The sudden fog had to be Nasrin’s doing; Jaren thought he felt the chill of someone embracing saidar, but honestly he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just the fact that he was chilled from the rain. She looked at him, eyes wide but filled with determination as she took his hand, and then they were running, running, trying to find the others…
Until Nasrin tripped. Jaren didn’t have the presence of mind to let go of her hand in time, and after maybe a heartbeat of less than elegant flailing he found himself on the ground next to not only Nasrin but Andraste as well. “Are you alright?” he asked nobody in particular. He seemed to be asking that a lot.
He formed a shield of Air again to block two bandits charging at the trio, then as they bounced back seemingly off thin air, he scrambled to his feet and switched the shield for a blade of Air, like the one he’d used to cut the ropes but more sword-shaped. That went into the stomach of one of the bandits as they charged again — the man never saw it and almost impaled himself with very little help from Jaren at all. The other one saw his companion double over, took another look at the three channellers, and skidded to a halt, then took off running in the other direction.
Jaren looked back at Nasrin and Andraste, who had picked themselves up and Nasrin appeared to have untied Andraste’s hands as well. “We need to keep—”
That was as far as he got when a voice boomed over the camp. “You wanna mess with the Grey Tower? Then you’re messing with the wrong people! I’ll take you all on, and I don’t even need saidin to do it!”
Jaren stared in confusion as the mist began to clear. What the hells? Oh… That must be the Dedicated, the one who wasn’t Alric. If they survived, Jaren was going to have to find out his name again; he knew he’d heard it at some point but still couldn’t recall it. And maybe buy the man a drink. Then the lightning began. Jaren stared, mesmerised, as the brilliant bolts found their targets and struck down a bandit after another… but then he realised that not all bolts were hitting bandits. Some struck the ground, or trees, or—
Oh. Oh, no. He didn’t have time to think; he wove a Ward — against what? Lightning?! Was that even a thing? If he ever saw Jaryd again, he was going to have to ask about that but right now all he could do was channel and pray. The dome of the Ward covered all three of them if they stayed close together, and so far no lightning was striking them but whether that was luck or the Ward Jaren honestly couldn’t tell. The chill he felt told him that the women — one or both — were doing channelling of their own, but the screams and the general confusion prevented him from asking if they had a more specific plan than he did. Then again, any plan would likely have been more specific.
And then the lightning just… stopped. Jaren looked at where the Dedicated had been standing. The mist was beginning to reassert itself over the scene, but he thought he saw a figure on the ground…
“Nate!” he shouted — alright, yes, that's the name — and dashed towards the fallen Dedicated.
Until Nasrin tripped. Jaren didn’t have the presence of mind to let go of her hand in time, and after maybe a heartbeat of less than elegant flailing he found himself on the ground next to not only Nasrin but Andraste as well. “Are you alright?” he asked nobody in particular. He seemed to be asking that a lot.
He formed a shield of Air again to block two bandits charging at the trio, then as they bounced back seemingly off thin air, he scrambled to his feet and switched the shield for a blade of Air, like the one he’d used to cut the ropes but more sword-shaped. That went into the stomach of one of the bandits as they charged again — the man never saw it and almost impaled himself with very little help from Jaren at all. The other one saw his companion double over, took another look at the three channellers, and skidded to a halt, then took off running in the other direction.
Jaren looked back at Nasrin and Andraste, who had picked themselves up and Nasrin appeared to have untied Andraste’s hands as well. “We need to keep—”
That was as far as he got when a voice boomed over the camp. “You wanna mess with the Grey Tower? Then you’re messing with the wrong people! I’ll take you all on, and I don’t even need saidin to do it!”
Jaren stared in confusion as the mist began to clear. What the hells? Oh… That must be the Dedicated, the one who wasn’t Alric. If they survived, Jaren was going to have to find out his name again; he knew he’d heard it at some point but still couldn’t recall it. And maybe buy the man a drink. Then the lightning began. Jaren stared, mesmerised, as the brilliant bolts found their targets and struck down a bandit after another… but then he realised that not all bolts were hitting bandits. Some struck the ground, or trees, or—
Oh. Oh, no. He didn’t have time to think; he wove a Ward — against what? Lightning?! Was that even a thing? If he ever saw Jaryd again, he was going to have to ask about that but right now all he could do was channel and pray. The dome of the Ward covered all three of them if they stayed close together, and so far no lightning was striking them but whether that was luck or the Ward Jaren honestly couldn’t tell. The chill he felt told him that the women — one or both — were doing channelling of their own, but the screams and the general confusion prevented him from asking if they had a more specific plan than he did. Then again, any plan would likely have been more specific.
And then the lightning just… stopped. Jaren looked at where the Dedicated had been standing. The mist was beginning to reassert itself over the scene, but he thought he saw a figure on the ground…
“Nate!” he shouted — alright, yes, that's the name — and dashed towards the fallen Dedicated.
