They had paused in the dirty tunnel so that Finn could show Merrill the binding spell they planned to use against Hawke. Two mages who knew the ritual gave them a better chance of seeing it completed. Merrill drew a finger over the runes and sigils on the scroll where Finn had written out his spell. "Yes, that's... that's what I was going to propose. Almost to the letter." She frowned and looked up at him. "Where were you going to get enough power for this?" Her eyes rounded. "Do you have that much mana?"
Finn chuckled and shook his head. "No. I've got this." He lifted the large flask of lyrium from his hip, then re-settled it. Then it was his turn to frown. "How were you?"
"Blood," Merrill said simply, and Finn's breath caught. Right. Blood mage. She scowled at his reaction, and added, "Mine."
"Oh! Oh, um, of course." Yes, because that made it so much better! ...well, all right, it was better than hearing she had a few convenient sacrifices lined up, he supposed.
"So there's just the bit where we have to get the talisman from Hawke," Merrill said, her lips pressed to a thin line. "That will be a tricky bit. A deadly bit, very possibly."
"That's where I'm hoping Vashti's... condition will help us," Finn replied, straightening up from his awkward crouch. "Demons have some difficulty with darkspawn taint, so she may be able -" Finn clapped a hand over his mouth, too late. The Warden's taint was supposed to be a secret, after all. He was too blasted tired to think straight, apparently.
"The Wardens didn't cure her?" Merrill glanced ahead, to where the other three elves stood with varying levels of glower. "Duncan said that they would! That the only cure was for her to go with him."
"It's... complicated," Finn sighed. More so because of the alchemical concoction Vashti had consumed, thinking it was a cure for the taint. Instead, it had concentrated the corruption's effects, rendering her blood an effective poison. Especially against demons, he hoped. It might even help shield her presence, if she was willing to take certain measures.
Maker's breath, but there was a lot of blood being used for an ostensibly blood magic-free ritual. It's sort of a grey area...
"That' what people say when they'd rather not explain things to me," Merrill noted primly.
Finn shouldn't have felt affronted, but he did. He was a champion explainer! He could explain things all day! "It's her business. You should ask her," he huffed.
But Merrill only considered her old clan-sister. "I don't think she'd tell me."
"Probably not," Finn agreed after a moment, and held out a hand to help Merrill up. "Ready to run headlong to our doom?"
She looked at his hand a moment before taking it. "Are you an apostate, too?" she asked, pulling herself up.
"What, me?" Finn laughed at the sheer absurdity of the notion, earning him two narrow-eyed squints from Vashti and Fenris. "No, no, no. I'm from the Circle of Magi in Ferelden. Kinloch Hold."
"You've been very nice. I wasn't expecting that from a Circle mage."
Finn's mirth evaporated, and he looked down at the toes of his fox fur-lined boots. They needed cleaning very badly. "That's... also complicated."
"I see," Merrill said quietly.
"No," Finn shook his head. "I don't mean that as a polite way of saying, 'Yes, it does.' I mean, it does, but not the same way..." He broke off, rubbing his brow.
He had known a lot of blood mages. Hadn't realized it at the time, of course. And in the end, they destroyed his home and killed too many of the people he'd been raised with. But... some had been friends, colleagues. People he'd known, respected, even admired. And if most of the damage had been caused by the pride abomination... He'd tried to understand, to challenge his Chantry-bred assumptions just enough to conceive of how so many could have taken that dark path. Perhaps it could be used with noble intentions? A mage could imbibe lyrium sometimes, after all, and not become dependent on it. Why should it be inevitable that drawing power from blood would lead to murder and domination?
...but he still had nightmares, sometimes, of being trapped in his own body while someone else pulled its strings - his very own, very personal experience with blood magic at the hands of the dragon cultist Tozatha*. It was a profound, intensely intimate violation, and that had to stack against rationalizations that blood was just another form of power and morally neutral. You couldn't do that with mana, and it was so wrong.
Which was probably what normal people thought about magic. Was it the power, or just not having it? Because the power was there for the taking, if he really wanted to ensure that -
"Stop it," Finn muttered, pressing the heel of his hand to his eye. He couldn't even be sure whose tempting little thoughts those were - his own, or something else's.
"Stop what?" Merrill asked, crossing her arms. "Being a blood mage? It doesn't turn off like a spigot, you know."
"No, not you. Them," Finn waved his hand irritably in the air to indicate the demons calling from beyond the tattered Veil. "How do you stand living here? The Veil's so thin, it'd drive me mad. And I don't think I mean that hyperbolically."
"Oh." Merrill shrugged. "It sort of fades to a background sound after a while, you know? And they don't talk to me so much. They're not terribly creative, and I already know blood magic. Ends the conversation rather quickly."
"Maker's breath," Finn muttered. No wonder the Gallows had practically become an asylum. The longer a mage held out, the more the paranoid whispering of the demons would claw at her mind, trying to convince her she needed their power to survive. Other thoughts invading your own until you could hardly tell one from the other, sanity totally eroded by the time you took the deal. Except for those who accepted early, naturally, but they'd be the sort who wanted the power, and Finn suspected not for good reasons.
Well, for the most part. Even Fenris had admitted that, as wrong-headed, blind and foolish as he thought Merrill was, she hadn't made the deal with the sort of muahaha power-madness he associated with maleficar. Prideful certainty that her way was the only way, yes... but that was a sin Finn had a passing acquaintance with himself.
Well then, didn't it follow that he ought to learn blood magic himself, and quickly? That would be the best chance of preserving his- Finn pressed his hands to his temples, eyes closing tight. I don't plan to be here that much longer, one way or another, so kindly take your offers and go bother someone else with them, please.
"Finn?" Ten paces away, Ariane regarded him with concern. "Are you all right?"
"What have you done to him?" Fenris growled, eyes narrowed at Merrill.
Finn extended a hand, palm out. "Nothing," he cut off the Tevinter. "It's this place. I can't believe anyone thought it was a good idea to put a Circle here. Come on; we should go."
Ariane didn't look convinced, although Vashti instantly pushed herself off the wall she'd been leaning against. "Doing this right is more important that doing it fast," Ariane said. "If you need to rest, we can -"
"I said we should go!" It came out hotter and sharper than he really meant it to, sending Ariane back a pace. Vashti was the one with random bursts of temper, not Finn. But he felt so stretched and thin; for the first time in his magical life, much of it spent in close contact with spirits as a Circle-trained master healer, he was afraid his own spirit would respond yes to the wrong urge. "I don't need to - well, yes, I do need to rest, but I won't get any here, so if we could just go and do this, that would be good."
Ariane's brow creased, and she opened her mouth to say something; the look on his face must've made her think the better of it. She sighed and nodded. "Then let's go."
Fenris eyed him with open contempt as they readied themselves. Finn pointedly ignored him, checking the large flask of lyrium at his hip and the two pieces of sigil around his neck. "Weakness," the elf muttered.
Finn's teeth ground, but he'd told Vashti he could work with Fenris. He could keep a civil tongue in his head if it helped them win against this -
"You backing out?" he heard Vashti ask. He looked up; she was staring the Tevinter down from her scout's spot at the head of their party.
"What?" Fenris asked, surprised. "No. I am with you."
"Hm." Vashti shrugged a shoulder. "Said something about 'weakness,' thought you had second thoughts."
Fenris grimaced, baring teeth. "Your mage -"
"Is strong. Finn will not fail us." Vashti said it firmly, with conviction, and turned back around to lead them through the tunnels without a further word.
Finn stood a little straighter. He didn't always, or even often, see eye to eye with the dark Dalish Warden. But he respected her, and it was gratifying to hear that it was returned.
He was strong. Together, they'd do this.
What's that, faithful reader? Want to know more about Finn's brush with blood magic? Find that, plus arrogant Orlesians, dragon cultists, and ancient elvhen artifacts in "The Search for the Dragon's Claw" helpfully listed on the author's profile page.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.
Vashti flitted down the darkened hallway, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in the shadows behind her. The taint, concentrated and focused by a philter she'd been stupid enough to drink, hoping for a cure, supposedly served to shield her from whatever beyond-human senses the abomination might have. It was not, unfortunately, something she'd tested often, and never against a foe this powerful.
She would have a thirty count for a head start. Bow in hand, she slipped into the chamber where the clan's murderer said the demon would be. There must have been a major seam of some mineral here. The Darktown tunnel opened into a large vaulted chamber, roof supported by columns of the original stone left in place. Weird mage-lights threw dim, cold light, giving her many shadows to navigate, closer to the chamber's center and -
Eluvian. Xebenkeck in Hawke's body should have been the first thing she noticed, but the shining surface of the restored eluvian, showing twisted, roiling glimpses of some other world, demanded acknowledgement. It had been hard to see the one at Drake's Fall, identical to the one Tamlen had discovered. But this... this was it, pieces of the original accursed item that had condemned them both to corruption and death. One just more slowly than the other.
And Merrill had spent seven years trying to save it?
Her true target was there, of course. The abomination, red-violet light shining from her eyes and beneath her skin, spun her staff to point at three dead bodies laid before the eluvian. The mirror's surface rippled, gently at first, and then with larger waves - once, twice, thrice, and three walking corpses stood and awaited orders from their mistress. Xebenkeck turned to survey her handiwork, and Vashti spotted the links of the chain around her neck that held the piece of the seal. Her breathing slowed and she silently drew an arrow from her quiver. She set it to the bowstring and let the world narrow down to the curve of gold.
All the shadows in the room wobbled as a new source of light zig-zagged in through the door. Xebenkeck turned, staff leveling at the wisp Finn had sent in ahead of their group. It was a poor distraction for them, as it only drew the demon's attention to the door they would have to enter, but it gave her a chance to lift her bow and draw.
She heard their footfalls, the familiar jangle of Ariane's war harness, but it was all distant, miles away. The thin golden line at the demon's throat shone like the sun, bright in the darkness - inhale, exhale, hold and release -
The arrow departed with a quiet zip! and she was reaching for another one when the demon said, "Good work, Merrill."
Treachery! Vashti swung away from the demon, lost precious moments when Fenris, glowing blue-white, got in her line of sight.
"Amulet! Get the amulet!" Finn shouted desperately.
"Are you stupid?" Merrill cried out, apparently at Fenris. "It's a trick!"
Vashti's eyes widened. Dread Wolf take her, it was a trick. A real traitor would have shouted an alarm before she got her shot off.
She swung back in time to see the abomination stooping toward the floor. She shot again, a poorly-aimed glancing blow that sent the metallic amulet skittering away from all of them toward the back of the cavern and the eluvian. Ariane called down the wrath of Elgar'nan again, and Xebenkeck screamed.
Finn would make a dash for the amulet. The rest of them were to rain retribution down on the abomination. Despite Xebenkeck's deception, the team seemed to have recovered. Fenris charged, sword lifted high; Ariane circled in the other direction.
Vashti turned away, toward the walking corpses lurching to their mistress's defense. They had not planned for this, and neither warrior could afford to take a sword from behind. She got off two arrows and attracted the attention of the undead before a tiny glowing red streak angled in and down, between the corpses. Vashti threw herself back and down, behind one of the thick stone columns, before the fireball exploded with a roar that echoed in the cavernous hall.
She rolled back out, bow parallel to the ground - and froze, joints locking and muscles straining as blood magic climbed in under her skin and burned her tainted blood. Through a red haze of pain that recalled her Joining, she saw to her horror that the others were similarly entrapped. Xebenkeck, half-crouched, one arm wrapped tightly around a bloody gash in Hawke's belly, tried to straighten and sagged back against a column instead. "Not bad," she gasped. "Almost impressive, actually. You would make strong hosts, generals for my army. I taught my herald, Tarohne, how to open the mind of any mortal to my spirits - do not think that I am less capable than she."
Xebenkeck raised one bloody hand and shouted, the hoarse cry of a blood mage digging deeply into her own vitality, and the burning in Vashti's veins reached a terrible crescendo before she mercifully lost consciousness.