#vilaap

party banter meme | not accepting | @vilaap

Solas: Your name– how did you come by it?Fenris: It was not a name I chose. My former master gave it to me, called me his “little Wolf.”Solas: I see. And you have kept it all these years?Fenris: It is the only name I know. In Kirkwall I learned my birth name, but… using it does not feel right.Solas: You may always name yourself.Fenris: One day, maybe. For now, this will do.

Fenris: Is Solas your first name?Solas: No, it was a name I chose myself, when my old name no longer suited me.Fenris: What drew you to it, of all names?Solas: My name is a reminder that it is not a sin to be proud. That pride can sustain, inspire, if used properly.

(in coracavus, after finding the codex entry: the secret tongue of slaves)

“This realm sings to you.” Springing aloft the tufts of grass and tangled leaves, the flitting shadow's voice came frighteningly strange. And as though caught rightly afeared, the canopies trembled, spilling April dew in a cascade of tears. Gingerly, it kissed their hair; the elf stood dappled sweet. Aragorn peered through the trees, and saw well he knew the Arbors, the wild, the jungles -- like a scorned, lost Seheron son. “Though it is just as likely it mourns.”

inevitable, that this fortune will end. it is possible to hide herself amongst the press of people and panic, but how long will that last? how long until she is too foolish, too comfortable, around a templar? only within the last few weeks has she met her first one; seen with her own two eyes the nighttime terror of her childhood ( they accompanied the whisper of demons in her mind, preying). that shining armor is omen, is promise. the circle is a fate worse than death, one that she will seek to avoid with everything in her. 

self-consciously she presses her staff tighter against her side. she did not dare to make one large enough for good and proper use, did not know how she could pass it off for anything other than a conduit of magic. the stave she has carved instead, crude and thick and knobby with her clumsiness, is hidden under layers of cloth and strapped to her belt. to be used in a pinch, but nothing that she will hopefully need to bring out. magic is her last resort when there are so many who would eagerly turn in a mage for the reward it would garner from the chantry. hate runs deep in the real world, she has found. 

night holds its own sort of foreboding. every shadow is vampire, leeching her attention. dark thoughts bloom unbidden in the chaos of her mind, quick and animal worries. her only companion now is hyper-vigilance; at every sound she jumps. it is what has kept her alive thus far. there have already been moments where she shivers to think what would have become of her had she not been quicker on her feet, less capable. 

only because she is paying attention does she notice the trail of blood from the alley, the awful sight. it is curiosity and courage ( foolishness ) that begs she come closer. trembling grip finds her wand, still hidden beneath the layers of cloak and dress. she undoes the loop on her belt, ready to at least slam it against an assailant’s head. there are not many around; she’d stayed out much too late buying provisions. 

when she finally comes close enough to see she is not greeted by the leering forms of thieves ready to pillage, but rather what may perhaps be the aftermath. there are bodies, likely still warm  —— and oh, that is horrid and she nearly retches ! but demons have shown her such horrors in the fade, shown her the rent bodies of her family in promise and warning ——  and she nearly retches from it all. for a moment she is sure that they are all dead, and she ready to flee this scene unless she thought to be responsible, but a glint of silver and a pair of eyes, piercing, pins her where she stands. 

❛    a-are you al-alright ?   ❜ a silly question; the hand he clenches to his abdomen pours red betwixt his fingers. she curses herself for faltering, for stuttering. her meekness is an old habit that still refuses to die.  ❛    i-i mean.   ❜ she wants to ask if he has done this, but she sees the carnage round and the blade next to him. there is no doubt he is dangerous and skilled, but her conscience cannot see her leaving the side of a dying man. none deserve to be gutted in an alley and breath their last in pain.  ❛    may i ... approach ? to. to h-help.   ❜

when did you fall in love with solas? | accepting ic or ooc

lmao i’m glad b/c solas memes can get kind of???

what do you think of my portrayal? always accepting!

      Friendly as he often was with elves, he had to admit to a certain level of dropping the ball with Fenris; between frescoes, Dorian, sharing his expertise when it was called for, and honing the very same pool of knowledge he prided himself on, it had seemed as though there simply wasn’t time for proper introductions. Perhaps it was true, or perhaps it wasn’t. It simply didn’t matter; what was done laid now in cement. All that could presently be accomplished was to rectify it, come what may.