#extravagantmuse

[felledarrow]

Solas’ reaction when he stubs his toe bc Felassan moved his shit again:

@extravagantmuse / unprompted. always accepting.

if you listen closely, you can hear felassan laughing in the distance.

[mercysought]

starter for @extravagantmuse for elleana

after retelling of the codex entry: Vir Dirthara: Duel of a Hundred Years

The way that a form shifts from the fuzzy edges of unending and unbridled darkness into the brightest of burning flames speaks more of the unstable grounds where flesh and empire was precariously built on.

It is in the tremor with each step, the dull crackling of stone under weight and heat as the blood of the earth boils within the veins of a living God whose pride has been touched for one time to many. The flesh made red, a reminder that even Gods can bleed too.

   “Walk with me.” is not a request from the God-King but a warning.

They had won but Elgar’nan knew what shape the early seeds of discord and rebellion looked like. The pulling and pushing of a thread to attempt and graps at how much could be done. How much power to be grabbed. Mythal could not see it beyond the love to these misshapen and insubordinate children. The fact that she could not see how it helped no one that they should see him fight with anyone much less one of the Twins whose very nature was one that was half formed. An infestation of snakes grew just outside Her temple’s doors and she ignored them. One day they would drip poison from their fangs straight into her mouth and she would claim it to be wine.

All this did was show that the All Mother saw Falon’din’s grasp and overreach as an acceptable thing to bring to court. For now, Falon’din’s champion lay dead to become food to the vermin that the Friend of the Dead had claimed as their domain. For now.

The shadow grows darker and the air around them so dry it could crack skin. Single circles of pure light move from the path they had so intensely focused on to the figure that followed him. Shoulders straightening the man that is himself a mountain towers over it all

   “And what do you think, Vunora?” the voice barely a rumble that came from a breach of light “About the All-Mother’s rulling?”

[martyrmarked]

𝐋𝐎𝐖, 𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍 ebb from the very tips of her fingers to the slender swell of her shoulder as she walks, lips pursed together to keep a quiet wince from falling from her mouth. the rift today was easier than yesterday, and easier than the one before that, though ease is now measured in how deeply the world swims before her eyes as that shifting, flickering tear is mended with a final electric crackle. removing a glove carefully as she walks through the vast courtyard of the tower, sidri feels the weight of too many gazes fall to her hand.

not all that long ago, she would have swiftly, desperately pulled a glove back on as if to shelter herself, but the instinct has since been dulled by repetition.

she has little experience or acquaintance with cults but, so far, this one seems vaguely pleasant enough. speaker anais, for all of her fervor, had at least been grounded enough to have a productive conversation. solas had seemed vaguely bemused by the entire interaction and, to her surprise, cassandra had appeared pleased when the command to aid the refugees scattered throughout the hinterlands had been given.

a makeshift stable from across the courtyard catches her eye and she makes her way towards it, leaving the others to restock their supplies or barter for what few goods have managed to make their way this far south. quietly stepping towards a large mare with a coat as black as midnight, a small smile settles on her lips as she lifts a hand to brush over its mane.

a horse whinnies from the stall beside her and she glances over, catching a glimpse of a man tending to a chestnut folly. the strange paleness of his hands has her blink. it's a strange pattern, not quite purposeful, and stands in sharp contrast to the ebony hair cascading past his shoulders.

something in the back of her mind shifts and she blinks hard once, twice.

❝ ezar? ❞ a name falls from her lips instinctively before she can help it. sidri takes a halting step forward and then another, quick one. delicate features are cast wide with disbelief but there is an undeniable urgency of hope cast in her eyes. ❝ ezar, is that you? ❞ @extravagantmuse

[avrorean]

@extravagantmuse first up for the asks that I had meant to draft a nice message for and accidentally queued unfinished jofigjdgoid. TEPID THANK YOU, AND ITS DOUBLE FOR YOU

A double in the way that you're ALWAYS a delight when you hit the dash. You're one of the funniest people around, and your contributions are always a mix of insightful and hilarious. I always just really enjoy reading about your characters too—the concepts of your characters themselves are so deeply interesting and I get really easily wrapped up in the spanning storylines of all the ones you've crafted these highly intricate webs for. Garrett is hilarious. Elleana enthralls me. Asha’s development keeps me on the edge of my seat. You're SO COOL and I love every bit that you share!

[wisdomsought]

nightmare adjacent things - @extravagantmuse ( elleana )

It was familiar, this, the stalking and rustling of leaves. The soft wind and waiting for specific passages so that one’s movement is hidden by both nature and the light that is only so barely offered to those that walk the fade in their dreams. There had been a time when to be surrounded by such statues knowing that their connection to the waking world would reflect this present existence so perfectly would have given him pause. There would have been a time where both of them would have stalked these same planes together - both in making them and in the certainty in knowing that they wished to keep them safe. A wolf only a predator to make sure that the pack was kept safe and the golden halla to light the way for those that wished to follow.

But there is no golden light to guide a pack that is gone. And no other shadows that follow that of the man in simple clothing. There is no armour for there is no posturing needed.

The desolation that is around them and the silence of the wind is proof enough that enough pain has been dealt. Most would not be able to see it for what it is, the way that this place that Solas had so dearly called home had turned and twisted into not a single scar but more. The greater fade beyond was a mountain of scars upon scars and multiple attempts to heal - and failing to do so. They are the brightest markings of his failure than even that of the living.

He could pain them, he could make the wind whisper softer songs but it was not softness that was required now. Solas needed to see it, as did everyone else, even if they tried so very hard to see anything but.

   “For all that you have sacrificed” the statues loom over them both, their expressions frozen in the same affect as when they had first realised who he was - and what it meant to have his shadow loom over them “you were, perhaps, one of the last that I though would go through such lenghts to conceal themselves from me,”

A mistake, then. To assume that everyone that had accompanied them had turned to ash - there had simply been those that had survived the ordeal of his mistake and instead of joining him had decided that this - this world - was better. There is no armour but the same clothes that he had worn when he had wished to be anything else but Solas, simple and light and yet in the shadows of those statues, even as he stepped into the dim and dull light that now covered the fade like a translucent veil he felt heavy.

Light feet that left no markings and weightless and yet with the wrong word spoken might leave an indent. It is perhaps the tension at his temples that speaks of anger, but truthfully, it is in his eyes that the disappointment is felt sharpest. Hurt.

   “Elleana.” he finally speaks, both hands coming to rest in the small of his back. Head bowed as one hand holds onto the same staff that he had been using during Inquisition, a simple, weathered, most uninteresting. It had been a similar staff he had worn before dread had fully sunken into the shape of his shadow. The simplicity and longing for a time where hope had even been able to reach it and soothe such fears.

That was a long time ago. Before his once closest friends and allies had given up on him. Solas gives her barely a hint of a smile “but it is the Hallaren these days, is it not?”

[mercysought]

💋 // for asha from orla? or asha and asharen if that tickles the fancy

kisses ! (I'm not counting, but will only do the ones I feel like it until I feel like it)

@extravagantfool & @extravagantmuse

There was the Fool and their Shadow, and they walked through the world hand in hand together.

It is a soft thing, barely a thought through the mind of the Shadow as they press the cold lips against the blind side. Lighter than a feather over skin that they know still feels a pain and a rawness that was unlike anything that Orla had known how to name - but perhaps closer to what she knew. The burning of lyrium upon flesh is a unique sensation, after all, but Asha does not speak of it and so neither does Orla.

Asha cannot see them clouding their blind side, they cannot see the shadow that Orla casts, but they know she is there. They know because of the rustling of leather as the Shadow moves, the weight of their gloved hands against too soft of a fabric to be considered armour, and that feather light touch upon areas that she knows hurt if she could be felt there.

To be a shadow, to be no one, to be unseen, that was where she would always be seen. It is only when Asha pulls them to their good side that the small smile can be seen, the warmth over brown eyes.

The Fool steals a kiss from the Shadow for even in cold days they knew that warmth could be found there. One needed only be willing to close one’s eyes and pick through its pockets.

      ---- / kiss 2 / ----

Perhaps it is a familiarity of bond between not quite blood but of a kindred spirit. Perhaps, indeed, it has something to do with the change that has come upon them when they were able to leave the prison. There is recognition that felt different - like a nerve pinched in the back of her neck where the thin runes of the Well ritual had been etched into her skin. Asharen holds them all the tighter at the feeling, cold fingers made out of flesh and warm brass fingers that smelled of blood despite the blue and green hues.

It is goodbye, perhaps for now - eternity or until death was too large to comprehend and too kind of a thought. It is a kiss given with a smile and with unmoving lips that still speak of prayers to beings that had woven this world into being. There is always a tone of foolishness, that instead of being a woman she is again a child clinging to her mother’s skirts for comfort and guidance, that those prayers should keep them safe. Knowing now what she knew. But she now held the needle: one of the few things that she held still control over.

So, even if no prayer or hope was answered. Even if her kiss was just a form of comfort. A form of affection. That would be good. That would be enough. They did not need holiness or the divine on their side, only luck and each other.

Asharen still repeated those same words in her mind. Spoken in a stilled, silent tongue and taught lips after she brushes aside red hair. Red from the blood that caked it and from family - just like hers. There is a smile when she moves away; all goodbyes were hard, but this was the hardest perhaps of all - but it was still something that she wanted to do. Needed to do.

And that, that, Asharen knew that Asha would understand above everyone else.

Watch over us, for the path we tread is perilous.

[mercysought]

starter for @extravagantmuse ( sotiria )

The days are counted the same way they would have been if he had been in the battlefield. He was kept warm, warmer than he would have with his armour in an open sky. But now it was something within him that was cold, forcing his body to shake.

Abel remained in a battlefield; and now without his armour, without his weapons. In a cruel twist of fates, he could still see the distant image of death - and now he knew that he would need to meet them without honour.

Each night he started his prayer to the Maker with a growing anger in a single question: if he was to have died, why should he have not been allowed to do it in his armour? Why must he suffer not only through his body but the indignity of prison at the hands of those that weren’t even his brethren.

He rations the food and the guards do not care; the other people imprisioned with him don’t either. They do not bother to steal a dying man’s rations.

Abel doesn’t know when it happens, only that their numbers had been dwindling. He didn’t recognise the robes, but he did know a lot of them were mages. By the look of fear, the whispers of those in the cages, they were tevinter blood mages. Abel could guess as to where the missing prisoners went.

What he could not guess was to why he had not been the first to go. That is what his half lidded eyes are wondering, watching one of those same mages come into the enclosure, leaning over him. Healing him.

   “Why?” the voice is barely audible, over accent and over a barely used throat. It forces a painful cough that echoes through his body, that which he stills.

[valorcorrupt]

Merc can you tell me any other interesting food safety fact, like you did with your pizza funeral post?

Fun OOC Facts || Always Accepting

Oh boy. Okay. Back to Food Safety Classroom with Merc. So we have Food Safety Day coming up at work so I've been delving heavy into my fun historical food facts. The Great Michigan Pizza Funeral is a great one.

So do you guys all remember how when we were young we were told that we had to check our Halloween candy for poison and razor blades and stuff? Well fun fact - that did not come from actual tampering with candy! There has never been a single incident of the poisoning/tampering of Halloween candy that was not done by an immediate family member.

Instead, the fear that fueled this came from The Chicago Tylenol Murders. Now, no one has ever officially been "caught" as the person behind the Tylenol Murders. The theory I was taught was that it was a woman who wanted to poison her husband, so she laced his Tylenol with cyanide, but to cover it laced several other bottles before returning those to store shelves and waiting for the first of the deaths to happen before administering her own to her husband. This came from reports that there was a woman at several of the locations that ended up selling the tainted tablets who "seemed off".

I hear that there's a pretty good and pretty recent documentary out on this. They've investigated and reinvestigated the shit out of it tbh.

But basically, several things came from the Tylenol Murders:

COPYCATS. HUNDREDS of copycats struck IMMEDIATELY after the original crime was investigated. .

Johnson and Johnson fared considerably better than the company that featured in the Great Michigan Pizza Funeral. Instead of fighting the order of the Federal Government for the recall, they DOVE IN on finding out what had happened. .

Their investigation told them that the tainted capsules "came from" two different plants in different parts of the country. This was a red flag for them. .

Johnson and Johnson tried to cash out on insurance after, and this sparked a heavy legal battle. The insurance company argued that since ultimately the company hadn't actually done what led to the deaths, they didn't owe on the claims. Johnson and Johnson argued otherwise. Eventually it settled for undisclosed amounts. I believe they paid it all out to the families affected. .

Their response in this case is actually taught as a "role model" for other company responses.

But then more: 1. This is why there is tamper-proof packaging on medicine now. It's good to note that Johnson and Johnson came up with this on their own, and that other companies followed suit out of social conscience. This is not something that the Federal Government forced. 2. This is why medicine is no longer served in powder-filled "plastic" capsules, but rather those hard-form tablets and gel-filled gelatin capsules. To make tampering harder.

And ultimately:

While poisoned candy being given to trick-or-treaters at Halloween has never been documented, the Tylenol incident, which unfolded across October 1982, raised renewed fears of it. Some communities discouraged trick-or-treating for Halloween, and American grocery stores reported that candy sales were down over 20%