#im still neck deep in my stupid ranking of them I might as well see what other people’s tastes are

[ofgoodmenarchive]

The second in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Spring Thaw

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.

No- he was definitely getting ahead of himself.

At the very least, Dorian shouldn't have discarded the Venatori's equipment so impulsively. It was possible- even likely- the Herald would be immune to his charms. If no attraction existed between them to start with, then he'd forsaken his current, sole employment for nothing.

Introducing himself was also a complex matter. His subject of fixation was more often than not swarmed by Chantry puppets- Inquisition puppets, whatever.

Either way, they'd be wary of something like him.

  Which would be perfectly sensible, if we're being honest...

For days he stalked them through the Hinterlands, camping out of sight- preferably at high vantage points. On this occasion he'd discovered a homely cave dug into a cliff, with an ideal view of the Inquisition camp. They'd organised around a half-crumbled tower, wrangling full command of the King's Road at this end.

It took time to accomplish- Dorian had spectated most of the work. The Templar-Mage conflict was their main concern- by now almost completely eliminated. Still there was plenty of trouble to be had, Dorian knew.

  Are they even aware of the Venatori yet?

Indeed for now they mostly focused on the resident lyrium-smugglers. To be fair, they were a nuisance- and had not enough sense to leave the Inquisition unmolested.

In his shadowing he concluded a few things, at least.

For one, the Herald was a mage with an affinity for ice. Admittedly Dorian felt stupid for not realising on their first encounter. That sword of light channelled the man's will, swaying him towards close combat. Odd for a mage- so Dorian didn't berate himself much for failing to notice.

Secondly, the man was Spirit-bound. To what sort of spirit and for what purpose, Dorian couldn't guess. He'd only concluded this due to a chance look at his weapon- a summoning circle was inscribed into the hilt. An insanely reckless thing to attempt- unless your will and the spirit's could work in perfect unison.

  We have something in common, at least!

Though Dorian was positive none regarded him as an Abomination.

Lastly, the Herald was unaccustomed to such close work with humans. Dorian rarely overheard conversation but frequently witnessed him seeming lost, needing elaboration on what appeared self-evident.

Overall he was somewhat peculiar, even for an elf.

  “You know...” Dorian mused while building a small fire for the night. “I'm already feeling chipper. It's probably a trick of the mind, since there's potential for a meal...but wouldn't it be funny if my desire was feeding into itself?”

An unamused grumble responded and he frowned at his shadow- slumped morosely against the cave entrance, like a wrung out towel.

  “Yes, yes, I know that's not how it works.” Dorian rebuffed, scowling. “I'm just saying I don't mind all this creeping around! Or I don't mind it yet...give it a while, I suppose...”

  The Herald of Andraste...

  …probably also does not speak to himself.

  “Well I'm not speaking to myself, am I?!” He countered, huffing. “I'm speaking to you!- And you're being especially bratty today!”

Desire slouched down the cliff-wall until it was almost flat.

Dorian spluttered with laughter.

  “You're like a cat, you know!? An ominous, perverted cat.”

The creature bubbled sadly, giving no answer.

Rolling his eyes, Dorian would have returned to working on the fire- except Desire's head emerged from it's puddle, leering down the slope.

  “Hrm...?” He followed it's gaze, squinting. “Something happening down there...?”

A tall figure wandering from camp, accompanied by a much shorter one- the Herald and his dwarf ally.

  “Where are they wandering off to on their own...?” He frowned at his shadow. “Should they really be doing that?”

Desire shrugged, shoulders casting ripples along it's spooled form.

  “For some reason...” Dorian swiped his staff from nearby. “I don't like it. Let's make sure nothing bothers them, yes?”

Maker forbid the elf get himself killed- it would be a waste of his whole week!

The pair strode upon the King's Road, moonlight leading their path and their path leading Dorian- always close behind but not too close. Eventually they paused at a road-marker, muttered between themselves and appeared to wait.

  Are they missing one of their people, or something..?

Regardless of the situation, whatever was meant to occur, didn't. Exchanging anxious stares, the duo walked further along, ignorant to Dorian's presence as he slunk from shadow to shadow.

Within minutes all heard the same thuggish shouting- accented in Ferelden, somewhere amidst an outcrop of limestone. Sprinting forward, the Herald and his companion hunched behind cover, in frantic discussion.

Wanting a full perspective, Dorian climbed ledges as stealthily as possible. Once he had an ideal view, he sat and assessed.

Lyrium-smugglers again, of course. Carta, perhaps? No one Dorian had ties with, whoever they were. More than a dozen- with enough heavies in their ranks to pose serious threat to a miniscule party.

A party of two, for example, would likely be obliterated.

Dorian could see why there was discourse between the Herald and his friend. An Inquisition scout knelt among the group, bleeding and mid-interrogation.

  So they did lose someone...

Now the Herald wished to attempt rescue and his companion reasonably disagreed. Even out of earshot, Dorian could tell who was winning- through pure stubbornness alone.

Glancing behind, he spotted that looming, bratty shadow of his.

  “I hope you're ready to actually work for your meal.”

Not a second passed after his speech before all erupted into chaos. The Herald careened through the group, carried along paves of ice. Flailing and visibly irritated, the dwarf scrambled onto a high-point, where he could launch arrows from some elaborate crossbow.

Skidding from his perch, Dorian leapt into the fray.

Blood had already touched ground- that didn't bode well for anything near him. The grinning skull of his staff raised high, he willed every drop of lost life into himself. It swirled around him in crimson ribbons- he hadn't even channelled a form before people screamed.

  “MALEFICAR!”

Earning a wild, blood-crazed laugh from him as he barrelled forth, slicing enemies with their own pain- weaponised. Anyone struck deep enough and lacking proper resistance became crazed, attacking all in their proximity.

It had been a while since he'd stretched his abilities for combat- quite invigorating, really! Not to mention all the blood- a fair snack, though not his usual preference. Licking some from his fingers, Dorian launched into another attack and found himself brushing passed blizzard.

Swivelling to face it, he bore his teeth in a personable manner.

Winter-touched eyes regarded him quizzically, then vanished into battle.

Moments later and it was done- together with the scout, their enemy was reduced to a pile of corpses.

Inhaling, Dorian glimpsed the dwarf and recruit in breathless conversation. Elsewhere stood the Herald- sheathing his weapon, sighing with relief.

  Talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk.

  Maker, stop it! Yes, I see.

This was the closest opportunity he was chance to get.

Awkwardly, uncharacteristically- Dorian hesitated.

  TALK-TALK-TALK-T

  I SAID STOP THAT! I'M GOING!

Mustering composure, he sauntered that direction, beaming.

  “Greetings, friend!”

The Herald blinked from wiping stained hands, eyes widening a second later.

  “...Who are you?” He mumbled, automatically hunching to Dorian's level- as he'd witnessed many times.

  “Me?”  He laughed airily- had to restrain more when the elf flinched. “My name is Dorian Pavus...and you would be the Herald of Andraste, no?”

Much hesitation from this so-called Herald- the poor man's eyes darted as if seeking attendance, white complexion reddening. Effortless traits for human eyes to see- and then there were aspects only Dorian would see. A quickened pulse, hitched breath, heightened temperature...

  Well, that answers that question...

  But...I really didn't intend to give the poor fool a heart-attack.

He hadn't even exercised his will in any fashion- just introduced himself! The Herald's clan must have been terribly isolationist, if that's all it took to fluster him.

  “That...is what they say...” He managed after a long pause, brow furrowing. “...Have you been following me, Dorian Pavus?”

  Oh, I like that.

  So formal.

  “Only for your own protection, my darling Herald!” He chuckled warmly, gestured to their fallen opponents. “As you can so clearly see.”

Another drawn out silence, pale features struggling to stay that way and failing- pink had spread to his neck.

  “You are from Tevinter.” He observed clumsily.

Dorian's head tilted.

  “Nothing gets passed you, does it?”

The Herald didn't seem to know how to respond, grasping air dumbly and again searching around for aid. Deciding to provide such aid, Dorian inquired;

  “Since I gave you my name- may I have yours?”

Though fidgeting, he offered;

  “Lavellan.”

  “That would be a last name, no?”

  “I do not tend to give my first.”

  “You don't 'tend to'...” He smiled, shamelessly familiar. “So you might make an exception?”

Something about this caught the elf off guard- absolutely flushed. He merely stared as though Dorian proposed he strip to his undergarments.

  “Uhh...hey, there.” The dwarf ambled to them before Lavellan could recover.

  “Ah, hello!” Determined to make a good impression, Dorian stuck out his hand. “Dorian Pavus! Pleased to make your acquaintance!”

The Dwarf relented to a light shake, inspecting him doubtfully.

  “Varric Tethras- pleased to make yours..” He knit his brow, glanced between the two men. “...I guess.”

All the while Lavellan was statuesque, face crimson and attention flying everywhere.

  “...You okay, Lord Heraldness?”

  “I...am fine- I am fine.” He practically squeaked. “I think...Cassandra will wish us back at camp...right now...im...immediately.”

Incapable of restraining himself, Dorian roared with mirth and hoped it didn't sound unkind.

  “We'll talk soon, my dear Herald.” He bid farewell with more obvious warmth. Lavellan swiftly fled- half-marching, half-scurrying, Varric at his heels.

-–

Dirt and blood raced beneath his feet. Evallan Lavellan fought to correct the hue of his face.

  “...Are you okay?” Varric- barely audible above the sound of his heartbeat.

  “I am fine!”  He snapped, shrill. “I just...was not prepared for...for that.”

Varric's expression scrunched inwards, perplexed.

  “Prepared for what?”

Speech died on Evallan's tongue, frowning helplessly at his companion. He barely had the words in his own language, how could he explain with the vocabulary they both shared?

All the human mages he'd encountered- they were so reserved, tame.

He couldn't imagine any human to carry themselves so shamelessly- draped in blood and bone, cackling and grinning through danger. Formidable yet exercising flawless control- so at ease in his nature.

And Mythal have mercy- Those eyes- deadly flares of red and gold.

  Absolutely wild.

  He must be mad.

  “...Oh, Maker's breath, Herald...” Evallan became aware he'd been glaring into space. “Don't worry- I won't tell anyone you took one look at the weirdo-'Vint-blood-mage and turned into a tomato.”

He flushed every shade of red imaginable, snapping-

  “I said I was not prepared!”

  “I wasn't prepared either!” Varric chortled. “And I do not look like you do right now!”

Groaning, Evallan sped his pace, wishing for nothing more than to hide in his tent and scream until humiliation subsided.

[thunderflight]

Don’t trust the Master tattoo artist [part 3]

this might be my final post. i dont know if im gonna make it out of this one alive. but im gonna damn well try.

in my last post, i was in a pretty tight spot. things have gotten much worse. it's so fucking bleak.

we both fell asleep.

i dont know at what point it happened. i was pretty delirious from the concoction of shitty energy drinks and lack of sleep. that godforsaken eerie music from the masters room in the palace kept drifting in and out of my head. it was at the point that my vision was swimming and blurring that everything just went dark.

it was a stupid fucking plan from the beginning. i panicked. i didnt know what else to do. but i couldnt protect him in the end. all i did was dream.

my dream was dark. it was just bleak, endless darkness. i stumbled around, but i felt lethargic. it was like i was moving through mud...no, i was definitely sloshing through something. the smell hit me all at once. it was rank and decayed, a stench strong enough to burn the hairs off your nostrils.

it was a pit of death. the squelching below me told me all i needed to know. i was wading through blood, corpses, decaying flesh, everything.

in the back of my mind, i felt a faint recognition. dread filled me inexplicably, and i shoved the thought far back where i couldnt see it anymore.

i began gagging as i panicked, stumbling over myself. it felt like i was being suffocated. suddenly, a light caught my eye, twinkling in the distance. i crawled towards it. it took an eternity as i writhed and shuddered in the refuse.

suddenly, i was at the edge of solid ground. i pulled myself onto it, shuddering as i collapsed on the dirt. hot, humid air wafted over me as the leaves overhead rustled. i was on an island of lush jungle. i peered behind me. there was a sea of god awful blood, gore, disgusting shit as far as the eye could sea, and it shimmered and shifted in the light.

i retched violently on the grass.

i was covered from head to toe in that shit. i wiped myself off, marveling at how real everything felt. i raised my head and saw a silhouette facing the jungle.

it was brent.

i called his name, relief washing over me as i struggled to stand and run after him. he didn't move, just stood in a trance as he stared at the jungle. time felt like it slowed as i ran towards him, extending my hand as i reached for his shoulder. his long black hair cascaded over his shoulders, swaying in the breeze...

my heart stopped.

it was too late. i was already grasping his shoulder. her shoulder. the master turned around and smiled at me devilishly as she stabbed me in the chest. the motion was fluid, as natural and as firm as a handshake.

i fell to the ground, clutching my chest. she stabbed me over and over on my back and my arms, slicing away my flesh. i screamed, but blood cut off my voice, gargling in my throat. i coughed hard, spitting blood.

she yanked me by my hand and started dragging me through the thick forest floor. i screamed and groaned, struggling to free myself from her vice grip, but it was of no use. as she dragged me, shapes shifted in the shadows. their eyes glowed hungrily. they followed us, staying far enough back that i couldnt see them, but close enough that i could hear them panting with desire. it was too dark to tell, but i think i left a trail of blood as my body was dragged across the floor. they followed it like bloodhounds. they could probably smell flesh blood miles away. especially after being surrounded by decay for so long.

it wasn't long before we reached a clearing. i noticed when the tree line stopped and the black night sky stretched onwards forever. there were no stars here, only an inky darkness and a red-tinted moon nestled in it like a bloody jewel.

she threw me across a stone altar. i could hear a sloshing sound from below me once more. i looked down and saw a disgusting river of dark blood and flesh oozing by. the stench overwhelmed me again as i gagged once more, trying to scramble backwards, but the master pinned me down and held me there. with my cheek against the stone, i looked across the river, and i saw a terrible creature.

a great figure loomed on the other side of the river. it was a horrifying amalgamation of all the creatures id seen in my last dream. it writhed and shuddered, its big red eyes piercing through the darkness. it was many things at once aside from this shifting thing: it was a big black goat creature, horns curling and nostrils flaring; it was a disgusting boar, bristling fur and bloodied tusks; it was a giant serpent, scales shimmering in the light as its forked tongue darted in and out of its gaping mouth. the last vision i feared the most of all.

the master spoke to it in a language i did not understand, but the faint feeling of recognition returned. i understood what i was. it responded in a screech, a roar, a bellowing undertone, a million voices grafted into one.

she lifted a knife and slit my throat. my blood rushed out and poured into the river, gushing more than i could possibly have in my body. it never ended. it just poured and poured and poured

the great figure approached us, crossing the river easily in giant strides. the creatures behind me chanted and crowed in another language, eager for the thing to arrive. it bent down and drank from the blood pouring out of me, its maddening eyes meeting mine. and i knew what it knew. the river of blood was everything that it consumed, it was me, it was man. we were all for it - we were its sacrifices.

and we had all lined up to be marked for it.

the chaos of voices rose to a crescendo, rushing towards me from all sides. everything leapt at me, digging and tugging at my flesh, consuming me. fear absolutely overwhelmed me. i felt utterly helpless, abandoned, cursed.

but defiance blazed in my heart. from somewhere deep inside me, a place so incredibly deep that it must have been my soul, i pushed back. it was an absolute defiance in the face of a power greater than i could ever understand. and it worked. i was fading away. the din of demonic noise grew fainter, but it changed in tone. it was confused and desperate. the master hissed in my ear, you cannot escape! you can never escape us!

and with a pop, my eyes flew open.

my ears popped again. my heart was pounding in my chest. i was covered in sweat and...yes, blood. i glanced around the room, realizing brent was no longer with me.

i called his name, fear gripping my heart. as i stood, though, my head spun wildly. pain shot through my back like a million knives stabbing me all at once. blood was oozing down my back.

i ran into the restroom, ripping my shirt off. the tattoo had of course changed again. i stared at my arms in the mirror, shocked. all of my tattoos were gone. my ruptured skin was almost flayed, bumpy and streaked with blood. the snake was frozen in the middle of devouring the last tattoo on my sleeve.

utter despair racked me. i started sobbing in a bitter, clench-jawed cry. why us? why any of us?

i knew the answer was simple: we were just the unfortunate flies that had been caught in the web.

i whipped around, storming out of my bedroom and into my kitchen. i fished around for my butcher knives, grabbing two and gripping the handles tightly. i looked down at my tattoo, eyes flashing dangerously. the surface of it was hardened, like it was made of actual scales, and it was raised from my damaged skin.

i took a deep breath, steadying myself, and then stabbed at it, gritting my teeth. the surface was harder than i expected. it was like stone. my butcher knife glinted off of it with a spark. i groaned in dismay, inspecting it. part of its tail was still wrapped past my shoulder. i couldnt just cut the arm off...

thats when i heard something clang outside.

i stiffened. i turned slowly to the back door, seeing that it was slightly ajar.

i walked towards the door, fear gripping my stomach. my mouth was dry. i licked my chapped lips, my eyes wide. i slowly pushed the back door open. it creaked as it swung lazily on its hinges.

there was a long, dark shape curled on my porch. the light from inside the house illuminated it as the door opened. for the first time, i noticed that it was nighttime again. long shadows stretched out from the shifting thing on the ground, reaching into the night.

a gigantic snake was writhing slowly on the ground. it was huge, at least twenty feet long. i stared at it in shock. trembling. it reminded me of those nature documentaries of anacondas after theyd just swallowed something five times their size, after their jaws had unhinged and theyd spent hours swallowing their prey...

dumbfounded, i realized that there was a gigantic lump in the snake, too big to be normal. big enough to be human.

i let out a low cry, horrified realization dawning on me. its eyes glinted at me from the ground, hateful and proud.

i rushed at it, chopping at its head with my knife. it spasmed, but it was too weak at the moment to fight back. its scales were as hard as stone, but its underbelly was soft. after a few chops, i had partially decapitated it. dark black blood poured from its neck and its spasms grew weaker.

i cut at the underbelly where the giant lump was, slowly slicing it open. when i had finished slicing open its stomach, a figure slipped out of it.

i vaguely recalled a video i had seen of an indonesian farmer that was eaten by a giant boa constrictor. instead of an unnamed man on the other side of the world, my friend brent was the poor fuckin soul that came sliding out of the snake's belly. he was already slightly decomposed, his skin white and veiny, his mouth bloodied and raw.

i stumbled back, collapsing onto the floor. a wave of emotions hit me, but i couldnt move. brents dragon rolled a bit, but it stopped moving after a while. the awful, steaming corpse laid motionlessly in front of me. i couldnt even cry. i couldnt even think. i just stared lifelessly. i understood that this, too, would be my fate.

in that dark moment, an idea dawned on me.

i stood, turning and leaving brents body unceremoniously on the ground. i washed my hands in the kitchen, staring out into the dark night emotionlessly. i grabbed my phone and texted an old buddy of mine.

i took my car and drove. i cant remember how long it took. it didnt matter. i met up with my buddy and handed him some cash. he gave me exactly what i came for. it may have been propofol, or seroquel, or whatever. it doesnt matter. i just told him to get me something that would knock me out cold.

i parked my jeep down on some side road, laid in the back seat, and took two pills.

it completely knocked me out. i think its been a day since then.

and it worked. i didnt have a single dream, and when i awoke, the dragon hadnt moved.

i just cried and cried at first. relief and grief mixed together into an awful feeling. i feel groggy but im finally well rested. and i finally have an answer. ive bought myself some time.

when i checked my phone i saw ember had texted me. the palace was shut down. most of the masters customers are either dead or missing. the name she used, lilith, didnt register in any police system. i dont know what to tell her, so i havent texted her back yet. i may need her help though. ryan too. though he hasnt been answering texts.

i dont know what im gonna do. maybe try and cut my arm off. seems like that could kill me. but maybe ember and ryan can help with that. its still sort of on my shoulder, so i dont know if well be able to get it all off. ive thought of sleeping just enough to get it to move again. and then having them wake me up. so we can get it off of me for good.

this is so much to ask of them though. i dont know if the police are charging them with anything. i dont know if theyve found brent yet. i dont know what to tell them about brent or how to go about any of this.

so im just typing this out as i think. theres gotta be a way out of this. i dont want to die. at least ive rested now and i can try and plan my next move.

until then, i guess, if anyones reading this, stay safe. and dont get any tattoos from someone who calls themselves the master.

(Give this some love on reddit!)