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[pawsitively-clawful]

Day 9 - Nest

Descriptive writing about the dragon in the Frostback Mountains.

Heavy puffs of warm air fell out of her nostrils. She was curled up, legs tucked beneath her and her wings serving as a blanket. Occasionally, her eye would fleetingly open. It would remain open only briefly until she again determined she was safe enough to rest.

Her purple scales had the capacity to glimmer and shine, had they been under a lovingly beating sun. Instead, she lived amongst the mountains. The sky was grey and the sun was a memory. It always took at least an hour for the cold stone to warm under her. It was a dangerous thing to rest. Too comfortable. Warmth was hard-pressed to come by. Her mother had blown fire upon their resting space, then padding it down under her feet before curling up - her wings would open to beckon for her child to join. But just that alone was too much energy now. Her mother was now as distant as the sun. Her feet twitched as she remembered the sensation of lying on hot embers. Her plated skin brushed on the cold parts of the stone that hadn't become acclimated to her warmth. She groaned - she swatted around before pulling her limbs back in, as close as possible.

Heaviness overtook her as she fell back into a brief slumber until a noise came. Her head slowly lifted, heavy both from her size and the sleep she had been so rudely pulled from. It was not an unfamiliar noise. However, it was not one gladly welcomed. Smoke drifted from her nostrils as she got her breathing back under calm control. She perked up, stretching her neck but not willing to put in the effort to even stand. The noise happened again. It was like a groaning; quieter than she was accustomed to making herself, and then this time another noise happened after. Quick, loud exhales that, quite frankly, annoyed her. It sounded like there were two of them. She hated watching them make that noise, they always bore their teeth and shook their bodies. She sighed. She wanted to lower her head, to sleep with her neck stretched out, but that would require waiting for the surface to warm up again. A yawn escaped her.

The small noise makers soon appeared around the corner. She watched them appear straight ahead of her, their little mouths turning into a straight line from their previously upturned form. It wouldn't take much for them to fall. They had to walk along a thinner strip of the flat surface before they could reach her spot. Even then, the spot was only just bigger than she was curled up. She liked it like that. She turned her head away from them, looking out. Beyond here were further points of the mountains; crevices and mounds gathered together. An ideal place to sleep would offer an expansive view to gaze upon when she would wake. She could admire the prospect of the livestock in the distance to torment and feed upon. That would offer no safety, however. She had already made enough mistakes in her emergences to garner the attention of these little freaks.

They slowly neared her, seeming to be taken aback by her nonchalance as they had paused during her distraction. She looked back at them and huffed. The one in front lifted their front appendages, cooing in their odd grumbles. Had there been more of them, like the armies she had watched with her mother, perhaps she would make the effort to kill them. But just the two of them - so small - meant there would be no benefit to eating them. It would take up more energy just to swipe her arm than she would regain in their meat. Besides, they had that shiny casing on them that sometimes got stuck on her teeth and claws. They continued to near her. She allowed it, for a time. They were funny to watch but she didn't want the company. Once their tiny steps got too close, a growl emanated deep in her chest. It rose past her snarling teeth and smoke started to roll out past her jaw. They lifted their hands again, seeming to be pleased just to see her as they left at the first sign of her displeasure. She sighed. Their presence remained even after they left - she listened to their gurgling, mumbly noises wander away. Her head remained lifted. She wasn't sure if it was because she worried about their return or hoped to make some sense of their peculiar vocalisations. Eventually, the only noise she could hear was the whistling of the wind.

She blew air out of her nose. There was nobody to blame for their presence except for herself. When she'd had her mother to follow, there were strict rules to ensure their isolation. They made sense. She was irritated by them regardless, of course. She would whine, roll onto her back, flap her wings, and cough up fire: all to argue with the safety her mother provided. These declarations of a fight never lasted long. Her mother would swat her snout or pick her up by the scruff. Even when she grew, becoming the same size as her mother - if not bigger - her arguments were meaningless. Her mother insisted little, only that they remain isolated. Safe. Her mother taught her to hunt, therefor her lessons about their safety ought to be just as meaningful. Yet not long after her mother's departure, these rules were of little importance. She ought to avoid flying past the secluded areas of the mountains but for what reason? So fly, she had begun.

And that was how she got here. With small creatures making their way into her nest. Their occasional visits were not too bad, she supposed. As of recent, they would sometimes arrive with a little object. It was dark and hollow, curved with the hole small at one end and big at the other. The little animals made no sense.

She tilted her head down before yawning, her body shivering after. Her legs then lifted herself up before she inhaled - a deep breath of fire was blown onto the ground. It was charred with spots of red sputtering off and bouncing down the side of the cliff. After a content admiration of her work, she lowered herself back down. They had made their visit and would be unlikely to return. She could now sleep with few checks of her surrounding made during her rest. She curled up and heavy puffs of warm air fell out of her nostrils.

[pawsitively-clawful]

“That’s so sweet of you. I’m all a-tingle.”

[pawsitively-clawful]

Writing Inktober Day 8 - Match

Zevran admires some jewellery. (This can be taken as either platonic or romantic Zev/Warden)

His fingers grazed over the rings on display. A smile curled on his lips as he considered the merchant's thoughts. Here he was: an elf.

Zevran looked up to meet the gaze of the salesman. His arms were crossed and his eyes narrowed, but he possessed enough dignity to not be outwardly presumptuous. This guy would watch him, certainly, but he wasn't ready to shout without any evidence. Zevran considered that he, perhaps, ought to give the merchant more credit. He shouldn't be paranoid because he was an elf, he should be paranoid because he was a rogue.

He considered flipping up a ring into the palm of his hand and delicately pocketing it, exactly as it may have looked under his prior physical inspection. Under the intense stare of the seller, it was still no more than an easy joke to play.

But not today.

Amethysts, sapphires, diamonds, opals. Zevran's personal favourite was the ones with the gold bands. Engravings were found on some of them; he lifted them into the light to read them but found nothing of particular interest.

The gems shone under the illumination of the torches; the reflections of light pirouetted on the shiny surfaces.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" Before Zevran could further admire the beauty of the jewellery before him, he looked up. The merchant remained with his arms crossed, eyebrows now raised. "I am just browsing, my friend." He shot a polite smile, although with his borderline fangs it apparently always looked a little intimidating. The merchant mumbled and nodded.

What was he browsing for? Certainly not for his own amusement. As enchanting as the jewellery itself was, Zevran felt a pain in his chest. Such beautiful items didn't deserve to be displayed like this. Openly in some wooden building in Denerim. They weren't dignified with pillows to rest on - there weren't even display cases! Perhaps that was the purpose of this. This wasn't just admiring jewellery, he needed to liberate it!

Zevran looked down at his hands. He mainly wore bands, preferring to keep the intricate and flashy jewellery to earrings, or perhaps necklaces. That wasn't to say there wasn't any appeal to gems or other adornments in rings, but they could certainly get in the way of more... handy work. There was somebody he knew who might appreciate it, however. One ring now caught his attention. Small red jewels lined the golden circle, starting biggest in the centre and then reducing in size as they spread. He reached out and twirled it among his fingers, holding it up. The merchant stuttered but Zevran did not bother paying him any mind. If he was stealing anything he wouldn't be blatantly holding it up, would he? Well, maybe if he was a more flashy thief - okay, yes, he was sometimes, but not right now. This poor merchant could clearly do with any money possible. Especially for the pillow investment!

But back to the ring. If Zevran's memory served him well, he supposed it matched the one his friend purchased at their old camp one night. An enchanted ring that could enhance abilities related to fire - the dwarf had called it 'Ember'. He chuckled to himself. He also supposed it matched his dear warden's firey personality, if he wanted to get cheesy about it.

"Perhaps I shall take this one." Zevran smiled at the merchant.

[pawsitively-clawful]

For my first post on this side-blog, I bestow upon you all an inktober prompt. In writing instead of drawing :’)

Day 7 - Trip

A quick little Alistair x Warden thing. I took the word ‘trip’ quite physically literally for this, rather than the idea of an excursion... It’s just some casual comfort.

I yelp and extend my arms out, reaching out to grasp Alistair's back. It's a futile attempt, especially considering the only thing I would grab is his pack and the fact that I've been walking about two meters behind him. The mud greets me more fondly than I would've liked, as I slam into the ground. I instantly feel my clothes become wet - dirty.

I lift up my begrimed gloved hands and sigh. It would be pointless to try and wipe my face with those.

Luckily, I don't need to.

"Are you alright?" Alistair is swiftly before me. He cups my face and wipes the dirt from my cheeks, gently shifting it away from my eyes.

"Dirty," I grumble. My knees have a dull ache and I still feel the twist in my ankle from where the root caused my stumble.

He laughs. "Well, if that's all you are then nothing's really changed."

I sarcastically smile back at him and he reaches under my arms, hoisting me back up.

"Really, though," His tone softens, no longer as urgent as his first question or as amused as his previous statement, "Are you alright? You just landed flat on the ground. Do you need a rest?"

Through our silent travels, I've picked up many of his mannerisms. But in moments like these, I'm reminded of his more obvious behaviours. I watch his eyebrows crease in worry; his hands linger on me and vaguely brush me down, trying to maintain any sort of contact with me for any reason he can find. He looks me up and down but his eyes always stick around my face, waiting to take note of any change in my facial expression.

I giggle to myself. The only change in my face Alistair can note is that I've started to blush - taking explicit note of how deeply he cares for me is more than enough to cause that.

He sputters, "What? Did you hit your head? What's so funny? I'm not dirty too, am I?" Alistair checks himself up and down.

"No," I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He lets out a pleased exhale. "I'm fine. I was just thinking about how you rescued me."

"Rescued you?" He snorts. "Makers Breath, if this is what you consider a 'rescue' I can't begin to consider what you think killing the Archdemon is."

"I tripped on something and you came to my rescue. It’s really quite simple.”

“As simple as killing an Archdemon?”

“The only one making that correlation is you, and only Andraste knows how you’ve reached it.”