Shadow Dragon Week Day 7: Free Day/The Lamplighter
Featuring: Davrin, Rook Mercar, Neve Gallus, and Lucanis Dellamorte
@shadow-dragon-week
Giving Shadow Dragons free rein to plan a date night is not for the faint of heart, but it is never boring.
Davrin ordinarily had no objections to double dates. He’d been on a few at Weishaupt when time permitted. But when two of the people involved are Shadow Dragons? He has learned to keep on his toes. Neve and Radek tended to take date planning very seriously. Too seriously, if you asked him. They were always whispering among themselves, talking in code, plotting who knows what and leaving him and Lucanis in the dark. And completely at their mercy.
As annoying as the suspense could get, Davrin couldn’t even bring himself to be mad about it. He’s learned that his boyfriend needed an outlet for constructive sneaking around, and he couldn’t deny him that.
Of course, extending grace was easier said than done while scrambling to leap from rooftop to rooftop far above the streets of Minrathous. The Shadow Dragons took them along precarious paths only known to themselves, while Davrin, built for wooded trails and open fields, struggled to keep up. At least Lucanis seemed to be enjoying himself; the Crow had to force himself to hang back to make sure he knew where Neve was leading him. Davrin, on the other hand, was continually at risk of Radek leaving him in the dust. The smaller elf kept circling back or pausing to check on him. While Davrin appreciated Radek waiting, he was starting to be a little twit about it.
As Davrin slowed his pace to make a jump from a scaffold, Radek turned back to him with an impish grin.
“Aww, losing steam already, Warden?”
Once he stuck the landing and met Radek on the other side, Davrin flipped him off.
“Not even breaking a sweat,” he retorted.
“Hmm, so I see—” Radek cheekily reached up to caress Davrin’s brow, wiping away some sweat that had indeed accumulated there.
Davrin scoffed, rolling his eyes at his partner. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Rads.”
He winked. The smug bastard. “You like it.”
“The one consolation I get from all this is watching that pretty ass of yours scale the rooftops.”
Neve turned and doubled back, giving them both a look. “Are you two done messing around? We still have some ground to cover.”
Davrin scooped Radek up by the waist, stealing a quick kiss. “Don’t worry—I just got a second wind.”
—
It would be a few city blocks more of leaping across rooftops, yet more scaffolding, and the occasional balcony before they reached what the scheming Shadows had chosen as their destination. Their climb had taken them ever higher, until they reached the top of an abandoned building—perhaps it had been apartments at one point, but its windows were now dark and empty, like the eye sockets in a skull. Radek triumphantly bowed, though Davrin couldn’t figure out at first glance what was so special about this spot. The roof itself was flat and plain, with no adornment to speak of, and the stone scuffed and dirty from neglect. However, Neve’s smirk told a different story. She and Radek knelt, together clearing a hidden trapdoor and taking from it a plain tablecloth and a basket.
Lucanis gave Neve that doe-eyed look that Davrin would have believed uncharacteristic of him only a few months ago.
“A rooftop picnic?” the Crow said, eagerly rushing over to help them set up. “Mi vida, you shouldn’t have—”
Neve chuckled. “Oh, but that’s not all. Look—”
Davrin and Lucanis turned to look where she was pointing. There, sprawled out before them, was the whole of Dock Town. While even from a distance it was a bit rough around the edges, the winding streets and city lights made for a compelling view. By now, the team had visited Dock Town often enough that he could make out familiar cafes and shops, the imposing silhouette of the Chantry, and the market squares. They were high enough that where he stood, Davrin could see the Nocen Sea stretching out beyond the harbor.
He let out a low whistle. “Okay, I gotta hand it to you both. You picked out a good spot.”
Radek gave him an insufferable grin. “What can I say? We’re geniuses.”
Davrin rolled his eyes, shoving his boyfriend playfully as the four of them settled in and began passing around a bounty of cheeses, breads, smoked meats, and pastries.
Neve got out a bottle from their cache, popping the cork and passing it to the other three.
“And before you ask: no, it’s not wine,” she said. “It’s a nonalcoholic cider. We still have to make our way down to the Lamplighter after this and I’d rather not lose one of you to a drunken fall.”
“But don’t worry,” Radek interjected. “There’ll be plenty an opportunity to get plastered—or stoned—at the Lamplighter.”
Davrin looked between the two Shadow Dragons. He would have to admit, he was intrigued. “Okay, I’ll bite: what’s going on at the Lamplighter?”
“The way Rook is practically bouncing in place,” Lucanis chimed in, “I want to say Cida Ciconia is performing.”
“I mean, yes, but it’s not just that—” Radek couldn’t even hold back a grin at that point. “She’s doing a whole new set, completely experimental stuff!”
Lucanis chuckled. “Spite will definitely like that.”
—
As they dined, the four watched the sun sink below the horizon. The fading sunlight glittered on the water’s surface, making the ships anchored in the harbor look like they were nesting on a bed of polished glass beads.
Far off towards the richer districts of Minrathous, the Archon’s Palace circled overhead. But with how high up their little picnic spot was, it felt shoulder to shoulder with them, its size making it appear deceptively close. Davrin, if he had seen it as a child, might have believed he could stretch out his hand and touch it.
He had to admit that from here, Minrathous was beautiful.
Though it could never hold a candle to the sight of the crazy, gorgeous Shadow Dragon nestled against his side.
The Shadow Dragons challenge the Imperium's cruel systems of oppression using all of the means at their disposal. From slave rebellions to community organizing to pushing legislative reforms, they work tirelessly to make their home a better place.
Magister Dorian Pavus knows that he has been gifted with a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue. In the Magisterium, he uses them to the fullest effect, pushing for change, proposing amendments to antiquated laws, and tearing down the arguments of those who insist that the old system still works—that it has always worked. There are days when he feels like he is alone in holding the line; winning allies or—at the very least—sympathizers is an uphill struggle when so few are willing to cede even a modicum of the power they’d amassed over generations. Even fewer dare risk their necks and draw the ire of the Venatori.
True, a part of him misses the days of the Inquisition, where he used his magic on the front lines to make a difference. He could see the direct results of his actions then, the lives he and his companions saved while closing the rifts. But the Inquisition was the reason he returned to Tevinter; its people, its foolhardy leader, and his Amatus all showed him how much more could be done to save his country from itself.
So he persists, and he uses his voice to speak on behalf of the voices whom the Magisterium refuses to hear.
Neve Gallus’s work requires her to walk a delicate tightrope in her pursuit of justice. Few Templars can be trusted to protect Minrathous’s most vulnerable, and many still only care about the interests of the elite. More often than not, her leads and tip-offs are left to collect dust on someone’s desk. Or those she and Rana bring in are set loose before the ink on the paperwork has dried.
Still, she does things by the book when she can, as futile as it seems the majority of the time. That is not to say that she has no other means at her disposal when going aboveboard fails. Neve rarely, if at all, works without a contingency plan. She has informants among the Threads, and she knows who among Dock Town’s residents are attuned to rumors of Venatori. And of course—especially where Venatori are concerned—she is not above a little breaking and entering. Minutes, or even seconds, saved by breaking the rules sometimes mean the difference between saving a life and recovering a body.
It is often a precarious, dangerous tightrope to walk, but she cannot regret it, no matter how weary it makes her. She is and will always be whatever her city needs most.
When the law deems society’s unwanted as pawns and playthings of those in power, Lorelei doesn’t give two shits about upholding it. The law certainly never protected her. At best, those in authority look the other way while people are snatched off the streets or from their very homes. At worst, they actively participate.
Her pawn shop, while nowhere near as shady as some of the dealings in the Threads Market, has certainly attracted its share of people wanting to get rid of things with no questions asked. The down-on-their-luck bring in what meager possessions they have in the hopes of making enough coin for a meal that night. Desperate thieves and pickpockets bring in stolen items to fence.
She is no fighter, but her work is crucial to Shadow Dragon operations. She passes secret messages through the selling and moving of wares, provides a safe hideaway for fugitives and the enslaved, and funds the Shadows’ work through store profits. She cannot hold a barricade, nor wield a sword, nor give impassioned speeches in a public square. However, she can look back on the number of people she has led through the passages beneath her shop and know with satisfaction that she has helped many build a new life, the way others had done for her.
If she can make sure fewer people go through what she had, then she considers her life one well spent.
Wading through the mess of Chantry politics day in and day out has convinced Ashur that no one with power can be trusted to use it for the well-being of their people. Most find the path to self-serving ends too easy to tread, while those with good intentions are either eliminated or corrupted. As Divine, however, he feels a strong sense of duty to the average layman, and he’d be remiss not to at least try. He cannot—yet—make sweeping changes to the Chantry in the way Divine Victoria has in the South. So many eyes are on him, and he knows that many among the grand clerics are awaiting the one misstep that will delegitimize his seat. Instead, he must play the long game, introducing nearly negligible changes to policy—a word or phrase here, a section of an edict or creed there, offhand comments that could be interpreted in multiple ways. Over time, all of them add up, like the slow trickle of water that widens the crack in a dam. Ruefully, he knows life marches on for the poor and disenfranchised of the Imperium, and their troubles in the present cannot wait for improvements from the very top to reach them.
This is why he takes on the mantle of The Viper. Out on the streets, among the shadows, he can directly aid the people and see exactly where and how abuses of power impact them. He can coordinate efforts in the trenches, so to speak (quite literally in the cases when Shadows and Venatori battle for territory in the catacombs). Tarquin may deride him over his persona—overdramatic, he calls it—but at times The Viper feels truer to who he is than the stifling vestments required of his office.
He fights on two fronts, and he will continue to do so for the rest of his life if he must.
Rage is what drives Radek Mercar. His hatred of the Venatori is unrelenting, ever-consuming. He has seen firsthand what they are capable of, and so he has no reason to show them mercy. One less Venatori means more innocents spared.
He is not above using every dirty trick he knows to hit the Venatori where it hurts. He has lost count of the number of meeting places and operations he’s disrupted, many of which have gone up in flames once he is done with them. He is no mage, but his knowledge of mechanics, engineering, and guerrilla tactics—as well as having nothing to lose—gives him an edge against opponents with an overinflated view of their own power and importance. The Shadows need people of all walks of life and of different skill sets to keep the cause alive. His skills just happen to be the more explosive ones.
For all of his rage, Radek is fueled by a compassion that comes from experience. He is an elf, an outcast, and he knows all too well that his homeland doesn’t give a damn that he’s slipped through its cracks. There is no way up for him, so he waits at the bottom for others like him so he may break their fall. He can be a protector, a light in the dark even if there are days where he feels like it’s not enough.
Change comes not through one grand heroic gesture, but through the collective efforts of many. It takes time and a great deal of work to weave individual threads into a sturdy, cohesive tapestry, and likewise to create lasting change that will better the lives of future generations.
"this is an inaccurate adaptation" okay but is it good "this didn't happen in the book" does it make sense in the context of the new work though "they totally changed the plot" and is the new one good or bad "it's completely different" not what I asked "they changed all the stuff I like" then I get why you wouldn't be into it but I'm asking about its own artistic merits "this character is meant to be blonde" I couldn't give less of a fuck
This short story by Junji Ito is about a fault that appears in Amigara mountain after an earthquake. The earthquake exposes countless human-shaped holes in the mountain which seem to have been made about a thousand years ago. People, intrigued by these silhouettes, gather at the site and that’s when things get creepy.
It’s about a 15-20 min read, but if you haven’t read this before, you’re in for a treat. Link above.
i mean it’s not like i can just NOT reblog amigara fault. what if one of my followers is one of the lucky ten thousand who HASN’T been unutturably altered for life by it yet? go read it! it’s creepy, but trust me, it was made for you.
[id. three gifs of a man in an agility dog course field down on the ground pleading with a pomeranian, “Pull it together PLEASE” with a somewhat sad and desperate expression on his face. end id]
thinking about how Buffy didn't find out about the high school rumors about her being gay until college probably because the students at sunnydale were just so used to her weird shit that the lesbian thing was likely the least interesting part to talk about
like who gives a shit who she's sleeping with when you've seen her stab people with a pool stick in the middle of the club during her first week in town
That moment in Conversations is so hilarious to me because Buffy is like "What the hell?! Gay? I dated Scott Hope! How could they believe such a rumour?!" Meanwhile the Sunnydale students are probably watching her - about a week after splitting up with Scott she starts hanging out with some strange girl who doesn't go to your school and wears leather jackets and combat boots constantly, and is weirdly touchy with her. At one point this girl turns up during an exam, draws a heart on the window, and Buffy just like jumps out the window after her. Like... sure Buffy, it's a complete mystery why anyone would have believed that rumour. Total mystery.
this fuck ass kitten somehow got behind the kitchen cabinet built into the wall and INTO THE WALL . i got him out with funny toy on stick and shredded chicken but i got so scared i almost threw up and now the entire house must be babyproofed
I had to take him into the utility room with me while i was finding duct tape to close off the bottom of the fireplace as well, so he wouldnt despawn when i was gone, and WHEN I PUT HIM DOWN TO GET THE DUCT TAPE, HE MANAGED TO NUTTY PUTTY CAVE HIMSELF IN ANOTHER CRANNY I DIDNT KNOW EXISTED. AND AS I PULLED HIM OUT BY THE ASS HE CRIED LIKE A HUMAN BABY. do NOT make me feel bad for saving your dust bunny spelunking ass you SICKO
the absolute devastating intimacy of a forehead rest. when you are both just so tired from existing in a world that demands you to be a rigid, functional individual, and you finally collapse into each other and just lean your forehead against theirs, or against their shoulder. it’s the physical equivalent of dropping your shields. it’s saying i am entirely heavy right now, and i am trusting you to bear a piece of that weight. and the most beautiful part is that the other person doesn’t even flinch. they just adjust their stance, tuck you a little closer, and absorb the impact. we were designed to divide the burden of being alive.
Featuring: Neve Gallus, Tarquin, and Lucanis Dellamorte
@shadow-dragon-week
After defeating the Evanuris for good and restoring the Veil, the Shadow Dragons and their allies are left to recover amid the wreckage. Neve now deals with the conflicting feelings around surviving Elgar'nan's clutches only to face an uncertain future. Fortunately, she isn't facing it alone.
In the wake of Elgar’nan’s defeat, the opulent plazas and squares of Hightown were unrecognizable. Here the blight tendrils burst through paved streets, tangled between crumbling spires, and shattered mosaics and public fountains. Even withered and disintegrating, their now still forms loomed, casting oppressive shadows over the once bustling streets. Many of the grand estates now lay in ruin, either hollowed out shells or mere piles of crumbled stone and dust. Neve remembered them as a child, during the rare times she and her family took the roads that carried them closer to the wealthier parts of the city. To her, they looked like they could pierce the very sky, or tear themselves from their foundations to trample her if she ever got too close. She’d hated them back then, hated how small they made her feel. But now, she didn’t know how to process the empty skyline where their silhouettes would have been. She could only hope that the poorer districts and her beloved Dock Town were spared the worst of the Blight.
From the time they had all descended from the Archon’s Palace, Lucanis had not left her side. He hovered around her worriedly, fetching everything he could think of for her whenever she so much as coughed. A little excessive, but he meant well. She tried to brush him off gently, reassure him that she was fine. But in truth, once she’d reached the impromptu field hospital set up in the Divine’s Manor, she couldn’t do a whole lot except collapse into a chair.
She didn’t know whether she would fully recover, or how many years she might have left, but at least now her veins no longer felt like they’d been set on fire.
She would take the small wins.
She’d hoped no one would speak to her; at the moment, she was too exhausted to keep up the pleasantries. However, when Tarquin approached, neither did she have it in her to shoo him away.
“How’re you holding up?”
Direct. To the point. The way Tarquin always is.
She laughed weakly. “Can’t say I’ve had worse,” she replied.
The laugh unfortunately triggered another coughing fit, as if to emphasize her point.
Lucanis scrambled to his feet to refill her waterskin. Bless him. He looked like he was about to be sick from worry.
“Well, I don’t think I need to tell you to rest,” Tarquin responded. “Unlike some.”
She and Lucanis exchanged a look at that.
“I haven’t seen Rook since we returned,” Lucanis said, hazarding a guess over the meaning of Tarquin’s snide comment. “Is he all right?”
“He ran off toward the Mercar family estate about an hour ago,” Tarquin said with a grimace. “And no, he refused backup. Stubborn arse.”
Neve frowned. “I didn’t think he was on good terms with his family.”
There was a conflicted look on Tarquin’s face. “No, but I get it. My own da was a right prick, but I’d like to think I would’ve tried to look for him in the rubble too.”
She nodded in understanding, and a look passed between the three of them. A shared experience. Perhaps different in the particulars, but one that had left them all asking the same questions. She leaned back in her chair, taking a few sips of water to clear her throat and to collect her thoughts. Though several hidden rooms and passages of the Divine’s Manor had been spared the destruction, the raging battle outside had left its mark here as well.
“So, what happens once the dust clears?” she asked. “I doubt enough of the prominent families survived to incentivize rebuilding everything as it used to be.”
Lucanis tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Would any unclaimed estates become the property of the Chantry, or the state?”
Tarquin shrugged. “I think before we can even answer that question, we’ll need to rebuild our damn government from scratch.”
Neve couldn’t help but to snort. “What? You mean all those corpses in the Magisterium don’t count?”
“I’m not puppeteering any of those, thanks,” Tarquin grumbled.
It still hurt a bit to laugh.
Neve couldn’t recognize her city anymore, but perhaps with time, something new could be built here. She sighed, reaching out to squeeze Lucanis’s hand.
Genuinely evil and dark-sided to put the periods between the letters in "milf" and "dilf." Like what is M.I.L.F. that is a supervillain organization composed entirely of cougars. Whoa that's a great idea actually post canceled hold on
