rivainicharm - Tumblr blog

[rivainicharm]

@vintyvanora I see you, boo. Check DMs!

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Still apt. I mean chaos. Chaos everywhere.

Loren in Inquisition. *INTERNALLY SCREAMING*

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Re-writing bio and verses as we speak. o/

[rivainicharm]

softness / tenderness and unremitting strength are not mutually exclusive, i am both soft and strong with equal intensity

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Guess what I’ll be watching... I need inspiration and hey, face claim! 

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Blog is dash only until I’ve finished redoing the bio etc.

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Active dragon age role play blogs? O.O

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Since Tumblr hates gif headers now - it never loads mine, i made this.

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* (  REIGN /  SENTENCE PROMPTS. 

These may have been edited for clarity or length or to better apply for roleplaying.

❛ How many people have you killed? ❜

❛ History is a strong word. It was more of a… dalliance. ❜

❛ Have you ever wanted something so much that the fear of not getting it makes you wonder if you ever should have wanted it at all? ❜

❛ I don’t want to live without you and after this I won’t have to.  ❜

❛ No one will ever keep us apart again. ❜

❛ Men in general like to win. ❜

❛ Well, your taste in men always did leave something to be desired. ❜

❛ In the darkest of times you were my conscience. ❜

❛ The more we try to help each other, the more harm we do. ❜

❛ I lose everyone I love. ❜

❛ What odd turns our lives have taken. ❜

❛ I don’t give my heart or give up easily. ❜

❛ You have to admit, your fate does have a sense of humor. ❜

❛ I need to forget a ridiculous, childish idea that I could love someone, they could love me, and nothing else mattered. ❜

❛ There is always risk. At least when you love someone it’s worth taking. ❜

❛ I never said I was a good man, but one can receive good advice from a bad person.❜

❛ Love is never simple. Not that I’m any expert. ❜

❛ Are you wearing mink-lined boots? ❜

❛ Well if I have to run I want to look good doing it. ❜

❛ We were supposed to dance under the stars. ❜

❛ Maybe there is no magic but what we make for ourselves. ❜

❛ If the price is my life, I will give it. ❜

❛ I can’t bear to think about a future anymore, not without you. ❜

❛ What good is right or wrong if you’re dead? ❜

❛ Men don’t like taking orders from women. ❜

❛ And real love never fades, not truly. ❜

❛ Just know whatever happens, this is not the end I dreamed for us. ❜

❛ Do not test my power and do not tempt my fury. ❜

❛ If I’m as responsible as you say, I will never forgive myself. ❜

❛ I will spill blood to defend what’s mine. ❜

❛ Men forget, that woman have ears. ❜

❛ Duels only lead to dead men, not respect. ❜

❛ I am trying to be better! ❜

❛ You’re a monster. ❜

❛ You are a necessary evil whose orbit I can’t seem to escape. ❜

❛ I opened my heart to a liar. ❜

[rivainicharm]

One guard who’d initially set his sights on Elethea now pursued Loren who wielded both a dagger and a short sword. A smile on his lips and wickedness glinting in his eyes, “May the best man win.”

Lorenzo danced through the open spaces as he pulled himself away from the guardsman’s moves; cumbersome in comparison to the elegance and grace of a true duelist yet still remarkably effective. Howe was a man of war, and was therefore methodical in whomever he sought in his employ. Once or twice Loren had found himself in a tight spot and improvised, using his knee and then his foot to create distance between the two men. Blood trickles down within the inside of his sleeve from the blow to his shoulder. Testing his fingers he’s relieved to feel them, blade still in hand. 

The guard becomes lethargic; he can’t keep up with the Rivaini’s swift feet and frequent maneuvers. Seeing an opening Loren moves onto one knee, skidding to a halt as his blade punctures his opponent’s flesh in the crook of his armpit. Metal sings as it slices through flesh, crimson droplets dripping along the edge of the blade; blood spurting from an artery. Loren smiles as he finishes off his opponent; the man’s face both pained and perplexed by his fate.

Turning to observe his fellow companions his attention is drawn in by Elethea. The killer in him is fascinated to see how far she’s willing to go and more importantly; how she’ll do it.

When Howe drops limp as a fish, mouth slackened and eyes glassy, he accesses the damage; she could have dragged it out longer, truly made him suffer - it’s the sheer frustration and untempered rage that surprises him more than anything. Every blow to Rendon Howe’s corpse making it less identifiable by the second.

Everyone present watches on with horror, Loren a little less phased. He steps forward and wraps his arms around her, pulling her away from the corpse. She fights against him yet he still holds onto her. The pain in his shoulder made him grimace. He whispers into her ear, “They need to see his face. To see him beaten.” The racking sobs and screams persist and all he can do is hold her. 

Feeling her slacken he lessens his grip, turning on the spot so their eyes meet. “Listen to me… Elethea. Listen!” Loren gives her a light shake, “We have to keep going. If we stop now, then it’s all for nought.” Seeing such a strong and normally composed woman fall apart wasn’t an easy thing to witness, like all that strength had come tumbling down in the fight against Howe. “You’ve made it this far.” Voice softening he whispers, “You’re not done.”

                @rivainicharm​     said      :      “murder”                   one word prompts / accepting.    murder :   my  muse (sender)  walks  in  on  your  muse (recipient)                         committing  a  gruesome  murder.

there  is  something  dark  and  cruel  inside  of  her.     especially  visible  in  moments  of  stillness  like  this,  head  calmly  tipping  to  the  side  as  she  watched  rendon  howe  scramble  backwards  on  his  hands,  blood  already  dripping  from  his  mouth,  weeping  from  the  wounds  she’d  inflicted  on  his  stomach,  his  chest.  she  looked  much  like  the  cat  toying  with  a  mouse.  footsteps  silent  as  she  slowly  pursued  his  pathetic  final  attempt  at  escape.     “can  you  not  slither  away  from  this  one,  howe?”     her  voice  soft  and  even,  and  hauntingly  deprived  of  venom,  but  she  felt  something  shaking  in  her.   the  mounting  rage  which  bubbled  and  churned  the  longer  she  looked  at  his  face.  how  could  this  rat  think  that  he  deserved  to  live  more  than  her  sainted  parents?  her  beloved  sister  and  perfect  nephew?  what  had  their  deaths  accomplished  for  him  but  fleeting  victory?  victory  which  she  would  quickly  snuff,  once  she  was  finished  toying  with  him,  making  him  suffer  as  he  surely  had  made  her  family  suffer.  the  thought  of  this  snaps  her,  and  she  pounces,  ancestral  blade  poised  at  his  stubbled  throat,  pressing  close  enough  to  draw  a  seam  of  blood.  her  whole  body  trembles,  not  with  fear,  but  with  the  promise  of  restrained  power.  holding  back  every  ounce  of  herself  that  pleaded  to  end  his  life.  he  did  not  deserve  the  mercy  of  a  quick  death,  and  a  beheading  was  as  swift  as  one  could  get.     “when  you  sit  in  judgement  before  the  maker  and  andraste  and  you  are  found  severely  wanting,  remember,  as  you  are  punished  eternally  for  your  crimes,  that  it  was  i  who  sent  you  to  that  torment.  and  recall  my  face  as  you  suffer,  as  i  envisioned  this  moment  in  all  my  nights  of  terror.”     satisfied  with  her  intimidation,  she  stands,  listening  to  him  gasp  as  the  sword  is  lifted  from  his  throat,  only  to  have  the  blade  bear  down  and  pierce  directly  beneath  his  adam’s  apple.  then  again  and  again  into  his  chest,  his  mouth,  not  even  noticing  when  his  strained  gurgling,  wheezed  gasps  for  air  finally  cease.  but  when  she’s  done  using  him  as  a  makeshift  pin  cushion,  she  finds  herself  still  dissatisfied.  how  swiftly  he  had  died,  how  painlessly.  how  dare  he  die  before  she  was  done  putting  him  through  every  anguish  he’d  subjected  her  to?  beneath  leather  gloves  and  armored  gauntlets,  her  knuckles  go  white  around  the  hilt  of  the  cousland  blade.  engraved  with  laurels  in  the  steel  of  the  grip,  her  eyes  fixate  on  the  intricate  design.  and  she  sees  everything  she’s  lost  burn  through  her  mind  in  one  hot  instant.  searing  her  eyes.  how  she  trembles,  then.  her  shoulders,  her  hands,  her  mind  spins  with  the  rage  and  the  pain  and  the  regret.  how  dare  he  die  so  quickly?  there  had  been  no  mercy  in  her  intentions,  yet  he  had  managed  to  slip  away  easily,  as  he  always  had.  temperance  clatters  to  the  stone  floor  with  a  loud  crash,  piercing  through  the  silence  which  had  befallen  the  room.

shoulders  raise  and  fall  violently  with  quickening  breaths  shuddering  out  of  her,  accompanied  by  fat,  hot  tears  which  slip  from  her  eyes  and  burn  down  her  cheeks.  every  ounce  of  misery  she’d  buried  deep  within  her  over  the  past  months  finally  pushing  to  the  surface  as  she  stared  down  at  his  slackened,  mangled  face.  expression  caught  in  a  perpetual  state  of  peace  from  the  instant  he  died,  all  of  his  muscles  having  gone  lax.  how  dare  he  feel  peaceful?  even  in  death?  she  kicks  his  side,  first.  hard,  to  punctuate  her  anger,  at  first.  but  the  kick  feels  good,  to  feel  the  contact  made.  so  she  kicks  again  and  again  and  again.  hard  enough  for  his  body  to  roll  onto  it’s  side  but  then  she  bears  her  foot  down  onto  the  side  of  his  head.  pleased  by  the  crack  she  hears  pierce  the  air.  bringing  her  foot  down  onto  his  head  again  and  again  and  again,  watching  the  movements,  but  feeling  none  of  it.  feeling  none  of  the  blood  and  gore  which  sprays  up  at  her,  she  only  sees  it  coat  her  boots  with  bone  and  brain  and  blood.  were  she  more  conscious  of  her  actions,  she  would  feel  sickened  by  such  horror,  but  she  can’t  bring  herself  to  feel  shocked  or  guilty  or  remorseful.  instead  pleased  to  watch  his  face  collapse  beneath  her  boot.  her  silence  is  broken  when  she  feels  a  strong  pair  of  arms  wrap  around  her,  pulling  her  away  from  her  handiwork.  flailing  and  kicking  even  still,  as  if  she  could  reach  him  if  she  tried  hard  enough.  throwing  herself  back  against  loren’s  chest,  squirming,  sobbing,  screaming.     “let  me  go!”     she  howls,  still  writhing,  though  there  had  been  little  reason  for  her  actions  before,  but  at  that  point,  she  would  just  be  making  wine  were  loren  to  obey  her  and  release  her.  but  she  wanted  him  to  suffer  more,  wanted  his  body  to  be  unrecognizable,  so  when  they  recovered  it,  none  could  truly  say  it  was  the  lord  howe’s  body  and  instead  bury  him  in  an  unmarked  grave  so  he  could  slip  away  into  obscurity,  remembered  by  no  one  but  her.     “he  deserves  worse!  he  died  too  quickly!  my  family  deserves  justice!”     writhing  and  shuddering  out  ugly  sobs,  she  beats  her  hands  against  his  arms,  commanding  turn  to  pleading,  then  to  begging.  so  this  is  what  he’s  turned  her  into.  a  feral  beast, foaming  at  the  mouth  for  more  blood,  more  pain.  she  had  been  so  much  more  before  he  did  this  to  her.  before  he  turned  her  into  this.     “you  don’t  know  what  he’s  done  to  me.”     the  words  are  choked  out,  finally  going  slack  in  his  arms.  she  truly  hadn’t  told  any  of  them.  her  companions  had  been  forced  to  listen  to  howe’s  taunts  just  now,  before  she’d  silenced  him,   but  she’d  never  confessed  the  truth  of  her  past.  what  she  had  been  put  through.  but  here  it  was,  now.  the  ugly  truth.  the  unraveling  of  their  fearless  leader.     “i  deserve  more.”

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[rivainicharm]

[rivainicharm]

Si me voy es porque no sé cómo cojones quedarme.

“If I go, it's because I don't know how the hell to stay.” 

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