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Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

sexycauseplay

[Kael was the incubus equivalent of a wizened old man. In fact, had he been human, he would've been the sort that lived in a magical garden, took in baby woodland creatures, and dispensed advise to wandering protagonists. But, as it was, he instead had three younger sex demons to look after and to occasionally save from rampaging flora and fauna, as well as themselves.]

[It was, in fact, trying to save the three of them from a carnivorous flower that led him to this new realm. Mirari and Orias were at the brink of getting beaten black and blue yet again, and he'd gone in to defend them, but the enemy this time was a mighty one. Even with the combined strengths of the four sex demons, it refused to back down. In the attempt to rescue them, Mirari threw up a portal at random, shoving the weakened Kael into it - only to have put in too little energy to sustain it. It closed right after Kael went through, and he found himself alone, lost, worried about his family, and in dire need of sexual energy.]

[Kael couldn't believe that after millennia of existing as an incubus, he still found himself in such a ridiculous situation. He'd taken to napping on the side of the road - a last ditch attempt to regain strength - before he was rescued by one Hawke. She was clearly distrustful of him but had welcomed him into her home, seeing how battered and weak he was. Like a little baby kitten.]

[Once he'd gotten his head back on straight, he'd explained the situation to her - and had taken to cleaning her entire domicile by way of thanks. He was much slower than usual, as he was running on the last of his reserves, but he couldn't just lie around when someone so kind had saved him.]

From:

closerift

( one, two, three )

From:

questionablewit

[Hawke might not envy the Inquisitor her job, but it's impossible not to envy her rooms. They're huge, comfortable, come with very polite people who are happy to climb all the stairs and bring more wine, plus a truly breathtaking view.

Cecily has surprised Hawke, a little. She expected the woman to be formidable; that went without saying, given all she'd accomplished. She'd expected the woman to be admirable and even likable, given that Varric calls her a friend and respects her to boot. She hadn't expected the two of them to get along quite so well, though. Hawke's plan had been to drift into Skyhold, have a quiet, unobtrusive meeting, share what little she knew about Corypheus, and drift back out again before anyone realized who she was and why she was there. She's managed all of it except the leaving part.

It's a hell of a view, though. Good wine, too, and storytelling. They're gossiping about mutual acquaintances, and it's actually...fun.]

You have to be kidding me, Cecily. Schmooples? Secretive, deadly Sister Nightingale, the Left Hand of the Divine, who knows everything and can kill you in fifteen different ways before you realize you're dead, has a pet nug named Schmooples?

[There's no pause before the name, no silent title of Herald or Inquisitor, no awe. Which is perhaps why they're getting along so well. They aren't their titles, not here and now. Just two women who've carried a lot of responsibility on their shoulders and who know how to keep going when the shit hits the ceiling.]

From:

questionablewit

[Hawke was a sucker for people who needed help, even when the 'people' were thieves, abominations, or generally problematic in some unfathomable way or another. But an incubus was a new one even by her standards. Some sort of desire demon, as much as she could fathom, which definitely made her wary at first.

But Kael was...unusual. Considerate, gracious, even sweet. Far, far more complex and less single-minded than any spirit she'd ever run across.

So she was willing to give him some benefit of the doubt, silently decide that he wasn't like the demons she was familiar with. He hadn't tried to attack her or do any harm at all--or seduce her, despite having explained his nature, at least a little. And instead of wanting to stay, what he wanted most was to return home. To a family.

That had been the clincher, for Hawke. It was something she not only understood but couldn't ignore.

She'd nursed him back to more-or-less help, but there was no question that he was still exhausted, even if he was on his feet again. She watched him scrub the table with something like exasperation.]

You don't have to do that, Kael. Especially not after cooking, too.

From:

sexycauseplay

[He lifted his head up briefly from what he was doing to give her a gentle smile.]

Oh, but I'm more than happy to help out, Hawke. [The warmth in his eyes was genuine, and Kael was really just the sort to enjoy taking care of others. After all, his kind never really stuck together, but he'd taken not only one, but three sex demons under his wing.]

In fact, I wish I could do more, but I'm afraid that this pace is the most I can manage at the moment . . . [His smile took on a rueful hue.] Once I am restored, I promise I shall return your kindness in full.

For now - [He tilted his head.] Would you like a glass of wine to wind down for the evening? Or would you prefer something else, like a hot bath, or warm milk?

From:

closerift

Schmooples. [ She confirms, laughing, leaning forward. ] You would be surprised, I think, at the kinds of things that 'secretive, deadly Sister Nighingale' gets herself into. She talks to the ravens, too, you know. They've got names, and... I think she believes... personalities.

[ To the Inquisitor, though, they're really just... well, birds. ]

Leliana isn't the only surprise in the lot. [ She flaps a hand, shaking her head. ] It's amazing how many people seem so... serious, and formidable, and then you get a drink in them, and they're speaking in absolute absurdities. I love those moments, honestly.

[ How better to get to know the others in the Inquisition? ... Or so she thinks. ]

From:

lyriumbound

He'd known there'd been trouble when Varric had reached out to Hawke. The dwarf had been careful after Fenris and the Champion had fled Kirkwall and the remnants of Knight-Commander Meredith's insanity. Helping Bethany escape had been trickier, but something that the warrior knew had to happen with his lover's sister.

Three years on the run amidst the chaos of the war between the Templars and Mages, but three years together. Something Fenris had never thought he'd want with another living being. For all the self-fulfilling prophecies the entire stretch of Theda's had become, he couldn't remember being happier.

And then Stroud first and Varric next. He knew things would never be sane again. Wardens never attracted "normal" trouble. No, blood magic-wielding Gray Warden mages being used by Corypheus was definitely new and terrible and actually just like being back in Minratheous. Adamant Keep had become a nightmare. A nightmare that was oddly familiar to Fenris, until the explosion of the Veil being ripped open and swallowing Stroud, Lavellan, her party and Hawke as well.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Fenris noticed the familiar face of Knight-Captain Cullen run forward to join him as the group disappeared. And they attempted to clean up the mess the Wardens had made under Corypheus' influence. And then everyone returned from the Fade.

Everyone but Hawke. No one Fenris gave a crap about. At least he wasn't alone in his anger at the loss. He and the dwarf usually agreed when it came to their friend.

But, it was more than that for the warrior. He was alone again. And no amount of alcohol could make the hurt stop, but it made him so drunk he passed out in the tavern in Skyhold.

And a part of him secretly prayed to the Andrastian Maker that he'd see her if he was lucky enough to dream.

From:

questionablewit

It didn't take long for Hawke to decide that she hated the Fade. Her last excursion had been almost absurdly metaphorical, flying books and floating barrels and demons offering desires and dreams and deals.

The real Fade is like that too, but with more green slime and teeth. And spiders. So many fucking spiders. They're not really spiders, of course, and she should probably be glad they look like spiders and not incomprehensible voids of nothingness or something.

She still hates them.

She's still alive, though that's less a miracle and more a damnation. Serah Nightmare Biggest Demon Spider Ever hasn't quite killed her yet. She's the only plaything he has now that the Inquisitor and the rest of them cut him off from the Wardens he's been tormenting.

It's only a matter of time. Teo limps at her side, just as stubborn as she is, just as not quite dead yet dammit, both of them injured. Is Fade slime toxic? Does it matter? There's not food or drink in here, beyond what little she had in her belt pouches. Nightmare's retreated for now, licking his wounds and sniping at her from a distance. She snipes right back, or ignore hims, which he finds irritating.

You think this helped? Do you think your sacrifice did what you failed to do all those years, that you made a difference?

She's sitting against a rock, bandaging her left arm, which is in bad enough shape that she can't hold a weapon with it anymore. The day Hawke rolls over and lets herself die is the day she...well. "I know I did. So bite me, Smiley. Oh wait, you already did, but I'm still here."

He snarls, and the sound echoes through all the air around her. This is still his realm. She's just a fly trapped in his web. And Fenris? You left him. What will he be without you? He'll be lost, abandoned, betrayed by the only person in the world he trusts. For the rest of his days, he'll bleed for you.

She winces, because of course he's struck home. It's the only regret she has now, the only fear. Varric will take care of Fenris as best he can, she knows, assuming Fenris lets him. It's a big assumption.

She doesn't answer, just continues wrapping her arm.

From:

lyriumbound

It's the fucking Fade. The fucking Fade and he knows she's here somewhere. It has to be the Fade because he's in the Amell mansion, in the same room where he and Hawke had made love that first time, where they'd reconciled and he'd decided to follow her no matter what happened from then on.

A flash to his side makes him whip around and he's hit with a vision of the woman he loves as she smiles seductively and then disappears. A mirage conjured by his loneliness.

With an irritated snarl, he rips the bed's curtains off before stomping out of the house. Instead of the square in Hightown that would lead to the Viscount's Keep, he finds a strange sort of walled area with those strange mirrors that he thinks signify other people's memories or desires.

It's the Fade. He doesn't try to understand it because nothing here makes sense. Especially not when sleeping. But he knows that he can use it to find things he wants by simply thinking about them.

As if she's that far from his thoughts, even in a heavy drunken stupor induced sleep.

"Hawke?" He steps forward through a puddle of green-tinged water that doesn't feel wet and ignores it. "Hawke, are you here?"

From:

thebloodiesthands

Sairey is a practised hand at arranging assignations, and this time of year is perfect for them. Normally roughly half Denerim's population of 70,000 (although roughly is the best anyone can do given the transient nature of a highly religious, highly mercantile city's population), come the celebration of Andraste's revelation of the Chant of Light, and the number of people in Amaranthine swells dramatically. The beautiful port city is filled with people, music, parades, pious processions, everything possible. The various chantries in general, and the grand old cathedral that is the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer, are filled with mingling pilgrims, visiting scholars, and native inhabitants. No one is going to pay her any mind at all, particularly as she left her staff locked up in Our Lady's Mercy Hospice. In addition, there are no mage's robes here, but the quiet dress of a well-to-do tradeswoman or moderately prosperous merchant.

Except this time, Sairey isn't meeting a lover, and the crowds aren't purely festive and devout. There's something scared and frantic amongst the singing throngs, even with (or perhaps because of) the heightened Templar presence. The destruction of Kirkwall's main, iconic chantry has aftershocks that are continuing to spread. People want to renew their faith, show their worth to the Maker to make up for it, but they are frightened and so is Sairey. She's better at living with it than most, however. It's just that she isn't meeting a random lover, she's meeting her cousin. Marion Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall.

Sairey is going to be in so much trouble if they are caught.

(Then again, that hasn't exactly stopped her in the past.)

The meeting place is a smaller chantry three blocks away from the hospice. The doors are open, the Chant is spilling out to mingle with the other verses being sung all over the city. People come and people go, and Sairey kneels in front of a statue of Andraste in Her guise as the simple fishergirl she'd once been. The redheaded mage sings along with everyone else and starts to make a garland to join the other offerings. She's particular on the flowers. The flowers are one of the ways she told Marion Hawke she'd use to indicate who she is. These flowers, this particular bodice, this chantry, this statue.

Now all she can do is wait. Wait, and sing, and keep her hands busy as she periodically lifts her head in apparent reverence. And if her oddly-coloured eyes, one mostly golden brown and the other mostly vibrant, turquoise blue, glance around at the crowd, well.

Sairey Amell has been a mage since the Templars took her at age six. She can be very, very discreet.

Edited Date: 2018-01-12 09:55 am (UTC)

From:

questionablewit

She hears someone calling her and ignores it. It's already automatic, that instinct: images and sounds drift by every few minutes, trying to snare her attention or lure her a particular way, to catch her in some dream or nightmare.

It's a little tempting. She could find a good one, something pleasant, something distracting. She's dead anyway, for all that she's still got a heartbeat. Who would know or care if she gave in this one time, when it can't possibly matter?

But she'd rather die in her right mind, not fogged by illusions. Besides, she's always been too stubborn to quit.

She stands up, and a slight gesture brings Teo to his feet too, though he whimpers. "Come on, old boy," she murmurs to him. "Let's look for a way out, hmm? Who knows, we might get lucky. If nothing else, maybe we can find the Black City. I'd love to scrawl some graffiti on the Maker's throne, in case he ever does come back."

From:

lyriumbound

Fenris is as stubborn as the Champion of Kirkwall. He doesn't give up, not when he's made up his mind. Ten years it took him to get his revenge on Danarius. And it had been worth every second of it when he got to kill the bastard. And even after nearly ruining his chance with Hawke, he'd never left her.

It went beyond saying that he thought her worth all the trouble. She'd thought he was worth her time after all.

As he continues forward, he finds himself again on top of Adamant Keep in the Western Approach. Things have calmed down. Rutherford and Lavellan are hugging. Varric and he are waiting, looking around for someone else. The Wardens are rallying behind Stroud. And yet, she never shows.

She's gone. She didn't want to deal with living with you and your difficult disposition.

A thought not his own and it rankles. It strikes where he's most vulnerable, because of course it does. He's seen enough Demons, learned his lesson when they'd last been to the Fade to save the half-elven Dreamer, to know that they prey upon the chinks in one's armor to steal your will. He won't fall for that again.

He opens his mouth to voice his defiance, but words spoken by Merrill are what he thinks about. Demons hate to be ignored. Especially if they think it's their territory. At the time, he'd cuttingly replied that she was the expert on consorting with demons, but her words were right then as they are now. One foot in front of the other, he makes himself leave the rooftop of Adamant Keep and walk away another time, though it feels like fire under his skin to do so.

The sound of a somewhat familiar voice catches his attention and he turns warily, ready for a fight but a part of him cautiously hoping that it not be another demon. Instead of following Varric, or being pulled away by Rutherford and his men, Fenris heads after the damn voices, determined to find the source. For good or for ill.

From:

slaughtergreedy

[Listen.

Wherever Hawke was, apparently now she's somewhere that has a distinct Someone In Charge. Not everywhere does, but this place? This place has that.

Is it distinguishable from one tree to the next? Absolutely. If you are, say, a dog the size of a pony. Or maybe a smaller dog. Freki can't be sure. Freki hasn't been a smaller dog for eons now.

Of course, not being small for eons tends to make an animal less than painfully afraid whenever its territory is violated. That's why this particular creature is simply padding closer to investigate, tail wagging absently side to side, very much led by the little twitches of his own nose.]

From:

questionablewit

It's strange to be back in Ferelden. Hawke's been here a few weeks and still hasn't quite gotten used to it. The constant presence of mud and dogs everywhere had caught her by surprise. It was one thing to half-remember it, another to be so used to all the jokes about Fereldens and their dogs that you take them for granted, and still another to actually see it all and remember first hand.

All the smells are different. The food is different. She's learned not to react when people look at her wide-eyed. The first few times had made her nervous, surreptitiously adjusting her stance so she could move into action if needed--but it was never out of recognition of her, not what she feared. She wears unostentatious armor, her long knives sheathed on her back. Just another sell-sword (sell-dagger, whatever) in a city crawling with them. It's not her that draws attention, but Teo. He isn't just a bloody huge Ferelden dog here, he's a mabari and recognized as such, and that automatically grants him--and his person--respect. It makes her less anonymous and more anonymous at the same time.

Anonymous is the goal. She's searching for answers to questions, niggling unfinished things that feel like they could be trouble. And she's traveling to draw attention away from Kirkwall and the ones she loves who are still there. Bethany refused to leave, chose to stay and help the now-apostate mages there; Aveline, of course, couldn't be pried out of the city with a crowbar. Varric had left for a time but had to go back.

Hawke's never been on her own for this long before, not in her whole life. She doesn't really care for it.

Teo bumps his head against her leg, sensing her moods as always, and she smiles fondly and scratches behind his ears. "I know, old boy," she says quietly, the words lost in the general racket of the crowds. Teo gives her a reproachful glance. No woolgathering or being maudlin today. They're on dangerous ground. This is the largest city they've been in since she left Kirkwall, the most eyes, the ones most likely to have heard descriptions of the missing Champion of Kirkwall.

At least one person here will know very well who she is. Hawke didn't describe herself, just in case; she described Teo instead, brought kaddis to use for decorating him with, a precaution as well as an identifying marker. At least one person will be actively watching for her.

Sairey Amell. The cousin Hawke has never met, but heard of. Sairey is overshadowed by the Hero of Ferelden's greater presence and legened, but she's part of the stories. Sairey, who might have answers.

Sairey, who's in the middle of frikking Amaranthine, during one of the biggest Chantry celebrations there is.

Hawke knows this is a stupid, risky plan. It's just that she's so used to stupid, risky plans.

Sairey isn't hard to find, right where she said she would be. The red hair stands out in the sun. What surprises Hawke is how familiar she looks. The bones in her face are Amell bones, the line of the jaw, her eyebrows, the way she stands. It's not an uncanny resemblance, but it's there. All the other things Sairey planned as identification marks are entirely superfluous.

For one moment Hawke just stands and stares. Then she steps closer, gesturing to Sairey's hands.

"Nice flowers."

As greetings go in exceptionally strange meetings, it's about as nonchalant and innocuous as it can get, which is probably for the best really. Hawke's not entirely sure she trusts her voice more than that, just yet. She's more shaken by the Amell resemblance than she expected.

From:

questionablewit

[To quote Varric: all this shit is weird.

Hawke has no idea where she is or how she got here. It's a bloody great big forest, so that...could be worse, probably. To her everything looks the same, in all directions. As fr as she knows she's been wandering in circles for an hour.

Teo, of course, knows better, and she trusts his judgement. With directions, at least; his judgement is noticeably dubious if his sense of humor is involved. Teo sniffs at a tree here and there and occassionally whimpers and occassionally is curious and excited, which Hawke can translate as "Something unusual and interesting and possibly dangerous and very big lives here only I'm not sure where."

Teo himself is the size of a small pony, like most of his breed, his head coming up past Hawke's waist. His breed is uncommon, however, and when the new dog approaches it's obvious he's not a mabari, whatever he is. Hawke's stance turns wary, but Teo looks more intrigued than aggressive or defensive of his person, so she relaxes, especially once she sees the new dog's tail wagging aimlessly. She might not know where she is, but she knows dogs.]

Huh. What have we got here, old boy? He might even be bigger than you.

[Teo would normally take offense at this, since he's obviously the biggest, best, strongest mabari ever, which is only appropriate since his master (who is perfect) deserves the best. He's distracted, however, because this dog doesn't smell exactly like a dog. He smells like more-than-dog, dog-plus-extra, something beyond alpha dog and into unidentifiable magic smells. Teo has a lot of experience with the weird.

He doesn't smell territorial though, and Teo barks a little. Hello, we're lost, we don't intend to take your space or hunt creatures which are yours, who are you?]

From:

slaughtergreedy

[The Æsir had to be minded. To some extent--under some direction--the Vanir and the Jotun had to be minded. Nothing else really bore being terribly concerned about.

The child of the Middle Abode certainly bears no consideration. Her companion, however, is absolutely fascinating.

Freki had known his brother forever, of course. He had known, in fits and starts, Sköll and Hati. From a distance, he could recognize the hateful scent of the Hróðvitnir.

This is none of those things.

The friendly bark stills Freki for a moment, tail swishing more intently for a heartbeat before stilling entirely. This one sounds a good deal more like the small, scruffy things which followed war bands on Midgard. That requires a moment of continuing to sniff delicately at in consideration.

Another slow wag of the tail, and Freki lifts his head properly, apparently satisfied with the distant examination. His attention flits to the bipedal intruder, who frankly looks as if she has no claws at all and barely enough teeth to rend already dead meat.

That, surely, is the question behind the unimpressed sneeze Freki directs at the other canine. What's that thing for, buddy. Why bring it here.]

From:

deblayer

[attachment.jpg]

It was going really well.

From:

questionablewit

Not a bad start. So what's the problem?

From:

deblayer

I have no idea where I dropped the first stitch.

From:

thebloodiesthands

People, in Sairey's experience, see what they want to see. Different contexts (clothes, stance, location) can trip one up, particularly when all they've heard about this person, place, or thing is from tales. Maybe a woodcut drawing in a pamphlet somewhere, although those rarely capture the truth of anything. Even Eldy can be unnoticed when she puts her mind to it, and she's the Hero of Ferelden and the Arlessa of this arldom. It's why Sairey's willing to gamble her safety, and that of her cousin's, on them meeting here rather than trying to sneak out into a random location in the woods. That all said, she's heard something of the Champion of Kirkwall's appearance. Black hair, blue eyes. Dark hair, green eyes. Tall or middling height. Maybe short, with brown hair and eyes the colour of the sea when the sea decides to be green rather than blue. She has a dog, though, one of those big Fereldan ones, you know the kind.

In Ferelden, it isn't a particularly useful description.

Thank the Maker for dogs and merchant gossip, Sairey thinks as a dark-haired, light-eyed woman wanders her way, trailed by a striking mabari. Gazing at the mabari covers her as the woman - Marian? - stares at her. Yes. Marian Hawke, she's sure; the kaddis is right. So Sairey lifts her gaze up with a genial smile.

She freezes, as if hit by an ice spell. For three heartbeats, she just stares and the world grows a little fuzzy around the edges of her vision.

Marian, for it must, it must be Marian, has piercing eyes of an all too familiar shade. That kind of turquoise blue which Sairey sees in her left eye every time she looks into a mirror. Her face is similar, familiar, down the jaw, and really, that's such a silly thing, isn't it? Except Sairey finds her hand moving unbidden to touch her face, as if touching her own would mean what she sees makes sense.

Cousin, just a cousin, and not even a first cousin at that. And yet... and yet...

And yet, the woman standing before her is the first family Sairey has seen in close to two decades, and she feels faint.

"Thank you," is what she says, and she can feel her vowels sliding around to become even more aristocratic under stress. That won't do at all, so she shakes her head a little and consciously lets her posture relax back into normalcy. She can do this, feign nothing but friendliness until they move somewhere more private. Still, it's easier to look away from Marian to her companion, and Sairey offers him her current garland.

"Would you like to partake of the festivities, sirrah?" There's a flash of dimples as she speaks, and she hopes the mabari takes her comment as playful and genuine rather than mocking. How he would have been treated in the Free Marches simply doesn't stand up to thought.