serensama

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Good morning, good-looking~ This is the killer speaking.

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Behind the scenes of Godzilla (1998)

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i'm tormenting the dellamortes again

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A Word With Friends | August 18

This week's word is brought to you by @redheadsramblings, you know her, you love her, she's not only a fantastic author but also an amazing source of encouragement and cheer. I can honestly say I wouldn't have accomplished half the things I've done without her support.

Thanks for the word Red, it's such a good one!

Iniquity

• Deviation from what is right; wickedness, gross injustice. • An unfair act or unconscionable deed. • Hostility, malevolence, lawlessness. • Denial of the sovereignty of God.

Remember, • These challenges are available to complete at any time. • They can be as long or as short as you see fit. • If you tag me I'll share it :)

You can find every word we've ever done on the Word With friends Masterpost If you'd like to be on/off the official tag list for A Word With Friends, you can like this post

Tag list and Host List under the cut

For the next several weeks our friends from around Tumblr will be hosting AWWF - here's the schedule for the next several weeks HUGE THANK YOU TO ALL OF THESE WONDERFUL PEOPLE

Week of August 25 - @serensama September 1 - Me cause I forgot this existed (let me know if you want to host lol) September 8 - @notyourmamasdeerbat September 15 - @strugglinggranola September 22/29 - @jenn2d2 October 6 - @davrinsleftpectoral October 13 - @aetherflowers October 20 - @chaosherald Got a word you feel like sharing? Message me and we'll find a time for you to host! (September 1st actually if it works for you lol)

@notyourmamasdeerbat @clodicious @davrinsleftpectoral @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @sunny374940 @caughtnyact @seaglassmelody @chaosherald @therivercrow @jenn2d2 @operative-arrow @serensama @woundedsoul12 @tinyshoopuf @tkwritesdumbassassins @aetherflowers @umbralaether @kai-dimir @grand-crow @afewofmyfavoritethingsblr @officialnostradamus @mythals-whore @the-sparrohawk @strugglinggranola @becausedragonage @aiyestel @starfleetteddybear @draco-illius-noctis @redheadsramblings @awildmareep @madamemortem @pixiedurango @basedonconjecture @nevarrantorte @waterjewelfaerie @in-the-drowning-deep @jukkaricity @elishnord @ziskandra @the-bear-and-his-sunbird

Trivia for your time: the real name for # is octothorpe (I needed to include this because I just can't see it coming up as an AWWF challenge)

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Lucanis and Rook! Сommissioned work. || commission info

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A Word with Friends - August 11th

Thank you @serensama for this week's word and @hedwigoprah for my all time favorite weekly game! I'm not late, I uh, have two minutes left! Lol. That's why this needs so much editing. And it's not done. But the word is there!

Pernicious

• Causing much harm in a subtle way. • Causing death or injury; deadly.

CW: Blood, heavy combat

“Your blood will honor the–” 

“Oh, fuck off!” Rook roared, tasting iron and lashing out with both blades, knee nearly collapsing under them as they lunged for the Venatori rogue. He only twisted out of the way, laughing. 

“This is Rook? This angry, frightened and directionless thing?” 

Breathing hard, Rook grit their teeth and turned to follow him. Hot, sticky viscera seeped into the fabric of their sleeves, the gash on their leg freely bleeding. “Putain enculé Makerless fucking–” Muttering, they dragged themself back a step to press their spine against one of the massive marble pillars of the basilica, sabres braced outward. One of their eyes was swelling painfully, clouding their vision. They’d been hit badly, somewhere along the way, grazed by a blast of magic. 

The dizzy dark was closing in. That couldn’t be good. 

Somewhere down the lightless, echoing hall of mosaic flooring, the Despair demon shrieked. They had to believe their team was holding on. They could make it. The isolating tactics Despair favored, they’d discussed it, trained for it. They’d pull through. Had to focus here. Now. Venatori. 

More laughter from somewhere across the chamber. But the blade grazed Rook’s ear from the side. They twisted, gasping, and felt the cut all the same. A deep burn. More blood dripping down their cheek. A second cultist in robes stepped into the flickering Veilfire light of the torches, the ritual circles scrawled in crumbling red glyphs across the floor shimmering with magic as they stepped inside, scythes held out entreatingly. 

“Don’t be frightened,” he cooed, face obscured by his scarlet hood. “This is your destiny.” 

Rook spat some of the blood in their mouth at him, backing up slowly on trembling legs. Couldn’t see. Too much noise. Crackling fire, hissing chanting, the screams of the demon not far away. But no ring of steel. No challenging shouts. 

Andraste. Please. 

The mage had not moved from where he’d settled himself across the chamber, leaning on his staff with his head cocked to one side to watch. “Are you toying with your sacrifice, Iulius?” 

“A less panicked lamb goes more easily to slaughter,” the man, who sounded much younger, spoke quietly. He paced towards Rook, near silent. “You have fought so hard for your cause. Rest.” 

“You must be mad,” Rook garbled through a bloody grin, careful not to step directly on the concentric lines of sigils as they backed up, keeping their senses open for the third cultist. 

“It will be painless. I promise you.” 

“Oh.” Rook gathered the threadbare strength left in their arms and reversed the grip on their Warden swordbreaker, jagged edge catching the light. Their grin took on a feral edge. “No it won’t.” 

The Venatori tipped his head towards the mage for permission. The caster only shrugged a shoulder. “Do what you will. We are in no hurry.” 

“No one is coming to save you,” the younger cultist reasoned, scythes still resting at his sides. He continued to close the distance. 

“Don’t need it,” Rook groaned. “Not here to debate, let me save my breath.” 

“If that is your desire.” He lifted his blades, swaying into a readied stance. 

Rook took a deep breath through their nose, rolling their shoulders forward and sinking down into a painful crouch as they watched the robed rogue with hateful eyes, reaching two fingers to their belt.  

Then they turned tail and sprang behind the nearest pillar, already twisting around the far side to duck behind the next one down the line of hallway at the sound of the Venatori’s startled scoff.

They disappeared into the dark and were already surging as fast as they could manage to the next scrap of cover, boots pounding on the marble. Down the long line into the lightless hallway, keeping between the pillars and the wall. 

They heard the third Venatori before they saw him, the red curve of jagged swords glowing with sickly red light as they hissed through the air towards Rook from the dark in front of them. 

With a grunt of effort, Rook threw their weight to one side and swung out their legs, hooking their bloody armored knees behind the cultist’s and rolling to twist him to the floor. He fell with a cry as Rook twisted their screaming torso to lock their legs together and sit up, driving their sabre down deep into his chest. 

He sucked in a breath, choking on the pain. Rook yanked the blade free just in time to roll off his body as the twin scythes cut the air over their head. 

The younger of the rogues growled. “You’ll pay for that, worm!” 

What happened to sage salvation? Rook didn’t have the breath for mockery. They were in real trouble. But that was one down. They could handle this fool, escape the mage. Maybe tangle with the mage. 

They assessed the agony pulsing through their limbs, concerned to find mostly numbness on their blind side. Huh. Okay, flee the mage. 

They sprang back from the Venatori’s scythes as he brought them down in a crushing blow, dancing out of his grasp as the cultist lunged again. A few lines of red dribbled down Rook’s arms, splattering onto the sprawling rivers and veins of sigils scrawled in spidery hand all across the floor. The glyphs glowed and glittered scarlet in time with every drop, like a pulsing heartbeat. 

The next pulse illuminated the flash of the Venatori’s cowl, his weapons missing Rook’s side by centimeters. They danced away again, breathing hard, lungs burning, vision clouding. They listened hard for any sign of their team, or even the Despair demon in the next room. Nothing. Silence but for the hiss of magic and the footfalls of their battle, Rook’s heartbeat in their ears, pumping their own lifeblood out from their wounds. 

Dizzy, they twisted underneath the next wild arc of enchanted steel, only to catch the Venatori’s boot heel in their chest. Leather slammed into sternum, lungs stuttered and heaved.

 Shoved back, Rook wheezed and wobbled as the breath surged from their lungs, narrowly wrestling their balance back to avoid falling on their ass.

A slowly growing chanting whisper, feverish. Threads of the spidery scrollwork flared to life, the red light flowing rapidly under Rook’s feet, past their opponent, to the corpse on the floor. Or, not a corpse. His hands twitched. The seeping wound in his chest began to knit closed. 

Maker’s balls. “Cheater,” Rook grunted, straining to catch their breath and teetering a few steps back. Their opponent at least had the good nature to chuckle as the mage in the shadows energized the circles all around them. The rogue on the floor curled his fingers, coughing as he took a shuddering breath and started to struggle to sit up. 

Rook ducked the next tandem slash, letting one of their blades clatter to the floor as they grabbed a fistful of powder from a pouch at their belt. The Venatori bent to bring down his scythes over their back, before Rook surged into his space and shoved a fistful of lyrium dust in his face with a puff. The glittering reagent exploded outward in a blue-green cloud, briefly reacting to the magic in the room in a bioluminescent flash. 

The Venatori grunted, staggering back and coughing, keeping a tight grip on his weapons as he twisted blindly. Rook skirted around him, snatching up their swordbreaker from the floor, sheathing it across their back and flipping a dagger from their belt into their hand. They only had two left of these, they cautioned themself blearily as the metal began to heat itself to emberglow. 

They threw out their arm as the dagger flicked from their wrist, burying itself in the downed Venatori’s neck. He fell back with a gurgle as the dagger hissed and blew itself to smithereens, splattering brain matter on the pillars. Rook tried not to feel nauseous as they whirled on the mage across the room, still whispering incantations, as they pulled the second exploding dagger from their belt, white knuckling the grassblade in their other hand. They had one shot at this, one opening while the scythe-wielder recovered his sight. 

Rook rarely missed.

They threw the dagger with a whispered prayer and danced preemptively aside, twisting out of the way of any potential magical retaliation. They felt a massive rippling of energy that made their hair stand on end, like standing in the center of an electrical storm. They heard the dagger strike true, just as a blinding flash shook the pillars all around them, cracking the old marble in spiderwebs of falling dust. 

An burning anger demon clawed its way up from the concentric circles in front of the mage, all flaming fangs and unhinged jaw, dragging knuckles and clawed feet. It howled its displeasure as the flaming dagger exploded somewhere within its chest, the burst of combustion swallowed into nothing. Steel slag dripped in pellets down the demon’s front as it turned smoldering eyes on Rook, and the mage only laughed. 

“Glory to Elgarn’an!” He cried, ecstatic. 

Andraste's smalls. Rook’s stomach sank into their boots as they felt their balance sway to one side, vision fading in earnest as disappointment and terror gripped their limbs, sapping the last of their strength. Not enough time to grab their bow. Not enough time to dodge. 

The anger demon surged forward with a scream. 

Rook hit the floor, falling entirely prone. 

Blazing heat crisped the back of their neck in an agonizing stretch as the demon streaked over them, claws narrowly missing trampling the Veil Jumper by inches. Rook smelled burning hair, burning fabric. Their cloak smoldered. 

The anger demon charged straight into the far pillar, whirling on lumbering, clumsy legs, hissing like a viper as steam and smoke leaked from its jaws. Rook’s heart hammered in their ribs. The cold marble beneath them felt like such a blessing. Their head was swimming, their blood pooling and illuminating the sigils on the ground. The flaming glow of the anger demon danced in the reflection of the polished floor. 

They could taste the tang of iron and exhaustion, body weak from terror and pain. They weren’t sure they could get up this time. Hit the ground too hard. 

Two scythes streaked down with a snarl of fury. 

Luck and pure adrenaline allowed Rook to yank their arm out of the way, coughing where they lay bloodied on the ground. The rogue stood over them in the fireglow and bloodgleam, the front of his robes stained shimmering blue. 

Groaning, Rook tried to push themself to their knees, teeth gritted against the pain. Die here? In Minrathous? 

Maybe it would be fitting, a small, motheaten voice in their mind whispered. 

Not a chance, came another, more defiant voice. It sounded an awful lot like Varric. Come on, kid, you’ve seen worse. Walk it off! 

“Walk it off,” Rook rasped numbly, clambering to their knees with a soft sob of discomfort as they got a feel for the words. Mocking them, in part. The anger demon snarled, flickering, waiting behind them as the Venatori raised his scythes again, red metal gleaming. 

Rook flipped their grassblade up to deflect the scythes in a jagged arc and a shower of sparks, the boneshattering impact shooting up their arm. They tried to get a foot underneath them as the Venatori only spun with his momentum, raising the crooked blades high again. 

Panicked, Rook seized a fistful of his scarlet tabard in their free hand and yanked, jerking him off balance. They looped the fabric around his arm and the black handle of one of the scythes, still propped up on one knee and breathing hard. The Venatori’s miffed noise of surprise was drowned by the anger demon’s roar as it charged forward again. 

Heart hammering, Rook realized they were too weak to twist this grown man’s arm to flip him off his feet as they might have on a better day. They’d have to settle for pushing their grassblade straight into his guts with everything they had as they yanked open his guard, pulling his bound hand away from his middle.

The blade sank to the hilt, hot blood soaking the fabric and dripping down Rook’s wrist. There was no time to see the damage, not with a thousand pounds of near tangible fire and Fade-muscle hurtling towards them. 

The Venatori hit his knees. 

The anger demon streaked closer. In a blind panic, adrenaline surging through every vein, Rook was reminded uncomfortably of the tapestry of lightning scars beneath their armor. Flashes of blue electricity. Arlathan’s yellow leaves. They ached painfully with the memory as the Veil Jumper twisted low to the ground, yanked their blade free and slashed wildly upward. 

The anger demon shrieked as the Fade touched brass cut into its unhinged jaw. It shook its head, bellowing, and reared a massive claw, backhanding the armored human halfway across the hall. 

Once again, the breath left Rook’s lungs with a painful whoosh. They felt their body leave the ground in an arc and stop abruptly. Something cracked, making their ears ring as they slammed into a marble pillar, the impact spiderwebbing its surface as Rook gasped, then hit the floor with a grunt. Oh, blind now. Couldn’t see, could barely hear. Rook coughed and felt hot spittle splatter from their mouth, tasting the dark tang of iron. 

The mage across the basilica gave a low, mocking chuckle. “Laid low by a summons. After so many believers have fallen to you. Fitting that I finally finish you off. Here, in the city you failed to preserve. The Venatori thrive, and all thanks to you.” His words echoed through the dark. 

Rook could barely acknowledge the lurch of shame and nausea that accompanied the pain. They had one healing flask at their belt. It wasn’t theirs to take. Harding and Neve had brewed it specifically for the man they’d come to save. To take it now would be the ultimate disrespect. But would it mean anything at all if they were killed? 

Rook propped an elbow underneath them, pins and needles burning up through their bicep and shoulder. Their neck felt oddly heavy, head fuzzy and hollow. 

The mage hummed, amused. “Still fighting?” 

Still unable to discern anything through the blurry red haze in their vision, Rook gathered themself into a low crouch, fumbling blindly for their grassblade. They seized the hilt and settled with the blade tipped across their body, braced outward, free hand at the lyrium pouch at their belt. They trembled, wobbly and unable to stand. They exhaled as steadily as they could manage, sternum catching painfully. 

Rook blinked sticky viscera from their eyes, vision swimming unsteadily back into focus. Come on. 

The anger demon hissed, more steam fogging from its jaws as it clawed at the ground, leaving shimmering gouges of heat on the polished floors. 

“Your funeral,” the mage laughed. 

“Rook!” came a familiar bellowing voice. Something in Rook’s chest nearly snapped from swelling. A flash of violet at the far end of the hall had the anger demon whirling, hissing with its teeth bared. 

Lucanis took three lightfooted steps and launched himself into the air on spectral wings, shooting like an arrow for the demon. The Venatori shouted something, but not before another shape in embroidered robes stepped from the dark and lifted a dark hand, muttering with intent. 

A blast of roiling flame enveloped the mage, immolating him near instantly in a vibrant unfurling of Veilfire and crackling sparks. 

A flash of silver steel glinted in the dark as a heavy shield hid the caster briefly from view, a taller man surging into view to clash aside two red scythes– No way. 

Bone white hair braided into a long plait twisted as the man spun, driving the plated gleam of a paragon’s luster elbow into the back of the Venatori’s head as he’d tried, holding in his innards, to swing his remaining scythes and get to his feet. 

Numbly, Rook wondered why they hadn’t killed him earlier. 

The human braced his shield in place and swung his gleaming longsword like an executioner. The Venatori’s hooded head bobbed clean off his shoulders and bounced once. The body fell with a sickening splat. 

Dorian Pavus stepped calmly into the light of the flickering anger demon as it tangled with Spite’s furiously beating wings. Lucanis drove a dagger into its chest and sprang away, sleeve smoldering, only to cross to another angle and lunge for it again. 

The thing was working itself into a fury, lashing out wildly with its long arms and spinning in place to see where the next attack would come from. 

The magister trailed his fingertips through the air as he walked the perimeter of the room, the red glyphs on the floor illuminating to follow him. Once a sickly ruby, now a shimmering combination of emerald green and deep, royal purple. Magic trailed up from the concentric circles, peeling themselves up off the ground in clouds of fine mist as the mage casually began unraveling the blood ritual site, brow furrowed in concentration. 

His companion in plate armor, swathed in green fabric, all gleaming silver edges and shining blade, rushed the demon as if he’d been born to it. He lifted his shield as the downward swing of the demon’s clawed fist nearly crushed him to the earth, but the warrior only surged to his feet again and shoved it away. He spun with the grace of a dancer to cleave the demon’s torso near completely through. 

The monster howled, its edges fading as the injuries bled flame and magic alike. 

Lucanis threw a dagger from the dark, and it sank up to the hilt into the monster’s neck. The anger demon clawed at the wound, gurgling another war cry just as the warrior drove his sword over his shield and pushed in close to its chest. 

The demon screamed, struggling to pull its essence back together. 

Relentless, the warrior in silver was nearly nose to nose with the creature as it bent, golden-seething lava dripping from its fangs as it hissed and panted. 

The warrior narrowed his eyes. 

The demon relented, fading to dust and dispersing across the floor with a sound like a sigh.

“Amatus,” Dorian began, steadily spooling threads of magic around his rotating wrist. He sounded mildly bored. “How many times have I asked you to stop putting that horrible shield in front of me like I’m some sort of blushing maiden? You were in my light.” 

The Inquisitor relaxed back on his heels with a long sigh, broad shoulders unwinding. “I’m sorry, my love.” He had a deep voice, something sincere and low. 

“I’m sure I can find it in my heart to forgive you. Lucanis, be a dear and clear the room?” 

The assassin hesitated, angry violet light battling in and out of his gaze as he stood still on the edge of the chamber. Little embers smouldered on the front of his armor. Clearly not content with being bossed around, his eyes wandered to Rook. 

Rook let themself collapse with a heavy groan, vision swimming again. They were cold in every limb. 

“Death by a thousand cuts,” Dorian sympathized, tutting as he crossed the room. “You’re of no use just standing there, Crow. I advise you to check our perimeter and relay that we’ve found your friend.” 

“Go,” the Inquisitor soothed as Lucanis bristled. “We can handle this.” 

“I’ll be right back,” the assassin muttered, more in Rook’s direction than anyone else, before he vanished into the black. 

“Foolish little rogue! You have a potion on you, for Andraste’s sake!” Dorian seized the little vial at their belt, kneeling at their side. 

“Wait,” Rook croaked, their voice like sandpaper, and the magister stayed his hand, looking miffed. “For… Viper… If we find him.” 

Maxwell Trevelyan chuckled, kneeling beside them. “That’s a noble idea. Only, how would you give it to him if you are dead?” 

“Didn’t… think that far… ahead.” Rook groaned. “Hurt. Real hurt.” 

“I can see that,” Dorian huffed as Maxwell looped his arms under the Veil Jumper’s and gently eased them onto their back. “You might have run for help.” 

“Busy,” Rook managed roughly, eyes rolling back in their skull. They tried to make a grab for the slippery eel known now as consciousness. 

“I see why you write them. You’re two peas in a horrific, noble pod. It’s a pernicious thing, generosity. Honor. It’s no wonder you need someone of dubious moral standing to constantly dog your steps,” Dorian grumbled. 

Maxwell smiled softly sidelong at the mage. “And that would be you?”

“Obviously.” 

*****

So that was a doozy. Rook's fiiiiine don't worry about it. SURPRISE I CAN'T STAY QUIET ABOUT MY BELOVED DORIAN PAVUS OR MY DARLING BABY ANGEL INQUISITOR ANY LONGER. SORRY. <3 As usual, soft no pressure and very late tags:

  @draco-illius-noctis @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @davrinsleftpectoral @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @sunny374940 @nevarrantorte @caughtnyact @seaglassmelody @strugglinggranola @jenn2d2 @woundedsoul12 @aetherflowers @officialnostradamus @fenrelmercar @redheadsramblings @thesummerstorms @jukkaricity @madamemortem @spinfins @mushrooms-x-moss

[serensama]

Thank you for your nice messages on my previous post ;_;Here is the final result ^^

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Bare (version 3)

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So You're Saying I Have a Chance

Silly Saturday! Thank you so much to @woundedsoul12, @notyourmamasdeerbat and @davrinsleftpectoral for the tags. This is a bit of banter that's been living in my brain soup for a while.

Some day at the Cobbled Swan

Harding: Rook. NO. Don't even THINK it. Gladius: What? Dorian is super hot. Gladius: And he's definitely been flirting back. Harding: He's with The Iron Bull! Harding: 8 Feet of Muscle and Cunning. Harding: He will MURDER YOU. Gladius: … Gladius: So, what if I ask both— Harding: ABSOLUTELY NOT. Gladius: You are just no fun today.

[LATE BREAKING EDIT] A+ Realized late that I forgot to tag anyone, so just dropping a few hella late (absolutely no pressure, gimme a tag if you already did this since I'm so out of sync) @serensama, @jukkaricity, @aetherflowers, @the-font-bandit, @strugglinggranola, @babydinosaur930, @hedwigoprah

[serensama]

"Are you. Afraid? Our. "Little. Sun"?'

[serensama]

Renzo's favorite place to be is between Illario and Viago 🫡

Artist: comfortyart

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an Emmrich I sketched while on a work trip this week and not having any regular paper

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Five Sentence Friday

It's Friday, so here's five sentences from a WIP.

no pressure tagging @woundedsoul12 @serensama @jenn2d2 @mythals-whore and @basedonconjecture

Spite grumbled, glaring at him. Spite had rattled at him several times to see Rook over the last few months, but it hadn’t been this insistent, this bad. What had gotten into the demon? Even if he found out where Rook had gone and what they were investigating, depending on where they were, there was no guarantee that he could track them. In a city, he could find them, but in some place like the Deep Roads? …But Maker, a part of him wanted to.

[serensama]

this may be the silliest one yet, but I have plotted out more crow training horrors and as such it's time for silly goosery to balance out the humors (i posted the wrong version of this earlier if you saw it no you didn't cringecringecringecringe)

Viago, Did You Know?

Update inspired by this weeks Word With Friends: PERNICIOUS (causing much harm in a subtle way, causing death or injury; deadly). Thanking @hedwigoprah for the game and @serensama for the word. I've been tagged in this quite a bit, Thank You everyone!! I'm behind on reading until I grab my ADHD meds this weekend

The Coffee (T) 405 words

Prev: The Cape (T) | The Mitre (T) | The Opera (M)

It is a lovely evening in Treviso, and Rook is a horrible goose.

It starts with a scream from the kitchens. Or rather, it starts with a horrified screech that careens across the cold Villa walls, echoing with a violence that belies the instigator’s diminutive dimensions. Viago tugs his gloves snug, ignoring the glittering stares of his contemporaries. The rapidly enroaching shriek has a staccato-totter to it that betrays a familiar scab-kneed scuttle, one that Viago has come to associate with careless disclosures of chocolate possession. Just as soon as his irritation threatens to brew over, the sudden silence chills him to the bone. Whipping around in his seat, Viago is greeted by a terrifying sight: Rook, at the opposite end of the Great Hall, smiling sweetly.

Viago takes a surreptitious sniff of the air...hm. Nothing seems to be amiss. Good. Perhaps it is safe to assume that Rook has finally outgrown their pernicious propensity for arson; a trying childhood phase he’ll be happy to see the end of. "VIA-" The careless bellow modulates itself to a desperate whisper in response to his arching eyebrow, "-gooo…" ... They stare at each other blankly, Rook bouncing from one foot to the other. Pia clears her throat. The Arainai man pours himself another cup of coffee and Tei-Andarateia Cantori crooks an unremarkable, entirely forgettable smile.

Still bouncing, Rook takes the initiative and signs a combination of his name and the word roar. "VIAGO!" Brows knotted in concentration, Rook finger-spells echo!!!!, beleaguering the point further. "Yes?" Rook skitters across the great hall to a lonely accompaniment of scuffs, squeaks, and fabric flaps. Upon arriving, they bow a series of very formal, very polite greetings at everyone in attendance, before scaling the chair to Viago's left, sniffling and coughing from the effort. Once successful, the Fifth Talon of the Crows is treated to a deep inhale, followed by the panicked sussurus whisper of his name. "Viagoviagoviagoviagoviagoviagoviagoviagoviagoviagoviagov-" Andraste's pyre.

Viago excuses himself from the table and waits at a safe distance for Rook to cough and sniffle themself off the chair and follow meekly behind. Viago drops to his haunches to bring himself to eye level. Arson is one thing, but Rook knows better than to interrupt his meetings. "Tofana! What is-" Rook examines his posture, then replicates themself into tininess, crouching entirely out of his line of sight. The full-stop at Viago's feet peers back at the table before raising their cape to hide their words. He leans in. This cannot be good for his back. "Viago!" they fret, tearful frustration tugging at their features. "It's poo!" What? Panic rising, Rook leans in closer. "Cat poo! The coffee! It's CACCA, Viago!! Did you know that, Viago?!!" Both crouching de Riva’s look back to see Dante take a generous sip of the highly prized blend. He did. "I did not."

Gentle tags for: @bluerose5 @crushedv3lv3t @lotusfueltofire @in-the-drowning-deep @kai-dimir @wolfmoonwildflowers @woundedsoul12 @madamemortem @gutz-ingellvar @grand-crow @styxdysnomia @lockey-doodle-doo @rooks-dagger

Want On/Off my tag list?

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Silly Saturday

Something something Jurassic Park

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“Taash, Dr. Ingellvar. Dr. Ingellvar, Taash.” Mr. Volkarin nodded between the pair as they acknowledged each other. “Taash leads our safety and containment team.” “Hopefully that job isn't too busy.” Rook smiled at his own joke while Taash just crossed their arms over their chest and frowned. Not a jokester, he saw. “This place is cake compared to keeping my team alive in the jungles of the DRC.” The Qunari shrugged as an awkward silence fell. It was clear they were a former mercenary of some sort. And had seen some ugly things in their time. “Well I'm sure they are very lucky to have you here,” Harding giggled as she stepped forward. Rook had no idea what had gotten into his colleague and best friend. Perhaps the heat or humidity was too much for the dwarf. “If you will all follow me-” Mr. Volkarin cleared his throat as he broke up the tension with a flourish of his hand. “I will show you our research lab. I'm sure our newest crop of Meganeura would interest you, Dr. Ingellvar.” “You mean the giant dragonflies?” asked Taash with a raise of their eyebrow. “I thought the new guy was another bone collecting paleontologist-” “I am,” Rook said with a puff of his chest out. “But my specialty is paleoentemology.” “So you like bugs,” they replied flatly. Adding a disbelieving shake of their head before muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘all these science weirdos and I'm the only normal one’.

[serensama]

sparring with fake daggers are for amateurs