Lavellan (veilfire) wrote in witchinghour, @ 2016-02-11 13:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: garrett hawke, character: lavellan |
WHO: Hawke & Lavellan.
WHEN: Wednesday, late afternoon.
WHERE: Near the forest.
WHAT: A mage and an elf walk into a bar ... It was inevitable, really, that these two would end up fighting together.
WARNINGS: Blood, gore, probably cursing?
STATUS: In progress.
It had been over a year since the last time Lavellan had fought alone. He remembered very distinctly how difficult that had been, trying not to flinch every time Cassandra drew her sword or inching further away when Varric reloaded Bianca. They had been strangers to him, then—armed strangers with unclear intentions. Lavellan knew better than to trust beyond the strength of their weapons, and he’d always kept a wary eye on them, lingering near the edge of battle for as long as he could manage. Perhaps it was a lesson to him, then, that the absence of their presence now felt nothing but deeply unsettling and wrong-footed.
Still. That didn’t mean he was unable to help defend the people here. With Dorian occupied elsewhere, Lavellan set out on his own to find where the fighting was thickest. The elf kept to the rooftops, firing arrows from above whenever he found stragglers that had strayed too far into the city. From a distance, it looked as though a very large group of undead were clustered along the border of the forest. It … didn’t look good. Even in the Fallow Mire, the undead had risen sluggishly from the water, taking long enough to offer a clear shot. Like all things in this place, it was a far cry from Thedas. These creatures were fast, and they seemed pretty intent on destruction.
When he finally made it closer, Lavellan fired shots into the thickest of the crowd, which began to force the undead apart. If he could thin out the herd a little bit, he might have an easier time picking them off from above before he’d have to return to the ground. Then he’d have to see about lighting those torches of magic fire, though just the thought of it made him feel uneasy. There was no way to tell how this world would react to veilfire, much less how long he would last attempting to keep every torch lit. With any luck, they wouldn’t be overrun with undead forever, and he’d be able to return to Dorian again.
That was a good thought. He’d carefully tuck it away and focus on ruthlessly spearing undead.