#mordredofthewilds

[malleusmalefica-blog]

I RP with you because the mun is a fantastic writer and just an all around fabulous person. No matter who you play, you play them with skill and a depth that I envy. Plus, hot faceclaims, yo.

Hot face claims?

I’m sure I

don’t know

what you

mean.

[malleusmalefica-blog]

whispers me

OTP: Mordred/Inara obviously I mean “the Bitch and the Witch” RHYMES that makes it practically fate or whatever.BrOTP: Mordred/Sten. I feel like Morrigan’s ridiculous half-sarcastic sexual advances would translate into a mutually stoic bromance.OT3: Mordred/Inara/aggressive snarkingNOTP: Mordred/Doge

[malleusmalefica-blog]

"You look like the witchy sort."

[theirinliestheproblem-archived]

Hm, funny, I thought you too simple to get bored, Warden. You've never seemed to have trouble entertaining yourself with puppets in the camp.

Not entertaining. Distracting. Dangerous to look in the far side of camp. Might accidentally catch sight of your face. *sharp inhale* Will turn to stone. 

[spiritflux]

The Witch and the Bodyguard // Mordred & Fenris

Most cities spend their dark hours in peaceful slumber, but not the nocturnal streets of the island-city of Llomerryn.

Of all parts of the thief city, the docks were, perhaps, one of the more savoury places – if any part of it at all could justifiably be called ‘savoury’. Whereas the sprawling mazes and twisted rat runs of the black markets and ramshackle streets were stifled, filled with the stench of unwashed bodies and rancid breath and illegal goods, out here, where the harbour was at least open to the air, a soft, refreshing breeze often came in from the east, bearing on it the faintest taste of salt and a blissful coolness that was rare so far north in Thedas.

Of course, it would not have been Llomerryn without its fair share of questionable citizens. The city might have been unashamed about its illegal trade practices, but the majority of ships still made sure to dock there in the dark hours (old habits die hard, Fenris mused to himself), and the water-rotted piers and black-painted hulls that made up the blackened harbour shuddered and shifted beneath the weight of feet and drunken guards that crossed the salt-bloated woods, busy even despite the dark hours of night.

Most men would have thought twice to pass their night hours in such company, but Fenris drew comfort from the predictable familiarity of it all. Llomerryn might have been just as safe as it was dangerous for hunted men – certainly, men here were more likely to turn a blind eye to a man with blood on his hands and scars on his face, but in equal amounts the weight of a bounty on a man’s head was perhaps more tempting than it might be elsewhere. But with a hood over his distinctive features and the weight of a blade on his back, Fenris liked his odds. It was certainly a fair enough place to rest his feet, just for a while.

One ear turned to the passings of other nocturnal men, he stepped off of the cobbled streets, and onto the banks where the man-built harbour faded into pebbled shoreline. Llomerryn Island and Llomerryn City were practically the same place – what had begun as a small settlement had spilled over until it engulfed the land mass entirely, but there were still small havens, like the bare ground beneath his feet, where nature still poked its head from beneath the layers of coal dust and planted things to seed.

Cloaked in the darkness, Fenris sank to his knees, elvhen eyes picking out the plant that he sought in the dim light. The sea air and humid weather was good for elfroot – the plant grew freely here, and whereas he could purchase it just as easily at an emporium or mage’s store, those places of magic and spellcraft had always sat uncomfortably with him.

He’d much rather gather supplies in this manner, and save himself the coin in the process. Concentrating on his work, he pinched his fingers beneath two thick leaves, and broke the stem free with blunted nails. Immediately the scent of elfroot sap reached his nose, and he wrinkled it a little at the sharp, astringent smell. The anaesthetic smell would linger long after he washed his hands, he knew, but it was a small price to pay for the valuable herb.

[bardishwarden]

mordredofthewilds has befallen you

It was dark in the wilds and a long way from her island home, yet Tara kept her fire small and listened to the sounds of the animals in the wilds. She tore apart the meat she'd been cooking and chewed on it. Raising a brow, she saw a shadow move. Most would have instantly gone for their sword, there were apostates in these woods. When she felt the presence grow near she held out a stick of meat instead of her sword.

"Best to announce yourself before someone gets the wrong idea and thinks you're a thief and decides to fight instead of sharing."

[blightbound-archive-blog]

// I should be answering asks and writing replies to live up to the sterling opinions I've somehow tricked you all into having but instead I am writing a totally unrelated thing and guess whose fault it is.

Go on, guess.

[blightbound-archive-blog]

Headcanon; Inara is a very heavy sleeper, and often snores lightly though she doesn't know it. If sleeping with someone, she'll keep contact with them throughout the night. She's not a clinger, mind you, but a hand on the arm or chest, or her foot lightly touching theirs. Subconsciously, its to let herself know they didn't disappear in the night. That she didn't loose someone else.