#duelbladed

[crxmsonwings-blog]

@duelbladed  x

It wasn’t the clashing of blades or the screaming of men that awoke Grigori from his deep sleep, no...it was the smell of blood. Freshly splattered in his cave, the smell wafted down, down deep to where he’d been slumbering. While normally he didn’t bother himself with the battles of men; sometimes they encroached into his personal space.  Sometimes willingly, sometimes...by accident. However, this was of little consequence to him. There was an instinct that drove him forward to investigate. To confront whoever it was that was foolish enough to wake him.

But how long had he been asleep? This was a question he wondered as he took step by step forward, further out of the depths of his comfortable cave. Bones of men and animals littered the floor, and as Grigori continued on, he crushed the bones beneath his feet. And finally he caught another scent as it was blown downwards through the tunnels. Man. A man. Of course.

The dragon slowed his pace, and slunk down into a hunting stance. No longer stumbling from his tired state, he was able to slink through the tunnels at a more steady pace until...he found the man, and peered at him from the shadows. A rumble came from Grigori’s throat, and he moved a bit closer; no longer caring if he was hidden or not.

[headlessfellow]

@duelbladed from (x)

Atlas was fairly used to the strange by that point. He had fought countless demons, communicated with spirits, and had encounters both pleasant and unpleasant with all of the monsters that Thedas had to offer, but… He found this particular fellow to be especially odd.

After a somewhat brutal skirmish with some bandits, Atlas had left the fight alive but not without injury, and apparently the sight of him limping back to camp had been a bit of a concern to this… Spirit, maybe? Atlas was squinting at the Headless as they helped him. No demon he ever met was so benevolent, but this particular individual also seemed to have a physical form unlike a spirit, and surely it wasn’t an instance of possession because the Headless was clearly not human at any point. Bluntly put, Atlas had no clue if it was a good idea to trust them or not. So, without much tact, he piped up after a few moments of silence, “So, uhm… what… what are you, even?”

The Beheaded isn’t an innately charitable fellow. By nature, they tend to pass the dying idly by, watch their own back alone, and spare no energy for the sake of others -- but Atlas is a sorry sight in a strange land, and they could use a few owed favours.

‘Hell if I know,’ they sign, however futile, and return focus to the task at hand. Taking a knee, they begin to unwind one of the bandages from their forearm -- the tail end catching at some rot and skin, which they clip with a quick nick of the blade. It isn’t much, but it’s clean and an apt enough dressing for the stranger’s bum leg.

Roughly and without any grace whatsoever, the Beheaded then reaches out to snatch at his ankle, intending to simply wrap the thing without asking.

[amellwardened]

@duelbladed // from here 

‘ you have a pretty convincing i’m minding my own business disposition. ’ ( that is to say she actually doesn’t know if he was eavesdropping. ) she may have just persuaded her companion to get up and pickpocket a particularly vocal orlesian who was making an obnoxious display of wealth. ‘ do you think that man knows that his ruby encrusted gloves won’t make as much of a splash in ferelden as they would in orlais ? ’ if anything, it just made cat certain that he would have enough pocket change for her to resupply for her trip to crestwood. 

[elderbreed]

@duelbladed from (x)

Atlas was a simple man. He finds a cave, he does a bit of spelunking! Such was made even more enjoyable when one stumbles upon something of interest… In this case, it was artifacts and scrolls. While Atlas certainly a bit more fond of more shiny treasures, he’d find relics to be useful nonetheless. There was always a lot to learn about the history of Thedas, and uncovering something previously hidden was nothing to complain about. He was sifting through the items, reading through whatever scriptures he could make out, apparently unaware that he wasn’t alone… 

Amber cat’s eyes trickle along after the intruder, watching his every move in a measured stalk. Though Arokh is not a dragon of impulsive anger, he is quite possessive, and seeing this man rifle through his things -- Rynn’s things, her scrolls and weapons -- has made him defensive.

His claws catch at the cliff edge, and his maw opens wide in a rumbling, reverberated snarl. 

“WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE? WHO SENT YOU?” he demands, in a great lisping growl.