#inquistior

[medu-inthefade]

Inquisitor Leo'nis my baby boy

[wizardelf]

dragon age armor is such high fantasy i have a lot of troubles designing for it, but i wanted to make Mäz his own special knight enchanter armor.

[mercysought]

a kiss shared during a game, halwn and abel because i know abel sat outside with him in the evenings and played chess

KISSES // accepting . @middener @inquistior

   "You are good at this."

Abel's eyes from the half lit board to look at Hawln on the other side of the table. For all the time that Abel had spent thinking while looking at the pieces it felt now that the other had spent it studying him. The thought makes his ears burn first, followed by the clearing of his throat - the warmth would arrive to his cheeks too. For the moment, Abel was thankful that the light outside of Hawln's house was both too warm from the dying sun and already too little to, hopefully, be able to tell such aspects apart.

   "Thank you." he says, and eyes return to the board in front of them, his fingers move over the black pieces, the ones that he always used while he played chess back at home. It had been an almost silent rule and a quick way of identification within the chevaliers.

It was something that he had learnt far later after earning the golden plume on his helmet "Though I think good is perhaps teetering on kindness."

His back rests once more against the chair, his hands come to rest on the loose shirt that doesn't belong to him. His armour is somewhere inside, as is his weapons. From all that he is wearing, only the pants are his, the rest belonged to Halwn. Seated outdoors, Abel could believe this was a small piece of paradise, and while he would never admit it: he wished he never had to leave just as much as he wished to never have found it.

He watches Hawln now study the board, moving the pieces without much thought - only a smile on his face.

   "Do you always dismiss compliments, or is it only those that are well earned?"

Abel cannot stop a half laugh to pierce through his lips when the other speaks. It wasn't that he was trying to be dismissive, but it was simply the truth. He was not a good chess player, truthfully he had been amongst the best in the Academie, but being a good chess player meant nothing besides that: good for a couple of hours of good fun. It hardly made for anything worth getting a compliment over.

Abel shifts in his seat, his expression shifting and glancing towards Halwn with an apology in his light eyes "It is a cultural thing, I'm afraid."

A pause. When Abel leans forward once more he moves to a check mate. It is said in a whisper and it would be unexpected. But Halwn hadn't really been playing to win and Abel didn't know how to play if it wasn't to win. The chevalier rises from his chair, circling around the table to tip Hawln's chin upwards. His eyes are warm and beautiful.

Able leans down and gives him a gentle, light kiss upon his lips.

   "Forgive me, Halwn." he hums against the other's lips, the hand at his chin brushes through his brown hair "Kindness does not come as easily to me as it comes to you."

[alvivaarts]

Sometimes I'm just like: AHHH! INQUISITORS!

Left is my OG Inquisitor, Levara Lavellan! She's an elvhen rogue, and usually her romance is with Cullen. I love to play her in D&D as well as a monk, which I feel like fits her gruff no bullshit vibe way more. Despite that, she loves to look pretty, so she tends to really like weaving and sewing! Varran is my new guy! I don't have much in mind about him, but I imagine he's considerably younger and less experienced in life than Levara. I think he'd be a good fighter or warrior, and probably tends to trust too easily and get into shit for being too curious for his own good!

[asherthewarlock]

I spent a lot of nights on the run,

And I think oh, like I'm lost and can't be found..

I'm just waiting for my day to come

And I think oh, I don't wanna let you down..

---

Put together a little Inquis-Cal collage compiled from other edits I had saved :)

---

The Strumbellas // Spirits

[bornpariah]

       Late night stretches and he finds himself arrested in a moment ——— the moment, this moment, however which way you decide to think of it, whatever permutation. He hasn’t the slightest clue what time it is, if his internal clock serves ( and it nearly always does, mind you ) dawn is far closer than dusk and other responsibilities will begin to call and he’s uncertain what, precisely, has awoken him. Simply that he has awoken, cocooned in warmth that extends beyond his typical enchantments, much of which have long since faded with the passage of night.

       His head tilts and he finds himself summarily unsurprised to be greeted with the sight of Halwn, awake, and the mystery of what has awoken him has been solved at last !! Not that the man had been loud, mind you, considerate to a fault. How could you be considerate to a fault, you may ask? Well : simply look at the Herald of Andraste. Absurdism at its finest. ( he wonders, fleetingly, how long halwn has been awake. for mere moments? hours? it’s worry, he knows. worry, worry, always worry. )

       ❝ What’s that saying? It’s Ferelden, if I recall, though perhaps of the Free Marches ——— the early bird gets the worm? ❞ Dorian’s mouth presses together ( as if to suppress a smile ) and he takes Halwn’s hand in his own, turning it over and passing his thumb over the callouses he knows so well. He presses his mouth to Halwn’s palm within the span of the next beat of his heart ( slow, slow as death, as always ) before he twists, gathers magic about him as though it were a second skin ( it is ) and slips out of bed in a fluid motion. ❝ Well, the origin is neither here nor there. You have clearly taken it to heart ——— venhedis it’s freezing in here, people perish of frostbite, you know, ❞ complaining for all that he is the one who extricated himself from the warmth of their bed.

       Still : he, particular as ever, selects an orange from the bowl set unassumingly on the Inquisitor’s desk and throws it towards Halwn ( aided by magic ) as he makes a quick return. Dorian presses his already freezing toes against Halwn’s calves, imperious as ever, exhaling in something of a huff. ❝ If we are to be up before the crack of dawn, we might as well enjoy ourselves. And look : we are already well on our way, considering we slept on an actual bed. Revolutionary. ❞

@inquistior

[bornpariah-a]

@inquistior​:  ❝  i had a dream about you.  ❞

        Night has long since fallen ——— he blinks shadows from his eyes and drives murmurs of spirits / the dead / the living / the living walls from his mind. Sleep beckons and he cannot heed its call and instead stares blearily at the book open on his chest, leaned against one hand, the other woven gently into Halwn’s hair, strands slipping through his fingers / thumb brushing gently against his forehead.

        The Inquisitor’s ( theirs something wavering and fading breathes somewhere beside his heart, theirs he knows ) quarters are quiet / and warm / and dark but for the small orb of magelight hovering over his shoulder, casting warm light on the pages that he reads, only half-absorbing the theory of temporal manipulation by way of magickal foci. He’s propped himself upon far too many pillows and he’ll likely complain about his neck come morning ( he’s not as young as he used to be, certainly ) but Halwn is warm beside him and quiet frankly, he feels no desire to move at the moment.

        There’s something nauseatingly domestic about this scene, something fragile and wanting, something that his mind demands that he dare not explore but, well. His mind does so love meandering through treacherous territory and the light catches upon his sandy hair handsomely, the way the sun does, the way light reflecting off the damned snow does. In sleep Halwn looks not quite younger, but rather : quieter. Not even Halwn Trevelyan could manage the level of intensity that he portrays in his waking hours whilst unconscious, Dorian had been certain before he had first seen him sleeping, and he found himself vindicated when he discovered that he had, indeed, been correct. Handsome still, eyes closed and brows gentle and mouth slightly parted, given that he’s always handsome to nigh offensive levels.

        Here : he may look his fill. Whilst the sun is out and Halwn attends to his Inquisitorly duties and otherwise Dorian may also look his fill ( and does, mind you ) but here he can gaze without being ensnared in return. Something like ( or perhaps just ) affection takes root in his chest, as though it had not been there all along. For all of his bluster and his aborted attempts at proprietary distance, he had never dared try to prune nor raze whatever it is that began to sprout in those long ago days.

        ( he had rather assumed that it would die naturally. he’s certainly not disappointed by this result, mind you, but. )

        Halwn stirs as he brushes his fingers against his jaw. Were Dorian a different man, perhaps he would leave him to his sleep, given that the man hardly gets enough as it is, but he finds himself ravenous / lovesick / with this terrible tenderness / with this wretched wanting. Does love turn all into insatiable monsters? It must ——— Halwn has steeped Dorian in his particular brand of love ( heavy and weighting and waiting, settling over his sternum not to crush but to envelop, so steady in adoration and awareness and mortifying assuredness that it echoes and resonates and Dorian finds himself matching it, though perhaps not with weight but with attention ) and he’s turned into an absolute glutton.

        Their eyes meet and Halwn’s eyes are heavy with sleep, shaded with something that Dorian knows ( hard fought and hard won knowledge less in its reality and more in his defiance of it ) is love. He lowers the intensity of the light and sends it further away with a flick of his wrist, a compulsive act. ( compulsive and mindless and adoring. an act of : care. ) A smile plays along Halwn’s mouth and he brushes his thumb along the curve of his upper lip, a shadow of a kiss.

        ❝   I had a dream about you,   ❞   words drowsy / words quiet.

        Not the most absurd nor clandestine thing that the Inquisitor has ever said to him by far / but still Dorian feels his chest constrict in response, eyebrows raising as he can’t help but grin, teasing,   ❝   Was it a naughty dream?   ❞   he returns easily, laughing airily as Halwn has the apparent inspiration to press a kiss to his thumb, as though that were a perfectly normal thing to do.   ❝   Did the Fade deliver a lust demon to you in my form? Or did your subconscious pull free a memory for you,   ❞   Halwn reaches for him, hands warm against his waist, pulling him closer / though Dorian resists for the moment.   ❝   Hmm, not quite... it was a stunning recollection of the dance... you did enjoy that one quite a lot, if memory serves,   ❞   and, naturally, memory serves.

        Near silent and sleep-worn laughter reverberates through his body and Dorian, quite magnanimously, allows the book to be taken from his chest and tolerates, for bare moments, the cold that so rudely decides to rush in at Halwn stretches to deposit the book on the table far from Dorian’s side of the bed. When he returns he presses against him, for warmth and for the sake of it.

        ❝   Perhaps in this dream you were feeding me oranges and pomegranates and mango slices,   ❞   he says against Halwn’s cheek, legs tangling.   ❝   Take that as a suggestion if you will ——— you do enjoy feeding me,   ❞   spoiling him is more like it, and while Dorian has his qualms about such things he can’t actually deny that a small ( monstrous, perhaps ) part of him enjoys it all the same. He had adored receiving gifts from his lovers, after all.

        The light dims further and he can’t resist touching Halwn’s cheek gently, heavy with love : mango—sweet on his tongue. “Not that one either, then? Shame, it sounds like a rather pleasant dream,” Dorian laughs as he’s kissed, gently / quickly / sunlight—bright.

        ❝   Very well, Halwn, I give up on guessing,   ❞   he murmurs as the light goes out and long shadows cast by the moon slant over them and he wonders, obliquely, over the monstrosity of love.   ❝   Now you must tell me what this clandestine dream of yours was about, or else I may be forced to use less savory methods to draw it out of you. Enquiring minds wish to know.   ❞

[herald-divine-hell]

The other half of my gift for the amazing @rachelleofalltrades‘ birthday! I do hope you enjoy this little work with Kyrrha and Alexandra! Happy Birthday!

The wind came from the west low and warming. The green grass fluttered and swayed beneath the breezes, flattening in a sort of bow toward the gentle air. About the garden, pink petunia, white hemlocks, and golden yarrow blossomed like stars of colors waving in the earthy landscape. Sprawling leaves of crimson, rosy-pink, and gold swirled about the air, fallen from thin, black-spotted white branches, or branches as dark as the scurrying shadows. Alexandra watched them thrift on the weaving wind, bouncing up and down like upon seawaves.

“They’re so pretty,” gasped Kyrrha, the orange within her green eyes thickening with the spray of the pale gold of sunlight as she stared at the whirling leaves. Spun locks of orange was held up by a top knot, though a few strands fell down to curve at the side of her pale, heart-shaped face. Alexandra’s fingers itched to tuck them behind the elf’s pointed ear. A flush nestled her cheeks, like roses blooming in a field of snow. Freckles splattered across her features, and Alexandra’s lips recalled each and every one of them. 

Alexandra smiled as she leaned against her elbow, tilting her head a little as she watched the elf. “Not as beautiful as you,” said the Inquisitor, a smile forming at her lips. Alexandra longed to pull that elf into her arms and capture those full, sweet lips with her own. They were so beautiful when a smile was pulled at the corners and her eyes got like that, so shining, so amazed. 

Kyrrha turned her head, blush thickening and spread slowly down to her neck. “Oh, stopped.” She laughed, like bells chiming and carried by the spring wind. “Not as beautiful as you are!” Though she said it light and sweet, there was still a tremor in her voice, a shyness that Alexandra adored. 

Scoffing, the smile on Alexandra’s lips grew. “Nonsense. You are like the first shine of dawn as it creeps passed the shadow-clad mountains, ma cherie, so beautiful and captivating that that, at times, it hurts.”

Kyrrha’s eyes widened, almost terrified and filled with worry. “You’re hurt? Where?”

Alexandra notched an eyebrow at her, a chuckle passing her lips. “Nowhere. Your beauty hurts, but heals, ma cherie.” Leaning her head back, she whipped her hair to the side. “But I wouldn’t mind a good healing kiss.” 

Eyes filled with determination, though her smile never wavered, Kyrrha bent down and grazed Alexandra’s cheeks with her lips. “There we go!” proclaimed the little elf, a giggle bubbling from her throat. 

“I meant a true kiss, Kyrrha,” laughed Alexandra, shaking her head once more at the adorableness of the little elf. She pushed herself off her arm, and cupped the elf’s full cheeks. Her thumb grazed over the skin, counting each freckles until she lost count after one hundred. “So beautiful. Maker, how did I get lucky with you?” 

Alexandra did not give the elf time to answer. Instead, she swept down and captured Kyrhha’s lips with her own. The elf’s lips were soft, like linden leaves. It was almost as good as the gasp that fell from Kyrhha’s lips, too. Maker, she could do this forever. 

A hand fell to the small of Kyrhha’s back, pushing her close against Alexandra, ontop her lap. The smaller woman’s fingers tangled into Alexandra’s thick locks, and the Inquisitor herself sprayed her fingers over Kyrrha’s cheek. She took in her warmth, the softness of her body, everything. Everything that made up Kyrrha. The strands of sticks within Kyrrha’s hair, the smudge of dirt that sometimes decorate her cheeks, the always curl of her lips when she saw Alexandra. Everything, because she was hers, and Alexandra was hers as well.

And Maker, she could do this for eternity. Even when they parted for breath, Alexandra could not keep herself from peppering this lovely elf with kisses. Her head dipped down, to the gentle curve of her jaw. More and more kisses. 

Soft gasps fell from Kyrrha’s mouth, so lovely, so sweet, and so quiet. Alexandra wanted to hear more. She needed to hear more. “I love you, ma belle.” 

And as she dipped down to leave kisses where marks would be laid, she took pleasure in hearing those soft, breathless cries turn to words: “I love you, too.”