[IC] [Rare] Dragon Age: Downfall [El Taco Taco]

[Rare]

We knew sooner or later that the Circle of Magi would of rebel against the Templar Order and the Chantry, but not this soon. Grand Cleric Elthina is dead and her Chantry is destroyed by the mages. Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino both dead by the hands of the Champion. I heard around the market area that it was caused by the healer down in Lowtown, Andes, and that he's dead by the hands of Ethan Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. It seems a bit ironic since Hawke is a mage like Andres, but unlike the other mages that I have heard. He believed that mages should stay in the Circle to train and handle their magic better. Sadly, Hawke is missing, just like the Hero of Ferelden, Stephen Amell. At a time that we needed them the most, they just disappear like that. Their companions broke apart as soon as their leaders disappeared, but they are still trying to help out on both sides of the Mage-Templar War. It has been almost three weeks since the Kirkwall Rebellion started and the news of the Champion's disappearances darkens the hope of ending the Mage-Templar War before it spreads. But, it is too late from that. Maker help us in the upcoming months...

Marching on the dirt road as the men and women of the Templar Order were marching from hours and hours. Another Right of Annulment was requested by the Knight-Commander of the Ostwick Circle nearby Kirkwall. The Commander, along with other templars, were trapped in the fist floor of the lobby. The main door was barred shut, because the door was the only thing to hold back the mages for escaping. Now that they rebel against the Order, they would give their lives in order to break that door. The marching began to stop as they heard a strong explosion sound coming near the Circle. Something had happened and it sounded bad. Now, the marching stopped as one person shouted, "GET TO THE TOWER QUICKLY.". It was time to run from the tower and with amour on, it was hard to run in. The ones with the amour on usually have a sword and a shield with them or just a long sword. The one without the swords and shields were carrying bows, they were the skilled archers from different parts of Thedas (mostly the southern part of it). The brave warriors, running towards the tower, were near the doors of Ostwick. As the doors to Ostwick opened, a group of templars came out of the towers as they were thankful that help came. "Where is the Knight-Corporal of this group?" said one of the templars from the tower. The question was shortly answer as he ran towards them and said, "Right here.". He stopped to catch his breath as looked at the others as he said, "Where is the Knight-Commander?". "He's inside, making such that the door doesn't break and keep the men for shitting themselves." said the templar, with a grinned on his face. The Corporal looked onto him and quietly laughed as he said with a foreign voice, "Thanks for telling me that.". He wasn't from the Free Marches, clearly from the voice, he was from Ferelden. He joined the Templar Order at the age of sixteen and he fought in the Battle of Denerim at the age of twenty-eight. The man marched inside as he saw the Knight-Commander, talking to a mage; but, they weren't happy to see each other. They were sitting, the mage was tied up and watched from any sigh that 'it' was going to use magic. He stool up and slapped the mage in the face, as 'it' fell onto the ground. The Commander sighed as he said, "I didn't want to do that, but you made me do it.". "I got to talk to someone." said the Commander, "Why don't you be a good mage and stay put.". He left the mage behind as another templar came up to 'it'. The Commander smiled as he said, "Thank the Maker, you're finally here.". “A week of sitting here and waiting until help came.” said the Commander, as he looked at the door and smiled as his hope of retaking Ostwick, “Then you guys come here and now we can retake Ostwick.”. He walked to the outside, where he saw the group that the Corporal came with. “Thank the Maker that the Order is still in one piece. Otherwise, we wouldn't get them.” said the Commander, walking back inside as he and the others heard another strong explosion. It shook up the room a bit, but there wasn't any harm. The Corporal questioned the explosion as he said to the Commander, “Commander, what do you think they are doing up there?”. “Who knows what they are doing up there.” said the Commander, looking at the door, “Let's hope that they aren't planning to get us anytime soon.".

[El Taco Taco]

She had come to help and they had shoved her face in the dirt and bound her in chains. In retrospect, she had been naïve. But the Tower had become a nightmare and she had been desperate for help. Twenty years she had lived in the Circle, and for twenty years she had believed the lie that the Templars were there to protect them. She had trusted their judgment when she helped drew blood for phylacteries. When her young apprentices expressed distaste for their watchers, she had urged understanding of their situation. Magic exists to serve man and never to rule him, she had sung, using both the Chant and cleverness to teach the children she’d once thought so misguided.

Kneeling in the dirt, with the Knight Commander’s contempt ringing in her pointed ears, Senior Enchanter Zayra Melthene decided that her young wards had been in the right. They had kept arrows trained on her breast and drained her magic the instant she had slipped into the courtyard, ignored every plea that fell from her lips. There were children—children—who could barely conjure sparks and breezes, in the broken tower. Children who were of no use to the First Enchanter but as beating hearts and veins to tap. She had believed, where no others had, that the Templars could not be so callous. She had known many of their number since she had been a child. The Knight Commander himself had once presided over her own Harrowing. He had nearly smiled at her, and praised her force of will. Now he kept her in chains, like a beast.

They had voted for neutrality, all of them except First Enchanter Dmitry Talonhand. Kirkwall had rebelled—so he had decreed that Ostwick would follow. Zayra had been among the first to call him on his madness. They were not so foolish, to declare war on the chantry. Ostwick mages were more careful and their tower was not the Gallows. They were treated well. Abuses were found and punished here. Their Knight Commander, although stern, had been no fanatic.

She had not expected Dmitry to slash his wrist and turn on them. He had been her mentor and she had loved him like a father. Yet he had turned on her when their council refused to submit. He had killed three of their number, three of her family, and enslaved another four. She and Senior Enchanter Uriah had turned and gathered those who loved their Circle, who loved their home, and barricaded themselves in the libraries. She had spent five days subsisting on lyrium potions and stale bread to keep the traitors at bay. They had begged through the door to those who were supposed to shield them, only to find that the Templars had called for the Rite of Annulment.

So Zayra had found another way out of the tower. She was a master of force magic, after all, and there had been a window. Against Uriah’s protests, she had jumped four stories. Instead of finding support, she had been branded a traitor. Her only saving grace had been that the Rite of Annulment had not yet arrived. Saved by their obsessive need for ceremony; it was not mercy.

“We are not all lost,” she pleaded, trying to make the Knight Commander see sense. “Dmitry has gone mad, but we voted against him! We dinnae wan' this, there are children who have done nothin' wrong, please—“

The Knight Commander deigned her words worthy of the back of his armored hand and left her on the ground. Zayra’s eyes swam, her mouth filling with coppery blood. She spat it out, swearing at the tightening of bows and blades. She was not so base as to surrender to the whispers in her head. Twenty years of magic and nine as a girl in the Alienage had taught her to give not an inch to the purrs of demons. She was not a monster. She was not Dmitry, inspired by madness. Kirkwall had started something monstrous. Mages everywhere would die, and for what? What freedom was there in apostasy? Nothing good ever came from blood magic.

The reinforcements they’d spoken of were arriving, it seemed. Zayra tried not to hope. It would be too cruel to hope just before she died. She worked herself back to her knees from the cobbled ground, tossing cropped black hair out of her face. Her arms ached, pinned behind her, hands clamped out of casting position. As if she would ever have turned her magic on them—so many of them had been her friends. Or so she had thought. She’d never spat at them, even as a terrified little girl, the soot covered elf who had every reason to hate the shem in armor.

Zayra had once thought that the Templars had saved her. They had brought her home. No one had beaten her for dropping plates in the Circle. No one had caressed her ears and dragged her to their bed chambers. She'd been given shoes and robes and taught how to read. The boy who had called her knife-ear… Dmitry had once made him apologise and put him to cleaning the privies for a month. Over the years, that boy had become a man and Uriah had become one of her closest friends. Her eyes stung, but she would not weep. Not like this. Not when those she had trusted had turned on her and her family so completely.

The Knight Commander returned with strangers; she had banked on years of living together to make Ostwick’s Templars see reason. She couldn’t hope these reinforcements would show mercy. But she had to try—for the twenty eight children she and Uriah had sheltered in the lower library, she had to fight.

An explosion echoed through the courtyard, dust raining down on their number. A wail of shuddering agony ripped through her throat as her green eyes saw a flare of fire but a level above the library. No. She had left them weakened and if Dmitry’s thralls touched even a single child, she would unleash every hell imaginable.

“Knight Corporal,” she spoke in a desperate rush, recognizing the rank insignia of their guest, “Please, you have to listen to me, we haven' all turned. The First Enchanter has gone mad—he’s killed so many of us, he took the upper third of the tower, but we’ve resisted. We dinnae want to rebel, this is our home. There are nearly thirty children in the library, but we couldnae keep them out on our own—please—those children only have six Enchanters to help keep them safe, and the First has blood magic and demons.”

Her voice had broken, but her eyes burned, shoulders trembling. If she could only touch her magic, slow their arrows and get back to the tower. She needed to be there, to be an immovable object when they came for the children. The First would not stop until he’d bled every one of them dry, and Zayra would sooner die than lose even one.

[Rare]

“Please, you have to listen to me, we haven’t all turned. The First Enchanter has gone mad—he’s killed so many of us, he took the upper third of the tower, but we’ve resisted. We didn’t want to rebel, this is our home. There are nearly thirty children in the library, but we couldn’t keep them out on our own—please—those children only have six Enchanters to help keep them safe, and the First has blood magic and demons.” the mage said with a desperate rush to the Corporal. The Knight-Commander ordered that the templar get closer to her, in case she uses the mage on them.

The Commander wanted to slapped her for it; but, decided against that as it would make the whole thing worst. The Commander sighed once more as he walked away for the mage and dragged the Corporal along. “Don't mind her, she also has been to a lot.” said the Commander as he wanted to change the subject quickly. The Corporal wanted to know more about the mage, sitting there and looking at them. “Who is the mage, Commander?” said the Corporal as he looked at her and then towards the nervous Commander as he said, “She is Zayra Melthene, a mage that we found escaping the tower. Let's avoid her for now as we got more matter than this 'knifed ear'.”. It was the first time that he insulted the mage, that he believed in and watched her grow into a person that she is now.

Now, he isn't such that either she's controlled by blood magic or now. He felt bad for calling her that name, but he didn't mean to call her 'knifed ear'. It was just the stress of waiting for almost a week until the others came. He heard screaming and explosions over and over as he sat and waited for what seem years. And he was not using that anger and targeted it all towards Zayra.

They heard another explosion, which caused something to fall as it made a huge bame sound. “It must have been one of the bookshelves, sir.” said a rookie templar, as he had been in the library before the tower rebel. The Commander looked up as he sighed again and pointed towards the door, “Get the door ready to open.”. The templars rushed to the door as they waited for his command to open it.

The Commander walked towards Zayra as he said, “If you are right about this, then you're coming with us.”. He got her up for the chair as other templar made such that she couldn't make a run for it. “We hope that the First Enchanter is willing to trade the children for you, Zayra. But, if you're lying to us about this, I will make my job to finish you off.” said the Commander as he had doubt of Zayra's story. But, if he is at the library, then they could get a chance to kill the First Enchanter..

The Corporal walked towards the Commander and asked him one question, “What will I do?”. The Commander simply said, “You will go with Zayra and some other templar guards as I will stay here and get the men ready for your return.”. The Corporal walked towards Zayra as the Commander walked away for her.

The Corporal looked at her as she was pushed towards the door by the templars, that were going to follow him. He stopped and waited until the Commander said, "Open the Door.". The huge doors were soon opened as the Commander said those words. They walked forward as the door began to close, to protect the only way out. Zayra pushed by the other templars as they walked away for the Commander. He then decided to say something else to them as he said, "Good luck and may the Maker be with you.".

He believed in the Maker, as every templar was, and as soon as the doors closed, he prayed to the Maker to protect them as the doors shut once more.

[El Taco Taco]

Knife ear.

The words cut deeper than they ought to. It had been years since anyone had called her that inside the Circle. She’d almost forgotten what she was to them; an uppity elf, someone who was meant to be cleaning chambers, some thing that no one would miss if it disappeared after it was used up. The First Enchanter had always been her fiercest defender. He’d found those who had wounded her and put them to work. Some had grown from it; others had simply learned to keep their views quiet.

Evidently, now that the First had gone mad, the Knight Commander saw no reason to bite his tongue.

Knife ear. Her face burned, the sting of humiliation touching a nerve of temper. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so furious. She’d worked so hard, had endured so much to earn their trust and their respect. And none of it had mattered. All of her worth had been tied up in the First Enchanter’s clout. And now he was an abomination and Zayra was a knife ear once more. For a moment, she could hear the whispers, stronger now, trying to tap into her rage. They will take you to your children and turn on you. The shems will gut everyone you love or turn them tranquil. Little knife ear, you will be lucky if they kill you. Pray to your Maker that they kill you before they defile you. Let me help save you, let me in—

Zayra grit her teeth, forcing herself to ignore those insidious whispers. She would not save those children by falling. She would only doom them, either to Templars or her own horrors, if she surrendered. She took a steadying breath, eyes shut tight. Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned—

Another explosion rocked the courtyard. Zayra’s eyes flew open, and Maker’s breath—that was too close to the library. What if they breached it—the children—she tried desperately to touch the curl of magic in her breast, but it did not respond. These damned Templars, these traitors—

They were opening the door. Zayra wanted to spit at the Knight Commander, but he offered a deal and she stilled her temper. Trade her for the children? Truthfully, she did not think the First Enchanter would take such an offer. She suspected he had sent thralls to the library—Dmitry was mad, but not foolish. He would have sequestered himself in the observatory at the top of the tower. He would not collect his sacrifices himself, not if he had any sense. But it was the only chance she had to return to the tower. She was terrified to die, but better her than blameless children. Their only crime was that they had been born with magic.

“You will do as y'must, I am certain, Commander,” she hissed, ears flattening against her skull in her irritation. Knife ear. Her eyes burned as she struggled to her feet. The chains were awkward and heavy, and she was a slight woman. With her magic, she could have easily altered their weight and born the burden, but she was denied its warmth.

Was this how Tranquil felt, she wondered, heart racing in sudden terror. She felt so empty, so dead inside without the comfort of her magic. It was as if someone had plucked the heart from her chest and replaced it with a stone carving. Everything felt wrong.

The Templars shoved her along. Pins and needles stung her feet as she tried not to stumble, to keep pace with their number. Her chin jut outwards in defiance as she tried to walk with some semblance of dignity. She would die here, but she would not die cowering.

The Knight Commander offered his blessing to their group, and her heart ached with a fresh wound. Why? Why would He let them suffer like this? Why did He let demons and monsters destroy their home and take so much life? She had never known such doubt before this moment. She had loved the Maker, had always found comfort in the Chant of Light. She knew the stories of Andraste and Shartan, knew in her heart that the Maker and His Bride had room even for little knife ears at their side. But she’d also known that the Templars were their protectors, and she’d been proven so very, very wrong there.

Maybe the Maker did not love all His children. Maybe mages and knife ears were not worthy of His love. Who was she to understand the mind of their creator?

“Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just,” she murmured beneath her breath, her words lost in the clatter of armor. She wasn’t sure she believed the benediction herself. These righteous men and women, after all, had called for the Right of Annulment. Perhaps it had to be her. Somehow, with no magic nor staff, and in chains, she had to save their youngest from tranquility and possession and death. Zayra was not sure her slim shoulders could carry such a burden.

The door shut behind them with a heavy thud, and Zayra took a shuddering breath. Her feet felt numb, the world span lazily on a slight axis. She was exhausted, but she forced herself forward.

The Circle of Ostwick was a shadow of its former self. The main floor had always been lit by a dozen hearths, drying herbs and oils filling the tower with rich and lovely scents. It had been a warm welcome all those years ago. Now the hearths were cold and empty, the tapestries burned, and the tower smelled of sulphur and copper. The staircases on either side of the gargantuan circular room were dark and still. Zayra eyed the staircase to the right, gathering her nerve.

“The library is on the fourth floor,” she informed the Knight Corporal, heart racing ever faster, trying to find his eyes through his helm. They didn’t trust her, but she had to make them see sense. Maker, they were doomed. “We sealed all entrances, from above and below. Senior Enchanter Uriah will let me in, but I will need to help unlock the seal. Dozens of abominations and demons stalk these halls. We numbered nearly ninety Harrowed mages before this nightmare began. Knight Corporal, you and your men need my magic.”

[Rare]

After the door shut behind them, the group began to walk towards the steps, which will most likely lead them to the library. He knew that the library was on the fourth floors, because of Zayra as she said towards the others. One of the templars looked at her funny as he was walking with the other templar.

The first floor felt odd as the rare smell of sulphur and copper was stronger than ever before, most of the towers—that he went to—smelled of different scents to block out that smell. The doors were shut and some were left open, with everything looking like nothing had happened. Of course, he knew the real action would of been either in the second, third, fourth, or even the last floor. The staircases were so dark that you couldn't even see the gray steps, he walked towards the steps and began to walk forward.

That was when Zayra began to talk towards him and the other templars with him. She begged the Corporal to untie her and allow her to use her magic. The Corporal went up towards her and looked at her eye as he realized that they did need her magic. He walked up towards one of the templar and asked for the key. “Why? Are you fucking with me?” the templar said as he kept a strong grip of the key as he questioned the Corporal. “She has a point. We do need some magic, if we are going against other mages”, the Corporal said as he tried to talk him into giving up the key. “But... you guys—the backup—only came because of The Rite of An...”.

The Corporal walked towards the templar and pushed him away from the mage. He whispered at the guy, “You don't say that word around her or she will be useless to us.”. Zayra might of knew about the Rite and how the backup is here because of the Rite; but, to make such that she doesn't kill him and the other or go crazy, they have to keep it quite. When the templar realized that he knew what the 'word' was, he whispered towards the Corporal, “Alright. Here is the key.”.

Smiling in vitctory, the Corporal thanked the templar as he walked back towards Zayra. The Corporal looked at her as he held to the key and wanted to questioned her about this tower. “Before I let you go, I got to ask you some questions.”, he said as he put the key into his pocket, “What kind of magic can you do? How many have turned against the Order? How many are dead? Did The First Enchanter used blood magic? How well did you know The First Enchanter? Would anyone else want to declared war against the Order?”. So many questions to answer, but these questions will get her the freedom that she wants.

[El Taco Taco]

Impossibly, it seemed that one of the Templars—the Knight Corporal, thank the Maker— was willing to see sense. Zayra scarcely dared to breathe. She had spent so long begging the Knight Commander to believe her, had spent so many hours channeling her being into seals and wards and fighting off abominations. Exhaustion lingered in every corner of her body, fingers trembling with the emptiness. But she would not, could not, surrender. This was her family, her home, and there was little she wouldn’t do to save it.

He argued quietly with another Templar. Zayra’s hearing had always been keener than the shems realised, and she pieced together the fragments she heard. They’d come with the Rite—she’d suspected as much. It was more important than ever that she show them that they were not all lost. They couldn’t kill all of them. It was too cruel. It was a pipe dream, but she had to believe that reason would win out, lest she fall apart.

The Knight Corporal strode towards her, more armor than man, eyes calculating. Zayra suppressed her flinch as best she could, tried desperately to believe that the world hadn’t gone mad. She wanted so dearly to think that they were here to help. For a moment, she nearly believed herself.

Storm grey eyes snapped upwards to meet his. Despite her chains, she drew herself to her full height, shoulders square. She would not shrink from him, no matter how painfully her heart beat in her chest. For a moment, all she could see was the sunburst burned into the foreheads of their Tranquil. Maker, please, let her die before that fate.

The Knight Corporal delivered a slew of questions at her. Zayra sorted through them swiftly, answering in her thick, Ostwick brogue, rolling her R’s, voice thick with barely controlled frustration.

“I’ve extensive experience in both primal and force magic. Stonefists, lightnin’, gravitic rings and th’like. The First Enchanter, he was the only one to vote fer rebellion—but I think he knew we would vote against him. Of the ten Senior Enchanters, he killed three and enslaved four. Only Senior Enchanter Uriah and I escaped the meetin’.” Maker, let Uriah still be alive, she prayed quickly, swallowing the sudden knot of grief in her throat. “I’m not sure how many turned by choice, but he has about twenty supporters. I counted about thirty dead—cannae be sure, I’ve been in the library with the children and seven other Enchanters. That leaves around fifteen Harrowed mages unaccounted fer. I… dinnae have much hope that they’ve survived this long with the tower like this.

“The First—Dmitry—he must have been preparin’ this fer some time. He... he was my mentor when I came to the Circle. But the man I knew was better than blood magic. None of us saw this comin’. And it’s like I said, Knight Corporal, we all voted against rebellion. We dinnae wan’this. This is our home. We aren’t Kirkwall."

[Rare]

Since Zayra had answered all of the questions, he held the key strong as he unlocked her handcuffs and grabbed them. He quickly tosses the cuffs towards the other side of the hallway. The Knight Corporal breathed slowly as he said, "Thank you for answering my questions." and walked back towards the other templars. But, he stopped walking and thought of Zayra and her struggles during all of this. How could one person handle all of this without giving up? She looked hurt as she saw her home in ruins, her friends dead, and anything else disappearing or collapsing.

Maker, this rebellion is going to destroy thousands of lives..

The Knight Corporal turned towards Zayra and said to her peacefully, "I am truly sorry for you. You have gone to a lot of loss and pain that no other person has dealt with since the last blight. This rebellion is just starting and Maker knows if we are going to make it alright. Just know that I pray for your recovery.". He turned away and started to walk back towards the other templars as they were stunned by the Corporal's words. He was quite as he began to climb up the stairs. The second floors, when the Corporal got to it, was peaceful as the first floor was. Everything looked dead from the flowers to the rugs looked gray and colorless.

He loudly said towards the others on the stairs, "Alright, it's clear!". The other templars began to walk towards the Corporal, looking around scared as they held onto their swords on their sides. He was waiting for Zayra to come up as another explosion rang across the tower as dust landed on their armor. He suddenly heard a loud bamn sound as if a bookshelf fell to the ground. The Corporal was on alert as he grabbed his sword from his side and then his side from his back.

"We have to go up there now!" he shouted as he ran up the steps, followed by other footsteps caused by the other templars. Then, they heard screaming coming from the fourth floor as he realized that something bad had happened. Before they could get a breather, the Corporal was met by a couple mages and around four or five demons. He and the other templars stopped at one of the mage spoke out. "Oh here are the templars, coming to kill us all!" he shouted out loud as he pointed his staff towards them. "Dmitry will soon control this tower and he will kill all the templars in this tower!". He was an elf mage, holding on to his staff as if he was going to use it in a few moments.

The Knight Corporal looked around for Zayra, but she was no where to be found. He quickly sighed as he realized that they were most of the supporters that she talked about earlier. Screams soon roared across the tower as he and others realized that Dmitry and the others got into the library. He shouted towards the elf mage, "We will never give up to you mages! We are going to the library, even if we have to kill you all!".

[El Taco Taco]

For a long, horrible moment, Zayra thought he would not unchain her. It wouldn’t have surprised her. She’d been chained since she had first come to the Templars. It was a miracle that the Knight Corporal unbound her hands, tossing the heavy steel aside as though it were weightless. Feeling rushed back into numb fingers, pins and needles stinging every inch of her hands. She rubbed them together vigorously, relishing the bite of air on her skin once more.

She very nearly missed that Knight Corporal’s sympathies—her mind had already turned to the library. Zayra almost thought she had imagined it. She studied the man warily, uncertain what to make of his prayers. Perhaps his prayers would reach the Maker. Maybe the Maker listened to humans, to Templars. Maybe they were worthy of His grace. Zayra had been so sure, once, that the Maker and His Bride loved her. That truth no longer seemed so certain.

Zayra was all too aware of the Templars and their blades. She kept her footsteps light, taking stairs two at a time. Unburdened by armor, she was able to slip ahead, bare toes picking her way across the stone floors. The second floor was still for but a moment – a massive thud filled the air, rattling her teeth. It was not an explosion, but something solid and heavy—such as a shelf, loaded with thousands of ancient tomes—and screams reached her sensitive ears.

She ran. She had never run so fast in all her life, black hair and robes whipping behind her. All that mattered was reaching the library, was finding her children and keeping them safe. Little Atlen, who had begged her not to go to the Templars, who had distrusted them, who had known they would not let her go… Zayra’s heart bucked like a herd of unbroken horses. Maker, let her little Atty be safe. Joslyn would keep him safe, she would—

The instant Zayra could touch her magic again, a broken sob spilled out of her throat. It was like she was alive again, like the world could make sense. She needed to get to the library—but the cries of battle met her ears. She had slipped past other mages, had not drawn their ire in the face of Templars—she could keep going, could leave them to their fate—her children needed her now—But she could not fight a horde of demons and abominations on her own. Not without her staff to focus her spells, not without lyrium. She needed their swords. Zayra grit her teeth.

Turning away from the library was the single most excruciating experience of her life. Maker, let Uriah and Joslyn and the others hold out just a little longer. She prayed, even as she doubted that those prayers would be answered, and set back towards the Templars she had abandoned.

The sight was troubling. Three mages—one twisted into an abomination, one an apprentice (Westley, she remembered), and Enchanter Haryk, who had come from her old Alienage—and demons. Two rage, one of despair, and a handful of wraiths. She at least had an edge of surprise, silent at their backs.

It had been many years since she had cast without her faithful staff, but there was something wondrous in channeling her magic through her hands. Something primal and raw about grasping the threads of the Fade with her hands, shaping reality to her whims. Zayra raised her arms, a grim smile touching her lips before she slammed her fists down.

The effect was immediate. Even distanced from her spell, she could feel how heavy the world had gotten, miring the demons and mages under their own weight. The wraiths fluttered freely—but they would be easy enough to pick off—she stepped backwards, tossing her hair out of her face, breathing hard. It hurt to cast when she was this depleted, without a staff to better channel her power. Her blood felt like it was molten, burning her out from the inside.

Haryk slowly turned his head towards her, burdened by her gravitic ring, his teeth clenched against the exhertion. His eyes were wide with madness, crimson staining his arms. Blood magic, then. Zayra’s lip curled, her temper flared, and her hands began the dance again. Magic surged through her, an exquisite agony that threatened to consume her before it caved to her will. Haryk had barely turned his body around when she pulled the world into her grasp once more. Haryk’s mouth formed a little ‘O’ of surprise when his body was lifted into the air. For one instant, their eyes met, and Zayra almost pitied her fellow elf.

And then she slammed his body into the stone floor, his head exploding in a spray of flesh and bone.