#vilifyme

senses tingled, he moved with elegance, as though he were tracking bleeding prey. promises of satiating terror didn't strengthen as the drukhari stalked the trail; this could only mean that these playthings were dead, surely. pupils blown wide, a smile graced pale features all while moving forth, clawed gloves grazed the wall with temptation in each fingertip. head tilted the moment the picture was now more clear, gaze was of pure examination. dilated hues scanned each body with critique; he frowned --- the scene was sloppy, lacked calculation, the wounds proved that these prey would have perished quickly. barely any buffer to enjoy their torment. how utterly disappointing.

this world was full of people and creatures both known and unknown to her, and it never seemed to get less strange as time went on. dwarves and elves were nothing new, and the goblins sort of reminded her of darkspawn who could talk ( thankfully, unlike the darkspawn she'd met who could talk . . . ). tieflings brought up images somewhere partway between desire demons and qunari, though she had learned that they were actually close to neither. clare had caught herself staring more than once. as for this welcome wagon in the shadow-cursed lands, well -

it was an effort not to sneer at the half-orc, for he, too, reminded her of darkspawn. a rather polite one for someone part of a cult trying to take over the world, yes, but that didn't change the first thought that entered her mind.

but what she was not at all prepared for was the drider. taller than a qunari, @vilifyme looked like one of those grey-skinned elves ( drow, she corrected herself ) . . . except that the lower half of his body had been fused with a giant spider. at least this time, she was not the only one whose face read as alarmed by the sight of a new being she'd never heard of before.

where the half-orc looked away at the drider's many eyes moving rapidly, clare forced herself to look and commit this sight to memory. she didn't know if the knowledge she'd bring back to thedas would ever be useful there, but maybe one day it would. maybe one day, all these bizarre moments along this journey would help.

aerryn felt the drow's gaze upon her and felt the need to mentally recite a little prayer to the morninglord for protection. yes, she had just helped break minthara free from the cultists, but she was not naïve enough to believe that that immediately made them allies. she still recalled her first encounter with minthara in the goblin camp at the old selûnite temple.

Sparring sessions with a dash of tension.

"Totally." Leon shoots back through a wheezed breath. He hangs his head and coughs, pushing himself back up to his knees. At least he's wearing tactical kneepads so the cushioning stops him from making anymore of an embarrassment out of himself, crunchy knees be damned.

He stubbornly pushes himself up the rest of the way when it looks like Carlos is about to offer up some assistance to him. Nope! He's stood so fast and clapping his hands down his battered uniform to dust himself off, as though he has to make himself presentable for the unfolding apocalypse. He was trying to prove he could help with the evacuation effort and that he wasn't just some civilian playing dress up, so of course he ate dirt in like 5 seconds flat.

"I have to go easy on you, you know. Can't uh. Break your heart." It's a weak tease. He doesn't weaponise that he was top of his graduating class because why the hell would that matter, it doesn't, the practical gap in skill is palpable. They're similar ages but they've lived wildly different experiences. Bringing up he did well in some American academy sounds pretentious as hell. "Maybe I'm just falling for you."

"more like nathaniel howe could i refuse?"

●●●●● | ATTRACTION ●●●●○ | AFFECTION ●●●●● | INTEREST ●●●●○ | LOYALTY ●●●●○ | TRUST

LOW | ●●●●● | HIGH

❝ Stop looking at me like that. ❞ The mage's voice was tense in the face of the Lady Seeker, as he dealt with the task of keeping both himself and the spirit that dwelt within him level in the face of something far WORSE than just your everyday Templar. It is difficult, being stuck here surrounded by what Anders considers enemies--- people who if not wanting him dead, aren't shy about their dislike in his role as the catalyst of the Mage-Templar War. Every fiber of his being wishes he could find an escape; if not for the painful mark that now marred left palm seemingly being the key to solve what could very possibly be a world ending crisis.

It felt like a scene right out from the Tower. Mages restless in the night seeking each other out, for companionship, for comfort, for the intrinsic human connection the Templars typically forbade them. The PANACEA that was Anders and his compassionate magic a safe harbor from dreams of demons, memories, abuse, and more in the years before his sentence to solitary. The only difference now was that Howe DIDN'T take it among himself to crawl right into the healer's bed before the blond even knew what was happening.

Brown eyes blinked, Anders in a state between torpor and wakefulness--- pulled from what was now a characteristic light sleep by the sound of his bedroom's door opening further than the crack that allowed Ser Pounce-a-lot to come and go as he pleased. He turned onto his side to face the door, finding some relief that it was merely the archer's figure half illuminated by embers that still glowed in the fireplace instead of some Templar ASSASSIN come to slit his throat in revenge for Rylock. A tired 'what is it' escaped him as he made to sit up, pulling back a portion of the covers out of sheer habit even before Nathaniel's answer came:

" honestly ? i can’t sleep. so if you want, stay up with me ? "

❝ Yeah… okay. ❞ Groggy, right hand lifting to rub at an eye before he properly got a chance to look at Nathaniel. ❝ You wanna… TALK, or something? ❞

THERE'S A FINALITY TO DIRT SCRAPING UNDER BOOT as he pauses in stride up to nathaniel. the smile he wore en route was small, albeit fond. PLEASANT. however, his brows wrinkle a bit as a wavering of rejection passes nathaniel's reflection in his eyes. NOT THAT HE'S ENTIRELY SURPRISED, however, he doesn't lose the upturn of his lips in response. IF ONLY TO CIRCUMVENT THE MORE SOMBER UNDERTONES NOW LIVING WITHIN THE NUANCE IN HIS EXPRESSION.

THE WARDEN IS USED TO HIS SENSE OF HUMOR. so, he feels the need to bolster it, in the wake of the emotion at hand. that which settles rather uncomfortably in the centre of his chest. "is that so?" HIS HAND MAKES A GESTURE FORWARD IN MIDST OF SPEECH. "well that doesn't sound like you . . . " HE'S BEING SARCASTIC, of course. it's more than obnoxiously obvious.

"usually when you want to get rid of me you simply walk away." A MOMENT PASSES, wondering if this time he shouldn't press. SHOULDN'T OVERSTAY HIS WELCOME. suddenly worried after putting that thought out there. but his feet feel stuck, and he doesn't wish to let it go so easily.

"is something wrong, nathaniel?" HE FINALLY BLURTS, and suddenly he notices he's taken a step forward rather than back. a ridiculous question. of course there's something wrong. "you can tell me, you know. i don't bite." . . . "well, unless you ask."