|Desi (desideri) wrote in thedas,|
@ 2010-11-09 22:49:00
|Entry tags:||! scene, ! thread, & 9:45 (5) molioris, @ desiderio ledaal|
death of a maleficar
Who: Desiderio Ledaal, NPC Yonca Ghanem, Ser Mortimer
Where: Campsite, just off the road to Gwaren
When: Molioris 22
Summary: Mort catches up to the blood mages, and Yonca meets her maker.
The campfire crackled, burning orange and yellow against a somber twilight. Desi and Yonca had set camp a safe distance from the road, though they'd mostly followed it during the day, only adjusting their course to avoid towns and villages along the way. They'd considered going through the woodlands to avoid being seen by anyone--no doubt that templar had already informed the Chantry about two apostates by now--but haste was their foremost concern, and traversing the landscape couldn't hope to outpace taking the main roads. With a couple of days behind them, Desi could safely say that anyone that avoided the roads in Ferelden clearly must have a death wish.
Darkspawn had set upon them the first evening after they'd encountered the templar, their approach drowned out by the storm. Against all their precautions, or at least Yonca's precaution, they were caught unawares, an experience Desi didn't care to repeat anytime soon. Thankfully, they were few in number and none were an honest threat after they lost the element of surprise. While magic made short work of the darkspawn after Desi and Yonca had found their bearings, their wounds forced them to stop earlier than either of them liked to heal and regenerate until morning.
When they were set upon again today, they weren't near so unprepared, though perhaps surprised that the Blight had made its way to the road yet again. Small wonder the Grey Wardens had gone recruiting if this was all the safety the roads afforded.
Desi winced as fractured bones in his wrist knitted themselves back together one by one in what he could only assume was the right formation. A few seconds of swelling gave way to an unpleasant string of bruises before even those faded away entirely. He pivoted his hand, and found his wrist was sore, but otherwise fine. Nothing to complain about anyway.
"You alright?" he asked Yonca, more as a courtesy than anything else. If anything, she was the better healer of the two. But then, given how keen she was on sharing warm fuzzies, he suspected she could probably be on the verge of death and still not letting him in on it.