#+ // verse / taran / untamed magic (inquisition).

[thedaschosen]

MAKING DEMANDS  / ACCEPTING /  @scvcnofswords  asked :  go rest. i'm not asking. (Regin to Taran)

( ⌺ ) // HEAVING BREATHS ACHE AT HIS LUNGS, a sheen of exhaust filming at his skin. brows furrow, calloused hands tightening across wrapped leather across the hilt of his spellblade in determination -- " no ... i can continue -- " i'm not asking. her sternness hits him with a blink of surprise, a rare tone that was used with him. there's a temptation to argue -- stubbornness at the tip of his tongue as lips part, brows briefly knitting together with confusion. " ... alright. " he subsides -- shoulders drop in defeat, clipping the hilt to his belt as the already flickering magical blade disappears from existence. feet drag across grass, moving to slump upon a tree stump. muscles scream and burn -- letting a hand swipe back loose black locks with a sigh. hands meet as forearms balance upon his knees-- rubbing at his palm, new pink rimmed blisters already beginning to form.

" i can't seem to balance my focus ... " he admits, frustration narrowing at his eyes as he stares harshly at his palms. his reluctance to learn the basics of casting since he was thrown into ostwick beginning to catch up with him. he had never thought about the intricacies of magic before the inquisition -- always casting out of survival than precision. but he was grateful to have a great teacher beside him.

[thedaschosen]

( ⌺ ) // THE PHANTOM FEELING STILL LINGERS, AND THE MAGIC STILL BURNS. he wished his voice had more power in the face of solas' stubbornness. he had tried -- and he had vowed to save him. solas was a friend -- a mentor -- and taran would never admit it but he had filled the shadow of a father in many ways as well. his face was marred with fatigue despite the hard browed determination previously when deciding the fate of the inquisition. here -- he didn't need to have the stone mask of strength. he could just be taran. as she crumbles, his brows tilt with concern -- instinctively reaching forward to put a firm hand on her shoulder. he had seen what solas and regin had kindled -- like a moth to a flame the two were, immediately drawn to their presences. unfortunately, in the end, regin's wings had been burned. after corypheus -- he knew there was a strange silence between them, one that left regin simmering. and solas had disappeared not long after the battle. it had been breaking for her -- but this. he couldn't have predicted this. eyes shut in acceptance for the first time -- the hole was back again. singing a mournful tune of loss. he lets her cry -- he cannot imagine how twisted her heart must feel. a part of him wants to hate solas -- to damn him for what he's caused. but like regin, they shared that same silly hope that rung like silver bells over the mull of betrayal. as she returns from toil, he takes in a breath. as much as he wanted to shed tears, he would not. he would not shed tears until he knew for certain that solas was truly lost. " i know. " he states in sorrowful confidence, a line of tears at his eyes as he manages a tight smile, " you've taken enough of a hit for both of us. " taran murmurs, moving his hand to now squeeze at her remaining palm as he pauses. " ... i don't know what i need. " he states honestly, " i-- ... a part of me is glad everything is ... over. it just -- all feels so, heavy. "

❛ i guess we both lost something we were fond of. ❜  (taran to regin, laughter slowly turns into sobbing) | @thedaschosen

Regin is sitting in the infirmary bed beside Taran, lips thin as she stares down at the blankets atop her legs and tries to swallow the burning in her throat, tries to suppress the tears building in her eyes. "... You could definitely say that," she croaks.

Oh the terrible irony. He's lost an arm to the Anchor, but his life had been saved in the doing of it, thanks to Solas. His mentor, his advisor, who plans to undo the world as it is to try and preserve those lost to the creation of the Veil, to 'heal' the wound he seems to think he's cast upon the world.

And Regin, too, has lost her left arm, to a blow from the Saarebas at the behest of the viddasala, her right one currently hugging her knees to her chest beneath the blankets as emotion threatens to tear her asunder.

The physical pain of that injury, and the others she'd suffered by throwing herself between the Saarebas and Taran and Dorian when they'd been nearly taken out by one of the pulsing magical detonations of the massive qunari... they barely register, compared to the pain in her head and her heart, screaming like a hurricane.

Solas. Taran's closest friend, but for perhaps herself or Varric.

Her vhenan, her lost beloved. She makes an attempt at a wobbly smile, but the emotion overtakes her, and a small sob escapes her before she can clap her hand over her mouth, eyes closing tightly. "Fuck," she whispers, trembling faintly.

How could she possibly have even begun to fathom this? She'd known, of course, that Solas had secrets, that he had things he was hiding. That he was so much more than he'd led them to believe. It's plain to anyone who cared to pay attention, and she couldn't help but to pay attention to him. More than she should have.

But the depth of this? It's... Earth-shattering. She bows her head forward, taking long shaking breaths and trying to banish the ice and pain from her lungs with each.

It's a betrayal. She knows that logically. They've been betrayed. But it's also plain to see that Solas still- cared. Deeply. Desperately. 'I would treasure the chance to be wrong once more,' he had said to Taran, and she believes him. Perhaps that small orb of light, of belief in her chest makes her the worst fool she's ever known, but it's there. She refuses to stifle it.

"- Are you okay?" she asks once she's gotten better control of herself, finally scrubbing the tears that had fallen off of her face and then looking up at him, golden-green eyes dull and reddened from crying. "I mean I know- I know you're not okay, I just.." A shaking inhale- a shakier exhale and she slumps back against the headboard, closing her eyes.

"I'm here for you. Promise." He needs her, right now. She can't afford to fall apart for herself or for So-him. Not any more than she already has. So she inhales again, and mentally she... Shoves it down. The pain, the longing, the heartbreak, the betrayal, the love that still aches with every beat of her heart. She shoves it down, locks it away, and looks back to her dearest friend.

"What can I do, Taran? What do you need?"

[thedaschosen]

SEND FOR A NEW YEARS KISS  / ACCEPTING /  @scvcnofswords  asked :  💋 platonic regin and taran DEMANDED

( ⌺ ) // LIGHTS ARE STRUNG ACROSS TOWERING STONE WALLS, the mages (especially the young rebels that were still learning without the strict borders of a circle) being more than happy to show their magic in such a gleeful and open way. while firelight was bright-- there's a haze of otherworldly that swirls and burns in the small glass lanterns. pints have already begun to be passed-- clanking of wood and metal tankards in hearty and boastful glee, laughter echoing outwards from their clusters scattered throughout the nooks of skyhold. taran sidles through the breaks of the crowds that are starting to become unavoidable. polite nods are given to hollered greetings and gentle declines to any drinks offered in merriment. mead and wine still sticks to his tongue and reddens at his cheeks-- a lingering mix of sweet and tang mulling at the back of his throat. he manages to escape the noise at one of the highest parapets, standing with the cool air of winter as excitement buzzes below for the new year. it's quiet is comforting-- settling the inquisitor's oversaturated nerves. but just as soft as the air, a presence appears next to him. he doesn't have to turn to know the blonde color that sits in the corner of his eye. a synchronization of voices begin below-- the countdown has begun. " ... i don't know where i thought i would be at this point in my life. but certainly not here. " taran admits, still looking to the sky. a soft agreement is given by the elvhen friend and teacher beside him. he couldn't have asked for a better guide during this unsure and plaguing time. a shoulder nudges his side, a short chuckle being pushed from him as the final numbers begin-- voices at the height of volume. whirls of magic then explode into the air-- multicolored sparks bursting into stars of brilliance and awe. a tug is given on his shoulder then to pull him down-- a fond friendly kiss being pressed to his cheek. " merry new year, falon ... you should find the owner of your kiss before it gets too late. " regin winks, now jogging away with a bright smile. a blink of surprise is given, another blush of pink finding his cheeks-- mixing with the previous red flush of alcohol as a certain tevinter mage enters his mind. a whisper of an amused scoff is given, reflective color still bouncing from the grey-white stone below.

[thedaschosen]

MAKING DEMANDS  / ACCEPTING /  @scvcnofswords  asked :  take this with you . it's a good luck charm . (REGIN TO TARAN)

( ⌺ ) // CARVED CRYSTAL IS COLD AND WEIGHTED IN HIS PALM. he adjusts the small intricately sculpted trinket to sit between his index finger and thumb, observing it as it glints in the light. a smile pulls at one of the corners of his mouth-- golden hues meeting green. " thanks ... i'll need it. " taran huffs in amusement, eyes being drawn back to the gifted charm, the craftsman ship impressive, " did you make this ? " the journey ahead is going to be long -- the picked team of solas, dorian, and blackwall heading to the hissing wastes to investigate and close more rifts. scout harding already having arrived yesterday to get a lay of the land. taran isn't ecstatic about another sea of sand -- but being the head of the inquisition, he couldn't say no to the people that needed his aid. the anchor that scars his palm being the only solution to the rips of the veil scattered across thedas. corypheus was another battle he would have to face later down the line. for now -- it's cleaning up the mess the self proclaimed god has left behind.

[thedaschosen]

NOSFERATU  / ACCEPTING /  @scvcnofswords​  asked :  "The grim reaper wields his heavy scythe with every change of the wind." (regin to Taran)

( ⌺ ) // THE SNOW MAKES THE NIGHT QUIET IN SKYHOLD. only the warmth of torch light cuts through the cold blues. a long line of parchment is alight, written scratched ink visible. all names of those fallen or lost. taran's eyes keep solemn, tracing over each name. some he recognized -- others he did not but wished he did. regin's words hang in the air, his arms crossing tighter as fingers pull deeper into his skin. " and its cut is relentless. " he frowns, jaw tightening with faint grief. warm eyes look over the list again before they drop to the cobblestones below. " so many are fighting ... and so many are falling. " his head shakes, brows furrowing as a heavy sigh leaves him.

[thedaschosen]

NOSFERATU   / ACCEPTING /  @scvcnofswords asked :  "there is a dread storm rising." (litriu to taran)

( ⌺ ) // THE WAR TABLE FEELS MORE VAST THAT USUAL. more undead markers were filling in the blanks of burned and carved wood. expanding and spreading -- outstretching branches reaching for whatever life still roamed in thedas. taran's sunsetting gaze weighs heavy, litriu speaking what everyone was thinking at the expanse before them. he has grown much since stepping into the title of 'inquisitor' -- no longer an uncertain and unwilling herald of andraste. taran understood his role. and he was grateful to the ones that stood by him in these times.

" do you believe this is another blight ? would corypheus be capable of causing an event of that scale ? " the inquisitor asks plainly, the corner of his eyes keeping an eye on cullen as well -- knowing he has seen blight as well as warden mahariel. after the appearance of the dragon, there was much to be debated. so many theories and whispers already rustling through skyhold. from those who have witnessed blight and those who have not.

[thedaschosen]

100 NON VERBAL PROMPTS  / ACCEPTING /  @scvcnofswords  asked :  ∗ 18﹕ sender  comes  to  receiver  after  being  injured . regin to taran

( ⌺ ) // RIBS ACHE TO BREATHE. upon arrival back in skyhold, there was no hiding the growing patch of crimson at his side. he had hoped to quietly resolve it himself -- plaster enough of a smile upon his lips to subtly swipe supplies from the infirmary, leaving him to crawl back to his quarters and hiss through the pain in silence. but the cunning eyes of the ever worrying commander had caught him -- far too attentive, especially to the inquisitor trevelyan. after salve is wrapped with off-white bandages, strict orders were given to rest. the cut was deep enough to cut through muscle and flesh, but not enough to reveal bone. lucky enough it wasn't a straight plunge to puncture a lung -- just a dull heat of pain that radiates with every forced shallow breath. long black hair is loose, ebony waves across plush linen pillows -- wrapped in wool and sheets. a soft frustrated sigh escapes him before the door opens, adjusting his attention from the ceiling to the entryway.

" i'm alright -- " the attempt of reassurance in the face of the other's worry is poor as pain lightly winces and twists upon his face. " ... rogues -- an ambush in orlais ... on the streets no less. " he explains -- the injury not having hit him until he felt the blood begin to dry and stick to his skin. " i'm hoping your expedition was better. "

[thedaschosen]

( ⌺ ) // tag dump part I.