Four years strong, we are a literate to advanced Dragon Age roleplay that focuses on the events post-Trespasser, while also following the timelines of the Warden, Champion and Inquisitor.
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Played by Cherith
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The raps startled her into action. Before her vision cleared of haunting pairs of eyes, her feet had smacked the ground, a sweat dampened sheet twisting down her legs. Her hand shot for her spear. Fingers nudged the spear, pushing it, and it clattered loudly to the ground. Jumping out of her skin for the second time, Ida cursed, self-deprecating name-calling woven with “fuck” and “Maker’s hairy arse”. Disentangling from the magically gripping sheets in a few uncoordinated hops, Ida fell, quite literally, against the chair her clothes were tossed over. Still dirty. They’ll have to do. She kicked the last bit of sheet from her foot with a final curse.
With a few more hops, she donned her trousers. What time was it? Popping her head through the neck of her oversized shirt, Ida squinted at the streak of sunlight peeping between the curtains. She couldn’t tell. Tightening the shirt laces and stepping toward the door, her knee buckled and she caught herself on the chair.
“For Maker’s sake, you have to work,” she chastised the knee and the accompanying muscles. Sucking air through her nose, Ida found her balance and reached the door.
Then she noticed it. That soft little song, whispering just out of hearing. Lyrium.
It sat on a tray, held by her kind host. Her top teeth sunk into her lip to prevent an uncouth curse from escaping. This was the last thing she needed. After a pleasantry, Idahril swung the door open further to invite Drogomir inside.
“I hope I did not wake you.”
“Aye? Well… It’s all right.” Ida used both hands to push her hair behind her ears. She went to the window and pulled the curtain to allow in more light. Before facing Drogomir again, she rubbed at the corner of her eyes with a forefinger and thumb. “It was probably time.” She swayed, so she put a hand against the window’s frame for stability.
“I understand the pain is worse than when you arrived.”
Was it so obvious? Perhaps it was. Even now, strands of her short hair stuck to the spaces around her ears and the back of her neck. A dry laugh brewed from her, unbidden. “The way of things, it seems.”
The song was distracting, tearing her attention in two, like the wolf’s howl in her dreams. Hadn’t she told Drogomir she was trying to avoid lyrium? Had she? Or was she hoping she had, being confronted with the substance she desired, willing or no?
“It would seem… you are suffering.”
“Aye. Perhaps a bit.” Ida stood on her own two feet now, and hugged herself, hands clasping elbows. “Just… the way of things…” She shrugged. “I’m sure I mentioned to ye I was ex-Templar? The title comes with consequences.” Like running out of the lyrium stolen from friends. Feeling powerless. Alone. Severed. Gripping hunger and throbbing headaches. Inconsistent body temperature.
Resolved with a bit of preparation and a couple of gulps. A few steps away.
Coughing politely, Ida jerked her chin toward the dresser. “I didn’t ask. Neither do I want to know where it came from. And I have no way of paying for it. I appreciate your hospitality but that’s… a wee bit much.”
Drogomir approached the window with a certain, cool and still assurance. For that moment, Ida envied the man’s ability to walk straightforward with full cooperation of his body. Meanwhile, her knee joint wobbled under pressure and she pressed her shoulder to the window pane, trying to behave as if she were looking out the window with him. Not that there was much to look at.
Ida snorted in soft amusement at his mention of tact. Like she was a great demonstration of diplomacy. He wouldn’t know particular details, but Ida knew she could begin a fabulous tavern fight with two words spoken directly from her mind.
The way Drogomir spoke was particularly frustrating for her. It sounded like a riddle to her, and her tired, fuzzy mind had to turn over his words while ignoring the lyrium’s siren song. Haunting, beautiful, and promising clarity. An edge. Sustainment and strength.
I could fight the wolves with it.
Her gaze flickered back to Drogomir as he said “please”, and his movements distracted from the whispering tickling her ear. He presented the chairs, silently requesting she sit and allow him to explain… explain what? Had she missed something?
“Aye.” Her answer was definitive. Please explain everything because I was not paying attention. Moving off the wall, she glared at the lyrium tray, as if to scare it into shutting up, before sitting. Willfully, she vowed to ignore it and urgently encouraged her mind to be attentive to Drogomir.
Maker, his attire was immaculate. And she… well, these traveler’s clothes were filthy and she silently apologized to the clean upholstery for having to endure the grime. He was the most gracious host, offering her to sit on his chairs when she likely looked like she belonged sitting with a pack of muddy dogs. Looking at Drogomir, though, Ida was certain she never had and never would appear that elegantly composed.
“This explanation,” she said, “Has something to do with your lyrium offer?”