A/N: /scratch, scratch, scratch/ A closer glance at DA:O tactics presets. Follow-up on the previous chapter. Also, present tense is fun.
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Unleashed
One can learn a lot about people by observing the way they fight.
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As Darkspawn file into the cells room, Oghren lowers his head and roars like a bronto. Free of tought, devoid of caution, his fists slam into the first enemy in line, knocking it over in a shatter of ribs.
Right on his heels the elf rushes forth, forthing at the mouth. Like a mini satelite of anger. If it weren't dire, it would be hilarious. Gaining momentum, she dives down and slams into the Darkspawn's knees, her fist connecting low. Anders doesn't know if the Darkspawn even have man bits, but his own constrict at the sight.
Nathaniel glides in from the left, swift and focused. His movements are sparse, economic. He twists the Darkspawn's arm, using its own momentum against it, spins it around in a chokehold that doubles as a shield and grabs for its belt. He is the first to claim a blade.
Anders lingers behind, his focus blurred as there is no staff in his hands. He uses his magic carefuly, in little timed bits, mindful not to catch his allies in a spell. His inner eye, the healer's eye, monitors his allies' breathing, their movements, ready to send a burst of restorative magic their way. He's hoping he won't have to, not just yet, for his reserves are low and the fight has only just begun.
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They round a corner, pausing for breath. The respite doesn't last, for another batch of Darkspawn is headed their way.
/
Oghren roars and charges again. The fight. This is what he lives for. This is what he is. They can kick him out of the Warrior's Caste, but they cannot kick him out of being a warrior. The Darkspawn howls as the dwarf smashes its ribs, mindless of a blade digging deep into his arm. He doesn't feel it, and if he does, it only serves to fuel his rage further.
He is the Berserker, and battlerage is his.
/
The elf snarls in the darkness, anger lending strenght to limbs too weary to strike. The battle sings to her. Not like to the dwarf, all focused rage and training - It's a blind fury, cat backed into a corner. She leaps at the Darkspawn and bites at its throat, like a mad mabari; lands into a roll and leaps again. She fights for the fight, she fights to survive.
She is a Scrapper, and she wants to live.
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Anders pukes a little in his mouth and hopes he'll be able to wipe the image off his retinas some day. He hopes there will be another day for him at all. Wearily, he reacehs inside, a spell blooming on his fingertips, and he lets fly - a vicious wave of cold at the Darkspawn before him. But he doesn't stop, though his mana is so, so very low. He reaches inside yet again and summons forth a wave of bluish-white. It takes almost all that he's got, but he unleashes it anyway, letting it wash over his allies in a blisfull, rejuvenating flood.
He is the Healer, and he will keep his allies safe.
/
Nathaniel blends into the shadows, an unfamiliar blade uneasy in his palm. He rounds the Darkspawn oblivious to his presence, and brings the blade in from behind, clean swipe across the throat. Dark blood gushing forth but he's already out of reach, into the shadows and out again, muscle and sinew flowing through the dark.
He is a Shadow, and silence is his.