tobebrutal

[tobebrutal]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄 . ( a collection of fantasy - based dialogue prompts . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

strangers don't last very long around here .

lay down your sword , and i'll lay down mine .

whatever you do , do not stray from the path .

try not to get yourself killed .

the magic here is old and wild .

quiet ... do not wake it .

i thought i'd find you here . get up .

the tavern in [ location ] is known for its ale and its rumors .

you are starting the path towards your destiny .

is there no end to this accursed forest ?

my sword is yours .

the path to redemption is paved with trials and tribulations .

this forest feels ... sick . as if a disease lies upon it .

you are nothing but damned bones , and a damned soul .

have you ever seen the world beyond [ location ] ?

in the face of overwhelming odds , we must stand united .

please don't let them know that i'm here .

i've heard tales of your exploits . impressive , if they're true .

there's a town three miles east from here .

we have such history , you and i .

go carefully ... there's a camp nearby .

you will not die here , i forbid it .

your reputation precedes you .

i would rather die on my feet than on my knees .

there is no destiny . no born heroes .

you've got a fire in your eyes . use it , but don't let it consume you .

the spirits of this forest are restless .

there's more that you aren't telling me .

you have something that belongs to me .

you shouldn't be here , it's not safe in these parts .

all we can trust are the blades in our hands .

do you believe in fate ? destiny , prophecies ...

i don't think i'll ever get used to having blood on my hands .

wait ! there's traps here . lots of them .

i would die before helping in such a task .

there's an inn just another mile north .

have your blade at the ready .

if you can't already tell , i don't require saving .

have you drank your fill already ?

this isn't just some lark to me .

i'm headed to [ location ] . i could use some company .

your bravery is admirable , but it will also be your undoing .

you're exhausted , [ name ] . we're stopping here .

i will hunt you until the day i die .

i wish you a safe journey home .

as long as i can be of no help , i'm going to hide .

raise your sword . this should be a fair fight .

you're brave to show your face here again .

in this world , you can trust two things ; your intuition and your sword .

i've seen the way you look at the horizon . you're searching for something .

[ administers a healing potion / spell ] is that any better ?

you have no idea of the catastrophe you've set in motion .

there's an ambush ahead , stay quiet .

i want to know your story ... beginning to end .

in the end , we're all just stories waiting to be told .

i've heard tales of a dragon living high up in the mountains . some say it's just a myth , others swear it's real .

the line between friend and foe is often blurred .

try to stay quiet . is the wound deep ?

do not provoke them .

monster ? who's the monster here ?

i forbid you from telling anyone what you've seen here .

are you scared of witches ?

that's a beautiful [ weapon ] . may i ?

you are a valuable ally and a fearsome adversary .

do not tell me you've grown soft over the years .

if our enemy has returned , we must know .

you're a tough one to read , but i can see the kindness in your eyes .

the key to survival is knowing when to fight and when to flee .

i never expected to run into you in [ location ] .

last we spoke , you owed me some coin .

do not fear me ... everybody else fears me .

there is no magic or medicine that can cure this .

you keep questionable company .

every choice has a consequence .

the fate of the world lies in your hands .

so you're the great [ name ] .

remorse will get you nowhere .

you must stay on the path . do not leave it . if you do , you'll never find it again .

i once dreamed of this place . it's real ?

some secrets are best left buried .

the bridge is heavily guarded . we need a plan .

i thought you were returning home .

i would not do this unless i had to .

i need my horse .

it's real . all of the stories , the legends ... and it's real .

don't lose your wit . i believe you'll have need for it yet .

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i tentatively slide my discord ( @ drtydds ) onto the dash with the adage that i am v v slow at chit chat but will ultimately become unbearable if you give me the keys to the castle. also ships. :(( ship with my gremlins to unlock a super secret alternate ending ( i cry at you for hours and then pass out ) .

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the ever teetering scale that weighs my want to add old muses vs. my want to not add any more muses.

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a chasm sits between them , but she can see her well. knows , too , that the inquisitor watches her , keen eyed.. misinformed. smoke doesn't clear quickly , it lifts the screams of a chaotic field far below up to where calpernia stands , her brows tight and her jaw tighter. they weren't meant to cross again so soon. she'd checked their routes.. had sent many scouts. the inquisition was strong. smart. but she was smarter.

" your determination will not overstep mine , " even among the clash of steel and whir of magic , her voice carries. it rises with her shoulders. defiant in her motivation. " nor will it break it. "

@personaei would have made her nervous , once. would have caused a slave to blanche. bow her head. it is unbowed , now , her chin high and her expression veering on entertained. without these tests , she'd never prove herself worthy. but with them— " where do you think to go , inquisitor ? how far do you believe to see us ? " venatori , bathed in red , they've begun a retreat she tells herself is strategic. flee to fight tomorrow. the day after. until all chains are broken and her vision secured. " however far it is , i promise we span further. "

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they will never be sharp enough. but they must. it's hard not to see the people who will one day hold these blades. know that , by the cold and brutal end of it all , many of them will die holding them. it's hard.. but she's harder.

" there is never enough time. " cassandra's lifted another , a sword of decent make , but unbalanced. it feels awkward against her palm.. no one will ever learn to hold it right. the motions resume nonetheless. " the sun will not rise too soon , " and she's gone with less. has marched the length of the world , seen every shoreline there was to see , and learned a long time ago that rest rarely soothed a weary soul. it could not quiet a mind full of questions , nor still a body determined to push forward.

—shrnkk..

she sees it , the glimmer in the corner of keen eye , silver and smooth and held her way. it's as much an offer as it is a reminder and , a thin grin spreading , she takes the flask with a sigh. leans away from her work. cassandra holds it delicately , turns it over between her fingers , " it is easier to work at night. " with crickets for company and only the rare guard passing close enough to draw her attention. " i always found it more peaceful. "

@tobebrutal, cont.

she finds herself wandering much ; a tale as old as time, a truth universal as the callouses on her fingers, as the way her skin remains smooth in the face of ages. it's a heavy weight, made heavier still by her refusal to stop, to gather herself. but the world offers no insight. even here, in the silence of the forge and only with cassandra for company, she hears the dying breath of millions. but there is no time to stop, and sleep evades her whenever she tries to grasp at it with trembling hands. as she gazes upon her companion, she finds comfort in the fact that she is not alone in this.

❝ history has such a habit of forgetting the weight of sacrifice, ❞ all stories of heroes speak of battles won ; or perhaps battles lost as lessons, ways to gather strength and stand to fight again. between one and the next, so many names forgotten, so many brave souls cast into the unknown. and yet what other choice is there ?? the traveller fancies herself a historian, but there are shadows even her eyes cannot pierce.

❝ worry not for me, seeker, ❞ out of the billowing sleeves of her shirt, she pulls out a flask, delicate engravings turning silver into a jungle, and offers it to cassandra. ❝ i require little sleep. you, however, are up late as well. ❞

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" you should come with me to antiva sometime. i imagine you would quite like it. " not just because of an off - handed comment about city life or the fact that there'd been the stink of fish at the market in denerim to remind him of home. always bristling with danger , yes , but getting your blood pumping was a good way to remind oneself it was still where it belonged. " there's music and intrigue.. murder. not to mention the best clam chowder thedas has to offer. and i'm not just saying that to woo you to her charms. "

dirt kicks up , a heavy groan exiting the length of him in a stretch , " and paved roads. i grow weary of all this .. nothing. " nothing but a sprawling farm to the west to put the stench of manure in the air and an old , caved in barn to the east. a view he'd initially thought would be rarer than it was. but zevran was adaptable. he was a newfound grin and the casual corner of sharp eyes , " what say you , @himlayan ? " the flourish is unnecessary , but for the sake of entrapment , he embellishes , " shall we abandon our woodland camp for the night and seek the simple pleasure of a plush , warm bed ? certainly there is an inn somewhere nearby. and i am very capable of keeping this a secret from our companions. "

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i haven't written this much in years. :'))) y'all are great. xo

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they all made their own choices. his shined in the dim light of her home. hers stained the floorboards and the hems of her sleeves. and , maybe , that should've been enough. the final straw that made him seize a call to duty and end whatever this was that'd drained merrill so. but carver doesn't move. he stands there , an obelisk in her closed doorway , watching the small glimmers of the girl he knew flicker , lessen , then fade. it was fair to say he'd never known her well enough to say this entirely out of character. but what he did know was all it took to pull him forward , finally.

" come off it , " his were always loud footfalls. had been teased relentlessly for it as a child. always stomping around the house. bethany said it fit the sour look on his face.. garrett just laughed. here , he sounds even louder. has an echo of platemail in pursuit of him as he goes , " you're friends with my brother , they don't get much stupider than that. "

but maker , does she look awful.

paler than he remembers.. eyes shadowed by sleeplessness and a frown deep - set on a face that'd always looked better smiling. she's right , he shouldn't be here. but he is. the order be damned , he's made worse choices for less important reasons and was still alive in spite of it. " stop apologizing. " carver's voice is exasperated , but there's no bite. he's blunted his teeth for her more times than he has most. the reason is his , and his alone. " you've not done anything wrong. " that he knew of. or chose to acknowledge knowing of.

stopped his march , much closer now , the crouch isn't easy , armor shifting and pinching and pulling to off - balance at the length of skirt he's been told not to call a skirt. not quite eye level , but close enough, " y' look like shit. "

not so much a trickle as it is a flood , his face warms from the collar up and without need to see , he knows he's flushed a furious red. " i.. that's not what i meant. i mean you look bad— " maker's breath , " —you don't look bad , you're always pretty , i just mean.. you look tired. when's the last time you slept ? "

BITTER REMORSE , it stains her lips , parches her maw as tongue laps against the roof of her mouth . had she been so wrong , so blind ? she half expected it to be hawke , once again with one of the others in tow to ridicule her once more . the front door creaked from misuse , from neglect . how long had it been since she left ? since someone came to visit ? the bags under her eyes fell heavy , bones aching from the weight of her regret .

“ if you came here to tell me how stupid i am , please . . . please just don't , carver . not you , too . '”

mythal'enaste .

her resolve sat pretty on the shelf behind them , her heart in the pit of her stomach when he garnished the templar armor . now he could hate her while hanging onto the coat tails of the proper authorities — but , he knew her sins by name . what was stopping him ? a huge turn - in , surely high favor . maybe this was all it was . exhaustion sought claim to her soft demeanor . don't hate me like everyone else . parting her lips to speak , she met his gaze from across the room .

“ why risk exposing yourself to tell me ? ” her defense fell into soft , nearly sheepish whispers . an animal , backed into a corner — but his hand was gentle outstretched , a beckoning call of trust . she clung to each shred of kindness in desperation . she folded beneath the weight , beneath the longing . guilt settled , causing her to fall limp in the nearest chance . “ forgive . . . forgive me for my outburst . it was unfair , i'm sorry . . . ” merrill pulled her knees to her chest , hues flickering onto the floor .

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" wh - what ?! " focused on the bob of mushroom caps at the top of a now frothy stew , devoid of its misplaced ingredient , it takes her a second to hear him. to make sense out of what rook suggests. well , maybe not sense. that has very , very little to do with her crossed eyed stare settled on the edge of a gleaning blade. not that she was scared, so to speak , but.. he had a penchant for the abrupt. rook came and went without a sound , most times. not dramatic , but the flair always promised he , one day , could be.

she'd never expected it to be because of soup though.

" we.. —okaaay , we could absolutely do that , " she'd talked down wild nugs with the same tone. friendly. upbeat. but with enough hammer to say a wagged finger was the least of their concerns if they pushed it. " or.. " but she pushes it too , she knows. bellara hesitates only briefly before making contact with a dangerously steady wrist. pushes it slowly. down. down. " ..we could not cut ourselves up and instead , trust each other to keep it a secret. i know i trust you. " further than a pinky promise in the kitchen. with more than a ladle scuffed but otherwise untarnished. not because it was expected of her , or she had to.

it takes a moment , but eventually she lets go. returns his hand and the dagger still in it , back to his side for safe keeping. " besides , lucanis probably already knows everything that's happened just now. " a fly on the wall , he had a knack for that. always one step ahead , all the time. it was a wonder he'd not hidden the spoon to begin with.

" come on , let's go see what happens when we dump it out over the side of the landing outside. " prove her hypothesis that it'd be just airy enough to float , but too dense to go far. maybe. " it'll give assan something to chase and us an excuse not to be here if anyone shows up. "

"  um  ..  i'll  eat  it  ?  "  he  doesn't  sound  so  sure  of  himself.  but  he  would.  so  it  doesn't  go  to  waste.  it  is  his  fault,  after  all,  for  the  dish  to  end  up  in  such  a  ..  state.  mostly  his  fault.  it  was  edible  to  begin  with  ..  right  ?  he  almost  asks,  but  holds  back  his  question.  no,  it  doesn't  matter.  that's  not  the  point  of  this  interaction.

taking  the  initiative  over  her,  a  newfound  urgency  in  him.  the  mention  of  lucanis  has  him  moving  to  grab  ..  anything,  really.  he  settles  on  a  pair  of  tongs,  which  should  work  well  enough.  could've  used  his  swords  ?  but  he  hadn't  cleaned  them  off  yet,  not  from  the  encounters  of  the  day.  blood  of  unknown  origin  probably  won't  add  much  of  anything.  a  particular  flavor,  maybe,  but  ..

"  we  have  to  hurry.  if  it's  ruined,  we'll  die  by  his  hands.  tonight.  "  after  struggling  a  bit  to  get  the  right  angle,  iskios  manages  to  pull  out  the  tool.  it's  plopped  in  a  nearby  bucket  of  water  -  what  was  that  for  ?  the  remaining  traces  of  food  has  been  washed  away,  revealing  a  relatively  clean  looking  ladle  ...  all  is  well,  a  hint  of  a  smile  appears  on  his  face,  they  dodged  an  arrow.  he's  ready  to  start  prepping  his  hot  chocolate  ..  until  he  spots  it.

it's  small.  barely  noticeable.  but,  it's  there.  a  scratch.  when  did  that  happen  ?  assassin  slowly  turns  to  make  eye  contact  with  bellara.  expression  hardens  slightly.  his  mind  is  made  up.  he  speaks  before  even  she  can. 

"  bellara,  let's  make  a  blood  pact.  "

a  hand  retrieves  a  clean,  smaller  dagger  hidden  on  his  person.  one  might  wonder  where  that  even  came  from  ..  if  someone  truly  believes  he'd  walk  around  empty  handed,  even  in  a  place  hidden  away  from  the  gods,  they  don't  know  him  at  all.  "  you  and  i  ?  we  know  nothing  about  this.  "

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it's the incessant , nagging buzz that bothers carver most. like a ringing in his ear he can't shake into silence. even once its gone he'd swear he hears it. can see the blighted thing in peripherals but never in the forefront of his view. would've sworn to whichever god sounded fanciest at the time , though , that nothing could've staved it long enough to distract him. trapped in a limbo of failed swats at the imaginary , he could hear his brother laughing , now. carver , you stupid brute—

if asked , he'd swear he doesn't miss him. he doesn't miss any of them. kirkwall was , and is , a means to an end. a port in the storm. what he's discovered to be the same for many places , now. never home. never far from it. if it's a shared sentiment amongst the other grey wardens , he's not asked. wouldn't dare show his hand so easily.

" yeah ? so's any slab of meat if you cook it too long. " tough. tough and brutal and pretty. not the worst partner to keep watch with. always gave him something more to look at than just another empty field or cavern or maker knows they'll be trudging back into a marsh soon enough. " me though ? i'm a damn good cook. could soften you up in no time. " a bold declaration paired nicely with his grin. old habits die hard , as they say , and it'll take more than shared bloodshed to keep his tongue tied.

" when do you think ? me and my family came over when all the other refugees did. wasn't my choice. " and he'll be thankful for that , eventually. would see himself dead , or worse , had he not let himself be dragged from the battlefield. had he been left to fight an uphill battle while the armies around him were culled to a retreat. " everything north of the sea smells like old fish.. ferelden might not be much better , but it has more taverns. you gonna share ? " with an outstretched hand , steel atop leather , carver boldly motions towards her flask in quiet clatter , " we'll be out here all night , y'know. "

The younger Warden’s exclamation does not illicit any reaction or response from the woman in his company. If he were any good, he’d have gotten the mosquito bugging him with that single attempt. It’s only when his voice is directed at her that gunmetal hues flit to meet his eyes whilst she brings the rim of the bottle in her hand to her lips. If he wanted an answer, he’d have to be exercise a smidge of patience.

“Sure. You’re sweeter than me. That just means I’m tougher than you,” jests Blair, a smirk on her lips once she draws the bottle away. Perhaps it had to do with the woman having spent more time with the Order than Carver. Maybe the Blight was just more potent in her blood than his. From what she had heard, he had joined during the thaw period following the end of the Fifth Blight in Ferelden.

She had been inducted into the Order in Ferelden, but had transferred to the Free Marches only just before Urthemiel raised a darkspawn army from the south. Had she not left, would she have been among the slain at Ostagar?

The thought on the country she was from leaves her spacing from the conversation with her fellow Warden, another sip idly taken from the contents of her bottle.

“You’re Fereldan, right?” Her question is posed with a different tone, unlike the lighthearted one prior. “You don’t talk the way the Marchers do. ...When’d you make the trip across the sea?”

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pride was the downfall of many men. nathaniel had it. he nurtured it with care and sat it aside when the moment demanded so. it was set aside , now , too. when his eyes held hers steadier than she seemed to think he ought be able. accused him with her laughter of such , even now. for all her feigned bluster , he could see it , again. the little girl with freckled face and wide eyed wonder as he made an ' impossible ' shot against a political backdrop ill - fit for children. she had clapped , too. it'd almost been loud enough to drown out his mother's cold order to stand straighter. it'd almost been enough to cloak his father's unimpressed sneer. it was almost enough to make him turn around and leave.

but he doesn't.

" whatever my father did.. " for it was something to amass a small army to his doorstep , regardless nathaniel's skepticism over the details given , " there's no one left of the howe name to right his wrongs. " blood can't be unspilled and the dead reborn , but the sentiment , sincere and slept on for days , makes demands of its own. it begs his gaze to soften , hard steel turning careful grey as it searches for reactions. be them good or.. more expectedly , bad.

" there's no one , but me. " the free marches feel so long ago. vigil's keep was a plundered monument. painting put to the pyres beyond their gates.. what worth is left of a howe is debatable , but there was enough perceived in himself to raise his chin higher. straighten his back. nathaniel is the tight - jawed determination of a man prepared to fight for something , just not her life.

" make me a warden. " quiet conversations atop battlements amidst repair have betrayed to him her need for recruits.. and the dangers what came with it. " you knew my brother.. and my sister. they don't deserve to lay dead in the shadow of his choices. let me make it right. "

        the couslands had been careful with their children. much of the uglier side of ruling a teyrnir was hidden from them until they were old enough to understand the weight of making such choices. elspeth herself was perhaps coddled more than her elder brother, who would inherit the teyrnir one day. while fergus learned the ins and outs of ruling, elspeth learned how to run a castle. it wasn't until the blight struck that she really learned how heavy a decision could be, or just the weight of leading on one's shoulders. it was heavier than the ill-fitted armor she had to wear for the first half of her journey, by far.

        the armor she wears now fits perfectly, because it was made for her. all soft, supple leathers built for quick, quiet movements in a fight. yet the chest plate remains, the warden-commander's griffon emblazoned in cold metal. she doesn't love it for that which it represents, but it's kept her alive so far. in fact, she finds herself glad not to have changed out of it too quickly this night.

        she remembers thomas more than she remembers nathaniel; the boy was closer to her age in youth, easier to play with. though in her memory, thomas followed her around a bit more than she did him. whereas nathaniel had his studies and his training, thomas was was free to chase her around the grounds, dare her to climb the trees and wade into the river with her skirts hiked up.

        “you want—what?” elspeth snorts—almost a laugh and yet not quiet, though no less derisive in nature. “what could you possibly have to ask of me that would achieve such a thing?” she doesn't like it, the idea of the howes rising again. she has to remind herself that his father's actions are not his, however much he refuses to accept what rendon has done.

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there's a split in his lip he can't keep from tonguing. presses into it till the burn overtakes him.. what'd make other men wince. he doesn't. can hardly feel it save the way it's roughened edges scratch when crossed. but it's better to ground him than will or want alone. better than the creeping skepticism hawke doesn't deserve. had earned himself everything but that. too generous for his own good , that one. too generous now , too. stripping him of the responsibility this choice would ask of him. sparing him what very , very little shame samson has left. wasn't sure he had the strength in his fingers to dig it out if asked. " y' about t' strong arm a revoltin' man all the way up t' hightown ? " let him drag the muck of this city's underbelly across plush rugs what'd done no harm to him ought warrant it.

agreement is a nod of succession. it's the glance back at the building he pushes away from , blind to what dangers a little mold could cause when lyrium had had him spitting up a back tooth not many moons ago. a reminder of why he stood here. a reminder why coin could come , vast or sparse , and he'd give what information he had. finger the wound kirkwall has developed and wonder , if he crooked just a bit more , he'd help topple that last , buckling pillar of resistance. see how a chantry looks devoid its believers.

they're thoughts for another day , his slow response easily passed off as a fuzzy mind in the throes of fresh withdrawal. a skill samson'd developed over weeks of chewing his nails and shedding all pride to beg on hands and knees for scraps most wouldn't spit on. using his weakness as a strength ; no one offered second glance to the haggard , their bellies to the dirt.

no one but hawke , it seemed.

stubborn , sentimental hawke.

" wouldn't wanna make y' wrinkle young , " a hand to his shoulder goes loosely registered , his own en route to a scruffy cheek that will rue the day it invited him near. to pat with calloused fingers. to tease a scratch with choppy nails. to retreat too quickly. touching him makes his blood simmer. even a whispered song gets stuck in his head these days. " you try takin' advantage a' me though an' we'll have t' have a talk. "

he leaves malcolm with a rattling laugh. walks a less staggered stride than most expected of him. they can discuss why he knows the path to that fancy manor at the pinnacle of the courtyard so well , later. make pillow talk out of it.

" I think you'll find I'm not in the business of much caring what others think, " says the apostate, staff and all, with an amused, half - crooked smile. " 'sides, I have another apostate, an elf with lyrium markings and a very big sword, a blood mage, a pirate, a dwarf, the Captain of the Guard, and Carver as frequent visitors to the estate. You'd fit right into the circus. " Ever the charmer and the comedian with wisecracks, witticisms, and wry, almost coquettish smiles. " Aveline may think I'm sweet on you but Aveline is ⸺ " But wisecracks, witticisms, and wry, almost coquettish smiles vanish with the series of violent coughs ravaging Samson's chest and throat that have Hawke's chest hurting. " That is ... an awful cough. And a bit stomach - churning and revolting, if I were to be honest, which I am choosing not to be out of kindness and consideration for your situation. " Words belying the worry that weighs heavy on Hawke's bleeding heart. Why should Hawke care? Would Samson care, if the situation were reversed? Hawke believes so. Samson cared enough to help the mages of Kirkwall's Circle escape the Circle and Kirkwall in its entirety. Would Samson have helped if coin weren't involved? Hawke chooses to believe so there, too, begrudgingly. Maddox hadn't been bribing Samson with coin. Maddox couldn't have been bribing Samson with coin. Having a heart is difficult. ( Isn't that right, Samson? ) Hawke sighs, breath clouding into a wisp, but manages a smile. " It's no trouble, Samson, truthfully. It would be more trouble to leave you here in the cold. " More trouble. More worry. " With that cough of yours, you'll catch your death out here. And that warehouse is all ... moldy. Not to mention hardly shelter enough from a storm of the caliber. I heard it'll be bad out. " Why is he explaining himself? And why is he all but begging Samson? He sighs again, a hand now settled against Samson's shoulder as he says, eyes rolling and half scowling, " Listen, Samson, even if you think you'll be all right out here, humor me, won't you? " Having a heart is embarrassing, too.

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For your consideration... My take on Raleigh Samson from the Dragon Age games. Oddly topical since the next Dragon Age game is coming out soon.

I do love taking tragic characters who have had all the worst luck and give them redemption and a happy ending. Which is exactly what is happening here. Look at him all smiling and recovering from Lyrium addiction after having joined the Inquisition. Boy gone done good after all.

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there's a twinkle to them when the last straw snaps. like a recoiled quiver , theron takes an expected retreat worthy the chuckles that chase him. worthy of the way zevran narrows his eyes , pleased with the view. the predator he is , carrion looking for scraps. for whichever speckle shadowed beyond indifference. they're there , whether acknowledge or not. continued conversation. the scoffs and the sneers. every new motion to address ; he's a simple man when he wishes to be. preens beneath the afterglow of minimal contact. much nicer than the previous time it was made , for sure. less knuckles. less knives.

he wasn't paying attention. there was a warning , he thinks. something about the fade and killing. the latter was easier to latch on to. follow its roots back to a source , " you said something about hunting for sport ? " it isn't sympathetic. he's unashamed to say he'd watched the warden speak , more than he'd listened. a character flaw , that. it will eat him up one day. foregoing whatever semblance of self - preservation he could find in his words for favor of.. this. a canary caught grin and slow - rumbling purr. " shall we wake the others , or would you prefer to savor the kill for yourself ? "

no one is running through the forest tonight. he's not yet moved from his perch , nor shirked away from where theron sits , now , closer than before. just a sliver. an inch is a promise given.. no one is running.

" well now.. " this is a nice alternative to the towering judgement 'fore. the topic , though.. he'd invited it and , now , it's addressed with a shrug , a frown , and an empty stare over broad shoulder. back into the flames that sit beyond. " truthfully , i never met her. " not a lie , though the specifics take a beat longer to think for the words best used. suspicious that the truth forms easiest , " she died when i was born. " flames lick new heights and , finally , zevran blinks. sheds an air of temporary morose for a much simpler nonchalance , " i was told she was quite beautiful , however , though i have no way of knowing if this was true or just their attempts to be polite. "

people had a habit of that.. appeasing the dead with fickle compliments as if to assuage their spirit. his mother's was gone long before they'd said it. he'd been told stories that that was the cause of his sleeplessness as an infant. they'd never enjoyed his argument that he'd not known what to miss to be so sad.

" for all i know , she might have been a horrible ogre of a woman. at the brothel it was not uncommon to see whores of all types engaging with very , very eager customers. i'd once watched a dwarf recite suspiciously impressive poetry about a particularly unsightly woman's opulent backside.. " a shudder for the memory , it's deeper than it ought be , selling his tale while deviating , quite skillfully , from where he'd started. " though.. he had had several stout drinks by then. and i believe he was missing an eye— "

And thus did the lion's claws retract as Theron realized that unlike most, Zevran was not wont to be intimidated. It was, perhaps, as if Theron now sought to drown Zevran with his eyes instead, with their assumption of an abyssal blue hue reminiscent of a vast ocean in the waning hours of the evening — and he spoke true, for such eyes had gazed for untold years into the Fade, watching helplessly as stories like Zevran's played out before him, time and time again. Once more, the wall of ice formed around him, rendering him an impenetrable thing, cold and perfect. “ My sparing of your life was was born from neither pity nor mercy — you will see that in time, for I know well the name of the beast whose jaws await you in the future. ”

“ Though I cannot liberate you from what comes, I could always find you, if I so desired it, ” he remarked, though the statement seems bereft of his usual sneering confidence; its delivery impartial and untilted, the simple statement of a fact. “ And so you must therefore watch yourself. Even — or perhaps most especially — in your dreams. Do not seek to flee or deceive me, and know that if I desired it, you would never escape me. Not in this world, and certainly not the next, for I have killed men as they walked their dreams. The Fade is limitless, and I could do far worse there than simply killing you, and whatsoever I might do there would be done to you for eternity. ”

Violet felandaris symbols embossed upon pale cheeks twist, as though retaliating against the unseen feet of a careless woodsrunner as Theron's exquisite features arrayed themselves once more into a scowl, his mood visibly soured by the comparison. “ Food ? Think you, then, that I am some manner of devouring beast ? If true, then you would be no better than the shemlen who once hunted my people for sport. ” He paused for a moment, his expression thoughtful, before adding noncommittally (as though he were not yet truly convinced that other elves qualified as 'his people'), “ Who hunt them still — who hunt... us... still. ”

“ ...Ar tel'din eolasa. You would cleave to me out a desire for my affection ? ” Theron queried, visibly taken aback. A shadow crossed his face as he relented, hand finally withdrawing from the supple territory of Zevran's cheek. “ There is no sense in what you say, dahabana. I cannot believe that you would think to desire such a thing of me, a veritable stranger. I believed such words, when they came from the one who called itself a spirit of choice, for it craves mercilessly that which has never been touched. But from you, dahabana, it sings of madness. Indeed, I think very much that you do know not what it is you ask, ” he replied, voice hushed and cracked before shaking his head, determined to stem the tide of vulnerability that threatened to seep through the cracks of his diamondine armor.

“ Hmph. Enough of this madness. Tell me then, if you would, of your mother. If you would stay at my side, then you must offer concession. The stories of men's lives are my preferred currency. ” He plops down in front of Zevran like an eager child, sacrificing a sliver of dignity in spite of his pride. It seemed a worthy enough exchange — anything to change course from the current topic of conversation.

[tobebrutal]

" well would ya lookie 'ere.. " he'd heard her some time ago. had continued forward , through broken buildings and the sweet song of shivering lyrium , still. admired the work of the flood he'd empowered. men and women who'd proven one more point , here. stabbed the banner of their cause into the earth before they'd left. whatever bodies there'd been are gone now.. samson doesn't linger on what happened to the remains. why not even bones are spared. prefers to play this game of cat and mouse a'new. another round. another field and another day , " 'm startin' t' think y'er followin' me , @suledein . "

corypheus isn't here. he's far to the west , coaxing old magics from their shell. had left the push against the inquisition to him.. and calpernia. who he'd not heard word from in some time. he has his new shadow to thank for the quiet , he figures. glances back towards with a crooked fondness in thanks. " your lot finna be here soon ? " companions to offset the level they stand on , now ; almost equal , but not quite. not while the world glows red and samson's a pocket of fresh tapped amusement. " y'er gonna make me feel special , comin' all this way just t' see me by y'self. "

[tobebrutal]

silly little shots of lotte mahariel standing on the right like a main character.