ROYAL BASTARD.

new times, new problems. ɪɴᴅɪᴇ ᴡᴀʀᴅᴇɴ!ᴀʟɪsᴛᴀɪʀ.

[blightbled-blog]

           "i don’t care,” i say, caringly, as i care deeply

[oathbonded]

it has been 100 years but i’m coming back to darp! except nooot with alistair. 

y’all can find me at sigrun.

[oathbonded]

i really sorta just left this blog because of a variety of things but, after replaying origins, i find that i really miss alistair’s character? so i am v much contemplating coming back atm!

[cccrystalclear]

[oathbonded]

cccrystalclear:

terrifying wardens

[blightedresilience]

❛ Remind me? Those were my people he was shipping off as slaves. ❜ 

She rebuked vehemently, jabbing her finger in his direction. She bared her teeth as she would have at any other shemlen, squaring her shoulders as she took an aggravated step forward. Her eyes glinted tempestuously, but she ploughed ahead.  She could not have distinguished the two, at that moment, her resentment coiling around him mid-air.

❛ Don’t even suggest it. ❜

Suggest that it had anything to do with his roaring objection. An unjust assumption perhaps, but it mattered not. Not to her. Not when such barbaric ( who was bestial & untamed now ? ) acts prevailed, and not a single finger was lifted to condemn it.

❛ The Joining could have killed him. The Blight could have killed him. The Archdemon could have killed him. I would have killed him. After the battle. ❜ 

There was no such thing as pardon when it came to her people. No such thing as mercy. The shems wrote the Dalish off as savage and wild things —- she would have shown them what a savage she could be. Violence was in here bones, a rage dormant, ignitable at the slightest spark. Loghain was an  enemy to be devoured by a firestorm, his bones crushed between her eerily brittle hands.

❛ And here we have it, a certain death on our hands. ❜ There was a pause. Her furor had not diminished, but she was adamant in bringing this discussion to an end. ❛ Your honour must compel you to believe you must take the plunge. ❜ 

Honour was such a laughable, abhorrent concept, an abstraction brandished so often, so emptily, by the shemlen that they had forgotten its meaning entirely. To her, it was a thorn rankling her side. 

 ❛ That might not have to be. ❜

She would not ask him whether he trusted her, in place of Morrigan. They hadn’t the choice. 

[oathbonded]

    he lacks the capacity to think very objectively about this. he's never been very good     at ignoring his true feelings, sucking it up, and carrying on anyway. he leads with his     heart, not his head, and he can't do much about it. he knows that it'd be for the best if     he could put his feelings regarding loghain aside but, maker, he can't. he can't, he     can't, he can't, and only with trembling hands does he finally listen to her, even if for     only a moment. maybe he should have regrets, maybe he should feel as though if he     didn't encourage the death of loghain, if he put aside his true emotions, they would     have been better off, instead opting to use loghain as the sacrifice for the archdemon,     but he doesn't. even in a time of death, he thinks being a warden is the greatest honor,     and he lacks the self-awareness to know that he's being more stubborn than a mule.

  ' and, yet, loghain still would have been a warden! ' and it sounds petty at this point, but     his point still stands. (maybe if riordan had told them that they'd need a warden to make     the sacrifice before loghain's head was lobbed off, but he doesn't know.) when he thinks     of loghain, he thinks of the wardens. he thinks of desperate brethren trying to take     temporary refuge against the darkspawn, awaiting loghain's support, only for loghain to     abandon them. strategic decision or not, he abandoned them! when he thinks of loghain,     he thinks of duncan. he thinks of cailan. he thinks of how loghain soiled the honorable     name of the wardens in some sort of smear campaign, sending assassins after them.     perhaps it would have been the ultimate irony, to make loghain a member of the wardens,     but alistair can't help but think that it would have been the greatest possible mistake.

  ' i don't -- ' and he sighs, trying to settle his still-escalating heart rate. he suppresses how     riled up he is, even if only momentarily, and starts up again. ' have you ever heard of a     warden killing the archdemon and surviving? whatever alternative means you have cooked     up, it can't be natural. '

[cewyll]

       ❝ i’m elizabeth, of…  somewhere very far        away.     you’re a grey warden? i’ve read        about those – you can sense darkspawn,        right? and you knew the hero of ferelden!        but… enough about that, are you alright?        you look like you’re in pain. ❞

concern washes over the excitement  on  her face over actually meeting  a  grey  warden –  one other than blackwall, at least. she’d rath- er mister warden not pass out in front of  her, though, because… armor. she can’t drag that heavy of a person  to  a  comfortable  resting space.

[oathbonded]

               ‘ elizabeth. ah, a pleasure. ‘ he pauses momentarily,                  wetting chapped lips. he could easily go on about                  darkspawn and the blight and the hero of ferelden’s                  displays of gallantry, but he finds himself too pre-                  occupied with the song of the false calling. it’s too                  distracting -- inconveniently so.

                 he waves a dismissive hand, that he’ll be fine, but                  he can’t help the manner in which his face tenses                  up. at the very least, when he talks, he can ignore                  it to an extent. ‘ it’s corpyheus’ fault, with the false                  calling -- much like the real calling, and just as                  much fun. ‘ he weakly grins, leaning against a pillar.

[oathbonded]

              ‘ the boy with the hat. ‘ cole, alistair thinks. ‘ he passed by earlier, arms full                 of chickens. does that... happen often? ‘

[bythestone]

  “ can’t say I’m too heartbroken about that.” she laughs then, moving forward to sweep     her daughter up into her arms playfully, allowing maite to stand on her thighs, before     gently brushing the tip of her nose against maite’s. “ if I was t’go against anyone, I’d     prefer it be her.”      small fingers clutch at her own as she gently tickles the infant, pressing a shower of     kisses to her face, “the cutest,” she starts, each pause is kiss upon kiss,” ‘n fiercest.     competition. known t’all. thedas.”  her own laughter seems to grow as maite squirms     about, giggles pouring forth like a spring. “all ya gotta do is smile ‘n even darkspawn’ll     turn tail.” maite bounces and clings to her mother’s (father’s) tunic and attempts to     hid her face in the sea of fabric, “ain’t that right my love?” she laughs a bit more, pressing     kisses into the mess of curls that made her hair and glances to alistair, her smile     softening as she looks to him. she wriggles a hand free and pats the spot beside her,      “da’s welcome t’join us on the cuter side’a the room.”

[oathbonded]

   it’s a comfort to be able to have this: a family. while his childhood wasn’t the most    grueling and certainly wasn’t fighting for his life, what followed was something he    never thought he could escape from -- not that he minded, of course. first was the    training, then the... wardenhood. it was a family, a home, but it was violent. there’s    the blight, the effects of the calling looming overheard. there’s battling darkspawn    and stopping the archdemon. even now, he has one foot in warden business and    one foot out, but he can’t help but feel as though this family, that this life, is a    greater comfort than swinging swords and bashing shields.

 ‘ hey! ‘ he protests, voice raising to a whine as he grins, scooting over to the patted    spot beside them. an arm wraps around ruiha, the other cradling maite’s back some.  ‘ i’ll have you know, cuteness is entirely subjective -- but, for the other record, i am on    the better side now. ‘ he grins wide, laughter inevitably bubbling forth again.

[droil]

[oathbonded]

droil:

this definitely happened at least once, probably several times

[bythestone]

“their feet taste pretty good when ya fry ‘n season 'em. rica likes 'em pickled, but it’s too bitter for me.”

[oathbonded]

              ‘ but their feet---- ‘                 and all he can do is shake his head, grimacing as he silently                 proclaims that nugs are disturbing as ever.

[bythestone]

[ sms ali ] im not gonna kiss u if u put me in jail!!!!

[ sms ali ] im gonna run away with mamu goodbye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[oathbonded]

[ sms : ru ] :(((

[ sms : ru ] will u kiss me if i don’t put u in jail

[oathbonded]

                   ‘ you almost stabbed me! again! ‘

[oathbonded]

oKAY i know i’ve been rly bad at activity lately due to a number of factors but. i’m going to try be around this weekend, throw out some opens, a starter call, do a round of replies or two, etc.

i’m thinking of just throwing out a semi-activity warning? i’ve been struggling with muse lately and i can’t guarantee that i’ll be here a lot, but i’m not going to be running off for two weeks at a time lmao. thanks for being patient!!

[otterysoup]

[oathbonded]

otterysoup:

My hand slipped.

Good King Alistair with a new recruit. Inspired by this

[badwitches-deactivated20200616]

[oathbonded]

momalish:

I saw a pic of Tom Hardy petting a doggie and I was like [points] alistair

[oathbonded]

drags hands down face i’m having a real hard time finding muse here lately???

[felasil-deactivated20150613]

[oathbonded]

felasil:

｡◕ ‿ ◕｡