Caedharlowe's Artblog

Painted full body commission for @female—-hysteria of her werewolf Monica Tenorio.

Behind her, Shokrakar deals with an incensed nobleman. He’s growing impatient with her questions, thinks she would ever take on a band of raiders without getting an honourable promise of coin first. Taarbas taps Ana’s shoulder, and Ana looks over to watch Taarlok as his hands flash, his back to the nobleman.

They’re nearly done. He’s a fool, but a rich fool, and impatient.

Ana nods and pushes off the pillar to circle their meeting place. There’s a lemon tree, old and gnarled and she hoists herself up, wiggles her bum until she’s wedged comfortably in the fork of the branches. The bark is rough through her shirt as she stretches out. Each deep breath fills her lungs and nose with sharp, bright yellow. She grabs a lemon and presses her thumbnail into the dimpled surface, tearing the skin off and licking her fingers after each section she eats.

Shokrakar treats them well, but even the best coin only goes so far when you’re buying from open markets. Average people get average foodstuffs, and Valo-Kas gets to pick over what remains. Ana tosses the rinds to the grass. It would be a shame to let such fine-tasting fruit go to waste in such a backwoods orchard. Ana picks a half dozen more lemons. They fit nicely in her coat pockets.

“Anaanra!” Ana jumps down and goes to meet Shokrakar. She’s shaking hands with the nobleman, her grin toothy and her shoulders loose. Taarlok is busy rolling up a gilt-edged document, and sees neither the nobleman’s bow nor his proffered hand. Ana returns his bow instead, her head dipping low until her hair falls over her face. She raises his sneer with a snarl.

“Imekari.” Shokrakar murmurs with a smile. She farewells the nobleman and the three of them take their leave.

“When do we start?” Guarding caravan trains was easy work. Guarding caravan trains was soft work. They had been guarding caravan trains for two months.

“Three days from now. We have a week to clear them out, and the local bann will pay us what we’re owed.” Ana slings her arm around Shokrakar’s shoulders, pilfered fruit in hand.

“A gift for a gift, Sho, I brought you a lemon.”

“Give that here. You brought yourself a lemon.”

“True,” Ana shrugs, “but my lemon’s in this pocket. That one’s all yours. And this one’s Taarlok’s. That’s Saari’s. Ashaad’s and Katoh’s are there.”

Ana turns her head to watch the rogues as they emerge from the orchard. They’re all still watching her. She grins. Sticks two fingers in her mouth and whistles. A raven swoops from the trees behind one rogue, tumbles to the ground, and comes up as Saari. She jogs over to them. Her shoulder-bump with Ana is as unrestrained as her grin. The guard makes outraged faces at them.

They’ve defeated Corypheus, settled Orlais down, mediated between the mages and templars. But people are scared still, recovering still, and Divine Victoria advises that they go forth and visit the common folk. To see all the people they saved.

And so Adaar travels.

Makes their way to some backwater town where the chantry backs onto the brothel and war orphans find a home in both. There’s a group of children outside, shouting and running and playing make-believe.

Adaar knows the stories their own people tell, the stories Fereldens and Orlesians and Tevintermen tell. Adaar knows what the Qunari are.

So they brace themselves when they spot one of the children running, hands held to her head in a mimicry of bull’s horns. Adaar turns their shoulder in anticipation of the savage Qunari being dogpiled by the righteous defenders of Thedas.

“No. Just look, yeah?” Sera tugs on Adaar’s elbow, and they do look, breath stuttering in their throat.

The little ‘Qunari’ dives into the midst of her fellows, and they shriek as she tags them all in turn.

“Get back, demons!” She dashes past them to grab a green flag and streaks across the courtyard, twisting away from their hands and slapping the flag onto the opposite wall. “I win! None of youse can beat the Inquisidaar!”

And Adaar stand there while one chantry sister shuffles the children inside and another apologises for the ruckus. Vivienne accepts the apology on Adaar’s behalf because Adaar couldn’t speak if they wanted to, knows they’d choke over the words.

Blackwall accepts an offer of board the trio crowd around Adaar as they’re swept inside and announced.

Chloe spins around and stares at Nathan. That douchebag dares to come back after what he did? She glances over her shoulder, at— at nothing. No Max, no overturned trolley. She laughs a little, hears a note of hysteria in the sound. 

“Are you fucking high?” Nathan demands. “What the hell do you want?” 

Anyway this is up on AO3 and people seem to like it, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯