#or names like blight plague dagger

[thelittlestspider]

it would be funny if naming kids after characters from tragedies was common as a good luck thing in the orphan country verse.

[legionmaster001]

My first and maybe last post, as editing in the Tmblur app is hell. A little way to express my love for @bl00dalchemist's beautiful, funny and dark characters.

I know this is not the kind of story that fits with them, but is what I can do with my history knowledge and poor writing skills.

I hope you all enjoy it.

"A dense mist engulfed the town of Sicily as a withe chariot aproached from the Northside one morning of October. The horses that pulled it looked sick, with their whinny resounding through the souls of those who first saw them like the pleads of a dying men.

—Aye! Aye! —exclaimed the driver, coughing and whipping his horses.

The mist stopped as the chariot did. Near the entrance of the town its passager got out, saying not a single word to the poor looking driver before giving him a fist of herbs and a small sheet of paper.

—I owe you my life, sir —claimed the driver, thankfully.

—You shall pay me soon, then... —whispered the young man as he turned around, willing to go to his destination on foot.

Soon, only the sound of footsteps and the clicking sound of a wooden cane could be heard, as the townsfolk that stayed in their homes observed the foreigner with suspicion. The man, with his black clothes, stiff cane and leather bag, never stared back. He was the doctor that the town needed.

—Maybe it's too late... —Wondered the doctor, scratching his beard.

Promptly he arrived to the galleons, where an emissary of death should unload a charge of a Plague. His superiors had heard about it long before, and predicted a wave of death and decay so great that it might as well be the end of all men. A disease so terrible that made the greatest Imperium of the world quail, and transformed the deserts of the East in black seas, making the Crusades look like a simple bar fight, and leaving piles upon piles of corpses, tall enough to cover the light of the morning sun.

—He is here!

—It can't be.

—Just in the right moment.

The people that had gathered in the gallows welcomed the Doctor with most expectation and joy.

—What is happening, my friend? —Asked the Doctor to the nearest man. Fear started to grow inside him as he realized that he already knew what was the problem.

—Ships came, the mariners look so sick, we'd never seen something like that! —Answered the man.

The Doctor walked to the sick mariners, seemingly calm. Dead flesh by fingers and tumors as big as apples adorning their necks; the mariners had what was soon to be known as the Black Death. Such sight deeply affected the Doctor, that feared they wouldn't survive enough to be played with, and make the townsfolk help them arrive to a church. He had more important things to do in the main ship, and as so, giving the excuse of finding a cause to such an horrible illness, he went alone.

He wandered to the insides of the ship, slowly revealing his nature: skin withe as winter snow, theet and claws sharp and short as daggers, a tail that moved elegantly over the ground, and horns long and curved in a beautiful but simple way, with black ends. The demon Doctor finally was free, as he both rejoiced and shivered at the results of the Black Death; mariners abandoned still alive, drowning in their own vomited blood, corpses filled to the brim with tumors, and at the end of it all, a rotten, destroyed last corpse of what seemed to be a rather small and young man roughly dressed as a Eastern Companion Lady.

—Not even the rats would claim this one... —Said the Doctor, poking the rotten corpse with his cane. A expression of disgust was on his face.

—But you can, it's not that expensive —answered the supposed corpse in a sweet tone, or at least the sweetest it could do with its vocal cords so damaged.

—What in the bloody name of lord Baal...?

The now alive youngster extended a tounge like a venomous serpent, wich slowly coiled around the Doctor's cane in a unsuccessful attempt to look somewhat provocative. The Doctor looked at him with mistrust, as he didn't want another demon on his lands, even less one that could put in risk his entire career. But something called the attention of the Doctor: the young, rotten, blighted and lustful demon had glittering eyes with a strange beauty on them.

—Who the hell are you and what is your business here? —Asked the Doctor politely, snapping out of his trance, and pulling his cane out of the mouth of the living corpse— I just cleaned this thing...

—My name is Gillian, and I am a humble Satan's servant like you —said Gillian after he grew another tounge— born in holy land like you, ended up in the west, where Lord Belcebub gave me his most recent toy. Really not my type, but really kinky, I must admit.

—Go to the point.

—Whatever you say, big boy. I was taken by those called Mongols in an invasion, they used me and threw me to the walls of a city, and I came with the merchants that ran from the war, and here you have me. So, do you want me to...?

The Doctor interrupted Gillian, tapping the wooden planks with his cane. The smug and peaceful expression with wich he entered the ship was again in his face. He Scratched his beard again, meditating about the situation. Before speaking he put on a small pair of reading glasses.

—I want you to leave. Now! —Shouted the Doctor, clearly mad— I can't afford to lose all my potential patients because of your pestilence!

—You don't sound like a doctor at all —said Gillian, carefree and rather relaxed, almost like if he enjoyed the anger proyected at him.

—I am, but I have no enough hands, nor patience to amputate all this people, it wouldn't even be fun anymore —The Doctor turned around, ready to leave— I am not the only one that will get damaged by this situation, so is better if you swim back to the East.

—I will see what I can do, hotstuff —Gillian lifted his leg, showing off what was left of it before it fell, leaving nothing but a small pool of black mush.

—In my 1400 years of life I've never been so horrified...

—It is not the last time you'll say that, I bet.

Breathing deep the Doctor started to leave, thinking of ways to actually save some lifes before the plage started to get worse.

—Anyway, before you leave, what is your name? —Asked Gillian, trying to slowly cralw.

—Kynto.

Gillian stopped in his tracks, looking at Kynto more than impressed, he knew the name of the demon that transformed a section of the holy order of the Hospital from templars to a encrazed cult that adored a gigant goatman and the art of the unnecessary surgery on living humans.

In that cold morning Kynto, the cruel image of the sadism dressed as men of medicine, met both the factor and the person that would end his current life, and forever change his eternal one, just like the world itself".

For those to made it to the end; a million thanks, and have a good rest of the day.

[a-byronic-heroine]

Full Name: Kly Haelia Elaine Cousland

Nickname/Alias: The Vampire of Orlais

Origin: Kly comes from Clyde, a Cousland lord of many years past known for his skill with architecture. Haelia comes from the name of the Bann that united forces against the plague of lycanthropy, gaining the family’s rank as Teyrn. Elaine comes from family friend Leonas Bryland’s sister and Rendon Howe’s wife. She was considered a talented physician and herbalist.

Gender: Female

Orientation: Pansexual

Birthplace: Highever

Species/Ethnicity: Human/Ferelden

Biological Family: Bryce Cousland (father), Eleanor Cousland (mother), Fergus Cousland (eldest brother), Oren Cousland (nephew), Hero of Ferelden (sibling)

Adoptive Family: Uldred (mentor and father-figure in the Ferelden Circle)

Infancy: Kly was always a very fitful baby. She was rarely happy when in the presence of those outside direct family, seeming stressed and anxious. She cried and screamed often when strangers visited the halls of Highever’s keep and tried to interact with her. She also became irritable when left alone or not being held by someone. Loud or foreign noises always threw her into long, harsh tantrums. She never learned to crawl and immediately transitioned from not being mobile at all to walking. She was a good sleeper and was always happy to see people she recognized. 

Childhood: Kly was a very emotionally sensitive and clingy child. But she was happy. Her parents began to notice things around her would shake or move when she became upset or stressed. They tried their best to hide it by keeping her more hidden and keeping her under strict supervision, but it bred animosity in Kly despite her parents’ good intentions. It all came to a climax when, during a family dinner, she argued with her parents until she lost control. Everything on the dining table was suddenly shoved from the table. The table itself rose and shattered against the ceiling. All of this happened in front of several guards, servants and the Chantry mother. She was sent to the Circle within the same week. She was only seven. She never did fit well in the Circle, always thinking her parents would come and save her. She didn’t understand how the Chantry worked then. She kept to herself and never did well in classes. She rarely ate or slept. She was always trying to escape to get back to her family until Uldred sat her down and told her the reality of being a mage and what the Chantry truly was. Kly immediately clung to Senior Enchanter Uldred, and he took her under his wing. After that, she started to open up among her peers and do better in her studies.

Adolescence/Teens: Kly was always very resentful of the Chantry and the Circle in general, and by this time, she believed her family had thrown her out like trash. She had developed a severe anxiety about being constantly watched and started hiding from everyone. As she neared the age of sixteen, she started to notice her peers suddenly just disappearing with no explanation. Many died during their Harrowings, but those who were made Tranquil haunted her. Uldred coerced her into learning blood magic to make sure she passed her Harrowing. The things she’d learned in the Fade had opened her eyes. She had to escape. She ran only days after successfully becoming a fully-fledged mage and tracked down the templar carrying her phylactery to Denerim. She attempted to steal it, but he attacked her and she accidentally killed him. After that, she has been on the run. The Circle officially declared her an apostate, and she was assumed dead in order to keep her family from snooping into Kinloch.

Birthmarks/Scars: She has a thick scar on her right palm. This is where she cuts for blood magic. She’s lost all feeling in that hand because of severed nerves. She has a large Lichtenberg figure from her days as an apprentice that starts on her back and wraps over her shoulder.

Scent: She usually smells like pine tar and crystal grace.

Wardrobe: She mostly wears common dresses when in public. They’re simple and very conservative. If she’s working, she’ll wear a leather smock over whatever she’s wearing to keep blood and potions off her clothing. When she’s travelling or knows she’ll be in combat, she wears light leather armor. 

Equipment: She wears a ring on her thumb with a sharp barb on it for quick blood magic. Her staff looks like a hewing spear and is rarely used or even taken out. She also has a dagger on her hip. She keeps a knapsack filled with herbs and potions around when she travels.

Health: Her body is worn down from anxiety and stress, so she looks a bit older than she actually is. She already has strands of grey in her hair, and she’s very thin, but not from lack of eating. She has heart problems (cardiomyopathy) that she treats with a potion made from the powder of royal elfroot and dawn lotus. She will sometimes have bouts of severe anemia from using her blood in her magic.

Phobias: She has severe agoraphobia though by the end of DAO, she’s able to interact with others more easily. Being forced to care for Blight sufferers made her learn to adapt quickly. By the end of DA2, she’s much more adept at social interactions. By the start of the Inquisition, she’s almost completely tamed her phobia though it does occasionally rear its ugly head.

Funds: She does odd jobs for the Mage’s Collective and will work with physicians and villages without healers. Eventually, she joins the Mage Underground, becoming the “Vampire of Orlais”. 

Religion: She believes in the Maker but thinks he’s a sadistic ass that has abandoned everyone to the evils of his “holy” Chantry. Andraste, she thinks, was just some power-monger that used religion to amass an army and incite a rebellion.

Regrets: Kly regrets not getting into contact with her family after escaping Kinloch. Even if they would have turned her in to the authorities, it would’ve been good to see them and try to get some sort of closure. She also thinks that by going to see them, she could’ve somehow prevented Rendon Howe’s betrayal from killing her family. 

Hobbies/Interests: She enjoys gardening and tending to farm animals, and she thoroughly enjoys healing. It’s hard, menial work which allows her to relax and not think for a while.

[little-wintry]

So. This is Different.

((I’ll cut to the chase. I’m absolutely sick as a dog, but somehow I have enough inspiration to write something for my big WIP. Like, the big one, the series, the one I wrote three books for. Am I gonna write book 4 today? Probably not, but hopefully sometime soon. But, I really really really wanted to post this here [so maybe I can get a tad bit of validation] before going into a cough medicine induced coma and binging [bingeing? binge-ing? don’t fucking know man] buzzfeed unsolved. I will explain a few things below, since obviously context will be needed for this sad 3 1/2 page passage, but just know this isn’t your average Destiny Shit(tm).))

Before we begin, know that this is from my main WIP, Paladins, both a well-fleshed out fantasy series and a bit of a plot-mess sci-fi series. The character this is written in the perspective of, Jacklyn, is the Champion of a goddess, Mirsith. Unfortunately, said goddess also has an evil counterpart, Minsar, which recently was able to corrupt Jacklyn enough after the death of her brother. This lead Kata, Jacklyn’s wife, to go after her. This whole thing is the battle from Jacklyn’s point of view. Yes, it’s a little whack, yes, I’m crazy, but I’m throwing this out into the void for some validation and also im sick, have mercy on a poor dumb soul. And like, this is gonna sound weird, but spoilers I guess? I dont fucking know man maybe i’ll publish this someday and if someone somehow manages to come across this i don’t wanna be a dick.

-----------------------------------

There was a burning pain the back of her head. 

It had been there for what felt like hours, now. Pulsing, biting, sending spikes of pain through her skull. She flinched with every wave of it, white spots dancing in her eyes.

Her body ached. It was as if she was stumbling through a dream, a dream heavy with smoke and heat and blood, less of a dream and more of an all-too-real nightmare. She was a whirl of blades, and anger burned hot in her chest.

Who was she angry at? She couldn’t remember. Her own sense of self was beginning to crumble, she was now nothing but a name that escaped her. Grief ran in her blood, grief for a face that was… close? Someone she knew, right?

She couldn’t remember them. Why was she grieving?

She was fighting a shadow. Not a Shadow, capital-S, the mindless servants that plagued this realm otherwise. But… a shadow, a memory, a faint silhouette against the web of storm clouds in the sky, and words, scattered and fragmented, filled the air.

She pinned the shadow down. Something about their figure, the subtle feeling of the way they fought and the way they almost seemed to try to calm her, it was… familiar.

Her dagger hovered above the figures chest. For a moment, it was all silent.

DO IT, a voice hissed in the back of her mind. She flinched. SHE IS AT YOUR MERCY, STRIKE DEEPLY INTO HER HEART.

She paused. The grief was beginning to vanish, the hot anger solidifying into a chunk of ice within her chest. Her mouth was dry, her muscles aching, and her heart, her heart was beating softly, as if it was beginning to… remember.

“N-No,” She whispered.

DO IT, YOU INSOLENT CHILD. SHE TOOK AWAY YOUR BROTHER, YOUR HOME, YOUR LIFE YOU ONCE WERE HAPPY WITH. SHE DESERVES TO DIE IN AGONY.

Lies. This voice, this consistent presence she was feeling, was lying to her, had been lying to her, this whole time. She could feel it now - the figure she had pinned was beginning to solidify, the words becoming clearer and clearer.

“Because I love you, and I always will-”

“No,” She said again, stronger. “She, she loves me. She cares about me, she’s my home-”

NO! SHE’S A VILE DEMON, A BLIGHT ON THIS WORLD-

“It doesn’t matter how much you hurt me because I know this isn’t the real you-”

Her hands were trembling now, and though she couldn’t see the figures face, she could picture it, perfectly in her mind. Warm, coffee brown eyes, onyx-dark hair. A smile that could chase away the worst nightmares.

“Kata-” She said, the name finally finding its way into her mouth. “Kata, I-”

STOP! The voice boomed. Her limbs screamed in pain, and her violence solidified, taking her over again. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the knife, but her eyes screamed with hot tears.

The figure - Kata, her wife - was still speaking, the words still echoing in her mind.

“I know for a fact, that when this is over, when we’re sitting at home and you’re back safe in my arms, you’re going to regret this. And I won’t even be mad, because I know you love me back, Jackie.”

Jackie, that was her, her name. 

The world around her came into view. Desaturated, crumbling buildings, a treeline in the distance, and Kata, pinned to the ground, bloody and bruised, with tears drawing lines down her cheeks.

But her mind was not her own. She couldn’t move a muscle.

With every ounce of her being, every ounce of this newfound self and love, she stood. The knife vanished in her grasp. Opposite of Kata, there was a woman, black ram horns and a blood-red gown, scowling and furious.

You are Jacklyn Storm, a Paladin, a protector, a wife and a friend-

You are a queen, not a pawn.

Not a pawn in someone else’s game.

The woman with the horns - Minsar, a name she remembered, a name that filled her mouth with venom - still held some control, still tainted her words, but Jacklyn found just enough independence to speak.

“Maybe being a Paladin did teach me a thing or two,” Jacklyn said, turning. Her mind ran quickly, thinking of how to purge the influence in her blood.

As a Champion of Mirsith, Minsar can influence you as well. As long as Minsar’s magic is within you, Minsar will always be there. You know what you must do.

Jacklyn did. But the very thought of it made her feel sick.

She turned her back to Kata for a moment. “I’m sorry, love.” She looked down at her hand, bloodstained, but through that blood a faint light began to pulse on her right palm, a tattoo of a snake.

She turned, and watched as Kata sat up, and called her name.

Jacklyn could not listen. Her own power began to pulse inside of her, in time with her heartbeat. Somewhere, far from this realm, she felt a flicker of hope. And a flicker of fear.

She felt like, at any moment, the world could go out from under her, like her very consciousness could collapse. Her heart kept beating, faster, more and more energy surging within her like a thunderstorm.

You are Jacklyn Storm-

She remembered the first time she touched that Shrine.

A Paladin-

She remembered running into the midst of battle for her friends’ sake.

A protector-

She remembered her wedding and long, late night talks with Atalanta and Lupa, with the rest of her team sitting by her side.

A wife and a friend-

Her coronation. The tall white spires of Neptune and the throne with an amethyst inset into the headrest and her own crown, which she was sure sat on her dresser back home.

You are a queen-

Minsar’s rage was tangible now. The rage of an immortal, an insane one at that, who was now having all of her delicate plans thrown away in an instant.

Kata was standing now, trying to make her voice heard over the maelstrom of magic.

Far away, her friends were fighting a battle they could loose.

Far away, eight immortals were locked in cells.

But here, and now? 

You are not a pawn in someone else's game.

A mortal, a single mortal, is writing upon the currents of time and doing what dozens of others before her could not.

Minsar ran towards her, a fistful of destructive magic in one hand. Kata screamed her name again, and Jacklyn had to ignore them all. Her entire body now, was alight with magic, and Jacklyn sent all of it out in one final shockwave.

[dmpinapl]

Final Session Chat Log

(These are the chat logs between and my good friend OJ while I played my last session with my D&D group. It was wild...)

I have to dnd in 5 minutes im going to message you updates the entire time to keep me sane

i look forward to your updates

update, we found 50 ft. tall doors made of magic metal failed to get through found stairs instead

Did u knock?

shit no

but they're doors to the evil fire giant base so maybe knocking is bad idea

Well maybe they're polite Even evil people open doors if u knock

that's true but we've already been climbing stairs for 30 minutes in game we found a goat guarding a pile of gold and treasure

Is the goat ok?

it has red wings oh shit there's 2 oh shit they're chimeras

:O Don't kill, befriend

ill try

Good

it has goat head, lion head, and dragon head dwarf is gonna try to tame it

That is the standard chimera look I'm p sure Good pet

killed one, tamed the other one "tamed" means tied it up in chains after grappling it for 5 minutes

Twas it NAMED tho?

yes Tribeast Dwarf is VERY creative

Aw that's not fun

agreed I offered Terthreesa i was rejected

Shoulda named it like Tribert

rejected again oof and now we're dragging it along with the chain

D:< no fun

I got mad loot

What chu get

obsideon dagger, 6 gems, music box, and gold helmet with gems inlaid very valuable, will sell for much money

Cool more funds to fuel eggs chaos (Note: I’m Eggs)

tru We made it to the top. 

Of the stairs?

Ye

I gave dwarf the box

(Note: Recently collected a possessed box that has a chance to swap souls with you when you open it)

Did he open 👀

he opened it 0,0 his soul swapped no one knows 0,0 i ran 100 ft. away when he picked it up hiding atm

Haaaaa Let me know how that goes

I told them that box can swap souls, and to ask anyone who opens it questions only they would know the answer to fake dwarf failed question, they are now all suspicious

We found Yakfolk half Yak people they cool nevermind they have halfling slaves...

Eat the yaks

erm

BBQ

ummm naaaah Wizard is controlling fake dwarf with a spell, making him open box until we get the soul swapping roll but he swapped inventory with chimera so he got all chained up and chimera is attacking us now

ꉂ(ˊᗜˋ*) haha wonderful

bow and arrow man that Eggs hates, shot the chimera dead >:(

What a bitch

Wizard tried to throw box off a cliff when we got dwarf back im trying to catch it wizard blasted box with fireball, it's charred but fine ARCHER GUY BANISHED WIZARD

WHAT HOW?

HE HAS SPECIAL BANISHING ARROW WIZARD IS GONE FOR AT LEAST 1 TURN HOLY SHIT WHY

D:

I mean Eggs is happy cause he wants the box but I and everyone else are like wtf? Archer Man? Why?

Well at least eggs is happy

tru Got box back Wizard is back asked Archer Man wtf Archer Man and Wizard are arguing in and out of character at the same time xD

What fun

Okay, dwarf asked for the box so I gave it to him because he can kill me very easily so Eggs fears him He glued the box shut with magic indestructible glue and threw it off the cliff

Understandable

the yakfolk are beating their slaves we are intervening

Good

I blighted and burned a yakfolk he hella dead he killed a halfling tho tried rolling medicine got a 1 ...

.......you cooked him I predicted BBQ

you did it but i blighted him first so he's already like, rotting

Ya still cooked him Its me oj psychic detective

I never should've doubted you

Ya u should really listen to me

Oh there are like 8 more of them coming from across the bridge wizard is gonna blast the bridge

Yaks?

ye I destroyed bridge wizard cast a spell that made almost all the yakfolk sick

What typa sick?

damage sick also im in a bloodrage now i wanna stab (Note: Eggs has a cursed dagger that causes him to enter a bloodrage when he takes damage)

Who ya gonna stab

yakfolk

Not Archer Man?

not close enough

Dang

agreed rockman slammed me to death now i must make death saves might die but i got a good stab in

You stabbed a.....rockman?

i stabbed a yakman, then the rockman came behind and slammed it’s always rocks

You got stoned to death

again

Like the witch u are

dwarf friend picked up my body he's so nice still dying but safe now

Good small friend

i have been revived I turned into a trex so i can fuck shit up nevermind we won

hey uh oh Eggs was fighting in the big final battle king is there with me as i shoot magic at the giants then then... i took damage and my magic dagger took over and now i have to stab the king

and i failed twice lucky but then ... i knocked him unconcious and stabbed him half his health is gone ... im gonna kill the fucking king ... :D

O dang eggs is gonna win

what can i say i wanna stab

U sure do

Congrats We beat the big bad evil guy

:0 wow so convenient

Eggs had his dagger taken away but that’s fair to be honest

Probably best for the world if he doesn't have it

 And for the past few sessions I have been made to roll a lot of constitution saving throws, so I asked why Apparently I caught a plague I was gonna be patient 0 p much

O wow How?

Yeah Um

Was it all the weird shit u do

No actually Um

Go on....

Remember that weird door I went into? With the blood writing shack?

Mhmm

Apparently That was another universe

..... well then

Where everyone died to the Plague So

So does eggs still have the plague?

Yes Presumably I will be the cause of so much death

Is he gonna ruin the world even tho the campaign is done?? How suiting

Guess so! : D All’s well that ends well for eggs

Is it tho He's gonna die of the plague

Yes I’m sure I’ll be fine Just a little plague Never hurt no one

That's sad you'd think eggs would get killed by one of the other numerous dumb things you do but no just a disease

No I’ll probably get killed by a rock monster before I succumb to the plague

Squished whilst a spider

Yes

[tumbleintonothing]

If you were at the fight- You are 100% ok welcome to say you saw Mae there and if this gives you the chance to message me for rp, I welcome it. Some NSFW some spoilers. )

Music- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fngvQS_PmQ

It felt cold. Not like ice or snow cold, but as if the warmth from leather clad fingers was fading, my bow having fallen quite a while ago it seemed, my toxic hues drifting in slow motion around me, watching friend and foe alike fight. Cas was there, so was Sil, for… Some strange reason. Had they been the reason I was fighting a war I never asked to fight. Were they the reason I felt that arrow in my chest sink deeper, feel the liquid pool around the other two in my back. 

As if it were not of his control, he’d feel a deep thud resound along the ground, the weight of his knees digging to earth. Eyes flickered upwards once more, around- A troll’s arm flying off to his right, forsaken spewing plague to his left- The young king and Jaina in the far off distance, a cry of war and hoard, seeing Sylvanas’s arrows fly true above head, even hearing her cry in her namesake. The world grew a bit more fuzzy- And if this were a movie you’d probably hear the narrator say something along the lines of ‘ You’re probably wondering how he got into this mess in the first place’, which, at this point he was wondering the same himself. Gravity took control of his form, and he’d hear the snap of arrows as he brushed across a wall to fall backwards, slumped there, feeling his body grow stiff. He’d lost track of Tao, and he only hoped the massive tiger that was his animal companion got out alive, away from the blight.

As he slumped there, his thoughts slowly turned about, recollecting the moments that led up to this particular point in time…

………………………………………………

“This is fucking suicide. You realize this. “ Mae’Thyn shook his head, watching his shorter, sharp tongued older brother a moment, arms now moved to cross over his chest, that cascade of ruddy tresses falling over his shoulders and back. He hadn’t expected -this- particular company to find him at the inn room he had taken home to that night in the city, but here he was, Castinus Shadowsong.

“ Brother. Every fight can be our last. Are you not hearing me? This isn’t a fight you can just turn your back on and expect it not to affect you, not to affect this world. We have to heed its call- Did you not even hear yourself a moment ago? She burned the -tree- down. -Their- tree.” Cas watched his brother with that mirrored green eyesight, his smooth leathers a vast contrast to the heavy mail that the hunter wore.

Mae’Thyn paced now, one hand moving to thread fingers through thick red tresses, boots making soft thuds against wooden floor. “ I know Cas. I know. I heard the rumors. I came here to try and find work- Find somewhere to back me before this shitstorm got worse… But I guess I don’t get that luxury do I? Why is it always go with this fucking war…” He’d let out the deepest of sighs now, turning back to face his brother once more. Unlike Cas, Mae’Thyn had taken off most his armor, bare chested with his leggings and boots still on when he got the knock on the door, so the vast amount of tattoos and scars that littered his form were bare to the candle light, jagged things weaving a horrendous and colored past.

Cas couldn’t help but chuckle then, giving Mae’Thyn a sideways glance, before his own right hand lifted to tap his cheek thoughtfully. “ I wish I had the answer to you for that one dear brother, but as it stands I hardly understand our father, let alone much of anything else. Truth of it I tried to stay as far from the fight that transpired when the demons attacked us, but even that found this city…” He’d shrug, and hand dropped away.

As the speak of the Legion, Mae’Thyn felt his features turn darker, his lips pulled into a thin line. Left hand had lifted then to touch the necklace he wore, bearing two slender wedding bands- Both having the nature to be feminine. A moment, the barest of touches before he’d release them and look back to his brother, that same hand now moving to rest at his hip. “ War always calls for a price brother. It will never stop calling for one. That is the nature of it all, hm?” This last retort was left with a very bitter taste into the mans mouth, his usually smooth baritone voice riddled with jagged edges. Cas could only shrug then, before tossing a missive towards Mae, with he caught with deft ease.

“This is the call that Saurfang gave to the whole of the Horde. You should look it over- There is a bit of gold in it if you join to save Lordaeron as well… Though I’m more or less going in the hopes I can get some action going, possibly ass afterwards.. Who knows.” Once more that dry tone that Cas offered had Mae lift his brow, looking the envelope over, before attention was once more pulled to his brothers features. “ Well… I guess we go tomorrow. Save the world?” Cas would only chuckle then, before shifting to the door to pull it open.

As he started to walk through he’d pause, and let eyes drift back over his shoulder to Mae. “ Oh. Sil will be there, too. Family reunion, yay.”

…………………………………………………………

Mae’Thyn always hated teleportation, felt it was far to tricky and always left his stomach queasy when he’d feel land underfoot once more - However this had been the way they had been told to take to get to Lordaeron, or more aptly known the Undercity. Once there he’d hear the call of the Queen, of Saurfang to collect yourselves and be aware of your surroundings, that the siege had already started. As always Mae’Thyn had called to the aid of his trusted companion Tao, a massive black tiger with eyes of jade to be the eyes in his back.

He never liked the Undercity. TO dusky, to moldy- The stench of decay and the ugly fel rot that bubbled around the city proper always something that set the hunter at unease with. The questionable motives that often were handled deep in the bowls of this place of death. As he’d shift a bit he’d take a careful look around, duly noting others that looked upon him as well.

For elves, particularly blood elves he was tall, much taller than his kin race, a sort of bastardized fact he often used to intimidate people simply to keep them from bothering him. As always he’d be wrapped in deep greens and golds with leather that accented in tans and deep rich browns, the leather itself soft and worn from years of rigors use, this evening his fingers wrapped in leather as well. Atop his head would sit that hood, its mail chinks softly chiming as head drifted to one side, then the other.

As others of the Horde gathered together, he could hear the whispers of some of the combat-ions. Some of them scolded the actions that Sylvanas had done, that they sided with the idea that there had been no honor in the actions, while others had gleefully been chomping at the bit to spill alliance blood, that the war between the demons and Azeroth wasn’t nearly enough for there taste. Either way, the hunter had no enjoyment on his face this day, rather stoic and stiff, he hadn’t really slept much the night before.

After his brother had left him, he had written a letter to the headmaster at his children's boarding school, informing him that if something were to happen to himself, that all of his estate and what he had stored away as a ‘rainy day fund’ would be used to keep the kiddos at the school until they themselves could choose their path in life. And as thoughts drifted to this moment, he’d let his mind's eye fall to the pair. Jae'Dren and Vari'Delsa. Jae was starting to form out a bit more, having his mother's snow white hair, but that strange mixture of one blue eye and one green. His sister had taken the red hair of Mae’Thyn, and aptly named after his wife Vari it suited her, she too taking the strange two toned gaze. Both had fair skin, and both were so intuitive now.

Mae’Thyn felt something inside his chest tighten, and he’d shake the thoughts out from his head, hearing as Sylvanas and all the commanders now started to rally the troops, call people to arms and draw them to the fight ahead. As he’s ready his bow he’d feel one hand touch his arm, another give him a punch at his shoulder. Head turned left, then right, the smirking face of his younger brother Siliron and his passive older brothers face Castinus greeting him.

“You ready there pretty boy? Ready to face death?” Sil taunted, giving Mae another smirk before his fists glowed a deep blue, and he’d push forward at the call of the army to force itself forward. Cast as always had vanished, his skill set much better seeded in the darkness- And rightly so. A sigh echoed across Mae’s lips, and he’d pull bow closer, moving on the outskirts of the collective mass, picking targets out with steady fingers, plucking magic enchanted arrows from his quiver and lining up shots as if it were childs play.

The sound of elves and humans like tore through the walls of the decaying city, as the Horde pushed it way through the massive circle, up and across the stone and tattered banners, the forsaken that lived here having already taking up arms to protect their home. As Mae rounded a corner he’d come face to face with three forsaken looming over the corpse of a felled druid in bear form- The three clawing out innards and flesh and chewing like ravenous wild animals. It took all the willpower within his stomach and throat to keep the bile that rose quickly to fall back down, and a snap turn had him face to face with one of their shadow steppers.

A quick arch of bow and the sound of metal on metal had him strike dagger wide, before thick big booted foot pushed forward, squarely kicking the night elf off balance- Bow back in hand before arrow was nocked and let to fly free, striking the elf in the throat. A gurgle of protest was all the elf could give before blood spilled from both wound and throat. He’d turn then, and follow the mass once more through the winding curving city- Till finally they were escorted to the courtyard.

Once here the collective group started to fight, and oh did they fight with a vigor that was almost murderous and insane. Mae himself had taken up a perch on a rock, letting arrows fly wherever he could manage- That was until Slyvanas took it upon herself to let loose the blight- And with only second to spare both hunter and pet had ducked backwards towards the city proper, the massive green goopy air thick and acidic. Mae at this point felt himself fall to the stairs of the city proper, still trying to pick off targets with arrows - That was until he realized that not only had she killed alliance… But Horde as well.

He’d feel his arrow falter, and then bow slowly dipped down, hearing the screams of his comrades as they fell to the blight, realization setting in as hunter let his toxic hues drift backwards to find Sylvanas, the moment she called to her dark magics to raise the very mass of graves she just dug.

W..Why would I fight this war for a leader that gives little care for my well being….

His thoughts would quickly be shattered as the sky parted in a massive wave, clouds being peeled away like wrapping paper, a massive ship soon to spill free from the parted clouds. Mae would watch in both awe and fear as the massive ship turned on the city wall proper, he’d see the chill of ice start to descend across the land, once again only having seconds to duck back behind a wall to keep from tasting its cold bite. At this point the man was severely doubting his need to be in this fight, but with little in the way to stop or leave he was there for good or worse.

War raged, walls were shattered, and once the fight spilled proper into the city, it was almost as if the very thing Sylvanas had been trying to protect and keep safe was simply lost- So it was in that moment that he had let his guard slip, a second was all it took before three arrows found themselves true in his form, and this was where he now settled, resting against a wall, tasting the tangy sweet of copper as it spilled over his lips, a soft cough splattering it. Moments passed, and he’d let eyes slowly drag across the spill of bodies around him, both alliance and horde, see others cry out and fall, a massive tangle of corpses.

A moment more and he’d feel the soft bump of something to his side, Tao having found him, the massive cat now settling against his side. A smile touched faintly at the corners of the hunters lips, and right hand weakly lifted to rest against the top of Tao’s head, before his eyes closed now, and he’d allow himself to sink into the depths of darkness, even as the world around him waged war and scream left restless sounds to fade from ears.

“My wolf…..” Eyes opened then, and he’d find himself standing in a bright white room, his form still wearing the blood splattered war torn armor, a sore sight for the room he was in, a sore thumb really. His eyes drifted slowly around him now, trying to find the source of the voice, a sensation of peace, of warmth overflowing within the confines of his heart.

The moment eyes settled on a bright edge in the room, and as he’d focus the edges shifted free, pulled long and created form, and there stood a beautiful willowy woman with snow white hair and eyes the color of the sky on a clear summer day. Dressed in robes of white that flowed freely around slender form, drifted around her and flowed as if there were a breeze, as if she were in water, however in this room of white there was no source.

Man then took a step forward, then another, before falling to his knees, and for the first time in a long, long time he’d feel tears fall from his eyes, though no sensation of this was felt, even as the liquid dropped to the floor. Woman smiled softly, mischievously in nature before she’d near float to him, each step placed delicately in her path to the hunter. Right hand lifted, and pale glowing fingers touched the man's cheek, brushed softly, near lovingly.

“ My Wolf…. You’re not ready for this time yet.” Hunter closed his eyes then, and head moved forward to rest forehead against her stomach, a sob wrecking his chest as he’d growl deeply. “ My Snowflake. My love. It wasn’t time for you to leave me…. I am… So lost without you.. I don’t know what to do…” He’d lift hands now, and like a drowning man he’d grasp to her slender form, cling to her as if he were a little boy and she were his mother - And in this moment, he might have very well been.

Soft echo of a chuckle found itself in his ears, and he’d feel her lips place a tender kiss to the top of his hooded head. “ Ah Mae’Thyn, you’ve been doing wonderful. I’m so proud of you… So proud of what you have accomplished. Just remember to live every day fully and to keep our children safe.” As he heard the last of her words fade off in his ears, that voice he craved like a drug, the solid form of his dead wife started to fade, his fingers now finding themselves starting to brush and dance with air.  “ No… Please… Vexie… Please…. Snowflake… Don’t leave me.”

But his words were left to open air as her voice once more danced against the air, teasing his senses.

“ Wake up…. Hunter…. Wake up…”

Eyes of toxic green opened, and then he’d feel his breath drag hard into his lungs, feeling the touch of gentle fingers against his flesh. “ Ah! Hunter! You’re awake! Good. Just… Just take a moment.. You’re in Orgamar. You’ve been out for a day or so.. “ His half hued eyes shifted slowly to the voice, a gentle warmth around its edges as he’d see a younger elf smile to him, though her skin was a deep hue of purple. For a moment he’d almost jerk backwards from her touch, before growling in deep pain at the fire that tore over his back.

“O..Oh! No sir! Please don’t move. You are lucky to be alive! Someone saw your tiger trying to drag you to safety and picked you both up before the city fell to blight. You are very lucky indeed!” She’d smile then, and it clicked in the hunters head of the city Suramar.. Of a race trapped that is now free. Hunter slowly settled back into the bed as the slender woman now dotted gently over him. “ Speaking of, your tiger has not left your side, not one bit!” Mae would still stay silent, letting eyes shift across and down to the side of his bed, seeing Tao curled there, eyes of jade slipping upwards to greet the hunter.

A small nod was all he could muster, letting eyes slip back to the woman once more as she then stood there, hands folded over lap, smiling at him. “ You should rest ow hunter. The worst is over- For now. You are healing wonderfully. You were very lucky.”

For the first time in this interaction the hunter allowed voice to softly retort, gruff and webbed in fractured pain.

“Yea. Lucky.”

@handofcards​ as an honorable tag )

[kaaramel]

May I see Wendy's lines?

QUAGMIRE_WRONGKEY = "Should I give up, or find another key?",ACTIVATE =LOCKED_GATE = "I can't open it without a key.",FOODFULL = "It hasn't yet eaten our last sacrifice...",NOTDISH = "That may not be best...",INUSE = "Someone's beat me to it.",REPLATE =MISMATCH = "Like my soul, this food doesn't belong in this vessel.",SAMEDISH = "I've already put this on a dish.",QUAGMIRE_ANNOUNCE_NOTRECIPE = "Those foods weren't meant to be together.",QUAGMIRE_ANNOUNCE_MEALBURNT = "It's ruined.",QUAGMIRE_ANNOUNCE_LOSE = "What a horrible place to have a curse.",QUAGMIRE_ANNOUNCE_WIN = "Let us depart this terrible place.",QUAGMIRE_ALTAR =GENERIC = "The monster's hunger shall never cease.",FULL = "We have prolonged our horrific demise.",QUAGMIRE_ALTAR_STATUE1 = "What horror have those eyes witnessed?",QUAGMIRE_PARK_FOUNTAIN = "Long dry.",--QUAGMIRE_HOE = "To till the corrupt soil.",QUAGMIRE_TURNIP = "It's... a turnip.",QUAGMIRE_TURNIP_COOKED = "The turnip is now cooked.",QUAGMIRE_TURNIP_SEEDS = "The life they contain is a mystery.",QUAGMIRE_GARLIC = "It gives food flavor.",QUAGMIRE_GARLIC_COOKED = "It smells a bit nice.",QUAGMIRE_GARLIC_SEEDS = "The life they contain is a mystery.",QUAGMIRE_ONION = "I never cry.",QUAGMIRE_ONION_COOKED = "It will never make anyone cry again.",QUAGMIRE_ONION_SEEDS = "The life they contain is a mystery.",QUAGMIRE_POTATO = "It has eyes, yet it never cries.",QUAGMIRE_POTATO_COOKED = "Now its eyes will never open.",QUAGMIRE_POTATO_SEEDS = "The life they contain is a mystery.",QUAGMIRE_TOMATO = "Red as heart's blood.",QUAGMIRE_TOMATO_COOKED = "Its flesh is far more bloody now.",QUAGMIRE_TOMATO_SEEDS = "The life they contain is a mystery.",QUAGMIRE_FLOUR = "Flour by any other name would smell as sweet.",QUAGMIRE_WHEAT = "We can grind it down into flour.",QUAGMIRE_WHEAT_SEEDS = "The life they contain is a mystery.",--NOTE: raw/cooked carrot uses regular carrot stringsQUAGMIRE_CARROT_SEEDS = "The life they contain is a mystery.",QUAGMIRE_ROTTEN_CROP = "Time came for it.",QUAGMIRE_SALMON = "It flops as its life slowly leaves its body.",QUAGMIRE_SALMON_COOKED = "Not so lively now.",QUAGMIRE_CRABMEAT = "Its insides are as horrid as its outsides.",QUAGMIRE_CRABMEAT_COOKED = "It's ready now.",QUAGMIRE_POT = "We cook to stave off death.",QUAGMIRE_POT_SMALL = "We will cook, or we will die.",QUAGMIRE_POT_HANGER_ITEM = "It's for hanging the pot over the fire.",QUAGMIRE_OVEN_ITEM = "Sigh... Why bother?",QUAGMIRE_OVEN = "It looks good.",QUAGMIRE_SUGARWOODTREE =GENERIC = "It has a sickly beauty.",STUMP = "All things must end.",TAPPED_EMPTY = "Like a dagger through the heart. A tree heart.",TAPPED_READY = "I can harvest it now.",TAPPED_BUGS = "All that sacrifice for nothing.",WOUNDED = "Its life ebbs.",QUAGMIRE_SPOTSPICE_SHRUB =GENERIC = "I suppose it could be edible.",PICKED = "We've taken all there was to take.",QUAGMIRE_SPOTSPICE_SPRIG = "We ripped it from its home on the shrub.",QUAGMIRE_SPOTSPICE_GROUND = "Just a dash.",QUAGMIRE_SAPBUCKET = "For collecting tree blood.",QUAGMIRE_SAP = "Tree blood.",QUAGMIRE_SALT_RACK =READY = "There is salt to be had.",GENERIC = "There is no salt, yet.",QUAGMIRE_SALT_RACK_ITEM = "It's for collecting salt from the pond.",QUAGMIRE_SAFE =GENERIC = "Let's have a peek inside...",LOCKED = "Locked, like my heart.",QUAGMIRE_KEY = "It is the key to something precious.",QUAGMIRE_KEY_PARK = "The key to a beautiful place, locked long away.",QUAGMIRE_PORTAL_KEY = "Perhaps I'll be happier in the next world.",QUAGMIRE_MUSHROOMSTUMP =GENERIC = "They thrive on a stump made by death.",PICKED = "All things die. Even fungus.",QUAGMIRE_MUSHROOMS = "Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll be poisonous.",QUAGMIRE_MEALINGSTONE = "I am ground down on the mealing stone of life.",QUAGMIRE_PEBBLECRAB = "Had I such a shell, I would never emerge.",QUAGMIRE_POND_SALT = "Water, water, everywhere...",QUAGMIRE_RUBBLE_CARRIAGE = "It's been forgotten.",QUAGMIRE_RUBBLE_CLOCK = "Time is an illusion.",QUAGMIRE_RUBBLE_CATHEDRAL = "Nothing more to pray for.",QUAGMIRE_RUBBLE_PUBDOOR = "A door that leads nowhere.",QUAGMIRE_RUBBLE_ROOF = "The roof cannot protect you when death comes.",QUAGMIRE_RUBBLE_CLOCKTOWER = "Time is death's ally.",QUAGMIRE_RUBBLE_BIKE = "Nothing escaped this plague.",QUAGMIRE_RUBBLE_HOUSE = {"Death has been here.", "It's a ghost town.", "Some tragedy has struck this house.",},QUAGMIRE_RUBBLE_CHIMNEY = "This was once a happy home.",QUAGMIRE_RUBBLE_CHIMNEY2 = "Its hearth no longer has a home.",QUAGMIRE_MERMHOUSE = "Seclusion has not been kind to it.",QUAGMIRE_SWAMPIG_HOUSE = "I see no joy in this house.",QUAGMIRE_SWAMPIG_HOUSE_RUBBLE = "Neither a house nor a home.",QUAGMIRE_SWAMPIGELDER =GENERIC = "How do you do, sir?",SLEEPING = "He is practicing for the big sleep.",QUAGMIRE_SWAMPIG = "They're less standoffish than their brethren.",QUAGMIRE_PORTAL = "There's no night here. It is a nice change.",QUAGMIRE_SALTROCK = "It needs to be ground down before we can use it.",QUAGMIRE_SALT = "It adds flavor...",QUAGMIRE_FERN = "Wilson calls them \"greens\"... but they're purple...",QUAGMIRE_FOLIAGE_COOKED = "Cooked purples.",QUAGMIRE_FOOD_BURNT = "A waste.",--QUAGMIRE_FOOD_PLATE = "My usual dinner. A big plate of nothing.",--QUAGMIRE_FOOD_SOUP = "Merely a broth. It's not sustenance for my soul.",--QUAGMIRE_FOOD_SNACK = "This will keep me alive a bit longer.",--QUAGMIRE_FOOD_BREAD = "Prolongs my life so that I may suffer further.",--QUAGMIRE_FOOD_PASTA = "Morte bene.",--QUAGMIRE_FOOD_VEGGIE = "Vegetables are good for you but what's the point.",--QUAGMIRE_FOOD_MEAT = "An animal died for this food.",--QUAGMIRE_FOOD_FISH = "A fish died for this food.",--QUAGMIRE_FOOD_CRAB = "A sea creature died for this food.",--QUAGMIRE_FOOD_CHEESE = "Death is not cheesy.",--QUAGMIRE_FOOD_SWEET = "It cannot sweeten life.",QUAGMIRE_FOOD =GENERIC = "We should offer it to the beast.",MISMATCH = "The beast doesn't want that.",MATCH = "The beast will be satisfied with this.",MATCH_BUT_SNACK = "This will satisfy the beast, but not for long.",QUAGMIRE_COIN1 = "I shall put them on my eyes when I die.",QUAGMIRE_COIN2 = "Money will not bring back Abigail.",QUAGMIRE_COIN3 = "Wealth cannot buy immortality.",QUAGMIRE_COIN4 = "It came from above.",QUAGMIRE_GOATMILK = "But no honey.",QUAGMIRE_SYRUP = "Not as sweet as Abigail.",QUAGMIRE_SAP_SPOILED = "As bittersweet as life.",QUAGMIRE_SEEDPACKET = "Planting seeds requires an optimism I don't possess.",--QUAGMIRE_SEEDPACKET_SMALL = "A small amount of idealism.",--QUAGMIRE_SEEDPACKET_MEDIUM = "A moderate amount of hopefulness.",--QUAGMIRE_SEEDPACKET_LARGE = "A large collection of sanguinity.",--QUAGMIRE_SEEDPACKET_MIX_SMALL = "A mystery of disappointments.",--QUAGMIRE_SEEDPACKET_MIX_MEDIUM = "I suspect they will all spoil.",--QUAGMIRE_SEEDPACKET_MIX_LARGE = "So much potential for blight.",---QUAGMIRE_POT_SYRUP = "Sweetness begets sweetness.",QUAGMIRE_POT_HANGER = "The hanger is a noose for a pot.",QUAGMIRE_GRILL = "It can't make life more palatable.",QUAGMIRE_GRILL_ITEM = "I don't want to carry this around.",QUAGMIRE_GRILL_SMALL = "It makes a little bit of food.",QUAGMIRE_GRILL_SMALL_ITEM = "It only works if I place it somewhere.",QUAGMIRE_OVEN = "It looks okay.",QUAGMIRE_CASSEROLEDISH = "For making food.",QUAGMIRE_CASSEROLEDISH_SMALL = "For making a small amount of food.",QUAGMIRE_PLATE_SILVER = "If only life had been handed to me on a silver plate.",QUAGMIRE_BOWL_SILVER = "It is empty, like my heart.",QUAGMIRE_MERM_CART1 = "I, too, cart around my baggage.", --sammy's wagonQUAGMIRE_MERM_CART2 = "Nothing in there could bring me happiness.", --pipton's cartQUAGMIRE_PARK_ANGEL = "It's winged, but it's no angel.",QUAGMIRE_PARK_ANGEL2 = "Abigail needs a statue.",QUAGMIRE_PARK_URN = "Dust to dust.",QUAGMIRE_PARK_OBELISK = "A monument. But not to Abigail.",QUAGMIRE_PARK_GATE =GENERIC = "Now I may enter the park.",LOCKED = "I need a key to enter.",QUAGMIRE_PARKSPIKE = "Looks dangerous.",QUAGMIRE_CRABTRAP = "Life is a trap.",QUAGMIRE_TRADER_MERM = "How do you do?",QUAGMIRE_TRADER_MERM2 = "How do you do?",QUAGMIRE_GOATMUM = "Hello, ma'am. Care to trade?",QUAGMIRE_GOATKID = "What childhood is this for you?",QUAGMIRE_PIGEON =DEAD = "Cold and dead.",GENERIC = "Would you like to be a pie, little bird?",SLEEPING = "It's practicing for the big sleep.",QUAGMIRE_LAMP_POST = "It sheds light on nothing important.",QUAGMIRE_BEEFALO = "Don't worry. You'll be dead soon.",QUAGMIRE_SLAUGHTERTOOL = "Is all of life not a slaughter?",QUAGMIRE_SAPLING = "We will perish before this grows back.",QUAGMIRE_BERRYBUSH = "It shall never grow another berry.",QUAGMIRE_ALTAR_STATUE2 = "Yet another reminder of death.",QUAGMIRE_ALTAR_QUEEN = "I am not impressed by opulence.",QUAGMIRE_ALTAR_BOLLARD = "A post. Not very exciting.",QUAGMIRE_ALTAR_IVY = "Like death, it creeps everywhere.",QUAGMIRE_LAMP_SHORT = "The only light in my light is Abigail.",

[capriswritingnartshenanigans]

I Remember You: Chapter 3, The Story of Carrie Anne-Mari Amell

Cullen Rutherford/Female Amell Inquisitor slow burn. SFW.

Prologue: https://capriswritingnartshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/172406242751/i-remember-you-prologue , Chapter 1: https://capriswritingnartshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/172434681636/i-remember-you-chapter-1-the-inquisition , Chapter 2: https://capriswritingnartshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/175821889166/i-remember-you-chapter-2-catching-up-and-some ,   Catch it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14145420/chapters/35970945

Cullen wants the whole truth, and Carrie gives it to him. 

Carrie shuffled her feet as she finally gives the room she woke up in earlier that day a good search. As Cassandra had informed her that the small cabin was to be hers (for now, anyway), she wanted to be sure nothing... Odd was lurking therein. The dresser only held some casual clothes of her size and a few more sets of armors, and a crate on the desk had more weapons. As she moved things around where she wanted them, the raven in its cage on the floor cawed loudly, spooking her into dropping the dagger in her hand. Then, someone knocked; a soft, almost hesitant knock. Frowning, she picked the dagger up and set it in the dresser's bottom drawer, then closed it, before heading to the door. A chilly breeze and a dark night greeted her, as did the sight of a rather disheveled Cullen; he was in what seemed to be a clean set of training clothes (a rough-spun tunic and breeches) and his hair was damp and clinging to his face in some places. As he stepped closer to her, the smell of soap, pine, and moss strongly came to her nose.

“I... I wanted to ask. About earlier.” He wasn't looking at her; rather, he kept his eyes on anything but her it seemed. She felt her nerves stir as she remembered what he meant...

“I do not want to explain it now, as we have much more to discuss... But if you want to know more, we can talk later Cullen, and I'll do my best to tell you everything that I'm able to.” She remembered her offer she had stated before they all had to go about figuring out which scouting parties would be sent to the Hinterlands, as well as more in depth of their future plans with the mages and templars. After they dispersed, she'd somehow gotten drawn into a... disagreement between Lady Josephine and Marquis DuRellion; she still wasn't sure how they'd convinced him to agreeing to let the Inquisition stay in Haven...

“Oh, um...” She moved out the doorway, gesturing into the small cabin. “Come in, please... I'll try to answer your questions...” His amber gaze flickered up to her face for a second before he entered, wiping his snow-covered boots on the door mat. She quietly closed the door behind him as he began to speak.

“How? How... How are you alive? Or are you necessarily even alive, not just a body possessed by some spirit or something?” She turned to him, blue-grey eyes meeting amber ones, in a quiet but tense moment. She thought carefully of how to explain things to him, and then even more carefully of what she could and couldn't tell him.

“I am alive, truly alive, I promise. It's a very long story, please, have a seat. We'll be here a while.” He looked as though he wanted to argue but took a seat in the chair by the desk as she sat on the bed, across from him. Then, after taking a deep breath to try to calm her nerves, she began:

“It's a very long story, one that reaches well before we ever met in the Fereldan circle tower. You see, I originally come from a small town just outside of Val Royeaux; my mother was an apostate hiding as a bard for one of the noblewomen there, and my father was a chevelier. He hadn't wanted me to grow up around the court nonsense, so we lived in the small town... I always had trouble sleeping, even as a young child. I saw things, horrible things; sometimes murders, or plagues, or... most importantly, twisted monsters that raged upon villages and towns, destroying everything in their wake. They were darkspawn, you see... when I was only eight years old, I had a vision of the fifth Blight well before it truly spilled over into our world. My father, who's grandfather had become a Grey Warden after he had his family, recognized my descriptions of the 'monsters' from the tales he was told as a child and teen. He took me to the local chantry, and then I was off to meet the holy Beatrix III herself, and the other upper clerics. She was a smart woman, and always had been; she'd frequently spoken to the remaining Grey Wardens, and because of that, my dream deeply worried her. She sent for a few of the older Grey Wardens, ones who would likely be able to make some sense of my dreams... In the end, Beatrix wanted to keep me protected in case I had true seer powers, which would require me to be removed from my parents. When they tried to carry me away the first time, I accidentally set the curtains and the templars' hair on fire. That when we found out I was a mage, and it made it much easier to take me away...” She let out a shaky breath as these memories hit her hard, nearly rendering her to tears. She still had nightmares about when she was taken away, her mother screaming and pleading for them to not, and her father attempting to fight the templars pushing them back.

“Once the Grey Wardens came and gave their thoughts on my dreams, I was moved from circle to circle, more rapidly as my dreams became more clear; the Wardens advised seeing if the Blight's starting place could be predicted, you see. Once I came to the Fereldan circle, my dreams became utterly clear and understandable. I could even see the expressions and features of the beasts and persons within the dreams then, down to their eye color and the shape of their teeth. It's why I spent an entire year there, rather than only a month or so. It seems so very long ago, when I first met you and Irving, and later, the Warden...” She shook herself, trying to keep on track. “As for what happened... Do you remember the night I found you right as you were getting off duty, and I begged you to come with me so I could speak to you?” She peered at him, her fingers itching for a hood to pull over her face, though she was now in night wear, and it was impossible to do that. He nodded slowly, his hands gripping each other in front of him.  

“I remember. You looked sick with how pale you were, and your nightclothes stuck to your skin with sweat...” His lips pressed together into a line, taking most of the color out of them. She continued.

“Right. Earlier that night, I saw another vision in my dreams... I saw demons pouring out of somewhere within a circle tower, mages and templars alike being massacred or worse, forcibly turned into abominations. When I woke from it, I ran to Irving and told him of it... After, he went to get Knight-Commander Greagoir, and during his leave, I went to find you. When I returned, they had decided it wasn't safe there for me. Their plan was to send me to Lothering for some time, just to make sure nothing was going to happen, and to inform Beatrix on what had happened. The cover story was, of course, that I had died from sickness.” She looked up from the floor to him again. His face was utterly surprised; his eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly opened. Keeping her nerve, she went on.

“So, before dawn, I was dressed in merchant clothes (that really didn't fit me; they were made for a fully grown man, not a fourteen year old girl), and a few high-ranking templars were in mercenary armors, and off we went to Lothering. To think, only a few days before this, Duncan had come recruiting... It's why I had been absent for a few days before my quote-on-quote 'death'; to keep him from asking for me to come with him. But, anyway... On our way to Lothering, we were ambushed, by darkspawn no less. I only survived because I was suddenly able to use my magic to make myself stealthier; no smelling or seeing me. I tried to fight at first but... There were just too many. I... I don't want to talk about what happened to the templars... I'm sure you can guess.” She took another few shaky breathes. “A-After they were... dead... and the darkspawn had moved on, I took as much supplies as I could carry with me. I grabbed one of the dead's bow and arrows, and used a map to find my way. I practiced in the morning and evening with the bow, and once I reached the town, I spent days training myself. I wasn't sure where to go, to be honest... I was still there once that foul man Loghain came through, bad mouthing the Wardens, and even still when Caprica, or well, the Warden came. I hid from her, of course... I wouldn't have been able to answer her then why I was there...” She came to a full stop, chewing her lip. She was lost to her thoughts for some time, before Cullen brought her back to the real world.

“And then? What happened after that? How did you end up here? How in the blessed name of Andraste are you and Varric Tethras such good friends? Unless you were in Kirkwall, I don't see how you'd seem to know him so well... Or, better yet, why you seem so informal with the Divines and Leliana!” He stood up, his hands running through his hair rapidly and roughly. He seemed lost for words for a moment, and his lower lip quivered as he stared at the door. After some time, he looked back to her, an almost wild panic in his eyes, and asked once more: “What happened next?” And she told him.

She spent a few hours explaining how, once Lothering had fell, she went to Denerim for around half of a year, and spent much of her time trying to grasp her magic and practicing her archery... And stealth skills. She admitted to having been little more than a thief until she met up with the Warden, who had come there some time later. The Warden had convinced her to flee to Kirkwall, and, with one last thieving spree, she had the money to take a boat there that wouldn't take nearly as long as one of the refugee boats. Her fifteenth birthday had passed on that trip, which had lasted a little less than six weeks. Once she landed, she had snuck her way into Kirkwall... And met Bethany Hawke some time after. She told of how she slithered her way into making potions and poisons for the mercenaries there, and later took sneakier jobs that required a lot of stealth. After amassing some wealth, Carrie went back to Fereldan to help the Warden for some time, then returned to Kirkwall. In all, four years passed between her arrival and then return to Kirkwall; after returning, she fully met Hawke and was her help from the shadows. She was at the Conclave to report to Justinia about just how bad the mage-templar fights had become, as well as finally learn about the Inquisition and possibly help with it.

“I watched over you a lot more once I returned. I didn't try to approach you... Caprica warned me against it, saying 'after the Fereldan tower, he needs time', and I agreed. I just tried to add a little touch of help when you were abomination hunting, or when you were ganged up on in the alleyways. That's... Really all it is to my tale.” She paused for a moment, thinking. After a few moments, she continued. “I became friends with Leliana due to her being involved with Caprica, and friends with Varric after Hawke introduced me to her mates. As for the Divines... Beatrix tried to become friendlier with me, as she knew I'd never have a normal life; Justinia did the same, though I was closer with Justinia. She had my phylactery destroyed to keep templars or seekers who knew of me from tracking me down... When she took the throne, she asked me only once if I was going to give her trouble; I told her no, and she decided to trust me.” She laughed, snorting. “I mean, Leliana could have just tracked me down anyway.” She glanced at Cullen, who was quietly sitting still, staring at the floor. He didn't speak or move for some time after she fully stopped speaking; just simply kept his eyes on the floor, elbow on knee and chin in hand.

“Why didn't Cassandra recognize you?”

“Justinia... Knew of how her brother died. She was worried her old past grudges would cause her to deeply distrust me.” He looked up to her, chewing his lower lip. He slowly stood, but when she went to stand with him, he waved for her to stay seated.

“Thank you... Thank you for telling me this. I need to think about all of it, alright? Maybe... We can talk about it tomorrow? If there's time.” She hadn't noticed before, but now she saw just how dark the bags under his eyes were, and just how thin he was; he looked like a sickly man, a man that had lost quite a bit weight and muscle in a short time.

“Of course, Cullen. I would love to.” He bid her a soft farewell, and saw himself out of her cabin, closing the door behind him with a thud.

[cupcakecoterie]

Sessions to Date: Star Coast Overview (1)

SESSION 1

Party: Nora Bailey (human paladin), Hazel Hearthheart (half-elf cleric), Darvin Taylor (human bard), Clarity Meloreth (tiefling rogue), Froseth (dragonborn monk)

Party meets in the Frowning Trout, a tavern on the border between the baronies of Goldendale, Star Coast and Cedargrove

Party decides to help Darvin, a new bard not entirely sure of his powers, get paid for his recent musical performance at Star Coast Manor, from which he was forcibly ejected without pay for making the guests sneeze feathers (by accident)

Hazel lobs her two-handed warhammer through the back bar of the Frowning Trout, destroying five place settings of crockery; party is forcibly evicted from the tavern and Hazel is banned for life

Party cannot get a boat from the Frowning Trout to the city of Star Coast because everyone who has a boat who might take them there is in the Frowning Trout, and hates them for effectively shutting down food service by destroying all the crockery

Party begins the trip to the city of Star Coast; on stopping to camp, party is assailed by vine blights. Kill shot: Clarity (”LET GO OF MY FRIEND, YOU LETTUCE WRAP!”)

SESSION 2

Party: Nora Bailey (human paladin), Hazel Hearthheart (half-elf cleric), Darvin Taylor (human bard), Clarity Meloreth (tiefling rogue), Froseth (dragonborn monk) 

Nora and Hazel are plagued by nightmares about Star Coast manor

Darvin mentions people who told credible tales of Baron Levendrey of Star Coast being a monster, who later disappeared for a few days and came back all disturbing smiles and over-fervent loyalty to their baron

Arrival at Star Coast; Hazel approaches halflings at the Reek Hill fish market and is told that it is ‘not safe’ to say anything about what’s going on in the city

Party takes up residence at local tavern, the Piecemeal; the proprietor Francine gives Darvin’s birth name (Reginald Tailor)

Hazel approaches more halflings, discovers one of them to be her adoptive aunt, Melinda; Melinda tells them to meet her at her place of business in an hour and leaves; Hazel gives chase but is accosted by muggers - eventually saved by the rest of the party

Party heads to Melinda’s potion shop; discovers Melinda dead with her throat cut and the shop on fire. Froseth extinguishes most of the fire. Party finds a letter to Hazel’s adoptive mother Miranda and a locket with pictures of the two Hearthheart halflings; also finds a cursed book that Melinda was apparently guarding against anyone bad finding it; Clarity is cursed by said book and nearly dies

Hazel stomps out seeking vengeance, falls through the fire-weakened floor and nearly lands on top of six Barony guardsmen

Loot this session: Helm of Comprehend Languages (Nora)

SESSION 3

Party: Nora Bailey (human paladin), Hazel Hearthheart (half-elf cleric), Darvin Taylor (human bard), Clarity Meloreth (tiefling rogue), Froseth (dragonborn monk)

Party ultimately fails to convince the guard that they were only there to try to help the poor soul inside and are nearly charged with murder; rescued by Francine and a party of halflings. Francine tells the party that they would be best off hiding in the Undercity, where the lost, destitute and criminal element go to avoid too much attention from the Barony guard

Party enters the Undercity and meets Mera Deadeye, gnome thief and unofficial mayor of the Undercity, as well as her second, Petunia (despite the name, entirely gender-neutral); Mera and Petunia proved a distinct interest in the doings at Melinda Hearthheart’s shop and a knowledge of the cursed book

Party agrees to clear a creature of undetermined nastiness out of a room containing a tunnel to the Underdark as payment for their stay in the Undercity. Party encounters a nothic, whose mind-reading abilities apparently give it enough knowledge to give Clarity an evil laugh and the words ‘her poor brother. Kill shot - Hazel (”BURN!”)

Party reports back to Mera; learns that Mera originally stole the cursed book that Melinda was guarding from Star Coast Manor, so that the Baron couldn’t use it to whatever ends he had in mind; also that there were many more disappearances that evidence suggested was due to the Baron, most from the Undercity, and that those who weren’t just taken ended up jailed or beaten to within an inch of their lives. Party agrees to infiltrate the manor the same way Mera did to steal the book, this time to find out what was going on

Session ends with Hazel being as much help as possible in the Undercity’s makeshift clinic, and Mera providing them gifts that might help them infiltrate the manor

Loot this session: Boots of Elvenkind (Clarity)

SESSION 4

Party: Nora Bailey (human paladin), Hazel Hearthheart (half-elf cleric), Darvin Taylor (human bard), Clarity Meloreth (tiefling rogue)

Party meets Evan Deadeye, Mera’s four-year-old son; Evan calls them to a meeting with Mera, who explains that the Barony guard are looking for the party. Party agrees to do their infiltration quickly, leaving Froseth behind to help guard the Undercity but taking Mera, who had done this before, along

Party travels the non-Undercity sewer system of Star Coast; encounters a group of vagrants with a direwolf. Kill shot: Mera (daggers in the direwolf’s eyes). Also encounters a chest that turns out to be a mimic. Kill shot: Nora (”Hammer SMASH”)

Party tries to sneak into the manor via the servants’ entrance, trying to act like servants to go unseen by the Barony guard still searching for them. Mera and Darvin manage. Hazel, Nora and Clarity do not, and get arrested, finding that the Undercity had been raided and razed, and that Petunia and Froseth had also been arrested

Mera and Darvin attempt a jailbreak; they succeed, though Darvin is confronted by his father, who was also arrested and being held hostage for his mother’s good behaviour. Party learns that Reginald ‘Darvin Taylor’ Tailor-Green is minor nobility on his mother’s side, and that the nobles of Star Coast are currently at the manor, presumably for whatever scheme Baron Levendrey is enacting.

Party decides to continue with their plan to infiltrate the manor and confront the baron - if not for rescue of Darvin’s mother, then as revenge for what was done to the Undercity

Loot this session: Staff of Healing (Hazel)

SESSION 5

Party: Nora Bailey (human paladin), Hazel Hearthheart (half-elf cleric), Darvin Taylor (human bard), Clarity Meloreth (tiefling rogue), Froseth (dragonborn monk) 

Party wakes an unconscious Froseth, who is extremely wary and explains about guardsmen who weren’t exactly human and in some cases were not exactly living either having razed the Undercity. Party (Mera included) bleed to show him that they were normal. Party moves on

Infiltration of manor cellar goes awry when Darvin botches a stealth roll and ends up tripping over packed-up cooking equipment, alerting two guards and something that used to be a guard but is now an undead the likes of which none of them had even considered. Kill shot: Hazel (”Hammer SMASH”)

Despite poor Intimidation rolls, the guard kept alive for information tells them that the party Darvin originally played at was being repeated, but far more businesslike and solemn; also that a creepy guest had arrived and ordered a parcel brought to her, and that the courier vanished without trace right after. Impression given: something bad is imminent

Party infiltrates the manor’s ballroom. Mera stealths in first but is somehow seen and killed, her body left in a ritual circle and turned into a gibbering mouther that comes after the party. Kill shot: Froseth (”Boot to the head ... if it has one...”)

Froseth’s kill shot kicks the mouther out of the ritual circle at the moment of its death, landing it on a table in front of apparently captive Star Coast nobles, where it begins to turn to a sort of fog. Darvin tries to run to his mother, who is among the nobles, but is held back by his party. Petunia says that they will hold back whatever this fog is as much as possible, but that the party must go and see if anyone survived the Undercity razing on their way out. Party agrees, and flees

Party leaves via the Undercity, finds Evan and a teenage human girl (Lissi), who managed to hide from the Barony guard attack. Party takes both children with them as they commandeer a boat and leave Star Coast, which is being quickly overtaken by ominous fog

Loot this session: Bag of Holding

Next up: Goldendale.

[100-becs]

A Suffocated Soul

TW//Transphobia, homophobic and transphobic slurs, mentions of gore, and mentions of sxxcxde

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Who am I?

I’m an 18 year old disgrace to my family who sees her bearded face as an ailment, who's deep voice, a bass, makes me wish words would fail me, a spiraling mess who's fake masculinity trails me. A girl with a liar's face. A girl who's failing. But still I tire, inside me’s a fire with dwindling kindling, running down to the wire. A soul suffocated and strangled whose saving face is a shell of former self, self hatred shooting through her, forever forced to fester in her failings, sequestered into an inescapable quagmire.

And I said nothing when you told me that my body is not my choice

When I’ve found a way, my voice, my song, it brings me euphoria until you come along, lecturing me that how I'm living is wrong, and how being myself would make me not belong. Relentless ridicule of how my hair is too long, that there’s no going back if I alter my bod. That I can’t be a girl, I watch football all day long. It takes me everything not to pack up and say “so long”. Saying it’ll be my fault if someone kills me, it kills me. Of living, I’m not worthy, as I’m too far along a man to be girly. Oh, gosh, I’m getting wordy. I didn’t realize myself early. The downward spiral into nothingness around me is swirling, as I try to clean up my mess you made for me. Can’t you see I’m distressed? I’m worth less than worthless. Holy fuck, give me a rest. If a rest is too much leniency, go ahead and arrest me. It's torture to continue when my own mother detests me

I said nothing when you went on your tirades against who I am

I’m a girl who can’t cry, though I’m red in the eye. Knuckles bloodied with mirror shards surrounding her. In each is a reflection of a monster. A man who did others wrong and strung people along for his own amusement. Seeping out my hand is where everything I had to prove went. I need to vent. I’m fucking spent. I broke when others bent. Off the ledge, my sanity was sent, the life I’ve dreamt was met with dissent, but though inside, 100 times i’ve wept, I still can’t cry. And despite my eyes and thighs being red with this dye, I lie and say i’m fine. You tell me I'm wired, but my wires are fried and my identity you’ve vilified, and deep inside, I want to die. There's not a day that goes by where I dont think "maybe if I just try, I can act like everything's okay as a guy and i wont have to live with being the type of person you told me you loved but really you're ashamed of."

I said nothing when you told me I’m a man

I’m the antithesis of normality. Fuck the formalities. Send me to my grave at the edge of reality, for the way I exist, you tell me it’s confounding. You feed me to wolves who are hungry and growling. I raise my bloodied fists to fight back, but they all overpower me. The turmoil I face is what has the wolves howling. A little girl whose cries will never come out of me. A little girl named Jocelyn. The name that should never be uttered around you. What you call a trend is why my head's always pounding. The struggle I face every day is astounding. And it stacks up and stacks up and it all amounts to me running numbers through my head, 41 percent. I dont care what you meant because it's the message you sent that I am not welcome in this world being who I am, lest I be happy in my body that others may dissent, and that if my vessel meets an untimely end, the fault is on me, not how wrong society went

I said nothing when you told me it would be on me if someone kills me for wearing a dress

"It's just a trend. I thought I was a lesbian when i was a teenager" is the mantra you constantly use to defend your position. The trans people you mention, you say just want attention, and list ways they're not menschen, in hopes that I stop pretending. I'm not pretending! Apprehending my emotions flowing like the tides of the ocean makes me feel atrocious. The pain that shoots through my skin, skin that imprisons my livelihood within, within my self is a soul begging to be let out, out of my mouth shoots "Why can't I just be fucking normal?!" with my deep voice killing me, "methinks the trxnny doth protest too much" is the response I receive, leaves who I am to die in the darkness, darkness forever blotting out the sun. I'm not your son! I'd gladly run from this thing that I was, reach for my heart instead of a gun that threatens to send this whole operation asunder, and become a being worthy of love and of wonder, not for fun or because I've grown dumber, but because I would never willingly take the brunt of the hell that I live through daily to taste the unimportant heaven of a shred of attention. 

I said nothing when you told me I was following trends

You paint me as a terrible liar, but I was able to convince you that I was a man. I played along with my assigned gender roles when you watched over me, clueless of 10 year old me's crying sleepless nights, or 13 year old me's internal fights, how everything was eating away at me like termites. I know my rights and your words aren't right. I constantly escape to digital landscapes because however it infuriates me wont be a scrape against who I am, and will not cripple my mental state. 

I said nothing when you told me to change my preferred name everywhere.

The 19 years i've spent on this earth, what were they worth? From my birth to the present day, I've pissed my entire life away because I allowed my mother to convince me that she knows more about me than I do about me. That there was no overcoming my greatest obstacle because she birthed me. You've stripped my individuality away from me as if I had just given it away to you. You fed me ideas that I thought nothing of because I focused too hard on the fact that the figure that's supposed to be a universal security blanket won't accept me. And those ideas you spoon-fed to me was the waste of self-doubt I couldn't flush out. My bloody knuckles and shattered mirrors are products of your rhetoric. And as I ball my fist up one last time, bawling my eyes out on the inside, ready to smash the final pane, just end the pain as I go insane…

Why cant I do it?…

My reflection smiles back and shows affection. A disheveled, bloody, broken complexion, but oddly beautiful, a captivating introspection. Completely removed from your hateful gobbledygook, I rub my eyes to take a second look. She's smiling, like she can read me like a book. My ethereal self is happy, while I'm sitting here, still shook. A queer, trans, lesbian mess, but purely my mess. none caused by outside distress, a girl who is always her best and strives for nothing less, Jocelyn. October 9th, 2018 was the first time I saw this wonder, and she helped me see the meaning in my night-long internal plights, my shattered psyche from fights, blights I've brought on my body that brought me ungodly dysphoria and triggered upon me out of body memories because the last body I would possibly want for me is that of a man. She makes me look back on my past and revere it. Im smiling ear to ear because I know although I may fear and people may leer, as long as I'm here, I know I'm queer, I'm here, I'm queer, I'm here, I'm her.

I said nothing when you threatened to send me to a psych ward.

Coming to terms with toxicity can be a tumultuous task that tries to turn you against those you think you love. But that isnt the case here. I know you hate me, but love the boy you think I am. And any attempt I make to let Jocelyn make my life any amount more manageable is met with fury, the situation gets blurry, I constantly worry, like im being buried alive. I strive to be able to survive and thrive because you taught me that I shouldn't let anyone get in the way of me living my life. Please take this knife away from my sight as I contemplate this strife. My existence does not make things worsen, I am my own person!

I said nothing when you lied to me about your care for the LGBTQ+ community

The toxicity of your words only runs skin deep. But this toxic testosterone that courses through my every capillary and produced by my bones makes me scream bloody mary. My hearing is plagued with "fxggot", "trxp", and "trxnny", and if I outwardly say "Hi, I'm transgender", the further attacks on me would be many. But their blaring cacophony is nothing comparing to my body changing to be something that pains me. Waking up to being physically male is just a constant reminder of someone I'm not, an unsettling notification of times best forgot, and of a person who's better off being left to rot. I've screamed, I've shouted, I've sulked, and I've fought. Every day in this body is another day lost, never to be found until I end up deceased on the ground, iced over with the frost, or until this testosterone is replaced with estrogen. Estrogen, the chemical that will make me detest my body much less, make me my best self, but without it i don't know how long until im laid to rest.

Beneath me are the eggshells I've broken because you told me to walk on them. You signed and sealed my name in blood as the son you always loved. I am no husband, brother, father, son. I sold my individuality for safety untold, but as i grew older, the world around me grew colder, the pain inside I couldn't shoulder. My response was to be bolder, but at some point I just rolled over wishing everything would be over because the people i expected to fight alongside me shoved a dagger in my back because I dared to be too authentic to conform to who you thought I was, leaving me to die on the battlefield against my own dysphoria, signing and sealing my deadname in blood, Josh. But as my body grows cold as the blood will roll down my gouged armes from the broken mirrors and the dagger you shoved in my back as a hold. I take hold of the dagger and rip it out of my spine, I won't go down this time. Though it wont all be fine I will continue my climb. I'll push on through the muck and the grime. I'll rise to the top to give my eyes a sight to behold. You say I've lost my mind, I've just gained control. No, today will not be the day that I fold, I'll make sure my story will not go untold, I refuse to be melted and put into a mold, and I can do it all if I could just be bold!

I wont stay silent anymore.

Who am I?

I'm Jocelyn

Perfectly imperfect

[unholysunblade-a]

Misguided Faith

(Takes place at some point during WoD. Forsaken vs. Gilneans plus a death knight)

It started when she was a little girl. The shining daughter of Lord Sunblade, a fledgling caster, a proud, promising young girl with hopes and dreams. How dearly she wanted to wear her name proud, to show her parents and her peers that she was worthy of it.

    Cleave.

How badly she wanted others to see her worth. For her father to place his hand upon her head and smile down with the fondness other children’s parents held. How starved she became for that need, that attention, that love.

How willing she became to throw herself to the ghouls when she learned that want was unachievable.

The death knight rode upon her pale horse across the battleground, the Forsaken banner attached to her steed as she lifted her battle axes high in the air. This, she learned to love. The wind in her hair, the thrill of the kill, the screams, the blood, the mayhem -- this she was good at. This, her peers loved. Cheered for.

    Cleave.

Seaandra let out a piercing battlecry, charging gleefully into the fray. Both massive axes swung wildly, snatching and tearing through flesh of the worgen far too slow to avoid her. For every one that fell, honor would be granted to the knight. She deserves it, she feels. The praise, the attention, the glory -- she did not need her father’s mocking tone to tell her she would never live up to the name.

After fighting so long for her place in this wretched world, she deserved this.

    Cleave.

In one swift move, the death knight leaped off her horse, charging into the dense battleground. Dozens of worgen met her with blades drawn and teeth bared -- she met them with the same sentiment. Once upon a time, Seaandra had accepted there was no redemption for her. She was not the son her father wanted, she was not the knight the Light wanted. She had hoped that at least, in death, she would go down a hero, giving her all for her people at the gates of Quel’thalas. At least then, her worthless life would be lay down to give those who had lives worth living a chance to flourish. To prosper. To become something more in the wake of the new world.

But it was not worth it.

Seaandra let out a scream, frost shooting out from beneath her feet and crawling across the ruined grass at an intense speed, seizing the beasts by the ankles and legs. She channeled her unholy power into her blades, empowering them with infection and plague before wildly slashing at the victims before her.

    CLEAVE.

She had no peace of death, no peace of mind.While one hell ended, another began as she awoke to the smell of burning flesh and a necromancer reanimating stiff joints, and filling dead, exhausted lungs with ash and smoke. The very sight of flames revives the memory, the pain rolling over her tenfold. The young paladin, who believed so strongly in the Light, and the hope for her people to succeed, brought into a world of decay and blight.

But it made her stronger.

She could never be proud of the things that she had done while seized by that icy grip of the Lich King’s command, but she could not feel shame either. Within the Scourge, she had purpose. Glory for the Lich King meant glory for herself, and oh how she craved that glory. How dearly she wanted to show the other knights, to show her king that she was worthy. That she was powerful in her own right, that she was wanted, she was useful. The blood on her hands, the corpses she amassed, it all built her up. Here, she was wanted, here, she was accepted.

But it was not worth it.

A massive worgen leapt at her, tackling the death knight to the ground. She struggled against its large size, pushing its snout and cage of teeth away from her face. She clawed at whatever skin and fur the worgen had exposed, channeling her magic to the worgen’s blood, curdling it and manipulating it until every vein within her attacker had burst. With a snarl, Seaandra heaved its body off her, straggling to her feet. Around her, other undead with the Forsaken’s emblem upon their chests descended into battle, leaving chaos around her wake. Battlecries and shouts of horror and death rang loud in her ears, and though she lacked reason to breathe, she found herself panting. Of what emotion, she could not tell.

Her horse rode back to her, and she mounted quietly, riding to another populated area of combat. This, at least, was her choice. With the Scourge, she did as her liege wished, acted as an extension of his sword. But those days were over. She was free. Liberated from that horrible nightmare that should have never grasped her.

But this… This was not liberation. She brought a hand to touch her ruined cheek, preserved by unholy means as a reminder of what she had become. Once a valiant paladin, now… a horrible, twisted monster. Her life had been wasted, and her death had been weaponized against those she died protecting. What purpose could she possibly have in unlife? What did this world have for a heathen like her?

    CLEAVE.

Her horse galloped into a narrow neighborhood, snapping the wood of abandoned wagons and debris of destroyed homes. Once more, the death knight jumped off her mount, landing directly atop another beast and hacking through its bones and flesh. She hopped from victim to victim, leaving each corpse frozen and destroyed as she switched targets.

She fought for this world that did not want her. How she longed for their love, their care, their support. How she craved their attention, how she craved to have a place of her own in this world. The people she died for, they could never want her back in their society. Even still, in this twisted form, she continued to fight for their love.

But was it worth it?

The Forsaken banners flowed in the wind atop the buildings they claimed, and Seaandra could not help but grin. She has a purpose now. The Forsaken -- they know her pain. The Banshee Queen died in the same battle as she. They know the blight. They know the suffering. They are the unloved, the unwanted. But that does not mean they cannot FORGE their place in this world!

    CLEAVE.

Seaandra burst through the doors of homes, slaughtering any and all within the battered homes, the lichfire in her eyes glowing intensely as she shrieked and roared out. She knows what she must do. She knows what she can do. And the whole world must see it. See the pain that she knew, learn the horrors she was so acquainted with. Here, they will claim this land for themselves. These beasts will be the example -- the dead will rise, and they will make it known where they belong. And she will slaughter anyone that stands in her way.

For the glory of the Forsaken, she will PURGE --

Seaandra’s axes came to a halt, held just over her head. Frost coated her armor in an instant, and she looked down in horror, unable to bring her blades down.

A mother sat on the ground beside an overturned table, pressed against the wall with tears pouring from her eyes. She was not alone -- huddled into the corner, she shielded two small children, wide, fearful eyes trained upon the death knight’s weapons. Their fearful cries were soft and quiet, mourning the deaths Seaandra would soon claim.

But she could not.

An old, faint memory, like that of a dying candle, suddenly revived itself, burning like a fire raging beyond its confines. That same, terrible massacre Seaandra fought in on her final day returned to the death knight at a force that nearly rocked her physically. Once, she had seen the Scourge pour into battered homes, slaughtering the high elves with no mercy. She had stumbled into a destroyed house where an elven mother and her children hid in a corner as the wretched undead held their blades up, ready to claim their lives for the Scourge as well.

Here, faced with the Gilnean, Seaandra could see no difference between her and that frightful mother from so long ago. Had she really become the same monsters that destroyed her people? Had she really sunken this low?

Was it worth it?

Another worgen, a slim, female warrior, bursts through the door, shield in hand as she swoops to defend the mother and children. The embers of that memory burn bright, as Seaandra could see only herself as a young paladin those years ago defending the innocent from the Scourge that plagued her land.

She could not move.

The worgen slammed herself into the death knight, and Seaandra hardly made an effort to defend herself. She crashed out of the house, stumbling through the broken wood and debris as the warrior made her frenzied attacks. Seaandra cannot fight. This… This was not her purpose. How could she have strayed so far from who she once was? How could she become the very fiends that she worked to defend her people from?

Seaandra held up one of her axes, feebly parrying the warrior’s attacks. Like this worgen, Seaandra had once fought to protect her people from those horrors, sought to give them a future. That, she gave her life for.

How then, can she keep fighting, if not to strip that very same future from another dying people?

    Leave.

The warrior disarmed the death knight, sending the battle axe across the field. Seaandra held her other in both hands, trying to shake herself from that trance. She was aware with a different perspective of the battlecries, the screams of death and terror in the air. It bore into her like daggers, shredding through the fabric of her own reality and shaking her to the core, an icy feeling colder than her own frost, a pain akin to that of her own death.

How could she have done this? Has her Queen truly fallen so far she lost sight of her own cause as well? Does she not understand the weight of the Forsaken’s actions, does she not see that they have become the very same thing that cursed them to this fate?

    LEAVE.

She had to run. Run away from this. Such treacherous thoughts would be the end of her. Perhaps it would be best if she left, if she disappeared from this place before she sank further into her role of a monster. Perhaps it would be better this way --

The worgen’s blade found Seaandra’s abdomen, black ichor spilling from the chink in the death knight’s armor. Seaandra sputtered, clutching the blade and keeping the warrior from piercing her any further. Seaandra met the worgen’s eyes, the two of them close enough to see the fire and fury they held. But the death knight could see past the feral part of the warrior, past that rage and fighting spirit. She’s scared. This warrior, who so willingly threw her life on the line to protect the defenseless, knew fear well in her heart.

That beautiful sight woke something within the death knight. She could not leave. She could not run from this. All her work would be for naught, it would not be worth it. She had dug herself this grave, now she will lie in it.

Seaandra mustered her strength, lichfire returning to her eyes, ablaze brighter than ever, and she yanked the warrior’s weapon out of her abdomen, slicking her fingers with her own black blood. She twirled her massive axe in hand, bringing it down with a crushing force against the warrior. The worgen barely lifted her shield in time to block the attack, and Seaandra pressed forward, clashing the heavy steel against the shield until dents began to form. Frost formed around them until the faintest amount of deathly snow began to flutter past the two, and soon, the warrior began to falter, the death knight’s brutal attacks wearing down on her until she fell backwards, bloody and battered, awaiting her fate.

Seaandra stood over the warrior, watching the young woman pant and clench her eyes tight as she waited for the blade to fall down upon her. But Seaandra could not lift her axe. Not when the Forsaken sought to destroy the woman’s homeland. She could not finish her.

But she could not leave her.

“Get up.”

The warrior opened her eyes, shocked to hear the death knight’s sudden demand. Seaandra gripped her axe tightly, forcing herself to keep from trembling. The warrior did not move, she could only stare.

“I said get up.”

The warrior scooted slightly, but she did not rise. Infuriated, Seaandra let out a piercing shout, swinging her axe down heavily until the warrior rolled out of the way fast enough before the blade could cleave her face in two.

“Get up!” Seaandra shouts again, snarling and baring her sharpened teeth the same as the worgen did. “Look at your home! Do you want us to take it? Do you want us to win?!”

The death knight’s attacks became ruthless and uncalculated, the heavy weight of the blade hissing through the air as she swung and hurled it towards her target. The warrior dodged, on her feet once more as she retrieved her shield and sword, the fire reignited within her eyes. Sparks flew as their blades clashed against each other, both fighting spirits reinvigorated and with a powerful fury.

“Hold onto this hatred,” Seaandra growled, slashing at the worgen. “Remember my face, beast. Remember who wanted to take this. Remember that you were willing to give this up!”

The worgen roared, letting out a mangled cry that hurt the death knight’s ears, but Seaandra could only grin. If Seaandra had become a monster, then in the very least, it would give someone else a purpose. Give them reason to fight. Give them a duty and a place in this world. She will make the blood she spilled worth it. This warrior will be that example.

“Grieve!” She shouted, striking the worgen, drawing blood, but not enough to kill her. The warrior fell backward, growling and hissing in pain. Seaandra crouched over her, inching dangerously close to the worgen’s face. “Grieve your fallen. Remember your people. Remember what has happened here. Remember our faces. And don’t. Let. That. Go.”

She straightened, giving one final glance to her axe before stabbing it into the dirt beside the warrior. This path is over. No more banners and tabards, no more loyalties sworn to the broken and unforgiving. No longer will she lay her life or unlife down for someone else’s war.

No more. They do not deserve her faith. She does not deserve them.

“Find me when you are stronger,” Seaandra said quietly, casting the summoning spell for her steed. “I dare you to find me. Try to kill me.”

She will be her own hero, she will follow her own path. Her purpose will be her own, and Light dammit this new leaf will be worth it.

For only she can redeem herself.

[moment-sdream]

Dragon Age Inquisition Fanfic

The Inquisitor sat with her legs crossed, close to the edge of the cliff. She stared at the horizon, watching the different hues blues and pinks blend together until they created new colors altogether. “You’re not hungry?” Solas asked from behind her. She could feel her brown skin warming at his presence. “If you mean, I’m not willing to fight Iron Bull over what’s left of nug, then no.” She rested her arms on her knees and wrapped them around her. She then rested her chin on her crossed arms. From here she could see the fires burning in the Hinterlands. Thankfully they weren’t fires from fighting but instead of weary travelers looking to find rest. They’d been successful in driving out all the Templars and apostates that plagued this land with their fighting; they’d even took some bandits out as well. That was when the Inquisition was still trying to make a name for itself, it felt like something that happened a lifetime ago. “Are you still upset about-“ “Did you know that I was in Denerim during the blight? My dad fled from the forest after it became infested with dark spawn. He thought we’d be safer in the capital even if we had to live as second class citizens. Then not too long after that, the blight hit and my dad was killed by one. I’d be dead too if it wasn’t for the hero of Fereldon.” The memory washed over her, the hero in her warden armor with her arms outstretched. Magic spilled from them as her lips recited different incarnations. She chose to fight with two blindingly silver daggers instead of a staff and she sliced through hordes as if they were nothing. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of the hero.” Solas nodded as he took a seat next to her. He sat his staff next to him and the Inquisitor admired the ancient wood that it was made of. It seemed to pulse with life, it felt familiar like when she had travelled back into the fade. “I admired the wardens to the point of wanting to be them. You know, I almost joined! But... I was tired of living in the city alone and I wanted to be around people like me so I rejoined the Danish and what happened next..well...” she motioned behind her with a half smile as Iron Bull and Sera fight over the last piece. “That’s still ongoing a tale being told...” She sighed, her body sagging in despair. “What happened to the wardens was sad, yes, a history of bravery and sacrifice soiled by one mistake but fear does that.” Solas rubs her back and she’s glad he can’t tell she is blushing. “I know, but at least they will get a chance to rebuild and make amends for the damage they’ve cost. But then...seeing the Divine. I knew I couldn’t be the herald, it’s just... I don’t believe in the Maker.” She admitted and Solas was quiet. “Inquisitor.” Solas nearly whispered, his brown eyes settling on her. “You can call me Ha’llah, Solas.” She waited for her name to fall from his lips, for him to tell her whatever thought plagues his eyes and caused his forehead to crease but instead he chuckled low. “Yes, of course.” He looked away and she could feel her heart sank. “Ay! You two lovebirds done being all lovey and crap. It’s just sick, really, eh.” Sera stuck out her tongue in mock disgust and Ha’llah jumped to her feet, her face completely warm. “That’s not what was happening!” She nearly shrieked and Bull threw his head back in laughter. “No need to get your tits in a knot, boss. It was a joke.” Sera laughed at this. “Imagine her tits in a knot!” She snorted while laughing and Ha’llah pushed her over in pure embarrassment. When she glanced back at Solas, he wasn’t paying any attention. Instead he was twisting his necklace, his eyes casted at the darkening sky.

[legionmaster001]

My second and maybe, just maybe last post, as editing in the Tmblur app is still hell. This one still goes for @bl00dalchemist​’s characters, wich I love and owe a ton of inspiration.

I insist that this is not the kind of story that fits with them. However, I seriusly need to do this right, for the demons, for the bastard himself.

Again, I hope you all enjoy it.

The Black Death

“A dense mist engulfed the portuary town of Sicily as a dirty withe chariot aproached from the Northside one fatidic morning of October. The horses that pulled it looked sick, with their whinny resounding through the souls of those who first saw them like the pleads of a dying men, the rhymt of their gallop confessed the bad omens they carried in tounges that no one could speak. The sun wasn’t coming out that day, as even it cowered to the darkness that acompained the chariot.

—Aye! Aye! —exclaimed the charioteer, coughing and whipping his horses with his famelic arms and an old wip.

The mist stopped as the chariot did, like if it were a simple passanger itself. Near the entrance of the town, under the few houses that went to the end of the town and a sign of putrefacted wood and worn out letters, the real passager got out, saying not a single word to the poor looking driver before giving him a fist of herbs and a small sheet of paper.

—I owe you my life, sir —claimed the charioter, thankful and trustful.

—You shall pay me soon, then… —whispered the young man as he turned around, willing to travel what path was left to his destination on foot.

Only the sound of footsteps and the clicking sound of a wooden cane could be heard, as the townsfolk that stayed in their homes and businesses observed the withe haired but young foreigner with suspicion and intrigue. The man, with his black clothes, stiff cane and leather bag, never stared back. He was the doctor that the town needed, and he wasn’t in humor to humilliate the peasants that day.

—Maybe it’s too late… —Wondered the Doctor, scratching his withe beard. 

Almost running through the streets he directed himslef to the city’s port, guided by no one. Promptly he arrived to the dock, where rotting carcasses of the hanged still moored with rope around their necks. Ships of all sizes slowly swung, exhibiting like the corpses of the condemned. But the one that was supposed to soon touch land was an emissary of death was about unload a terrible charge; a Plague. 

His superiors had heard about it long before, and terrified predicted a wave of death and decay so great that it might as well be the end of all men. A disease so terrible that made the greatest Imperium of the world quail, that cared not about the children of god, killing everyone in its path, and transformed the deserts of the East in black seas, making all the Crusades look like a simple bar fight, and leaving piles upon piles of corpses, tall enough to cover the light of the morning sun.

—He is here!

—It can’t be.

—Just in the right moment.

The people that had gathered among the docks welcomed the Doctor with most expectation and joy. The strange man was a light of hope in their eyes, as the dim light of the early sun was completely covered by the mist of the morning, that with the help of the cloud that the Doctor carried, claimed the town for themselves. 

—What is happening here, my friend? —Asked the Doctor to the nearest man, putting his best smile. However, fear started to grow inside him as he realized that he already knew what was the problem.

—Ships came, the mariners look so sick, we’d never seen something like that! —Answered the man with nothing but fear in his eyes.

The Doctor walked to the sick mariners, seemingly calm, with only a few corageous enough and the constant feeling of having the spirits of the hanged swirling in the mist, to accompany him. Dead flesh by fingers and tumors as big as apples adorning their necks; the mariners had what was soon to be known as the Black Death. Such sight deeply affected the Doctor, that feared they wouldn’t survive enough to be played with, and make the townsfolk help them arrive to a church. He had more important things to do in the main ship, and as so, giving the excuse of finding a cause to such an horrible illness, he went alone. The folk cheered such an heroic behavior, for the Doctor was about to enter the guts of the beast.

He wandered to the insides of the ship, slowly revealing his nature: skin gray as ashes of the dead, theet and claws sharp and short as daggers to eviscerate, a tail that moved elegantly over the ground, and horns long and curved in a beautiful but simple way, with black ends. The demon Doctor finally was free, as he both rejoiced and shivered at the results of the Black Death; mariners abandoned still alive, drowning in their own vomited blood, corpses filled to the brim with tumors, and at the end of it all, a rotten, destroyed last corpse of what seemed to be a rather small and young man roughly dressed as a Eastern Companion Lady. It was of a unnatural pinkish color, from hair to inners, including the skin. It’s odor was strangely sweet.

—Not even the rats would claim this one… —Said the Doctor, poking the rotten corpse with his cane, not impressed with the weirdness of the body. A expression of disgust was on his face.

—But you can, it’s not that expensive —answered the supposed corpse in a sweet tone, or at least the sweetest it could do with its vocal cords so damaged.

—What in the bloody name of lord Baal…?

The now somewhat alive youngster extended a tounge like a venomous serpent, wich slowly coiled around the Doctor’s cane in a unsuccessful attempt to look somewhat provocative. The Doctor looked at him with mistrust, as he didn’t want another demon on his lands, even less one that could put in risk his entire career. But something called the attention of the Doctor: the young, rotten, blighted and lustful demon had glittering eyes with a strange beauty on them. The Doctor stared at them, almost forggoting for what he was there. Something was deeply wrong with its irregular and dead green iris and yellow sclera, but it wasn’t any kind of magic.

—Who the hell are you and what is your business here? —Asked the Doctor as politely as his word enabled him to be, snapping out of his trance and pulling his cane out of the mouth of the living corpse, ripping its tounge— I just cleaned this thing…

—My name is Gillian, and I am a humble Satan’s servant like you —said Gillian after he grew another tounge— born in holy land like you, ended up in the west, where Lord Belcebub gave me his most recent toy. Really not my type, but kinky, I must admit.

—Go to the point —The Doctor was quickly losing his scarce patience.

—Whatever you say, big boy. I was taken by those called Mongols in an invasion, they used me and threw me to the walls of a city —Gillian stopped to whisper, curses or compliments, it didn’t matter to the Doctor —, and I came with the merchants that ran from the war, and here you have me. So, do you want me to…?

The Doctor interrupted Gillian, tapping the wooden planks with his cane. The smug and peaceful expression with wich he entered the ship was again in his face. He Scratched his beard again, meditating about the situation. Before speaking he put on a small pair of reading glasses.

—I want you to leave. Now! —Shouted the Doctor, clearly mad. Fur od the same grey of his skin slowly spreaded around his body as it grew taller and demonic in form— I can’t afford to lose all my potential patients because of your pestilence!

The horns of the Doctor were about to break the ceiling when a flame materialized between them, taking the form of a shining crown.

—You don’t sound like a doctor at all —said Gillian, carefree and rather relaxed, almost like if he enjoyed the anger proyected at him, and unable to see.

—I am, but I have no enough hands, nor patience to amputate all this people, it wouldn’t even be fun anymore —The Doctor turned around, ready to leave. The boy didn’t whort the risk of beign discovered that soon— I am not the only one that will get damaged by this situation, so is better if you swim back to the East.

—I will see what I can do, hotstuff, but, sure u’ don’t want some of this? —Gillian lifted his leg, showing off what was left of it before it fell, leaving nothing but a small pool of black mush.

—Never in my 1,369 years of life have I been so horrified…

—It is not the last time you’ll say that, I bet —Gillian chuckled.

Breathing deep the Doctor started to leave, thinking of ways to actually save some lifes before the plage started to get worse. His demonic form disipated with the mist of the outside, letting the sun light enter through the few holes in the ship and hit both demons.

—Anyway, before you leave, what is your name? —Asked Gillian, trying to slowly cralw.

—Kinto —Was the only answer.

Gillian stopped in his tracks, now looking at Kinto under the sun light, he knew the name, everyone did. Kinto was the demon that singlehandedly transformed part of the Holy Order of Knights of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem from loyal and godfearing warriors to an encrazed cult that practiced surgery on the child of the christian and muslim alike in the chaos of the damned cruzades, and the demon who made his golden earrings from the crosses of the Templar fallen heroes. All despite of being all but a warrior demon.

One last time Kinto looked behind, to see the pink son of the wither, angrier than ever, not for his actions and indiference, but because he felt a kind of warmth that no scream, bloody murder or great payment had given to him, all when looking at those rotten, glittering eyes.

In that cold morning Kinto, the cruel image of the sadism dressed as men of medicine, the corruption of those to swore protect, cure and save, met both the factor and the person that would end his current life, and forever change his eternal one, just like the world itself”.

Omfg I realized how many errors of all kinds I commited. I am so sorry. I don’t feel like a Fan anymore.

For those to made it to the end despite it beign just a slightly improved version; a trillion thanks.

[iimmcrtalis-archive]

DA verse

a summary post of all my active muses verse(s) in dragon age because i’m f EELING IT BOYS. except terry for rn bc it’ll be Hard. one day. gonna try and go in a from least knowledge bout their verse to extensive knowledge of ‘em so. ayy

this is a pretty long post i apologize to those on mobile!!

Nova; mage(???), human ( ? ), possibly a distant noble

probably a mage? because blue space magic is her jam. though she’s actually more of a combat & tech. she was like well rounded in that regard so i’m considering iunno??? battlemage maybe w/ lockpicking who knows. she’s a sneaky mage that can stab u real good.

would probably also assume she’s pretty good as inquisitor because she would treat it as her role and thing she still has to bare and takes it seriously. like nova is no nonsense as inquisitor but absolute nonsense when she’s not playing that role lmao. 

Morgan; mage?? human af ye. defo a noble blood t BH. 

i unno man. iunno. is he a mage? yeah probably. would he be a legit battlemage + arcane warrior? probably. Would i say he uses a real sword? pro b ab ly. like listen he’s a beefy mage who wears normal armor and probably looks like a fckn non mage but bOOM SUDDENLY LIGHTNING FROM HIS HAND W H AT 

iunno he’s a mage and he’s aggressive as FUCKKKK. aggro as fuck. probably sides withhh iunno both he’d want both and think it’s wasted potential to only have one lmao. iunno he’s hard to figure out man. he’d ultimately probably be like templars because actual ppl who know how to fight. but also wouldn’t wanna condemn the mageS??? so who knows who knows. 

anyways he probably likes blackwall and the iron bull and viv and cass?? and just ye. chills w/ them a lot probably. probably would flirt w/ cass tho god. butw/e no he’s uhhhh real aggressive as a fckn inquisitor like every body getting beheaded. except a few probably.. he would probably make uh... whats his name... tranquil tbh. worse fate than death that yes he would wish on his enemies bc otherwise they get what they want & too risky otherwise. 

Igne; old af elf, probably an assassin combo w/ magic??

like listen if you tell me that they can’t be both ima fckn punt u bc really that’s dumb. defeats the point of multiclassing in the fantasy genre of g am es. anyways really tho they’re old. old as balls. probably? iunno. probably served like... andruil for a while or somethin! got a lil lil corrupted but didn’t want it and wanted freedom so they were like FUCK THIS SHIT IM OUTTIE 

how’d they live? no idea. not a single clue bc i just don’t know jackshit bout ancient elf shit anymore (when did i ever) but honestly. it’s probably a thing right? old af elves everywhere. but no no they’d probably even annoy sera bc like they’re literally?? nonsense. violent af nonsense. hanging off a roof with a fckn potato in their mouth & lookin ready to murder. 

it’s a look™  but nah thinkin that u hhh corruption shit is probably what gave them a red eye ayyy

inquisitor igne is like dagger eyes at solas but doesn’t snitch on him ever not even once. she’s got his back man. she’d be like cool i’ll plaY BOTH SIDES SUre. sure. no mercy run on ppl tho god 

EVELYN / ISENE; old af elf. got that fckn combo again

it’s a theme really, combo classes. all my muses? multiclassed fuckers.  for a detailed everything, please refer to her old blog bc this is gonna be a stupid summary of it so ayyy.

old as dicks dude. lost her arm in the rebellion, against the rebellion. served elgar’nan because he fits her the most tbh. still sort of serves him i guess. like if he showed up she wouldn’t hesitate to follow his orders is what i mean here. otherwise she keeps up the facade of being a former dalish elf mercenary. and definitely doesn’t shy away from admitting she’s got magic. never calls herself a mage because  like lmao 

she has a fckn big ol sword she carries around one handed? and if ur like UR JUST A MAGE she’s gonna use said big ol sword to chop ur head off. not a fan of modern mages tho lmao. at all. like not a lot of sympathy for them. but she would also just kick a circles door in and be like cool leave gtfo you weaklin lil fucks jfc go learn somethin. 

would fight solas in a denny’s parking lot at 2am if she knew jack shit. but she really doesn’t so she’s like ur weird and i dont trust you  butyeah lm ao

Eludysia; ngl i unno if she’s old old but she’s Old. Old seer lady. 

honestly i think she’s not gonna have much of a da verse in general but it exists enough that i feel like i should cover it here. but essentially she’s an old elf seer in rivain. leader of a port side town. No chantry or qunari around its a lot of elves tho. refugees and what not from kirkwall and stuff. 

i unno if she’s an ancient elf but i know she’s old. like real old. so who knows

if she is ancient she probably woulda been like a priestess to ?? falon’din or dirthamen??? because seer shit but like even in a current state she’s fairly devoted to on e o f them or both? probably both lmao. so it’s w/e. 

she’s the former keeper of the clan revas got sent to, which is where revas’ mom is also from and how she gets to that clan. but she was keeper of the clan for like.. a long time like a long time. like that bald fuck from da:o  but without plaguing people with a curse. iunno how she did it but magic and better than that shit. 

more important if revas is inquisitor because lmao she’d probably be like.. welp im gonna come guide you?? probably.   shit she’s probably like emerald knights old tho shit but no fuckin!!! probably comes to be an advisor. 

i think if u go revas as commander/advisor or inquisitor in a thread eludysia’s probs gonna show up and be like sup  but otherwise she’s mainly just a contact in rivain for info and resources!! no special quest or anything u can just contact her for stuff. 

Warren; half-elf, half-qunari. big man w/ a bow.

&& a thick af accent let’s be real here. 

i haven’t made a post about his shit yet so! this one might be a lil longer!! 

grew up in/around starkhaven. in an alienage somewhere really! but he’s got that starkhaven accent. probably just fumbled his way there because honestly he got fucking ditched by his people and has no idea who his parents are lmao. just knows his mom died during child birth and he was fuckin cursed essentially via his?? clan or something. that qunari bit of him is real obvious as his horns grew out and probably had a harsh life in an alienage. 

because he’s not an elf. but he’s not human. and he’s not a qunari. so he’s just. him. 

eventually falls in with some ppl who teach him to steal. so he does a lot and then gets busted and they fckn break his horns off and chop his ears!!! and throw him the fuck out. as you do. but they taught him to use a bow so he’s good with that. and knives. good at close quarters and a long range.

gets better with a bow. real top knotch stuff. ends up in a mercenary crew (same one as qunari inquisitor? probably.) enjoys his merc lifestyle ya know has a good time killin shit 

anyways. companion warren is p much like ‘Strength & force.’ because he has no tact and doesn’t care about politics. like one day i’ll have his approval / disapproval shit. but today is not that day.

but the same applies to his inquisitor shit. he’s fucking brutal as an inquisitor. cares about the little people but FUCK the rich. takes the well for himself ( tho if i would also say revas is there bc i can and she’d take it) but generally just!! give him power and let him kill shit!! that’s all he cares about. tho he wouldn’t kill samson or calpernia bc he doesn’t see them as enemies or villains truly? just pawns in a big scheme and he’d probably stare corypheus in the face and be like get fucked you saggy fuck 

he’s great, great guy. 

Revas: Keeper. Dreamer. Dalish elf. 

literally like most people know Revas’ Dragon Age basics!! but if you don’t i’ll just direct you to her old blog, so you know what’s up.  i’ll put it into a summary the best i can tho! 

Backstory: short and simple? #fucked.  expanded? she was born to the lavellan clan to one of the head hunters & warriors. ended up having magic so she was sort of training to become second, or first, till her moms old clan was like hey we need a new first so uhhhh help us out. and they traded some goods and revas went on her way. ended up being a fucked up situation where the previous first was murdered by two clanmates who eventually tried ( and did) murder revas but she came back bc lmao spirit help & ended up killing them and leaving for her actions.

Dragon Age: Awakening:  full page about it Takes place shortly after this event happened. she lived on her own for awhile, protecting people as much as she could from darkspawn during the blight. ends up going to the wardens because someone doesn’t appreciate her help since she’s a Mage.     The choices made by the warden in regards to her effect how she becomes a warden and the rest of the timeline. Sort of a branch off feel. highly recommend taking a look at the page and also this post. 

DA 2:  If not in the Awakening verse, Revas travels around to the clans. becoming a traveling keeper & helping the clans the best she can. As well as finding ruins and exploring man memories from lost objects. Eventually finds her way to Kirkwall to actually speak with Merrill. But some other shenanigans play out and some stuff goes down. Ends up helping in the fight at the end and leaving with Zevran ( @allurfavesrqueer‘s zevran only lmao. )

DA:I     Companion: Shows up in fereldan with some tree peeps. gets some elvhen shit. offers her services to the inquisition bc that’s what her spirit told her to do. and ya know real fucky. shares some approvals as solas but usually has some pretty contrasting opinions on things! Will defo take on the role of like older sibling or sibling figure with the inquisitor if they’re close enough. Be kind to elves & mages and you’re good.  ( also she’s an option to take the well if the inquisitor doesn’t want it) 

   Advisor: Takes up an offer by the inquistor to become an advisor which is more or less her using her network with the elves around the countries to do certain objectives and what not. acts a bit like an ambassador for the elves & mages in the meetings to give them a voice and remind the human board of trusteeeess that they’re fucking not the only ones around :)) 

  Commander: Mainly with @desiderrium‘s Cullen. Basically Revas takes over for Cullen? at his request kinda because she’s like what the fuck you’re whAT. and gets pissed at everyone else for keeping him on when he’s Not Okay even if she’d rather kick his teeth in 99% of the time. why revas take over? because she’s actually p fuckin qualified, gestures vaguely towards being a first and the advisor au. like she knows how to lead ppl so ayy. 

  Inquisitor: Same ish backstory happens except her parents died to the blight and she left the clan for the other and ye same shit happens. but the clans ask her to go check shit out for them and shes like of course and gets caught up in the mess so. 

ALRIGHTY !! 

so that got long but yea!! hopefully this is a more condensed version of stuff and good for reference later. 

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Red Banner Ghosts

It is difficult to maintain a deception when someone’s life is at stake. But Nora’s mind was going at a pace of fifty furlongs a minute. Her body showed none of the tension, but she was a raging storm on the inside. Her hands were buried in the pockets of her dark longcoat, and she struggled to not ball them into fists. The urge to blow a strand of hair out of her face was great, but she resisted. The dim light from the gas-fueled lamp on the table flickered and caused the shadows to dance in the dingy room around the four motionless figures standing and sitting there.

Four people were gathered thus. Nora Morrissey just stood there in the middle of the room. Across from her sat her captain, Archibald Enright. He was hunched over, his hands folded before him with his fingers crisscrossing each other. His emerald green eyes were trained on Nora, countering her own piercing gaze. On the table in front of him was his cutlass, resting next to his flintlock pistol.

Flanking him were Marty Foy and Delmar Wilson, standing just like Nora. The floorboards creaked under the weight of Marty shifting nervously. The two men were staring daggers at Nora. Ready for the situation to turn any moment now. Marty was shorter than her and had always felt inferior about it, and his hand was already resting on the hilt of the blade by his side. Delmar broke the silence when he began to fiddle with his powder horn and audibly grind his teeth with open lips.

Nora and Archibald continued to maintain their deathly stare at each other, not breaking eye contact. Time felt like it was flowing like the sludge in the sewers right beneath them. In reality, almost two minutes had passed while this uncomfortable silence had draped itself over the group. Both the huntress and the captain had a glint in their eyes, a glint that looked like the light in the grim reaper’s lantern.

All four people here had been working together diligently for the past four years. The Red Banner Furies: a mercenary and bounty hunting outfit with a fierce name and a fiercer reputation. You do not mess with Captain Enright—he was the kind of man who would set an orphanage on fire to draw out a vigilante, just to capture him and cash in on the bounty posted on his head. This was, in fact, his suggested tactic for their current mark, the leader of the Roughnecks rebels, Johnn Von Brandt.

For years, Nora had been intimately involved with Johnn and the Furies had known nothing of it. It was about to come tumbling down. She had spent the past days misleading her own comrades and keeping them on a wild goose chase so Johnn could evade them.

And it had almost worked out. Archibald, her captain, must have caught on to it. What he had just said before these minutes of awful silence showed that he had had the hunch. He had upped the ante. “You can do better than this, Nora,” he had said, drawling out her name in a disdainful tone. “You ‘memba that time when you caught Jack-Knife Norm? Took ya two bleedin’ days. Findin’ this Roughnecks bloke shouldn’t be a lick harder.”

The captain’s speech echoed in her head even after minutes had passed. She was in the whirlwind of her thoughts, seeing a jumble of different visions of what would happen next. But those were not the words that cut into her spirit. It was the last sentence he had spoken, after which everyone had gone silent.

“It would be an awful shame if your dear little sister Eva were to come to any harm,” Archibald had said. Seeing how Turner was absent from their little meeting here in this sewer maintenance worker’s room, Nora knew it had not been an empty or idle threat.

The captain was ruthless, and she had come to hate him from the depths of her heart. She needed the coin as desperately as anybody else, but she really needed money for the medicine to cure her ailing father from the Blight. She did not want to lose the family who had adopted her after the accursed plague had taken away her first family. And she would be damned if she let Archie take away Johnn—or God forbid, her sister, Evalyn.

The glass panes on the gas lamp shattered. In a flash of movement and a burst of light that briefly flared up, a pistol had sprung into Nora’s hand and discharged a bullet straight into Delmar’s face. The table was flipped with a loud crashing noise, and Nora ducked under a sword swing from Marty that nicked her shoulder and sent blood flying to the floor in spatters.

She yelled, and the edge of the table cracked under her weight as she vaulted over it and plunged her blade into Archibald’s neck. She did not even have the time to register the dull sting and pain of the bullet that she had caught in her belly from the captain’s pistol but reacted just in time to kick Marty backwards and stumbling over an overturned chair. The captain’s right hand man had suffered a very unlucky fall indeed, as he was swearing out loud and trying to pry his own sword out of his gut without letting his insides spill out.

Nora staggered and braced herself against a wall before she controlled her breathing. She then moved again and stomped on Archie’s face with such force that the cracking of bones was clearly heard. Her former captain stopped making those grotesque sounds of choking on his own blood, and his hands retracted from their futile effort of trying to stop the bleeding when she yanked the cutlass out of his neck.

Marty screamed in agony and the smell of gun smoke intensified immediately after he shot her in the side. “Ya bleedin’ whore! I’m gonna kill you dead, ya bleed—,” he said just before screaming louder, for Nora had grabbed him by his own hand around the grip of his blade, and twisted it, then she drove it upwards.

The huntress saw red and the adrenaline had driven every last bit of sense or reason out of her. The pain was distant, as was her humanity. She bit his neck and felt a sensation of warm, thick liquid trickling between her teeth and running down her neck. Marty’s eyes were filled with dread until they glazed over with a horrid void. She spat out the chunk of flesh that she had bitten out of him and headbutted him. The last of the Red Banner Furies here slumped to the ground.

Archibald still was not dead yet. He gurgled something, and there was still a spark of life in his eyes, a flame of hatred. Nora felt like she was looking into a mirror there, a mirror of her own soul. Through her haze of rage and clenched teeth she hissed at him.

“I will get Turner too, you sonuvabitch. I will shove yer own gun down his throat and pull the trigger, and you will never touch Eva,” she said with a trembling voice drenched in spite. She accentuated the threat by slitting Archie’s throat and finishing what she had started.

She rose back to her feet and barely stood straight, swaying back and forth and struggling to maintain any balance. Nora applied pressure to her two bullet wounds and winced with a whimper. Lucky. Nothing fatal if the infection would not end up killing her, she figured, then looked at the unrecognizable face of Delmar. He had been dead before he hit the wall and slumped to the floor.

The huntress re-loaded her firearm, and no second too soon. She swiveled. The sewer worker, Gerhard, had entered the room with the squealing of the hinges of the shoddy door. His eyes were wide with terror as he stared into the smoking muzzle of her pistol and smelled the stink of black powder fresh on it, obscuring most of his senses while letting him still glimpse slivers of the carnage in the room.

“Yer gonna help me get rid of their bodies, Gerry,” she said to him with a snarl. “And nary a peep to anyone about what ya’ve seen ‘ere, got it?”

The poor bastard got it. He did as she had told him, and he was too scared to turn on her, even when she groaned in pain while trying to carry her share of the weight of each lifeless corpse in the long hours that followed.

First Archie, then Marty. Delmar went last. Before he slid down the large drain pipe and Nora was about to let him go, the dead man’s hands suddenly gripped her by the frayed edges of her coat and his mangled face contorted. He spoke to her one last time, a raspy, baritone voice emerged from the shattered teeth and broken jaw and a shredded tongue that would not flap. It was not Delmar’s voice, it was a voice from beyond this world. Something dark and unfathomable.

“We will always be with you,” the thing said to her.

She woke up, covered in a sheen of sweat with her clothing and hair stuck to her. The portside window of her inn’s room was wide open and a cool breeze poured in, causing her to shiver. She pulled her shirt up and looked at the scars from that night all those months ago, and remembered how Constable Todd was still on her case, looking for those missing bodies of the Red Banner Furies. The clouds shifted to uncover some rays of moonlight and the shadows in the room danced on the edge of her perception. She blinked and reached over to where she had left her cutlass, knocking over a jug of ale on her night table that toppled over and shattered on the floor.

Four vaguely familiar shadows were standing in the room, looming. A searing nothingness in their hollow eyes stared at her with malice. The figures grew in size and drew closer, ever so subtly.

“We will always be with you, Nora,” they said to her in unsettling unison.

She hastily and blindly reached backwards and turned the valve on her nightstand’s lamp. The warm orange light dispelled the phantoms. They would never let her forget what she had done, but they were probably not real, and they were gone.

For now.

—Submitted by Wratts