Who: Hawke, Bela & Dog - with a demon What: Waking up to tomes of blood magic with a bit of extra baggage When: This morning Where: Their flat above The Hanged Man Rating/Warnings: Violence, language, inappropriate commentary Status: Complete!
While he was certain Thedas would continue on after his last set of dreams, Hawke also hoped to not have anymore beyond what he’d experienced - he had hope for Kirkwall, and while mages were slowly working their way into political power (look at the pup-faced Inquisitor, for example), he was content in simply helping Varric repair the infrastructure of a broken city. It was a home that burned more than once, but it was still home. It was where he somehow formed a family not bound by blood, and he’d fought tooth and nail for it even if it was all simply by circumstance; not like he was a chosen one, but he was always at the wrong or right place at the wrong or right time.
But because they were over, the last thing he expected were any surprises from them.
It wasn’t the alarm that had awoken him or Bela wiggling down the sheets to stick his common state of morning wood in her mouth (alas) - instead it was a throaty snarl from man’s best friend, deep and menacing. It early morning, the sky still dotted orange from sunrise, and while it was nearing Dog’s time for his walk around the block to unleash the fury of his bowels, he had never woken them up growling.
Hawke snapped an eye open. His sight was blurred with the remnants of sleep but he could still make out the offensive stance of the hound, jowls curled back and white teeth bared menacingly at a pile of -
Books?
Tomes, really, with the familiar sunburst crest. To the common Thedosian peasant it looked like something right out of the Chantry, but something in his gut twisted and churned with a sense of dreaded familiarity. Slowly, he used one arm to push off the bed and the other pushed the slumbering pirate.
“Wake up,” he whispered loudly, his stare unmoving from the latest arrival from the dream fairy. “Dog. Move.”
Maker, really? Hawke was going to get his sleepy, adorable Admiral raider of a wife up in a way that distinctly did not mean she took care of his morning wood either by sucking him dry or riding him into a state of wakefulness? How completely and utterly rude. No, he pushed at her, like she was hogging all the covers or something.
Well, it’s quite possible that she was. But that remained beside the point.
She was warm, curled up and comfortable like a cat snoozing on a windowsill, so completely content to not deal with whatever was happening. Or get dressed, because the black lace teddy seemed plenty comfortable on its own. Her own wakefulness stuttered a bit, as she thwapped at Hawke - wherever one of those lightning quick hands could get to, was that his back?
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” she demanded, yawning, then sat up to make note of how tense both man and man’s best friend seemed to be. “And what’s wrong with Dog?”
Begrudgingly, Dog listened. It was a slow, cautious walk to his master - fur still bristled, those chompers more like large tusks rising from his gums - but his stance when he approached the bed was defensive. Hawke reached to the floor and snatched a discarded shirt to pull over his head, and his full attention had yet to turn completely towards his waking spouse.
“It’s those books,” he muttered. “Tarohne - you remember that batshit blood mage bint taking those templars? White lipstick that looked it was made of crushed bone?” It was a bit of a quest to find all her research - and it was best they did than anyone else. Each of them had some kind of enchantment on them, drawing forth abominations and other demons from the Fade making their time particularly difficult. In each page was a knowledge forbidden to mages, the sort of thing that’d send an already desperate and frenzied Circle mage to the brink of utter self-destruction to get out of how awful things were in Kirkwall.
Despite the macabre nature, it was still knowledge. Knowledge that needed to be understood.
Oh. Oh? “Right, right,” Bela was starting to wake up, likely because she all of a sudden began to feel this storm of dread brewing and picking up intensity, making the air thick with tension. “Like she gave Skeletor a blowjob. Or perhaps was an extra in a Tim Burton film.” Honestly, some of those fashion disasters she just didn’t understand - Aveline’s aversion to moisturising her hands, Tarohne’s lipstick, Meredith’s shoulder pads (may she rot in hell).
Blood magic was macabre, but so was Necromancy. So were a lot of other sects of magic that weren’t taught in the Circles because ooooooooh, potential for possession and abominations and blahdeblah. It was a wonder the Circles had lasted as long as they did, but being a part of their initial domino-effect destruction was sort of an amazing thing.
These books appearing in their bedroom? Not so much. Bela was all for forbidden tomes, don’t get her wrong - but this could only lead to disaster. Probably would also be crass to ask how much these would go for on the black market - oh, come on! Just a rough estimate?
“So now all of them are here, and they’re enchanted, so - I suppose we ought to grab our weapons?” she suggested. It wouldn’t do to fight demons in bed, in their pyjamas.
All of them in one heaping pile of potential disaster was definitely cause for them to weapon up - Hawke didn’t think he could dedicate the time for a proper suit up in physical defenses when it came to his mage armor (a lot of straps were involved, they really weren’t exactly practical for a speedy dress up). What had once been his father’s staff was leaning against the wall by the bed for, say, reasons such as this.
But there was no ominous flutter of pages from the texts, not yet. To any normal person they seemed harmless, but their senses were honed enough to pick up on an anomaly of energy patterns. Dog too, and if the mabari was on the defense about the sudden appearance, than that spelled out trouble.
Up to his feet, the aurum stave in his hand, his bare feet dragged along the cold floor in a slow and careful crawl. “A very wise thing to do,” he frowned. “All things considered it’s a good thing we invested such a nice gold coin in homeowner’s insurance. I honestly don’t know what to expect.”
Something violent? Clearly a given, but in what numbers? One abomination, two abominations? An arcane terror, a shade? Garrett knelt down before them and Dog expressed his displeasure by growling louder. “Books on blood magic, the Forbidden Ones - Tarohne was mad but there was some truth to her research.” Her claims of a fictitious God and Andraste being an utter fool would be sacrilegious in Chantry walls, but there was something valuable on the taboo arts in these pages.
“There’s usually a kernel of truth to most mad rantings,” Bela said, and despite her penchant to fight in Kirkwall while completely pantsless she grabbed something from a drawer and actually covered her bum. Yoga pants, but still, better than nothing - true to her usual style, she’d fight abominations with her tits spilling out of whatever excuse for a top she wore. This nightgown looked fantastic, and battle-ready. “You’re planning to keep those books and study them once it’s assured all the nasties are gone?”
Her daggers were stashed close by too - one under the pillow, the Heartbreaker. The Dagger of the Four Winds elsewhere, the Backstabber beneath the mattress. That one she grabbed as well, twirling briefly in her hand before getting a good grip on the handle. Been awhile since her beauties had seen some action so this ought to be fun
“If whatever appears could not destroy our flat though, it’d be most appreciated.” Not that she thought it would happen. Their luck tended to be pretty abysmal in that regard.
He’d also like a chance to guzzle down a bit of whiskey and coffee in one-go before being faced with treacherous battle, but he supposed that luxury was going to be robbed from him - the moment his hands sorted the ‘treasure’ bestowed on him, the moment his fingers even brushed the cover of the sixth book (The Fell Grimoire and all its darkest secrets of magic from the Tevinter Imperium), there was a shift in the air. A drop in temperature. Visible around them were the ripples in the fabric of existence, and then, ultimately, a tear.
Hawke witnessed it firsthand the slow emerging from it from the ground before him, as if beneath their flat rested a cesspool of evil - the vibrant crackles of violet power, a glow of white, the sight of gnarled horns nestled atop an sinfully alluring physique, feminine in every aspect. He rose to his feet and braced himself while Dog had a very protective stance beside his master’s mate, loyal to the very bone, and there was something about the appearance of this demon that he dreaded.
It was beyond an abomination, beyond a shade or spirit. Beyond a typical demon of desire.
In his memory were words seared into his bloody brain from a previous encounter in another life. “The blood feeds, the blood nourishes. In blood, the call is heard. In blood, the deal is made. My master bathed in a river of blood -”
“- then the Great Xebenkeck came!” It was the one referred to as the Forgotten One that finished the sentence, a sinister glee to that haunting voice. Her eyes were burning bright as she floated, the sway of her body like a tantalizing dance.
Oh, balls. This was going to be messy, wasn’t it? His feet took him back some paces closer to Bela. He’d need distance if he was about to let the arsenal of spells loose, and he’d do his best to use his ones with the less devastating physical effects. For the sake of their home. “Well, points for entrance. What do you think, love?”
Lack of armor and in a contained room no less. Andraste, please don’t leave them homeless.
Maker’s sacred cock, really? A bloody desire demon just rose from the floorboards in their bedroom, a creature that looked like a jolly good time - what with her exposed plump breasts and all, nipples even on display like something from Satan’s candy store - but she was really here to make their lives miserable. And likely aiming to destroy this perfectly lovely and cosy flat belonging to a perfectly sweet married couple.
“I think you let me have her for a bit and then when you see a good opportunity, when she’s all good and distracted, take it,” Bela insisted, speaking of the powerhouse spells that Hawke had his disposal - one blast from the Staff of Whatever, and magic would light up the whole building like it was a Christmas parade at Disneyland, barreling down Main Street USA. They’d best be well-timed.
One thing this pirate was good at? Ambushing her enemies, not to mention taunting them. “Come on, then, you kinky little bitch,” she spat at the demon who wasn’t quite through the Veil all the way it seemed. The whole entrance felt different, like there was a wall between her and them - in that case, Bela would just keep delivering blows until they both pushed her back where she belonged.
Baiting, goading - she engaged the floating menace in a duel, blades twirling and Isabela moving quicker than even supernatural eyes could catch. She knew that demons could sometimes cast shields that nullified magical attacks - and she didn’t want to give that one a chance to do it.
Desire demons, those blasted cunts - was it necessary to instigate battle with demonic tits flopping around as such? Really? Where were the demons with the erections?? Or at least a flaccid cock flapping around while they tried to kill them. Make it equal, you know? He’d contemplate the injustices of it later, when the situation wasn’t as dire, and the nod he gave to Isabela was a silent agreement of their combat styles. He was range, she was always in the thick of it, but he wasn’t about to let her move that close in proximity all by her lonesome.
Dog didn’t need to be told twice or at all, really, when it came to leaping into the fray of things. His canine body was all muscle, bred for battle, and he was right beside the pirate for support. Dark spawn, demons, actual people; he’d fought them all, and he did come from a world where that was the norm. He’d do his best to protect his human family.
It was rather touching. Dog was best dog.
Xebenkeck smiled, and the way she moved was all deadly seduction - but there was an interesting thing Hawke was noticing, all while the tip of his staff cut through the scar on his palm to let the blood spill, his token enhancement of spells. It was just her. No motions to summon minions. Back when they’d dealt with her it was a bitch and a half to even get to her through the waves of shades and abominations, but it was two and a half (Dog) against one.
Bela’s blades made contact with shields that sparked on impact and the demon’s eyes flashed, teeth exposed in predator fashion. “Aren’t you a pretty one,” she purred, that sultry chuckle echoing through the room in an uncomfortably haunting fashion. “What is it that you desire the most, pirate queen?”
For fuck’s sake, Hawke knew exactly where that was going. His sliced palm touched the staff, life-force melding with the power that filled the weapon, and he spun it through the air to set in motion the spell he was to summon. Crushing prison, which meant pillars of white light shot from the ground up and all around that wretched thing, trapping Xebenkeck in one stationary spot while the pressure of magic collapsed onto her.
“If you say ‘I like big boats and I cannot lie,’ Bela, we’re going to marriage counseling!”
“But Hawke!” was Isabela’s poetic response, jerking back when the Heartbreaker penetrated a shield - or didn’t penetrate, at least not where the pirate wanted it. Instead the blade lodged in something, like goo from the Fade or whatever shite one could classify it as, and a centimeter or two away from demon flesh she had to yank it out. New tactic forming. “What I want most is - “
A big boat? A beautiful, glossy ship? No, no. Hawke needn’t worry. She already peaced out once, lured in by the irresistible bait the desire demon presented to her - and she hadn’t even gotten her ship anyway, so it was really all for nothing, wasn’t it?
Considering herself something of a smart cookie, she wouldn’t let the temptation get to her (again). The magic pillar of doom felt like the air itself wobbled, decompressing, and as she took a breath she had her final answer. “What I want most is for you to fuck off so I can tap that ass!”
There - utilising those stealth and evading tactics, disappearing and reappearing, she attempted to find a weak spot on her prey from behind, blade aiming to plunge into her back. With Dog the ever faithful warhound fighting with her (he really was the best, wasn’t he - she had grown more fond of her and Garrett’s furchild over these past few months) And oh, Bela would really enjoy this.
Bela stabbed, Dog bit - Hawke’s spell was of limited duration but the power behind it, enhanced by his own blood, had been powerful. Enough to stagger and paralyze the lavender-skinned being from another plane of existence, exposed and ready for a physical onslaught coming her way. Things were blown and scattered from the force, and he was purposefully avoiding the more flammable spells for obvious reasons; too dangerous in a contained area, plus not only would they lose their home but their goddamn business and he was not losing any of it.
“Your timing for flattery’s a bit odd but accepted,” he managed to thickly chuckle, though it was more garbled and a bit growlish as a mist of darkness overcame his hands, swirled with a blue that looked like smoke and fire. It made a sound, something like a white noise that filled the room. When it was unleashed in a beam, the demon seemed to have absorbed it instead of getting knocked back.
Though something about it obviously hurt, with the way Xebenkeck clutched her chest. Light from the spell seemed to be seeping out, her body a containment for the magic. A walking bomb of spirit magic. “Bela, Dog, move!”
Exploding it back into the depths of the Fade from within itself was the plan, and soon she’d burst with energy that might rattle the walls, splinter the floors, crack the windows and shatter fragiles. Casualties were expected, but he had planned to do his best to not destroy the very foundation of this bloody building.
As long as the whole flat didn’t cave in on itself, sending them all falling down a floor to where the Hanged Man bar was, then Isabela was mostly alright with casualties. She could just tell there was going to be a right ejaculation of magic any second now - and while she couldn’t quite pick up Dog and cradle him sweetly against her bosom (well, sometimes she did when they were watching the telly even though he weighed like six-hundred pounds, ssshhh) she did get him by the scruff of his neck to pull him nearer and make sure he wasn’t anywhere near the blast.
The mabari practically leaped into her arms anyway - he always did follow instructions well, that warhound.
After a moment wherein the walls themselves were sucked in and back out again, and a shelf or split down the centre and sent the contents gracefully crashing upon the floor, Bela popped up from where she’d been crouched with the bed blocking her. “Is she gone?” the pirate asked, burnished gold eyes widening. “I don’t think any of our naughty toys got broken, so that’s a plus??” Hardy things they were.
Most of the indoor scrapes were fixable, Garrett assumed - at least it looked like it from the surface, so many thanks to Andraste’s fuzzy twat for that. With the back of his red-stained hand he wiped the sweat from his brow, breathing out a sigh now that the air around them settled in its typical stillness. No uncomfortable zing shooting around them and making the hairs on the back of their neck rise from a presence not of this world.
“Gone, but…” Comments about their recreational tools aside, there was something in place of Xebenkeck’s presence. A peculiar stave of red steel, a metal construct of orange flame at the very top. Very similar to Anders’ own Valdasine, but distinct enough to be its own staff. Hawke approached with caution and knelt, his fingers wrapping around the literal magic stick. “Staff of Voracity, of fire and blood.” How fitting. His head rose to smirk at Bela. “Must be Christmas, or my birthday. Books of forbidden arts and a new toy?”
Dog was still glued to Bela but with less ferocity. He was panting now, tongue rolled out his mouth. That tail spun like a helicopter as he barked, and then he proceeded to slobber all over his human-mama of love.
Must be a good sign, then. “You’re alright, then? The both of you?” He didn’t see wounds. Thankfully.
Ew, Dog, you and your drooly tongue. Now Isabela needed a shower and a scrub with a brillo pad. “Yes, we’re alright,” she confirmed, scratching the mabari behind his ears - the sweet little baby, he deserved a bone to gnaw on for such good work. “Books of forbidden arts and a new toy, how exciting. Going to share with the class, then?”
She doubted Dorian would be interested, despite how Tevinter was the Centre for Practising Forbidden Arts in Thedas - he wouldn’t even go to Skyhold. But Trevelyan and the others might be, provided that some didn’t piss their pants at the thought of all that taboo stuff in one location.
Standing up and dusting herself off, Bela went to readjust everything and pick up what had fallen - it didn’t look very awful, in the scheme of things. “Here I thought mishaps related to our dreams were all finished.”
At least they didn’t need to be destroyed here - upon further inspection (meaning, he opened the books and actually didn’t unleash a wave of uglies from the Fade), they were still perfectly intact. It was worth a keep, especially if someone wanted to seriously learn the skill of blood magic in a reasonable manner; he assumed most of the Thedosians here were still skeptical of it, but if anyone asked he was ready to teach and discuss what he knew.
It was all a matter of education, really, and trying to understand a sect of magic that was feared without a second thought to looking into it. Hawke had yet to turn into an abomination in either life, so he must be doing something right with it.
Later on today he’d flip through the pages and study Voracity, but for now he piled the tomes on a surface that weren’t the floors and let both mage weapons lean against the wall. His palm was a bit bloody, though he’d patch it up in a bit - because first he needed to give his wife an actual greeting of the morning. A smothering kiss to her mouth and a fierce grab of booty. “Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning, you arse!” Isabela chuckled, of course returning that kiss and giving Hawke a little bit of a nibble with pearly teeth. “Had to battle a demon before breakfast, oy, what are our lives,” she shook her head and gifted him with a bum grab too. Now to tend to his slight injury, because sometimes she would play nurse, naughty or otherwise.
In pirate times, you’d usually just splash some whiskey or other strong liquor on a cut (or ignore it entirely) but they had actual rubbing alcohol here. And a bandage, which Bela stuck on Hawke’s hand, over his palm, after she gleefully poured the alcohol on to disinfect - and it’d sting a little, which was hilarious. But no one ever said she was actually fit to be a compassionate nurse.
There we go, she’d patched up her scruffy hubby all right and proper. Gold stars for the both of them!
It was not hilarious, and neither was the wince and pitiful pout her husband wore - the cutting hand thing, it was a very common thing he did as a way to give his spells an enhancement no other enchanted item could give. Considering their foe thought it necessary. Technically, he could summon blood from others (a very unsightly thing to do, especially when it came from someone still alive) to patch up the little slice but that was much too extreme. Hawke could handle a cut.
Mostly.
“You could work on your bedside manners,” he quipped with a grumble and kissed her again anyway. His arm then draped over her shoulder as he finally surveyed the, ah, damage. He might have winced a second time from the mess. “It could have been much worse? Please don’t make me wear that awful maid outfit while I clean this up. It’s fucking itchy.”
The maid outfit, now there was a fun idea. Isabela made a noise of thoughtful contemplation, as her arm slipped around Hawke’s waist in turn. “I suppose I won’t make you, as long as you promise to bend over a lot and let me watch,” she grinned. “And I guess I’ll help you clean too.”
It was partway her place too, after all - that was the whole point of the blessed union in Vegas, anyway. To share things including the tavern they opened together, their flat, cars, finances, bodily fluids, for the rest of their natural lives. How bloody precious.
“Can we have breakfast first though?” Now it was her turn to pout a little - though it looked rather amusing, she with her sharp-angled face and glittering gold snake eyes. That pirate stare, the one always hungry for plunder. At the moment, also something like flapjacks too. Banishing demons was hard work.
“I think we’ve earned the right to replenish after that fiasco,” Hawke agreed, and he needed some fuel if he were to tackle the mess that’d been made. Not to mention he made amazing flapjacks, thank you - having been so involved with his family, Leandra had taught him to be the King of Domesticity. He knew how to sew buttons and remove about every imaginable stain out there. He was very proud of it.
Pancakes and coffee with a bit of oomph in it, coming right up.