#wrathheld

Everyone's got a reputation. With her previous statement, she did not intend it neither with good nor with bad connotations, but whether he likes it or not he IS famous.

"Why would they? I am not affiliated with the Chantry," she says, voice flat, lips pursed. She's never been a fan of the Chantry and its ways, and she never goes out of her way to hide her disdain for it. She doesn't think the Inquisitor will care, anyway. "Nor do I take orders from them." While she respects both Leliana and Cassandra as people and how they are doing their jobs, that doesn't make them in a position to give her orders. She's there out of her own will, and she's not a soldier. "Cassandra, Leliana," Philippa continues, her gaze shifting momentarily out of the window, to where she assumes the two women may be located, "they are formidable in their roles, I will give them that. But I've always been one to dance to my own tune, not someone else's melody."

@wrathheld asked ❝i don’t know what i’m doing. just go with it.❞ dorian!

eyes which were as the same colour as IRON rolled at the inquisitor's warning, arms crossed over chest while a small amount of air leaving lips sounded. " so i have noticed. " words were quiet, merely a whisper in the wind, but loud ENOUGH for the other to hear. the mage didn't know what to think of him yet. gilles moral was not what he had imagined, the so called herald of andraste, the savior of the world. the man reminded dorian of some he knew in tevinter. to think that EVEN orlais had their snakes.

@wrathheld asked ❝ you ask a lot of goddamn questions. ❞ varric!

" if you don't ask you won't receive any answers or that's how it USUALLY is. you seem to be the exception. " the dwarf with the sun kissed hair shaked his head while a chuckle escaped chapped lips, clearly not giving a damn about the irritated tone in the inquisitor's voice. annoyance and threats (often from those who were annoyed by his bare existence) were as common in his life as drinking and eating.

i thought…

Skyhold is buzzing.

Refugees and recruits fill the grounds. Messengers and nobles and curious onlookers fill the great hall. The noise increases. The space decreases. At least, it does for her, and it’s driving her mad.

With the training grounds occupied and the garden crowded, Florence retreated to her final sanctuary.

The library is silent. Its lack of sound is bliss but before it can be thoroughly enjoyed, the voice of the Inquisitor slices through like a knife. “ It’s as silent as a tomb in here, ” Florence says, sinking into a chair. “ If you couldn’t hear someone approach, I’d be worried. ”

blood, blood, gallons of the stuff!

The outlaws had the gall to set an ambush. If it hadn’t stolen precious time, Florence would have found it admirable, but the resulting skirmish ( and blooming pain in her side ) grates on her nerves.

Thankfully, it ends with the blink of an eye. Magic flares and steel cuts flesh and if she weren’t standing in the middle of the slaughter, Florence would have found it frightening. They suffer the same affliction: losing themselves in the thrill of battle.

And they’re fools. Both mages have fresh wounds but Florence, using a touch of healing, has closed hers to the point of least concern. With her mind clearing of pain, Florence unleashes this healing magic upon the Inquisitor. It comes with a price, and the Inquisitor becomes the victim of her lecture and criticism.

At least, he is until she stops mid sentence. 

@wrathheld said "oh, no... let me go ahead and pass this problem onto someone else."

There's a long sigh that comes from Signe before she looks up to Gilles. Her expression is one of pleading. "Please Gilles, do this for me? I asked you because I know you're the best one for the job. I'd do it myself but I'm supposed to travel back to Val Royeaux, as much as I don't want to."

@wrathheld sent in a thing and tBH. I'm too tired to hunt down the source LOL

There is something strange about Gilles ; a tragic trait Charlie can't detect but already knows he does not want to touch. There's frenzy behind green-framed irises and words fueled by fury at the tip of his tongue. A temperamental Inquisitor sent from the supposed heavens to save everyone.

( With this, Charlie isn't sure if he believes in anything holy and beyond anymore. )

And it is always something abrupt like this that breaks Charlie's chain of thought. His eyebrows are brought up in festering confusion ( a constant habit of his ) and Charlie holds his horse still underneath him, reins reeled in and steadily soft.