Post #2609713 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

Seeing as how the group wasn’t in the best shape to move anyway, they elected to pass the night—or whatever time it was outside—at their makeshift campsite. Lucien, Ithilian, and Amalia set up a watch schedule, deciding that it was probably best to leave the Wardens off it, just in case their minds were interfered with again, though they didn’t explicitly say that. The whole thing seemed to sit ill with Stroud, who sank into contemplative silence, sleeping only intermittently throughout the period. He did not give protest to the idea, however.

Nostariel spent the first portion of the night working to heal Ashton’s wound. It wasn’t especially difficult to do—she’d healed much worse wounds before. That said, she never recalled having so much trouble detaching herself from the process. The reasons why were obvious enough, and it seemed that not even a healer’s trained professional impartiality could overcome them. Still, she closed the injury, and because she had the time, she did much of the deep tissue work as well. At the very least, it should not cause any more pain unless he was directly hit in the same spot, nor impede his motion any, but it would scar, right in the center of his chest. She didn’t dare sleep, but spent most of the rest of her time dozing lightly, upright against the wall they’d wisely put to their backs.

When everyone was as rested as they were going to be and able to move about freely, they broke the camp and continued onwards, even grimmer than they had been to start the whole thing. Nostariel had to admit that she was distracted, her thoughts taking troubling turns, seemingly caught in the same circles and eddies of motion. Repeating, refining, and knotting somewhere behind her heart. She wore what seemed a permanent frown, the relative silence of the group only serving to facilitate her blossoming disquiet. Her treads felt heavy, and she leaned heavily on the staff in her hand, leading the group at a rather brisk clip.

It took about two hours to reach the end of this particular stretch of the Deep Roads, and the stairs before them indicated that it was finally time for them to begin heading upwards again. No sooner had she placed a foot on the bottommost stair, though, than Larius appeared again. She looked at him with something approaching suspicion—he had not warned them of what could happen down here, and had it gone even a little worse, she might have been disinclined to hear him at all. As it was, she held fast to her patience as well as she could, reminding herself that it wasn’t his fault.

The ground shook slightly underfoot, and Nostariel removed her leg from the stair, steadying herself on both as the rocking intensified for a few seconds, then faded to nothing again. “He feels the seals weaken. He knows you are close. You must be ready…” Larius’s lurching gait seemed oddly unaffected by the tremors, though he stiffened immediately upon coming to a halt, his head snapping back to look behind him.

“What’s that? Who? No, no… they’re here.”

Nostariel barely resisted the urge to snap her next words. “More complications? Who are they? Have we not finished with the Carta?” Because if it were someone else, she was probably going to hit something. She’d had more than enough of this place already.

But of course, fortune laughed at her petty frustrations. “No. Worse. More treacherous. More dangerous. Wardens—Wardens who listen to Corypheus. Wardens who want to bring him the light.” His eyes darted between herself and Stroud, and Nostariel summoned the strength to turn around.

“Jean-Marc? I thought this place was supposed to be abandoned.”

“It is.” He pursed his lips, a displeased frown taking up residence on his face. “But if this place can affect us in such a way, is it really so difficult to believe that it has affected others? Perhaps others without companions to help them.”

No, that wasn’t unbelievable at all, unfortunately. For a moment, she wondered if Larius had been affected in such a way. Was it what had broken his mind, or was that just the natural course of the Taint? She almost felt her thoughts slip into one of those eddies again, and forcibly wrenched them away. They didn’t really have any choice but to trust him, and he seemed more lucid than she remembered being, at least. Would these other Wardens be the same?

“Stop them. You must stop them.” Larius seemed unusually direct about this, but Nostariel wasn’t so sure. She wanted to know what was really going on before she decided to do anything as extreme as harming her fellow Wardens. Larius disappeared again, and Nostariel sighed through her nose, feeling a headache coming on. Turning to her companions, she smiled thinly.

“I don’t expect we’ll be able to continue without running into these other Wardens. Please be careful.” She doubted she needed to say it, but it made her feel a little better to do so, anyway. Making her way up the stairs, she led the group for about another five minutes of empty tunnels before they came across another bridge. Walking in the opposite direction, towards them, were what could only have been the Wardens in question. There was a woman in front, her hair bound up in a reddish-brown bun, the staff at her back indicating that she was a mage. From her armor, she was ranked similarly to Nostariel. With her were a man in heavy armor, another with a pair of long knives, and an archer.

They hadn’t been noticed quite yet, and could make out a fragment of the conversation. The woman was speaking. “Something’s happening. The prison’s breaking down. But it’s stood up to tunneling before. What can—” She paused as she looked up, catching sight of the group. She froze in place for a moment, her gaze immediately captured by Nostariel’s staff. “You! You have the key! And you’ve come through the seals! But how?”

Nostariel was opening her mouth to explain herself, but this was apparently unnecessary, because the woman just kept right on talking. “Are you the one? The child of Enelya? You must be. The Carta said they were close. I am Janeka. I lead this unit of Grey Wardens.”

“You sent the Carta after me? They tried to kidnap me!” Nostariel’s frustration bled into her tone. “They tried to kill Commander Stroud!” She gestured to the man behind her, whose eyes were narrowed thoughtfully.

Janeka shook her head. “They were only told to bring you here, and keep anyone else away for their own safety. The methods they chose were their own.” Nostariel ground her teeth, recalling the overturned caravan and dead tradesmen they’d seen on their way in. The methods in question were hardly excusable.

Oblivious to her rising temper, Janeka continued. “We need your help, Captain. I have done extensive research on the darkspawn your mother helped to seal here. His name is Corypheus. I believe that the original Wardens who imprisoned him here were wrong. He isn’t a threat to humanity—he’s our greatest opportunity. A darkspawn who can talk, feel, reason…”

“Corypheus cares nothing for Blights! He used you.” Larius appeared from somewhere to the left, glaring at Janeka, and Nostariel felt the pressure behind her temples increase again.

“Don’t listen to this… creature. He’s half darkspawn himself!” Janeka’s reply was immediate, but a couple of the men behind her looked less comfortable with her words. “I know how to harness Corypheus, use his magic to end the Blights.”

“No. The Wardens knew. Corypheus is too powerful. He calls her, and she listens! She brought him the Carta, sent them for you!” It was honestly hard to tell if they were arguing with each other or trying to convince her. Probably it was both.

“You must help us. He is no mindless monster. This search for the Old Gods comes at a terrible cost to his people.” Janeka crossed her arms over her chest.

“He tricked you. Those are not your thoughts, they are his Calling.”

“How many of them died in Ferelden alone? And that was the least of the Blights! Do not think me a fool. I have a spell which can control Corypheus, bind him to my will. He will be a new, important weapon in the war on the Blights. No more, no less.”

“You—”

“Enough!” Nostariel slammed the bottom end of her staff against the ground, the noise loud in the cavernous space they occupied. That got their attention—or perhaps it was the perceptible chill in the air. Frowning, she contained her magic, and the air slowly warmed again.

Under ordinary circumstances, she would not have dreamed of shouting at fellow officers in such a way, but this was becoming absurd. “Janeka, I have no idea whether Corypheus has influenced your mind or not, but he has influenced mine, and there is no way I am allowing a creature capable of something like that to go free. It is arrogance and folly to believe that one spell could contain a darkspawn of that kind of strength. Letting it loose could cause something just as bad as the next Blight.” To be fair, she wasn’t entirely sure Corypheus had been that presence in her mind, but it was the only logical guess. No normal Darkspawn could do that, and no mage she’d ever met was capable of such full control. Perhaps a demon could do something similar, but she’d invited none into her head, and they couldn’t possess someone who didn’t agree to it.

Janeka scowled. “We will find a way to do this with or without you, Captain. This prison will be broken. The Blight will end.” She backed up several paces, reaching for her stave. Nostariel reacted as quickly as she could, throwing up an arcane shield over her friends, but rather than attack directly, Janeka blocked their path with fire, retreating up the nearby stairs, her underlings in tow.

“With me! We will beat them to the seal!” Larius gestured frantically, starting to shuffle at full speed towards a side passageway.

The passage proved to be a great deal narrower than the ones they’d used previously, obviously not one built by the dwarves originally. Perhaps it had been carved out over time by the darkspawn. Whatever the case, Lucien actually had to hunch slightly to make sure he didn’t hit any dips in the ceiling with his head, and they were forced to run in single fire, more or less, Larius leading them at a brisk clip for someone who shuffled rather than walking. It was hard to see, and the easiest way to mark the pace of the person in front of him was by the sound of their footfalls, rather than trying to figure out how close their silhouette was by sight. Then again, he still didn’t always have fantastic depth perception, considering the fact that one of his eyes was bad.

The tunnel eventually sloped upwards, and Lucien nearly tripped up the first of what turned out to be a set of crudely-hewn stairs. “Watch your step,” he warned those behind him, and focused on what was in front of him, Nostariel’s form now limned by the light coming in from the tunnel’s exit. They burst into a well-lit chamber, still nearly sprinting, and Larius turned sharply to the left. There were more stairs, these ones clearly delineated, and then they saw it—the last of the seals.

Unfortunately, Ashton didn't have much grace remaining in his body. He brought up the rear and even with Lucien's advanced warning, Ashton struck the first step hard and fell to his knees on the second. He hissed aloud in pain but quickly stood back up and began to ascend the stairs. He was still sore, and healing could only do so much without rest. It was the least he could do to keep on his feet and keep moving forward. That much could be seen by his lagging gait and the fact that he straggled behind everyone else. Still, every fiber in his body hoped they would be done soon.

The next corner came with a little more warning, and he was able to make this one without missing it. At the first step, he drew the bowstring taut, but kept the arrow pointed down, following up behind the others as they ascended the stairs.

The chamber they had emerged into was more open than the others—they appeared to be at the top of the tower they had seen going in. There wasn’t much in the way of walls, merely arched support beams holding up the vaulted ceiling overhead. In the very center of the circular room sat a seal, shaped roughly like the other two had been, but larger, and this one glowed with an ethereal golden light. Nostariel could feel something from it, and a chill crept up her spine. Whatever they were keeping here—whatever this Corypheus really was—it was mighty.

“You’re too late, Larius.” Janeka and her three soldiers appeared from the other side of the room, advancing towards the party. As of yet, no weapons were drawn, though Nostariel’s grip was tight on her own. “Hand over the captain, and I’ll give you a quick death.”

“She has made her choice—the right one.” Larius’s speech was for the moment, at least, exceptionally clear, though Nostariel was not especially fond of being spoken for.

“The right choice, or the only choice?” Janeka’s smile was wicked, the look in her eye something like a cat wore when it knew it had cornered a mouse, and intended to toy with it. “Enelya was not allowed to disagree.”

Larius, in turn, was a dog with his hackles raised. “It is the past. It doesn’t matter now!”

But Nostariel wasn’t having that. She was just about done with these people holding important information over her head. “Larius, what is she talking about?” Her tone was careful, circumspect, but there was no mistaking the fact that she wasn’t about to do anything else either of them asked until she received an answer.

Larius looked over at her, and then down, shaking his head. When he spoke, his speech was halting again. “Enelya was… reluctant. She had to be persuaded to help us. I was Warden-Commander. It was my duty. I delivered an ultimatum. Help us, or you’ll never see him again.”

“You were going to… what? Kill my father?”

Larius looked at her sharply. “No! There was no need for that. Garrahel was a Warden. Wardens… go where they are commanded. I had the authority to send him places she could not follow. And I told her… that if she helped, he would be freed of his obligations to us. Free to help her raise his child.”

Nostariel absorbed that in silence. The trouble was, she knew well that the Wardens could do something like that. And… she knew that some of them would, if that was what they thought it would take to get what they believed themselves to need. The mandate to fight the Darkspawn always came first, and they were allowed a good deal of liberty in its interpretation. Enough, certainly, to tear apart a family to ensure that this was done.

“You see? How can you trust anything Larius says?” Janeka’s smugness indicated that she believed she had just delivered the master stroke.

Nostariel didn’t see it that way. “What he did or would have done to my parents doesn’t have any bearing on how dangerous Corypheus is or is not.” In fact, more than anything, it seemed to confirm that he really believed that this Darkspawn needed to be kept from freedom at any cost. Even costs that she was clearly expected to see as too much.

“I will not help you, Janeka.”

Janeka scowled. “You can come willingly or not, Captain. I just need your blood.” As one, she and her unit drew their weapons. Janeka’s first blast of magic was sent right for Nostariel and Larius, and while she ducked out of the way in time, he was too slow, and the force of it picked him up and dashed him against the ground. He did not move thereafter.

Nostariel grit her teeth and sent a barrage of ice at the archer on Janeka’s left, who rolled to get out of the way, but was unable to loose the shot he’d been about to send in Stroud’s direction. The Warden-Commander rushed the most heavily-armored of the lot, his shield meeting the silver-haired man’s chestplate with a clang.

Behind the rest of his team, Ashton braced himself against the far wall staying as far out of the fight as possible. In his current condition, he'd just be a liability if he got too close. "I hate this," Ashton muttered in monotone under his breath. "I hate her,"[color] He said, sighting in on Janeka. Before he let the arrow fly he paused and cursed again. Off to the side where Stroud was engaged with his foe, the rogue of their group approached from his blind spot. [color=#347C2C]"I hate him," he muttered, adjusting his aim and letting the arrow fly.

His aim was off, but not by much. He miscalculated the drop, and instead of striking the man in the upper back hit somewhere in the lower back, near the kidneys. It still dropped the rogue, and the next arrow slamming into his spine ceased any more movement. "I hate the Deep Roads. I hate these people. This is the last time I'm leaving Kirkwall," Ashton continued to rattle off as he planted a third into the rogue for good measure.

Ithilian's weapons had been drawn for some time, and he was ready to jump into action when it became clear that he had permission to kill these people. Janeka appeared to be the one not already occupied with one of his allies, so Ithilian rushed her before she could fire off another magical blast. Her staff lunged for him, the tip crackling with an arcane energy, but he ducked under and slashed it up and away with his blade, sending the spell into the ceiling above them, showering the area with miniscule bits of stone.

Without hesitating he drove Parshaara down into Janeka's chest, only barely missing her heart due to a swift contortion of her torso. She groaned when the blade sank in, then cried out when the enchantment sparked to life, searing her flesh and threatening to ignite her entirely. Ithilian drove her back several steps before she reached a pair of fingers to her temple. A blast of magic exploded from her mind, knocking everything back away from her, friend and foe alike. Ithilian was thrown onto his back several feet away, his dagger pulled forcefully from Janeka's chest, leaving a bleeding wound behind.

Nostariel followed with several blasts of ice, hitting Janeka repeatedly. She had been far enough away to avoid the telekinetic hit, and so her strikes were aimed well and struck true, the last one at speed and positioning adequate to snap her head back too far, breaking her neck. Janeka fell, but her companions were still fighting. She hissed when the time it took her gave the archer she’d been initially engaged with time enough to recover and loose an arrow in her direction. It skimmed her arm, clattering to the stone ground behind her.

Stroud, still engaged with the warrior, found an opening, and thrust his sword into the left side of the man’s torso, sliding it between the plates with enough force to puncture the lighter armament he was wearing beneath it. The other man’s shield clipped his temple when he couldn’t get his own misshapen one up to block in time, forcing him to take a couple of steps backwards to regain his bearings or risk being hit with something much worse.

Nothing worse materialized, however, because Amalia slid into place between Stroud and his foe, deftly escaping the backswing of the shield and planting a knife where Stroud’s sword had gone. The difference was that she had enough time to make it worse, and she tore it brutally to one side, opening up a no-doubt fatal wound where only a serious one had existed before. After that, it was only a matter of keeping her foe busy until the blood loss crippled him and he fell, allowing her to finish him off cleanly.

Across the way, Lucien was dealing with the archer, hacking through the man’s bow and following it with a straightforward decapitation, grimacing as the Warden’s head rolled a few feet after landing. “I don’t feel good about this,” he murmured, shaking his own. It was a statement more to himself than anyone else, as he supposed it was obvious that there was little to celebrate here. But he’d been raised to believe that the Wardens were upstanding, or at least necessary. It was more than a little disturbing to learn what some of them had been planning to attempt, especially without a full understanding of everything involved. Still, he had no compunctions about defending his friends, and he trusted Nostariel’s judgement.

Nostariel herself wasn’t nearly as sure that she was doing what she should be, but she knew there was no way they could risk a darkspawn this powerful being anything other than dead. She healed everyone as well as she could, though she was not able to rouse Larius from unconsciousness. They moved him off to the side, hopefully far enough away from whatever would follow for his safety. He’d been the harbinger of a great amount of strain, but she recognized that it was not his fault.

When that was done, she moved towards the final seal. She could feel whatever was within it—Corypheus, she supposed—and its power, twisted and dark, was enough to make her nauseous. Still, she couldn’t well just leave now—the seals were weakened, and one way or another, this thing was breaking out. If she could control the when, she might just be able to stop it before it did any harm.

Correction: they could stop it. She held no illusions that she would be capable of this by herself, but… with her friends, she felt that she could. Glancing behind her, she confirmed once more that they were all present and ready, and then she drew Ashton’s knife, sliding it across her palm. The magic here was too strong for the key alone, but when her blood hit the seal, she held it out, willing it to work as it had before. Moving from her grip seemingly of its own accord, the key floated to the very center f the seal, something Nostariel took as a signal to back off. Standing perfectly vertically, it floated in place for a few seconds, sucking the surrounding golden light into itself.

A humming sound vibrated the air, growing louder and more urgent very quickly. When it was almost too loud to bear, it suddenly ceased, and there was a half-second delay before the seal broke with an audible bang, throwing a shockwave that knocked them all off their respective feet and to the ground around the seal.

Clambering back to her feet, Nostariel blinked at what was before them. Its form was not unlike other darkspawn, though there was something about it that vaguely recalled abominations as well. The flesh on one side of its face was marred, stretched back unnaturally, almost hooked over what seemed to be red protrusions of some kind of stone or gem fanning out from just in front of where its ear would have been to its temples or so. Its arms were elongated, its fingers even moreso, all ten of them tipped in yellowed claws, and it wore what seemed to be robes of some kind, red in hue and unlike any design she’d encountered before.

“Corypheus?”

Snippet #2609713

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

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