#alitlantern

[phantomrune]

[ REDWOOD ] for merrill hehe

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐀 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒/accepting!

>sender lashes out at receiver when it isn't their fault.

For once, for once...she had wanted a moment to grieve. It was selfish, she knew, to want to have a small moment to herself. To weep over the loss of the Keeper, the final severance from her clan. Everything she'd striven for all these years, gone within an instant. Because she could never consider the possibility that someone might take her place in all this. No one should have, if everyone would have just listened...

And there she'd been, her frame wracked with sobs as the other promptly crossed her threshold, and staunched her bleeding heart. She knew it would only be to put it in a vice grip...what he had to say was honest, but it was not kind, and it only twisted the knife in her side.

I told you. I told you. I told you. Every one, another dagger.

...but her shaking ceased, and her grip loosened on her arms, and she did her best to stop the sniffling, even if she couldn't help it much. And she stood from her table, wiping her eyes as they fell once more to the Eluvian...the very thing that started this all...

"...I thought...I really believed I was doing the right thing. I hope you understand that much..." Her voice was broken from weeping, scratchy and pathetic and a mess. "...But I was stupid, and ignorant and blind...the last thing I wanted was for anyone else to get hurt, but all this brings is pain."

She leaned over then, to take up her staff, running her fingers along its wooden curves. So many knicks it had taken over the years; each one another memory she could never get back...what was one more, etched into its frame?

"...and I don't want pain anymore...not like this." She lifted her staff, and a cry escaped her as she swung it down against her beloved Eluvian. She felt another sob wrack her body as she leaned against her weapon, her legs shaking as her eyes trailed across her floor, scattered bits and pieces decorating the floorboards. It would never be restored again...

But maybe it was never meant to, if it meant fragmenting what was to come.

[lyr1umgh0st]

@alitlantern / continued from here.

❛ we have differing definitions of many things. ❜

he isn't about to waste his breath rattling them off, when his breath is already rattling in his lungs. painfully so. that bastard slaver caught him in a rare opening. the grasp fenris inevitably had on his heart did little to quell the searing, white-hot pang even as he watched the light dim in his eyes.

despite the pain, his death was satisfying in a way that might have disgusted him, if he were anyone else. like scratching an itch. the satisfaction, though, is gone just as quickly as it came — and by the time the slaver's body slumped into the sand, that familiar, black numbness rushed back in like high-tide. it always did.

the mention of hawke and isabela has his head swiveling, though, twisting to bark in protest, when slicing pain tears through his flank all over again.

❛ they have nothing to do with — agh. ❜

fenris' shoulder finds an ugly, jagged boulder grasping at the watery sunlight from its place along the coast. the gauntlet he'd pressed against his side peels from the wound and the other applies pressure in its absence. sunlight glints red as he examines the shining splash of scarlet coating the inside of his palm.

bad. worse than he'd like to admit, to the mage especially. anders had an insufferable streak when anyone confirmed his suspicions, and based on the severity of the injury, admitting such a thing would absolutely be at his expense. but with the rate he's losing blood, and with the distance they'd covered since they'd separated from the greater group, he wouldn't be upright much longer.

lowering his palm with a grunt, fenris pushes himself up off the rock and doesn't bother covering it again. in fact, he's peeling back the damaged section of his armor, which gives way easier than it should.

❛ fine, ❜ fenris concedes, brusque, breathless. ❛ just — get on with it. ❜

[nobodyexpectsthe]

「 LIGHT 」

「 LIGHT 」 : for sender to touch the receiver with a feather light pressure.

the inquisitor prides himself on his composure. the pinnacle of professionalism (these days at least) with nary a hair out place. the court can testify to his tenacity, how threats and flirtation barely net a blink.

there is, of course, nothing professional about what they've spent the last two hours doing. he tells himself it's safer for them both if he maintains his distance, but he maintains his distance with everyone these days.

the routine is getting to be familiar. some nights he lingers, but that's just to finish up whatever work they were doing before the distraction took hold. never does he stay longer than an hour, most of the time he's up and off to his own quarters before the sweat can even cool on their skin, determined not to overstep already blurring boundaries between cohort and lover.

but before he can move to slip out of these too-familiar sheets and dress, the ghosting of anders' fingers against his cheek stops him short. the gentle smile that meets his startled expression undoes him in a thousand little ways.

he cannot think of a stupider place to be. a more scandalous place to rest his weary head.

"you'd best not snore," pirith murmurs, long limbs reaching down to pull the mage flush against him. his eyes already shutting. "i have a meeting with the war table at dawn."

[rcgueprince]

‘ So if Andraste preached freedom and ended slavery, why do you lock up mages and keep them as slaves? ‘

THE QUESTION HAD troubled him for a few days now, both in its truth and in the implications of what was said. While his initial response was more to quiet the apostate than anything else, Sebastian had been truthful then. No one had ever challenged the existence of the Circles – at least, not to him.

It was a splinter under his skin, driving Sebastian mad enough that, by the third day, he was making the unfamiliar trek to Darktown.

The clinic itself was not difficult to find; lantern lights led the way, and, barring that, the growing number of huddled faces assured the laybrother he was on the right path. The stipend he received from the Chantry wasn’t much – a far cry from the resources of his life before – but perhaps, he muses absently, he could make a bid for the use of donations. Not a lot, but maybe just enough to get a hot meal for those down here in need, to show that the Chantry had not forgotten the faithful in need.

Sebastian hesitates at the door, a pit twisting in his gut. Shifting the weight of the small bundle in his arms—a peace offering of supplies that, he realizes now, would be far from impactful—a part of him reconsiders his plan. What would he accomplish here? Would Anders even entertain his assistance?

Maker guide me, that I may reach all your children.

He steps cautiously, shoulders tense, into the clinic.

“Anders? Could I take a moment of your time?” It was foolish, everything about what he was doing here was on the verge of plain stupidity, but he had to make an attempt to understand the apostate.

“Do you need any assistance today?”

➸ @alitlantern

[howetragic]

@alitlantern liked for a starter, and I heard u wanted an argument??

     “I wonder at the wisdom of the Warden-Commander’s decision,” Nathaniel says as he stands in the main hall of Vigil’s Keep - a Keep that was meant to be his one day. 

His arms are crossed as he eyes the mage - the apostate - who has helped himself to a mug of ale from the casks there along the wall. Oghren seems to be making himself at home as well, but that is a conversation for another time. 

     “You are a fugitive from the Circle. One they seem to want back quite sorely. Is it truly wise for you to be here amongst us? The Grey Wardens were not exiled from Ferelden so long ago. I wonder if the complication of your presence will reflect well on the Commander.”

[kirkw4ll-a]

@alitlantern liked for a starter!

"how do you want to be remembered? valiant yet sexy rebel against the status quo?"

[theharellan]

"I questioned the wisdom of my decision to join the Inquisition at first," Solas says, gaze sweeping towards the other apostate. He has a look of solitude about him- that is to say, disheveled, the appearance of a man who has not had to face the reproachful expression of strangers in quite some time.

It will not be long until Josephine, or one of her employ, comes bearing the necessary implements to address it. What will be offered as a gift will also be suggestion: soaps to scrub the wilds from his skin, a straight razor to shape his beard. A fact he knows from experience, although his suggestions came in the form of fresh clothes, his own patchwork attire drawing attention as an apostate.

"It is true the Inquisitor has proven herself sympathetic to the plight of mages, and that has offered safety where there might not have otherwise been any. But I was no one of consequence to these people, what hostility I encountered the result of centuries of prejudice and little else... the same cannot be said of you."

The eyes that haunt Anders's face appear as any other man's might- burdened by his past, but wholly his own. Were it not for the press of the Veil around him, Solas might overlook him entirely, but spirits of Justice are not the sort to exist quietly; second only to Command in their willingness to make themselves known.

"And so I wonder: are you of a single mind in this matter?"

@alitlantern liked for a starter

[arcanimas]

look at me . how many fingers am i holding up ? //for fenwissssss

𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞.  |  always accepting. 

holding his own in a fight is,  and has always been,  as natural as breathing;  weaving about enemies,  slashing at exposed midsections,  blocking blades and parrying them.  he’s a blur of translucent sapphire as fenris steps through a slaver’s front.  disappearing through the negative space existing between their reality and the next,  only to reappear at his back and bury the length of lethendralis through the very abdomen he’d phased through.  meanwhile, confirmed with a quick,  assessing glance,  the other slavers in the coterie are preoccupied with carver and hawke;  the metallic sound of carver’s upswing cutting through flesh and muscle, followed by a staggered groan. then, that of crunching metal and bone as hawke effortlessly hauls their target into the air and slams them into the stone-laid ground of the courtyard.  there he rests,  motionless.  𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞. 

but one other exists outside of his periphery.  fenris has little time to regret letting his guard down the moment he realizes he’s done it. 

one moment,  he’s pausing to flick the blood off of his blade,  prepared to turn on the two enemy mages  —  both of which, much to fenris’ satisfaction, are wide-eyed and stumbling, backpedaling, ready to bolt  —  and the next, following a guttural battle cry and a sharp, splitting pain, the world goes dark. 

it’s the throb at the back of his skull as his consciousness claws its way back that stirs him. not the form hovering above him as his eyelids flutter,  drawing the world around him back into an unfocused haze.  not the sound of carver muttering under his breath as he paces away from him. his perspective is skewed.  off.  he isn’t looking head on at the back of carver’s head,  he’s looking up,  angled.  why is he on the ground  — 

 ❛  fenris. ❜  he doesn’t even realize his head swivels toward the sound of his own name. ❛  look at me.  ❜  the blur above him is drawn partially into his vision, and then right back out again. the voice is concerned, tight. midday light flares behind their form as fenris’ vision finally makes a half-hearted attempt to focus, illuminating the strands of blond that have escaped the cord tying it back. 

fenris blinks once,  twice,  as the  splitting  headache  pressing down over his temples pounds in time with the furious beat of his heart.  he recognizes it now.  anders.  the  . . . mage,  whose hand lifts and mercifully blocks out the sun.  the relief is substantial.  ❛  how many fingers am i holding up?  ❜

the number of fingers he’d held up meant very little  —. and fenris mutters as much as he shoves himself upright, one hand braced against the blood spattered walkway beneath him. 

hawke’s chuckle reaches him from his right.  ❛  i think he is fine.  ❜

❛  for now, maybe. ❜  he’d swear that beneath that layer of concern exists amusement in anders’ voice.  his palm twitches,  threatening to curl into a fist against his thigh as the mage continues.  ❛  i would be willing to wager he’s concussed. ❜

❛  concussed,  ❜  fenris repeats,  deadpan and dry-mouthed.  

❛  concussed,  ❜  anders parrots. if he looks hard enough, fenris could swear that the curve of his mouth twitches with amusement as he fishes for something at his hip.  ❛  don’t worry;  hawke took care of the brute who managed to get the better of you,   carver finished up the rest,  and  i  have stopped the bleeding. ❜ 

the familiar,  medicinal scent of  something  touches his senses;  his gaze darts to the uncorked bottle held outstretched to him,  hesitating. 

apparently, the human senses it.  his brows lift, and anders holds the bottle aloft a fraction closer, voice softening,  ❛  it’s an elfroot potion.  might want it  sooner,  rather than later.  it will help with the headache.  ❜

he could be stubborn. fenris could dig in his heels, knock the outstretched offering away with the back of his hand and nurse his wounds on his own with a bottle of whatever he could find in the wine cellar of his commandeered estate.  but the look on anders’ face is almost exasperatingly pleading;  despite the irritation,  fenris hardly has the energy to argue.  the clawed fingers of his gauntlet curl over the glass with a muted clink, and begrudgingly,  he brings the bottle to his mouth.  the contents, downed in one go.  pain relief isn’t instant,  but the cooling sensation blooming through his throat,  into his chest,  and down to the tips of his fingers clears his head of the dulling ache enough.  at least enough to think. enough to haul himself to his feet after some time. 

the smile in anders’ voice is audible. and infuriating.  ❛  better?  ❜

❛  do not push it.  ❜ 

[firstsblood]

Anders lets Merrill go, even though it’s the last thing they want to do.

The past month had been…a lot of things. Overwhelming, terrifying, a stressor to each and every one of them. There was a lot to consider in the aftermath of the bloodbath that had transpired in Kirkwall, especially with all eyes on Hawke and their associates.

They of course, had pledged not to return. They saw no home, no future there. It was to the disappoint of some, for sure; Varric and Aveline being chief among them.

She herself had lingered on the idea a bit longer. She had been since before everything had fallen apart. No longer consumed by her…foolish quest, and banished from her clan, it was all she could do not to reel over her future. The commotion in the city had bought her mind some time…but now…

Now she felt she had her answer.

Varric and Aveline would be on their way back to Kirkwall soon, and she would be going with them. The past seven years had made it very clear to her that the other Elves in the alienage were only getting by on survival, some who knew nothing or very little about their heritage; their history…and this. This was how she could mend things.

But that meant telling everyone else about her decision, especially those who wouldn’t be able to follow.

That was what led them to their little meeting on the docks, watching along as what remained of their group said their farewells.

“I’ll be going back too.” She stated as casually as if she were remarking about the weather, but she could hear the shock in the way the other mage’s robes swished as he turned. Perhaps…it was believed she’d make a different decision, but somehow it had to be known that she would always go back to her people.

He was doing the very same, was he not?

“I’m needed, just as you are…I’m only hoping this path I’m taking is one that makes you ache a little less, Ma Vhenan…”

But distance could make anyone ache just as much. She knew this, it was why she needed to go.

Still, she can’t help but anchor herself to him for a little bit longer, letting her pinky comfortably hook itself into his.

“…should you send anyone my way though…I’ll keep them safe. You have my word.”

[liikeahawke]

❛ i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile. ❜

It had started as a sort of…apology. Walking along the Wounded Coast and cleaning up the awkward mess they’d made in the attempt to get Aveline to court guardsman Donnic. It was perhaps, the most socially taxing and mortifying day of their life; having to wingman for Aveline…they swore it was never this difficult for Bethany or Carver. But then…perhaps they possessed more guile in their teen years. This sort of thing was beyond them, especially when the situation had turned itself around into thinking they had been the one flirting.

  At the very least, everything had been situated in the end. And the two could be…happy. 

  But now they needed a walk, and clearing out the path they’d taken to ensure the two’s evening “patrol” went smoothly seemed fitting enough to pass the time. Though things had seemed in rather tip top shape upon their return. Aveline was quick with her orders, even if she’d been initially distracted by her feelings. Maybe this was just an excuse to get out again, away from any possible social calls. Maybe they’d just wanted to watch the sun rise on the pale waters. 

  It was rather beautiful when their mind wasn’t preoccupied with a mission or threat of some sorts. It seems they were always out on some kind of hunt when out this way. But now…they could take in the dawn, and the early morning mists, and…the waves lapping against the shore. 

  “Ah, that’s where you wandered off to. I was starting to get the impression my conversation was wearing on you and you’d opted to have me walk back to Kirkwall alone~” 

  Oh, right. They hadn’t been alone. 

  “My apologies. I was distracted…” They muttered, arms folding across their chest as they pulled their gaze from the shore. 

  “It’s been a long day. My mind would be wandering too, especially after that torment Aveline put you through. Now if she’d asked me…”

  “You wouldn’t have danced around it, and she would have been mortified. You saw how she lit up like a blaze when Varric offered Donnic his…’demonstration.’” They finished, their gaze slipping past him a moment, as they eyed something along the shoreline.

  “So she asks you these things because you’ll do exactly as she says?”

  “She’s my friend, of course I would. Besides, I wasn’t going to do it my way, not when it’s her relationship.”

  “And what is your way, exactly?” Anders inquired, an amused brow raising as he watched them walk past him, seemingly toward whatever had caught their eye. He hadn’t exactly thought of them as someone who ‘courted’ others. They’d never alluded to past or present loves, but then…they really didn’t talk about their personal life unless pressed.

  “I would simply tell them. It saves a lot of time between struggling crushes.” They shrugged, before squatting down in the sand and preoccupying themself with uncovering…something.

  Anders shook his head, following after them for the real answer he was looking for.

  “But what of yourself? When you feel a certain way about someone, what do you do?” He knelt down next to them, attempting to espy what exactly was so important to unearth from the sand, before watching them pause, and glance up to him; surprised at how he’d followed. But they would just as quickly settle.

  “That…wouldn’t be a problem. I don’t spend my time doing those things.” They shook their head, before pulling out the very thing they were hoping to find and setting it in their lap. It was…a shell. A large one, but nothing particularly flashy beyond that. So why had it…?

  As if sensing his confusion, Hawke seemed to shrink away slightly. Their fingers brushing along the ridges worn into it; slowly and studiously, as if taking in each ridge. He’d seen this sort of thing many a time before. This same fascination with nature. The silent, curious contemplation…

  And he could feel it even now, that flame of curiosity stoked once more as they turned the shell over in their hands. He couldn’t understand it…

  But Justice wanted to. He could feel that curling warmth against his fingertips; the need to reach out and grasp but not quite being able to. It felt the equivalent of a child tugging on their mother’s skirts and pleading softly for something that had caught their eye. It was subtle, and gentle, but it was a curiosity nonetheless. 

  Perhaps they would fare better with him.

  Sensing the prolonged silence between them, Hawke paused a moment.  “My apologies, I was-” They caught his gaze then, their eyes widening slightly at the spirit’s presence.

  “Oh. Hello.” They managed, their voice softening as they watched the other eye the shell curiously. They hesitated a moment, before turning themself around to fully face him, and holding up the shell.

  “Did this catch your eye too? It’s…called a true tulip, because of the way it’s shaped really closely to the flower.” They attempted to explain, still catching slightly on their words as the embarrassment of their interests attempted to hold their tongue. They could feel themself faltering still. Maker, why had they allowed themself to get distracted, Anders probably wanted to go back, and this was wasting Justice’s time..

  “...it resembles it closely, aside from the sharp ridges. They would not have the same touch.”

  His observations anchor them back in, and they nod in agreement. “A lot of these edges are carved by wave erosion. The pulling motion of the sea and the salt it brushes back and forth against the rocks and shells wear them over time, and the longer they’ve been at it, the older they are..”

  They hold the shell out for the other to take. “This one has many, so it’s very old…”

  The shell drops into his hands, and the coolness of the sea wrapped around it is…refreshing, pleasant…his fingers brush along the ridges, and with each one, a memory; a bandit kicking it along the shore, a little girl cradling it close to her ear, a creature resting inside it for temporary comfort. This and so much more he can trace along its ridges…and it softens him. It reminds him of the beautiful nature of this world, something he thought he’d lost in the tempestuous and…alive mind that was Anders. 

  “What do you think?” Hawke spoke then, and the multitudes of sensations ebbed as he caught their gaze, an inquiry already at his lips.

  “A young girl has held this before…up to her ear. Why?”

  “Why don’t you try?” They suggested, before leaning forward to cup their hands under his, and guiding the shell up to his ear. He hesitated a moment, before letting it gently rest against the flesh there, pinking from the early morning chill. His brows furrowed a moment, as if trying to understand what he was hearing. When he couldn’t, he voiced it.

  “I do not understand…what is this?”

  “The ocean.” They answered, before glancing out to the sea beyond them, which was now reflecting golden in the rising sun. 

  “Is it truly..?”

  Hawke turned back then, meeting the other’s inquisitive eyes…and feeling something inside them soften, if only for a moment. Their hazy eyes warmed, and their lips tugged upwards, just enough to notice.

  “...if you really wish it to be.” 

  It was a sweet moment, watching someone experience something they’d had the same wonder over in their youth. It was…vicarious and comforting, to see oneself in another.

  But it wouldn’t last long, as the spirit’s gaze trailed from theirs, and the usual veilfire that flickered against his skin slipped itself back into the cracks of his flesh. Perhaps they had given too much for Justice to think about, or…

Soft golden eyes met theirs with equal confusion, as they lowered the shell back into their own hands.

❛ i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile. ❜ Was the first thing from his mouth, and the aforementioned expression dropped from their face. 

As if to emphasize their confusion, a hand brought itself up to their face, brushing along their cheek in confusion.

Had they been…? No, that wasn’t…

But the surprise in his face was palpable, genuine…it didn’t hold any fibs or jabs like it occasionally had…

Maker…what was wrong with them?

“...I don’t…”

“It’s alright, I won’t go running to Varric about it.”

His words only assuaged half of it, but at the very least they’d only hear about this from him. And he…mostly knew when to cease his prodding.

Mostly.

[nobroth]

for @alitlantern

He pushes open the door to the clinic late. His hand is shaking, spattered with blood, pressed over a bar towel over a cut on his forehead. He makes unsteady eye contact with this healer, before his eyes fall on the floor.

"I hear you help people for free. I... I don't have any gold. So if you're going to turn me away, just do it now. Tricks won't work."

There's a distinct scent of ale on his breath.

[phantomrune]

@alitlantern // Deeper and Deeper Down

If Bartrand is set on taking this path specifically, then it would at the very least be a few days out…it would perhaps be better to sustain themselves on hunted game rather than the provisions they were taking with them. That wouldn’t be hard, Hawke had done so enough the few times Father would take them out to train, and then on their own after…

“Are you ruminating over those maps again?” 

Their brother’s voice shook them from their thoughts. He’d been off trying to hone his skills, chatting about with their dwarven caravan, anything to get more of an idea of what they were facing. They thought they had a moment alone. Just enough to ensure they would be prepared. That nothing would go awry. That they could come out of this with the riches Mother was owed, and things could be alright for their family again.

When they didn’t immediately respond, Carver leaned himself back against the half-wall Hawke had perched themself on.

“...You’re thinking too much about what Mother said, aren’t you?” He inquired, causing them to glance up from the maps they were glued to.

“No I’m not. I’m just making sure Bartrand isn’t leading us to our deaths. You never really know with Dwarves…” 

“Oh, don’t lie to me. If it were just you going, you wouldn’t care about that. You’d figure out a way to escape and come back home already over it.” He eased himself against the wall, preparing a deep cut only a sibling could execute.

“I’d rather you not worry about me. I mean you know I can hold my own.”

They did know. They’d heard the stories of Ostagar, even if they weren’t necessarily told in the manner of celebration. So they’d had to retreat in the end, but none could be prouder of him that he’d held the line until someone had to drag him out of there. It was so very like him…he’d always tried to do more.

…and this was his thing he needed to do. They wouldn’t stop him from that. But…

But if it wasn’t perfect, if someone messed up. If something happened to him, after Bethany…

They could still see Mother’s eyes as they set off for the front gates. The bitterness they held for taking her baby boy too, as if they weren’t there. As if she’d forgotten she still had two children left and not just Carver and a shadow of his father.

If they messed up and something happened to Carver, no riches in the world would be able to mend the gaping hole between them. 

They inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, as if exorcising the thought from their mind. “I know. I just…I’m really at a loss. I’m trying to cover all my corners, but…” But this wasn’t something they knew, not really. Sure, they’d taken down many a darkspawn on the way to safety, but that was out of necessity, without warning. And their inexperience had cost a life. They had the time to plan now, and they wouldn’t make the same mistakes, not with how many lives were at stake.

“Well, why not bother our Warden of maps with your concerns? I’m sure he could fill any gaps you might have.” He offered, unable to help a scoff as he scanned the party of pregaming dwarves, before his gaze set on the singular, taller figure a good distance away, looking as stiff as ever.

“And he might need the conversation besides…he’s been pacing so terribly since we’ve left the city limits, I fear he may run himself faint. Would be a bit of a waste to bring him along if he’s hardly conscious~”

It…wasn’t a bad idea honestly. In the few weeks since their introduction to each other, Hawke had come to understand Anders as someone who…had a lot of opinions and ideas, to put it simply. But it wasn’t a bad thing, like some might claim. They never really minded when people spoke their minds. They liked to listen, and the company they’d been keeping recently were very good at bantering amongst themselves.

They hoisted themself off of the wall then, set on collecting a pointer or two from the other mage, but not before giving a subtle nod of thanks to their Junior, who simply shrugged it off.

It wasn’t that hard to slip past the raucous merrymaking the dwarves were spewing, so involved were they with talk of riches, fame, and a good adventure that they hardly paid any mind to one of their benefactors wandering by; Even Varric seemed pleasantly preoccupied with the praises his brother was throwing about the alarmingly competent company he kept.

They’d probably hear about that later, when things had settled down, but for now they would keep to their singular company, walking up the path a bit to the rather…tense looking mage.

“Anders, I could use you for a moment, if you don’t mind-” They began, before glancing up from the maps once more and getting a good look at him from behind. He didn’t exactly seem as enthusiastic as the others were about this whole thing. 

Well, that made two of them.

“Ah…” They cleared their thoat, approaching with what they thought was a more appropriate and less forward tone. “If you’re amenable, I’d like your opinion on this whole thing. What should we be expecting, really?”

[nobodyexpectsthe]

I was roasted for my taste in music and here’s my revenge @alitlantern

[duelblades]

she’s trying to sit as still as she can, but it’s difficult for her, even as the adrenaline has long since left her body, and whatever exhilaration there is to be had after taking out a small pocket of venatori has been left behind in treviso with the cultists. in the aftermath, she’s used to tending to her own injuries ---- needle and thread mostly; chased with a potion if she’s lucky enough. her skills have gotten better over the years ( they do insist that practice makes perfect, after all ), but nimble fingers and small sutures are cerrtainly no match for a pair of skilled hands mixed wtih a bit of magic.

“hopefully it’s at least three. anything less i didn’t do my job properly,” she tries to hold in the laugh as best she can, but her shoulders still bob as she exhales her amusement. a quiet hiss follows not long after ------ for all the times she’s tugged at her own skin hoping to piece it back together, feeling the equivalent of invisible hands going through the same motions on her cheek that aren’t her own still feels a little strange.

her hand settles gingerly over the spot he’d been working on when it turns his attention elsewhere, assuming that the end of the prickling sensation on her cheek means he’s done tending to it for the evening. ( her skin feels warm to the touch still; but certainly not as angry as it had earlier. ) “i dunno, you might just want to have a supply of these on standby, actually,” she takes the offered bundle and lets it sit in the palm of her hand, looking it over. “we’re probably going to be seeing a lot of each other in the future.”

@alitlantern / continued.

[heractic-a]

@alitlantern requested a starter

❛ — life as a grey warden no longer belongs to me. ❜ there’s nothing to her words save for an inflection of somber relief; grateful for what the title of warden had given her, it’s left to little more than a vehicle of revenge in her memory. At least Duncan had delivered on his promises, in that regard.

Her lips purse in a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. ❛ But whatever you would ask of me, I would see it done. ❜

[woodcries]

　　' 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐘𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓. ' as any self-respecting fereldan, marian proudly preferred her dogs, but she couldn't deny that she was charmed by the cats that had gathered outside his clinic. she had come by so often that most didn't run away when she approached. she had crouched beside the entrance, letting the strays sniff at her hands and the bag of herbs she'd brought.

@alitlantern / starter call.