#lacrimcsa

“It is good to have you here in Skyhold. Have you spoken with the Inquisitor yet?”

“It does not need your confidence to be so.” Yet, who could dare blame her? Nightmares this grave held no right in this realm, too nasty and cruel to breathe life beyond slumber. Sadly, it mattered not how violently she stirred; these horrors would never abate. Aragorn stood in front as he glanced at the carnage: horrors there and terrors aplenty, bodies abundant laid mangled and rotting. He had come upon the scene well before her party, and still checking corpses in search of survivors, he breathed, “But no longer shall we allow it.”

            -- “ Ah, Warden-Commander! Now that’s got quite the ring, doesn’t it?  I still can’t believe it’s the same little Nora, all grown up, killing Archdemons and ending Blights. I’ve heard the stories, though I imagine the songs sung in taverns hardly do them any justice.”

           His head still ached from the recent Joining - worse than any hangover he had ever experienced - and he wasn't used to all this chainmail and leather. Regardless, Anders couldn’t help feeling somewhat euphoric this fine morning. Perhaps it was the dizzying relief of not having to wake up at a run or to a swift kick to the head. He had survived - but the price of his continued existence had yet to reveal itself. ( The disconcerting whispers at the very edges of his more urgent thoughts - no one had mentioned that. Maybe he would ask her about it. Or perhaps it was something all Warden faced alone... )  Maker, was he hungry.

              Come to think of it, he wasn’t entirely sure what being a Grey Warden entailed but it had to be better than what awaited him at the hands of the Templars. Being outside a cell was always a good start and Vigil’s Keep didn’t seem half that bad, really - if you ignore the damp, the crumbling masonry and the lingering stench of Darkspawn... There were no bars holding him so things seemed to be looking up - for now at least. 

❔ - How to tell your muse is horny?

His skin inflames, and he blushes all the way down to his chest in ruddy red-splotches. His ears burn red. He breathes very heavily and quietly and the main tell-tale sign is his pupils will be blown, black as marbles. He’ll get very touchy, in little effects depending on the person, and the relationship: tucking hair from your face, gently dragging his finger down your cheek, “readjusting” your shirt, or your bottoms. He’s a bum-pincher when he’s ornery, and if pushed to a limit he may even smack and grab.

Big number-one sign is if his crotch shows any differences. If the tail’s a’waggin!

He really doesn’t pull any verbal punches when he’s in the mood. He’ll throw in very sweet key words and phrases to maybe, possibly, cajole you into a place where you could canoodle in private. Or maybe not in private, if he knows you better.

Swan Princess Starters [ x ]

“Have to pla-- what?!” 

She’s kidding, right? Ears droop slightly in disappointment, hands rising palm up in the air, which consequently released her daggers to fall to the dirt ground. 

book starters // no longer accepting@lacrimcsa

         Their day of hours travelling together finally came to a halt as they prepared themselves for camp. There was something familiar about their chosen area to set up their tents. Alistair’s eyes roamed the trees, scanning for any reason why he felt the strong sense of familiarity. “Have we... been here before?” Memories echoed of the time they and their companions hid amongst the trees, hiding from those that hunted the two wardens. He remembers the assassin assisting the drunk dwarf setting up his tent, the soft lullaby’s of the bard casually drifting through the wind, the tension of the witch as she moved further from the camp. There was no denying the nostalgic feeling that followed as he reminisced the times they all journeyed together to stop the blight.

The FORPC is like, super dead atm.