▨ ˢᵃᵃʳᵉᵇᵃˢ

[ruiiins-blog]

ooc! poses, tbh this blog is slightly on a semi-hiatus until after i get my dirty hands onto trespasser and finish it because I have a feeling they’ll have some further info on the saarebas/qun in general based on that trailer.

[wnq-writers]

Honey, you are like flame. And should I get too close and burned, I would wear the scar like a trophy.

extraterrestrial-mountaineer  (via wnq-writers)

[solongfarewell42069]

You never named me. Victor, you never gave me what little humanity every person is owed. I understand there are abominations and monstrosities that should be forgotten and erased from history but even hurricanes have names.

excerpt from “Open Letter From Frankenstein’s Monster To Victor Frankenstein" by Alex Dang!

This poem and others can be found in my book.

(via wordsoftakumi)

[ruiiins-blog]

Myers-Briggs:  ISTJ Alignment: chaotic/neutral/lawful evil tie ?! Kinsey Scale: 3 Hogwarts House: slyth/gryff tie Temperament: choleric

[aseaofquotes]

[ruiiins-blog]

"A cold cage crushing and captive.. You're not a weapon, you're a qunari."

send me what cole would say about my muse.

    He sucked on his teeth, vision downcast as he let the words resonate in that hollow space where his heart should be, it was there, it was there. He frowned at last, biting down on the inner wall of his cheek as he sought to land his attention anywhere but on that ghoul that spoke words that got too close, words that he should not know, words that weren’t his to say. The cage was his own body, he was taught, was his own inclination to magic and his own curse. That was the real bonds that kept him tied, the fact he was corruptible, that he was weak, and in this world that damned him.

“I am a qunari. However I am also saarebas. The former is not a weapon, true, but part of the body, part of the Qun, and we act in the way the Qun needs us. The latter is a weapon, that cannot be denied.”It was simple, to him, a reasoning that depended on black and whites as opposed to various shades of grays. He simply was, and that much he had accepted deep in his bones long ago. There was no in-between to fall into, no solace to be found in nice words that held little substance. He was okay with being a weapon--                                                                                    --wasn’t he??

[ruiiins-blog]

     He kept from large establishments, strayed from too many eyes, for he was a sore sight in any sort of landscape, and could draw unbidden attention far too easily. The outskirts is where he felt more natural, away from constant interaction and wandering gazes. He was too tall to bow and keep out of sight, too wild to be expected to behave, and far too raw to keep himself in check during this time. Too soon. His freedom, by his own hands, had come far too soon. The bandits who had taken him for someone simple and quiet lay about his figure in a scorched ring, three in total, and not one spared to tell the tale of the horrendous creature they had engaged in the act. He was knelt down beside one, hands rummaging for whatever he could find--never had he a need for currency, his arvaarad had provided all for him. He did not anticipate company, and certainly did not anticipate to be caught in such a scene. Slowly he looked up, his actions freezing as his attention fixed on the elf.                 “There is no problem here.” He wished to diffuse the situation, to have the other gone on his way and pay no heed to the remnant of magic that still crackled across the earth.

revasaen

[ruiiins-blog]

Hurt. Hurt. You were hurting and you hurt back. Bonds to tight for your hands. A mask. A mask broken and still a mask. It wasn't your fault what happened. You aren't to blame for what he did.

send me what cole would say about my muse.

    As always, a note of apprehension tightened around his neck, and he did not bring himself to look upon the demon spirit that spoke. His manifestation was the single thing pounded into his head over and over, corruption, a spirit in a living body, it as corruption and it was too close for comfort. Furthermore it saw things, heard things he did not want anyone to hear things he himself did not want to hear. Panic blotted out his vision in dark spots, and still he looked down into the ground for some solace.                  “It is my fault. It is my nature. A saarebas has no control.”

      The bonds were required, the mask needed, and some portion of him believed that he had to be hurt. The qunari had to forcibly unclench his hands, effort put into relaxing those digits as he swallowed against the knot of some unseen noose of dread. He saw too much, this spirit.                 “Demons speak of weaknesses to invade and corrupt, this is no different.”     There he went, hurting back because this hurt. 

[ruiiins-blog]

     The supposed Herald was so small, how easy would it be to sunder that figure without using any magic whatsoever. The violent thought tucked itself away in the back of the saarebas’ mind as he watched the lot of them, a grim line set in place on his mouth. The heat of the Western Approach did well to soothe him a bit, his nerves which kept him wary of all that approached less he need to destroy. The qunari rubbed at his jaw, the rough palm of his hand moving to scrape at his neck--he free and open neck where no bounds longer constricted. He did not mean to linger, but perhaps in this instance it would behoove him to be transparent rather than a slinking figure. There wasn’t much to slink behind here, not with so much sand and rock. The downed quillback was before where he sat, handfuls of quills already plucked and set aside, and he seemed disinterested until the party got close enough for him to get a better look at.                      “I have no quarrel, not yet. And I do not want one. Have you need of something?”

infamante

[nooneexpectsthememe-quisition]

Cole says some pretty interesting things about your companions throughout Inquisition. Send me something you think he would say about my muse.

[ruiiins-blog]

     Whatever kindness extended to the saarebas to join the force of the Inquisition was likely due to the restraint he practiced in withholding destruction--and what could he say, the qunari was not exactly unhappy about being a weapon for another group. He was accustomed to this, to being a part of something, but the level of freedom exercised was at times daunting. Furthermore the urge to scar the ground the stone and wood was built upon was also quite great. What was someone to do when they were crafted into a thing of violence? What was he to do when he had to so quickly integrate control onto common sense? It was massive and weighing, and he knew he walked a thin line between being bound in chains again--perhaps he might have felt more safe then. High strung nerves often led to disasters, even now the saarebas could feel the storm in him webbing along the surface of his skin in nervous energy.                     “I need peace.” The words were more mumbled than anything in the doorway to the mage’s quarters. He heard she knew of herbs, of teas, however he didn’t know exactly how to ask for that. Even then he was still hunched, as if ready to break into a fight than ask for help. He realized elaboration may be needed, and elaboration came in slow, carefully plucked words. “I’m told you make brews that ease tension.”

merdedeporc

[ruiiins-blog]

     Pure terror. Rarely could he remember the last he felt that way--perhaps when his destiny came calling, when he went through the procedure of his evaluation and gained the title saarebas like a thorned curse that stuck in his ribs and wove ever deeper into him. The Qun had it’s hold on him, gave him no reason to fear because his fate was within something larger. Now? Now it was all different. His arvaarad was long dead, and he had been wary of all qunari he had spied. But this one? He didn’t realize he was so open to be viewed until it was too late. Cover was too far, and there, grand and horned, was too towering a figure to flee from. Dread slipped it’s hands around the saarebas’ throat, and he could not move.                       “Vashedan.” The curse slipped unbidden from his lips. He should run, he should fight, and yet all he could so was stand with hands balled into fists and figure tense. This was where he was to die if the other was truly qunari. And if he was not? If he wasn’t perhaps he could survive on a bit longer.

ironhorns

[ruiiins-blog]

     It was, surprisingly, difficult to accept pride into his being. Sure there was power, there was a comfort of being in a position of power and to reap the rewards that it brought, but pride? Too long had he been on the wrong end of a leash to allow that particular demon into his bones, even if he was so conditioned to believe he was susceptible to it. There was no question of his strength, of his harsh judgement, or his ability to cleanly cut away all emotions from any decision--again, something he was trained for--but still pride was hard to carve from this mess. He was only Inquisitor because of his hand, only Chosen because he survived, because he clawed tooth and nail out of the conclave with green spilling out of his hand like a beacon. How awful a state the world must be in for the people of Thedas to find their hope in a saarebas.                 “Warden.” There was no pride as he spoke, and no familiarity in his gaze--he had no reason to know, back under control of the Qun. “I assume the Seeker sent for you? What--what is your purpose here?”

knifxeared

[ruiiins-blog]

     There was nothing quite like it, the surge and intoxication that came with letting that magic run free and unrestrained through him. No yoke upon his shoulders kept him hunched, no mask limiting his gaze, and no chains keeping his hands bound. His mouth was free, the spells dripping from his lips with seething hate as he tore. Meshing brute strength with that wild, raw power ended with the qunari’s hands gripping the wyvern’s maw, splitting the jawline open with a satisfying crack as lightning surged it’s way down the creatures throat. Overkill almost was too tame for what had taken place. The saarebas dropped his load, bloodied hands falling to his sides, and all at once the charge from him left.  Perhaps too soon, for he did not notice the sellsword before it was too late. He would need to rely on image alone, on confidence, and how fledgling that was given his newly found freedom.                 “I do not wish to fight further.” A lie, he wished to fight for days, but he had not the energy to do so. “But if you charge I will not hesitate.”

fiercewxrrior

[ruiiins-blog]

     His face meant nothing. Even if the saarebas knew his name, even that wouldn’t strike any chord of familiarity into his mind. He cared not for the tiresome history of that outside the Qun--the Qun supplied him with what he needed to know, for all history that was pertinent to his existence. Unsurprisingly there was little that he needed to know. He was a weapon, not intended to craft opinion or belief of his own, but rather simply to act when given orders. There had never been any room for questions, and he learned everything he needed to survive in this role. With the bonds lost the saarebas did give pause now and then, for he was forced to think for himself, forced to consider his actions because he had do deal with the consequences as a person rather than a thing.      That was why he stood there, electricity still webbing between is fingers as he looked upon the warden. It was why he did not strike right away, as he had been so conditioned to do. In these green wilds he didn’t know what to do--had killing become so normalized that he knew nothing else?                     “What do you want?” Nevermind that he had been the one to stumble across the warden.

wardenshonor

[ruiiins-blog]

     Towering was too tame a word for what the saarebas did. With head held high and gaze vicious, he held no pity in his eyes for the man before him--when had he ever held pity in them? He had no pity when he killed his arvaarad, had no pity for those who looked to him as a savior, had no pity for the Divine that had been lost. His teeth were numb with the current of electricity that sung in his touch, and he looked to the human with abundant distaste and a note of seething rage. The saarebas was a beast enough with no chains around his wrists, but with that green-seeping seam settled in the palm of his left hand he was a monster. His voice was slung low, a rumbling warning as he closed in on the other.                “Give me a reason--                                                   a damn good reason                                                                                     --to let you live.”

owenshcw

[ruiiins-blog]

     Perhaps it was the sensation of coming upon something infinite in the ever-stretching sands that draw the qunari to the Wastes. Perhaps it was the conditioned ire towards the group predominant in there, history had enough zeal to set any weapon of the Qun intent on cutting down Tevinters of any sort. Perhaps, just perhaps, seeing those stars stretched above in limitless skies, not from behind a mask, awoke some part of a soul he reckoned he had never had. With back pressed against stone and vision steadily set on the inside of his eyelids, he did not expect company. He did not expect venatori, how many of them would he have to cut down? Something akin to a growl lodged itself in his throat, and the saarebas kept his eyes closed despite the fact he was no longer alone.                 “Leave and there will be no fight.”

twicebound