The last thing she remembers is the snow. Ice seeping into her very bones, the burn of the cold on the tips of her pointed ears and each step harder than the last. She remembers the ache in her side, the realisation that she's likely damaged something in the fall down the shaft but knowing she can't rest that stopping means death and never being found but each step leaves her more and more weary and she could be going the wrong way all together, and exhaustion sinks into her bones with cold and it would be so easy to sleep, to lie down and stop.
And then waking up in white, strange faces and strange voices and Eliana tries to swing out at the figures in white, mind racing over who they could be. Templers? Venatori? She doesn't know and she doesn't have time to figure out before they're pulling her forward, her height and build a negative for her as always as she's propelled easily through grey corridors a woman dressed in something even an Orlesian would find ridiculous chirping away. She catches every 2nd word or so, enough to string it together and nearly wrenches her arm out of its socket trying to twist around as the phrase to the death fully resisters.
But there's not time to call back to the woman, to demand further answers and she leaves the entourage pushing Eliana forward, the elf finding herself pushed towards some pedestal. She stumbles on, turning as quick as she can but already there stands something in her way, fists hitting glass and she jumps as the platform raises, heart racing and half in her throat as the land comes into view, the people around her and a voice is speaking, counting down and she only has seconds to think as her eyes land on a pile of supplies.
She's no warrior, able to charge in and push through a force with brunt force. And she's no mage, the only magic she can channel through her fingers coming from the anchor, which is curiously unglowing at the moment. A thought for a later time. No, Eliana knows an archer stands no chance in the thick of this, and her keen eyes spot no bow no arrows and so she does the only smart thing she can and turns on her heel and runs. She'll find higher ground first, and figure this out.
Eliana Lavellan (The Herald of Andraste) | Dragon Age Inquisition (pre-Skyhold)
And then waking up in white, strange faces and strange voices and Eliana tries to swing out at the figures in white, mind racing over who they could be. Templers? Venatori? She doesn't know and she doesn't have time to figure out before they're pulling her forward, her height and build a negative for her as always as she's propelled easily through grey corridors a woman dressed in something even an Orlesian would find ridiculous chirping away. She catches every 2nd word or so, enough to string it together and nearly wrenches her arm out of its socket trying to twist around as the phrase to the death fully resisters.
But there's not time to call back to the woman, to demand further answers and she leaves the entourage pushing Eliana forward, the elf finding herself pushed towards some pedestal. She stumbles on, turning as quick as she can but already there stands something in her way, fists hitting glass and she jumps as the platform raises, heart racing and half in her throat as the land comes into view, the people around her and a voice is speaking, counting down and she only has seconds to think as her eyes land on a pile of supplies.
She's no warrior, able to charge in and push through a force with brunt force. And she's no mage, the only magic she can channel through her fingers coming from the anchor, which is curiously unglowing at the moment. A thought for a later time. No, Eliana knows an archer stands no chance in the thick of this, and her keen eyes spot no bow no arrows and so she does the only smart thing she can and turns on her heel and runs. She'll find higher ground first, and figure this out.