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((Wintermarch, 9:41))
Hell had come to Thedas. Or at least, this part of it.
“No more!” Gideon shoved the gangplank sideways with his boot, sending it and the dozen or so desperate souls on it splashing into the water between ship and dock. It was a brutal necessity; they stood a damn good chance of being crushed between the pilings and the hull, but any more on board risked capsizing the whole damn ship. Gid took up position alongside the rail, Celeste, Dax and Bailey with him, to ward off the ones trying to jump from the pier and scramble on board. The rest of the crew was standing by, awaiting orders.
“We have to go!” Her first mate had to bellow to be heard over the chaos. Celeste didn’t respond, shoving one jumper back into the water, her eyes searching the teeming crowds that were desperately trying to beg or buy passage on any ship out of this port. The Wicked Grace was one of the last still tied up, because Celeste had held them there, waiting as the crisis snowballed into a full-on disaster, because Nicolette wasn’t scheduled to be back for another two days. Trouble was, they no longer had two days to wait, or even two hours.
Up at the end of the docks, flames and sparks shot into the air as the fire that was now outpacing the demons in destruction claimed another building, pushing relentlessly toward the waterfront. Three men and a woman in tattered skirts jumped together, clinging to the rail, and the Wicked Grace listed dangerously to starboard as some of the passengers they had taken on rushed to the side to push them off, then righted, wallowing like a pregnant whale. They’d dumped their cargo, but the hold was filled with people, with the excess spilling onto deck. Just like the Blight, but with demons instead of darkspawn.
“Captain!”
Shit, they might not have two minutes at this point.
And she had no fucking idea why.
The shimmering point in the air had drawn a crowd of curious onlookers when it had first appeared in the center of town yesterday afternoon. The wondering murmurs had turned to screams when the first demons had popped out, but the guard had dispatched them with minimal casualties.
Then more had appeared. And more. The fighting drew them like sharks to chum, and unlike first the members of the city guard and then anyone else able to wield a weapon, there seemed to be no end to their numbers. This morning, the town leaders had ordered all attempts at fighting them ended and the city evacuated, but the flames - lit by either the fiery demons or some fool trying to use a torch against them - had taken hold shortly after sunrise, and the last shreds of order had gone up in smoke.
An unearthly, ululating scream cut through the human noises like a hot knife through butter, and a massive, lanky shape landed in the middle of the deck, brandishing an array of wicked claws and fangs, its shriek unlocking the vaults to Celeste’s nightmares as easily as its bastard sibling had years before, only now, there was a whole new deck of fears to draw from:
Nicolette trapped in the town just beyond sight, hemmed in by flames, sparks lighting on her hair and skirts.
Thibault torn asunder by demons in a vain attempt to defend his mistress.
The Wicked Grace foundering in the harbor, lost with all on board because she had -
Celeste howled: grief, fury, defiance - and charged the fear demon with blades flashing, Gideon and the rest of the crew joining her as the crowds on the dock drew back fearfully and a few of the passengers on deck dove overboard. She didn’t have much hope of killing the damn thing, but they managed to shove it to the port rail and over through brute strength alone, though not without injury.
“Celeste.”
She wiped blood from her eyes with the back of her hand, not bothering to meet Gideon’s gaze, swallowing down blood and bile and bitterness. “Do it.” Even now, she couldn’t make herself give the order herself.
“Cast off!” Gideon thundered. “Hoist sail!” As the crew sprang into action, he limped up to the helm to guide the ship out. Celeste helped a few more people over the rail to replace the poor sods who had bailed while doggedly ignoring the pleas of the ones in the water. Even in her distracted state, she knew the feel of the deck beneath her feet, knew what her ship could tolerate. That done, she made herself join in as they pushed away from he dock and raised the sails, the motions all muscle memory, eyes and ears straining shoreward for a bark, a cry, a flash of steel grey fur or eyes like amber in the moonlight.
Querida … I’m sorry.
It meant nothing, she told herself as they cleared the harbor, leaving the burning town behind. It wasn’t the first time they’d missed a connection. Nicolette loved to roam, and Celeste loved the light in her lover’s eyes and the jaunty bounce to her step when she returned from her excursions with tales to tell and songs to sing. She’d even gone with her on occasion, when there had been no need for her in port, and had been forced to concede that there were in fact things of interest further than a mile from the ocean. They had long since worked out contingency plans: next ports of call decided ahead of time, taverns and other drop points to leave messages in case destinations changed. Nicolette knew where they were bound from here, and would be waiting for them.
It was only a day’s sail to their destination, but they were so weighted down that it took them nearly twice as long, and they were out of food and water by the time they tied up, normal resources drained by the many extra mouths on board.
Nicolette and Thibault were not there.
But the sodding demons were.
Hell had come to Thedas. Or at least, this part of it.
“No more!” Gideon shoved the gangplank sideways with his boot, sending it and the dozen or so desperate souls on it splashing into the water between ship and dock. It was a brutal necessity; they stood a damn good chance of being crushed between the pilings and the hull, but any more on board risked capsizing the whole damn ship. Gid took up position alongside the rail, Celeste, Dax and Bailey with him, to ward off the ones trying to jump from the pier and scramble on board. The rest of the crew was standing by, awaiting orders.
“We have to go!” Her first mate had to bellow to be heard over the chaos. Celeste didn’t respond, shoving one jumper back into the water, her eyes searching the teeming crowds that were desperately trying to beg or buy passage on any ship out of this port. The Wicked Grace was one of the last still tied up, because Celeste had held them there, waiting as the crisis snowballed into a full-on disaster, because Nicolette wasn’t scheduled to be back for another two days. Trouble was, they no longer had two days to wait, or even two hours.
Up at the end of the docks, flames and sparks shot into the air as the fire that was now outpacing the demons in destruction claimed another building, pushing relentlessly toward the waterfront. Three men and a woman in tattered skirts jumped together, clinging to the rail, and the Wicked Grace listed dangerously to starboard as some of the passengers they had taken on rushed to the side to push them off, then righted, wallowing like a pregnant whale. They’d dumped their cargo, but the hold was filled with people, with the excess spilling onto deck. Just like the Blight, but with demons instead of darkspawn.
“Captain!”
Shit, they might not have two minutes at this point.
And she had no fucking idea why.
The shimmering point in the air had drawn a crowd of curious onlookers when it had first appeared in the center of town yesterday afternoon. The wondering murmurs had turned to screams when the first demons had popped out, but the guard had dispatched them with minimal casualties.
Then more had appeared. And more. The fighting drew them like sharks to chum, and unlike first the members of the city guard and then anyone else able to wield a weapon, there seemed to be no end to their numbers. This morning, the town leaders had ordered all attempts at fighting them ended and the city evacuated, but the flames - lit by either the fiery demons or some fool trying to use a torch against them - had taken hold shortly after sunrise, and the last shreds of order had gone up in smoke.
An unearthly, ululating scream cut through the human noises like a hot knife through butter, and a massive, lanky shape landed in the middle of the deck, brandishing an array of wicked claws and fangs, its shriek unlocking the vaults to Celeste’s nightmares as easily as its bastard sibling had years before, only now, there was a whole new deck of fears to draw from:
Nicolette trapped in the town just beyond sight, hemmed in by flames, sparks lighting on her hair and skirts.
Thibault torn asunder by demons in a vain attempt to defend his mistress.
The Wicked Grace foundering in the harbor, lost with all on board because she had -
Celeste howled: grief, fury, defiance - and charged the fear demon with blades flashing, Gideon and the rest of the crew joining her as the crowds on the dock drew back fearfully and a few of the passengers on deck dove overboard. She didn’t have much hope of killing the damn thing, but they managed to shove it to the port rail and over through brute strength alone, though not without injury.
“Celeste.”
She wiped blood from her eyes with the back of her hand, not bothering to meet Gideon’s gaze, swallowing down blood and bile and bitterness. “Do it.” Even now, she couldn’t make herself give the order herself.
“Cast off!” Gideon thundered. “Hoist sail!” As the crew sprang into action, he limped up to the helm to guide the ship out. Celeste helped a few more people over the rail to replace the poor sods who had bailed while doggedly ignoring the pleas of the ones in the water. Even in her distracted state, she knew the feel of the deck beneath her feet, knew what her ship could tolerate. That done, she made herself join in as they pushed away from he dock and raised the sails, the motions all muscle memory, eyes and ears straining shoreward for a bark, a cry, a flash of steel grey fur or eyes like amber in the moonlight.
Querida … I’m sorry.
It meant nothing, she told herself as they cleared the harbor, leaving the burning town behind. It wasn’t the first time they’d missed a connection. Nicolette loved to roam, and Celeste loved the light in her lover’s eyes and the jaunty bounce to her step when she returned from her excursions with tales to tell and songs to sing. She’d even gone with her on occasion, when there had been no need for her in port, and had been forced to concede that there were in fact things of interest further than a mile from the ocean. They had long since worked out contingency plans: next ports of call decided ahead of time, taverns and other drop points to leave messages in case destinations changed. Nicolette knew where they were bound from here, and would be waiting for them.
It was only a day’s sail to their destination, but they were so weighted down that it took them nearly twice as long, and they were out of food and water by the time they tied up, normal resources drained by the many extra mouths on board.
Nicolette and Thibault were not there.
But the sodding demons were.
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