ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴ ᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴍᴜsᴇ

MUSES: Aveline, Merrill, Josephine

INFO: 18+, mutuals only, dash only, low activity

INTEREST TRACKER I’ll send a meme or reach out!

DISCORD (MUTUALS ONLY): emily / stonecarved#9140

RULES:

“  is that your blood?  ”- @worthyhearts, merrill!

It is, he thinks, a little dazed. 

But he does not know this unfamiliar elf. Her accent is familiar enough, but he’s too far removed to recall exactly which of the gods her vallaslin venerates. Her hands, which press against him to support his dizziness, are like delicate icicles: long and slender, but frigid cold.

His letting knife slips from his fingers and drops to the ground. The red templars he’d only heard of before now lay dead, scattered about. Weren’t they supposed to have disappeared with the death of Corypheus? He wasn’t meant to be here, necessarily, but his only lead, at the moment, is a man last seen in Redcliffe before things went wrong. Why is it that things so often go wrong?

All his thoughts are dull in his mind. He’s aware he lost blood, and perhaps pushed himself a little hard.

“Largely. I… don’t think those things bleed much.”

His voice is rough and worse for wear when he speaks, and it’s then he catches one of her hands to press away, and notices a familiar scarring pattern to her palm. The palm is more painful but easier to direct – it’s a choice for those who learned out of desperation. Recognition flickers over his expression. There are a number of reasons Rosal could be identified as such a mage, too. This one is safe, apparently.

Rosal drops her hand, wordless, gives her a silent nod. He doesn’t even thank her. He scoops up his staff and letting knife and presses away from the red templars’ remains – it’s beginning to give him a headache.

Merrill watches the stranger’s knife fall to the ground, fits it together with his blood, and she knows. 

He’s like her. 

She feels an immediate kinship with the other elf, though there is also learned apprehension. It isn’t the blood magic’s fault, of course, but she’s seen too many cruel or desperate people abuse the tool in Kirkwall. Once she’s fairly certain he won’t tip over, she puts a bit of space between them, staff in hand. As a precaution. 

“Ah, there you are, Inquisitor! If you leave now for the soirée, you will be fa—”

The unprecedented occurs as Josephine loses the rest of her words. How embarrassing! Inquisitor Lavellan is breathtaking this evening, and she is woefully unprepared to receive her. She clears her throat, red colouring her cheeks.

You know? Fair play to Aveline, it was a rather unbelievable sentiment. Nothing was ever simple in Kirkwall, less than nothing was simple when any of ‘them’ were involved too. Still, the indignant scoff Isabela offered spoke to the very opposite of such well-honed logic.

    “You don’t trust me? I’m almost offended. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” That was the word of law in this city, right? Truth told, she didn’t pay much attention. “He’s only a Baron, by the way. And one without much favor in his Duke’s court. Won’t be able to muster much of an ambush. Folks can’t stand him.”

  Out into the street, ‘unarmed’ before the sound of approaching footfall. Simple transaction! The sound of weight on nearby rooftops was unrelated, of course.

“I know you’re guilty,” she returns evenly. If she believed Isabela before — she doesn’t, but if — the movement she hears atop the surrounding buildings would have corrected her. “Those are giant rats on the rooftops, then? We’re a long way from the Korcari Wilds.” 

(Granted, this is Lowtown.)

@worthyhearts​ || MINI-CALL

    “Kitten! Come here, I need someone to- someone to help me get a refill.”