#korcariapostate

[divinesleft-a]

@korcariapostate​ stinky starter for a stinky boy

      nimble fingers hook around the sill of the conveniently open window. though, she doubts that this is the doing of luck as much as the doing of the mysterious arcane advisor that celene is keeping secret from the chantry. justinia had sent her to find the identity of the new member of the empress’ court, as if she didn’t already KNOW. 

but in a similar way, she knows that the arcane advisor would be expecting her. while her position as sister nightingale is HIDDEN to those around her, this witch in particular always had a way of seeing through whatever barriers she had erected to protect herself. 

leliana pushes herself up and through the inviting window, swinging her legs over the sill and steadying herself to perch on it, eyes immediately fixed on the woman occupying the room. thank the maker she had found the CORRECT room. 

“i wonder if you understand just how precarious your position is here. you are a long way from the korcari wilds, morrigan.”

[bliighted]

@korcariapostate​

“come down here and say that to my face.”

[hawkeyde]

@korcariapostate​

HAWKE HAS TRUDGED OUTSIDE.          now, he stands tending to toast.    her huge maw chomps on his sleeves as he pats along the crown of her head.       ❝ i don’t see why you’re so fond of nibbling me. am i really that appealing? perhaps i should change my name to toast. ❞  & he snorts, to himself.    though his solo joke is cut short by another, who he turns to face. 

  ❝ i’m not going back into that tavern if we’re going to continue to tell ghost stories.  i thought we were playing a drinking game.   you are all fiends.   my skin crawls from the memory of those ... spooky tellings. ❞

[ostwickrebel-blog]

@korcariapostate s.c

                     she’s sure that morrigan’s doing it on purpose - making sure that they’re never ALONE together. they’ve both been present in war council meetings and passed each other in crowded courtyards, but she still hasn’t had the opportunity to get her alone. so that’s what this AMBUSH is all about. 

               she waits until the garden is empty before she steps out of the bush she had been hiding in, picking stray twigs from her hair. 

                          “we need to TALK.”

[afraidofchange]

korcariapostate replied to your post “oh and another thing? fellow white LGBT people?  our rights came from...”

We owe our literal rights to lovely self proclaimed drag queens and sex workers and I just think that's fantastic !!

for the record, Marsha P Johnson and Sylvia Rivera identified across the board as gay, drag queens, transvestites, etc and used she/her pronouns. I want to be clear that I’m not ignoring this in my original post.

That said, the language of being transgender and trans was not in wide use during their lives, hence a multitude of words and labels were used to describe themselves, but trans seems to be the common use when referring to them, and their activism for trans people.

[rivainicharm]

@korcariapostate​ / Chitchat at Camp

It was a quiet night at camp, or it would be if Alistair wasn’t ranting and raving; Loren heard mentions of a Witch among other remarks. Even if Lorenzo hadn’t been with the party for long, he was quick to figure out the dynamics here; a former Templar would, of course, have a distasteful outlook on Apostates. Especially the one with raven hair who camped towards the outskirts, far away from the rest of the group. 

Rising to his feet he decides to put some distance between himself and the Grey Wardens, following his curiosity over towards the far side of the camp. Slow and deliberate steps approach Morrigan’s corner and stop short, giving her plenty of space and in turn, respect. The Crow cants his head to the side, taking into detail the various oddities scattered about her ‘tent’.

“I don’t suppose you have something for a headache?” He nods towards the herbs she’d gathered. They were past exchanging of names but no real conversation had transpired since he’d joined. Or rather, since the Warden spared his life. 

[dragonversed]

starter from The Iron Bull for @korcariapostate

The Winter Palace is grand, and if it’s built on ancient elven grounds it doesn’t seem to bother the human nobles chattering about around the hall. The Iron Bull is sipping champagne from a crystal glass, comically tiny in his big hand, and keeps a keen eye on the perimeter for the events of the night have been many - assassination avoided and Inquisitor taken aside by the arcane advisor, yet Bull pays attention; he needs to know who this woman is and what she is capable of. 

After the Inquisitor leaves the witch’s side and goes back to the advisors, the qunari spy exits the ballroom to the balcony, seeing the woman in question illuminated under the moonlight. She seems mystical, a being who could have been part of the scenery back when the Dales were free; Bull moves silently toward her and only greets her when he reaches close. “Name’s The Iron Bull.” Offering her a glass of champagne, he leans against the marble of the wall and gives her a scrutinizing look with his one piercing eye. “You seem to have enchanted your way into the Inquisitor’s good graces, haven’t you?” he asks with a smirk on his scarred features.

[theharellan]

The glass in his hand grows too light for his liking, one last gulp swirls at the bottom, scarcely worth drinking. A pity, for the wine may be the night’s one saving grace. Not an hour ago, his glass might have been filled the moment it emptied, but now the bare minimum of servants walk the halls, Briala’s invisible hand having moved them elsewhere. A necessary reaction to the deaths in the kitchens, divided her people fell, losses she could ill afford now of all nights.

Before he is able to meet one of their eyes, they cross another, more unlikely, pair. There is no mistaking her, old magic clings to her tighter than the corset laced around her middle. Rumours abound regarding the nature of her involvement tonight, whether blood magic may save Celene’s throne, or if she could be trusted at all.

“Lady Morrigan.” Solas bows, one arm sweeping across his chest. “You are, perhaps, the first human who has met my eye this evening.” All others pairs skirted over his as though he were part of the furnishing. His brow arcs, curiosity written into the lines along his forehead. “What might I have done to draw your gaze?”

✧ @korcariapostate | lady morrigan