Participants:

Alexia_icon.gif Ashalle_icon.gif Carver_icon.gif Carys_icon.gif Cenn_icon.gif Davan_icon.gif Garou_icon.gif Minea_icon.gif Sebastian_icon.gif

Scene Title High Time In Lowtown
Synopsis Shit goes down in Lowtown
Location Lowtown Slums
Date July 21, 2016
Watch For Golem!
Logger Davan

The slums of Lowtown are never a pleasant place to have to find oneself. Ever. There are bodies in the streets just… laying there in various states of decomposition. Even so, those who must carve their lives out in this mess do the best they can and warm lantern light brightens many sunken-in porches and run-down windows even now that the sun has well and truly set. It's a warm night - muggy but with just enough of a breeze to make it… not quite to unbearable. It's possible there's even a songbird making a nest in Gamlen's window. Shhhh, no one tell Barkspawn.

Well, Barkspawn isn't outside, luckily. Carver is, though. Because there are too many fucking people living in that house and he's sick of it. So he's sitting out on the porch, making use of the faint breeze. It could be worse… It could be Darktown. If he closes his eyes and focuses on the breeze and the songbird in the window, it's a little less terrible. But it's night in Kirkwall, and Carver had quickly learned that meant he didn't go outside unarmed. So as he sits on the porch, he does so leaning forward, making room for the large blade over his back as he just settles with his thoughts.

Davan is NOT supposed to be here. ONE LITTLE ERRAND and he found himself lost, and the last half hour's worth of walking hasn't helped. At the very least, his precious Princess is at their temporary home, probably lounging in her new bed. He just has to worry about his own skin. "Maybe I should try walking away from the smell." He sniffs. "Except it's everywhere. This was a marvelous idea."

Jovan is on the route back from checking on the warehouse their band of merry men owns, winding through the worst parts of the city because he's bored and he's pretty; maybe someone will pick on him and he can punch them. Or maybe he'll just continue to look pained at the odors nearby when he picks through a residential area.

Even with the, er, ambient odor, sometimes outside was better than inside. Especially with the rare late-summer breeze that's sweeping tyhrough that is bringing just a hint of ocean air through a stuffy area. Carys is, like her neighbor that she hasn't noticed yet, also seated on her porch. Well… 'seated' is sort of an understatement. She's turned so she's laying down on her porch, her legs straight up and propped against her door-crossed at the ankle while her head is kind of dangling off the top step of the small set that leads up to her little abode, with her arms kind of tossed out this way and that. And then, past that? Oh, this little thief is singing. Why? Because. Probably because she's bored. "…So we dragged the donkey's carcass down to Jamesie's for a pint / To drink up all our winnings, and to celebrate the night / We missed the poor old Donkey, but still we had to laugh / When Jamesie made a trophy of the Donkey's better half…" And no, she /isn't/ drunk.

It was nothing like the constant patrols inside the Circle, but the patrol cycle did sometimes see Cenn roving out into the larger city. This time, into Lowtown. You know, threat of apostates everywhere… Or something. Cenn didn't really pay it much mind. It was a welcome break, and due to his rank, he was permitted it alone, which gave him peace and quiet. Because these patrols were almost always quiet. Thus it is that a Templar, in full armor, and armed though his blade is sheathed and his shield upon his back, makes his way into the slums this evening. And, seemingly, is just going to continue on, leaving everyone to their business. People sitting on porches, cutting through side streets after business, it's all fairly run of the mill. Save the man that is far too well dressed for this area and is pausing just a little too conspicuously. Davan earns a raised brow (Cenn rarely bothers with his helm), and a slow approach by the Templar. Because people don't just come into the slums to stand around when they're dressed like that. Pass through? Sure. Not stand there looking lost. Unless they are lost.

There's a loud clattering in one of the back alleyways, followed by the yowling of a startled cat and then a series of hoarse barks as a stray chases after it right out of the alley's mouth and through the center of the neighborhood. Typical night in Lowtown, right?

It actually isn't the clattering that gets his attention first, but the singing. Carver moves to stand, to make his way toward the singing that he recognizes, when the commotion from the cat and dog make him look over. His brow knits for a minute, but then he shakes his head. Stray animals really were not his problem. House was crowded enough with Barkspawn. So he's continuing down his front steps, turning the corner to move to Carys's porch, leaning against the steps and raising a brow at the singing woman.

Davan sees that Templar (check one off his tourist list) and could not possibly be more relieved. "Oh good. Someone who looks recently bathed…" Ever hear a grown man squeak? Well, congratulations. You have now. "Well, not the impression I wantedto give, but when one is lost in a strange city…" Absolutely convincing with his staff readied to smite the shit out of a stray dog, right? "Is someone actually singing down here?"

"Whoever it is, sounds like a real good friend of.. Jamesie." Sorry, Jovan cannot resist his own snark. He doesn't seem real bothered by the dog and cat show. What does have his attention is the ostentatious mage squeaking like a lady and the Templar like… right there. Anyone have popcorn?

"So raise a beer in the air / to the famous derrier / Everybody raise a glass to Darcy's -" AND THE ANIMALS CHIME IN with their hoarse barking and startled cat yowling and Carys doesn't skip a beat, and immediately follows up with "Eh? AW COME ON. I don't sing /that/ badly!" She hollars at the dogs and the cats and whatever that just kind of go tearing past. She sighs and flops her arms down to her side and glances about. She immediately perks up when she catches sight of Templar Armor and said templar armor happens to be placed on someone she likes! And likes to look at. She's about to bark out his name when she realizes… hey, someone's nearby. She looks to her left.. "How'd you sneak up on me?" she asks Carver, trying to look put out, but she can't stop the grin that comes to her face. She pushes herself upright-this being first she pushes herself into a handstand, and then turns around and settles her feet on the ground. "NIce night huh?" Pardon her while she fixes her top here. The problem when girls like her do handstands.

The clatter of animals gets the Templar's attention for a moment, but determining it is just strays, he eases near immediately. Cenn smiles indulgently at that squeak, managing not to laugh. "Lowtown can offer a lot of the unexpected." He says, voice touched with Ferelden. He nods back the way he had come into the slums. "If you go back that way and take a right, you'll hit the Hanged Man. Once you do that, the stairs in a direct line from the bar will take you up to Hightown." And then he laughs. Because yes someone is singing down here. He nods. "Sounds like Carys, too." He says, looking up and searching for the woman, which when he catches sight of her, just as she finishes her handstand, he gives Carys a small wave. Seems he has friends in a number of places.

There's another clatter down another alley, a small flock of pigeons startled from their nighttime roost. Nothing comes out this time, but there's shouting from a drunken old man to 'pipe down out there, ye hooligans!' and also possibly the sound of shattering glass. This is a classy slum.

"I think this might be the first time I've ever snuck up on anyone." Carver says with a small laugh, but it's cut short. Carver blinks as Carys pulls her handstand. "That is…" He starts, clearing his throat and looking away just a second too late when she begins to fix her shirt, "One way to get up, I suppose." His hand comes to the back of his neck, and he's looking for something to act as a distraction when the pigeons take flight. "Maker's balls what is going on tonight?" He mutters, looking around the slums and frowning.

"You know people here. Well aren't you a diamond in a coal mine. But thank you for the directions. You've saved me." Excuse Davan while he puts that staff away. "And you're from even further South. This trip really has been worth it." Jovan is given a look, because accent. "Are you lost, too?" He might have said something more to his countryman but Cenn earns another look. "I'd heard you Southern Templars smelled like candy. I thought that was a myth. Must drive your circle mages mad." Carys is glanced at, as is Carver, but he's not commenting on the song. What he will comment on? "A cinch in the under-bosom will stabilize. Or so my sister says." And there's another startle. "Is it always like this?"

"Oh, stick around with me long enough and you'll figure it out how not to do accidentally," Carys offers to Carver. She's about to sayt something else, but since she's trying to return Cenn's wave, she totally hears Davan. She blinks and then she glances down. "Oh, really?" She pushes, um, STUFF out of the way as if to try to figure out what he's talking about. "Hm. I guess I could weasel somethin' out of softened leather an' attach it to the mail already there…" Carys makes her own clothes-go fig. And then there's more of a mess. "That tears it." She hops the three steps and without thinking (Think fast Carver or lese!), she reaches for Carver's hand to drag him /with/ her towards where all this loud mess is happening. Hooligans and shattered glass-this means investigating!

Well, was making a Templar blush also on the tourist list? Because if so, Davan could check that one off too. "Not where my voice would make you think, though." Cenn says with a small laugh, "I'm Orlesian." Passing comment, and it seems he is going to let Davan's attention turn to Jovan, going to continue on his merry way and try not to think about the attractive, obviously Tevinter, mage that he'd met in Lowtown today. Oh look! Carys is waving! That's a decent distraction. Except that then there is this comment about candy and… "Candy?" He can't help himself. Maker have mercy this boy is hopeless. More questions are about to come when pigeons emerge, startled and loud, and shattering glass, and… The Lieutenant sighs. "No. I don't think so?" He answers before walking off the direction of the alley. Because Templars are meant to protect, right? Probably a stupid plan.

Templars are certainly meant to protect and Carys divine mandate is certainly to cause a certain amount of chaos, but poor Carver… Poor, poor Carver. You see, that shattering glass is followed by a rapid series of thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud… enough to shake a few of the unsteadier walls and rattle most of the windows to boot. The source comes closer and closer and closer and closer until there is a small mountain rounding the final corner at top speed. "Move!" it snaps, brushing a string of hanging laundry out of its way and explosively squishing an egg with perhaps more gusto than strictly necessary. But the problem here is that mountains - even small, vaguely person-shaped snarky ones - are not exactly known for their agility. And with Carver directly in the path of destruction? Honestly being scooped up bridal style by a golem running at top speed is the kindest possible option it could think of. Especially since (by the sound of things) whatever is chasing it is much less friendly.

"What? Oh… Oh no, Carys, this is a ba-" Carver begins, as Carys takes hold of his hand and pulls him along. He's protesting the whole way. With his words, anyway. Because his feet are following along just fine, and there might, maybe be the faintest hint of a blush starting near the Ferelden's ears. That is, of course, until the great fucking earthquake begins and Carver plants his feet hard. "No, Carys, that's not the sound of something that is a game." He says firmly, warrior training making him an immovable object swiftly. Well… Mostly immovable. Because, even his stubborn, broad stance isn't enough to keep him in place when a fucking golem wants to pick him up. Cursing, Carver is swift to let go of Carys's hand, so she is not dragged along with. "Oi! Let me go!" He says, struggling against being carried, indignant all the way.

When in doubt, follow. Mostly because … okay a little because the noise made Davan make an undignified squeak. "It's a drawstring under whatever it is you ladies wear under there. She didn't get into specifics," he replies to Carys. "Orlesian? This just keeps getting more and more interesting. And yes, candy. It's the lyrium, it has an aroma that's distinct. Sweet. So you either smell of candy or a sweetshop. Maybe a bakery. If I knew you better I'd make a sweetbun joke, but alas." You know, he should be more concerned about walking into a situation, but he's as confident as any wellborn mage from his homeland (Someone should tell him that seeing a mage doesn't make the locals cower). Except there's a "Maker, is that a… It is!" He'd stare but it's running. "Maybe we should follow suit." IT'S JUST A GUESS. "Did I make you blush?" It's important.

If Carys wasn't so distracted by 'Let's go investigate!' she'd probably comment to Davan that Cenn probably does smell like candy because seh has this habit of passing the stuff out to people she likes. Or doesn't like (as sometimes fuzzy haired elves get it too). And fortunately for Carver, when the earthquake /does/ begin, he doesn't have buckle down all that hard to get Carys to stop. Crazy, not stupid can usually sum up Carys. "Not a game but people'll be in the way, we gotta help the-" And then there's this Rock person barreling through and she's left stranded. "HEY!" She calls to the Golem's back. "BRING THAT BACK THAT'S MINE!" Her instincts are processing the situation far quicker than her conscious mind, because she's already got a dagger in each hand (of a length that may be pushing it more into 'short sword' territory). The rest of the situation processes, and she's using one arm to indicate where the Golem has so helpfully bolted with her 'date'. "Stop yammerin' an' start runnin' or are you too floofy t'figure out how to plant yer feet rapidly one in front of th' other?!" That's said to Davan and Carys… prooves that yes, sometimes she /does/ fit the bill of more stupid than crazy. Or Crazy stupid… because she's lingering to see exactly what's got the Rock person to run. And by lingering we mean she's quickly finding high ground in which to pounce and cause a distraction should it be necessary. No, it's not a game-but Carys /is/ serious about not letting people get hurt. And yes, she's probably shoving bums and whatever else out of the way while finding said high ground.

…Excuse him, what? What?! No, no, Kirkwall. This was too much. Too damn much. It takes Cenn a second of blinking to process what has just happened. And another second to register anything Davan has just said. Oh now Cenn is definitely blushing. He clears his throat with it. "If I tell you yes will you be satisfied enough to get out of here? This sounds bad." He says, nodding the mage off to get to safer ground. The Templar? He's not being so sensible. No, shield is taken off his back, blade is drawn. And while Carys scrambles for higher ground, the Templar plants himself right in front of the alley from which the golem had just fled.

"Must it wiggle so?" the running mountain peevishly snaps. "It shrieks worse than the Templar-Warden - and it was wearing a dress at the time." The golem - apparently the only one in Lowtown with some sense - hangs a hard left on its way out of here (with My Size Bride Carver in tow) only to skid to an almost comical backpedaling stop and hightailing it back to that central street.

Because, in fact, the things chasing it are much, much worse. Darkspawn are pouring out of both alleyways in numbers that have no business on the surface this far (physically and temporally) from a Blight. Half a dozen Genlocks, three Hurlocks and an Ogre are coming - though mercifully it would seem that the Ogre only has half a skull uncrushed and is staggering fairly drunkenly along beind its brethren. But most disconcertingly of all is that these Darkspawn are not alone. Two rage demons come right at their heels and a Hunger abomination will be along in a minute once it stops gorging itself on the trio of Carta thugs down at the end of that secondary alley.

Kirkwall is having none of your sass today, Cenn.

It takes Carver a minute to realize the golem is talking about him. "Yes, I must. Put me - " He's cut off as the golem rounds the corner and… "Oh sweet Maker…" He's writhing to work free again, though this time it comes with reaching toward his blade. And as they come back to the main street, Carver is cursing nonstop. "Put me down you great rock! I'm no good in your arms. I don't carry this thing for the weight training." Doesn't change that his heart is pounding and most of what he can hear is his blood in his ears.

Davan rolls his eyes. "While you stand there looking all heroic. Perish the thought." With that, he takes his staff in hand again and peers toward the darkness. "Oh those are ugly. Well, I can't die with that as the last thing I see, but it does help to know." Demons, though. Demons he's okay with. He's seen those a lot because his dad is a dickbag. Hold on. Carys? "Did you call me floofy? I'll have you know that I'm 'stylish and well groomed'." Right, now that the important business is out of the way… "Well, this is something to write home about." Now he'll just get ready for some of that fashionable spellwork. Because, as soon as some of those uglies are near enough? He's gonna lay down some Winter's Grasp. But for now? Frost Weapons. Enjoy.

This…. this was unexpected. Definitely up there on 'Did not expect this'. She was thinking…hm… Runaway bronto stampede. Or…maybe the Qunari all went insane at once and now there was a rampaging horde that scared the Rock-person. But no. She's pretty sure what she's staring down from her perch at someone's windowsill is… not rampaging qunari hordes or runaway brontos. "Andraste's tits…" is about all she can make out while her brain processes the site before her. That's…darkspawn. She's pretty sure that's what it is. She's never seen anything like it before and it kind of matches the stories that she's kind of heard from people fleeing the Blight over the last year. But to actually… /see/ this. It's caused her to just completely stop. And stare. At least the shock of seeing darkspawn for the first time means that any possible stupid heroics that she might've been contemplating won't happen. On the other hand… it means she /doesn't/ get the jump on anything. But thankfully, Davan's there to throw some much needed 'Snap out of it!' sass and she blinks. She doesn't register the way frost likely begins coating the wicked-sharp edge of her weapons, but she's curling up for a pounce. Hopefully no one notices the way her hand shakes, becasue she is, admittedly, fucking scared, as she waits for the right moment to engage one of the fuglies-and the right moment likely will be when the first one engages Cenn. That's wehen she'll uncurl, pushing herself off the wall to hopefully land two sharp points into the darkspawn's back. Scared or not, she absolutely will not-no, can not-leave people here to get munched.

What was a Chantry brother doing out of the Chantry? Chantry things of course! Charity falls within that defintion and certainly that extends to offering aid of the magical kind when elixirs don't do the trick. Likely with strong petitioning, Sebastian Vael got the authority to strike out in his brotherly mien with a capable partner from the Circle of Magi to do just that, under a certain condition that he go armed, even if not Templar trained, to aid the shadowing bloke in metal, should the nefarious mage get out of hand! Well, certainly hasn't been that way so far. The pair of them had started up in the higher parts of lowtown, seeing to various families health. A child here, a child there, a woman nearing her last stages of the birthing cycle, a man caught with infection to bare feet - that sort of thing. Nothing untoward. But, you know, a big fucking chorus of thundering booms alongside screams of the populace, does, call attention of a certain sort. Into danger they plunge, rather than away, for the Brother was likely made of the mettle to not balk at in coming peril - one would hope.

The nefarious mage in question, a rather innocent-looking young woman with a crystal-topped staff, is more than happy to help. Ashalle knows something of medicine, and healing people who need it is definitely charitable. Besides, when her skills can't help, her spells can, even if some of the folks in need are a little shaky about accepting her help.

But the sounds of screaming, and booming, and more screaming… that she can't ignore, mission of mercy or not. "That sounds bad…" she starts to say, but Sebastian is already moving in the direction of the noise. Ashalle is a little slower, wincing at the sounds of people in dire distress and terror. Definitely terror. She whispers a few words, focusing her thoughts as she weaves through the crowd behind the nobleman.

This was a bad idea from Iota One. When he was yanked by a Chantry sister he'd had the dire misfortune to walk past and told that a 'dashing Lieutenant' like him would be just the ticket for a mission of mercy, Garou had been suspicious. When he'd been told exactly what that mission entailed - and with whom he was to conduct it - that suspicion had ended in an actual physical facepalm. Despite pointing out to the Sister in question that this was so far beyond against regulations that it wasn't funny (and then also pointing out that if they're going to break procedure and do this, why not do it with one or both of the Circle's resident Spirit Healers) Garou found deaf ears and a sharp tongue. And… well, orders are orders. Templars live to serve - their mage charges and the Chantry both. So here he is in Darktown, watching a Ferelden Force Mage administer first aid and Creation magic while the (rather alarmingly attractive, so at least there's some compensation involved) Chantry brother does his bit. And then, you know, in case that wasn't enough of a full evening - for which he fully expects to be raked over the coals by the Commander later - they're now in an alley full of Darkspawn and demons… while escorting the mage whose file lists time served at Ostagar and Denerim both. "Someone should do Thedas a favor and bury this latrine of a city." But both longsword and offhand dagger are being drawn, bodily placing himself between both mage and archer without hesitation.

The golem obliges Carver with the sigh of the much put-upon, lowering its arms swiftly and without warning until the poor boy ends up dropped in a heap at its feet. "Ungrateful wretch. I could have squished it into jelly with the rest of the awful squawking birds or let the Darkspawn have it, but no. I save its life - and do so in dashing style - and this is the thanks I get. Hmph." Nevertheless, they do seem to be cornered quite nicely, so the golem is going to take a greatly over-exaggerated step over Carver and stomp forward to engage the ogre. "Oh, but it's times like these that I do so miss the mighty Sten," it sighs and resigns itself to battle.

The two mages are like flames to Rage Demon moths, both of them shifting with liquid swiftness to confront them, one to Davan and one to Ashalle. That leaves Genlocks running in all directions - to Cenn, to Garou, to Sebastian… and the three Hurlocks all converging on poor Carver.

That Hunger abomination is still finishing his late-night snack.

That little alarm in the back of her head, that one that she hasn't felt in a little bit - and that's a good thing - went off. As if somewhere there was a giant marquee complete with flashing lights and bullhorn screaming DARKSPAWN PRESENT! DANGER MINEA REDWAY! DANGER MINEA REDWAY! Thank god there was no Halla with her today. the Baby was safe somewhere else but as Minea is her wardens uniform runs toward where that ever present alarm seems to internally screams that there are darkspawn, she comes to a stumbling halt with eyes wide at the scene before her, hand on her staff and gripping it tightly.

Well this is just Carver's day, isn't it? With an unceremonious groan as he's dropped to the ground, Carver at the very least has good sense to not stay on the ground, once he's been stepped over by a fucking golem. Bethany was never going to believe him. No. He probably wasn't going to tell Bethany. Or Kailen. Or, Maker forbid, Mother. Blade drawn as he stands, Carver sets his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and… Well… Let's be honest, Carver Hawke is not the most emotionally sound young man in Kirkwall. So, to his mind, he is very suddenly back in Ostagar. But for a man who has had the beginnings of training on how to channel rage into pure battle fury, that seems to only fuel his fire. So when he is immediately and undeniably surrounded by Hurlocks, he does the best and most effective thing he can do. The greatsword sweeps around him like a Whirlwind, biting into Darkspawn, with any luck before they get close enough to be problematic when they bleed. He can hope, right? He's managed it before, right?

Davan gets to play with demons. "It's almost like home," he sighs as if he couldn't possibly be happier. Of course, that rage demon needs to cool down a little, so Hand of Winter it is. Once it's reasonably slowed he can start to work on damaging it enough to change its mind about existing on this side of the veil. "You know, if someone summoned these, it's very sloppy work. You never let them just leave unless you're sending them somewhere. …or just hoping for random destruction." And then they have an elven…Warden? "Well, this just keeps getting better." He really IS going to have to write home. At least to his sister.

Okay, Divebombing from Stealth the first thing that attacked Cenn /was/ the plan. But then all the creepy shit started to split off into groups and …So THAT is what a Demon looks like… Carys is not down with this educational evening. Battlefield tactis is not something Carys is good at, nor is she really used to working in a group. So she's having a bit of an issue trying to figure out which threat is the, er…threatiest and go from there. But this also means she /does/ note there are new reinforcements, so her hesitation might not hurt the field too badly. And then the mess decides to choose /for/ her. Group of Darkspawn. Carver. Alone (sort of). Golem isn't even registering. Damned if she doesn't run on the damn wall in her haste to intercept one of the hurlocks going for the man, at this point a flurry of moving shadow as she's definitely trying to keep from being noticed. And it's from said concealment that she does that planned leap, hoping she can dig her daggers into the back of one of the converging darkspawn before Carver's whirligig begins. Hell, she might even stab in an /upward/ motion to give that darkspawn a bit of a heft into the greatsword's path.

"I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade, For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light, And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost…" THAT was Sebastian Vael's response to his eyes setting upon the chaos before them, slightly aware that the Metal Head had leap ahead of them to provide a defense, for both mage and brother. Through what the eye witnesses, the nature of a golem present (how did that arrive and not get noticed?), the swarm of Darkspawn (oh those are NOT what he was expecting to see ever - Blight was over!) and … demons (okay, who unleashed those?)… it does take Sebastian a moment to gain his bearings.

It takes the first nasty ass genlock snarling toward him that has him pivot back a step, his hand systematically going for the Starkhaven Bow upon the press of his back. His fingers then catch a fletching of an arrow and align it against the rest, "Give me room to work Templar!" As in don't shield wall him! Not that facing down a genlock … was a good thing. So he slips right back behind Garou and doesn't necessarily attack… He's doing something which creates an ethereal personal decoy… It should keep the enemies off him, their own Guardian Angel.

Likely, the Knight Lieutenant should be focusing on the Genlocks coming for him. But he's not. His concern is on the demons. Precisely, the one that has taken interest in a Circle Mage. When the fuck did she get here? Under his breath, the Templar also begins to pray. And while he strikes out at the Genlocks closing on him, he calls upon the passive nature of his training, tapping into the teachings of the Champions of the Just to steel himself to the horrors of what they face, and hopefully instil that same strength to those who fight beside him.

Ashalle opts to stay close to her two armored companions. Their presence can help keep the nasty things away from her, which will make concentrating on her magery a lot easier.

And there's a lot to concentrate on. It looks like whoever invited the Darkspawn in to play didn't expect a gate fee: There are plenty to go around. And is that an /Ogre/? Her green eyes widen in horror, and her attempt at a step back falters, fear making her feet clumsy.

But only for a moment. These poor people are depending on her. With an effort of will, the mage shoves the babbling voice in the back of her head into a tight corner and focuses her thoughts. She peeks out from behind Garou, and looks at the demon…

Instantly there's a pillar of blue force on top of that onrushing rage demon, as she conjures up a Crushing Prison. Hopefully now the nasty thing won't dash past her protector, and she can give her attention to larger matters. She looks around for more targets. "'Ware, Lieutenant! That's a quick one!"

Alexia had been walking un unexpected patrol in Northern Lowtown when Minea had dashed past, shouting something the Guardsman could only halfway understand about some kind of emergency somewhere else in Lowtown. Between curiosity and her sense of duty, she had almost instantly rushed after the Warden.

What she finds upon entering the scene makes her blood run cold and shivery in an instant. Sure, she's /heard/ about darkspawn… but she never thought she'd /see/ one, let alone /this/ many! But she is a Guardsman, and she has her oath. Swallowing her fear and calling upon elements of her past and vastly superior training, she draws her blades and wades into the fray, moving to back up the beleaguered Carver (and if she can get in an attack on the back of one of the engaged Hurlocks, so much the better!).

Having a mage peeking out from behind his back isn't exactly conducive to Garou's preferred fighting style, but he's certainly managed more difficult positions than this. There's a Genlock rushing at him and though he can feel several different tugs of magic around him, the one closest behind him seems to be headed for that particular beastie. So, in true Orlesian fashion, the 'dashing Lieutenant' steps forward with a swift (and stylish) attempt at a properly-executed Riposte. Because if this is what ends up killing him, he's going to at least go out in style.

The nice part about being a large, solid golem instead of being stuck inside a soft, squishy flesh prison is that things like charging at a half-witted Ogre go so much smoother. In fact, this particular golem feels so good about life that it bends down mid-charge and rips a sizeable boulder from under the packed dirt street to hurl at said ogre. It's… possible there is a new skylight in Darktown. You're welcome!

That poor half-brained ogre is just trying to live. The golem creature had punched him in the face once tonight already and at this point he'd really just like to go home. Sadly, that is not in the cards for him. The last thing he gets to see is a piece of Kirkwall itself flying up to greet him personally. And like a good petunia, his last thoughts were simply summarized as: grunt-grunt Not again grunt-grunt-sigh.

Carver's sweeping blade is a rousing success. Two of those three closing Hurlocks have rather impressive wounds splitting open their stomachs, which of course means some messy gut-spilling, but at least they're also too distracted to actually… attack. Keep your mouth closed, Carver! It's that last one that proves to be a sticky wicket, Hurlock Frank heard the whooshing of a greatsword on the loose and drops his own blade just in time to effectively block. This could be Bad News Bears for Carver, but with Carys taking a stint at being the terror flapping in the night, poor Frank just doesn't even stand a chance. He never sees her coming and while there are very few things that can take a proper Hurlock down in one blow, a sizeable dagger to the spine will do the trick. This would seem like the ideal time to strike at one of the two remaining Hurlocks and Alexia's blow seems certain… but old Hurlock Dean is a wily bastard. Also a cranky one. He's mid-turn away from the rude human spilling his nice guts out on the ground when he sees her. Blades sing as they meet, but even with such an impressive wound (that is still pouring black blood everywhere, by the by) the Hurlock possesses enough unholy strength to begin forcing the smaller guardswoman down into an uncomfortable bend.

As for Davan, that little burst of winter is a handy thing, slowing down the hot-headed rage demon to almost comical effect. It's not dead or anything, but certainly a good deal less scary when moving at the speed of a salted slug.

Sebastian and his Genlock have a complicated relationship. There's a decoy out there - and not a bad one - but it would appear that the Genlock can't quite decide whether or not to buy it. He looks from the decoy to Sebastian to the decoy to Sebastian ad infinitum ad nauseum. It would be… funny, if the circumstances were any less dire.

Cenn's Genlock is similarly comical, but only in that he was so eager to make a charge against anything that wasn't a Warden or a golem that he holds his axe over his head… and runs himself right onto the end of the Templar's blade. Good job, Charger.

Which really just leaves Ashalle and Garou. The flash of blue light is certainly distracting enough to get into delicate Templar eyes - especially when combined with the fiery flames of the rage demon. The spell is a draw against the natural vitriol of the demon, who breezes right on through it still heading for Ashalle, but it's distracting enough that though the Templar lands his first strike against the charging Genlock, when he swings for the second blow of Riposte his dagger is knocked from his hand with a sickening crunch.

That Hunger Abomination has finished his meal, in case anyone was wondering. The golem would make such an appealing target, but there is movement on the roofs of two buildings and the Abomination follows orders that sound only like sibilant hisses to try and bypass the stone creature for much more… squishy prey.

Look, there are few things in this world quite as satisfying as cutting into a number of enemies at once. When the last then blocks the blow but the girl you've been… Well… What to even… Now isn't the time Carver. Even if he can't help the small smile as the Hurlock falls, revealing Carys behind it. No time to linger on such things, though, especially not with the fact that yes, he is smart enough (or maybe just experience enough between Ostagar and Lothering) to keep his mouth closed. Turning, Carver leaps into the air, bringing down a Mighty Blow on the Hurlock not engaged with Alexia.

It may seem like Davan is enjoying this. That's because he is. There are demons, Templars, a golem, and… Ok, the darkspawn suck, but he's otherwise like a kid in a candy store. Cone of Cold and Draining Aura should hopefully do for the demon, because he heard that crunch. At least he's smart enough to try to make sure the cone hits none but said demon..

Carys gives an extra twist to the dagger in the spine, making sure its snapped and therefore, the damn thing can't come back up off the ground when it drops. There's a total 'Ew, /gross/' expression on her face when she faces the reality that Darkspawn kind of bleed differently. This causes her to dance out of the way of any gore that she might encounter because, um… No. Pretty much /everyone/ knows that you don't want to come into direct contact with that gunk. She is also thankful she has a tendency to wear gloves when she's got her fighting threads on. She ends up missing any expression the Ferelden's tossed her way as she's already trying to figure out where else she needs to be-the advantage of someone who doesn't usually fight things head on means she's pretty much able to go wherever. And her first sight is the stupid Genlock's that seems confused over Sebastian's decoy act. Flipping the dagger that was just used on the hurlock on her feet to a more manageable hold, she shifts her stance, aims and throws it at Sebastian's dumbfounded Darkspawn. While she'd be thankful for another lucky strike, she's only out to continue to keep the damned thing distracted for the Brother to turn it into a pincushion. …which unfortunately will leave her with only one weapon. Oh well-details.

No need to get crazy here. The decoy does what it was intended to do, the Brother slipping into stealth (because that's the bonus of a successful deployment), he reappears in a better position to take a shot with Archer's Lance to finish the stunned creature off before it figures out only one target is moving and that was the real Sebastian was the better looking one! Notched (thank you fans), he looses that arrow, once he had lined up his target with a heavily exhaled breath which steadied him for precious important seconds needed to achieve aim. As for the encroaching demon, well, arrows might work for that… In sake of time and how huge these rounds are, Sebastian rolls and unleashes Righteous Chain toward the demon heading for Ashalle and Garou - what good it'll do, well, there's a first for everything!

Alexia finds her sword in a bind with the Hurlock's sword, and it's a LOT stronger than she is! Slowly it forces her back… and back more. Worse yet, Carver and Carys are both too busy to back her up, especially at a time when a distraction to the Hurlock would be both necessary and welcome. Realizing she's in real danger of being borne right to the ground by this, she remembers her Bulwark training and simultaneously shifts her sword just a bit to her left and tilts the blade to try and shunt the pressure of the Hurlock's blade to the ground to her left side and off of her body, while simultaneously slashing at the wrist holding the sword with her long-bladed pogniard. "Pick on someone… your own… size!" she manages, with effort. With any luck, the strength of the overbearing Hurlock against her sword will no longer be a concern…

Well… That… Huh. Cenn pulls his blade free of the impaled Genlock with a blink. And then he's crossing the field. Because demons, let's say it real loud and clear for everyone in the back, can fuck right off. No demons. Especially no demons anywhere near one of the members of the Circle. Or on another member of the Order. No. No thank you. Nope. Up to the space between the two rage demons he moves, more prayer breathed out in low tones. And with those prayers and a change in the way he holds his blade, Cenn's calling down the Wrath of Heaven. Because fuck you, demons. Fuck you, indeed.

Ashalle's eyes widen as that Rage Demon barges right through her spell and keeps on coming! Well, so much for the indirect approach…

So the flaming thing's getting /direct/ now. Okay, direct with Sebastian's help, and that strange Templar's help, but demons, in her experience, are tough critters. She summons up her will and unleashes her magic with a shout, thrusting forth her staff, the crystalline globe at the tip glowing with flickering purple-white light. In rapid succession, the Rage Demon gets a taste of Fist of the Maker and Chain Lightning, the latter being a little bit of her favorite kind of monster-slaying power. With all these Darkspawn and other nastiness around, she's sure no one will mind a little extra distraction for them. And electricity-fueled searing agony is pretty distracting, in her experience.

Glancing at Sebastian and the other Templar, she nods and grins fiercely. Teamwork for the win!

All of these blinding lights are getting absolutely ridiculous. It's been a long time since Garou has had his weapon knocked from his hand like a wet-behind-the-ears recruit - having bones in his hand snapped like twigs is an altogether new experience. The natural reaction to that kind of pain is to curl in on oneself, to wrap around the injured and affected limb. Garou, however, is less about instant gratification and more about sweet, sweet revenge. So he's going to take advantage of the resulting close quarters to the Genlock to jab low and Cripple the little freak.

Nice try, Hungry Hippomination. Nice try. The golem is having none of this nonsense, turning to try and punch the ugly thing in the face. To improve its appearance, obviously. It isn't a bad plan, except that the damn thing jumps. Why it jumps, the golem has no idea. Squishy things are often foolish that way. Nevertheless, jump it does and so the punch lands more in the middle chest-y bits. It stops the thing from getting closer to the less rotting squishy things, but that's about all.

Carver's mighty blow is not, perhaps, the cleanest affair, but it certainly strikes home and - in combination with the earlier gutting, does enough damage to drop poor Hurlock Sammy. He did his best in a rough, rough world, but it just wasn't good enough.

Davan's Cone of Cold is enough to bring the demon to a dead stop, but it also leaves some ice crystals dangling on the tips of Cenn's hair, eyebrows and lashes. Good thing the Lieutenants tend to be clean-shaven, for absolutely sure. The downside is that the second spell seems only to bounce off that icy rictus of rage, slithering off to dissipate harmlessly into the open air.

The combination of Carys' and Sebastian's projectiles are enough to take down their mutual target, but the volley of arrows stacking focus for Righteous Chain are not quite so lucky. Oh, to be sure, the vast majority of them turn the rage demon into a very upset pincushion moments before it fizzles out to nothing at all, but one of them whizzes just over Garou's broken hand and the other one lodges itself firmly in Ashalle's calf. Gotta be careful with that rapid firing… so many things can go awry.

Alexia's training does her credit, but though the effort is mighty, throwing her weight into pushing the hulking, reeking monstrosity off of her requires every bit of focus… that slash is a good distraction, but little else. At least the two opponents have disengaged. And Hurlock Dean only bled on her … well, a lot, actually. Best be careful with cleanup, there.

Cenn's attack is another bright flash of light that takes very good care of shattering that one Rage Demon Ice Sculpture over there by Davan and seems to blind pretty much all the remaining Darkspawn. Also probably a few people, too. Fuck demons, indeed.

Ashalle's rapid-fire spells go off well. Perhaps, some might say, too well. Fist of the Maker has a terrible tendency to go… well, a bit overboard in Kirkwall. The dying pincushion gets cratered, alright, but so does Garou's right leg and the Genlock currently giving him fits. That zap of lightning is a nice clean-up touch, though. At least that takes care of everything but the golem and the Abomination currently arm-wrestling over there, right? The Cripple was a nice thought, Garou, but there's not much left to stab except your own leg. Which might be bleeding a little. And… possibly sitting at an unhealthy angle. But at least you get to lie down for a minute. It gives a great view of the rooftops.

And really, no one should ever care about Kirkwall's rooftops, especially in Lowtown, but standing on two of them are… they look like Dwarves. Except not. But also yes? Pale underneath the stark blue-black of markings denoting them as Legionnaires, their veins stand out in sickly black contrast to both and their eyes are whitened entirely with the Taint. They are neither of them a pretty sight, but neither of them are Darkspawn, either. "She is not here," they rasp in an eerie, breathy unison. "The Architect of the Works of Beauty laid out the plan and we builders give flesh to his vision." Not that this is any less cryptic. Or creepy. "His designs are from the Lady of Broken Chains; he promised she would come to the call of our children, but she is not here…" Their eyes flash bright white before dulling again. "Why has she not come? Is that not what they do when the Children rise to feast? WHY HAS SHE NOT COME?"

This feeling is all too familiar, this distinct, unmistakable feeling of being thankfully uninjured but being entirely too familiar with Darkspawn blood. Carver would never forget this feeling, or the terrible horror that comes along with it. But he doesn't have time for it right now. But he's not speaking. He's even leaning forward some so that when sweat drips down his face, it is falling away from his face and not down, picking up any potential blood and carrying it toward mouth or eyes. But the fact of the matter is these Darkspawn are dead. This abomination has two Templars, a Tevinter mage, and a Chantry Brother with a wicked bow to contend with and whatever the fuck is coming from the roofs is just gibberish to him. So Carver Hawke is sheathing his blade, and pulling his mantle off, turning it inside out to wipe clean his face and hands. It'll need to be burned. This will all need to be burned. And he can feel his stomach twisting in knots and bile rising in the back of his throat, and Carver moves to put his back to a wall. Trying to remember he's in Kirkwall. Not sure if it matters that he's in Kirkwall.

Carys absently boots the dead darkspawn before she glances around, her initial priority making sure that Carver's back is still clear. The number of available targets seem to be rapidly diminishing and if she's got her bearings correctly, all that's left is whatever the sassy Rock-lady's got occupied. And…call Carys a coward, but that is something she's not sure she wants to sneak past in order to stab in the back. She doesn't want to get accidentally smooshed. Being accidentally blinded is bad enough. Dammit, Cenn! She rubs at her eyes, blinking them clear of bright spots. She just happens to glance rooftopwards as she's doing this and wow, those are some short bright spots. Wait a minute-those aren't spots! Those are dwarves! Pasty…creepy speaking dwarves. Their words just… do not hit a good spot with Carys. In fact, those violet eyes snap wide open and her expression seems to be about ten shades of 'Oh you did not JUST!'. She's uttering something resembling a curse and she turns. NOt even CArver stripping seems to distract her. No, this is likely an odd sight for those that know her. She is /livid/. The nearest wall is reached and she's putting all that breaking and entering to good use for she climbs (Hopefully) that wall like no tomorrow and as soon as she hits the roof she's /bolting/ for those dwarves. How dare they… "How dare you!"

Cenn hadn't been trying to blind everyone, he swears. But he's not really going to stop and apologize just yet. Because while the Darkspawn and demons may be dead, there is still this abomination. And while he's just seen this golem kill an ogre, he has oaths to uphold. And the only other Templar on the site of impact is now sporting a broken hand and a broken leg. He'll be shouldering him back at this rate. You know, assuming that his next action isn't supremely stupid. Which it might be. But he's closing distance with the abomination anyway, offering flanking with the golem, and striking out at the abomination, and hoping that with the Maker's Will he and the golem can finish this thing without much ado.

Ashalle's face blanches as she sees the damage she's done (quite accidentally, but done all the same) to Garou. "Oh, Maker…" she moans, kneeling beside him, the well-done lightning spell forgotten utterly. Stupid, stupid, /stupid/ mage that she is…

She tries to clear her mind and think of healing. "I… I know a little medicine, Lieutenant. You'll be fine. But this will probably hurt," she manages to say, reaching for his leg with one hand and chanting the phrases to focus her magical strength for some much-needed Heal-power on his injured body. She'll have to straighten the leg carefully as the magic works. "Just lie still. Try to think pleasant thoughts…"

Dwarves on roofs? She's blind to them right now. There are more important things to think about.

Alexia steps back somewhat less than voluntarily as the Hurlock all but falls on her, very crispified by the magic that killed it. Panting from exertion, she looks down at her now ichor-stained armor and clothing, which somehow feel three times as heavy as they actually are. At least the thing hadn't bled into her face. Between that and the sharp ache of overexerted muscles from redirecting the Hurlock's attack, she doesn't much feel like moving right now. But there's still one enemy left alive, and the two bizarre dwarf-things on a roof that she's barely noticed, speaking about… about…

"Zut alors… what are they even /talking/ about?!" she cries in frustration and anger, before rushing to assist against the abomination. Pain is transitive, and duty comes before all else, or so her training had taught her. Whether she can get close enough to attack the thing is another story entirely.

Dwarves on roofs are… well, they had been the most interesting thing to lay there and watch. Garou is no stranger to pain; one cannot live a martial life and not become rather intimately acquainted with it, but the weird cryptic hissing and the saucy lady climbing up the walls (literally) to go after them is a nice distraction all the same. It's so much so, in fact, that he doesn't notice Ashalle at… well, at all, really, until the first pulse of Creation magic rushes his own body's healing mechanisms around bones that are broken and joints rather far out of place. It is not the wild rush of water sensation that he is achingly familiar with - the one that buoys him up and holds him away from everything while damage is fixed. This is real and immediate and raw, the feeling of being chivied up a mountainside while carrying a boulder. It's itchy and uncomfortable… it hurts. It catches him enough off-guard that it's a long moment before he can get his wits about him at all. But by that time? By that time there is only righteous, indignant fury. "Don't touch me!" he roars, trying to scramble backwards using only his right hand and left leg. It doesn't work so well, but he doesn't need to be upright to use the abilities the last nigh three decades have been spent honing. Silence is, perhaps, his least favorite thing to do (outside very, very limited circumstances) but he's spent too long with the true healers to chance this magic being cast a moment longer. "You fool!" he hisses, voice tight from a combination of discomfort and focused effort. "That's how you create permanent cripples." The irony is not lost on him, but he's not exactly in a position to think about it right now.

The golem is doing its best, but with the sudden addition of two more very squishy things it mustn't squish, everything seems to get a bit more complicated. The Not-Warden-Templar's passive boost is… helpful, it supposes, but only in the theoretical sense that should one of them manage to land a hit on the Blighted thing, it would probably do some legitimate damage. "Mind the mouth," it quips, dry and rasping with an oddly good humor given the circumstance. "Someone went to bed without supper." It's a funny golem, did you know?

Sadly, the only one to even land a hit on the slippery abomination is Alexia and once again the force is met in a draw, though this time the lock is a pair of skeletal hands holding tight to her sword like it might be the morsel of food that means the difference between life and death. Sharing is not a strong point for any of these guys.

The two dwarves seem to be entirely oblivious to the irritation or the ascent of the female rogue. With no one to address them, they merely repeat their hoarse and hissing demand. "Why has she not come?" Again and again and again like a twisted mantra. "Why has she not come?"

That Silence was a good try there, Garou, but no dice. That creation magic has nothing to stop it's accelerated healing in all the wrong positions. That's gonna be fun later.

And then Carys is climbing the damn walls. "Carys… What are you…" Carver calls after her, pushing away from the wall with an exasperated sigh. Fuck today. He's not quite as good at scrambling up walls as Carys is, but Lowtown has a good number of ledges and hanging things, and he's just seen someone do it, so he can try it too, right? This is probably a terrible fucking plan.

She's here! Okay, maybe Carys really isn't the 'she' these bastards are talking about, but they should probably pay attention. Or not. The fact that they're not likely only adds to Carys' attack. And she is not holding back. That one dagger's being swung in a wide arc the moment she's managed to descend within striking distance of these things. These things that have, somehow, managed to not only find but stomp hardcore on some beserk button of hers. "SHUT. UP." This is said as she's swinging her weapon, "Just. SHUT UP!" And she's not fucking around, either. Slit its throat, remove it's head-whatever. Just. To get it. To. Shut. The fuck. UP.

Alright, Cenn's just about done for today. Because he knows what a failed Silence, even on the periphery of his perception, feels like and that's never good. So it's not Templar training that he turns to this time. It's brute force. Brute force and him stepping into his shield. If his blade wouldn't do it, it's a lot harder to miss, this close and with something this large. Shield Bash

That bellow of outrage shakes Ashalle's trance, right when she would've begun adjusting and straightening the leg into a better position for healing. She yelps and lets go, jerking back and ending up on her behind, blinking owlishly at Garou. "Aiee! Sorry!" she blurts. "Don't hit me!" That's all she needs, a /Templar/ with an actual reason to be furious at her. As if they don't have enough cause just from garrison gossip to want her thrown into the Narrow Sea lashed to an anchor.

Alexia's swing is checked by a pair of bony hands that stink of rotten flesh and worse, wrapped around her sword in a beyond-death grip. Taking a firmer grip on the sword hilt, she uses the leverage to pull/swing herself closer to the creature and attempt to stab its arms with her poignard, repeatedly, effectively drawing a Line In the Sand. "Let GO, you reject from a gibbet!!"

It's impossible for Ashalle to have known - for anyone here to have known… except for possibly Cenn, if the other Lieutenant had happened to look at his file AND interpret the mishmashed jumble of reports correctly - but that is exactly the worst possible way she could have reacted to Garou's outburst and mad scramble. "Don't…" he breathes, face gone unhealthily pale. "Don't…" He swallows hard around the lump in his throat and would look like someone kicked his puppy except for the fear that's almost rabid behind his eyes. "I wouldn't - I didn't. Just… please. Leave me alone." It's such a small voice from such a proud man, but this body doing its best to shrink into itself is hardly Garou at his best. "Please."

The golem has had about enough of this nonsense. A good, solid knockback punch ought to do something against this rotting dire pigeon of a flesh bag. Alas, it does not. Neither does Cenn's Shield Bash seem to even faze it. Alexia once again is locked in a mortal struggle between herself and something older, darker and much, much uglier. That she can hold her ground is impressive, but the fact is that the Abomination is not giving an inch. So when the golem loses patience, it does so with spectacular style. It thinks so, anyway. "That. Is. Enough." Wrapping one massive hand around the bony ones clinging to Alexia's weapon, the golem crushes them into so much dust and then wraps both arms around the Abomination's middle. "Wish me luck!" is thrown saucily in Cenn's direction - there is also the distinct feeling that the golem just tried to wink at him - and then that new skylight into Darktown? It's going to be christened with rock-ground Abomination jam. It's almost as good as the put-upon sigh that floats up from the darkness. "This is never going to come out of my pores."

The two dwarves, on the other hand - or what passes for dwarves, at any rate - are unperturbed by either Carys' vitriol or her attack. The swing of that blade is not run from, but redirected. It leaves a long, vicious gash down the length of its forearm, but that is the least of their worries. The dwarf on the other roof draws an indentical cut into his own arm, blood pouring from each wound into a hazy miasma that thickens the air and clogs the lungs with something vile and twisted. The last thing to be heard from them is a unison, "We will find her!" And then with synchronized movements that cannot possibly be natural, the dwarves - yes, dwarves - call on the power inherent in their sacrifice. The resulting explosion is not… large, but it is enough to send poor Carys flying off the roof of her own house… right before the foundations give way and it crumbles. The building Carver is climbing suffers the same fate, giving way to so much dust and debris. The dwarves are gone and the night is once more silent; there would be a touch of the anticlimax in the air, except for the fact that every single mage and Templar and other mildly sensitive persons in a fifteen yard radius would be able to tell that something in the air where those two creatures were was just… just wrong. The Veil is not quite torn, but incredibly, horribly, nauseatingly twisted. Because Kirkwall needed an extra creep factor. Of course.

Of course. Of fucking course. Because today just had to go and get worse. Last time he tries to climb a fucking building, apparently he tears them down in his wake. Carver groans as he falls to the ground, somehow mercifully not crushed by rubble. He rolls to his side, his hand coming to the back of his head. "Fuck this fucking city…" He rants, completely checked out for the night, "And its fucking fuckery." Colorful, Junior. Very eloquent. Well done.

Okay. She stabbed you. REACT. That's probably what's getting through Carys's pissed off state. The utter lack of reaction. She steps back and then recoils at whatever's coming from the wound instead of something normal. Like blood. Call it silly, but she's pretty sure this /might/ be worse than the gunk the Darkspawn were full of. Of course, when they get talking again, she's getting the urge to go back and start stabbing because… fuck them, right? But no. These guys… these guys freaking /explode/. About the last thing that goes through her head, outside of 'cover it', is to try to stay as limp as possible as the resulting force knocks her off her feet, and across and /over/ her roof.

And so, it kind of goes like this. Carver is doing his litany of cursing Kirkwall and everything else. And it's timed just so perfectly. The moment he finishes the word 'Fuckery'…there's a heartbeat before Carver breaks Carys's fall… by being there for her to land on him like so much a sack of grain. She's kind of out of it, so no witty commentary, but… Hi Carver, don't mind if she drops in, right?

"I… Uh… Good luck." Cenn says to the golem before he takes a dive with Mr. Abomination Face. What the actual FUCK has been today? This was supposed to be a standard patrol. And yet, here he was. What… What?! Kirkwall, no. And then that. Whatever the in the name of the Maker that was just before that explosion. It sends Carver and Carys tumbling, but they both seem to be moving. There is a very brief nod to the Guardswoman, but there are more pressing matter on his mind. And with the threats, seemingly, gone, his blade is sheathed, his shield flipped to his back, and Cenn is turning immediately, jogging over toward Garou and Ashalle. "We are returning to the Circle. Immediately." He says, voice firm, all the Lieutenant and not at all the man. "Brother, can you stand?" He asks Garou, kneeling and putting his arm under his shoulders, taking his weight as much as Garou needs. It seems he's prepared to carry him back if need be. But his gaze is falling on Ashalle in the next moment. "Are you wounded?" It's all severe efficiency, the stern care of a commander, one who has had to do this before, it seems.

"Huh?" Ashalle has to look away and look back. Yup, still cringing away. What's up with /that/? It's not like she's read the Lieutenant's file, or even seen any mishmashed jumble of reports on him. "I… I'll leave you alone. Promise. I'm sorry." Even if she has no idea why.

She almost misses the explosion, so consternated is the Elfwoman. But not quite. She couldn't miss the collapsing house, or the shout as Carver's falls, taking him with it. "Maybe I'd better just wait for a healer for them," she murmurs. It's been a /long/ night.

Cenn's words draw her back into the reality that she's a mage out in public, and there are people here who need her to return to the Circle with them. Public Mage = Bad Mage. Possibly even Extra Crispy Mage, if discovered alone. "N-no… I'm not hurt. Nothing more than a few scrapes," she says. "I'd help you carry him, but… I think he'd rather I didn't touch him. He'll need a healer, for certain."

One moment Alexia is struggling with a dead thing clutching her sword, the next the dead thing is pulled away and crushed by a golem. Her night gets stranger and stranger. "Um… I am… sorry," she says at last. "For your pores, I mean. But thank you for helping me- oh!"

The last comes as a startled cry as she hears an explosion behind her, and two houses collapse, followed by Carver falling into the street and Carys landing on top of him. "Ouch," she murmurs, wincing. She almost moves to help them, but a look down at her ichor-stained clothing and armor makes her think better of it. Besides, they are probably a cute couple. "If you have need of help moving that one," she says, pointing at the wounded Garou, "I would be glad to assist you." Besides, maybe the Templars have a solution for getting ichor out of a surcoat.

Davan had to take a step back and assess the damage. Not to the buildings, but to his outfit. Now that he's at least somewhat presentable again. "Well, that was interesting for my first evening out." To Cenn, he grins. "We'll have to do this again sometime. Perhaps without the buildings exploding and the abominations and darkspawn. …the demons did make it a bit homey." Ok, look. Things are collapsing around him but he's from Tevinter. It's like metaphor for life. "I'd offer wine and a bath, but your companion…" But look, he actually acknowledged someone injured. That's gotta count for SOMETHING.

The arrival of Cenn into his immediate perimeter with command authority that is sharp enough to pierce through at least some of the fog of fear and memory is a welcome relief. "I… believe so, yes." Getting to his one solid leg is not that much of a problem - the man has core strength for days - but the twisted limb will support no weight at all. "If you would permit me to borrow your shoulder," he continues, falling back to the oddly formal patterns of speech favored by the Orlesian nobility at court, "and if there is a way to move swiftly, I believe I shall be fine." Probably. Davan popping up is unexpected and loud in a sense that has nothing to do with sound. He doesn't answer Ashalle - not when she speaks directly to him or obliquely by speaking about him to others. He just can't right now; he'll feel bad about it soon enough. "Wine and a bath sounds lovely right now, actually," he comments blithely, seemingly unaware that the offer was not actually made to him. "But I need Valentin, first." It's the single remaining thought in a slightly nonsensical head at this point: Find Valentin. Then everything else will be okay.

It's a good thing that Carver is a) Young and b) Built like a brick shithouse if we're going to be frank about it. Carys landing on him makes him groan again, but it doesn't seem like he's sustained serious injury. "Yeah… Just…" He says, winded and hoarse with that fact, "Just put that down any old wear." He gives a half hysteric laugh that is followed by a cough at the settling dust.

"Oh, on any other day I'd love th' fact you're not squishy but…" This is said in a half-groan, half croak. Ohh…she could've been better served landing on something softer. She tries rolling a bit, but she doesn't quite succeed in rolling /off/ the man quite yet. But it does result in her half-patting Carver down. "Okay, I take it back, you're fine like this…" Well, /she's/ almost back to normal. Almost. "Is here alright?" She then just sprawls back over the poor guy. He might have to just push her off if he wants to get on his feet.

Cenn glances once more over to Carys and Carver. "I think they're alright." He says to Ashalle, "And yes, he will. We have two Spirit Healers in the Circle. I am sure one of them can see to him when we get back." Standing when Garou does, he nods. "Yes, of course. That is what it is there for." To Alexia, he simply shakes his head. "No, I have him. Thank you, Guardswoman, but your duty is here. I will see my own home." Because Cenn has turned on Taking Control of the Situation in full force right now. Or… At least… He does try to. Because then there is this Tevinter mage making him blush again. "I… Oh… Uh…" Cenn clears his throat, "Yes… Some other time." He says, adjusting Garou's arm a little over his shoulders, and nodding to say that he is ready to depart when Garou is. Though, not without something thrown over his shoulder to Davan. "Cenn, by the way. D'Argent." And then he's focusing on getting Garou and Ashalle home because fuck this shit.

There is Control. Of The Situation. And it's not hers. Ashalle simply collects her staff and follows it home.

She does wave goodbye, though. There's lack of control, and then there's just RUDE.

Davan gives one of those near-bows. All flare, no having to actually bend (creases are not your friend. Remember this). "Davan Pulcherus, and the offer of wine stands for you. Your friend, too, when he's not coming apart at the skeletal level. If you need help getting him back…" His hand gestures toward the general direction he was told to go earlier. "It's a bit of a walk, I could help." See? He's a nice Tevinter.

"I see, then. Maker keep you all," Alexia replies to Cenn, watching the two Templars and the mage carefully make their way out of the district. "I think they have it, good sir," she adds, to Davan, before wiping her blades and sheathing them.

Then she looks around at the wreckage of what used to be a neighborhood, poor though it was. At the two people still on the ground. At her gore-stained surcoat and armor. At the /wrongness/ in the air above the wreckage of two buildings.

Alexia sighs wearily. "I need a new job…" she murmurs, stripping off her supremely soiled and stinking surcoat and dropping it into what was once some vagrant's cooking fire. Her tunic is probably ruined, too, and she's definitely going to have an awful time getting the stuff off of her armor, too. But before she can even think of that, there are people to see to.

See, at first there's Cenn being sweet in that brotherly way that would touch the heart of any true Orlesian. And then there is the blushing and the stammering and Garou's a throbbing mess of pain and hobbling and mangled limbs but even he is more together than that. Well. Sort of. Ah, Fereldens. … …….. ………… "Come again?" he asks, deceptively smooth despite his pitiful hobbling. "You are d'Argent?" And then without waiting for much of an answer, Garou shakes his head. "Unbelievable. Unforgivable. Taking a silk purse and hiding it in a sow's ear." He is not in anywhere close to a good place right now, but later this muted thing will be real indingnation. "Sacrebleu, they've gone and drained all the color out of you."

You know, somehow, after all of this ridiculousness, this humor is nothing but soothing. Carver smiles, and laughs, loud enough to carry through the street. It's a sudden, rough, barked thing that harkens the thought of a mabari. "Yeah, I think here'll do." Carver says, shaking his head. He's not going to push her off, it seems. It seems, in fact, that the young man might just opt to stay on the ground all together.

Fereldens and their dogs-they even laugh like them. But the laughter, regardless of how it sounds, is contagious. Especially in the destressing phase of what just happened. She just throws one hand against her forehead and she's soon joining Carver in his laughing. If anything, it likely tells /others/ that yes, the two goofballs laying amonst the rubble of someone's home are, in fact, relatively all right. Just rattled. and apparently missing a few points in their sanity score becuase they are, in fact, laying in rubble /laughing/. If he's not making any motion to move her, she's not making any motion to remove herself. She /may/ shift a bit so she can drape more comfortably but actually get up? Nah, she seems content to stay here for the time being.

"And you, Guardswoman." Cenn offers back, but it is so quick that it's almost in passing. Davan just earns a shake of his head. "I have him, thank you. We are going in opposite directions." Or… Well… It depends on your path. Kirkwall is labyrinthine like that. But then his attention is turned wholly back to the man he is helping walk. The Lieutenant blinks. "Excuse me?" Cenn returns even as they continue to walk, and for a moment there is a ruffle of proud feathers that speaks to his, in fact, still being Orlesian. But they can have that debate while they walk.

"Suit yourself. I'm sure you're strong enough to handle him on your own," Davan replies before giving a glance to the others. They're all apparently alive and rubble is a BAD backdrop for his current state of dress. Any state of dress. It's a bad backdrop for him. "Remember the offer. …you Orlesians are everywhere. My cook is Orlesian. Not quite as handsome, but you can't have everything, I suppose." Now he's going to head off toward those stairs. "I've been gone forever. Princess is probably laying in wait. On the floor, poor thing."

"Ah, thank the Maker," Garou sighs, probably entirely nonsensically. "There is some hope for you then after all." And though he's leaning quite heavily on the younger Lieutenant's shoulders for balance and support, he is also awkwardly patting one of them. "Don't worry, we'll set you to rights, soon enough."


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