GenericAlias
Confused
The cell floor was cold.
The tall woman shifted in place, sending a clinking, clattering sound echoing through the chain that was bolted to the metal ring, hammered into the harsh stone floor. It was uneven and hard - as unkempt stone floors so often were - and cold. Almost icily cold.
A cold that seeped in from all around. A cold that blew in through the tall, high, single barred window. Softly blowing snowy dust into the cell, which melted before it could hit the ground, evaporating into formless vapor. The cell was cold.
And that... was all the woman could think about. All she dared let herself think about.
She dared not think about why she was here in the cell. In the cold, uneven cell. Her hands locked in spreader bars, shackled to a ring in the center of the cell. Enclosed on all sides, lit up by nothing, unlit torches simply left on all sides of the room, dampened by black tar... and standing alone. As if waiting for something. She dared not try to think about why she was here. Why she was locked up and couldn't move. Trapped in an uncomfortable position, where her height left her cramped and stooped, where she had to press herself against her legs to stay comfortable... where she had only just woken up from a bed made of mildewed straw.
She dared not let herself think about it.
There were many reasons why she did not try to think about why she was here. Many... many reasons. Reasons that burnt on her wrists, buzzing every time the metal bindings that wrapped around them came into contact with her soft and grey skin. Reasons that could so visibly be seen - the two horns that lay atop her head, chiseled down to uneven, shattered lengths.
Reasons one could only see when they were uncomfortably close. Reasons that were dotted up and down her lips. On the top and the bottom of her eyelids. Reasons that were eternally marked onto her flesh - small, discoloured circles of skin, that at times seemed only as wide as a pinprick-
Cells... scared her. Scared her in a way that she did not want to admit. They scared her with a fear that was searing. All-encompassing. Utterly all-consuming. Cells like this scared her all the more.
But she dared not let herself think about it.
Not... not that anything that had happened even made sense in that context. The woman could... barely even remember how she had gotten here. How she had come to be in this cell. Her wrists locked in place. Her eyes darting restlessly around the room. She... she had come here for a job. She knew that much. A... a conference - no....
A Conclave. The word leapt out at her. Painful, full of shearing understanding. She had been at a- no, at the Conclave. A mercenary. The head of a small group of mercenaries. There to keep the peace. To stop two groups who despised each other from simply breaking out into formless violence. She'd... she'd been walking up steps. Walking towards a tall, elaborately built temple that stood like a dawn sun. She'd... she'd been standing outside it alongside her fellow Qunari....
The woman groaned. Her voice soft... yet not inaudible. It was a sad, soft, almost scared sound.
She remembered almost nothing. She remembered wading into a brawl at one point - her staff flicking and thrashing against some fool who'd lashed out for... some reason. She remembered a duty relieved. Walking down steps - in some dry, distant manner. She...
She was not thinking about it.
The Qunari woman did not want to think about it. About the fuzzy, broken memories that only slipped through her mind in fragments. About the gap that she couldn't explain - the gap that she had all too much familiarity with.
Shame bit into her. When she had awoken - head pounding, shivers slipping up and down her spine from the chill - she had almost panicked. Recognising where she was... or perhaps simply assuming where she had been. She had almost screamed - writhing in place, her breath tight and taut-
A tortured breath exited her throat. As she forced herself to look across from her. Another straw mattress lay there. Another occupant of this cell. Their hands also locked in iron bars, as they slumbered away on a smaller bed of straw.
That was one of the few things that reassured her. As foolish as it sounded. Even though she dared not think about it too hard.
The distant figure... that she had realised, to her horror, that she recognised. Distant in her memory. Locked behind... layers of impenetrable haze. Behind... a shared pain she did not recognise. The qunari woman swore she knew the figure... but could not place where.
Distant memories called to her. Nightmares. Twisting shadows and wisps of smoke, that she could not see or understand... words exchanged, unremembered, and nervous, barely an impression left behind....
And then a mountain. A cliff face, sheer and rocky. Uneven slabs that were almost steps, leading up an impossibly tall face. The sounds of skittering dread behind, a shimmering radiance ahead. Sounds of stone, a pounding heartbeat, an urging call....
And then, in that memory, the qunari had shifted her gaze. A cry. A slip… the figure next to her almost… fell… and Asaarandra had extended a hand….
A gasp woke the woman from her reverie. The qunari shivered, forcing her eyes open. Tormented breath slipping through black lips. Her eyes flitted away.
She... she dared not think about it. Asaarandra Adaar dared not think about it.
She dared not think about the first thing she had seen when she had opened her eyes. She dared not think... about that almost sickly glow of green. The green that burnt, tingling and buzzing, into her palm. That set her nerve endings practically alight with shivering buzzes and burns. The green... that had burrowed itself right into the palm of her hand.
And she dared not think about the green she saw in the sleeping figure's hand. About the way it too seemed to shimmer and spark. Virulent, and searing. Or... or about the light that slipped through that small barred window. And how every so often... it was glow. That same green. And the mark in her hand would buzz louder. And louder. And stronger. And more painfully. And more virulently-
The Qunari shifted in place again. Bringing up her tall legs... and leaning into them. Resting her head on her knees. Her breath ragged and uncertain.
It....
The cell was so cold.
***************************************************************************************
So... we all know how Dragon Age Inquisition begins by this point. Right?
I mean, it's pretty much common knowledge by this point. Villain has crazy conspiracy to cause apocalypse, tries to cause apocalypse, get's stopped by some random guy barging into his apocalypse ritual... look, we all kinda get it by this point. Everyone who has played Dragon Age Inquisition just kinda knows the score. And everyone, of course, has their Inquisitor by now. Everyone has in their mind the story of who it was that picked up that orb, and why.
But... what if it was not just the one?
What if, instead of one fool in the wrong place at the right time... there were two of them? Or what if instead of there just being one survivor from the explosion at the Temple... there was more than one? What if, instead of Andraste seemingly only smiling on one solitary survivor... there were more?
After all, everyone has their own Inquisitor right? Each an individual - with their own story, with their own personal traumas, and struggles, and pains... and this is one of the things that helps people get so invested in these games. You slip into the shoes of these characters, and help fill out what's unsaid. And Thedas is such a wonderfully illustrated world - it's full of life, cultures, and peoples, with its own unique spin on everything. The games feed on creativity, and by stitching yourself into the world, and the characters you play, your imagination can make the story that much better.
And that's when I realised. If these games thrive so much on creativity, on the characters we build up... then if one character can make the games so good, why not have two?
Just think about the drama. Two people, of disparate backgrounds, suddenly having to share a burden they likely only ever stumbled across. Suddenly feeling all of the hopes, the fears, the pains of Thedas, and having to deal with the fact that there is not merely just one of them. They have to sink or swim together. Possibly dealing with divergent views, philosophies, backgrounds, decisions... it's such a juicy idea, no?
And that is what I would like to propose! A Dragon Age Inquisition RP involving two Inquisitors! Both from different backgrounds, coming together to face an ancient evil! You, myself, our characters... and an endless realm of possibility. Do we want to have them work together? Enemies? Friends? Eschewing the in-game romances to have them fall in love? The sky (and the breach within it) is the limit! And I would love to plot something out with you!
In terms of writing requirements, I would prefer a partner with some descriptive skill. I tend to write between 4-5 paragraphs, at around Novella level, though depending on the pace of the RP, personal preference, and similar factors, this number can go up or down. I don't have any strict limits in terms of post length, but I would prefer at least 3-5 lines a response at the least - if, somehow, we get down to that level due to any arguments between characters. But I don't want to place any expectations on matching my post length - I can become a little long-winded, or a little over-descriptive, and I don't want to pressure anyone!
And... well, that's basically it! I hope you find my little prompt interesting, and... well, if you do, and you found my little starter/writing sample above intriguing... then I'd love to try and make something with you! Feel free to shoot me a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can! And I wish all of you a wonderful morning/day/afternoon/evening and/or night!
The tall woman shifted in place, sending a clinking, clattering sound echoing through the chain that was bolted to the metal ring, hammered into the harsh stone floor. It was uneven and hard - as unkempt stone floors so often were - and cold. Almost icily cold.
A cold that seeped in from all around. A cold that blew in through the tall, high, single barred window. Softly blowing snowy dust into the cell, which melted before it could hit the ground, evaporating into formless vapor. The cell was cold.
And that... was all the woman could think about. All she dared let herself think about.
She dared not think about why she was here in the cell. In the cold, uneven cell. Her hands locked in spreader bars, shackled to a ring in the center of the cell. Enclosed on all sides, lit up by nothing, unlit torches simply left on all sides of the room, dampened by black tar... and standing alone. As if waiting for something. She dared not try to think about why she was here. Why she was locked up and couldn't move. Trapped in an uncomfortable position, where her height left her cramped and stooped, where she had to press herself against her legs to stay comfortable... where she had only just woken up from a bed made of mildewed straw.
She dared not let herself think about it.
There were many reasons why she did not try to think about why she was here. Many... many reasons. Reasons that burnt on her wrists, buzzing every time the metal bindings that wrapped around them came into contact with her soft and grey skin. Reasons that could so visibly be seen - the two horns that lay atop her head, chiseled down to uneven, shattered lengths.
Reasons one could only see when they were uncomfortably close. Reasons that were dotted up and down her lips. On the top and the bottom of her eyelids. Reasons that were eternally marked onto her flesh - small, discoloured circles of skin, that at times seemed only as wide as a pinprick-
Cells... scared her. Scared her in a way that she did not want to admit. They scared her with a fear that was searing. All-encompassing. Utterly all-consuming. Cells like this scared her all the more.
But she dared not let herself think about it.
Not... not that anything that had happened even made sense in that context. The woman could... barely even remember how she had gotten here. How she had come to be in this cell. Her wrists locked in place. Her eyes darting restlessly around the room. She... she had come here for a job. She knew that much. A... a conference - no....
A Conclave. The word leapt out at her. Painful, full of shearing understanding. She had been at a- no, at the Conclave. A mercenary. The head of a small group of mercenaries. There to keep the peace. To stop two groups who despised each other from simply breaking out into formless violence. She'd... she'd been walking up steps. Walking towards a tall, elaborately built temple that stood like a dawn sun. She'd... she'd been standing outside it alongside her fellow Qunari....
The woman groaned. Her voice soft... yet not inaudible. It was a sad, soft, almost scared sound.
She remembered almost nothing. She remembered wading into a brawl at one point - her staff flicking and thrashing against some fool who'd lashed out for... some reason. She remembered a duty relieved. Walking down steps - in some dry, distant manner. She...
She was not thinking about it.
The Qunari woman did not want to think about it. About the fuzzy, broken memories that only slipped through her mind in fragments. About the gap that she couldn't explain - the gap that she had all too much familiarity with.
Shame bit into her. When she had awoken - head pounding, shivers slipping up and down her spine from the chill - she had almost panicked. Recognising where she was... or perhaps simply assuming where she had been. She had almost screamed - writhing in place, her breath tight and taut-
A tortured breath exited her throat. As she forced herself to look across from her. Another straw mattress lay there. Another occupant of this cell. Their hands also locked in iron bars, as they slumbered away on a smaller bed of straw.
That was one of the few things that reassured her. As foolish as it sounded. Even though she dared not think about it too hard.
The distant figure... that she had realised, to her horror, that she recognised. Distant in her memory. Locked behind... layers of impenetrable haze. Behind... a shared pain she did not recognise. The qunari woman swore she knew the figure... but could not place where.
Distant memories called to her. Nightmares. Twisting shadows and wisps of smoke, that she could not see or understand... words exchanged, unremembered, and nervous, barely an impression left behind....
And then a mountain. A cliff face, sheer and rocky. Uneven slabs that were almost steps, leading up an impossibly tall face. The sounds of skittering dread behind, a shimmering radiance ahead. Sounds of stone, a pounding heartbeat, an urging call....
And then, in that memory, the qunari had shifted her gaze. A cry. A slip… the figure next to her almost… fell… and Asaarandra had extended a hand….
A gasp woke the woman from her reverie. The qunari shivered, forcing her eyes open. Tormented breath slipping through black lips. Her eyes flitted away.
She... she dared not think about it. Asaarandra Adaar dared not think about it.
She dared not think about the first thing she had seen when she had opened her eyes. She dared not think... about that almost sickly glow of green. The green that burnt, tingling and buzzing, into her palm. That set her nerve endings practically alight with shivering buzzes and burns. The green... that had burrowed itself right into the palm of her hand.
And she dared not think about the green she saw in the sleeping figure's hand. About the way it too seemed to shimmer and spark. Virulent, and searing. Or... or about the light that slipped through that small barred window. And how every so often... it was glow. That same green. And the mark in her hand would buzz louder. And louder. And stronger. And more painfully. And more virulently-
The Qunari shifted in place again. Bringing up her tall legs... and leaning into them. Resting her head on her knees. Her breath ragged and uncertain.
It....
The cell was so cold.
***************************************************************************************
So... we all know how Dragon Age Inquisition begins by this point. Right?
I mean, it's pretty much common knowledge by this point. Villain has crazy conspiracy to cause apocalypse, tries to cause apocalypse, get's stopped by some random guy barging into his apocalypse ritual... look, we all kinda get it by this point. Everyone who has played Dragon Age Inquisition just kinda knows the score. And everyone, of course, has their Inquisitor by now. Everyone has in their mind the story of who it was that picked up that orb, and why.
But... what if it was not just the one?
What if, instead of one fool in the wrong place at the right time... there were two of them? Or what if instead of there just being one survivor from the explosion at the Temple... there was more than one? What if, instead of Andraste seemingly only smiling on one solitary survivor... there were more?
After all, everyone has their own Inquisitor right? Each an individual - with their own story, with their own personal traumas, and struggles, and pains... and this is one of the things that helps people get so invested in these games. You slip into the shoes of these characters, and help fill out what's unsaid. And Thedas is such a wonderfully illustrated world - it's full of life, cultures, and peoples, with its own unique spin on everything. The games feed on creativity, and by stitching yourself into the world, and the characters you play, your imagination can make the story that much better.
And that's when I realised. If these games thrive so much on creativity, on the characters we build up... then if one character can make the games so good, why not have two?
Just think about the drama. Two people, of disparate backgrounds, suddenly having to share a burden they likely only ever stumbled across. Suddenly feeling all of the hopes, the fears, the pains of Thedas, and having to deal with the fact that there is not merely just one of them. They have to sink or swim together. Possibly dealing with divergent views, philosophies, backgrounds, decisions... it's such a juicy idea, no?
And that is what I would like to propose! A Dragon Age Inquisition RP involving two Inquisitors! Both from different backgrounds, coming together to face an ancient evil! You, myself, our characters... and an endless realm of possibility. Do we want to have them work together? Enemies? Friends? Eschewing the in-game romances to have them fall in love? The sky (and the breach within it) is the limit! And I would love to plot something out with you!
In terms of writing requirements, I would prefer a partner with some descriptive skill. I tend to write between 4-5 paragraphs, at around Novella level, though depending on the pace of the RP, personal preference, and similar factors, this number can go up or down. I don't have any strict limits in terms of post length, but I would prefer at least 3-5 lines a response at the least - if, somehow, we get down to that level due to any arguments between characters. But I don't want to place any expectations on matching my post length - I can become a little long-winded, or a little over-descriptive, and I don't want to pressure anyone!
And... well, that's basically it! I hope you find my little prompt interesting, and... well, if you do, and you found my little starter/writing sample above intriguing... then I'd love to try and make something with you! Feel free to shoot me a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can! And I wish all of you a wonderful morning/day/afternoon/evening and/or night!
