#corvisque 01

"My apologies! I wasn't in your way, was I?" Lilli steps aside at the booth she was browsing, giving him a better view of the items on display. A routine job had turned into an impromptu shopping trip; she loved browsing the markets when she had a spare moment.

"...he's not in your way either, I hope."

" Hey-- you-- " Enjin speaks up, crouched on the bench on the side of the road, his comically pink umbrella popped open.

" Got a question for ya: anybody tried to climb all the way to the top of these tall ass buildings? " He cranks his head upwards, following the structure with his eyes as it pierces into the sky.

She could recognize Fiyero from half a mile away, and that was no different here. The horns and blazing pink skin stood out like a sore thumb amongst all the dark blues and blacks that flooded the floor.

Who he chose to have on his arm, though, was a face she wasn’t familiar with yet. Was he also someone in Legatos circle?

She drags herself off Weskers side, patting the man on the arm once while she meandered through the crowd- Time to stop being shy and hiding against the wall.

She waits for Fiyero to leave his side, humming faintly to herself as she finally approached, one arm loosely wrapped around her torso in a sort of self hug.

“Swear that tieflings like a damn lightning rod in here.” She grins, shrugging a bit while her eyes scanned him slowly- Definitely an elf of some kind, Fiyero seemed to have a knack of finding the pretty ones. “Take it you’re close? Just met him through Legato recently, he’s a riot.” Said with a soft laugh, shrugging once.

Legato remembered the first time he felt like an intruder. He'd been a small child, with limbs long enough for his knees to clack together when he shuttered, so very full of anxiety. Small child no longer, he still felt a similar sense of displacement when he was in an unfamiliar place.

He'd been recovering on one of the couches at The Nest for a few days since the turmoil had settled outside. Legato had been in terrible condition after engaging in combat with the glitched for so long, and Fiyero insisted that Legato stay until he had a handle on his body again.

Zevran was a name that he could not place a face to, not yet at least. What Legato understood was that he was a significant person to the tiefling-- a lover. When he had been brought into their dwelling, Legato had not come across the aforementioned rogue. Perhaps for the best-- Legato looked worse for wear for the first few days, even after Fiyero had been so generous as to offer up some of their miracles to the beaten man.

From where he was lounging in the den, golden eyes flicker when he sees movement at the doorway; he tenses where he was lounging still, covered in a heavy blanket, and then eases only when he recognizes Zevran based off of the description that Fiyero had shared with him before.

Now, wasn't this utterly awkward. . .

" Um, " he had no damned clue what to say. Good to meet you. I, a complete stranger, am sorry for bleeding all over the furniture of your home.

"That is enough logs, Soft Thistle of Feint Elk Level 90." It's a name she still has to get used to calling the monster. Dam-bi wonders if Eiden chose this name because of its softness when its smaller but its largeness for elk. She doesn't question it though. Eiden's naming never really made much sense, did it?

So, this 8ft tall, three headed wooden-tree like monster moves, a large amount of logs carried in each arms. It picks the perfect spot to drop them.

Dam-bi exhales a slightly shaken sigh. Flames were never truly her friend, but she couldn't be afraid of them forever. Little by little she worked on getting through the awful memories.

You can't have any weaknesses when you're an assassin.

Fear is weakness.

Fear was also inevitable.

FEAR was controllable.

❝ hello there, handsome. ❞ ❲ @corvisque ❳

Seofon had always been glad that Fiyero had other people who loved him just as deeply as he did- especially as things were. Fiyero had wanted Seofon to meet the others, and so it seemed that he was on the right track for that. While they had never met before, Seofon knows that this is Zevran. Fiyero seems to have a type ... blonds. Not that it's bad- Seofon fell into that category too. ❝ Well, hello to you too~ ❞

❝ It's nice to finally put a name to a face- Fiyero speaks highly of you, you know. ❞

Since the incident, Seofon felt ... different. The whole ordeal had been a mess of deaths and revivals- that he was ... lucky enough to have avoided himself. Except it felt like a part of him had died. Sometimes it was hard to reconcile the person he saw in the mirror, even though nothing about his exterior had changed.

As expected, when everyone was returned to their proper place with their proper memories, all of the overwhelming power of the boundary faded. Seofon was left with his single Sword God that he couldn't focus on for more than twenty minutes, and his arsenal ... deadly, but stripped of its devastating powers otherwise. The Gateway-Star Sword had vanished again, and with it ... maybe it meant he could start to move forward again.

"I can feel your hard gaze on me," Sebastian says when he's come to a full stop at the forest he's frequent since coming here. It's dark and quiet here. It's just the way he likes it, really. Morpheus, his hellhound has been basking under the moonlight near a tree. Something Sebastian allowed for the dog to do for the time being.

"Ah," He says with a light chuckle. The scent that wafts off of the other and travels to Sebastian is one he recognizes all so well. Why, the thought of sinking his teeth BACK into the tiefling has him nearly mouth-watering.

Feathers, corvine mask, outfit showing off an amount of skin that toes the line of scandalous—yes, the fair-haired elf is that very same ex-Crow he met back in Kirkwall, no doubt about it. Not that Hawke wouldn’t recognize him regardless. Once you kick around the seedier nooks and crannies of Thedas for long enough, you learn to spot a professional assassin by the way they move—too fluid, too casual, as though every flick of the wrist were a prelude to violence. Zevran may lack any obvious weapons, but he is still a danger, even here.

Hawke likes danger. Danger he understands, unlike the multilayered social intrigues unfolding around him. He gives Zevran a friendly nod.