#elthorn

Just some highlights from a game on discord with the fam

Ashe spit some blood from his mouth before grinning at the traitor. Magic rippled through the mage's body as the piercing wound in his chest steadily knit itself shut. Ashe flourished his sword before standing at the ready, blade pointed toward his target-- Elthorn's throat.

In the years since his defeat of Corypheus, time and duty had steadily deteriorated the Inquisitor. Where there was once a bright-eyed, witty twenty-three year old, an empty shell now stands – clothed in Orlesian finery to conceal the strings that pulled at him, entire face obscured by a mask to hide every lick of personhood long since denied to him. But in truth, he’s doing it to himself. 

Things with Elthorn have been… interesting, lately. While those from his inner circle had all moved on to greener pastures, or to more noble pursuits, that strange presence from his clan had stayed. And as Cathal had hardened, he started to understand him more and more, though the persistence of his presence was still a somewhat confusing one.

One comment, though, and everything falls into place. 

❛ The only one who gets to kill you, is me. ❜

It’s such an odd, earth-shattering thing that it takes him completely out of the discussion. Memories flood back like pieces of a mosaic scattered across some part of Thedas – his attitude towards the clan, that unsettling presence he’d always had within the Inquisition, all the invasiveness. And while it comes in the middle of what was, undoubtedly, a casual discussion about the Inquisition’s ongoing commitment to apprehending Solas, something clicks in his brain. Elthorn wants him dead, and still does. 

“Oh, you are hilarious,” he says, and he might be laughing underneath the mask.

“You think I haven’t been watching you these last few years? You’ve wanted this for a long, long time… and yet I don’t seem to be dead, and you don’t seem to have been publicly executed. So I’d say you’ve been doing a lousy job at this whole ‘wanting me dead’ thing. But I suppose it’s nice to dream big,”

"Really?" purrs he, lounging at the barrier of these spiraling stairs, this great tower hidden within Skyhold's depths.

Roland's grin is ribald, proud, and direct. His handsome brows dost bounce in thrice. "Of what dost thou know of me, if thou art gleaned upon this confident remark?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Adrenaline pumped through his system, thoughts racing as Rook tried to make sense of what had just happened. One moment they were escorting the freed Dalish away from Elgar'nan and his ritual, Rook and Elthorn taking up the rear, and the next he was fighting his friend (or so he thought) who he was pretty damn sure was going for the kill.

Bloody hands move from the gaping wound to Elthorn's face, gently cradling his head between them, trying to wipe some blood away but he only succeeding in smearing more across the others features.

"Elthorn, hey! Don't close your eyes. I need you to stay awake." Rook spoke with a tremble to his voice, either from adrenaline or emotion; likely both. He hadn't come out of their fight unscathed, head swimming as his own bloodloss started to wear on him, a searing pain in his back growing more apparent as time wore on. It had been the open to their fight, a dagger in Rooks back, just missing his spine when his pressure sense warned him in time that he was about to be attacked.

"Emmrich!" He called the necromancer forward. "Heal him. I-I only meant to knock him out not — " blow a hole through him.

But it's Lucanis who stepped forward first. "Rook, are you sure? He just tried to ki-."

"You have that look on your face," Ashe sighed out as he continued to weed through research papers and books, trying to find a specific passage he swears he bookmarked.

the tavern wasn't too busy and it gave them plenty of space to talk normally without someone pointing an ear in their direction. it's warm than the snow currently wailing outside right now, and everything seems to stay still because of it. not even corypheus. ( though wishful stupid thinking, the attack left everyone shaken. ) still, it's a room to finally breathe and the warden sits himself with a warm cider. nothing too weak, nothing too stiff either. it chases the nightmares away..

hours of conversation then led to this. eyes drawn to the table settle unreadable on @elthorn and he doesn't mean to huff in response. because ren has been in somewhat similar situation. marked by the deaths of their clan. ren can imagine they both can remember that day clearly. among other things, other scars, other wounds both mental and physical. the bodies that can tell a story.