#todrawblood

[darkshadow220]

[felledarrow]

🚶

@todrawblood / npc. currently not accepting.

Felassan was and is friends with several spirits and one of his oldest friends is a spirit of Love. Love is known by the name Lanalath ("to allow love").

Lanalath is a playful and affectionate spirit and Felassan is often at the receiving end of its teasing. Just as love often is, it is also very willful. It is not easily controlled and joined the Dread Wolf's rebellion against the Evanuris at the first opportunity. Many people were recruited by it, drawing on the love the elvhen had for each other to encourage them to join the rebels or give information that could help their cause. After Solas raised the Veil, it was trapped behind it and roamed the land of dreams.

When it appears to someone, it takes on the appearance of someone they love, usually a person it thinks they will find the most comforting (it is not always correct). If asked respectfully, it will change its appearance to someone else, or take on an amorphous appearance. When around Felassan, it will most often appear as Solas or Nialen.

It is drawn to people who love and feel deeply, and angered by those who disrespect the love between others or use that love to manipulate someone for their own gain.

During Veilguard, it can be encountered in the Crossroads marketplace in the "broken arrow" alternate universe or just before the fight with Felassan in the "a story unfinished" alternate universe. It will ask Rook to save its friend from his grief, but does not specify who the friend is. After Felassan's recruitment, it settles in the Crossroads marketplace.

[duelblades]

TULIN'S VALENTINE APPLICATION. your name: roach de riva [tulin, dutzie] Romantic or platonic?: romantic, duh. A night in or dinner out or an activity?: dinner out! or in as well, as long as there's food. Ice cream or chocolate covered strawberries?: the strawberries What's your perfect date?: Would you cook for me?: yes. seafood pasta. Would you let me cook for you?: please, do so. Can we make out?: definitely. Make out in private or in public?: anywhere. in private for a better experience. Do you like to cuddle?: you know i do. Blankets or no blankets for cuddling?: don't mind. Couch or bed?: for what? sex? or cuddling? bed. What are at least 3 hobbies of yours?: uhhhh. Tell me something about you no else knows: i bathe with my armor soap. Why do you want to be my valentine?: i adore you. What makes you a good Valentine?: i'm your dutzie, dutzie. would you pick someone else?

"i dunno, i can think of at least one of your hobbies, but i don't know if that's something i should be bragging about in public .... someone'll get jealous."

"but obviously the answer's yes. you're right. couldn't even imagine anyone else."

VALENTINE'S APPLICATION 💜

[emeraldgraved]

" are you hungry ? bellara made some snacks if you want some . i'd be willing to share with you . "

@todrawblood gets a starter from angie !

[blyghthound]

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑

@todrawblood

“Hey.” Sylvie grinned, nudging the door closed behind her with the toe of her boot. She’d made a beeline for Roach’s room as soon as she stepped through the eluvian, and was quietly glad to hear him invite her in when she knocked. She was still in full armour — splattered with dry blood and ichor, shield jutting out from behind her back. Her hair was tousled from the helm now tucked under one arm. In the other, she held up a cloth bundle, giving it a little wave as she approached Roach — each step heavy, her gear clinking with every movement.

“Dinner, as promised,” she said, a spark in her silver eyes — excitement tempered by caution. While passing through Minrathous, she spotted a deli that claimed to serve Antivan-style street fare. Ever since Treviso had fallen to the Blight, she wondered if Roach might miss some of the flavours of home. When she found something close, she bought it without hesitation. “You hungry?”

[berthiindeath]

@todrawblood - sent “you’re pregnant?” for my muse to announce their pregnancy to theirs // tentatively accepting

There's  nothing  different.  Nothing  externally  different  anyone  can  see  that  would  denote  the  presence  of  another  being  that  draws  from  her  life  force.  But  there  is.  Her  fingertips  press  into  the  skin  of  her  stomach,  the  early  afternoon  light  pouring  in  through  the  balcony  as  a  warm  breeze  upsets  the  window  dressings.  It's  a  beautiful  day,  but  worry  roots  in  her  heart  as  she  looks  into  crimson  hues  that  are  unable  to  look  away  from  her.

"  You're  pregnant?  " 

Utters  from  his  lips,  and  she  wonders  if  the  look  in  his  eyes  is  from  disbelief  or  from  fear.  Perhaps  both  can  be  true.  Her  eyes  flit  away  from  him  as  her  palm  seems  to  brush  over  her  skin  protectively.  It  isn't  that  she's  afraid  of  Tulin,  quite  the  opposite.  What  she's  afraid  of  is  what  this  will  mean  for  them.  Children  had  never  been  at  the  forefront.  Their  lives  are  far  too  dangerous,  tumultuous.  What  kind  of  life  could  they  give  a  child  if  they  were  always  looking  over  their  shoulder  for  a  blade  at  their  throats?  And  yet,  even  knowing  this,  she  is  staring  into  the  eyes  of  the  young  man  she  loves  more  than  anything  in  this  life  or  the  next—

"  Yes.  "  She  confirms,  steady  even  in  the  face  of  uncertainty  as  she  slowly  begins  to  close  the  distance  that  has  managed  to  wedge  between  them.  Her  eyes  are  fixed  upon  the  former  crow  as  her  hands  drift  out  from  her  to  find  purchase  of  his  own.  To  be  an  anchor  so  that  they  may  not  both  get  caught  in  the  current.

Soft  touch  skates  over  calloused  hands,  hands  that  have  been  soaked  in  blood,  not  unlike  her  own.  The  soft  lilac  of  her  eyes  look  up  into  his  with  a  sense  of  longing  reflecting  in  them.  Might  there  be  a  part  of  him  that  may  be  thrilled  at  the  prospect?  That  maybe,  in  spite  of  the  danger,  they  could  be  happy?  That  they  may  bring  into  this  world  a  perfect  combination  of  their  love,  a  legacy  that  they  did  not  have  to  attach  to  saving  the  world  but  simply  because  they'd  been  a  part  of  it  in  the  first  place?

"  And  I  want  this.  "  She  whispers  softly  as  her  hands  give  Tulin's  a  gentle  squeeze.  With  everything  stripped  away;  the  name  'Rook'  no  longer  uttered  in  their  space  together,  she  who  has  long  since  shed  it,  returned  it  to  the  affectionate  nickname  given  to  her  by  a  father  figure  she  will  never  see  again,  so  that  it  might  remain  a  memory  and  not  a  title.  She  is  just  Gwendolyn,  looking  into  the  eyes  of  her  lover  with  her  heart  laid  bare  before  him.

"  The  question  is,  do  you?  "

[unhirsch-a]

"CAN I STILL TRUST YOU————?"     /     ONE LINER SC   [ACCEPTING]     FEAT.     @todrawblood's TULIN

[dwnstone]

@todrawblood responded for a veilguard era starter

By far, the funniest rumour about the Inquisitor was the one he started himself: that of a quiet, peaceful retirement at the age of twenty-five.

Because it was convenient, in all honesty. He’d been looked down upon, looked towards, looked up to – as an elf, a leader, the herald. Some would say Thedas asked too much of him, or that it put too much upon his shoulders, or that the role he was forced to play might be too constrictive. It made sense to storm out of the Exalted Council, declare his position null and void, then exit stage left with a flourish and a bow, to what sounded like rapturous applause (though, perhaps it was outrage).

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a world to save. Again,”

He still lives by those words. Officially, the Inquisitor lives in Wycome with his father, tending to a herd of halla, but he’s spent the better part of a decade travelling to every corner of Thedas with one clear goal: to build connections, and to help whoever needed it – “little people,” although no life is ever truly small.

And of course, he’d been in contact with Varric and Harding – got the updates and they kept each other informed on what was happening out in Thedas, met up where they could – taverns, campsites, safehouses. It didn’t take long for Cathal to suggest that they meet up once he’d heard about the new recruit, some Antivan Crow who’d fought back against the antaam.

As safehouses go, it’s not a bad one at all, left to them by a travelling merchant and friend to the Inquisition. Cathal already seems perfectly comfortable – crossed legs resting on the kitchen table, smoking elfroot from a pipe held in his remaining hand, humming a tune to nobody in particular.

It suits him well – still young in his early thirties, unruly hair no longer brushed back, well dressed in red silk and soft brown leathers. A certain boyish charm isn’t there anymore, he’s amassed more scars, lost the famous glowing left hand, and the light in his eyes has dimmed into a less lively sort of grey, but he is by no means a retired ex-hero.

He positively beams at the sight of their newest recruit.

“Great hair!” he says with a laugh, and without really thinking.

“Varric never mentioned that in his letter, which probably means he’s saving it for the memoirs. In fact, that might be the entire conceit of the book, considering who we’re supposed to be fighting,”