The Herald's Rest

Aedann Lavellan 

Indie RP Inquisitor

Multiship/Multiverse

Rift Mage

It had started out as a joke. They’d found the  chest full of bear pelts in a shack in the Hinterlands. Max had pulled them around him, laughing about how his mother had had a coat rather the same until it had fallen out of style and she’d moved on to the next ridiculous fashion. Dorian had snorted, made some comment about how he’d looked like an Avvar tribesman. Of course, Maxwell had been quick to play the part, putting on a surprisingly convincing Fereldan accent and looking menacing. Dorian had laughed and tried to pretend like the sight hadn’t made him quiver in his leathers, that he hadn’t spent many a night fantasising about such cultural cliches as big, burly barbarian men having their wicked way with him.

It was a week later when the mage discovered his acting skills were clearly lacking. He arrived in their shared bedroom to find Maxwell wearing the furs - or something like them. He’d had them crafted into a traditional Avvar ensemble and, Maker, he looked every inch the part. His hair was down, braided on one side, and he wore streaks of crackled blue paint across his cheeks and bare chest. Leather straps held fur pauldrons across his shoulders and a long, furry loincloth of sorts was the only thing protecting his modesty. Dorian felt his cock twitch in his trousers and he bit his lip.

“Well, well, what do we have here,” sneered Max, in a perfect Fereldan accent. “A lowlander. You’re a long way from home. Must be lost.”

It was a far cry from his usual polished dialect. He caught Dorian’s eye and offered him a tiny smirk and a wink before reassuming a stony, unimpressed expression. He was flexing his muscles in a manner that was clearly meant to be intimidating but only managed to make Dorian all the more flustered.

“Ah! Yes, I am, dreadfully so,” the mage played along. “I don’t suppose you could help me?”

Avvar Max looked to be considering it.

“Aye, I could,” he shrugged, eventually. “But it’ll cost you.”

Dorian wrung his hands.

“I’m afraid I have no coin, nor little of value,” he ventured.

Avvar Max smirked darkly.

send “💪” to catch my muse working out

After simple meditation, Kaaras decided to get his cardio going by doing laps near the stables. By the time he realised Maxwell was watching him, he was a bit of a panting mess, and his boots were getting heavier with their falls.

Stopping, the inquisitor leant down with his hands against his knees, catching his breath before he ran a hand through his sweaty hair. Despite the fact that Kaaras was a little overweight, he was also very fit beneath that little bit of pudge, and hard muscle could be felt if they were tensed enough.

Leaning back up, he shook his arms and headed over to his waterskin to meet the other man who had been… watching him? He supposed Maxwell wanted something? Surely he was not just here to watch him work out in the early hours.

“I’m a qunari, I have an upper advantage with my height and weight.” And of course, no one wanted to hurt themselves on his horns, either. Trying to headbutt a qunari would only end earning a concussion from a non qunari opponent as well. 

“Well, this has certainly been an experience, your Grace,” he chuckled, ruefully. “Maybe next time I need to brush up on my hand-to-hand, I’ll ask Cullen. I might actually stand a chance.” 

He retrieved his shirt from where he’d thrown it and pulled it back over his head, wincing at the ache that was already forming in his back. 

Kirill leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand while he considered the note in the other. Max was a much more … open? No, enthusiastic person than Kirill himself. He’d made the mistake of offering to pay for an evening of drinks at the end of Max’s first week with the Inquisition and had woken in the stable wearing one of Sera’s colorful pairs of tights and no shirt with no memory of the night before. The thought of another such evening was more than a little daunting … He sighed. Maybe Ila would go with him. She was probably the only person besides Bull that could keep up with the man when the drinks started flowing; he just hoped they’d keep away from the Dragon Piss this time.

“Clearly they thought you’d been up to some very inventive form of mischief,” he winked. “Seven in one bed. I can’t claim to ever have been that adventurous.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Bull chuckled and Max flashed him a wicked grin. 

“Alright, a deal is a deal,” the rogue went on. “I won’t lie... it’s happened to me a few times but I think the most notable was when I was nineteen. I was cavorting with an older woman. She was a friend of my mother - married, rich, sinfully attractive for someone twelve years my senior. Her husband was older still, a political match. There was no affection between them whatsoever and his preference for other men was well known. He came home early from court one afternoon to find me in their admittedly neglected marriage bed. Honestly, I expected a beating but what I got was a rather thorough pounding whilst his wife rode my face into the pillows.”

He paused, smirking, when Sera spat a mouthful of ale over a disgusted Varric. 

“Damn it, Buttercup!” the dwarf lamented. “You should know better than to drink during his stories by now!” 

Still, he thumped the coughing elf on the back, glancing up to glare at Max out of the corner of his eye. 

send “💪” to catch my muse working out

After simple meditation, Kaaras decided to get his cardio going by doing laps near the stables. By the time he realised Maxwell was watching him, he was a bit of a panting mess, and his boots were getting heavier with their falls.

Stopping, the inquisitor leant down with his hands against his knees, catching his breath before he ran a hand through his sweaty hair. Despite the fact that Kaaras was a little overweight, he was also very fit beneath that little bit of pudge, and hard muscle could be felt if they were tensed enough.

Leaning back up, he shook his arms and headed over to his waterskin to meet the other man who had been… watching him? He supposed Maxwell wanted something? Surely he was not just here to watch him work out in the early hours.

“Well, I can’t say you’re hopeless,” he smirked, putting his feet back into a clear position of a ready stance. But when someone got a blow in, Kaaras turned full professional in a fight, and it was something he had simply be trained to do. To calculate, to read his partner. Saarebas took him on herself, and he had landed plenty of times face down in the dirt to try and defeat her.

He knew better now, and she taught him well. He moved, dodging a fist that came his way, his arm tucked under Maxwell’s chest and he picked his entire body up, throwing him over his shoulder and tossing him onto his back in the dirt.

It didn’t help Maxwell that he was going up against a qunari, who could pick a human up with ease. He turned to see the human laying down in the dirt, and he brushed his hands off a little. 

It was a moment before he could speak again. Pushing himself up out of the dirt, he squinted at Kaaras and nodded his head. 

“Mercy,” he agreed, breathlessly, and he heaved himself to his feet. “Maker, that is certainly not the way I enjoy being on my back. You’re quite the formidable opponent, Inquisitor.” 

Kirill leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand while he considered the note in the other. Max was a much more … open? No, enthusiastic person than Kirill himself. He’d made the mistake of offering to pay for an evening of drinks at the end of Max’s first week with the Inquisition and had woken in the stable wearing one of Sera’s colorful pairs of tights and no shirt with no memory of the night before. The thought of another such evening was more than a little daunting … He sighed. Maybe Ila would go with him. She was probably the only person besides Bull that could keep up with the man when the drinks started flowing; he just hoped they’d keep away from the Dragon Piss this time.

send “💪” to catch my muse working out

After simple meditation, Kaaras decided to get his cardio going by doing laps near the stables. By the time he realised Maxwell was watching him, he was a bit of a panting mess, and his boots were getting heavier with their falls.

Stopping, the inquisitor leant down with his hands against his knees, catching his breath before he ran a hand through his sweaty hair. Despite the fact that Kaaras was a little overweight, he was also very fit beneath that little bit of pudge, and hard muscle could be felt if they were tensed enough.

Leaning back up, he shook his arms and headed over to his waterskin to meet the other man who had been… watching him? He supposed Maxwell wanted something? Surely he was not just here to watch him work out in the early hours.

Kaaras was certainly caught off guard by the man’s quip, so when he came at him, he was only able to block the move. Once, twice, and then the third time, he felt the knuckled on his chin.

Maxwell was right in it feeling like punching marble. A qunari skull was far thicker, but it still hurt and had the Inquisitor stumbling back a little, panting and rubbing his jaw. He’d bitten his lip in the process, and he tsked, wiping a tiny bit of blood off his lip.

“Not bad, not bad,” he mused. It was nothing. It would heal in no time, and he’d had far worse from a little training match. Kaaras was at the ready again, and when he went for Maxwell this time, he used the thickness of his body to take any blow before picking Maxwell up and tackling him to the dirt, pinning him there.

Kaaras’s arm against his windpipe wasn’t pressing hard enough to do any real damage but nevertheless he felt his heart beat a little faster, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Had this been a real fight, he would have bitten, clawed, anything to get himself free - he had no scruples when it came to fighting for his life. Here, however, he’d have to be more creative. 

Kirill leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand while he considered the note in the other. Max was a much more … open? No, enthusiastic person than Kirill himself. He’d made the mistake of offering to pay for an evening of drinks at the end of Max’s first week with the Inquisition and had woken in the stable wearing one of Sera’s colorful pairs of tights and no shirt with no memory of the night before. The thought of another such evening was more than a little daunting … He sighed. Maybe Ila would go with him. She was probably the only person besides Bull that could keep up with the man when the drinks started flowing; he just hoped they’d keep away from the Dragon Piss this time.

“My turn,” he murmured, thoughtfully, and he swirled his tankard in one hand, watching the amber-brown contents churn around inside. 

“Alright,” he smirked, with a wicked grin. “Never Have I Ever... had more than one bedmate at once.” 

fear him. or love him.

send “💪” to catch my muse working out

After simple meditation, Kaaras decided to get his cardio going by doing laps near the stables. By the time he realised Maxwell was watching him, he was a bit of a panting mess, and his boots were getting heavier with their falls.

Stopping, the inquisitor leant down with his hands against his knees, catching his breath before he ran a hand through his sweaty hair. Despite the fact that Kaaras was a little overweight, he was also very fit beneath that little bit of pudge, and hard muscle could be felt if they were tensed enough.

Leaning back up, he shook his arms and headed over to his waterskin to meet the other man who had been… watching him? He supposed Maxwell wanted something? Surely he was not just here to watch him work out in the early hours.

Watching the man get ready, Kaaras smirked a little. “As you wish,” he replied. He was far quicker than the man was probably imagining, but thanks to being a mage, his movements were a lot more fluid than a bulky warrior’s, and Kaaras managed to sweep the man off his feet as he ducked and swept his boot beneath Maxwell’s, forcing the man flat on his arse.

He shoved his boot against the man’s throat, pinning him there, but did not press down. The Inquisitor merely gave him a smirk before he lifted it off and offered his hand.

He accepted the Inquisitor’s hand, heaving himself up off the ground and wincing at the ache in his tail-bone. Now that was probably going to hurt by the time evening came around. Still, he managed a smirk, rolling his neck to work out a kink. 

“Not at all,” he chuckled. “I happen to like it rough.” 

He gave Kaaras an exaggerated wink before pressing forward, determined to gain some sort of advantage. 

Kirill leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand while he considered the note in the other. Max was a much more … open? No, enthusiastic person than Kirill himself. He’d made the mistake of offering to pay for an evening of drinks at the end of Max’s first week with the Inquisition and had woken in the stable wearing one of Sera’s colorful pairs of tights and no shirt with no memory of the night before. The thought of another such evening was more than a little daunting … He sighed. Maybe Ila would go with him. She was probably the only person besides Bull that could keep up with the man when the drinks started flowing; he just hoped they’d keep away from the Dragon Piss this time.

“I need another bloody drink.” 

Laughter echoed from the crew around him, and another tankard was pressed into his hands by an exceptionally eager Varric.

“This better not end up in any of your novels, dwarf,” Kirill threatened.

“Oh, you have my word on that, your Inquisitorialness. I wouldn’t want to risk you clamming up on any further escapades, and besides, my quill is in the main hall still.”

And, if Max managed to find out more about the illusive and intriguing redhead and his lyrium-lined partner in crime? All the better. 

send “💪” to catch my muse working out

After simple meditation, Kaaras decided to get his cardio going by doing laps near the stables. By the time he realised Maxwell was watching him, he was a bit of a panting mess, and his boots were getting heavier with their falls.

Stopping, the inquisitor leant down with his hands against his knees, catching his breath before he ran a hand through his sweaty hair. Despite the fact that Kaaras was a little overweight, he was also very fit beneath that little bit of pudge, and hard muscle could be felt if they were tensed enough.

Leaning back up, he shook his arms and headed over to his waterskin to meet the other man who had been… watching him? He supposed Maxwell wanted something? Surely he was not just here to watch him work out in the early hours.

It was true, Kaaras wasn’t fast no thanks to his size. He didn’t have the lithe limbs to be quick. He was stocky in build, but he could still use his body as a good weapon in itself. 

Approaching the fence, Max peeled off his tunic and under shirt before hopping over into the ring. It wasn’t overly warm as of yet but he knew that would soon change. He was going to have to work hard just to hold his own. 

This debate is being conducted in the usual schoolyard manner we have come to expect of our ‘leaders’. And there is so little to be said for “Brexit”, a word as ugly and false as the barely disguised xenophobia it truly represents, that its supporters are reduced to yelling “That’s not fair you’re just trying to scare us!” every time some eminently respectable and sober individual or organisation (Mark Carney, Obama, the OFS, the IMF, the head of the NHS… the list goes on and on) remarks that in their considered opinion leaving the EU carries risks. Since Biscuit have obviously lost the economic argument they’re now just banging on about immigration - “comin’ over 'ere taking our jobs” - an appeal to the most base and unattractive of all our lamentable small island prejudices.

But we are not merely a small island, we are (even though we enjoy denigrating our postwar, post imperial state) one of the richest, most powerful and influential nations on the planet. Along with France and Germany we underpin European stability. Our withdrawal from Europe would be deeply resented by every other state within the bloc, and justifiably so, as the whole would be immeasurably weakened, a state of affairs which should please no one bar a few jingoistic right-wingers and Vladimir Putin. Following Biscuit, right wing nationalist parties in other member states would clamour for independence too, their poisonous bitter protest rooted (as all rightist arguments are), on the theory that their unhappiness/lack of employment/poverty/woeful education/sexual frustration must all be someone else’s fault. We will see violence and stupidity rampant and power hungry men merrily abandoning what little decency they once had to become the local Trump-u-like.

Meanwhile, Boris Biscuit Barrel 'La Trumpa’ Johnson makes scandalous comparisons to the Third Reich (please be assured dear reader that labour camps, racial cataloging, slave nations and state sponsored euthanasia for the disadvantaged are not part of any one’s plan for the future of the EU), and David Cameron suggests that your holiday to the Costa del Sol might cost a few extra hundred quid if we leave. Johnson is unforgivable, and call me Dave may be exaggerating. But so what? What if we stay and your holiday still gets more expensive? (it probably should by the way), and we should stay anyway.

I’ve been working for a few weeks in Lithuania this year (Vilnius is very lovely, you should visit). They of course secured freedom from the crumbling Soviet Empire in 1991; that’s 25 years ago, like yesterday. They were the first Soviet satellite to secede, Russian tanks ran over celebrating Lithuanians as they withdrew, peaceful people forming human shields before buildings of national importance were shot while they sung. Gorbachev received the Nobel peace prize that year. The Lithuanians are terrified of the Russians returning.

Look at a map of Europe in 1975 - Spain is a fascist dictatorship, Portugal is just starting to recover from the 26 year rule of Salazar - another fascist. Poland, East Germany, Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria are all soviet satellites independent only in name. You won’t even see the Baltic states on the map, they are entirely subsumed by the USSR. A short time later,15 years, these countries start to reappear, looking west for support, desperate to reestablish autonomy and national identity, to trade and to travel freely - you know; the stuff we’ve all been enjoying for half a century.

Now the EU extends from the Baltic to the Mediterranean, from Ireland to Greece, that’s a big WOW! a cause for great celebration. France and Germany are our close friends, no longer bitter enemies.

Bulgarians and Romanians coming here to work is a bloody triumph. These are not a bunch of ‘gypos’ coming here to commit criminal acts and live off benefits, they are people freed from ghastly dictatorships who have, for a just a few short years, been able to enjoy something like freedom and affluence.

This is what the EU is for, this is why it’s the most forward thinking and civilised development in postwar history; a secular, democratic, tolerant, inclusive federation of mutually supportive states.

And we are threatening to break it up? It’s a fucking disgrace.”