#bythestone

"The Moon shines bright, in such a night as this,” comes the disembodied voice of a masculine note, wisping forth from the trees on a low-hanging Moon; white fog clinging to the edge of the Wood.

Roland comes from inbetween these trees, shorn of shoes, ragged trousers and patch’d tunic; beaming like a sunflower against the white-cold of the navy night. He opens his arms, and sings more poetry. “When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, and I’ve come to see thee, as a pilgrim ‘twards the morning. Faire morning, Ruiha.” His eyes shine.

          He isn’t ready to talk about the elephant in the room. Not in its entirety. His skin feels unclean as though thick with grime, and there’s an endless supply of frogs in his throat -- good for swamps, he’s sure, but certainly of no use in the Castle and of even lesser use against the Archdemon itself. He can hear Ruiha talking, but his gaze is stuck in the distance and her words fall on deaf ears. Morrigan keeps playing in his head. He doesn’t trust her. He trusts Ruiha. By the Void, does he ever. 

          Maybe that’s why this is so numbing. And so he cuts through the tension, ignoring everything that comes before.

“The Inquisitor was called to aid Orzammar, if you have not already heard. An earthquake undid a seal that kept the Darkspawn at bay-- I was curious if you would be accompanying us.”

He doesn’t - he doesn’t feel a fucking thing. A dull pulse, maybe; a warmth pooling beneath too-cold skin, that tingling cliche just begging him to spit blood in her eyes. He doesn’t. He just grins; lets her handiwork sink in. The blood spills down his chin, misting into a quiet, gurgled chuckle. 

“Very dramatic,” it’s strained, but he manages to keep his voice steady despite the pooling blood, the swollen nose, the whistling gap in his tooth. “Pistol-whipping some smackhead kid in a shady basement, for what - loyalty? Money?” He pauses for a shaky breath, letting the lyrium dull the rush of power that flows from his mouth and nose. “Nah... sense of purpose- that’s more theatrical, right? No where else to fuckin’ go.” 

dishonored sentence starters! | @bythestone

          Oh, does he feel floaty.

         Is it the wine or the Love? The latter, he reckons, but who could say for sure? Not him, not now, not ever. But definitely not now, sprawled out on a blanket on a hilltop and sipping wine and eating fancy cheeses with Ruiha. His belly is full and his heart is brimming, and he smiles. Comfortable, he thinks, and squeezes her hand. And he sighs, and he thinks about just how warm this all is.  

         And he wonders about regrets, and laments, and the contemplative thoughts that seem to accompany alcohol. And he thinks of Darkness and Blights and Trials, and barely making it by the skin of their teeth. And he thinks of how awfully lucky they both are, but especially him. And he hums, for there is nothing in his heart he is so sure of as this: this grand Love. And he loves her in the way that he is certain people have seldom loved anybody, or perhaps the ways in which people think they love people. He thinks that if he were a better writer, this Love that is so deeply hard to articulate would be the stuff poets write about. This Love that is exciting and tender and devoted and utterly Whole, he thinks about, and he smiles. 

height comparison meme | always accepting (ask)

u know i’m gonna pick All Of Ru esp if nug gets to be her tiny accessory bf lmao

party banter | accepting | ask

♡ — my muse and yours

Solas: It’s becoming increasingly clear to me that the Grey Wardens truly have not asked themselves the necessary questions to accomplish their self-awarded quest.Vhennug: Hah. Couldn’t get any answers out of Blackwall, then? Not as surprising as you might expect.Solas: His misdirection is not practiced.Vhennug: Oh?Solas: Yours is.Vhennug: [snorts] What’s so complicated about hunting the blight?Solas: No more complicated than the hope that the darkspawn threat will cease if there are no more Archdemons.Vhennug: If there are no more Old Gods.Solas: Right. Of which there are two remaining?Vhennug: Somewhere around that.

♢ — my muse and another character, @bythestone​

Ruiha: I don’t like Harrowmont. Vhennug: So we go with Bhelen?Ruiha: I don’t like Bhelen.Vhennug: That doesn’t give us any more options, Ru. Bhelen might at least help out the dusters.Ruiha: You’re daft and a git, Nugget, if you believe that. N’yway, only duster I care ‘bout is Rica. Vhennug: Well… Bhelen’s already taken care of that.Ruiha: Daft and a git…

♤ — my muse in a specific location, Redcliffe Village