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 A Place In The Dirt, For Isil/Craig/Kat
Cullen Rutherford
 Posted: Jan 1 2018, 03:47 AM
Quote
Cullen Rutherford
30 YEARS OLD
he/him
Warrior
5
POSTS
Human
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Templar
Commander
Robert
he/him - CST


16 Bloomingtide, 9:41

It never seemed to end, the reports given from those who dwelled here only continued to pile on to the list of problems that arose or the damages done to their apparent stronghold. For despite the efforts made to piece it back together it seemed simple weathering from the times and careless activities wished to do away with progress in an instant. The old stone simply refusing to remain where it should have stood, though as long as the very walls did not decide to collapse upon them all then he supposed it would have to do for the time. For between repairs and all else that sprung up the inquisition was running rather thin.

An all too apparent lack of assistance but never a shortage of those who seemed to require it. Yet no matter the task they would be dealt with eventually even if it meant they were divvied out further to the other advisors. Surely they would have a solution for some of these missives that were carted his way, as well as deal with it in a timelier manner than the soldiers or patrol may allow. Yet as he busies himself with all that lay strewn about the desk of his office he cannot ignore the call of magic that springs to life down below. The very energy of it sparking against the air. No doubt the mages were practicing their talents out in the yard.

Something the Commander pushed to the back of his mind for now as it went mostly ignored. It wasn’t uncommon for them to test themselves against one another and there had yet to be anything too serious arise from such things. Though it seemed this one either held different terms or perhaps a misfire of sorts as a short cry of pain carried through the air. Focus pulling briefly from the assortment of papers as a short breath pushed from his lungs and those booted feet shirted toward one of the narrow windows within the room. Bright eyed gaze peering out to what lay just outside though from where he stood now there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary.

But when nothing else appeared to come of such a sound, a jaw merely tightened before he considered pushing it from his thoughts and returning focus to the busy work. And yet he could not keep away the faint rise of concern that had come with such a noise. Though no action is taken before an all too familiar voice is heard just beyond the door, a figure bursting through as the former Templar spun on his heel to face the man. A dash of confusion pulling over those features as the man’s hands lay bare without a trace of the usual missive he held. However before question can be cast the scout’s voice rings out as clearly as every time before.

This time telling of worries that only heightened his own, “Commander something is not right. I had thought it was a spar but it does not sound friendly any longer. We may need to intervene to at least calm their magic.” With a gentle breath a gloved hand rose to run along the back of his neck as Cullen regarded those phrases. If another had drawn concern from this as well then it was best to at least do a small investigation rather than risk leaving tensions to fester between the involved parties. A soft exhale giving way to agreement as paces carried him past where the scout stood, “Very well.” And while he had not explicitly asked for the man to chase after him it is exactly what he does.

Jim trailing after the decorated warrior as he descended the broken steps. Unnecessary guidance given when the scout points out the direction the sound had risen from even as movement already carried them toward the courtyard. Eyes darting over the open expanses though there is nothing to be seen but the occasional sprinkling of another as they carried on with their own tasks. Though such sights do not immediately cease the search as a figure shifts toward the tucked away nooks of the fortress. The scout drifting away a bit as he took up his own path, turning to look down the other ends of the walls though never leaving line of sight.

Yet is it not the other which holds focus as attentions flicker over the terrain and while there was nothing currently standing there appeared to be one curled upon the ground. A tongue held for the moment as steps brought him nearer only for a near silent breath to utter against the air, “Maker’s breath.” An uneasiness washed over him as paces quickened to carry him to the mage’s side. Command issued toward the scout even as eyes remained glued upon the one he approached, “Go to the healers and fetch some of their potions!” It should be clear as to which was required for this was a matter far more urgent than had originally been imagined.

Worry clearly rising in more than just himself as Jimmy seemed to stall. His attentions locked upon the downed elf until the Commander’s focus shifted to him once more, “What are you waiting for? Go!” More of a demand now than anything cast toward the man though it was enough to pull him back and send feet scurrying away, hopefully to retrieve what was asked of him while his own neared the fallen. Frame kneeling the moment he grew close so that hands could fall upon the broken figure of who lay before him. Faint phrases falling from his lips as a hand shifts to cup those fading features, “Please be alright.”

Recognition holding in his mind over who this was despite all which marked him now. A still free hand running along the elf’s neck before pressing to feel the slowing pulse. For now it was present even if only faintly, he could only pray that it remained. Pressure releasing from those veins as eyes darted frantically over the other. Taking in the multiple of wounds and bruises which blossomed against all that could be seen. Torn fabric giving way to hints of what may lay underneath. And has a hand pulled fully away from that discolored throat he attempted to get even a small motion from the other, “Valasan? Can you hear me? We’re going to get you some help.”

Or at least whatever help he could for he was not certain if the healers would be fully prepared for all of this. Yet there were others they could call upon for assistance, many who did not serve the tents yet held such magic lay within these walls. The Inquisitor among them and this was something she needed to know about. His own thoughts already running wild over what could have caused this to happen. Yet he cannot let such things distract him now, not until they helped this man. Slowly breath pushed from the warrior’s lungs as a body shifted in a steady attempt to turn and lift the mage from the ground if only slightly.

Managing to prop the other against himself as a messenger returned with an assortment of bottles in hand, “I wasn’t sure which size to grab. And the healers were starting to ask questions.” Briefly gaze flickered toward the clank of glass before a hand reached out without hesitation for one of the smaller vials filled in that colored liquid. Hope holding that Valasan still possessed the ability to drink or he would need to figure out the safest way to bring the other down to the tents on his own. “They will see us soon enough,” lyrics muttered quietly against the air as an arm shifted to better brace the mage against him and a flask lifting to press to bloodied lips. Tipping slowly in an effort to not let it simply fall from the elf’s mouth, give him a chance to swallow if such functioning remained.

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Valasan Lavellan
 Posted: Jan 2 2018, 06:10 PM
Quote
Valasan Lavellan
25 YEARS OLD
He, him
Mage
136
POSTS
Elf
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Rift Mage & Spirit Healer
Inquisition Battlemage
Isilzheha
He/Him/Monster - EST


Consciousness had slipped from the battered frame in the face of continuous trauma to a body already pushed well beyond its limit, though time was lost for the downed elf couldn’t recall just when silence had taken him. He had felt the connection of a heavy foot jarring his body in quick succession, his body shutting down when the bone cracked and the pain became too much. It settled within him still, hovering like a voracious beast of burden as its claws ripped through torn and mottled flesh. A distant voice crashed through the haze, words lost as an addled mind could not process them. A numbed, dull touch registered upon his throat beneath a bruised jaw line, but the mage couldn’t be certain it still rested there when he became aware of its presence. His eyes remained closed, and more voices filtered around him eerily in disjointed noise. Valasan’s breath caught in his chest in stuttered rhythm, an airy sensation taking hold of his body. It didn’t last long, however, when the movement stirred the agony and a groan of protest pulled from his lips. Brows knitted together as a grimace crossed his once relaxed features, muscles unwilling to cooperate in order to aid the repositioning. An arm had been hooked around his shoulders, head falling back as his neck refused to brace the weight. Pressure found his bottom lip and the arm shifted so the back of his head could be supported and Valasan became aware of some kind of liquid falling into his mouth.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, jumbled thoughts racing sluggishly through his mind that was having a hard time collecting the fragmented pieces of senses that were coming back to him as he woke. In reflex so he didn’t choke the unknown liquid was swallowed by a throat that ached incessantly, Valasan nearly choking on it anyways when the damaged esophagus struggled to function. In small doses the concoction was consumed, emerald eyes opening only to nearly close again at the sunlight that pierced into them with fervor. Fabric clung to him in places where skin became lathered in sweat, tendrils of disheveled auburn hair sticking to his forehead. Despite the heat that flared through the elf’s broken body he felt surprisingly cold, the duality of sensations clashing with one another and it made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. It took some time before the foreign liquid showed any effect, Valasan almost able to feel it crawling through his chest and creeping along the lengths of his body. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, though he could still taste the thing he had been given and the image of the herb came to mind but he couldn't recall the name.

Such a ludicrous thing to become fixated upon amidst the chaos but he couldn't help it, brows furrowed and strength slowly beginning to return to his muscles. He knew it would be temporary, a slight relief that would quell the worst of it for an hour or two at best but given the grotesque quality of what impaired him the elf doubted it would do much. Vibrant gaze found the face that hovered over him, words spoken again in the form of a question and the mage could only find confusion. He blinked, recognition slow to follow when eyes finally focused and the haze of unconsciousness began to pull back. With it came the realization of the terror his body felt, the blade still buried into his shoulder grinding against the bone of his collar and Valasan had to fight against the urge to cry out. Even the slightest of movements stirred pain in various points of his body, the small vial pulled away by who came to be registered as the Commander. Any trepidation he felt at the unknown who aided him washed away and without thinking the Dalish lifted the arm not trapped between them so that he could absently try to brace himself.

The fingers would curl only slightly, muscles flexing within the ruined flesh and warm blood oozed down his forearm. Lips remained parted, Valasan uttering a prayer to Mythal beneath his breath in the language that seemed to come to him easier than the one the shem would understand. No energy could be found to reassure the man he had heard him, the hand that had attempted to cling to the cloth hanging from the human's body falling away with a smear of blood. His chin dipped in a faint nod of confirmation, knowing he had heard him speak even if the words had not been processed fully. The warmth had spread to his muscles, revitalizing them and stripping away the weariness even if the pain remained. Pointed ears drew back as Cullen spoke again, only this time to announce he was going to help him up. At that Valasan began to protest, heart hammering in his chest but before he could tell the man to stop he was already beginning to stand with arms hooking beneath the elf’s. Nowhere else remained for Cullen to find purchase without causing further problems, but in truth everything hurt and the mage wanted to linger a little longer if only to prolong the inevitable.

He did not struggle against the pull as he was hoisted up, boots pressing against the bloodstained earth to offer assistance. The movement stretched the wound the weapon shifted within, cutting further and causing blood to weep freshly where it had been somewhat stopped before by the very thing that irritated it. Valasan cried out, the stabbing agony in his side causing him to nearly double over and he wrenched his arm free to curl the trembling appendage against his body and not stretch the injury any longer. If not for the support the Commander gave him now as he guided Valasan’s right arm over his shoulders he would have collapsed, legs threatening to give out any second. False relief was forced by the consumed potion, giving him just enough to function and not forcing the human to carry him the rest of the way. Valasan tried not to lean so heavily against the other as they shuffled towards the open courtyard, vision wavering and the forms that came to stand on the edges of his observation becoming lost in the determination he felt to remain standing.

How readily his mind turned with desperation to the one considered the protector of the people, an absence not going unnoticed as the Dalish struggled quite visibly. The grip he thought he had on the Commander's shoulder was faltering, weight sagging momentarily with a wave of nausea churning his stomach and Valasan’s legs almost seized their forward movement. Teeth were grit together, bruised jaw smarting but the reflex could not be stopped. Recovering as much as he could their path towards the stairs to the lower level of Skyhold continued, Valasan aware of the whispering amongst one another the onlookers had adopted, some blatant in their curiosity while others hovered with uncertainty.

An ear twitched at the murmured words of the human, Valasan trying to conjure some kind of response but the words fled his mind. Darkness edged his vision as it fell upon the steps, the mage swaying on his feet until Cullen adjusted his grip and began to guide him down the steps. Each one jarred him as they descended, a hiss of stuttering breath drawn in through his teeth and Valasan tugged against the Commander in hopes he would stop for a moment. ”I-I can't…” he breathed, the words choked in his throat and tapering off into broken lyrics. His whole body was alight, trembling near violently now and he struggled to retain his own grip on the one who supported him with the mangled hand. It had grown numb, along with various points of his body, and the Commander urged him to continue but Valasan shook his head. It hurt too much to move.

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Cullen Rutherford
 Posted: Jan 24 2018, 06:37 PM
Quote
Cullen Rutherford
30 YEARS OLD
he/him
Warrior
5
POSTS
Human
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Templar
Commander
Robert
he/him - CST


While he received no form of clarity from the elf there were at least the subtle signs of life which arose whenever he began to shift that broken figure. One of seemingly dead weight for so little assistance could be given in such guidance. Stuttered breath a concerning rhythm though it is not all which holds focus now as an arm came around to support the elf. Offering a brace against the weight that the mage could not hold alone, a head lifted before that tinted vial was pressed to Valasan’s lips. Portions of it merely running down the man’s chin to the stained fabrics below though there is still struggled motion that indicated some of it was swallowed down yet it was not without difficulty.

For no matter the slow pace he attempted to administer the concoction with it didn’t seem to be small enough doses as the elf nearly choked in brief sputters. Though in time the bottle was drained and the Commander could only pray that enough had made it into the elf’s system, to bring back at least a portion of the light he had seen before in this mage. But it was more than clear that he would need more than a simple potion to fix all which appeared to mar him now. Golden gaze flickering over that bloodied body only to linger on the more obvious gashes and stabbing before returning to those battered features.

As long as the potion gave him strength to continue on for at least a moment longer than perhaps it would be enough. Fixated upon the elf now, a short breath pushed from his lungs as eyes peered open before closing again just as quickly as he squinted against the light. With the other held securely in his arms a question was voiced once more for no answer had come with the first attempt, “Valasan?” Silent hope holding that he would at least be able to give slightly more than the gurgled protest of before. Yet such phrases are only met with a vacant expression, one unable to find true focus upon what surrounded him.

At least not right away for some form of registration found itself within those eyes as the emptied vial was handed back to the scout, freeing both hands for the task that awaited them. Briefly attentions shifted to the hand which attempted to curl against the cloth adorning the Commander yet it falls away without much success the moment muttered vocals die down. The elf’s prayer hardly heard though even if it had been it would not have come with any greater sense of understanding. Valasan’s chin dipped then as blood smeared its way across the furred mantle, something that Cullen could only take as vague understanding of what was said.

But whether it truly was or not they needed to get moving. Every second spent doing nothing was time lost. “I’m going to help you up now,” phrases falling more in warning than anything else so that when a body suddenly shifted it would not come as a total surprise. Though he could see the way expression shifted whenever those lyrics sounded. It was going to hurt no matter what was done but he needed to get this man to his feet. An arm gliding further to better hook itself around the broken elf’s body before the other soon found purchase. Cullen could only hope that he did not worsen things too much by doing this yet it was clear there was no other way around it.

Bracing against the earth, the mage was hoisted as smoothly as possibly. Little resistance given by the other as even his own feet shifted in an effort to help. Though it did not last for long as a pained sound fell in unsteady breath and an arm pulled away to press quickly against himself. A greater weight falling upon the Commander with such motion though he is quick to act, working to support the mage in any way he could. The arm closest to him guided around his shoulders as the other remained where it could around the elf’s body. Holding him near in hopes to lessen the chance such a grip would slip away. “Sorry but it had to be done,” muttered apology falling against the space between them though he didn’t think it would do any good.

It take a moment to find a steady pace that the mage can keep up with, though once it is found there is no further delay in their journey toward the tents. A silent urging for privacy away from the prying eyes of the onlookers that peered toward them for even now their whispers where heard rising against the growing silence, though he refused to allow focus to settle on any who stared. His grip adjusted upon the Dalish whenever necessary as the weight placed upon him was every shifted. At times all of it coming to rest when legs faltered only to lessen when balance was found once again.

But no true pause came until they reached the stone steps that hovered as a daunting challenge for the injured to face. Yet it was the last obstacle which lay between them though it would not be easy, none of this was. A voice came quietly then as attentions lingered upon those bruised features, “We will take it slow.” Pulling away only slightly as near silent command is given to the scout who still trailed nearby, “Go before us and make sure the healers know to be ready.” Though despite the tone there is an urgency behind it which spurs Jimmy quickly into action, the clink of the still carried vials rattling in his grasp as he went ahead.

Without further delay a grip better adjusted itself as guidance was given on their descent of the stairs. Taking the mage down them one at a time as stuttered breath was jostled from his lungs with each movement. A hand still attempting to grasp firmly against the crimson cloth as the body beside him now trembled without relief. Broken vocals finally finding their way free of a marked throat in faint breath yet it was a reprieve that the Commander could not risk giving. This was no place to find rest in fear that balance could be lost, “You can. You will make it through this.” Effort made to not let uncertainty taint those words but even so he was not certain they even reached the elf as a head shook in seeming denial.

Slow breath escaped him then as paces continued on with encouragement falling lightly, loud enough for only the elf to hear it, “Just a few more.” And it is perhaps with luck that they make it to the grounds below. A brief glance cast toward the tents before steps carried them on. The clearly on edge healer’s watching for a moment as a mix of confusion and shock seemed to lace itself across their features and through their thoughts. But before they can question anything Cullen’s voice rises as a body shifts to place the mage upon one of the cots. Doing his best to settle the other down gently before a grip is fully released, “Stabilize him immediately there is no room for delay. I will fetch the Inquisitor I’m sure she will wish to know of this, the uh situation at hand.”

And perhaps she would be able to offer assistance as well for it was known that held such gifts even if time was not spent around the tents as often as those who currently stood here. With orders given he turned from the tent as readily as he had stepped within. Attentions quickly falling upon Jimmy as a blood marked limb gestured to point back toward the steps, “Go look for Vela, if you find her bring her here right away. I will search the lower courtyards.” And in the moment the scout scurried back toward where they had come from Cullen’s own paces quickened to carry him on this new quest. Hopefully the woman would be able to be found quickly.

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Valasan Lavellan
 Posted: Jan 25 2018, 03:27 AM
Quote
Valasan Lavellan
25 YEARS OLD
He, him
Mage
136
POSTS
Elf
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Rift Mage & Spirit Healer
Inquisition Battlemage
Isilzheha
He/Him/Monster - EST


It was a struggle to remain upright, every step sending pain ripping through his body. No matter how softly he attempted to walk something jarred in the process, mind screaming at him in protest against the movements he was guided into with the body beside him. A subconscious effort was placed forth to take the brunt of his own weight when he was lifted, an action that was instantly regretted when it caused wounds to flare with newfound agony. Part of him did not even register when his foot touched the ground, a dull sensation of contact reverberating throughout the limb as if the skin had grown thicker. The skin that had been split across his body tugged no matter how he moved, the elf drawing in a sharp and ragged breath that set his chest alight. It was a burning, searing jab with each labored intake of air, and Valasan tried to make them more shallow with little success. Finally the one who settled into recognition helped him to his feet, eyes unable to focus as the world spun. There was no relief from it all, no adrenaline to combat the pulsating waves of nauseating torment nor any alcohol to steal away the conscious focus that fell upon the varying degrees of anguish his body now felt in full. Whatever potion the mage had been made to drink kept it all at bay, just enough that he did not collapse immediately when standing and the world twisted around him. The Commander seized him in a stumbling step, Valasan fighting his mind’s urge to sink into the pain it could not turn away from. Blood trickled from the reopened wound at his shoulder, lightheadedness making the ground appear far away as he swayed.

He did not fall, however, the man at his side as steady as he could be with the elf trying to match his pace. It was far less graceful, legs wanting nothing more than to drag until they gave out. Ears twitched at the far away voice, Valasan taking a second to realize it was the Commander that uttered them, hesitation at the top of the steps bringing them forth with a gentle coaxing of reassurance. Desperation clawed through him, rising with fervor when the first few steps were taken and the tattooed elf pulled at the human. His chin dipped slightly, head feeling almost too heavy for his neck, and Valasan wasn’t sure the Commander had even been able to hear him. His lips were dry and cracked, tendrils of hair clinging to his face where they had fallen forward to become matted by blood and sweat. Bile threatened to climb its way upwards through an already burning throat, angled features twisted into a grimace. Emerald eyes closed, Valasan forcing himself to breathe through his mouth to avoid stirring the already echoing tenderness at the center of his face. Digging into the muted veil of detachment the Commander spoke again, the hand braced across his back applying the smallest pressure. Vibrant gaze peeled open again, shifting to look at the one who spoke and trying to find the truth behind the words. Nothing about what he felt right now even hinted at it, though as warm, golden eyes flecked with worry settled on the elf he found himself giving a small and shaky nod.

No amount of steeling himself prepared him for the rest of the excruciating descent the rest of the way down the stone steps, Valasan’s mind well beyond such things. A weak grip around the human’s shoulders was but an illusion, legs doing most of the work even if that was equally as trying. A warmth had spread throughout his skin with the exertion, the Dalish beginning to doubt his ability to continue any further. Level ground spread beneath them, encouraging words from the shem accompanying their completed descent. The change in rhythm from a body that trembled was almost enough to bend his knees as if too much weight was set on them, Cullen adjusting his grip yet again to accommodate the burden and their pace was quickened. Suddenly the blistering sunlight was cut off, fabric brushing against him and absently the mage noticed the vague forms standing as he passed. Something stiff hit against his knee, Valasan made to turn and a groan pulled from his throat when he finally did collapse. Only it was on some kind of bedding, body falling back with guidance and hands that had been upon him were pulled away. Darkness pulsed in his vision, splotches of obstruction that did not sway already unfocused eyes. His head sank back and tightly wound muscles began to relax minutely. Still the tension coiled within them, wracked with pain and unable to truly loosen.

Voices sounded around him, garbled as if he were underwater, attention swept away by unawareness. A gentle thrum of energy pushed against him, one of the figures coming to stand beside him and some of the aches ebbed away. The lingering presence dipped forward, fingers splayed at the back of his head and urging his head upwards. Something else was pressed against his lips, the container tilted back until water fell against him. It hurt to swallow, to speak, every small motion a discomfort that left the Dalish feeling haggard and exhausted. Not much of the liquid was consumed, some of it falling freely down his chin before it was pulled back with the realization that the battered being could not take it in. Gently his head was brought back down to the cot, eyelids fluttering until they closed entirely. Efforts of the ones that moved around him in a quiet frenzy, tasked with stabilizing their newfound patient, would not be enough for one so wounded. The pain began to subside, shallow breaths growing weaker by the second and darkness mounted to take hold of a man in agony more than willing to sink into it if only to spurn the pain.

Weariness took hold with a vengeance, muscles slackening where they had not been allowed to do so with the torment that seized them. Too much energy had been spent on forcing failing limbs to carry himself with the help of the Commander to where he now laid, not enough left over to bolster a scrambling grip on life. Such a grip that now began to falter considerably, weight hanging from the edge too much to sustain. His pulse fluttered, prone form feeling light and disconnected and the searing pain ebbed away to leave the elf in blissful silence. Like a warm, inviting embrace he sank into the abysmal, endless depths of unconsciousness that sought to carry him from his afflictions. Having clung to life so fiercely until these moments Valasan welcomed the relief, a thudding and irregular heartbeat slowed within a gouged chest until it ceased entirely and wrapped his mind in a haze of nothingness. There was nothing but numb ecstasy that guided him down into the depths of unconsciousness, stealing away reason and reality from a mind that had become plagued. A final, quiet exhale of breath was expelled in a whisper as the body it left ceased to function.

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Asmodeus Hawke
 Posted: Feb 1 2018, 04:39 PM
Quote
Asmodeus Hawke
35 YEARS OLD
he/him
Mage
24
POSTS
Human
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Knight Enchanter
Champion
Craig
he/him - CST


Defiance, hatred, it was a mixture of such things which pointed the Champion’s steps across the battlements. Tension within an injured limb now bound temporarily as magic worked in an attempt to close the wound delivered from the Dalish mage. There was a fight present, to cloak the heavy gait each time a foot set against the earth and weight tensed the muscle, it looked like a light stumble of a twisted joint through the man’s ire. Yet this is not the reason anger has found the human, no, it is the fact the elven creature was not where it had been left by the viper. An abandoned victim moved from where it should have been lain to rest as someone had come along to play the hero.

Asmodeus could only begin to imagine who it had been. Was it the soft hearted commander? A man who wished to be involved more than that faltered soul could take. Or was it the Inquisitor herself? A woman, a mage, far too weak to be anything left in charge of this place. She couldn’t control the threats within her own supposed Kingdom, couldn’t overthrow the cries that a man named Hawke was needed within her walls – what leader did not demand the people? Vela, she needed a spine greater than the fragile and already breaking one she carried within for it bowed to the pressure and only stiffened with her ire. That was but a small step in the right direction but she was far too gone to actually be able to prove herself to one such as the Champion for a hatred had already been settled against magic.

Yet the question of who still roamed, it hovered with a sense of unknowing as a man wished to know where to place the blame. Certainty claimed him that an answer would be found as he stalked ever closer to the healing tents, that must be where the rodent had been taken. Life buzzed about them, clamoring as if there was a loss of what needed to be done as healers both magical and herbal went about the surrounding area in a panic. They didn’t know what happened and it did not seem they were too worried in figuring it out at the moment, the needed to focus yet some could not find that. Their eyes wide, fear for the outcome building within their minds that their newly found patient wouldn’t make it.

Still they thought to try even as the Champion pushed into the small crowd ignoring the voices of those who claimed he did not need to get involved. They were all but given a bitter glance which set them back as the human pushed through the tarp of the tent and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim lit area. A dark golden gaze twisted angrily upon each and every creature within, pathetic mages who froze to the sights of the towering serpent upon them. Palms rose with an urgency of defense though they did not reach out to stop the man who set past them and allowed those dark eyes to fall immediately to the prey who had seized his thoughts. Laughter toyed upon Hawke’s tongue as thoughts mused once more about which is was who thought to save the elf.

Steps guided the human about the raised makeshift bed the battered being had been lain upon. Shallow breathes rasped out of tired lungs as a pulse all but crawled within a creature that was far gone now, one who should have been left to rot. Magic had yet to be lain against the wounds for they wept as the elven being could not. One could only wonder were these supposed healers even trying or had they only just begun? Not that Hawke jumped to immediate action himself as a hand reached out and allowed fingers to drag lazily upon the other male’s throat and pressed down against the jugular as if seeking the pulse of a fragile heart.

Hardly there, it brought a displaced sense of joy within the Champion though it did not come to blend into a stoic expression. Healers paced around the man for they found themselves desperately looking to stabilize a creature as Asmodeus remained in place. Fingers curling roughly, though they could never see, against a tender throat as the actions of others were for naught as the pulse finally faded out. A sickening sense of delight swelled in the man’s gut as that hand pulled away, dragging against the soft skin till it was left to hover on air. Electricity sparked upon the man’s palm before with an unexplained motion the hand was brought down harshly to the elf’s chest as the built up energy surged directly into a ceased heart. One which now vibrated with a sense of life but was in no means stabilized in the pattern it took, it was erratic as it sprung to life.

It drove the fallen to lurch against the shock as a body attempted to rise to the intrusive force more than a healer would have allowed. So it wasn’t a movement that was granted, not that that Champion would have loved to watch the boy struggle, but a show had to be put on – Asmodeus was here to help. An unwanted touch was set against the elven being as a second palm came to slide upon the boy’s chest, fingers curling against the torn fabric were a blade had sliced through earlier as pressure was set down against him. Delicate tones, so unfitting to roll from a predator’s jaws, were ushered forth in a broken sense of sincerity. “Shh, don’t move now, you’ll only hurt yourself further. We can’t have that, can we?”

Falsity crawled upon every lyric but the tones that had been taken only echoed with truth to the minds of the foolish healers. Healers who had all but frozen when magic had sparked to life with no other words being uttered forth, they were taken back by the action and were left to have their eyes linger upon the one called Hawke. One of the human’s hands remained against Valasan’s chest while the other carved a path against his skin, trailing higher upon his form as the slowly stilling being still sought a form of consciousness. That dragging touch stopped only as fingers came to press harshly against the jugular as blood pooled in the vein beneath the touch, a beat had returned and it chose to remain.

A few of the healers who were within the tent began to come over in stiff motions as if they were uncertain what they should be doing now. But it was then Asmodeus turned against them as vocals twisted with aggression upon the worthless creatures, “Get out.” The tones twisted sharp upon them like a knife being driven into their spine, “I don’t need the help of physicians who are less than mediocre and don’t have a fucking clue what they’re doing.” Still they hesitated to move even as that hateful stare turned back towards them and the serpent hissed, “I said leave, now. It wasn’t a request.” Worried eyes looked upon one another as a nervousness was swallowed harshly down their throats, they were uncertain though they listened in the end.

Light filtered in as the healers waited beyond the tarp as if waiting to be let back in. To others it would seem as if they had lost the battle for they left with their heads down, worried about an outcome that had yet to come. With the last one gone and the curtain closing to blot out the light of the sun, the tattooed elf was left to the mercy of the human who wore a predatory grin. And though he had pulled away the bearded man came to settle once more as a chair was pulled up to the mattress near Valasan’s crown. A palm coming to rest against the top of his head, fingers twining it those sweat coated locks as he spoke, “Just the two of us now, mage. A chuckle rumbled within the male’s chest, “Isn’t that comforting?”

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Valasan Lavellan
 Posted: Feb 2 2018, 03:29 AM
Quote
Valasan Lavellan
25 YEARS OLD
He, him
Mage
136
POSTS
Elf
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Rift Mage & Spirit Healer
Inquisition Battlemage
Isilzheha
He/Him/Monster - EST


Something cracked through his chest, a punch of energy that wrapped greedy fingers around his heart to pulse as it poured into him. His body snapped up the energy desperately as it coursed through him and a loud gasp sounded when lungs sucked in air, previously motionless form attempting to lurch up with the influx of raw power. It didn't make it far before something forced him back down, the weight on his chest disallowing further violent movement. Muscles clenched at the intrusion of the magic set against them, and faintly a scent of burning could be picked up through the thickness of the iron. A voice spoke from somewhere beside him, and despite the soothing words that ushered forth the tone just sounded wrong yet he couldn't place why. His head fell back against the makeshift bed, vibrant gaze staring off at the ceiling as his mind tried to reassert itself. He remembered the Commander helping him to the tent, and he remembered sitting on the cot before he was made to lay down. Everything after that point was a blur, fractured pieces of an almost distant memory even if it had only been several moments ago. At least that's what he believed, though his vision fluctuated now and floating In and out of unconsciousness has left him at a loss. He couldn't piece together the lost time, heart pounding against his breastplate that rose and fell in heaving motion with a creeping sense of rising panic.

Recollection of the events that led to this arduous moment was dawning on him, albeit slowly, a face presenting the confusion and almost delirium that grabbed him tightly. The hand he realized hovered against his throat pressed in firmly over the pulse that only grew more rapid when the other hand of the one who brought him back trailed across the gashed skin yet didn't let up. Warmth spread across his chest in throbbing tendrils as nerves began to reawaken, bringing the waves of pain with it. The sensation spiked through the thick cloud, and only more confusion could be found as his body continued to bring itself into the reality his mind struggled to grab hold of. Vibrant gaze blinked, trying to find focus as eyelids sat heavily, and he could see the shifting forms of others inside of the tent he had been brought to as they fought to find the answer to a question that seemed just as elusive as the elf’s grip on reality. He could feel blood dried and cracking upon his face when muscles pulled into a visage of anguish, breathing through his nose sending needles of pain directly into his head that pounded with a distracting rhythm. Blood drenched everywhere else, too, a quickened pulse doing little to help staunch the flow that stole away any strength he might have had. His right hand twitched and he drew in a sharp inhale of air through his teeth with the involuntary movement, eyes watching the others leave with a vision beginning to focus yet the man with the biting voice remained at his bedside.

Telltale power emanated from the man, twisted and dark as it prickled against his skin, and it finally clicked into place when the other mage turned to look upon him. Fear was quick to show itself, cutting through the grogginess with a vengeance. Slowly it shifted to shock when it finally settled in, the swelling along the left side of his face a hindrance to bringing the human’s face into focus. Valasan was taken aback, gut wrenching almost painfully at the sight of the one who had placed him where he lay now, shackled by the torment that remained relentless as it spanned over nearly every inch of his body in one way or another. Even a new one settled over his chest, a stinging burn against the cut already present emitting a faint pulse with each rapid heartbeat. The monstrous man had returned, for whatever reason he did so now, and the Dalish certainly didn't have it in him now to fight. Not to the degree they had at least what felt like ages ago, the likes of which had landed him in the precarious position he now found himself. Clarity clawed through his mind, alarms raised instantaneously as his gaze did not waver from the only other person within the tent. He had not realized when the others inside had been made to leave.

Breaths were pulled in ragged heaves, muscles screaming for reprieve when fingers came to curl against the edge of the bed in a grip that lacked the force his mind thought it capable of. A reflex, if anything, for no matter how much Valasan willed his body to move it did little in the way of bringing himself away from the man who loomed over him. The Champion grabbed one of the chairs, perching himself upon it with a sinister smirk tugging at his lips as he came to sit far too close for comfort. Golden eyes settled on Valasan and hissing words exited in low tones that caused the elven mage to shift his weight in another attempt to put distance between himself and the vile human. It was not a distance granted when the human lifted a hand to slide fingers against his head with a slow and calculating movement. Already he had pulled away as much as the cot would allow, injured body having some say in the matter as it went against any stirring he made. The hand became a weight far less comforting than such an act should be, a mockery of a gentle caress as fingers pulled back strands of hair that had absorbed the blood and sweat only to cling to his face before resting at the top of his head.

It was apprehension that stilled the elf’s voice, locking it within his throat alongside a knot that had begun to form with the disbelief felt. It did not seem that he had ever gotten free of the other, hours passed within the unwelcome company that only brought insurmountable agony a continuous loop of discomfort. ‘Isn't that comforting?’ A cruel sense of sarcasm seeped from the words that were accompanied by a chuckle, the sound crawling over him and his face twisted into something more akin to disgusted hatred than shock. His lips parted, small breath taken in with the hopes of calling out to the ones that had been forced to leave when the initial discombobulation peeled back. Before he could get the words out the Champion’s hand darted out quickly, striking against his face with a forceful grip that brought his palm over the tattooed elf’s mouth to quell any pleading sounds that might come from it. Valasan immediately stiffened at the contact, spine growing rigid and a muffled protest vibrated against the hand that wished to silence him. Against the twinge of numbing pain as the blade shifted within his skin with another reflex his arm lifted to place a weakened grip at the human’s wrist. No pressure could be given from the hand that refused to cooperate, a useless clawing at the entrapping grip all but futile. No matter how slight the movement the dagger seemed to wrench, skin pulling around it and causing spots to form in his vision.

Panic began to return to him tenfold, Valasan forced to breathe through his nose and each irregular intake of air spelled more pain. Words were uttered again but the Champion hardly got them out before a flight or fight response took over and Valasan thrust his chin forward so that the flesh of the offending hand could be found between sharp canines. The elf had no restraint with such a motion, cutting breaths taken into his broken nose only worsening the piercing sensations and he wanted the hand to be displaced more than he craved his body to remain still if only to offer temporary relief. So his teeth ground into what he managed to grip, jaw shifting to worry the skin in hopes that it would break beneath the pressure. In that it did, bile churning at the freshened taste of iron as blood not his own trickled across his tongue. His jaw clenched tighter, ribs seeming to groan as the Dalish shoved an elbow back against the bed and tried to force himself to rise. With difficulty he managed to bring his back off of the cot, fingers slipping to try prying between those that pressed none too gently across his face. Not a care could be found for the wellbeing of the other man as jaws worked together to rend the flesh between his teeth.

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Asmodeus Hawke
 Posted: Feb 5 2018, 04:43 PM
Quote
Asmodeus Hawke
35 YEARS OLD
he/him
Mage
24
POSTS
Human
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Knight Enchanter
Champion
Craig
he/him - CST


Ridged was the only way to describe the way the mage’s form went as electricity coursed through every muscle and forced them to contract with unneeded tension till the touch itself was displaced. Valasan’s crown fell back against the makeshift bed with a broken breath as it was heaved from worn lungs. Eyes shifted about the room without focus as a bleary gaze sought someone, anyone, out in a hope to find answers. However, those pieces would never be found as a mind was only now reawaken and a body struggled to find purchase upon this violent reality of being alive. For breathes came quickly, rasped out of an airway that did not wish to function even as the mage struggled with the sensation of life. A pulse quickened, leapt to life, beneath the Champion’s aggressive touch as fingers dug hazardously against the Dalish’s throat. Settling so easily against each bruise and laceration as if investigating them with shifting palms while in truth was merely settling a heavier weight against a delirious form.

Asmodeus could only find pleasure in the way anguish came to lace itself upon the other male’s broken features, a predatory grin falling against his lips even as blood had pooled and crusted about those smooth elven features. Violence carved itself in crimson raceways upon the elf’s body though Hawke found himself watching the way those vibrant eyes danced around the tent with building desperation. A dim glow, like candle light, fluttering from those ghostly eyes as eyelids floated heavily over them to blot out that offering of consciousness. Lazily they blinked though in time that battle to leave them to rest ended for it would appear the unwanted answers had been given. Power had filled the room and the possibilities of just who could bring that raw ferocity were limited – Valasan merely had figured it out.

Fear was instilled quickly within those features and rooted itself deep within the battered creature even as those widened eyes came to find Kirkwall’s crowned serpent. Hawke chose to hover, a towering form allowed to come far too near, there was no fight left within the other and it could be seen. It only added to the thrill and the way a heart raced for all the wrong reasons as each moment of suffering was drawn in as if the human thrived upon it. Almost hungrily those eyes found themselves pulling across the Dalish’s wounded form, taking in every injury, before they finally settled against that horror stricken face. The only moment that gaze was taken away was when the bearded man twisted demands upon the healers and sent the truth help away to stand uselessly within the grasses outside the tent they were cast from.

As the last found their escape Asmodeus’ eyes returned to the boy and watched as that worried chest rose as breathes quickened. They were ragged, worn, and battled with every muscle to come out in the pace they did as a body began to desperately pull upon itself. Fingers twitching in an attempt to curl about the edge of the mattress as the so called Champion came to leer upon the struggling creature. Weight shifting as that form was found settled at the head of the cot and the human’s rough touch was set against the elf’s tussled hair. Touch drawing back against the twisted locks as a grimace came to settle upon those bloodied features.

Were it possible surely Valasan would have acted out but that ability to fight had been taken away in the moment so all that could come to look upon the viper was disbelief. It was almost expected, was it not? For a murder to return to the victim and toy with the thing lost far too quickly. There was still torment to subject the bold tongued boy to even if those words had been influenced by the alcohol which clung to every breath, even hours ago, when the human and set the elf down in the dirt. It did not change what was felt then or even what was felt now as a mockery was made towards kindness and fingers traced themselves against those crusted auburn curls. Almost patronizingly did a misplaced shushing come to grace the Champion’s lips as the chuckle died upon his tongue.

Valasan was scared, it showed so easily and Hawke took in every ounce of his horror. Those brilliantly toned eyes flickering as a throat clenched as if to call for those who had been sent away, to make a noise or anything that would cause them alarm – it wasn’t allowed. So as those lips coated in cracked blood pulled apart and a hoarse echo rolled upon an intake of breath it set Asmodeus into action. The hand which did not rest upon the other’s hair came to slap quickly against that bloodied mouth as the Champion did as he did best, talk down to another. “None of that, boy.” The words hissed upon the vipers tongue as fingers curled against auburn tresses and pulled back at the clump caught between them. “They aren’t going to come help you. Why would they want to?” Question biting against the other’s consciousness in a way to drive the point of being unworthy, not worth the resources to be saved.

It was on those tones that fingers curled roughly against an already bruised jaw as the Dalish’s cranium was set back against the cot forcefully with the added touch. In a frail attempt of displacement Valasan’s hand rose weakly as fingers clawed uselessly upon the human’s wrist. But there was nothing such a touch could offer for no matter how desperately he clawed, how frantically the motions came, it was a caress which was far too gentle to do anything more than run against the Champion’s skin with worried fingers getting nowhere. Panic drove rough breathes to be forced from the elf’s nose as they huffed against Asmodeus’ skin as a grip refused to find itself pulled from place. Jaws only parted once more to continuously berate the one trapped within an iron hold though the serpent’s teeth came to snap together as a huff of his own found itself breaking against his vocals as the elf reacted with the violence he was still capable of.

"You little shit," Asmodeus hissed at the building pressure as Valasan’s form shifted as a chin pushing up against the added touch and brought teeth down against the flesh of an invasive palm. Sharpened elven fangs clamped down and ground together till the meat of the hand found within his mouth merely popped beneath the tension. The Champion found himself rising to his feet as a an attempt was made to twist a hand free from the other’s fangs though there was no will for release and it brought the man towards the side of the cot. Digits, not caught in the vice, curled against the male’s palm as a fist was forcefully knocked against the elf’s jaw. There was an immediate reaction as the tension bled from the clenched jaw though it was not enough to satisfy the want of revenge as a second punch, one without as much force, followed the first.

Teeth relinquished their hold as a once trapped hand was pulled back and eyes came upon it in immediate inspection of the damage done. Imprints of the rat’s teeth set deep within the tissue that peeled back away from the palm as fresh trails of blood raced down Hawke’s wrist only to arc off to the side with the pull of gravity before trailing down fingertips as the wounded palm was lowered. Valasan had gathered the moment, willed life into his body, to roll to the side once more and balance upon a shaken limb. Saliva tinted with the blood from each of them was spat on the dirt as the elf struggled to find the desired air to fill those shaken lungs. Fluid and built briefly in his throat, a crown tilted back as it gathered there, only to be set out as a tongue pushed it between parted lips.

There was no allowance for even this moment as a wounded palm twisted around the front of the Dalish’s neck as fingers pressed up against airway, coiling themselves about that tender throat. Teeth set against one another in a scowl as the pressure placed a strike of pain against the male’s limb as a wound set the warmth of freely flowing blood against the already bloodied elf. A dull throb rolled with the Champion’s heartbeat though it was one that could be ignored as action to do further harm upon another was brought to motion. A sharp breath pulled at Valasan’s lungs at the sensation of digits drawing upon his neck before the air was trapped with no means of release or intake, it was stuck as the elf was soon to be.

An already faded expression could only deepen upon the other’s features as he was allowed to suffocate beneath a touch filled with the ire of man. And it was with the slight wave of a faltering form that the Champion found further action. The hand, once set against those carefully constructed features, found bloodied digits wrapping about the piece of the dagger which jutted from the elven being’s shoulder. A grip was far from careful as anger drove the man to twist the blade in place, tearing the muscling further, before shoving down as if the weapon could be driven any deeper than the hilt. The force, the pain, made it that much easier to force Valasan down as the blade was ground against nerves that were already on fire.

There was no reprieve granted to the boy as Asmodeus’ ire shone brightly within those cutting lyrics that raked upon a lashing tongue, “Let’s not try that again, shall we?” Pressure increased upon the other’s throat, squeezed into all points that could be achieved upon those soft tissues. “Unless you want to find your dagger stuck somewhere else.” On those words, upon that vaguely worded threat, Hawke jerked the blade back though it did not come out. No, it was drawn back through uninjured flesh to carve a new path through muscling for nothing more than hatred upon the already fallen mage.

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Valasan Lavellan
 Posted: Feb 5 2018, 06:26 PM
Quote
Valasan Lavellan
25 YEARS OLD
He, him
Mage
136
POSTS
Elf
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Rift Mage & Spirit Healer
Inquisition Battlemage
Isilzheha
He/Him/Monster - EST


Desperation was all too present in a mind warped with mounting terror, the presence of the other mage as unwelcome as it had been the first time. Those who had been attempting to aid him before had wilted so easily before the human who gave them direction where they seemed to lack it, even if it only cast them out of the tent. As the last of them filtered out and the glaring sunlight was hidden behind the closed fabric Valasan found his mind screaming. Submission was presented before the one they revered as a Champion, not knowing the true amount of cruelty he is capable of and all too willing to toss the burden of caretaking upon one they deemed qualified for it. Clarity had been gained with such actions, especially when the other mage perched himself smugly to place hands where they were not wanted. It did not happen all at once, however, and perhaps had consciousness fully been gained before the departure of the healers the Dalish elf could have gained their attention. Such things were too little, too late, for when the energy had been mustered to provide relief from the abhorrent company he now resided with that hopeful plea was seized by an intrusive hand.

Abrasive, mocking tones pulled from the Champion's mouth as it was lowered ever so slightly so that those outside could not hear. They crawled over Valasan’s perception as he protested against them even if the words he spoke could not be heard. He felt the fingers curling in his hair, fingernails scraping over his scalp to grab a fistful of it and tug. It brought the elf to wince, the action intensifying the headache that felt as if it would split his skull when pressure was maintained. Scrambling, clawing against the offending hand that pressed fingers against the bruised skin of his face went unheeded, intent betrayed by the reality of the situation as the dagger shifted. That alone almost caused Valasan to drop the hand away, though a newfound urge to flee overrode the brunt of the pain. Pointed ears fell back as the other mage spoke again, each syllable driving further panic into his mind where it already had situated itself. Nostrils flared as whistling intakes of air were sucked in with increasing intensity, and the tattooed elf was near hyperventilation when teeth set against the flesh and a body was made to rise.

If not for his current fixation upon being released Valasan would have garnered some satisfaction in the way the human now out of eye sight took in a sharp breath when elven fangs pierced the skin, even less in his stomach than before churning with the taste that washed across his tongue. A slight grip had been gained in trying to pry himself free, though the one caught between his jaws sought release as well, insult spat through clenched teeth towards the elf who retaliated. The hand clutching at his head and pulling it back relinquished its hold in favor of sending a closed fist against his tensed jaw. The pain was immediate, a blunt force as knuckles dug in and Valasan almost immediately slackened with the strike. It flared up and down his face, and as the human pulled his hand free another punch was given as if for good measure. The limb propping the Dalish up gave out, head knocked to the side as his back slammed back down upon the cot. Valasan’s jaws were loosened, the inside of the tent spinning away from focus as a groan sounded in his throat. Blood both his own and belonging to the other filled his mouth far too much for comfort, the elf working his jaw slowly as he tried to twist and spit the congealed saliva out.

Over the edge of the makeshift bed it splattered against the dirt, Valasan having turned slightly to rid himself of the thick collection of fluids. With each twist and pull of his torso unsettled ribs acted up, the downed elf almost wishing to curl against them as if it would help alleviate some of the torment. Eyebrows pulled together as Valasan grimaced with the movement, blinking once more with strained action to correct his vision. Just when he managed that the other was moving again, weight shifted against the bed as the man hovered with deadly intent. Valasan did not bother turning his head to look at him, knowing full well that he would be punished for lashing back. ”W-Wait…” he began, voice a hoarse and wavering string of lyrics that blurted out with difficulty, though it did not cause the Champion to give pause or relent. Already struggling breath was cut off immediately when the wounded hand pressed against his damaged throat with a vengeance. He sputtered, gasping until no more air could be taken in. Muscles clenched painfully, head wrenched back with the tugging hand and the tattooed elf could feel the blood smearing along his throat.

Fingers curled with bruising force, pressing down where hands had found themselves before, adding to the discomfort that could only bolster the panic as his body lurched. His heart pounded fervently in his chest, mind clamoring for survival allowing his body to stir with pained struggling against the vice-like grip. Such struggles froze when Hawke's free hand gripped the hilt of the blade still lodged in his flesh, and the handle was wrenched against the bone it scraped. Valasan was pulled back with jarring force, nerves stricken further as the agony seared white-hot through the corresponding arm until it began to grow numb. Blood welled up from around it, seeping down into tattered cloth already drenched until it was saturated with the warm fluid. Darkness edged his vision as eyelids fluttered, spine bowed as Valasan tried to sink away from the cause of the torment. Mangled right hand lifted, the only one that was free, though it was far more useless than the other as it pulled at whatever grip on the constricting arm could be found. Or at least that was the intent, exposed muscles flexing against the torn flesh and broken bones when fingers tried to curl at the fabric of Hawke's shirt almost for stability. Consciousness was slipping away, writhing body racked with the widening laceration as the Champion jerked the dagger into a carving motion.

The man was speaking again, his voice muffled and distant behind the pounding in the downed elf’s head, blood rushing yet circulation had been cut off and only pressure could be felt building in his skull. Only when the dagger was angled and yanked against untouched flesh did his body attempt to sink itself into blissful unconsciousness. An alleviation to the torturous waves of sensations that pierced through the elf that had begun to lose what little strength he had found again. He could not scream, or protest against the Champion, and even worse he could not remove himself from the other who forced him down with strength and pain in tandem. Tears sprang into his eyes, unbidden and unwanted, and Valasan closed his eyes against them. All too willing to fall back into the darkness that closed in with a comforting touch that could never be felt by the one who brought it upon him, time was lost again as Valasan briefly slipped from wakefulness.

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Asmodeus Hawke
 Posted: Feb 14 2018, 02:35 AM
Quote
Asmodeus Hawke
35 YEARS OLD
he/him
Mage
24
POSTS
Human
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Knight Enchanter
Champion
Craig
he/him - CST


Desperation, it ghosted upon the elf’s silenced form in the way muscles shifted and pulled upon one another in a blind scramble to remove oneself where it could not be done. Yet the boy tried so hard to be granted this freedom as fingers curled thoughtlessly as panicked breathes were drawn in quickly with a whistling echoing upon each breath. Ears fell back as those fingers turned to a hand rising with retaliation though the pressure of a blade grinding against nerves, embedded into flesh, caused it to fall away quickly with an unwillingness to move. Yet as that discomfort rose so did the mage as teeth set harshly against the Champion’s palm as fangs set deeply into the skin and once they hooked into place they refused to let go.

Air hissed sharply between Hawke’s teeth as the immediate reaction was to pull back against the pressure in an attempt to pull the caught flesh from the trap it had been placed in. However, that vice was alive and determined to not let go as fear had overridden every other action that could have been taken. It drew the serpent to strike, to lash out and make contact with the elven male’s features with a fist once and then twice. The second was unneeded but it was constructed from the ire which had long built within the Champion towards the Dalish and each act, each word, only shoved the boy deeper into a grave he had not known was there till now. Though it was evident now, realization was there for fear clouded the air long before the first blow sent a shock of pain through each nerve.

Those consecutive connections were all that was needed to set the foolish boy back against the cot. A body falling from the position it had gained as a crown was forcefully cocked to the side by Asmodeus’ violent touch. Such a position did not last even as the elf shifted painfully against the cot to allow tinted saliva to spatter upon the dirt. Valasan’s comfort, his desire to still the acts of the human, it would be unheard as a ragged voice pulled upon his tongue. Wavering tones that could not fight through the haze of anger that lead the male’s actions against the downed elf as that wounded palm so easily found his throat and forced the smaller individual back.

Struggle became known quickly as gasps attempt to urgently fill lungs with the air they begged for though it would never be enough as Hawke has his own desperation when it came to this situation. It showed in the way that injured hand rest so violently against the male’s throat and in the way fingers curled against his throat only to set down with the weight of the Champion behind it. The elf’s body shifted, lurched beneath the touch, as panic was clearly seen in the way those widened eyes stared out into the tent. Hawke could feel that racing pulse beneath his fingertips as a worried heart worked overtime as if it would make a difference, it could only widen the way a displaced grin spread upon the man’s features. A tongue lashing though words were lost on the elf who froze in place, unable to scream, as the blade was pulled down through untouched muscling.

Torn flesh twitched as severed connections attempted to fight against their displacement, a fruitless task. Nearly as hopeless as the way a pierced hand rose against Asmodeus. Eyes, though they longed to watch the features of the Dalish contort with agony, shifted to look upon the mangled hand as it pulled anxiously against the cloth of his shirt. Hawke did not rise to swat it away, he did not berate on this one note, for eyes had been drawn to the way the exposed muscling and tendons flexed upon one another in an attempt to complete the action of grasping at the fabric it sought. Bones shifting, poking in an angle they were not meant to, and thus leaving a broken hand unable to complete the action it wished to do. It didn’t last much longer as that dark gaze dragged itself back down upon the elf’s features as what strength was attempted to be shown fell flat as tears welled within the elf’s vision, eyelids falling against them as if they would be missed.

How mistaken the poor boy was even as his consciousness threatened to fade away, it wasn’t allowed, Valasan must remain awake. Thus came a release of the hold upon the dazed elf’s throat as air and blood were allowed to flow freely once again. With it came a shift to the Champion’s actions as fingers drew smoothly up the front of the Dalish’s neck till that touch found itself settled upon the smaller being’s jaw. Slowly the hand which had found placement upon the dagger ran over the torn muscling of the shoulder before fingertips came to trace upon the male’s jawline till the action stilled. Palms running up till they cupped the elven features between them before delivering an almost gentle squeeze as thumbs came to trace each curve of Valasan’s cheek. An act that found itself stemming from the corner of those faded emeralds as if willing the tears to roll from place.

Static cracked upon Hawke’s palms, spitting against the elf’s cheeks as if to draw him fully into reality once more. The strength behind it was nowhere near the jolt sent into that rapid heart but Asmodeus was hopeful that it would be enough to garner the attention of even one who dared to slip away. And it was with such an action that vocals whirred with a sense of delight, “Come now, boy, don’t cry just yet.” Mockery twisting itself upon each lyric that pulled forth as the bearded man leaned closer, “We aren’t done here.” With those words one of the palms fell from Valasan’s features as the other ran along his jawline till fingers came to curl back against the other male’s chin only to push back with increased pressure as if to hold that trap of fangs shut in another fashion.

“Keep your eyes open,” the demand spat from the man’s lips as a displaced palm shifted back across the shivering nerves of the worn down shoulder only to stop when fingers came to wrap themselves about the dagger’s hilt once more. “They did not get far, did they?” Hawke mused aloud as a touch that could so easily twist into violence toyed upon the buried weapon, tugging upon it briefly. “All they were capable of was allowing you to die.” By now the viper’s fangs were exposed in a knowing smirk, “Good thing I came along, huh?” The serpent was fixated, dark eyes staring down at those tear clouded eyes that dared to close in an attempt to bite back the tears that had budded into place. Such things spoke far more than the whimper which rose within the elf’s throat when even the gentlest of shifts lead the blade to grind against sensitive nerves. It was exhilarating even in the way that quiet noise vibrated beneath the Champion’s touch.

“Unfortunately for you healing comes with a price,” and such a payment was in the hands of Hawke alone. For with those words fingers curled about the dagger’s end before strength was put against it, not to push in, but to pull it back while allowing the blade to dig roughly against the structure it had begun to carve from place. Blood wept freely from the newest wound upon the downed Dalish as crimson came to seep against the mixed fabric of the makeshift bed. Anguish was quick to sound upon Valasan’s lips as it was expelled upon the next breath. A body tensed to the unwelcome sensation as it attempted to turn upon the injury, comfort it in a way, though the serpent who slithered out of Kirkwall would not have it. A blade brought down quickly near the elf’s skull were it embedded itself into the cot as sharpened lyrics fell from his lips, “Don’t you move.”

They fell off there, only for a moment, as a hand pulled from the dagger and fingers once more found themselves pressed against Valasan’s skin. “I’m giving you far more than you’re worth.” Which in the eyes of a man such as Asmodeus it was assistance of any kind, no matter the violence behind it. Fingers pushed themselves beneath the fabric that remained against the elf’s shoulder before allowing them to trail against that freckled skin till a palm brushed over the furthest curve, rolling against the point of the shoulder. It was there the tattered cloth was lain to rest as eyes looked upon the fully exposed wound. Digits prodded at the entrance to the wound as if questioning the process needed to resolve an issue caused by none other than himself. However, the answer was already there, soon it was to become known in the way it crawled from the Champion’s throat.

“I advise you do not make a sound,” fingers curled tighter against that angled jaw as a sound of protest rang in a suppressed sob from a throat that was growing weary from abuse. With it rose false tones as if they were meant to sooth that broken tone, “Hush now, or it may never end.” As lyrics died upon Hawke’s tongue fingers were quick to push against the wound, curling into the opening as if to test the reaction of the other mage before those digits sunk in as deep as the other’s body allowed. Beneath the serpent’s touch he could feel the way the other’s jaw tensed as teeth ground together and a body reacted in a panic to remove itself from the pain inflicted to freely upon it. Wilting away from the volatile touch as if it would go away, simple as that.

Valasan was mistaken in that regard for even as silence desperately tried to be held, as muffled cries fell against the back of his teeth, the pain would not subside. The only soothing feeling that was presented was when magic sputtered from the invasive touch as the Champion’s fingers ran through the bruised muscle of the elf’s shoulder. It was a broken offering that carved its way through the separated portions of skin as it attempted to pull together, though the path was disjointed as wounds could only mend so much as one heartlessly sought to destroy in the process.

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Valasan Lavellan
 Posted: Feb 15 2018, 12:15 AM
Quote
Valasan Lavellan
25 YEARS OLD
He, him
Mage
136
POSTS
Elf
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Rift Mage & Spirit Healer
Inquisition Battlemage
Isilzheha
He/Him/Monster - EST


It was unknown how much pain he could endure; Valasan had encountered it before in multiple ways throughout his life but never had it been inflicted on such an intense magnitude. Forced to feel every ache and every burning, the elf did not know how his body continued under such duress. The Champion played a part in that, even if the acts to keep him conscious and aware came out of the man's own malicious hatred, and that silence Valasan so desperately craved was stolen away once more by a brief snap of electricity that felt more like a slap to his mind. It was but a brief reprieve not granted for long, blood rushing in his ears accompanied by a faint, disorienting ringing that traveled to the back of his mind when the dagger was wrenched. The numbing was incessant, muscles rendered useless save for the reflexive twitching as the elf’s body adopted a tremor. His right hand had fallen away when he blacked out, that squeezing grip on his throat relenting though the callused hand did not pull back and only trailed up the expanse of tattooed skin to settle beneath his chin. Oxygen was pulled greedily into his lungs with a raspy gasp, chest expanding with the force of it until it caused him to cough painfully with the sharp inhale. Muscles in his abdomen clenched involuntarily with the action, ribs smarting with a jabbing reminder that his body was battered. Fingers found Valasan’s jaw once again as they turned upwards ever so slightly, though pressure was not applied as it had been before with bruising force that only added to the discolored flesh already present.

He swallowed, congealed blood felt and tasted as it trickled down and the mage had to fight the urge to cough again. The Dalish had opened his eyes again, blinking against the sting of the tears before becoming aware of the hands that cradled his face. Once rough and heavy they became light and gentle, pads of the Champion’s thumbs tracing lines across the slope of hs cheekbones and the tattooed elf pursed his trembling lip to still it. Nausea was quick to follow with the words the man spoke, disorientation swept away by the constant clarity forced upon his tired mind and body. A gaze that had settled against the darkened features of the shem pulled away at the look that rested there, golden eyes holding that telltale absence of care, replaced with a glint of hatred and foul intent that the Dalish had dealt with before. There was nowhere for his head to go to escape the too-warm hands, bruises hardly stirred by the ghosting touch that slipped back down to where the twisted dagger still remained. More blood was left to mix with the already dried mask of it that crusted along his cheeks from the man's wounded hand, the punctures disallowed a moment to coagulate with continuous touch, this time settling against Valasan’s chin. Teeth were forced together with the firm pressure of the Champion's rough hand, neck lacking the strength to attempt to lift his head against the wounded touch.

The other hand occupied itself with the dagger that was now at an angle more severe than it had been before, untouched flesh sliced with the motion and despite the arm having numbed Valasan could feel each miniscule shift of the human's hand upon it. The way it trembled through the blade with each subtle movement the dark-haired man made flashed in his mind, signals flaring to life within the gouged flesh until he was acutely aware of what was happening and eyelids fluttered with despair. A sharp tone cut against him, a far cry from even the mocking ones that had been uttered before, and Valasan winced at the demand to keep his eyes open. In that he did, subtle twitches finding his form as the Champion continued to hold the dagger, poised threateningly even as the human mused aloud. Air was taken in with a small intake, chin tilting upwards in a flinch when the dagger was nudged as if the elf needed reminded of its presence. The Champion's voice lifted once more with an airy tone, words nothing more than an observation in passing with the intent to drive home the fact that the nothingness he had succumbed to before truly had been nothing. If not for the immediate threat positioned beside him that fact would have brought him to hysterics, Valasan certainly not wanting to die, least of all at the hands of the violent creature who tugged with a testing pull at the blade yet again.

The things he said were harsh, intended to carve their way through the elf’s mind and despite knowing that it was meant to harm he could not help but feel the truth of it. Shadows beyond the entrance into the tent had filtered away, space given to the construction as if to allow the man to work even if he was doing anything but that. There was no telling how much time had passed, or would pass, until someone did not have the inclination to heed the Champion. That is, if anyone were to come at all. Such thoughts pulled Valasan’s gaze away as much as it was allowed grimacing when the dagger was tugged yet again. The Dalish could not stop the choppy intakes of strained breath, nor the stuttering whimper that seemed to catch in his throat. So slight that it was Valasan could not say for sure that he had uttered it, eyes having closed against the pain that caused them to burn. No other outlet was presented to him, body reacting against his will even though the Dalish knew the human ultimately would not care what he did. Such a despicable person so deeply rooted in their ways had no room for change, and that was evident in his cruelty disguised as a helping hand.

Before Valasan could attempt to say anything or do anything the dark-haired man pulled at the dagger again, a slow fashion that began the blade’s exit from his body at last. Even that act was not free of pain, the mage’s body lurching as the sharp edges dragged along the inside of muscle and flesh, and immediately that drew an almost pleading groan from his throat. A sound that was internalized, the Dalish still not able to scream with frustrating persistence from the hand still braced against his chin and jaw. Sweat still clung to his body, trailing down from his disheveled hair, and his skin was beginning to grow all too warm even when it drained and took on a more pale pallor. Valasan tried to turn and pull the shoulder away as blood wept freely, so much blood lost yet the wounded was not allowed to recover it. Many things were not allowed, it would seem, for Valasan could feel more than see the arm lifting that held the bloodied dagger. In the human's fingers it shifted, turning downwards and seconds later it was coming down. Valasan froze as eyes widened, waiting for the added agony, and he flinched away when the weapon was buried inches from his head instead. Into the bed it landed, and that was where it stayed, heart skipping a bit as if the rapid pattern was not irregular enough already.

Compliance seemed to do very little in the way of placating the twisted individual despite his demands, but it was forced with the lingering, unspoken promise of the human making it worse than it was now. How close the dagger sat, blood dripping down the parts still uncovered, and temptation could only rise when Hawke pulled his hand away and left the weapon open. A daring act, and no doubt a lure, though Valasan could not get his hand to cooperate no matter the thought that crossed his mind to grab it and turn it against the man as he had before. Hawke continued to belittle him, staking claim on the supposed favors he was granting the brutalized elf yet Valasan had no gratitude to give him. All that remained was the fear, disgust, and panic, running through his thoughts in an ever present cycle the longer he remained motionless. Energy had been drained considerably, a brief flicker of that connection making itself known yet it remained just out of reach. What little help it would be anyways, if the elf managed to pull the magic forth, given the state of his mindset. Hawke's hand slid beneath the fabric of his shirt, fingers moving along the skin with a delicate touch and briefly Valasan could recall the close proximity the Champion had placed himself within when they first encountered one another. A sense of dread far more twisted than the fear of pain settled heavily in his sinking stomach.

The fabric was pulled aside, threads of it torn and sticking to the wound and it peeled back as the shirt was displaced. Valasan’s head shook as much as it was allowed, which wasn't much, as he felt the fingers against the edge of the carved flesh. It stung, the tiniest touch causing the Dalish to squirm as his eyes dropped to where the Champion's hand rested precariously upon his body. The man's grip tightened against his jaw, pressing down on the bruises along the left side and stirring further discomfort as they flared to life, and with it came the barely veiled threat to keep quiet. It was not something he could do, Valasan fairly certain he knew what was coming next. ”Please, you don’t…” he said through clenched teeth, voice catching in his ruined throat as it trembled, small and tapering off into a hardly contained sob of grief and pain. He swallowed again, trying to find his voice so he could attempt to give the man pause. A far stretch, and he knew that, but his mind was just as worn as his body, clinging to false hopes. ”You don’t have to do this. You made your point.” The words came forth a little stronger now even if it was pleading, a disbelief still in place that someone could be so heartless walking amongst them supposedly on the same side and allowed to remain there.

Such knowing thoughts were confirmed without necessity as the human chimed in again. A soothing promise that it all would continue if Valasan did not still his tongue, the human casting his words aside and fingertips bent to prod at the open gash. Valasan sucked in a breath, feeling each digit crawling along the exposed nerve endings and his body stiffened as the elf tried to flatten himself away from the unwanted touch. It was when the fingers were shoved deeper that Valasan choked, brows knitting together as he struggled to stifle the noise that began to climb up his throat. The pain was excruciating, and it did not take long for a mangled cry to slip forth, muffled by teeth that were still pressed together. Eyes blinked at the tears that slipped down as blood pooled beneath him and impulsively a newfound burst of strength was turned against the human with a punctured hand. He did not need to grip to shove against him, shoulder twisting and head turning to the side as if he could pull himself free though the hand only gripped tighter. Mindless pushing is all that the Dalish could accomplish, far weaker than he intended though it jarred the shem whose hand only chased him further down until there was nowhere left for the elf’s weight to be distributed.

Magic crackled in the air, a warmth blooming throughout the wound that was not unpleasant as a lazy attempt to mend the carved flesh was put into place. Hawke yanked at his head, strain put into his neck as Valasan fought the grip but could not hold the resistance before he was straightened out again. A mind warred with the duality between the comforting presence of the magic and the agonizing intrusion, the Champion only shoving down further until the elf whimpered and ceased his renewed struggling. Only then did the man pull back, focus becoming difficult through the haze of the tears the Dalish could no longer stop, a trickling display of the anguish he felt. Valasan did not look at him even as the other mage stared upon him, gaze remaining fixated upon the ceiling even as a question was asked and no answer would be offered. The bleeding had been stopped, Hawke removing his fingers with a final tug as the gash pulled together minisculely, Valasan wincing at the tug only for a battered frame already tense to jerk when a none too gentle slap was given to the poorly healed wound. A hand that lingered, Valasan resigning himself to silence even when the one bracketing his jaw tentatively fell away.

That predatory stare lingered, dark eyes holding a malicious intent that had not lessened, and the Champion straightened himself out as he grabbed the dagger from where it was still embedded. A pointed ear twitched at the closeness of it, the sound cutting through his senses as the larger man hefted it in his uninjured hand and stalked around to stand at the elf’s feet. Valasan tracked the movement warily, temptation to call out once again rising yet as emerald eyes dropped to the blade the fear of where the blade might end up quelled the urge. Suddenly hands were against his legs, Valasan startling as fingers found purchase and his body was roughly pulled down the makeshift bed. It brought the Champion closer, situated between his legs and the movement stirred the fractured ribs. ”No!” he gasped, an elbow curling against the cot as if he would be allowed to pull himself away. Harshly one of the hands remained, the other placing the sharp edge of the dagger against his throat. Valasan froze, chest heaving once again as panic made dull revitalized itself.

A threat upon his life, one that held truth in the way it shone in the Champion's eyes, and barely after he had spoke the drenched blade was twisted to slide dangerously close to his skin beneath the collar of his shirt. Cold steel and blood still wet streaked against tattooed flesh, and audibly the shirt was torn with a tugging motion until it sliced open easily. A violent shudder pulled down Valasan’s spine, a nauseating panic gripping him and causing him to lift his left leg as the vile human began to lean forward. The sole of his boot planted firmly against Hawke's hip, Valasan shoving backwards to allow for the other leg to rise only this one was kicked into the man's face. The pain was drowned temporarily, adrenaline bursting forth and no time was wasted in sending another kick against the Champion's body only for another to follow suit in quick, desperate succession. He did not know where he had hit, nor did he care, the other mage cast backwards enough for the Dalish to twist and for a leg to swing over the side of the bed.

The sudden movement as he lurched upwards caused black spots to swim in his vision, left arm struggling to find feeling again and leaving Valasan to lean against the other arm as he braced the trembling limb to push himself up. An action that gave him a crushing lightheadedness, Valasan swaying as a twinge ripped through his side and his face contorted into a grimace. The distance looked longer, tunnel vision stretching out the feet that actually lay between him and freedom as a thin layer of sweat clung to his surprisingly cold skin. In his adamant attempt to remain upright he did not think to call out again to those no doubt still standing beyond the cover of the tent, taking a step away from the bed and praying that his leg would hold his weight. His left arm hung uselessly, neither of them adequately functional enough to catch himself should he fall, but that was the furthest thing from his mind as his chin dipped and he strove to be free.

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