#altuspavus

[savingthrcw]

@altuspavus

Saying that Neria was in a good mood couldn't capture the way her heart felt so full now that she had been reunited with Leliana. In person, for an undetermined amount of time. It could almost distract her from not having gotten a hold of Alistair yet. She wasn't a fan of being introduced as 'the Hero of Ferelden' to the few people from the Inquisitor's team who were close to the balcony were they were standing, though 'one of my dearest and oldest friends' was nice. And she hadn't seen Cullen face to face yet - now that was gonna be fun. "I'd have you as our guest of honor tonight, but-" "Nah, not before I talk to your new boss myself." "My new-!" Leliana didn't continue her surprised retort and smiled at Neria's smirk, recognizing that she was being messed with. She had changed, Leliana, had gotten darker, quieter, but this was still a thing for them. "I have to make sure we've got our stories straight so I can help with... whatever... that is," she gestured at the inquisitor who was on the floor below, talking to the people there to rally them up and keep them hopeful, "I'm only here as moral support and to stab demons. Also, possibly, never as a guest of honor of anything, thanks?" Still, as the speech quickly got derailed by the curious crowd and touched the Herald of Andraste subject that she had heard about but wanted nothing to do with, Neria wondered if she was joining a cult. She did chuckle eventually, and her voice had a note of hilarity in it: "I am... so uncomfortable right now," she grinned at Leliana, "I regret so many things." "I know you don't even believe in the Maker, but if anyone asks-" "All hail to the Herald, yes, no problem. Still." She gave herself a push away from the railing, "I am going to need all of the alcohol." Leliana quickly turned to the one introduced as Dorian Pavus, whispering something that Neria guessed to be about accompanying her. To keep her out of trouble, probably. Because company had worked so well as a deterrent, ten years ago. "All the alcohol," she repeated to Dorian.

[ode-of-odr-archive]

// @altuspavus continued from here

There was an dangerous symbiotic relationship between Valor and the dragon's blood and the magic that allowed the blood to give the properties it bestowed on Raserei. Valor made it so Raserei didn't feel fatigue, nor fear and could, if needed, heal the Avvar. The blood magic that was used to infuse Raserei with the dragon's blood allowed him to syphon the soul of his enimes and heal his wounds. But he was more vicious the closer to death he was.

It was this percarious state that Valor shined, keeping Raserei in a functioning state, despite being injured enough a normal man would fall. It allowed Raserei to be devestating.

Blood tasted weird to the Spirit, and it was concerned with how much it liked the taste. However, demons did not bleed, but the none the less they were draining the creatures of their life force, consuming them to make themselves stronger. Valor strode through the battle, fighting the terror demons head on, laughing as it made short work of them. They were almost in the clear to close this rift.

The spirit looked over at Dorian when the mage spoke of not needing to heal. While this was in part because Raserei himself did not need healing, and little else, the spirit wondered if the mage had the aptitude to do so.

"Perhaps it is because he knew you would not be suitable." the spitit replied flatly as it moved Raserei's axe from a demon's head, black ash like particles floating around it as the demon fell apart.

The spirit had been paying attention to the man's interactions with those around him, but it still was not sure how to engage them. How it felt about those Raserei spent his time around. After all, since leaving the Hold, Valor has been pressed that it has had to be quiet. Act as if it were some demon lurking in a person waiting to strike. It was cowardly and has soured the spirits view of those outside the Avvar.

Finally there was an opening and the Spirit relented back and let Raserei take control so he could seal the rift. In a fluid motion, a blink of an eye, Raserei was back and was closing said rift, as if Valor was never there. Years of this made their transitioning so smooth and seamless.

[eritvita]

continued from x ;

@altuspavus

He snorts laughter, echoing so within this bear-smelling pocket; the cave wonderfully exhumed from the Inquisitor's hand in the aftways a'fore minding their backward steps, but the bones of its former supper still riddled and stained with old drool and its months-long offal.

Roland's nose doth curl with it, borne worse from the dampness of this torrential rain. "A panicked ride from the Giants what make 'rounds through that stone'd garden, the herds of brontos what graze directly beside the feet of those man-eating beasts? The skimpy lengths of the cliffs and scattered stones for cracking boulders?" And Roland laughs hard, ragged in his ruggedness of mud stains and dripping clothes, his satchel hanged like a pristine charm o'er one shoulder.

And yet he hums, and watches the beauteous rain through his dripping bangs. "Am I indeed tempted to sprint through that lightning to make merry within the rain, a cold and a sickening bone to be damned 'twards future Roland. Naught art thou too fond of the outdoors?" asks he, leaning against the side of the cavemouth; close enough to feel that cold, chilling spray. He beams.

[triicksta]

( continued, from @altuspavus )

Dorian settled Aristide with the most patronising look he could muster at the moment. Which was not saying much, and was not very impressive, given their current circumstances. Besides the fact that they were in the middle of the forest for some reason or another which Dorian was sure was explained at some point, but which currently escaped him, he also happened to look rather undignified. There was, unbeknownst to the Tevinter mage, a leaf caught in his hair. Oh, if only his former classmates could see him. Him! Dorian Pavus, one of the most brilliant minds in Tevinter if he did say so himself (and he did), traipsing through the woods! Horrendous.

"My dear, at least you are.... at least marginally more acclimated to such...." He trailed off, his face twisting in disgust as he flapped his hand about towards nothing in particular, intending to indicate the entirety of the setting. "For lack of sounding as if I am some poor houseplant improperly replanted outdoors in a garden when I really ought to be kept in a greenhouse, I do feel that these treks into the woods, as lovely as they can be, are likely to be the death of me!"

A bit of dramatics never hurt anyone. If they ran into any fields of stripweed, Dorian may actually have been telling something closer to the truth than a dramatisation, anyhow. "How much longer must we be out here, again?"

oh, the days a young dalish boy might have spent in the wilderness are the memories of another life, scarcely to be found here again. orlesian by force and now by instinct, the invasively fresh air is a curious trade from the perfumed hall of his chateau. and perhaps a bit better than the overwhelming scent of horses and metal surrounding haven. aristide exhales a graceful huff in an attempt to disguise the exertion, casting a glance at the fellow mage.

truly, the two of them are inside men. for all the irritation of the endless bears and rolling hills of the hinterlands, it is enough to bring a spare chuckle to the inquisitor's lips at the sight of the rogue leaf adorning dorian's hair. surely the man would be appalled of one allowed it to remain.

"count the small blessing that no one is here in this wilderness to watch us suffer," aristide teases and reaches out to pluck the offending leaf from the now less-than-perfect coiffe. "there is a single remaining rift standing between you and a moderately acceptable glass of wine upon our return to haven — a symbol of my appreciation, for trudging along with me, oui?"

[hawkeyde]

@altuspavus​ ( @justwanderingmuses​ )  wanted a cute soppy nice sweet affection starter.

HAWKE SHRUGS HIS SHOULDERS ENTHUSIASTICALLY,    huffing a mighty huff.        ❝   ain’t nice, is it?  this whole .. being upset malarky.   ❞       &   the mountains yawn out before them, as far as the eye could see, a great big blanket of snow over endless rises and falls.    

   the champion is mighty better at written word,  but he’s started to wrangle the delicacies of face-to-face speech.         it was late, as it so often was with them.     only now they were outside!!   what bountiful steps forward they were making.         ❝   bit shit.  ❞     he admits, glancing down at the other mage.    hawke wished for a way to just .. wipe away whatever demons dorian dealt with, but he wasn’t that strong.    or that wise, he feared.       

in some effort to show this affection he reaches out his arm to draw dorian in for half a hug, perching his chin atop the crown of his head gently, mighty hand rubbing his back.       ❝   one thing i can promise you though is that no feeling is final.   being sad. it’s more of a transition than a weakness; you show strength by just keeping going.   which you do.   if i can say anything i hope will help it’ll be that you’re a good man.  and i think what you’re trying to do .. for your homeland, is very brave.  and also you’re profoundly handsome.  and very cold ----  ❞   & he scoffs a laugh, already shrugging off his furs.         ❝ ---- ‘’i don’t need another coat, hawke, ’’ he says. ❞

[sworntoprotect]

@altuspavus​ || talk shit get hit

The sheer disrespect the mage slung wounded not only Cullen’s heart, but shook the heart - the very foundation - of Fereldan culture. He could not let such a slanderous insult stand.

“You of all people couldn’t understand, but mabari hounds are absolutely warriors worthy of the utmost respect.”

[intoxicatiing]

@altuspavus​ sent:  ‘ bitch disgusting ’

I’m a Serious Rp Blog || Accepting!

“Oh my Maker, these shoes suck. These shoes suck!”

[seahaloed]

@altuspavus

“You know what I miss?” Bull stares out at the snow of Emprise du Lion, a brief shiver running through him as he comes to settle at the fire by Dorian’s side.

(beside the warmth, there were plenty of things.)

He leans into the heat of the flames, taking a moment for the chill of moving to pass before he continued. “Carastes has this one stall in the market that always had the best tangerines--” Bull recalls with a low hum, “Always perfectly ripe, barely a blemish or bug on them. Far as port cities in Tevinter went, it was one of my favorites” Bull admits with a brief nostalgic look.