#[ regin lavellan ] it's golden blinded by the sight of the water moving in the last of the light

[scvcnofswords]

what soul do you possess?

Dominating Soul.

You have acquired the Dominating soul. not even a grave could hold your body down. it would crawl right out of the dirt. the omnipresence of simply just your being is overwhelming in an awestruck way. you may not even realise it but people aren't just afraid of you. they look up to you. but the journey to the top is a lonely one. and you ache for a companion. you ache to let yourself feel soft for once. to take of the metal helm and let yourself breathe. let the wind flow through your hair and kiss your cheeks. hopelessly gooey in the middle. but don't be fooled. don't let your leering power. your steel outer shell make you be above others. do not let it fester unchecked and create an ego too big for your mortal body. reality check yourself every now and then, it couldn't hurt. or it might. You share a soul type with D'arce and Francois

tagged by: no one, stole it

tagging: @thedaschosen (taran), @berthindeath , @inevestigator , @7thtalon

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Tracking is a delicate art. Tracking magic, even more so, but Regin has now had a decade of practice. A decade of success and failure and frustration. But she's always been too stubborn by half, and twice as reckless, so perhaps there's a reason such a matter fell upon her. Over and over again, she bears the weight of the world attempting to fall apart ever since the Breach, and she hasn't complained since-

Well. She had a little, when the Anchor had been killing her, but only that time.

Tracking through the Fade is another matter entirely, however, when the realm of dreams is so very changing, so very... Wild. Magic and possibility unrestrained. History and expectation, emotion and perspective, whirled together like a cyclone. And traversing it even in dreams has only come naturally to her to a point. She is no born Somniari, she is no Fade-Expert in the manner of a Mourn Watcher or how Solas had been, when he had been at her side in the Inquisition.

Some would have pushed her to give up. Some have pushed her to give up, especially since Solas'... Recent actions, at the ritual that Varric and Rook had interrupted. But it's never been in her nature to give up on someone she'd cared about, and she wasn't about to start now.

Even despite the grief. Even despite the anger. The betrayal, the hurt.

It all weighs against quiet advice and companionship, against watching a man paint a story upon the walls of a castle he'd guided them to, to allow a place of safety after devastation. It all weighs against a man who had lured the Inquisition so they'd be able to stop a plan to murder all of Thedas' world-leaders, and who had prevented the mark from killing her.

The scales will never be quite even. But that's not how life works, in the end.

Traveling to the ritual-site is, perhaps, foolish, but she does it anyways. Traveling alone is an even wilder choice, but Regin does nothing by halves; and at this exact moment, she doesn't fully trust that anyone she brings wouldn't just try to stop her, or prevent her success out of their own doubts.

Regin remembers words on a tombstone in the realm of nightmares, and she strides into the ruins anyways, jaw set so tightly it aches. There's a tremor in her flesh-and-blood hand that she does her best to ignore it as she stands in the doorway and stares up at the place where everything had gone so wrong. For everyone, really.

Not for the first time, she wonders if the Veil-

There's no point in that, though, and she banishes it, before turning. Palm pressed to stone, she breathes words of long-practice, and a green pulse resonates from her hand and through the stones, causing a shimmer to overtake the grey, almost imperceptible. Wards against being followed, wards against intrusion. She turns to the other side of the entryway and does the same; wards to make this place uninteresting to the eye, to make people's eyes skate past and overlook this ruin, should anyone come looking.

And then she's climbing the stairwell, shaking golden hair from her eyes. At the apex of the stairs, she pauses, gaze casting over ruined statues and walls, over the remnants of repairing scaffolding. The mage drops her pack, and sinks to her knees on the stone, making a shaking exhale.

Carefully, she lifts a dagger to her flesh-and-blood hand, and draws a line down the palm, allowing her own blood to run down her skin and her blade, until the drips against the stone, the energy and magic sending vibrations through the air around her that settle within her intent. Another reason she'd allowed no one to follow her.

Even blood magic has its' time and place.

Her prosthetic hand- not the mechanical thing made by Dagna, but a focused energetic form- shifts to press against the cold stone, mirroring her other, and she closes her eyes, allowing her magic to bloom from herself, and focus upon the echoes here. It would be easier if Solas had shed blood here, but she isn't sure if he did; and isn't willing to accidentally link to one of the escaped Evanuris by guessing wrong.

The world shifts and ripples around her, and Regin's brows furrow as she drags her fingers, painting invisible lines against stone with energy she focuses. For a moment, her senses heighten; her hearing, her sense of touch are almost too much, as the spell seeps into the world around her; and then catches hold.

She opens her eyes, and goes still as the grave in a grey-cast amalgamation of the ruins she had been kneeling in only a moment before. Regin isn't sure if her heart is going to stop or beat its' way out of the ribs that cage it, but it certainly feels as though it will be one or the other, and she presses her hand to it, trying to quell it.

She's on another platform of stone, above a chasm of grasping, desperate hands. And on the other side-

Him. It's him, and he looks- Destroyed. Agonized, even with his back to her. The body language is all wrong, and she for a moment wonders, ridiculously, if the chasm is a short enough distance to jump.

"Solas-" Regin chokes, stunned and taking a step forward. "I didn't-" I didn't think it would work. "- Solas," she says again, weakly, voice tight. "... It's... Been a long time."

Perhaps the weakest opener she's ever given, but she cannot breathe. It's him. Eight years of nothing and here he is.

Open Starter— Solas is alone. See tags for content warnings.

Had it been a week? Two? Since Rook last visited him? Perhaps it had only been a few days. Even if time in the Fade did mirror the waking world—and it did not—Solas could not track it. There was no sunrise or sunset, no shifting shadows, no stars to chart. Even when exhaustion pressed him into closing his eyes, he found no reprieve. His dreams were bound within the prison’s confines, in the same desaturated emptiness. Eyes open, eyes closed—it was all the same. A cage of relentless monotony and regret.

The only thing he could do here was think, and the solitude of his own mind was a torment. Sometimes.. he could not stand it, to be so trapped.

Yes, there was a plan, but it hung by a thread, a desperate hinge of Rook defying impossible odds. If they fell, it would all collapse. There was no contingency this time, no second act waiting to salvage what remained. Even if Rook survived, there was no guarantee the plan would come together in time. He might already be too late. The thought clawed at him: he might remain here forever. Forever. Or else be crushed beneath Elgar’nan's tyrannical hand. He didn’t know which was worse.

How had it come to this? He had been so close to making it all mean something, to ensuring that the sacrifices, the betrayals, had a purpose. But no. He had failed. Again. That was all he could do: fail. Everyone who had faith in him, every life lost in his name, every death he had justified for this cause.

Varric. Felassan. Mythal.

Each name cut deeper than the last, and there were more. A legion of ghosts haunting him across centuries. What was any of it for now?

This.

To die alone.

It was his greatest fear realized. Dread filled him. No one he hadn’t betrayed could reach him here. He had failed her. The Elves. Himself. And had betrayed every value that had once made the fight worthwhile.

Solas knelt on the jagged rock, the sharp edges digging into his knees. He welcomed it. It was the barest fraction of pain he deserved to feel. The true weight of it all bore down on him, an avalanche he could not endure. The walls of his mind closed in; his vision tunneled, edged with black. Tears blurred what little clarity remained, falling in sync with deep, ragged sobs that burned as they tore from his chest. Each one hurt, an agony that felt earned. He was history’s greatest fool, and fate would give him exactly what he deserved.

He was pathetic. Useless. A mockery of a villain, an insult of a hero. No one would ever dare to mourn him. Few would even spare him a thought if he were never heard from again. And perhaps that was how it should be. He was a lost cause. He was worth giving up on.

He should—he should just..

His head lifted, his gaze catching the precipice of the chasm that stretched beneath him into the infinite Fade below.

He should just do it.

A voice came unbidden, like his own but colder and sharper. It urged resignation.

Do it. Fall. Accept.

The suggestion coiled in his mind, insidious. At least then there could be no more expectation for him not to live up to. His eyes locked on the edge, wide and unblinking, tears streaking his face. His muscles froze, save for the trembling of his hands and the uneven rise of his chest.

No more devastating responsibility. No terrible purpose. Just the release of letting go. Perhaps that was the only escape left to him; the third option he'd been missing...

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He was too much of a coward. Too afraid to admit that the only way out might be off. And wasn’t even that cowardice? What right did he have to give up, even when there was nothing to hope for?

No.

Even his adversaries deserved more from him than that. He would keep going, giving every last piece of himself to the cause until his breath was gone or his mind finally shattered. He owed that much. Everything. No matter what.

At least he could mourn himself, here and now. And he did. He wept into his open palms; his cries would have echoed but there was nothing to reflect from.

Lost in his despair, he didn’t notice the ripple in the Veil; the faint pull across the chasm. Someone was coming, someone was already here. His gasp broke the stillness, a sound caught between exhaustion and shock. He pivoted sharply, turning his face away from the presence. He didn't want to be seen like this.

[scvcnofswords]

daisy, edelweiss, gardenia (for regin) - sent by my absolute beloved @thedaschosen (who i bullied into returning to tumblr so yall should follow them, ANYWAYS)

DAISY - did your muse ever feel as though their innocence had been lost ?   what moment in their life could be described as the end of their innocence ?  

Honestly I think Regin 'lost her innocence' when she was sent to clan Lavellan and taken away from everything she'd ever known. She doesn't really give the aura of it, but she developed a very sharp cynicism because of it, and there's an undercurrent of distrust for almost all people she's met since and will ever meet. She loves her people, she loves her traditions and history- but that was terrifying for a 13 year old, and she didn't have the easiest time fitting in. There's a special kind of hell when you're looked down on or scoffed at for questioning and curiosity. For wanting to know more and never taking an easy answer.

EDELWEISS - what was the bravest moment in your muse’s life ?  are they known to be courageous from then on ?  

Ah gods, mmm. Maybe the first time she dared to question an accepted and established facet of knowledge, and the way she's never, ever, for a SECOND, stopped. She's never once accepted the easy answer without wanting to dig further, never not wanted to know why, how, who, ect. And I've always considered that quite brave, so, I'd say thats the initial 'brave' moment. The BRAVEST moment? honestly, taking the head of the Inquisition or charging against the Viddasala whilst she was actively dying from the anchor. She's never stopped being brave, even when she's absolutely freaking terrified.

GARDENIA - is your muse one to confess romantic feelings early on ,   or to conceal them for long periods of time ?

ABSOLUTELY NOT. Regin holds that shit CLOSE to the chest, and she clings to it and hides it away so that she and her partner are the only ones aware for as long as possible. She's intensely private and being 'the inquisitor' made that so much more necessary.

She doesn't 'say' I love you soon- but she falls hard and fast once she starts falling, if that makes sense. She feels it intensely, and doesn't hide that she feels it from her person; but it takes her a while to SAY it.

[scvcnofswords]

Starter/Plotting call specifically for REGIN LAVELLAN

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@thedaschosen asked: 💋 ( HI, PLATONIC NEW YEARS KISS FOR TARAN AND REGIN )

A new year, a new start, more or less. Taran has been the most alight she's seen in... Weeks, if not over a month. All of Skyhold is decorated for the evening; all of Skyhold lit in gold, with richly colored velvets draped through the room, with food and wine and fresh boughs of cedar perfuming the air.

It's beautiful. She's infatuated, drunk on the aura and the air and the promise of new things to come. Better things, she should dearly hope, but already that has begun.

Who knew all it took was the end of the world to find yourself amongst people you wished to remain with?

Still, she weaves her way through the crowd as the old year draws thinner, and the new year looms, inevitable and unstoppable. Taran pauses as he sips at his own wine and grins at her in a manner she can't help but to find terribly endearing. Quickly she reaches him and cups the back of his neck; tugs him down and pushes up and onto her toes.

Someone somewhere shouts in a manner that can only be teasing, whistling, as she presses a firm kiss to Taran's cheek, and pulls back, grinning so hard that her cheeks hurt. The joy and hope entangled in her blood and bones is infectious, and Taran's surprise melts to a look of warm fondness.

"Merry new years, falon," Regin says in the air between them, patting his cheek gently with her fingertips. "We shall tackle it with all the ferocity we did of the last; but hopefully a mite less clumsily, hm?"

He nods wordlessly in response, eyes all but glowing in the warm firelight, and she smiles more crookedly before backing away and making her way through the warm hall, until she's out in the cold once more, and staring at skies that seem nearly close enough to touch.

"Happiest of new years, I hope," she says quietly to no one but the sky.

[scvcnofswords]

dungeons  &  dragons  classes    : bold what definitely applies to your muse     /     italicize what somewhat applies to your muse.

For REGIN LAVELLAN

BARBARIAN.      toothy  grins,     stories  around  the  campfire,     clothes  covered  in  pet  hair,    hot  temper,     old  jeans, heartbeat  in  head,  potatoes  &  steak,    beaded  jewelry,    bruises  like  galaxies,    mementos,     backpack  stuffed  full,     craigslist  furniture,    spontaneous  road  trips,   air  ripped  from  lungs

BARD.      homemade  bread, white  lies, easily  excited,    trying  on  hats,    band  geek,   pep  talks,   no impulse  control,    sunsets,    vintage  fashion,     long  showers,    selfies,   following  dreams,   rosy  cheeks,   song  mash-ups,    pink  lemonade  with  tequila,   loves  easily,   animated  storyteller,   full  of  comebacks

CLERIC.        list  of  wishes, biting  their  tongue, band-aids  &  neosporin, shoulder  to  cry  on, morning  sun,    necklaces,   trial  &  error,    homemade  quilts,   formal  clothing,    astrology  fan,    messages  in  bottles,    pleated  braids, speaking  up  for  friends,   feathers, motivational  quotes,   vivid  dreams

DRUID.      bird  watching,   shy  kid,   wind  chimes, trying  to  whistle,    summer  camp,   apple  orchards, lost  in  their  head, glow-in-the-dark  stars  on  the  ceiling,    hoodies,   thrift shopping,    saving  worms  off  the  sidewalk,    pig  latin,   bare  feet,    thunderstorms,   numb  fingers,    braided  hair,    naming  potted  plants

FIGHTER.      goosebumps,    leather  jackets,    adventure,   chewing  nails,    cares  deeply  but  can’t  show  it,    bronze  locks,   no  sleep,   taste  of  iron,   netflix  binges,   never  forgets,    combat  boots,   stories  behind  scars,    table  for  one,    official  soundtracks,    sore  calves,    trusts  themselves  the  most

MONK.      always  trying  to  be  better,    wanderlust,   meditation,    sweat  pants,  old   photographs, yoga,    sleeping  in  hammocks,   nostalgia,    minimalist  design,   a breath  of  fresh  air,    baby  animals,   volunteering,   perfectionist,    doesn’t  care  about  fashion,    healthy  snacks,   noticing  the  little  things

PALADIN.      school  uniforms,   thick  jackets, sleeping  with  the  windows  open,   logical  advice,    scrapbooking,    compasses,   i  fight  for  my  friends,    sculpture  gardens,   cold  morning  air,   big  soul,   likes  routine,   secret  romantic,    last  to  get  jokes,    sunflowers,   practical  presents,    misty  weather

RANGER.      herbal  tea,    smell  of  rain,   blinking  away  tears,    camping  trips,    collecting  bones,    swiss  army  knives,   first  impressions,   anxious  thoughts, bobby  pins, burnt  marshmallows,   too  competitive,    clothes  lines,    messenger  bags, holding  grudges,    gets  along  better  with  animals  than  people

ROGUE.      flirtatious  sarcasm,    candid  photos,   lost  phone  chargers,    adrenaline  rush,   picking  dirt  out  from  beneath  their  nails,    social  chameleon,    clashing  clothes,   self-deprecating  jokes, claw  machines,  sits  in  chairs  wrong,   smudged  eyeliner,    has  too  many  sunglasses,   eats  nothing  or  everything

SORCERER.      infectious  laugh,   family  trees,   shivers  down  their  spine,    lipstick  &  roses,    mood  swings,    clumsy,   believing  in  destiny,   high  expectations,   sleeping  in  darkness,    collection  of  nail  polish,   passionate,    good  grades  but  never  studies,   poetry  books,   blowing  kisses,   not  knowing  their  own  strength

WARLOCK.      knowing  everyone’s  secrets,    backpack  covered  in  pins,    envy,   being  in  walmart  late  at  night,    earl  grey, selective  memory,   conspiracy  theories  &  cryptids,   keysmashing,    need  to  know  basis,   can’t  cook, bags  under  eyes,   experimental  art,   flickering  bulbs,    black  clothing  all  year  long

WIZARD.      piles  of  textbooks,   cat  in  lap, keeping  a  diary,   indecision,   scented  candles,    studying  alone  in  a  café,   lingering  touches,    museum  dates,   unanswered  questions,   taking  on  too  much  responsibility, collections,   chalk  dust,    comfy  robes,   unnecessary  apologies,   coming  home  after  a  long  day

[scvcnofswords]

❛ 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?"

[scvcnofswords]

❝ no one wants to yearn anymore. ❞ || sent by @7thtalon | for REGIN LAVELLAN

Regin pauses at the words, and a pained grimace crosses her face. She knows rather far too much about yearning, actually, and the bitter ache in her chest- she touches her sternum as though to try and banish it, lips twisting some. Green-gold eyes lift to the other woman, still quite soft, and she gives a crooked smile.

It's a weight that has been dragging against her bones since before the death of Corypheus, only digging itself deeper into her bones with each reminder of him and each dead-end lead, each desperate chase. Whether she lost or won it. Whether she outmaneuvered his agents, or they did the same to her.

Nothing eased it. But she didn't expect anything too, either. It was a pain that she's grown used to enough to live with it, at least.

"- I have to say, being someone who has been yearning for someone for a decade now, that- I would much rather not. But I suppose it's a pity in the long run. It can be a beautiful thing, despite the pain." She rolls a soft shrug, and then tilts her head.

"I suppose you've had your time yearning too, then, hm? Hopefully to a better end than mine own."

[scvcnofswords]

" i can't help you if you hide things from me . " @mournwvtch for REGIN

The blonde elf freezes somewhat, expression caught somewhere between guilt and defensiveness, unable to settle upon one or the other. Her flesh-and-blood hand rakes through her own hair as she looks at Gwen, something miserable in her eyes, a sorrow she's borne a decade.

"I'm not... I didn't-" she's floundering, unsure what to say, what the right thing to respond is. Is there a right answer, here?

She cannot remember the last time anyone scolded her-

this is a lie. she remembers it well, she just cannot touch that memory without burning in it. 'i BEGGED you not to-'

Regin closes her eyes then, and long fingered - blood and bone, and constructed with energy- hands raise to rub at her temples, forcing herself to take the moment, to breathe.

"... You're right," she says then, quieter. Regin- not the Inquisitor, or the shadow of whoever that was. Whoever that had had to be.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm-" she huffs quietly then, but the sound is a mournful one, not anything of joy or mirth. "I think I've forgotten what it's like. For something about REGIN to matter, rather than everything about THE INQUISITOR. For... Something about me to be allowed to exist." For what pieces of her haven't been taken and warped to suit the image she'd been to the world?

"I'll do better. You're just trying to help. I do know that."

[scvcnofswords]

tag dump 3. regin lavellan