#lyriumwrath

[gynvaell]

❛ Forgive my curiosity, Gwynaen, but I’ve not seen markings quite like yours & they do not strike me as Scoia’tael in nature. An artistic choice, perhaps ? ❜  // @lyriumwrath

[luredeep-moved]

❛   𝙰𝙸,    𝚈𝚂𝙶𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙰𝙳    –––   ❜      a curse,    a shake of his head.    in the dark,    it took until the last second when the moonlight caught in the other elf’s hair,    lit up the slopes of features so intimately familiar,    that iorveth recognised @lyriumwrath​​.     his bow is lowered and as tension fades,    so does something akin to relief arise.    it has been a long while.    a dream lost in the interim.    new lines have been pressed into the woodland fox’s flesh,    of battle and fatigue both.     ❛   your steps are too quiet for your own good,   ❜    grumbles the taller elf,    though not without a flicker of mirth in the green of his eye extending to a slight grin tugging at his lips.    ❛   and i fool kicked out my fire,    on saovine of all nights.    ciaran would be appalled.   ❜    iorveth’s grin wavers then,    a shadow of grief dimming the relief of seeing his lover alive,    ere he turns to kindle said fire once more.

         ❛   how did you find me ?   ❜

[plaguefated]

@lyriumwrath liked for a starter ♠

A soft chuckle falls from her lips, eyes trained on the Templars marching past, oblivious to what lies before them.

❝ I'm surprised they haven't hauled me away yet. I wonder which it would be ; the Circle, the Chantry, or the GALLOWS. ❞

[scapedgrace]

       “I was thinking we could spar for a bit. When you have the time.” 

@lyriumwrath​ — call.

[betterdcyz]

@lyriumwrath​ requested for a lyrical starter featuring Uther Hawke.

          “——look me in my eye,  tell me everything’s not fine.” 

[fategrabbed]

@lyriumwrath​ asked: ‘ how happy for you, to possess the talent for flattering with such delicacy. ’ For Hawke, if you like!

a  laugh  escapes  him.  he  runs  his  fingers  through  dark  hair,  mussing  it  even  more  than  it  already  was.  for  all  the  deadpan  snark,  hawke  can  tell  fenris  is  amused  by  his  antics.  even  if  he  looks  just  as  broody  as  usual,  arms  crossed  over  his  chest,  eyes  boring  into  hawke  with  an  intensity  few  others  can  match.  there’s  something  almost  catlike  in  that  stare.  it  makes  him  feel  seen.  something  in  his  stomach  flips.

he  rocks  back  on  his  heels.  ❛  don’t  be  glib,  fen.  it’s  a  finely  honed  art,  practiced  on  many  a  merchant,  guard,  or  noble.  with  the  right  words,  you  can  talk  yourself  into一 or  out  of一 pretty  much  anything.  useful  for  someone  in  my  line  of  work.  ❜  technically  previous  line  of  work,  now  that  he’s  gotten  the  estate  back.  but  he  still  manages  to  make  his  penchant  for  flattery  work  for  them.

[alcriti]

Fenris, showing up at Astarion's house this time: I'm here to be judgemental and eat your food 😌 / @lyriumwrath​

He does not believe in the idea that friends are worth keeping: They are an asset when needed, and traitors when the idea of betrayal fancies them. He knows both faces of friendship.

Fenris, though, is an oddity, wearing the mantle companion, of which he purposely stands just out of reach... something like a friend, but not quite. Astarion, too, is similar in that regard; they share few things in common, but are nonetheless content when they cross paths.

Often, that is the case, but as Astarion stares down the length of the table, adorned with expertly crafted meals by the manor staff -- reserved only for the most important of occasions -- and accompanied with wine brought from the cellar, that surpassed in its age, Astarion’s insignificant one-hundred years of life. His stare burns with disdain, recognising the jerkin their guest wears as his own, or it was... Pulled out of a dusty wardrobe somewhere, no doubt, and the young lord buries his scowl in his hand.

He feels the hands of his mother grip his shoulders from behind, her fingers pinching him through his vest, and she whispers to him: ‘ Don’t be rude to your guest. ‘

It is a warning, and request both, and Astarion abides with little resistance. Across the marble floor, he strides with arrogant posture, watching as Fenris pay his approach little mind. His eyes focus on the lofty ceilings, the paintings that hang on the walls, the arched windows that stretch impossibly high... And as his guest attempts to pour himself some wine, Astarion snatches the pewter jug from him possessively. He holds it close for a second, staring down the other elf in a highback chair he looks so out of place sitting in, and calmly, fills his goblet.

❝ Can I get you anything else, Fenris? ❞ His voice hangs on his name, a low rumble in his throat, and when he forces a smile, it shift into an unbecoming snarl.

[spphirrguearc]

          ❛  You seem eerily calm.  ❜  COMMENT MADE LIGHTLY. Not to push, not to test, a light-hearted observation. Kirkwall appeared calmer now with Hawke as hero, tending to those who needed assistance &&. forming a sense of justice to the city of hell. Impressive, by standards held in family history.

          ❛  What has you so calm this day  ?  ❜  /  @lyriumwrath​  ♡  ‘  d  .