coryphcus

[coryphcus]

The Battle of Haven.

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[coryphcus]

Corypheus doesn't pay taxes.

[coryphcus]

Some good news!

I'm still alive, I haven't gotten purged yet in my place of employment.

College semester is almost over--I only have one class after April 1st.

I'm starting to get the energy to reply to DM's on discord and tumblr. Again, sorry for the low activity on those fronts. My spoons have been really bad.

I will get back to threads on here! Sorry for the wait, and I'll be sure to DM folks who I owe replies to in order to see if they're still interested.

See u all on the flip side soon!

[coryphcus]

“You interrupted a ritual years in the planning and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.”

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[coryphcus]

Ok but like this is suppose to be all ominous and scary but the way Calpernia is egging Corypheus on just makes me laugh and its kind of adorable. Maybe not for the elf guy..

[coryphcus]

being with @prophetries is just one big masochistic relationship

[coryphcus]

“From whence you came” is a classic place to send back a foul beast

[coryphcus]

It’s so cute! 

Corypheus play with mabari.

[coryphcus]

Every night, he'd obliterate and corrupt and defile this land by his own hand. Every night, he'd make eye contact with her as he did so. There was no dragon to aid him, but it mattered none. Not for him, whose touch was lethal, and by all accounts, perhaps on a technicality, equally divine.

After all, it was he who ascended to the Golden City and found it rotten. But it was holy land he stepped into, all the same, albeit desecrated.

Haven would be covered in crystals in each iteration, and fires too erupting all the same with equal fervency as the embers would happily leap from structure to structure while the crystals erupted through the ground like eager weeds. Beautiful reds and oranges would cover the place she held so dear every time without end, all in this constant game of cat and mouse.

That's all this was. Wasn't it?

This time, instead of rushing in, he stands at the edge of haven, waiting for her to appear, and like clockwork, she does.

His voice carries across Haven. Loud. Powerful, and deep.

"Here we stand at the precipice of another combat. Just like all nights before."

In his hand, wrapped around his one wrist, he raises it out to be observed.

"I hear your heartbeat miles away, false herald. It beats like a rabbit's. Fragile. Scared."

Her locket.

He's kept it close. And it's been the very thing that's bound them to one another so intimately.

"To what end shall tonight bring in your restless slumber? Your death? Or my own? Do you tire yet of our constant quarrel? Do you feel any inclination to sometimes yield? Or must I continue to endlessly chase you in your sleep until one of us ceases to be?"

In her dream, it is always the same. She opens her eyes, looks up at the knotted wood overhead, remembers the smell of hay and coal and elfroot. She is in her tiny cabin, in her little cot, and outside her door lay Haven, wrapped in a preternatural stillness and entirely devoid of life. Save for one malevolent figure, looming in the distance, watching her with eyes so full of ire that it could stop her heart. She stands, still in the tattered roughspun Cassandra and Leliana had found her in at the what was left of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Whoever once owned her cabin had left an old hunting knife, rusted over from lack of use. She pulls it from where it bites into the table, turns it in her hands to face her elbow. Once, she had defeated him with the power of the Anchor, but her hand is whole in this dream. If she is to draw blood from him, it must needs be with steel.

Every night it is the same. She stares up at the face of evil and spits indignation. He casts her aside like nothing and razes Haven to the ground. Sometimes she bleeds. Sometimes he does. But every morning she wakes, her chest aflame, having scratched at the scabbed-over scars in the center of her ribcage until they stained her nightgown. 

But to wake in safety, first she must face the peril.

Outside the snow is unspoiled, and he haunts the landscape like an inkblot. She bares her teeth and waits, holding the knife in her hand with a white-knuckled grip.

[coryphcus]

𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟 𝔸𝕘𝕖: Ｉｎｑｕｉｓｔｉｏｎ ♡ Elizabeth Trevelyan ♛ ∞

[coryphcus]

id like to thank veilguard for this one (1) shot of cory

[coryphcus]

@prophetries

—Fyodor Dostoevsky

[coryphcus]

DAI: Corypheus

[coryphcus]

@coryphcus she rabid

[coryphcus]

(bites his hand because this is what he signed up for by picking this specimen)

from Blair >:3

Holds her up by the scruff of her outfit. Like this.

@haereticae

[coryphcus]

roleplay account featuring the viper from the dragon age universe. written by zero. mature themes are present. like / reblog if interested in writing together.

[coryphcus]

@prophetries

How long had it been?

He doesn't know, but he can only guess. Not to mention that the time in the Fade passed far differently compared to the world outside of it. Time and time again, he'd find her. Or she'd find him. But the end result was always the same.

A chase. Exchanged insults. And violence. It was practically a dance routine.

And it was more often than not a constant repeated cycle. Haven, in its former glory, where everything was restored and placed back in order before its destruction. For whatever reason, the Inquisitor had a fondness of that stain on the map.

And each dream, each time he would find her, it would end all the same--in its destruction by his hand.

He would do it again and again ad nauseum, if just to drive the point home that he was death, that he was ruination, and he was powerful.

Each and every time, buildings would collapse, and it would become tainted in scarlet red crystals, jagged edges that were like blood. This dreamscape on a damn near perfect one to one replica minus all the bodies that he could so wickedly be tying up on strings with forced infection.

She dreams again tonight.

And he stands at the edge of the small and empty civilization.

Waiting for her.