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saphirered · 3 years ago

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Dance With Me

Vax'ildan knew you were going to be late at this annual ball in Emon. The invitation to party he couldn’t care enough to remember what for it was, according to Percy was more of a formality as the presence of the heroes of Tal’dorei seemed to be demanded rather than requested. Vax, much like most of Vox Machina doesn’t like being told what to do and might be prone to do the opposite, leading to Percy playing valiant mediator assuring all of them would attend and be on their best behaviour. Promises were made. Bribes accepted. But to convince Vax to attend all Percy had to do is say the right words.

“You wouldn’t want to miss your lover dressed in their best in company who’s sole purpose is to show off, would you? What a nightmare it must be to be dancing with all those vying for your attention and affections.” Vax knew the game Percy was playing but the damage was already done. The thought of you in the arms of another, the shameless flirting and call for your attention, people trying to woo you… That doesn’t do well for someone with a slight hint of possessiveness and jealousy. This is not to say he doesn’t trust you. He trusts you with his life. You had complained plenty of times before about potential suitors fighting for your attention and you getting so sick of it. And now he has the chance to interfere, how could he not try and help alleviate your suffering?

Dressed in his best Vax mingles among the people, sticking with his friends, to avoid being forced to participate in dull conversation. Maybe the events he was forced to attend by his father growing up weren’t as bad because there at least he would be left to his own devices. His sister and Percy took the lead when it came to dealing with the never ending string of nobles and other party guests but they could only occupy so much. Luckily he had managed to get some information about your whereabouts for the evening. Unlucky for him, he didn’t like the answer.

You were running late, having to finish up some matters and then your servant came back late from retrieving your garments for the evening from the seamstresses. In a rush you got ready and not bothering with a carriage you instead relied upon magic taking you to your destination. A bit risky perhaps but making an entrance at least should distract from your tardiness. Dressed in fine silks, fitted perfectly to your body, flattering your figure and enhancing an air of regality and grace, hair styled and face ready for battles of wits, words and impeccable manners you set off.

Vax was in yet another boring conversation with some local lord asking about his opinions on matters of state after the defeat of the Chroma Conclave. He wanted nothing more than this talk to end and no matter how he gently tried to direct the lord towards the end of this conversation, the lord seemed persistent, another few of his friends joining in. Vax was very tempted to just pop out the wings and remove himself from the situation but Percy had warned him about causing scenes and threatened to unleash his sister on him if he misbehaved so he’ll refrain by holding on to the last strings of patience.

Lucky him because right as that last thread was about to snap, gasps sounded as a bright flash emitted right at the entrance of the room in full view, heads turning. There you appeared, in all your glory, not a hair out of place, and while in your eyes Vax noticed a slight hint of stress and panic, your face didn’t show it. You strode in like you owned the place, casting your gaze over the room and meet Vax’ eyes. Your stress alleviates just a little but before you can take another step you’re swarmed by people, wishing you welcome, asking about your most recent works, complimenting your looks and attire and on and on and you can already feel yourself going insane.

“Save me.” The words are whispered and sound out of nowhere but Vax could recognise your voice out of one in a million. Looking over he sees you as you pretend to have a coughing fit; the perfect cover for you getting your message spell to him. Rather rudely he excuses himself from the nobles gathered around him. He’s sure that’ll come back to haunt him later but he doesn’t care. Right now Vax has to save you from countless suitors unaware you’re already very much spoken for. The relief in your eyes when you see him approach is enough for him to be fully content to deal with the aftermath and the shouting he’ll get later.

“There you are! I’ve been waiting for you all evening.” Vax speaks, deliberately loud enough as he pushes past the people to you. The smile that graces your lips has many of the witnesses around you envy or hate Vax. He may just enjoy those responses a little too much.

“I’m so terribly sorry to have kept you waiting but would you allow me the pleasure of your company on the dance floor?” And jaws drop, jealousy, glares towards Vax, stutters and all round surprise wash over the people around the two of you as you offer your hand to Vax. Apparently you’d been asked to dance plenty of times since making your entrance, plenty of suitors wishing to swipe you off your feet and show them just how skilled they are in the social graces. Apparently you denied all of them the pleasure. Vax without a doubt takes your hand pressing a kiss to the back of it and giving you a look that may be a bit too unsuited for this kind of company so you give him an amused but disapproving look as you take the lead towards the dance floor.

“I hope you have a plan for an escape because I haven’t the faintest clue how to dance like this.” Vax leans in as he whispers in your ear making sure no one but you hears. Your lips curl up and now it’s your turn to be a bit smug.

“I’ve seen you dance plenty of times. You’ll be fine.” You assure but you know exactly what he means and one look at the dancing couples following the very specific steps of an intricate waltz has Vax panicking slightly. He doesn’t fear making a fool out of himself, despite rather not doing so, he’s more worried about tarnishing your reputation.

“You severely overestimate my dancing skills, darling.” You take both of his hands in yours, turning your back towards the dancers and begin to slowly take steps backwards guiding Vax along. He doesn’t stop you but were you not the one to ease him along he’s sure he’d have stayed exactly where he was.

“Then maybe it’s time for you to follow my lead, dear. Don’t you worry. I’ll go easy on you.” You stand right on the edge of the dance floor, the rustling of moving fabric only overshadowed by the band playing the fancy songs to accompany the waltzes. Before Vax has a chance to respond you yank him towards you, into the dance and take the lead. The panic and his eyes being trained on his feet make you laugh but continue. You prevent him from stepping on your toes a few times, quick enough on your feet to do so as you guide him into the steps. You give him a chance to get used to the pace and a feel of the rhythm.

“Stop looking at your feet. Unless you think they’re more interesting than everything else.” You release his hand to lift up Vax’s chin and make him look you in the eye. Never have you seen the rogue so out of his element. For someone so trained in the dexterous graces, he’s easily broken by the notions of a dance. It’s cute. Like a baby bird spreading its wings for the first time.

“I can think of plenty of better things to look at but I fear if I look up, I’ll fall to your enchanting beauty and lose all sense of composure.” The shameless flirt makes you snort. You’re pretty damn sure Vax said so intentionally for others to hear and you have to admit, his courage is admirable.

“Keep those compliments coming and perhaps I’ll be merciful in my enchantments.” You lean in closer as if about to kiss but Vax has caught onto the pattern and knows you’re teasing as the next step you take is one backwards to spin under his arm. He too has been paying attention and when you spin, his hand finds your hip, your back to his chest looking over your shoulder at him.

“Tease.” He says before you spin again until you’re face to face following along the pace of the dance.

“Like you mind.” You smile and this time when you step in close again, you close the distance, your lips moving against his before pulling away again all too soon. Both of you are aware of the watching eyes. So much for announcing your relationship properly as custom per the rules of high society. Let people talk. Let people gossip. Let people know you’ve claimed the heart of the dragon slaying, dagger loving, champion of the Raven Queen. And let the world know he’s claimed yours.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #vox machina x reader #vax x reader #vax’ildan x reader #critical role #vox machina

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utilitycaster · 3 years ago

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I keep alluding to this in my tags about TLOVM so I just wanted to write it up in a supremely self-indulgent act: There's a lot of stuff in Critical Role that I love dearly and which I have absolutely no desire to see in an adaptation because actual play is incredibly different from animation.

One of the biggest examples I can think of are the post-dragon downtime episodes. I adore these. They are some of my favorite episodes from Campaign 1. I also think that, with a couple exceptions, most of the material within them can be cut, and the things that should stay in are primarily conversations.

Actual play tells a story, but it also is, ultimately, a TTRPG, and there are a number of things you need to manage that you wouldn't do with something scripted. A big one is making sure your players have fun, which is why they have those downtime episodes: it's draining to constantly have your PC's life on the line! You need to have an episode where the biggest concern is "do I win the cannonball competition" so that the players don't burn out! But that doesn't translate well into an animated series when your season is, and I cannot stress this enough, about 5 hours long, or less than 1.5 average CR episodes long when you strip it down to just the gameplay parts. It looks ridiculous to spend a entire episode in the mansion's hot tub when there are three dragons still at large and five vestiges to pick up. Kamaljiori is another example - it's a very cool D&D setpiece, but you really don't need it for narrative reasons.

Actual play also requires two other things: tons of dangling plot threads in the hopes that the players will seize on at least one of them; and pretty intense emotional prep. Aramente to Pyrah is a fantastic example of this. We get an extra hint of the Conclave (on top of the one from Brimscythe's lair) and we allow Marisha-as-Keyleth's-player to see Pyrah. Because here's the thing: if Marisha has never seen Pyrah, it's a name on the backstory part of Keyleth's character sheet, and it's hard to improv shock and grief over its destruction. But if she's been there, she has the emotional connection for its destruction to be a real gut-punch in-game.

In a scripted show, however, you can guarantee the characters pick up on the subtle hints that the players might miss, so you can give people just one strong reason for their character motivations rather than several, and you can give the actors time to get into the emotional space they need the way you would any scripted work. Which in the end just means that you can edit down actual play stories pretty intensely without issue. I really think the Chroma Conclave, as a story, would lose more than it gains if you adapted it into multiple seasons, and it's okay if a lot of things end up cut.

#i'm too sick (not covid) to do real things today but not sick enough to shut up and i'm going to make it everyone's problem #long post #critical role

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eponymous-rose · 4 years ago

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E129 (March 16, 2021)

Tonight’s guests are Matt Mercer and Taliesin Jaffe!

Matt, on DMing Luc’s Revivify: “That was weird. It’s one thing when it happens because of player action and circumstances and the choices they make. When it’s entirely on me, unintentional, and just realizing different chess pieces you’ve set up, that’s rough.” It was especially rough since this was a child NPC related to a PC. “I was hoping somebody had a spell slot left.” He kept in mind that there are two clerics in the room and that they could resurrect the next day even if the Revivify went poorly. “A good chance, since it’s his first time. Okay, okay, okay, okay, I think we’ll be okay, we’ll see how this goes. It was really stressful in the moment! I did not set out to have that happen, but when I realized what was going to happen, I tried to see it through.” He wouldn’t have prevented a chance to bring him back. “There may have been an offshoot short-run series of games to find a way to bring him back. I would have found some way to correct the circumstance so the players could feel good about moving forward with the story and there was no undue punishment beyond their control.”

Taliesin on Cad’s response: “This is a big thing if you’re a cleric. It was very much coming in like an EMT. Everything should be fine... hopefully. Just focused in and got it done. The minute things started to go south it was like, okay, that’s the next problem.”

On Yeza’s feelings: “It is a very complicated situation. I think he, much like how Veth is trying to figure out what it is that she wants, I think he’s trying to help her find that while also figuring it out for himself. I think Yeza’s also noticing that because Veth’s the more active of the two of them she also takes the weight of the responsibility and the blame for things when they go wrong, unnecessarily. Especially when he himself acknowledges that he’s partially at fault for even dragging everyone in with the Conclave. As much as he’s appreciative for them coming back for him, there’s a lot of back and forth. He’s filled with a lot of regret, too, but he’s very much trying to convince Veth that it’s a burden that she doesn’t have to keep to herself, that they can share it and work through it together.” Matt mentions that, as an actor, he really loves exploring interactions between characters first and foremost. “Especially when you don’t know where it’s going to go.” He also praises Sam as a scene partner - “I really cherish that.”

How does Caduceus feel about Revivify and Speak with Dead? “Speak with Dead is an interesting middle ground, because he knows that it’s not actually speaking with the dead. It’s really just-- it’s almost medical, really. This is just reactivating a brain at a certain point. It’s practically just a muscle twitch at this point. That doesn’t really prod him in that direction. Revivify is interesting, because it had never really come up. At first I thought of it as bending the rules, but it’s not bending the rules. You knock over a plant, you replant it, you don’t stare at it and go ‘Well, that’s over.’ This is just doing the work. No, we can bring this thing back to health. This is all part of the circle of life, that sometimes we can save something. Especially given the stress that he’s put himself through over the past year of being with these people. He’s started to think of himself a bit as a battlefield medic, and triage is just part of the deal, and it’s completely acceptable.”

Did Trent really just want to talk? “Yeah, that circumstance, as it came together, Trent would never have arrived if there wasn’t an indication that there was some kind of infiltration or attack. Even beyond that, it was Jester breaking the concentration on her charm on that one guard when she created her duplicate.” The guards’ job is to inform a member of the Cerberus Assembly, and Trent lived the closest. “He didn’t know who it was, didn’t have any expectation necessarily. The minute he saw the illusion, he knew a powerful magic user was involved.” Seeing Caleb was an unexpected surprise. “I don’t think he wanted to throw down necessarily. He was more interested in figuring out exactly what the nature of this was.” Matt had multiple battlemaps that didn’t get used. “They managed to cleverly out-maneuver him in his surprise of seeing them.” The Nein rocketed up his priority list after that very quickly. Taliesin: “We’re so fucked.”

On Cad being “Uncle Caduceus” to Luc: “It’s the thing he misses most about home, is being a juvenile shit. It’s nice to be able to express that part of him again, as opposed to the serious, life-threatening, constant intensity. I’m very at home just being a little difficult.”

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Beau! (_rumor_king, photography by kourtyardproductions on Instagram)

On Marion: “Like a lot of people in this whole narrative from the beginning, getting swept up in things larger than her and trying to adapt. This is a circumstance she’s avoided for a long time. She’s having a rough time in some ways, but simultaneously, she’s enduring. Like a mother would. She’s adapting, she’s making it work. Without much of a choice, you just kind of do the best you can and lean on the people around you to help you where they can. Luckily she has a daughter there. She’s probably surprising herself at how well she’s doing given the circumstances.” Matt talks about how weird it is to feel proud of character he’s created. “Of the many things Marion is incredible at, she’s a studier of the human condition. She’s seen and heard the stories of so many. That gives her a very special perspective. She can see elements of that fractured individual within Caleb, and knowing the good that he’s brought to his friends, and knowing he’s possibly saved her life from bad circumstances, she couldn’t not speak up. She very easily falls into that role of maternal comforter, because it’s one of the many things she’s really good at, she enjoys it, and she can see well when people need it.” He’s been enjoying having Marion along for this (despite the difficult circumstances) because he was always a little sad that they only got to see her for short periods of time.

On the Blooming Grove’s safety: “He’s afraid that it’s a premonition. He’s not pinned it down, but he’s happy to let his imagination wander. He at the very least feels like there’s a reason he’s having these thoughts, and that there’s a reason to go there. He’s a big believer that these things don’t just happen. He’s more likely to think that there’s a good reason to go versus a danger to go. He’s had a couple of ominous warnings lately, and he’s not used to them and not a fan. He’s more likely to read something like that as, there is something there waiting for you that you have to discover. There is something that is going to be helpful to you, even if it hurts.”

On Astrid: “While maybe not as readable in overall personality as Trent is, I still want to be careful to not discuss things that are still being discussed within the game and tossed around as possibilities. Astrid is another complicated character, as anyone would be who’s been through the life she has. I can’t say too much. I can say she’s definitely legitimately happy to see Bren/Caleb after all this time.” His reemergence definitely caught her off guard. “We’ll have to see where it goes from there.”

On Cad’s successful Divine Intervention: “He’s definitely hit the ‘on a mission from god’ stage. He’s been that way for the entire campaign of, this, this is what I’ve been waiting for. Even when it sucks a lot, it’s been nice that those things have popped up to remind him, no, no, you’re doing it right, everything’s good. Probably not going to survive the next week, but you’re doing good! Not quite 1 in a 100 chance, but I forget so often to make that roll, and it’s such a great roleplaying roll. I don’t know how at level 20 you could deal with the fact that you can do that every day.”

On Zeenoth getting his comeuppance: the kidnapping was a concept Marisha brought up for Beau’s backstory, and Matt went with it even though it was opposed to the Cobalt Soul’s philosophy because he knew rooting it out would make for an interesting story. “I felt it was an important beat to bring to her, because it was something that she was wronged by. And to show that there are still some good people out there who are trying to make things right.” After the tentative peace, dealing with this became Dairon’s next focus. “I was glad we finally got to it. So many people don’t have the opportunity in their lives to get that sort of justice and vindication, so if I can bring elements of that justice into our world, even for our own hope, I’m going to do that. Especially for my wife’s character, especially for a character that deserves that.” Taliesin points out that if it had come too early, Beau wouldn’t have believed it.

Cad’s thoughts on the Tomb Taker betrayal? “He knew it was gonna come at some point. There was no way that was gonna last. He was hoping it was gonna last a little longer. He was really hoping they had a vested interest in getting them all the way to the end. Nope, this is apparently as far as we go, and he was not prepared for that.” He was expecting the potential for de-escalation. “Caduceus is the only character in there that doesn’t have a history with Lucien. I think he sees him a little more clearly than everybody else does. They’re all looking for this person that Clay, at least, is of the opinion that he’s just not there. This is a very manipulative, very dangerous infernal human. Just smarter than all of them. Really aware that there is no calculating what the hell is going to happen. Conversation is the only way you can deal with someone like that.”

Fan Art of the Week: An amazing Caleb closeup! (rynn_birb on Twitter)

Taliesin on Lucien: “I’m excited he’s the one that’s going to kill us all. Poetic that this is how the game ends.” Matt was delighted when Taliesin handed him carte blanche to do what he wanted with Molly’s past. “I was like ‘shit... oh, wait!’ The character of Lucien was always intended to be an antagonist so that it would have been Molly being chased by the person who wanted their body back. But then it happened that he got his body back.” Taliesin: “He’s so much worse than I ever hoped.”

Matt, on the Holy Avenger: “I hadn’t thought to initially even give that sword.” The good roll was the only reason Kima handed that over. “Well, sure, you get the sword. It was very reactionary, it wasn’t my intent originally. I was like, well, I mean, there’s two avenues she can take with this.” Multiclass into Paladin, or lean into the fact that her subclass is essentially a barbarian paladin. “This really works out in a uniquely beautiful way. Let me see if I can lay out a path for her to earn it.”

On Cad’s attempt at lying blowing up in his face: “He was like that kid that had a really bad day in high school and was like, you know what? I’m going to let loose. This is it. I’m gonna dye a streak in my hair. And then tries to give himself a haircut and ends up with half bangs. Well, okay, obviously I’m not that person. I was feeling a little distraught and I didn’t handle it well. Maybe I’m going dark... no, I’m not going dark. Nope.” Matt mentions how much he relates to Caduceus.

Matt, on the Eyes: “What can I tell you? I’m enjoying the hell out of it. The moment they began to really push to read that book, I was like, okay, this is on you. I’m excited for the point in the narrative where the march continues back to Eiselcross. I am almost impatient - not really - because we’re on the cusp of getting to more of the meat. There’s so much to learn, so much to see, so much to explore. I love instilling my players with absolute terror.”

Thoughts on Jester’s Tarot reading? Taliesin cackles. “Molly made the cards, so. Did it to himself, he did, he did.” Matt: “Once again, another example of things working out unexpectedly and too perfectly for an improvised moment. Fuck.” Taliesin: “Bless the wisdom of chaos.” Matt: “I love that even at this point in the campaign, Molly continues to fuck with people. I’m just so proud. That deeply shook Lucien, for reasons.” Taliesin: “It’s the everlasting gobstopper smoke bomb.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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everestv-themuse · 5 years ago

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the wheel of fortune: optimism, success, luck;

“We did it! I can’t believe it!”

possible AUs/settings/ideas: genie au, chance/fated meeting

Thanks for the prompts! I definitely didn’t plan on this getting so far away from me, but it was so fun to write! Here’s an alternate, chance first meeting (before the Conclave/Inquisition) for Shaelin Cadash x Sera with special guest nonbinary BFF Lantos for @apostatetabris @alxxiis @alxxiiswrites @dadrunkwriting

“In and out,” Lantos whispers the promise for the umpteenth time that night. Shaelin just rolls her eyes and continues working at the locked door. “We go in, get the—”

“You mean you go in. Someone has to keep watch,”

“Oh, uh, sure, good point.” Lantos admits, continuing to pick at their warhammer’s grip absently as their eyes dart up and down the hallway. “I’ll go in, get the cut, we get out, we’re big fucking heroes and that asshole gets stiffed. Just like he deserves.”

“Yeah, that’s about what I agreed to,” Shaelin says with a released breath as the lock clicks open. She puts away her tools and steps aside with a nod to the other dwarf. “Your turn, partner.”

“Right, um,” Lantos stares at the door slightly ajar. “Yeah. My turn. No problem. Totally fine. Super easy.”

“Lan, this was your idea. But if you’d really rather get out of here now and just—”

“No, no, I’m going, I’m going, shut up.” The warrior gives the door one last look over and steps inside.

“Fucking soft,” Shaelin mutters under her breath as she leans against the wall to keep an eye on the hallway. She shivers, though, at the expanse of it. For such a rich noble, the asshole’s castle was dark and cold, void of any life or warmth. She had been surprised to notice no real furnishings besides stiff statues of armor and the occasional Fereldan banner. There weren’t even paintings or fancy vases or whatever else rich people liked to collect, just empty walls and spotless floors and—

She shivers again. There’s that feeling again. Like she’s being watched. She slips into stealth on instinct but stands her ground, feeling the shadows wrap around her to the point of functional invisibility. Silently, she unsheathes her daggers and crouches in a ready position.

“Lantos, you idiot, this would be a really good time to—” Her mumbled plea cuts off at the sound of a crash behind her and then a very familiar, hissing curse.

“Fuck it! Lin, run!” Her partner yells one second and the next second, they’re zooming past her and tossing a comically large gemstone over their shoulder at her. She barely manages to juggle it and her daggers in hand before racing after them.

“What the fuck did you do?! What did we say about ‘in and out’?!”

“Listen!” Lantos growls as the two sprint down the dimly lit corridor, hearing the shouts of pursuing guards close on their heels. “I got in and now we’re getting out. How was I supposed to know the guy hired security?! You did catch the cut, though, right?”

“Yeah, shit, barely!” Shaelin shouts back, really wishing there were fancy vases around to topple in their wake and slow their pursuers. “What, you can’t hold it?!”

“I’m a two-handed warrior, Lin! My hammer’s enough to run with!”

“And you didn’t think to bring a pouch to carry the cut in?!”

“No, okay?! Is that what you want to hear?! That I fucked everything—”

Something whizzes past Shaelin’s ear and she barely has time to flinch. Then there’s a thunk, a clatter of armor, and she glances back in time to see one guard with an arrow through his helmet topple to the ground and take two of his cohorts down with him.

Shaelin shivers.

And then someone grabs the two dwarves and jerks them around the corner, throwing them both against the far wall. Lantos wheezes and Shaelin covers their mouth with a slap, staring at their sudden rescuer and then at the remaining guards racing past their hiding spot. The three wait for another silent moment, listening for the sound of thundering footfalls of guards none the wiser in the distance.

“Hey. Thanks,” Lantos pants after Shaelin removes her hand. “That was too close. Where, uh...where did you come from?”

The stranger whips around, bow in one hand and dagger in the other, moving to press the blade against Lantos’ neck before Shaelin could react, all while staring her down. “You. You’re gonna put that gem back, got it? That, or your friend gets a slower death than that guard back there.”

“Wh-what the fuck?!” Lantos splutters, dropping their hammer with a clang. “Who’s side are you on?!”

Shaelin’s gaze holds steady and so does the stranger’s, eyes hard and steel grey behind the bandana she wears to hide her face. But it’s not enough to cover her ears. An elf. A damn quick one too.

“I’m not bluffing, redhead! Get walking!”

“Hold on, hold on,” Lantos interjects. “What exactly do you want here? Because you obviously don’t work for the rich asshole of this place and let’s all be honest here, we stole that gem fair and square.”

“Fair and square?! I’ve been casing this place for weeks! And then you two burst in and my whole plan goes to shite, that’s what’s square!”

“Your plan?! Well listen, lady, first come, first serve, alright?” Lantos hisses back and Shaelin is suddenly tempted to just let them both at each other’s throats. Leave it to her best friend to argue with the very person holding a knife to their neck. “And it’s not like we picked the guy clean! There’s plenty of other shit for you to steal, believe me!”

“That’s not the point!” The stranger huffs, as if exasperated by the obvious stupidity. “You steal that, the asshole’s most prized shiny thing, and it won’t just be the guards who get their pay docked. He’ll take it out on his servants too! You get away with your big score and the little people left behind get treated like dirt, even more than they were before.”

“Yeah? I can see why that’s not my problem, so why’s it yours?”

“Because they came to me to fix this for them!”

“How? They paying you to kill him?”

“Don’t have to pay for that,”

“Oh, how noble of you!”

“Right, coming from the petty thief,”

“You were going to murder a guy!”

“Shut up! Both of you!” Shaelin’s eyes flash a warning to Lantos before turning back to their captor. “Look. We don’t even want the gem. We were going to sell it. But more importantly, I can already hear the guards circling back.”

“You can?” Lantos’ eyes widen and as the three fall to silence, the unmistakable clangs of approaching armor could be heard. “Oh shit...”

“Exactly. So,” Shaelin slowly sheathes her daggers but keeps the gem firmly in hand. The stranger watches in hesitant silence. “You clearly know your way around the place. I hold onto this while you lead us out of here. Then, you can take it, sell it, and give the money to those little friends of yours for their trouble. Everyone gets out of here alive but the asshole is still out one shiny thing.”

“You...you don’t even want a cut of the profits?”

“We don’t really need the money. Apparently, we just couldn’t stand hearing the story of how the guy won it at an auction for the millionth time. I guess it’s about the principle of the thing?”

“It is!” Lantos pipes up. “The cut is clearly Dwarven craftsmanship and the guy flaunts it in our face every single time we come to drop off a lyrium delivery. It’s insensitive and cruel when you think about it.”

“Whatever. Fine.” The stranger drops her blade and shoves Lantos toward Shaelin. “I’ll agree to your stupid plan, but only if your friend shuts up the whole way.”

“Deal.”

“Whoa, hey, I don’t get a say in this?!”

The stranger slinks off down the hall and Shaelin follows with a roll of her eyes. “It isn’t up for debate. That was the deal. She’s leading us through certain death right now, so whatever the mystery lady says, goes.”

“Pfft. Mystery lady?”

Shaelin turns away from Lantos’ pouting to meet the gaze of the woman in front of her, eyes meeting a much softer grey this time, more playful. “Well I didn’t get a name, did I?”

The woman arches an eyebrow before blending into the shadows like it’s second nature, leading the way through an empty bedchamber and out again through a servants’ door. “Didn’t hear you asking,”

“I’m asking now,” Shaelin says in a hush, crouching at her side as they wait for a patrol to pass by before continuing down the hall. “I’m Shaelin, my friend is Lantos. I don’t normally throw the name Cadash around, but maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“Carta, yeah. Your uniforms gave you away the second I saw you picking the lock.”

“Knew there was someone watching,” Shaelin chuckles softly. “I’m impressed it took me so long to notice you, I’m usually better about these things.”

“I’m impressed you were bullheaded enough to steal from your employer,”

“Buyer,” Shaelin corrects. “And it wasn’t my plan. Can’t stress that enough.”

“Right.” The woman’s lilt gives way and Shaelin can hear a smile in her voice. Her chest tightens and it feels like a victory, even if she’s not sure why. Lantos gives her a shoulder nudge and she realizes she’s falling behind, staring too intently at the way the woman’s eyebrows furrow and her ears flick towards her voice, anything that would betray the emotion hidden behind a red bandana.

“Still,” Shaelin speaks up once she matches pace with the woman again, making their way outside and into a small courtyard. “You didn’t answer my question. Can’t call you mystery lady forever.”

The woman glances back at her and it’s a guess, but Shaelin could swear there’s a smirk in her eyes. “How about Red Jenny then?”

“Red...I should’ve known,” Shaelin shakes her head as she watches the woman rifle through a nearby bush before revealing a coil of rope. “Red Jenny is a hydra, that’s hardly an answer.”

“You’ve heard of us then?” The woman certainly sounds surprised, but she doesn’t pause. She throws the lassoed rope up over the hanging roof of the courtyard and pulls it taut when it finds purchase.

“The Carta has to know about all the players in the game,” Shaelin answers as she watches the woman scramble up the rope to the roof and then lean over the edge to wait, eyes alight but silent. Finally out of the shadows and in the open, moonlight glints through the woman’s hair and the pale gold of the strands freezes Shaelin to the spot as she stares. Lantos gives her another nudge and she splutters out a cough. “Is that really the only answer I’m gonna get, Red Jenny?”

The woman laughs and Shaelin can’t climb the rope fast enough just to be close enough to truly witness it. In her rush, she almost slips on the shingles, but a nimble arm reaches out to grab and steady her. It’s the closest she’s been to the woman, as she’s caught staring into silver eyes, and then a hand reaches up to pull the bandana down to hang from a slim neck.

Shaelin shivers.

There’s no need to guess now, she’s definitely wearing a smirk as she answers, “For now,”

#apostatetabris #alxxiis #alxxiiswrites #frantic typing #Admin Posts #Shaelin Cadash #dadwc #da drunk writing circle

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serbarris · 6 years ago

Photo

Vaimah Glwrin, Inquisitor.

Nickname: Vai, Varric's nickname for him is 'Swish'

Reason for name: Vaimah means to wield wind, and the swish is on account of how Vaimah wields his great axe, creating a swishing noise.

Birthday: 29th Firstfall

Race: Dalish

Age: 33 in 9:41 Dragon (36 at the start of Trespasser)

Gender: cis male

Place of birth: near The Coastlands of the north

Places lived since: The Glwrin clan are a stationary clan in the Coastlands, so much of his childhood was spent there, he then moved to the Brecillian forest to be with the Sabrae clan when they needed his mother, Athrin to train a new Halla Keeper. He lived with the Lavellan clan in the Free Marches for a period and joined their representative to the conclave, at which he became the Herald and lived at Haven and Skyhold.

Parents’ names, backgrounds, occupations: Vaimah's mother, Athrin was the Glŵrin clans Halla herder and his father, Sylavun, a master craftsman for the clan. Athrin marvelled at the delicate designs Sylavun carved, after many brief encounters Athrin worked up the courage to properly talk to Sylavun and they fell in love and married, the pair had trouble conceiving and were finally blessed with Vaimah, but they could not manage to have another child.

Number of siblings: none

Relationship with family: They are very close, and only grew closer when their family moved from the Glwrin clan to the Sabrae clan, and surrounded by strangers. As Vaimah grew older he started to become more independent and came into his own without being coddled by his parents,

Happiest memory: Whenever the Halla were allowed to roam free on the plains, he was allowed out with them and just ran and enjoyed the freedom and open space they could explore.

Childhood trauma: When he was around 10 down at the docks, at which his clan traded, a Shem pirate grabbed him and threatened to cut off his ears, as they were 'valuable'. He had quite a few run-ins with these black-market salesmen, but the network of the docks knew of these pirates and helped prevent any serious injuries.

Children of his own?: Vaimah has 4 children of his own, all with Faralen Sabrae, Caeren is the oldest, then Amoran and the twins; Linneth and Oronth

If so, relationship with their mother?: Faralen and Vaimah started on a very tense relationship, they were both very solitary. They knew of each other through mutual friend Eilan Mahariel, though after he and Tamlen died in the ancient ruins, Vaimah and Faralen looked out for each other. They slowly but surely relied on each other more than they could realise, grew very close, and fell in love (even if Faralen didn’t realise at the time). They have a very good relationship now, and Vaimah is a constant reminder for Faralen to voice her feelings and they tend to balance each other out nicely.

Age he became a father: Vaimah was 36 when Caeren was born, 38 when Amoran was born, and 42 when Oronth and Linneth were born

PERSONALITY

Positive Personality Traits: He wants to help the greater good, decisive but adaptable, good-natured,

Negative Personality Traits: Reckless, a bit abrasive, protects the whole rather than self-preservation, oblivious to some things, sees the world in a very black and white way, insecure, determined, easy to startle

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

MBTI Type: ISFJ

Interests: He loves the creation of things, learning how to make the weak materials strong and how to change an object so inherently it becomes unrecognisable

Mood Character is Most in: Distracted

How does your character deal with being afraid?: He runs in head first towards whatever is making him afraid and confronts it

Any reoccurring nightmares?: ones of drowning, of the waves he trusts and finds comfort in betraying him, letting him fall beneath

When are they most in their element?: in the heat of debate, his morality guides him and he trusts in his own judgement completely; his gut feeling helps him feel like despite his memory loss, that he does know things and there must be a reason he is able to say things with such surety

What do they have a soft spot for?: his family and hallas,

What events have had the most impact on his life?: The death of Eilan Mahariel, they were firm friends and were a fleeting romance together, the death of Keeper Marethari and having to rise with Faralen to stabilise the Clan; The Divine Conclave leading to memory loss

Enraged When?: threatened

Greatest Strength?: his morality and judgement

Greatest Weakness?: his fear of his memory loss impairing his judgment and deviating from who he used to be

Biggest regret: Not voicing his feelings for Faralen sooner, there was just so much that got in the way, but in a way he’s glad he didn’t say he loved her sooner, it probably would have made the memory loss a lot harder to deal with

PHYSICAL

Height: 6″3

Weight: about 14 stone

Build: muscular af

Nationality: Ferelden, Coastlander

Disabilities: amnesia after the conclave, and still suffers from slight temporary memory loss

Complexion : quite dark skin, worn complexion

Face shape: idk face shapes

Distinguishing facial features: JAW, also his scars

Hair colour: dark brown, now going grey

Usual hairstyle: he had a completely shaved head for a while when he got his vallaslin as it extends into his hairline, nowadays he has an undercut and short on top, very easy to maintain, the top grows during Inquisition and he sometimes ties it back in a bun. Due to his arm being gone after Trespasser he will shave it all when it’s too long then grow the top and repeat the cycle as he can shave by himself but not trim the top.

Eye colour: lilac with specks of golden brown, like a Mediterranean storm

Glasses? Contacts?: nope

Style of dress/typical outfit(s): tough leathers and armour, when in casual wear more loose soft leathers and tunics

Typical style of shoes: practical hard-wearing boots

Health (is this person usually sick? or very resilient?): very resilient to illness, he's one of those who will be kind of ill for a long time, rather than just be dying for a week and be fine again.

Grooming (does she/he wear makeup? shower daily? wear only clean clothes? pluck her eyebrows?): Vai washes whenever he can, he loves water anyway, he's not really bothered about how clean he is though.

Jewellery? Tattoos? Piercings?: Vaimah has some ear piercings he got from an Antivan woman down at the docks, and boy did he have trouble hiding them from his parents, his vallaslin is after June due to him and his father being craftsmen.

Accent?: Deep and slightly abrasive Welsh accent

Unique mannerisms/physical habits (bites nails, talks with hands, taps feet when restless): his eyebrows move a lot when he talks, any subtle emotion is through his eyebrows

Athletic?: he is built like a brick shithouse

INTELLECT

Level of education: he knows some dalish history as well as being a skilled craftsman

Level of self-esteem: low when he moved to the Sabrae clan at around 20 years old, he was a lot taller and muscular than those in the clan, he also had to reprove himself to master Ilen as a craftsman when he moved and he felt belittled. Now he is better but doubts himself due to memory loss

Gifts/talents: aptitude for crafting things since he started at a v young age, an is very good with animals thanks to his mother

Shortcomings: distracted very easily, easy to startle and creep up on

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): articulate,

“Left brain” or “right brain” thinker?: left??

Artistic?: masterpieces or stick men no in-between

Mathematical?: nope

Makes decisions based mostly on emotions, or on logic?: a mixture of both, but he leans more towards emotions

Religious stance: He has become more open to the views of the humans and their maker given the Dalish have so many different gods, what's one more?

Cautious or daring?: just enough of both to be reckless but with cause

Most sensitive about/vulnerable to: attacks on his personality and family

Optimist or pessimist?: optimist

Extrovert or introvert?: Introvert

RELATIONSHIPS

Current marital/relationship status: Officially bonded with Faralen in 9:43 Dragon

Sexual orientation: Bisexual

Past relationships: Many casual snogging sessions etc. down at the docks with curious people (he doesn't judge), and one casual relationship with Eilan, but Faralen is the only proper relationship he has had

Primary reason for relationship ending: Eilan died

Level of sexual experience: relatively high with Eilan (vaimah gets pegged 2k19) but low experience with the ladies

Story of first kiss: So this elf really fancied Vaimah a lot and they just started to talk to each other alone and go on walks and he slipped dragging Vai with him and they just fell on top of each other and it happened

Story of loss of virginity : Him and Eilan were just horny young elves

A social person? : he makes acquaintances and good impressions very quickly, but he has very few good friends

Most comfortable around (person): Faralen, or Amath, the Sabrae clans' chef, he is very much the big brother/uncle figure in the clan

Oldest friend: Amath or Envin, they didn't judge him as much when he joined the Sabrae clan, and helped him socialise

VOCATION

Profession: Inquisitor

Past occupations: Second in command of the Sabrae clan, Liaison of the Sabrae clan, Hunter

Passions: crafting, especially patterned wood and little figurines like his father.

Attitude towards current job: it’s alright but saving the world is a bit stressful

SECRETS

Phobias: scared of worms

Life Goals: not to die and regain all his memories

Dreams: to live a long happy life with his family

Greatest fears: Corruption, he doesn't want to see himself become the bad guy

Most ashamed of: when he lets his anger get the better of him

Compulsions: tapping his teeth together when thinking

Obsessions: checking here is always an escape route

Secret Hobbies: he collects little things that remind him of his family, like a lock of hair from all his children (when they've had a haircut) or little flowers or shells from days out things like that

Secret skills: he is actually amazing at cooking but fucking hates doing it.

Crimes committed (and was he/she caught? charged?): got accused of stealing a lot when he was a youngling at the docks, but he was never actually caught red-handed so it never happened okay

DETAILS/QUIRKS

Light or heavy sleeper?: heavy sleeper, when he is gone he is dead to the world, but Faralen learned he has a little tickly spot around the back of his armpit and when tickled it will wake him up. This was very useful when she was pregnant and wanted tiny cakes.

Lefty or righty?: right-handed

Favorite colour: blue

Cusser?: Like a fucking sailor. As an elf he usually takes the creators names in vain, but after the conclave and being surrounded by humans he beings to use the Maker and Andraste’s names in vain, which is very confusing to pretty much any other elf he comes across.

Smoker? Drinker? Drug user?: Socially drinks

#oc: vaimah #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor lavellan #i love my son #mine #bringing back the ocs in style with a new gif and my baby boi #oc: sylavun #oc: athrin #oc: faralen #oc: eilan

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forthelulzy · 6 years ago

Text

Heaven By Violence: Chapter 7

There are secrets that we still have left to find There have been mysteries from the beginning of time — “The Riddle”, Five For Fighting

Dorian and Tacere were both right: Cullen arrives back not half an hour after they set out, shouting orders to clear a tent for the Herald. He is wild-eyed and out of breath — the withdrawals have not been treating him kindly, especially under so much stress. He looks like he might collapse, so Leliana takes over, forcing him to at least take a seat in the command tent. She sends Mother Giselle his way.

She then rounds up Vivienne and Solas, as well as the surgeon. Cassandra comes in shortly, and Irene is swept off to the tent. “We will be a moment, my dear,” the First Enchanter says, closing the flap in Cassandra’s face. Leliana leads the Seeker back toward the command tent. There is nothing more they can do, except…

“Where did the other two run off to?”

“Tacere and Dorian were right behind us,” Cassandra says, eyes narrowing. “I left them behind, I did not think…”

Then she explains what they came across and Leliana frowns. A possessed wolf? Demons are rarely attracted to animals, as they have little of interest to them. This kind of thing usually only happens when mages force demons to use beasts as hosts. And who is this mysterious stranger? How did he find the Herald?

A shout comes from the perimeter. They’ve returned, and Leliana immediately notices three things.

One, the newcomer and Dorian are in a hushed, if heated discussion, heads bent together. Tacere strolls along beside them, whistling. Two, the other Tevinter mage isn’t dressed oddly. His clothes are so nondescript it could only be a conscious choice. Three, his face is both familiar and foreign, like a memory with a few details subtly changed.

“He told you he and Tacere were extended family?” she murmurs to Cassandra, watching the group approach. At the Seeker’s nod, she continues, “I think I know who our new friend is.”

She strides forward to intercept them. “I understand you saved our Herald and sent up that flare,” she says. He’s wary when confronted, eyes darting everywhere, seeing everything. She moves in for the kill. With a gracious smile, she inclines her head and says, “You must be Caius.”

He flinches, stepping back with one foot as if by reflex, but he stops there. “I am,” he says carefully.

“Your sister-in-law told us about you,” Josephine says from outside the command tent, a few paces away. “It is a pleasure to finally meet.” Dear, sweet Josephine, always trying to make people comfortable.

Caius frowns. “And what exactly did she say?”

“Not much. Merely that she came to the Conclave looking for you.” Josephine doesn’t mention the other part, the part with the patricide. But Josephine has the best face for bluffing of all of them.

He lets out a sigh. “Yes. The Conclave. I was supposed to be there.” He closes his eyes, only a flicker of grief passing over his face — but Leliana sees it, and it is enough. Survivor’s guilt. Maker, she knows it too well. “I would rather not tell that story more than once.”

Leliana nods. “When Irene wakes, then.”

“If only—” he cuts off, shaking his head and rubbing his temples. “I fear I would be more hindrance than help in there. By your leave, then.” He does not actually wait for their leave, and stalks off. Tacere has long since wandered over to the haphazard infirmary to settle by Julien’s side again, and Caius joins him. That leaves only Dorian, who coughs awkwardly and remarks, “Such a strange fellow,” before returning to the Chancellor. Somehow he’s taken responsibility for Roderick, though as far as Leliana knows no one asked him to. It is good that he has someone looking out for him.

Mother Giselle emerges from the tent behind Josephine, shaking her head. She waves Leliana and Cassandra over. “He is troubled, and I do not know how much my words helped. I believe an ear from those who have been by his side far longer than I would be best.”

Leliana nods, glancing at Cassandra. Her faith has been shaken, but the Seeker has clung ever more firmly to the Maker in recent months. Perhaps if Cassandra did most of the talking…

Mercifully, the Seeker seems to understand her glance, and leads the way.

They find Cullen with his head in his hands in the corner of the tent. He hears them come in, and when he looks up he’s free of tears. Good; Leliana would hate to see him cry unless she were the one to prompt it. She hates seeing anyone cry unless she’s the cause. Something like a mix of grief and self-hatred lingers in that honey gaze, though. This can’t just be from finding the Herald, can it? No, she remembers, Cullen was in charge of the defense, and so many were lost at Haven.

“This isn’t about what that mage said to you?” Cassandra says, not unkindly but not gently either. The Seeker doesn’t do gentle.

“Not— not entirely,” Cullen admits, voice rough, “though it is yet another way in which I have failed to protect those I’m supposed to.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. He didn’t manage to grab his pomade from Haven, and it’s starting to curl again. “I remember now. He was one of a few apostates caught in the months running up to the Kirkwall Annulment. It didn’t seem— Maker’s breath, it didn’t seem important at the time. We’d brought him in, an apostate from the wilds. There was another, but he escaped. Irene’s husband, must have been. In any case, it was obvious Caius had never been to a Circle before. The only reason he wasn’t made Tranquil, at the height of the madness, was that he made no trouble at all. Kept his head down. He must’ve slipped away in the chaos, but we had no way of knowing for sure. So many died…”

And, according to all accounts, every last phylactery had been destroyed in the Annulment, a fact that made it all too easy for mages who escaped the immediate danger to keep running.

“I… I will speak to him, try to make amends.”

“All right,” Cassandra says. “And before you get it in your head, you were not responsible for what happened at Haven. If anything, you saved many lives with your trebuchets. To think of defense when the rest of us had become complacent in victory… Cullen, it was not your fault. Should you need confirmation, Irene will wake soon. We are still going forward with that, correct?”

The others may miss it in the dimly lit tent, but Leliana swears Cullen’s cheeks, already flushed from his story, darken just a little bit more at the Herald’s name.

***

Leliana leaves the tent; Cassandra had seemed to want to talk with Cullen further, and while the whole conversation was intriguing, Leliana makes the calculated risk to let them have their conversation. If their Commander falls apart, her curiosity will have been for naught.

“We are still going to name Irene Inquisitor, yes?” Josephine says as they walk across to the central firepit. The war table wasn’t saved, and many reports were lost, but what they do have now that wasn’t there an hour ago is hope. Now, Leliana knows, they will have the luxury of arguing again. She almost looks forward to it. That is, if Cullen can muster the will to argue. He is her favorite person to roll her eyes at, after all. His more idiotic moments are almost funny. And his lack of finesse is legendary.

“I hope so,” Leliana says. “I would have hoped for someone less like a charging bull, but she’s shown a surprising amount of adaptability to her role as Herald.”

“She’s smarter than any of us give her credit for, it’s true. I do wonder how she would fare at the Game, given a little training. She won’t like it but— ah?”

At Julien’s bedside, Caius and Tacere have been talking, but then the Tevinter leaps up and storms away toward the edge of camp. Leliana almost follows him, but he stops within sight, staring out into the snow with his arms crossed.

“He asked, but he did not want to hear,” Tacere says softly, and when Leliana looks at him the elf is staring back, amber eyes glowing in the encroaching dark. He tilts his head, so much like a crow that Leliana wonders where her own are now. She sent them away at the first sign of attack, but they have yet to return. “How must it feel to be dead? Could anyone alive survive it?”

She deals in riddles but does not have the patience to figure out what that means right now; it is enough of a challenge with Cole — and just because Leliana has yet to see the spirit after the attack does not mean he isn’t here, too. “Will there be a problem?” she asks instead.

Tacere looks away, stares at Caius’ back for a long moment. His hand is on Julien’s, stroking circles into the templar’s palm. It has been many days since Irene found him at Therinfal, and he still hasn’t woken. “He is afraid, and grieving in his own way,” Tacere says finally. “Hmm. Is not the whole world afraid, in one way or another? But he has never taken uncertainty well. Much like Irene, he is best when there is a problem to solve, and being told the problem is gone… No, Sister. He will make no trouble. Oh, he will posture, but he is ultimately harmless to anyone but himself.”

“Is that so?”

“Blood sacrifice? Demons?” Tacere smiles again, too wide. “Ah, ah. Despair has been hunting him for years now. He has not broken. Too much pride, though that one has yet to notice. Dear Sister, sweet Sister, the hounds are too concerned with racing each other to notice that the fox has his own teeth.”

Leliana pauses, but Tacere does not drop the smile. “You’ll forgive me if I need to ask him myself,” she murmurs.

Tacere dips into an elegant bow fit for court — while still seated — and blows her a kiss.

Something strange is going on here, and it bothers her that all of her efforts into digging up Irene’s past missed this. The murder was the biggest one, but that her brother-in-law was alive the whole time — she would have liked to know that. Irene never asked her to find Caius, apparently believing him dead. She turns away and approaches him, slipping into her old habits as she does so. She makes no sound, of that she is sure, but before she can hail him he sighs and lets his arms drop to his sides. He doesn’t turn, but speaks lowly if clearly into the dusk.

“What do you want now, Tac? I need — why? Why would they do that?” His voice cracks on the question, and he hugs himself against the chill.

“Do what?” Leliana asks, keeping her voice neutral, soft.

Caius still startles, whirling around with lightning crackling in his palms. He recognizes her, though, and the sparks dissipate. “Maker, don’t do that. You sound just like Tac when he’s trying to sneak up on me.”

“I wasn’t aware I sounded like anything.”

He scoffs. “He said the exact same thing the first time I caught him. But with a lot more pouting. Stupid sneaky types…” He continues mumbling under his breath, before cutting off and turning sharp blue eyes to her. “What do you want?”

“A lot of things,” she says easily. “From you, though? I want to know if you’re a threat.”

She’s expecting him to shrug off her query, as many have before — mage or not — but he shakes his head and grumbles, “Of course I am. I’m not intending to be, but the fact is… I am. You know that.”

Leliana cocks her head. “For being a mage?” She’s not about to blame him for that.

“For being—” Caius waves a hand to indicate himself, “—being a person. Particularly a noble one. We do tend to run roughshod over the commoners, but no one’s clamoring to lock up all the bluebloods.” He crosses his arms, twisting his lips like he’s just bitten into rancid meat. “I know exactly what you mean, though. Yes, I could potentially become possessed at any moment. I could go to sleep and wake up with glowing eyes and murderous intent. It’s been that way for a long time. Julien promised to kill me, years ago. I would hope any one of you would do the same.”

“Even Cullen?”

His eyes drop to the snow between them, expression darkening. “Even he. Perhaps I have been unfair, but my grudges are living things that I have fed for so long I have become attached to them. Do not ask me to forgive just yet, not when—” He cuts off, rubs the bridge of his nose in a gesture that reminds her of Cullen at his most aggravated.

She waits. He wants to tell her, she knows it.

Finally he shakes his head violently and grinds out, “The Tranquil are dead. All of them.”

She can’t stop her gasp, the words like a blow to the sternum. “All of them?”

“Every last one. Tac said the Venatori killed them — the ones who made it to Redcliffe, not left to die by the rebel mages when they left the Circles. They’re using their skulls in some kind of ritual.” His voice gets rougher as he continues, “Tac found a house full of them. Rows and rows of skulls on shelves. They’re dead.” He draws in a ragged breath, shakes his head again. “Do not ask me to forgive. Not now.”

She nods, but her mind is already whirling with this new puzzle. What could this ritual be for? She needs to know as soon as possible— but her crows are all gone. They’ll find her soon enough, no matter where she is.

“I wish to stay and help, though,” Caius says slowly. “I don’t like being scrutinized, but I do understand the reasoning behind it.”

“Unfortunately, it is not my decision to make.” Leliana does not say that it will be Irene’s, that all their hopes are pinned on the woman currently fighting for her life in a tent a short distance away. She thinks back on what the Herald said about her husband and brother-in-law. “I would like to know the story surrounding your exile, though.”

Caius huffs. “Oh, is that all?” Bitter sarcasm laces his voice. “Not even Irene knows those details. Colm hates— hated talking about it and so do I.”

She narrows her eyes. “You know I can easily find out the truth myself.”

“Oh, I doubt you’ll find even half the truth. And not easily. The Imperium thrives on lies.” Caius stands his ground, staring her down. “If my inclusion in this… Inquisition depends upon it, then I may share the relevant facts. But then, that’s not your decision to make.”

Her mask almost slips, damn the man. Her faith has been shaken again, this time in herself. She failed to recognize a threat until it was at their door. In any other circumstance she would have a subtle warning or witty retort ready, she thinks, but she is tired, too tired to continue this. Regardless, she will be watching.

Nothing will escape her notice again.

***

Cullen and Cassandra return from their heart-to-heart, the Seeker finally as tired as the rest of them and the Commander looking better than he has since before the attack. It is a temporary boost at best.

They group on the far side of the fire, near the tent where the Herald is still fighting. The faint hum of healing spells, and the glow that flickers through the thin hide walls, tell them that. Vivienne and Solas snipe at each other, but the mere fact that they are speaking at all is a sign Irene is getting better. Leliana sighs, shuffles the precious few reports she managed to save. So much was lost. So many were lost. But they have her.

She sweeps her gaze over the camp. To the left, the open-air cots with Julien and Roderick. They are both there because there is nothing left for the healers to do. Roderick will die soon — it is incredible that he hasn’t yet, perhaps a testament to the man’s stubbornness — and Julien, she is told, just has to wake up. The healers found no traces of red lyrium in him, but there was the infection, and possibly head trauma. It is a waiting game, at this point, to find out.

Straight ahead, a few of the myriad members of their bedraggled Inquisition have gathered around the fire. Varric is sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, listening with half an ear to Sera rant about… something. Whatever it is, she’s animated about it, waving her arms around and occasionally wiping at her runny nose. “Stupid, stupid daft tit, thinking she could just—” is the extent of what drifts over to Leliana, before Sera cuts off and presses the heels of her palms to her eyes, rubbing furiously. Varric nods and rests his chin on his knees, staring into the fire. He says something to the elf, but Leliana can’t catch it.

Mother Giselle crosses from the right, where she has been speaking to a few of the soldiers, to Chancellor Roderick’s bedside, and Leliana knows. Flissa approaches as well, steps shy, and draws Dorian away while Mother Giselle gives the last comforts to Roderick. Leliana had heard the Vint had rescued a citizen, but hadn’t thought to ask who. Dorian rises higher in her esteem.

“The Chancellor is dead,” she murmurs to no one. Cullen sighs and rubs his nose.

Vivienne chooses that moment to sweep aside the flap, stare imperiously at the advisors, and declare, “The Herald is stable.”

“Her injuries…?” Josephine asks.

“She will keep her nose, but the scarring will be extensive. Full range of movement should return within the week. She will fight again.”

Vivienne moves away from the tent, presumably off to find rest, robe-dress swishing around her legs. Cullen starts forward, pauses, glances back. Leliana rolls her eyes and moves ahead of him, ducking into the tent without preamble. Dear Maker, the man is about as subtle as a druffalo.

Within, Irene lies prone on the cot. The surgeon is in the corner, gathering her tools and putting them away. Solas is busy arranging the blankets around and over Irene, careful not to brush over the neatly-stitched gash on her chest. It is maybe a handspan from end to end, and the flesh that is sewn together is pink, new. The elf casts a spell under her when he is done, the marks glowing crimson then fading to barely visible. A warming rune. After how close Irene came to freezing to death…

The jagged patch of scar tissue on the Herald’s cheek has changed color: no longer blue and black on the edges but a dark red that will eventually fade to match the rest of her skin, with time. She is still pale, but not alarmingly so. Her nose, crooked and ill-healed from some injury long before they met, is at least whole. Thank the Maker for victories large and small.

The surgeon leaves quietly, and the others file in, circling Irene. Solas glances at them, tilting his head. “I put her under a spell to keep her from thrashing while we worked on her wounds. I can remove it and wake her. It will have no ill effect on her recovery.”

Leliana nods, and Solas snaps his fingers before leaving as well.

It is a moment before anything happens, but then Irene groans and shifts, tossing her head. She moves to feel her chest, but Josephine grabs her hand and holds it gently while Leliana leans forward and says, “Herald?”

Irene’s eyes snap open and she jolts up, dislodging the furs and nearly headbutting the Spymaster. “Shit, shit!” she gasps, jerking her hand out of Josephine’s grip and running it through her sweat-soaked hair. Then she lifts the other and stares at the mark. Her shoulders tremble.

“It’s not… I thought I was dead,” she whispers, voice cracking and breaking like ice beneath their feet. Twisting her head, she fixes Cassandra with an almost pitying look. “The throne of the gods was empty.”

“Pardon?” Cullen says, even as Leliana shifts around to half-kneel on the cot and grip Irene by her shoulders. She doesn’t shake them, but her touch seems to ground Irene, who closes her mouth and takes a deep breath through her nose. “Herald. Irene. What happened down there? Who is the Elder One?”

Exhaling, Irene begins her tale.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #heaven by violence #lulzy writes

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for-the-dales · 5 years ago

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Chapter 5: Varric

Chapter 1 (Leliana): https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/185692342364/the-path-forward-chapter-1-leliana

Varric never minded much just sitting and watching the world pass by, as long as the world was interesting. At the present he was sitting on a bench with his back against a wall while tuning up Bianca. He watched as the activity in Haven ebbed and flowed around him. Thedas’s second weirdest company got back from the Hinterland this morning after spending a week running all around those hills. Mother Giselle had been nice enough, didn’t want to execute the Herald on the spot. Small improvements. Even didn’t think she should be jailed for the rest of her life just for being a mage. Honestly the woman was a bit of a radical.

The killing bad guys who hurt innocent people, hunting down supplies for refugees, and even closing rifts became a little routine while they had been in the Hinterlands. It got a bit monotonous. The fun part was watching everyone try to get along. No one knew each other really, not even the original group from Haven. Varric hadn’t met Chuckles until they both got caught up in a fight together in the aftermath of the Breach. Varric knew Cassandra of course, but they weren’t exactly the best of friends. Throw in some very weird Dalish elves and a woman accused of being the worlds last and best hope, and you’ve got yourself a party. The two new elves in their party kept muttering back and forth to each other in elvhen, which put the Seeker on edge. The Herald tried to keep the peace by insisting that the twins speak in common, but Solas almost ruined the whole thing when he agreed because, “Your pronunciation needs work.”

The big elf reminded Varric a little of Fenris when he almost ripped the mages head off. It made him a little homesick.

Just then Varric saw the Blessed Lady herself walking back to her cabin. She was smiling and greeting people along the way. She exuded a calm energy that was desperately needed around Haven. Having a potentially world ending catastrophe kill all of your religious leaders only two weeks ago could have that sort of effect on morale. She reminded Varric a little of Elthina. Or maybe what Elthina should have been. When she came close to him, Varric noticed the small crease between her eyes that she was trying to hide. When she got to the door of her cabin he saw her shoulders sag just a little before going inside.

Varric set Bianca aside and stood. He supposed even holy saviors needed pep talks occasionally, and if Varric had one talent it was convincing people to do things. Sometimes it was convincing them to give him money or information, but with his friends it was usually just convincing them they weren’t in as bad a spot as they thought they were.

Varric knocked on the door to her cabin and only had to wait a moment before the Herald was opening the door. She looked a little tired, but when she saw who it was she smiled and stepped aside so Varric could walk in. She’d managed to make the place pretty cozy. Small candles were clustered on almost every surface with a large cluster on either end of the mantle opposite the door. On the mantle were eight small wooden figurines. They had simple designs on them, but they were still beautiful. The largest one looked kind of like a dragon and had a single red candle lit in front of it. There was a fire blazing in the fireplace and Varric thought he might actually have to take off his coat to keep from passing out from the heat.

The Herald noticed him sweating and said, “I’m not used to the cold. I don’t think I’m built for it. May I?”

The elf held out her hand and Varric gave her his coat. She wasn’t wearing her armor so he saw her hands for the first time. The vallaslin were broken up on her fingers by several dainty gold rings, some were all woven together.

“I didn’t think Dalish got vallaslin past their faces.” Varric commented while he sat down at the small table she had one side of the little room.

“Most don’t.” She hung his coat on a knob next to the door and walked over to get some water and cups from her bedside table, “Only priests get more extensive ones. The more extensive the tattoos, the higher rank the priest.”

She set the water and cups on the table and sat across from the dwarf, “Tea?”

“Yes please.”

She reached across the table to grab a small wooden box in the center, opened it, and grabbed two blocks of tea out of it. She put a block in each cup, poured water in after, and then took hold of the cups. After a moment Varric could see the water begin to bubble and steam rise out of it. She handed Varric his still warm cup and said, “I apologize, I don’t have any milk or sugar.”

Varric waved her off, “That’s alright. It’s not stream water or cheap ale, so it’s an improvement to what I’ve been drinking the past few days.”

Varric took a sip and was happy to discover he had not been falsely optimistic. It was good, tasted a little like berries. The Herald took a sip of her tea before setting it back down and looking up at Varric, “So what can I help you with Mr. Tethras?”

Varric chuckled, “Nothing.”

Varric wouldn’t say the Herald looked shocked; maybe mild confusion would be more accurate. He continued, “You looked stressed and I decided to swing by to see if you needed to chat. Do you?”

The Herald leaned back in her chair and took another sip of tea. Finally she sighed and nodded.

“Okay then, lets start with names. Mr. Tethras is my father, everyone just calls me Varric.” Varric took a sip of his tea, “And, if you can believe it, in all the hubbub I didn’t catch your name. Cassandra and Solas call you Herald, the twins call you Rajha-whatever, but I don’t think I’ve heard someone use your actual name once.”

The Herald looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding, “I think you’re right.” She extended a hand across the table, “Ellana of Clan Lavellan.”

Varric took her hand and shook it, “Nice to meet you Ellana of Clan Lavellan, been nice fighting with you for the past week.”

“Likewise.”

“So, you said that the twins are part of a different priesthood from you, right?”

“Yes.”

“So how did you meet them? You seem to know them pretty well. Do you all serve in one place or…”

Varric wasn’t trying to pry- no that was lie. Varric was always trying to pry. He wasn’t trying to be invasive. However, he was really curious about these Dalish that seemed very different from the ones he had met. Daisy would get a kick out of them.

Ellana smiled and said, “No. We all live at different temples. I met them when they were much younger. I was sixteen when I first joined the priesthood, and the twins arrived a few weeks after I took my vows. They had been orphaned, and they were only nine years old. I had been having a hard time settling into temple life so the Raj’ha’haren at the time assigned me to look after them while they got settled. She thought it would be good for all of us. She was right, as usual. Helping them get settled helped me to understand my own place in the temple a little better. I wound up practically raising those two. When they were seventeen they decided that the priesthood of Mythal wasn’t for them, and they went off to join different temples. I was invited to both of their initiations. I was so proud.”

Ellana smiled to herself and took another sip of her tea. The smile only lasted a moment before the small crinkle appeared on her forehead again.

Varric put his now empty cup down, “They’re your kids.”

“As a priestess of Mythal I have had a hand in raising many children who came to our temple… but yes. Those two were special.”

“And now they’re here.”

“Well shit, that can’t be easy.”

Throughout the conversation Varric could see Ellana relax bit by bit, but now she almost slumped forward.

“It’s not. I was the one who volunteered to take this risk. To come to the Conclave. After everything happened, I understood that I needed to stay and help; I had accepted the dangers because I needed to. But they don’t have to be here. They can go home. Be safe.”

“You could tell them to leave.”

“They wouldn’t listen, and I’d probably offend them. As much as I worry, they are both extremely capable. I just wish Sahren would stop picking at Cassandra. She’s uncomfortable enough as is. And Mythal give me strength if Rasa tries to pickpocket Leliana one more time. The Nightingale might actually have them killed.”

“Or recruit them.”

That got a chuckle out of her. While Ellana made Varric some more tea he asked, “So, what’s the scariest thing right now? Other than the obvious possibility of death and dismemberment.”

“Well other than that.” Ellana handed him his tea, “I suppose it’s all the walking on egg shells. I’m not ashamed to talk about my people or my beliefs, as I suppose you’ve guessed by now.”

Varric nodded an affirmative as Ellana continued, “But I’m still so nervous constantly that if I don’t mix in the right amount of deferment, agree just enough that ‘sure, maybe your goddess sent me’ that they’d get a little too frustrated and…”

“They’re not going to kill you.”

Ellana sighed and her shoulders slumped, “I know, but you didn’t say it had to be a reasonable fear. I’ve seen what humans will do when elves get a little to elvhen for their tastes. It rarely ends well. I was talking to Josephine the other day and bless her she was trying to talk to me about my people and ask questions, but she had so many misconceptions drilled into her brain. Scary ones. Is it terrible that I don’t always want to have to be the perfect elf? Back home I am a leader among my people, but I’m a leader on my own terms. They know me, and I can be myself. I was the youngest priest in a very long time to be chosen as Raj’ha’haren, and that didn’t come without a lot of hard work. But does Cassandra care? Does Cullen? No. They’d rather I stayed quiet about the whole elf thing and focus only on the Breach. Afterwards they can look back on their elf friend and clap themselves on the back about how tolerantthey were with her.”

As she had been talking her voice had gotten louder and angrier. When she finished she realizer her volume and took a deep breath to compose herself. Varric could see her walls going back up as she said, “I apologize I shouldn’t have-”

“Bull shit you shouldn’t have. It’s okay to vent. It’s okay to be pissed about this whole situation. And I’m not gonna sit here and lie to you and say that you shouldn’t worry and that you can be completely yourself, because you’re right, you can’t. But I will say I think you may be giving our compatriots too little credit. She may not seem like it, but I think Cassandra wouldn’t mind having an honest debate with you in your down time about religion. Maybe invite Mother Giselle and Josephine; it might be good for both of them. And don’t back down when they get frustrated, push through. You should also really introduce Sahren to Cullen because once they get past the obvious differences I really think those two would get along. And let me handle Rasa, they’re a decent thief, but they could be better.”

Ellana smiled at him. A real smile. Not one of the smiles she shot at refugees who thanked her that exuded benevolence. Not a small one while speaking to Cassandra that worked hard to present her as non-threatening. No, this smile was a little crooked and made her eyes crinkle just slightly. She finished her second cup of tea and said, “It makes sense that Rasa isn’t a decent thief, it’s not what they trained to be.”

“And what exactly did they train to be?”

“A master assassin, they were visiting me from Antiva when I left.”

“Wait what?”

Chapter 6: https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/187109071729/chapter-6-solas

#chapter 5 #dragon age #dai #dai fanfic #dai fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #Inquisitor Lavellan #fanfic #fanfiction #Varric Tethras #a little shorter this time #but i just wanted a little look into ellana #she's got more walls than a zoo #and varric can scale them better than anyone #yet

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captainderyn · 7 years ago

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If Cassandra did manage to find Baraneth and/or Runiel to help settle the conflict between the mages and the templars would they have accepted and gone to the conclave?

Ooh interesting, this one is another fun one to think about. Thanks for asking @ofmistandrain

The easiest answer to this is that no, had they been found by Cassandra neither of them would have accepted…at first. Ruinel is happily and necessarily Warden Commander, Baraneth is the queen of Fereldan–neither of which have duties that can easily be shirked. (While we’re on this train, Briar would have refused as well if Varric had given away where she was, though that’s because she honestly doesn’t want nor can she handle a position like that where she is mentally as of Inquisition. Not the question though.)

That being said, if they were pressured enough one of them would have caved–most likely Ruinel logically speaking as she can more likely hand off duties of Warden Commander over handing off the responsibility of being queen. However, Baraneth would be the one you’d want to give. Why? I’ll get to that in a second.

First I want to touch on them going to the Conclave, whichever one. I can guarantee neither of them would have made it out alive. Which defeats the purpose of them accepting the role of Inquisitor, I know, but hear me out.

Both of them are high profile individuals. If Ruinel were there she would be the Hero of Fereldan, the Warden-Commander, the one with a lot of influence and a lot of discussions to bring her into. Were it to be Baraneth, she’s the queen, she’s got a lot of influence and a lot of power were she to be swayed to one side or the other. I don’t think either of them could escape from the main crowd of people long enough to get to the seemingly out of the place room where Tucdela interrupts the ritual.

Varric says this powerful line in regards to Briar not having been found in time to be made Inquisitor and it’s something along the lines of “You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the Conclave then she’d be dead too.” and it’s the same idea here. Whichever of them that would have been sent to the Conclave would be dead because they’d be unable to escape long enough to stumble across the ritual.

(on that train of thought its horrifyingly painful to think about what it would do to any of the three’s family and LIs (out of Bara, Ru, and Briar) were they to have been lost at the Conclave. Want a good way to absolutely destroy the king? Bam kill his wife at the Conclave where she went in further service to her country. How to destroy Laurel and most definitely, majorly hurt Leliana? Kill Ru at the Conclave after she’s worked so hard to get where she was and escape it all. Great way to mess up Anders real bad–take away Briar in the most awful fashion just as they were starting to reconcile. This is another one of those AUs that’s like a car wreck–absolutely awful but you can’t look away.)

Now, I mentioned if they were to survive and become Inquisitor you’d want it to be Baraneth to cave and agree instead of Ruinel. Why?

One word: The Anchor.

Right so, we have Ruinel, we know how sensitive she is in general and how much she’s been pushed because of the Blight and during Inquisition. I’ve mentioned how fragile her sense of self is. Now add the crushing responsibility of saving the whole of Thedas from the weird Breach, being named the Herald of a god she never worshipped on top of being expected to fix everything because she’s the hero of Fereldan she killed an archdemon she can fix anything.

And we know the Anchor, volatile magic, a constant discomfort/pain, unknown and makes people wary of her. It would break Ruinel. Without question. The stress of it all, the expectations and mental games that come with being Inquisitor with the Anchor would be too much for her. Especially knowing all the lives that were lost at the Conclave (fun thought: especially if Baraneth had been with her at the Conclave and didn’t make it out.).

If she didn’t go down in a fight the Anchor would take her down instead, drain everything out of her until she doesn’t have the will to keep going. Being Inquisitor almost breaks Tucdela–a young, optimistic, vivacious woman. Ruinel, whose seen the Blight first hand, suffered through what she has wouldn’t be able to withstand the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Baraneth though, Bara could. Not easily, not at all. She’d be miserable. But she’d take it, grit her teeth and push through. And do it well, half the decisions Tucdela faltered on because she’s inexperienced would be made in an instant. The political games that have to be played with be played with a vicious skill. And I think it would harden her, close her off. All those expectations, the exhaustion of the Anchor and everything she has to do….it would wear her down until it’s the stone cold warrior-leader beneath.

Which might sound weird considering she’s the queen and thrives there, but that’s different. She’s seen a lot of bad in her lifetime. Piling what she sees and has to deal with in the Inquisition is too much. She doesn’t crumble like Ruinel, but I don’t think she’d come out of it the same woman. I don’t know that she’d come out of it at all.

I honestly think that for both of them the weight of the Inquisition would be too much for them after the Blight. It’s the same for Briar, I think all three of them have seen too much of the bad of the past ~10 years to be able to lead the Inquisition with the hope and optimism, the real hope and optimism that Tucdela is able to as fresh blood, which I really think is what makes the Inquisition as successful as it is.

The Inquisition may have rallied around Baraneth or Ruinel, had they made it out of the Conclave at all, but I think their expectations would have been too high to maintain that rally. Any mistake, any length of time over how long they think they could solve it in would come across like a stab to that hope like if Warden Commander Ruinel or Baraneth Cousland can’t beat this or that then how are we ever going to win against the Big Bad?

#I answer things!#thank you for the ask <3 #this alt inquisitor deal is just really sad when i start thinking about it #because both of them would be pressured to accept by duty #and both of them would probably fall to the pressure of that duty #they've seen too much #been though too much #they just deserve to be happy tbh #this was very interesting to think about though #so thank you for letting me ramble about that!

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dragonagecompanionreactions · 7 years ago

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It's the Inquisitor's birthday! What would the companions and advisors do to celebrate? Romanced too, please

Josephine is all over the place preparing for a huge party. She making sure guests are taken care of, decorations are set up just right and of course that the inquisitor looks their best on their special day. If The Inquisitor would prefer smaller birthday celebrations just their friends she would make sure that Tavern was reserved for the night. Her gift would probably be new stationary for them to use in their preferred colors. Romanced she would make sure carve out some time just for the two of them have cake at a romantic candlelit table in the inquisitors private quarters.

Leliana would be subtle in her gift. She would sure that the inquisitor's workload is taken care of for the day so that they can enjoy it and have it all to themselves. She would wish them happy birthday but we'd stay hidden in The Rookery during the party.

Cullen would try to take as much time off as he can to be with the inquisitor on their day. Even though parties make him uncomfortable he wants to be supportive. He would even join in the after party at the tavern but would be hesitant to play any wicked Grace. His gift for the Inquisitor would be new upgrades for their armor. Romanced Cullen wouldn't want to share them at the party. He would sweep them away the first chance he gets and gives them a special gift. A personalized locket to carry with them on adventures.

Varric would be spending the party regaling the nobles with tales about the inquisitor's accomplishments.He would make sure to distract enough of the tales seekers so the inquisitor can relax and enjoy the party. His gift would be a short written story about the brave inquisitor and the nug king.

Sera would spend the morning making the inquisitor a special birthday cake. It would come out lopsided and a bit spongy but it would be filled with love, with the inquisitor's name written on it bold sloppy letters. Her gift would be a ticket that says ‘free prank’ “for the noble tossers that get on your nerves at the party, yeah.” Romanced she sets up a distraction and steals her inky away for some moonlight rooftop cookies.

Blackwall would go to that party with the inquisitor and keep an eye on them. He tries to make sure they're enjoying the party. Later when the party dies down a bit he presents his gift as carving that pays homage to their family from before the Inquisition. Romanced “I can't believe how lucky I am to have found you my lady” He makes sure to dance with the Inquisitor at least once during the party.

Iron Bull joins the party a little late with maraas-lok and the chargers in tow. He pisses off the nobles by singing the inquisitor happy birthday loudly out of tune. Probably has one too many slices of cake but makes sure to save some for the inquisitor. When it gets later he brings them out to the tavern for their gift. He pulled some string but he managed to bring the Inquisitor's beloved friends/family to visit skyhold. Romanced the bull made sure to convince the boss to take him dragon hunting a few weeks prior. He has a custom-made dragon bone weapon of their preference ready for them. “Come on boss! It pretty badass right!”

Cassandra *disgusted noise* parties were never her favorite but she makes sure to attend the inquisitors birthday. She tries to stay off to the side of the excitement. Mostly staying with Cullen and they both try to avoid the pesky nobility. She joins up in the tavern much more comfortable with just the inner circle. Her gift would be a book she likes that she thinks the inquisitor will enjoy. Romanced Cassandra spends the day by the inquisitors side. When they head to bed for the night she gives them a book of romantic poetry with a few pages bookmarked.

Cole spends most of the party helping servants with the stress of the party. Once things get going he spends most of the time hiding behind decorations listening to people's hurts and helping. For a gift, he presents the inquisitor with a small token something they lost at the conclave and had forgotten about.

Vivienne spends the day carefully boosting the inquisitor's reputation among the attending Nobles. She makes sure the Inquisitor keeps up a good image throughout the evening. Though she doesn't attend the tavern party she makes sure to give the Inquisitor her gift, a useful tome on potion and tonic crafting. Something the Inquisitor has been working on perfecting.

Solas stays to the outskirts of the party and keeps an eye on Cole throughout it. He makes a rare appearance at the tavern party. Even though he's lived many years and birthdays mean little to him anymore he indulges the inquisitors fun and congratulates them on their achievement of another year. His gift is a handwritten book from an anonymous author of the effects of the breach on spirits. He seems very proud as he hands it over. Romanced he what's The Inquisitor in their dreams where he shows them with a birthday in ancient elven would look like. He makes sure remember every moment, he will cherish these memories for years to come.

Dorian spends the evening drinking fine tevinter wine and eating Petit fours. He would stay by the inquisitors side for the evening making jokes about the local fashion at the party. He'd come out for the tavern party and have a great time playing wicked grace with the companions. His gift would be relaxing bath salts and a box of candied dates. Romanced Dorian spends the whole night with his amatus curled up by the fireplace. He treasure mes their conversations and wishes for many more nights like this in the future. As foolish as it seems he could get used to this life with his amatus.

~Keeper Neria

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kauriart · 8 years ago

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Journals of CSR Chapter 4 - The Commander

A Dragon Age Fic | Cullen x f!Lavellan | Read it on AO3

Cullen sits at his desk, running the tips of his fingers lightly over the last weeks worth of journal entries. Everything since arriving at Haven. Stolen moments, interrupted thoughts. Bits of his soul scattered across the page.

A handful in all. The accounts have been brief since the attack on the Conclave. Growing briefer as the magnitude of the trouble became clear. He’d managed a full sentence yesterday, before practically collapsing atop his journal. Wrung out with exhaustion. Swallowed by past failures. Choked by fading hope.

Day 14 Reports have been pouring in, or, stuttering in -- I suspect the supply lines have been compromised. Leliana seems tense, and even she can make no sense of what they suggest. Demons. Scattered across the countryside. We’ve no idea yet how they got there. I suspect the lack of proper circles has something to do with the matter.

There’s been no reports yet of abominations. But it is only a matter of time. Josephine insists that I remain positive.

I should thank the Maker for small favors, but I find it difficult to see the Maker’s hand in this terror. Cassandra asked me to keep faith. Her resolve is unshakable. She is everything I am not. I strive to follow her example.

Leliana fell asleep at the Chantry. She and Josephine have been--

Day 15 Demons.

How did this happen?

At least there is something to fight now. I prefer this to striking at shadows. Anything you can swing a sword at, seems less impossible to manage.

It would be easier with the lyrium, though. -- CSR

Day 16 Andraste watch over us all. A Pride Demon’s been sighted near--

Day 17 I do not know who started the rumor.

Yesterday’s entry.

Cullen stares down at the words, tapping a clean, dry quill at the edge of his journal. His brow furrows.

He barely remembers writing it. He’d gone to bed so late it had been nearly dawn. Wrapped in the scent of Elfroot. Nerves still jangling with the aftershocks of battle. Exhaustion, and adrenaline, and lust, tangling with the spikes of pain. He’d been certain sleep would elude him for some time, and yet…

He sighs, and dips his quill.

Day 18 The stability of the Inquisition -- a fledgling organization by any definition of the word -- has deteriorated rapidly. Much of our supplies, food, and medicines, (even common tools, and textiles) have been distributed to the nearby villages. The supply trains that were previously established have been delayed, mostly due to the condition of the roads, or lack thereof. Those not destroyed by the explosion, or the fighting, have eroded in the face of cowardice and uncertainty. The influx of recruits -- generously described as, a trickle -- has ceased entirely. And there has been a rash of desertions.

Our army is in danger of being downgraded to a mere gaggle.

Yet for all our lack, and losses, we have acquired a savior, of a sort.

Surely the Maker’s Chosen tips the scales more heavily in our favor than sacks of grain, or potions, or blankets, or supply trains. Or not nearly enough competent fighting men.

Clearly, my struggle with gratitude continues.

I know the power of words. Have seen words whispered in doorways and shadowed corners, and watched them fly, trampling armies, and alighting revolutions. Even Hawke was a whisper as much as he was a man. But it took the Champion nearly four years to gain his title. The Herald of Andraste -- as Cassandra’s prisoner is being called -- has been raised up from nothing in two scant days.

Even the ascension of Andraste herself was not so swift.

Josephine insists that nobility and common folk alike will rally around a hero, since one has miraculously manifested. I cannot say that she is wrong. However, this Herald is an Elf, a Mage, and uncommonly pretty.

Cullen’s quill stutters to an abrupt halt.

He frowns down at the page and re-reads the last sentence. Twice.

“Maker’s Breath.”

Absurd. He is absurd. Cullen sets his quill down entirely, and tangles his hands in his hair, breathing heavily through his nose. He drags the tips of his fingers hard against his skull, trying to stimulate his brain into being less… abysmal. He can feel himself flushing, and sends a brief prayer of gratitude to the Maker that he writes in the solitude of his cabin, and not at the makeshift field office near Haven’s gate.

He reaches crosses it out. Over, and over, and over again, until nothing remains of his unprofessional, and irrelevant observation.

-- uncommonly powerful. [He writes instead.]

Terrifyingly so.

Whatever magic had been tearing her apart has subsided, or so Solas assures us. He acquitted himself well in the battle, from what I recall. The more uncontrolled displays of magic, came from the Herald herself. She did close the rip tearhorrifying demon portal whatever it was.

I suppose she has earned our thanks, if not our trust. Though, there is still the Breach.

I have been getting headaches.

It is a selfish, insignificant trouble. Far outweighed by everything else that has happened. Still, I feel compelled to document the effects of lyrium withdrawal, or what might be lyrium withdrawal, as I have been unable to find any other reliable sources on the matter.

I cannot say if the headaches are due to lack of lyrium, lack of sleep, or stress. Surely, there has been little of the former, and an abundance of the latter. But they have been building, like thunder on the horizon, and it seems remiss of me not to address them. So I have. -- CSR

The War Room is as it has ever been. Grim. And entirely all business.

“How is she?” Cassandra asks when they all arrive. No need to ask who is meant by she.

“The same.” Leliana admits. “The mark on her hand remains stable. But she is still unconscious.”

“Yet still her fame grows.” Josephine adds. “The nobles whose correspondence has managed to get through seem surprisingly... unalarmed by our Elven Mage.”

“It is the same with the troops.” Cullen frowns, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “Though in their case, I think it is more gratitude than a true lack of concern. The number of our soldiers lives she saved by closing that rift is… incalculable. Still. I would feel better if we knew more about her.”

“We’ve learned very little.” Leliana admits, crossing her arms, and glaring at the -- rather slender -- packet of papers before her. “Dalish born. Mage. Sent to the circle at Markham, in the Free Marches. Escaped a few years later, shortly before the circles fell. Has been living as an Apostate since then.” She sighs, fingers light against the parchment. “We’ve still no idea why she was sent to the Conclave, or by whom.”

Markham.

Cullen’s frown deepens. “Markham’s reputation is --”

“Well earned.” Cassandra asserts. “Though it was one of the last of the Circles to fall at the start of the war, so I cannot give credence to all the rumors.”

“Markham’s records were destroyed or damaged when the Circle did fall. So much of what it was or wasn’t may remain a mystery. But, if there is anything to be found of our Herald, my people will find it.” Leliana says firmly.

Our Herald.

A strained and uneasy silence falls over the War Table. Cassandra and Cullen share a brief, uneasy look.

“So,” Josephine’s voice is soft, and hesitant. “You believe?”

“I do.” Leliana says simply, tapping her papers back into a neat stack. She does not elaborate further.

“And you Cassandra?” Josephine asks.

“I…” Cassandra shakes her head, as if in denial, a furious scowl on her face. But she fists the hand on the tabletop, and says, “You were not there Josephine. The things she did… the things she can do… I do not know if she is Andraste’s Herald, but she has been touched by the Maker, that much I am certain of.”

Cullen feels that odd little urge to agree, and has to stop himself from nodding automatically. And yet… Seekers themselves are guided by the Maker’s hand. Surely Cassandra, of all people, would be able to see His will at work.

Still. He is not a Templar. And this Herald --

“Cullen?” Leliana interrupts. “You fought beside her at the Temple. What is your opinion?”

“Cassandra is likely right.” He frowns. “She -- the Herald and I -- have not even spoken.” “Your assessment, then.” The spymaster presses.

Uncommonly pretty. He thinks, closing his eyes. Storm powers. Hesitates between casts. Favors her right hand. Unreliable magic.

“She’ll run.” He says, instead. “First chance she gets. She’s an apostate.” He elaborates to the surprised faces around him. “The cost of fleeing a Circle high. Mages are often killed during recapture. If they are returned, they are considered for the Rite of Tranquility.” He touches the War Table with the tips of his fingers, almost gingerly. “The head of our Inquisition is made of up of the two of the highest ranking members of the Chantry, a former Templar, and a member of the nobility. She’s no reason to want to stay with us. And we’ve no hold over her, to force her to. It’s --” He shrugs, almost apologetically. “You can always tell the one’s who’ll run.”

Cassandra makes a noncommittal sound, but the line of her mouth thins out. “Then we must pray that we can convince her to stay. There are reports of more rifts."

“Two yesterday, another five today.” Leliana confirms. “From what we can tell, they are all like the one at the Temple.”

Cullen swears under his breath, though the news is not unexpected.

The second half of the council is nearly as bad of the first. There are shortages of nearly everything. Complications at every turn. Several soldiers abandoned one of the mass pyres they were forced to light, to deal with the dead villagers. Nearly an acre of timber was destroyed, along with a valuable sawmill, before they were able to quell the blaze.

Josephine reports that the Marquis du Rellio, one of the few nobles not taken in by the Herald, is demanding to inspect the Divine’s official writ for the use of Haven, or, failing that, for the Inquisition to quit the village entirely. And unfortunately, Justina’s written orders were destroyed at the Conclave.

“Coward.” Cullen growls. “Fool. We ought to do as he says. See how he fares against whatever demons still lurk on the mountainside, without the last remaining force this side of the Frostbacks.”

“Or we could simply dispatch the Marquis.” Leliana snorts. “Surely his heirs would be more… welcoming.”

“Leliana,” Josephine gives the seneschal a level, unamused gaze, “it has only been two hours since you last suggested that we murder someone.”

“It would save us a great deal of paperwork.” Leliana shrugs with one shoulder. An entirely Orlesian gesture.

“In fact, it would not.” Josephine sighs. “I will deal with the Marquis, and the paperwork. You refrain from murder, at least until after dinner.”

The council disbands, and Cullen lingers, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the knots that have formed from hunching over the map. They’d pinned a sheet of parchment to the table, outlining the devastation from the destruction of the conclave. It sits atop the map like a burn mark, a stain leaning against the foothills of the Frostbacks, a mere handbreadth away from Haven.

“It might have been worse, if not for the Herald, you know.” Leliana says softly. The others have left, and they are alone. She touches the map, almost reverently. “Cassandra might be wrong. It is just as likely that she tempered the destruction, as caused it.”

“It’s hardly worth convincing me.” Cullen says with an amused sound. “For better, or for worse, no one sees her as the villain any longer. Except Cassandra.” He adds for strict accuracy.

Leliana is quiet for a moment. “Cassandra grieves in her own way.”

“My condolences.” Cullen offers, softly. “I have not had the opportunity to ask… the Divine… How… Are you alright?”

“You and Cassandra were delayed by the storms.” She says, voice strangely even. “I lingered at Haven of my own choosing.”

Cullen nods. Guilt, is grief’s dearest companion, after all. “It is no doubt a waste of breath to tell you, that if you had gone to the Conclave, you’d likely be dead. The Divine was not unguarded. And, Left Hand or no, there is nothing you could have done to prevent such an catastrophe.”

Leliana meets his gaze, eyes raw and ringed with red. “I would not have tried to prevent it, Commander. I simply would have gotten Justinia out.” She looks down at the black spot map, at the harsh reminder of the destruction. “You disagree?”

Cullen frowns. “I’m thinking I would have made a very poor hand of the Divine, indeed. I could not have left all those people to die.”

She look she gives him is flat, but it glimmers faintly with amusement. “Has anyone told you that you are terrible at offering comfort?”

“No.” He says, “But I am. I’m sorry. And… I am sorry. Truly.”

They fall silent a moment before Leliana asks, “How is your arm, Cullen?”

It’s an abrupt change of topic, but he seizes upon it, instantly.

“Better. Thank you for your concern.” He touches the injury automatically, still heavily padded, and throbbing beneath his tunic. His shield had shattered when he’d fought the Pride Demon. Steel shards had sliced into his forearm, nearly to the bone.

She makes a thoughtful noise. “You ought to have Solas see to it. I know you didn’t take the Elfroot potion Josephine procured for you.”

He grunts, amused. “Tell your spies that one of my soldiers will walk with a limp, instead of never walking at all.”

“Solas.” She insists. “Then my spies will have no cause to worry.”

Cullen sighs, and stares back down at the map, grinding his teeth in indecision. He’d ordered one of his own Lieutenants to seek healing the day before -- the man was a Templar recruit who hadn’t managed to take his vows before the Circles fell. Fresh-faced and nearly squeaky with newness, he’d sneered at the idea of seeking help from a Mage -- do not Templars hold themselves above their charges -- and in return, Cullen had given him a blistering lecture about the purpose of the Inquisition, and battle readiness taking priority above all else in times such as these.

He does not, naturally, hold himself above following his own advice.

Still…

When he excuses himself from the war room, he finds himself meandering through the upper tiers of Haven, skirting around, but never quite making it to, the tiny storage-shed-turned-cabin they’d assigned to the Apostate. The other Apostate.

“Coward.” He mutters to himself. “Fool.” And, marshaling his courage -- or his sense of recklessness -- marches purposefully towards the cabin. He knocks sharply at Solas’ door, still hoping to find the Mage without. But the Elf’s steady voice bids him enter, and so he does.

The cabin is small, and dark, and odd-smelling. The little table in the corner is so crammed full of bundles of herbs, that he wonders if the apothecary uses it as a storehouse. The chair on the other side of the room is piled with books. A row of lit, and half-burned candles -- clearly lifted from the chantry -- line the small headboard. Solas himself is seated on the bed, comparing a long, leafy plant with a sketch in an oversized, decrepit looking tome.

“Commander Cullen.” He looks up. “Your arm?”

Cullen nods, a frown already pinching between his brows. He has to steel himself not to draw away from Solas when he reaches out, laying a long-fingered hand on Cullen’s arm. He feels an exploratory pulse of magic shiver through his limb. It’s not an unpleasant feeling in and of itself, but it sets his teeth on edge. “If… if it’s no bother.”

Solas gestures to the bed. “You’ll need to remove the bandages, if you can.”

He’ll have to practically strip to the waist to do that.

Cullen silently curses, but pulls off his gloves and begins to unbuckled his vambrace and breastplate. Every hair on the back of neck stands on end, as he removes his armor, piece by piece, until he is in his shirtsleeves. Alone, and unarmored with a known apostate. Words like death wish and unconscionably foolish float around in his mind. They sound unsettlingly as though they are spoken in Meredith’s voice.

The Mage tactfully keeps his back turned while Cullen undresses. Busying himself with setting his tiny workspace to right.

Cullen carefully rolls up the sleeve of his tunic. There are hundreds of things he’d rather be doing, he nearly stands and see himself out, but just then, there’s a brief, frantic knock, and the door to Solas’ tiny cabin bursts open. The Herald rushes in, door shutting behind her with such force, that three of the candles extinguish.

Cullen scrambles to his feet, half-relieved, half-alarmed. “You’re awake.” He says, inanely.

She looks as wrong-footed as he feels, and rather worse for wear. She’s noticeably thinner, and there are deep circles beneath her eyes and a sharp crease between her brows. “You.” She says breathlessly, going utterly still for a heartbeat. She glances at Solas, but her eyes keep sliding back to Cullen as if torn between the pair of them.

“I…” She hesitates a moment longer before turning to the other Mage, and presenting her marked hand, palm up as if in supplication. “Take it.” She says without preamble. “You have to take it.” The panic in her voice is clear.

Solas’ lips thin out at her request. Cullen can see him grinding his teeth, the small movements making the muscles in his jaw leap. “If I was able…”

“Please, you have to.” She repeats, desperately. “I can’t… and Varric said --”

“I tried.” Solas admits quietly, gently folding the fingers of her hand closed. Little erratic sparks of magic flutter between their closed fists. “Believe me.”

Her fingers tighten around Solas’, but her gaze doesn’t waver. “Can… can you remove it without magic, then? Cut it out?” She asks, voice low. “Off?”

Cullen sucks in a low, shocked breath, and Solas meets his gaze briefly over the top of her head.

“I can’t have this in me.” She insists, her gaze is hard and focused, on the near-side of crazed. “I can’t. Please.”

The other Elf lets out a small sigh, and traces a line with his finger halfway up her bare forearm. Presumably, where he’d make the cut. “The magic that made this is… old, and complex. It will very likely kill you, if I tried to remove it by force. And even then…” Solas pulls his hands back with a small shake of his head. “I am sorry.”

She nods, mutely, backing away, fisting her marked hand against her abdomen, as if trying to staunch a mortal wound. Her eyes dart around the room, wide, and blank. Cullen can see the tide of panic well within her. Sees her try to swallow it down, teeth clenched. Her expression hardens a little, and for a moment she seems almost resigned, but then, all at once, everything cracks.

She falls to her knees. Folds in on herself. Presses her hands over her face, as though trying to physically stave off the the tears, but it’s too much to contain. Grief and terror simply pour out of her. The mark on her hands flares erratically, bathing the tiny room in harsh green light. Cullen flinches, expecting screams of agony, but there are only the soft sounds of someone’s heart breaking wide open.

It is far, far worse.

Cullen’s hand twitches, fingers reaching towards the figure upon the floor. Someone should… But not him…

He glances at the other Elf.

Solas’ features are absolutely rigid. The light from the mark catches in the hollow of his eyes, and for a moment he’s nearly skeletal. Ragged, and empty. He looks ancient somehow. Brittle. Worn. His head tilts, just slightly, jaw clenching. It's the only way he acknowledges the woman keening at his feet.

The Herald makes little noise as she weeps, though her shoulders shake with the force of her sobs. Cullen kneels slowly beside her, carefully adjusting his sword belt so he doesn’t stab either of them. He glances nervously at Solas, but the Elf is still being no help at all. So he reaches forward, and awkwardly pats at the Herald’s forehead. “It’s alright.”

She startles at his touch. Pale blue eyes wide, and watery. He starts to pull back, a stilted apology already forming at his lips, when she leans into his hand. Breath catching on a tiny sigh.

All the air in his lungs comes out in a startled rush, and he leans in a little too, stroking the tangled hair off her brow.

“I’m sorry.” He offers hoarsely, then grimaces.

Rutherford, you are terrible at this.

“I--” Hesitation. Then the dam breaks again. Her expression crumples, weight shifting towards him, and all at once she’s in his arms. Sobbing, face pressed into the curve of his shoulder. His arms tighten around her instinctively, but he’s not sure what he should do, or say. He glances at Solas for some sort of intervention, but the Apostate remains still.

“I’m sorry.” He says again. It is better than nothing. Barely. But it is all he can say.

She tangles fistfuls of his tunic in her hands, trembling. The sound of her cries ebb and flow, broken by the breathless catches in her breathing. Cullen holds on, and tries to remember to make soothing noises. He has no experience with this -- has never held anyone dissolving in tears before. But he thinks of the kennel master he knew in Honnleath, a tall man, strong, and whipcord thin, and remembers watching him soothe an agitated mabari bitch struggling to birth. Owens, had been the man’s name. And Cullen remembers how he’d held on, arms strong, yet gentle, and stroked the mabari’s flank as she whined and whimpered.

“There, now...” Cullen says, running his hand lightly down the Herald’s arm. “It’s going to be alright.” He whispers quietly. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

His back aches, and he leg is falling asleep, but he doesn’t let go. He’s not sure how long they sit as they do, crouched on the floor of Solas’ cabin, his arms folded around the Herald, muttering softly into her ear. But after a time he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s asleep.” Solas remarks quietly.

She is. The terror and grief having burned through whatever internal reserves she’d managed to restore.

Cullen moves slowly, careful not to wake her. She stirs, briefly, the hand in his tunic tightens for a moment, and he feels… well, he feels rather foolish, and he can tell the tips of his ears are glowing pink. She’s heavy and warm in his arms, and completely wrung out. He shifts from foot to foot, trying to adjust her so she’s less awkward in his arms. “I should take her back to her cabin.” He says, voice low. “I’ll… I’ll send someone to collect my things.”

Solas nods, and helps him to the door.

Once outside, Cullen pointedly ignores any attention they draw, taking the shortest path back towards her cabin. He hopes whatever rumors this act inspires is a boost to morale, and doesn’t merely become fodder for one of Varric’s ridiculous stories. He’s practically at Haven’s center, where the Dwarf is ever so casually positioned to soak in the Inquisitions atmosphere, when he feels the Herald stir against him.

The dark sweep of her eyelashes flutter open, and she shifts a little in his arms, body going rigid for a moment, before settling. Her marked palm rests against his shoulder, the magic caught inside it, flashes erratically. He flinches away a little, remembering the torrents of raw, uncontrolled power she’d wielded.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, frowning.

“No… not anymore.” Her voice is soft, and thick, heavily creased with exhaustion. “It’s… just warm, and… see?” She presses her marked hand against his chest, just over his heart.

He takes a startled breath, steps faltering.

It is warm. Alarmingly so. Like a tiny furnace nestled in her palm. And it… throbs. A heartbeat. A tiny, shockwave of power rippling across her skin. It’s disquieting. Makes every hair on the back of his neck stand up. This close he can smell the magic within her. The scent of lightning under her skin. Like ozone and warped metal.

Worst of all, the strangeness of the magic calls to the lyrium wrapped ‘round his bones. He can feel it plucking at him, trying to stir something within. It’s an unpleasant sensation, just this side of actual pain. Like pressing your thumb against the edge of a dull blade. A lingering sense of danger.

“Yes.” He croaks, then clears his throat, fighting for composure. “I see.”

If the Herald notices his discomfit, she doesn't say so, simply lets her head drop back to his shoulder with a heavy thump. “I don’t like it.” She says after a moment, voice tremulous. She tucks her face against him, a little. As though trying to hide any tears that may be welling.

He nods, agreeing. But honesty compels him to add: “I do not know what we would have done without it. Our soldiers… the rift. For what it is worth… thank you.”

She says nothing, but the breath gusts out of her on a sigh. He can feel it, a breath of air against the bare skin of his neck. Warm, and close. He can almost feel her lips against him. It makes him stumble, just a little, and her hands tighten against him.

And if he feels the heavy thud of his heart in his chest, it is all the fault of the mark in her hand.

By the time they reach the tiny cabin where she’s been quartered she is asleep once again. There is little in the room, just a bed and the sour smell of elfroot. He lays her carefully across the quilt, and wonders absurdly if he ought to remove her boots. But the thought of undressing her, even a little…

“Maker’s Breath.” He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

In the end he simply flips the edge of the quilt up over her. Leaves word with one of the aides who miraculously appears just outside the Herald’s cabin. Then he walks, very calmly back to his own little cabin on the other side of Haven. Sits at his desk, ignoring the untidy pile of letters littering the surface, and buries his head in his hands, where the scent of lightning lingers still.

The Herald sleeps on and off, for two more days. Solas tends to her, and assures them all it is merely exhaustion. But Cullen knows it is more than just fatigue. It is the thing on her hand. Shoving around. Making space for itself inside her. He can only hope it is not too greedy. When she wakes, she wakes to a new world.

She is the maleficar who destroyed the conclave, no longer. Instead she is Andraste’s own Herald, with the might of the Maker in her fist. And she is miserable.

Skittish.

That is the word that sticks in his mind whenever he thinks of her. Whenever he sees her. A glimpse, caught here and there. The shape of her beside Varric’s fire as he breezes past, en route to the training field. The flutter of her long, dark hair as she lingers at the doorway of Solas’ cabin. The Dwarf and the other Mage are the only ones she seems to speak to, and it is another two days before she agrees to stand before the council.

Now he wishes they had waited longer.

Her appearance is much improved. The dark circles beneath her eyes have faded a bit, and she’s lost the most ragged of her edges, and that disquieting sense of being consumed from within. She looks pale, but perhaps she just is pale. Her eyes dart around the room as though she’s not sure where she’s supposed to look.

A Mage, cornered. Cullen finds it difficult to keep his hand off the pommel of his sword.

Cassandra says nothing, but the corners of her mouth are tight. Lips pursed, as if it is the only other expression she can manage, save a scowl.

Josephine, at least, smiles. “Herald. We are --”

Something flickers behind those pale blue eyes. “I’m leaving.” She says, quietly.

He meets Cassandra’s sharp and disappointed gaze. He had warned them.

“Why?” Leliana asks. Her voice is uncharacteristically gentle.

“You said I’m not a prisoner.” The Herald reminds her, tightly. Her marked palm is fisted against the table top, knuckles white.

“You aren’t.”

“Then I can leave.” She insists. “I’m leaving.”

Josephine makes a small sound of distress. “Will you not consider staying, at all? Even for a short time? You have become a beacon of hope for so many, Herald. Already, Thedas looks to you. There is so much you could accomplish.”

She looks at the Ambassador as if Josephine has just sprouted wings. Equal parts startled, and horrified. A tiny flutter of green magic escapes her fist.

“Our soldiers believe you have been sent by Andraste herself. The Maker’s chosen.” Leliana says. She doesn't say that she believes it too. “Yours is not an ordinary magic. You can seal the rifts. There are many of them. You are needed.”

The Herald makes a choked sound. “No God in their right mind would choose me.”

Cassandra makes a thin sound of agreement.

The Herald glances up, and for a moment her expression relaxes into something almost resembling ease. But she is resolute.

They try. Josephine, and Leliana. Even Cassandra, offering a halted, and slightly blistering admonishment that she ought to think of the lives she might save. They are passionate. He’ll give them that. For nearly an hour they circle the Mage, reasoning, cajoling, failing to notice that the Herald is becoming more and more withdrawn. Answering with shorter, and shorter sentences. Refusing to meet their gazes. Tears spark on her lashes, but do not fall.

The Herald looks like she might say something more, but she doesn’t. Just turns, and leaves. The door to the war room bangs shut behind her with a thud that sounds like nothing so much, as failure.

Cullen watches her go from the hillside vantage near the training ground. It is early, his troops have only just begun to gather at the small training field besides the gates of Haven. No one else sees her leave. She carries her staff like a walking stick, and with her hood pulled up, she looks like any other road-weary traveler, and nothing at all like the prophetic Herald of Andraste. Her progress is slow. He loses sight of her here, and there through the trees, and, for a time, thinks she is truly gone before he spies her again crossing the bridge high above the frozen falls. She lingers there. A small dark fleck against the glittering ice.

He’s distracted momentarily by one of the recruits -- the fool keeps dropping his sword to readjust the weight of his shield on his arm -- but when he looks back, she is there still.

He watches her for nearly an hour. Ever expecting to glance back, and see her gone. But she remains, still as stone. Cullen stares at her unmoving form for precisely five more minutes, before calling to his Lieutenant to take over the drills, and heading down the trail after her.

It’s colder with Haven behind him. The woods, thin as they are, swallow him almost at once, and for a large stretch there’s only trees, and snow, and the swirling breach overhead. The bridge is set at an abrupt bend in the road, and when he rounds it, the Herald is still there, forearms braced against the rail, staring out at the empty, frozen lake.

He takes in her appearance. Dark leathers, threadbare cloak, a sac -- too small to carry much in the way of provisions -- and a short-staff, roughly crafted, and so ancient looking it’s likely to explode in her face if she actually tries to cast with it.

Cullen draws a breath, holds it for a moment, then lets it out with a sigh.

Her eyes flicker to him, then away.

“I have absolutely no idea what to say to you.” He shakes his head, disappointed by his own lack of eloquence.

She glances at him again, eyes sharp, searching for some sign of mockery in his gaze. “I am leaving.” She insists.

He nods. His fingers find the pommel of his sword. It’s a bad habit, and he forces himself to stand at the rail beside her. He can feel the cold of the stone through his gloves. “To where?” He asks.

She makes an aggravated sound, and brings the palm of her marked hand down on the stone rail. It makes a soft, impotent sound, and he remembers how she made the earth tremble with nothing more than her bare hand. Now it just seems small. Almost fragile. “I can’t stay here.” She says, voice tight. “And I can’t… go anywhere. There’s nowhere to go to.”

Cullen clamps his lips together so he doesn’t say something stupid, like the Alienage.

He knows it is likely a wasted effort -- he is less silver-tongued by half than either Josephine or Leliana -- but duty compels him to try. “You don’t have to go.” He says, haltingly. “The Inquisition is... very likely, all that stands between the world, and darkness. You could be a part of that. A large part, likely.”

“I’m not what you want.” She says, voice small. “Believe me.”

The omission tugs at something inside him.

“The Inquisition…” She makes a helpless gesture. He can’t see the flare of magic in her palm, the glove covers her arm, up to her elbow, but he can feel it. “You need someone strong, and brave, and I can’t bear --” She shakes her head. “All I am is scared. All the time.”

Oh. Oh of course.

Cullen frowns at his own stupidity. “How long have you been an Apostate?”

She closes her eyes, the breath rushes out of her with a soft sigh. “I’ve seen more people in the last day, than I have in the last five years. I haven’t spoken this much since…” She shakes her head, eyes still closed, as if shaking off bad memories. “I don’t know what to do.” She says, thickly.

“Stay.” He asks.

She makes a sound that bears the shape of laughter, but isn’t. “It’s not that simple.”

“It can be.” He looks at her. “I know the cost of conflict. I know what you will need to bear, should you choose to remain. And I have no good reason for you to do so. Still. Stay, please.”

Cullen does not know how many heartbeats they stand in silence in the drifting snow. But all at once she seems unable to hold his gaze. He’s certain she’ll turn and go, but inexplicably she nods.

“I’ll stay.” She agrees, softly.

Cullen closes his eyes.

Thank the Maker.

#journals of csr #my fic #dragon age #cullen rutherford #cullen x f!lavellan #cullen x lavellan #sorry this took forever #seriously #this fic is THE fic #but I feel like I shouldn't be writing it #and it is legit a wall to wall trope #but I fucking love this fic

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tiamat-zx · 8 years ago

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Mortality

Synopsis: Keyleth struggles to come to terms with the limits of her mortality, especially after it was briefly snuffed out. Set during Episode 97, “Taryon, My Wayward Son”.

Notes: Suffice to say, Episode 97 was a mix of emotions for me, especially that fatal dive. I pretty much went through the five stages of grief instantly, and it still persisted long after the episode ended. While it was funny, I can’t help but think about how she may be feeling now that she’s experienced death just like the rest of Vox Machina, thus the inspiration for a fic like this.

Keep in mind that this is a first draft, and thus I’m wondering what you guys think of it. Please let me know via an ask, a reblog, or whatever you deem fit.

It’s funny how one’s views on life and death can change, especially after seeing everyone die around you and still come back.

Especially when you end up experiencing death yourself.

The sun was setting over the high peaks of the Alabaster Sierras as Vox Machina started to set up camp for the evening, still half a day away from Whitestone. The day had been rather hectic for so many reasons, mostly due to the Trickfoots being no more than petty con artists and not at all appreciative of the one who found a different path from them. They were taken advantage of and while the gnomes did win in the end, being given all of Pike’s gold, they still lost the cleric’s respect and were given the threat of death should they cross paths with her again. They didn’t even flinch as they left, not even resisting the idea of J.B. staying behind.

But the worst of it all happened soon after, with such a reckless attempt at being helpful resulting in a very fatal mistake.

As most of Vox Machina cleared the site, one of them refused to help. Keyleth huddled against a tree far away from everyone else, still shaken over the course of the past several hours. It was such a stupid move on her part, thinking that she could easily survive a fall that high. She grew complacent and overconfident, not unlike the others before death had claimed them briefly as well. But more than anything, she was extremely stressed and weighed down over the course of the past year and the lingering trauma of the events after the Chroma Conclave. She yearned to just cut loose and have fun, to finally blow off some pent-up steam after the bullshit she had gone through over that course of time.

For her, it was practically instantaneous because she didn’t even feel the impact, much less the excruciating pain that no doubt followed. She was surrounded by blackness for the briefest of moments, and she felt so tired and scared. She truly believed that she had it coming, that it was a rather fitting punishment for someone like her. And the next thing she knew, she could hear the very familiar cries of Vex’ahlia and could feel a surge of power through her body as she opened her eyes to see the ranger hovering over her, nonstop tears falling down her face.

Keyleth tried to apologize for such an impulsive and foolish action, that she really felt bad for scaring her that much. Vex, in her usual cool way, brushed it off and voiced how glad she was that she brought her back from the darkness. But as much as Keyleth idolized Vex’ahlia, she still couldn’t help but feel as if the ranger didn’t truly understand what it felt like for her. Regardless, after many moments of conversation, and Vax struggling with the reality of what had happened to her, they all proceeded to hike down the mountain.

Keyleth rocked herself back and forth, trying to cope with her experience. Out of everyone in the original group, she was the last of them to experience death. And it wasn’t even in battle or due to old age. It was her being very fucking reckless. She was the headmaster of her people, for Melora’s sake. She had to keep on living so that she could grow as a leader, to guide her people to further prosperity. Yet ever since becoming the Voice of the Tempest, she had continued to make stupid and careless decisions, such as back in the Nine Hells where she almost died and her death would’ve left the others stranded. Just recalling the look on Vex’s face in that moment when she woke up, and then those of most of the group, broke her heart.

Why am I even still alive at this point? Considering all the choices I’ve made in my life, I shouldn’t even be here now. It just goes to show that I’m not truly fit for leading, much less an adventuring life...

“Kiki? Where are you?”

Keyleth jumped at the sound of a familiar voice coming from behind her. She looked over her shoulder from her position behind the tree, and in the faint moonlight she could just barely make out an equally familiar silhouette of a male individual.

“Vax...” Keyleth said after a moment, her voice still soft and weak from the trauma of her revival.

Vax’ildan turned towards the sound of her voice and eventually found her as he walked towards her. He then sat down right next to her, and Keyleth could see the weariness all over his face.

“Vax, I’m so sorry. That was so—”

Keyleth didn’t even get to finish her sentence as Vax suddenly embraced her, and she could hear him sobbing. She froze, unable to will herself to hug him back.

“Is this real? You’re really here, right?” Vax asked her, his voice cracking amidst the tears.

Keyleth then started to cry again herself and then softly replied, “Yeah... I’m really here. I’m surprised I am still here. I’m really sorry, Vax. That was so very foolish.”

“Don’t do that again, gods dammit... Please don’t do that again,” Vax told her, sobbing all the while. “I can’t bear to lose you. Besides, being reckless is my job.”

Despite the sadness, Keyleth couldn’t help but chuckle weakly. “I know. We are so very much alike, it’s rather funny. A couple of idiots who charge into danger, not realizing or understanding the consequences of our actions.”

Vax was quiet for a while before replying, “We sure are.”

They remained still for another few moments as Keyleth finally found the strength to hug him back. She was still very much surprised. She was here. Vax was here. They were both swallowed by darkness and pulled back into the light. Birds of a feather, they were. The past year that they got to spend together was one of the most rewarding experiences she ever had in her life. For the first time since her mother was said to have not returned, she truly felt happy being home. Diplomatic work kept her busy a lot, but she still found every opportunity she could to be with the man she loved.

“I heard you,” Vax said suddenly.

“Huh?”

“When I was dead. I heard you,” he clarified. “For a moment, I was seriously considering just letting go, content that I was able to help you complete your Aramenté. But then you reminded me of the promise we made, to settle down together in Zephra. You reminded me of how much I loved you. And it was then that I realized that I couldn’t just leave you behind, not when I gave my word.”

Keyleth nodded, still holding him tight. “Thank you... for coming back. And... I’m glad I’m back, too.”

“Will you be all right going forward?” Vax asked her.

Keyleth thought for a moment, and then said, “I think so. I just... need to process what happened. I’ll be okay, though. No more thousand foot cliff diving for me.”

The last part she had said with a laugh. Vax couldn’t help but chuckle. “I can’t believe I fell in love with a woman like you. But I would never take it back.”

“Same,” Keyleth replied. “There’s so much left for us to do as well. I... do hope we get to have as much time as possible together. And even when you die and I’m still here, as long as I’m happy having gotten to be with you for as long as I could, that’s enough to get me through.”

She then pulled back and gave Vax a kiss. And when she pulled away, she said, “I love you so much. And I’m sorry for worrying you. I promise you that I’ll be more careful.”

Vax nodded. “I’ll hold you to that, headmaster. Otherwise, Korren will have my head.”

Keyleth nodded back. “Now then, I suppose we should head to camp, right?”

The two half-elves stood up off the ground and then, while holding hands, they headed back to camp. It was a very hectic day, and they needed to rest desperately. Tomorrow, they would be back in Whitestone and managing the Slayer’s Cake. Things would go a little easier for now. There was still the issue of not knowing when the Raven Queen would cash in on Vex’s bargain, but for now, it was peaceful.

It was a peace worth living for.

#critical role #vaxleth #keyleth of the air ashari #vax'ildan #character death #critfic #cr spoilers #episode 97 #taryon my wayward son #first draft

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ashnadir · 8 years ago

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nuadxa:

Just because Nuadia had been nice enough to warn Iann that he needed to backup, didn’t mean their familiar was. He threw up behind the van, a steaming pile of gnat and spider bodies. Not even the fox’ iron stomach could break down those creatures.

The gnats dying had been one thing. Nuadia would have been happy to put on gnat stomping boots and wage war against them until they were too tired to move. What had stressed them to their limit was the arrival of a conclave of spiders and then the appearance of so many webs that it made their wings ache to look at. They wanted to wrap Iann in a web and see how well he liked it and then see if he could look at spider webs the same again, but no, they were currently too busy holding down their breakfast, as little as it was.

Morning adventure. Coffee after a long shift at the bar. Spiders. It made for an uneasy, green-faced fairy who looked like they’d rather be anywhere but there at the moment. They nope’d right into the van with the arrival of the mist. “I’ve seen the Stephen King movie. Nothing good ever comes from the mist,” they said, buckling up and taking Kit back into their lap. Kit looked equally green, fur lackluster and head resting on the windowsill, looking out and breathing in the fresh air. “I’ll give the spiders this much though,” Nuadia offered, feeling as though they should offer something, “those webs will look amazing with the early morning sun shining on them, reflecting on dewdrops.”

Nuadia took in the information about the mayor. “Well, he’s worthless,” is what Iann received for that. “Is the hellmouth the reason why we’re comfortable here? Or is that just a byproduct? Have you seen it? Can you see it? Does it sit under the library in the university guarded by a once in a generation teenage girl and her patriarchal watcher that keeps her in line and expresses disapproval?” they asked with a quick grin.

Their idea about a music boundary had them searching for something to write on, but all they managed was the lipstick in their pocket and quickly glamouring their coffee mug into a piece of paper. They leaned forward to use the dash as a solid surface to write on and without bothering to change their lipstick into a pen (it’d serve the same purpose regardless) Nuadia drew a circle on the paper and dotted the inside with what could be trees or spiders or both. “Okay so - this is the grove,” they said, as Iann drove, “and the spiders are all inside. If we do the … what is it? Radius? The line that goes through a circle, what’s that called? Whatever, that thing. If we put the radios on a line - it could keep the spiders strictly around that line, just far enough away so they could hear. If we put the radios around the grove, then their territory expands and they could go beyond the grove as far as they hear the music. They were singing songs, so it sounds like they like them. If we can figure out the range of spider hearing, we can - maybe? Keep them to the grove by making so the music is only as loud as the territory we want them to stay in?” they asked, drawing small boxes on the inside of the circle to show where they could go in another arrangement. “we contain the sound and contain the spiders.”

Ha ha there was the joke: a dog's breakfast. Or in Kit's case, a fox-familiar's brunch. Iann just glanced at the familiar; but since Nuadia seemed chill with it and the fox was a very independent familiar, Iann just grunted and went about his tasks.

"Yeah mist is never a good idea," Iann agreed, having eaten up Stephen King anthologies as a teenager so he knew the story, if not the movie (note: he'd probably love the movie). "It is pretty, right? I'd love to gather some one day. Maybe I'll take a drive to the quarry and see what they left behind..."

Iann winked at Nuadia, with a cheeky grin. "I won't invite you, I promise." Raising an eyebrow at the cold coffee, Iann added. "I can give you some good coffee or I can take you home immediately. You - well no offense but you look like shit, Nuadia. How much sleep does a New York ex-pat need?"

Iann shrugged congenially about the Mayor. To him, government was both necessary and worthless, so he was neither disappointed nor hopeful about the Mayor; the politician existed on a plane of existence that didn't really influence Iann, save for preventing some sort of dystopian chaos., Iann supposed. The Hellmouth on the other hand.

He laughed at the Buffy reference - "That show did manage to get some things right. The Hellmouth isn't obviously a 'portal to Hell', that's just the prevalent Christian interpretation. And as you know there's plenty of Christian-interpretation that proliferates the US of A. It is a portal though, and one I'd avoid, definitely. You know how ley lines influence witch magic, feeds them energy for good or bad usage? The Hellmouth is sort of filled with energy too, but it both attracts energy like a black hole, and spews it out. Soapberry sits on a hotspot, basically, where a lot of ley line energy and this hellmouth energy converges. Which is why it's such a perfect place for supernaturals, it's...it's rife with magic and other-worldliness, make it all just easier to...manifest? Absorb? Everything."

Driving slowly, Iann watched Nuadia sketch something out in deep interest. He absently nodded in confirmation about radius, pondering Nuadia's theory. "So you're saying the spiders are attached to the music..." Iann said, and he could understand where that idea came from. They were singing when they arrived, and they'd originated in the basement of a nightclub/bar. It made sense - fairy sense, but Iann liked fairy sense. He looked behind him, at the two dead spider carcasses he'd managed to salvage (and covered in a tarp so Nuadia didn't have to see them chillaxing in the back of the van).

"I can find out how far they hear, I'm sure," Iann said slowly, once more regretting the loss of Mal Ojo. He had a whole lab in the basement set up for this sort of thing. He'd need to find somewhere to conduct these experiments.

"The only downside of starting from the middle of the grove and coming outward along a radial line is that we actually have to go into the grove. The most spidery part of the grove where it can get...pretty dark under that canopy of web and tree. On the other hand, like you said, we can preserve the rest of the grove from their spider-webs and occupation..." Iann weighed the odds, grinning at the idea of the spiders' music taste.

"70's pop rock, baby. Hey - aren't there like fancy radios that connect to a satellite and...I don't know. Digitally stream only super-specific songs now? Like on your iphone or something? No radio DJs or commercial breaks?"

guhnat

#nuadiaomurchadha

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cryptodictation · 5 years ago

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The oil powers close a historic snip of supply to stabilize the market | Economy

An employee bikes near an oil tank from Aramco, the Saudi state oil company.Maxim Shemetov / Reuters

Until the last minute. European summits have a habit of rushing to the maximum, often well into the early hours of the morning, to close the fringes of the negotiation. Those of the G7, three quarters of the same: although the Sherpas They have already traveled almost all the way, the presidents take to the limit of the hour the pact of a text of conclusions. The conclave of the oil powers has followed the same trail in the last four days: taking advantage of the truce of the markets for Easter -there was no session on Friday-, the ministers of the expanded OPEC and the rest of the producers have had to wait until Last hour of Sunday to overcome the resistance of Mexico and finish the biggest snip on the offer of always. 9.7 million barrels will come out of the market as of May, a tenth of what is extracted today every day around the world, with a single objective: to re-level the market and try to revive prices that take weeks installed in a minimum area of almost two decades.

“At the end of the telematic ministerial meeting, an agreement was signed to cut oil production by 9.7 million barrels per day from May 1,” the Kazakh government, one of the countries that are part of the expanded cartel The cut of almost 10 million barrels per day will be applied in April and May – the months in which demand is expected to suffer the most from the consequences of Covid-19 – and the figure will gradually decline until April 2022, when the oil powers will have to sit down at the table again. However, the investors' response is uncertain. The tap is closed more than ever before, yes, but the preliminary calculations – everything around the pandemic is preliminary – they point to a much greater drop in demand, between a third and a fifth of what was consumed before the virus stopped the economy and monopolized everything: with the economy stopped, the appetite for oil is, literally low.

And, in addition, the specific number of cuts to which the oil nations that are not part of OPEC or OPEC + or expanded OPEC (the United States, Canada, Brazil and Norway, among others) will commit: given their word that they will be applied in the task of reducing supply. But, although everything points to about five million barrels per day, leaving the global snip at 15 million barrels, almost 15% of world production, they have not clarified that point.

“The US actively supports the (OPEC +) agreement and they affirm that they are willing to contribute something to the cut in production, a figure of between two and three million barrels per day,” stressed the Russian head of Energy and key actor in the negotiations, Alexander Novak, in an interview on the Rossiya-1 channel collected by the Efe agency. “I hope that the current situation, in the framework of the discussion on the ways out of the crisis, will become a bridge to restore confidence and continue energy cooperation (with the United States).” His words are a clear attempt to calm the markets in a moment of maximum volatility. The most recent precedent does not invite optimism: on Thursday, when the cut of almost 10 million barrels per day by the expanded OPEC was beginning to be taken for granted, crude oil brent welcomed the figure with skepticism and closed the day with a fall of 4%. The Texas bump was even worse, above 9%.

The final stamp to the OPEC + pact has been put this Sunday, but it has been an agreement by fascicles. On Thursday, Saudi Arabia and Russia, the world's top and second largest exporters respectively, parked the differences that derailed everything a month ago and reached an agreement to cut their pumping. They would be five million barrels per day, almost a quarter of their joint production, which they would cut, to which we would have to add almost another five from the rest of the OPEC countries, and a similar amount by the rest of the producers, with USA – already become the world's leading producer thanks to the revolution in fracking– in front. On Friday night the G20 energy ministers picked up the gauntlet and applauded the cuts, but failed to ratify the principle of the agreement and were unable to put figures to the cuts: Mexico, a country that has continued to lose market share -and, therefore, importance- in the international oil scene, he resisted.

This Sunday, on the brink of the reopening of the markets and through a videoconference, Riyadh, Moscow and the rest of the expanded cartel have managed to overcome the Mexican resistance by accepting what the Government of Andrés Manuel López Obrador was seeking: to reduce to a minimum its share of cuts at a critical time for its economy and, especially, for its state oil company (Pemex), the most indebted in the world.

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#Economy

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newsdistribution · 8 years ago

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FORE International OB & HR Conference 2016- the 5th FORE International Conference.

FORE School of Management, New Delhi organized its 5th FORE International Conference in the OB&HR area i.e., FORE International OB and HR Conference (FIOHC) 2016, on November 24-25, 2016. The conference theme was “Riding the New Tides – Navigating the Future through Effective People Management”. The conference brought together the corporate and the academia who shared their experience on the theme. The conference in its different events like Inaugural, Plenary sessions, HR Leaders’ Conclave, and Technical tracks, etc., delved into real life anecdotes, shared ideas, talked about the trends in the industry, presented research papers and business case-studies making it a truly enriching endeavor for all the participants belonging to both corporate and academia.

The ball started rolling with a pre-conference workshop on ‘Theory Building’ on November 23, 2016, where the resource person was Dr. Stewert Clegg, Professor, University of Technology, Sydney, Australia. He talked about data analysis, interviews, audio and video recordings and role of focused groups during the workshop

November 24, 2016 of FIOHC 2016 began with auspicious lamp-lighting ceremony in the Inaugural Function and Conference Theme was introduced by the convener of the conference, Dr. Prachi Bhatt. Dr. Bhatt was joined by esteemed dignitaries on the dais and she invited Dr. Jitendra Das, Director, FORE School of Management, New Delhi for his Welcome Address. He introduced and welcomed Dr. Stewert Clegg, Professor, University of Technology, Sydney, Australia, Chief Guest of the inaugural function. He also welcomed Col. (Dr.) S. P. Wahi, Guest of Honour of the function. He is the member of the Executive Board of FORE and Former Chairman – Oil and Natural Gas Corporation (ONGC).

Dr. Jitendra Das in his address said “Some of the changes happening in the OB & HR sector are not visible. It is important to understand the changes and disruption happening due to technology,” he said. Col. (Dr.) S. P. Wahi in his special address shared his experience and said “Leadership is ability, not a position”. Given his experience as a corporate leader, he shared a very realistic and contemporary definition of leaders’ attributes. Dr. Bhatt then invited Dr. Clegg for his Keynote address on ‘People and Management in the corporation after the Global Financial Crisis’. Dr. Clegg’s address covered interesting topics including economic neoliberalism, recent historic events, digital age and changes after global financial crisis. “In 2014, the richest 1% of the people in the world owned 48% of global wealth, leaving just 52% to be shared between the other 99% of adults on the planet,” he stated.

As per FORE International Conference tradition, Co-conveners of FIOC 2015 along with the dignitaries unveiled the conference book entitled ‘Competing through Operations Excellence’. The function ended by extending token of appreciation to the dignitaries followed by a Vote of thanks by Dr. Prachi Bhatt.

Inaugural function was followed by three parallel technical tracks with 8 to 9 with papers/cases were presented in each track. After paper presentations, had an opportunity to interact with the guests during the lunch break.

The gathering reconvened for the Plenary Session on ‘New Trends in HR’. Dr. Bishakha MAjumdar, Convener welcomed the esteemed speakers, i.e., Mr. Soumen Chatterjee, Global Lead-Strategic HR and LOB People Practices, HCL Technologies, Ms. Shaaista Quettawala, Head – HR, Bain & Company, Gurugram and Mr. S. Y. Siddiqui, Chief Mentor, Maruti Suzuki India Ltd., Gurugram. Mr. Chatterjee talked about the innovation in HCL and said, “Today most leaders are suffering with the dichotomy of business – whether to optimise current business or re-invent and innovate.” Ms. Quettewala focused on Design Thinking and added, “People don’t stick to a company because of compensation, foreign trips or promotions. They do because they identify with the values of the company.” Mr. Siddiqui, who also was session chair, looked back on the changes in the field during his expansive career and revealed how he took HR from a support function to the Board Room in Maruti Suzuki India Ltd. This session ended with an interesting Q & A round.

Then followed by a tea and a networking opportunity, participants reconvened for the ‘HR Analytics workshop’ conducted by Prof. Ashok Kumar Harnal, Operations Area at FORE School of MAangement. SHRM Workshop on HR Certification was conducted by SHRM facilitator and provided valuable takeaways, and information for participants interested in HR certification. That brought the exciting day of activities to end on a high note.

Dr. Rishikesha T. Krishnan Director, IIM Indore started Day 2 of FIOHC 2016 with his Keynote Address. He talked about the concept of The Rider, The Elephant, and The Path by Heath Brothers. “The heart is an Elephant, the conscious mind is the Rider, and the environment is the Path. You have to direct the Rider, motivate the elephant and shape the path to sustain change,” he said to a huge round of applause.

Later, HR Leaders’ Conclave: The Next Big Idea started as schedule, where Dr. Priyanka Jaiswal, Convener, welcomed the speakers. Mr. Ashwini Mehra, Former Dy. Managing Director & Corporate Development Officer, State Bank of India, Mr. Ravi P. Singh Director (Personnel), Power Grid India Ltd., Ms. Veena Swarup Former Director, Engineers India Ltd., Delhi, Mr. Prakash Rao, Founding Member and Vice-President, Multi-Process HR Outsourcing, People Strong, Gurugram, were the other leading corporate speakers on the panel.

Dr. Yasho V. Verma, Former Chief Operating Officer, LG Electronics India Pvt. Ltd and also Board Member of FORE played a very important role of Session Chair of the concalve. Dr. Verma started the discussion with the challenges posed to the generation to come. Mr. Ashwini Mehra added, “HR is heart of any organization. Companies where people management is done efficiently tend to excel. Global competition, innovation has brought the need for revamp and e-HR is leading the way.” Dr. Ravi P. Sharma stressed on the importance of employee relationship as he offered examples from his role as the Director of Power Grid India Pvt. Ltd. Ms. Swarup concluded the conclave by talking about Business Strategy. “Major challenges that employees will face is a good work – life balance.

To come up with a well defined roles and variety at work will be another challenge,” she said. Mr. Prakash Rao, the next speaker of the conclave, took the discussion to another interesting side of HR i.e., Neuroscience in HR, Artificial Intelligence and Destructive Technology. “Future work forces should be customer-centric, knowledge intensive, networked, highly productive, process excellence and a member of an agile team,” he stated. At the end, Dr. Verma, encouraged Questions from the participants and concluded the discussion of the conclave acknowledging the changing environment and critical role of HR professionals.

Three parallel technical tracks for case and paper presentation followed the lunch.

In the Valedictory function of FIOHC 2016, Prof. Subir Verma, convener, presented the conference summary and thanked all those involved in organising FIOHC 2016, including thanks to the team conveners of FIOHC 2016 i.e., Dr. Prachi Bhatt, Dr. Priyanka Jaiswal and Dr. Bishakha Majumdar. Also, three best paper award and one best business case award was announced and a prize-money of Rs.10,000 each, were distributed to the winners.

The conference ended with the Valedictory function in the presence of honourable dignitaries. Dr. Jitendra Das, Director, FORE School of Management, in his address appreciated the overwhelming participation of corporate and academia and research scholars in FIOHC 2016. He also mentioned about the upcoming FIOHC 2016 Book to be published by Emerald group of publishing, India. Chief Guest of the Valedictory Function was Mr. Suresh D. Tripathy, Vice-President – Human Resource Management, Tata Steel India, Jamshedpur.

Dr. Vinayshil Gautam, Sr. Managing Director & Principal Economic Adviser Protiviti India Member Pvt. Ltd, and Member, Executive Board, was the Guest of Honour. Dr. Gautam made a Special Address on the occasion where he reminded that HR has been defined differently in different times. “The future lies in dealing with managing people’s skills. We need to understand that no individual is hired – it is the skills which are hired,” he said. Mr. Tripathy in his Valedictory Address talked about digitalization and hinted to what lies ahead. “Prepare yourself for the tide, foresee it”, he said. Mr. Tripathi also added “Job descriptions are fluid now. Going forward, only few employees will be part of the core teams, rest will be on contractual work for their skills. Managing people is a challenge but also an opportunity”. The event ended with Prof. Subir Vermas’s Vote of Thanks, followed by networking session and tea.

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