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ok im off catch me on discord!

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i've realized that through that anaris drabble i've accidentally giving him a 'good' reason to give remembrance a spirit/crystal combo body instead of the flesh one they wanted because he knows how much pain a flesh body can feel and rem doesn't :)))))

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remembrance wouldn't be tall for an ancient elf in their spirit form, but they are tall compared to modern elves. the form anaris gave them is pretty short - made to be comfortable face height with anaris when floating above its case

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hakkon doesn't mind being short. as a spirit he'll take on whatever form he feels like that has anything to do with the general concept of wAr and a short warrior is by no means odd. he likes a body that people will underestimate, and he loves swinging a greataxe around in a form that doesn't look like it should be able to

it's not having a choice that annoys him

at one point i think ameridan was 5'9 but i nerfed him gradually over the years so now he's 5'3

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at one point i think ameridan was 5'9 but i nerfed him gradually over the years so now he's 5'3

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'how long could a wedding be, like five hours' says person who never goes to weddings

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What side would Merrill have chosen in Veilguard?

unprompted | always accepting | @valorcorrupt

She's on her gods' side, even if that means she has to kill them.

As per my headcanon/default state Merrill is an advisor in Inquisition, so she gets the information about Solas from as close to the source as possible without getting it directly from him. The way she sees it, Fen'harel is the god of lies, and so it's in his nature to lie. It's not his fault, but it means nothing he says should be taken at face value. She'd assume there's some truth to what he says, because there usually is. But to find out what is true and what's not she goes to her people's legends, Dalish stories passed down for generations. Those stories are filled with question marks and contradictions. Canonically, most Dalish don't think they know what happened to their empire, they're very well aware there are gaps in their knowledge. The events of Trespasser does fill in some of those gaps.

The belief Merrill settles on, and she still considers it a belief not a hard truth, is that Fen'harel may have spoken the truth when he said he wanted to free the elves from the Creators, but that doesn't mean he was right. She's not certain what to think of the claim that elves used to be spirits, but she considers it a possibility. As for the Veil falling, the chaos Solas speaks of is enough to tell her: not now, not like this. In the interrim between Trespasser and Veilguard Merrill tries to raise awareness with her people, both dalish and city elves, and warn them that faith in their Creators is what will keep them together.

I haven't decided on her Veilguard verse yet, but I do know that if she gets in contact with Rook & co, her first reaction will be to outright refuse their interpretation of things. It doesn't matter who Rook is except she'll be more offended if they're not and elf, and more sad if they are. They have no right to come and tell her she should turn on her gods, and they're foolish to believe the one person they know for certain tried to destroy it. When it becomes evident the remaining Evanuris are behind the current blight (assuming she does find out) that changes of course, but not to hate. copying from an older post:

the way merrill eventually reconciles with having the fight the last elven gods is with grief, not anger. she doesn’t accept the story that they were all always evil any more than she ever thought they were all always good. she looks at elgar'nan and ghilan'nains actions (and possibly the gods themselves, depending on how much she’s involved with the veilguard) and sees that yes, they absolutely do have to be stopped if possible, there’s no benevolence or reason in them. she doesn’t believe there never was. something - the blight, being trapped in the fade for so long, losing the others - has changed them. she can certainly believe they are adjacent to spirits, and as such it makes sense that they can turn into something adjacent to demons. they are still divine, and in believing them to be divine she recognizes this is not who they are.

killing them is a duty. it’s something she does mournfully but respectfully because they don’t deserve to continue existing like this, sullying their own legacy, making their own people hate them. it’s euthanasia, mercy kill. it’s a sacrifice on her part because it hurts her, the purest form of worship she can do. like any form of worship it will never be enough, and that isn’t the point.

nothing she learns about them makes her see them as anything but divine. they made elves, they made elvhenan. she will mourn her dead gods for the rest of her life. grief will be her new form of worship.

so - she's not on solas' side, though she doesn't hate him for what he does. he's divine and you don't hate the divine for what they are. she's not on rook's side except as a temporary alliance. she's on ghilan'nain's and elgar'nan's side, which means they have to be stopped and the world and her people kept as safe as possible, because that's what they would have wanted.

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Echo He took so much from you Echo You know not what to do Echo I watched you start to fade Between the drips in the dark tunnel now I hear you call your name - Echo, you are cursed To see the best in him Such a bloody thirst That made him turn to sin How he hurt you You could see right through your skin But as transparent clouds, they turn to rain The world will fall on him

paris paloma, echo

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what i should have done this morning before wedding: fold laundry, clean before trip, pack for trip, eat lunch, iron dress

what i have done: fold some laundry, eat lunch, iron dress, get hakkon married to dhavi (platonically, thank god)(not that god)

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It is easy for Hakkon to slip between the many-folded furrows of the Veil and find the Dreadwolf down deep in his lament-cage, burden-bound, sorrow-scourged. When his host sleeps he is free to go where he wills, taking the body or not. Down here no body goes, the border cannot be crossed physically, and on the way he considers shedding the form of the elven mage and take on one more familiar, wear the warrior of windblown mountains, or the augur scrying his sacred skies. But the form clings, like clothing tied by a too-worried mother, like war-paint slathered too generously, then left to dry for too long. He enters the prison with a curious side-step, trying to slip out, but finding that it follows.

Ah, well. No matter. War has a thousand and a thousand more faces, and Hakkon wears them all. The grieving father, grave-bent, keening; the orphan fearing the face of her foe. This one, too, he knows. The old commander, worn and wearied, forced to fight once more. He walks proud in that shape, wearing a smile it has never worn.

“You seemed smaller back when you killed me, Dreadwolf”, he says by way of greeting, voice his filling the vast Fade-space. It is a good voice, deep and resonant; it carries well. He uses it more liberally than its true owner. “A Dreamer, dull and dreary, staff-bent and sullen. Had I looked closer, would I have seen this then, the cunning trickster?”

no but like. is it obnoxious and silly? yes. does it still make me feel some kind of way? yes.

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remember when the first two things i wrote for hakkon were highly alliterative to mimic norse sagas and the saga of thyrdda bright-axe because i do

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HOWETRAGIC.

A selective, low-activity RP blog for Nathaniel Howe. Penned by Merc.

Bio. || rules. || portrayal notes.

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"And then, slowly, in the darkness, I realised something. I didn't want to die. Not yet, not when I hadn't lived."

From the Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides

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HIATUS ANNOUNCEMENT 3/8 - 8/8

I'll be away on a vacation/hike from sunday to friday, and I won't be on tumblr at all as I'm leaving my laptop behind. You can reach me on discord, I will be fairly slow because I don't like typing on mobile but happy to talk when I have the time! Feel free to ask for it if you don't have it yet.

My queue will be running with reblogs of old writing because I didn't have time to fill it and I'm vain like that :)

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The first 5 Asks to send 💋 get a kiss

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💋🥺

kisses! / accepting (1/5)

It is a rushed thing. So much of what Dhavihal does nowadays is. She has taken on more responsibility than is required of a First, and another Keeper may consider it overstepping. But Deshanna does not seem to argue with Dhavihal's tendency to lead more than she ought, unless it would encroach on her own authority. She takes back that which is hers only when she senses uncertainty in members of the Clan.

But Dhavihal would run herself into the ground if left unchecked. Ameridan saw this before, in the late hours of the evening, as the Inquisitor made her way back to her chambers from the kitchens. With a steaming cup of her spiced tea. He had managed to slow her then, as few others could, and she had even imparted some of her fears—her worries—the creeping feeling that kept her from sleeping.

Now, he tries to do the same. Tender hands, shaking just at the fingertips, reach to grasp her shoulders, a plea for her to wait on his tongue. For a moment, she does. The river of her mind—thoughts cascading from a discussion with the Clan's new quartermaster (she hasn't thought of a better name yet) towards the Clan's healers, who were seeing to a halla earlier in the day—hits a rock in the shape of her renae. She tries to flow around it, offering him a peck on the cheek and a reassuring smile, but his grip is still strong enough to give her greater pause.

"Slow down, mir da'len," he says, and releases one shoulder to tuck some of her chopped hair behind her ear. His fingertips follow the line of her jaw as he pulls back, but they catch on her chin, and tilt it up.

With that, Dhavi's eyes finally seem to focus on him, but the river of her mind crashes against this dam he has suddenly erected, and it begins to pool. It finds the cracks she would rather not dwell in, fills the crevices she tries to ignore. Her dark eyes widen, and her smile flits away, and for a moment he can see it. The fears, the worries, that creeping feeling that keeps her going, going, going.

"Renae, I—" She wants to do as she did before, and lay her burdens at his feet, but in order to do that she would have to first acknowledge they are there. The dread fate of the world that looms in every darkened cloud, the spies that lurk in every shaded branch, the cracks in her heart she doesn't know how to fill—or if she should. The dam floods the river into a lake, until finally the dam can hold it back no more.

Dhavihal presses another quick kiss to his cheek, her same reassuring smile pulling on her features, though this time with more difficulty. "I will," she promises emptily, "but the healers—they need me."

She is gone as quickly as she came, and in her wake comes Deshanna, who places a warm hand on Ameridan's shoulder. The usually-stoic woman bears a crease between her brows as she watches Dhavihal hurry on, to another task that isn't hers.

"She won't talk to me, either," she sighs.

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starter call | accepting | @witchsabre

"Just so you are aware, you can tell me things, but don't expect me to remember them."

They've been following Faust for over an hour, trailing behind them through the Lighthouse as they talk endlessly about the world on the other side of the Veil. None of it is forgotten. Remembrance will remember, they always do. But they are not yet sure they want to, so they will make no effort to remember it properly, won't memorize the inflection of Faust's voice as they dwell on a certain detail, won't bother to think of the best way to retell it.

Some details they dwell on more than others. Stories of humans confuse them, of Circles, of deathmages, of qunari. When all of it settle they will be curious. But they are too fresh out of the crystal to be curious about so many things at once, so for now it is this: the Veil. The fall of Arlathan. The elvhen divided, some living in cities and others in clans. The spirits almost forgotten about, just visitors in dreams.

"Your people have such short little lives", they go on, catching up with Faust so they can see if this makes them angry. "I truly do not think there can be much of interest to remember about them."