#magicthrives

@magicthrives

Roland takes care with the simplest, newest joy of playing peek-a-boo with his newborn son. Said son, offered very tenderly whence his new mother takes her natural breather and a moment of individualistic beauty, is lain in soft repose against the raised jut of Roland’s knees, as both boyish faces face each other; both wide-eyed wonders gawking at differences of skin texture and floppy, absent-shaded hair: one brown head, and one black. Roland covers his face with both hands. With baited breath doth Kieran stare.

“A-boo!” Roland says, puffing his eyes wide as his hands reveal his face! Kieran gasps sharply, and then laughs highly! and reaches up, upward to touch Roland’s face; which sputters Roland into his own laughter, and he touches Kieran’s face; lowering his own down to allow his face to be touched. He gently holds Kieran’s little flabby cheeks ‘twixt thumbs and pointer fingers, and makes gentle faces and puckered lips in cross-eyed baby beauty, for his own amusement.

     “Is that a trick question?”

Inara can guess at the answer Morrigan believes -- in the flames like the rest of us, you gaping child. So why is she asking? Is she really leading her on just to mock her? Seems like something Morrigan would do to Alistair, really, not her. But maybe she’s just imagining their amiability. Or maybe this is something else, something more complicated. With Morrigan, it’s impossible to tell. 

     “If you want a lecture on Chantry teachings, you’re better off asking Alistair or Leliana. Or even Wynne, I think,” most of the group is better learned than she is, at any rate. “But if you’re asking a personal opinion...” Maybe she was. Maybe Inara could take a chance on the idea that Morrigan actually cared what she believed. “I heard once that the wicked had their souls seized by the demons that they fed with their actions in life.” It is an Avvar belief -- the wicked spirits who courted you to action in life claimed you in death before you could reach a resting place in the sky. “They are stripped down and devoured by the vices that they indulged in.”

It’s not the cold that drives men mad in the mountains. Howling wind and wolves were warmth in the face of the truth. Broken hands and chapped lips could at least find a bit of comfort in the small reminders of life. Cold pierced but never broke men. 

Silence. The echo of sheer nothingness as the snow fell without a whisper. Countless souls were taken without a word or even a thought. That was the secret of the mountain. In the hearts of those who dared to learn its secret, they knew that everything they were could be taken away with not a heartbeat to spare. A smudge against the white, a sin marring the pure, a writer’s mistake on the parchment. Perhaps this was the mountain’s purpose. To remind the lords of the valleys that it wasn’t their Chant that cleansed but the still air as the frost blanketed over those taken. 

He had built two fires. It was far enough away that he couldn’t smell it. The main group had made it across the mountains like intended but three of them decided to break off and leave in the middle of the night. Pierre pushed the rest of them to press on and on his way back, he had discovered them. He wasn’t sure if they were Andrastian or not but he made a small prayer for the departed. 

Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion

I’m gonna be frank. DA2 is my favorite Dragon Age game. Which is probably an unpopular opinion tbh. Yes, the maps sucks and repeat. Yes, you never leave Kirkwall. Yes, enemies drop from no where and it’s ridiculous af. And yeah, it does suck that you can only be human. But I LOVE this game. The characters are so great and I love seeing them interact. They’re not forced together cause of some Great Evil. Like it’s literally seems to be Hawke going, hey I’m doin’ a thing, wanna tagalong? Eh, sure why not, you’ll probably die without me. Yeah you right. 

Their interactions alone make the game worthwhile and I’ve always been a firm believer that characters make the story. And I really do like the way the game is presented (with Varric telling the story) cause it leaves that much more to your imagination. Why do the enemies appear out of nowhere? Cause Varric forgot or was just making a fight more dramatic. And then, for roleplay purposes, did they really meet like that? You can say they didn’t cause Varric was just making something up to Cassandra. 

                                 Death by my hand : NOT ACCEPTING

His patience had WASHED away in months of waiting, & at the moment had vanished entirely. These mirrors, ANCIENT & elvish however a perpetual enigma to all whom caught their dull luster. It had eaten him, WRAPPED his mind around the mere concept for returning home as these artifacts were the cause of STRIFE years prior. He wouldn’t have lost Fredric, he wouldn’t have become a Warden     He would not FIGHT another man’s war.

Door leading into the SECLUSION of courtyard room jarred & splintered at the lock as PRYING agent, a slender IRON was cast aside. Determined blues followed the mirror, it’s surface akin to WATER as it rippled at the slightest provocation. Boots pressed forward, the soldier passing seamlessly as the portal took him AWAY.

Haze & CHILL greeted all those whom entered the crossroads. Blue visage followed the horizon, STARK & uninviting to say the least as bow drew off his shoulder’s rest. gripped betwixt leather gauntlet & before TRAINED eye, his hunt began, following the mirrors as if WAKE of the tide. Mabari companion remained close, ears flat against her skull in visual disapproval.

Hunter’s view halted, the man’s poise FROZEN as breaths hushed. The stillness UNNATURAL with a last huff. Ears perked at sudden shift, whirling about to FACE the threat abet LATE. Large arachnid form pounced him, LANKY joints grappled to pin his limbs against cold stone. Canine reaction prevented his quick demise, shoving out the forelimbs as vicious MAW snapped at the shape-shifted, permitting evasive action. Springing toward his feet, & VOID of his bow, blades drew at the swirl of MAGICKS as humanly form replaced HORRID one.

The first aspect he noticed, he ALWAYS noticed were twin burning suns, gold & INTENSE. Weapons tuned at the behest of his rotating wrists, hood massed at his nape, uncovering his face as result of the SCUFFLE. The two paced, mabari trailed her companion with low stance & GROWL.

            “ ‘Tis unfortunate you’ve grown so impatient. ”

            “ Spare me the thought       I did exactly as you instructed for months. You promised me a way home, & I’m not playing your little game anymore. I’ve done my waiting, I’ve paid my price. It’s time you do as well. ”

His comment was met with silence, save for brindled STAVE twirling betwixt slender grasp. Powerful energies FLOODED her form, setting an UNEASE with the warden. The first strike came from FRIGID form, a spray of icy flurry cascaded, chilling the man as shoulder tucked the ground, DASHING forward as did allied beast. Hex inscribed floor BURST with malefic ARCANE as it wreaked upon the man, trailing DUST of vile nature. It forced another tumble, this time away, to prevent the second arctic blast from connecting. 

Tyrdda LEAPED toward the witch with mighty jaws AGAPE. An effortless spin of staff placed a harsh blow upon beasts’ forehead, SCATTERING her charge & sending her into a clumsy roll. Salem gave immediate retort, DUAL BLADES seeking in rapid strikes despite spell WITHERING his constitution. Darksteel cut & sliced, catching only LEATHER of her attire before being met with another successive VOLLEY of magic bolts produced by her will.

Where is the first two MISSED, the third did not, STAGGERING & further more, toppling over the soldier onto the WHITE level. Form rolled along the ROUGH surface, catching himself as warhound began another CHARGE. The witch able to parry, placing insidious HEX upon her coat as her balanced FAILED; a curse of MORTALITY, as visually, her form crumpled.

           “ Tyrdda! ”

The ranger called, rising towards his feet as the canine’s life WANED before his eyes. Reverse grip of shorter blade allowed a WHIRLWIND of sharp retort, his momentum picking up in devastating motions. An icy patch was placed below, TRIPPING his motion as boots met the ground. Salem gave no pause, as LETHAL burst of magic prepared his doom however interrupted by DYING hound’s intervention. The sorceress losing EQUILIBRIUM bought his only chance as the dog curled in AILING fashion.

Another storm of blades led towards a tripping of his own, parting STAVE from magician’s hands. He could not afford another misstep, another FAILURE of judgement, plunging weapons DIRECT towards the woman. The ends bite at her torso, twin STABS sunder between the ribs, promoting only AIRLESS heaves as they were turned once pierced. Gold hues shut in PAINFUL accord as the sword & dagger retract, slick with CRIMSON. Salem’s view trades towards the other, his animal COMPANION.