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For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

The taste of ash lies thick in the air. For once something manages to overpower the foundry stench and blacken the perpetual orange of Kirkwall's night sky. Rubble lies massed in the streets, flung from the highest point to almost the lowest. Insanity and sudden chaos in the wink of an eye, a fateful explosion that has Cullen still blinking back blue lines, negative light impressions burned onto retinas.

Knight-Commander Meredith has left the Champion with an ultimatum that she not surprisingly doesn't take, murder her companion and choose their side, or the mages will all face the consequences. Hawke has vowed to fight to the bitter end to protect the mages of the Circle from the Right. Cullen privately hopes that she'll keep that word whether he agrees with her sparing of the abomination or not. This is all moving too fast with blame falling in the wrong quarter. The right answer isn't more blood. Meredith is implacable with all of them drawn along in her wake of righteous fury.

Cullen doesn't stay silent, arguing about the Champion. Surely arrest will be enough. Kirkwall's nobility won't stand for one of their grudging own being murdered by the arm of the Chantry. It isn't their place, Viscount or no Viscount in office. To his surprise, he earns concession on that front.

Then there is no more room for talking. They come upon their first wave of demons and abominations slaughtering unfortunates. The night turns red and black, a mist of blood and ichor. Cullen bashes his way through wave after wave of evil torn straight through the Veil, called by violence and horror. His sword arm burns. His shield feels as though it gains twenty pounds of its own volition, all of that before they reach the Docks District.

He hears a sound up toward the boarded up Qunari compound, more fighting. He peels away from the main force following Meredith, promising to catch up shortly, and runs up the steep steps. Breathless at the top, he sees flashes of fire past the barrier. He throws his weight behind his shield and bashes it in enough to gain entrance. A lone figure stands in the long abandoned plaza battling demons with magic and not an abomination himself. Without further thought, Cullen charges into the fray. "Aid behind you!" he shouts. He doesn't want to be mistaken for another enemy in the fight.

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The tension in Kirkwall had been palpitate the moment Dorian stepped on to the docks weeks ago. He would have loved to leave straight away but he hadn't the coin so he was forced to stay in the City of Chains and devise a way to make enough gold to move on to Starkhaven or another Free March city.

The gold and the chance did not come in time. Kirkwall exploded, quite literally, into war right before his eyes. Templars turned on mages, mages turned into abominations and Dorian was stuck in the thick of it, fighting his way to the docks and hopefully a place on a fleeing ship.

He didn't quite make it. Instead he found himself face to face with demons, the blood mage who summoned them lying dead at the monsters' feet. Clearly another reason not to truck with demons but it was too late for the poor bastard and the summoned creatures were now Dorian's problem.

It surprises him to feel his barrier snap. He whips his staff around, blade slashing through a demon on the way and is ready to burn whoever or whatever broke it to a crisp. Except, it's a Templar, obvious by the symbol on his shield claiming to be aid and charging into battle.

"Let's hope it stays that way," he mutters under his breath as he returns to the fight. There are enough recently dead around for him to pull spirits from the Fade and throw them into the fight against demons. He throws fire and casts lightning and when his mana is low spins his staff around to slice and stab with the bladed end. All that combat training his father insisted on is finally getting used.

Cullen's first reaction to the animated dead is to wheel on them, expecting demon possessed corpses. To his complete shock, they turn on the remaining demons instead. He wastes no more time thinking of it or why that might be. He's not foolish enough to destroy a battle resource for lack of understanding.

His exterior tirelessness and relentless attacks mask a growing fatigue. He positions himself to the best advantage to aid the stranger, out of direct line of his spells, close enough to prevent him from being closed on from behind. The sound of both sword and shield ring out with every blow against tough hide, or occasionally squelch into wispier, less defined substance.

He doesn't stop fighting until it's just the two of them and the unsettling corpses that still aren't hostile. "We can't stay here." He hasn't caught his breath at all and is already on the move. "Will you come? Getting separated is a bad move."

It's a stupid question because obviously Dorian needs to run for the docks while he has a clear path and no one to stop him. He has to make his escape before this whole city burns to the ground.

"Where are we going?" he asks, waving a hand to dismiss the spirits that were assisting him before they got too restless. The corpses drop as if someone cut their strings. "This place is a mad house. We need to escape while we can!"

He throws an arm out towards the docks to the ships and well there's a great deal of fire in that direction as well. Dorian realizes that he might not be able to escape after all. "Curse this city."

He did that? Cullen's eyes narrow slightly. He has never seen magic like that. The mage has a point, though. Things are worsening by the moment. Any questions can be sorted out later, if there is a later at all.

"I have to get to the ferry. I'm going to the Gallows." He frowns, very aware that's likely not the sort of place this stranger wants to be. If he's not an apostate, which he easily could be with his strange magics, he's still clearly not a Marcher and not one of theirs.

"I can almost guarantee you there's no escape by sea right now." He points with his sword toward what looks like a forest of masts in the distance, dark shapes on the water illuminated by the moon. The smoke hasn't spread far enough to obscure the sky over the harbor. "They're already leaving."

He slows at the foot of the stairs and takes a moment to look left and right. Right in that moment, they're clear. "As mad as this sounds, you're probably safer coming with me than trying it on your own for now. I can't tell you what to do. That's my advice." He picks up the pace again. Meredith will be furious if he holds them up for long and is unlikely to want to sail to the Gallows without him. 'If the other templars see you alone doing...what you did, they'll attack you on sight, no questions asked."

The Templar makes a great deal of sense and a look at the masts getting smaller in the distance reinforces the idea. Dorian has no choice, really. He cannot take the chance of being mistaken for a malificar.

"It appears I have no other options open to me," he says as he quickly catches up to the Templar. He keeps his staff out, ready by his side in case they encounter more demons or more Templar's ready to cut his head off.

As the Templar presses forward Dorian watches his back. Someone could come up behind them. "It's Necromancy, not a common magical practice here in the south. It is in Tevinter and Nevarran." The man probably doesn't care at all but it's important to Dorian. "I don't summon demons."

"If I thought you did, we wouldn't be having this conversation." He knows Nevarran accents. This man is no Nevarran. A Tevinter, then? Here? Too many questions and no time at all to try to look for the answers, not if they hope to stay intact long enough to reach the ferry. He had seen the corpse of the other mage. He considers it very doubtful this man summoned those demons only to then go through the trouble of having to fight them instead.

"When we reach the others, let me do the talking." It will go down easier for his men that way, and hopefully Meredith will be too focused on her desire to enact the Right to give too much heed to one strange mage showing up in Cullen's wake.

For all of his hopes that they can make it to the ferry without being accosted, it's dashed before they can reach the Champion's statue. He feels a sudden draining sensation of his strength, his hopes. The shadowy, shrouded forms of shades rise up to a monstrous height around them and close in. Cullen snarls and lunges forward on the attack. He feels the impact of his shield bash well into his shoulder and down his back. The shade he struck seems momentarily stunned for a follow up strike of sword.

"But I'm so charming and delightful," he drawls as they race through the streets. There is an incredible amount of dead around them, citizens, mages and even a few Templars are among the corpses. Dorian's never seen war like this and it makes his stomach turn for a moment.

Maker look down on him tonight and his odd companion. He's rather fond of the Templar with the shield when the shades appear from the ground before them. A single blow by that sort of attack might have ended him.

"If you keep them off me I'll keep you going!" he yells above the noise as he throws a barrier over the Templar and then hurls a cage of lightning over the shades.

Usually spirits are weak to lightning. Dorian will use every trick he knows to help them in this fight. As long as the Templar does the same and doesn't suddenly turn on him.

Two against four. With shades, he doesn't like those odds. "Right!" It's all he has breath or time for, to communicate he understands the plan, such as it is. Be a wall, and let the mage do the casting. There is one other thing he can do.

He sees the shades rush him only to hit the electric barrier and be flung back to a center point. They're too mindless not to try it again. The second time he's ready for it. He feels a hot swell of lyrium under his skin and releases it in a burst. A white column of energy bolts from the sky into the center of their jumble together. The one he already managed to strike groans an inhuman sound and disintegrates into whisps of nothing.

He can only hope the others aren't unscathed. As they rush him a third time, he meets them at the crackling barrier with a lunge and swift strike. He doesn't know how long the spell will last. He can only hope it's long enough to whittle them down more. If all three make it to him at once, he'll be very hard pressed not to fall under the onslaught as much as they weaken their enemies.

The cage lasts through three attempts by the shades to get through. It dissolves with a crack of thunder and the monsters are free to attack the Templar holding the line.

Fire leaps up from around the Templar's feet, leaving him completely unscathed but forcing the shades back. Of course, it's Dorian who's responsible for it. The point is to keep them back, create openings for the Templar to hack and slash at them.

He picks one out from the crowd and turns it into a walking bomb, the shade crackling with the spell that slowly infected it. Given time it would explode and pass on to the other shades.

He leaps back from the fire at first, a natural reaction. When he realizes it's not burning him, he uses it to his advantage. The shades are too hungry to drain him to stay back as far as they should. He uses the opportunity to attack them with everything he has.

He recognizes the effects of that spell, the look of it, and he makes efforts to let that demon live long enough to do its damage. His strength builds again, another glow of lyrium sending coruscating blue across his skin and armor. With concussive retort, another holy smite rains down and destroys the demon closest to him.

That one costs him. He visibly sags in his armor. His next few strikes are sloppier. He takes a claw rake down the shoulder that would have easily crippled him without his pauldron and spaulders. It doesn't matter. Either they kill the other two, or they're dead. Demons know no fear. Never retreat.

"No!" He swore he would stay back but Dorian finds himself rushing forward when the Templar staggers. He catches the man under the arm and helps him stay on his feet, whipping his staff around so the blade slashes across the line of shades, forcing them back. "Stay on your feet, you bastard."

When he feels the Templar his steady again Dorian steps away to give him room to use his sword and shield. He dances around his space, still using his blade on the shades to help cover the Templar.

Lightning sparks at the end of the blade as he drives it through a shade. His curse has spread to the rest of them now, all of them crackling with magic that slowly but surely hurting them.

Somewhere he has the wherewithal to be surprised. It could easily be survival. If he falls, the mage likely will, too. It's his vehemence and willingness to be in the fray that are shocking. No Gallows mage would ever take such a risk for a templar, and why should they?

He regains his focus quickly. No more smites for the rest of this battle, not until he can put some distance between himself and the draining effects of the demons. It's easy to forget what a toll they take with adrenaline running high. He lunges forward and away from the mage with his shield up, a hard charge to knock one of the remaining two far from the other. He follows up with two more shield strikes in rapid succession and ends it with a deep thrust of his blade.

A quick pivot has him coming right back again. The last one is weak enough from the magic eating at it from within that it explodes in a shower of greenish sparks. Cullen keeps his head swiveling, making certain there aren't more. He's soaked to the skin under his armor, hair clinging at his temples and sweat streaking through the ash coating his skin.

"You have my thanks." No rest for the wicked. As he turns left at the statue, he sees further down a narrower lane between warehouses the bulk of the templars who had followed Meredith in battle with a spiked giant straight out of nightmare, a pride demon.

"Andraste's ashes!" It's bitter invective from his tongue. He shoots a single glance at his companion and rushes forward. There is no way he can see such a battle and leave his men to it. Meredith is easy to see at the fore. Of course she would be, fury and flashing armor, a rallying point for the rest.

Tevinter trained its mages to fight even if they were the spoiled upper class. Dorian had never been in a real battle but he knew how to fight and cast. It was exhausting though. When the last shade dies he leans against his staff to catch his breath. He quickly ends up cursing under it as his companion runs off again.

"Kaffas!" He runs after him but it's not for very long. There's a pride demon in a heated battle with more Templars. It is not Dorian's day. It's not Kirkwall's day really.

"What do you do to Southern mages to make them so desperate as to do this?!" he yells above the battle noise. "This is madness!"

Yet, he still wades into battle with the Templars. If only his staff had a spirit rune. He could do so much damage but against a Pride demon he's lost almost half his spells and around this group he cannot call on the dead to help.

He couldn't begin to answer that question, not if he had hours to spare. Kirkwall's woes are many and have a long, long history going back well before Meredith's reign. The fight is truly horrific, the demon lashing the men and women in armor with electricity made all the worse by the metal encasing them. Several of his comrades fall and do not rise again.

Smite after smite detonates across the tough purplish-black hide. Cullen has recovered enough of his strength to add to the barrage. Striking it physically feels akin to striking stone. His shoulder is screaming agony. Every shield bash feels about as effective as charging against a wall.

And yet, bit by bit, they are seeping out its strength and beating it down. Covered in blood and ichor both, the templars advance and drive the creature back toward the steps leading down to the ferry landing. Its roars and taunts reverberate off the stone walls. The din of this battle is deafening.

The only place Dorian has regularly dealt with demons is in the Fade. It's easy there to see through the illusion and fend off the temptation. Fighting one in the real world is more harrowing than his actually Harrowing.

He hurls spells over the heads of the Templars. When the demon looks for escape Dorian calls up a wall of fire to block its path and turn it towards a corner to keep it facing off against the Templar force. A few Templars turn and look his way, worry clearly written on their faces but the pride demon is the bigger concern.

"To the Void with you!" Dorian yells as a wave of magic spreads from him over the crowd of Templars. They fight faster now, magical energy filling them to swing harder and faster. He cannot maintain this for long but he still pours the magic into them. This fight must end.

Cullen shudders. It's a hated feeling, the wash of mana uninvited over his skin. If this had happened to him just five years ago, there's a chance he might have broken and hurled himself into the harbor in a blind panic. Now, he recognizes the benefit he's given and takes advantage of it. They all do. It's a frenzy of hacking and chopping. All of them are coated in splashes of black. The stench is indescribable.

The demon tips back its monstrous head, roars its fury, and begins to topple backwards. Cullen flings his sword aside to dart forward and grab a dazed comrade, snatching him out of the path of the crash. It's heavy enough to shake the ground directly in its vicinity. He scrambles for his blade and takes several swift steps back to Dorian. He's breathing so heavily he's light headed and having difficulty speaking.

"This mage...is with me." Almost to a one, the others look toward Meredith.

She narrows her eyes in stony silence. After a very tense pause, she nods once. The look she shoots Cullen tells him there will be a reckoning for this later. The templars reform into battle lines and file toward the ferry.

Cullen glances at Dorian, a cautionary look. "Stay out of her way. Understood?" He won't be able to help him at all if he catches her ire. He starts toward the ferry with the rest of them, his face set in a grim line. The demons aren't anywhere near the worst of what's to come tonight. It's a daunting thought.

The second he releases the spell Dorian staggers and falls to one knee. Giving that much help to that many people put a strain on even his considerable talents. He feels drained of energy and mana.

He looks up at his Templar rescuer and then past him to the other Templars. They certainly look willing to cut his head off for simply being a mage. Quickly, he digs underneath his robes and pulls his bloodline pendant out so that it is on display. He had thought about selling it but now he's glad he hadn't. It proves he's from Tevinter and thus beyond southern Templar control.

"I suppose we'll make introductions later," he says with a groan as he pushes himself back up on to his feet. No one seems to be stopping to catch their breath. He supposes no one can when the city is at war.

He glaces at the woman in charge and nods. That one looks like she's more than willing to take the sword to him. He's really not in the mood for that.

The ferry sits low in the water laden with the weight of so many men and women in heavy plate. There's no banter of any kind, no talking at all. They all ride in grim silence with the knowledge that there are even more to follow if they make it that far. Reinforcements called back from the city to enact Meredith's edict. How many more innocent civilians will die because of this? Cullen doesn't know, only that they will. The city guard isn't equipped to deal with this threat the way they are.

He makes certain that he positions himself directly next to the Tevinter just in case anyone gets twitchy on the ride. The man has already proven his value and valor. He could have slunk away at any point since Cullen found him or left him to die facing the shades. He didn't. That doesn't mean Cullen is ready to trust his motives outright, or his presence. He could turn on them yet. He's not prepared to allow harm to come to him until and unless he does.

The ride is a chance to catch his breath and prepare himself for the horror to come. He has lived with these mages for a decade, some of them brought to the Gallows as children during the beginning of his service here. Does Meredith truly intend to slaughter them all? First Enchanter Orsino, as well? He may not like the vocal elf. He does recognize his value to the Circle. This is madness. Maybe that's not hyperbole on his part. There is something unsettling about Meredith tonight, a rage he has never seen.

As soon as the boat nears the dock, templars rise and begin leaping to the quay. He recognizes the signs of battle high. They're ready, not all of them nearly as reluctant as he. So eager, then? The thought saddens him. His mouth firms and he stands to wait his turn. Meredith steps off just ahead of him. There's an odd scent coming off of her, almost like lightning and brimstone. It has him deeply uneasy.

Hawke and her companions are already in the courtyard with Orsino. There's no sign of the ex-chantry priest. Cullen isn't surprised. One less conflict of interest to weigh on his conscience. He listens to the heated exchanges. No one is saying the right things or asking the right questions. As soon as he sees Hawke and the others walking away, he knows all time for talking is done. It's to be slaughter then.

While they wait for the reinforcements, he takes the mage slightly aside. "This isn't your fight. It's about to get ugly. If you want out of this, go back to the quay and wait. If I survive this, I'll see to it no templar lifts a hand to you. You'll find passage out of Kirkwall when the dust has settled."

It takes some time for Dorian to realize what the Templars mean to do. With all the general chaos around and actual fully formed demons walking the streets it was easy for him to think the Templars were only trying to help. After all, Tevinter Templars are kept around mostly for demon slaying and covering up the crimes of blood mages when they get a little too uppity. He doesn't think of them as maurading hoards out to kill all mages. The Right of Annulment is a joke in Tevinter. No force of Templars could take the Magisters all down.

This group is, however. He can see it in some of the other Templars when they step off the boat. They look... joyful, almost, as if they're going to enjoy the slaughter to come. There are whispers as well, men betting on how many they'll kill while others pray to the Maker for strength. Their leader, Meredith, probably thinks she's filled with righteous fury or some such nonsense but she looks completely mad to Dorian. At least there is one who seems to have some sense about this.

He is vastly out numbered but Dorian's never been one to hold his tongue even when it is the smart thing to do. He does kept his voice low, however. He has some sense of self preservation. "This isn't your fight either, whatever vows you took. You cannot mean to kill all the mages. They're not a pack of rapid dogs to be put down, they're people. Some of them are bad but the same can be said for the men around us right now."

With the dead around he could raise a considerable army to fight for him but such an action would leave his mana dangerously low. If he is to truly stop the Templars he would have to be very, very clever about it. He hopes there's some way to reason with them first. His companion has been reasonable until now.

Cullen's mouth firms to a thinner line. He glances over to be sure no one is listening to them and turns to face away from anyone who might be able to read his lips. "I don't," he says, voice low but filled with conviction.

"I know what this looks like to you. You're not local. You don't know the entirety of what has brought us to this point. I do not intend to allow every mage in that building to be slaughtered. Some of the others will listen to me and follow me when the time is right." His gaze sharpens.

"I can't expect that if you undermine me before then. Do you understand? If you start killing templars to try to stop this, then they will cut you down. They might cut me down, too, for bringing you here, and then no one is going to step up and do anything to stop this. We can't save everyone who deserves it. We can save some of them, if we keep our heads about it." His look is very direct, and there's as much a plea in it as conviction. He knows he has no reason to trust him. He can only pray that he's willing to listen to sense, or things will get even uglier than they already are.

"You southern Templars have no idea what a Tevinter mage can do," though he is posturing slightly. He cannot do much against a force of this size but he nods his head at the man. "Still, I'm in no mood to start a second all out war. As long as you keep your word and help all that you can."

And Dorian would do what he could, even against the Templars. There were plenty of spirits he could turn towards them, have them whisper horrors and fears into their ears. They were eager for a fight but he could terrify them.

"And if they should catch on feel free to throw the blame at the Tevinter's feet. We're responsible for all other sins after all."

"You won't do much of anything cut off from your mana. Add a barrage of smites to that the moment you step out of line... I'm relieved you're amenable." He has no doubt the man could take out some of his comrades. There are just too many of them, and one more source of violence in the mix won't make them more merciful toward the rest of the mages. Not at all.

He shakes his head. "No. There will be no passing of blame. There has been enough of that already to last me a lifetime." There's no time for him to explain further or go into that. The reinforcements are arriving from the dock.

"Look sharp and try to stay close to me if you can. I have a feeling we'll both need each other in this before all is said and done." He steps back over closer to Meredith. He doesn't want her looking for him, finding him off whispering with a Tevinter, and jumping to unfortunate conclusions.

Meredith gives the order to breach the gates, and it's on. Never in his imagination could he have seen himself attacking the fortress he has lived in, if not exactly called home, for the past decade, much less turning on all of the mages in his care.

Many of the first wave of mages who fall are innocent defenders. Cullen has the unenviable and difficult task of targeting only the worst while still trying to defend against those he'd rather not harm under different circumstances. Not all of the attacking templars are out for blood. Some almost immediately fall to their knees in obvious distress and confusion. To his dismay, some of those meet their end at other templars' swords.

Meredith is at the fore of all of it, cutting a swath as though it's what she was born to do. Red energy coruscates along her sword. How had he never noticed that before? To be certain, he had felt the blade ugly from the start, a sense of disquiet in its presence. This is different. He fights his way through a small snarl of defenders with pommel strikes and shield bashes, painful without being fatal. He needs to keep her in sight if his plan has any hope of success.

He snorts, a completely undignified sound but he does it. "Some sort of noble hero aren't you?"

He should have known. The man was a knight in armor after all. Dorian gets to his feet when the reinforcements arrive but hangs back away from the group yet close enough to be seen as one of them.

Right now, it is bad to be outside the group and he knows it.

When the gates are breached and the slaughter begins he moves in, using spirits to turn Templars away from innocent mages. They flock to him once they see a mage defending them and he is quick to rally them to his side.

"Go!" he shouts at them, pointing them towards the gates. "Go!"

It's some sort of miracle that the spirits distract the Templars enough to keep his work hidden. The occasional horrify to send those who notice fleeing in the other direction also help. Still, he does his best to make himself look like nothing more than a helpful mage in the battle.

He keeps the stranger in his peripheral vision when he can, as much to keep track of how he fares as to be certain he's not turning on his people entirely. He's no more willing to allow a full slaughter of templars as he is mages. Already, some of the men and women who trust him have formed around him, closer than the rest who follow Meredith's harsher vision or their own mad schemes.

Where is Hawke? Likely making her way to her sister if he knows her at all. He has no idea where Bethany is, either, or the First Enchanter. Perhaps they've sought the most defensible place they could manage. It's not long at all before demons and abominations are complicating things. Terrifying rage demons with gouts of devastating flame, insidious desire demons bending the weaker willed templars and mages both to their wills.

He's numb to it, falling back into training and discipline. The battlefield has its own rhythms that never pull him away from his ultimate goal, to see an end to this that isn't all blood, fire, and death. His first near breach with Meredith comes over three cowering mages hiding in a linen closet, begging mercy.

He reaches her with her sword raised. He knows them, little more than children. "They aren't lost to demons. Look at them. For the Maker's sake, Knight-Commander. Look!"

There's fury in her gaze. He could swear she hates him personally now. It's a long moment before she tears away from him and snaps orders to those more loyal to her to come. He waits for the Tevinter to come into sight and beckons him over quickly. "The way back is dangerous. Help them, please. I have to follow her. We'll be further in when you get back."

Children. Dorian had never been fond of them, even when he was a child himself but he would not see them die at any Templar hands. They were too young to be blood mages. No one could possibly think they were dangerous.

The Knight-Commander looked ready to kill and Dorian was ready to kill her for it. He is quick to step up to the children and put himself between her and the children. He would not see them killed.

"I will make sure they're safe," he says with a sharp nod. "You do the same to yourself."

It's a companionship born of battle but Dorian would truly hate for this man to die. He's rather fond of him already. There's not much he can do though. He has to go fight.

"Come along children." He puts a hand on one of their shoulders and guides them towards the way they came. "We'll get you somewhere safe."

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

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