rameal

[rameal]

[rameal]

all i seem 2 be doin is drawing or playing dao so like. if u need me hmu on disc @ parhelions#9973

[rameal]

ORESTES: [WEEPING] i am not sorry, sisters. i will not ever be sorry.      /      ALECTO: do you understand what you have done, boy? do you feel how the blood soaks ‘twixt your fingers? does your feeble mortal mind comprehend what wrongs you have wrought?      /      ORESTES: i feel it, fury,  &  i know it to be just. no flesh is stripped from lupine hide for the hare betwixt its teeth, no fox is flogged for the lamb’s gore ‘pon its maw. [HIS HANDS DRIP WITH BLOOD] why punish me, sisters? why punish me?      /      MEGAERA: [LAUGHING] just? how asinine you are, child of man. you think yourself wolf? i could rend you in two with nary a thought. i could shuck the skin from your bones  &  feast upon your sinews. i could take your soul ‘twixt these two hands  &  cleave it into halves with my teeth. just, you say. you do not know the meaning of the word.      /      ORESTES: [HIS FACE TURNED HEAVENWARD] athena, i beg of thee— protect me, protect me. i am undeserving of such cruelty; t’was my mother that was guilty.      /      TISIPHONE: [WITH HER EYES BRIGHT  &  BRUTAL] we are judge, jury, jailer. it is our right to ascribe guilt, you fool; to the wolf or the hare, the fox or the lamb. did you think yourself capable of besting us in savagery? i beg of thee, try: when comes the dawn, we shall see who’s yet to die.

[rameal]

kore’s my soulmate nd that’s all u gotta kno rly

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does anyone here remember me

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it’s 4:44 pm and i’m drunk as hell but like ?? if u want a starter ??? like this ????

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this is dev’s voice claim fyi

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INTERACTION CALL ?   mutuals only  &  all that jazz ?? i’ll hop into ur ims / ask for ur disc

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me, frantically makin individual pinterests for all my muses: im so productive

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CHARACTER META: FAMILY

AMONG THE DALISH, ‘FAMILY’ IS A RELATIVELY LOOSE TERM. THEY DO NOT FUNCTION AS THE SHEMS DO; THERE IS LITTLE-TO-NO DIVIDE BETWEEN FAMILIES WITHIN A CLAN, CLOSELY-KNIT AS CLAN ELVES ARE BY NECESSITY. as custom dictates, deverin bears a family name before that of her clan, though to the shems the two are interchangeable. in her blood sings the words of the INADAHLS, of a family of tree-dwellers, the hunters of three different clans. she has cousins that walk among the people of ghilain. her own brother will preside over clan tanaleth, once their keeper inevitably passes from this world. her family is as widespread as the stars themselves; this is not something she ever forgets.

the family name passes to her through her father, distant cousin to their keeper  &  yet not entirely a lavellan in truth: he has no need to take the clan as his only name, his only designation. in deverin’s far-flung memories of her childhood, he tells her stories of their family. of her great-grandfather, borean inadahl, who slayed wolves as if he were born to it, who fashioned from their pelts enough warmth to fill the entire clan. of her great-aunt dalineva, once first to the keeper, now buried with a stick of cedar  &  a story, a story she will not hear in full until her vallaslin burns white-hot upon her face.

her father, THREMET INADAHL LAVELLAN, dies when she is sixteen. her mother predates him by several years. deverin is there when he falls --- a bear’s jaw clamped about his shoulder, his face paling rapidly, blood spilling across the forest floor as other hunters leap to his defence --- but she does not ever see her mother’s body in anything but the pale shades of her burial garb. this is a gift. this is a loss.

people like to talk about NAWYN. she had been a city elf, once: she’d grown  &  grinned  &  growled in the walls of starkhaven’s alienage,  &  when the clan had stopped at its border one summer, it had taken her with them. it returned when deverin herself was nine --- it is then that the shemlen take back their person, this thing that they are owed. it is then that the lavellan trading party returns bloodied  &  bruised, bearing a body still rounded with the weight of recent pregnancy in their arms  &  a grief deverin is just barely beginning to understand in the set of their mouths.

BRIWEN  &  ARLHEN are only a matter of weeks old at the burial of their mother. deverin, older than them by nine years, holds one in her small arms; the other clings to their father, just as their other siblings do. she has six of them, altogether, all of them small  &  soft now, gentle as only children can be gentle. she is the eldest, but the weight of responsibility will never crush her as it might within an alienage. even orphaned, the inadahls are never alone. such is clan life.

after her comes GHESSA, a sister she knows naught what to do with. where deverin clings to the hahren  &  his stories, to the ideal of her people, to the histories long-since lost, ghessa takes into her hands sword  &  shield, turns on the world with bright, bright eyes. she is so hopeful, so naive. deverin’s own hope seems so paltry, by comparison.

next is CYRIAN, the first mage clan lavellan has birthed since the time of the keeper’s childhood. he is proud, he is strong: in the dark of the night, he asks his sisters for stories about dalish strength, dalish solidarity. he spins blue flames from the wicks of his fingers. but he is kind, too. there is so much kindness in them yet; it will be burned away, one day, when the saplings have been planted  &  the bodies buried. but not yet. not yet.

it is no secret that deverin’s favourite of her siblings, though, is MAREHRA, a sister six years her junior, but so alike her in mind  &  matter that the difference is inconsequential. before little mare can even walk, she is borne in deverin’s arms, carried around their camps to pet the halla, to sit by the fire  &  watch the crafters work. she does not take so well as her siblings to any one art; when she is fifteen, the hearthmistress takes her under her wing,  &  she does not quite flourish, but she gets close. her curiosity still burns in her eyes, as it burns in deverin’s. it is what the inquisitor remembers most, when all is said  &  done.

after wycome, this is all she has: the recollection of ghessa  &  her expressive hands, how her fingers twitched as she talked;cyrian’s grief, laid out in poorly-written common in a letter she will never let herself lose; mare’s weight, meagre  &  magical in her arms; the twins, her scalp burning as briwen tangles her fingers in her hair, arlehn’s wails as he mourns a mother he does not even remember. babae’s blood, staining the dirt. mamae’s burial clothes, the first hurt.

an entire family --- an entire clan --- extinguished like a candle.

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Give in and get out, we rise in the dying.

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hi i would die for josephine montilyet and so would dev

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INQUISITOR DEVERIN LAVELLAN (1/?) // DO NOT REBLOG

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hey this is just an fyi that dev’s name is pronounced dever-REEN bcos i am extra and she is extra and i make the rules

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TAG DROP: VERSES

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TAG DROP: AESTHETICS / MUSINGS