An additional, rarely mentioned downside to the blood-borne method of shapeshifting, is the risk of 'mind splintering'.
This state of mind, or rather lack thereof, is connected to powerful emotions, most often those of trauma, grief, anger and sociopathic tendencies. While not an emotion per se, the latter accounts for cases where shapeshifters have lost themselves to their bestial forms with little to no warning.
It is unknown whether or not a person can return from such a state of mind of his or her own volition…
'Words on the effects of being a Shapeshifter, a continuation of Pyromancer Aulus' studies into the arcane arts of Thedas, included in a letter to the Synod on the subject of Shapeshifting.
Atrast vala, Urtok
"J'zargo does not like the stares."
"Yeah well, you're a talking cat: get used to it." Cíada muttered, glancing at the Khajiit over the top of her ale. The elven girl seemed keen on emulating her mentor in every aspect possible, and apparently getting drunk was not an exception.
Talia stretched, making sure to put down her own mug before something was spilled. The impact of entering Orzammar was still only slowly leaving her, though helped on its way by the fact that Alistair had led them to this place, a tavern by the name of Tapsters. Considering the huge kegs of alcohol stored in sight of the guests, the name's origin was not hard to guess. When she looked around the room, she realized J'zargo was right; quite a few customers were openly gawking.
"You're possibly the only Khajiit in Thedas, J'zargo." The Breton yawned, feeling the booze starting to set in. Damn, they served some strong stuff here: she was only on her seventh mug; "Unless Elseweyr sent an expedition before us, you're the first of your kind these people have ever seen…Come to think of it, you're sort of like an ambassador for your people here, aren't you?"
The cat scratched his cheek, rotating his ears towards some conversation out of earshot to the rest of them; "Hmm…J'zargo never liked politics, it was why he did not stay at the College of Whispers."
"Yeah, I know…" Talia sighed, swirling the contents of her mug. Alistair had left her as the only Warden representative in the tavern, tasking her with keeping an eye on their non-human non-Wardens, making her the effective babysitter for Cíada, J'zargo and Brelyna; "Gods, I hate that cheesemuncher."
"Any particular reason this time?" the entropic prodigy slurred, already well into her fourth drink. Talia shot the light-weight a flat look.
"He is in charge, so Leliana could go sightseeing in the single most technologically advanced piece of architectonical marvel since the Dwemer constructed Markath and Blackreach, while I get to sit on my ass here in a tavern." She finished the complaint by draining the remainder of her mug, signaling the barkeep – a young woman – for another; "Well, at least I can sample some culture while I'm stuck here."
"Culture?" Cíada mused.
"She means getting drunk of new alcohol." Brelyna supplied, her voice both casual and informing, as if this was something Talia did on a regular basis. Well, it was, when she could get away with it, but there was no reason to portray her as a drunk now, was there? "Admit it, that's what it means."
"You make it sound like a bad thing." Talia grumbled sourly, trying to focus enough attention to glare at her friend. When Brelyna wasn't fazed in the least, the Breton instead shifted the glare to the closest regular customers, all of whom had relocated to the upper level of the tavern, leaving their small group the entire front room.
"For those incapable of magically regenerating their kidneys, it tends to be." The Dunmer pointed out with a smirk. She was merely sipping from what was actually her first mug, something that was both infuriating and hilarious. Brelyna wasn't a good drunk, nor a good junkie, which had been evident when she had downed the slightly altered version of Talia's pepper-up.
She was still a hilarious drunk though, and a hilarious junkie as well.
"Well, I've gotta take a piss." The Breton stated, throwing her legs from the cushions even as the barkeep came sauntering with a new mug. Talia grinned at the small woman, happy and relieved both that she did not resemble Dela; "My fair maiden, where might I find thy latrines?"
The barkeep stared like Talia's hair had gone green, something the Breton idly made sure was not the case.
"…You mean the toilets?" the question sounded somewhere between dumbfounded and simply amused.
"Riiiiiight, yeah, those." Talia drawled, grinning at the dwarf's expression; "Point me at 'em."
When she did eventually find the latrines, or toilets, whatever that was, Talia actually had the mindfulness of stopping dead in her tracks, unsure of what she was looking at.
"What in…" she muttered, staring at the odd contraptions before her.
She couldn't see any holes in the stone, nor was there even a plank. The latrine in Winterhold had been just that, though at least they had managed to solve the residual problem with fire. Lots and lots of fire. Instead, some sort of stone bowl was raised from the ground, complete with a pipe of metal extending into the wall. Some sort of glowing script, akin to a rune, was glowing on the wall to the left of the stone bowl. Drunk and dizzy as she was, she pressed it.
The edges of the stone bowl suddenly gave off a soft, blue glow, and water started flushing through the bowl from seemingly nowhere. Talia stared, feeling her skin crawl with goosebumps as her brain kicked into gear, and she realized just what was going on before her eyes.
Tears threatened to well in her eyes, and her knees started to buckle. Finally, her breath returned, and without even trying to restrain herself, Talia started laughing. A laugh, that turned into a scream of triumph;
"YES! LATRINES WITH FLUSH!WOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
When she came back to the main room, for some reason everyone seemed to look at her like something odd had happened.
Aedan was there too, looking somewhere between highly amused and absolutely confused. Talia gave him a victorious grin, elated that something she had missed for more than three years was finally hers to enjoy again. Flushing latrines was arguably one of the most vital pieces of sanitary technology left behind by the Dwemer, though only the well-off could really afford the installation.
A bonus to being the King's daughter, she supposed.
Odd, really, that only High Rock and Cyrodiil had implemented them. Talia had spent her entire college education having to make do with simple latrines, and now knowing that the dwarves of Thedas had this essential commodity, they had as a race just gone up several notches in her book.
"Did I…miss something?" she asked, seeing as no one else seemed keen on starting. Cíada seemed ready to choke on something, and Brelyna was silently giggling like a child. Aedan simply appeared too entertained to care.
"Alistair's secured us entrance to the Shaperate." He said, softly shaking his head. Talia still wasn't sure what the joke was, but apparently she had missed something funny. Wait, he'd just said something about a 'Shaperate', hadn't he?
"What is a Shaperate?" Brelyna beat her to it.
"I think it's like a library, just…more important?" Aedan tried, sounding less than sure. Bugger, but if it was a library there really wasn't much for them there, seeing how neither she nor Brelyna could read Fereldan, and J'zargo would only care if there was an illustrated book he could actually understand; "It's merely if you'd like to see other parts of Orzammar than this tavern, no disrespect meant, ma'am."
The last bit was directed at the dwarven barkeep, who simply shook her head with a laugh;
"I've had Grey Wardens, grey elves and a talking cat all on one day, Warden. You couldn't offend me enough to give a shit if you actually tried."
"I like her." Cíada declared, abandoning her empty mug where she had been sitting on the floor by the fireplace; "But I don't think you'll ever get Talia to leave her newfound wonder."
Ah. So, that was why they were all looking at her like that. Apparently the walls were not as soundproof as she had thought, meaning effectively the entire tavern had heard her proclaim what she had discovered.
Great.
"Actually, I would very much like to see it." she stated, grabbing Aedan by the hand and more or less dragged him outside, offering him a sweet, girly smile; "Lead the way, pretty please?"
"I don't think I'll ever really understand women." He chuckled. It seemed good-natured, so she played along with it, jabbing him in the side with an elbow. Plate-armor stopped her, but her intention was merely symbolic. Aedan pretended to wince; "Ouch?"
"If you think I'm hard to understand, try meeting my sister. Alai's about my direct opposite, doesn't even like ale."
"Ah. Now thát is a crime." She liked the way he understood when she was just playing around. Helmet under his arm, Aedan was wearing an easy expression, bearing a faint smile as they walked. She elbowed him again, for good measure.
"Smart-ass." She snarked, showing teeth as she grinned at him. When Aedan just sighed happily, Talia decided to lace her hand with his and examine their surroundings.
Tapsters was one of the buildings more or less carved from the inside of the mountainous cavern, and most if not every building shared the same characteristics on this level; a base beige that reminded her of limestone rock. Everything was on the same side of the mosaic street, where marble tiles of changing colors made up the floor. On the opposite side, the street's side ended with a low wall, followed by a sheer drop to the surface of a lava-lake, hundreds of meters below.
In the center of it all was an island. Jutting from the lava to the same level they were on now, it stood like a fortress in the middle of the city, connected with a single bridge that extended almost as a continuation of the main entrance street, decorated with statues along its length.
"Well, I'll be cursed if this isn't just fucking awe-inspiring…"
It really was utterly awe-inspiring, and Talia felt like she was being dwarfed by the sheer scale of the place. That impression did not lessen when Aedan led them to a gateway-like building at the end of the street. Both curious and amazing as it was, the building turned out to house the vital lifts of Orzammar. They were massive mechanisms of steel and wood, powered by means unseen to the Breton girl.
Dwarves did not seem to harness steam-power, so that was out of the question. So was a lot of other things, actually, when they rode the contraption up. Water-powered gears were obviously not possible here, as the heat from the lava would make it evaporate within hours. Oxen would be impossible to sustain down here, with the lack of sunlight and fresh food, probably, and she would have been able to smell it had there been animals around.
So, the last option was really magic.
The upper part of Orzammar was marginally different from the middle, mainly in the fact that here the street was polished marble, the buildings were polished marble and granite, and the architecture was made with a great deal more finesse in mind. The 'Diamond' quarter, it was called, and Talia could understand why.
"I've never seen a city of marble before…" she mused, glancing at the ornamental carvings in the walls around them. Mosaics depicting battles and sceneries decorated many of the surfaces, each work of art more masterfully done than the former; "Closest thing would be Markarth, but I've never been there either."
"It's impressive." Aedan agreed; "Orzammar is one of the last remaining dwarven cities, so it's obvious why they want it to represent power like this. I think."
"What do you mean by 'one of the last remaining cities'?" Brelyna asked, quickening her steps to catch up; "What happened to the other ones?"
"I think they lost most of them when the Darkspawn started spreading."
"Oh." The Dunmer sighed, almost as if the response had disappointed her; "I was thinking maybe the dwarves there had simply disappeared."
"Like the Dwemer." Talia added for context; "No one really know why they vanished like that."
There was of course the dominant theory that they had tried to harness the power of Lorkhan's Heart, which had led to some sort of magical explosion or divine retribution, but explaining that would mean she wouldn't be done before the Archdemon had died from old age.
"No, they... just got killed by the Darkspawn." He shrugged, looking at Brelyna with a slight bit of confusion; "I think that's why we don't often see Blights on the surface, because most of the Darkspawn remain down here."
"Until they found Dumas, or Dumat, or whatever the Archdemon's called this time around." Cíada said, sounding like she couldn't care less if she tried. This was the first time Talia had heard the Archdemon referred to by name, and she glanced at Aedan for confirmation. He nodded;
"Dumat was the first Archdemon, though you're right that that's how Blights tend to start." He corrected, then continued as they passed what was obviously the royal palace. It was too big to be anything but; "Urthemiel is the Archdemon now, one of the Old Gods of Tevinter."
"Right, the nation that worshipped dragons…" Talia sighed; "It's so fucking familiar that it's not even funny…and, they're still around, those dragon-lickers?"
"Not as powerful as they once were, and they're Andrastians now, but…yes, Tevinter still exist, north of Orlais."
"Well, isn't that just great…" it wasn't voiced as a question, and thus she did not expect an answer either. Instead, she turned to regard Aedan as he walked, then the rest of the city around them. Orzammar was beautiful beyond comparison to anything she had seen in Ferelden yet, but something was nagging her; "Aedan, how come we're not just heading out to find the king, if we're just sitting around waiting for him?"
"…Good question." He sighed, running his free hand over his forehead; "Alistair said something about not wanting to interrupt 'Dwarven customs of maturity', so I'm guessing it's one of the king's children becoming an adult, and we're not supposed to interfere."
"So we have to wait for someone to get their party thrown before we get our assistance?" when Aedan nodded; "That's moronic."
"It's tradition." Cíada supplied.
"Doesn't mean it's not moronic."
"Point." The elf conceded, even as Aedan stopped at a door.
The door in question belonged to an elaborately, ornamentally carved and decorated façade, complete with depictings of dwarves and dragons, glowing stones and much, much more. Interchanging between each scenery on the wall, a relief of some dwarven face was carved into the stone. The details were meticulously cut, and things as insignificant as strands of hair could be seen almost moving in the faces of stone.
"This is the Shaperate?" Talia asked, admiring the façade and all it had to offer of insights into dwarven society and culture.
"Mm. It's where the dwarves gather all knowledge of their city and their empire, such as it is, I suppose." Aedan nodded. He sounded like it was old knowledge, so likely he had been taught all this from an early age, maybe by the old scholar Talia had met in Highever. The old man had been knowledgeable on the Grey Wardens, so it would likely not be a stretch to assume he had taught his young lordship about the dwarves.
"So…you do realize that I can't actually read anything in here, right?" she grumbled to him as they entered the library-like building.
Inside, it seemed to be a massive compound of interchanging shelves and rows upon rows of tablets, books and scrolls. Dwarves in robes and ornamental clothes scurried around, each performing his or her significant task. Talia could only just see the end of the room, far down the corridor of shelves before them, all illuminated by…she wasn't actually sure.
"I'm sure there'll be something interesting in here." He mused, though Talia had stopped paying attention to his words. Instead, her eyes had locked on the closet lamp, and she left his side to investigate it. In a way, Aedan was more correct than he could have possibly anticipated.
The lamp Talia stopped by was resting on a pedestal near one of the tables, illuminating the scrolls currently being looked through by a white-bearded dwarf. His face was more wrinkles than anything, and yet he seemed as sharp as any young mind when he noticed Talia staring at the lamp.
"Stone met, Warden. Is there anything I can help you with?"
"This lamp…" she started, trying to figure out if this was something real, or just the biggest coincidence on Nirn. The source of light was a gold-crested half-cage, containing some sort of blue, never-flickering flame. It was completely still, and gave off a kind of light mismatching its own, azure color; "It doesn't seem to be a candle, nor is it any kind of torch or even regular fire…"
It looked so much like the lamps she had seen in books on the Dwemer, Talia actually had to blink several times to realize that it was different. Small differences, but they were clear when she first realized they were there.
"You don't have glyph-lamps on the surface?" the old dwarf asked, not unkindly but merely with open curiosity and a want to depart of knowledge. A scholar, obviously. Talia shook her head; "We cannot risk actual flames in the Shaperate, for obvious reasons. Glyph-lamps are lyrium-infused runes in the metal, allowing either heat or light, depending on however one adjusts it."
"…I'll be damned." Talia allowed herself an appreciative whistle, something which seemed to amuse the old dwarf; "and this kind of technology is common in Orzammar?"
"Not exactly, as the lamps require lyrium for the glyphs." The scholar explained; "most of the lyrium you'll see in your Circles are here from Orzammar, because most of the lyrium the Mining caste digs out is sold to the surface. Glyph-lamps are therefore mostly used by the Noble caste and rich members of the lower castes."
"Castes?" she knew what castes were, theoretically, but as far as she knew, no society in Tamriel upheld caste-systems.
"True, I forget you surfacers do things differently. Orzammar is divided into castes, with the royal family of the Noble caste leading us. The Warrior-castes make up our standing army, supplied by the Smith-caste. The Merchant caste is responsible for all trade conducted in the city, while the Mining Caste extracts the ore used by both the Merchant and the Smith caste. The Artisan caste is responsible for the countless carvings, statues and decorations you'll no-doubt have seen throughout our city, and the Servant caste works to serve the upper castes working as cooks, maids and the like…" The old dwarf paused to run a hand through his beard. Talia saw that as a chance to ask.
"I knew a dwarf, once, from Orzammar." She said, thinking back to the first time she had encountered Dela. That meeting had been less than glamorous, mainly because of her own inability to restrain herself when she heard the word 'dwarf'.
"A surface dwarf?" he looked up, eyebrows furrowed in thought; "was she one of the merchants trading with the Circles?"
"She was a fighter, actually…" Damn. She had known Dela for all but a few days, and yet she still missed the jumpy little pipsqueak of a royalist; "…if I gave you her full name, could I find her family in Orzammar?"
"It is a possibility, yes…" he nodded slowly, rolling together the scroll he had been reading when she arrived; "…would you happen to know what caste she belonged to?"
"…Ah." Bugger; "…no, I'm afraid I don't…I do have her name though, if that helps?"
"It might…what was it?"
"Dela, Dela Brosca." Talia turned to regard the speaker, as it had not been Aedan. Instead, Daveth was standing behind her, a rare expression of nostalgia on his face; "Her sister's a noble hunter named Rica Brosca."
Something seemed to pass over the scholar's expression. It was gone almost immediately, but whatever it was, Talia recognized it as not being a positive thing.
"I would ask in the palace, if that is whom you seek." The dwarf's tone was changed, no longer warm but instead flat and indifferent. Talia had no clue whatsoever as to what had changed, only that something had.
"Tali, mind a word?" Daveth tapped her shoulder. Seeing no reason not to, she followed the archer as he left the room, leaving Aedan, and the other mages with the books. Her lover sent her a questioning glance, to which she shook her head and gestured for him to just stay where he was.
Once outside the Shaperate again, Daveth let out a sigh and rested himself against the wall. From the way a passing dwarf in fine clothes glared, that was likely not a polite action to take, but the archer seemed like he didn't give a shit.
"Something wrong?" she asked, mirroring his stance and leant against the wall, accidentally elbowing one of the reliefs in the eye. For but a moment, something akin to loathing passed through Daveth's eyes, causing Talia to frown. Daveth wasn't a person she deemed capable of loathing, much of a surprise that realization might once have been.
"You've heard about the castes here in Orzammar?"
"Just now, yeah…Why?"
Daveth averted his eyes for a moment; "Orzammar, far as I remember, keeps a fairly good record of its citizens, right? But you'll never find Dela mentioned in 'em."
"…and there's a reason for that, I assume?"
"Right, yeah…Remember those tattoos Dela used to have on her face, right cheek'n particular?" when she nodded, Daveth breathed, as if trying to get something off his chest; "Dela was casteless, meaning she technically didn't exist to the rest of Orzammar. When she told you about being a Duster, she meant being from Dust town, it's a slum o' sorts in Orzammar. Casteless are not actually viewed as people by the rest of the dwarves, so asking for her is…problematic."
"That's gotta be the first time you've ever used that word." She pointed out, trying to keep her voice normal. She was probably not doing a very good job of it, seeing how Daveth's expression didn't change in the slightest. Underneath it, she was bubbling with confusion, mainly as to why there would be an entire branch of a society branded unworthy of something as basic as being people. Even the Dunmer in Windhelm at least had that right, far as she recalled; "Okay, so…what, she didn't exist down here?"
"More 'o less…" he nodded, looking away; "Dwarves are extremely bound te tradition'n all, meaning they can tend to be some stuck-up arses…"
"I'm not sure I like your idea, Alistair…" Talia was not the first among them to express her irritation over Alistair's plan to take them through the Deep Roads, near where the dwarven king was, but considering his plan centered on her, she believed herself the most entitled to annoyance.
"It's the best, not to mention probably only chance we get in the foreseeable future to enter the Deep Roads." Their leader explained as the group trotted down the corridors of the ancient, marvel-inducing subterranean roads. It was a small party, leaving all but herself, Alistair, Aedan and Morrigan in the city; "Plus, I have a bad feeling when royalty goes near Darkspawn. Call me paranoid."
"Considering what happened at Ostagar, I really wish I could…" Aedan sighed wearily, most of his attention likely on whatever kind of senses the other Grey Wardens had. Talia didn't, and it frustrated her that something so vital and key to their order was not in her possession. Selfish way of thinking, she knew, but at the same time it was also rational; "But, dwarves have been at war with the Darkspawn for centuries, haven't they? If they let the king himself go down here, it'd have to be because they're confident he's safe?"
"Deep Roads and 'Safe' doesn't really go hand in hand, Aedan."
"Well, at least he'll have a lot of guards." The other Warden offered, tapping fingers on the hilt of his sword. Talia was somewhat proud – though unsure as to why – that Aedan had never even considered letting go of the Cousland Blade and Shield. It showed that he put a lot more weight into his family than she did in hers, which was definitely understandable; "…right?"
"That's what I've understood as well, yes." Alistair nodded. Contrary to Aedan, he was wearing his helmet's visor shut, showing only the narrow slit that was his field of vision. Not for the first time, Talia felt just a little smug that she could protect herself in the same way, though without the impairments of heavy armor. Alteration was one school of magic she had always admired, though failed to actually master beyond the basics. Still, it was enough to stop a blade; "Talia."
"What?" she turned to face him as they walked. His tone came out slightly metallic from the helmet, which made him sound older than he was. Still, she more or less knew what he was going to say now. To think, that he had actually asked Morrigan for her help.
The world was weird, sometimes.
"Do you remember what we talked about?"
"What part, the one I hated or the one I'm scared shitless off?" she retorted, biting out the words. Alistair didn't visibly react to her tone, though she could see Aedan's eyes narrow. He didn't like this either, at least.
"The last one." Alistair sighed with clear weariness; "Look, I know you're scared of the transformation-"
"Oh, you have no idea-" she began, almost laughing at his words.
"-But we need every advantage we can get." He pressed on, cutting off her argument; "There hasn't been a recorded dragon-shapeshifter since the fall of Tevinter. If we can make this work, it'll be an invaluable tool against the Blight."
"Says the guy who doesn't have to rip himself apart at the seams…" Talia huffed, sending Alistair a flat, tired glare. They had already had this discussion once, and it rankled ever so horrible when Morrigan had agreed with Alistair's plan; "It fucking hurt, you know that?"
"I'd probably be doing you an insult if I said I knew how it feels…"
"Damn straight you would." Talia grumbled, preparing to kick her leader in his armored ass. She was stopped when said ass stopped moving, and its carrier drew his sword and took a stance. Fucking great.
"Still, maybe we should begin?" Alistair more stated than asked. Talia couldn't feel a thing, but from the way she could see Aedan's expression change, seemingly he could; "My Warden-sense is tingling."
"Your…? …never mind." In the end it simply wasn't worth it trying to argue. She knew Alistair was right when he wanted her to control whatever she could actually do. Turning into…she supposed it could be called a dragon, was a useful ability, but if she couldn't control it…Shit, this was going to be painful as fuck, wasn't it?
"Here they come." Aedan muttered, pulling his visor down with the back of his hand, then assumed his stance with the side of his sword resting on the edge of the shield. While Talia was unable to sense them, she could definitely hear the Darkspawn. Running feet, grunts, growls and inhumane sounds overall, each were they cast back and around in the echoing corridor that was the Deep Road.
And then she saw them too. from around the corner, from cracks in the walls, from holes in the floor, the hideous creatures came swarming out like roaches. She tried keeping a count of them, but resigned to its impossibility when the number crossed fifty.
Well…Shit.
"T'is about time that we faced these creatures again." Morrigan did not even sound scared, instead opting to whip out that curious branch that was her staff. Idly, Talia realized she had never actually asked the witch how what seemingly was a simple branch, could project her magic like it did. Simply to underline this, Morrigan fed energy to the staff, and the swords caught flame.
Damn. She had to see if something like that was in her spell book.
"Talia, now would be a good time." Alistair pressed, holding his stance as he pressed forward. He and Aedan had approximately a meter between them, for the use of the latter's right arm. Right. Priorities. Talia knew they were important. She also knew that formidable fighters though they both were, there was no way Alistair and Aedan could hold against these numbers.
"Gimme a fucking moment!" she grunted, ripping her hands through the air.
Coming into being more an explosion of colors than actual fire, Two-Sock materialized in a form Talia had never seen him in before. As such, she stared, unable to immediately understand what was going on. Sheathed and wreathed in flames, her familiar portrayed a ferocity and power she had never even hoped he could become. But…he was normal when we camped?
And yet, she knew it was him. This wasn't just the Blight Fire, though now it would have had a chance to live up to its name. This was her Familiar, but…he had changed. With a howl that hammered off the walls, the flaming Familiar took off, making a bee-line for the approaching Darkspawn.
"Two-S-EMISSARIES!" Talia's words became a frustrated shout when she saw the Darkspawn mages among their "lesser" fellows.
When Two-Sock reached the oncoming horde, he didn't seem to impact on the mass of bodies. Instead, he simply passed through, as if he was immaterial. Then, everything and everyone he went through caught fire, and Darkspawn beyond counting started screaming, boiling as they were cooked in the scraps of their own armor.
And yet, they just kept on coming. Though for reasons Talia could not fathom, they did not seem in a hurry to close the distance.
"Great, this just became a lot more fun…at least I don't see any archers…" Alistair noted, turning his head slightly so as to make eye-contact with her. However much that now was, with his visor down; "Talia, any minute now would be great!"
"I don't fucking know how to do it!" she yelled back, throwing up a ward as sickly green orbs started hammering her position. She didn't know what they were, and didn't feel like finding out either; "I didn't bring any blood with me!"
"Nor do you need it." Morrigan was behind her, one hand already grasping Talia's head, with a thumb on her brow; "T'is all in here."
Foreign magic flooded her mind. Talia at first attempted to stem the tide, to erect mental shields of some sort. Then she recognized the character that was Morrigan's energies, and calmed. At least, as much as she could with the only thing between her and countless Darkspawn being Aedan and Alistair.
Something was pressing against the back of her eyes. Crawling under her skin, demanding blood. Craving meat, flesh, death. It was foreign, something she could not be more different from. Yet it was also her. There was the unnatural sensation, a sort of acknowledgment of what she could do.
And when the witch's energies told her to let go, she did so, with little hesitation.
Though she retained a small voice, hiding at the back of her mind. This is probably not going to end well.
"We really should have brought the other mages." Aedan groaned, biting down on his fear. His armor seemed to weigh more than it used to, and he wasn't quite sure whether the heat he could feel was adrenaline or if he had soiled himself.
No. No, he was no coward. He was a Grey Warden, dedicated to combat the Blight.
And yet, there was something suicidal about four people facing off against…he didn't know how many Darkspawn there were. He couldn't see the end of the horde before them, and a small voice at the back of his mind asked if maybe they had somehow managed to run into the main horde.
At least, if there was a silver lining here, he couldn't see any Ogres.
"We couldn't take the risk of taking non-Wardens down here." Alistair muttered, his voice so different from how he knew it that at first, Aedan wasn't sure if it really had been his comrade that had spoken. The tone was hard and serious. And he didn't buy Alistair's argument for one second, regardless of how idiotic it was to argue in the face of Darkspawn.
"Jowan's a recruit, we-" his words turned to an abrupt croak when something seized his body. The grip was crushing, squeezing his bones with the strength of an Ogre. The pain nearly blinded him, yet he still knew what this was: Magic, meaning Talia had been right about the Emissaries.
As sharply as it had begun, the crushing pain ended with a flash of blue, and Aedan found himself dumped back on the floor. His armor was unscathed, contradicting the force that had held him suspended. Alistair had done something to free him, but before he could utter even a 'thanks', the first of the Darkspawn were upon them.
And Aedan found himself staring at the hulking form of a Hurlock Alpha.
It wasn't as much that he hadn't seen one of these before, he'd fought one in the Kocari Wilds. However, back then, that had been with just a few Hurlocks there as well, not this mass of snapping Darkspawn. When the hulking monster slammed against him, Aedan knew he couldn't look to Alistair for help. Even without taking his eyes of his own opponent, he knew Alistair was beset as well.
The Alpha brought its crude axe to bear on him, hacking down and away with the serrated edges of the weapon. Aedan was forced to focus all his strength into simply keeping his shield between himself and the monster, unable to do anything but keeping up his defense.
A fireball, launched by whom he wasn't sure, exploded on the ground close enough by that the Alpha took notice, which was likely what saved Aedan's life. A red blur rushed past, streaking fire in its wake. Likely, this was another of Talia's burning wolves, a spell as horrific as it was entrancing to have observed before the fight had even begun. Any attention he could have levered at the blur, however, was forced back when the Hurlock kicked him in the chest.
Instead of being knocked down, something started feeling like it was catching fire across his chest, sending electric twists throughout his body. Unable to fathom what exactly the feeling was, he knew it wasn't just adrenaline, Aedan found new strength and slammed his shield against the Darkspawn.
If he had to guess, it was probably Morrigan directing some sort of spell on him.
The Alpha merely seemed annoyed at the bash, growled, and grabbed the shield by the edge before brutally ripping it from Aedan's hand. The tear caused tendons to snap in his wrist, and he yelled in pain before being forced to dodge when the axe was sent down, avoiding it to the point of getting a scraped pauldron.
Strange, that the other Darkspawn had not swarmed them yet.
Still, he had neither the leeway, time nor the desire to find out the reason – he doubted they were just waiting in line – and instead focused on the monster before him. When the axe was sent on a fresh swing, this time sideways, he leapt back as much as the armor allowed, shoving away the blade with his flaming sword. When he skidded to a stop, just a foot away, his wrist no longer seethed in pain, and he could move his fingers again. What the…I didn't feel any healing spell?!
Writing it off as just that, he lunged forward, sending the sword downwards in a diagonal angle, aiming to skewer the Alpha from shoulder to hip. A hand left the grip on the Darkspawn's axe, however, and caught his sword arm mid-swing. Aedan could only widen his eyes in disbelief before the Hurlock head-butted him, sending him staggering backwards.
A fresh wave of energy, once more originating from his chest, and the staggering ceased, instead leaving him clear-minded and prepared when the next swing came. The enhanced senses of a Grey Warden allowed Aedan to duck beneath the decapitating swing, as well as plunge his sword, wreathed in flames, into the Alpha's torso.
What would have incapacitated any human, simply had the Alpha staggering backwards, dragging itself from the sword. Black ichor and thick, muddled blood spilled from the wound and coated the carapace armor in glistening black. Resilient or not, though, the wound still drained blood from the beast, and slowed down the Darkspawn. Aedan leapt forward again, directing his sword at the same spot, hoping take the blade all the way through.
Instead, he was met with a gauntleted fist to the helmet, followed by blinding pain in his crotch. A wave of nausea rolled through him, throwing off his aim to the point that the sword bit into the tiled floor instead. A mocking laughter managed to penetrate the curtain of pain that dulled everything else. Aedan's vision was swimming, rendering everything a blur.
He could make out the Alpha, standing before him as if he'd never injured it in the first place. It was readying the axe for a final swing, and even as he lifted his own blade to stop it, Aedan knew he didn't really have a chance of blocking the strike.
Then the axe came down, accompanying all-shattering agony and blackness.
The mass of Darkspawn was a black, wreathing pit of teeth and blades. The group's numbers could not be counted by the human eye in the time given, and neither would it have mattered at this point. Genlocks, Hurlocks and Emissaries in these numbers spelled the death of even veteran Wardens in the confined spaces of the Deep Roads.
Talia didn't care one shit.
Her form was a bit larger than before. She wasn't sure why, if it was something Morrigan had done, and neither did she currently care one shit either. Her body was thrumming with a power she had never felt before, magic running through her veins, laced with every blood cell, as much a part of her as the scales covering her body.
A swipe of her hand, delicate fingers now strong, reptilian claws, and the body of the Genlock before her became a splash of blood and shredded flesh. Her arm, taut with powerful muscles and protected by scales like iron, was as thick as her waist in human form. A new swipe, from the opposite direction, the emissary to her right her new target. A magical barrier protected it, for all of the few seconds it held against repeated tearing. When it came apart, so did the Darkspawn.
They were all around her, moving like the revulsive waste they were, stabbing and slashing whenever they could. There was no regard for their own safety, only the simple directive to kill her because she was the enemy. It was what they were, which meant Talia could kill and kill and kill, swatting them like a bear would swat a human, and feel none of the regret she would have felt, were they human or elves.
She was bathed in blood by now, she knew that much. She could feel the pain too, whenever a blade would edge its way past the protective scales. A silver lining to the absence of wings was that her back and sides lacked weak spots. Instead, the Darkspawn seemed to go for her stomach, the soft underbelly forced vulnerable in order to be flexible.
When a Hurlock Alpha, one of the most dangerous Darkspawn she knew off aside from an Ogre, charged her frontally, Talia gathered both hands and slammed them down, flattening the creature. The spiky armor managed to prick her palms, the softest part of her clawed hands. In return, she arched her neck and bathed the dying Darkspawn in flames.
"YOL!"
She was not conscious of the sound she made, nor would she have understood it had she heard the word. Instead, she was solely focused on the way the Alpha became a living candle. Her senses, sharpened beyond human capabilities by the transformation, picked up and separated every sound and movement around her. The stench of rot was worse than she would have noticed as a human.
A flash of pain, not her own, entered her mind. It felt as if it was a flare, a surge of magical life-force that demanded her attention.
When a Genlock, wielding crude hatchets, came at her flank, she shifted her weight and kicked it in the face, spraying its twisted skull back, snapping bones and crushing organs. The tiles beneath her were already awash with blood, some of it her own. Each cut that got through only drove her further into a mindless rage, urging her to slaughter them in droves.
The flare of energy came again, this time stronger, accompanied by the sense of dread and more pain than before. In the back of her mind, itching her skull like a rash, Talia could sense the flare coming from where she had left her group. She had leapt almost the moment the transformation was complete, driven by a sense of otherworldly instinct. It had not been a tactically intelligent decision, but the shock of transformation had rendered her down to basic instinct until the point she had found herself in the midst of Darkspawn, and survival had taken precedence.
Crushing Genlocks beneath her form, Talia whipped her head towards the source of the flare. Reptilian eyes widened in very much human horror when she watched Aedan losing his fight with a hulking Alpha. In her form, such a creature was no impossible opponent, but for a human, especially one still not accustomed to fighting inhumanly powerful monsters…Aedan could get killed. Would get killed.
He was already on the ground, clutching wounds the Hurlock had inflicted on him. Nearby, Alistair was trying to get to him, but the bodies of Hurlocks pressed back with superior force. The Hurlock Alpha seemed to gloat at Aedan's state, and raised its axe for the finishing blow, even as Talia raged through the Darkspawn standing between her and it, crushing and shoving aside the monsters.
Even as she leapt the distance, the axe came down.
Talia crashed into the Hurlock. The impact sent the monster flying, though the axe was left where it had struck. Aedan, her friend, companion, comrade, lover, was still on the floor. The axe almost seemed to grow from his chest like a macabre three.
There, she stopped, staring at the figure on the ground.
Something broke in her mind when she finally processed the scene. Senses were turned off, thoughts numbed. Her brain ceased thinking like a human being. She ceased rational thought, ceased caring for her surroundings. Aedan was Dead. DeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDEAD!
And the thing that had done it was still alive. The others, the humans around her, yelled words she couldn't understand. It all barely registered in her mind, numbed beyond the focus she now leveled on the crawling Darkspawn.
When she descended upon it, she did so with a claw tearing off its legs, ripping them off like a sadistic child would a bug's. The creature didn't seem to show fear like she wanted it to, didn't seem to show pain like she wanted it to.
So she ripped off an arm, breaking it at the shoulder before she tore the tissue apart. And still, the Hurlock was not dead. Not yet.
She grabbed the twisted creature by its torso, turning it around so that it faced her. So that it faced her wrath.
Then she ripped off the other arm.
When the sack of filth was nothing but a wreathing, dying torso and a head, she lifted it up, not even feeling the drain in her strength, and slammed it against the tiles. Again and again, she smashed the heap of corrupted meat against the ground, smearing the tiles with blood and scraps of torn-off skin.
When the thing in her hands finally died, she turned her attention back to the remnants of the horde, her mind tuned to the most basic of desires, the very most basic drive there could be.
KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!