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@chantdeath
this is a private, low-activity Β rp blog for Β SIDONY Β of the dragon age games ( featured protagonist of βmurder by death magesβ by ca.itlin sull.ivan kel.ly from the tevinter nights anthology ) Β mun & muse 21+. Β nsfw content present.Β rules are below.Β bio & companion quest info. Β written by paladin.Β 29.Β they/them.Β
blog roll: @wepthonor , lace harding revamp coming soon
@chantlight : There is nothing Cassandra hates more than parties β diplomatic parties in particular. Sidonyβs presence is her only consolation, and she has spent the night glued to her side, often brushing her hand or waist. The attention of the group has wandered from them entirely now, and she is bold to press a chaste kiss to her neck before anyone sees.
BEING FORCED TO PARTAKE OF SUCH an abysmal gathering is one of the worst parts of being a member of this Inquisition. She wishes, sometimes, that she had wandered off into the wilderness at some crossroads in the north of Ferelden, because then at least she would perhaps get mauled by wild mabari. Which would be preferable to dealing with aristocrats and diplomats.
However, she is here and she has been asked to play nice. In her case, this means that she must not scowl at people as a rule, and must also not begin any conversations that will most definitely take an unpleasant turn. (How can it be construed as her fault that most people she encounters do not enjoy discussing the finer points of burial practices?)
It is only because of her great respect for Josephine that she is behaving.
That and, of course, the fact that Cassandra has not ventured farther than a step away from her for the past several hours.
The unfortunate reality of being the lover of Cassandra Pentaghast is that everyone wishes to talk to her, or about her, or around her. Cassandra is admirably immune to all attempts at conversation, but hangers-on are persistent. It is at the tail-end of one such dull conversation, to which Cassandra had given curt, borderline rude answers to every question posed, and in which Sidony did not respond to any question posed at all, that Sidony sighs and glances sidelong at the other woman.
She is about to say I wish that Varric were here, half because it would make Cassandra scowl in fond distaste, and half because it is true (Sidony likes speaking with him, his witty observations are an endless font of entertainment), when Cassandra leans in and presses a kiss to the sensitive part of her neck.
Sidony gasps lightly, and out of instinct tilts her head to the side to allow Cassandra more room, if she would wish for it.
But Cassandra pulls back to Sidony's dismay. Sidony frowns as she looks over, though Cassandra's eyes shining in the lamplight with what she is certain will soon result in an outburst of verbal affection do give her pause.
"If you wish to do such things," Sidony mutters, "we can simply find somewhere to be alone. I wish to sit through another conversation about trade negotiations as much as you do, I'm sure."
( I love them sm // always accepting ) SIDONY [ @chantdeath ] WROTE: a big smooch for the wife
IT ALL HAPPENED SO QUICKLY. One moment Sidony was pressing her lips to Cassandra's. The next Cassandra had pulled her into her lap and tangled them so close they were almost one skin. She would have slipped between Sidony's ribs smoother than any knife and lived there wrapped around her heart for all eternity. In this one way she could envy spirits: that they could become one so completely with another soul, no beginning and no end. Let that envy be a sin of which she'd never repent.
Cassandra did not let go even when demand for breath forced their lips apart. Her face buried into Sidony's neck, happy to suffocate in her. One hand slipped into Sidony's hair to deftly pull out every pin holding it in place. That hair heavier than nightfall and glossier than the Minanter's waters β they wouldn't leave these walls once it was loosed. That hair, a veil between them and the world none could pierce. And when finally they had to disentangle themselves, Cassandra's fingers would linger still carefully securing every strand. Any reason to keep touching her.
private, selective, & dash-only rp blog for dhavihal lavellan, an elf mage protagonist from dragon age: inquisition, previously found on fatesown
every version of this story ends in your SLAUGHTER.
penned by lou
CHANTDEATH. private, low-activity, canon divergent & headcanon based rp blog for SIDONY of the dragon age franchise. mun & muse 21+ please read rules and bio before interacting. nsfw content present. written by paladin. they/them. ( promo credit )
in re: these posts ( x , x ) of holly's about how magi in nevarra earn their status & the magical education system:
sidony becomes a mortalitasi in the most basic sense when she undergoes her harrowing at age 16
she then spends the next nine years studying under henrik, her Alive mentor, and the spirit she summons as a part of her further training, aka her Dead (?) mentor, in a sort of independent study sort of situation. she could have studied "properly" under the guidance of one of the sects in the grand necropolis, but she doesn't like any of them so she doesn't.
her research: funereal rites, both ancient and modern; the earliest days of the mortalitasi in nevarra; and the relationship between spirits, mortals, the veil, and the fade
by the age of 25, she basically achieves the equivalent of passing graduate exams and earning a masters degree, with the opportunity to pursue her research further, in the traditional way.
at this point, she is approached by the mourn watch and is asked to join their number. she says no, and instead leaves the grand necropolis to do field research on her own, under no one's authority, effectively refusing to pursue higher status within the ranks of nevarra's magi.
β I would rather have my tendons peeled from my body, one by one. β
@mournflame || the locked tomb ( accepting )
THERE IS A UNIQUE PLEASURE IN making conversation with such an abrasive woman. Sidony knows that, for all her faults and foibles when it comes to socializing, she is more prone to quiet jabs and long silences than she is to outright antagonizing (unless, of course, she feels especially beholden to antagonizing her conversation partner). But Johanna isβperhaps caustic is the best term.
Sidony laughsβthe sound is drawn from her most unwillinglyβas she crouches to better view the collection of grave goods they'd discovered in this particular chamber.
"If that is what you require to satisfy an itch, far be it from me to judge," she jokes. "To each their own."
She purses her lips and gestures to a particularly decorated collection of amphorae.
"What do you think of these?"
β I am not a hero, Sidony. I never was. β / alanari
@weptfreedom || the locked tomb ( accepting )
SIDONY GLANCES ACROSS THE TABLE to where Alanari sits. Both of them are making meager contributions to supper, peeling some sort of potato-esque vegetable. Something to go in the soup, or so she's been told. The rhythmic scrape of their peeling knives, the subtle sighs and weary breaths, the background hubbub of a kitchen at work, it is all enough to lull Sidony into a contemplative mood.
She must have worn that particular frown, the one Alanari dislikes so much. Otherwise, why would they have mumured such a thing, quiet and private amidst the bustle around them both?
Sidony pauses in her work, studying Alanari withβwell, with something of the consternation and wonder she has yet been able to set aside these past few days. Cassandra is still recovering, asleep in the quarters they'd been granted by Aminah, with Curio keeping careful watch over her. It will be days, perhaps, before she is able to be awake for more than a few hours. Binding her soul back to her body had been difficult, exhausting work.
"You know, I never really cared about all the things they said about the Herald, or later the Inquisitor," she admits, returning to her work. She has felt so raw and vulnerable since Cassandra was returned to her, and it is easier to say such things when she is not making eye contact. "I thoughtβI still think, actually, that I am not sure whether or not the Maker exists. Or, I don't know if they exist in the way the Chantry wishes us to believe they do.
"And so, I was never convinced that Andraste had sent you. I think there is something at work in our world beyond our understanding. If that is the Maker, so be it. If it is something else, thenβ" she shrugs, sets aside a now peeled vegetable, and grabs another. "What has always mattered to me is that I attend to the duties I have been given. Tend to the dead, help them pass on peacefully, foster a good relationship with the spirits on this and that side of the Veil...
"I did not think you a hero, then, just a person who was doing their best. I admired you for that. I still admire you for that. It is difficult to act with such integrity and humility while a thousand voices are telling you that you are our world's only hope."
Sidony purses her lips, thinking about her next words carefully.
"But thenβI cannot express howβ" she stops. Emotions clog her throat, and she feelsβshe feelsβand she wishes she wouldn't, not now. It is embarrassing to be so open about such things, but it would be a disservice to their ... friendship? ... to retreat now.
"I thought she was lost to me, Alanari," she whispers. "I was so afraid that I would not be able to hold onto her. That she would fade and that I would be alone again, only this time forever."
Sidony take a deep breath, then quickly dashes a hand across her eyes.
"You are a hero to me now, because you helped return her to me. I can never express the true depths of my gratitude."
Then, she smilesβher smiles are rare, but this one is genuine.
"I promise I will do my best to not let this go to your head. Give me a few days and I'll be back to sniping at you, just like normal."
The Locked Tomb Starters Harrowhark the Ninth edition
β Please donβt be in such a hurry to die. β
β I would rather have my tendons peeled from my body, one by one. β
β So what Iβm hearing isβ¦ maybe. β
β I have never been murdered before, and I truly donβt intend to start now. β
β The past is dead, but you and I are alive. β
β Well, I tried, and therefore no one should criticize me. β
β Did you really think I entertained any delusions that you could be mistaken, in the dark, by a dementia-ridden dog raised with no knowledge of bladed objects, for a swordsman? β
β Ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies. β
β I will not suckle at your boot heel. β
β Youβre trying to start a fight with me to get out of the fight I am trying to have with you. β
β Should we hold hands, in girlish solidarity? β
β Your weapon should be stealth; if through unholy means you wake them, there will be no other weapons left. β
β I am making a joke. I josh. I kid. I do that. β
β Your job is to stand, to face our foes, and to die when you are empty, but not before. β
β You need a blade, and someone with the will to wield it. β
β I canβt kiss you back. My lipstickβs perfect and I refuse to smear it. β
β I never heard her say an unkind word except when it was very funny. β
β I will let you know now that the plan for my funeral is in my top drawer, and Iβve got it down to a minute-by-minute framework, and itβs only twenty-four minutes, and itβs just lovely. β
β Once you turn your back on something, you have no more right to act as though you own it. β
β You donβt fear dying. You are afraid that your life has incurred a debt that your death will not pay. β
β You see death as a mistake. β
β What did you say, to make him try to kill you? β
β United we stand, divided we fall, or so the saying goes. β
β God is a dickhead. β
β I personally loathe tattletales for the purpose of insult, but it seems to be your main weapon in our conversations. β
β Soup is easy. You cut up an onion, burn it at the bottom of the pot, put in a few vegetables, and then some meat. It wonβt taste like anything, so put in a few teaspoons of salt, and then itβll taste like a few teaspoons of salt. β
β May all the blood of your blood suffer even a fraction of what I have suffered. β
β Raise your hands, [Name], or make me strike down an unarmed man/woman. β
β Me? Iβve never regretted anything, as a rule. β
β Once I tell you, whatever you do to me, donβt do it below the neck. None of my other shirts are pressed. β
β Your dress is perfect. You look like a melon. β
β Let me introduce you to the special world of sisterhoodβ I will reveal everything you do, contradict what you say at every turn, and hold your hair back in the morning. β
β That was disgusting, to say the least. Old people should be shot. β
β Youβre even stubborner than I am. I thought Iβd cornered the market. β
β But the problem is that heroes always die. You canβt even really pronounce someone a hero until they die heroically. β
β Letβs go through all the other, less awkward questions first. How is a baby made? I can do that, easy. I mean, I donβt want to, but Iβm ready. I have this little book about babies, bodies, friends, and family. Are you and [Name] being safe? β
β You are a murderer, a conman/woman, a cheat, a liar, and a slitherer. β
β I am not a hero, [Name]. I never was. β
β You have paid the price. The hardest part is over. Smile to the universe, thank it for itβs graciousness, and mount your throne. β
β I am sick of roses and I am horny for revenge. β
β I owe you a great debt. You have given me much in return for very little. β
β Youβve got two short minutes left before I punch you right in the butthole. β
β Itβs a rule: chickenshits donβt get beer. βΒ
β Iβm poor with thanks and worse with goodbyes. Therefore i wonβt bother with them. βΒ
β Confess, and be the man I want you to be, rather than the man you apparently are. βΒ
β There is no such thing as forgiveness. Thereβs only bloody truth, and blessed ignorance. β
β Iβm being selfish. But I wanted you to know. β
we're ignoring all those typos i was overcome by the wives
fellas is it gay to bind ur wife's soul to yours & effectively getting possessed by her to prevent her from passing on after a freak accident that gives her a fatal wound on ur delayed honeymoon & fight ur way into the fate and back out again to reunite her spirit with her body or
i think the wildest thing actually is that only alanari knows this happened
fellas is it gay to bind ur wife's soul to yours & effectively get possessed by her to prevent her from passing on after a freak accident that gives her a fatal wound on ur delayed honeymoon & fight ur way into the fade and back out again to reunite her spirit with her body or
β I don't think we're supposed to be in here. β
@chantdeath liked for a one-liner: from miriam!
SIDONY SCOFFS AND FLICKS HER WRIST in a dismissive wave. "Of course we aren't supposed to, but what does that matter?" It's been years since she's roamed the Grand Necropolis. She summons a spark of veilfire and lets it rest snugly on her palm.
"Now, if I remember correctly there it should be ... ah ha!" Sidony brings her hand close to a brick about four feet off the ground, and the carving which, even decades later, has not worn away.
C + S, 9.11.
"I knew it would still be here. What did I say, Miriam? And thank you for guiding us," she says, turning to the wisp that had come when she'd called. "I don't know if I would have found it without your help."
just thinking abt how mortalitasi craft a skull that can house a spirit, presumably for a mortalitasi who has passed on to come and inhabit and mentor them in the ways of a death mage until they've fulfilled their "apprenticeship," and how that creates . a Question . of whether or not these spirits are truly the spirits of those who have died or if they're just like . Spirits . u kno . it's probably not a question that someone devout and orthodox would have but i feel like the mortalitasi have a habit of creating unorthodox thinkers so it's probably a question of heated scholarly debate . What is a Soul , really?
Solas had chosen this spot near the apothecary for the purpose of isolation. It was near enough the tavern and the Chantry proper that he could steal over if anything important happened, but secluded enough that he might enjoy some peace. His neighbor, the gruff and cranky Adan, was as reticent to engage in conversation as Solas. They happily coexisted in sullen silence and curt nods.
And yet, solitude had consistently eluded him. If it wasnβt Chantry folk come to preach about how he must take care that his magic serves man, or Cassandra to remind him that execution was still very much on the table, it was the elven servants trying to figure out if he was a threat or a friend.
So it was with a resigned sigh and a sharp dismissal ready that Solas turned to greet the newest interruption of his peace. A dismissal that died almost immediately upon seeing the βfriendβ in question.
βOh,β he said instead with a very unpracticed look of surprise. βI - hello there,β he greeted, more to the spirit than the young woman about whose neck it was currently lounging. Curiosity, perhaps? It was harder to tell with the breach so loudly pulling at the Veil nearby, but even if it were no more than a mere wisp, heβd have been ecstatic. Aside from the demons theyβd encountered, heβd had so little chance to converse with spirits here or in the Fade since the Breach debacle. βI am very pleased to make your acquaintance,β he finally recovered enough to give a slight incline of his head. He, however, does smile, possibly the first in a long time.
βBoth of you,β he added, remembering abruptly that he ought to address the mortal as well. βI see you know my name and area of study, but Iβm afraid I donβt know yours.β
IF SIDONY HAD ANY DOUBTS ABOUT THE MANβthough she does not know how they might have been sustained amidst Curio's endless delight at having a Fade-walker, as they termed it, aroundβthose doubts were instantly quashed by the smile on his face when he speaks to her friend. In her experience, so few mages outside of Nevarra properly appreciated spirits. True, she had not spent much time working alongside Dalish magesβlearning their perspective on spirits is something she wished to do while she was hereβbut she had been told that Solas was not Dalish, nor Circle-trained. So he was, in essence, a mystery.
"I am Sidony," she nodded, "a Mortalitasi, nominally. I was trained in Nevarra but in recent years I have become less familiar with Nevarra and more with its environs. I came south when I heard of the Breach, to see its effects on spirits and the Fade." It was not as important, she knew, to talk of her past and her experience with this man as it was to ensure Curio had their proper introduction.
Almost on cue, Curio hissed into her ear, Let me down, let me see, I want to see!
"Tck," Sidony chuckled, and said, "you are impatient," in Old Nevarran.
"This is Curiosity, or Curio. Whichever you prefer, they like both." Sidony placed her hand out in front of her chest, a signal for Curio to jump into it, which they did. "We've been together for several years now, and I would be remiss if I did not fulfill their request to say hello."
She is curious to know, herself, which language Curio will choose to speak. Since she'd found them, they'd always preferred to speak in dead tongues, languages fit only for scholarly pursuit and long delegated to the past. They could speak modern tongues, too, but the times she'd heard them do so she could count on one hand. Most often she and Curio spoke in either Ancient Tevene or Old Nevarran, with a smattering of Alamarri and Ciriane from time to time. She did not know the latter two as well, but conversing with Curio has kept her small skill in all those languages sharp.
She held her hand out, Curio sitting upon it, to Solas. "I believe they can complete their own introduction."
Ash had been working on moving closer for the past hour. Perhaps longer - even now, the concept of time felt unwieldy. Too much, too little. But they'd wanted to see. They had to. There was so much on the blanket, the aroma of books and knowledge and the world all etched into each leaf of paper. And out here, in the middle of things like they were! They moved the way they felt animals do, in the seams of the air around them: from tree to tree, their pale hair standing out bark but blessedly hidden so long as they remained with their back turned.
They'd abandoned the trees when they still couldn't see. Sight was such a limited thing! Hence, of course, their closeness. They were staring at the page with open interest when they were caught, and jumped with surprise. A frown, and Ash looked up - directly into the sun, burning their eyes - and down again into a sea of spots and the woman with her maps and papers.
β Light, β they echo, apologetically, stepping backward once. Then again, until their shadow disappeared from the page.
SIDONY GLARES DAGGERS AT THE SHADOW until it retreats. Only when she's pulled her expression back into something approaching neutral does she look up, ready to make a smart retort when she sees who exactly her visitor is.
"Ah," she frowns, thoughtful. "It's you."
Sidony glances down at her notebook and the array of paraphernalia spread about her and makes a few quick calculations. She scoots herself and the small cushion she's sat upon (she's not as young as she used to be and her joints do not always appreciate being bent upon the cold, hard ground for hours on end) to the side and pushes two of the books further away to make some room. Curio jumps into the empty space and starts twirling in a circle, and Sid gently ushers them up into her hand and sets them on her shoulder so they aren't in the way.
"Sit, if you like."
Ash isβodd. There is a confluence of the Fade in their every movement, and if one does not focus on them then it seems they shift and undulate with each breeze, or disappear entirely if one is not paying close attention. Rather like Cole, in some aspects, and rather unlike him in others. Sidony has not been able to puzzle them out, but if Ash is a manifested spirit, like Cole, then it is not her job to treat them like a puzzle. Her only task when encountering spirits is to be of service.
"Did you want to see what I was doing?"
"were you afraid?"
@breathandshadow || the green knight ( accepting )
SIDONY IS TIRED. THE LAST SEVERAL HOURSβDays? Weeks? Months? Who can tell? Time felt different thereβhad drained her completely and she wants nothing more than to crawl into her small, familiar alcove and sleep for a decade. But beneath that all, she is fiercely, utterly proud.
She knows what people say about her. She knows that no one expected her to pass this test, simply because she is nobody worth knowing, and had a "slap-dash" upbringing, and a number of other things that have no bearing on the situation at hand. She passed because she is good, because she is great, even, despite the challenges she's faced. And no thanks to those who'd rather she play nice and sit quietly.
With some vindictive glee, she marches down the corridor, head held high, knowing that she is now past the final test she must take before she studies to be a Mortalitasi in truth. Her harrowing is over.
The time-worn stones whispered beneath the soles of her shoes and spirits echoed, sibilant, in the corners and the shadows. If she listened, she could imagine they were cheering her on, but it is always hard to tell when her own emotions are pushing everything else to the side. Her fingers curl tightly around the edges of the book clutched to her chest as she vaults into the Western Library. After looking about, she spots a nearly vacant table and settles in. She is tired, and she does want to take a nap, but being tired and wanting to take a nap are no reasons to not study.
She is flipping through the first several pages of the chapter she'd begun last week, before preparations for her harrowing had begun in earnest, when she feels someone settle in the chair to her left. She tries to ignore them for a moment, then two, but when the third rolls around she resigns herself to company. Finally she looks over and sees a boy. Emmrich.
She doesn't smile so much as let some of the tension bleed from her shoulders and let some of the haughtiness fall from her posture. Emmrich is safe enough. Kind enough. They'd played together once, beforeβwell, before Sidony had learnt that it was better to do things on her own, and not rely on others for things like support or friendship or acceptance. But none of that was Emmrich's fault, of course.
He had his own harrowing coming up soon, and Sidony felt a question in the way he looked over at her and opened his own book.
"Were you afraid?" he asks, after a moment.
"No," she says, automatically. Then, thinking better of her lie, admits, "Yes. A little. Well, more than a little, I suppose, but it was like taking a walk through the lower levels."
Now, she does smile. It is small but genuine, something for a boy who she might have called friend, if she had the time to make friends.
"It is not so bad, Emmrich." She nods to his book. "You're smart. The spirits like you. You'll pass."
