courtintrigue: (there's a lot I've not forgotten)
[personal profile] courtintrigue
All day long Morrigan has felt faintly amused by having to turn down the Inquisitor's offer of an opportunity to accompany her on a mission into the Emerald Graves. Though the days of fighting her way across Thedas at a valiant hero's side are behind her, the idea was not entirely without appeal. The Emerald Graves are so vibrant and rich with history that she could only enjoy a trip through them.

Still, her time these days is not best spent in the field, not with Corypheus posing such a threat. There is research yet to be done.

But when midnight creeps closer and Skyhold is quiet and her son sleeps peacefully in his bed, she finds she cannot sleep. Once again she steps through her Eluvian, and once again she finds her way to this otherworldly tavern. As she waits for a glass of wine she thinks that despite only reliably using one of them she has seen a great many doors in this building. 'Tis undoubtedly past time to find out where they all lead.
antivan_rogue: (glowing like an antivan sunset)
[personal profile] antivan_rogue
There is music, a sort he has never heard, coming from a source he cannot find. Curious, that. Still, a tavern is a tavern, and if the Crows taught him one thing well, it was how to adapt. Yes, he has swords on his back, but daggers hidden away, and more than enough poisons tucked into his pouch to silence an entire room filled with Ferelden's finest.

As soon as he finds someone who fits that description, he will be sure to make note of it so that any future assassins will not have as difficult a time finding them.

This place, he notes, also has a curious lack of dwarves. Or other elves. Or familiar faces at all, but that is to be expected when one steals away from the expected path. At least there appear to be no undead.

What a relief. There will be no need to clean gore from his blades this evening, unless, of course, there is. And so it goes: one must always be prepared for battle, even as he hopes for a moment's rest. Perhaps he will find someone here to share with him that precious moment's rest.

Or not. One never knows quite what to make of life, do they.
silvanacaptain: (standing)
[personal profile] silvanacaptain
Shore leave.

He has the information he needs from Walker and before long it will be time to round up the crew. Children, all of them, but skilled ones.

(Lately, he hasn't slept.)

Revenge, he thinks, is a harsh mistress, one he can never break free of. It informs his every thought, his every move. The stiffness in his gait is as much the end result of carrying the weight of vengeance as it is from the decade-old injury he sustained.

Before gathering his crew, he'll allow himself one drink. At places like this -- Casino Royale, Horizon Cave, all the outposts -- dress and behavior are varied. Still, protocol stands and he will be recognized as Captain. Retrieving his drink, the small solid glass in one hand and his cane in the other, he leans back against the wall hoping against hope that at this place, there are no ghosts.
courtintrigue: (Default)
[personal profile] courtintrigue
Another trip through the Crossroads, another visit to this strange place. Again, the area nearest the door is where her skin most prickles with something sharp, something electric. In her visits here she has never seen anyone use magic as she does, but the act of entering seems significant enough.

There is no sign of the man she talked to the last time she found herself here, but she has no intention of letting that take away from the experience. This time she receives a glass of wine from the man behind the bar, and as she sits she observes the people around her.
oakandash: (Default)
[personal profile] oakandash
I was dreamin' when I wrote this,
Forgive me if it goes astray
But when I woke up this mornin'
Could of sworn it was judgment day


Song lyrics, he thinks, are strong magic. This one's been stuck in his head most of the day, or at least most of the day on this side of the veil.

The sky was all purple
There were people runnin' everywhere
Tryin' to run from the destruction
You know I didn't even care


Purple and shimmering, and people running everywhere. They'd managed to keep some of the destruction to a minimum, of course, but he still can't believe he lost a horse. He wasn't joking when he told Eddi the Court cared more about the horse than about him.

Well. Just another notch on his already impressive belt of disappointments, at least as far as his family's concerned. His ribs are still sore, although his injuries are mostly healed. He's never been sure if healing so quickly is a blessing or a curse, because there are times when he'd like nothing better than to claim injury and lay low. In the moment, he can think of no better reason to lose himself among people and pretend to be something he isn't.
keepaneyeout: (finding a way)
[personal profile] keepaneyeout
It'd be nice, Cordelia thinks, if she could say her other four senses are compensating for her loss of sight.

They're not. Not despite working overtime. Not yet. There's an on-again off-again paranoid sense of all eyes being on her, and she does suspect she draws long looks from some people now but she doubts she attracts the ongoing attention she sometimes feels she does.

This house has been her home for nearly twenty years. Before this she'd have said she knew every inch of it. She should know every rug, every creak in the floor, the height of each step in the staircase, the width of each counter in the kitchen.

At the very least she'd like to say she knows her own greenhouse, and this isn't it.

Leaning her cane against the wall, she holds her hands out in front of her and takes a few steps forward until they hit what feels like the corner of a table.

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