#ourdawncomes
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one-line starter for @ourdawncomes !
“lady inquisitor,” josephine takes a moment to really look at thora, her eyes soft. “how are you—really?”
#closed starter#ourdawncomes#[ ♛ ] the blossoms slept — i sought a place where nothing lovely grew » verse: inquisition.
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@ourdawncomes liked for a starter ( for thora unfortunately ) !
“ Why, aren’t you DELIGHTFUL! A duster from the Carta, all dressed up and playing the lady --- one could almost be fooled. I see why they love you so. " Winking, as though they share a secret, Claudine snatches a decanter from a passing servant and refills the Herald’s glass without asking. “ I do so love a good joke. “
#ourdawncomes#claudine:ic#claudine:inquisition#i don't have a proper inquisition verse for claude but i think after the wardens are recruited / conscripted#she shows up in orlais from wherever she's been#acting like nothing happened#also yes this is her being nice she's awful
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@ourdawncomes . "The flowers in your hair might make them talk, but maybe they should. Maybe it would be nice to hear them talk about someone who makes you happy." - Cole . @skyheld . in ref to this and this
Émilie looks over her shoulder towards the lanky figure of Cole. She hadn’t expected to find him in Skyhold, though she supposed that it made complete sense that others like her would find their way to the fortress. Well, like her but not fully. She didn’t speak to Cole about it, but she understood that he wasn’t quite like her, he wasn’t quite like anyone else in Skyhold in that very moment.
She still had the flowers in her hair. Slightly dishevelled when it comparison to earlier on the day but in the rooftop of the Herald’s Rest, with a perfect view to the white mountains, she didn’t necessarily care. Now that he stood there, her hands move to it, smoothing out the strands of over her shoulder, brushing off the specks of snow from the pale yellow hair and her robes.
“I don’t think I would like having people talk about me,” she hums, amused and warm despite the slight shake to her frame. She glances up to Cole, a large smile on her lips and a snort through her nose “even if it is about people that make me happy.”
No, the least that people really saw or spoke about or to her the better. At least when it came to those outside of the circle of the mages outside of those walls. She enjoyed her time with the Chargers though even they became too loud. The mage had become proficient at identifying cracks in the building, counting exists and threats. She had found the loose stones that allowed her to scale there. Her feet, despite being covered by slippers, attuned to the strength and firmness of the floor. The sound that she made as she walked. It wasn’t warm, but standing outside, away from people with only a distant source of light? This was familiar, this was a sign of freedom.
“The flowers were beautiful, Cole.” her fingers touch the flowers on her hair, chin digging immediately after into the darker fabrics of her long and shapeless coat “Thank you.“
She remains looking at him and for a moment she feels herself rooted. His ghostly eyes mirror hers, or at least she imagines that they do. Tired, haunted, distant and yet so present. He feels soft, warm like a blanket and yet he is quiet. If she could shut out all voices that she can hear, feel, from Skyhold, from this mountain range... If she was to reach out to him, she would still only find silence.
And perhaps that would be scary. For Émilie, for someone that doesn’t know what that might feel like, sound like?... To be able to sit down with her thoughts, her feelings for a moment. A single moment of peace and quiet.
“Would you sit with me?” she pauses, holding her knees tighter against her body “Just for a moment? Please?“
#ourdawncomes#skyheld#émilie de clair ( muses )#( do I love the idea that while cole didnt get recruited he still remains around skyhold? you just cant find him unless you are seeking him#or he is seeking you? yes )
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MUNDAY MEME
@ourdawncomes asked ; ⚪ white - what drew you so much to your muse?
me: *is a big ol’ flamboyant queer*
dori: *is a big ol’ flamboyant queer”
isn’t it obvious? xD
nah, jokes aside, although I think that was part of it, I also find dori a very interesting character. there’s layer’s to him, and it’s fun to work through and figure them out as I’m writing him ?? he’s not perfect, but he tries.
also he is 1000% my type of guy so uhhhh I definitely obsessed over him for a looong time before actually writing him. >.>
#ourdawncomes#i would write way more in depth stuff but ?? am tired#⊹ · ( answered ) * . oh the nonsense you speak.#⊹ · ( ooc ) * . behold; the dumb gay bitch.
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44. Tentative kisses given in the dark. For Merrill pls
Within the little tent, it is even darker than the night outside it, lit however feebly by the stars and an eyelash moon. A halfhearted wind is sighing through the tree branches, while inside the canvas walls, Merrill has snuffed out the candles and Lyna has returned the bundle of maps and papers to her satchel. There’s hardly room for their two bedrolls to spread out side by side, and skin brushes skin with soft laughter as they both clamber in; Merrill’s soft, slender fingers find Lyna’s chin, and her nose bumps against Lyna’s nose, and then the cool suppleness of her lips is brushing Lyna’s lips. Lyna closes her eyes, although it doesn’t matter in the pitch darkness. Her cheek and Merrill’s cheek touch, and she tilts again towards her lips and kisses them fleetingly. She can smell Merrill’s breath and feel the moving air, and hear cloth rustle as a cold palm finds her arm--but Merrill’s tongue is warm as it slides between her lips.
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( COMPLIMENT ) complimenting mine. || @ourdawncomes
“That’s a very pretty shirt, Hawke.” Shepard smoothed the cotton over herself with a warm grin, “It’s a little simple for Hightown though, isn’t it?” Came the other’s wonder and Merrill was as observant and as right as ever. It was rather plain, extremely so in fact.
“That’s why my mother had it embroidered,” she told the other, wandering over and dropping beside Merrill on the bed where she was sitting, bouncing her slightly as she held the sleeve out towards her. “The shirt was my father’s...” she explained with a tender expression. “Between Carver and I both being as tall as we are, when he died it would’ve been a waste to throw them out and well they’re really all we had left of him.” She added, giving Merrill a warm look. The detail work was fine and well done, and the few shirts she’d saved from Lothering served as a salve for Shepard, but she knew it was just a painful memory to Leandra.
(shepard wondered how much of their father leandra saw in them and how she carried that grief.)
“Well, they suit you, and they’re a pretty color too.” she could see an edge of pity in Merrill’s eyes, but the other mage’s gentle gaze warmed Shepard’s chest from the dull ache and kept her mind from wander too far into the past.
Finally and with a sharp inhale, Shepard sat up properly. She poked Merrill gently in her side as she rose, grinning brightly now as the melancholy passed. “Come on, I offered to take you shopping and we’ve sat inside all day dodging the heat,” Shepard laughs, sniffling once with a watery tone she was thankful that Merrill ignored, and wiped the threat of building tears in her eyes.
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@ourdawncomes | Short form starters | Accepting
"I am uncertain why the Inquisitor thought it best for us both to undertake this mission. Our skills do not... necessarily align.”
#ourdawncomes#vivienne#short form starters#v: guardian#a: undecided#[ imagining Fenris undercover somewhere fancy#looking exceedingly uncomfortable#without a giant sword somewhere in his immediate vicinity#xD ]
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" SO YOU'RE.. not bodhan's cousin. and i.. am just an idiot."
@ourdawncomes
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@ourdawncomes said : ❛ when will i know who i am? ❜ - Merrill
isabela has never branded herself as any particular kind of wise --- instead , she thrives on her cunning , her wit , & her charm . they’re distractions , a different kind of intelligence that doesn’t offer any kind of aid in answering these thought - provoking questions . merrill is good for that , she notices ; catching her off - guard .
‘ i think that’s something best left up to you to decide , sweetness . ’
she couldn’t very well decide for her , after all . one’s identity was to be of their own crafting , something she’d rather not interfere in . merrill is sweet , kind , the type of person she would loathe to taint with her own apparent pessimism . ‘ we all choose to be who we are , in the end . isn’t that what makes us unique ? the world would be an awfully boring place if we all let someone else piece us together . ’
ARISTOTLE & DANTE STARTERS ! --- ACCEPTING .
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‘ it took me awhile to realize it myself, but you are not what other people say you are. ’
HE’S SOBER AND HE HATES IT. His head rings. The ceiling is too high, because it’s the sky. Oghren looks up, regrets it instantly, and runs a meaty hand down his chin. Does it make him feel more comfortable? No, because it’s not alcohol. His teeth bare, and he runs his tongue over them. They feel gritty and dry. What’d the Inquisitor say again? Not what other people say he is? Fuck. Did he say something fucking poetic? Probably. He can’t remember. The back of his neck itches. His skin feels too tight. He wants a drink.
“Sure — sure.”
He’s gotta say something, right? Oghren looks down, then to the side. Meets Cadash’s eyes. This is worse than the sky, because there is something shining there, and it burns. Faith, huh? He hasn’t seen that in — his entire existence hiccups, malfunctions. Last time was in a pair of eyes the color of the sky. Rage sparks, then: red and cold against the back of his mind. Sodding sky. Doesn’t deserve to be that color. Ever. Nothing does.
That’s how his kid could’ve looked at him.
He hates it. That sodding faith. Sure — sure? He realizes his mistake now, as always too little too late. His face scrunches with emotions he can’t place, so he bundles them up with the rage, and lets them lie. He wishes he was drunk. It never did him any good. But then again, neither has being sober.
“Stop.” Oghren puts his hands up. The world threatens to crawl sideways. The rage keeps him upright. “Right there. I don’t know what I said, but you’ve got it all wrong.” His hands flex at the knuckles. He wants a drink. He wants a drink he wants a drink he wants a
“I’m exactly what people say I am, kid. Exactly.” There’s weight in his words. He punctuates it by leaning forward. He imagines his face: red, scarred, wrinkled. Bloodshot eyes. Unkempt beard. He imagines his kid seeing like this, and he’s ashamed. Package that under the rage, and watch the embers erupt.
A finger lifts. “Drunkard.” Another. “Liar.” Another. “Oathbreaker.” Another. “Murderer.” In his mind’s eye he keeps going because he’s more than just a functioning alcoholic. In his mind’s eye he has seventy fingers. They lift, one after another. Without honor. Piss-poor husband. Temperamental bastard. Good for nothing. Can’t even raise a kid. Can’t even answer a sodding letter. Not a good man. Not a good man, not a good man, not a good man, not a good
He wants a drink.
“There’s no secret me, so don’t go makin’ one up. I’m here for one thing and one thing only. I’m here to kill things.”
Pause. He grins. It curdles on his face like milk left out in the sun. Sour. Bitter. Sharp.
“And to get rip-roarin’ drunk.”
@ourdawncomes sent : ‘grave suggestion’
#ourdawncomes#oghren/ic.#thora: theres more to you :)#oghren: i cant read suddenly#he is a bitter drunk old maN#alcohol tw#addiction tw#substance abuse tw
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💭 + first day (as in the holiday in thedas)
SEND 💭 + A WORD AND MY MUSE WILL TELL YOU A MEMORY RELATED TO IT. *
“The festivities. As a young boy, it was not something I was overly familiar with. My parents didn’t know many Southern traditions, and even the ones they had heard of, they hardly knew how to partake in such things. The longer we lived in Ferelden, however, the more they learned. Ferelden markets would bloom, there would be drinks, company, sharing of meats, wine, bread and cheese, and neighbours checking in on one another.” At least, that’s what it was like for the humans. As qunari, they were not always welcome to such festivities, although there were many people who were just as kind as those who were just as cruel. Kaaras would always remember the kindness, the fondness of others in the holiday spirit.
“I will always remember those who took the time to share their warmth with us. Those that made us stronger, and kinder in turn, for the new year.”
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🧠🧠🧠
For Every 🧠 I Receive I Will Reveal One Fact About My Muse
Fenumin has been bitten by more snakes than he cares to admit, for all people seem to think he’s something of a snakecharmer (or rather, perhaps, that the snakes have simply accepted him as one of their own). He takes care to ensure he never scars from the bites: at this point he’s more concerned with scarring than dying, as he doses himself with so many antidotes and antivenoms on a regular basis just as a standard precaution.
Like most of Dirthamen’s agents, Fenumin’s memory is startlingly acute: he can recite most of his recipes from memory, recalls nearly every purchase made at any given one of his “shopkeeper” undercover positions, and never needs instructions written down; he will always remember them after they are first recited.
On the other hand he loses so many apprentices to poison-related stupidity (they either die or nearly die often enough that he dismisses them) that he no longer bothers remembering one idiot from the next. He couldn’t tell you which fool broke that vial on their foot and lost the foot as a result. Ailis is more worthwhile, anyway.
#headcanon;#v: elvhenan#//you get agent of dirthamen fenumin because i don't get to trot him out often#ourdawncomes
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plotted starter for @ourdawncomes + cole!
The Inquisitor arrives in the nick of time. Any longer, and the templars would have overrun Adrian and her mages, breaking through the flimsy wooden gate into the lodge where Fairbanks houses his refugees. Now, with the Inquisition soldiers coming up from behind, those who can still think through the red lyrium are retreating before they’re pinned in. The rest dies. After that, it’s just the cleanup left.
Without thinking of the fact the Inquisitor is there, Adrian begins to give out orders. She directs the mages and a few brave refugees to get their wounded to the two healers, for the fires to be put out and escaped cattle to be brought in. She gives herself the grisly task of slitting throats. No need to burden anyone else with this, there aren’t more dying enemies than she can handle. You slit an innocent man’s throat once, she reminds herself before she can balk at the task, so don’t pretend to be too soft for this.
A hunch-backed horror lets out a whine as it dies, no longer sounding human, and a slippery shadow goes the same way, struggling to the last breath. But then the next templar isn’t dying, only wounded and dazed. And he is young and still looks human; there’s clarity in his red gaze, unless she imagines it. He can’t have taken lyrium for long before they started giving him the red stuff.
She hesitates. For a long time, she hesitates. She doesn’t know if these templars can go back to regular lyrium or if they’re lost once they’re off the red, and she doesn’t know if she wants them not to be lost.
Then she looks up, glances around for someone to help and sees a man standing idle nearby. She doesn’t recognize his face under the curious wide-brimmed hat, but by the plain clothes and awkward, un-soldierlike stance she judges he’s a refugee.
“ You there! Help me carry this one inside. He needs a healer. “
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@ourdawncomes . peace . "Does the thought of him still bring you comfort?" Peace speaks in low ripples which disturb a pool of calm water. He remembers he laughter as though it's his own, colder as the years march on, as the nightmares move in. "Or does the lethanvir alone now hold that distinction?" . ask my muse questions about their relationships . accepting
Peace was a door held shut by two locks.
One that shift and changed, its key changing with each step that moved one closer towards it. Each breeze of the wind. Each word uttered into the air. With the weight of one’s lids. The other, gone. Invisible to one’s eyes. No step left or right would raise it from the stony surface of the door’s frame. But it was there, it rattled in one’s bones, in the air within one’s lungs. She knew of its existence because she had seen it, she had held the key in her own hands. Falon’din’s long hands holding it open, the sway of his arm arching, soft fingers beckoning her to enter.
As a child, she found that the cold water was the best remedy for the anger that bubbled within her chest. The numbing sensation on her legs, the lashing on her chest as she pushed through the waves a welcome release from the anger that kept her lungs between its claws. She had always imagined them there, sharp. The threat far larger than the pain that it inflicted with the pressure building. She had found out that if she was to continue, continue past where she would touch the floor with the tip of her toes, past where she would be able to feel her feet touch the base of the ocean if she was to fully push herself down.
If she allowed the crown of her head be submerged by water, allowing only the cold, calmer, waves hug her body. Its whispers louder than any heartbeat her small body could produce... If she stayed there, cocooned...
The sea would take it away.
It was to this beach that she would return. Time and time again regardless of how far she travelled. This beach where her head was laid to rest. This beach where her past life had been nurtured. Where it had come to an end.
The sands are grey now. Clumped into crumbly lumps of ash. The dunes that once composed it are nothing but a flat and arid desert. Before her, where the waters would once have touched her toes, the grey is sprawling. Hid by fog that only grows darker as the day wanes. There are no tides. There is no ocean. There hasn’t been an ocean for a very long time.
Many lives had passed and without guides, without protectors, all things died.
The woman holds a helmet beneath her arm. New and non descript. Not too different than one would find in a mercenary. No emblems, no shine, no bright piece of armour, nothing glorious that could be placed upon an important head. The elvhen general kneels, her scarred fingers filled with dust, ash.
Why should the memories of a life that no longer belonged to her bring her comfort? No thoughts, not even that of Falon’din are able to bring comfort to this world. There is nothing. Nothing here without them, no hope without them. She saw that, she knew it.
There is no door to be found. Without protection this place withered. And so has the world. This world that she awakened in. This world that hunted the Children, tore families to shreds, worshiped a God that locked those that still retailed the smallest of gifts from the People away and shamed them. Pushed them to violence, into possession, into suffering. There are no doors, no locks, there is nothing if they were not able to undo what had been done.
“There is no comfort to be found here.” she speaks simply. In her tongue, in her voice. Without the accent that had been forced onto her and without the language that felt dry and dead upon her tongue. The world surrounding her shatters, the floor rumbling and the dust intermingling with the fog and ash and yet... And yet, despite the fear and pain, this place still felt safer. The elvhen woman rises, her back still turned to the spirit. Not the only and not the last that would find its way there, attracted by one of the People that still walked and breathed.
They were, however, the only one that had remained long enough to talk to her.
“Not many of your kind dare approach me.” the woman turns on her heels. Right hand dropping the ash to the ground, eyes fixating on the spirit.
Not many would be able to retain their shape, to not become altered. Who knew how long until this one too turned into something they would not be able to recognise any longer?
Dark hands raise the helmet until it covers her shaved head, the scars (old an new) upon a tired face. Until it covers the paths of the holy vallas’lin that had been gifted to her so long ago. From the horizon thunder claps and within it there are echoes of screams, of the marching of soldiers and war drums.
The elvhen woman pushes past the spirit, back to the path of dead trees “I suggest you follow their example.“
#ourdawncomes#the priestess ( muses )#raven received ( meme replies )#( ah yes. my favourite topic: how the church tends to take advantage of those that are mentally ill and use them for their own narrative )#( me. a complete dumbass that is afraid of the deep ocean. writing this: hehe I'm in danger )#( anyway I imagined this post inquisition )#drowning tw
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@ourdawncomes asked : vivienne and palette #14!
colors names (according to coolors): bittersweet + old rose + sugar plum + spanish violt + xiketic
#ourdawncomes#lady vivienne#madame de fer#dragon age inquisition#mine#( fun fact: this was the drawing that I wasn't going to release because I didn't like how it turned out )#( but I was outvoted by my husband and tas herself so )#( I still have the other one and maybe I'll share it but for now here's the one )#( anyway I love the one lady vivienne )#( I'm glad that other people seem to like it when my brain is just >:( )#skellsdrew
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@ourdawncomes
Shepard made her way, limp heavy, to see her dear friend. Adamant had been a rougher endeavor than she preferred to admit, and she was still recovering.
(she’d been left behind and by miraculous feats of strength? she lived. she clawed her way free.)
Warmth blooms in her chest seeing her dear friend safe. It’s all Shepard could ask for, and all she ever wanted. Though if she was here, who knew how long that might last. Shepard gripped her side with some discomfort but waited a moment more to watch Merrill tend to her work before clearing her throat slightly. The eluvian seemed to tower ominously in all its beauty at Merrill’s side and hummed dully against Shepard’s skull with ancient magic that the Champion didn’t love the feeling of against her skull. This one was far different than the mirror Merrill had before.
“A friendly dwarf told me I’d find a familiar face down here--” Shepard greeted, a smile already winding over her features even as she slowly made her way forward. Shepard knew she looked awful and shouldn’t even be up, but the promise of one of her favorite people was too tempting to pass up. “And I thought, you know I’ve got some time to spare, I should go say hello.” she waved a hand with a small shrug, feeling her chest swell with affection of seeing the other woman again.
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