#fatewoven

[scvcnofswords]

Regin, rumour has it you would sacrifice the world for love...

A long, deep sigh, and she stares a moment, before raising a hand to her temple, putting pressure to it.

"I wouldn't sacrifice the world for love in the way that the world would burn or suffer. But I've given- everything of myself to Thedas. I would- walk away from it, for love. I'd choose my own happiness, for once. If I could. I've given up my life, my identity, my body, and my faith for the world. So if I finally do make one selfish choice and you see that as me sacrificing the world- I suppose I will have to bear that. There are... Other people, who can take up what I've done and what I've been to Thedas. Regin Lavellan barely exists anymore- but Inquisitor Lavellan still does, even with the Inquisition disbanded. I do not wish to wait and watch the world erase everything of me the way it did Ameridan. If that is a terrible thing, so be it."

Who even is she, anymore? Clan Lavellan is dead, she is no longer a First- barely Dalish, with her vallaslin gone, with her faith shattered, with no clan or people to return to. She has hunted alone now for over a decade, in truth. She has not been free to chase or study storms in half that- has not been free to do anything since stepping out of the Breach. Has not been ruin-delving or exploring since the escape of the Evanuris- and not for fun since before Corypheus' end. She reaches down to stroke the top of the head of the wolfhound at her side, eyes closing, as he whines at the turmoil he senses in her.

"It's more accurate to say I'd sacrifice myself for love."

[arcanederangementa]

26 Alessio?

↳ codex entries: a letter to rook from a family member or close friend - alessio

idiot,

teia said you have been asking about antivan names and that you were planning to change yours with your graduation from fledgling to crow.

you should know by now that our names are not like the qunari names, they are not titles and there are not so many restrictions.

she has also said you want it to be reflective of you. in this, i feel 'idiot' works perfectly well. if it must be antivan you could also try idiota or tonto or stolto.

teia has seen this and has demanded i take it seriously. i have told her i take everything seriously but she has impressed upon me that this is not a matter to be taken lightly.

i am aware.

joining house de riva is a great responsibility and every day i question my decision to take you in. because you are argumentative and stubborn in all things. [in teia's handwriting] just like vi!

though the qun is behind you, i recognise the significance of your new name, how it must match your new self and new role as a crow.

we have come up with some suggestions:

dante - 'enduring' - for all i must endure you. [in teia's handwriting] for all you have endured to get to this point.

marco/marcello - 'warlike/warrior' - for you are combative by nature

alessandro/alessio - 'defender' - teia's suggestion that you might defend rather than attack is at odds with all i know of you. she insisted i add it.

leandro/leone - 'lion man' - to counter those who would call you bull.

arturo - 'bear' - see above.

armando

fiero - 'proud' - you have achieved little so far, but there is always time to grow into a name, perhaps it will remind you not to fail.

whatever name you choose, get it to us before the graduation ceremony. it would be shameful to have forgotten to name yourself and you might yet have to undergo another year of training.

do not make me, yourself or our house look foolish.

viago de riva. fifth talon.

[in teia's handwriting] p.s. we hope you are recovering well from the surgery. vi worries.

[veilstr1der]

the pair crouched low behind a jagged outcropping of rock, overlooking a secluded venatori sanctum nestled in the dense wilds of arlathan forest. they'd stumbled upon the ambush by sheer dumb luck, taking an alternative route than they usually did to return to the veil jumpers camp.

❝   i am, uh, usually not this lucky.   ❞

rook stifled a snort behind a clenched fist, least he giveaway their position, ❝ well, don't jinx it now! ❞ he whispered once he'd composed himself. he swept the area, reaching out with his magic to feel for trap or alarm wards, his magic brushed against something, but it didn't feel hostile or dangerous. a silent spectator just beyond the veil.

❝ what're you thinking? we could double back and avoid them altogether. ❞ rook proposed, though he would rather not leave a camp of venatori settled in the forest for some other unsuspecting veil jumper to stumble across. // @fatewoven ; lucanis , dragon age : absolution sentence starters .

[orxna]

" that's a lot of blood. " / from fen!

Blood Prompts || Accepting || @fatewoven

There is, in fact, a rather substantial amount of blood in the kitchen, mostly within the heavy washing basin but some splattered on the floor and more flowing from it's source. Orana stands, her expression almost offended as she holds a rag in her left hand, soaking up the annoying substance as she glares at a bloody knife upon the floor. Suds and water pool on the ground less offensively but still too messy for Orana's taste.

"It was stupid," She huffs, finally moving again to carefully lift the bloodied kitchen knife with her free hand and place it on the counter next to the washing tub, "Who puts knives in the washing tub. Papa would never allow that in his kitchen."

[grtivas]

Your passion and love for your Rook is always a fun highlight on the dash D! The characterization and quirks that are explored in each interaction adds so much further depth that it's easy to picture them from childhood to now existing so fittingly in the universe! And not to mention your gifs!!! A gift each time. Thank you for sharing your talents with the rpc <3

beep beep how’s my portrayal ?

this is so so sweet of you!! and means so much coming from you. your writing is always so perfectly coherent and to such a high standard, and i can tell you know your muses extremely well. thank you so much!!

[winterfromtevinter]

stop smiling at me like that. / from femme fatale

╰ ⋄⋆⋅✧ ⸻ ⧽ @fatewoven inquired | 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

She tries her best to quell the incriminating expression. Truly, she does. The corners of her mouth straighten for a moment, curve downward into a rather false frown, before she can no longer help herself. The smile dimples her face again, wide enough to thin her lips.

Oh well, the jig is up. "Smiling like what?" her voice high and tight with suppressed laughter. She can cheat at cards just fine, lie in the face of a dozen people in a row to keep them off her tail. But there's something disarming about being here, amongst allies who are all quickly becoming friends. Lucanis, who is becoming...something, to her. She isn't sure of the shape of it yet, so for now she enjoys any company he'll spare her.

Generously, she'll allow herself to enjoy the furrow between his brows and his clever eyes studying her. A guilty pleasure to make the day a little sweeter.

"You really should blame Andy. It was her idea," she caves. It's too funny not to. "You'll see, it's nothing bad. Just...a new friend that has been relocated."

[avernusdamned]

@fatewoven / for gortash.

It's quite obvious that sleep was not something Karlach was able to achieve very easily last night. She's been waiting for this moment for years but it isn't excitement that brings her to such a restless night. No, it's fear. What if it doesn't work? What if this kills her? What if this is just another one of Enver's schemes? What happens to her? What happens to Wyll?

" So ... you're sure this is gonna work? " her words are hesitant, claws digging into the armrest of the chair. Her chest is laid bare here, ready to be burst open, and softly dimming with the bright light of her engine. It fluctuates, growing dull and dull and duller until it realizes it wants to live and a sudden burst comes from it. And then dullness, dullness, dullness. It repeats, though one of these times she may just blow.

All her vents, valves, and mechanisms to control and enter her housing of ribs where the engine sits lay ready to be tampered with. A multitude of scars, much more than Enver had ever seen her with before, paints along her limbs and weaves around the workings of her machinery, making her a canvas well worked upon.

It's hard not to think of the last time she was like this. (She is suppressing the thoughts. Bashing them down in the corners of her mind like an ant beneath her boot. You will not infest this place.) At least the chair is much more comfortable. " I mean really work. "

[silksworn]

❛ show me how much you missed me. ❜

❛ —— ☾ ₊ ⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 / @fatewoven

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 is fetching against Enver's dark skin. Cold steel warms itself upon his breastbone, moved only by the gentle rise and fall of breath. An idle threat with no real intent, not yet. The dead do not speak to her the way that he does, do not worship her with palm and flesh and fervor. Their cold veins no longer remember how to properly bleed. Only a quick flick of the wrist to artery and he would spill out for her a font of red as vibrant as a bouquet of spider-lilies and poppies. You have missed me too, for you have brought me flowers, she would say.

Enver makes a show of ignoring the weapon, though he cannot hide flittering pulse in his neck. Moth-wing heart, animal dread. She wants to sup of his fear like sweet-wine.

Ah, but she rushes ahead of herself. That would only spoil the meal.

Her lover's saturnine face is upturned towards her. Candlelight paints Enver's features in broad strokes. She is left with the impression of his leer, the high cheekbone and the architecture of a nose broken more than once. His deep-set eyes are lined with sleepless nights and smeared kohl, both hungry and arresting. He is some crepuscular creature that has crept into her bed, a version of himself that belongs solely to the few stolen hours they find for one another.

Only here does he kneel for her. She still tastes the power of his willingness all the same. His attention is almost as satisfactory as physical touch would be.

"You presume much," she breathes, face kept as placid as she can make it. "Who says that I have not had my share of pleasures in your absence?" Yet she cannot contain the undercurrent of longing, voice little more than a suggestion of speech. The insides of Iraestra's thighs are wet with her desire for him, telltale tremble as she spreads her knees further to show him the lilac bloom of her cunt. Her hand works practiced, languid circle over her sex. She dips two fingers inside of herself just to hear the slick, filthy sound of it. The loudest noise in the room is her fluting breaths.

A crude mockery of how she takes herself, Iraestra exerts enough pressure so that the blade may open delicate skin. Blood wells quickly to the cut, a small river of pain traveling the broad muscle of chest. She gasps at the sight as if she had been the one pierced, body tightening around the trivial intrusion of her slender digits. It is not enough. She would have him bleeding and on top of her.

"Come to me," demand or plea, she does not know any longer. She does not care. "Let us see who missed the other more."