lyriumdog

[lyriumdog]

lvllcn‌:

APPREHENSION  UPON  APPROACHING  THE  SMALL  GROUP  OF  INQUISITION  SOLDIERS…   she’d  been  tending  to  for  the  day   &&   lèonie’s  heart  sank  upon  finding  one  of  them  had  left  us  while  she’d  gone  to  make  some  tea   .   hastily  setting  the  hot  cup  down   ,   she  moved  to  check  for  a  pulse  on  the  young  man’s  neck   ,   regardless  of  his  deathly  appearance   .   thin  brows  furrowed  before  she  moved  to  cup  her  head  in  her  hand   .   it  wasn’t  supposed  to  be  like  this   !   not  at  the  START…   a  small  weep  escaped  her   ———   before  moving  her  hand  back  down  to  her  waist   &&   wiping  a  tear   ,   she  breathed  out  a  final   ,   quiet   .   “   ir  abelas   .   ”

        A small jagged rock a good few metres away from the other soldiers marked Fenris’ designated spot. He rested there, despite his discomfort, in an effort to remove himself from the party’s solemn mood; a rough seat was better than his pitiful attempts at comforting the others ( a pat on the back with sharpened gauntlets; an ‘ I’m sorry ’ from a voice too tired to sound sincere ).  As he looked on, the healer piqued his interest; she seemed so distraught to see the loss of life and it made Fenris’ stomach hurt to wonder if he’d ever been affected so -- he couldn’t remember a life where death wasn’t his constant companion. 

      He did not stand but called over. “You did all you could,” he said, “we are in a time of war. We cannot predict when men will fall or demons will rise. You must wear this loss as armour.”

[lyriumdog]

doriianpavxs‌:

Dorian finally found himself able to sit down, the mass of Venatori that had been occupying one of the areas now laid dead around he and his companions. “A shame they wasted their lives for… this.” he spat, he didn’t look at their faces anymore. There was too big of a chance he’d recognize one of their faces. 

          Fenris didn’t pay the bodies the same courtesy as Dorian. He buried his fingers into their silk pockets, interrogating their belongings for any sign of who – besides Corypheus – they were aligned with. He brushed his thumb along the sigil of locket he’d snapped from one of the mage’s, dirtying the expensive metal with the blood on his hands rather than cleaning it. He didn’t recognise the crest – if it was a crest – but Dorian might. They would make a good team if they chose to, though Fenris remained unsure of the match. 

          “If you do not learn their faces, you will not know who remains,” he said, “nor who our enemy really is. Here - ” he handed Dorian the bloodied jewellery, unsure if the other man would take it, “do you recognise this?”

[lyriumdog]

qunarifaden‌:

SHE was helping rebuild Skyhold when the anger filled elf came up to her. Was his sword pointed to her? Did this little creature think he could win? She could crush him between her hands. The Qunari warrior dropped the wood before drawing her sword.

“You think you can take me, Elf?”

Elf. Whilst he had a skinny build and short stature, his strength rarely failed him - had made sure of it, in battles such as this. He had oft admired the fighting styles of the Qun after his short time with the Fog Warriors, and so smiled - albeit with an edge of bloodlust - instead of growling at the Qunari’s dismissive response. 

“I happen to know I can,” was his only response, preparing himself. 

[lyriumdog]

alyslavellan‌:

The last thing Alys had expected was a sword pointed her way. Pushing the tip of the sword away from her with her armored wrist she looked at the other elf, “It’s not nice to point swords at people.” She had no problem accepting a challenge, Alys was always ready to prove herself, ready for any fight. “How about I point my axe right at your head.”

          “And then how about I advance to deflect your axe, before retreating and regaining my previous defensive stance. We shall both then parry like this continuously until one of us tires. Now, shall we continue to hypothesise our battle, or shall we proceed?” Fenris was on edge and all this talk instead of action was itching at his skin. “I am aware of the connotations of a pointed sword and I am not one to favour niceties.”  

[lyriumdog]

wardensenegal‌:

Rumors of the lyrium-scarred elf had flooded the training yard, the tavern, and even the undercroft. The sound of striking steel punctuated sharp whispers and gasps followed the churning gossip —- he was a Tevinter Mage’s slave? And the Champion of Kirkwall helped him escape? Stories of his clawed hand tearing a still-beating heart from a man’s chest were that much more unbelievable after a few stout ales. In the training yard, young men desperate to prove themselves waited nervously to catch a glimpse of an elf with white hair and a sword that glowed with azure rage. The Blade of Mercy. Merrick’s amusement flared. While he wasn’t one to entertain rumors, he was curious enough to find himself lingering at the yard’s edge like a fool trying to understand how such a slight elf could manage such a heavy sword.

An eyebrow lifts when that magnificent blade is extended outward toward him; the surface of the blade winks in the high-noon sun. With his hands clasped behind his back, he tilts his head and marches straight through a parting crowd of gawkers.

“I do not shy from a challenge, but I would know the name of my opponent.” In the heart of the yard with eyes upon them both, his fingers slipped to the hilt of his sword. “—- and if I should expect to lose an organ by the match’s end.”

          “You know of me, but not my name?” Fenris asked. He wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case; titles travelled easier than names, and the titles of heroes more so. The Hero of Ferelden, the Champion of Kirkwall. Fenris the Sulking Elf of Tevinter beared little weight against competition like that, even when interlaced with stories of stolen hearts ( in the excruciatingly bloody way and not the romantic sort that Varric entertained in his tales ). Besides, Fenris was not truly his name; slaves were not worthy of them. 

          “I am Fenris,” he said, “and you are Merrick. A warden.” Fenris didn’t care for introductions, certainly not in Skyhold where it was foolish to not take note of each and every individual. A fortress of outsiders from far-off lands; merchants and sell-swords and mages. Fenris kept a close eye on them all, as was easy to do from the shadows. He had never trusted a soul in the Imperium nor the Free Marches, but at least Kirkwall never hid it’s depravity. Skyhold was too honest, too pure, for him to relax in the company of strangers. “But your hands have not reached to your sword to chat.” 

[lyriumdog]

doriianpavxs‌:

Letting out a loud sigh Dorian stared at the sword now pointed at him, “And here I was simply hoping for a nice stroll.” He should have just stayed in the library. There was no reason for him to be here, his training wasn’t done in fields. Necromancy was an art that required far more than this brute strength. “I respectfully muse decline your charming offer, I’ve better things to do that stand here with people pointing their swords at me. Well… those swords at least.”

          Though he’d had no confirmation, Fenris suspected the powers-that-be had orchestrated a way to keep him as far away from this man as possible. His clothing was immaculate, his staff impressive ( though after Dorian’s quite obvious innuendo, Fenris was wont to never speak those words aloud��) and his origin known to most at Skyhold. Fenris had heard the talk and, when every inch of his lyrium-chained skin had told him to hunt the mage down, he’d kept his quiet; this altus was in the in the inner-circle and Fenris respected the Inquisitor enough to give the man less than a chance, but more than hostility. “I have heard you’re a skilled mage,” Fenris said. Despite everything, his tone still turned to disgust when uttering those words. Better yourself, he urged, or you’ll get nowhere here. “I have heard you were raised in the Imperium, also; I, myself, was made there. It would be valuable to test my sword against someone of your skillset.”

[lyriumdog]

“You have my word.”

[lyriumdog]

fadestepd‌:

isn’t   the   epithet   which   sours   a   once   pensive   mood   but   inflection;     the   foul   way   other’s   tongue   curls   ‘round   syllables,     wielding   title   as   an   insult.     solas   isn’t   offended,     there   is   NOTHING   inherently   wrong   nor   shameful   about   magic,     it   is   disgust   towards   willful   ignorance   that   has   gone   unchecked   far   too   long   which   locks   his   jaw     /     tightens   pallid   features.     he   straightens,     rising   to   his   full   height   from   whence   he’d   been   pouring   over   tomes.     solas   can   feel   the   lyrium   burning   beneath   skin   long   before   he   casts   his   gaze   on   the   intruding   elf.     knows   who   it   is   without   ever   having   a   proper   introduction        (        varric’s   tales   are   informative   on   occasion        )        ❝        and   i   believe   you   will   find   my   interest   not   so   easily   piqued   but   you   may   ask   your   question.        ❞

          RAGE tugged at Fenris, chest burning, scars scratching at his skin. It called to him, but he refused to rise – not this time. Bitter though it tasted to swallow his pride, Fenris had a greater purpose here.  Let the apostate turn his nose up. “Perhaps you are right.” Familiar shame crept into Fenris’ mind -  was it futile to request to attention of a mage so far above his own pitiful scrap for vengeance? Likely Solas would pay him more mind if it were Hawke stood in his place, oozing that easy gravitas. “What do you know of my markings? What do you know of – removing them.”

[lyriumdog]

scout--harding‌:

The voice that graced her with its presence, that interrupted the silence that was involved in the preparation before a scouting trip was an unusual one. Strange to hear but not at all unwelcome but it was a bit of a surprise to really and truly see him speaking to her. Hand still on her pack she paused in her movements and looked over at the elf  "Aye, there is an expedition leaving soon. We’re to leave before first light…I can do that but why the sudden interest?“

        “There are places - people - where you’re headed that are of interest to me,” Fenris replied. She’d do well to entice more information from him, but he wasn’t going to grant it; however much he desired to join their endeavour, privacy helped protect his overarching goals. The road they intended to take was dirtied with underground traffickers - monsters that Fenris had been hunting for years. This was his chance. “My sword would be of great value to you,” he assured, “I require little sleep, will keep to myself, and was trained as a bodyguard” – since childhood – “from a young age.”

[lyriumdog]

iscbelas‌:

It was true to form, at least, that she had chosen the tavern as her regular haunt – and though the Herald’s Rest, was, granted, cleaner and more wholesome than the Hanged Man, she found herself longing for days of old. A simpler time, where she could start a knife fight if someone looked at her the wrong way. Letting her eyes wander around at the various patrons, assessing each of their suitability as a potential bed mate, they stopped on the elf in the corner, and a smile tugged at her lips. She knew that face. Making her way over to his table, and pulled the chair opposite him out and more or less poured herself into it. “Cause trouble, me?” Isabela bared her teeth as she grinned. “Hardly, you know the sea is my truest love, but alas, occasionally, I must moor somewhere. And you? You’ve made your way here to brood sexily for the Inquisition, I assume.”

          How quickly they fell back into old patterns, Fenris mused. The dull buzz of the Herald’s Rest faded into obscurity, drastically lacking when faced against the sharp nostalgia of Isabela, here, willing to banter with him in a way that all others avoided. “I have heard you have a habit of docking in any port available,” Fenris said, but he felt his mouth twist into a smile – his first smile for longer than he’d care to assess. “I had noticed a lack of pessimism here and I am nothing if not generous with my distaste. Can I interest you in a drink?” he pushed the second glass towards her; “the wine here has a far less suspicious taste than the Hanged Man’s signature vinegar.” Then again, the wine in the Hanged Man didn’t need to taste good. Fenris didn’t frequent that blighted pit for the quality of alcohol, but for the quality of company, and company didn’t get much better than the Queen of Thedas’ oceans. 

[lyriumdog]

justivelives‌:

“And I have to agree with you for the first time in anything.” He saw the shallow breathes of the boy that he was helping before Fenris intervened. He rushed to him, shaking his head. “No no no.” His hands were trembling, he couldn’t conjure his magic. He needed to do something. Think Anders. Turning to the elf, he pursed his lips together inwardly. He had to ask him. “Fenris.. if you want to save this boy. Go to the courtyard and harvest the Royal Elf root The Inquisitor planted…”

         Fenris opened his mouth to argue, because that’s what he and Anders did. Everything in his bones ached to deny Anders’ wish, to announce that he was no longer in the position to be ordered to do ANYTHING by anyone, certainly not a mage, and certainly not a mage of such repute as this one. But then he looked to the boy and saw a young life fading. You are here for more than revenge, he reminded himself, you are here to stop the innocent becoming you.

           He did not answer Anders, simply twisted on the spot and forced himself through the crowd, ignoring their whispers – some snide, some shocked. When he returned, he thrust the Elfroot in Anders face, eyes focused on the boy, and pushed down the desire to wield his sword again. “Your redemption starts here,” he growled.

[lyriumdog]

          The other warriors around him were twice his size and avoiding Fenris’ gaze as if it were deadlier than his sword. He was RESTLESS, his skills rustier than they’d been for years, and he radiated sourness. Months Fenris had spent on the road, cleaving through slave-trade camps and side-stepping the enemies he made along the way, but Skyhold had made him uncomfortably slow. Each soldier he approached would refuse his offer to spar with him for fear he’d seize their vital organs if the fight didn’t go his way – so, it appeared he had a REPUTATION. Fortunately for him, a new face appeared in the training camp, and Fenris didn’t care if they be archer, swordsman or mage.

          “You there,” he announced, sword pointed in the other’s direction, “do you accept my challenge?”

[lyriumdog]

@fadestepd ( closed starter )

Fenris had yet to encounter the elven apostate face-to-face, but he’d heard enough to form an opinion. Threadbare clothes and air of arrogance hiding a mind bright enough to become an influencer of the Inquisition. Fenris didn’t trust him and, yes, it was likely because of the staff in his hand and his unapologetic connection to the fade, but it was also because he intimidated Fenris – a feeling that Fenris hadn’t bothered to confront in a very long time. Lanky, Isabela had called Fenris once, but this man was taller, smarter and held not only status in the inquisition, but arcane knowledge that Fenris had become … curious about, in recent years. He stalked into Solas’ office despite this, sword on his back, and approached the desk. “Apostate,” he announced, niceties be damned, “I request a moment of your time. I have a question I believe may be of interest to you.” 

[lyriumdog]

This is how I image rival romances with Fenris to be like. 

[lyriumdog]

justivelives‌:

when the other lowered their defense, the lightening ceasing before the mage stood up straight. “I am aware of my mistakes. Why do you think I’m here? I’ve lived with my past for a long time and I’m tired of hiding from it. It’s not something I’m proud of.” He adjusted his robes.

“You deserve to live with it,” Fenris snarled, “you deserve to die with it on your conscience. Whatever work you do here - with the inquisition, with that thing still inside you - it will not save your soul now.” Fenris stepped back, aware that they’d gathered quite the crowd. Some had drawn their swords, likely to protect their darling healer. Though Fenris wasn’t ashamed of his actions, he was surprised to find he still had such fire inside him and stepped back only to give himself space to control his temper. “You may say you’re here to redeem yourself but you will find it an impossible task to convince me there’s no ... ulterior motive.” 

[lyriumdog]

@iscbelas ( closed starter )

The tavern here was cleaner and safer than the Hanged Man, but left Fenris feeling exposed. He missed the dust and grime of the Hanged Man, where no one wanted to be seen so no saw you. Here, gentle tunes from the bard weaved through polite conversation and there wasn’t so much as a knife-fight in sight. Fenris was bored, and whilst the other patrons had decided he was the most interesting thing in sight, eyes following his scars from the tip of his fingers to the crease of his chin, he had nothing to do but drink. He’d almost emptied his first bottle of wine when she entered and his first thought was that his spinning head was deceiving him, but when she caught his eye and started to walk over with that same saunter she always had, he knew her to be real. “Isabela,” he said, tipping whatever was left of his wine into a glass for her. It was an embarrassingly small amount. “I wondered when you’d arrive to cause trouble. Have you had enough of the sea already?”

[lyriumdog]

summer flower crown