#salshira

[empresstress13]

A giveaway prize for the fantastic @katalyna-rose ! This is a codex entry based off her wonderful Dragon Age fanfic A Journey of the Soul!  The protagonist, Salshira, is a woman from our world who ends up in Thedas (MGiT), and has been trying to remember all the information and possible outcomes from the games by writing them down - in a writing system different than those used in Thedas much to everyone else’s confusion. 

Kat recently posted Chapter 21! So go check it out! 

Correspondences written to Sister Leliana of the Inquisition from various members of the organization: "Sister Leliana, I have a growing concern that must be raised: the Herald is a surprisingly adaptable and thoughtful woman, however the stress of the current situation could overwhelm even the most experienced of leaders. There has been one issue in particular creating stress for the Herald even though it is seemingly unrelated to the task at hand. I am sure it has not escaped your attention that the Herald has been compulsively - almost obsessively - taking notes. She will spend long hours, often forgoing sustenance or rest, writing fervently using a strange notation. It has come to the point of being a health concern, but I am at a loss as to the reason for her obsessive writing. The language and characters she uses are strange to me; I was unsure if this was a cipher known to you? Is there a particular reason why the Herald uses this code? Was it a suggestion of the advisers to hide these notes? Whatever the case may be I am concerned for her well being, and worried by the disregard for her own health. I would request to be kept informed as to this matter as well. The lack of sleep and nourishment will only have an adverse affect on the Herald and our mission. - Solas" "Messere Solas, I am well aware of the Herald's habit of writing in what appears to be an advanced cipher. Unfortunately, this has neither been at the request of the Inquisition nor is the cipher one that is known to me. Early on she inquired if I or any of my agents understood the script and seemed amused that we did not. At the time, considering how tentative our understanding was then, I had also sent samples to several experts but it was not familiar or recognizable to any of them - much to their chagrin. If you are able to uncover anything about the matter it would benefit the organization if you would relay that information to me as swiftly as possible. Sister Nightingale"   ~~~ "We've been keeping watch and doing clean-up for the Herald and her party as instructed. There have been minor skirmishes but all issues are being dealt with by the Herald's group or our scouts. I have noticed that Salshira has seemed. . . more worn than normal. Frankly, I'm worried about her. I've noticed that she's constantly writing notes and re-reading them at all hours of the night and day. . . any idea what that is about or if there is anything we can do for her? - Scout Harding" "Noted. We've been asked about the writing several times. We have tried to inquire ourselves on the matter. It is currently unknown, and unlikely to become known in the future given the response we have been given. Take care of her as best you are able. Sister N."

[katalyna-rose]

Sign

Hey guys I’m not dead I promise. I’ve just been stuck in a cycle of eat, work, sleep, repeat for way too long. Anyway, this tiny little thing I managed to write is dedicated to @adventuresinastrangeworld for being fucking awesome and reminding me that I need to stop stressing so hard about money and my job and return to the things that give me joy. So I wrote a little bit about that fucking sign over the tavern in Skyhold, and Salshira’s reaction to it. I may work this into A Journey of the Soul when I get to that point, or I may just reference it, but regardless this is canon. Enjoy.

Salshira stood still as stone but for her loose hair, longer now than it had been but with one side freshly shaved, and stared up at the sign that hung above the entrance to the newly completed tavern. She wore no expression but she could feel the eyes that found her and quickly scurried away, and all the people who gave her a wide berth. One drew nearer than the others and there was no mistaking his height or the color of the blur of him at the edge of her vision, and though he quickly attempted a retreat when he realized what she was doing she stopped him.

“Bull?” she called out, not taking her eyes off the sign. The shape of him hunched over as though to make himself smaller for a moment before he came to her.

“Yeah, Boss?” he asked, wariness in his tone.

“Maybe you can help me out here, Bull,” Salshira began, her tone mild and curious. “What does this sign depict?”

There was a pause in which the shape of her friend seemed to fidget a bit. “It, uh, seems to show Andraste,” he said at last.

“And?” Salshira prompted, still sounding only vaguely interested.

“And she’s carrying, uh… you. Out of the Fade,” he finished, sounding as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

Salshira nodded and shifted her weight to one foot to take the pressure off her twisted ankle. “Right, that’s what I thought, too,” she agreed. “But the figure meant to depict me. Does it look like me?”

She could feel Bull’s attention move to the sign, where a blonde and beautiful Andraste was carrying a small brown-haired figure that lacked a few distinct features. “Uh… No. It doesn’t,” Bull finally answered.

“Okay, great. So does the figure look human to you?” she asked at last. “The one meant to be me?”

Bull sighed heavily and shifted his weight anxiously from foot to foot. “Yeah, Boss. That’s a human.”

“Good, good.” Salshira finally took her eyes off the absolutely atrocious painting that had been hung with such loving care over the tavern that had come to be called The Herald’s Rest and looked at her friend. His single eye was fixed on her as though she might turn into a snake at any moment and attack. “So last thing. Who painted it, who approved it, and who hung it up?”

“Why?”

Salshira shrugged lightly. “I want to have a chat.”

“If I tell you, what happens to the people I name?” Bull asked warily.

Salshira’s smile was sickly sweet. “That depends entirely on their answers to a few little questions during our chat,” she told him.

Bull sighed again. “You know, it’s bad for your image if you kill people over a sign,” he reminded her.

“It’s bad for my image to have my identity erased,” she replied. “And I’ll send everyone here to the Void before I let my ears get docked as though they’re merely an inconvenient truth to be covered up. Like Shartan.”

There was a long, tense pause as they stared each other down until at last Bull sighed and gave in. “Yeah, okay, Boss,” he said, picking up an axe someone had been using to chop wood nearby before Salshira found the sign. Two steady whacks and the post snapped, sending the sign tumbling into the grass. Salshira kicked it away from anything flammable and then set it on fire with a spark of magic. “Come on, Boss. Let’s go find the artist and the tavern keeper. I’ll help you get the answers you want out of them.” He put a hand on her back comfortingly and led her into the building past the burning sign.

[katalyna-rose]

A Journey of the Soul Chapter 23

Yeah, sometimes I think I’m clever.

From the beginning

Who am I?  The question rattled around in her brain, nothing else to fill it.  Who am I? But there was no one to answer. Labored breathing was the first thing to return to her conscious mind, the first thing to exist alongside the question, but it was not an answer.

  Who am I?

The sound of snow crunching beneath moving feet joined the question, a slow but steady tread.

  Who am I?

The rush of high wind was next, followed closely by the burning, biting cold on her ears that spread slowly, like a dream, across her face.

  Who am I?

Pain was a distant thing, a throbbing under her flesh, with no way to sort through it to find the individual hurts. But there had to be many to blanket her in that dull ache.

  Who am I?

One foot in front of the other, and now she recognized them as her own. She was moving, slowly, inexorably, toward something just out of reach. How long had she been out in that storm, following a path she could not see? How many steps were between her and where she was going, what she was fleeing?

Because she was fleeing. She knew it, even if she didn’t remember. Something horrible, something terrifying, something that had tried to rip her apart. But she didn’t know. All she knew was the steady tread of her feet through knee high snow, reaching for warmth that wasn’t there. Another step, and another, because there was nothing else. Nothing but the question.

  Who am I?

But she didn’t know, even as she emerged above the storm on the side of the mountain, as the thin air refused to fill her lungs no matter how many breaths she drew. There was no answer from the now unsteady tread of her feet through the snow, no answer from yet another fireplace she found cold and deserted.

No, not cold.

“Embers?” she whispered, and her voice was not her own. But the fire was not cold. Another step, because there was nothing else.

Who am I? she wondered, as the snow-covered mountain wavered in her vision. It was the only thing that mattered, the only thing in the whole universe that she needed to know.

Who am I?  A voice on the wind, but she couldn’t hear it. It wasn’t hers. Was it? Maybe it was, maybe she was so desperate not to be the only one who existed that she was inventing others.

  Who am I?

“Salshira!” No, it was not her voice. It was the answer. Her eyes found his, wide and panicked and racing for her. There were others, too, a blond man and a dark-haired woman and still others behind them, but she didn’t look at them. She looked at the one who answered her question. He was the one who raced ahead of all the others, who caught her when the sound of her footfalls ceased and the snow rushed up at her from the ground.

“Salshira!” he cried, and this time it was not a bellow across space and time. This time it was a hoarse whisper, a desperate sound with a life of its own that curled around her like a wounded animal protecting its young, that filled the air between them with the answer she needed.

Who am I?  The words did not come from her throat because her throat did not work anymore, but she knew. She knew. She was Salshira, and she was that desperation in his voice, clinging to warmth in her blood that was no longer in her skin. She was the fear in blue eyes that reflected the storm below. She was the determination in the hard and angular jaw that clenched with purpose. She was the crackle of magic that filled the air to draw her life back into her body. She was the lips, soft and warm, so very warm, as they found her brow, as they whispered things against her skin that she could not hear. She was the heart that beat against her ear far more rapidly than her own, felt but not heard as the world fell away.

Who am I?  She was his.

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[katalyna-rose]

(Talesfromthefade) Bandaging each other’s wounds, for the DWC?

@ashetrashe

Harrowing

Apparently I can’t resist a little Tranquil Inquisitor angst. Heh.

For @dadrunkwriting

Solavellan, angst, hurt/comfort, Tranquil cure

1,172 words

The battle was over and Solas panted heavily, leaning on his staff as his limbs shook with exertion. He wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand and left a smear of blood behind as he gazed at the battlefield. The Templars had fallen, overwhelmed by the Inquisition soldiers whose numbers were bolstered by the Chargers and another mercenary company led by a Tal Vashoth woman who fought with magic and blade.

She approached him as the dust settled and the mercenaries silenced the last moans of pain from dying Templars. He cringed to see her, but even so he dropped his staff at once to pull her into his arms. She still smelled the same, spices and honey. She still felt the same, warm and soft and strong. But she did not melt into his arms, and she did not return his embrace.

He pulled back and met her eyes, thumbs tracing the lines of her face restlessly. He could not look at her forehead, could not bear to see what he knew was there. He should have expected it when they discovered who had taken her, should have fought harder to find her sooner, but some part of him had rebelled against even entertaining the thought that it would happen to one as vibrant as her.

“Salshira,” he breathed, as though her name would bring light to her eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“Yes,” she told him, her tone devoid of inflection. That was wrong, wrong, Salshira was a woman of passion and laughter and wit. She would never admit that was hurt unless she couldn’t hide the bleeding, but there she was, standing before him and telling him that she was injured. His magic washed over her anyway, healing deep bruises and a few fractured ribs. Her eyelids fluttered and she took a deep breath when he was done, likely the first deep breath she’d been able to take in a while. “Thank you,” she told him, still emotionless. “There will be other things to deal with, when you return me to myself. The Templars are far from kind and I cannot predict how I will respond.”

He swallowed hard, hating the way she spoke. “I will help you,” he vowed.

She watched him, and though he saw that thoughts moved behind her eyes he could not read them. She was something apart from what he knew, now, and unrecognizable. “I know what I should feel when I look at you,” she said at last. “I can remember it, warmth and dizziness. It seems odd to me to be without it.”

He closed his eyes as agony washed over him. I should have protected you, he thought to himself, but her hand found his cheek, warm and calloused and familiar. “No,” she said. “This was not your fault.”

He couldn’t avoid it then, the mark on her forehead. He touched the skin around it with a shaking finger, the skin oozing and angry red where it wasn’t blackened. The Templars had been unnecessarily cruel and held the brand to her forehead until it burned to the bone, and he wanted to kill them all over again.

“This should never have happened,” he whispered, his voice trembling as much as his hands.

“I know,” she replied. “But it has. And you can cure it. Summon a friend, and ask them to touch my mind. I will be myself again. I will know what it is like to love you.”

Calming himself enough to fall into a meditative trance and enter the Fade was more of an obstacle than it should have been, but agony and guilt beat at his mind and it took too long to find his center. She was patient, but she was no longer capable of being anything else as she waited to be cured. He found a friend, brought them to where her mind roamed, intangible unless one was searching for it. And his friend reached for her despite their distaste for what she had become. He tried to hold her as she solidified before his eyes, but she screamed, in a panic, and vanished. He followed at once.

When he returned to the physical world, Salshira was sobbing, her head buried in her knees. He drew her into his arms at once, and though there was a knife in his chest for her pain he was smiling in relief. She was back.

***

It took a long time for her to calm down. It likely helped that she’d been Tranquil for only a few days, but the experience had been harrowing for her. And Solas was right beside her every moment.

She wouldn’t let anyone touch the brand for days, wouldn’t even let anyone look at it. She couldn’t stand the thought of it, though he knew she had to be in agony. At last, he refused to allow her to leave it untreated any longer.

“Let me see it, Salshira,” he pleaded as she hid her face from him. “Let me take care of it.”

“You saw me like that,” she whispered, horrified. Though her tears had dried, she was still distraught. “You heard me talk like that. I went to you like that. Willingly. I let you see it…”

“You knew that I could help,” he reminded her. “I still can.”

It took a little more coaxing, a little more reminding her that he loved her after all this, but eventually she turned to him. She wouldn’t look at him as his magic washed over the wound, burned out the beginning infection before healing the skin, new growth replacing what was burned away. Once the skin was whole once more he gently, carefully, wiped away the blackened remains of the wound. She stiffened when he touched the area, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes once more, then threw herself into his arms. Her apologies were shushed, for she had nothing to be sorry for. None of it was her fault.

They sat by the fire with the others that night and she even smiled for them. He couldn’t bear to let her out of his sight, but she seemed content to remain beside him, always in physical contact, and it helped. It reminded him that she was real, she was there, and she was safe once more.

After the others had returned to bed, the two of them remained, gazing into the fire.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, but she seemed oddly calm.

He buried his face in her hair, an arm around her waist. “Do not be,” he whispered.

“I wish I could calm down,” she murmured, still gazing at the glowing embers.

He sighed, and the scent of her had a calming effect on him.  “You have been through much. There is no need to rush your recovery. Take as  much time as you need to feel better.”

They stayed by the fire until the ash turned their eyes gritty, then they laid tangled together to sleep.

[katalyna-rose]

For the DWC - The ways to say I love you prompts -"Muffled, from the other side of the door". Your choice of OC's. ^^

Despairing Whisper

Oof, sorry.

Salshira/Solas, angst?

421 words

For @dadrunkwriting

I can change it, Salshira told herself as she gazed at Solas, dazed from the force of his kiss. It doesn’t have to end that way.

Did it? Victories against the narrative were few and far between, difficult to achieve and often with consequences she couldn’t always foresee. How could she change him, when he was meant to be the villain? How could she change the outcome of all the long years of his life?

I have to change something, or else suffer the same heartbreak I enjoyed so much in the game. But it’s different when it’s real, when it actually hurts. But did she even have a right to change his mind? She knew too much, but also not enough. What would be the consequences?

Can I even do it? He is so stubborn… She wasn’t ready. But she wanted to be. Her heart was soaring in the wake of his kiss, as it did every time he touched her. She wanted to be with him, to hold him, to taste his skin. But she didn’t know if she could really handle the weight of what a relationship with him truly meant.

It isn’t just us, just Solas and Salshira. It’s the Inquisitor and the Dread Wolf, it’s two impostors, two liars, each with a different agenda. It isn’t just you and me, it’s everything we represent and everyone we’ve already betrayed, everyone we will betray. I know what you’ll do, if I let this follow the course you set. And I don’t want you to do it. But could she even change it?

All her thoughts filled but a moment’s time, the time it took for him to open his eyes, still dazed with the kiss. But he could see that she was not as lost in the moment as he was. He moved to retreat, to release her, but she clung to him, dragged him back for another kiss. Damn the consequences.

But as much as she wanted to lose herself in him, to forget who she was and what she had to do and all the lies she had to tell, to live, she couldn’t. And eventually she retreated, returned to her room to bury herself in paperwork for a while so she’d stop worrying about it for a few hours.

She leaned against the door to her room and clutched her aching heart and allowed herself to sigh and admit the truth, if only to the empty air. “I love him,” she whispered, and despaired.

[katalyna-rose]

pssst - I'd love to learn more about Salshira if possible? So #2 With a hoarse voice, under the blanket?

Blankets

529 words

Salshira/Lace Harding, fluff

For @dadrunkwriting

Giggling could not be contained, and nor should it have been as Salshira tickled Lace while they both huddled under a mountain of furs and wool. She couldn’t remember anymore how they’d ended up like that because she might have a little bit tipsy on the rum they’d been sharing in their attempt to keep warm, or at least tipsier than she’d meant to be.

“Gah! Salshira!” Lace complained even though she was grinning. “It’s not fair! You’re not ti-ticklish!”

Salshira grinned and kept up her assault, moving under and around the limbs that tried to impede her. “It’s fair to me!” she replied, but she stopped as soon as Lace grabbed her wrists.

Still laughing and wiping her watering eyes, the freckled scout shook her head. “That’s not how fairness works, Your Worship,” she taunted.

Salshira gasped in exaggerated offense. “You swore never to call me that again!” she accused, but instead of resuming the war of tickles she blew a raspberry on Lace’s belly, which made her squeal with laughter all over again.

Rather than seek further retaliation, Lace just wrapped her arms around Salshira and pulled her close so they could cuddle. “I think I need more hazard pay if I’m going to endure this sort of thing often,” she suggested with a smile.

“But if I pay you more because I’m the one torturing you, isn’t that just as unethical as torturing you in the first place?” Salshira asked, mock serious. Lace snorted.

“Torture? Oh, okay, this is the part where I admit that I like it.” She sighed heavily, exaggerated. “Alright, I’m having fun and I enjoy your company,” she deadpanned.

It was Salshira’s turn to snort. “You sound so enthused,” she said wryly.

Lace chuckled again. “Well, I can at least say with complete confidence that Emprise du Lion is made a lot warmer by having you here, which makes it suck a little bit less,” she said, her smile in her voice.

Salshira pretended to tear up, sniffling, and stuttered out, “Th-that’s the n-nicest thing anyone has ever s-said to me!”

Lace shoved at her, making her laugh. “Well, then I take it back!”

“Nope, you already said it!” Salshira laughed. “Can’t unsay it!”

Lace gave a mock growl and tackled her into the bedroll, which led to a grappling fight that Salshira let Lace win happily, ending up on her back with a cute dwarf straddling her waist and her wrists pinned beside her head. “You’re hopeless,” Lace told her with a grin.

“Mhmm, completely,” Salshira agreed, wiggling a little. Lace giggled as she bent, and her lips were warm and so soft as they met, her tongue flavored with rum and spices. A kiss became making out until they were all but plastered together, the furs and wools pulled up over them to make a warm little tent.

When they finally parted Lace tucked her head under Salshira’s chin, laying on her shoulder pressed against her side. Wrapped around each other, they finally began to settle toward sleep.

“Hey,” Salshira whispered, voice hoarse from laughter and alcohol. “I love you.”

Strong, stout arms squeezed her close. “I love you too.”

[katalyna-rose]

A Journey of the Soul Chapter 20

From the beginning

 “Can I truly believe that it was, in fact, time travel that they experienced?” Solas mused to himself, pacing back and forth in Wisdom’s home while wisps fluttered about knocking over stacks of books and then restacking them, endlessly rearranging the endless library. “And if it was, the implications for the damage caused to the Veil are potentially disastrous.”

 Wisdom watched him pace while she lounged on a couch made of aspirations strewn with cushions made of clouds, an indulgent little smile on her lips. “So many hypotheticals,” she observed, her gaze sharp despite her lazy posture. “Salshira says it was actual time travel, doesn’t she?”

 “Was it the Fade? A trick, or an illusion?” Solas wondered, scowling.

 “Maybe she does not see herself as a Dreamer, but she is one,” Wisdom told him, sitting up at last. “Don’t you think she would be able to tell the difference at this point, and after all you’ve taught her?”

 Solas sighed heavily. “You are correct,” he admitted, settling onto a stool Worry summoned for him. “However, that leaves us with the remaining option. It was real, and that could be devastating.”

 “Yet it gives you a distinct advantage over your enemies,” Wisdom reminded him. “One that those running the Inquisition have no doubt seen and already begun to capitalize on. Knowing where the trap will be sprung is the first step in turning it to your advantage.”

 “True,” Solas sighed. “Yet we saw the rifts that distorted time. What damage was done to the Veil by something as destructive and dangerous as time travel?”

 Wisdom sighed. “I suppose we shall see,” was all she said.

 “Salshira was quite pale when she returned,” Solas told his friend, frowning. “She allowed the Tevinter mage, Dorian, to explain what had happened for her while she stared at the rug intently.”

 “I would imagine that time travel is not a thing easily endured,” Wisdom mused, returning to her lazy pose and watching him with sharp eyes veiled by heavy lids.

 “It did not seem to me that the portal was particularly difficult for her,” Solas argued.

 Wisdom sighed at him, and even that sounded lazy. “Not the portal, fallon. She saw awful things, more than she revealed. She executed Alexius, saw a twisted and wasted Felix. She killed slaves, and met another version of you. And then she erased it all.”

 “Would she not view it as an informative experience?” he wondered. “As you said, what she saw will not come to pass.”

 “Her hands were still stained with blood when she returned from a place that will never exist, and it was not washed away when the portal closed,” Wisdom reminded him sadly, and he saw it.

 “It was real to her,” he sighed on a breath, the truth just before him.

 Wisdom nodded. “At least that much you will see,” she muttered, now sounding oddly bitter.

 “What do you mean?” Solas asked, scowling at her. She sighed and laid flat on her cushions, arm over her face dramatically.

 “You are… enamored,” the spirit drawled, and drew his head back sharply.

 “Hardly,” he insisted, eyes narrowing.

 Wisdom rolled onto her side and propped her cheek on her hand to blink at him like a lazy cat. “Oh? Then what were you doing last night?”

 “It was… a kindness to help her remain focused and at her best,” he told her, but it didn’t sound like the truth even to his ears. Wisdom merely raised a brow and he sighed. “It is in my best interest to keep her content,” he reminded his friend.

 A wisp floated down between them, dropping a book in its haste to join the conversation. “When she laughs, you smile. You want to make her laugh because you want to smile. She likes to laugh, but it’s hard for her now,” it chimed, its voice like tiny bells.

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[empresstress13]

Still trying to figure out color!

Sketch for @katalyna-rose ofher amazing Salshira. ♥️