Post #2595377 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

Considering all the damage the party had sustained—burns, breaks and fractures—it took Nostariel a considerable amount of time and several mana restoratives to put everyone back to rights. Undoubtedly, the injuries would still be uncomfortable for some time, but she was able to heal the actual damage and reduce the pain, so all was well enough on that front.

What she was less certain of was what they were really getting themselves into. The trapped Warden had told them that the only way out was in, more or less, but if they had to break these seals to get out, and they were designed to hold creatures like those… she wondered if it might not be better to leave them be. The group together could take care of mutated pride demons, but what of the creature so fearsome as to need more than one of these seals to contain it? Something powerful enough to justify all this secrecy, all these arcane steps to lock away here, where no one was ever supposed to find it. Would they have a chance against something like that?

Rubbing her tingling palms together, Nostariel cut off the remains of the magic flow and smiled at Lucien, the last of her patients for the moment. She was glad she’d been here, or his hands… it was better not to think about it. His gauntlets were still warped, and it looked like Amalia and Ithilian had lost a weapon each to the demons. Stroud’s shield was bent, but would work at least decently for its intended purpose, for now. Looking at all of them setting themselves back to rights, she knew there was no way she and Stroud could have done this alone, and she knew also that the only reason any of them were here was because of her. Because she’d asked them to be. Doubts or not, she couldn’t just give up and resign herself to dying down here because of how fearsome Corypheus might be. If they failed, well… the consequences could be disastrous, but she truly believed that if anyone could succeed, it was they. They were far too important to leave down here, and some of them not just to her or each other or even their remaining companions.

But just as much as she would not give up, she could not charge ahead as blindly as she had been. It was time for a better explanation. Her eyes pinned the old Warden, standing still beside one of the griffon statues, and as she rose, staff in-hand, she spoke. “The first seal, I take it?” She had thought the devices like the ones holding the shade in place were the seals, but these appeared to be something of a far greater magnitude than that.

The man nodded, approaching the party tentatively. “Two thousand years the magic holds. Never broken.” Nostariel felt some of her irritation soften—if they were really that old, he probably wouldn't have had any way to know what was behind them. She certainly hadn’t sensed it, magic or no. “Take it back, into the Key. Absorb all that has come before.”

It was only when he said this that Nostariel noticed the four vertical points on the seal were faintly aglow with violet-hued magic. It would seem the breaking of the seal had left something excess behind. What good letting the staff absorb it would do, she was not sure, but it was probably better than leaving live magic around down here. It wasn’t terribly difficult, really, and for a moment, the light flared gold, before settling, the staff in her hand growing warm for just a moment. “The blood works. It is good.”

Nostariel pursed her lips. That again. Turning to face the man, she tilted her head slightly to the side. “I can’t put my friends in any more danger than I already have without understanding.” She spoke softly, almost as one would to a child, if a clever one. “Please, tell me who you are. Explain what is going on here.”

For a moment, the man seemed confused. “Name… so long since I’ve said my name. La—Larius! I was Larius.” He paused. “There was a title, too… Commander… Commander of the Grey.”

Nostariel blinked, glancing over at Stroud, who shook his head. “I know of no Commander named Larius.”

Larius shook his head. “You would not. I am dead. But I never died.”

“Your Calling.” Paradoxical as the words were on the surface, Nostariel knew exactly what he had to be referring to. His Calling must have come, and so he would have informed the other Wardens, who would record his death in the books. But… it would seem the Darkspawn had not killed him, even down here.

He nodded solemnly, his face twisted down into a frown. “It comes to us all. The voice we cannot resist. Our death.”

Nostariel shifted uncomfortably. “This seal… what does it have to do with my blood? I am a Warden, just as you are. Our blood is much the same, whatever it was before.” The Taint tended to be the salient feature, honestly.

Larius shook his head. “The magic, it calls to the blood. Reads the thoughts of those who hold it. The last to hold it… the witch. Enelya. I… I was there when she laid the seals. Before I became this.” He blinked, slowly, then reached out over the space between himself and Nostariel, brows furrowed, like he was trying to recall something. As delicately as she suspected he was able, he traced two lines from the bridge of her nose over her forehead to her temples. “She had the writing, like this. You favor her, but your eyes are his. Garrahel’s.”

Nostariel’s lips parted, as though she were trying to speak, but no sound came out. He said that so easily, like these were people he had seen yesterday. Like he was so certain that these people, this Enelya and this Garrahel, were of the same blood as she. How often had she wondered, had she begged Sarra to tell her something, anything, even a lie, just so that she could imagine who they had been?

Before her voice found its way back into her throat, she felt something strange, like that pressing dankness of this place flared a little more dominant in her perception, but then it was gone. Larius, however, seemed almost seized by it. “C-Corypheus calls! In the darkness! What waits there?” He turned, his calmer, more rational demeanor gone as soon as it had appeared, and though he seemed not to notice, Nostariel had to swallow several times, reaching up to trace one of the gently-curving lines he’d drawn invisibly on her forehead. It felt like they burned.

“Wait!” Nostariel made a small noise of frustration, then shook her head and started to follow. It seemed that if she wanted any answers, she’d just have to keep trying to navigate their way out of here. At least both ends had the same means, she supposed. The group tailed Larius as he wound halfway around the outside of the tower, and then over another bridge away from it, carrying them down a staircase, as his commentary earlier had indicated they must go. Down, then out.

The path took them past another imprisoned creature, and Nostariel released this one just as she had the last, almost eager to see what the fade would conjure this time. Another glimpse, perhaps—just something. However imperfect. When the abomination was dead, the blue mist materialized and solidified into something, still indistinct, but perhaps clearer than last time. Perhaps she was only imagining it, but she could almost swear she was starting to make out features on the phantasm’s face. A sharp jaw, a nose slightly upturned? It was so hard to say.

“I may not be from one of their Circles, but we have our own ways. My magic will serve what is best in me, not what is most base, so that I might teach you the same. That, I promise you.”

“I don’t…” Nostariel reached out, as though trying to keep the apparition in place, but neither body nor will was enough to do it, and her hand passed right through as the memory faded. Something in her chest felt like it twisted, and the hand she’d lifted curled into a fist. Pressing her lips together, she continued forward. There was no use trying to pull more from these memories than was present. They weren’t even interacting with this world, not really, just echoing over and over.

The lower levels they traversed were filled with Darkspawn, and though by this point it was not difficult work to thresh through them, it frayed on Nostariel’s nerves in a way she could not remember it doing before. Beside her, she could sense Stroud growing similarly agitated, his jaw locked tight and his grip firmer than it needed to be on his sword. Something about the atmosphere here—or maybe it was just the mounting frustration of so many potential answers dangled in front of her face and none given to her. Her hand clenched and unclenched periodically on the staff, and her expression gradually started to harden. She kept the group moving at a swift march, inclined to be through these Maker-forsaken passages.

The third prison contained a Desire Demon, bound for who knew how long, just like the rest, and still they hadn’t come upon another seal. She provided a bit more of a challenge than the Darkspawn, but most of the people in this group were old hands at demonslaying.

When the creature was dead and the mist began to gather again, Nostariel could sense that something was different. It pulled together much more cohesively, and she could firmly make out two figures this time. One of them, clearly feminine, took a few weary steps towards the other, who reached out both of his hands to steady her by the elbows. A small smile curved the woman’s face, and it was indeed obvious, the resemblance between she and her daughter. Their hair was the same color, their faces contoured in much the same manner, but Enelya’s eyes were green rather than blue. The man, who bore vallaslin and a staff as well, wore the armor of the Grey Wardens, his black hair tailed high on his head, strands of it escaping to frame his tanned face. His nose was crooked, like it had been broken one too many times, but there was no mistaking the bittersweet look in his eyes—blue ones.

“I’ve bought our freedom, Garrahel. We can go home now, both of us… and the baby.” One of Enelya’s hands moved to wrap around her torso, her pregnancy obviously quite new. “We’ll be together—you don’t have to go back.”

The ghostly image of Garrahel raised a hand to her face, moving to tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. “They will come for her, eventually. This is not a task that is only done once, Enelya.” He sounded melancholy, burdened with something, but his—lover? Wife? Nostariel didn’t know—shook her head fiercely.

“Not if they can’t find her. We’re done. All three of us. She will not be you, and she will not be me.” She leaned into him, and he propped his chin on her head, supporting her while she caught her breath.

“Then may she never learn what we’ve done here.” He wrapped his arms around her, and both faded from view.

Noastariel couldn’t move. All her life… she’d wondered who they were. Sometimes, she’d thought she didn’t need to know, didn’t want to know, even, for she imagined that they must have abandoned her to the Circle, whomever they were. But… to see them, here, even just in a memory of this place—she had nothing but questions, and it ached just as badly as it had in her very young childhood, when Sarra had possessed no insights to give her, not even the faintest of clues.

Ashton was the first to move. A thin line across his cheek bled from their most recent fight as his plate were beginning to show signs of the gauntlet they were running through, though it did little to drain the life out of his limbs. He took a step forward to stand behind Nostariel. His hand moved toward her shoulder before hesitating. There wasn't much he could think of to say, and even less that he could. Still, he wanted to be there for her, even if it meant just being there. His hand then came to lay tenderly on her shoulder, gently squeezing as his other hand came to find hers.

He simply stood quietly behind her, holding her, gently reminding her that she was not alone.

Nostariel steadied herself, taking in a shaky breath, and squeezed Ashton’s hand briefly before letting go, and turning so that she could face the rest of the group. “I’m sorry, everyone. I… wasn’t expecting this, when we came here. But what matters is getting out, and I haven’t forgotten.” She smiled wanly. “And here I thought nothing could surprise me anymore.” She could still feel… something, pulling at the edges of her thoughts, wearing away at her, but it helped to know that they were near, as dear as they were to her.

Lucien felt, here, that there was something he wanted to say. Or perhaps it was just that he felt he should say something. He recalled days, years ago now but still ready to memory, when Nostariel would talk to him of her troubles, and he remembered also that, when especially deep in her cups, she would offer this buried heartache: that she had no history, no heritage, not even a name. Turtega, at least, had been bestowed upon her by Circle and Chantry, an artifact of what she would become, not what she had been. He could not rightly imagine what it must be like to know her parents only this way, or at last in this way, he couldn’t say which it was.

Perhaps that was why nothing was ready to his tongue, and he could only gently nod his understanding. It was certainly not the best time or place for revelations of this kind, but it was not as though she had chosen to confront this here and now, and he thought she was holding up remarkably well considering the circumstances.

“Let’s keep going, then.”

The portion of the tunnels that followed was mostly empty, but it did lead them to the second of the seals. How many there were in total, Nostariel didn’t know, but she could tell from the way the otherness in the atmosphere increased its pressure that they were getting closer to… something. Corypheus, probably. The demons that appeared from this seal made things difficult by teleporting around the room, but in some senses, it was less bad than all the fire, or at least the injuries afterwards were less, and it didn’t take much longer to withdraw the magic from the seal as before.

Soon afterwards, they caught up with Larius, or rather, he doubled back for them. Fear and anxiety were starting to creep into his expression, something that Nostariel didn’t like. It matched the burgeoning dread in her guts all too well. “He is waking. The magic grows lax. He feels us walk where no step goes.” He shuddered visibly. “He calls, like an Old God, mimics their cries. He calls them to free him. The dark children and the light, any with the taint in their blood.”

Nostariel met eyes with Stroud, the latter scowling. When he spoke, his words were terse, almost as if he had to force them out through gritted teeth. “Just what is Corypheus, if not an Old God? Not an Archdemon?” That had been the possibility that most concerned Nostariel as well. This level of control over darkspawn and the tainted… to send people after Stroud’s retreat, after her, while behind some kind of seal? She’d never heard of anything capable of such a feat.

“More than darkspawn. More than human. He thinks. He speaks. He pierces the veil. He is waking, and he must die.” Larius seemed to be growing more and more anxious, his hands in constant motion.

“Larius, what’s wrong?” Nostariel had the uncomfortable feeling that the knew, because she was starting to feel it as well.

“I know the darkness before the seals. Here, the voice is too strong. I cannot stay!” This time, when he went to retreat, she did not try to stop him.

Their grim march took them down further, and this time, the passages opened up into what looked to be a section of almost undisturbed deep roads. Building structures from ages long past dotted the otherwise largely featureless stone around them, and a strong scent of sulfur assailed their senses, justified by the yellow-green pits that belched languorous smoke at periodic intervals. Crossing the threshold into the area felt, to Nostariel, something like hitting a brick wall at a dead sprint, the pressure in her head increasing to the level of a migraine. She staggered backwards several steps, but righted herself before she hit the ground. Beside her, Stroud’s breathing had become heavy and audible, as though he too were in pain.

Ashton reached out to steady Nostariel, an arrow already on the string of the bow on his other hand. "One more fight, and then we can be done with this damned place," Ashton said. All the humor in the man was dried up, leaving nothing but stern faced seriousness. "Let's do it fast, yeah?" he said, throwing a glance at the rest of the group.

Amalia wasn’t sure where Ashton was getting his figures from, as it seemed quite indeterminate to her how many fights they would face before they were done. Certainly, the coming confrontation with this Corypheus seemed inevitable, but they were in the Deep Roads—one did not have to be a Warden to know that Darkspawn were everywhere.

“We should consider making camp soon,” she offered. It was not preferable to rest here, but it was difficult to tell how much more they had to do before they found Corypheus, and it seemed better to rest before all the seals were undone. There was no sun or star to tell her what time of day it was, but Amalia’s internal clock seemed to be informing her that the hour grew late, and they had been fighting for most of the day. It was beginning to wear, even on them. Her arm twinged uncomfortably; she flexed her grip and resolved to ignore it.

Snippet #2595377

located in Kirkwall, a part of The City of Chains, one of the many universes on RPG.

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