seen from China
seen from Morocco
seen from Germany
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
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seen from Russia
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@fadebred / mariane. da call.
‘ I didn’t mean to pry. ’ Faith pauses, equal parts awkward and ashamed. Perhaps she should not have asked. ‘ I have been an apostate my whole life; I have never seen a Circle. I was curious. But --- perhaps I should not have asked. ’
between the WORLD BEGINNING TO END and the hinterlands becoming an outright WAR ZONE there’s little time to sleep nor breathe nor do much of anything but fight ———— and fight ———— and fucking fight. ( as if he hasn’t been fighting for years. for a lifetime. ) innocents have been caught in the crossfire between the mages and the fucking templars and he tries to pick his way across this countryside / towards haven / TOWARDS THE HERETICAL INQUISITION and its banner and its apparent hope to close that hole in the sky. whether or not they’ll succeed remains to be seen / the sky still ominously green / but if they wish to protect innocents?
good enough.
———— if he ever makes it there, if he ever forges his way past this never ending battlefield, if he can slip the spells flying and the blades sweeping. but that’s asking for too much. for far too much, when there are people to be protected and his instinct TO PROTECT and perhaps he’s bitten off more he can chew / clothes singed and arm bleeding and abdomen bleeding and he’s bleeding and bleeding and bleeding / with no potions to spare / and fighting, still. his blade finds temporary refuge in the chest of a TEMPLAR before he turns it against another and it’s never ending, isn’t it?
well. that’s fucking war.
@fadebred // bleed light , pour it over the battlefield.
@fadebred // AVERIL !
“he does love to exaggerate, varric,” she states quietly and cups her chin in her hand thoughtfully, “but whatever he may have said about cassandra wanting to skin him alive was, in fact, probably true.” she pauses to take a sip of her drink, nose scrunching before she continues. “she’s...spirited, our seeker. i’ve managed to assemble more than a few spirited compatriots, really.”
it’s the quietest corner of the herald’s rest, meaning it wouldn’t count as quiet by most standards, but it’s warm and bright and it feels so alive in here that sidri thinks it more intoxicating than anything the barkeep could serve. fewer eyes now glance in hawke’s direction with surprise, the result of a few weeks of presence, but averil hawke seems to perpetually attract curious gazes, sidri’s noticed. “i’ve found that for every decision i seem to make, half of them are thrilled with me and the other half furious or disappointed or some dreadful combination of both.” a little roll of her eyes follows before she arches a dark brow curiously. “was it the same with your friends, as well, hawke?”
@fadebred. bal sc.
‘ Would it be treasonous, ’ he asks, not remotely seriously, a grin settling on his face, ‘ to ask to spar with the future Queen of Ferelden? ’ He prefers it here to Highever, truth be told. Of course, back in Highever, there are scant few people more important than he is, where here there seems to be a plethora. Each and every one of them is prepared to tell him of this fact too, though he only pays mind to such things when he must. Currently, he’s just grateful to be able to be around different --- albeit familiar, as a Teyrn’s son must be seen at court almost as much as his father --- company. And Anora is never boring. This, he has learned. ‘ Or is it only treason if I win? ’
Worry is an extension of the self ——— or perhaps he is merely an extension of worry, its limb, its corporeal form. He certainly worries more than enough to fit the requirements, yet here he remains : mortal in all of the ways that COUNT and fretting himself into an early grave. ( never mind the fact that he has remained alive far longer than he had anticipated. ) You could hardly blame him for his excess concern, given the state of the girl ——— well, woman, in all technicality. Though he often thinks of her as the small girl who napped in his armchair all those years ago in Skyhold, regardless.
Perhaps he is getting rather old. ... No, never mind.
❝ If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get yourself killed, ❞ age has mollified his temper to an extent, though not nearly enough to soften the ever sharp edge of that damnable PANIC which grips at him each and every time she brushes near to probable death. Her AND Helia, given their propensity towards finding trouble alongside each other ——— yes, Dorian is going grey at an alarming rate. Yes, he feels as though Livia will rise from the dead at any moment to murder him properly. Yes, he admittedly signed up for this in one way or another. That hardly means he has to be HAPPY ABOUT IT.
@fadebred // sc.
“can’t say i blame you for not, uh, hearing him out,” gwyn’s shoulder - blades protest her leaning against the rough stone wall, but it’s a choice she’s made. besides, her feet are aching and this takes a little of the weight off of them. “but it might piss off some of the more ... chantry leaning folk, don’t you think?” @fadebred
@fadebred ╱ merrill | ( x )
❛ this sort of — fell into my possession during my last trip through orzammar. ❜
he’s trying desperately to sound casual, as if he didn’t spend two sovereigns and the better half of an hour trying to convince one rather sentimental dwarf to part with the blasted thing. carver turns a small deepstalker of whittled ivory over in his hands, hoping the motions will distract from the tremble in his thickly knuckled fingers. he lifts earnest eyes to hers in short bouts, lest his nerve give way.
❛ i know it’s not the same as having one as a pet, but i thought of you — that is, i thought you might — ❜ ( maker, is he dying? is this death? carver sighs and extends the figurine forward, tired of his own ineptitude. ) ❛ it’s for you. if you’d like it, i mean. ❜
❝ ———— ridiculous, ❞ irritation becomes him in these sorts of settings. surrounded on all sides by apparent peers, some of which are dancing and others yearning to dance and others still avoiding the whole thing much like him / but there’s something venomous in his voice at the concept of wasting his time on such a farce. finding eira hadn’t necessarily been what he intended to do with his night, though it seems perfectly natural to voice his displeasure to her, if no one else, as he leans against the wall, a thunderous expression on his face.
❝ all of this pointless revelry. there are better things to be doing than wasting time on frivolous balls, ❞ as if this had been going on for days, rather than barely an hour and then some !! well, he’s never really been one for the frippery and niceties of high society / and that is a memory discarded as he considers the exit and whether or not he’s been here long enough to warrant leaving.
@fadebred // are those remnants of a war long fought trailing after you ? or me ?
