The Nightmare screeched in defiant rage even as it fell to the scorched earth. Disfigured body twisting, and spidery arms curling inwards in its death throe.
Alistair shuddered in a sort of horrified relief as he watched the demon's form begin to splinter with hairline cracks of sickly green light. Bits and pieces flaking off and floating away as its corpse disintegrated into dust and dispersed into the surrounding green fog that rolled through the boggy, black landscape of the Fade.
"Ugh!" Alistair's mouth twisted in disgust and he covered his nose and mouth with an armored forearm. "Don't want to breathe that shite in. I'll never get the taste out!"
He heard a gagging noise and looked to his left to see Iron Bull turn pale and look a little green himself.
"Aaagh! Why'd you have to say that?" Bull growled, a bit annoyed and trying to play down his obvious squeamishness with a glare in Alistair's direction.
Alistair couldn't help but smirk, and raise his eyebrow mockingly, despite the unsavory situation they were all in. Seeing the huge brash ox-man close to tossing his cookies was definitely cause for amusement; and so he couldn't help but add:
"Well now, it makes me wonder about all this fog we've been wadi-"
"Aaagh!" Bull looked around at the surrounding said "fog" a little wild-eyed, and threw his arms out to hover over his sides as if to mitigate demon particle contamination.
"Ha! Glad you can keep your sense of humor." Varric chuckled as he came up on his right. Alistair noticed the strained quality in his normally unruffled voice; the tense set of his shoulders.
Alistair's own smile became strained as he looked from Varric to their incomprehensible surroundings. The bloody Fade of all places; in the bloody flesh, of all things. Maker preserve us!
"It's either joke, my friend, or screaming hysterically..." Alistair looked back down to the dwarf, grimacing in distaste. "... and you know screaming is just so undignified."
Taking in the landscape of floating rocks and twisted pillars, the memory of all that the shadow of the Divine and the Nightmare had revealed, he couldn't help but lose his humor. Knowing that the Wardens had played a part in all of this chaos.
"Maker... how do I fix this?" Alistair sighed, suddenly tired, feeling as though he'd aged decades in the last few months. His frown deepened and he could no longer meet the eyes of his companions. His right hand clenched hard around the hilt of his sword, as he watched the black blood of demons run down the fuller and drip in thick globs from the blade onto the dry lifeless earth. Duncan's shield on his left arm, lowered, an impossibly heavy weight to bear at that moment.
"None of this is your fault you know." Varric spoke softly reaching out to grasp Alistair's forearm. "You've done all that you could, fought against your fellow Wardens to keep all this from happening."
Still, Alistair could not meet his eyes.
Did I do everything in my power to try and stop this? Was the Nightmare right? If I had only stepped forward and taken a leadership role in the Wardens could I have had the influence to prevent all this?
"The Wardens may have unwittingly been in league with Corypheus, but you cannot place the burden of blame all on yourself Alistair." Hawke spoke consolingly from behind him. For all he had only moments ago, placed the blame of the Wardens at Alistair's feet, he knew he himself was not free of guilt.
"Look!" Cried out the Inquisitor up ahead, standing on a rise a few yards away with the elven apostate, Solas.
Alistair pulled away from Varric and ran ahead to meet with the Herald. There was no time for self-pity and reflections upon all his past mistakes. What he did now, with the Inquisition, that was what mattered. He would redeem the Wardens.
Trevelyan pointed beyond the green haze, and across a blood soaked bog before them, to a path that led up to a narrow plateau. And there at the top, was a wavering pale green tear in the sky; hovering vaporously above the rocky shelf, and disrupting the dark green turbulent background with a distorted view of something brighter, and red.
Fire? A way back to Adamant? Whatever it was, it was a way out, and Alistair felt almost giddy with relief to see the end of this nightmare so near.
"The Rift!" Cried Trevelyan, "Let's move!" He urged his weary party ahead of him taking the rear with Alistair and Hawke, intent on seeing his people through first.
Bull needed no encouragement, but ran full out towards the tear in the Fade and was the first to plow through. Varric wasn't far behind, Alistair was sure he'd never seen the dwarf move so fast before. He could hear him cursing the entire way, something along the lines of "Maker's hairy balls!", and "I'm glad dwarves don't dream!" before he jumped/fell through the Rift that hovered a good two feet off the ground. Solas, on the other hand looked almost reluctant to leave, and cast his gaze about with a forlorn sigh before stepping through the Rift gracefully.
Hawke and Alistair went to follow eagerly, only to stumble to a screeching halt as something decidedly large and ultimately unpleasant began to seemingly condense out of the hazy atmosphere. Trevelyan, facing them and urging them to move forward, didn't notice as the huge chitinous limb of the beast drove down towards his unsuspecting head.
"Inquisitor!" Alistair yelled in warning; and the Herald, wide-eyed in terror, dove frantically back towards them.
The towering appendage crashed into the boggy ground where Trevelyan had previously stood, causing the earth to tremble beneath them. The companions staggered, arms stretched out to steady themselves. Alistair gained his balance and gazed up the pale thick craggy column to where it was attached to an equally large craggy pale armored carapace, with what seemed a dozen other massive legs leveraging the creature to hover above them. The great bulky head turned ponderously towards them, hundreds of milky dead eyes fixing upon them as it moved slowly into their path. Which put them in the untenable position of having a giant, monstrous, demon spider (of all things!) between them and their only way home.
"Maker..." gasped Hawke breathlessly.
"How do we get by?!" Cried Alistair, desperation leaking into his tone.
There was a split second of undecided silence, as everyone's thoughts rushed for a solution.
Maker, this isn't happening! Alistair could feel a fine trembling take over his body, adrenaline spiking. He knew the bloody solution!
"Go!" Hawke yelled, "I'll cover you!"
The Inquisitor's eyes snapped to Hawke's, his gaze anguished as the realization dawned on the Herald as to what must be done.
"No!" Alistair interceded, "You were right, the Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must-"
"A Warden must help them rebuild." Hawke interrupted, "That's your job!" Hawke looked towards the demon in their path, his voice lowered, trembling with intensity. "Corypheus is mine."
"Your whole life you've left everything to more capable hands."
Always, another steps forward! Another makes the sacrifices I'm too afraid to make!
"Who will you hide behind now?"
"No!" Alistair said forcefully," Not this time. Maker damn me before I let another sacrifice themselves in my stead!"
Before anyone could argue, or he lost his nerve, Alistair let out a resounding battle cry as he raced towards the great beast's underbelly and began artlessly hacking at whatever bit of limb and unprotected flesh he could reach. His shield raised to block acidic poison dripping from its fanged maw.
"For the Wardens!" Alistair bellowed as he slashed at the things hook fanged mouth, cutting through and amputating one side. It screeched sharply and black blood poured from the wound like a waterfall.
Alistair jumped back, shield up, taking on a walking fortress guard stance between the spider and his compatriots and took a moment to catch his breath. His eyes caught Trevelyan's at the top of the plateau as he paused just before the rift. With more surety than he was actually feeling, Alistair gave the man that held the fate of Thedas in his hands a cocky salute with his sword arm, and launched himself at the steadily progressing arachnid.
He just needed to hold the fucker off until the Herald closed the rift, because that was definitely where it was heading.
Alistair dodged a sweeping leg and heard the high pitched cries of its much smaller, though no less daunting fellows as they swarmed in by the dozens. For a few moments the battle became a bit hairy. Alistair dodged and blocked jumping spiders spitting poison, and giant sweeping legs as he swung his sword furiously. He wasn't too successful in the dodging and blocking, as he could feel acidic poison burning through the leather padding between the scale mail of his armor and underneath his neck guard, singeing his collar bone. A particularly sneaky blighter managed to pierce through an unarmored portion on the back of his upper thigh with a dagger sharp tarsal claw. With a pained yell, Alistair spun about, only to not quite miss a stream of poison aimed for his head. He could feel a painful burn across his cheek but dared not rub it away, as his gauntlets were already covered in viscous green poison and black spider ichor. His moment of pained distraction gained ground for the swarm and they closed in alarmingly quick. Alistair swung and thrust frantically; booting those that came up on his rear, and shield bashing others that came too close.
It seemed an eternity to Alistair, though was more likely only seconds, as desperation stole any finesse out of his swordplay. Adrenaline kept him from dropping as he felt his stamina falter; only to be thrown to the side some ten feet by one of the sweeping tree sized legs, catching him on his right. Sending him tumbling and flinging his longsword into the fray of writhing black shelled bodies.
Black spots swam before Alistair's eyes as he tried to gasp in air, only to be met with excruciating pain. He'd had enough broken ribs in his time to recognize his problem; one he'd probably not have to worry over as he struggled awkwardly with his shield still strapped tight to his left arm, to lift himself up; clutching his injured ribs, and watched as the horde of horrors advanced upon him. He sat there unarmed, shield raised futilely in front him, and the blighters slathered in preparation for the feast.
Maker, let this be quick. Make it matter.
The first of the creatures had barely brushed his greaves, when a sudden burst of green light lit up the warped sky of the Fade. The Rift, only a few meters from where Alistair sat, shot out vaporous streams; latching themselves onto each of the surrounding demons, stopping them in their tracks. It enveloped them in green light that shot through them like lightning. Their bodies' spasming then stiffening as they all screeched in agony and began breaking apart into flaming green dust.
None of it so much as brushed Alistair, but he felt the static tingle of powerful magic shivering over his skin, shaking his bones, and could hardly breath with the way it burned up the atmosphere.
There was a sudden swirling rush of wind at his back, strong enough to knock Alistair forward, pulling him towards the bright green shrinking light of the Rift. As he got closer the light began to change; became striated with fiery red and gold, and then in the next instant, it exploded outwards, knocking Alistair backwards arse over teakettle into blackness.
Alistair figured he must have lost consciousness for an undetermined amount of time, because the next thing he knew, he found himself fetched up against a wall of stone. He lay there on his right side, vision clouded, and ears ringing; his breath shallow and ragged, nose filled with the scent of blood and burning ozone. He was sure he'd broken a few more ribs during his tumble, and possibly broke his left arm as well; it lay unresponsive and pulsing pain behind his back at an awkward angle. His head throbbed mercilessly, and he couldn't focus his eyes on anything.
Concussion, ...maybe?
He wasn't sure how long he laid there taking stock of his injuries, but nothing happened; no spiders jumped out at him, or demons rushing in for the kill. He would have been easy pickings at that moment, but... nothing.
Eventually, Alistair managed to roll over onto his stomach and shakily lift himself up into a hand and knees position. His left arm hung uselessly from his shoulder; dented, bloody shield dangling from one remaining strap.
Definitely dislocated then.
His head felt stuffed full of cotton, and all he could hear was a tinny sort of ringing in his ears; which had fluid trickling slowly out of them.
Blood most likely. The concussive blast of the explosion must have burst his eardrums, it was making him feel light headed and dizzy with vertigo. Alistair stayed like that, head hanging down, watching blood drip and pool under him from an obviously nasty scalp wound.
Those always did tend to gush more than they should.
His stomach rolled ominously, and before he knew it he was retching up whatever he'd had to break his fast this morning.
Or was it yesterday?
Yeah, ...definitely a concussion. With a grunt, Alistair managed to heft himself up so that he sat back on his heels; jaw slack and eyes closed for a moment to calm his stomach and slow his gasping breaths. His ribs felt on fire from all the uncontrollable heaving, and hacking. When he opened his eyes it took him a moment to blink the blood away, and he squinted trying to focus his hazy vision on his surroundings.
And he had to blink again.
Then again.
It didn't matter how many times he blinked his eyes, it still made no sense to his befuddled brain. Where before he had been surrounded by the Fade's sickly green atmosphere, in the horrible ambience of the Nightmare's realm; now he found himself in an entirely new alien environment.
And it was indeed alien, if far less intimidating. Alistair first noticed the sky, no longer swirling with dark ominous green clouds; but instead a beautiful, clear night sky. Twinkling with stars, the light of the two full moons casting an ethereal quality to the surrounding landscape.
Two moons?
Alistair squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he looked at them again, mouth gaping at the sight. They were large, one a great deal more so than the other, close together, and they both had an eerie orangish-red cast to them. That wasn't how the moons were supposed to look. He'd never seen them so close, and it wasn't even Satinalia yet. Was it?
Am I still in the Fade? In some kind of new dreamscape or demon's realm?
He knew he wasn't dead, that was for sure. He hurt too much all over for him to think he'd passed on to the Maker's side. Plus he was cold. Freezing, actually, his breath coming out in clouded puffs, and now that he looked he found himself kneeling with his back to a rocky cliff face, inside a five foot half ring of steam. Beyond that was a clearly defined border of snow, as if someone had taken a circular cookie cutter to the six inch deep pristine powder. The light from the two moons reflected off of the blanketing white covering the ground, making it seem almost as bright as day.
Wearily, Alistair took stock of his surroundings, the tall imposing mountains behind him, and in the distance before him; the snowy plain that surrounded the flat topped rise he'd landed on. The small plateau he was on butted up against a larger cliff face and was ringed in tall standing stones that rose up, dark and menacing; casting imposing shadows inward, reaching the edge of his snow-less boundary.
Spindly, dead looking trees and brush dotted the edge of the hill top, leaving the center clear. To Alistair's left he saw what seemed to be a steep path leading down the hill side, and to his right was... a shrine? The standing stones looked like they were encircling a squat twisted dead tree, rooted into a raised rocky base. A brass burner sat before it, as well as animal bones and empty bowls for offerings he guessed. The whole thing gave Alistair an uneasy feeling, like he was being watched; and though it may have been the concussion, he began to get a queasy feeling from looking at it all.
This is just grand. Alistair thought flippantly.
He collapsed backward from his kneeling position to lean his back against the rocks; stretching his legs out in front of him, avoiding the already freezing puddle of blood and sick he'd made on the ground.
And here I was hoping this would all be quick and heroic.
Alistair doubted he'd be able to drag himself down the path, let alone travel anywhere to find shelter. Actually, he was deuced sure that if he tried to stand at that moment he'd just pass out; as he was shivering from blood loss as much as he was from the cold. He hadn't exactly thought to dress for this kind of weather.
The chill seemed to sap away what little energy he had left, and though Alistair knew he shouldn't, he felt his consciousness start to slip away in an exhausted retreat.
Well, this has all been a bit anticlimactic.