#lastburden

[mercysought]

what’s the point of traveling if you’re not having any fun? | bull to asharen!

YOU ARE EATING AN ORANGE // selectively accepting . @wrathvine @lastburden

Asharen holds the staff against her body, she had been enjoying the warmth of the sun in Rivain for the little moments as Tristan figured out where they were meant to be heading. Truthfully, she should be helping, however she had never been atop such a tall cliff so close to the sea. More, she hadn't seen such a massive stretch of beach, and that was what she had been looking at, leaning precariously on the edge of the cliff, feeling the sun on her freckles and the wind brushing aside her single braid, pushing it off her shoulder and dark blue shawl.

The Inquisitor looks up to the Iron Bull with a half smile, brow arching, pressing her weight on her heels away from the cliff.

   "Is that what we are doing here?" she hums, turning to face the large Qunari, glancing behind him Tristan is still trying to understand the map. The longer they spent in Rivain the more she felt they had been given bad information. But she trusted Charter and if Charter said that this map was up to par - or as good as they would ever be able to get - then Asharen would follow through. Anything to give them an edge in the South. Light eyes move back to Bull, her flesh hand raises to her forehead, protecting her from the sun "Having fun?"

   "Why not?" his shoulders roll and he takes a deep breath, looking at the sea. She follows his eyes for a moment "The sun is warm, it's not rained for three whole hours." she snorts. So... Since they left Minrathous and used the Eluvian to get to Rivain. Yes, that would make sense. Asharen had never spent much time in Rivain but rain wasn't the weather she associated with it. Bull looks towards her with a grin "We're not in the Crossroads."

Asharen shoots him a look, her brow raised. She leans on her staff and the glass needles that hang from the dark wood jingle softly in the wind and from the movement. One could not account for taste, she supposed "Sounds as close to fun as we've had recently!"

   "Fair." she hums, leaning once more over the cliff. Taking one unsteady step closer, holding the staff closer to her she looks down. The silence settles between the two of them as she silently makes some rough calculations.

It was incredibly high, but she was confident. And she had done dumber things.

Taking a step back, she looks up to bull once more with a grin "What about a race to the bottom, for fun? What do you say, Bull?"

   "... Alright, boss." his brow arches and he mirrors what she had done just moments before, as if he was looking at the ledge, trying to see what she did. When he cannot see what she did, he looks back to her with a deeper crease on his brow and his one eye narrowing "What's the prize?"

She could do without another complaint about the weather. It seemed to take over every single conversation. Ferelden was miserable, as was often the days that they had to spend in Minrathous. Her work, her plans rarely took them to the sunnier sides of Antiva and Rivain. She wasn't happy about it either.

The Inquisitor hums, her shoulders shrugging.

   "Bragging rights. I don't think I've ever won anything against you. Even cards." yeah... she couldn't really think of a single game that she had played against the Iron Bull where she had won, but she guessed that made sense. She was decent in games of chance, but she had been decent in her clan, outside of it? Well, she hadn't really done much of it because she never had enough coin to really lose. As Inquisitor, she had often made choices that had made her more focused on the books in the basement keep than necessarily cards. She smiles, warmly, looking up to Bulls' eye "I think this is the year where that changes."

   "Doubtful." he snorts with a smile, his arm opens towards the cliff and then to her "But you're on."

Asharen's smile opens further as her brass hand holds his, squeezing it gently. Tristan is walking towards them with a folded map, starting to walk towards the two figures. Shifting her staff, Asharen pulls one of the smaller needles from the staff, releasing the Iron Bull's hand Asharen takes a step towards the edge. The first step she feels the floor give in but remain steady still. Only crumbling softly. Nothing happens and so Asharen gives a single look over her shoulder to the Qunari seeing his eyes widen.

Brass hand holding her staff, flesh hand pulling her braid into her robes, pulling up her shawl to cover her head. She runs to the edge, jumping off with the needle in the air. It sings in the air, cutting through the air and into a large mouth of pure darkness bellow. The winds threaten to tear her braid apart, pry the shawl off her head and yet it remains tightly held against her body. She feels the wind cut into her face, first warm as the cliff faces rush behind her, the golden sand beneath her glittering like gold. And then -

Nothing. The winds in the fade are stronger, stopping her from falling, softening her landing. Behind her the rift closes with a soft ripping sound. With the same needle in hand she starts writing in the air, heel tapping the floor in the same movements she had done now more times than she could count. She had never done it for such a frivolous matter as fun, but it felt good. It felt nice.

The floor beneath her glows green, pulling the needle up a thin line of green shines brightly until it turns white. She is in a deep valley surrounded by gnarly cliff faces. In front of her, the world tears itself open so she might walk through.

And she does.

The sun feels like a warm hug once she steps through. Just a few steps away the sea laps against the sand. The bottom of her robes are damp from the little pockets of salt water. Asharen turns, holding her flesh hand up to her eyes, towards the cliff faces. A smile lights up when she finds the two figures. Glee floods her face, pride making her heart beat all the faster. To make such calculations so fast, she had never done that either.

She could feel her heart race in her throat, in her ears, and all she could do was laugh.

   "You're so tiny!" she shouts from the beach. Pinching the air, she holds the small figure of the Iron Bull all the way atop the cliff between her indicator and thumb, squinting through it "I can barely see you!"

From somewhere up in the cliff she can hear little hints of what Bull was saying, something along the lines of 'Show off' and 'fucking magic' and all she can do is laugh as she waits for both of them to come down.

[rookfang-a]

@lastburden / emmrich said,  ❝ life and death, one and the same. ❞

↪ i am not looking for the meme. 

ITS THE KIND OF THING THAT MIGHT COME AS COLD COMFORT,  but Laika pauses, her head tilting in consideration.  It's a thought that disquiets her, and she's not sure why.

To Laika, death is but the foregone conclusion.  The end of all endings; the very last thing to worry about.  Once the knife, the spear, or any number of implements had done her in, what else was there to think of? Once Laika was dead, she expected to be dirt, ash; the way they all are made. If whoever kills her would give her even that.

She's stood vigil at too many paupers' pyres, watching once-friends become unidentifiable mass. Some part of it never sat right with her, that the poor had no choice but this, faceless even in death. No one to croon at the wall of light, or the coin to pay for it.

It is clear to her, in both his nature and the world he comes from, that Emmrich does not share her perspective. And it's not a bad thing, necessarily. But the way a wound itches when it heals, she has to think and mull it all over.

“ Does that...  ” She makes a small sigh, her own confusion, her own discomfort evident.  ( she welcomes discomfort, in many ways, but that doesn't make it easier. )   “ I don't know — ”  Her hands are held over her stomach, interlaced fingers twisted into knots.  Repeated thoughts about the dead, the out of reach and never seen again. Laika wonders what they would say, if Emmrich could reach them.

But the Vint burn their dead. What other option is there?

“ The dead feel so distant from us, even if death is always so near. Does knowing that they are closer than we think - does it help? ”

[mercysought]

when you look at me, what do you see? | ykw ... cole to the priestess.

   "I do not think you will like my answer." she answers plainly, she had been slowly finishing a charcoal etching of the training area of Skyhold. The cold was biting and she hated the wind, but she could not sleep despite the runes and rituals she had set. The nightmares were too loud and perhaps that was the reason why it showed up. She had kept her distance from him for a reason, a good reason, she wished that the Inquisitior wasn't quite so fond of it.

There were very few soldiers still training, Skyhold was cold at night, colder than other places and the priestess would know: she had never spent enough time in a snowy space such as this, much less been forced to train it and yet she did now. Her ailing body screamed more than it had in her youth when she had no formal training, screaming to recall a vitality and life that it had once held and lost. It was that pain that kept her going now, able to focus on something beyond the crippling fatigue.

   "But I suppose that is why you must have sought it." she says when it doesn't leave her alone. Closing the notebook she turns to him with a grimace that twists her face "No one else seems willing to have a conversation with you about it."

He was not unlike the rest of the people in Skyhold and perhaps that would bring him some measure of hope, or happiness. Perhaps that is what it wished to hear. However, what she meant was that he was also barely a shadow. Closer to a refracted reflection of what he wanted to emulate but not the real thing. Not even spirits had survived Fen'harel's betrayal without suffering.

   "You are lost. Picking at old bones, feelings and aspects that are not yours in hopes that it will turn you into something that you are not. Something you can never become. You know this, yes?"

Her brow creases, twisted by scars and broken vallas'lin. The words spoken in ancient elvhen and, despite the harshness of the words, they felt true they felt right. And they felt comfortable.

How odd it is, that to speak such awful truths but in that tongue that she had only heard butchered by Children that didn't know any better "It is one thing to lie, it is another to believe it yourself."

He might be closer to a human, closer to humanity, but his recipient would always be lacking. The priestess gets up, feeling the snow around her bare feet, she glances at him one last time, placing her scarred hands over his shoulder, sighing "I pity you, spirit. I am sorry that this should be your fate."

BEYOND THE STORM // accepting . @wrathvine @lastburden

[mercysought]

shit happens, or it doesn’t. we should just be happy when bad shit doesn’t happen. | bull to the priestess!

YOU ARE EATING AN ORANGE // not accepting . @wrathvine . @lastburden

   "And you are free to. To be content."

She doesn't really look to the Qunari, choosing instead to continue looking down to her scarred feet and the way that they made the patterns atop the snow. The same repeated patterns, again and again and again and again. She could feel her feet burn and when it became too much she sat atop one of the benches near the training area, holding her feet beneath her body, both fists clenched on her tights. Her feet didn't hurt quite enough to stop this time, not quite yet.

On her right hand she held a glaive, and those movements too remained the same. Slow, precise with each movement on her feet.

Dark eyes glance to the man, seeing that he was still there but not looking at her. He looked towards the Inquisitor who stood atop the stairs up to the throne room. The priestess did not need to turn to know this. The Iron Bull was a hard man to read, by nature of his job, but she had broken men like him before.

   "Maybe they" she turns, repeating the same steps, twisting the glaive over her muscles. The imbalance in her form made her want to stomp at the ground, but she simply bit deeper into her cheek, holding the weapon tighter. Deep breath. The steps restart once more. The only indication of who she means is only clear by the brief glance towards the stone stairs behind her "might even believe you when you say that."

She didn't. But that much was clear. The Iron Bull had earned the Inquisitor's trust by being immediately upfront about his role within the Qun, but that was just another tactic and it was one that worked well: make yourself an open book, or what others expect an open book to be. Be likeable. Be what others did not expect when they look at you. Surround yourself with more likeable people. People that are not involved. People that you can grow to care about. And just wait.

   "But I know a duty and cause bound man when I see one. And I know what men like those do when duty conflicts with their heart."

People end up dead. You set up a stack of cards and its own goal is to eventually be torn down, hopefully by your hand but sometimes forces outside force you into that role too.

Perhaps she was wrong, perhaps she saw the worst in him too because that was all that she knew of this world and the previous. But she had spoken to some Tal-Vashoth. She had heard him talk. And more, she had observed him when the Qun was brought up. Perhaps she was wrong, but something in her chest told her that she was not. He was a dangerous man that made use of his large form and relaxed demeanour to put people at ease.

The Iron Bull wasn't a good man, he was an efficient spy.

The priestess stops herself. Holding onto the frustration at her form in the back of her throat, staring at the weapon in her hand and turning it softly, hearing it cut through the air before simply throwing it to the ground beside her. Only then does she look up at the Iron Bull.

   "Perhaps at one point you were happy to simply continue and be content. But if you were to tell me that is still the reality, I would call you a liar." pausing, she now fully looks up to the Inquisitor and then back to the Qunari "Or delusional."

[rookfang-a]

@lastburden / iron bull said, “  were you trying to cover your ass with that lie?  ”

↪ QUESTIONING PROMPTS.   ACCEPTING.

THE SHADOW LEANS BACK AGAINST THE WALL,  as if she could melt into it in its entirety.  If her face were uncovered, the heat that gathered under her cheeks would be plainly visible.  Instead, the darkened skin is gracelessly hidden by black-blue fabric.  Was it from embarrassment at being caught or just annoyance that Bull decided to call her on it?  Somewhere in the in between, she decides, and through curtains of black hair, glares up at Bull.

“ Oh, get off it. ”  Laika growls, trying to not sound all at once like a petulant teen. Though, she does. “ You’re the only one who noticed anyhow.  Our friend certainly didn't see through it. ” Friend, euphemistic, noun: the buffoon whose coffers would soon belong to the Veilguard.  Least, if Laika had anything to say about it. 

[mercysought]

”it’s not you, it’s me” is not only cliché, it also doesn’t make any sense. | dorian and asharen.

YOU ARE EATING AN ORANGE // accepting . @wrathvine . @lastburden

This certainly was new. And she didn't expect Dorian, of all people, to comment on it. Truth was, between those that new that she had been in a relationship with Solas and now was not, and those noticing the very obviously missing vallas'lin, the past few days had been trying - to say the least.

There was no real way of answering those questions without immediately jabbing into her still very raw and hurt feelings. And she was trying, still trying her best to answer any questions or to accept people that were just trying to be kind to the Inquisitor and her feelings, only by turn making it harder.

They did not understand that it wasn't just about her feelings being hurt. Being broken up with. The humiliation of that and of people gossiping about it. It was the questions. The questions about her face. The why and how. The already lack of understanding and the fact that Asharen couldn't even find the words to explain them. Not in a way that wouldn't just dig deeper into her wounds. And she didn't owe them, or anyone, that.

Everything just felt like too much. But she was holding it together.

She wished she could melt into the crowd, but as Inquisitor she didn't have that benefit so when she could she would hide in the library with Dorian, hidden into one of the nooks behind one of the books she had been reading. Or in her room, if she could deal with the solitude. Or, if she felt brave, she would ask Josephine what she could do to help moralle - the past two times she could have sworn she had seen pity in her eyes despite the warm words and completely unrelated topic.

Asharen thought she might actually die of embarrassment in that moment.

   "I know you are trying to help, Dorian." she speaks from behind the book, softly placing it down on the table that they had been sharing. She gives him a smile, one that she hopes is enough to give him some comfort about her own feelings. Her voice was kept low, she didn't want her voice to really carry down to the rotunda though she knew that the library was unlikely to ever be the best of places for some privacy from Solas' ears.

She could not stand the thought of being alone in that moment, though, and so she avoided her room. For the moment. Clearing her throat, she flattens the page she had been reading "But I don't need help. I just... need to sit with my feelings."

She sees his expression soften and feels immediate regret after having said it. Even Vivienne had commented on it. She felt like she was walking around naked, with her bleeding heart on her sleeve and painting her footsteps everywhere she went. She just needed to... not think about it. Which was hard when Solas was also the person that was most helpful when it came to her own understanding of Rift magic. He was also the one that has most knowledge in things she wished to know outside of the work they were doing for Inquisition.

And Solas was also the person she did not wish at all to talk to in that very moment. And so she wouldn't!

Until they had to leave, and when that happened she would... just have had to digest her feelings enough. There was a large breach and smaller rifts in the fade that they needed to fix and... Asharen would swallow her hurt if it meant keeping things professional. The thought made her cringe, her jaw tenses and she sees Dorian's eyes burning through her.

   "If you were to say that to Varric," she clears her throat, turning on her chair. Pulling one of the red braids from her head, carefully, allowing it to simply hang over her shoulder "I'm sure he would tell you that these things are not bound by logic."

And it wasn't. It wasn't about him or her, it was about... the vallas'lin. And that he had been distracting her. And in a different world, perhaps...

She feels her jaw tense again and closes the book with a snap. She attempts to give him a small smile but only a tense line is formed with barely the shape of one. She tries harder but doesn't think it does much better "Much to my chagrin."

Getting up, she collects her books. She thinks the time at the library is over, actually. The time with other people for today is over, perhaps a warm cup of tea was in order.

   "It will be fine, though." she pauses, nodding to Dorian. Closing her eyes she takes a deep breath, exhaling through her nostrils "I will be fine."

And she would. Just probably not on that day. She had started walking towards the stairs down towards the rotunda, only to immediately catch herself before that becomes a mistake too. Turning on her heels, she feels her braids hit against her back and that too feels strange. Perhaps that was just another thing she needed. A new air, a new change of pace. Passing once more where they had been sitting, she makes her way up towards Leliana's nest and deciding to instead take the ramparts path "If you'll excuse me."

[anghrd]

" oh , is that for the book club ? " rook had long-since given up on trying to fall back asleep - her mind a boiling pot of fears and regrets and anxieties for the future , a tightness in her chest that feels downright suffocating . hours of tossing and turning on the sofa left her frustrated , so she quit while she was ahead and trudged towards the dining room . what she hadn't expected was to find bellara already there . " the book , i mean . or is that one of the serials neve was getting for you ? "

@lastburden gets a starter for bellara !

[sommersong]

AT SOME POINT, SIMEON ELECTED TO STOP CARING ABOUT THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS IMAGE. or, perhaps more accurately, he'd realized it made little difference how he presents himself, when others would simply spin it all to see what they wanted to see in a teen icon turned disaster. so he would give it to them, on his terms, under his rules, in a way he engineers. it's no different than another performance, except that nobody knows it is. somehow that comforts him, in its way, as though nobody could quite see him clearly enough, even if they imagined otherwise. nobody thinks simeon clever enough to trick them – and that's his pressure point.

it's one of the things that brings him here, or at least that's what he tells himself. even though he doesn't care about getting caught, not really, the thrill of knowing he could be lights a fire in his veins that energizes every inch of him, which has drawn him toward the rail of the ring despite the half-hearted warnings of his companions. of course, they know better than to think that they can stop him, once he sets his mind to something. his knuckles have gone white against the rail as he holds onto it, gazing eagerly beyond, a spark almost wickedly eager dancing in his gaze.

his eyes fall upon one of the fighters, a mountain of a man twice his own size – and a familiar face on whom, the last few times he's attended, he may have bet an irresponsible amount of money. he wonders if the man knows, but ultimately, it doesn't matter, certainly not now, with his mind just slightly softened by whatever's in his cup and his shoulders just relaxed enough to allow him to make poor decisions. " jaws, is it? " he calls, only just loud enough to be heard where the other sits, waiting for the next match to begin. sim moves his arms so they hang against the rail, his temple leaned against the upright bar beside him as he grins. " don't you think it's a bit unfair? fighting all these amateurs with ... all that. " with one hand, simeon gestures to all of him. " what is it they say about bringing a gun to a knife fight? or is it the other way around? "

@lastburden. starter call.