altusredemptor

[altusredemptor]

What were your hands meant to do?

wound

Violence isn’t cruel and neither are you. You’ve fought all your life-for justice, for love, for peace of mind and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better but you’re not going to stop because at least you have something to work for. Life is a dance and you’re moving so wildly you stumble. Salt is under your tongue but you don’t mind the taste. One day, this world will be better-even if you’re not around to see it. You are a campfire and its camaraderie, its laughter, its energy.

tagged by: yanked from @heshields​

tagging: all y’all

[altusredemptor]

Suite No.5 in C minor, BWV 1011 / V. Gavotte I & II (Arr. for Viola)

By Composer Johann Sebastian Bach - Helen Callus, Viola

J.S. Bach: Six Cello Suites on Viola

[altusredemptor]

You're a little obsessed with yourself, aren't you?

well no one else is gonna do it

[altusredemptor]

           𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐃; 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐔𝐒;                                                   𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓.

[altusredemptor]

@compassionsung from here

“Yes,” Cole nodded emphatically, picking at the skin on his fingertips. People felt better with the Inquisition around– mostly. Safe, secure, they didn’t let people starve in the streets. And they helped personal problems too. Just this morning they’d brought flowers to a widow’s grave, mourning and mirthful, a celebration in the sadness for a life well lived. Joining the Inquisition gave Cole many more opportunities to help than when he was alone, and he was with friends again.

“Are you going to go back to your home, Dorian? To help people there?”

          “Seems the right thing to do, doesn’t it.” One could hem and haw about Right for the rest of their miserable lives, and Dorian felt himself slipping closer to that sort of pitiful existence every Maker-blessed day. He chanced a sidelong look at Cole, still deciding whether referring to him as a spirit or a man would be more correct. “Yet there’s still so much to be done for the Inquisition. I believe I’ve settled on staying as long as I’m useful -- who else would set our enemies on fire if I left, mm?”

[altusredemptor]

lutanistbloomed‌:

Dandelion gives a hum in consideration, bringing his own cup of wine up to his lips. Simply delightful. He’ll have to inquire about where this had been originally casked, perhaps call on them once the proverbial coin purses of Skyhold run dry. He doesn’t work for free, after all. “Sadly, nothing quite so elven as all that. The Free Marches, originally, although I like to consider myself more of a man of the world.” He waves an arm broadly around the room, smiling widely. A sigh, and then, “There’s no home for me but the road, punctuated by brief check ins with civilization.” It’s a lie, but only in the technical sense of the word. He doesn’t consider Orlais or the Free Marches home, though he does have houses in both. A technicality, but an important one. 

“Now,” he says, voice turned business-like, before pausing to take a long gulp of wine. He holds a finger up to Dorian, the universal sign for wait, and holds it there until his wine glass is on the bar. Empty. “I believe that you were going to tell me about Tevinter. I heard the Black Divine has summoned an army of demons to fight back the Qunari hordes, but that was during the march from Redcliffe to here and frankly, I just can’t believe he’d summon an entire army. That seems – unruly, to say the least.”

          Another eye roll at this juncture seems excessive. Instead, Dorian slowly lets his head fall to pillow on the elbow he’s propped on the table, half-listening and half-succumbing to the wine’s warmth. He has a lead on Dandelion, after all, having been well into the usual nightly libations when accosted by this bard and his incessant conversation. “Brief check-ins.” Muffled as it is by his sleeve, perhaps it won’t be heard.

          He raises his head with the intention of finishing his own drink, only to be prompted with more whimsy. “Armies are unruly whether they be composed of demons or men,” Dorian answers loftily, having heard no such thing; and yet, if Dandelion is bent on his fancies, perhaps it would be better to let him have them. Nobody would believe the man anyway. With a new air of mystery and allure, he cocks an eyebrow and leans forward, just a bit. “Summoning an army seems like a smart use of magic, though, doesn’t it? Why waste human lives needlessly?”

[altusredemptor]

[altusredemptor]

y’all. it’s been a minute so if I dropped a thread it’s bc I can’t find it anymore lmao

[altusredemptor]

some RP blog tagging one of my posts:  ( VISAGE ); shε was p0ison and honεy; (( EYES OF FIRE)); oc: straight girl with pretentious name

me: 

[altusredemptor]

“Enter chorus. I am my own chorus.”

— Anne Carson, First Choral Ode from Norma Jeane Baker of Troy (a translation of Euripides’ Helen)

[altusredemptor]

The Nun (2018)

[altusredemptor]

❝ this is the last place i would have expected to see you. ❞

          “I know -- this is more stairs than I usually have to climb.” The cacophony of squawks above him had obscured her steps, and so she finds him a little startled at her arrival, as if Dorian somehow hadn’t expected to be greeted by one of their Spymaster’s own in the rookery. Silly, that. He brandishes the open letter he’d been reading before neatly folding it back and tucking it away.

          “Leliana seemed insistent I retrieve this from her desk myself. Care for some fresh air with me? It smells of... bird, up here.” He inclines his head towards the open door to the battlements.

[altusredemptor]

❝ most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it. ❞

          “If you ask me, it’s important to know why they choose to deny it.” He says so softly, commiserating with the statement more than he’d like. The quiet murmur of Skyhold’s garden doesn’t brook much above a whisper, besides. “What if one knows they can’t do anything to rectify this truth, mm?” It holds the flat musing of a rhetorical question, lest she choose to evade a line of philosophical questioning -- many would.

[altusredemptor]

lutanistbloomed‌:

There’s a trick amongst performers and bar staff in particularly well established places, a trick as old as music and whores. A patron wants to buy the performer a drink. The performer orders something somewhat expensive and offbrand. The bar staff serve the performer water, and the bar staff and the performer split the cost of the drink two ways. As Dandelion was well versed in this particular trick, he’d accrued a somewhat impressive coin purse that he’d put to the side explicitly for drinking purposes, or charming purposes. Ideally both, if he was being honest with himself. “Well, I suppose I can pay for a few rounds,” he tells the man – Dorian – voice tentative. He was, at heart, a performer. He knew how to act poor.

The bartender comes back before he can reply to the second half of Dorian’s statement, which is a blessing because he hasn’t decided how to reply to it. He takes a sip of wine, trying to contain the little sigh of contentment he feels as it wets his lips. Bless this tavern. “Whoever said it was a stage name?” he finally settles on, giving Dorian a conspiratorial grin. “Do you mean to tell me that it isn’t common practice to name your children after the flowers you conceived them on? Next you’ll tell me there’s no Tevinter mating ritual around conceiving children on beds of flowers in the woods to ward off bad spirits! I, for one, am shocked.”

           I daresay a few rounds is the most I’ll tolerate, he bemoans inwardly, touching thoughtful fingertips to his lips. The scrutiny of the bard continues, Dorian’s eyes flinty and studious even with a few drinks in him. Very little about the bard strikes sincere, at first brush; he’ll have to watch his words with this one, lest they be spun into some melodic tale about evil magisters. He takes a scant taste of the offered wine, smiling thinly in return.

          “Unfortunately, Tevinter is lacking in lush, flowery meadows in which to copulate.” This conversation is so absurd so far Dorian doesn’t know if he will last longer than this round before excusing himself. It makes sense, of course, that someone in Dandelion’s line of ‘work’ would be full of fanciful, nonsensical ideas, but it’s difficult to keep up with and the charm threatens to wear off any minute. The wine disappears a little more earnestly down his throat. “Where are you from, then, where this ritual takes place? Is there some frolicking involved afterwards? It sounds elven, in theory. They tend to enjoy a good frolic through the woods every now and then.”

[altusredemptor]

✯ A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE SENTENCES / PART ONE

↪ A list of SENTENCES from George R. R. Martin’s novel A Game of Thrones, to be used and changed however you see fit. possible trigger WARNINGS for violent and sexual content, profanity, and alcohol.

↪ All parts can be found here.

❝ can a man still be brave if he’s afraid? ❞ ❝ take me down to your crypt, ____. i would pay my respects. ❞ ❝ in my dreams, i kill him every night. a thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves. ❞ ❝ i believe i was younger than you the first time i got truly and sincerely drunk. ❞ ❝ never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. make it your strength, then it can never be your weakness. armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you. ❞ ❝ ____ is truly a little shit. ❞ ❝ don’t you see the danger this puts us in? ❞ ❝ give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and i’ll sleep more easily by night.❞ ❝ you should think less about the future and more about the pleasures at hand. ❞ ❝ take my hand before you fall. ❞ ❝ the things i do for love. ❞ ❝ one word, and i will hit you again. ❞ ❝ death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities. ❞ ❝ a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge. ❞ ❝ most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it. ❞ ❝ every flight begins with a fall. ❞ ❝ the captain was just telling me that our voyage is almost at an end. ❞ ❝ why have i been brought here in this fashion? ❞ ❝ they hate me because i’m better than they are. ❞ ❝ no. they hate you because you act like you’re better than they are. ❞ ❝ there’s much to be said for taking people unawares. you never know what you might learn. ❞ ❝ let them see that their words can cut you, and you’ll never be free of the mockery. if they want to give you a name, take it, make it your own. then they can’t hurt you with it anymore. ❞ ❝ that was a grievous error. ❞ ❝ all justice flows from the king. ❞ ❝ we all need to be mocked from time to time, lest we start to take ourselves too seriously. ❞ ❝ i hope i can repay your kindness. ❞ ❝ and what will you be wanting, this time of night? ❞ ❝ this is the last place i would have expected to see you. ❞ ❝ stick them with the pointy end. ❞ ❝ all men are made of water, do you know this? when you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die. ❞ ❝ i don’t want to talk about that now. it’s so beautiful here, i don’t want to think about everything dying. ❞ ❝ you give commands to me? to me? ❞ ❝ have you forgotten who you are? look at you. look at you! ❞ ❝ i hate your stupid stories. ❞ ❝ i have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things. ❞ ❝ no more, i yield, don’t hit me. ❞ ❝ there’s no honor in beating a fallen foe. he yielded. ❞ ❝ i don’t know what you did, but i know you did it. ❞ ❝ i’ve never had a friend before. ❞ ❝ no victory is half so beautiful as you. ❞ ❝ if you ever tell anyone, i’ll kill you. ❞ ❝ ah, damn you, ____, why are you always right? ❞ ❝ are you telling me those prancing cravens will let me win? ❞ ❝ get out before i kill you. ❞ ❝ oh, he’s so beautiful. ❞ ❝ ____ says that every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better. ❞ ❝ this wine is very choice. thank you. ❞ ❝ none of us will go hungry tonight. ❞ ❝ there is a great song to be made from this, and i’m the one to make it. ❞ ❝ fear cuts deeper than swords. ❞ ❝ wizards die the same as other men, once you cut their heads off. ❞

[altusredemptor]

Mood

[altusredemptor]

ghsting‌:

     HE’S THERE LIKE THE WIND– A GUST IN AN INSTANT.

“Maybe if you tell the snow it doesn’t belong in your boots it might leave.” Its spoken with the cadence of a question as Cole follows Dorian step for snowy step, filling the holes in the snow he’s left behind (no one will know he was there, too). “Magic is intent.” Or at least, that’s how Cole understood it. (Did understand it, in life, when he was an apostate mage. Thrown in prison for it. Forgotten for it.)

“its kind of you to worry about me. I didn’t think you’d remember so I didn’t make you forget.” He could feel the weight on Dorian’s shoulders, piled on by each corpse left behind. He feels responsible for it. Like he ought to have prevented it somehow— but how could this have been stopped by one man alone?

Cole’s pace quickens until he’s beside Dorian, matching him step for step. “You did your best.” He assures, tone soft yet firm. “That’s all we can do. And what matters is that you tried. It’s because you tried that these people here live.”

          “Kaffas!” Having been alone not a moment ago, Dorian starts so badly he nearly drops his staff. Blowing snow almost obscures his new companion, pale and wraithlike and so suddenly here that Dorian is sure he’s beginning to hallucinate, but there’s always an explanation to these things -- of course! Why didn’t he see it before? “You’re a spirit! Or something like,” he murmurs, so low the wind snatches it from his lips. With trouble his feet are convinced to move again, though the cold is quite forgotten. How much of that is vestigial panic... well.

          This new information consumes his curiosity, and Dorian has no less than a dozen questions. The spirit’s voice seems to carry over the weather effortlessly in contrast to his own, throat sore and chest so tight he isn’t sure he can be heard. Foolish, he realizes, when his own thoughts are being teased out of his head. He can’t decide if it’s unpleasant. Still the affirmations get tucked to the back of his mind as they come, things that don’t warrant attention or debriefing until later, when they’re all safe. He’s done no more or less than anyone ought.

          They fall in step beside each other, lifting the lonely malaise Dorian had been carrying by just enough. His eyes roam curiously over this boy, a very tangible thing for a spirit, yet that’s all he can be. “What’s your name? Have you been... listening in this whole time?”