WON'T YOU SHAKE A POOR SINNER'S HANDS?

highly selective, private multimuse of ocs and canons mostly from the dragon age franchise. low activity, semi hiatus  #WISDOMSOUGHT: Solas sideblog, low activity  #FEARDCLIGHT: cyberpunk 2077 ocs sideblog, low activity

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cyberpunk 2077 ( accepting! ) / @chaostides

Asharen hums, more to herself than to Tav who stood beside her with a tone and pose that indicated all of the same attitude that seemed to come for free with so many members of this small group of travellers. For one’s so desperately in need of help and without so many answers, Asharen was glad to see so much of their spirits be so high, all things considered: and yet, the snark, especially when Asharen was truthfully only trying to help was becoming grating.

The thought that this was uncharitable does cross Asharen’s mind easily: she was older and had gone through her own set of affairs where others had been at the end of her own lashings. Time was running out and was it so surprising that they should react that way? That Alara should hold onto whatever control and version of herself and aim it as both shield and weapon?

And yet, why couldn’t Asharen stop herself from feeling like she was just watching the other through a muddy river: an reflexion that is simply off from a different time and place. The elven woman softly closes her eyes, rubbing the sides of her temples before turning to face the sorcerer, her brass arm resting against the side of her dark blue robes.

Air pulled into her lungs, a clipped smile that - were they to be standing by a clear river would make her shudder at how many faces could be reflected back.

   “Do you truly believe that you are the only sorcerer that has ever graced Faerûn with her wit, charms and wisdom or is it simply a symptom of the way you were raised, Alara?” Alara, instead of Tav. Titles were easy, whatever they were, but this was not meant to be received to the title wearer but the person beneath.

Asharen was one to know the difference quite well. Before the other is able to open her mouth, Asharen raises the brassy fingers, glancing over her shoulder seeing Gale’s figure reading a book just outside of ear shot.

   “No, actually, never heard of such a thing.” a pause, though so short that it doesn’t allow for interruption “Perhaps your perfect natural talent can elucidate me! Actually-” taking a step to the side, her other hand moves from curve on her own back, waving at Gale to come closer “We should call Gale, I’m sure he can elucidate the both of us with speed and patronizing tone that will put yours and mine to shame. Perhaps there is much I can learn in both intuition and patronizing others from you both.”

cyberpunk 2077 ( accepting! ) / @praeludio

Asharen turned to look up to the warrior, a half surprised note on her face not really hidden but perhaps, ill  timed. It still surprised her, how far so many people had come to join the Inquisition and how many felt that it was their duty to keep her safe. She was the only one that could close the rifts, it made sense, but in a way, Asharen hadn’t expected any denotation of concern from anyone that was not dalish - and those were few and far between in the Inquisition. And yet she had been met more than once with freely offered words of concern - words with actual genuine thought and feeling behind it. From Orlesian humans, to city elves and dwarves from Tevinter.

Asharen returns to the ties that she had been preparing around her arms as to keep her staff close to her body when she didn’t need it, as well as adjusting it to allow her to carry extra things without the need to add weight to the satchel.

   “There’s um,” scratching the side of her head, in between two tightly woven braids just outside of the outline of the shawl that covered her hair, the Inquisitor turns to look to Camille “a belief, within my clan with the way that magic works, even for non mages.”

It felt odd, foolish, like the first time she had wandered into a warm large body of water. Feet touching the floor and wondering if it was going to bottom out. She had never claimed to be this Andraste’s herald, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t try to explain or even try to share some level of the beliefs that could bring comfort to others that might not know it right? She could almost feel a scoff coming from some of her companions behind her back, but the Inquisitor did her best to brush them off.

Perhaps it was all her own brain and insecurities doing all of the disbelief for others around her. This belief that all eyes were on her at all times was sure to do her in before the mark or rifts could.

   “Though,” cleaning her hands on each other, then against the side of her robes Asharen offers a small smile to the orlesian knight “I suppose it might work for non dalish, or even non elves. If the belief is there. If you are willing to listen.”

Camille didn’t move away or look at her like she had started speaking in tongues, so - she supposed, that meant that they were willing to listen.

   “There is an inherit magic to…” her hands weave through the air, feeling cold as the space between them is made tighter. The damp air just outside of the temple to Dirthamen is heavy and damp, it weaves its own weight upon the shoulders of anyone that stands beneath its shadow “There is inherit magic behind the intention of thought and how that works with the physical world.” the elven woman’s smile turns into an apologetic shape, her brows arching softly “It’s weird to explain. But, if I may-”

The Inquisitor’s hands open, arms softly opening to the sides of her body. Waiting for the other to do a first step. The hug offered is a loose one, but one where the side of the Inquisitor’s cheek touches the cold and sharp edges of the armour.

Mother, make me a tree with rings that know the very beginning of time, where the shaking of my leaves will protect those that look up to me for refuge.

The prayer is woven silently, into the side of their breastplate. Away once the Inquisitor’s right hand holds first their right and then left, kissing the palm.