Today’s assigned discourse topic: whether the use of the word “hobo” in incidental dialogue in Dragon Age: Inquisition should be construed as textual evidence that Thedas has trains.
“Hush, please, we have you now – kaffas, amatus, do not break the mirrors – Vhenaste, we are almost there, don’t you dare leave me–”
My left, he left – she is screaming in pain and loss, had been numb until Solas went through his eluvian and awareness snapped back, she snapped, too much, too much –
“Too loud,” the spirit says, pale eyes wide. “I am sorry, I can’t right now but they have you, they have you, they…” He disappears from the edges of her vision, scenery blurring past her in large grey arms.
“Cole!”
“Let him go, kadan. Last one. Run, she’s looking blue.”
The cool shimmer, though familiar now, doused her consciousness like a candle’s flame. Gone.
–
“My lady, you are not well-”
Vhenaste ignores the Chantry sister. Her healer theoretically worked for the Divine but it was Dorian who kept her informed. She doesn’t dare trust anyone she doesn’t know after… The Exalted Council is meeting now and browbeating Josephine? How dare.
She struggles to put on her uniform, pressing her lips together to keep tears from welling. Her arm itches and aches terribly, her muscles trying to compensate for her loss, and she is sweating from the exertion.
“Help me or get out,” she bites at the fretting sister, who opts for both and flees as soon as Vhenaste’s left sleeve is pinned.
Scooping up Justinia’s writ is easier, her bootheels on the marbled floors keeping time with her furious heart. No more of this nonsense. She is done. The Inquisition is done. After all she has accomplished and all she has lost, this is the final insult.
So many of them leaving anyway – Dorian to Tevinter, Thom to the Wardens, Varric to Kirkwall – she might as well make it official. Purge the whole organization. Shake out the spies. Everyone gone.
It’s splintered veins in her dreams. It’s skin drawn tight over bone, taunt and fragile and pale enough the blood beneath the flesh almost glows. It’s the sound of rushing water and a voice rusty with thirst. Crimson and cracked and burning. Singing. It’s corruption and pride and it hurts.
“So, you found me at last.” It’s his voice but it’s not. Too many layers, crumbling into each other, echoes. Idrilla faces him, his back to her. Every inch of him hidden beneath a billowy robe and a large fur cloak. Black on white on gold.
Hands clasped behind his back but tucked inside his sleeves. Breeze catching in her hair. The fading light of sunset caresses Idrilla’s skin with its honey-gold light, smooth and molten and warm. A slow death, warmth ebbing from her skin with each disappearing ray. Cold hard in her chest, in her stomach, knots and purpose and Idrilla never wanted this.
It’s the weariness in the set of his shoulders. “I am tired of playing cat and mouse Solas.” Idrilla is tired of a great many things. Exhaustion pulls at her, drapes itself across her like a second skin. Stretched thin. Duty and desire and destiny all weights she must carry and Idrilla has never scoffed at any of these.
Heartbeat ringing in her ears. Crimson cracks in the air and Idrilla would say it smells of ozone, if lightning itself could burn. Corruption. Solas still has not turned to face her.
“I told you I would not have you see what I’ve become. Neither of us wants this to continue further.” It’s an ache in his voice resonating in her bones. It’s Idrilla’s heart freezing in her chest as the sun sets completely. “Please vhenan, leave this place. It is not too late.“
Idrilla steps forward. "I did not come here to leave empty-handed. Whatever is happening, whatever has already happened- Do you think I would give up so easily?"
Hood twitching, darkness and moonlight on white fabric. "No. I do not.” Still not turning to face her, his voice is still a cadence too many. But something different than the sharp edge of the cracks in the air around them enters into the way Solas sighs.
“Then don’t be foolish.” Waiting. Idrilla holds herself tall and she watches the way the wind plays with the edges of his robe. Takes a deep breath, in and out. It’s the tingle under her skin, the creeping cold in her blood.
Solas faces her slowly. Glowing crimson cracks and Idrilla’s breath rushes from her lungs. Splintered veins in skin drawn tight over bone. There is corruption sparking in his eyes, a burning blood red where there once was brilliant blue.
It’s the sound of singing echoed off key and razor sharp. It’s grey skin and hollow cheeks and lips flecked with blood. It’s corruption and pride and it hurts.
Soft white moonlight. Stars winking in the clear sky above them and Idrilla can only see the light of the red lyrium as it corrupts the blood under Solas’ skin.
“I told you neither of us wanted this.” Familiar in his melancholy, Idrilla only ever wanted… Solas’ eyes are still full of sorrow. And Idrilla can feel it echoed in her own.
So she steps forward. Just once. “What have you done?” Stops herself before she reaches out, fingers twitching at her sides. Rocking on the balls of her feet.
Solas chuckles, lips cracking. “Something foolish, but necessary.” Idrilla doubts only half of that. But Solas isn’t quite done. “I’m running out of time vhenan. Ask your questions, I know you have them."
"I didn’t come here for questions Solas.” Shaking her head, chest tight and lungs freezing in the dark. “I came here for you emma lath.” Idrilla came for a purpose and it’s crumbling. It’s wanting something which no longer exists. It’s looking into Solas’ eyes and finding only echoes of the man she thought she knew.
“Then I am sorry.” Solas closes his eyes and Idrilla can only wonder at how thinly stretched his skin is. Lips parted in a soft ‘oh’. Solas lied earlier when he said it was not too late for her. If he knew it too Idrilla doesn’t want to know.
Because now it’s the slow creeping cold. Heat only in corruption, in the crimson and splintered veins across skin. It’s the beating of a heart dying as slowly as the sun sets over head. It’s the pain of loving someone already lost but still breathing.
Not sure I agree with everyone freaking out about Solas and red lyrium.
And then I remembered the theory that Solas trapped the Blight in the black city when he created the Veil – a theory that I do agree with.
If the Blight is behind the Veil, Solas is going to have to deal with it in some way. He wouldn’t risk it further contaminating the world he’s trying to recreate.
Solas himself said the Blight couldn’t be outsmarted. And if the only way he found to deal with it was to contain it and that containment field is no longer working, does he have any other choice than to try to store it somewhere else?
Would he store it in himself?
Is that even possible?
It looks like a very real possibility…
I saw an ad for Maker’s Mark, because I’m in Kentucky where whiskey is apparently life. However my Dragon Age obsessed ass was like “Heh. Maker.”
You cannot tell me that a liquor named Maker’s Mark would not be a hit at The Herald’s rest.
I was lucky enough to get a commission slot by @nipuni of my OC, Racheila Lavellan. I love it so much, thank you from the bottom of my heart! Become Nipuni’s patron, and not only will you support her – you’ll bless your blinkers with gorgeous art pieces, super helpful studies, speedpaints… You name it! ❤️
i hate this so much but this knowledge is too powerful to keep from you all.
last night @phaltu discovered that setting your font to comic sans in google docs improves writing speed and creativity by an insane amount. “no” i said and “die” but then i tried it and god. i wish it wasn’t this way. i wish it wasn’t true. i wish i could protect you all from this but it’s real.
something about this font is so disarming. something about this font lets you look past the shape of the words and into their soul. i’ve never written so much as i did last night, on my phone, at 2am, in comic sans.
if you have writer’s block. if you lack inspiration. if you need this. don’t be afraid to use it. sometimes the things we find most horrifying are also the things we need the most. trust me. let comic sans into your life.
The Maker's Workshop 