Hello travelers, and welcome to The Truth About Monsters. We are a Dragon Age: Inquisition forum with a minimum word count of 250 words. We know the outcome of this tragic story, but it's up to you how we get there and what choices are made along the way. So come sit by the fire, rest a while, but beware; here there be monsters.
1 April Happy Easter everyone! To celebrate we have a mini event going called The Grand Tourney. Check it out: Here!
NEED TO KNOW
CANON LIST
WANT ADS
Q & A
MEMBER DIRECTORY
SITE LORE
TUMBLR
SITE CREDITS

 
Add Reply
New Topic

 Ethos of Coercion, for jordie
Everett
 Posted: Dec 18 2017, 03:33 PM
Quote
Everett
32 YEARS OLD
He/Him
Rogue
56
POSTS
Human
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Duelist
Pirate
Isilzheha
He/Him/Monster - EST


27 Drakonis, 9:40

Tevinter proved itself a valuable source of income once again, as it often did despite the twisted souls that resided within the country. Everett had no love for the abundance of mages Minrathous harbored, their mere presence a slight to his own in his mind though they were good only for manipulation to gain what he desired. In this case that would be a compiled list of coordinates that would lead to way to hidden caches a black market dealer had stashed away down South. Among other things, of course, for it wasn’t just such a list that had garnered his interest. The pirate could only assume the dealer would miss it considerably, yet no remorse could find him. Even less given the trade the man dabbled in, leashes traded from one hand to another with less than pleasant intentions. Everett knew the man personally, and it was what gave a much sweeter satisfaction to have stolen from him. He was a paranoid man, keeping his enemies closer than what little friends he had and his resources even closer still. His crew had suffered a loss during the acquisition of the list, something that Everett had grown used to. They were fodder to him and nothing more, even the ones he had come to hold close at his flanks, and it would not be hard to replace the one they lost.

While the slave trade did not sway the minute moral compass he claimed to have, he did consider it a waste of time and effort. Keeping slaves was tedious work at best, leaving room for error and Everett simply didn’t have the patience for it. Most of the ones who turned to it were too skeevy for his tastes, giving more hindrances than they did any ground covered in maintaining an easy flow of coin. So ultimately that is what drove the rogue to pluck the treasured list from the man’s study where it had been tucked away on the underside of the desk. Not terribly difficult to find, all in all, yet it had not come without a price. One that Everett gladly paid with the life of one of his own, knowing the significance such things would have on his most recent venture. Gold, weapons, supplies; it would all be necessary for an expedition he had been planning for quite some time now. Once they had cleaned out the caches they would turn their sights upon obtaining a larger ship and adding more into the fold so they could travel further North.

Within his cabin beneath the helm the rogue sat behind his desk, the gentle groan of the ship as it sailed as smoothly as the oceans would allow the only sound that broke the silence aside from the scratch of the tip of the quill against the parchment splayed out before him. Carefully he marked the locations, transferring the information in case the list should be lost so he could keep it on his person, an easy sway of the brigantine going unnoticed to one so used to the gyrating motions the vessel would take. The silence was soon disturbed, however, by a commotion outside on the deck. Pale blue eyes rolled upwards with mild irritation, chin still tipped towards his current task as he idly waited for whatever it was to settle so he didn’t have to intervene. It would not be something that was resolved on its own apparently, made evident when voices chimed outside his door and hurried steps thudded against the wood. One sounded as if it were scrapping and struggling to find purchase, the other planted firmly before the door was pushed open with more force than was necessary. Everett’s eyebrows furrowed in disdain, exasperation felt when he saw Emil step into the cabin. He wasn’t the only one. Within his grasp he had the arm of another man the pirate had never seen before. In the other what he assumed to be some of his belongings.

Those of which were promptly discarded on the floor when the scarred elf dropped them, dark eyes glinting and a sneer painted across his angled features. ‘Bishop found him below decks, cramped up behind some of the planks. I reckon he dug his way in there when we were at port,’ the elf said in hopes of explaining the situation, the one he held captive looking about the cabin and commenting with an almost lordly air to his smooth voice on the ship itself. It earned him an irritated look, a darkened glint sparking within Everett’s eyes as he leaned back slowly in his chair to properly look at the man. ‘Some kind of mage, judging by the shit he had with him,’ Emil offered helpfully, and Everett could see just beyond the open door that some of his crew stood at the ready with blades in hand should this man attempt to try anything. Eyes trailed over the somewhat malnourished frame, musculature still well kept and he couldn’t have been on the ship for long. Dark stubble trailed along his jawline, looking out of place with the coiffed mustache on his upper lip. Some straps crossed over his chest and arm, rendering him otherwise naked from the waist up and Everett wasn’t sure if that was a style thing or functional to whatever he may have been wearing before.

With a slow intake of breath and eyebrows raising eyes moved down to the trousers he wore, a belt holding a dagger that had not been removed and several pouches that looked heavy with whatever was in them. Awkwardly the taller man stood, the one presumed to be a mage, and Everett put his hands upon his desk to push to stand. Fingers wrapped around the hilt of his blade that was in its sheath that had been draped over the back of the chair, pulling it out and moving around the desk. The stowaway began to speak again, lips parting and Everett leveled the point of his dagger in his direction. ”Not a fucking word out of you,” he said evenly, accented voice low and calm. Attentions lingered for a moment before shifting to Emil. ”Get Bishop, toss him over the side. I will not suffer fools who overlook wasters tucked away on my ship.” The scarred elf dipped his chin, a hint of a smile upon his lips and a devious look taking over as he eagerly stepped out of the cabin and closed the door behind him. It left Everett alone with the dark-haired man, a delicate chin tilted up in a display of silent defiance. A dangerous look was given him, eyes following the length of his body once more only this time in idle contemplation.

He looked a little worse for wear, although Everett had certainly seen worse. His head tilted, lower lip pulled into his mouth to drag through his teeth though it was a tick of frustration rather than anything else. ”Now,” he said, gaze lifting back to the hazel eyes that glared back, ”what do we do with you, hm?”. Surprisingly he remained quiet, what little good it would do for him. Calculated steps brought him closer as his head straightened and his chin pulled up, a hand finding the supposed mage’s hip so fingers could curl harshly against it. Bracing his body he pressed the flat of the blade against his thigh, sliding it up with precision until it got beneath the belt and he twisted his wrist, pulling the dagger away to slice through the belt with an aggressive yank. Grabbing it with his other hand it was tossed behind him, clattering to the ground and leaving him fully disarmed now. Everett made a mental note to reprimand the elf for not doing so when he had him in his clutches, though if this man truly is a mage then a little dagger would not be missed.

The rogue planted a hand against the taller man’s bare chest, shoving him bodily against the wall of the cabin and before the other could react the edge of his blade found his throat. Pressing down firmly it forced his chin up slightly, Everett’s pale gaze boring into him with nothing but malice. ”Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right here, right now, and toss your body as well so I can get back to what I was doing.” His voice had grown harsh, a hissing murmur that betrayed his distaste for the one that had been made to disrupt him and his crew. He had dealt with stowaways before, often times more frail and desperate than this one. The unknown man held an air of pomposity that ground against his nerves, and Everett would allow him to speak now if only to satiate a small curiosity as to why he had hidden himself away on the wrong vessel.

PM
Dorian Pavus
 Posted: Dec 20 2017, 02:52 AM
Quote
Dorian Pavus
32 YEARS OLD
He/Him
Mage
21
POSTS
Human
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Necromancer
Pariah
JordiePie
She/Her - Eastern


The gentle rocking of the boat, Dorian mused as he leaned his sore back against the wooden barrel behind him with his knees drawn to his chest, could have reminded him of his mothers hold, were he an infant. Well into adulthood, however, the persistent motion of the ship was all but soothing, the nausea that had made home in his stomach from the moment he snuck on board and the ship set sail like an ever present second cousin who would not leave him alone. He had snuck on the ship while it docked in Minrathous, having had the last of his coin stolen so he could no longer buy his way on with tender. Panicking, as the danger of staying so close to his family loomed farther and farther over his shoulder, he decided he had no other choice but to stow away on one of the ships, planning to ride it for as long as possible before the risk grew too great and he deemed it necessary to sneak off. Though he was no rogue, the initial task of sneaking on board proved fairly simple; if you acted with enough confidence, no one would suspect you were doing anything wrong. So Dorian had pulled off his robe and tied it around his waist so it looked like an ordinary shirt, grabbed a crate on the ground he assumed was to be loaded, and, when no one was looking, picked it up and proceeded to carry it onboard. Being able to use the crate to cover his face was ingenious; no one had assumed anything, and when someone’s gaze turned his way, he just hoisted the crate up higher to hide his identity. He figured sneaking off wouldn’t be nearly as easy, but he’d managed to get to the bottom deck below the sleeping quarters without being caught, so perhaps the Maker was on his side.

Dorian had been hidden away, a small hideaway made by a barrel and three crates stacked together, for what he could guess was nearly a week with little food and water. He ate his dried beef carefully, proportioning it just enough so he could make it last at least two weeks, but water he was even more cautious with, allowing only a couple of drinks throughout the day. He had no notion of time, having no light save for what seeped through the cracks in the wood above his head, and his inner body workings had him falling asleep and awakening at irregular intervals which made it far more difficult to guess a time. His sea sickness wasn’t doing him any favors either, but luckily the small amature healing spell he picked up on when he was a child was perfect for keeping his upset stomach at bay. He couldn’t risk losing what little nutrients he was getting being ill, and worse yet was the risk of revealing his hiding place. So when he got nauseous, he murmured the spell to himself and satiated his stomach for the time being. But apart from physically, mentally he wasn’t doing too well either. He was dirty, or felt dirty at least, not having had a proper bath since he left Minrathous, and days down below deck in the hot and stale air made a layer of grime coat his upper body that was still bare, it having been too hot to even dream of covering his arms. His face itched from unwanted facial stubble growing in places it shouldn’t, and his hair had gotten so thick with grease he didn’t even want to imagine what it felt like to touch at that moment. He was miserable, dirty, sick, and his legs were so cramped from staying in his sitting position for so many hours at a time he wondered if it was possible they’d freeze like that. Still, he toughed it out, every day praying to the Maker he was just a little bit closer to getting off the awful contraption.

It had been one of Dorian’s periods of rest where his stomach settled just enough to allow him to fall asleep, and no sooner had he done so had he been roughly grabbed by the arm and forcefully pulled over the crate with such force that the corner of the crate had caught him in the side and he felt his skin slice open, pain shooting up when he was tossed on the ground. Still in his half asleep daze, however, he had no chance of fighting back as multiple sets of hands were on him, shouts and footsteps filling his ears as he was spoken to, but the jumbled words of his assailants blended together so he couldn’t make heads or tails of what they were shouting. They probably realized this too as a hand slapped his face and another hand off to the side pointed the tip of a sword at him. What are you doing here? He heard someone ask again, this time the words processed clearly. They didn’t wait for his answer, however, before he was roughly pulled to his feet, hands on his back shoving him forward into the person in front of him, before he was pulled by the arm once more and the limb was twisted behind his back. Fully awake now and inwardly panicking, he started to struggle, which earned him a kick in the back of the knee. Dorian, falling and barely catching himself on his good knee, turned to snap ‘If you want me to move faster then don’t trip me up!’ but he was gifted another slap in the face for attempting to speak. With a growl, he forced himself back on his feet to save himself his remaining dignity, and began walking in the direction they were leading him with his own power.

He was lead up the stairs to the deck, momentarily blinded by the sunlight (so it was late afternoon then, it seemed) and urged towards the door that stood towards his right center of the ship. The captain’s cabin, he assumed, where he was to be possibly tortured and murdered at best, and at worst, thrown overboard to be eaten by sharks. Perhaps he’d be given a chance to explain himself, though he doubted on a pirate ship they cared much for what a stowaway had to say. Not that Dorian had been taking up much space to begin with, but the principle of someone sneaking on board unnoticed and uninvited was enough to set a pirate in a frenzy. He’d heard tales of people being murdered by a pirate for doing a lot less.

The door was shoved open, the man holding him by his arm shoving him in with the same aggressive force of a gorilla, despite him being elven and a whole head shorter than Dorian himself. Still, if the scars on his face were any indication, he wasn’t an elf to be reckoned with when he needed to be, and Dorian took the time he spent explaining the situation to take a look around the new room as his eyes adjusted from the assault on them but moments before. It was spacious, with just the large oak desk and chair, where a dark haired man sat seated, a look of possible intrigue pasted on his scarred features. Dorian’s eyes skimmed over him in disinterest, taking in the papers of various importance scattered about the desk instead. A large wooden chest sat in the corner, a few barrels and crates on the opposite sides, but other than that there was little in the way of decoration. “So this is the lair of a pirate captain? Fascinating. There are far fewer parrots than I imagined,” he said, instantly earning a dagger pointed at his throat. The man was quick; Dorian had barely seen him move before he was standing before him, intrigue replaced with irritation as he ordered a member of his own crew thrown overboard as if the decision required no thought or remorse on his part. Steely gaze ordered his silence, which Dorian obliged if only to get a better look at his captive before his death.Hard lines weathered from life at sea and thick scars from countless battles greeted him while steel colored eyes bore holes in his skin from the intensity they scrutinized him with. His arm was released as the elf behind him turned and left, and Dorian, in his best act of defiance in a losing situation, stuck his nose of at the shorter man. Now that they were alone together, he wasn’t sure what would happen, just that he would die a sarcastic shit than a quivering coward.

Their gazes met, and while Dorian settled on a silent glare, the captain’s expression was nearly unreadable, no doubt from years of experience in interrogation. Hands found his hip and, with the tip of his dagger trailing up his thigh, Dorian held still while his belt was sliced off his body, tossed off to the side while Dorian was slammed up against the wall, the edge of the dagger pressed against the skin of his throat far too close for comfort. Rage, malice, two of the worst kind of emotions were directed towards him and, with a sharp blade threatening to slice the thin skin beneath it, the situation was most definitely not ideal. It was true that he’d been given a chance to explain himself, that was in his favor at least, but he doubted anything he could say would appease a pirate. “You know, I was just thinking that your quaint little office here could use more decoration, however I don’t think the red from my blood would match the warm earthy atmosphere you have going on in here. It’d be an awful mess to clean up, and I don’t believe you’d get anything more done with those brutes in here taking care of it then you would if you left me alive.” He paused, reconsidering tactics, but his mind was a bit fuzzy from his small diet the past week and having sat in darkness in a cramped corner for hours on end. His legs were sore and his cheeks hurt from being struck, and at this point he wasn’t even sure he had the patience to gamble with his own life. He was irked and tired, sick, and all he had in him were snide comments that were sure to get him killed. But, of course, he had a mission, and dying was a last resort.

“There’s also the fact that I’m heading out to join the growing inquisition in Ferelden. Maybe you’ve heard about them? Or have seen the big glowy hole in the sky? I know I have all the way in Tevinter.” Alexius, his former mentor, had written to him once or twice about the massive grouping in Ferelden after the explosion at the conclave, however his son Felix had warned him of his fathers involvement with the Venatori and requested Dorian’s aid. The timing couldn’t have been better, seeing as he was looking for an excuse to leave Tevinter after the latest fallout with his father, and if he could help the bud of the inquisition and foil what Alexius was planning, it was for the best of everyone. “I’m hoping to use their resources to help my people and free the slaves back in my home country, which is the reason I stowed away on your ship. Terribly sorry for the inconvenience I caused you, being below deck, completely out of the way and causing to harm to anyone, and all.” He glared again, his fingers pulsing with magic building up for release, though he kept his gaze steady and his powers at bay. If he could get out of this situation peacefully, that would be preferred. He might be able to defeat the captain and a few of his men, though there was no way he could take on an entire crew in his state. Not to mention he was trapped on a ship with no ability to steer it. He needed everyone alive.


PM
Everett
 Posted: Dec 22 2017, 02:59 PM
Quote
Everett
32 YEARS OLD
He/Him
Rogue
56
POSTS
Human
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Duelist
Pirate
Isilzheha
He/Him/Monster - EST


The stowaway was biding his time, haughty disposition retained even in his decided silence once the dagger had been thrust against his throat. He stood taller than Everett but the pirate had taken down much larger men than he, a good handful of those being mages. If this one would be much of the same then he might as well cut him open and leave him for dead. Instead he stilled his hand despite the desire to give this nuisance of a man another mouth upon his body, if only to hear him out. Being this close he could smell his musk, the sweat clinging to his body in layers of grime but it didn’t bother the pirate. He was used to it, even if he often took care of himself where others did not. Everett was not fond of growing sick, nor did he like to draw attention to himself when they were at port. Not very many things could get done that way when people could see your disheveled appearance and smell you a mile away. He could see the thoughts reeling in the nameless man’s eyes despite the composure he kept in the face of his potential death. He didn’t know if the rogue had already decided his fate or not; for all he knew Everett already made the plans to kill and dispose of him. This amused the Ferelden, gaze dropping to the mage’s lips when they parted and he took in a breath to begin explaining himself.

Everett’s eyes narrowed slightly, edge of the blade still tucked beneath his chin until the skin of his throat puckered around it and almost drew blood. His other hand still braced against his chest, fingers curling to grab the straps that crossed over it. The pirate glared in irritation when he mentioned the décor of his cabin, or lack thereof, and said that his blood would only mar the set up he had. Among the irritation he gathered a small amount of amusement at the words, corner of his mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly. It did not reach his eyes, those of which continued to bore into his quarry with indifference. He hummed idly in contemplation, head tilting as he regarded the taller man. ”You underestimate my ability to care. Maybe I quite like having corpses lying about, rotting away while I go about my life,” he mused, watching as he paused and mulled over the words. It required a change in his tone, although it retained a lofty sound that would be pleasant to listen to if it wasn’t directing sarcasm towards him. More of it spilled forth with talk of the Breach, the ripped open wound in the skies able to be seen no matter where you were in Thedas. It consumed a great portion, although Everett could not say that he cared. It showed on his face as eyebrows rose and he pulled his head back to really look at the mage.

”The hole gets bigger, and my pockets get heavier. I thrive on the chaos, mage. It’s good for business,” he countered, fingers uncurling away from the straps so his palm could find his bare flesh. It was warm, a little too warm for comfort, and he could feel each breath as his chest heaved and his hand wandered to the cut he saw before. The tanned skin of his cheek was reddened on one side of his face, and it was clear that some of his crew had not been too kind to the man who had stashed himself away on board. It was interesting that he had plans to join the Inquisition and spoke so boldly of them, considering the fact many did not look on the stumbling and weak organization with fondness. ”I have heard of them, not that there is much to hear. I wouldn’t be surprised if all the demons made quick work of them before they can do anything substantial.” He grinned at that, hand finding his side again and squeezing hard against the shallow cut. The mage was glaring now, a flicker of pain alighting in those hazel eyes yet he did not wince. He was determined to stick with it, this desperate clinging to something that had a rocky foundation at best and Everett couldn’t help but find it somewhat pitiful. He never could understand the call people seemed to hear to do something greater or flock to the banners of another.

This man wanted to free slaves in Tevinter, and it was increasingly more obvious he was a lord of some kind or perhaps belonged to some noble family. ”You sure like to talk a whole lot, and I can’t say that I enjoy your tone,” Everett said evenly, pulling away his dagger and hefting it in his hand. A look of false regret passed over his features as he stepped back and tossed the weapon into his other hand. Without a second thought his hand curled into a fist, swinging swiftly to plant itself against the mage’s cheek. The same one that had been hit before, and Everett hoped he would taste blood. The pirate considered his words a moment, wondering if he was going to simply be wasting his time with this one. ”That sounds nice and all, really heroic of you.” Words were finally spoken, the rogue grabbing the straps at his chest and yanking him away from the wall. In the same motion a leg curled around to sweep his from beneath him, and Everett did not guide the fall the mage took to the floor. Everett took his time in squatting beside him, pressing the sharpened point of his blade against his ribs. His gaze watched as he twisted it back and forth, lips twitching and pale blue eyes rolling to look at the haggard Tevene’s face. ”Try again,” he uttered softly, eyes hardened once more as he waited. The urge still remained to sink the dagger in between his ribs, something about this waster both amusing and infuriating. Not many would have the gall to speak so boldly and brashly to someone who held a sharp object to their throat, and it only earned him a small modicum of respect. Everett would wait and see if that would last, otherwise he would have another body to dispose of soon enough.

PM
Dorian Pavus
 Posted: Jan 11 2018, 12:37 AM
Quote
Dorian Pavus
32 YEARS OLD
He/Him
Mage
21
POSTS
Human
SHIPPER
REQUEST
APPLICATION
DEVELOPMENT
Necromancer
Pariah
JordiePie
She/Her - Eastern


Dorian didn’t care for the close proximity the pirate held him.

Splinters in the wood that made up the wall stabbed into his bare back, no doubt scratching him up like a kitten’s scratching post, the stings slight though he knew they would be more irritating than a dozen papercuts. He gazed unwavering at the captain, the nobility in him refusing to give the scum any satisfaction at seeing him fearful. Not that he was afraid; he was much too tired, irritated and seasick for that. No, he was angry. Nauseous and angry, a bitter combination that left his words seeping from his lips like venom when he should be begging for his life. Any normal pirate captain would have simply slit his throat and be done with a mage stowaway, however, piercing blue eyes seemed to glint with manic amusement as he spat out his mission and reasoning for stowing away on board, and Dorian nearly believed there to be no possible escape from this situation, the pirate captain letting him speak his peace for amusement sake only. Indulging him would be humiliating on his part; he was already half naked and weakened from poor traveling conditions, only made worse by the rough treatment of his men. He would not allow himself to sink further, his pride had already taken a massive blow, and he would rather die than live as a coward.

Of all times for my mouth to get me in trouble, Dorian mused to himself as he continued to carefully watch the pirate, his hazel eyes keeping expert track of every movement, it would of course be now. Barely a week out of Tevinter, timing most unfortunate. A journey’s end before it really ever begun. The pirate laughed in his face, and Dorian was graced with the image of corpses lining the walls of the ship while the crew went about its business. Of course there weren’t any, at least not from what the Tevene had seen from below and the brief glimpses of the deck as he was dragged above; the man was just boasting his apathy at Dorian’s suggestion, but it reminded him of the rumors of the savage Ferelden’s he heard growing up. Don’t trust the southerners, lad. They’re nothing but a bunch of brutes who would rather laugh at your frozen arse then lend a cloak. He would have huffed a laugh himself if the steel from the blade at his throat didn’t threaten a swift death. Still, he couldn’t help the quirk of his lips as he stared non perplexed at the older man. “What a curious form of decor. Though I can’t say I’m surprised, you don’t seem the type who particularly cares much for aesthetics.” His smile faded, however, when the man mentioned using the breach to line his pockets, and another wave of disgust hit him like a punch in the gut, his already steely gaze turning icy. “You do realize that the hole in the sky is threatening the world, right? We don’t know its purpose or what it’s capable of, only that it’s dangerous and the demons are falling out of it faster than we can destroy them.” He snarled at the insult to the inquisition, lip curling in rage as he bit out “The inquisition is the only force moving to stop the breach. Perhaps you should hold your tongue joking about their end when its their actions that are helping keep you alive and pockets full.”

His rant was cut short when the cut on his side was harshly grabbed, and Dorian was barely able to bite back the cry of pain at the sudden attack. The knife kept his head from bobbing forward, so all he could do was suck in a deep breath and try to turn his focus away from the sting by glaring icy daggers at his captive. The scabbed wound was no doubt tore open, and the mage could feel the small trickle of blood down his side, though he refused to acknowledge it any further. Let the man torture him, even beat him further. He would find no amusement in hearing Dorian scream.

He was released momentarily, hazel eyes watching the man’s every move, before a swift punch landed on his already bruised cheek, his reflexes too slow at the moment to allow him to dodge. Dorian had never been a hand to hand combat fighter; there was no need when his magic was deemed the only weapon he really needed. Still, however, he found himself wishing he had learned something other than magic he could use to fight back with. Not that it mattered now, while he was so weak, but he felt at least a little bit of hand to hand sparring would have lessened the pain the blow had dealt him. He sank heavily back against the wall, words the captain spoke barely registering in his mind, before he was forced forward and his feet swept out from under him, sending him toppling to the floor with a pained grunt as the air was forced from his lungs. His migraine shot up towards the front of his brain full force, stomach clenching as he struggled to keep bile down as the impact jostled his barely tamed seasickness, and his hands flew to his sides as he curled in on himself to work his sick back down. The world was spinning, his stomach churning worse than the ocean, and he gave a spluttering cough before he weakly lifted his head to spot the man kneeling beside him, face set in cold amusement. He scowled and was half tempted to spit at his feet. “I’ll advise… you not do that again…” he rasped, shaky hand reaching to rub his bruised back, “lest you wish to see the contents of my breakfast on your floor.”

He had wanted to settle the situation peacefully. He didn’t want to harm anyone. But it appeared Dorian needed to show he wasn’t one to trifle with. He allowed the captain and his men to get a few good blows in as a peace offering, though it seemed he was being too underestimated. And, with the dagger no longer threatening it’s steel at his throat, Dorian found a new sense of courage to make what little strength he had left known. “I meant no harm,” he started weakly, though determination lit up his eyes like fanning a dying flame, buring brighter with each passing second.“I simply wanted passage over the water and would be on my way… I bet more fierce pirates have better manners than what you and your crew have showed me.” He pushed himself up on his arm, never letting his eyes break away from the pale blue irises of his captor. “You clearly hate mages, yet you make the simple mistake of underestimating us. One of my special skills is Necromancy, meaning I can be quite scary when I want to be.” the corner of his mouth tilted up in a half smirk.“ I might be down now… but the only reason you are alive is because I choose to let you live. Raise that bloody dagger towards me again and I’ll consider changing that.” To prove his point, he pulled forth a bit of fire to his fingertips, letting the flame grow around his hand. It wouldn’t burn anything unless he willed it to, having not changed a full cantation for a spell, but he hoped the proof he still had a little bit of power to fight was enough to make the pirate back off a bit. Or try to kill him faster, Dorian was pissed off enough that he could use a good fight and figure out a way to Ferelden later. If the crew didn’t slaughter him, that is. “Would you like me to try again?”



PM
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

Topic Options
Add Reply
New Topic


 


 


SKINNED BY Vanessa of SHINE and CAUTION

RP Lovers Shadowplay Topsites Unbound Topsites - A Video Game RP Listing Top RP Sites Top RP Sites

RPG-D RPG Initiative Avalon a Panfandom RP Sufficient Unto the Day face in the crowd UNTIL DAYLIGHT: POST-APOC, TLOU BASED Rise of the Believers Break the Wheel: a Season 8 GOT AU

SITE DISCORD