#membersoftheinquisition

Eva Cross: Templar : Therinfal 

“Come child, we-e need to leave–take hold” Fear and panic etched deeply into the Mother’s wrinkles, her eyes moved frantically between the frightened child to the heavy Chantry door braced by the last of Lothering’s able hands and Templars. 

The child’s wild hair bounced as she shook her head, tucking her scrapped knees closer to her chin hiding further under the bench. Loud banging and angry shouts became more persistence at the Chantry’s old door, causing both the child and woman to jump in fear. 

The mother whipped her head around as the sound of greaves scrapped clumsily against the dirty floor. The little girl couldn’t see the owner of the hammered greaves but his voice huffed with exhaustion, “Mother, you need to leave–the back door is secured. Lothering is lost–go.” He armored hand gently tugged at the mother’s once pristine robes, urging her to leave. 

“Bu–but the child, we can’t leave her.”  The woman sputtered, pointing to the little girl concealed under the bench. 

“Child, what child–we evacuated the–”  The man uncomfortably hunched over, exposing his dirty face to the little girl. His golden Andrastian pendent clanked against his hard breast plate, red skirt billowed concealing the rest of his heavy armor.  The templar smiled, exposing his pearly set of teeth, he held his armored hand out for the little girl. “What’s your name?” He whispered lightly and beckoned with his fingers. 

The little girl uncurled herself, “Eva–Eva Cross.” She moved a little closer before the screams at the door grew louder. She felt a strong hand wrap around arm tiny arm   and tug her from the bench.  The Templar stood, handing the child to the Chantry Mother, before he ruffled her dark hair.  Her eyes begin to burn as the once peaceful building filled with horrible screams, clashing metal and terrifying rancorous scent. 

Her large, teary eyes watched the man in front of them, remove the large pendent from around his corded neck. He smiled at the girl again, “Eva, my father gave this to me– when I was afraid of the dark.” He paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder, “He said it would keep  me safe– when you get scared hold it tight and it’ll keep you safe from the dark.” He wrapped the pendent in her tiny hands before glancing back at the Mother. “The king’s army isn’t coming–go through the back door-we’ll hold the front doors.” He bent over picking up his large shield leaning against the bench, he stopped and ruffled Eva’s hair, before disappearing into the darkness. 

Belvantia Aurelius: Tevinter Spymaster Aesthetics  

She likes to watch the elven acrobats and dancers rehearse, even as their harsh masters shouted at them to do it, again and again, to be better, faster, stronger, Belvantia loved to watch. The leaping, flying and preconceived freedom as the acrobats twisted gracefully in the air. She copies them sometimes, at home, when her mother cloistered away, or her tutor was occupied with the latest maid. She’d sneak away from the numbers, letters, and lessons, to watch the acrobats perform during the Harvestmere festivals.

On the best days, Callitus would find her. Holding her tight in his arms, he lifts her high and swings her on his massive shoulder, smirking as she erupts in juvenile giggles. She could smell his hair; it smelled of his work, stables, animals, and brimstone. Bel would snicker and tell him he smelled like a dragon-baby. He was bigger than the other men around them, in these darkened rooms beneath Qarinus’ largest theater. Callitus was tall, wide and strong. Bigger than any dragon that Bel could conceive of. She could always see the acrobats on his shoulders. He holds her tight on his shoulders, she is used to being here, good at balancing, he chuckles and say she’d be a fine acrobat.

Smiling down on the scarred Qunari, the little girl acknowledges she is different like him, they are two in the same, he and Belvantia were special, she wanted to be strong like him. Like, these tumblers that can fly on the ground, make a catapult of wooden floors. Determined, she’d copied them, be strong like Callitus and laugh. Meanwhile though, the small dark Belvantia sits proud on Callitus’ shoulders, one still-chubby fist grasping his dark hair, the other proudly waving to the acrobats flying by, the surrounding crowd comments on her smile, loud voice, chubby frame,slightly pointed ears and deep-set twinkling eyes. She is six years old, and already she feels the power she has over an audience. Laughing and waving in the warm Tevinter theater.