"Well," Varric says, in a deadpan solid enough to shatter glass. "We're not in Minrathous anymore."
We sure aren't, Helena thinks, mildly bemused. They can't be too far off, because it's still raining down buckets, but this is sure no part of her city; they've emerged from the strange mirror into a wide and open forested area, and instead of wet stone squeaking beneath her boots, it's mud.
And in front of her, the world is being ripped asunder.
"I know these trees," Harding hisses. "This is Arlathan Forest."
"And there's your ritual," Neve says grimly. "The power involved-- I've never seen anything like it."
And indeed, the display playing out before them is sufficiently apocalyptic to match up to all of Varric's wildest stories. Adrenaline starts to pulse up and down Helena's spine.
Ahead of them is an enormous elven ruin; it looks rather like a castle, except some of its walls are half-melded with the stone cliff around it. Its peak is lined with enormous statues which seem to be channeling the magic ripped through holes in the Veil like lightning rods. The power is enough to make Helena's hair stand on end, to send chunks of rock floating and careening through the air as if suspended from invisible wires.
As they watch, a burst of light flares from the center of the ritual site and the ground rocks up beneath them, nearly throwing Helena off her feet.
"Does it feel like those tremors are getting worse?" she asks, regaining her balance and lifting her daggers to deal with the next wave of despair demons ahead of them.
"Keep moving and try not to think about it," advises Varric.
Helena would be more irritated about how unhelpful that is, except she probably would have made the exact same suggestion in his place.
-----
"We get tremors every time one of those big crystals at the ritual site lights up," Harding notes as they proceed up the ridge. Her voice is strained with tension, but there's a hint of curiosity in it too.
Helena has to admire her attention to detail in the middle of this chaos; for her own part, all of her attention is focused on the immediate need. Keep running forward.
Neve, it seems, feels similarly direct. "Not many of them left to light," she says tersely. "Might want to hurry."
(A/N: I do love when games start out like this, with bombast and a visual setpiece that wouldn't be at all out of place in a climactic final battle, because you just know it means things are about to go tits-up for our intrepid heroes in spectacular fashion.
And it really is quite a gorgeous setpiece, leaving aside all the demons that are showing up out of every corner. Also, I am VERY much enjoying photo mode and now looking forward to BG3's integrated one a lot more than I was.)
"Quite a few of them, aren't there?" Neve calls, burying an ice spike through the head of one of the demons and sending it screaming off the ridge.
"Nothing compared to how many we'll get if Solas finishes his ritual," Varric growls.
They're getting close, though. With a grunt, Helena leaps deftly up onto the top of the ridge--
and another hole in the Veil rips open in front of them, much larger than the ones before.
Helena grimaces, brandishing her blades in front of her. Y'know, this is really starting to not be a good time.
