#elfroot and words

[elfroot-and-laurels]

Chapter 75: A Matter of Choice

It is nearly immediately after the tense exchange in Eamon’s chambers that Savreen learns of Isolde’s harebrained plan to throw a ball before they make for Denerim.

“And she is aware,” Savreen asks Teagan, sat across from him in his study, disbelief leaching out into her tone, “that we remain in the midst of a Blight and a civil war?” Teagan sighs, long and weary.

“She believes that to be all the more reason to celebrate,” he says, rubbing his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his left hand, leaning his right on the arm of his chair. Savreen tries her best not to react. Teagan already knows her feelings on the matter; to be petty is beneath her and accomplishes little.

However. However.

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[elfroot-and-laurels-moved]

"Biting your lover's lips amidst a kiss" for the kissing prompts 💗

I missed writing for Shadowheart and Imvae so. Here goes. :3

                “Do that again,” Shadowheart said, her voice playful and admonishing, “and I will have no choice but to assume Astarion has done more than sup on you.” Imvae grinned, shifting their lover’s weight on their lap and wrapping their arms more tightly around her waist.                 “You mean you don’t like it?” Above them, Shadowheart rolled her eyes. Really, she rolled her whole head, setting her long, white braid swinging with the motion. She brought her hand up, moving it from Imvae’s neck to their smiling face, tapping their dimpled and tattooed cheek with a single finger.                 “Naughty tonight, are we?” Not answering, Imvae mimed biting for Shadowheart’s finger, relishing in her giggle as she yanked it back. “Very naughty tonight!” Now Shadowheart moved, standing and extricating herself from Imvae’s grip only to bend over in front of them, her hands on their knees and her nose almost touching theirs. Her braid melted and rippled over her shoulder, and Imvae wanted to grab it, to pull her closer. It wasn’t often they had their own room, after all. Why shouldn’t they make the most of it? But Shadowheart spoke again before they could decide on their course of action.                 “If you have been turned into some dilute vampire spawn, I’d have no choice but to slay you.”                 “You’d have plenty of choices,” Imvae retorted, leaning forward. “Last I checked, we’re not monster hunters, and you never said you didn’t like a little bit of biting.” Pretending to think about it, Shadowheart looked toward the ceiling for a moment, and then the smile she was holding in her eyes broke free, and she kissed Imvae once more.                 “Say I do like it,” Shadowheart murmured against Imvae’s mouth. They grinned once more, standing up and pulling Shadowheart up with them as they did. “What then?” Imvae didn’t answer. Instead, they grabbed Shadowheart’s waist and sucked her lower lip into their mouth once more, biting down.

[elfroot-and-laurels]

44 from the kiss prompts!

EEEE ty Mo! Eilvana for this one, methinks.

Lana denies, every time Varri says it, that she is 'cute.' Sith are not 'cute,' she says, as Varri beams in the tangle of sheets next to her, running a finger down the curve of her bicep. Sith are not 'cute,' she protests, when Varri straightens her cloak outside a meeting, fingers brushing her collar where, just beneath, her skin is a mess of love bites. Sith are not 'cute,' she argues, when Varri looks at her over the dinner table, eyelids low and a glimmer of a smile on her lips, lips that have memorized every scar on Lana's flesh. "Sith are not 'cute,'" Lana says now, as Varri dresses in the soft morning light. She pulls on pants with a smirk, turning back over her shoulder to look at Lana. "And yet, there you are," Varri throws back. Blush creeps across Lana's face and down along her chest, bright red mixing with the yellow, purple, blue, faded marks from Varri's lips and teeth and tongue. Lana scowls, but all it does is make Varri laugh and turn, black curls spinning like a halo round her head. "You are entirely too full of yourself, you know," remarks Lana, unwilling to concede. "Entirely too full of yourself Commander," teases Varri, pulling a shirt on to button and buckle, blue fabric covering the lush folds of her body. The scars, too. Scoffing, Lana stands, rising from the bed with a sheet wrapped around her. She approaches Varri, feet padding softly along the floor. "You'll be the death of me," she says, whispering it into Varri's ear as she buckles her belt. Varri laughs, the sound breathy, and turns to face Lana. With bare hands, her gloves still on the dresser, she takes Lana's face in her hands, squishing the Sith's cheeks and clucking her tongue. "Yes, but a very cute death it will be." Lana doesn't say anything this time, not when Varri kisses her.

[elfroot-and-laurels]

Chapter 73: Worth and Doubt

Savreen cannot help it. She is the first through the doorway. Not out of any deep religious fervor, but simply out of the desire to get through and over with whatever this Gauntlet may hold. Leliana is close on her heels, and Savreen reminds herself that nothing she sees here disproves her faith. Andraste was a teacher. Andraste was a revolutionary. Andraste was real, and that has never been a taboo. It is a simple fact. And yet she feels nervous, her stomach tying itself in knots. “This is just an empty hallway,” Alistair says, jostling Savreen from her reverie. “Are we sure we’re going the right way?” Savreen cannot say she’s not thinking the same thing, what with the way this hall continues on and on and on, the only thing lighting the way being dim torches that burn with a strange veridium fire. She is about to respond to Alistair when a wave of cold washes over her, cold like ice, like sadness.

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[elfroot-and-laurels]

92 hehe

92: Trying Not to Cry/Holding Back Tears (hehe indeed!)

I decided to go in the SWTOR direction for this one!

                Odessen is beautiful at sunset. One of the more beautiful sights Nissetta has seen, really. There’s not too many places smuggling takes her that have so many plants, and usually, buildings mark the line of the horizon. Voss though, with its golden foliage—that was pretty close.                 “Commander?” The title stings like the blade of a knife. Captain. She’s Captain, always has been. She can hear Corso’s mouth saying that word, in a way she can’t with her new title. Commander. She can’t even imagine how it might sound, coming from him. She dreads the day she’ll forget his voice entirely.

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[elfroot-and-laurels]

no idea if the PLEASE was to send prompts but 15 for Badhbh and Lucanis GOGOGOGOGO

It ABSOLUTELY was. And I thank you for your service.

15: Shaking Hands

Lucanis’s hands are shaking. Badhbh can hear it; though he holds them by his side, just far enough away from his daggers and belts and accoutrements of assassination, he cannot stop the shivering sound of leather rustling. Badhbh would like to say something. They would like to stop everyone, to tell the others to go ahead into the eluvian and back to the Lighthouse. They would like to stay here, in Treviso, covered in the remnants of Zara Renata’s macabre bath, even though they can feel the blood squelching in places blood should never be, if only for the chance to comfort Lucanis. For the chance to take his hands in theirs and stop the shaking. “You okay?” It’s pathetic, what they end up with. Two lousy words. But Lucanis pauses, and he looks at them, and he lets the tears gather in his eyes, even if he won’t let them fall. “Illario is right,” he says, and his hands still tremble. “No,” Badhbh says firmly. “He’s not.” “How can you be sure? Back there, I nearly—” Badhbh doesn’t look for the others, walking along ahead, back to the Diamond. The two of them will catch up. Instead, they take Lucanis’s gloved hands in their own, prosthetic fingers squeaking across the smooth leather. “I know who you are.” Slowly, Lucanis stops shaking. Slowly, Badhbh lets his hands go, back to his sides. “I’m not sure even I know that.”

[elfroot-and-laurels]

7 for angst!!!!!!!!!

Ty Otto 🩷🩷🩷🩷 I am in a SWTOR mood as everyone can see.

7: Hoarse/Voiceless

“What have you become?” Lana’s voice is a whisper in Eilvarri’s ear. A whisper, and Valkorion’s laughter a roar. You have become something greater. “Lana—“ When Lana helps Eilvarri stand, it’s as though she can hardly bear to touch her. It’s as though she fears her. As she should. “Lana,” Eilvarri says again. Her voice is hoarse. She has not cried once since this began. She has not broken, not even once. But now, her voice feels stuck in her throat, caught in the knot of emotions there that sends hot shame to her eyes. “Lana, I’m afraid,” she says at last, the first time she has admitted it to anyone but the silent emptiness of a vacant room. The first time she has admitted it to herself. “Let’s get you out of here,” Lana says, and there’s softness in her voice, but there’s something else, too. If Eilvarri could pay attention, if not for the crackling pain of Valkorion’s power running through her body, she might be able to name it as sadness. Sorrow. But she can’t, she can’t focus, not as an aftershock tears through her, angry purple lightning coiling itself around her insides. Eilvarri yells. She screams. The pain is beyond anything she’s felt, beyond the agony of dying slowly, frozen in carbonite, and she regrets listening to Valkorion even for a moment. You will not regret it again. Is it Valkorion who speaks now in her mind? Or is it Eilvarri herself? “Lana,” she says once more, choking on it, and then the world is dark.

[elfroot-and-laurels]

Days 3 & 5: Faith and Home

An excerpt from A Study of Dalish Clans: On Tradition and Ceremony, by Brother Genitivi.

Clan Lavellan is among the many Dalish clans that have evolved their own unique style of vallaslin, the ‘blood writing’ that marks the full entrance of a child into adulthood and therefore into clan membership. In Clan Lavellan, and their nearest relative clan, Clan O’Cathasaigh, all blood writing dye is made with the vibrant—and rare—dye of the royal elfroot plant, whose leaves, when crushed and treated with the proper assemblage of herbs and magic, turn to a blue more rich and royal than any human dyes. When a child prepares to become an adult and choose their vallaslin, Clan Lavellan engages in much celebration, and there are many days of ceremony that precede the actual event of the vallaslin application.

First and most important are the retellings of their oral histories and traditions, in which the child entering adulthood must join with the clan’s Keeper to share the stories. By the end of the storytelling ceremony, the child will have demonstrated their knowledge of their chosen god and therefore their chosen vallaslin, proving their worthiness for taking on the markings that will shape their future. Second, and most complicated, comes the process of making the dye, which sometimes requires weeks of foraging to produce the amount of royal elfroot leaves needed, as well as the additional components secret to the clan’s Keeper. The third and final step is the ceremony of the blood writing itself, a private moment for the new adult and the Keeper, meant for reflection, contemplation, and commitment.