verenhale-blog

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VEREN HALE ;    like a thief in the light, you can’t hide from                { your shadows } ; they’re the only thing you o w n.

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I don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth

 (via asombregirl)

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somnieral‌:

She watched him paw at his face with a semi-concerned frown before bursting out into laughter. “Moon lily? I like that nickname; I don’t get them often,” they said with a hum. Cheeks flushed, Sora leaned forward just a bit. “I swear it too. By The Maker’s ass.” She raised her right hand solemnly. “I’m not Dalish, and I won’t regale you with tales of the glory days.”

“Though, I might tell you a tale or two. If you’re sweet.”

“Then moon lily stays, though if there are other names you like or prefer I’d love to hear them.” Veren’s mouth split into a grin at the ringing out of their laugh. “I feel like we need some kind of handshake so there will be less swearing on various naughty bits, though I’m less adverse to the naughty bits and more afraid of Seeker Pentaghast throwing me off the ramparts for blasphemy,” he paused for a moment, considering how easily she’d be able to pick him up and the daydream abruptly ended with him being hurled to his death. “That’s reason enough to buy you a drink!” He raised his hand to Cabot behind the bar.

“Well, sweet isn’t usually an adjective that comes up with my name but I have been told I’m good company.”

[verenhale-blog]

[ VEREN HALE ; ]

the grey rain curtain of this world rolls back and all turns to silver glass. then you see it.

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somnieral‌:

starter for @verenhale

Sora approached the elf at the bar in the tavern, her eyes searching over him. He was heavily tattooed, but…none on his face that she could see. JACKPOT. She approached him and scrambled to sit next to him at the bar.

“Please, for the love of the Maker, tell me you’re not Dalish.”

Veren swirled his drink, leaning back on his stool, keen eyes roving the patrons of the Herald’s Rest. 

“Am I having one of those dreams again?” Veren started to paw at his cheeks, “last I checked I don’t have The Twigs on my face, moon lily, you’re safe.” He grinned at them, thoroughly interested in the gutsy slip of an elf. “I swear by Andraste’s sacred frilly knickers, I’m not Dalish.”

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introducing VEREN HALE! at age TWENTY-THREE, of MALE ELF origin, born in FERELDAN && best known as AN INQUISITION SCOUT; HE has just recently arrived at skyhold. they seem to be a MAGE, their known traits include ALTRUISTIC, FACETIOUS AND GUARDED; and they stand with the inquisition. played by: [m , 22 , gmt , she/her]

your typical street rat, veren was born a city elf to an escaped elf slave. he spent most of this time learning to steal, learning to hunt, learning to climb and to fend for himself. at five, his mother’s sickness burned through her and she was gone. 

at puberty his magic began to fully manifest and he drifted closer and closer to being possessed through the fade.

he was found by a maester a week after he’d been attacked by some human boys, the sepsis had already started to set in and he was feverish. the healer worked hard to draw out the sickness in his blood, it very nearly killed him. the deal was struck once he was lucid. maester caius agreed to let him work off his debt.

they travelled often and as his affinity to the healing arts flowed from the scarred and calloused hands of a beggar boy. he no longer merely ran errands and followed as a ward. he was a healer’s apprentice, with a nose for mischief mind you but a hard worker nonetheless. he knocked himself out almost six years into this apprenticeship trying to heal a man of burns with magic that would have killed him in the night, he has no idea how close he was to losing everything. 

once it became clear that his magic could no longer contain itself he stole away in the middle of the night and searched endlessly for someone to teach him, the circle had never been an option, he ended up an apostate. he witnessed a tranquil ceremony as a ten year old and felt the mage’s power ripped from the world. templars had always felt a threat to him but that moment was something he could never, ever forget. 

it is a dangerous thing to be this close to the inquisition and the thoughts of being caught hound him day and night but he knows that he must use his healing gifts where he can. he has always had a natural affinity to healing magic, once accidentally healing a felled dear once he’d pulled the arrow from her flank, however, he also has reasonable control over storm magic. 

he loves his work with the scouts, though it is often cloaked in misery and hardships it is worth every moment to him. usually near the tavern messing about and being a sarcastic lil pain in the ass, carries twin daggers that he used to use before his magic came through. 

APPEARANCE

he is heavily tattooed, both arms and across his collarbones meeting at his clavicle in strange designs. he has an unkindness of ravens stretching over his left shoulder, a life tree, the world serpent curling around his right forearm, a lunar moth, certain medicinal herbs all woven in with complex runes. most of his upper body is covered.

his left ear has two silver hoops through it near the point, the other is almost always shielded by his hair. when he was 12 years old and still a beggar some older human boys held him down and attempted to cut off his ear, there’s a large scar from this which just reaches the hinge of his jaw and the ear itself is severely misshapen.

he would often wear many layers, leathers and furs all cobbled together with things he’s made and things traded or acquired. leather thronging laced with beads and feathers trailing down one arm, a rabbit femur bone necklace layered with several pendants, an obsidian arrow head, an old coin, a rough-cut emerald dipped in bronze on a chain. thick rings laid with crushed pyrite. he has a leather roll full of herbs that he keeps at his hip, a pestle and mortar attached to his belt and a wineskin full of pure snow water amongst his usual doctoring kit with needles, tweezers and a sickle for gathering herbs. nearly always wears his hood up.

now he’s part of the inquisition he finds the uniform rigid and misses his many layers, he still wears his hood and tries to hide beneath his layers irregardless.

he always wears a scarf at his neck which is actually a casting cloth that he uses to divine for people who he is drawn to. he has a small pouch of either runes or objects that people can choose to cast with pieces of bone, a small marble, shells, a tiny key, gems, stones amongst other assorted bits and pieces or they can offer their own if they have a touchstone. he usually does a basic casting so asks them to pick three objects they’re drawn to to represent past, present and future. he never presents himself as someone who can predict anything but he is just showing you where you are at your precise step in your life, from there your decisions effect your path. its all about possibilities.

the bite of stitches, a cool palm to a feverish forehead, the scent of saddle leather, snowflakes caught on your lashes, the thick paste of a herbal poultice, the comforting weight of a hood drawn over your head, a raven’s caw, the metallic tang of drawn blood, the scratch of a quill on parchment, morning dew wetting your ankles, the soft click of a bag of runes, the stillness of the world the moment you take the first step into fresh snow, sinking into a pile of warm furs, the press of steel at your throat, the golden warmth of healing magic.

yoo im m!! if you wanna plot hmu or feel free to like this and i’ll come to you. i was so excited to find a dragon age rp in the tags honestly.