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His blood boiled with an ancient fury, his body alight with power leeched from the pain of others and himself. Maxwell pushed through the agony, blending it with his white-hot fury until his sole thought was ‘Break it!’ The Red Templars had plagued these glacial ruins for long enough!
Beneath his blade and fists the Behemoth’s monstrous crystalline form splintered. The freezing midday sun caught upon crimson splinters revealing a kaleidoscope of red shades that even in his wildest of dreams he could not begin to fathom. Within the depths of the hulking body his shrouded mind could almost glean a murky figure encased by their own stupidity. Had he the mind or the patience Maxwell might have allowed himself to feel empathy for the person once existing within their shambling corpse, but he would not waste good thoughts and prayers to deities for these fools turned monsters.
He brought his fists down upon the joint that was probably a knee and let loose his leashed rage. There was a catharsis in tearing down these monsters with his own hands. He let loose everything he could not bring down upon the heads of entitled diplomats and their numerous relatives, the behemoths leg shattered beneath his fists. He did not stop. The beast continued to live (if one could call its current state alive) so he dug deep, pulling upon all his pain until his entire body burned hot with an unrelenting fury. Each time his fist connected with the monster it gave a scream, these bastards had the audacity to remind everyone they were once a person, someone’s child who had made a reckless decision!
Blocking out the screams he continued to push on, it would only be enough when those screams stopped and the monster lay defeated. His blade pierced the chest of the monster, finally the Red Lyrium could not sustain it and the beast ceased to be. It lay dead, its warm body melting the snow and ice surrounding it. Maxwell knocked the side of the monsters head with the tip of his boot, annoyance latched onto him, how dare it die so easily! It was dead, that was all that mattered. That’s all that should matter.
It’s not enough! His blood boiled with rage, fuelling him towards the small group of Red Templars the others were fighting. Pain sucker punched which almost sent him careening into the frozen ground, he caught himself with his sword and tried to push through the confusing blend of power and pain coursing through his frenzied mind. Whatever was wrong could wait, he barrelled forward ignoring how his left arm was paining him. He could barely move it.
A Templar charged him down, he drew upon all of his rage and cut through their enemies. He pulled power from his pain, drew strength from the confused terror and agony of his opponents until his arm became useless. He could not call upon the mark to dispatch these bastards! A scream of agony and frustration ripped from his throat terrifying a nearby Templar into recalling that once it was a person and fled from the injured Inquisitor.
“Inquisitor!” He could barely hear Cassandra’s voice over the chaos of battle. One of Sera’s explosives flooded the area with a shower of sparks, the seeker was at his side. She was saying something, his mind however was more interested in tearing the head off a confused Templar. Bees chased the half-beast half-human through the carnage of battle.
“Max!” Cassandra yelled drowning out the call for battle that scalded his blood, “Your shoulder needs to be reset!”
Unable to assemble an intelligent thought beyond three syllables long he said to her, “You do it!” They were both warriors accustomed to patching their allies up in battle.
“I shall not lie to you Maxwell this is going to hurt,” Cassandra said while looking the half-frenzied reaver in his eye. “Okay?” she asked, he nodded. What was a little more pain? He could deal with the repercussions once their party was safe.
With a well-rehearsed twist and pull Cassandra quickly reset the limb. He tested the joint, satisfied with Cassandra’s work he hurtled himself back into the thick of battle determined to claim his vengeance before Sera and her bee army stole all the glory.
It did hurt! Laid up in camp Maxwell tried not to feel like a fool. “Does this hurt?” Sera snickered prodding at his formally dislocated shoulder.
“Fuck off,” he groused but otherwise was too exhausted to do anything about her nonsense. Dorian and Cassandra weren’t about to support his self-destructive habits, and they did nothing to shoo her either. Not that they could. Where would she go in the dead of night surrounded by ice, snow and Red lyrium.
“Does this hurt?” she laughed prodding him again. He shouted in pain, of course it fucking hurt!
“It’ll hurt when I toss you into the fucking fade,” Maxwell snarled as he tried to sit up, foolishly he leaned on his injured left arm and collapsed in pain. Not the empowering burning reaver pain that he was slowly growing fond of, but the pain of someone realising they were in fact not a dragon but only a tiny mortal in a fragile shell.
“Pbbth!” She stuck her tongue out at him, he returned the favour.
“Are you a child?” Cassandra reprimanded Maxwell who really should know better.
“What about Sera?” He asked a sense of déjà vu washed over him, the countless times his father had reprimanded him because Evelyn was able to escape punishment by using her girlish cuteness against him.
“Amatus, you must rise above Sera’s games,” Dorian sighed from within his bundle of stolen blankets, he dared not leave his cocoon of protective warmth. He made no effort to stop Sera even though he was sat between them.
“I can tell you’re an only child,” Maxwell grunted laying back down on the cold hard ground.
“Well I know for a fact that yoooou can’t toss me into the fade!” Sera cackled he raised an eyebrow at her. When did she become an expert on the anchor? “Solas told me,” the world made sense again. Until it didn’t, Sera never listened to Solas!
“As if you’d listen to Solas,” Cassandra scoffed her eyes never leaving the page of her book.
“Next you will suggest that Corypheus will surrender to us so we can be done with all this nonsense,” Dorian’s teeth chattered almost as loud as his voice carried. If he could Maxwell would hug him, but as it were he would rather not move as he feared further agitating his injured shoulder. Though the potion he took earlier was helping numb the pain.
“Yeah, I’m calling bullshittery on this one,” Maxwell rolled onto his right side and finally managed to prop himself up into a seated position.
Sera snorted, “Bulls shittery, I’m going to use that one on Bull next time we see him!” Then she prodded Maxwell again. He tried kicking her but at this angle all he managed to do was kick pebbles at Cassandra.
“Poke me again and… and I will eat all the cake!” he threatened her where he knew it would hurt most without actually injuring her.
“Already eaten!” She grinned, of course she had.
“I’ll bite the head off all your bees,” he grumbled through the fog of sleepy numbness that had suddenly overcome him.
“What?!” Sera startled at the randomness of the threat, she didn’t know if she should be genuinely afraid for her precious swarm or laugh.
“I think the potions kicking in,” Dorian dramatically rolled his eyes.
“And roast their bodies over an open fire until they’re crispy and crunchy and honey, lots of honey, they’re a delicacy you know, like banana bread and green cheese,” Maxwell rambled incoherently.
“Blue cheese,” Dorian corrected.
“Eww mouldy cheese,” Sera blew a raspberry.
“It’s like living with a bunch of children,” Cassandra sighed, her book was far better company than the addled inquisitor, the ravenous archer and the freezing Tevinter.
“In Ostwick we roll cheese down a hill,” Maxwell declared as though he were on his throne sitting in judgment of someone instead of rambling.
“Shh,” Dorian whispered while covering the warrior’s eyes with one of his blankets.
“Okay,” a tiny voice said from beneath the thick fur-lined fleece.
At least the pain was gone.