Ghost Story

[Varric]

Well. That's not something you-- "Emma!" No, no, no, not again!

[Marian Hawke]

A long moment passes, and then another. She doesn't fade. Her chest rises and falls in little shallow breaths. Her skin is as clammy and solid as ever. But she doesn't rouse, doesn't wake. Not gone, not yet, but not healthy either.

[Varric]

Varric stares a moment, his expression slowly growing grim and cold. "Fine then. No more planning, no more waiting. That thing dies, today."

[GamesMaster]

Varric prepares every ounce he has to bear against this creature. He spares no expense, brews himself tincture after tincture. Ghost touch and undead bane crossbow bolts. A summoning circle warded to contain the intangible. His rage simmers away, ice cold despite the burning hatred underneath, as he works.

His plan is simple: summon the damn thing into a prepared circle, then unload on it. He says a quick prayer to Alydra before he begins the summoning, not so much for luck as to enhance his wits if Ne be so willing.

He begins the summoning. For a long moment, nothing happens. He begins to wonder if he cast the spell correctly when a sickly black mist begins to form, right dead center in the circle. He fires his first bolt before it finishes coalescing into something solid enough to hit, even with the ghost touch; the second takes it in the shoulder, lodging in place.

The third misses as it lowers its slick black head and charges forward out of the mist, straight out of the circle.

The fight is longer and harder than he anticipated. The creature easily breaks free of his circle, and the bolts don't seem to do any extra damage against it. The creature is hot to the touch, not cold and clammy like Emma, and it quickly takes to the ceiling to ambush him from above. After one lucky shot, it feigns death until he gets close enough for its tail to wrap around his leg, yanking him off his feet. The whole time, the room is filling with black mist, making it hard to get a good look at the thing.

The creature yanks him to the ground, looming above him. He takes aim, fires, and black ichor reigns down on his leg, burning him like acid. He screams in pain as he fires again, his vision whiting out. When it returns, the creature is gone, the door standing open.

[Varric]

He staggers to his feet, blood pounding in his veins like the war drums he was lucky enough to never hear as a child. Biana is still in his hand, solid and reassuring, as he scans the rest of the room; once bitten, twice willing to use excessive and gratuitous violence next time. Won't be fooled a second time, you fucker. Running out of tricks (more than it should have already) and you don't have a frankly ludicrous stockpile of healing potions I wager. He swiftly takes out one, then two, then a third of said potions, downing each with ease. As his flesh reknits and his muscles regrown, he starts for the door now that he feels the room to be truly empty. 

Come out, come out, wherever you are. You need to die bastard. (Wait). Well, 'die' isn't really the right word, (sure about that?) is it? You've existed for far too long. He slows at the door, senses humming. "You're not undead," he suddenly says to himself.

"Fuck."

A minute later, he's in his room, the most secure in the house. "Still safe," he says with relief as he moves to check on Emma.

[GamesMaster]

Emma is resting safe and sound, the ward over the door unbroken. She looks a bit paler now, truly ghostlike to his eyes, but it's still her, she's still here and breathing. Beside the bed is the mabari, resting with its head on its paws and a forlorn expression on its face.

[Varric]

Varric pauses as he considers the mabari. "Where you been girl?" he asks softly. "That fight with the hellhound take it out of you?" Rather impressive example of its breed (wait, hellhound?).

[GamesMaster]

"Awroo." The miniature howl is mournful, and a little chagrined, almost ashamed. Fascinating how much emotion the canine can put into a doggie sound.

[Varric]

"Wasn't a rebuke," he assures the canine, reaching down to stroke her head automatically. "Emma's your person, isn't she? Not just similar, but your person."

[GamesMaster]

Silence licks his hand, giving a doggy nod.

[Varric]

"Do you remember?" Varric continues to pet Silence, though his gaze is on Emma. "The past, your life, that is."

[GamesMaster]

Silence whines, softly, a knowing whine.

[Varric]

"Don't suppose you can spell?"

[GamesMaster]

Silence pants in amusement, then gets to her feet, padding over to the bed. She noses Emma's hand, gently extracting the holy symbol of Alydra and placing it in Varric's lap.

[Varric]

Varric frowns in thought as he picks the icon up and hefts it. "Alydra? Look up if this is a direct answer or look down if you're using this to refer to a concept or meaning."