#dracaeons

[fals3nd]

@dracaeons said ; i’m ending it. i don’t care what it takes. - fenris to calpernia :) ( accepting )

fingers dance over the page of the book open in her lap and calpernia tips her head. ankles are crossed daintily from where she's seated on a low sofa, more lounging than anything. "yes," she agrees evenly, "but how do you intend on doing it? words are nothing, but the wrong action will just make things topple." speaking from experience, isn't she, who has famously backed the wrong horse.

[calperna]

she is pacing. it is not an unusual sight - fingers flexing 'round the head of her cane, eyes blazing and jaw tight with barely contained anger. it is a look that has born dozens of plots that have been shut down swiftly by the others over the years. at least it is quiet tonight, the base mostly sleepy and silent but for the few clusters of people gathered in corners. "we are not doing enough," a common refrain from her lips, especially towards ashur, especially when reports of civilians gone missing have reached their ears, "half a dozen people taken off the street and here we stand, claiming to be here as aid and showing ourselves to be just as useless as any who came before."

@dracaeons

[hemerasiae]

adrenaline is still coursing through her like liquid sunlight in her veins, warming her from head to toe. she feels ... good, elated even. she can't even remember the last time this many people walked free. sure, the methodology had been uncharacteristic (both by her own and shadow dragons' standards), but her ward was alive and dozens of families were about to be reunited. she was excited for the debriefing, eager to share her joy.

yet, she is intercepted before she can see her charge home and then swiftly withdrawn back to headquarters. when she tries to ask if something is wrong, the other shadows say nothing. left to wonder, anxiety digs its claws in deep.

once back at base, she's ushered into a low-lit suite, and she recognizes it straight away. this is the room used for either stark, disciplinary action or operations with dire circumstances, usually requiring security clearance.

has something happened? dread begins to overtake the anxiety.

@dracaeons

[archivestarlyht]

@dracaeons  /  sc.

 “justice's intentions are pure,”   said anders softly.  he knew it would only be so long before his past caught up to him.  he thought of the blood on his hands.   twisted corpses of wardens and templars.   fear.   exhaustion.   exhileration.   but it was long ago,   so long ago.   he'd only known more fear and fury since then.   he wanted no trouble from her.   if she wanted trouble,   he wasn't so sure how long he could hold justice back.   the spirit had only seemed to relish in its righteous fury as time went on,   sated only by the blood of vengeance.  “i am in control.   but i still can't go back to the wardens.”

[heartsdefine]

"nobody asks for their fate." ↳ @dracaeons (fenris to roz) — memes / accepting!

        "well, fate sure has one bitch of a sense of humor." and if there really is somebody up there in the nebulous sky, or the fade, or wherever, making these decisions, she'd sure like to have a colorful word or two with them. "but all the better mages died at the conclave, and i'm the one stuck with the glowing hand."

[withoutabsolution]

“amor,” zevran tries to get ellas’ attention, his eyes trailing after her as she paces back and forth in front of him.  when he seemingly fails to do so, he pushes himself up from where he’d been lounging, half-sprawled on his back. “vamos, amor,” he sighs dramatically, seeking to sweep @dracaeons​ up into his arms for a moment, clearly trying to commandeer her focus in a more direct way. “all of this pacing, all of this worrying, it only serves your enemies, yes?” his hands come to rest at her shoulders as he searches her eyes. “one day.  one day is all i ask!  let me take you somewhere exciting, somewhere... fun!”

[sulahnvhenan]

“ That’s… not what I pictured. ” fenris to vaea!! / @dracaeons​

“Isn’t it?” She holds the object away from her with the barest grip required to keep it from clanging at Fenris’ feet, looking between it and him with a mixture of fascination and revulsion. “What did you expect? You were the one with the information. I’m just the fetch...the one playing fetch, here.” And damned if she doesn’t toss it to at him, unconcerned whether he catches it or not. 

There’s no noise to make her cover her ears and draw the attention of everyone within two blocks, though.

“Are you coming? It’s a long walk back."

[mercysought]

i'm delighted by obscure passions, no matter how unusual. - dirthamen and the priestess perhaps!

what moves the dead // accepting // @dracaeons

She wasn't sure why she had been called there. Truthfully, anyone who was not amongst the dreamers and their roles very rarely found themselves in the presence of the Evanuris themselves. And she, she was no priestess of Falondin's reflection nor, truthfully, of Falon'din himself. To stand in His presence and in his temples was to feel her body and scars burn: it was to have the colours of even the smallest rock burn into one's vision; it was to feel the scars in her body and the blood within clamour to push through the skin to become part of the air.

She was one of the many generals, perhaps the only one that was swiftly rising through the ranks. And she was perhaps one of the most proficient blood mages amongst Falon'din's armies. She assumed then, that the reason for her summons was thus.

There was pride in the way that her shoulders straightened. It was her and not the rest of the generals that stood there, a detail that certainly didn't escape her, but behind the dark helmet that kept her face covered, she remained silent. Listening cautiously with her eyes down in deference.

After His last words hang in the air, she expects them to be followed by some sort of directive, clarifying why she was there. When that didn't come, her head finally tilted up only enough, her eyes following His frame.

She had no other passion but the one that had lead her to this path: the reason why she was able to finally close her eyes at night to have truly, deep rest. The same reason that now, while standing in this temple, made her body scream.

   “I am unsure I follow, my Lord."

[chiefambassador]

@dracaeons as fenris says, "you are not alone. no one is alone."

josephine is facing away from fenris. one of her arms is behind her back while the hand of the other lightly caresses her face as she thinks. initially, her only response to him is spoken quietly, beneath her breath, with her eyes staring ahead, lost in thought, "hai ragione. ma sai che hai ragione," she murmurs the words without considering to whom she speaks, and then quickly catches herself. "you are right. i apologize."

her despair sits heavily on her chest, threatening to collapse it entirely. how she loathes to see the world in disarray and the anguish of others. josephine exhales softly through her nose. "it seems so insurmountable at times. i trend toward optimism, and yet..." as she trails off, she turns to look at him, and for the first time, there is a momentary flicker of vulnerability and raw concern. "i worry we will fail."

[yeoldes]

WILLA HAWKE

NAME : Wilhelmina Faustena Emelia Hawke NICKNAME(S) : Most simply call her Hawke - those even closer to her my venture to Willa. Her siblings used to call her Wil. TITLE(S) : Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, Champion of Kirkwall, Lady Amell - far too many for her liking GENDER : Cis Woman, She/Her/Hers ORIENTATION : Heterosexual AGE : 25 ( Dragon Age 2 ), 35 ( Dragon Age Inquisition ) DATE OF BIRTH : 3rd of Kingsway, 9:05 Dragon PLACE OF BIRTH : The exact place is unknown, but likely near the coast of the Free Marches and not far from Kirkwall SPECIES : Human CLASS : Mage ( Force Magic specialization )

RESIDENCE : Kirkwall ( Dragon Age 2 ), Skyhold ( Dragon Age Inquisition ) RELIGION : She was raised Andrastian and is very devout. In Kirkwall, she often sought solace in the Chantry. In the Inquisition, its not uncommon to find her taking her morning prayers in their small chapel. EDUCATION : No formal schooling, but her mother taught her to read and write, as well as the manners of highborn ladies - as much as she could remember, anyway.

MOTHER : Leandra Amell ( DECEASED ) FATHER : Malcolm Hawke ( DECEASED ) SIBLING(S) : Bethany Hawke ( DECEASED ), Carver Hawke ( DECEASED ) OTHER(S) : Gamlen Amell ( UNCLE, ALIVE ), Charade Amell ( COUSIN, ALIVE ) SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S) : Fenris ( @dracaeons ) PET(S) : Madge ( DOG, ALIVE )

APPEARANCE : She's tall and willowy, with large dark eyes and tan skin. She doesn't often smile, and even then doesn't often smile with her teeth. Her hair is curly and textured, often braided back or arranged in such a way that its out of her face for combat. During the Inquisition, when she took on the mark, her eyes took on an abnormal green color. FACECLAIM : Nathalie Emmanuel

Willa is the eldest daughter of Leandra Amell and Malcolm Hawke, a Kirkwall noblewoman and her apostate lover. They fled to Ferelden to avoid Leandra's marriage as well as the Templars pursuing Malcolm and later had Willa's younger siblings: Bethany and Carver. She showed signs of magic fairly young, and they often had to move before she could get a handle on it. For her part, Willa learned quickly - but the family would soon have to begin their wandering again as her younger sister showed the signs, too.

When Willa was about twelve, they were finally able to settle in the village of Lothering, in Ferelden. Though there were some mishaps, the Hawkes made a life in Lothering - Willa helped her mother with the twins and the home, she helped her father on the farm. In turn, her father would teach she and Bethany magic - or more to the point, how to keep it secret.

When she was twenty-one, Malcolm took ill with a fever that no healing magic or poultice could rid him of - he passed on, making Willa promise to protect the family. She swore she would. She kept tending the farm, while her brother Carver joined the King's Army.

Tragedy would strike again just a handful of years later when the Fifth Blight began to rage across Ferelden. Willa and her family fled Lothering with the Darkspawn at their heels. They needed only to get to a ship to take them to Kirkwall, where Leandra hoped to reconnect with her brother. Unfortunately, before they were able to find a way, Willa's younger sister Bethany was killed by an ogre. The desperation of the moment led Willa to make a deal with the Witch of the Wilds, Flemeth, to make it to Gwaren where they could take ship.

In Kirkwall, Willa, Carver, and their friend Aveline would join up with a mercenary group run by a man named Meeran in exchange for entry into the city, indenturing themselves for a year. As funds began to ran out, Willa found her steps dogged by the local Templars, who required bribes to keep her free. The strain was wearing on both she and her brother, Carver, when they were approached by Varric Tethras with a business proposition.

It would be this fateful meeting that would launch Willa on the trajectory that would lead to her fame . . . and, in a way, to the deaths of her mother and brother, the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry, and Hawke herself delivering a friend’s execution.

After the travesty that was Kirkwall, Willa fled in hopes of drawing the Chantry’s attention. When she heard her friend Varric had been captured instead, she returned, offering herself to the Left Hand of the Divine for questioning and giving a . . . less embellished version of events than certain dwarves. She was taken to testify in front of the Divine at the recently called Conclave - the hope was that the Champion’s appearance would soothe the Templars and Mages. There was also hope she would agree to head the Inquisition, though such things were not spoken of.

Unfortunately, the Conclave did not bring about resolution - it quite literally exploded, ripping open the Fade and leaving Willa as the only survivor - once more at the center of suspicion and rumor. She would soon become known as the Herald of Andraste, bearing more than just responsibility for one city - but for the world.

[calperna]

if there is one thing calpernia is able to be certain of in this world, it is that he shares her rage. the others do not. even those who followed her back here, who have been by her side since she ripped herself from the jaws of corypheus, no longer seem to understand the anger that is always seething just below her skin - the fire of it blazing eternal in the pit of her stomach. fenris does. there is a reason he knows where her apartment in here, and why her wards do not tear him asunder should he enter. "i am going to murder them." them in this tone generally means some other member of shadow dragon leadership, and she never truly has, "i am being told to take a break merely because the little blood mage whelp of some magister did not make it home in one piece the other night." there is no proof it was her who made sure the disgusting worm of a young man had not finished his trek from the docks to his manor home - calpernia had made sure of it.

@dracaeons

[hemerasiae]

remember when we first met? - ellas and zev perhaps :')

zevran chuckles and folds his arms behind his head to prop himself up. he then turns slightly to better look at ellas. “ah, when you held the dagger to my throat and laid claim to my heart all at once?” he grins at the memory; it is one that he often revisits—an assassin’s failure met with the mercy of his mark.

“a story for the ages, is it not? though, i wonder, what has you so sentimental? is it… the way i look in the moonlight, perhaps?” as if to fortify his assertion, zevran strikes a subtle, albeit no less provocative, pose: sprawled out, one arm withdrawn from its rest to bring attention to his hip. “i am told it brings out the… sparkle in my eyes.”

[archivestarlyht]

" this is the place they were thinking about when they invented the word 'the pits'. " ellas to mal!

  * 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌 ( 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐕 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. )

the wastes weren't as bad as he'd been told. they were worse. survivable for a dragon, but like this a nightmare of sweat, sand, and frigid nights. wyverns raged at the scent of him. how thom fared in all of that armor was beyond him.

“i'm going to throttle whoever let me volunteer to take dorian's place,” mal responded. his hips ached. a pleasant soak in a lake sounded like a fever dream. he focused his attention on the air around them, chilling it just enough to render the air tolerable. he didn't want to wait for the sun to go down for the camp to cool. he ran a hand over his face. “hope the scouts will have something useful about where the venatori are, i can't be done this place soon enough.”

[heartsdefine]

"how is it you get into these situations so often?" ↳ @dracaeons (fenris to hawke) — memes / accepting!

        "that's the unfortunate bit about doing the right thing," hawke says, moving away from where they'd been half-drunkenly leaning on fenris—and they seem to sober up quite quickly, rolling their shoulders and reaching for the bladed staff on their back. they'd been making their way up to hightown from the hanged man when a handful of men in dirty leathers melted out of the shadows, surrounding the pair of them. likely sharp's highwaymen, come for some misguided revenge. hawke grimaces in the half-light, cracking their neck to one side as though stretching for a casual sparring match with a friend. "it so often goes hand-in-hand with doing things the hard way."

[withoutabsolution]

“hey, pretty boy,” yismay doesn’t even look up from the knife they’re sharpening.  they know it’s fenris by his footsteps alone ( not that they would ever tell @dracaeons that ). “you’re coming off extra broody today,” they remain conversational as the continuous sound of the iron against the whetstone fills the air, as rhythmic as breathing—a familiar comfort. “fenris ii is around if you need some good, old-fashioned dog therapy.  unless we’re killing someone.” a beat. “are we killing someone?”

[antlerwreath]

@dracaeons liked for a starter.

“do you ever think about coming back?” keyleth asks one day as they sit on one of the higher peaks of zephrah together.  they have their legs out in front of them, their bare feet close to dangling off the edge.  comfortable in fenris’ presence, their staff lies at their open side, unmoving in the grass.  they hesitate to look at him, fearful of the look on his face, but eventually, they glance to their side.         “to zephrah, i mean.  would you...” she pauses, holding the breath she’d been intending to take, and then swallows her nerves. “would you want to?”