#prophetries

[kinlochs]

WARRANT OUT FOR @prophetries ' ARREST!

JAIL!!!!!!! JAIL FOR 1000 YEARS!!!!!!!!

[hoboblaidd]

Does your muse read smut romance ? (I need to know if he reads the Randy Dowager Quarterly ironically)

ask memes | romance headcanon meme

Oh he absolutely does. I imagine Elvhenan had some incredible epic romance novels and poems, and modern Thedas has some wonderful tragic romance books. He's got the heart of an artist - he loves a good romance. Unironically, he thought Varric's romances were good light reading. He greatly enjoys the Randy Dowager Quarterly and thinks it's hilarious. He less enjoyed Inquisition Exposed, because the inaccuracies annoyed him (I can't find that art someone did of him annotating it, but he did), but he also found it hilarious. Even smut he reads but in the same way a dad laughs on a roller coaster - he finds it funny.

[berthindeath]

@prophetries liked for a dialogue starter

“ I must ask you—do you find me too bold, my lady? “

[coryphcus]

@prophetries

How long had it been?

He doesn't know, but he can only guess. Not to mention that the time in the Fade passed far differently compared to the world outside of it. Time and time again, he'd find her. Or she'd find him. But the end result was always the same.

A chase. Exchanged insults. And violence. It was practically a dance routine.

And it was more often than not a constant repeated cycle. Haven, in its former glory, where everything was restored and placed back in order before its destruction. For whatever reason, the Inquisitor had a fondness of that stain on the map.

And each dream, each time he would find her, it would end all the same--in its destruction by his hand.

He would do it again and again ad nauseum, if just to drive the point home that he was death, that he was ruination, and he was powerful.

Each and every time, buildings would collapse, and it would become tainted in scarlet red crystals, jagged edges that were like blood. This dreamscape on a damn near perfect one to one replica minus all the bodies that he could so wickedly be tying up on strings with forced infection.

She dreams again tonight.

And he stands at the edge of the small and empty civilization.

Waiting for her.

[vowspurned]

@prophetries liked for a starter

the room is dim, save for the fire place that crackles, warming his skin as he sits a bit too close to it. after so long, stuck in this timeless, cavernous space, getting warm had become a difficult task. and when he'd escaped from the blighted witch's talons, he'd landed himself in the coldest place imaginable. the real anderfels had never been kind to him, but to be trapped in perpetual winter with only darkspawn for company, it made the idea of warmth a distant fantasy.

and here they sit together, for the first time in nearly a decade, if what the others have said is true. it felt longer.

it had been.

eyes shift, pupil-less and ever burning like stars, toward the only other occupant in the room with him. there's a tension in the air, but it wasn't from him. evelyn trevelyan, a face he'd thought he'd seen the last of. a woman who had made the executive decision to leave him to fend off the nightmare demon in order to give them the opportunity to escape. it had been a moment that played over and over in his mind.

am i making a mistake? this is what grey wardens are supposed to do. litriu—forgive me.

bandaged hands reach up to push back freshly cleaned honeyed locks, his skin free of the mud and grime it had been covered in. and even more so after their rather violent reunion. he hadn't been himself, not in his own mind, not like he is now. free of her influence. but now, to pick up the pieces. something he never thought he'd be able to do.

" i don't bite, y'know. " he breaks the echoing quiet as he looks at evelyn, her aura radiating even in her silence. he glances up, his eyebrows lifting to show he's contemplative before muttering in quickly after, " uh well—now. i don't bite, now. " he corrects himself, perhaps a poor attempt to dissolve the tension as he shifts his larger frame to give her his full attention. he wants her to realize he harbors no ill will, that he does not resent her for what happened all those years ago. that he'd made a choice and she'd honored it. how could he dare fault her for something he chose?

[grcvewctcher]

(Anon shhh) I heard that one daring trip down to the crypts led to our dear Rook returning to the Lighthouse with fresh lovebites.

@prophetries || wrt @berthindeath

The necromancer nearly fumbles his tea, saving it with only minimal splatter as the words land in his mind and are fully processed. He stares, stunned, and makes a strangled sound before clearing his throat hastily.

"I am.. Certain that this is- simply a matter of the mind seeing something and translating it as it hopes for it to be seen. Rook- Gwen and I merely ran into undead in the crypts and were a bit roughened by the experience. I- why I never- I am certain this is a baseless rumor, truly."

It isn't at all that he's ashamed of his love or relationship with Gwen- but he would feel terribly if his... Affection and desire for her were used to in any way shame her or label her in an unsavory manner. He takes a long sip of his tea, and clears his throat again.

"It is true, of course, that Gwendolyn and I have... Found our way towards one another, and are finding the path forwards hand-in-hand, so to speak, but I would never be so sloppy so as to... draw unwarranted attention towards her." He will- have to be more careful, perhaps. "You ought not to listen to gossips, my dear."

[redemptior]

“do you remember our encounter in paris the emprise du lion?” / for imshael

"AH, HOW could i forget? you, so pious, so steadfast in your conviction; and i, ever the gracious host, offering you the most generous of choices.

                              that band of merry whelps that lick at your heels may not have sensed your hesitation, but i found it most... illuminating. do you find yourself thinking of our little dilemma often, o, holy herald? do you dream of what could have been had you made a different choice?"

ASK ME(ME)

[fadewalking]

For Solas’ name day, she knows well enough not to waste time or coin on jewels or silks or Orlesian sweets. He’s not the type to indulge in frivolity, and so her gift is simple and modest. A page gently unsewn from a copy of the Chant of Light, specifically a page on which Shartan and Andraste plan their strategy. All along the borders of the page, swirling vines of black and gold with moss-colored leaves. Hanging from a watercolor branch, upside down and holding his hat to his head, is a figure that looks suspiciously like Cole. On the top right, two birds sit on another stark branch, a plump little white dove, and a gray-brown owl with feathers that invoke the image of long ears.

It's Solas' Name Day (kinda) // @prophetries

What an uncommon page of the Chant with a peculiar adornment. He read over the Chantry's version of events and couldn't help a brief scoff. History would always be written by the victors, he supposed. That was why he expended his effort on his frescoes. To write history in his own vision. Now the only thing they had to do was be victorious.

The little figure of Cole did bring a smile to his features. And the birds, as well, provoked his thoughts. Under a few papers and tomes, he recovered his personal journal, a worn but well-cared for leather-bound book. He tucked the passage between its pages for safekeeping. Just briefly, he did not regret being forced into a 'name day'.

[archonoclasm]

@prophetries asked: ❛   read .   silently  read  a  book  alongside  Dorian . / 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄: still accepting.

His eyes flicker over. Sat within his chair, the fragrance of honeyed figs lazily bobbles. It's delicate in this corner, charmed stones rumbling with the cobbled, soft suggestion of warmth and home. Dorian's lined it appropriately, had dolled that little chair with pillows for her rear, and all of these candles with their dribbling waxes..! Gently, they spackle down her nose bridge with twinkling golds. Point is, she looks divine where she's sat, angled in such a fashion as to appear parts a queen. The Inquisitor Trevelyan in all her splendor... He hums. Quite right. She's far more engaging than this paltry read.

That said: "Sat here, it struck me that you aren't quite the woman I'd imagined you to be," he begins. "I'd anticipated you astride some handsome example of a horse, hair fluttering in the breeze in some typically blonde fashion. The dress you'd worn had stretched into the very heart of Orlais. Of course, your train of puppy-eyed admirers dwarfed it two times over at least." He smiles. "Pretty picture, isn't it? Point is, my expectations of you were rather grand."

[calperna]

the cobbled swan is quiet in an unnatural way ; the usual buzz of chat, the sound of music being played - all dead and buried. it can only mean one thing, really ... that it has been unnaturally cleared. calpernia curses that she had not noticed until the barkeep had slid out from behind the bar that she was mostly alone. mostly. "inquisitor," calpernia greets without turning, "i did not know you had intended a meeting with rook. if they are who you seek, i am quite sorry to report that your intel has failed you. i am the only one here."

@prophetries

[spirehaunting]

⌈@prophetries⌋

a soft laugh. ' how is that weight on your shoulders now, inquisitor ? ' rhys told him that people closer to cole preferred to be asked about, not to be inferred to, and he trusts evelyn will receive his clumsy attempts well.

[idolbound]

“i keep praying, and praying, and praying.”

@prophetries | unprompted.

"And so you shall."

A deep exhale marks the end of a simple statement that conveys their lived truth; to serve under the Maker and Andraste is to pray, to heed the Chant as it is written, and to keep the faith.

Yet, in the years after Kirkwall, living in exile after an unheard call to the Maker for His aid, the foundation of her faith had been shaken, cracked to the core and made unsteady, and uncertain. Days had passed, surviving both physical injury and gradual withdrawal of lyrium when supplies ran out - until supplies could be found once more. Each passing minute was always spent praying, asking the Maker forgiveness for her sins, to be accepted as one of His again.

And in a way, the Maker guided her feet through the treacherous Frostbacks, step by step; being humbly accepted by the Herald herself (who kneels here beside her, in the makeshift Chantry, at the feet of their beloved Andraste), has been nothing short of a miracle — it has renewed faith where it was once lost.

"Even in my darkest hours, I called upon the Maker as you do now... it led me here, to face your judgement, and to serve again."

The events of Adamant have lingered heavily; even for Meredith, who has seen demons and abominations in her time, had not expected Wardens to sacrifice those of their own order. Left fighting, there had only been so much she and the others could do as Evelyn and the others had fallen into the fade — an experience she cannot begin to fathom nor comprehend.

My faith has even returned me to my love, she thinks, but does not say; though for those who pay attention, there is a reason for her to smile now, within these old, old walls.

Then, a cautious hand - one that had never quite been so affectionate - raises to the younger woman's shoulder, weathered and calloused fingers squeezing against it. While Evelyn had provided the means to earn her salvation under the Inquisition's banner, Meredith cannot help but to see her own experience reflected — an ascension through rank and responsibilities at a young age, unexpected to hold such a station — and in some ways, asserts an inner maternal desire, to support and advise her, all the same.

"There are those who stand behind you, not just for your title or what you represent, but those who truly believe in you. You may bear the burden of the mark, but you do not bear it alone, Evelyn."

A pause follows, and the hand falls away; she stays, however, even as the hour drags on into the cold, cold night. There is a small, encouraging smile on her scarred face (where her failures live so all can see - yet she survives, still).

"I am unsure what that may be worth to hear it from me...but it is true."

[hoboblaidd]

[ APPROVAL ] + endorsing vivienne to be the new divine 🫣

ask meme | solas greatly (dis)approves

Solas passed the eminently smug face of the Inquisition’s First Enchanter as he stalked out of the rotunda. As he always did when he was angry, or troubled, or generally annoyed at the goings on of Skyhold, he sought out Varric.

“You look happy,” Varric chuckled, already pulling out the glasses he kept stashed for them for just such occasions.

“Whatever you have that’s strongest,” said Solas, “and in most abundance.”

“I got your back, Chuckles.”

Whatever the glare of disapproval Solas levied at Inquisitor Trevelyan was lacking in focus, it more than made up for in vitriol.

Solas GREATLY disapproves.

[berthindeath]

😳 reverse :3c

Your muse walks in on my muse undressed. Send me 😳 for my muse’s reaction.

There's exhaustion in her limbs, boots shuffling against the floor in near thudding foot falls as she trudges to her quarters. There's an ache that lives in her bones, a headache thrumming between her temples—when was the last time she had water? She can't recall, but rest beckons her forward.

But rest suddenly becomes the last thing on her mind. She opens the door, closing it behind her as she moves further. And there, standing near the wide lounge chaise and the rippling light show of the aquarium, stands an ethereal creature before her. Her pale skin illuminated by the water, her white blonde hair hanging long passed her shoulders, and nothing else.

She doesn't speak, watching as Evelyn turns to face her, a look in her eyes that seems to quell all thought of sleep. Her skin heats, her blood races, and her hands are already reaching to start removing her armor. All thoughts shift to her, Gwendolyn's vigor revived with just one look.

Her feet carry her to close the gap between her and the other, her plate removed, her robes opened enough to expose her torso before she's instead reaching for her heart. Soft hands draw across the sharpness of Evelyn's jawline, bringing the taller woman's face closer to hers. " Perfecţiune— " she rasps deeply before their lips are slotting together in a deep, long overdue kiss. She swallows any sound from the other woman's lungs as one hand falls away from Evelyn's face, fingers flexing out to use magic to lock the door to prevent any unwanted entry. Now, all that matters to the mage is in front of her, feeling Evelyn's hands begin aiding in what remains of her armor to be removed. All thought ties to pressing her lips at the corner of her love's mouth, then to her jaw as her touch draws their bodies tighter together.

She will sleep after.

[coryphcus]

@prophetries sent:

❛  you're wrong.  ❜

"Yet here you stand before me, almost as if under the pretense that I am to have any such care for whatever preconceived notion you carry."

"You hold an awful habit of showing up where it is you aren't wanted. Unfortunate that your condition all those years ago had not been the end of you."

[grcvewctcher]

[ WAIST ]:     sender, while physically supporting and steadying the receiver, loops an arm around their waist for extra support. || @prophetries ||

Emmrich makes a pained grunt as Evelyn supports his weight, pulling him along with her through the smoke of the dying battle. There had been a spear thrown clear through his shoulder- an arrow shaft is still embedded just above his hip, left there for now until it can be properly managed.

She's careful with him, though, as her arm braces around his waist, and he's grateful as he leans into her, eyes falling closed for a moment as his breath trembles out of his throat. "Many thanks," he rasps to her as they keep moving, as he fights not to stumble or stagger.

They've gotten lucky, really. They made it through the whole of the battle, at least, and finished it before he'd needed to be hauled off of the ground and back towards the eluvian they came from. His heart is racing with that familiar terror of coming so close to his life being wrenched from his chest; but at the same time, in the moment, he knows he is safe.

What a wondrous thing; to have people and allies who will hold fast to keep you alive, keep you safe. He lowers one hand to cover Evelyn's at his waist, and squeezes it, as pain makes his vision swim. "I will... do my best. Not to be a burden until we are safe. Terribly sorry for the trouble."