Rom had years of experience in concealing the way he felt about things. Tricking himself, almost, into feeling nothing at all.
He wasn't sure whether it was wise or not to call on that experience now, but he was doing it. Shutting himself down as best he could, refusing to let emotions like anger or even compassion compel him into doing anything that would jeopardize what they came here to do: rescue Zee's family. He didn't know who he was rescuing any more than these others, though, and it made it difficult for him to see why they were worth it while the unknowns were not. He didn't know Maleus any more than he knew Corveus.
This had to be done one thing at a time, or they would be overwhelmed by difficulties. That meant for the moment, they just had to keep walking. At the end of the hallway, this dungeon, they found a large set of double doors, dwarven made by their appearance, with that sort of geometrical style that wasn't uncommon to see in Minrathous. They were unlocked, for once. Possibly no one was expected to be walking around down here that didn't already belong.
On the other side they entered a fairly large antechamber, the ceiling lifting high over their heads, almost giving the sense they were entering a cave rather than another room of the Contee estate. There were even stalagmites coming up from the floor here, intermixed with the impressive stonework, like they'd entered the outskirts of a dwarven thaig in the Deep Roads or something. A staircase led down into it, old dwarven statues flanking it on either side. They passed between them, coming to stand on a circular platform at the center, like this was some sort of old town square (or circle, as it was). Other passageways nearby were blocked off by stone, and there were several sarcophagi littering the room, unopened and seemingly left there, having been brought from elsewhere. The air was cool, drafty, something that was not unwelcome.
Further in, the cavernous chamber showed signs that someone had actually been inhabiting this space. Quite some time, by the looks of it. Crooked pans and iron pots were set off to the side of a smoldering fire, burnt down to orange embers, glistening in the low light. A lean-to had been fabricated from a variety of materials. Old dresses, skirts, canvas and furs. Leftovers, cast-offs. Presumably thrown down here, instead of being tossed to the street-rats. Several lanterns had been lit here, as well. Cut into the walls, at varying intervals, casting a warm, orange glow across the stonework.
There was a familiar sound. Chains grating against each other, pulling along the furthest wall. It was clear that there was some sort of device in place to keep the prisoner here, in one place, rather than allowing them to wander around freely. The torchlightâs flame shone down on the sliver of silver worn away on the chains, eroded from being pulled back and forth. The trickle of water accompanied it, dribbling down into a small pool beside the makeshift tent. From Româs vantage point, a figure could be seen hunched over a large, drum-shaped mortar. Pestle in hand, rhythmically grinding. It, too, echoed.
Scratching.
A woman, clearly. Aged. Her features lit up as soon as the lantern-light danced across her. Zee, and her brother, had taken after her. The similarities were there; from her shape of her nose to the angle of her cheekbones. Wild, unmanageable black curls had been pulled into a loose tail, set around her slender shoulders. She was thinner than Zee, possibly due to her living conditions. There was a set to her jawline, as she worked her pestle, drawing thin, bony hands into the concoction, before dipping it into a separate bowl.
For now, she didnât seem to even notice theyâd entered.
Zee tensed at his side, steps no longer careful, no longer cautious. She took a step forward, eyes squinting down into slits, as if she couldnât quite believe her eyes. From the looks of it, neither Maleus nor Corveus had been here before. Her brother seemed to be just holding himself back from bouncing down the stairs, and Corveusâs eyes were raking across the chamber, searching. Lips curled, attentive to his surroundings. If he didnât think this place safe, it probably wasnât. âBe on guard. Iâm not sure what to expect here,â his blades had already found themselves in his hands, clutched tight, âThis place was out of bounds for me for a reason.â
âYes, well, be that as it may, we can hardly achieve anything if we do not continue ahead." Cyrus's patience seemed to be fraying, whatever tolerance he had for the enforced mystery being fed to them here quickly slipping from his grasp. Perhaps it was already gone, given the way he'd reacted earlier. He was certainly a much more volatile personality than Rom was; it made some sense he'd reach the end of his rope faster, without the same ability to compartmentalize and suppress his reactions to things.
He kept his eyes sharp as he stepped further into the cavern; they lingered on the woman for only a moment before sweeping across the rest. His brows knit when his attention landed on the out-of-place sarcophagi, but he didn't say anything. âBesides, if that's who I think it is, we don't really have any choice but toâ"
A soft sound, almost too difficult to hear over his words, halted his speech. It was a slight grating, like slate tiles scraping against one another, followed by a soft click. Cyrus grimaced. ââmove. I suggest arming yourselves if you haven't already. Something will happen just about as soon as I take my foot off this panel, I think. Let me know when you're all ready." He took his own advice, redrawing his swords, clearly trying to decide where the threat was most likely to come from.
Wordlessly Rom drew his blade again, stepping away from the group slightly to improve their spacing somewhat. It was difficult to prepare for all possibilities, but somehow he didn't think bunching up would be the correct move.
Leon moved to the other side; from the direction of his eyes, he was at least somewhat concerned that something might happen to the oblivious woman, and was shifting so as to put himself between her and whatever it turned out to be. When he reached the position he wanted, he glanced back at Cyrus and nodded, just once.
A concussive wave rattled the cavern as soon Cyrusâs foot lifted way from the impressed floor-plate. Stalagmites shook overhead, rocks hailing down and skittering into the void of darkness at their sides, crashing far below. An addition, no doubt. One designed to keep prying eyes away from Contee business, should anyone be foolish enough to skulk this far. A dangerous countermeasure, if the tremor was anything to go by. Only then did the womanâs head snap up, eyes wide. Surprised. Her bowls clattered, spilling their contents onto the cobblestones, rolling away from her. Her mouth opened, but she couldnât be heard over the sound of rattling stones, as if the ground was shifting in an angry swell.
The wild, shaking had broken up into intervals. It seemed as if it was coming from one of the archways, blockaded by more stone. Perhaps, intentionally so. It sounded like fists beating against a door. Erratic, wild. An anvil being smashed with a hammer, and each time it struck, the cavern seemed to tremble. Suddenly, one of the walled in tunnels burst outward, as if the pressure had been too much for the wall to bear. Boulders and rocks bounced away, stirring up plumes of dust. It hadnât even settled before a much larger form pushed through the opening, kicking aside the wreckage.
Golem.
A twisted version of one, seeing how differently it looked from the one Rom had recently faced. Nine feet tall, and just as angry. Luminescent blue pooled from its lips, dribbling down its stony chest and onto the cobblestones below. Lyrium. Itâs arms seemed too big for its frame, hanging down, knuckles grating against the floor. Several knobs of raw lyrium had grown out from its broad shoulders, ridged down where its spine would have been. Rather than walking erect, it was perpetually hunched, like an animal. A beast. Its mouth gawped open, and it wailed; hoarse, strained, furious. There were runes on its face, extending all the way down its forearms and legs. They pulsed, spreading between the cracks of stone, like veins.
An abomination, crafted for a specific purpose. To break, to ruin. Like much of the things that resided here, a pathetic, pitiful experiment. It roared, smashed its fists into the ground, once, twice, and vaulted forward, towards the stairwell.
"Zahra! Get her out of sight, then try to find vantage!" Leon's thought process was clear: her thin little swords would do nothing to a hide made of stone, and while the her arrows wouldn't do much more, they might provide enough distraction to cover one of the others at an opportune moment. "Corveusâmagic from range. Romulus, Cyrus, I need you to keep it distracted. I think I can slow it down, but not if I'm fighting it off." Zee immediately tore off towards the right, bow in hand. Sheâd be of little use in this fight, but it didnât mean they wouldnât have arrows pelting down overhead, in an attempt to distract the beast squalling below. Maleus dogged at her heels. Empty-handed as he was, even he seemed to understand how much danger they would be in if the golem rampaged in their direction.
Cyrus didn't seem to need any more instruction than that, either. It was a daunting creature, and no doubt their only real option was to avoid being hit by it, rather than hope they could weather such a blow. Perhaps between the two of them, they could. âI'll go first, I suppose." He grimaced when the golem landed, close enough to the stairwell that those still upon it were shaken hard, the ground quaking and splitting beneath them.
Pursing his lips, he produced a piercing whistle, loud enough to be heard even over the falling and settling of stone. At the same time, he strafed away from where Zee's mother was, and from the stairs where the less physically-hardy members of their party were located. If he could kite it back in his direction, Rom would have an opportunity to strike at its less-protected back half.
If the whistle wasn't enough to get its attention, the moderately-sized rock Cyrus hurled at it wasâthe stone broke over the golem's head, more annoyance than anything, but enough annoyance that it broke away from its former trajectory and reversed direction, lunging into a charge for him instead. Grim-faced, Cyrus held steady at his position, balance shifted onto his toes, as it hurtled towards him.
At the last possible moment, he dove away, rolling sideways and regaining his feet quickly. One of the simian stone fists crashed into the ground not a foot from him, but though the ground beneath him cracked, he kept his balance, not even trying to lash out at it with his weapons. They weren't likely to do much good until he could find a weak spot of some sort anyway. But his maneuver had forced the golem to stop, and it now struck out at him with just its arms, which it was taking his full attention merely to avoid.
Corveus had stationed himself behind one of the craggy walls, back pressed up against it. His daggers had been pushed back into his sleeves. Like Zee and the others, heâd fallen behind Leonâs commands easily, utilizing his magic when the opportunity struck. A lithic stonefist slammed into the side of the golemâs face, shattering pebbles, but doing little more than staggering it long enough for Cyrus to dive away from another of its beating fists.
Rom had sheathed his blade again as soon as the golem made its presence known, knowing that once again it would be quite useless. No more use than his mark would be, certainly. The last one hadn't gone down easy, and to be honest they were probably lucky to get away from it as well as they had. This one looked worse.
He rushed it from behind, jumping and trying to get a handhold that wouldn't bring him into contact with any lyrium, while also giving him an angle to strike. The spot he ended up in was lower than he would've liked, but there was no time to reorient. His fist glowed a bright green as he drew it back, and he lunged up to plant his hand somewhere he expected might hurt the thing. The burst of energy that came from his hand blew off slightly larger pieces of the construct, but ultimately did little more than aggravate it further. It lashed backwards with a stony elbow, catching him in the ribs and throwing him off, skidding across the floor on his back.
That might not have even been the worst thing, because a moment later, tongues of flame blossomed over the creature, the lyrium trickling down its frame burning with blue-white fire. A quick glance back confirmed the sourceâLeon's face was splotched red with whatever exactly it took from him to scorch the stuff, something Rom had only ever seen him do to mages. And their lyrium was all internal, in the blood.
Presumably he must be doing the same thing to its innards, because the creature recoiled away from where it was still trying to pulverize Cyrus, its step hitching before its movement halted entirely. No doubt the effect wouldn't last long; this was no mere human-sized mage. But it was still an opportunity.
âRomulus!" Cyrus, at least, seemed to have some idea of how to use it. âLet's bring it down!" They weren't simply going to be able to muscle it to the floor, but as Rom well knew, a takedown had more to do with positioning and leverage than outright strength. Between the two of them, they might just be able to manage itâand doing so would make its vulnerable areas much easier to reach with his mark.
Rom wasn't sure how realistic that was with just their manpower, but if they could apply it in the right way... he grimaced, and then started forward. "One of the legs," he suggested. "Hold it back with me." He rushed over to it, kneeling and wrapping his arm around it, bracing it against his shoulder and preparing to receive whatever force it applied against him once it regained its senses. He wasn't even sure if it was aware of what they were doing or not. If it was, they'd probably need to make a quick escape.
Cyrus did the same on the other side, close enough that Rom could hear him tsk under his breath. âCorveus! As soon as this thing snaps out of its stasis, we need you to strike it in the back with something concussive. Stonefist should doâaim high!" He expelled a breath, continuing in a softer mutter. âAnd hope we don't break our spines."
The golemâs agitation seemed to reach a crescendo, bugling another throaty roar, cragged limbs tensing against the force pinning it in place. There was a shiver, a convulsion, before it seemed to recover. As soon as it straightened its lyrium-riddled spine, monstrous arms raising high in the air, another stonefist smashed into its back. Hadnât it been for Cyrus and Romulus immobilizing its legs, heavy as they were, it might have been able to compensate against its own forward momentum. But, it couldnât. Its movements were manic, thoughtless. There was no expectation on its part, only a relentless need to crush.
One foot lifted, and it stumbled forward, falling heavily onto its chest. The ground shook, and the golemâs ragged howl echoed through the antechamber. It had landed awkwardly, with one of its arms pinioned beneath its girth. It did, however, reach forward with its free hand, trying to push itself back to its feet. Lopsided, clumsy. Drooling blue liquid from its mouth. Once grounded, its size only proved a detriment to itself.
Rom and Cyrus had to clear themselves out of the way as it fell to avoid having their arms or chests crushed. Rom rolled to the side, but Cyrus had to slip between its legs to get free, not an easy maneuver. The ground shaking made it difficult to immediately get back up, but Rom was on the golem as soon as it fell, jumping into its back and now having free rein to climb all over it. His first blast of the mark hadn't done much actual damage, but it had opened up the golem to a deeper strike.
"Get clear!" he warned, lighting up the mark and thrusting his hand as deep near the back of the golem's neck as he could. Rather than let the rift collapse and explode, he let it grow until it was momentarily stable, at which point he threw himself from the golem's back. The golem let out a low groan, the sound of it seemingly warped by the rift at the back of its neck, and pieces of it started to crack off and fly in. The others felt the pull of it, clearly, but with the warning they were able to get clear of the worst of it. The golem was not so lucky.
Stone hands and feet scrabbled along the floor, trying to gain enough purchase to tug itself away, but the rift had it clutched tightly, and with each piece of it the green glow consumed, the golem grew weaker. Larger and larger chunks flew into the void, until it broke apart entirely, swallowed by the rift, which exploded a few seconds later, letting the room fall back into silence.
The silence was broken by a laugh, bereft of all humor. Annoyed. It came from the furthest wall, near the tent, where Zeeâs mother had been hiding. It belonged to a man, dressed in Tevinter finery. Familiar, if his black hair and sharp features were anything to go by. His chin was tilted towards them, sleeves pulled to his elbows. He had a hand resting on the back of Ydaâs neck, keeping her from rising off her knees.
âI hate bad investments.â
He wasn't sure whether it was wise or not to call on that experience now, but he was doing it. Shutting himself down as best he could, refusing to let emotions like anger or even compassion compel him into doing anything that would jeopardize what they came here to do: rescue Zee's family. He didn't know who he was rescuing any more than these others, though, and it made it difficult for him to see why they were worth it while the unknowns were not. He didn't know Maleus any more than he knew Corveus.
This had to be done one thing at a time, or they would be overwhelmed by difficulties. That meant for the moment, they just had to keep walking. At the end of the hallway, this dungeon, they found a large set of double doors, dwarven made by their appearance, with that sort of geometrical style that wasn't uncommon to see in Minrathous. They were unlocked, for once. Possibly no one was expected to be walking around down here that didn't already belong.
On the other side they entered a fairly large antechamber, the ceiling lifting high over their heads, almost giving the sense they were entering a cave rather than another room of the Contee estate. There were even stalagmites coming up from the floor here, intermixed with the impressive stonework, like they'd entered the outskirts of a dwarven thaig in the Deep Roads or something. A staircase led down into it, old dwarven statues flanking it on either side. They passed between them, coming to stand on a circular platform at the center, like this was some sort of old town square (or circle, as it was). Other passageways nearby were blocked off by stone, and there were several sarcophagi littering the room, unopened and seemingly left there, having been brought from elsewhere. The air was cool, drafty, something that was not unwelcome.
Further in, the cavernous chamber showed signs that someone had actually been inhabiting this space. Quite some time, by the looks of it. Crooked pans and iron pots were set off to the side of a smoldering fire, burnt down to orange embers, glistening in the low light. A lean-to had been fabricated from a variety of materials. Old dresses, skirts, canvas and furs. Leftovers, cast-offs. Presumably thrown down here, instead of being tossed to the street-rats. Several lanterns had been lit here, as well. Cut into the walls, at varying intervals, casting a warm, orange glow across the stonework.
There was a familiar sound. Chains grating against each other, pulling along the furthest wall. It was clear that there was some sort of device in place to keep the prisoner here, in one place, rather than allowing them to wander around freely. The torchlightâs flame shone down on the sliver of silver worn away on the chains, eroded from being pulled back and forth. The trickle of water accompanied it, dribbling down into a small pool beside the makeshift tent. From Româs vantage point, a figure could be seen hunched over a large, drum-shaped mortar. Pestle in hand, rhythmically grinding. It, too, echoed.
Scratching.
A woman, clearly. Aged. Her features lit up as soon as the lantern-light danced across her. Zee, and her brother, had taken after her. The similarities were there; from her shape of her nose to the angle of her cheekbones. Wild, unmanageable black curls had been pulled into a loose tail, set around her slender shoulders. She was thinner than Zee, possibly due to her living conditions. There was a set to her jawline, as she worked her pestle, drawing thin, bony hands into the concoction, before dipping it into a separate bowl.
For now, she didnât seem to even notice theyâd entered.
Zee tensed at his side, steps no longer careful, no longer cautious. She took a step forward, eyes squinting down into slits, as if she couldnât quite believe her eyes. From the looks of it, neither Maleus nor Corveus had been here before. Her brother seemed to be just holding himself back from bouncing down the stairs, and Corveusâs eyes were raking across the chamber, searching. Lips curled, attentive to his surroundings. If he didnât think this place safe, it probably wasnât. âBe on guard. Iâm not sure what to expect here,â his blades had already found themselves in his hands, clutched tight, âThis place was out of bounds for me for a reason.â
âYes, well, be that as it may, we can hardly achieve anything if we do not continue ahead." Cyrus's patience seemed to be fraying, whatever tolerance he had for the enforced mystery being fed to them here quickly slipping from his grasp. Perhaps it was already gone, given the way he'd reacted earlier. He was certainly a much more volatile personality than Rom was; it made some sense he'd reach the end of his rope faster, without the same ability to compartmentalize and suppress his reactions to things.
He kept his eyes sharp as he stepped further into the cavern; they lingered on the woman for only a moment before sweeping across the rest. His brows knit when his attention landed on the out-of-place sarcophagi, but he didn't say anything. âBesides, if that's who I think it is, we don't really have any choice but toâ"
A soft sound, almost too difficult to hear over his words, halted his speech. It was a slight grating, like slate tiles scraping against one another, followed by a soft click. Cyrus grimaced. ââmove. I suggest arming yourselves if you haven't already. Something will happen just about as soon as I take my foot off this panel, I think. Let me know when you're all ready." He took his own advice, redrawing his swords, clearly trying to decide where the threat was most likely to come from.
Wordlessly Rom drew his blade again, stepping away from the group slightly to improve their spacing somewhat. It was difficult to prepare for all possibilities, but somehow he didn't think bunching up would be the correct move.
Leon moved to the other side; from the direction of his eyes, he was at least somewhat concerned that something might happen to the oblivious woman, and was shifting so as to put himself between her and whatever it turned out to be. When he reached the position he wanted, he glanced back at Cyrus and nodded, just once.
A concussive wave rattled the cavern as soon Cyrusâs foot lifted way from the impressed floor-plate. Stalagmites shook overhead, rocks hailing down and skittering into the void of darkness at their sides, crashing far below. An addition, no doubt. One designed to keep prying eyes away from Contee business, should anyone be foolish enough to skulk this far. A dangerous countermeasure, if the tremor was anything to go by. Only then did the womanâs head snap up, eyes wide. Surprised. Her bowls clattered, spilling their contents onto the cobblestones, rolling away from her. Her mouth opened, but she couldnât be heard over the sound of rattling stones, as if the ground was shifting in an angry swell.
The wild, shaking had broken up into intervals. It seemed as if it was coming from one of the archways, blockaded by more stone. Perhaps, intentionally so. It sounded like fists beating against a door. Erratic, wild. An anvil being smashed with a hammer, and each time it struck, the cavern seemed to tremble. Suddenly, one of the walled in tunnels burst outward, as if the pressure had been too much for the wall to bear. Boulders and rocks bounced away, stirring up plumes of dust. It hadnât even settled before a much larger form pushed through the opening, kicking aside the wreckage.
Golem.
A twisted version of one, seeing how differently it looked from the one Rom had recently faced. Nine feet tall, and just as angry. Luminescent blue pooled from its lips, dribbling down its stony chest and onto the cobblestones below. Lyrium. Itâs arms seemed too big for its frame, hanging down, knuckles grating against the floor. Several knobs of raw lyrium had grown out from its broad shoulders, ridged down where its spine would have been. Rather than walking erect, it was perpetually hunched, like an animal. A beast. Its mouth gawped open, and it wailed; hoarse, strained, furious. There were runes on its face, extending all the way down its forearms and legs. They pulsed, spreading between the cracks of stone, like veins.
An abomination, crafted for a specific purpose. To break, to ruin. Like much of the things that resided here, a pathetic, pitiful experiment. It roared, smashed its fists into the ground, once, twice, and vaulted forward, towards the stairwell.
"Zahra! Get her out of sight, then try to find vantage!" Leon's thought process was clear: her thin little swords would do nothing to a hide made of stone, and while the her arrows wouldn't do much more, they might provide enough distraction to cover one of the others at an opportune moment. "Corveusâmagic from range. Romulus, Cyrus, I need you to keep it distracted. I think I can slow it down, but not if I'm fighting it off." Zee immediately tore off towards the right, bow in hand. Sheâd be of little use in this fight, but it didnât mean they wouldnât have arrows pelting down overhead, in an attempt to distract the beast squalling below. Maleus dogged at her heels. Empty-handed as he was, even he seemed to understand how much danger they would be in if the golem rampaged in their direction.
Cyrus didn't seem to need any more instruction than that, either. It was a daunting creature, and no doubt their only real option was to avoid being hit by it, rather than hope they could weather such a blow. Perhaps between the two of them, they could. âI'll go first, I suppose." He grimaced when the golem landed, close enough to the stairwell that those still upon it were shaken hard, the ground quaking and splitting beneath them.
Pursing his lips, he produced a piercing whistle, loud enough to be heard even over the falling and settling of stone. At the same time, he strafed away from where Zee's mother was, and from the stairs where the less physically-hardy members of their party were located. If he could kite it back in his direction, Rom would have an opportunity to strike at its less-protected back half.
If the whistle wasn't enough to get its attention, the moderately-sized rock Cyrus hurled at it wasâthe stone broke over the golem's head, more annoyance than anything, but enough annoyance that it broke away from its former trajectory and reversed direction, lunging into a charge for him instead. Grim-faced, Cyrus held steady at his position, balance shifted onto his toes, as it hurtled towards him.
At the last possible moment, he dove away, rolling sideways and regaining his feet quickly. One of the simian stone fists crashed into the ground not a foot from him, but though the ground beneath him cracked, he kept his balance, not even trying to lash out at it with his weapons. They weren't likely to do much good until he could find a weak spot of some sort anyway. But his maneuver had forced the golem to stop, and it now struck out at him with just its arms, which it was taking his full attention merely to avoid.
Corveus had stationed himself behind one of the craggy walls, back pressed up against it. His daggers had been pushed back into his sleeves. Like Zee and the others, heâd fallen behind Leonâs commands easily, utilizing his magic when the opportunity struck. A lithic stonefist slammed into the side of the golemâs face, shattering pebbles, but doing little more than staggering it long enough for Cyrus to dive away from another of its beating fists.
Rom had sheathed his blade again as soon as the golem made its presence known, knowing that once again it would be quite useless. No more use than his mark would be, certainly. The last one hadn't gone down easy, and to be honest they were probably lucky to get away from it as well as they had. This one looked worse.
He rushed it from behind, jumping and trying to get a handhold that wouldn't bring him into contact with any lyrium, while also giving him an angle to strike. The spot he ended up in was lower than he would've liked, but there was no time to reorient. His fist glowed a bright green as he drew it back, and he lunged up to plant his hand somewhere he expected might hurt the thing. The burst of energy that came from his hand blew off slightly larger pieces of the construct, but ultimately did little more than aggravate it further. It lashed backwards with a stony elbow, catching him in the ribs and throwing him off, skidding across the floor on his back.
That might not have even been the worst thing, because a moment later, tongues of flame blossomed over the creature, the lyrium trickling down its frame burning with blue-white fire. A quick glance back confirmed the sourceâLeon's face was splotched red with whatever exactly it took from him to scorch the stuff, something Rom had only ever seen him do to mages. And their lyrium was all internal, in the blood.
Presumably he must be doing the same thing to its innards, because the creature recoiled away from where it was still trying to pulverize Cyrus, its step hitching before its movement halted entirely. No doubt the effect wouldn't last long; this was no mere human-sized mage. But it was still an opportunity.
âRomulus!" Cyrus, at least, seemed to have some idea of how to use it. âLet's bring it down!" They weren't simply going to be able to muscle it to the floor, but as Rom well knew, a takedown had more to do with positioning and leverage than outright strength. Between the two of them, they might just be able to manage itâand doing so would make its vulnerable areas much easier to reach with his mark.
Rom wasn't sure how realistic that was with just their manpower, but if they could apply it in the right way... he grimaced, and then started forward. "One of the legs," he suggested. "Hold it back with me." He rushed over to it, kneeling and wrapping his arm around it, bracing it against his shoulder and preparing to receive whatever force it applied against him once it regained its senses. He wasn't even sure if it was aware of what they were doing or not. If it was, they'd probably need to make a quick escape.
Cyrus did the same on the other side, close enough that Rom could hear him tsk under his breath. âCorveus! As soon as this thing snaps out of its stasis, we need you to strike it in the back with something concussive. Stonefist should doâaim high!" He expelled a breath, continuing in a softer mutter. âAnd hope we don't break our spines."
The golemâs agitation seemed to reach a crescendo, bugling another throaty roar, cragged limbs tensing against the force pinning it in place. There was a shiver, a convulsion, before it seemed to recover. As soon as it straightened its lyrium-riddled spine, monstrous arms raising high in the air, another stonefist smashed into its back. Hadnât it been for Cyrus and Romulus immobilizing its legs, heavy as they were, it might have been able to compensate against its own forward momentum. But, it couldnât. Its movements were manic, thoughtless. There was no expectation on its part, only a relentless need to crush.
One foot lifted, and it stumbled forward, falling heavily onto its chest. The ground shook, and the golemâs ragged howl echoed through the antechamber. It had landed awkwardly, with one of its arms pinioned beneath its girth. It did, however, reach forward with its free hand, trying to push itself back to its feet. Lopsided, clumsy. Drooling blue liquid from its mouth. Once grounded, its size only proved a detriment to itself.
Rom and Cyrus had to clear themselves out of the way as it fell to avoid having their arms or chests crushed. Rom rolled to the side, but Cyrus had to slip between its legs to get free, not an easy maneuver. The ground shaking made it difficult to immediately get back up, but Rom was on the golem as soon as it fell, jumping into its back and now having free rein to climb all over it. His first blast of the mark hadn't done much actual damage, but it had opened up the golem to a deeper strike.
"Get clear!" he warned, lighting up the mark and thrusting his hand as deep near the back of the golem's neck as he could. Rather than let the rift collapse and explode, he let it grow until it was momentarily stable, at which point he threw himself from the golem's back. The golem let out a low groan, the sound of it seemingly warped by the rift at the back of its neck, and pieces of it started to crack off and fly in. The others felt the pull of it, clearly, but with the warning they were able to get clear of the worst of it. The golem was not so lucky.
Stone hands and feet scrabbled along the floor, trying to gain enough purchase to tug itself away, but the rift had it clutched tightly, and with each piece of it the green glow consumed, the golem grew weaker. Larger and larger chunks flew into the void, until it broke apart entirely, swallowed by the rift, which exploded a few seconds later, letting the room fall back into silence.
The silence was broken by a laugh, bereft of all humor. Annoyed. It came from the furthest wall, near the tent, where Zeeâs mother had been hiding. It belonged to a man, dressed in Tevinter finery. Familiar, if his black hair and sharp features were anything to go by. His chin was tilted towards them, sleeves pulled to his elbows. He had a hand resting on the back of Ydaâs neck, keeping her from rising off her knees.
âI hate bad investments.â