She had already sold the lives of so many that trusted and had faith in her, that Brigham could not imagine inviting the woman into the Inquisition now. Still he recognizes that Daithi is trying to save more mages pain of death, and for that, his respect for the Herald grows.
That the pleas fall on (mostly) deaf ears, however, does not surprise him.
It is too late to do much by the time Fiona has lifted her staff, though Brigham at least tries. It was foolish of him to think that he might contest the Grand Enchanter's magic, though he tries out of necessity, not pride. His own spell is interrupted by a shock of lightning. The brunt of the damage is deterred by a well-timed barrier from one of the other mages in their party. He is stunned, still, every muscle in his body seizing tight and leaving him momentarily paralyzed. Sound around him seems to suddenly seem very far away, muffled beyond recognition.
He remains standing, though is half-sure (once he can think somewhat straight again), that it is only because his muscles refuse to move. The lingering magic stings across his skin as he struggles to regain control of himself.
It is difficult to find breath, and harder still to speak. "She will not listen, Your Worship," is what he finally manages, unsure if he was loud enough to be heard. Though he hardly wished to sign the death warrants of so many mages, he likewise did not wish Daithi to suffer her onslaught when reasoning was fruitless.
no subject
That the pleas fall on (mostly) deaf ears, however, does not surprise him.
It is too late to do much by the time Fiona has lifted her staff, though Brigham at least tries. It was foolish of him to think that he might contest the Grand Enchanter's magic, though he tries out of necessity, not pride. His own spell is interrupted by a shock of lightning. The brunt of the damage is deterred by a well-timed barrier from one of the other mages in their party. He is stunned, still, every muscle in his body seizing tight and leaving him momentarily paralyzed. Sound around him seems to suddenly seem very far away, muffled beyond recognition.
He remains standing, though is half-sure (once he can think somewhat straight again), that it is only because his muscles refuse to move. The lingering magic stings across his skin as he struggles to regain control of himself.
It is difficult to find breath, and harder still to speak. "She will not listen, Your Worship," is what he finally manages, unsure if he was loud enough to be heard. Though he hardly wished to sign the death warrants of so many mages, he likewise did not wish Daithi to suffer her onslaught when reasoning was fruitless.