Jan 8, 2016
“I don’t understand but I’m angry about it.”
“That’s... good, I suppose. But now I am curious what Anders told you.” Was it too much to hope that the mage had given a complete and logical explanation to his girlfriend? Probably.
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“I don’t understand but I’m angry about it.”
“That’s... good, I suppose. But now I am curious what Anders told you.” Was it too much to hope that the mage had given a complete and logical explanation to his girlfriend? Probably.
“I’m going to kill everyone.”
“I’m not sure your dwarven friend would approve of such tactics, though I imagine it would certainly save you a headache.” The statement is accompanied by the barest flicker of a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes more than it lifts the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps a drink at the Hanged Man would change your mind?”
“If I can’t hug a ghost, what’s the point?”
“For the last time, only children hug the mascot but you know what? Go ahead. But if you ask me to take a picture of you with it to send to Anders I’m leaving.”
@ofbrokenimages.
Mercenary business is delivering on its implicit promise ---- there’s a pretty impressive body count, for ten minutes’ work out here. ‘I think I’ll tell mother that we’ve been GARDENING.’ There’s even a decent metaphor about plucking weeds to be found there, and maybe they can blame cuts on scratches on a very zealous rosebush.
@ofbrokenimages
His visits to the Rose had become sporadic and considerably shorter in the last four years. Even after Ambra had stopped placing the blame for Olivia’s death, the remnants of what had passed still lingered, half unspoken.
Iachob only ever came to Hightown for that or to go to the Chantry. An entirely different voice made him stop in front of the turn of the street that brought to the residential quarter; not Ambra’s, not his daughter’s, but Bethany Hawke’s and her hushed request to check on her older sister, now that their mother was dead. He ought to offer his condolences, at the very least.
The clank of his armour on the stairs had a different sound there, between the façades of the noble estates. His family, he knew, owned a house close to the merchants’ guild quarters, but he had never set foot in it. He could hardly call those people his family, in any case; they had given him a surname and he had shared some conversations with his brothers, once reached a certain age, but a life pledged to the Chantry as an infant meant finding other brothers, elsewhere, amongst the Order. He did not resent any of his blood relatives for that.
It was curious that he should think now of the four other men, living or deceased, who were named Thrask, just as he surpassed the flowerbeds and benches to reach the threshold of the Hawke estate. Sun hit the family crest emblazoned on two shields hanging from the columns at his sides, but didn’t shine on the door inset between them. He approached the entrance and stood in the shadow cast by the grey stones and the ivy that covered them (wondering how much of a hazard that visit truly was). The temperature there was refreshing. He raised a hand and, gauntlet against wood, knocked loudly.
« Evil begins when you begin to treat people as things. »
@ofbrokenimages
One brow arched elegantly as she regarded the armored man in front of her. All around them, the Gallows soared, blocky and monolithic and forbidding. Anders had told her once that the Circles of Magi in Tevinter were all housed in buildings which had once been temples; if the Gallows was a temple to anything, it was to oppression.
Her father had lived in this place once, and escaped it. Was it irony that had seen life bring her to stand in the courtyard of a prison her father had long ago fled to give his children a chance at freedom? Hawke snorted to herself; no, not irony. Just piss-poor bad luck.
She looked past Thrask to the great brazen statues of leashed and miserable slaves which still adorned the place, their meaning now not so different from their meaning when this had been the center of Tevinter’s slave trade. Still they were meant to break spirits, crush wills. She imagined Merrill’s face on one, Bethany’s on another. Her father. Anders.
Bringing her gaze back to the Templar in his sword-blazoned breastplate, she studied his face a moment. It was astonishing, but Hawke was nearly certain true sincerity rang out in every line of his features. How was it possible for Ser Thrask to be both a Templar and a good man?
“Funny attitude for a Templar to take.”
« I would call that a witty comeback », he conceded, and then forced his breath through his nose, to make the upcoming sigh not sound like one. « ---Had I never heard it before. »
Thrask turned toward the wooden table where Annabelle kept her enchanted goods, right next to Solivitus' shop of balsams and herbs. It was remarkably lacking in wares and Annabelle was standing by it, glancing back and forth between the two of them. If the table could have an expression, it would have been exactly hers: nonplused by the lack of something, but rather plain overall. In comparison, Hawke’s raised eyebrow, her wandering eyes and that look she cast at his armour told a whole story over the span of a few seconds.
Annabelle finally focused on him. « I haven’t received any lyrium, Ser. I can’t work without it. »
« I know. » This time, he did sigh, his shoulders dropping a little under his pauldrons. He had already heard his fair amount of complaints from the warehousemen, from the ship captain and everybody who was even remotely involved in that delay. « Your stockpile is here, but cannot yet be delivered. It’s a bureaucratic problem, I believe, and I do hope it will be resolved soon. »
« ...I can’t have it yet? »
« Not yet. »
Annabelle paused and looked across the courtyard, where she presumably assumed her supplies were being kept for none to use. « ---Oh. » Her voice, lowered, changed slightly in tone and he detected something alike disappointment; then she returned to her table and ignored them both.
Thrask crossed his arms (a slightly awkward position, with all that metal on his torso, but he had never lost the habit) and faced Hawke again. « I was about to say that there isn’t really anything that I would think funny about it. »
@ofbrokenimages replied to your post: ofbrokenimages asked:You either o...
Well, it’s a really /nice/ sewer. As sewers go. You’ve brightened the place up nicely! Have you considered curtains? Curtains really bring a room together.
“I did what I could. My clinic is probably the cleanest space in all of Darktown.”
“I’d rather not block the windows. They make the place a bit less... cramped.”