#knaveofnyth

[starwrittenfates]

⭐

𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

Send a “ ⭐ ” and I will list muses I would be interested in throwing at yours, or potential muse combinations if you are also a multi. If you like any of the suggested combinations, you are welcome to come plot or start interactions with them.

My Muses I'm interested in throwing at yours:

Synnove Willowlight (my Tav oc)

Ellana Lavellan (My Inquisitor)

Faith Trevelyan (My other Inquisitor)

Cirilla and Lara Dorren (just cause they have the ability to travel to other worlds and such)

Potential Muse Combinations:

I'm open to interactions with any. A good majority of them are my OCs (except for Ciri and Lara), so we could see where things go and what dynamics would work or not. Feel free to also message me to talk about it if anything interests you.

[fereldensheroesa]

What really was a reprieve, though? Coming back to Skyhold to answer questions? To run through Leliana's newest finds, Josephine's proposed alliances, Cullen's new attack plans (that she would never actually use). "I'm someone who has been in the right place at the right times, or.... well, the wrong place at the wrong times, if you want to view it that way." That was how she viewed it.

It was as if he almost read her mind, the same line of thought in a way. "I intend to head into the Dales. While I expect them to be overrun by Orlesians, I would still like to respect the elven culture. ---Annoyingly, Solas has proven incredibly unhelpful with that. I'm a little tired of having daggers glared at me whenever I'm respectful of the Dalish."

❝ A reprieve is needed, from what I have been told, you're quite the hero.❞ He replied and watched her with his honey-colored hues, his ivory brows knitting forward a bit as he shifted his weight.

❝ Right. ❞ He began before strolling closer to the other. He peered down at her.

❝ I am growing restless just idling here, I concede, so I insist that you take me with you when you're ready to leave once more.❞ He had slept enough, thousands of years enough and he truly wanted to see what he could do after such a long slumber.

❝ I hope you won't mind the company? ❞

[virrcvxs]

.: It had been so long since THE DREAD WOLF had seen Merrick that he was uncertain who it was greeting him, at least initially. For it seemed to Solas that he remembered the man wrong, imagined his eyes a little darker, recalled his hair a different shade, such changes as distant memory distorts. The zing of instant recognition that followed dispelled any doubts he may have had— it was Merrick, alive, in the flesh. A face from the past, standing before him in full color as though no time had passed. Certainly the last development he’d expected.

—Whether the reappearance of this old friend would become a blessing or a curse would remain to be seen, however.

.: “Aneth’ara, Da’len.” A chill reply, especially cold for one greeting someone he regarded so warmly.

.: Well did he know the damp haze of recent Uthenera, like peering through one’s fingers at the world and blinking owlishly all the while. He studies Merrick from beneath his lashes, refamiliarizing himself with the details of the man’s face, seeking signs of good health—or otherwise—the way a praefect does for an elder waking from the long sleep.

.: Still, Solas cannot relinquish the mask of indifference plastered to his sharp cheekbones and hollow purple eyes. He dips his canary-yellow fingertips into a bowl of water and washes the paint from his skin, then wipes his damp hands with a rag, acting like nothing out of the norm was happening. A couple of old acquaintances meeting and nothing more.

.: “We should not speak here.” Murmured quietly, the rag being crumpled and recrumpled in his first. “On the battlements. Outside.”

It felt like some sort of fever dream if he was being honest. He had been locked in slumber for thousands of years. He awakened in a new world sundered from the old. The last thing he expected was to see a familiar face of a friend. Just not a friend, but one of his closest confidants.

Merrick entered Solas' chamber and glanced at the paintings upon the wall. A knot began to form in his gut as he soaked in the visage of memories long past.

❝ Aneth ara, Solas. ❞ he greeted and strolled over to the other.

❝ I have been talking to residents here...so much has happened since I fell into a slumber. The most surprising is that I would be reunited with a lost friend...tell me what of Mythal? Did she...Did she survive? ❞ He tried to hide the desperation in his voice, but nothing could hide the worry he had for his long-lost friend.

@virrcvxs

[fereldensheroesa]

The fray. The fray. The world was a fray, wasn't it? For people like her, at least. And for people like this other. Mages, elves, the other. That was all people saw. Otherness. That turned everything into this... world laced with trip wires, traps.

"A temporary reprieve." Though, she did prefer to be in the field to Skyhold. She could be less... idol, more her, when in the wilderness. "Heading back out, soon enough." Perhaps he would like to join. She was headed deep into the Dales, after all. A knowledgable elf could help, if he had that knowledge. Solas had... gained a place on her bad side with his behavior.

The world had changed. It felt stagnated. The mountains were different, and the air was stale. He was very aware of the absence of magic. He felt it in his own bones. He gripped to the fractured vestiges of his memory. Once he could summon magic like it was nothing more than breathing, but now, he had to concentrate to do simple spells--and the toll on the body. What has happened to his beloved Arlathan?

Thoughts billowed away the moment he spotted the Herald of Andraste--the Inquisitor.

❝ Well met, Inquisitor. Returning from the fray? ❞

@fereldensheroes liked for a starter.

[virrcvxs]

.: “It can be, and it is.”

.: The emotion breaking across the Dread Wolf’s countenance hardens into stone. His ancient eyes turn to slits and his nostrils tic, as though he were staring deliberately into the sun. “Her death crippled our homeland, and we warred for millennia. The People shed blood enough to fill the oceans twice over.”

.: “It did end, but The People were forced to pay a great price. And this was my doing.”

.: In another world Solas might have encouraged his friend to save his tears. But weeping would be the only appropriate response to the terrible fate of the elves. Indeed, his own eyes were glossy, moisture beading on his lower lashes. He turns away.

.: “Every beauty and virtue of our homeland has been destroyed. The People are mortal. Even now, they age and they die just as the Quicklings do. Our great institutions, our libraries, our cities, all have been left to decay.”

“Our age is done. You and I are relics of a past that the children of today do not recall.”

.: The cool air has a way of girding him against all the roiling emotions this resurfacing has inexplicably raised. As soon as he feels that familiar sting in the tips of his ears and his nose he vents a sigh of relief, allows his shoulders to slump. Regret, grief, self loathing— that old, poisonous cocktail, all of it melts away. Solas turns to his old friend and reaches out to cup his face in both hands.

.: “You look just the same.”

.: Solas’ hands fall. His face turns high and soft, a tangle of archaic Elvhen pouring from his parted lips. “So much has gone wrong. My mistakes are many. You have woken— and now you will hear tales of me from the shemlen of my evil doings, but their stories are false.”

.: A sidelong glance across the vast, snowy landscape allows him a brief reprieve from seeing the other’s face. He continues:

.: “Mythal is slain. The false gods are to blame for her murder, and they are paying the price for their misdeeds. But in punishing them, I have also punished The People.”

[virrcvxs]

.: The cool air has a way of girding him against all the roiling emotions this resurfacing has inexplicably raised. As soon as he feels that familiar sting in the tips of his ears and his nose he vents a sigh of relief, allows his shoulders to slump. Regret, grief, self loathing— that old, poisonous cocktail, all of it melts away. Solas turns to his old friend and reaches out to cup his face in both hands.

.: “You look just the same.”

.: Solas’ hands fall. His face turns high and soft, a tangle of archaic Elvhen pouring from his parted lips. “So much has gone wrong. My mistakes are many. You have woken— and now you will hear tales of me from the shemlen of my evil doings, but their stories are false.”

.: A sidelong glance across the vast, snowy landscape allows him a brief reprieve from seeing the other’s face. He continues:

.: “Mythal is slain. The false gods are to blame for her murder, and they are paying the price for their misdeeds. But in punishing them, I have also punished The People.”

.: It had been so long since THE DREAD WOLF had seen Merrick that he was uncertain who it was greeting him, at least initially. For it seemed to Solas that he remembered the man wrong, imagined his eyes a little darker, recalled his hair a different shade, such changes as distant memory distorts. The zing of instant recognition that followed dispelled any doubts he may have had— it was Merrick, alive, in the flesh. A face from the past, standing before him in full color as though no time had passed. Certainly the last development he’d expected.

—Whether the reappearance of this old friend would become a blessing or a curse would remain to be seen, however.

.: “Aneth’ara, Da’len.” A chill reply, especially cold for one greeting someone he regarded so warmly.

.: Well did he know the damp haze of recent Uthenera, like peering through one’s fingers at the world and blinking owlishly all the while. He studies Merrick from beneath his lashes, refamiliarizing himself with the details of the man’s face, seeking signs of good health—or otherwise—the way a praefect does for an elder waking from the long sleep.

.: Still, Solas cannot relinquish the mask of indifference plastered to his sharp cheekbones and hollow purple eyes. He dips his canary-yellow fingertips into a bowl of water and washes the paint from his skin, then wipes his damp hands with a rag, acting like nothing out of the norm was happening. A couple of old acquaintances meeting and nothing more.

.: “We should not speak here.” Murmured quietly, the rag being crumpled and recrumpled in his first. “On the battlements. Outside.”