#exemplari

the world has become cataclysmic;  pounding hearts and she leaves markings of slick blood on the glass door.   the guidelines to the o.r. room and rubble crunches under her feet;  the hollow & empty feeling of the hospital surrounding her.   she’s been running from quebec for a while now,  slugging her way through into hopeful farming territory — illinois or missouri,  being her first thought.   one of the dogs whines behind her,  the crossbow held in her spare hand being dragged up.   she’s not in the position to fight.

she has become extinction,  dragged her own beaten corpse through the hallways.   solitude is her home,  it always has been;  even before all of this.   the dark,  the hidden,  the underside of the visible.   she has withdrawn,  evaded of real touch and both the city & her,  disembodied.   she’s propped on an old o.r. bed,  12 cirkel needle,  half her neck sutured back up with her spare hand still wrapped around the crossbow and half a bottle of old whiskey dumped on the claw marks when the dogs begin to make noise again.   option one,  another human.   option two,  the undead.   either way,  she’s fucked.

( .. )

❛❛  back up buddy!    i found this place first..  ❜❜     she’s almost tempted to say i clearly need it more than you but he’s probably seen the wound by now.   alone,  vulnerable,  unprotected.   static and silence,  chest tightening & the crossbow pointed directly to his head.   fbi dropout who never missed a shot.     ❛❛  so could you kindly fuck off..  ❜❜

tell me what you like best about my writing ??? | @exemplari

♥: your dialogue.❥: your internal monologues - thoughts.✽: your ideas.✿: your characterization.

               WHATEVER BATTLE OR mission had taken place, delwyn never really pried. part of her wanted to be polite, most of her simply didn’t want to be burdened with knowledge that would weigh down her heart. perhaps it was cowardly, but she thought maybe it was better to do her work without heavy shoulders. her work, of course, being healing ( as hunting wasn’t needed for the time, and it seemed this skill was far more valuable. )

             she gathered what remaining potions and salves she could and was quickly pointed towards her next patient. curly sunlight hair and fluffy pauldrons, she recognized him. though a name didn’t come to her she knew he was some kind of military leader, training the troops if she recalled. the little vials clanked gently in her apron as she shuffled over, kneeling beside where he sat, not terribly mindful of the MUD gathering on her boots and knees. 

the revelation outside the temple of mythal had been a chilling one. she’d felt the terror deep down, all the way into the marrow of her bones as she’d watched the warden body shift and twitch and become something more. it sends a sharp, nearly painful shiver down her spine now to think of it, and she’d been grateful that morrigan had been the one to relay the news to the others. 

how to kill someone, something, unkillable? 

leliana and morrigan had been bickering with each other for hours over it back at the fortress, with the latter speaking about no small amount of tomes and spells and things that go far beyond her painfully lackluster knowledge of the arcane. all of it is enough to make her head spin as she sees in the corner of the war room, teeth tugging nervously at her lip and fingers rubbing at strained temples. 

“any idea what they’re talking about now?” she glances towards cullen, who looks equally as confused and exhausted as her. 

“i haven’t any idea for at least half an hour now,” he confesses with a long sigh, sitting aside her. 

“so long as it’s not just me.”

cullen shakes his head, “she’ll barely acknowledge me, the…woman from the wilds, so i suspect any request for an explanation will achieve similar results.” 

“it’s alright,” she gives him a light pat on the arm, “i’ll ask for the idiot’s version when they’re finished.” 

“i don’t know much about these sort of things,” cullen states after a long, thoughtful moment, “but i do know this: everyone’s immortal until they’re not.” 

a simple statement, surely, but sidri finds that a new sort of courage seems to bubble up in her at the thought, something stronger than any mention of ritual or artifacts. yes, let corypheus be as immortal as he cares to be, until the final moment when he’s not. 

cullen’s more clever than he lets on, she thinks, and wiser still. 

MUSE  HEADCANONS .      /      accepting !

🌼  for  a  happiness  headcanon

KREM   is  quite  happy  when  he’s  with  the  chargers ,   yes ,   but  what  really  makes  him  happy  is  sewing  his  winged  nugs  and  sending  them  to  children  that  have  been  displaced  or  orphaned  thanks  to  the  breach .    it’s  a  small  token ,   but  if  it  puts  a  smile  on  a  kid’s  face ,   then  that’s  all  he  could  ask  for .

a  lot  of  children  aren’t  very  lucky  given  how  the  world’s  fallen  into  chaos  thanks  to  the  breach ,   and  some  just  need  something  to  smile  about .    he  won’t  lie ,  though ;    his  favourite  kids  to  give  these  nugs  to  are  the  children  who  were  in  the  circles  right  before  they  collapsed ,   and  the  mage - templar  war  occurred .    those  smiles  always  seem  to  be  the  brightest .

“did your sister write to you again, commander?” she leans against the doorway, briefly rapping once upon the old wood to announce her appearance. it’s always very easy to find him, sidri thinks, because he doesn’t really leave this room  much, and if he isn’t here he’s down with the soldiers and in the war room arguing with cassandra. “your, um-,” gloved hand lifts to her temple, “your brow does this funny little thing when you’re reading her lifts. it sorts of scrunches a bit, like you’re half thrilled and half annoyed.” 

murder party time | @exemplari