#veilflame.

[kinlochs]

“These past months have been a torment.”

That makes Cassian laugh, and he has no qualms doing so in front of the Inquisitor. He is quick to point at the Anchor shining upon Ashara's hand with grandiosity.

"That would be an understatement, Inquisitor. Unless you would be joking, perhaps?" The Warden-Commander questions with a wry smile. "You have witnessed more than your fair share in these past months than most see in their lives. It's no wonder you call them a torment. I would, too. I do not envy your station, I assure you of that," the mage continues with blatant honesty. "However, you are making a mark upon the South. You have successfully closed many fade rifts. Though they may be small to you, take your victories where you can," he adds.

[kinlochs]

grabbing their hand to grab their attention (sorry if that's too kinky)

The clatter of Red Templars and Venatori echoed just around the dark hallway. Blight and red lyrium crawled along the walls and swallowed up whole segments of the crumbling infrastructure. Cassian belonged in this scenery; his skin a sickly, insipid pale tainted with spiderwebs of the Blight in his veins and the red lyrium they had forced him to consume again and again. He couldn't believe his eyes when Ashara and Dorian appeared; the Inquisitor had perished ages ago. Missing. Gone without a trace. Corypheus took the world and dismantled it piece by piece, crushing it under his foot and sapping it of all power.

There was nothing left. Now they had a chance to change that. Ashara had a chance to make things right.

Cassian himself was much like Enchanter Fiona; half-crystallized, lyrium sprouting from his cheekbones, his arm, the other prosthetics in disrepair but held together by the same substance that invaded the rest of his body. He could breathe, but with each inhale were a million tiny cuts inside of his lungs. It wouldn't be too long, now. His mind was barely hanging on. His body was slipping.

"Figure out what you're going to do," Cassian says, his voice punched and layered with the corruption in his body. Red lyrium dust emanates from his eyes as he makes to move forward and meet their enemies head-on. He feels a sudden, tight grip upon what was left of his hand. He turns and looks back at Ashara, his mouth pulling into a half-hearted smile.

"Don't worry about me, Inquisitor. You're going to survive this no matter what. I'll fight for you as long as I can breathe."

With that, he wrenches his hand away, lyrium crystals splintering off of his hand from the force of it. Fresh blood pours forth from the newly opened wounds and all of a sudden there is magic filling the corridor.

[pentaghest]

please don't tell them where i went.

FAR BE IT FROM Cassandra to offer up the location of someone who was in need of some solace. One needed to clear the mind, especially in times of chaos. To find the Inquisitor by herself in the Chantry was perhaps unexpected, but—the Seeker would digress.

"You have my word, Inquisitor," she offers solemnly. In truth, she had come to meditate on her own terms, though the curiosity that bit at her heels now was incessant. She approached through the pews and stood perhaps a couple feet away, hands clasped behind her back.

"Something is bothering you," she observes, an opening for elaboration. Tactless as she might have seemed at times—Cassandra could have a gentle hand, rare as it was. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

[kinlochs]

@veilflame requested a shuffled spotify wrapped starter.

say no go — de la soul

"I heard that shoving is worse than pushing, but I'd rather know a shover than a pusher."