The Cantori Sisters

He had only slowed the bleeding. The poison was still working through her, and the clock continued to tick.

He had many antidotes and antivenoms in his possession, but nothing prepared for a blend quite like this. No matter, he refused to be bested by some hack attempt on a Talon's life, least of all by poison. His eyes swept the collection before him and settled on two serums. Not easily combined, but with pure alcohol he could make it work.

The gloves stayed on the floor, never replaced, as he took the risk and began to mix the new cure with bare hands. Another risk, another recklessness, but the greatest risk of all was losing Teia, and beside that, nothing else seemed to matter.

What felt like an eternity was, in truth, only frantic moments, and then he had the contents together in a corked vial, returning to her side and shaking the glass to ensure it was fully mixed. The vial was fitted to a syringe of his own design.

As Viago stepped away from her, turned his attention to his potions and poisons once more, Teia's attention followed as if connected by a string. She made no movements other than the rapid rise and fall of her breath, save to let her head rotate on the pillow. Despite the slow plod of her thoughts as if through molasses, her eyes fell on the discarded gloves and immediately understood. Even in crisis, even when frenzied, Viago de Riva did not unknowingly shed his protective skin. The removal of his gloves, as well as the apparent refusal to replace them, was a deliberate choice. It sent a wave of warmth coursing through Teia---or was that simply the poison that burned its way through her?

RP blog for Teia Cantori and Cioba Cantori de Riva

This blog will not be posting memes or random starters. If you'd like to write together, send me an ask or a dm!

Tagged by @socia-arandil @serialsforbellara and @mushrooms-x-moss ty 𖹭.ᐟ

A day late and a dollar short, but I have a WIP! and it's a Teiago AU!! A throwaway line in my audiobook today calling the king a 'bastard prince' set the mind gears a-turnin'. Kudos if you get the reference!

find me on vgen! || 🦋Commissions open🦋 tags for visibility below the cut

But it was only a moment. Then the Fifth Talon stepped away, returning to his workstation to retrieve a small device and a sachet of black salt.

"This will hurt, a great deal, but it should seal the wound long enough for me to prepare an antidote."

He was back at the bed before the sentence was finished, no more time to waste, dabbing the black salt carefully onto the wound. He had to be swift, the blood was already washing away the dissolving blackness. He brought the device close, and with a single flick, a small flame caught. The black salt ignited in a flash -- a swift, controlled burn that hurt but did not linger. The wound was cauterised, but not severely. He had no desire to cause lasting damage.

But it gave him time. He turned his mind to what he was dealing with. Many snake venoms could prevent clotting, but few produced such a pronounced effect on the veins, nor worked quite this efficiently. A potentiated venom -- a snake bite, yes, but combined with something blue and cold...

Mierda. Blue Vervain venom.

There was a base antidote to hand, but not one formulated for the plant compound. Though if he added...

His thoughts filtered rapidly through hundreds of combinations as his hands moved gently to massage Teia's side and abdomen. He would argue it was to keep her conscious, she would need to be awake to drink the antidote. But he had also just caused her considerable pain, and he wanted to ease her through it.

And he needed the reminder of why he had to work fast.

Open to writing with canons (Viago, Neve, Lucanis, etc) OR OCs (Rook or otherwise). I just wanna get my girl some love! Hated Dragon Age The Veilguard? Don't let that put you off! We can ignore the plot and make our own. Any and all included characters will always be 18+.

I can provide:

-- Multi-paragraph third person, past tense replies multiple times a day. -- Desire and willingness to carry a story arc long-term - also not opposed to doing alternate universe or in-universe AUs (alternate beginnings, alternate quest choices, etc.) -- OOC chatter including but not limited to plotting, meta, media sharing.

I'm looking for:

-- A writer 25+ that can also write multi-paragraph third person, past tense replies - preferably multiple times a day. -- A desire and willingness to write smut within the plot. An openness to discussing dos/don'ts/boundaries both before and DURING to remain on the same page. -- Communication!! Things come up, we all have life outside of Discord. If you don't want to continue the RP, just let me know. If you've got a lot going on and won't be able to reply for a couple days+, just give me a quick heads up. I don't wanna sit around wondering whether or not it will continue.

I do not RP in DMs and I double very sparingly (depending on the pair). I prefer the use of Tupperbox on discord to keep characters straight. I'm hoping to find someone as passionate about this as I am, and willing to do a long-term RP from just before the game and through the events of the game. I can provide writing samples if needed.

Carrd for Teia is here!

Please please please if you are at all interested shoot me a dm!!

"Slow your breathing. Stop with the giggling. This is serious, Teia -- focus on slow, steady breaths."

His eyes fell again on the wound. From this angle, his belt might serve as a makeshift tourniquet. It was crude, but it would buy him time to find an antidote, an antivenom, something. Worst case, he would sear the wound shut with a flame. Not caring how it looked, he removed his belt, the sound of leather against leather filling the silence as he leaned over and wrapped it around her shoulder. He could see the moment it registered when her entire demeanour shifted, the pain finally breaking through.

"This will be tight. Ignore it and do not move. Focus on your breathing, nothing else. Just breathe slowly and look at me."

The thought of drawing the poison out crossed his mind, but it was far too late for that. Instead he turned his attention back to the wound, using what little time the tourniquet afforded him. The skin was red from blood and trauma, but it was the darkened veins and capillaries that caught his eye. Blue, spreading outward like frost. He risked touching the skin nearby. Cold -- colder than blood loss alone could account for.

He exhaled slowly...

Her thoughts were turning sluggish and pooling in her hands but Teia struggled to reform them into the right shapes. The sudden snap of Viago's belt drew a gasp from the elf. Her eyes widened momentarily in fear, half-buried memories clawing their way out of the hidden recesses of her addled mind. The smell of meat and rot, eyes flashing with rage as tongue spit venomous words—knife-ear, gutter trash, useless urchin—leather belt creaking as the butcher slapped it against his sweaty palm and advanced towards her…

Just as quickly as the nightmare surfaced, it was chased away once more. The sudden pain that shot through her as Viago pulled the makeshift tourniquet tight had Teia crying out in pain. All at once she seemed to sober, lucidity brightening her eyes as they met Viago's. Dread curdled in her stomach, the severity of the situation finally apparent.

"Burn… antidote… p-poison?" Teia asked him in a small and shaking voice. Her mind whirled, trying to fit the pieces together. A slow and shaky breath went in through her nose, out through gritted teeth. Teia nodded.

Maker damn it. Of all times, he had been in the middle of poison work.

But before he could curse the situation any further, he heard her slurred speech -- each word worse than the last. Viago abandoned any thought of guiding her to a chair and instead bent his knees, scooping her up in a single fluid motion, still using his coat as a barrier between her skin and his gloves.

"Save your breath. Just tell me, what does the wound feel like?"

It could be blood loss, or it could be poison. Something that hadn't reacted immediately, or a dose too small to act at once. Either way, there was no time to change. He laid her on his bed, stepped back, and stripped off his gloves, tossing them into the corner. The outer layers followed until he was down to his shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow.

Then he bent another rule. He touched her with his bare hands.

He knew how dangerous it was -- if she had been poisoned, contact with the wound could transfer it to him. But her slurred speech worried him too greatly to hesitate. Instead, he drew the blade from his calf, confirmed it was clean, and used it to cut away the leather around her shoulder.

"I would apologise for not asking, but there is no time. Describe the pain. Take slow breaths."

Viago had asked her a question, hadn't he? Teia tried to focus on him, remember what he'd asked, but the sharp glint of metal erased all thought.

"Are you goin' t'kill me...?" she asked in a small voice, unsure how that made her feel, exactly. If she was ever to die at another's hands it was most likely to be Viago's. That didn't bother her. But they'd been fighting, hadn't they? She'd hoped that they would reconcile--they always gravitated back to one another, didn't they? If only she had known that they wouldn't, that the argument would be their last...

But then Viago was frowning down at her shoulder, not her face, and the cool breeze off the bay caressed the heated skin that had moments ago been beneath blood-soaked leather.

Crows always had enemies, but he suspected only one other Crow might rival him for the sheer volume and wealth of those who despised them and wanted them dead. That would be the First Talon. And so, because of that, he would never adjust his lifestyle to suit others.

But there was one exception. One Crow. One Talon.

She made him change his ways, just slightly, inch by inch, rules bending until they neared their breaking point. He would find reasons why it was acceptable to touch, to stay near Teia Cantori. Those reasons were excuses, and not always convincing ones.

Viago was well aware that the best way to kill a man was through the fourth and fifth rib. What he had not expected was that the attack upon his heart would come not from a blade, but from the most beautiful, sharp, witty, and skilled person ever to grace Thedas.

It was the day he realised how close he was to breaking his rules for Teia that caused their final fight. Since then, his world had turned grey. He pretended not to care... told himself it was for the best, that he could live without Teia in his life. That each letter that arrived did not pique his interest, that the swift glance to check the handwriting meant nothing.

While Teia counted the hours, Viago counted the minutes since she had last graced him with her presence. Their fight had stung more than any venom ever could, and Viago felt he deserved every bit of that pain.

It was a cool, unremarkable night at House de Riva, Viago at his alchemy bench -- positioned, as always, so that he could see every entryway to his room -- when a shadow fell across his balcony.

The thud that followed was not graceful, and whoever had disturbed him had made no attempt at discretion. Meaning they wanted Viago to know of their arrival. That did not make him any safer, if anything, it could be a distraction. He stepped back from the bench, eyes fixed on the figure at the balcony, intending to double-lock his door, when his gaze caught the shadow of curls he often recognised in his dreams.

"Teia?" The word came out as a gasp, and he did not care how he sounded as he saw her hunched over, one hand pressed to her shoulder in the unmistakable posture of injury.

Another rule bent. He abandoned the door and crossed the room, glancing upward first to ensure she had not been followed, before reaching for his coat to use as a barrier between the contaminants on his gloves and his fellow Talon. He helped her to her feet and urged her inside.

"Would have taken too long," Teia explained in a slightly breathless voice. "I was already above you. Seemed silly to come back down and have to ascend all… those… stairs…"

Teia had been stabbed before. Multiple times, at that. The wound in her shoulder wasn't particularly deep. She could still move the arm, albeit with quite a bit of pain, but mobility meant nothing had been cut deep enough to be severed. To oversimplify it, the injury was pretty standard. What wasn't standard, however, was the heavy sensation creeping down her arm. Or the way the blood in her arm and chest was starting to burn through her veins. Or the darkness that gathered in the edges of her vision like a harbinger of doom.

RP blog for Teia Cantori and Cioba Cantori de Riva