The moon will sing a song for me
I loved you like the sun / Bore the shadows that you made
With no light of my own / I shine only with the light you gave me
↠ h3artsablaze is an 18+ independent & low activity multifandom multi-muse featuring ocs and canon characters from anime & video games. some muses will be canon divergent & not spoiler-free. this blog is multi-ship, multi-verse, & duplicate friendly! as enshrined by morri, they/them, 25+.
↠ featuring a study in: the burdens of being a hero, the heavy hand of fate, love that transcends lifetimes, godhood & the erosion of time, the longing to belong, the search for purpose & meaning, kindness in a cruel world, trauma & its lingering effects, the inherent violence of womanhood, feminine rage, the wonder & whimsy of magic, & more. general tw for mature content such as violence, mentions of gore, death, etc.
carrd for muse list / bios (under construction) // rules under cut
Some ground rules for your consideration:
h3artsablaze is semi-selective. This means that I usually only roleplay with muns I feel compatible with style-wise. Please have a visible rules and about section up if you wish to roleplay with me.
starsasunder is private. For me, this means that I will roleplay with anyone through asks, but I must be selective with threads due to real-life constraints on my availability. We must be mutuals in order to continue a thread.
Minors do not interact. This is an 18+ blog. I will only roleplay with those who clearly have an about page on their blog, and whose age is over eighteen. No minors allowed.
h3artsablaze is a multi-ship blog. Each muse can and will be involved in multiple ships, and each relationship will take place in an alternate universe unless otherwise noted. I rarely do exclusives, and it will take a lot of convincing to get me to do so.
I prefer longer-form roleplay. While I can and do write sentence-based starters and sometimes interact in short form with icons, I prefer paragraph-style interactions. I will almost always match my partner's length, but don't mind if my partner shortens the thread.
You may interact with muses who are:
- Alternate Universe
- Duplicates / Mirrors / Twins / Etc.
- Original Character
- Minors (No NSFW)
You may not interact with muses who are:
- Self-insert characters
- Real life roleplay characters (actors, singers, etc.)
- Real life people roleplaying with my characters
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It is not often that Atem finds himself on the receiving end of such dominant affection, but he is very quickly discovering how much he enjoys the experience. The other Atem holds as much if not more experience than his own, and it shows in the gentle yet firm way his hands grasp at the others hips.
Few lovers dared to even touch the pharaoh, too scared of the possible ramifications no matter how much he had voiced his approval of such actions, so to have someone be so rough and commanding of his body was a change he was not used to. It was not an unwelcome one, and he found himself unconsciously leaning into every touch, wanting to obey every command.
A shiver runs through his body as those teeth meet his neck, biting down with enough force to bruise, and when his mirror's tongue traces lazily across the now tender spot, heat pools in his stomach and he can't help the gasp that slips from him. The pretense of a struggle for power between the two of them was very quickly dissolving, and he was not the victor.
"Your servants seem to be quite interested in us." Despite the catch in his throat and the fingers tangled in his braids, he wears a cocky grin as he looks down at his alter.
Like insects, they scattered at his command. Scurrying off to whatever holes in the palace they occupied when his attention was elsewhere, his servants departed, and soon the throne room was deserted. Listening to the echoing sounds of their footsteps, the king waited patiently for his command to be fulfilled, as it always was.
"It is not every day that one sees their god made flesh, come again," he said simply, leaning back on his throne as he regarded the other with a smirk. His thumbs brushed over the warm skin covering his hipbones, tender yet teasing. His own arousal burned low in his abdomen, but it was yet manageable.
Footsteps behind him, and then the servant he had ordered to fetch the oil appeared once more. Atem's expression was stoic as he watched them sink into a low bow, pressing their brow to the floor. He beckoned them forward silently and watched as they sat the small pot on the arm of his throne before scurrying away.
At last the hall was silent.
"Well now, looks like we're alone at last," he purred, chin propped on his fist as he lazed in his throne. "Now what am I going to do with you?"
closed starter for @cinisemperium's resident pompous bastard. set shortly post-measuring the veil.
The request to investigate the elven ruins had been a pleasant surprise for Morwyn and an altogether unpleasant one for Cassandra. Returning from her sweep of the perimeter after Mihris's departure, Morwyn flips a dagger from one hand to the other in boredom, waiting for Varric to finish arguing with the Head Seeker about their next course of action.
Spotting Solas out of the corner of her eye, she sees him gesture for her to follow before moving further into the ruins. Wondering what he could want with her now of all times, she decides she may as well indulge him. With a sigh and a shrug, she leaves the sound of Varric and Cassandra's bickering behind her and trails after him through the darkness.
A moan slips from Atem's lips as he is pulled downwards, the sound quickly swallowed by his mirror. It was an odd feeling, to submit before yourself. As if he were kneeling in prayer to worship the god flame that burned within him. They were one and the same, and yet so incredibly different.
Atem had long ago learned the value of patience, but he had also tasted the tantalizing reward of moving quickly, of heading straight for a single goal. This version of himself had settled on the former, forcing him to slow down and work for that which he desires. It is frustrating, but in a way that seared through his body.
“Patience is minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue,” he groans, breaking their kiss to fix the other pharaoh with a look of utter contempt, fueled by his impatience.
A soft chuckle stirs from the pharaoh's chest, kohl-lined eyes regarding the other with amusement flickering in their golden depths. He brushes his thumb over the muscled lines of his mirror's hip, tracing the sharp line of bone underneath his warm brown skin.
"So eager," he teases lazily, fingers dipping below the waistline of his shenti. "Very well then, have it your way."
Tightening his grip on the hand fisted in the other's braids, he forces the other to tilt his head back, baring his throat to him. He latches onto the bared skin with a low growl, teeth sinking into the strong column of the other man's throat. Bucking his hips, he rotates his hips to grind up into the man seated in his lap, hand slipping fully beneath his clothing to caress warm, soft skin.
Only after he has left a darkening bruise on the other man's throat does he part from his prize, tongue laving lazily over the abused skin. He gives a low hum, golden eyes turning to one of the servants lurking nervously nearby. "You there, bring us a pot of oil. Everyone else, leave us."
Atem sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He doesn't understand how Seto could have seen the things he'd seen, done the things he had done, and still think Atem delusional. He's half tempted to slice his palm open right then and there and bleed gold all over Seto's shoes, but he knows the other man would find some half assed explanation for it and just science it all away. Atem could grow wings and fly off into the sunset, and he would still be called a liar.
"When I came to save Yuugi, I was gone for all of five minutes. Five minutes! That is nowhere near the decades you are asking me to abscond with!" His voice is rising in volume, and he has to force himself back down to a reasonable level. He was just so infuriating.
"I sealed myself in that puzzle with the source of all evil, Seto. This place was safe because I held the danger with me. Whether you believe me or not is of no import. I have a duty, and you simply accusing me of lying is no way to dissuade me from it."
He falls silent then, a new question burning his tongue with its curiosity.
"Why do you wish for me to leave so badly, anyway? I have no life there. And do not say for Yuugi, because we both know that would be a lie. You are not so selfless. What is it you really want from me, Seto?"
Somehow it is even more irritating that Atem tries to hold back his anger. Seto would rather have his fury, his rage, than this reserved and responsible man who claimed to be a god and a king. He knew that the man he had known as Yuugi and the man he now knew as Atem were one and the same (well, minus the additional consciousness of the other Yuugi), but it was hard to reconcile this man with the one who had wielded his anger so beautifully in their duels.
"Yes, and now this so-called source of all evil is dead and sealed. By your hands, according to yours and Yuugi's account," he counters, turning to level Atem with a cold look. It would never fail to embitter him that he had not been privy to those final moments, their final duel. The thought of it had haunted him for years, driving him to unlock the mysteries of science that would allow him to reach this place.
Crossed arms and a level stare meet Atem's question, Seto's face impassive and unreadable. What reasons did he have to bring Atem back to the world of the living? Even he does not fully know, does not understand why he feels such an emptiness inside him when he thinks of living the rest of his life without ever getting to match wits with this man again.
He growls, once again running a hand through his wind-mussed hair, trying to find the words to put to this burning feeling in his chest. "Don't! Don't... make me figure out the words for this. It's not logical, it doesn't make sense," he groans, digging the sole of his sandal into the sand-covered tile beneath their feet. "Just... know this: I am not going back without you. Whatever there is back there, it's not for me. Not when this is the most alive I've felt in the last two years, and I'm in the damned Land of the Dead!"
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Atem maintains his casual position as Seto towers over him, raising the glass of wine to his lips. The liquid is warm in his mouth, and while he would normally enjoy the sweet bitterness of the red liquid, Seto's words sour the drink on his tongue. If his argument were aimed at any other soul that wandered this place, they would have no counter to it. But he is not just another soul, and he is bound by more than simply death.
"How can it claim my life if it never had it?" He sets his cup down carefully on the seat beside him, and rises to his feet. "You seem to forget exactly who I am here, Seto." His voice hardens, but he does not raise it, tempering his anger in an effort to maintain diplomacy in the conversation. "This is more than a place where I simply reside. I am more than a mere ruler. I am the walls of this city, I am the only thing that protects them. Or have you forgotten that you stand in the presence of a god, and not just a king?"
He can feel the anger beginning to bubble in his chest, so he forces himself to take a step back, and calm. "It is more than a mere sense of duty that binds me here. But," he concedes with a sigh. "You are also correct, although not in the way you intended. The chance of something happening in the span of a single human lifetime is a small one. But can I afford to take it?"
It takes every ounce of willpower in Seto's frame not to roll his eyes at the man across from him. Despite everything he has seen, despite the fact that he has traversed literal dimensions to get here, he is not yet ready to accept that the man sitting before him is a god. Or really that there are any gods, period.
What use are gods when mortal technology has allowed him to traverse dimensions and reach death itself?
Snarling as he turns and paces away, he strides toward the edge of their little sandy oasis and crosses his arms, staring out over the rooftops of this recreation of Atem's original home. Ever a problem solver, he feels as though they have had this conversation a hundred times over the last few days, and he is no closer to finding an answer now than he was when he broached the subject to Atem in preparation for their duel. Normally if there was a problem he found insurmountable, he needed only to research and experiment until he found a solution for it.
But here in this place, technology could no longer solve his problems.
"Regardless of what you believe," he says, gritting his teeth, "Your reasoning is still flawed. Did this place fall apart at the seams in the thousands of years you spent trapped inside that damned puzzle? Did it implode the moment you went running to save Yuugi?"
They are shaded beneath the limbs of swaying palms, the gentle breeze casting ripples across the pool of water beside them. Seto is a sight to behold, his brown hair tussled from the desert winds. He is dressed in the garb of Atem's ancient society, but the technological crown still sits atop his head, the one thing the pharaoh could not convince him to discard, even for a moment. Atem was not stupid, he knew what the device was for, at least partially, judging by how often Seto was reaching up with a look of annoyance as he flicked it off.
"Perhaps I just wanted to see your handsome face," he teases, leaning back on one hand, a glass of wine swirling gently in the other. He takes a sip, carefully watching Seto's face as he continues to speak. "I know you are still waiting on my answer, but I'm afraid I don't have one yet that would satisfy you. Leaving here is...complicated."
Seto had asked Atem to return with him, to come back to Domino and life the life he had never gotten to have. But the reasons Seto gave for him to leave were all reasons he had to stay. Why should he abandon his kingdom, his people, for a life he never even had? If destiny was bullshit and he was supposed to pick his own path, why would he not choose his job, his purpose? He was Horus, Ra, both of them and none of them. Who else could take over for him?
"There is no one who could take my place if I were to leave."
Though it would be easy to react with anger, as was his usual wont, Seto finds that the emotion simply does not come. Time moves slowly in this place, as one would expect of a realm populated with the long-buried souls of the ancient dead, and it seems that it has had a tempering influence of sorts on the hot-blooded CEO.
That, or he has finally discovered some long-buried mote of patience within himself. But it does not last for long. It never does.
Lifting the goblet in his hand to his lips, he drinks long and deep of it, the drink still tasting foul to his tongue. Yet alcohol was seemingly an everyday part of life here in this mimickry of the ancient world, where clean drinking water and the wonders of the modern world had yet to even be dreamed of.
Staring into his cup, he rotates his wrist to swirl the liquid within, a sour expression on his so-called handsome face. Blue eyes flash with a hint of that buried irritation as they meet Atem's, and his normally deep, commanding voice stays soft as he murmurs, "Was once not enough? Must the past claim not one life but two?"
Gritting his teeth, he puts the goblet down before it can become a weapon in the hands of the anger simmering beneath the surface of his skin, long legs unfurling as he rises to his full height. "For all intents and purposes, you are dead," Seto hisses, running a hand through his hair as his irritation rises. "I have accepted that, at least. But what I do not understand is why this place should continue to hold claim over you when you already given up so much for it. What difference does one mortal lifetime make to a place that you say will claim you for eternity?"
The nails on the back of his scalp send shivers down his spine, and he practically purrs under her ministrations. There's a warm feeling that runs through his body, gathering like a fire in the pit of his stomach. He tears his mouth from her gentle kisses to bury his face in her neck as a growl rumbles deep in his throat, his teeth dragging across the gentle skin of her collarbone. He is careful not to break the skin with his fangs, despite the primal urge to mark her as his, to see those droplets of red that screamed her vulnerability at him.
And this blonde, soft and plaint beneath him, was his, his to love and to treasure and to please. And that's exactly what he intends to do, making his way down her chest and abdomen, leaving a trail of fang nipped kisses in his wake as he moves. He pauses when he reaches the bones of her hips, tracing their outline with his tongue, supplementing the moments between with tiny kisses and nips.
As excited as he is, he still exudes caution. His emotions have a tendency to get away from him, and he can feel them sparking underneath his skin and in the air around them, igniting in tiny puffs of gold and orange.
Lucy sighs and shivers under his gentle kisses, loving the way he grumbles against her skin, always trying to hold back when all she wants is for him to let go. Her nails scratch gently against the nape of his neck and she tugs playfully at his hair, but he slips through her grasp when the teeth come out. Gasping quietly, her grip loosens enough that he slips free, and she arches into him as he continues down her body, teeth dragging across her skin as he kisses his way down her body.
"Natsu~" she whines, cheeks flushing with color as he laves his tongue over the indentations of her hips. His mouth is so hot, like fire across her skin, and as his heat grows without, her own grows within. Desire rears its head within her and she shivers beneath him, unable to sit still while he takes his pleasure of her. Fingers dig into her palm as she watches him with eyes dark with desire. "I want to touch too..."
Yet still she allows him to take his pleasure of her, shifting restlessly below him, hips arching up as her body shivers at his touch. Recognizing the familiar sight of his magic's reaction to his heightened emotions, she watches with wonder as the tiny sparks of his magic cast the room in a dim, warm glow. Reaching up to touch one, she laughs softly as it fizzles out in a puff of warmth against her fingertip. "Excited, are we?" she teases, her eyes alight with adoration and wonder.
blood and sand starters // @cinisemperium asked:❝ There is something I crave more than sleep… ❞ \\ natsu, for lucy
The sun had long gone to rest and the interior of the inn room they had acquired was dim, the only light coming from the bright moonlight spilling in through the lace-curtained window. They had been on the road for a few days now, the guild and their friends long behind them. Happy was busy with Charle, so it was just the two of them. The opportunity to spend some time together had been too good to pass up, so Lucy had grabbed a B-rank mission off the board and they had set off. Renowned mages though they may be, there was an irresistibly familiar comfort in taking on small missions.
As oblivious as Natsu could be at times, he had not missed that this mission presented some much-needed private time for the two of them. They had been dating quite a while now, but rarely found the time to enjoy time to themselves. They had booked the only room left at the pub, and for once the single bed did not bother Lucy at all.
Reaching forward in the dim light, she took his hand in her own and squeezed his fingers with a warm smile. "Oh? What do you have in mind instead?" she teased, feigning obliviousness.
“ you should write a book. how to offend Childe in 5 syllables or less. ” — To Zhongli
"Mm, should I?" Zhongli hummed, regarding the woman in front of him through the steam pouring off his tea. The prime of the adepti was currently lounging on a settee in the morning sun, a pot of freshly brewed tea taking up the space between them. The tea had been a rather extravagant gift from the Fatui harbinger, one which the former archon had not hesitated to use for entertaining his most esteemed guest - the Traveler herself.
It was a tea made from rare ingredients which could only be picked from Qingyun Peak during the height of autumn, and few mortals were allowed the privilege of walking amongst the Adepti's hidden peaks. It was a blend suited for the entertainment of the rich and famous, and one which he was sure had cost the Harbinger a good deal of Mora. He had chosen it because Lumine was one of his favorite guests to entertain, and the best guests deserved only the best teas. But, he supposed, annoying Childe was a welcome side benefit.
"If I were to write a book and you could pick my mind for anything you wanted to know, are you sure that is what you would want?" he asks, a faint smile on his lips as he regards her with amusement. "And here I was under the impression that you were an adept at that without my help."
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blood and sand starters // @inyvat asked:
❛ now, are you gonna stand around with your mouth open or cut me loose ? ❜ — to Tighnari
He had been out on patrol near Vimara Village when Paimon had come flying out of the underbrush, wailing something or other about her blonde companion getting caught in one of the hunters' traps. Tighnari had calmed her just enough to lead him back to the traveler, picturing the bloody mess that some of the more common traps might have reduced the heroine to, only to find that she had been caught by something far more common than a metal bear trap.
A simple rope trap, hidden under a pile of leaves, had bested the heroine of Sumeru. Dangling from the boughs of one towering tree, the blonde swayed precariously in the warm breeze.
At the sight of her, Tighnari arched a brow and leaned back on his heels, his dry tone belying his amusement at the scene. "You must be losing your touch, Lumine," he called, already digging for the dagger at his waist. He would cut her free, but not without giving her a bit of a playful lecture first. "I have told you before that the dangers of the Avidya Forest lie not only with the flora and fauna, yet here you are."
blood and sand starters // @cinisemperium sent:
❝ Was she such a woman, your wife? ❞ \\ Lumine to Zhongli
*bonus: soundtrack to this ask.
The wind sighed through the branches of the sandbearer tree above them, the afternoon sun a welcome and warm reprieve from the chilliness in the autumn air. Zhongli stood tall and serene as he gazed out over the ruins of Guili Plains, the rolling sea of grasses a distant cry from the wartorn landscape where he had last seen the god of dust, Guizhong.
"I suppose, by modern terms, you might have called her that," Zhongli said quietly, a faraway look in his eyes. The past always weighed heavily on his soul, but as ever, he shared his memories freely with the star traveler - his last hope of evading erosion. "You remind me of her... She had an indomitable spirit, her kindness boundless. She loved this land and its people, and wanted nothing more than to create a safe haven for them. Guizhong was a quiet soul, never given to bouts of anger, and was a fair and just god to the people of Liyue..."
"If not for her..." his expression twists, amusement warring with anguish in his eyes. The weight of millennia presses in, choking the words in his throat, and he swallows uncomfortably. The words come out tight, solemn in their weight and finality. "Without Guizhong's influence, I doubt that I would be remembered as the just and wise god of contracts. I was young and hot-headed, the prime of the adepti... Over our time together, she taught me temperance and wisdom. She taught me what it meant to rule a people such as ours. I may have become archon in her stead, but she would have been more suited to it..."
"When she died, I could have rent the world apart with my bare hands. But on the eve of her final battle, she made me promise to look after our people. I did not know then... If I could have gotten to her in time..." he trails off, hand tightening on the haft of his spear as he stares out across the plains. "That promise to her kept me going, all these years. I became the god I am - was - because of her."
Natsu grins, not falling for her feigned act of ignorance, and takes the opportunity to climb over her, pushing her down onto the small bed beneath them in a way that was gentle, yet made his intentions quite clear.
Sparks dance across his hand as he runs his fingers across her hips, gently circling the bone that juts out from the hem of her skirt. He leans in to kiss her, pressing his lips gently to hers and slowly moving his hand upwards across the bare skin of her torso. She always wore such short tops, and while he loved that he got to show her off anytime they went anywhere, right now this body was all his.
She was all his.
A growl of possessiveness rumbles in the back of his throat at the thought, and he has to force himself back before he goes too far again. He has a tendency to get overexcited, much too eager to claim that which was his.
Lucy laughs softly as he pushes her onto her back, giving no resistance. The moon shining through the window limns him in silver, and she smiles up at him beatifically as she allows her arms to come to rest on the pillow above her head. There was no use pretending she didn't know exactly what he had in mind.
"So impatient..." she tsks just before his lips brush against her own. He's a solid weight above her, keeping her hips pinned in place as he explores her as he desires. She opens for him just as she knows he wants, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him close as he tries to back away.
"Nuh uh, no sir, you don't get to start something you don't plan to finish," she purrs, teasing the back of his scalp with her nails as she shifts forward to continue kissing him. There's no urgency behind her affections, her demeanor relaxed. She is not worried at all about him hurting her, even if he was.
poker face (1.08-1.10) sentence starters // accepting. // @cinisemperium asked: i think you would've loved it, if you gave it a shot. \\ Naruto to Sakura
"Pff, what? Me?" Sakura asks, looking at Naruto skeptically. They're sitting on the edge of the bridge overlooking the koi pond near her house, trailing their toes in the cool water. It's late summer, the evening is warm, and the distant sound of festivalgoers accompanies the crickets' constant chirping. Green eyes take in the sight of him in his yukata, hair mussed from a night of drinking with their old classmates, and she smiles at him with real warmth behind her eyes. "I don't know, Naruto... I don't think that a bar is my kind of scene."
As much as she would have loved to spend the evening with all of them, she had not. A million responsibilities were always calling her name, and the pressures of being the hokage's star student were catching up to her. She had spent the night in, studying, and had only came out once the festival started because Naruto had shown up at her doorstep, tipsy and charming with his bouquet of late summer wildflowers, and practically demanded she come out.
"I did enjoy the festival though. Thank you for making me go," she says softly, reaching out to tuck some of his messy blonde hair out of his eyes with a soft smile.
It is both endearing and saddening, how proud this fragmented elvhen was of her broken and meaningless position in her clan. Wrapped in crudely tanned leathers and poorly ripped furs, feet bound up in brown strips up to their thighs. Such a far cry from the jewel draped royalty who floated across the gilded floors on bare feet, every word that dripped from their mouths a song that spun magic on the air. He could still smell the heady blend of sex and wine, and the ache in his chest throbbed at the thought of home.
Sols turns his attention back outward, to the creature in front of him, trying not to compare too harshly her own life to those of the true elves. It wasn't her fault, after all. The Dalish were simply a product of a failure they could never hope to be strong enough to repair. "Not only are you the Herald of Andraste, you are elvhen, and a mage," he comments, when she speaks of wishing to return to her clan. "The shem will never deign to allow you out of their sight." In truth, this poor soul would most likely perish within the boundaries of this camp, and would be lucky if her body even made it home. Thus was the way of humans, and they were both at their mercy.
He wants to scoff when she asks about his own magic, wishing for him to teach her what he knows. He feels that it would be an insult to even entertain the idea of showing her the ancient magicks of Elvhenan, yet he finds himself answering her questions, his pride far too strong to ignore the academic attention she was giving him.
"Perhaps, when I have seen what you are capable of. Who you are and who you will turn out to be has yet to be determined. However I can help you with the Mark, as I am well versed in the fade and its obscure magicks. I have spent many long years walking within its lands and speaking with its inhabitants."
Blissfully unaware of the other elf's judgment, Morwyn listens carefully to what wisdom he chooses to impart, seeming to sense the gap in their experiences despite the apparent lack of distinction in age. He speaks with a gravitas to his words that nigh demands her attention, each word seemingly carefully selected.
"Let them try to contain me," she shrugs, leaning her weight into her staff. "The Templars and mages are at war, their divine is dead. Who among them could hope to keep a skilled hunter from slipping off should she wish it? Leliana, perhaps, but she cannot be everywhere at once," she muses aloud, green eyes lit with defiance and determination. She would not actually leave - her conscience would not allow it, not if she were the only one capable of fixing all this, but that didn't mean she didn't have a plan should the need arise.
Sensing, to some degree, his reluctance in discussing magic with her, she sighs internally. Even outside the influence of her clan, she cannot find the answers she seeks. Deshanna had always confined her studies to what was approved by the clan. She had been passed over for First because her penchant for destructive magicks was less palatable than her brother's talent with the healing arts. She had hoped to find a kindred spirit in this strange man who was neither Dalish nor city elf, but she senses now that his trust will be hard-won and perhaps never earned in its entirety.
But then again, Morwyn has always loved a challenge.
Considering his offer, she extends her marked hand out in front of her and studies it in the mid-morning light. The flicker of green, fade-marked energy beneath her skin is not painful, at least not at the moment, but she cannot forget the agony it had caused her so easily.
"I... would appreciate that," she says carefully, considering his offer. "My training contained precious little knowledge of the Fade... Deshanna always said it was safer not to meddle with the Fade than to study it and risk falling prey to demons or worse. Never mind the power and knowledge we might miss out on by playing it safe." Her smile twists sardonically, the green of the Mark flickering for a moment in her eyes before she tears her gaze away. "I was always curious to learn more, but am woefully uninformed thanks to my teacher's philosophies."
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Their fragmented silence spoke louder than shouted voices ever could. Framing the narrow dirt pathway from the small, humble cottage all the way up to the towering Chantry, the humans simply stood, nothing more than soft spoken gossip slipping from their shaking lips as the one who had just saved them all dared to walk past.
Dalish, they whispered amongst each other, a word wrapped in venom and aimed like a weapon to strike as if it were a curse. The Herald of Andraste, a dirty, heathen forest elf? Their small minds couldn't fathom the thought that anyone other than a human could possibly be worth anything, let alone the blessing of their beloved goddess. The whispers grew as she passed, concern fliting across the small village as they realised the rumours to be true. It was impossible, that she did not hear them, and yet she walked with her head held to the sky, black winding vines of Mythal etched like flowing ink across her bronze skin, gently framed by wisps of falling snow.
She was beautiful, fractured being as she was, walking brave and bold as she silently proclaimed that which she knew the shems feared most. She was Dalish, yes, and she was proud of it. So when she approached Solas later, the only other elvhen in the camp, he could not say he was surprised. He blustered about being a hedge mage, free from the confines of the Chantry and the barbaric treatment of the Circle mages at the lyrium soaked hands of the Templars. And when she inquired about his unmarred face, he lied straight to hers. The crude practices of the Dalish and the simple way they were now forced to live disgusted him to his very core, but he knew better than to let that particular thought slip out. So he gave her the same backstory he had given them all, and hoped that would satiate her curiosity.
He wanted to tell her that he admired her, in a small sort of way. Maybe help her understand her misguided notions about what her peoples really were and how tragic their history really was. But he could only take the role of Hahren so far before she became hostile, an unfortunate fact he had learned long ago. The Dalish did not care for others outside of their clans, and took great offense to any insinuation that their way of life was nothing more than a mere mockery of their ancestors. So he held his tongue, and carefully shifted the conversation back to Morwyn. "What of you? I noticed you have the markings of Mythal upon your face, so you must be Dalish. How is that you came to be so far from your clan?"
'Dreadwolf take me... you should never have sent me here, Deshanna,' Morwyn snarled inside her mind as she stalked past the rows of Chantry faithful who lined Haven's roads. Keeping her expression carefully schooled, the Second of the Lavellan clan did her level best not to draw attention to herself. An impossible feat, really, when all the shemlen lining the streets stared and pointed and whispered, "Look, there! The herald of Andraste!"
Morwyn was not completely ignorant to the meaning behind their words, no matter what the Chancellor thought. She was better-versed than most Dalish in the beliefs of the Chantry - hence why she'd been chosen for her mission. Born one of a soulbonded pair of Dalish elves with a talent for magic, she and her twin brother, Tamlen, had vied for the position of First for years. While Tamlen's talents remained grounded in the practical - he was a natural healer and had a keen mind for political maneuverings - Morwyn's thirst for knowledge was more abstract. Her love for the secrets of magic and the Fade made her an excellent mage, but Tamlen was by far the better leader. So Deshanna had promoted him to First, because his talents were more important for the future success of the clan, and had kept Morwyn on as her Second so that she could keep an eye on her.
'Isnt that hilarious?' Morwyn thought to herself as she bounded down log stairs inlaid in the dirt and found herself in a clearing between little wooden cabins. "Tamlen would get along with all these high and mighty shems just fine. What good is a talent for magic going to do when I so much as breathe and everyone mutters for a Templar?" she muttered under her breath, not realizing that her frustrations were now being voiced aloud.
She kicked at the dirt and snow beneath her feet and bounded forward, determined to find a tavern and a stout drink. But instead, she found herself plowing forward into the surprisingly solid chest of an elf. A familiar elf, if she recalled that handsome, bare face of his correctly. "Oh! Hello," she said, scratching the back of her head somewhat sheepishly as she backed away to give him some space. It was a relief to see someone else like her, even if by his mannerism and the lack of vallaslin, she knew he wasn't like her in truth. Despite herself, she quickly found that she was falling into an easy conversation with him. His life and beliefs were fascinating, and Morwyn hardly noticed as that ever-hungering curiosity buried inside her yawned wider, baring its fangs at the prospect of new knowledge.
"Oh! Yes, I am. I'm a member of Clan Lavellan of the northern Free Marches - the Second, to be precise," she said proudly, a smile lighting up her expression as she thought of her beloved clan. "My keeper, Deshanna, sent me here. Our clan is less isolated than most, and she knew that whatever the Divine decided here, her decision would have consequences that would ripple out and affect even the most isolated of the Dalish... I was supposed to begin my return journey today. I guess I won't be seeing home again any time soon," she said, face twisting with homesickness.
It lasted only a moment though. Like a hare bounding through a field or a moth to a flame, her emotions and thoughts flitted this way and that. "I know you mentioned last time that you were a free mage enlisted by the Chantry, but I wonder if you might tell me more of your magic. My Keeper is talented in the healing arts, but I find myself drawn more to the magics of scrying and elemental energies than those of saving lives. I would be eager to learn of your own practices."