#leonicor

[wilyways-blog]

     ‘ I hope whatever you put in your hair isn’t flammable, Commander. ’

leonicor

[ofwalks-a-blog]

mr clean

THIS JUST IN: RAMS FORGETS TO TICK ANON AND FUCKS UP

[martyriium-archive-blog]

Monstermen

{ leonicor } he'd just stood here in perfect silence for some minutes, staring at their prisoner. Of course, he would rather have his head on a spike when he led his templars against the Inquisition, so their men would see their commander slain at the hands of the enemy before he fulfilled his holy role as vessel. However, Corypheus had other plans, and Samson just stood there, unaware of the fact that he was at it again- gnawing at his thumbnail as he contemplated Cullen, trying to decide whether to tell him or not. And how.  "I always knew you would make it far. Knight-Commander... but here you are, and you rose high. It must be easy, commanding the faithful soldiers who are there to protect the world. Easy to slay monsters, easy to slay the evil ones. Easier than having soldiers tell you you're like the father they never had to them... and then they cannot even recognize your face three days later.  But this is war- either you become a monster, or make monsters. Nothing good, nothing worthy, ever comes without sacrifice. How much are you willing to sacrifice, Cullen? Your blood is a cheap price to pay- there are fates worse than death." Such as the fate that has been chosen for you, he thought somberly. Some seconds of silence passed as he stared down at the man, bound and chained before him, stripped of his armor and weapons, helpless in the hands of the enemy.   "You know what I would like to do to you- have your head chopped off, and present it to your troops before we crush them. Alas, this is not the fate Corypheus envisions to you. I have orders..." No warning before his clenched fist came down on the wooden crate and smashed it with ease. Onions spilled out all over the ground of the tent where they kept their prisonners. His chest was heaving under the sudden acceleration of his breathing. "You, who are still a faithful chantry boy just like back then- why do Gods do that? Why do Gods love putting us all on trials, to see to which point we are ready to set ourselves on fire in devotion. Why?" 

[everybodys-grandma-blog]

grcmes came for a visit

hiddenezio came for a visit

leonicor came for a visit

“Look at my boys! Look so strong and hungry!”

[insurrects-blog]

[8:07:27 PM] cullen mackleford: *anders voice* i'm gonna fight the commander of the inquisition

[8:13:04 PM] cullen mackleford: put 'em up, noodle boy

[8:19:24 PM] PUNK ASS: DO IT I DARE U

[8:26:19 PM] cullen mackleford: |: UR GONNA GET IT U GIGANTIC NOODLE

[8:31:22 PM] PUNK ASS: U SEE THESE PLUS ONE BICEPS MAGE BOY DONT BE KITTEN URSELF

[8:31:28 PM] PUNK ASS: im so sorry

[8:35:13 PM] cullen mackleford: holy shit

[8:35:18 PM] cullen mackleford: did you really just cat pun me

[8:35:29 PM] cullen mackleford: i am s ho cked and am AZED

[tofeign]

note.

my muse has died. send ‘note’ for a goodbye letter my muse wrote to yours as a precaution, in case something, like it has, should happen. | accepting.

      Commander,

      I’m certain by now that the entirety of our closer company has been notified of my work in Tevinter (many offered warm farewells as I exited our fortress – it was grand).  I left with promise of return, that I’d once again reside behind the cold stone walls of one poorly placed stronghold that we undertook...  ‘We’ll work together again!’ I’d thought, and thus I realised that I took quite a liking to a select few in the south with apt subjection and would truly have been happy to be back (despite many complaints that I’d oft voiced).  But I digress, this is not to reminisce about the past, however grateful I am for all that I’ve experienced alongside the Inquisition.

      It seems that my fate does not heed to desire -- perhaps the Maker never intended for me to be in the presence of such fine company to begin with and is acting on it by dismissing my wishes to return.  To put it in a kinder perspective, there are issues that I must attend to and I fear that by the end of it, I will not have the privilege of reuniting with you, as I’d promised.  It is with a heavy heart that I write to you now, and I can only hope my letters reach Skyhold promptly -- I must ask that you refrain from pursuing me, something that I’ve had to ask of everyone else in the letters I’ve written.  These matters are my own and I will bear the consequences; I refuse to allow anyone -- especially you, commander -- to hurt themselves in an effort to save me; I cannot be aided now, the decision has been made.

      It almost seems arrogant of me to assume that anyone would chase after me, but these are precautions I must remember to take for the safety of those whom I care for.  (Yes, an incredibly weighty confession, but I have come to care dearly for you and the rest of the residents of Skyhold.  Tell anyone, and I will make sure to drag my bloody corpse to your steps and have your head.)

      I am sorry I couldn’t part without so much as a final game, though I did always appreciate how you took time out of your busy, busy schedule to entertain a hapless mage.  They say by blessing you ascend to the Maker’s side, that you are able to watch over the world through golden skies (did I get that right, chantry-boy?) -- perhaps now I can catch you cheating; you can’t be so deceitful when I am looming right over you.

      Until we are able to meet again, I thank you, Cullen, for all that you have done for me -- for being a friend.  I could not have asked for anything more, and I hope for the best for you as you continue to lead.  I’ll be sure to watch over you in your battles to come, know that I will be applauding from above -- I always did admire the way you held your sword.

                              Dorian.