeping the room, switching positions every now and again. Rocking back on her heels to stare at the ceiling for any indication of a secret shutter door leading to an atticāor something else underneath the nearby carpet; a latch, perhaps. Nothing. She grumbled softly, scratching her chin between forefinger and thumb. Her imagination, if anything, hampered her ability to find anything useful. And her patience was whittling down to nothing. Barely stifling a loud, obnoxious yawn, Sparrow extended her arms above her head and stretched her muscles out. She dropped her hands back down, glanced over her shoulder at Rilien and opened her mouth to question whether or not he'd found something on his hand. A trap, a clue, something to look at. It was then that she noticed that Aurora had moved into another room. Edging closer to Rilien, she kicked a broken, lop-sided chair that stood in her way and posted herself halfway into the next room. I think I found something. Finally! It beat sitting around, twiddling her fingers. She motioned to her silent-companion to follow her (which he would have done anyway but she liked to pretend she was doing something useful) into another chamber, following Aurora's voice.
The stupid grin quickly died on her lips, replaced by something closer to revulsion. This room felt off, as best she could describe. As if it were caught halfway between a dungeon, and a comfortable, snobby house. If someone were to move their things into a cave, she thought it would have a similar effect. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the large painting hanging above the fireplace mantle, surrounded by candles. Unsurprisingly, Sparrow did not recognize the woman's face; graceful, somewhat pretty and noble-looking. The atmosphere cast an ugly shadow across the bridge of her nose, until she was sure the thing was staring straight through them. She was not easy to scare, and she would never admit to it, but if someone were to offer, she'd gladly leave the place. Unfortunately, they still had no answers. This place, if anything, only posed more questions. Questions she wasn't sure she'd like to know. āEh, is this a shrine?ā She said, wrinkling her nose. When Aurora began to read the letter, she scooped up handfuls of paper, sifted through them and tossed them back on the ground. Pieces of many books, it seemed. āOne piece?ā Sparrow repeated, circling around Aurora to get a better look at the letter.
āAnniversary. Shrine, promise,ā she checked her fingers off, motioning to the fireplace, āDead person, obviously. But, wait a little longer? He's delusional. We're dealing with a delusional person.ā
"It would have to be someone delusional to assume that he or she could continue to kidnap mages from the Circle without it coming to someoneās attention,ā Rilien pointed out in his usual dry fashion. He could not, of course, be disturbed by the feel of the room or any such ridiculous notion, though he could sense residual Fade in it, like someone had been doing spells at length and over a period of a very long time nearby. Whatever this place was, it had been in use for a considerable amount of time, and there were Fade-beasts about.
"I believe we will find our answers in the next room,ā he said simply, as that was where he sensed most of it to be coming from. "And most likely yet more demons.ā It was a safe bet, considering what theyād run into so far. Another piece of parchment, this one written in a surer, more rounded hand than the shaky and spidery letters the others had been looking at. Rilien tucked it up his sleeve. He could give it some examining later, for now, the thing they needed to be doing was looking for that woman. He doubted very much that she was still alive, but if they could find an actual corpse this time, it may well give them something more for Emeric. Perhaps they would even be fortunate enough to find the killer.
As things turned out, the next room contained both a corpse and a killer. Rilien was relatively certain there were words spoken, and in fact, he would likely be able to repeat them back to anyone who asked for them, but they were, in point of fact, simply the ravings of a mad man. No more evidence was necessary for this than the thing he had created. He counted himself rather fortunate for his Tranquility, in some abstract sense, because it meant he was incapable of feeling the revulsion that he was fairly certain must be turning the stomachs of the other two. The moving cadaver, stitched together at the joints and animated by some fell, tainted magic, took a few lurching steps towards them and then stumbled. A step forward and a deft motion caught it, and he lowered the misbegotten creature to the ground with a measure of care perhaps unexpected in him.
It attempted to speak, but the words were incomprehensible, and he closed its eyes as the stolen life it had been granted left its body. It was his concern no longerāhe now knew what had become of several yearsā worth of missing women, and how they were connected to the shrine in the previous room. When a pride demon erupted from the ground on the other side of the room, he went for it, leaving whichever of the others wanted to slay the puppeteer to do so. He had not thoughts of revenge or anger, but he knew at least that Sparrow certainly would, and probably Aurora as well. Since it made no difference to him, he accounted for their likely preferences and took the lumbering Fade-creature, leaving the mage alone.
"Necromancy?!" Aurora exclaimed, her voice stained with shock and disgust. She expected blood magic, she expected rituals, what she didn't expect was it all being done for love as the madman put. Power yes, but never love. What he had created was an affront to nature far beyond simple blood magic. He'd desecrated the bodies of who knew how many other woman, and desecrated the memory of whoever it was he was trying to bring back. Anger was an emotion Aurora had long since tried to seal away. Anger caused her to be reckless, and it threatened to drive her further into the fade, and into the clutches of the demons that waited there. But she found the rage hard to contain, and she was on the verge of attacking the man when Rilien moved first.
It wasn't to kill the man, like she expected, but to catch the creature he had created. In that moment, Rilien displayed a level of tenderness unusual to a tranquil, but also allowed her to regain a hold on herself. Anger, love, hate, if she let herself fall too deeply into any one of those, she could very well become the creature that stood before them-- for no simple man could do what he'd done. She caught herself, closed her eyes, and let all of her emotions flow out of her mouth and nose with her breath. What remained was the Aurora she'd worked so hard to become, and the Aurora Amalia had spent so many years teaching.
On the other side of the room, the fade ripped open and a Pride Demon stepped through, and Rilien, ever efficient, darted off to take on the monster himself. Aurora placed a hand on Sparrow's shoulder and pointed at Rilien as she ran, and she spoke with a certain level of calm, "Go help him, I'll deal with this monster."
He. It must have been a he. It may have been all of her biases piled on top of one another, screaming of the injustices men had done to people like herālike he'd done to these vulnerable women, snatching them off the streets like discarded goods. She was never good at sorting out gray areas, or thinking clearly when she ought to, so Sparrow only grit her teeth against the correction and nodded her head. Delusional, alright. Her skin itched and she had the eery feeling they were being watched. A quick scan around the spacious chamber found nothing to be worried about, which only made her feel worse. There was no one else in the room. Ironic, how she'd feel so strange in a building built in squalor. Sans expensive furniture and creepy love-letters scattered around an equally unsettling portrait. Darktown was her home and still, Sparrow knew little of it's inhabitants (though in this case, she didn't think she'd mind not knowing). This person, toiling away at whatever-he-was-working-on, had been here for a good length of time. What else was she unaware of?
In the next room. The words brought her back from her thoughts, anchored her in place. She wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to go into the next room, for fear of what she might see. She, too, could feel something from the next side-chamber, pulsing louder and louder. Like a cloud of energy expanding towards them, stifling the air with Fade-stench. She'd spent far too long lingering in places she never wished to be, trapped in Fade-spaces that confined and restricted her. Her fingers fumbled for her mace, and unwound the leather straps. She needed something solid in her handāa weapon, a means of protecting herself from everything that frightened her. A small, whispery part of her wondered if Rilien could feel the discomfort raking its teeth across his bones; being so close to the Fade as they were. Wondered if he felt eyes peering from the dark corners of the chamber. Wondered if feelings and colors dripped into the monochrome portrait that made up his world. Was it heavy enough? Her grip tightened, white-knuckled and already growing numb. She persevered after him and fell short of the door, coming to a jolting halt.
What had she been expecting? Certainly not this.Not this. The perversion was overwhelming. She felt heartsick and mortified and disgusted all at once. It came in a startling wave, rushing over her until her ears and cheeks felt hot with flushed, unbridled anger. Sparrow did not share Rilien's detached Tranquility. She did not have any of Aurora's discipline (possibly handed down from her once-friend), either. She felt things in loud proportions, and echoed her response in equally bright colors, painting the walls in large, relentless sweeps. Her responses were not always beautiful or smart or well-thought out. Her sense of control was dubious, at best. But, this was revolting. What he'd done to these poor women; to these vulnerable, shambling puzzle-pieces that made up something monstrously heartbreaking. This was the ugliest use of magic she'd ever seen. She wished it'd been something that made sense, something as simple, as barbaric as blood magic. At least, she could understand that. This wasn't love. Her breath hitched and tangled in her throat, constricting like a coiled serpent. Necromancy. She did not know what the word meant, but if it described a patchwork woman stumbling towards them with milky eyes, searching; then that was it.
She took another step forward, finally entering the room, and tensed the muscles in her shoulders. Her eyes were glued to the second figure in the room, rambling like a madman. With dulled senses, Sparrow hadn't even noticed Rilien moving up beside and in front of her, preventing the handmade-woman from falling on her face and gently laying her down, as he would. As she'd come to expect over the years of knowing himāit never occurred to her that someone who'd undergone the Rite of Tranquility behaved in such a peculiar way. Her heart bloomed, retracted and grew colder as she drew nearer to the blabbering man, cursing them for interfering. Fury threatened to overtake her better sense of judgment, slowly sifting out from her mouth in heated, hitched breaths. This was one horror she was sure they would not forget. It was Aurora's hand, pulling her away from her outrage, that softened the creases in her forehead. āMake him pay,ā Sparrow replied thickly, turning away from him, and joining Rilien, instead. For once, she needed someone to lead.
And though Rilien had generally preferred to do his work in silence and from shadow, he knew a thing or two about leading, thanks to his strangely-forged friendship with someone who did it for a living. He and Sparrow were nearly matched in terms of physique, save that she was far too thin and he had never lost his musculature, but the basic principles of durability and damage-dealing were more or less similar. That meant they would be best served by splitting the pride demonās attention and confounding it, something which it was trying to do to him.
The words it whispered to him were louder than he remembered them being, almost as if he were somehow more susceptible to them now, lessā¦ Tranquil. It was perhaps an unsettling thought, but the truly unfortunate thing was that he felt vaguely unsettled by it. He had never been perfectly Tranquil. This was something he used to his advantage. But he was unmistakably very close, and for the whispers to be this hard to ignoreā¦ well, pride always had been his sin, before. Before he was wiped of them all and made into this. His steps faltered a moment, a hitching irregularity almost tripping him up, but in the end, just because something was said at greater volume did not make it more appealing, and he set his jaw, sweeping low with his knife and slicing deep into the creatureās hamstring.
Without pause, he turned on a hairpin and reversed his direction, jumping as high as he could without any sort of assistance and plunging both daggers into the middle of the demonās back, his feet finding no purchase on its flesh but his arms and weapons holding him firmly in place nonetheless. With some effort, he yanked out one of the daggers and raised it, sinking it in again higher up, then repeating the process with the other side. At this point, the thing had chosen to stop paying attention to whatever Sparrow was doing and kill him first, which was precisely the intention. It would give her time to kill it, as there was no doubt that repeated stabbing from the man climbing it like a wall of ice or stone was weakening it.
Pride. She'd never had much use for that. Desire and wants and needs had always been a different story. She never had pride in herselfānot until she hurtled into Kirkwall, meeting her companions in much of the same manner. It was a different sort of pride, she thought. She felt fortunate to have them with her. Fortunate to have met them, and continue to stand by their sides. The Pride Demon's whispers were laughably weak in comparison. Her eyes trailed back to Rilien, focusing on his side profile. After they'd banished Rapture, she'd asked Ashton what Rilien had been like, with all of his powers and feelings regained, and learned that he'd been confident, reckless, and even jubilant. She'd tried picturing a smile on his face, eyes alight with wonder. Like someone who was busy taking in a beautiful sight for the first time, drinking it up. Selfishly grateful for being spared of her foolish possession, Sparrow had small parts of her that were beginning to blossom, growing out into something new, that made her wonder what kind of life Rilien would have led had he not sacrificed so much. For her.
Sparrow braced herself, as she did in every fight, and tensed the muscles in her shoulders, gripping her mace all the tighter. She waited until he advanced, moving along at a respectable distanceāand nearly hurtled to his side when he faltered in his steps, thinking the Pride Demon had cast some sort of spell she'd missed. Only a breaths second passed and Rilien jerked back into motion, as if he had reset himself, and Sparrow grimaced, eying him with concern. She watched him duck beneath the demon's spitting strike and weave his knife through the thing's leg before following up herself, moving to the creature's forefront with her mace lagging slightly behind, shoulders running parallel. Even now, Rilien's agility surprised her. Leaping onto the Pride Demon's back from such a precarious position, and sinking his blades into the creature's back, holding on with nothing but his blades. It reminded her of Amalia. Pure, raw power. Grace, as well. She whispered under her breath, conjuring arcane energy into her forearms, straight through to the tip of her mace; connecting them as one.
The distance closed between them and with the Pride Demon scrapping at his back trying to dislodge Rilien, Sparrow had no problems with her questionable accuracy. She squared her shoulders and shouted as she swung the beefy end of her mace against the creature's face, rolling up on her toes with the explosive impact. Spikes, teeth and spit splattered away from them, and its jaw hinged slack. It's beady eyes widened, as if it were about to retaliate, but they only stared straight ahead. Its flailing arms flopped down on the ground, away from Rilien's relentless assault and it leaned heavily on its knuckles for a few seconds before giving away and thudding on its belly. Sparrow hopped away before being showered with ash, breathless and red-faced. The anger she'd felt before felt like a dull ache, smoldering like a doused-out flame. Perhaps, he had the effect on her. She turned to see how Aurora fared.
Sticking out in stark contrast with Sparrow's ferocity, Aurora faced her own opponent with the utmost level of calm. Like an oiled spring, she darted forward toward the necromancer, her eyes steady and her breathing collected. She was herself, not diluted by feelings of anger, of rage, of vengence. The fact of the matter was that the Necromancer was something that should not exist, and she would be the instrument to ensure that he no longer would. It was mages such as him, using their connection with the fade to further their own goals, and not the goals of the whole. It was people like him that saw to it they were kept under lock and key in Towers.
But she wasn't angry. No, she felt the opposite. She felt pity. This man was so deluded by his love, so blinded by illusions of his own make that he slaughtered women to see that illusion become reality. But it was never to be, what was would always be what was. There was no use in living for what was they had to live for what will be. The Necromancer lived for what was once his love... Aurora lived for the future where she will be free, along with Milly and every other mage locked away in their cages. The Necromancer attempted to summon a shambling corpse to block her path, but the undead creature was dispelled as fast is it was summoned as a hidden blade bit deep into it's exposed spinal cord.
Another corpse was summoned, and that one was incinerated before its toes even felt solid ground. Aurora's path would not be halted. She ground to a halt as the Necromancer shrouded himself in the fade, drawing a ward around his shoulders. Likewise, Aurora dipped into the fade with every fiber of her being, ignoring the whispers of the power that it promised. Illusions, worthless illusions-- power was something that was earned and not given. She whipped both hands forward and a thunderstorm erupted from her finger tips, tearing the tape wrapped around them off and charring the ends of her fingernails. She easily overwhelmed the ward, and showing an amount of control, she cut the lightning before she fried the necromancer. She hadn't killed since her emotions took over in the warrens of Darktown, as they guided Ketojan out of the city.
For him, she grabbed the edge of his collar and pulled down, while she thrust upward with the open palm of her other hand, slamming it against his chin. Dazed, she then pulled, and threw him into the ground behind her-- where she planted a hard knee into his back. She leaned over so he wouldn't strain to hear her "You won't drag me down with you," She said, pulling back, and stepping off the man. She then looked up to Rilien and nodded. She might not bloody her hands, but she wouldn't stop anyone else from bloodying theirs. There were many paths, but only one choice. If not by them, then the necromancer would find his end, elsewhere.
Rilien had no qualms about doing someone elseās killing, and he certainly did not need permission. As heād managed to leap clear of the falling pride demon, he now collected his weaponry and advanced on the pinned necromancer. His fingers threaded through the manās greasy head of hair, and he tugged upwards to expose his throat, across which he drew the blade that crackled with electricity. All the tension in the mageās body slackened, and the Tranquil let go, sheathing both daggers and folding his hands into his sleeves. "Emeric will want to know what we found,ā was all he said, and then the turned to lead the way out.
The Chanter's Board has been updated. All That Remains has been completed.