A Murder of Crows (EST 2K16) @rivainicharm - Tumblr Blog

@vintyvanora I see you, boo. Check DMs!

#; out of tune

rivainicharm

Loren in Inquisition. *INTERNALLY SCREAMING*

rivainicharm

Still apt. I mean chaos. Chaos everywhere.

#; out of tune > memes

Re-writing bio and verses as we speak. o/

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goldpersonified

softness / tenderness and unremitting strength are not mutually exclusive, i am both soft and strong with equal intensity

#; lorenisms #; about loren

Guess what I’ll be watching... I need inspiration and hey, face claim!

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Blog is dash only until I’ve finished redoing the bio etc.

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sigurism

#; face of a bard #gif #gifs

Active dragon age role play blogs? O.O

#darp #dragon age #dragon age rp

Since Tumblr hates gif headers now - it never loads mine, i made this.

#; out of tune > my edits

persephonememes

* ( REIGN / SENTENCE PROMPTS.

These may have been edited for clarity or length or to better apply for roleplaying.

❛ How many people have you killed? ❜

❛ History is a strong word. It was more of a… dalliance. ❜

❛ Have you ever wanted something so much that the fear of not getting it makes you wonder if you ever should have wanted it at all? ❜

❛ I don’t want to live without you and after this I won’t have to. ❜

❛ No one will ever keep us apart again. ❜

❛ Men in general like to win. ❜

❛ Well, your taste in men always did leave something to be desired. ❜

❛ In the darkest of times you were my conscience. ❜

❛ The more we try to help each other, the more harm we do. ❜

❛ I lose everyone I love. ❜

❛ What odd turns our lives have taken. ❜

❛ I don’t give my heart or give up easily. ❜

❛ You have to admit, your fate does have a sense of humor. ❜

❛ I need to forget a ridiculous, childish idea that I could love someone, they could love me, and nothing else mattered. ❜

❛ There is always risk. At least when you love someone it’s worth taking. ❜

❛ I never said I was a good man, but one can receive good advice from a bad person.❜

❛ Love is never simple. Not that I’m any expert. ❜

❛ Are you wearing mink-lined boots? ❜

❛ Well if I have to run I want to look good doing it. ❜

❛ We were supposed to dance under the stars. ❜

❛ Maybe there is no magic but what we make for ourselves. ❜

❛ If the price is my life, I will give it. ❜

❛ I can’t bear to think about a future anymore, not without you. ❜

❛ What good is right or wrong if you’re dead? ❜

❛ Men don’t like taking orders from women. ❜

❛ And real love never fades, not truly. ❜

❛ Just know whatever happens, this is not the end I dreamed for us. ❜

❛ Do not test my power and do not tempt my fury. ❜

❛ If I’m as responsible as you say, I will never forgive myself. ❜

❛ I will spill blood to defend what’s mine. ❜

❛ Men forget, that woman have ears. ❜

❛ Duels only lead to dead men, not respect. ❜

❛ I am trying to be better! ❜

❛ You’re a monster. ❜

❛ You are a necessary evil whose orbit I can’t seem to escape. ❜

❛ I opened my heart to a liar. ❜

#; sentences

higheversworn-deactivated202104

@rivainicharm said : “murder” one word prompts / accepting. murder : my muse (sender) walks in on your muse (recipient) committing a gruesome murder.

there is something dark and cruel inside of her. especially visible in moments of stillness like this, head calmly tipping to the side as she watched rendon howe scramble backwards on his hands, blood already dripping from his mouth, weeping from the wounds she’d inflicted on his stomach, his chest. she looked much like the cat toying with a mouse. footsteps silent as she slowly pursued his pathetic final attempt at escape. “can you not slither away from this one, howe?” her voice soft and even, and hauntingly deprived of venom, but she felt something shaking in her. the mounting rage which bubbled and churned the longer she looked at his face. how could this rat think that he deserved to live more than her sainted parents? her beloved sister and perfect nephew? what had their deaths accomplished for him but fleeting victory? victory which she would quickly snuff, once she was finished toying with him, making him suffer as he surely had made her family suffer. the thought of this snaps her, and she pounces, ancestral blade poised at his stubbled throat, pressing close enough to draw a seam of blood. her whole body trembles, not with fear, but with the promise of restrained power. holding back every ounce of herself that pleaded to end his life. he did not deserve the mercy of a quick death, and a beheading was as swift as one could get. “when you sit in judgement before the maker and andraste and you are found severely wanting, remember, as you are punished eternally for your crimes, that it was i who sent you to that torment. and recall my face as you suffer, as i envisioned this moment in all my nights of terror.” satisfied with her intimidation, she stands, listening to him gasp as the sword is lifted from his throat, only to have the blade bear down and pierce directly beneath his adam’s apple. then again and again into his chest, his mouth, not even noticing when his strained gurgling, wheezed gasps for air finally cease. but when she’s done using him as a makeshift pin cushion, she finds herself still dissatisfied. how swiftly he had died, how painlessly. how dare he die before she was done putting him through every anguish he’d subjected her to? beneath leather gloves and armored gauntlets, her knuckles go white around the hilt of the cousland blade. engraved with laurels in the steel of the grip, her eyes fixate on the intricate design. and she sees everything she’s lost burn through her mind in one hot instant. searing her eyes. how she trembles, then. her shoulders, her hands, her mind spins with the rage and the pain and the regret. how dare he die so quickly? there had been no mercy in her intentions, yet he had managed to slip away easily, as he always had. temperance clatters to the stone floor with a loud crash, piercing through the silence which had befallen the room.

shoulders raise and fall violently with quickening breaths shuddering out of her, accompanied by fat, hot tears which slip from her eyes and burn down her cheeks. every ounce of misery she’d buried deep within her over the past months finally pushing to the surface as she stared down at his slackened, mangled face. expression caught in a perpetual state of peace from the instant he died, all of his muscles having gone lax. how dare he feel peaceful? even in death? she kicks his side, first. hard, to punctuate her anger, at first. but the kick feels good, to feel the contact made. so she kicks again and again and again. hard enough for his body to roll onto it’s side but then she bears her foot down onto the side of his head. pleased by the crack she hears pierce the air. bringing her foot down onto his head again and again and again, watching the movements, but feeling none of it. feeling none of the blood and gore which sprays up at her, she only sees it coat her boots with bone and brain and blood. were she more conscious of her actions, she would feel sickened by such horror, but she can’t bring herself to feel shocked or guilty or remorseful. instead pleased to watch his face collapse beneath her boot. her silence is broken when she feels a strong pair of arms wrap around her, pulling her away from her handiwork. flailing and kicking even still, as if she could reach him if she tried hard enough. throwing herself back against loren’s chest, squirming, sobbing, screaming. “let me go!” she howls, still writhing, though there had been little reason for her actions before, but at that point, she would just be making wine were loren to obey her and release her. but she wanted him to suffer more, wanted his body to be unrecognizable, so when they recovered it, none could truly say it was the lord howe’s body and instead bury him in an unmarked grave so he could slip away into obscurity, remembered by no one but her. “he deserves worse! he died too quickly! my family deserves justice!” writhing and shuddering out ugly sobs, she beats her hands against his arms, commanding turn to pleading, then to begging. so this is what he’s turned her into. a feral beast, foaming at the mouth for more blood, more pain. she had been so much more before he did this to her. before he turned her into this. “you don’t know what he’s done to me.” the words are choked out, finally going slack in his arms. she truly hadn’t told any of them. her companions had been forced to listen to howe’s taunts just now, before she’d silenced him, but she’d never confessed the truth of her past. what she had been put through. but here it was, now. the ugly truth. the unraveling of their fearless leader. “i deserve more.”

rivainicharm

One guard who’d initially set his sights on Elethea now pursued Loren who wielded both a dagger and a short sword. A smile on his lips and wickedness glinting in his eyes, “May the best man win.”

Lorenzo danced through the open spaces as he pulled himself away from the guardsman’s moves; cumbersome in comparison to the elegance and grace of a true duelist yet still remarkably effective. Howe was a man of war, and was therefore methodical in whomever he sought in his employ. Once or twice Loren had found himself in a tight spot and improvised, using his knee and then his foot to create distance between the two men. Blood trickles down within the inside of his sleeve from the blow to his shoulder. Testing his fingers he’s relieved to feel them, blade still in hand.

The guard becomes lethargic; he can’t keep up with the Rivaini’s swift feet and frequent maneuvers. Seeing an opening Loren moves onto one knee, skidding to a halt as his blade punctures his opponent’s flesh in the crook of his armpit. Metal sings as it slices through flesh, crimson droplets dripping along the edge of the blade; blood spurting from an artery. Loren smiles as he finishes off his opponent; the man’s face both pained and perplexed by his fate.

Turning to observe his fellow companions his attention is drawn in by Elethea. The killer in him is fascinated to see how far she’s willing to go and more importantly; how she’ll do it.

When Howe drops limp as a fish, mouth slackened and eyes glassy, he accesses the damage; she could have dragged it out longer, truly made him suffer - it’s the sheer frustration and untempered rage that surprises him more than anything. Every blow to Rendon Howe’s corpse making it less identifiable by the second.

Everyone present watches on with horror, Loren a little less phased. He steps forward and wraps his arms around her, pulling her away from the corpse. She fights against him yet he still holds onto her. The pain in his shoulder made him grimace. He whispers into her ear, “They need to see his face. To see him beaten.” The racking sobs and screams persist and all he can do is hold her.

Feeling her slacken he lessens his grip, turning on the spot so their eyes meet. “Listen to me… Elethea. Listen!” Loren gives her a light shake, “We have to keep going. If we stop now, then it’s all for nought.” Seeing such a strong and normally composed woman fall apart wasn’t an easy thing to witness, like all that strength had come tumbling down in the fight against Howe. “You’ve made it this far.” Voice softening he whispers, “You’re not done.”

#highaever #; verse : dragon age origins #[ wrote it a while ago ]