As such things seemed wont to go, they had to essentially clear out the entire Carta base of its tainted occupants in order to leave it. Nostariel honestly would have preferred not to, but at this point, death was essentially a mercy. They were all doomed to it anyway, infected as they were. The last lot had included several brontos as well, and she was patching up a gash on her arm when she realized that one of the men she had shot was still moving a little. Pursing her lips, Nostariel resolved herself to the deathblow, and was just about to release a bolt of magic at him when he spoke.
âDoesnât⌠matter.â His cracked lips curled upwards into a smile, stretching across grotesque teeth, his gums bleeding and caked in some kind of yellowish pus. âIâve done it. Iâve brought you here, and now Corypheus will walk among us again.â
Nostarielâs fingers relaxed, curling into her palm. âWho is Corypheus?â
The smile spread wider, and the dwarfâperhaps the leader here, from the craftsmanship of his armor, shook his head from his spot on the ground. âYouâll find out, blood of Enelya. I told himâtold him I would bring you here, one way or another.â
âHowâhow do you know itâs me you want? I know no Enelya, and I never have.â
âThe master knows. The master wanted youâyour blood. And what Corypheus wants, Corypheus gets. From us, or from somewhere.â Her coup de grâce was ultimately unnecessary, for the dwarfâs jaw slackened, his muscles losing all tension as he slumped back onto the ground, dead. With a frustrated sound, Nostariel clenched her fist the rest of the way, banishing the magic. Corypheus was no demonâeven a demon could not know what its mortal servants didnât. Not unless⌠but it was useless to speculate. They had to keep moving.
She had taken the first few steps that way herself when something on the dwarfâs body began to glow, emitting a strange, purplish light. âMagic?â The question was mostly rhetoricalâthe answer was yes, and she was in the best position of anyone here to recognize that fact. Crouching down beside the body, she pushed aside some fabric that had been part of his sash, exposing the object possessing the radiance. It appeared to be nothing more interesting than a slender metal bar, about the length and width of one of her fingers. Intending to pick it up for further examination, Nostariel gasped and fell backwards onto her rear when, the moment her skin came in contact with it, she could feel it, pulling the magic from her like some kind of gravitic force. It felt like something was exploring her, mapping the contours of her skin and bones and blood like a curious cartographer, albeit one with an unsubtle touch.
The object itself began to change shape as her power gave it form, thickening and extending outwards until it was slightly taller than she was, and just slender enough to wrap her hand around such that her middle finger could just touch her thumb around the other side.
The haft of the staff was silver-white, the curious substance she believed was commonly called ironbark. The focus crystal at the top was deep blue, carved in the shape of a half-opened flower, and the blade affixed to the other end was straight, with a hint of the same blue. The wood was elaborately carved in lovely geometric patterns, also stained a deep indigo color, to match the leather cord wrapped tightly around where one would grip it.
âWhat on earth?â
Ithilian was nearest at hand, and so he offered Nostariel an arm up, allowing her to pull herself back to her feet. If Nostariel had no idea what she held, he certainly couldn't guess at its capabilities, but he could comment on its appearance. He eyed the thing in her hand for a moment, pointing out at the carvings in the staff, though he did not touch them, out of wariness for what the piece of equipment might do.
"The carvings look Dalish," he speculated. "They are Dirthamen Secret-Keeper's, most likely. The haft is ironbark. I... can't say where it might be from, though. Never knew any Dalish smith who could make something like this." Emerion might have been able to say more, but then again, everything about this place seemed like a well-kept secret, even from those who were supposed to know about it, like the Wardens.
âWherever itâs from, I suspect it is going to get us to Corypheus.â Nostariel supposed Stroud was probably right about that, and nodded at him, indicating that he was free to lead the way onwards. He didnât know the place any better than the rest of them did, but if he was in front, they should have a little more warning if any Darkspawn showed up. She would stick to the rear for the same reason.
There was really only one direction to keep going, and that was mostly down. The group descended still further into the chasm, or what she supposed must be the chasm, since the hideout was built into the cliff-face somehow. When next they emerged into daylight, it was more gloomy than anything, a sort of damp-looking grey that was permeated with a translucent mist, heavy on the senses and sound alike. The prison tower, once viewed from level to the top, now loomed over them, a bridge between the structure and the veranda of sorts they now occupied visible several hundred feet ahead. It was blocked from them by another bridge, one which went from where they were to what looked like another antechamber, though whether that one would put them closer to the tower proper was hard to tell.
It was not a pleasant-looking structure, and one could almost smell the taint here, kept pressed down by that fog. Old Grey Warden standards hung from the outside, the only markers of the structureâs most recent ownership.
âNostariel.â Stroud drew her attention with his voice, then redirected it, pointing towards the bridge. It was hard to see exactly what was there, save that many humanoid figures were crossing at a rapid pace, their gaits irregular, their flesh pale and dull. They agitated the measure of taint within her own blood, pulling at the base of her stomach in the same way a bad flagon of rotgut did. Darkspawn.
Seeing as how she was already holding it, Nostariel readied the staff, feeling it respond to her magic instantaneously. Stroud glanced between the party and the Darkspawn approaching, then started forward. There was little point in waiting for them to charge in with all the momentum, after all.
"Wait," Ashton advised Stroud as he reached into his quiver.
Flipping through the nocks of his arrows, he stopped on the one that felt distinctly different from the rank and file. He drew the speciality arrow that exploded in an intense flash on impact and nocked it against the bowstring. "I suggest everyone look away!"' he warned as he drew back. Ashton aimed along the arrow and let loose, closing his own eyes the moment after. The arrow raced through the air but dipped low, striking the ground in front of the darkspawn and erupting in loud bang accompanied by a blindingly bright flash.
Ashton opened his eyes to see the front line of the darkspawn trip and stumble over themselves in a bout of disorientation. "Now you can wade in Ser Warden," Ashton said to Stroud, drawing a mundane arrow this time.
Stroud looked mildly irritated at the last-minute nature of the interruption, but said nothing further on the subject, waiting until the worst of the flash part of the flash-bang had faded before he moved in to take advantage of the fact that the Darkspawn hadnât gotten any warning at all, even a late one. His sword sliced a broad horizontal arc across the chest of the first, before he kicked it off the side of the bridge and into the ravine below. In style, his early training as a chevalier was obvious, sharing a certain number of features with the way Lucien handled combat, with a few modifications gained by many years of fighting Darkspawn more often than men.
He was efficiently through three more of them before Nostariel got the hang of the new staff, channeling her magic through it and adding fireballs to the back ranks of the charging creatures. Ice was well enough, but where Darkspawn were involved, fire was best.
Ithilian could only add small amounts of fire to the attack, but he did so gladly, cutting into the chest of a hurlock with Parshaara and watching a burst of fire come forth. The elf followed in Stroud's wake, backing up the warrior's charge with quickly-slicing blades, making short work of the ones not immediately cut down by the Grey Warden, pierced by arrows, or burned to a crisp by the fireballs flying overhead. He didn't make the most painful strikes possible, as he had once in the Deep Roads, instead going about the work much more grimly. It was what this venture had turned into at this point. Work.
But at the very least, it was a certain type of work, one that Lucien and Amalia had both been learning how to do since before they could properly know whether they even cared to. One of a surprising number of commonalities between them, perhaps. Lucien chose once more to plant himself in the front with Stroud, forming what was essentially a two person wall, behind which Ashton and Nostariel could pick their targets without fear of harm and in front of which Ithilian and Amalia could range and retreat like the tide, striking quickly with the force of waves and then fading back again, to let the darkspawn dash themselves on the stones for a while.
It proved quite effective, and while the majority of the party chose to wound them with weapons, Amalia refrained, using only her hands and feet to handle her foes, as this was less likely to make them bleed, and therefore less likely to contract her the Taint, as she understood it. Fortunately, there was another advantage as wellâthe bridge itself. If she focused on stagger-blows and joint-locks and throws, she could pitch more than half her opponents over the side of it and into the depths below, saving her the effort of needing to kill them with the force of some blow or another. She tread the edge like a cat, tempting her opponents into trying the same, the easy victory of knocking her to her death. But Amalia could balance on something as thin and tenuous as a wire, and darkspawn clearly had not half the grace required. It proved an efficient method of thinning their numbers.
They were ruthlessly efficient and Ashton couldn't help but feel a little impressed, lined with a hint of pride, with how quickly they cleaned up the tainted mess. One last arrow down field saw the last of the darkspawn defeated and Ashton finally lowered his bow. "Well... I'll be honest, if my guards were anywhere near as good as us, I'd have the city cleaned up within the month. The gangs wouldn't know what hit them," Ashton said, laughing. Nocking one more arrow just in case Ashton carefully began to creep forward to make sure that they were all, indeed, dead.
They did in fact, all appear dead, but Nostariel did not share in the grim pride for the effectiveness. The simple fact of the matter was, where there were a few darkspawn, there were bound to be many more, and something about their presence here felt⌠more cloying than usual, thicker, pressing down on her awareness like damp cloth. Still, she spared a small smile for Ashton, shaking her head a bit before she filed in behind Stroud, who had not sheathed his weapon, but carried it in a more relaxed fashion, doubtless because he, like she, no longer sensed any darkspawn in the immediate proximity.
More disconcerting was what she could sense from the antechamber. âMagic.â She murmured the word, stepping out and around Stroud to lead the way, the staff in her hand thrumming softly, but perceptibly, in reaction to something within. If something bad was about to happen because of it, she wanted the others to be behind her, not between herself and whatever it would be.
The room they entered had a cracked stone floor, the tiles perhaps originally red, and a large Grey Warden crest on the wall facing them as they made their way inside. A red circle about the size of Nostarielâs spread hand glowed in the middle of the crest, and when she turned her head to the left, she could see another crest, with the same glowing red circle. More peculiar still was that, at the end of the room, there was what appeared to be some kind of magical barrier, a swirling, pearlescent amber in hue, with two identical glowing circles sitting next to each other at its center.
It was no magic she had ever seen before, to be sure. The chamber was wholly empty, but still she approached cautiously, her boots kicking up small puffs of dust wherever they landed. When she came within about six feet of the barrier, the staff in her hand hummed at a different pitch, higher and faster, like the wing of a hummingbird, and it grew warmer to the touch, the blue designs lining the wood brightening. To her left, she felt a disturbance in the Fade, and took several steps back as something began to materialize, running right backwards into Stroud, who steadied her with a hand to the shoulder.
The figure that began to coalesce was blue, but its form was yet indistinct. Clearer than its appearance was its voice, which spoke into their silence, pleasantly high-pitched and sibilant. ââŚbe bound here for eternity, hunger sated, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Creators, so let it beâŚâ The voice faded just as quickly as it had risen, and the blue mist of which the figure was comprised dissipated.
Nostariel reached out as if to grasp it, but of course she could not get a grip on something like smoke, and it eluded her fingers. It wasnât merely smoke, though. âIâm not sure if itâs a dream or a memory.â She spoke more to herself than her companions, puzzled by this phenomenon she had neither seen nor read about before.
âWe may have other problems.â That was Stroud, and when she turned back around to face him, he was staring past the barrier, into the small chamber it sealed off. Following his eyes, Nostariel was able to make out what he was looking atâa Shade, from the look of it. It stared back, or so it seemed.
âA demon? Here? For what purpose?â It made little sense to keep a demon contained rather than simply killing it, and in a Grey Warden fortress of all places. It seems quite unlikely that this was the Cartaâs doing, but then⌠âHow long has it been here?â
âDoes it matter? It should not be.â
Ithilian was making a clear effort not to touch anything he wasn't supposed to. This place had more than its fair share of magical occurrences and items, and these were things he knew nothing about. The Wardens were not restricted in the same ways other mages, and other organizations were, in the use of their magic, and he knew it was not unheard of for them to take drastic measures if required against the darkspawn. This whole place seemed odd, however, and the caged demon was just another instance of that. That, and there weren't actually any Wardens here so far.
"Kill it, or leave it?" It was behind the barrier still, but he figured it wouldn't be too difficult to dismantle, and there was a chance it was somehow linked to that vision, and the woman's voice they'd heard moments earlier.
Nostariel sighed through her nose. âLeaving it here like this hardly seems a wise idea. The darkspawn might figure out how to free it, and then thatâs one more demon wandering around outside the Fade.â Certainly not ideal. She didnât even know how long it had been here, but it certainly seemed a while. It wasnât like demons required sustenance, after all.
Of course, this meant they had to find a way to break down the barrier. After checking to make sure sufficient force definitely wasnât going to do the trick, the group backtracked across the room, and Stroud nodded at one of the sigils. âThere are marks like this on the barrier, as well.â That was certainly as good a hint as any, but if it was that easy, she didnât understand why the darkspawn or the Carta hadnât done it already. Tilting her head to the side, Nostariel approached the first sigil, examining the glowing red circle and then passing the staff by it. Nothing.
Perhaps a more direct application of magic? Reaching out with her free hand, she laid her palm down on the symbol, only to draw it back again sharply. âOuch!â Some exposed bit of metal or something had sliced into the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger. Muttering a few terse words under her breath, she healed the cut.
âNostariel.â Stroudâs voice drew her back to the sigil, where the red circle had disappeared. A glance back down the room confirmed that one of them was now missing from the barrier as well. Was it really that simple? All she had to do was touch it?
âThatâs peculiar.â Even bespelled objects generally required a bit of active magic to dispel, not a mere touch from a mage. The darkspawn definitely should have been able to do that. Nevertheless, she crossed to the next red circle. âMaybe get ready, just in case this one takes the barrier down?â She waited until everyone had arranged themselves however they wanted, then touched the second circle⌠and nothing happened.
Furrowing her brow, Nostariel passed her hand over and through it several more times, and even tried applying her magic. Still nothing. But why�
Ashton's bow was still pointing toward the barrier and had been ever since the demon on the other side made itself present. It was proving stubborn however, as no matter what Nostariel did, the thing didn't go down completely. He glanced repeatedly from her to the barrier, watching her attempt to dispel it and keeping an eye on it as well. When it was clear that waving her hand over the next symbol he finally let the bowstring slacken, taking a few steps toward the sigil.
He inspected the first one, the one that Nostariel had been able to dispel and noted that there was a speckle of something red on it. Letting go of the bowstring, Ashton tentatively touched the wet spot and looked at it, noting that it was her blood. His eyes closed and her wordlessly swore with his mouth, the revelation what humor he had out of him. Turning toward Nostariel, he showed her the blood on his fingers and shook his head. "Blood magic?" He asked, but he already knew the answer.
"It's always blood magic."
Nostarielâs lips parted, and she looked at the smear on Ashâs fingertips with a burgeoning sense of dread. Blood magic⌠sheâd met maybe one or two mages in her entire life who could do it without falling prey to demons or some other form of corruption. She certainly didnât know any, but it seemed like in this case, all that was required was her physical bloodâthe mage part seemed irrelevant. That it was someone elseâs blood magic didnât make her feel better, particularly, and in fact it only increased her anxiety. She might have been able to trust her own intentions even with a weapon like that, but the intentions of someone she knew not at all?
She swallowed, glancing to Stroud, but he offered no counsel, remaining still, his arms crossed and clearly expectant that the others would deal with the demon behind the barrier just fine by themselves. She didnât disagree, but she wished he would make the choice for herâa childish desire, perhaps.
Sighing, the younger Warden allowed her eyes to slip closed, shaking her head faintly. Eradicating that demon was the right thing to do. It did not belong in this world, and it would pose a major danger to untrained people if it were ever freed. âCan I borrow a knife, then?â Ash, ever prepared, was able to produce one from his boot, and she slid it out of its sheath, which she tucked into her belt near the small of her back. Lighting a diminutive fire in her palm, she sterilized the blade as well as she could, then let it cool, having no desire for burns to go with her cuts.
She regarded her arm for a moment, trying to pick a spot less likely to cause much damage if she cut too deeply. She was a healer, not a surgeon, and not used to paying much attention to this sort of thing. In the end, she picked a spot on the inside of her forearm, making a nick and watching her blood well up to the surface of her fair skin. It ran down her forearm to her hand, and she smeared some of it across the sigil. The red circle reacted, brightening for a moment before it vanished, freeing the demon inside the cage, which immediately went on the attack.
It was little match for so many impeccably-trained and well-practiced combatants, and fell within a matter of moments. Curiously, as soon as it died, the blue apparition seemed to reform itself, and she had the sense that its head was turned towards the spot the shade had lain. âI can do nothing about the Wardensâ use of demons in this horrid place.â It spoke with the same feminine voice as before. âBut I will have no one say any magic of mine ever released one into the world.â The cloud moved, as though the person represented within it were taking her leave, moving deeper into the complex.
It seemed, somehow, that they were meant to follow.
âDoesnât⌠matter.â His cracked lips curled upwards into a smile, stretching across grotesque teeth, his gums bleeding and caked in some kind of yellowish pus. âIâve done it. Iâve brought you here, and now Corypheus will walk among us again.â
Nostarielâs fingers relaxed, curling into her palm. âWho is Corypheus?â
The smile spread wider, and the dwarfâperhaps the leader here, from the craftsmanship of his armor, shook his head from his spot on the ground. âYouâll find out, blood of Enelya. I told himâtold him I would bring you here, one way or another.â
âHowâhow do you know itâs me you want? I know no Enelya, and I never have.â
âThe master knows. The master wanted youâyour blood. And what Corypheus wants, Corypheus gets. From us, or from somewhere.â Her coup de grâce was ultimately unnecessary, for the dwarfâs jaw slackened, his muscles losing all tension as he slumped back onto the ground, dead. With a frustrated sound, Nostariel clenched her fist the rest of the way, banishing the magic. Corypheus was no demonâeven a demon could not know what its mortal servants didnât. Not unless⌠but it was useless to speculate. They had to keep moving.
She had taken the first few steps that way herself when something on the dwarfâs body began to glow, emitting a strange, purplish light. âMagic?â The question was mostly rhetoricalâthe answer was yes, and she was in the best position of anyone here to recognize that fact. Crouching down beside the body, she pushed aside some fabric that had been part of his sash, exposing the object possessing the radiance. It appeared to be nothing more interesting than a slender metal bar, about the length and width of one of her fingers. Intending to pick it up for further examination, Nostariel gasped and fell backwards onto her rear when, the moment her skin came in contact with it, she could feel it, pulling the magic from her like some kind of gravitic force. It felt like something was exploring her, mapping the contours of her skin and bones and blood like a curious cartographer, albeit one with an unsubtle touch.
The object itself began to change shape as her power gave it form, thickening and extending outwards until it was slightly taller than she was, and just slender enough to wrap her hand around such that her middle finger could just touch her thumb around the other side.
The haft of the staff was silver-white, the curious substance she believed was commonly called ironbark. The focus crystal at the top was deep blue, carved in the shape of a half-opened flower, and the blade affixed to the other end was straight, with a hint of the same blue. The wood was elaborately carved in lovely geometric patterns, also stained a deep indigo color, to match the leather cord wrapped tightly around where one would grip it.
âWhat on earth?â
Ithilian was nearest at hand, and so he offered Nostariel an arm up, allowing her to pull herself back to her feet. If Nostariel had no idea what she held, he certainly couldn't guess at its capabilities, but he could comment on its appearance. He eyed the thing in her hand for a moment, pointing out at the carvings in the staff, though he did not touch them, out of wariness for what the piece of equipment might do.
"The carvings look Dalish," he speculated. "They are Dirthamen Secret-Keeper's, most likely. The haft is ironbark. I... can't say where it might be from, though. Never knew any Dalish smith who could make something like this." Emerion might have been able to say more, but then again, everything about this place seemed like a well-kept secret, even from those who were supposed to know about it, like the Wardens.
âWherever itâs from, I suspect it is going to get us to Corypheus.â Nostariel supposed Stroud was probably right about that, and nodded at him, indicating that he was free to lead the way onwards. He didnât know the place any better than the rest of them did, but if he was in front, they should have a little more warning if any Darkspawn showed up. She would stick to the rear for the same reason.
There was really only one direction to keep going, and that was mostly down. The group descended still further into the chasm, or what she supposed must be the chasm, since the hideout was built into the cliff-face somehow. When next they emerged into daylight, it was more gloomy than anything, a sort of damp-looking grey that was permeated with a translucent mist, heavy on the senses and sound alike. The prison tower, once viewed from level to the top, now loomed over them, a bridge between the structure and the veranda of sorts they now occupied visible several hundred feet ahead. It was blocked from them by another bridge, one which went from where they were to what looked like another antechamber, though whether that one would put them closer to the tower proper was hard to tell.
It was not a pleasant-looking structure, and one could almost smell the taint here, kept pressed down by that fog. Old Grey Warden standards hung from the outside, the only markers of the structureâs most recent ownership.
âNostariel.â Stroud drew her attention with his voice, then redirected it, pointing towards the bridge. It was hard to see exactly what was there, save that many humanoid figures were crossing at a rapid pace, their gaits irregular, their flesh pale and dull. They agitated the measure of taint within her own blood, pulling at the base of her stomach in the same way a bad flagon of rotgut did. Darkspawn.
Seeing as how she was already holding it, Nostariel readied the staff, feeling it respond to her magic instantaneously. Stroud glanced between the party and the Darkspawn approaching, then started forward. There was little point in waiting for them to charge in with all the momentum, after all.
"Wait," Ashton advised Stroud as he reached into his quiver.
Flipping through the nocks of his arrows, he stopped on the one that felt distinctly different from the rank and file. He drew the speciality arrow that exploded in an intense flash on impact and nocked it against the bowstring. "I suggest everyone look away!"' he warned as he drew back. Ashton aimed along the arrow and let loose, closing his own eyes the moment after. The arrow raced through the air but dipped low, striking the ground in front of the darkspawn and erupting in loud bang accompanied by a blindingly bright flash.
Ashton opened his eyes to see the front line of the darkspawn trip and stumble over themselves in a bout of disorientation. "Now you can wade in Ser Warden," Ashton said to Stroud, drawing a mundane arrow this time.
Stroud looked mildly irritated at the last-minute nature of the interruption, but said nothing further on the subject, waiting until the worst of the flash part of the flash-bang had faded before he moved in to take advantage of the fact that the Darkspawn hadnât gotten any warning at all, even a late one. His sword sliced a broad horizontal arc across the chest of the first, before he kicked it off the side of the bridge and into the ravine below. In style, his early training as a chevalier was obvious, sharing a certain number of features with the way Lucien handled combat, with a few modifications gained by many years of fighting Darkspawn more often than men.
He was efficiently through three more of them before Nostariel got the hang of the new staff, channeling her magic through it and adding fireballs to the back ranks of the charging creatures. Ice was well enough, but where Darkspawn were involved, fire was best.
Ithilian could only add small amounts of fire to the attack, but he did so gladly, cutting into the chest of a hurlock with Parshaara and watching a burst of fire come forth. The elf followed in Stroud's wake, backing up the warrior's charge with quickly-slicing blades, making short work of the ones not immediately cut down by the Grey Warden, pierced by arrows, or burned to a crisp by the fireballs flying overhead. He didn't make the most painful strikes possible, as he had once in the Deep Roads, instead going about the work much more grimly. It was what this venture had turned into at this point. Work.
But at the very least, it was a certain type of work, one that Lucien and Amalia had both been learning how to do since before they could properly know whether they even cared to. One of a surprising number of commonalities between them, perhaps. Lucien chose once more to plant himself in the front with Stroud, forming what was essentially a two person wall, behind which Ashton and Nostariel could pick their targets without fear of harm and in front of which Ithilian and Amalia could range and retreat like the tide, striking quickly with the force of waves and then fading back again, to let the darkspawn dash themselves on the stones for a while.
It proved quite effective, and while the majority of the party chose to wound them with weapons, Amalia refrained, using only her hands and feet to handle her foes, as this was less likely to make them bleed, and therefore less likely to contract her the Taint, as she understood it. Fortunately, there was another advantage as wellâthe bridge itself. If she focused on stagger-blows and joint-locks and throws, she could pitch more than half her opponents over the side of it and into the depths below, saving her the effort of needing to kill them with the force of some blow or another. She tread the edge like a cat, tempting her opponents into trying the same, the easy victory of knocking her to her death. But Amalia could balance on something as thin and tenuous as a wire, and darkspawn clearly had not half the grace required. It proved an efficient method of thinning their numbers.
They were ruthlessly efficient and Ashton couldn't help but feel a little impressed, lined with a hint of pride, with how quickly they cleaned up the tainted mess. One last arrow down field saw the last of the darkspawn defeated and Ashton finally lowered his bow. "Well... I'll be honest, if my guards were anywhere near as good as us, I'd have the city cleaned up within the month. The gangs wouldn't know what hit them," Ashton said, laughing. Nocking one more arrow just in case Ashton carefully began to creep forward to make sure that they were all, indeed, dead.
They did in fact, all appear dead, but Nostariel did not share in the grim pride for the effectiveness. The simple fact of the matter was, where there were a few darkspawn, there were bound to be many more, and something about their presence here felt⌠more cloying than usual, thicker, pressing down on her awareness like damp cloth. Still, she spared a small smile for Ashton, shaking her head a bit before she filed in behind Stroud, who had not sheathed his weapon, but carried it in a more relaxed fashion, doubtless because he, like she, no longer sensed any darkspawn in the immediate proximity.
More disconcerting was what she could sense from the antechamber. âMagic.â She murmured the word, stepping out and around Stroud to lead the way, the staff in her hand thrumming softly, but perceptibly, in reaction to something within. If something bad was about to happen because of it, she wanted the others to be behind her, not between herself and whatever it would be.
The room they entered had a cracked stone floor, the tiles perhaps originally red, and a large Grey Warden crest on the wall facing them as they made their way inside. A red circle about the size of Nostarielâs spread hand glowed in the middle of the crest, and when she turned her head to the left, she could see another crest, with the same glowing red circle. More peculiar still was that, at the end of the room, there was what appeared to be some kind of magical barrier, a swirling, pearlescent amber in hue, with two identical glowing circles sitting next to each other at its center.
It was no magic she had ever seen before, to be sure. The chamber was wholly empty, but still she approached cautiously, her boots kicking up small puffs of dust wherever they landed. When she came within about six feet of the barrier, the staff in her hand hummed at a different pitch, higher and faster, like the wing of a hummingbird, and it grew warmer to the touch, the blue designs lining the wood brightening. To her left, she felt a disturbance in the Fade, and took several steps back as something began to materialize, running right backwards into Stroud, who steadied her with a hand to the shoulder.
The figure that began to coalesce was blue, but its form was yet indistinct. Clearer than its appearance was its voice, which spoke into their silence, pleasantly high-pitched and sibilant. ââŚbe bound here for eternity, hunger sated, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Creators, so let it beâŚâ The voice faded just as quickly as it had risen, and the blue mist of which the figure was comprised dissipated.
Nostariel reached out as if to grasp it, but of course she could not get a grip on something like smoke, and it eluded her fingers. It wasnât merely smoke, though. âIâm not sure if itâs a dream or a memory.â She spoke more to herself than her companions, puzzled by this phenomenon she had neither seen nor read about before.
âWe may have other problems.â That was Stroud, and when she turned back around to face him, he was staring past the barrier, into the small chamber it sealed off. Following his eyes, Nostariel was able to make out what he was looking atâa Shade, from the look of it. It stared back, or so it seemed.
âA demon? Here? For what purpose?â It made little sense to keep a demon contained rather than simply killing it, and in a Grey Warden fortress of all places. It seems quite unlikely that this was the Cartaâs doing, but then⌠âHow long has it been here?â
âDoes it matter? It should not be.â
Ithilian was making a clear effort not to touch anything he wasn't supposed to. This place had more than its fair share of magical occurrences and items, and these were things he knew nothing about. The Wardens were not restricted in the same ways other mages, and other organizations were, in the use of their magic, and he knew it was not unheard of for them to take drastic measures if required against the darkspawn. This whole place seemed odd, however, and the caged demon was just another instance of that. That, and there weren't actually any Wardens here so far.
"Kill it, or leave it?" It was behind the barrier still, but he figured it wouldn't be too difficult to dismantle, and there was a chance it was somehow linked to that vision, and the woman's voice they'd heard moments earlier.
Nostariel sighed through her nose. âLeaving it here like this hardly seems a wise idea. The darkspawn might figure out how to free it, and then thatâs one more demon wandering around outside the Fade.â Certainly not ideal. She didnât even know how long it had been here, but it certainly seemed a while. It wasnât like demons required sustenance, after all.
Of course, this meant they had to find a way to break down the barrier. After checking to make sure sufficient force definitely wasnât going to do the trick, the group backtracked across the room, and Stroud nodded at one of the sigils. âThere are marks like this on the barrier, as well.â That was certainly as good a hint as any, but if it was that easy, she didnât understand why the darkspawn or the Carta hadnât done it already. Tilting her head to the side, Nostariel approached the first sigil, examining the glowing red circle and then passing the staff by it. Nothing.
Perhaps a more direct application of magic? Reaching out with her free hand, she laid her palm down on the symbol, only to draw it back again sharply. âOuch!â Some exposed bit of metal or something had sliced into the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger. Muttering a few terse words under her breath, she healed the cut.
âNostariel.â Stroudâs voice drew her back to the sigil, where the red circle had disappeared. A glance back down the room confirmed that one of them was now missing from the barrier as well. Was it really that simple? All she had to do was touch it?
âThatâs peculiar.â Even bespelled objects generally required a bit of active magic to dispel, not a mere touch from a mage. The darkspawn definitely should have been able to do that. Nevertheless, she crossed to the next red circle. âMaybe get ready, just in case this one takes the barrier down?â She waited until everyone had arranged themselves however they wanted, then touched the second circle⌠and nothing happened.
Furrowing her brow, Nostariel passed her hand over and through it several more times, and even tried applying her magic. Still nothing. But why�
Ashton's bow was still pointing toward the barrier and had been ever since the demon on the other side made itself present. It was proving stubborn however, as no matter what Nostariel did, the thing didn't go down completely. He glanced repeatedly from her to the barrier, watching her attempt to dispel it and keeping an eye on it as well. When it was clear that waving her hand over the next symbol he finally let the bowstring slacken, taking a few steps toward the sigil.
He inspected the first one, the one that Nostariel had been able to dispel and noted that there was a speckle of something red on it. Letting go of the bowstring, Ashton tentatively touched the wet spot and looked at it, noting that it was her blood. His eyes closed and her wordlessly swore with his mouth, the revelation what humor he had out of him. Turning toward Nostariel, he showed her the blood on his fingers and shook his head. "Blood magic?" He asked, but he already knew the answer.
"It's always blood magic."
Nostarielâs lips parted, and she looked at the smear on Ashâs fingertips with a burgeoning sense of dread. Blood magic⌠sheâd met maybe one or two mages in her entire life who could do it without falling prey to demons or some other form of corruption. She certainly didnât know any, but it seemed like in this case, all that was required was her physical bloodâthe mage part seemed irrelevant. That it was someone elseâs blood magic didnât make her feel better, particularly, and in fact it only increased her anxiety. She might have been able to trust her own intentions even with a weapon like that, but the intentions of someone she knew not at all?
She swallowed, glancing to Stroud, but he offered no counsel, remaining still, his arms crossed and clearly expectant that the others would deal with the demon behind the barrier just fine by themselves. She didnât disagree, but she wished he would make the choice for herâa childish desire, perhaps.
Sighing, the younger Warden allowed her eyes to slip closed, shaking her head faintly. Eradicating that demon was the right thing to do. It did not belong in this world, and it would pose a major danger to untrained people if it were ever freed. âCan I borrow a knife, then?â Ash, ever prepared, was able to produce one from his boot, and she slid it out of its sheath, which she tucked into her belt near the small of her back. Lighting a diminutive fire in her palm, she sterilized the blade as well as she could, then let it cool, having no desire for burns to go with her cuts.
She regarded her arm for a moment, trying to pick a spot less likely to cause much damage if she cut too deeply. She was a healer, not a surgeon, and not used to paying much attention to this sort of thing. In the end, she picked a spot on the inside of her forearm, making a nick and watching her blood well up to the surface of her fair skin. It ran down her forearm to her hand, and she smeared some of it across the sigil. The red circle reacted, brightening for a moment before it vanished, freeing the demon inside the cage, which immediately went on the attack.
It was little match for so many impeccably-trained and well-practiced combatants, and fell within a matter of moments. Curiously, as soon as it died, the blue apparition seemed to reform itself, and she had the sense that its head was turned towards the spot the shade had lain. âI can do nothing about the Wardensâ use of demons in this horrid place.â It spoke with the same feminine voice as before. âBut I will have no one say any magic of mine ever released one into the world.â The cloud moved, as though the person represented within it were taking her leave, moving deeper into the complex.
It seemed, somehow, that they were meant to follow.