Fandom 𝕯𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖋𝖑𝖊𝖉, 𝕬𝖜𝖆𝖞 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙. ⋄ canon-divergent retelling of DA: Origins

[knavish]

Chanter's Board.​

Hey there! I'm Knave! I'm in my twenties and I'm on the east coast of the US. I've been roleplaying for about 12 years. If there's anything you need to know before we get into rp, shoot me a pm and we'll chat.

ACTIVITY ⋄ My schedule alternates often. You can expect one or two nights a week of two to three replies, and I may take unannounced hiatuses. I'm cool with ghosting, obviously - if you ever want to pick the rp back up, just shoot me a message. You don't have to explain anything!

LITERACY ⋄ I average around 500 w per post, but it varies depending on where the plot is at. I struggle more with being concise. I appreciate quality over quantity in replies and, while I love internal monologue, I need there to be something concrete for my character to reply to. If I give you a reply that you struggle with, do let me know and I'll rewrite so it incites better interaction.

GENRE ⋄ I prioritize character-driven plots and relationships over combat or intrigue. The character I'll be playing for this is a gay Tabris, but romance isn't the only thing I'm looking for. I'm happy to write platonic relationships - a friend, family member, or rival - as long as the emotions between the two characters are intense.

DOUBLING ⋄ We can hash out whether we want to divy up the pov or split the control for other characters, but I can't do a canon character's pov justice for an extended period of time unless I'm very comfortable with them. I'd prefer you main a character you really enjoy writing.

CANONS ⋄ This is canon-divergent, so any character or plot within the DA universe is on the table. You wanna play Solas, groggy from waking up early? I'd be so down with that. Some characters / origins I'm particularly interested in playing against are Shianni, Mahariel, Brosca, a Twin!Tabris, Zevran, Sigrun, Velanna, Merril, and Fenris. Refer to the above statement, though, and remember that I really love other people's oc's.

RATING ⋄ This is Origins and I've tagged it as horror for canon-typical reasons; this will be heavy with mature, triggering themes. My character's plots and background involves child abuse and permanent injury, systematic injustice, and ethnic cleansing. Please be 21 or older. If you have any concerns or specific triggers, please bring them up while we're plotting.

PLOT ⋄ The general idea behind this is that each of the P/C origins was recruited and that some of them miraculously survive Ostagar without Flemeth. We're under no obligation to follow the plot of Origins, but the world will continue to be affected by the HoF's choices and the encroaching Blight if we don't. We can use the starter if it interests you, but feel free to suggest something else! I think that's it! Either drop a reply or a pm if you're interested. C;

In Darkness Eternal they Searched
For That which had Goaded them on.​

Duncan, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, has been gathering more recruits in recent years - a boy who was nearly a Templar, the last scion of Highever's arlship, a blighted Dalish warrior, a casteless exile - in preparation for the King's stand against the Blight at Ostagar. The last two recruits are from Denerim; a fast-talking pickpocket and an elven archer that loathes Duncan so completely that his fellow recruit learns to bite his quick tongue during the long walk to Ostagar. Unfortunately for the Wardens, it's Tabris that survives the joining and not Daveth.

Despite his precautions, Duncan's efforts are doomed to failure. Almost every Warden perishes in Ostagar.

But Flemeth's intervention is not the only thing that saves those lucky few - while Alistair and one other make their way to Lothering on the witch's advice, some others have escaped the carnage and make their way through the wilds alone. Perhaps they encounter each other, or perhaps one of them encounters someone else entirely...

▽​

Had someone told Seysil that he'd miss the semi-constant drizzle of rain that characterized Ferelden's brief summers, he would have (forced and bitterly, angrily) laughed them off. He'd spent most of his childhood waiting for Summerday and that scant week-or-so on either side of it that existed between the bone-deep cold of winter and the season of unending piss.

It was just the Alienage's luck; spend eight months out of the year padding the walls with as many rugs as you can produce and you'll find yourself wringing them out on the step the remaining four - or at least until your step sinks below the mud. All the filth flows downhill from the Arl's estate, pools in the levee they insist is a wall built for your safety. 'Flushing the rats into the River Drakon,' he'd heard someone remark, once.

This two-week drought was unprecedented. Unnatural. 'Cause he wanted it, Eys thought, was the reason it wasn't coming. Rain was fickle that way. Played coy.

It was just one more way the world felt tilted on its axis. It didn't bear thinking about.

He was picking his way through a clearing in the forest - either the Northernmost reaches of the Kocari Wilds or the marches of the Brecilian - and lamenting a shallow depression in the ground, barren of vegetation save for a few hardy clumps of prairie grass, sprouting up through the hexagonal cracks in what ought to be the silt of a small pond. It was difficult to say what expression he wore beneath the wash of blood on his face, though the colors he wore were unmistakable; this lost, lone elf was a member of the Grey Wardens. Traitors to Calenhad's line in the eyes of half of the Bannorn, though he was not yet aware of this lie.

Eys exhaled through his nose and pressed on. He was doing his best to ignore the twinge of the gash in his side and the darkspawn blood seeping into his skin and scouring worse than any caustic lye.

He couldn't do anything about the ragged punctures left by the genlock mace that glanced his ribs until he could access his pack, couldn't access his pack until his hands were clean and he wasn't going to contaminate any of the precious resources it had protected from this latest bloodbath. He needed a generous source of water before he could do anything.

The tavern song he was humming died on his tongue and the drone of insects in the brush fell silent with the snap of something heavy coming down on a fallen branch; something was moving in the forest, obscured by the treeline, though he didn't know if it was man, beast, or worse. He ducked into the thicket as quietly as a city boy could manage and reached for his axe, holding his breath and cursing himself for not stringing his bow as soon as he woke.

 

[knavish]

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[knavish]

hi it's march. bump

 

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