#dragyran

[cha1nbreak]

@dragyran

the mask feels wrong upon her face, fingers twitching by her sides as she watches from a corner of the ballroom as the inquisitor slides back into the space from wherever it is he has been. the loss of the mages she could have added to venatori numbers had been blunted by the apparent death of the inquisitor ; her teacher had not been happy when reports the man yet lived and reappeared in time to spoil machinations for the empress reached his ears. it is why calpernia is here at all, when the assassination is not her job nor her business - - - to see the once-dead herald herself from behind the cold metal of a mask. she still does not feel natural here, and she stops on her path to the inquisitor to help steady an overly-large tray starting to tip from the hands of a servant. they thank her, hushed, and she shrugs it off. they may not be what she was, not quite, but calpernia has no romantic notions of how servants are treated here.

"inquisitor," her voice lilts from behind the silver, smiling face she wears, and calpernia dips into a bow, "i am glad to see you still live with my own eyes." it is dangerous, this talking to him directly when there is no doubt someone will try and divine who she is and why she is here the moment she is seen standing before the inquisitor ; calpernia does not intend to remain her the rest of the evening, for this is florianne's duty and not her own. but knowing trevelyan lives, truly, is a report she can bring back to corypheus herself should this plan succeed or no.

[reavers]

❝ we’re either geniuses or the dumbest sons of bitches to ever breathe air. ❞ @dragyran & . 𝐒𝐈𝐗 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 .

there was something about the gleam in tristan's eyes , each time bull caight his gaze it appeared different . cold and grey in the darkness of the caves and deep roads , but radiant and tinted with abnormal warmth in the sunlight . steel grey turning to an everchanging hue dancing between a spectrum of oranges , yellows , reds and cold iron metallics . " one does not exclude the other . "

" but hey , these geniuses of society are privileged to decadency , pillows filled with feathers , aged liquor . . . you know , the good stuff . perhaps it's not too stupid to try and act like them , " a crooked smirk adorn the qunari's facade , a laugh parting his lips before taking another sip of his ale .

each time the inquisitor cocked his head enough for the metallic - tinted iris to catch a warm sheen from the thin whisps of sunlight left the bull amazed and intrigued , if just for a moment . slipping through the gaps between silk curtains , the sun's golden gleam illuminated thin stripes between the tavern's tables and bathed them in a golden hour's noble gleam . " jokes aside . . . even if we're all some dumb sons'a bitches who try to do some good . . . i'm still gonna stay by your side , boss . no matter what . "

calloused fingers and adorn with many bruises and cuts , all being small reminders of their many adventures clenched the chalice filled with a fine mixture of ferelden ale and rum , gentle gesture bringing the cup to a quiet toast , a silent understanding which whispered : i'm here for you . and i shall not leave .

[archivestarlyht]

"people can surprise you sometimes." ( for mal! )

  god of war: ragnarok starters

“sometimes,”   the mage responded breezily.   mal was still deciding what he thought of the herald.   he was leaning,   however,  closer to unfavorably.   it didn’t take much to recognize a reaver anymore,   once he knew what to look for.   it set him on edge.

he eyed the potion he’d prepared for himself with some distaste,   hesitating before bringing the vial to his lips and tilting his head back.   he took it slowly,   stalling for a response.   he frowned at the aftertaste though eager for the ache that had settled in his spine to subside.  sleeping nearly on the ground hadn’t been doing old wounds any favors.   the camp in the hinterlands wasn’t like haven with its quiet din even after sunset,   almost too calm,   not a sound save the chirp of crickets and hooting of owls.   the rogue mages and templars seemed to have ceased slaughtering each other for the night.   “closing the rifts is one thing,   but i’m still a bit wary of the whole inquisition business.   they haven’t even found a damned inquisitor but i’ve seen the way people get with a little too much power on their hands.”

[swordince]

@dragyran sent :

🍍 : how comfortable is my muse in their body ?? how do they feel about their height, weight, strength, & body type ?? how important is being attractive to them ??

adam is very much confident in his appearance, in all regards. it is in part because of his upbringing as prince, naturally having everyone's good graces & the compliments that accompany them, & being subject to extensive routines for skincare & the like, as well as truly inheriting but the best of his parents' genes in regards to his face & his training granting him an athletic physique. there was a period early in his time as he-man that he experienced nasty dysmorphia transforming in & out of he-man's form, but he's long since learned to separate those two selves, cultivating his confidence in his, adam's, body. he has little to no dysphoria these days, he realized he's trans roughly in his tweenage years &, as nobility, adam had access to every manner of transition assistance available on eternia ; beyond testosterone treatments, he really hasn't felt a need to do much else to his body, & he's perfectly content with it as is for the time being.

he takes great care of his appearance, from his hair to his skin to his clothes. his nails are short but manicured, he wears lip-balm, wears eyeliner to bring out his eyes, uses essential oils for his hair, so on & so on ; if you can think of a form of self-care, adam probably does it. it's partly that he is crown prince & thus appearances are always important... but he also just likes the feeling of being pampered & likes looking handsome. even when it's clear flattery with an agenda, he likes getting attention he knows is deserved.

🥝 : does my muse have any "unusual" habits, interests, & / or talents ?? do they hide it, or are they proud of it ??

closest things that come to "unusual" are that adam can juggle, something he saw orko do as a teenager & got the trollan to teach him, & that he is capable of falling asleep anywhere at any time, most often caught catching naps atop haystacks. he's rather proud of his ability to juggle, considering it something of a conversation starter at noble parties. his ability to shut off like a light comes in very handy during stormier nights.

[ada1r-arc]

tristan is 6'4, have at it.

send your muses height and i'll compare them to helena!!

[reavers]

𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒆?              THE HANDS .

you can almost physically hold your power . creation comes easily to you , but so does destruction . your strength is in your physical interaction with the world . everything is so tactile . you push and you pull and you strike and you caress and you pray and you hold , hold , hold .

tagged by : @whoknocks ily <3 tagging : @0rlais , @dragyran , @ysgrim , @lionhlm , @holybloom , @mvrigny and anyone who wants to do it !

[swordince]

@dragyran  sent  :

bay tree  :     does your muse seek glory & accolades, or do they favor a simpler, more personal life ??

adam’s a prince.     he was never going to have a simple, personal life.     but there’s only one person’s accolades that adam seeks, & that one is his father.     he seeks no glory in battle   —   he fights for the honor of eternia, for his people.     it’s not about him.     he’s prince, but he serves eternia more than the other way around, even if it’s under the mantle of he-man.     but as prince, as adam, he does what he can to earn even a good word from the king, from his father.

heliotrope  :     does your muse believe in soulmates ??

he does.     he believes his parents are soulmates, he believes duncan & the sorceress are soulmates.     he believes there’s someone meant for everybody.     not strictly necessarily romantically, mind  ;     just in the sense of people that make each other better in ways that no one else can do for them, who are meant to stand side-by-side & have each other’s backs, raise each other up, whose fates are woven together by the magic inherent in the universe, whose souls call to each other & recognize each other.

[cha1nbreak]

he has been weaving in and out of the ballroom all night. it is something someone might easily miss, assume he is going into a courtyard for a breath of air or ducking into some hall to speak lowly with his advisors, but calpernia has had whispers brought to her on the lips of a few others hiding their place among the venatori behind orlesian masks. there are countless eyes upon this man, but calpernia does not let the charm or the good luck of a good name cloud her vision of him. the inquisitor and his compatriots have been venturing places they ought not be. calpernia is glad she is not here with a goal of being sure the empress dies, because this unkillable man seems set to make that...difficult.

"seeing as you have now narrowly avoided death thrice, i'm afraid you will have to listen to awe over such things many times over," the stealing of the mark, the fall of haven, and the fade - - - none should have been something he was able to walk away from. like a roach scampering out from beneath the boot once, twice, thrice. hazel eyes peer at him from behind her mask and calpernia thinks of the speck of him, of armor and green light, she had seen distantly at haven. nothing but flesh and blood, lucky though those tendons may be. hands fold before the dark silk of her skirt and calpernia lets her gaze drift across the hall for a moment. "i am half surprised your inquisition did not mount a gala to rival this in the wake of your return to us, in celebration." now that would be luck, a chance to slide into skyhold among some horde of nobles that make her stomach turn, "many of us have yet to be able to make pilgrimage to skyhold."

@dragyran

for a man like him, Halamshiral is a maze full of too many dead ends, but somehow the outing is proving to be fruitful regardless. Saving face, going behind every single Orlesian noble including the Empress herself, uncovering court - spanning schemes and plots ——— it's practically espionage under another name and coloring. Somehow, as he casts another look behind his shoulder to ensure he steps back into the ballroom alone, Tristan is reminded of street treats back in Ostwick advertised as candied apples, only to be a far more bitter vegetable in truth. If only this whole endeavor were that simple, the unpleasant taste a thing to be spat out and surmounted: this, plus the threat of a looming assassination, is terrifying. Still, it's no worse than the Fade, the effects of it he yet feels upon his skin when he thinks about it too much. [ He's seen crueler fates than a knife to the neck, but he would rather avoid them in any case. ]

Tristan hears his title called and a silver - masked attendee bows to him, a gesture which he returns with the rough grace of a noble estranged from his position. ❝ I am glad to be alive still myself, my lady, ❞ he offers in return, displaying a mellow smile. ❝ I see news and stories of my survival are making for remarkable conversation among those present; you're hardly the first to offer such relief. ❞ And she won't be the last, if socializing continues. He isn't unkind, however; he knows how much tone matters in these occasions.