#giantsreach

[abomines]

( 24. agony, 36. conditional, or 41. insanity )

@giantsreach / send a number!

         GREY WARDENS LIKE TO TELL STORIES - this, he remembers. Sitting around a campfire with a belly full of ale with the constitution of piss. Laughing. Camaraderie. A word with Orlesian roots, meaning: tell me something honest about you and I will swear my life to you. Like brothers. Like an oath.

         Carver loathes this about you, he thinks. Or Justice thinks. Or what's the difference. A coward and deserter. But he remembers it in his dreams, before Justice came to be one with him. He remembers an expedition into the Deep Roads, repelling darkspawn back into the deeper recesses. Back to the void, to darkness eternal. A million fireballs could not light the hole these savages emerged from. In his dreams, a boy. Casteless. Banished to the Deep Roads. For what, he doesn't remember. Something like theft gone wrong. Exiled all the same. Tainted all the same. Better men and lesser men have befallen the same fate without distinction. The Wardens voted to save the dwarf -- "save." In the Deep Roads, there is no justice and there is no mercy and just the harsh light of practicality.

         In his dreams, in his memories, the distinctions fall to the wayside. A "before" memory somehow tainted and blurred. A picture overlapped with another one. Deep Roads, winding caverns, healing magic to preserve his comrades. Gaping maws of beasts like chimeras with endless hunger--mashing teeth and limb, digging fingers in to the viscera. Flesh rended, to heal, to protect. The taste of blood in his mouth like mead. But this memory is impossible, he thinks. Fabricated. Justice was not with him then. Any distinctions have long started to fall by the way side, lost their boundaries. Kaleidoscope of memory, he thinks.

         At the end of the day, the boy perished to the Joining. Lacking in constitution. Or dumb luck. Fought for nothing. And all dead men walking--just a question of when.

         “Better things to fight and die over. More tangible plights, as it were.”

[ourdawncomes]

( ♡ - merrill! )

Party Banter Meme | Accepting | @giantsreach

Merrill: Was your father a mage as well, Carver?Carver: He was.Merrill: It must have been nice, growing up around so much magic.Carver: Try ‘exhausting,’ instead. Even before the Blight, my sisters’ talents forced us to move twice, just in case.Merrill: Oh. I suppose that would be a lot without aravels to carry your things.

(Standing outside the qunari compound)

Merrill: Do you think you could lift me?Carver: What? Oh, easily, yes.Merrill: And what about Isabela?Carver: Yes...?Merrill: Varric?Carver: Merrill, where are you going with all this?Merrill: Well, I was thinking if one of us sits on your shoulders with a big coat on, we could sneak into the compound... Oh, but they don’t wear coats, do they? Never mind.

(After Act I, during Legacy or Mark of the Assassin)

Merrill: You’re missed in Kirkwall, you know.Carver: Am I?(If prior to All That Remains)Merrill: Of course. I can tell your mother thinks of you often, even if she doesn’t always say it out loud. Not to me, at least.(If after All That Remains)Merrill: Of course. Hawke’s dog still whines when he hears your name.Carver: Is that all?Merrill: Well, no. I miss you, too.Carver: Do you, now?Merrill: You were the only one I could ever beat at cards. (Giggles) Although I suspect you let me.Carver: (Laughs) Only some of the time.

Merrill: Do you like being a Grey Warden?Carver: It’s not always easy, but every darkspawn I kill is one less that’ll ever hurt someone.Merrill: Good... I’m glad. It suits you. You always seemed sort of lost in Kirkwall, and not the sort of lost a ball of twine could fix.Carver: I guess I had to stumble onto something I was good at sooner or later.Merrill: You were good at a lot of things, but you weren’t happy being them. That’s what matters.

[oathes]

@giantsreach liked for a starter!

          "What do you mean it’s inedible, you just..” And he trails off then, squinting hard at his own creation: bits of rabbit held together by a wooden skewer. Supposed to be charred, not burnt. He gnaws off the edge, biting off the black crumbles, and he makes a face. Absolutely bone dry. He puts on his best game face. “See: still good. You just need to... pick it off, is all.”  

[skysaved-a]

@giantsreach    /     ♡

she   thinks   that   armor   must   weigh   something   awful   on   his   blight   weary   shoulders ,   even   more   so   now ,   then   however   much   it   did   before .   but   she   won't   say   anything   about   that .   a   plate   pushed   forward   then ,   in   lieu   of   any   running   commentary   on   the   state   of   his   order .   also   thinks   he   doesn't   need   her   telling   him   things   he   already   knows .        ❛   here .   might   be   a   little   better   than   what   they're   serving   down   here .   or   at   least   warmer . ❜

[valorcorrupt]

Something’s not right about what I’m doing but I’m still doing it. / war of the foxes.

Looking back in the half-light of the tunnel's sconces at the young man who, in his own special way, was complaining while not complaining, Inara chuckled softly, the noise muted some by the strips of fabric they'd tied over their face to protect them from the dust slowly billowing from the newly-closed sections of Deep Roads they'd decided were too full of monsters to push through. "I do believe you've just summed up the entire history of the Grey Wardens, little bird," she told him with a soft hum. "Congratulations. It's certainly shorter-winded than anything Genetivi could write."

[fen-dwxller]

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

𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 - 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 @giantsreach

❝ don't. your attempts at smalltalk are miserable. ❞ they were on their way to skyhold-- skyhold, of all places-- the second they received word from varric. the icy wind bit at their cheeks. far different from the hot, humid climates he was used to.

❝ we get there, find hawke, then go our separate ways. ❞ after the mage rebellion, any place with mages and templars together made him feel uneasy.

not to mention carver's sorry excuse for conversations.

[valorcorrupt]

❝  where would you go, if you might escape?  ❞

Circe Sentence Starters (Accepting)

"Escape is a strong word," Inara says with an arched eyebrow, looking over at the little giant at her side with an amused half-smile. "Is that how you would view it? Escape?" She glances around them. The hall is filled with nobles, all milling, whispering, staring. Vigil's Keep may be a fortress, home of the Wardens, but it is also the seat of the Arling, and Nathaniel tells her that such things are required, from time to time. She hates to deal with Nathaniel when he's cranky, so, now and again, she gives in. "What do you find scarier, Swoopy? The Darkspawn, or these... fine guests of ours?"

[valorcorrupt]

❝ Bloody sand. Getting in places where sand shouldn’t ever be. ❞

"Could be worse," says the Warden-Commander like an asshole, still unstrapping straps and letting sand loose from what seems to be every single nook and cranny available.

But it could be worse. Blight muck in the Deep Road lingers for longer, and the smell--

--but that's neither here nor there. Sand is the current enemy, and she can't pretend the boy is wrong to be annoyed.

"Just a few more days of desert, and then we can get back to civilization." Civilization says she, as if the place she's missing isn't the cold, rainy halls of Vigil's Keep. At least there she can hide from the sun and the noise and the people.

"As long as we find what we came for, anyway." And she's praying even now that they do. The Artifact is important, or so she tells herself. Important enough to suffer through this. Important enough to keep digging. "Just keep looking. Once we find it, we're home free."