#fadedpath

Streaking cross-hatched laments. 

Bastard, unwittingly ducking gestures, 

translucent line pressing boundaries of marrow torsion. 

that, in itself, was nothing unusual. he had, he’d been told, always been a fitful sleeper, even as a little child, to the point his nurse had despaired of him. when he’d grown old enough to speak and become able to explain what caused him to wake up shaking, crying for an adult’s arms, the answer was always the same : he had dreamed of falling, and jerked awake seconds before hitting the ground.

lately, though, they had changed. perhaps it was his approaching birthday, and the nervousness that came with it. nerves could play tricks on him that way, his father had said, not unkindly. maybe he was right, and there was nothing for him to do but wait it out. ty screwed his eyes shut and rolled over on his side, pulling the blanket back over himself in an attempt to fall back asleep.

five minutes passed, then ten, then thirty⎯at which point he was forced to realize laying quiet and still was no use. he still felt restless, and the smell of smoke lingered in his nose, mixed with the acrid tang of something he could not identify. some fresh air might clear his head, he decided, and defaulting that, certainly a walk could tire him out enough to go back to bed.

creeping out of his room, he snuck past his parents’ door, listening for their gentle snores before slipping out the door. the night outside was cool, spring slowly giving way to summer, and the grass just slightly dewy beneath his feet. something in the sight soothed his disquiet, as if this was what he’d meant to do all along. with a brief glance back at the little house, ty kept walking, following the sandy path up the cliffside.

lips pull from her teeth in a snarl and calpernia glares at the inquisitor before her. "i do not need you telling me what i am," she replies, voice scraped from her throat. that she is not in a cell does not change the obvious fact that she is a prisoner here ; that the scroll that tells of a binding ritual the elder one had planned on performing on her eventually does not make things clear. "my personhood has never been up for debate because i do not believe in your follies." there are guards outside the door, that much she is sure, and she would no sooner sear the man before her than more would be rushing in to decimate her. a shame. there are flames crawling just beneath the surface of her skin that a less adept mage would have difficulty keeping within. "i am a person who will tell you nothing."

@fadedpath asked ❝ call me sentimental, but i worry about you. ❞ ( from zaahyr to dorian )

" amatus. " it was rare, to see a such great sadness resting in those deceiving silver eyes. it was as if a sea storm roamed inside him, his very soul. cold waves crashing against the hard rocks. the air howling. SCREAMING. one step was taken forward and a hand suddenly and softly touched the elf's cheek. free fingers searched for the other's, lacing them together. a gesture of comfort. of SOLACE. it had not been his intention to make his love worry about him. maker! zaahyr had been thorugh enough. the man had the WHOLE world on his shoulders. the quests and the burdens never ceast to exist. there was always more. it broke the mage's heart to see him worried. had it been a MISTAKE to fall in love? what if he wast just another burden to carry on already heavy shoulders? there was so much at stake.

lips pressed against hand, placing a GENTLE kiss on knuckles. emotions was not an easy conversation topic for dorian. he had been raised in a land full of crawling and venomous snakes. one mistake and it might lead to your death (revealing one's true feelings was always a mistake in tevinter). his heart was at a CROSSROAD. should he tell his other half what troubled him or should he simply say that there was nothing to worry about? it was tearing him apart. inside and out. a heavy sigh echoed between the walls. " i suppose you only will pester me until i speak the truth. " the corner of the mouth was raised, but it didn't reach the orbs of iron. the facade was CRACKING. it came rumbling down like an avalanche. " sometimes i worry that i, or rather, that this love, is only a mere burden for you. weighing you down. slowing you down. " the otherwise silky voice became hoarse and a small salty tear fell quietly to the floor. the sea storm was about to break free.

❛ i feel everything so deeply . ❜ ( from radagon. )  / @fadedpath​

Seldom does her liege unveil the truth of what lie beneath his outward convictions of duty and faith. During the time she's spent with him, always a few mere paces away, on occasion -- and perhaps only when he trusts her in absolute confidence -- does he allow the smallest of glimpses into only what he alone knows. Laera doesn't assume to understand everything about Radagon, his privacy being entirely his own in spite of the way she mimics his very shadow. This time is no different, where in the dull light of his bedchamber, she watches from the nearest corner, her liege uncharacteristically solemn, his body limp in the chair he sits in. There's nothing she believes she can say to lift his mood, or rid him of the guilt he may feel.

Godwyn is dead, and Queen Marika has since made herself nigh impossible to locate.

❝ I 'ope she doesn't blame you, milord... ❞ The words at last leave her mouth -- cut, and still bloodied -- and ever aware of the insufficiency of her condolences. The Capital was upturned in the span of a single night, leaving them all reeling in the hollow dark that followed. When she is without Radagon and in the company of other knights, they say they can hear Queen Marika wailing long into the night. Not just her, however. The citizens, screaming their sorrows into the air at a loss they all feel so keenly...

@fadedpath​ sent: ❝ we can walk away from all this. it’s so easy. ❞  ( from daniel! )

     His mind had been closed to others, as it always is, but a soft look of surprise colors his expression when Daniel speaks as if he had read it regardless. Perhaps it is all too easy to tell when Louis is in a bad mood. The company of others is a rare gift afforded to their kind, he knows this, and yet the unrelenting tension of so many blood-drinkers under one roof is much too chaotic for his liking. Ancient children of the millennia sitting with harrowing power like strange unmoving statues, fledglings buzzing about, positively teeming with unbound energy, unchecked thirst that radiates in loud, thudding pulses. And Lestat, at the center of it all preening under the spotlight, processing each and every racing thought in real time to anyone who will listen.

It’s too much. 

He craves the cool night air on his face, the comfort of anonymity in a crowd. He craves blood, and all the peace and clarity that wash over him in the wake of the kill.

A silent smile slowly grows as he considers Daniel’s proposition, a gentle twinkle just behind those verdant eyes. 

❛ i think that’s the worst thing i’ve ever heard. ❜ ( from hektor lol )

Lost Meme -- @fadedpath

"The worst idea would be taking a giant wooden horse into your own city," Nico replied dryly, giving the spirit a look. Yes, he knew that technically wasn't Hektor's fault, seeing as the guy was already dead when that happened, but that definitely meant Nico's idea wasn't the worst thing he'd ever heard.

"only a few minutes. not that long, but it's freezing out here." the alienage is always colder than anywhere else it seems, but standing under the sparse canopy of the vhenadahl makes it seem even more frigid. she hadn't necessarily been waiting for merrill to come out, but just to make sure she got in. varric is very protective of the elven woman and the pay is attractive to make sure she is safe as she moves around kirkwall. "just waiting to make sure you got here okay. i've gotten lost in the lowtown more times than i care to admit."