lily white & poppy red !

gwyn ellison, dash only da oc. penned by bee.

[quiprava-deactivated20230922]

Conversations in the Snow

[soultamed]

quiprava‌:

|| ╳ || “Is it better here? Than the Circles, I mean.” Iren was never known for his finesse, regarding sensitive subjects. This clearly was a fine example. But perhaps it could be excused; as a dwarf, who until recently socialized primarily with other dwarves, he didn’t know many mages.

Oh he’d dealt with lyrium enough, but it wasn’t as if he was becoming friends with the templars (both current and former) that he dealt with… and even if he was, he wouldn’t be lollygagging around where their superiors could find them.

And so he really hadn’t a clue about just what ‘being in a Circle’ entailed, other than being taught how to use their magic. He knew they were fed and housed there. And he knew they annoyed the piss out of their templar watchers (to hear those tinheads talk). But… was it worse than being out there in the wilds? Not knowing anyone, not knowing how to survive without cities and the conveniences of civilization? Only one way to find out, yea?

@soultamed - Starter Call - Iren Cadash

the  question  catches  her  off - guard  and  makes  busy  hands  still  over  the  jars  of  poultice  she  had  been  counting.  gwyn  does  her  best  not  to  think  of  it.  of  the  circle  and  the  years  and  years  she  spent  within  those  walls;  she  did  not  have  the  worst  time,  fared  far  better  than  so  many  other  mages,  but  it  still  aches.  some  of  the  younger  mages  had  asked  her,  in  hushed  voices,  about  what  had  happened  at  the  circle  during  the  fifth  blight  -  she  never  knew  how  to  respond,  just  as  she  does  not  now.

“i  -”  gwyn  gives  a  laugh  that  doesn’t  carry,  “so  much.”  what  else  is  there  to  say?  brow  furrows  and  gwyn  goes  back  to  her  counting  in  an  effort  to  not  seem  so  surprised  by  the  question,  or  her  sudden  inability  to  be  able  to  decide  what  to  say  in  response.  “i  like  ...  being  able  to  be  outside.  to  decide  what  to  do  with  my  day,  and  -  get  to  know  people.  we  aren’t  allowed  to  ...  get  involved  with  each  other,  in  the  circle.  even  close  friendships  are  a  bit  frowned  upon.”  she  moves the poultices and frowns down at them before shrugging.

“it  didn’t  ...  bother  me  that  much,  when  i  was  there.  i’d  been  in  the  circle  all  my  life  -  all  the  life  i  could,  uhm,  remember,  so  i  didn’t  realize  what  i  was  missing.”

[soultamed]

feynariel‌:

@soultamed liked for a starter!

Ten years had passed since Feyna’s visit to Kinloch Hold during the Blight yet it was a visit she would never forget, firmly burned into her memory. The aftermath of an uprising of blood mages, templars and mages alike tormented by abominations and demons and killed in the days and weeks prior to her arrival. She would not remember one of many scared mage children from that day and perhaps it was for the best. Neither of them needed to relive those memories. 

But like then as now, Feyna sought to protect the mages and sought to protect her now, as spells shot across the field chaotically with no regard as to if they hit other mages or not. Feyna had pulled Gwyn down behind a large rock, using the opportunity to catch her breath. 

“I take it those are not any friends of yours?”

feyna  might  not  recognize  gwyn,  but  gwyn  surely  remembers  her.  while  one  is  just  a  face  in  a  small  crowd  of  terrified  children,  the  other  is  a  hero  -  a  savior  -  someone  gwyn  owes  her  life  to.  it  had  never  crossed  her  mind  that  they  might  meet  again,  let  alone  in  a  situation  such  as  this.  with  her  breath  stuck  in  her  throat  she  stares,  wide - eyed,  before  shaking  her  head.

“no,”  her  back  is  pressed  to  the  face  of  the  stone  -  regret  tinging  her  voice  even  as  another  spell  slams  into  the  other  side  of  the  rock,  “it’s  -  i  thought  i  might  be  able  to  -  to  wait  them  out.”

[soultamed]

guiltsworn‌:

        risky, but with a good pay off.  it sounds like a way to describe vic’s entire life, nearly every choice he’s ever made, at least those in his youth. thankfully this isn’t nearly as high stakes as all that mess———gwyn’s right, involving cole would be FUN; too fun to pass the idea up.   ❛ we involve cole, then. he can read out whatever clue we give him and be … ❜   a hand waves about in front of him, flopping back  &  forth,   ❛ creepy and generally cole-like. maybe he’ll try to help her interpret it, but accidentally throw her off more. ❜

        brows pinch together with thought, his legs now swinging in tandem with one another, rather than sequentially.   ❛ we’ll need a clue to get her to him, now. maybe somethin’ about the hat ? ❜   shoulders sag, the man starting to visibly deflate.   ❛ i dunno. i must be gettin’ tired again, i’m gettin’ LESS helpful by the second. ❜   he chuckles at his own words, but a thought then strikes him,  &  he raises a hand to signal it.   ❛ oh ! or, maybe somethin’ clever, about … forgettin’ where we left the clue ? eh ? ❜

“awh,  he’s  not  creepy,  he’s  just ...”  she  blinks,  looking  for  the  right  word  to  describe  cole.  maybe  there  isn’t  one.  there’s  just  something  about  him  that  makes  gwyn  want  to  cry  all  the  time,  and  it  isn’t  a  feeling  she’s  very  fond  of.  “he’s  just ... cole - like.”  is  what  she  settles  on  agreeing  with,  nodding  idly  and  fiddling  with  the  end  of  the  quill.  there’s  something  odd  about  how  quiet  skyhold  is,  though  gwynn  knows  that  it  will  not  last  much  longer  -  when  the  sun  starts  to  creep  over  the  mountains  so,  too,  will  skyhold  awake;  it’ll  be  slow  and  in  small  increments,  but  they  will  all  wake  up.

“the  hat  isn’t  a  bad  idea,”  head  tilts  and  she  thinks,  trying  to  come  up  with  anyone  else  who  wears  a  notable  hat.  when  she  comes  up  empty  she  nods,  “we  could  maybe  say  something  about  -  forgetting  where  we  left  it,  but  remembering  a  hat?”  gwyn  isn’t  sure  that’s  clever  or  if  it,  too,  is  the  lack  of  sleep  talking,  but  it’s  worth  offering.

[soultamed]

guiltsworn‌:

        she says five,  &  vic looks as exhausted  as the huff she offers sounds, shifting from leaning over her shoulder to leaning on it; his chin rested atop it, looking groggily down at the small stack of paper.   ❛ five ? ❜   the tone offered is like that of a dejected child, impatient to be done with lessons; excited to be finished, to run off  &  play.   ❛ makers mercy, i don’t know where varric finds all the creativity to write entire BOOKS. we’ve got five clues. ❜

        pulling away from his lean, he shuffles back to josephine’s desk, instead, sitting himself atop of that, legs swinging absentmindedly.   ❛ i think so too, commander gwyn. ❜   catching her attempted joke, his eyes twinkle, mouth tugged into a sleepy smirk.   ❛ cole would be incredibly funny. he might rat us out, which is a problem, but … he speaks in full riddles, and having her try and figure him out might be a good laugh. ❜

five  is  -  half.  half!  normally  gwyn  would  view  a  half - done  task  as  a  challenge,  as  almost  done,  but  normally  said  task  isn’t  being  done  in  the  hours  of  the  morning  before  the  sun  has  risen.  half.  she  shuffles  the  squares  of  parchment  before  laying  them  out  in  their  agreed  upon  reverse  order,  squinting  down  at  them  and  tilting  her  head  against  his  when  it  comes  to  rest  on  her  shoulder.  he  moves  and  so  does  she,  straightening  up  a  little  bit  despite  the  slight  slump  of  her  shoulders.  “i  suppose  varric  is  -  a  more,  uhm,  creative  soul  than  us.”  she  smiles.

that  smile  turns  to  a  quiet  laugh  at  the  fact  her  impersonation  was  apparently  good  enough  to  be  recognizable.  the  commander  intimidates  her,  a  little  -  sets  her  on  edge  in  the  way  only  those  who  also  experience  kinloch  during  the  blight  can  -  but  finding  some  humor  in  his  overly - serious  countenance  is  a  welcome  reprieve.  “exactly.  it’s  -  risky  to  ask,  but  could  pay  off.”

[soultamed]

yoursmary‌:

              @soultamed​​  ♡'𝚍  𝚏𝚘𝚛  𝚊  𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍  𝚘𝚗𝚎-𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚛  ！   ́  -

          ❛❛  you  are  too  good  for  this  world.  ❜❜

a  faint  flush  floods  over  her  cheeks  at  the  compliment.  “oh  -  well  -  even ... if  that’s  the  case,  i  suppose  it’s  a ... good  thing  i ... i  mean,  i  think  the  world  could  use  more  good  right  now.”

[soultamed]

bloomingdeed‌:

he breathes.  then,  he exhales.  letting his breath crystallize in the air in front of him.  caduceus is carrying a similar basket,  with recently baked goods and herbs.  ‘  yeah,  this is better.  ’  he’s dressed warmer than his usual wear but his body was built to be able to handle colder weathers,  his fur grown thicker during this particular season.  the cold,  comforting.  gently,  snow catches on the edges of fur,  of hair.  ‘  the sky felt like it wanted to burst.  ’

head  tips  towards  him,  brow  furrowing  slightly  at  the  idea  of  the  sky  wanting  to  burst,  but  then  she  looks  up  above.  the  heavy  clouds  have  been  hanging  low  for  a  while  now;  like  they  were  pressing  down  on  the  world  below.  that  makes  sense.  gwyn  nods  with  a  smile.  “like  a  release,  sort  of?”

[soultamed]

empirefire‌:

               the adrenaline is draining out of him, drop by drop, turning his desperate run into a weak stumble as the fight or flight falls off him with each new drop of blood he leaves in his steps. one hand presses against a wound—which one?  reflex pulls it to different direction every time his step falters—and the other manipulates arcane energy in the air, ready to shoot a spell at whom or whatever would treat him as easy prey;  he’s tapped of anything that would stop another assailant, but perhaps he can at least deter one if he gets the first shot.

                  everything solid and vertical acts indiscriminately as a support as he slips in and out of consciousness;  he needs to nearly walk into a door to realise he’s staring at one. he’s lost his way long ago, instinct forcing one foot before the other, and has grown too weak to take a step back enough to even gaze if the building is residential or not, let alone to whom it belongs—any other moment, the plan of knocking blindly with nothing but cantrips left in his fingertips falling on the stupider side of risks to take… in this case, he doesn’t know if he’ll live if he leaves it untaken.

                  eyes threaten to fall close as he leans against the doorframe, firebolt he hopes he doesn’t need to fire forms behind his back, and he knocks.

open.

gwyn  doesn’t  usually  get  guests.  this  isn’t  even  really  her  home,  instead  it’s  some  hunting  cabin  she  found  sitting  empty  for  the  season  -  so  no  one  should  know  it’s  occupied,  let  alone  that  she’s  the  one  hiding  away  within  it.  fire  had  long  since  been  extinguished  in  an  effort  not  to  let  smoke  billow  into  the  sky  and  give  away  her  location,  shutters  drawn  tight  so  the  small  collection  of  candles  can’t  flicker  through  the  warped  glass  panes.  it  isn’t  safe  for  her  out  here,  but  it  isn’t  safe  much  anywhere  else,  either.

so  when  someone  knocks  on  the  door,  her  blood  is  suddenly  shot  through  with  ice.  who  could  it  be?  whoever  owns  this  cabin  wouldn’t  knock  before  entering,  so  she  supposes  she’s  lucky  enough  that  it  isn’t  someone  who  will  stumble  upon  her  hiding  in  their  cabin.  still  -  gwyn  considers,  sitting  on  the  packed - dirt  floor  and  squinting  at  a  book  she  found  in  the  dim  light  of  a  candle,  staying  still.  holding  her  breath.  hoping  whoever  it  is  out  there  in  the  chilly  night  will  simply  go  their  way  and  leave  her  be.  but  then  -  something  tells  her  to  open  it.  something  that  sounds  far  too  much  like  the  spirits  of  compassion  she  draws  on  to  just  ignore  it.  so  she  gets  to  her  feet  and  walks  quickly,  wurriedly,  to  the  door.

it  opens  just  a  crack  and  the  person  before  her  looks  -  in  a  bad  way.  “maker,”  she  breathes,  automatically  opening  the  door  a  bit  wider  before  thinking  twice  and  narrowing  it  to  a  crack  just  wide  enough  for  her  face  to  peer  through,  pale  eyes  searching  the  darkness  behind  him  for  pursuers  or  attackers.  oh  no,  something  quiet  inside  of  her  breathes,  what  if  he’s  led  someone  here?  “what  -  what  happened?”

[soultamed]

" what were you saying to those mages in the witchwood, anyway? been a while since i've seen anyone try the peaceful route with anything as of late. "

lips  purse,  hands  wringing  for  a  moment  in  thought.  “just  -  to  look  around  them.  to  ask  if  that  destruction  is  what  they  really  wanted.  people  get  so  wrapped  up  in  -  in  everything  that  they  sometimes  just  need  someone  to  open  their  eyes  to  what  they’re  doing.  how  it’s  hurting  people  who  are  just  caught  between  the  two  forces.”  gwyn  shrugs  one  shoulder,  “i  understood  why  they  were  -  doing  what  they’d  done,  and  i  think  going  about  it  in  a  way  that  wasn’t  just  condemning  them  made  it … easier  to  hear.”

[soultamed]

“oh,”  she  pauses  in  her  watching  the  gaggle  of  children  she  had  been  teaching  today  head  back  towards  the  village,  eyes  going  momentarily  wide  at  the  sight  of  a  familiar  face,  “i  wasn’t  -  expecting  you!  sorry  for  the  mess,”  head  tilts  back  towards  the  open  door  of  the  cottage  and  the  mass  of  parchment,  books,  and  tea  cups  scattered  across  the  floor,  “they  only  just  finished  for  the  day.”  @asteeledheart​

[arlathlost]

     ❝ i will go to my own sun. and if i am burned by its fire, i will fly on scorched wings. ❞ [ x ]

[soultamed]

flowers, i remember fields of flowers, soft beneath my heels !

dash-only dragon age oc ! penned by bee !

[maziekeen]

[soultamed]

arlathanlost‌:

Aisling arched a finely manicured brow as she came to a stop some distance away from the other. Luckily, she hadn’t been spotted by the remaining rebels and elected to remain shrouded by the foliage surrounding the entrance to the witch wood cave. 

The Inquisition Agent watched the girl with a curious look—albeit skeptical. She didn’t have time to give into the girl’s naivety–as refreshing as it was. Still, she remained close in the event that she would inventively spring into action to save the young woman from a horrible fate. 

“ Very well.” She spoke quietly, her hand resting on a sheathed dagger on her belt, while her other hand gripped her bow. Perhaps her diplomacy would bear fruit and the conflict could be ended with words and not blood. 

“ You have 10 minutes. If they will not see reason, I will have to step in on the behalf of the Inquisition.” She informed the girl. If she could soothe the tension of the mages, then she would make a potential ally. This thought–Aisling stored in the back of her mind. 

“  Pray tell, speak to them, but do so quickly.” 

if  you  tell  someone  they  will  do  horrible  things,  and  then  threaten  to  kill  them  all  for  the  actions  in  a  city  in  the  free  marches,  they’ll  resort  to  doing  horrible  things.  it  doesn’t  make  it  okay,  but  gwyn  -  understands.  she  understands  the  rage,  the  fury,  the  indignation  and  fear  and  suffocation  of  it  all.  she’s  been  in  the  circle  all  her  life  -  she  saw  it  fall  to  shambles  twice.  even  if  she  does  not  align  herself  with  the  rebels,  mostly  because  she  can’t  abide  the  senseless  killing,  gwyn  can’t  make  herself  see  them  as  the  monsters  so  many  report  them  to  be.

she  wonders,  idly,  biting  her  tongue,  if  the  inquisition  would  root  out  the  templars  who  have  tried  to  waylay  her  with  such  fervor.  she  doesn’t  ask  it,  though.  “stay  back,  please.  they  -  the  ones  from  kinloch,  i’ve  known  them  all  my  life.  they  might  listen  to  me,  but  you,”  gwyn  glances  over  the  stranger  with  furrowed  brow,  at  the  hands  firmly  on  her  weapons,  “they  won’t  react  kindly  to.”  with  that  she  turns  her  face  back  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave  and,  with  a  tentative  clearing  of  her  throat,  steps  towards  the  barrier.  hands  are  pressed  to  it  for  a  long,  electic  moment  as  she  channels  energy  into  it.

the  things  fizzles  and  fades  and  there’s  already  someone  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave  to  meet  her,  stave  drawn.  “i  -”  she  glances  over  her  shoulder  to  the  woman  half - hidden  in  the  brush.  lying  won’t  help.  “we  are  just  here  to  -  talk.  to  ask  you  to  leave  this  wood,  at  least,  and  not  -  and  to  minimize  -  to  keep  harm  from  spreading.”  she’s  never  been  good  at  finding  the  right  words  the  first  time,  though  she  hopes  she’s  hit  something  near  enough  when  the  suspicious  rebel  lowers  their  stave.

[soultamed]

arlathanlost‌:

QUIET STEPS muffled in the scorched terrain under her bear feet. It felt uncomfortable–unnatural. The rebel mages had made short work of any who dared to trespass onto the witchwood–with little thought of their unruly magic having a negative effect on the landscape. 

Even as she made quick work of the rebels, Aisling’s face remained neutral, indifferent to their plight. She would’ve been sympathetic had they not charged blindly and forced her to defend herself. Still, to those who did not fight–they made the wise choice–thus ensuring their survival. 

Aisling surveyed the area, her hazel - green hues cascading over the charred land and settled on a figure of a woman. Her brows furrowed as she slowly made her way over to the stranger. 

“You’re not with the rebel mages. What are you doing in a place like this?” 

@soultamed​ // S.C. 

if  only  they  would  listen.  if  only  they  would  pause  for  a  moment,  would  look  around  them  at  the  way  the  trees  here  creak  with  the  way  they’ve  burned  the  roots  out  from  under  them.  gwyn  knows  where  they  are  -  she’s  standing  just  beyond  the  mouth  of  the  cave  they’ve  spelled  shut,  trying  to  -  find  some  way  to  help.  to  reason  with  them,  if  only  they  could  hear  her  through  the  crackling  barrier  that  reminds  gwyn  all  too  much  of  the  one  that  had  once  been  the  only  thing  between  herself  and  a  circle  full  of  demons.  herself  and  others  -  some  of  those  others  are  here,  are  in  that  cave.

the  sounds  of  a  fight  aren’t  unusual.  it’s  all  too  common;  enough  so  that  gwyn  hadn’t  thought  much  of  it  until  a  voice  addresses  her.  she  wonders,  momentarily,  what  it  is  about  herself  that  gives  away  her  lack  of  allegiance  to  the  rebels.  is  it  her  circle  robes,  still  hanging  over  her?  the  fact  her  stave  is  strapped  to  her  back  rather  than  in  hand?  or  maybe  it’s  just  the  fact  she  isn’t  trying  to  kill  the  woman  before  her.

“stay  back,”  she  hisses,  waving  the  woman  back  towards  the  line  of  trees,  “if  they  see  you  they’ll  -  react  poorly.  i’m  sure  you’ve  seen,”  something  settles  in  the  pit  of  her  stomach,  “i  don’t  want  that  to  happen,  for  anyone.  i  just  -  want  to  talk  to  them.  they’re  not  -  i  know  some  of  them,  they  aren’t  -  this  isn’t  them.  not  really.”  if  only  she  could  talk  to  them,  maybe  they  would  listen.

[soultamed]

“there’s  something  about  the  first  snow  of  the  season,”  gwyn  is  well  and  bundled  up,  a  basket  of  glass  bottles  full  of  shimmering  potions  and  small,  stout  opaque  jars  held  in  the  crook  of  an  elbow.  those  first  flakes  are  floating  down,  the  ground  coated  in  a  layer  so  thin  the  crackly  grass  still  pokes  through,  “don’t  you  think?”  the  smile  she  offers  is  warm  despite  the  chill  biting  through  the  air.  @bloomingdeed​

[soultamed]

very  quiet,  very  tentative,  very  small  post - trespasser  verse  starter  call.  these  will  probably  all  be  soft  and  sweet  and  i’m  trying  to  like ... feel  confident  in  my  writing  rn  sO

[soultamed]

guiltsworn‌:

    𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥  with his face, vic offering up the most innocent look he can possibly hope to muster.   ❛ on my honor, ❜   the honor of a thief, he thinks,   ❛ i will not let those horses loose. ❜   besides, if he did——–then he’d have horsemaster dennet’s RAGE to deal with alongside sera’s; perhaps the two would team up, take turns in landing that final killing blow. 

        he tries not to think about it too much; he’ll just have to remember not to lean on the fence gates,  &  to watch where he places the clue.   ❛ that’s a good spot——–try to make the riddle she finds there really strange, so maybe the chargers will try and help, waste her time a little more. ❜   eyes narrow as he tries to think of where the next clue should be;  &  then he stands again, hopping over to gwyn to view their progress.   ❛ how MANY are we even up to ? i’m too damn tired to keep count. ❜

the  look  she  gives  him  isn’t  close  to  sure,  though  it  is  heavily  colored  with  amusement.  the  thought  of  the  horse  getting  loose  again  and  galloping  about  the  lower  courtyard  with  a  steaming  dennet  and  a  sheepish  vic  was  an  amusing  sight  the  first  go - round,  though  it  might  not  be  so  funny  a  second  time.  especially  because  she  would  have  to  face  the  horsemaster’s  ire  as  well  as  vic  this  time.  being  scolded  for  pranks  is  not  the  desired  outcome  of  this  prank.

the  sheets  are  rifled  through  at  the  question  and  she  huffs,  “five.  this  is  slower  going  than  i  -  thought  it  would  be.”  she  rubs  at  an  eye  and  sets  the  quill  down,  turning  to  look  at  him.  “i  think  the  chargers  would  be  -  a  great  asset  to  the ... mission.”  she  finishes  with  a  choked  sort  of  giggle,  her  attempt  at  sounding  like  the  commander  horribly  failing.  “do  you  think  cole  would  help,  too?  he  might  be  able  to  -  really  give  her  the  runaround.”