in death, sacrifice

indie avvar grey warden written by peri sideblog to deathcomesquiet

[ikstaorsik-blog]

so most of you follow me over on my main but i figure i ought to put this here too:

i’m putting trystan on an indefinite hiatus --- threads will most likely be dropped, but if you’d like me to archive something so we can come back to it if/when i ever pick him up again, just send me a message. i’m really sorry to anybody who’s gotten particularly attached to him in the short time he’s been around, but this blog was an impulse decision that i really should have spent more time on and i need to definitively push him to the back burner for a little while. in the meantime, you can find me over at @deathcomesquiet !

[bithcassidy]

[lndseymrgan]

[ikstaorsik-blog]

hodneskwelnes:

Commander Lexa in “Watch The Thrones”

[rpingmemes]

The last icon on your folder is your muse's reaction to every stupid situation.

[ikstaorsik-blog]

[burningarrcws-blog]

            His brow raises at the way the man stutters like a Chantry boy. It is as ridiculous as it is surprising, really. And any other day, Ros would’ve smiled that sweet little seductive smile of his, backed the man over to a wall and sucked him off, but not today. Today he’s tired, bearing the weight of years he hasn’t had yet. He’s got too many thoughts rolling around in his head, making it too hard to concentrate on anything. He shrugs his shoulders and looks away, watching the sky fade into pinks and oranges.

                        “Dunno. Not really. Maybe another time.”

[ikstaorsik-blog]

             The red on his cheeks is no fault of the weather and they both know it, but Trystan is grateful for the casual way that Lelaros shrugs off the topic. Isolde would have known what to say, he thinks, but before he can follow that thought down the inevitable rabbit hole he is interrupted by a shrill sound from Brydda, circling slowly down towards the two of them. Instinctively he raises a gloved arm to provide her a place to land, trilling softly to her in a pleased tone once she settles on his gauntlet. Her beak is a bit bloody--she’s found dinner, it seems--but he reaches out with a pair of fingers to stroke her head anyway, and she lets out a satisfied yip as he steps forward to join Lelaros at the western edge of the tower.

               “ I think it annoys Sister Nightingale that she does not care for the rookery, but she and I both prefer to be outdoors whenever we can. ”

[roleplaymmemes]

The 9th icon in your folder is your muse’s love struck face

[ikstaorsik-blog]

[burningarrcws-blog]

               “Well yeah, they do.”

        Only the people and places change, the intent never does. Whether it be here at Skyhold in the tavern or at the bustling inn in Val Fontaine, someone always wants something for being ‘nice’. Of course, he didn’t always pay up, especially for little favors unless pushed. But it’s all he’s ever known, really, since leaving his clan. Four years seems like a decade in his lines of work.

               “Usually people want me to fuck them. So what do you want?”  

[ikstaorsik-blog]

              It shouldn’t be a shock; Trystan’s seen Lelaros in the Herald’s Rest, has recognized the way that people look at him from a hundred other nights in a score of other taverns across Ferelden and Orlais--there are always pretty boys and girls and always people looking, often touching, sometimes taking. He’s not a prude by any means, but there are so many encounters behind the word ‘usually’ and Ros is so young. Trystan shifts his weight slightly, reaching to run a hand through his hair as he drops his eyes to the stone floor, then looks back up at the young man’s face.

                “ I don’t--that’s not--I’m not really--no, I don’t....want that. Do you? ”

[vovkism]

└ ♠ ┐—— ❝ They are. ❞

Ishbel turned her gaze over to the white wolf was the leader of that particular pick. The wolf’s ears perked up and they  looked at each other for a moment, eyes conveying things that words could never truly express. There was a silence that hung in the air before the wolves backed away a single step and all lay down to show that they were going to do no harm. At least for that moment they weren’t. 

❝ No one knows the land better than them.     They’ve been helpful. ❞

[ikstaorsik-blog]

             There is clear communication happening that he is not privy to, but Trystan respects the woman’s bond with her companions--such instances are rare, but a Ranger’s abilities are a gift from the Lady of the Skies, and ought to be respected as such. A nod of his head brings Varen to his side, though the wolf has not the decency to look even a tiny bit penitent, but the gentle scolding he’s earned will have to wait. 

              “ I am certain they are--when he’s not running off, Varen is a good fellow to have around. Speaking of which, perhaps I ought to tell you my name? I am Trystan an Nerys, of Storm-Eagle hold. ”

[ikstaorsik-blog]

@aureasadrisit {starter call}

            It is comforting to fall back into a routine of physical training; the sparring ring to the side of the tavern is more public than he would like, but it is well-built and with the recruitment of the Wardens at Adamant Fortress he is never lacking for a partner. Today, it is an old friend: a man named Lochlan, originally from Highever, who’d been stationed at Amaranthine alongside Trystan and Isolde. They are well matched, well acquainted with each other’s movements, and it is an enjoyable exercise despite the feeling of being watched by too many eyes. When they finish, the two men acknowledge each other and pass their wooden weapons on to the next faux-combatants, and Trystan moves to wipe the sweat from his brow as he exits the ring. Unfortunately, in the split second of having his arm across his eyes, he misses the slight frame of the noblewoman in his path, and by the time he realizes what’s happened they’ve both tumbled to the ground in a flurry of skirts and sweat. It takes a moment to reorient himself, to pull himself free of her skirts and up off the ground, but once he does he immediately offers her a hand to help her up.

              “ My sincerest apologies, my lady--I did not see you. Are you hurt? ”

[burningarrcws-blog]

           “No, you can stay. You were here first. Wouldn’t wanna run you off from that sunset or whatever.”

            It is with great caution and slight hesitance that he takes the offered cloak. He wraps it around his slender shoulders and clasps it. A bit large is most certainly an understatement. It nearly swallows him, and there is a pool of fabric at his feet because of Trystan’s ridiculous height. And even though he is grateful for it, he cannot help but wonder what exactly the man wants out of this. In his experience, people aren’t nice simply for shits and giggles. It’s always because they want something, ranging from harmless smiles and pretty words to other sorts of pay back. Ros glances up at him, sizing him up once more.

           “—So what do you want? People don’t just let people borrow their shit. You gotta want something.”

[ikstaorsik-blog]

              “ Thank you, I would hate to miss it. ” 

                 There is a pause as Lelaros dons the cloak, and Trystan stifles a chuckle at the sight. His arms have vanished entirely, and it almost looks as if he is wearing a set of the drapes from the great hall--but it will keep him warm, and that is what matters. They look at each other for a moment, and he tilts his head as an odd expression crosses the boy’s features. His eyes are so much older than his face, Trystan thinks, and there is something hard and sharp about him, even as childlike as he looks in the massively oversized cloak. The question catches Trystan a little off-guard, and his brow furrows as he rolls the phrasing over in his head.

                 “What do I want? You were cold, and I wanted you not to be. Should...do people generally expect something from you? ”

[burningarrcws-blog]

         He isn’t expecting anyone to be up here, especially at this time of day. It would, after all be night soon, and would be getting much colder than it already is. Ros straightens up immediately, sucking it up and shoving down his feelings near instantly, blinking away the tears that had been forming. Slender fingers run through his dark curls, straightening them out before he pulls his shawl closer around himself. Hazel eyes give the man a glance over, neck craning to get a proper look at him, though truthfully to get an actual better look, he believes he needs a stool. Why did everyone seem so ridiculously giant here? His arms cross over his chest and a frown tugs at his lips.

“Cause it’s cold as a witch’s tit, that’s why people don’t come up here. Don’t matter how pretty the sunset is. Didn’t come up here to see it either. Just to think.”

[ikstaorsik-blog]

           It takes him a moment to notice the slight smudge in the boy’s makeup, the redness of his eyes that cannot be entirely the fault of the slight wind, and suddenly Trystan remembers looking desperately for a place to be alone when Varen returned without Isolde by his side. He wonders for a moment what has happened, who has hurt the boy such that he feels the need to be so secluded, but he pushes the slight curiosity away at the stony sound of Lelaros’ voice. As soon as he mentions the cold Trystan is reaching for the clasp of his cloak, tugging it off of his shoulders easily to offer it, along with a soft smile, to the young man standing before him.

           “ It may be a bit large, but I imagine it is difficult to think with a chill in your bones. I can go, if you would prefer to be alone? ”

[vovkism]

└ ♠ ┐—— ❝ Dè tha thu a dèanamh? ❞

She spoke to the wolf that had stepped close to her. A lone wanderer in the woods. At least that’s what she initially thought until she caught the scent of another. She looked up and saw someone approaching speaking a tongue she did not know but recognized. The woman stood up to her full height, her spear in hand as she eyed the man in front of her. Her other hand was still scratching between the wolf’s ears as she spoke. 

❝ No bother. He’s just saying hello. To me and to them. ❞

Ishbel motioned to the right of her to a pack of wolves roaming around the three of them in a wide perimeter. The largest of the pack, a white wolf, was staring right at the man.

[ikstaorsik-blog]

            Though he does not recognize her inflection, it takes Trystan only a few seconds to realize that the woman before him is Avvar, undoubtedly from a clan he is unfamiliar with but Avvar all the same. When she mentions others he looks up in confusion, eyes widening when he realizes the three of them are surrounded by a pack of wolves. They must have been what drew Varen from the camp, and Trystan’s eyes flick rapidly from the woman’s hand on Varen’s head, to her face, to the massive white wolf nearest to the center of the clearing.

             “ They are...with you? ” 

[ikstaorsik-blog]

@burningarrcws {starter call}

             It is a flawless winter afternoon, the skies just clouded enough to keep the snow from glaring and the wind more gentle than harsh as Trystan watches Brydda soar with a faint smile on his face. From the top of the southern flanking tower the view across the mountains is breathtaking, and for a moment he wonders if Brydda can see Storm-Eagle hold from so much further up. The thought is interrupted, however, by the sound of someone climbing the ladder just below, and Trystan turns to see a head of dark curly hair emerging from the hatch. The person who appears is vaguely familiar--he is sure he’s seen them around the keep, but their name escapes him until a turn of their head reveals pointed ears and dark kohl-lined eyes. Lelaros, he remembers, the elven boy whose smiles remind him of Isolde in the sharply mischievous edge they carry. 

              “ Have you come to watch the sunset? I wonder the entire keep does not take to the battlements to see it, particularly on a day like this. ”

[ikstaorsik-blog]

@vovkism {starter call}

           “ Varen! Bacraut, koma hryggyr heðra! ”

           His voice rings with a touch of laughter as he follows the obvious tracks in the snow, straight towards the outer edge of a clearing he knows is one of Varen’s favorite places to play away from the bustle and noise of Skyhold or the soldiers’ camp. Sure enough, a lump of dark grey fur is just visible through the trees–but as he gets closer, Trystan realizes that there are two bodies crouched in the snow, and one of them is human. The sight stops him where he stands for a full minute, as Varen has never been particularly friendly, but he is close enough to see that the grey wolf’s behavior is anything but aggressive. The two are nose-to-snout, evidently deep in conversation, and as Trystan steps into the clearing he pushes away the memory of Isolde that the sight brings to mind.

           “ Eiga van vinr, þá? I am sorry, I hope he has not bothered you. ” The first directed to a shamelessly grinning Varen, the second to the woman by his side.

[ikstaorsik-blog]

@provocatcur {starter call}

           Trystan is no stranger to the chill of the Frostbacks, though navigating the mountain paths with a noblewoman is a new experience. The Marquise is slight but strong, dressed practically to handle the terrain, and without her mask she seems far more human than any other Orlesian noble he’s encountered. They’ve spoken only a little, lapsing into a not-entirely-uncomfortable silence as their journey progressed, but as he glances from Brydda circling above them to Varen frolicking in the snow like a cub to the woman walking beside him he notes a slight tremble in her frame that is easily recognizable as a shiver. Without hesitation he reaches for the clasp on his fur-lined cloak, sweeping a few snowflakes from the collar before carefully draping it around her shoulders. 

         “ You need it more than I do, ” he offers, by way of explanation. “ You are from somewhere much warmer than this, I suppose. ”

[ikstaorsik-blog]

@thesxmmersword {starter call}

          After the assault at Adamant Fortress, Grey Wardens are not an uncommon sight at Skyhold--it is a relief, somewhat, to be one of dozens rather than one of two. Some of them are old acquaintances, some total strangers, but Ser Cauthrien is neither; he knows of her by reputation (most wardens do, these days) and they have crossed paths before, but they have never spoken. At least, not until today, and his brow furrows when he realizes that she is in fact speaking to him and not one of the others gathered round the training yard watching their fellows spar with wooden swords.

           “ Ser? ”

[ikstaorsik-blog]

@merdedeporc {starter call}

          The soldiers’ camp is quiet in the early morning hours, a fresh snowfall muting the noises of the livestock shuffling in the barn, and Trystan inhales sharply at the chill of water that is very near to ice running down bare skin. The mountains have always been home so the cold bothers him little after the initial shock of the water, and he is enjoying the familiarity of an old morning routine when a sudden human sound from somewhere to his left has him scrambling for his discarded shirt. 

          The noise, it seems, came from a slightly grubby woman of average height for someone not of the Avvar--he towers over her, however, and instinctively Trystan pulls himself in in an attempt to seem smaller than he is. 

         “ Pardon me, I did not think anyone else would be around at this hour. ”