Domus Apoculs

Hawke swore colourfully as another Darkspawn launched itself at her; these Shrieks were almost like the tainted equivalent of Ferelden Warhounds in how they were used - ranging out ahead of the horde itself, scuttling around in the shadows as predators, weakening or removing any resistance ahead of the main force. She barely managed to avoid the swipe of its sharp claws, sucking in her stomach as the serrated edges passed within an inch of the leather and chain protecting her gut.

Reacting swiftly, she swung around her weapon – a miserable excuse for a broom – and cracked the aged wood over the creature's hooded head. What little she had seen underneath these things' hoods had been evil eyes and teeth...far too many teeth. It shrieked out, the sound giving credence to their given name. Hawke hit it again. It seemed unperturbed by the hard wood knocking it over the head, something that would have laid a normal man out cold.

Seeing that her assault was futile, Hawke angled the broom towards the creature as she would a spear, the bristles making for an almost comical spearhead. "Well fuck you too!" she shouted in response to its bestial noises. A spark jumped from among the stiffened straw bristles and Hawke moved, loosening her grip so that the shaft slipped down until she had a decent hold of it. Then, using a move much like her brother would with his greatsword when sweeping through numerous foes, she swung the broom around, the stick becoming one long handle as the bristles burst into flame, fire rushing from them, leaving the impression of a great flaming blade.

The broom stuck the Shriek and the beast proved its name once more, this time crying out as it was engulfed in fire, panicking and scuttling back into the small alley it had originally burst out of. Hawke made a satisfied sound, looked at the charred end of the broom still in her grip, and dismissively dropped it to the ground as she stalked away, the hot wood causing the puddle of water it landed in to hiss as it evaporated.

"Sister!" Bethany called as she hurried over, her dress torn and dirtied. "Maker, that was amazing!" She had just returned a child to its parent, it clutching to a dark raven feather. "The pretty lady gave it to me!" The child had exclaimed when she asked about it.

"Yes, yes, no time for that though, we need to get out of here. Shrieks showing up means the horde will be here before noon," Sorana said, her tone lacking the normal snarky undercurrent.

The streets were filled with panicked villagers grabbing what they could before running north; Sorana and her sister were like islands of calm in the panic – apprehensive, but not afraid. "We must get to Mother and Carver," Sorana stated. "He'll be able to protect her until we get there, but there'll be nothing any of us can do once the main body of their force arrives."

Bethany simply nodded, her expression earnest. So began the Exodus of Lothering.

~o~

"FuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuck." Elisa's string of swearing had become an undercurrent chant to their fighting as the Wardens cut through the undead.

The rogue was not in her element; the normally fatal strikes of her dance were being shrugged off by the demon-possessed corpses. It did not help that there was the occasional shambling body with a face that she thought she recognised from prior visits to the arling. It was too much like the Battle of Red Tide. Fucking demons, fucking magic, fucking mages….

Alistair and Erik were at the centre of the Warden formation, using their shields to batter away any cadavers that got too close, allowing a small space for their companions to get a reprieve should the unending tide of the walking dead get too much.

Leliana was much in the same boat as Elisa, her arrows having little effect if they weren't drawn to the point that the bow creaked loudly in protest and then drilling through the skulls into grey matter that was far gone by several days.

The only reasons the Wardens truly prevailed was due to the efforts of the last five members of the party. Celestine was immediately grateful that they had pulled the grey giant into their group, his massive axe cleaving through the unliving hordes like they were over-ripe fruit. Bile, congealed blood and other unmentionable gore splattered in the wake of the Qunari as he waded through the foe. She herself was standing alongside Morrigan, slightly further away from the fighting, their spells decimating huge swathes of walking corpses. Pillars of flame incinerated, lightning storms vaporised and entropic miasmas decomposed the possessed vessels before they could reach the party.

Darting in and out of the chaos were the two Mabari, their powerful jaws surprisingly effective at taking down the undead - crushing bone and dead muscle with savage ferocity.

It was in this manner that the companions fought through the abandoned streets, towards the centre of Redcliffe village. Nearing it, they could hear the sounds of weapons clashing accompanied by war cries and shouts of pain. The sounds were in stark contrast to the muted shuffle and stagger of the unliving, who did not call out as they were wounded, who did not feel anger as they saw their fellows fall, who did not whimper as they – already dead – died once more.

The promise of finding survivors among the haunted buildings proved to be a great uplifter as the Wardens' group surged forward at the sounds of resistance, tired limbs reinvigorated. Celestine had to swerve to the side as the trunk of one of the undead sailed past her, separated from its legs by Sten's great weapon and flung towards her by the explosion of her own fireball, its arms still grasping for anything to claw at as it burned.

Their tearing through the demon-possessed sea raised a weak cheer from the still living as they burst through to a barrier that looked to have been hastily erected. Joining up with the worn defenders the companions finished off the unliving, the unending tide seemingly having come to a halt.

The ragged band of survivors parted to let someone through as the Wardens gathered to properly greet them. The spokesperson was a middle-aged man with red-brown hair and unkempt stubble. He wore what might have been fine armour under all the layers of gore, but by the rust showing in some places it was apparent that it had been a while since it had been properly cared for.

He walked up to Celestine who stood at the head of their party and stuck out his hand in greeting, which she took. "You have my deepest thanks, my Lady. Had you and your companions not shown up we would surely have breathed our last today." His eyes applieda tired honesty to what he said.

"Think nothing of it Messere. We have urgent business with the Arl and therefore it was conveniently aligned with our goals," the Circle mage replied.

"Regardless, my gratitude remains. May I ask what such a capable group of fighters is doing seeking the Arl?" he asked.

"Teagan!"

The man's eyes grew wide at Elisa's exclamation, his face reddening as the noble rogue wrapped her arms around him, hugging tightly.

"Ah, uhm…Elisa?" He seemed unsure of what to do with his arms, but settled for gently, if awkwardly, patting her on the back. When she stepped back, tears streaming down her cheeks, the man now identified as Teagan gripped her by the shoulders and looked her over, awkwardness forgotten. "Maker, Elisa…what are you doing here? We haven't had word from Highever in weeks!"

"Nor will you, Bann Teagan," Erik said, stepping around Celestine to gather up his sister in his arms, whose tearful face had expanded into sobs at the mention of her home.

"What? Why?! And you're here too, Erik?"

"Highever was sacked by Howe. We're the only survivors that we know of."

"Maker…." The Bann was stunned, his mind unable to process what had just been imparted to him. After a short silence he shook his head and looked from Celestine, pointedly looking at her robes, which, while now travel-worn, were still distinct Circle-issue. "That's grave news, and according to your…companion here you seek the Arl?"

Celestine nodded, and realising that this was probably best handled by the nobles, she stepped away to stand next to Alistair. Sten had sat down on a low part of the barricade, using a dirty cloth to clean off his weapon, and garnering several fearful looks from the surviving townspeople. Morrigan was rifling through the recently re-killed corpses, seemingly uncaring when it came to physically handling the rotting bodies. Leliana was watching her, face turning a distinct green.

"You know, I never told you how that knight in the Chantry knew me." Alistair said quietly to Celestine.

"Oh? Well, I'll admit I was curious, but I wasn't sure if running across people you know everywhere was or wasn't the norm outside the Circle. I mean, I wasn't even out of it for more than a week and already I ran into Wynne at the King's camp."

The blonde haired man chuckled. "Hah, I always forget that you have very little outside world experience. You always seem so sure."

Celestine smiled, looking away from him, glad that her ears were hidden behind her hair, for they were burning with what was no doubt a furious blush at the slight compliment. "I believe you were going to tell me about the knight."

"Oh, yes, the knight. Uhm… about that. I may have been raised here, by the Arl." He stumbled through the explanation. "I was kept here, sleeping in the stables. I remember getting so furious with the Arl at one point for how I was treated, I threw the only memento I had of my mother at the wall…breaking it. Stupid really, but then the rumours about me being his bastard started circulating and his wife took issue with it that. Which was when I was shipped off to the Chantry. I wonder sometimes if there's anything to that…breaking the memento and then being forced into the Chantry – considering that it was an Andrastean Amulet."

Celestine had been listening in rapt attention to the tenor of his voice. When she realised that he had stopped she nodded slowly, then smiled at him. "Thank you for telling me; it means a lot that you trust me with this."

It looked like Alistair was about to respond then the Bann called out, "Alistair?! Is that you?" The surprise in his voice was apparent, and he seemed to be done talking with the other two nobles.

Alistair sighed deeply, shrugging at Celestine. "I'm just happy to be able to tell someone and not have them make a jab at me about it." He then turned to Teagan, nodding his greeting. "Bann Teagan."

"Alistair! Last I saw you, you were getting carted off to the Chantry in Denerim by Isolde."

"Yes, but I'm with the Wardens now. After Loghain's betrayal we hoped to get some support from Arl Eamon. We heard that something was wrong from one of the knights in Lothering, but things here seem…to have gotten wronger."

"Ah, yes. I'll tell you what I know in the morning." The Bann looked around, making note of their makeshift fortifications and the condition of the remaining defenders. "But first we must prepare for the night; the largest wave always comes just after twilight. With your help, we might even be able to hold out. With that wave depleted, the castle will hopefully be easier to take on, since that is no doubt your goal."

Celestine stepped forward, forcing the man's attention on her again. "Yes, have your people prepare. We'll see if there are any other means by which we can assist in the defence."

Bann Teagan,surprised, looked from the Amell to Alistair and the Couslands, then back, but finally he nodded. "Very well; we shall do all we can to prepare. Andraste guide you, Wardens."