#fen-dwxller

[daughterofhighever-blog]

Free Marches, Kirkwall Territory - 9:38 Dragon

[ Continued from HERE - @fen-dwxller ]

daughterofhighever-blog asked:

Iron Bull Starters -

"Sure, it’s cold, but at least it’s a dry cold."

𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 - 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠@daughterofhighever-blog

❝ always the optimist. ❞ he took his hands off of the body, away from the dead elf's neck. ❝ this means it's been here for at least a day. ❞

❝ but you're right. it's better that it's a dry cold. ❞ out of all that fenris had experienced, fondling a decomposing body was not part of that bucket list.

this was their lead. they were supposed to meet her here to point the way. but now she's dead. what do they do now? where do they even go from here?

❝ kaffas... ❞

-------------- "Optimism has always served me better than pessimism in the face of Blight and Darkspawn, Master Elf. Hunting slavers and cultists is little different," Elissa mused, crossing her arms loosely across her chest while she watched her very recent and happenstance companion examine the corpse in front of them.

She couldn't say she didn't share the stranger's frustration, though the expletive itself raised a brow in a curious recognition. She'd had trouble placing his accent, but the expletive identified his native tongue to her with a fair degree of certainty.

"You're from Tevinter," she said, more statement than question, but her tone still had the ghost of a lilt that seemed to seek confirmation of the assumption. The Warden Commander didn't wait for a response before crouching down beside him to get a closer look at the body herself.

"Dagger wounds there and there," she began, pointing with her first two fingers towards the torso, abdomen, and even the tops of the dead woman's legs. "Plenty of blood on her clothes, but none on the ground. She was dumped here for us to find as a warning is my best guess - which means they probably tortured knowledge of this location, and Maker knows what other information about us out of her before doing so."

A darker thought occurred to her that this could well be a setup for an ambush. With furrowed brow, she stood again to scan the rocky outcroppings and nearby treeline with hands on the hilts of both blades just in case.

"Perhaps it would be best to search her and depart quickly."

[soiasan]

❛  stop  looking  at  me  like  that .   like  i’m  broken .  ❜ // hi hello <3

𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑳𝒀 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑫𝑬 .    angst - oriented  sentence  starters . ( ACCEPTING ) Usually, Solas was careful about his expression. When one smiled, how often one blinked, the way lips parted before words left them— these could all be dangerous tells. The wrong move and you could lose that game of Wicked Grace and your life.

But, quite frankly, everything about Fenris was throwing him off. Solas had seen slavery before, he had seen abject cruelty more times than he could count. The markings on Fenris, however— they were familiar. That’s why they made his stomach turn and his jaw square. Familiar enough to the vallasin that marred his People’s faces, regrettably to this day. Differentiated & alienated by a unique Imperial twist. The endless innovation of humanity.

“No.” Solas breathed. There’s a shake of his head. “You are not the one that is broken.”

[giantsreach]

from here | @fen-dwxller

he should be grateful for the scouring cold; the chill whips a wicked lash this deep into the frostbacks, but carver's cheeks burn nonetheless at the assessment of his social niceties, and the howling wind feels almost gentle by comparison.

"right," says carver, in some cowed acknowledgement of the rift unbridged between them. he focuses on his footwork through the thick-packed snow and tries to shake the sense of jamais vu — or whatever the orlesians call it — settling in with each plodding step:

the nostalgia of being back home in ferelden, its bright snow crunching cosily under foot, covering the pentimenti of slogging through the sea-bearing heat of kirkwall with friends of his brother's. there's something sour about this blend of memories, like lemon and cream in his tea, but carver swallows it down anyway. more important things to worry about, after all.

"shouldn't be much longer," he points out eventually. a hazy silhouette darkens the patchwork of low-slung clouds on the horizon, perhaps a mile away, its crenellations indistinct but unmistakable. "so, that much closer to getting back to whatever it is you were doing before."