#I could see him now watching his own comeback special in the full leather suit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bythexdreadwolf · 6 years

Text

SOMETHING JUST LIKE THIS || AO3 LINK

CREMISIUS “KREM” ACLASSI/INQUISITOR EVANNA TREVELYAN WORD COUNT: 2,052

She’s been to every corner of Thedas, sometimes dragging him along, most times not. She always comes back, covered in dust or blood or ichor or all three, her eyes lighting up as soon as she reenters Skyhold’s gates. He wants to do something for her, to show her how much she means to him. She’s always trudging around, doing things for everyone but herself, and he wants to give her the break he knows she needs, to take her somewhere as special as she is. She’s more than just a quick fuck in an unoccupied hallway. She always has been.

But Maker-help him, he’s got no sodding clue how to do it. Each time he’s tried to broach the subject with her, he’s gone chicken shit, and ended up back in his little corner by the door to nurse his pride and a bottle of wine, or she’s being carted off to some other part of the country for weeks. It shouldn’t be this bloody hard to court a pretty girl. He certainly doesn’t ever remember it being this hard.

The Chief just gives him a knowing, pitying look accompanied by a shit-eating grin that’s no help at all.

“You’ve got it bad, Krem de la Creme,” he tells him, clapping a massive hand on Krem’s shoulder. Years of conditioning his legs and knees for the blow are the only reason they don’t buckle from the force.

“It’s so cute, though,” Dalish grins at him. “Look at him, he’s blushing.”

“Oh, piss off, the lot of you,” he snaps. He doesn’t even have a smart-ass comeback either, because he knows they’re all right. All it does is earn him a hearty guffaw from Bull and Rocky as he slides onto the bench across from Dalish and Skinner.

“If you want real advice,” Dalish continues, leaning forward across the table at him, her tankard clutched in both hands. “Here’s mine: you’re reading too much into it. Evanna is just a girl. Forget, for a moment, that she’s the Herald of fucking Andraste or whatever else it is that they’re calling her these days. She’s just a normal girl. Just do something she likes, you lovesick idiot. You’re handsome and charming, and if I’m not mistaken, you’ve already swept her off her feet, if the pining looks she gives you from across the tavern are anything to go by. And don’t think we’ve not noticed you two sneaking off whenever you think no-one’s looking. Take her someplace nice, though. Somewhere she likes. The rest will sort itself out.”

“Yeah, Krem, you won’t know until you try,” the Chief tells him. He groans and buries his head in his arms. “And if all else fails — you’ve always got Rocky as a rebound.”

“Very funny,” he grouses, voice muffled against his vambraces.

He doesn’t sleep at all that night, his mind running rampant with ideas of what they can do and where they can go. His first thought is Orlais, but he remembers the way her nose crinkled in distaste when she’d gotten back from Val Royeaux the first time and the way she’d groused about it to him after. She likes those little frilly cakes well enough, but as far as Orlais itself goes, he knows she hates it.

Not Orlais, then.

He wants to take her to places like Nevarra, Rivain, Antiva, let her taste the food, watch those grey eyes drink in the vibrant beauty of their cultures, kiss her as they watch the sunset. But he’s not exactly rich, even with the decent pay the Inquisition is giving the Chargers. And he doubts whether Thedas can afford for her to be away for so long. Then there’s the matter of the Antivan Crows, the fact that someone could put out a bounty on her head. She’s more than capable of protecting herself, and if he’s with her, she’s at even less of a risk, but he doesn’t really want to be the one who comes back with the news that he got the beloved Herald of Andraste killed.

Andraste’s tits, he’s overthinking this.

He rolls over and punches his pillow in irritation. She’s a noblewoman from birth and he’s just a poor mercenary. She deserves the world and he can’t give it to her.

And that’s when he comes up with a plan. But he’s going to need help. And a lot of it. And it’s going to take time. The Chief is never going to let him live this down. It’ll be worth all of the teasing, though, to see her smile.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair over and over again, mussing it up from where he’d so meticulously styled it not even an hour before. She’s going to hate it. He’s going to get tongue-tied and put his foot in his mouth. He’s going to trip down the stairs and literally wind up with his foot in his mouth.

Why did he think this was a good idea, again?

He’s hovering just outside of the door to her bedchamber, pacing back and forth, trying to bring himself to knock. Stop fucking around, Aclassi.

His hand is poised to knock, but before he can manage to do so, she flings back the door and he just stands there, frozen, the wind completely knocked out of him as he drinks her in.

Fucking hell, she’s beautiful.

He’s never seen her with her hair down; she always wears it in a complicated series of plaits and twists when she’s out in the field, and he’s never fully appreciated just how long it is. It brushes that delicious dip at the base of her spine just above her ass, and he’s seized with the insane urge to tangle his hands in it and kiss her until she’s as breathless as he is. Pulled back, she’s the picture of Andraste’s chosen, but with it down, she looks younger, more vulnerable. More like the Evanna he’s come to know and less like the figurehead everyone makes her out to be. It makes his heart skip a beat. She’s dressed simply, in a grey tunic and supple black leather trousers as opposed to her Circle robes, but it suits her. He swallows.

“Ah, er—Good evening. Your Worship. You—you look nice.” His hand is still balled in a fist as though to knock and he lets his arm fall to his side, heat creeping up his cheeks. She bites her lip in a futile attempt to keep the smile tugging at the corners of her lips contained.

“You can relax, Lieutenant. No-one here but me.”

That’s exactly why I’m so on edge, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Her small, pale hand takes his much larger one and he swallows again, ignoring the swooping sensation such a simple gesture causes in the pit of his stomach.

She gives his fingers a light squeeze and settles into her place at his side, seeming completely at ease. He feels as if he’s on fire, his anxiety making him feel uncertain and awkward. He can face down an army of Venatori, take on a horde of demons without blinking. But this…this is uncharted territory. Sure, he’s been with women before. But he’s never felt the way she makes him feel.

“So,” she nudges him with her elbow, and he’s suddenly very aware of just how silent he’s been the entire time they’ve been making their way through the bowels of Skyhold. “What is it that you want to show me? I swear on Maferath’s beard that Cassandra was practically swooning when I told her you’d asked me to dinner.”

“R-really?” His throat feels dry.

“Mm,” she hums, wrapping her arms around his arm and leaning into him as they wander through the castle. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s supposed to be leading them, and he’s glad that his feet seem to have remembered, because he may have left his brain back on the threshold of her bedchamber. He can feel the heat of her through his doublet — Bull had coerced Dorian into finding one for him (he doesn't want to think about what that had involved) — and it’s all he can do to convince himself to keep leading her to the Herald’s Rest when all he wants to do is run his fingers through that hair of hers and make her moan his name.

They’ve had their fair share of stolen kisses. Physicality — sex — was easy, all things considered. Sex was primal, instinctive, easy to navigate. And, as he’s been told in the past, he’s very good with his tongue. But courting her is something completely foreign to him, and she’s the first person who’s made him actually want to try. He wants so badly for this to go right.

He nearly trips over his own feet and down the stairs out of the keep when the realization that he might be falling in love with her hits him like a war-hammer. If he wasn’t nervous before, he certainly is now, and he hasn’t said a single fucking thing in a solid five minutes, and Maker — he’s already buggered it, he knows it, and they’re not even through the door to the Rest and —

She lets go of his arm on the threshold, and her hands fly to cover her mouth in what he hopes is awe. Her grey eyes are wide as she drinks it in, the lengths he’s gone to to make something special just for her. They’ve draped the entire first level of the tavern in Rivaini silks. Two bottles of Antivan wine sit on a table he’s set for just the two of them, laden with foods from every part of Thedas, including the little pink frosted cakes she’s so fond of from Orlais. It’s definitely too much for the two of them to eat, but he’d wanted options in case there was something she didn’t like. Various other trinkets from different countries — rugs, lamps, little statues, procured with the help of Sister Nightingale, Lady Montilyet, Cassandra, and, of all people, Varric — are scattered around the room, transforming it into a sort of bazaar where they can sit and pretend they are anywhere they wish. It’s the best he can do. (The real miracle, he thinks, is that Bull’s managed to make good on his word to make sure the tavern is cleared, and he makes a mental note to buy that brilliant, beautiful asshole the biggest cask of Chasind sack mead he can afford). It actually…looks pretty good, he thinks, smirking a bit as he gauges her reaction.

“Maker’s breath,” she exhales, her eyes unable to stop flitting from the Nevarran lamps to the silks to the food and, finally, up at him. “You did all this?”

He shrugs, the smirk turning full-on smug grin. He can’t believe he could ever have been so nervous before. Dalish was right. Not that he will ever tell her that. “I had a bit of help, but yeah. Wanted to take you to Rivain or Nevarra or Antiva myself, but, circumstances being what they are, I figured I’d bring a little bit of them to you.”

There’s barely a heartbeat that passes before she flings her arms around his neck and she’s kissing him like she’s drowning and he’s the only thing that can save her. He grins against her plush lips, his own arms snaking around her waist and lifting her off of her feet. It’s brief, but it’s enough to leave them both panting. She runs a hand through his hair and rests her forehead against his as she pulls away, pink high on her cheeks. He nuzzles her nose with his own, that unknown feeling washing over him again as he holds her.

“You know you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Nah, but I wanted to. If I could give you the world, I would,” the confession is quiet, barely above a breath, but she hears it nonetheless and places a kiss to his cheek.

“I don’t need the world, you silly sod,” she snorts. “I’ve seen enough of it to know what I want, and what I want, Cremisius Aclassi, is you.”

#krem/inquisitor #cremisius aclassi/inquisitor #krem x inquisitor #krem x trevelyan #krem #cremisius aclassi #char: krem #char: evanna #:story time with k

25 notes · View notes

gymleadercheren · 6 years

Text

anybody wanna read the first chapter of my crappy novel?? starring a bunch of losers in jail, failed flirtation attempts, and a forthcoming execution:

Well, this didn’t turn out as planned, Ari thought as she was roughly dragged through the halls of the city dungeon by a pair of human guards. Their grip was impossible to break and if she tried, she was sure she would get a merciless shortsword to the chest for her troubles. The fact that she was a pretty young elf girl didn’t seem to have any effect on the men, as they didn’t treat her with any particular measure of gentleness. She blew her long blonde hair out of her eyes in frustration. She had been so close… Just inches away from the most beautiful gem she had ever seen in her life. Why did she have to go and get sloppy right at the last possible moment?

Deep down, she supposed she deserved this, but those feelings were quickly buried as her annoyance with the guards grew. Surely her arms would be bruised when she took the time to inspect them. Did they really have to be so rough?

Before long, the guards had dragged her down a stone staircase, bringing her to the deepest level of the dungeon, a foreboding stone room that was dimly lit. She didn’t have to adjust her eyes to the darkness—for which she had her elven heritage to thank— but she didn’t get much of a chance to gather her bearings before the guards had thrown her into an empty cell and turned the key in the lock. Ari stood immediately, glaring at the men who had so cruelly treated her. They glared back, not the least bit intimidated.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” she asked, summoning the best royal voice she could muster. She hated to reveal her identity, but she would dearly love to see the shock and horror on the guards’ faces once they realized who exactly they had imprisoned. Unfortunately, neither of them looked impressed.

“A criminal,” one guard grunted before turning to leave. The other guard followed suit, but not before rapping the bars of her cell with his shortsword, a clear threat. Ari watched them leave, deciding not to shout after them. No. She didn’t need to reveal her identity to get out of here. That would only make the road ahead all the harder. She would find her own way out. But first she needed to see what she had to work with, and she began by examining the rest of the room.

The cell across from her was occupied by two other prisoners who seemed just as out of place as she was, for neither of them appeared to be human either. One of the men, with his short, bulky stature and long, wild beard, was unmistakably a dwarf—a rarity in the city. The other prisoner, who couldn’t have been much taller than three feet, appeared to be a young human child at first glance, but closer inspection brought Ari to the realization that he was a halfling—albeit the oddest one she had ever seen.

She hadn’t met many halflings in her travels, and certainly not in the elven kingdom she grew up in, but from the stories she’d heard they tended to either be modest farmers, sly merchants, or slight and dirty rogues. This one was dressed far too ostentatiously to be any of those things, with a bright green tunic, puffed sleeves embroidered with gold thread, and a fancy crimson cape obviously meant to draw attention. Unusual also were his smart leather boots—halflings were known to leave their furry feet bare. His unmistakably golden curls were also a far cry from the thick dark hair most halflings sported. He seemed to Ari fastidiously and fussily clean, with his clothing well-taken care of and his blond locks prissily maintained. She began to wonder if she wasn’t the only highborn imprisoned here, although she had never before heard of halfling royalty.

The dwarf, however, was another story entirely. Although also short, blond, and male, he couldn’t have been more different from his cellmate. His clothing suggested a somewhat wilder heritage, as his own dirty tunic was sleeveless to allow full view of his thickly muscled arms. His crooked nose suggested that it has been broken sometime in the past, but Ari doubted that whatever had broken it survived to tell the tale. His beard was messy and unkempt, separated into hopelessly tangled cords that hung loosely all around. His equally messy hair was pulled back into an odd topknot, presumably to keep it out of his face—although his eyes were so squinty that Ari marveled that he could see at all. He was gruff and mean-looking and very obviously just pulling out of the throes of drunkenness. The smell coming off of him was indescribable—and she knew it was him and not the halfling because of the green tinge to the latter’s nauseated face. Obviously disgusted with his cellmate, the halfling was pressed against the opposite end of the cell and breathing carefully and purposely through his mouth in an attempt to keep himself from vomiting. Ari immediately began to follow his example—the stench was like nothing she had ever endured.

The two prisoners did perk up and show interest in Ari when she was roughly dragged in, and once the guards had left, the halfling in particular fixed his gaze upon her and studied her intently (the dwarf simply grunted and began to pick at his fingernails). Ari suddenly felt rather self-conscious, as she didn’t particularly enjoy being stared at. She was made even more uncomfortable when it became obvious that the halfling liked what he saw, his eyes lingering on her smooth elven features and long silky hair. He stood (and Ari saw that she was spot on about her estimate of his full height) and leaned casually against the bars of his cell, an ingratiating smile crossing his face as the greenish tinge of nausea subsided, replaced with a rosy blush.

“Now what’s a lovely lass like you gone and done to end up in a place like this?” he asked good-naturedly, his lilting melodic tenor clearly meant to disarm. Ari studied his face a little closer, taking in his cherubic features, his bright eyes, the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. He looked every bit the dashing young rogue, and Ari supposed that she would have considered him quite handsome were she attracted to halflings—which she wasn’t. It was difficult to discern his age. Halflings were notorious for always looking somewhat like children no matter how old they became. He was obviously out of childhood, but to Ari’s knowledge he could have been anywhere from his late teens to well into his fifties or sixties.

“Sure and you didn’t tear apart a tavern and leave its good patrons scattered about to collect their teeth from the floor like this one did,” he continued, jabbing a thumb towards the dwarf on the other side of the cell. The dwarf chuckled darkly, unpleasantly, but otherwise contributed nothing else to the conversation, seeming uninterested in his companion’s attempts to engage Ari. Ari wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to enter a conversation herself, but the halfling seemed friendly enough and there wasn’t much point in hiding what she’d done. Or rather what she’d attempted to do.

“Wasn’t sneaky enough,” she answered, offering half a shrug. “Though if I could go at it again, I know I’d have grabbed it… now that I know they had rune wards.”

“That’ll do it,” the halfling said, nodding knowingly. “Still… you’re far too pretty to be a dirty sneak thief, aren’t you?” He grinned, showing off his perfect, pearly-white teeth. His front teeth were rather larger than the rest, however, giving him a distinctly rabbitlike appearance.

“I’m not a dirty sneak thief,” Ari snapped, insulted at the label. As far as she was concerned, she was simply… looking out for herself and her best interests. And if her best interests included any fabulously glittering gems she happened to come across, then so be it. The halfling didn’t seem at all put out, however.

“Too bad,” he said. “I like dirty sneak thieves.” He punctuated this statement with a wink and Ari felt her cheeks turn pink. The last thing she expected out of being thrown in the city dungeon was to be immediately flirted with by some sort of fancy halfling. Before she could think of a biting comeback, however, the dwarf offered one of his own.

“Aw, shut up and tighten your breeches, would ya?” he grumbled, not even bothering to turn towards his cellmate. “Even if you did manage to charm your way into her graces, there wouldn’t be much half a man like you would be able to offer.” Now Ari and her unsuccessful suitor were both blushing bright red. The halfling visibly deflated, and he slumped back down to the floor, staring sheepishly down at his boots as he began drawing pictures in the dust with the tip of his finger.

“Just making conversation,” he muttered to nobody in particular.

Ari shook off her embarrassment and took the time to examine her own cell, glancing around at the dismal little room. The bars were thick and iron and set so close together that not even the little halfling could even begin to dream of squeezing through. The lock, she noted, was large and clumsily made, although admittedly formidable without her specialized lockpicks. Unfortunately, the guards had stripped her of all her tools when she was thrown down here. She scowled, flopping down onto the small, uncomfortable bed that was provided. She had no intention of staying here for longer than a night, no matter what the guards said. But unless she could figure out another way to pick the lock, she was stuck.

And the smell wafting over from the other cell was becoming overwhelming. Yes, she would have to break out tonight, or she would surely die. Ari cast a piteous glance towards the halfling, who was looking nauseous again. He’d probably die, too. The dwarf, however, looked as if he were enjoying his own aroma. Ari noticed that he was breathing deeply through his nose, taking it all in. Disgusting.

“Where are my things?” she ventured to ask aloud, glancing towards the other prisoners. “My gear… Where did the guards take it?”

The dwarf chuckled again, but the situation didn’t seem at all humorous to Ari.

“How are we supposed to know?” he asked, glancing at her. “Not like they’re gonna be giving them back to us any time soon.”

“They’re in there,” the halfling piped up as he pointed down the hallway, apparently eager to start up conversation once again. Or perhaps he was simply eager to please Ari. She turned towards where he was pointing and noted a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall, also locked.

“You’re sure?” she asked, squinting at it.

“Sure I’m sure,” he replied, standing up yet again. “The guards were teasing me with my things earlier…” He frowned, his jolly face turning suddenly very solemn. “My Rosalina’s being kept in there,” he said somberly.

“Rosalina?” Ari asked. She frowned, wondering who this other prisoner must be—a halfling girl, perhaps. The halfling nodded and pressed his face against the bars, gazing longingly towards the door.

“I can feel her,” he said. “They took her from me when they brought me in… No doubt they’re preparing to pull her apart in there… trying to extract her magical secrets.”

“You think they’d be so cruel?” Ari asked in shock, suppressing a shudder. The halfling nodded grimly.

“Oh, aye,” he said. “They threatened as much when I begged to be reunited with her.” The dwarf gave a truly mean-spirited chuckle at these words and the halfling glared, offended, but didn’t say anything. Ari glared too. How could the thought of some poor girl being torn limb from limb for her magic be anything less than disgusting? Horrifying?

But before she could either shame the dwarf or offer her sympathies to the halfling, the door at the top of the stairs slammed open again and the sound of a struggle drew all the prisoners’ attention.

“Busy day for these fellows,” the halfling remarked as the guards began to clang and grumble down the stone stairway. Ari frowned, realizing that the only other open cell was her own. If this newest prisoner was anything like the other two, she wasn’t looking forward to having a roommate. This feeling increased tenfold upon seeing the person—or rather, creature—being dragged towards her by no less than four guards.

Ari had never seen a dragonkin before, but there was no mistaking the species of this newest prisoner. He was huge—over six feet tall—and covered head to toe in shining black scales. His long snout housed several large razor-sharp fangs and his slitted pupils darted back and forth, his emerald eyes wide in confusion and fear. His long tail dragged behind him, swishing back and forth in what Ari could only assume was nervousness.

Dragonkin were near-universally reviled—the entire species the result of an unholy union between dragons and their various humanoid victims. They were feared far and wide as unpredictable and dangerous hybrids that tore their victims into bloody shreds just as easily as their draconic ancestors.

Naturally, Ari was not thrilled when the guards began to unlock her cell door and push the giant dragonkin inside. She backed off to the far end of the cell, her blood running cold. Her hands clenched defensively into fists (which the dwarf must have noticed and found amusing because he began to chuckle again) and she prepared to defend herself in any way she possibly could, although she knew that even the strongest punch she could throw would be entirely ineffective against the dragonkin’s thick hide. Maybe she would go for the eyes instead…

“Wait,” the dragonkin said, and Ari blinked in surprise. His voice was much softer and younger-sounding than she had expected, and it trembled slightly in hurt confusion. “I can leave… I’ll leave the city, I promise.” One of the guards scoffed as he gave the dragonkin a rough shove and slammed the cell door shut behind him, the loud clang reverberating throughout the room.

“What, so you can wreak havoc on the neighboring town? Eat a few of our merchants as they set out on the road?” The key turned in the large, clumsy lock.

“But I don’t eat meat,” the dragonkin insisted, his shoulders slumping in a thoroughly defeated manner. His tone of voice indicated that he knew his protests would fall on deaf ears. The guards looked between one another for a few seconds and then they all four burst out in simultaneous laughter. The dwarf joined in from the opposite cell, his own drunken laughter drowning out the rest. The guards paid him no mind, however, as they were still focused on the newest prisoner.

“Yes, I’m sure those fangs of yours do an excellent job of crunching all the leaves and berries in your diet,” one of the guards quipped once he had gained control of himself once again.

“They do, actually,” the dragonkin replied in complete sincerity. This was lost on the guards, however. They simply resumed laughing, a few of them smacking the bars with their shortswords to intimidate the dragonkin, causing him to recoil, wincing at the loud clanging. Ari found herself covering her own sensitive elven ears. The guards were certainly irritating, and she began to wonder whether they were all a little drunk themselves. Eventually, when they’d all had their fun, they clambered back up the stone staircase and the heavy door eventually slammed behind them, leaving the four prisoners to each other’s company.

Ari turned to nervously regard her new cellmate, but the dragonkin looked even more nervous than she did. His long tail was tucked in between his legs in much the same way as a recently scolded dog. He was dressed simply, in a tan tunic and pants, suggesting that he didn’t have the money for much else. But then again, who had ever heard of a dragonkin going shopping for clothes? Ari couldn’t even begin to imagine where he had come from… Dwarves and halflings and even elves were rare enough in the big city unless you knew where to look—but dragonkin were beyond unheard of. Certainly this one looked hopelessly lost. He tentatively raised a large clawed hand towards Ari in a halfhearted gesture of hello. Ari found herself copying it, although she felt rather stupid about it.

“Hi,” he said. “Sorry. You can keep the bed. I’m used to sleeping on the ground.”

“Oh, uh… thanks,” Ari awkwardly answered, watching as the dragonkin immediately made his way to the opposite corner of the cell, turned around three times, and then settled down on the cold stone floor, curled up like a cat. The other three prisoners stared for several long seconds.

“Soooooooooo,” the halfling said, breaking the silence. “What are you in for, big guy?” He was examining the dragonkin with obvious interest. He didn’t seem nervous in his address, but Ari wondered if he would be so cavalier if he wasn’t safely sequestered in a completely different cell. The dragonkin lifted his reptilian head and gazed towards the other cell, eyes widening at the sight of such a diminutive creature.

“…I’m not sure,” he answered slowly. “All I did was come into town hoping to find some supplies to fill my bag… But people started screaming and they brought me down here.”

“What, did you miss the giant ‘No Dragonkin Allowed’ sign out front?” the halfling asked with a wry smile. The dragonkin obviously didn’t catch on to the sarcasm in his voice because he frowned deeply as he considered it.

“I must have,” he said, a troubled look on his face. The halfling snickered, slowly sliding down the bars of his cell and returning to a sitting position, thoroughly amused by the dragonkin’s naïveté. The dwarf, however, seemed completely fed up. The gruff man let out a frustrated sigh as he began to stretch his thickly muscled arms above his head.

“Yer all soft,” he grumbled, looking between the three of them. “In body and in the head. Not a one of you’s done anything worth keepin’ you locked away. I’ve been in nurseries with tougher inmates than you all.”

“You’d prefer being locked up with—?“ the halfling began.

“Especially you,” the dwarf interrupted. The halfling scowled. “’Course,” he continued, “that’s all the better for me. When those guards come back to choose a prisoner for target practice, they’ll be wantin’ one soft enough for their arrows to pierce.”

“Target practice?” the dragonkin asked, concerned. The dwarf grinned, nodding enthusiastically.

“Gotta keep their skills sharp somehow, don’t they?” he asked. “And of course they prefer live targets. Rabbits and deer and birds get boring after a while, though. So they come down here and—“

“Stop it,” Ari said suddenly, her eye on the dragonkin. He was obviously upset. She even imagined she saw him trembling a little. Her heart went out to him. She’d never expected to feel sympathy for such an imposing creature, but this one was nothing like the stories she’d been told. “You’re scaring him.”

That got a laugh from the dwarf. It burst out of him so loudly and unexpectedly that the halfling jumped in shock and banged his head against the cell bars.

“Imagine that,” the dwarf said. “He really isn’t as thick-skinned as he looks if he’s lettin’ nothin’ but words hurt him.”

“Words can hurt more than you think,” the halfling muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his head grumpily. Ari was pretty sure she was the only one who heard him, her sensitive ears picking up on things most people couldn’t.

The door upstairs opened once more and all the prisoners fell quiet as they glanced towards the stone stairway.

“Not another one,” the dwarf grumbled. However, when the captain of the guard stepped into the room, his golden armor shining even in the dim light of the dungeon, he was completely alone. He glanced at each of them in turn, obviously unimpressed with them.

“I’ve a message to deliver,” he said eventually. When none of them said anything, he cleared his throat and continued. “Your crimes have been discussed extensively with the city council and a suitable punishment has been agreed upon.” Again, this statement was greeted with silence, each of the prisoners waiting patiently (or not-so-patiently in the case of the dwarf) for their sentence.

“…Well?” the dwarf asked, annoyed with the captain’s hesitation. “Get on with it.” The captain smiled, but there was nothing at all comforting about it.

“The council has decided that the city cannot afford deviants such as yourselves running loose. There is too much strife within the city as it is. Thus, stricter measures need to be taken in order to ensure continuing peace. Therefore, it has been decided that the four of you will be executed via beheading in the morning.”

#writing #mal fama

3 notes · View notes