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A Wild Beard Appears; A Pathfinder Experience
*throws various objects, corpses, and people at, into, and through various other objects*

Bananas Draws Sometimes
biiiiiirrrrbs

A Wild Beard Appears; A Pathfinder Experience
14:37 Namira Well, there's definitely going to be some variety of spellcaster
14:37 Namira Taerna pulled her punches pretty hard tbh
14:37 Serpico what
14:38 Serpico but she slugged us pretty hard
14:38 Serpico ahahaha geddit because i need to sleep soon

GDI

Mah Writings
Closing the rift beneath the Breach and quieting the great rip in the sky was an ordeal. Just the proximity to the Breach made Vee feel sick to her stomach, and that was without even factoring the disconcerting surroundings of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, both familiar and utterly alien. Just to add the final cherry to the cake, there was another demon, a Pride demon, leering and laughing deep in the back of its throat. Distressing didn’t even come close to covering it, a fundamental sense of horror that went far beyond it just being a massive monster. Twisted, corrupted…

Regardless, they had done it. They’d survived. More specifically the mark on her hand had done it, and then she’d collapsed. Losing consciousness was a mercy.

The moment she awoke in an unfamiliar bed, she could feel it all around her. There were the noises of a chattering crowd outside, though that wasn’t all of it, there was something else… underlying and yet even louder, somehow.

Hero. Herald. She saved us. She’s special.

Vee shook her head. She couldn’t hear words, exactly, it was more of a vague impression, whispers that touched her mind rather than her ears. Either way, it was unnerving.

She slid out of bed and outside, trying to ignore the looks of wonder that the people she walked by were giving her, trying to pretend that every part of the crowd wasn’t discussing her in some form or another. She heard ‘Herald of Andraste’ several times, a moniker which she couldn’t even begin to think about rationally. Vee knew who Andraste was. Sort of. She remembered hearing the name and stories attached to the name, which was nearly as good as knowledge. She wasn’t sure she liked the comparison. Andraste was important, very important. She was not.

Vee meandered her way through the town and up to the chantry. Raised voices came from a room within, ones she recognised. Cassandra, and that man who had pointed an accusatory finger in her face, back at the forward camp, read her silence as an admission of guilt. Roderick, the chantry clerk. She pushed open the door, and Roderick picked up exactly where he’d left off last time. More accusations, a demand to be returned to the chains.

Surprisingly, this time it was Cassandra that came to her defence. Vee raised an eyebrow as the Chancellor was shouted down.

“She’s scarcely said a word since awaking, Seeker! She’s afraid that she’ll condemn herself with lies!”

“I do not believe that, nor that she was responsible.”

Roderick’s expression was furious as Cassandra set a book down upon the table, growing into a mixture of that and appalled as the hooded woman from before, Leliana, explained it as being a writ from the Divine herself, a directive to restore something called the Inquisition.

That, however, was secondary to Vee; she was busy making an obscene gesture to Roderick as he stormed out. Her brother had shown it to her when she was seven, and when their mother caught her at it, had birched Vee until she cried. One more random thing her memory had filled in for her, though at least this one had the use of being able to antagonise someone unpleasant.

“You understand, even if you do not speak, Violetta,” Cassandra tugged Vee’s attention back. “We would… like your help in this matter. The Breach is stable, but it is not closed, and your mark has been the only means of closing rifts we have found.”

Sincere. Shame. Why doesn’t she talk? Why is she silent?

Vee held up a thumb and smiled. The expression was forced. She wanted to say yes, she wanted to say that she would do everything in her power to her help, but her tongue tripped over the words and they died upon her lips. It was the same strangeness that came with moving around, the unsettling sensation that there was too much of her to think about. Unlike walking, running, fighting, where she found herself clumsy but exuberant, with speech she simply found herself mute. It hurt.

Cassandra answered her gesture with a nod. “Thank you. Now, Leliana and I have many preparations to make. In the meantime, I believe Solas would like to speak with you.”

She knew a dismissal when she heard one. That was fine; it wasn’t as if Vee could bring much to the table right now anyway. She waved over her head and left.

Vee found Solas standing outside of one of Haven’s buildings, gazing pensively towards the Breach. Calmed now, but still looming overhead like a storm cloud. Just as she was wondering how to get his attention without tapping him on the shoulder, he glanced across to her.

“You are awake. Hopefully this encounter shall be rather less dramatic than those preceding it,” he smiled warmly, and Vee returned it before quirking an eyebrow and making a vague gesture to herself. She couldn’t keep a scowl from spreading. This was immensely frustrating.

“Yet to find your words, I see,” a thoughtful expression came across his face. “I had hoped to talk about your experiences, but I do not wish to trouble you further. I’m quite certain you have been interrogated enough recently.” Solas stroked his chin. “I have learned a great deal about languages both ancient and lost during my travels in the Fade. One that I recall consisted entirely of hand signals, flowing gestures forming words and descriptions. I do not know if it will be easier, precisely, but if you would like, I can teach you of this language. Certainly it’s a more fluent means of communication than nodding your head.”

Vee smiled again, a lopsided grin that quirked the corner of her mouth as she responded with another nod, just a touch of irony in the motion.

Solas chuckled. “Very well, let us begin. This is the sign for ‘hello’. Yes, good, well done…”

Mah Writings
Demons.

Trevelyan was torn between dread and the very real impression that they shouldn’t be any concern of hers. It didn’t make the slightest sense; she’d never encountered demons before in her life, but all the stories she’d heard had been bad, cautionary. Demons were malevolent, they sought to prey on good, Maker-fearing folk, they tried to attack and possess mages. She knew all of those things, and yet there was no conviction behind the knowledge, doubts that she could not speak to the origins of.

One thing she remembered was how to use daggers, and when the shade attacked her, she did not hesitate. A strange chill ran through her when the demon dissolved into shadows, and she was still staring at the spot where it had been when Cassandra snarled at her to drop her weapons.

Trevelyan stared back blankly. Drop- relinquish them? But she had just been attacked! She wrestled with the words, trying to get them out. There was a knack to this. She’d always been able to speak, well, before, and it definitely hadn’t been hard. Why was it such a struggle now?

It didn’t matter; Cassandra changed her mind. Trevelyan felt relieved, though it took a moment to work out what that was, and why she was feeling it. Having weapons was reassuring and familiar; she’d learned how to use them since she was young, she was certain of that. What ‘young’ meant was rather more difficult to say.

The two of them fought their way across snow and ice to the scene of another battle between people and demons… the site of a rift.

It was smaller than the huge rent in the sky, but closer. It hummed with the power of the Fade, and Trevelyan was struck by longing and… homesickness? No, that couldn’t be right; she was no mage, she knew nothing of the Fade. Regular sickness, more likely. There was little time for contemplation however, as she waded in alongside Cassandra to support the embattled defenders.

Magic in the air. Trevelyan could almost taste it, and as the last demon fell she was looking around for its source when that very individual seized her by the wrist and held her hand to the rift.

“Quickly, before more come through!”

Resolution. Respite. She can fix this. She can help us.

There was a –crack- and the rift blinked out of existence as if it had never been. The mage – an elf, gave Trevelyan a long look, assessing and scrutinising. Trevelyan looked back at him, frowning slightly. He was familiar and yet different; she had the strangest sense that they had met before and yet she was quite certain that they hadn’t.

“You were right, Solas,” said Cassandra, breaking the moment. “The mark can seal the rifts.”

“Let us hope that the same holds true for the Breach.”

Trevelyan glanced to her hand. The strange scar across its palm almost seemed to fizz with power. It was not a pleasant sensation.

“Our hero of the hour doesn’t talk much, does she?” the voice came from … lower? Trevelyan glanced down and found herself looking at a broad-chested dwarf, reloading a crossbow. “Are you sure she’s all right?”

The elf, Solas, tilted his head to the side and looked at her again. “She has undergone a traumatic experience and then awoke in chains,” disapproval emanated from those words, almost an accusation. “Give her a little time.”

“Fair enough,” the dwarf inclined his head to her, bowing slightly. “Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

He winked at Cassandra. She ignored him. “Leliana has identified her as Violetta Trevelyan, eighth child of ten, accompanying the delegation from the chantry of Ostwick.”

Varric chuckled. “Ten kids? I guess even nobles get bored of other nobles sometimes. Or a lot, in this case.”

Violetta. That was right. But… wrong? It wasn’t what she liked being called, reminded her of stern voices and exasperation. Her mother, her tutors. They were the ones that called her Violetta. Others, her friends, siblings, the name was, it was…

“Vee.”

Everyone looked at her. Suddenly, she felt enormously self-conscious. She awkwardly pointed a thumb to herself.

“Vee.”

She meant to say something more along the lines of ‘I’m Vee’ or ‘I prefer Vee, actually’, but the rest of the words were less than forthcoming. Maker’s breath, the only reason she’d said it was that it was almost an instinct to correct people who insisted on the pomp of her full name. A reflex action, as opposed to something she’d consciously thought of. The others were still looking at her, as if expecting more information to follow. Vee shrugged helplessly.

“We should get moving,” Cassandra said, throwing a venomous look her way, as if to say ‘You finally spoke, and that’s all?’. “The forward camp is not far.”

She turned away, Varric followed, after a moment. Solas lingered last, and for a second seemed like he was about to say something. Instead he made a gesture towards the path ahead, smiled gently, and left. Vee trailed along after him.

There were some many pieces of the puzzle, but they were all slipping through her fingers. She needed an edge, or a solid foundation to work from, and could find neither. Each time she thought of something she knew, she was assailed with doubts and confusion, internal conflicts that shook her resolve and her certainty. Facts should not be so malleable, and it was only the statements made by others that had managed to crystallise. Her name. Her family. And yet even then, she couldn’t match faces to names. Davin, Reginald, Annette, Gerisa. But what did they look like? Which order did they come in? Flashes of memory went by, but they were shreds and scraps.

Vee clung to them as she followed the others. Right now, that was all that she had.

LoL Thread, PRESEASON edition: MORE DOTS MORE DOTS
30 kills on AD nami.

That is beautiful.

LoL Thread, PRESEASON edition: MORE DOTS MORE DOTS
We gave them five ADC, they gave us Karthus, Anivia, Skarner, Heimerdinger and Viktor.

The one full on teamfight we actually had was over in an instant via our having actual CC.

(Skarner is actually more fun than I thought he'd be. That was my first time playing him. I didn't realise quite how... weird his ult feels, though).

A Wild Beard Appears; A Pathfinder Experience
I would have murdered you too if it wasn't for you meddling kid-

wait.

A Wild Beard Appears; A Pathfinder Experience
Season 3 fin.

Mah Writings
Demons.

Trevelyan was torn between dread and the very real impression that they shouldn’t be any concern of hers. It didn’t make the slightest sense; she’d never encountered demons before in her life, but all the stories she’d heard had been bad, cautionary. Demons were malevolent, they sought to prey on good, Maker-fearing folk, they tried to attack and possess mages. She knew all of those things, and yet there was no conviction behind the knowledge, doubts that she could not speak to the origins of.

One thing she remembered was how to use daggers, and when the shade attacked her, she did not hesitate. A strange chill ran through her when the demon dissolved into shadows, and she was still staring at the spot where it had been when Cassandra snarled at her to drop her weapons.

Trevelyan stared back blankly. Drop- relinquish them? But she had just been attacked! She wrestled with the words, trying to get them out. There was a knack to this. She’d always been able to speak, well, before, and it definitely hadn’t been hard. Why was it such a struggle now?

It didn’t matter; Cassandra changed her mind. Trevelyan felt relieved, though it took a moment to work out what that was, and why she was feeling it. Having weapons was reassuring and familiar; she’d learned how to use them since she was young, she was certain of that. What ‘young’ meant was rather more difficult to say.

The two of them fought their way across snow and ice to the scene of another battle between people and demons… the site of a rift.

It was smaller than the huge rent in the sky, but closer. It hummed with the power of the Fade, and Trevelyan was struck by longing and… homesickness? No, that couldn’t be right; she was no mage, she knew nothing of the Fade. Regular sickness, more likely. There was little time for contemplation however, as she waded in alongside Cassandra to support the embattled defenders.

Magic in the air. Trevelyan could almost taste it, and as the last demon fell she was looking around for its source when that very individual seized her by the wrist and held her hand to the rift.

“Quickly, before more come through!”

Resolution. Respite. She can fix this. She can help us.

There was a –crack- and the rift blinked out of existence as if it had never been. The mage – an elf, gave Trevelyan a long look, assessing and scrutinising. Trevelyan looked back at him, frowning slightly. He was familiar and yet different; she had the strangest sense that they had met before and yet she was quite certain that they hadn’t.

“You were right, Solas,” said Cassandra, breaking the moment. “The mark can seal the rifts.”

“Let us hope that the same holds true for the Breach.”

Trevelyan glanced to her hand. The strange scar across its palm almost seemed to fizz with power. It was not a pleasant sensation.

“Our hero of the hour doesn’t talk much, does she?” the voice came from … lower? Trevelyan glanced down and found herself looking at a broad-chested dwarf, reloading a crossbow. “Are you sure she’s all right?”

The elf, Solas, tilted his head to the side and looked at her again. “She has undergone a traumatic experience and then awoke in chains,” disapproval emanated from those words, almost an accusation. “Give her a little time.”

“Fair enough,” the dwarf inclined his head to her, bowing slightly. “Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

He winked at Cassandra. She ignored him. “Leliana has identified her as Violetta Trevelyan, eighth child of ten, accompanying the delegation from the chantry of Ostwick.”

Varric chuckled. “Ten kids? I guess even nobles get bored of other nobles sometimes. Or a lot, in this case.”

Violetta. That was right. But… wrong? It wasn’t what she liked being called, reminded her of stern voices and exasperation. Her mother, her tutors. They were the ones that called her Violetta. Others, her friends, siblings, the name was, it was…

“Vee.”

Everyone looked at her. Suddenly, she felt enormously self-conscious. She awkwardly pointed a thumb to herself.

“Vee.”

She meant to say something more along the lines of ‘I’m Vee’ or ‘I prefer Vee, actually’, but the rest of the words were less than forthcoming. Maker’s breath, the only reason she’d said it was that it was almost an instinct to correct people who insisted on the pomp of her full name. A reflex action, as opposed to something she’d consciously thought of. The others were still looking at her, as if expecting more information to follow. Vee shrugged helplessly.

“We should get moving,” Cassandra said, throwing a venomous look her way, as if to say ‘You finally spoke, and that’s all?’. “The forward camp is not far.”

She turned away, Varric followed, after a moment. Solas lingered last, and for a second seemed like he was about to say something. Instead he made a gesture towards the path ahead, smiled gently, and left. Vee trailed along after him.

There were some many pieces of the puzzle, but they were all slipping through her fingers. She needed an edge, or a solid foundation to work from, and could find neither. Each time she thought of something she knew, she was assailed with doubts and confusion, internal conflicts that shook her resolve and her certainty. Facts should not be so malleable, and it was only the statements made by others that had managed to crystallise. Her name. Her family. And yet even then, she couldn’t match faces to names. Davin, Reginald, Annette, Gerisa. But what did they look like? Which order did they come in? Flashes of memory went by, but they were shreds and scraps.

Vee clung to them as she followed the others. Right now, that was all that she had.

Mah Writings
Writing Prompt


-

There must be a way out, there must be, must be…

It heard. It listened. Calling for it. Closer than it ever remembered a waking thought.

The summons wasn’t quite curiosity, it was… affinity. Belief drew it.

But now the thoughts were quiet. The Fade-walker that had drawn it looked, but did not see, did not move.

Could it help?

It reached out and touched.

Something tugged at the edges of its essence. It drew back, or tried to.

It couldn’t. Within was a void, and the inexorable strength of it needing to be filled overwhelmed the presence.

There was a moment of alarm, and then, like stepping from a cliff, it fell into darkness.



Everything felt… heavy. Something pressed upon her body from all sides, and it took a long moment for her mind to supply the information that it was clothes.

Bits and pieces filtered through the hazy mist that hung over her consciousness, but they came with no rhyme or direction or order. She was handy with blades. Her favourite colour was red. She’d never really liked horses. Those things that you opened to enter buildings were called doors. Sunrises were beautiful. None of it had proper meaning or sense, and none of it could take away from the pervasive sense of wrongness that she could feel. It permeated every aspect of her, from the top of her head to the tips of her… toes. They were called toes.

She could see nothing. Ten seconds passed before she realised it was because she hadn’t opened her eyes. It took another five before she remembered how to do that.

The first thing that struck her was how solid her surroundings looked, and a moment later, that came with the uneasy knowledge that she didn’t understand why that should be so strange. Walls, floors, ceilings, those existed, right? It shouldn’t feel so odd that they were there. Listening to such reason was immensely difficult when more than half of her was confused as to how she even knew that in the first place. Wasn’t it just, just, well, a fact? Except… no, she was convinced that at some time, in some place, the rules hadn’t been the same. Had they?

That was ridiculous though. She was from… Ostwick. Yes, Ostwick. There was a vague sense of a city, people, home-but-not-home. No, wait, she came from – no, it was Ostwick, even though a part of her wanted to suggest that it wasn’t quite right. But no, now she remembered, she was Trevelyan.

…What was Trevelyan?

This was too much. She needed time to think, away from this heaviness, away from the confines of wherever this was. There was a moment where she tried to <i>will</I> it all away, and then further confusion, both in trying to work out why she’d done that and the fact that it hadn’t worked. That was silly though, you couldn’t just think something and have it happen. She wasn’t a mage, that wasn’t how … wasn’t it?

She tried to lift her arms and then blinked. More weight. She looked down. There were some kind of manacles around her …wrists. Yes. Wrists. A blank stare as her achingly, desperately slow thoughts shifted through that. That meant imprisonment, captors. A keening sense of sadness swiped through her chest, and she could not fully explain why. It went deeper than knowing she was being held prisoner, and yet she couldn’t place a finger on it.

Captivity. Cages. No way out. No chances left.

Those thoughts swept across her in an instant and were gone just as quickly. What could have landed her in chains? She wasn’t a criminal. Granted, she wasn’t sure what a criminal was, but she definitely had the sense that criminals were the kind of people that got locked up, or at least, the kind that got locked up and actually deserved it.

Had she perhaps done something wrong? Again, a queasy and sick feeling ran through her. She remembered that there had been something. Quiet where before there had been noise, trying to help, and instead, instead…

Something else. She couldn’t remember.

She felt the person enter before even looking up from her bonds. Anger, anguish. A short haired woman, a hooded figure behind her.

Accusations were snarled. Questions, demands. She wanted to answer, but couldn’t work out how to speak. She could recall talking. She spoke all the time, to everyone. Except knowing that and putting it into practice were apparently different things. It had something to do with the tongue, but also the lips, and then there was breathing, too. How did it all work?

Silence was apparently taken for defiance, impudence, or both. The first woman grew even angrier before the second spoke, interceding, but not altruistically.

We need her. Not wanted, not welcomed, needed.

She understood need. She understood…

Despair. Death. The only survivor. The only one that may be able to do something.

“Stay silent if you wish. So long as you follow my instructions, I do not care if you speak.”

She gave a slight nod to the woman. Cassandra. That was what the other had called her. Why didn’t the name describe her? Names should… tell you about… no, names were just names. Just like she was Trevelyan. Well, no, not exactly like it, because there were other parts too, she wasn’t just Trevelyan, but she couldn’t focus on them, couldn’t grasp the memories, still elusive, still difficult.

Cassandra led her outside, wobbling unsteadily on her feet. Balancing was difficult, as if putting one foot in front of the other was somehow new, and somehow it was. Her body felt strange, like a familiar old coat that had been retailored to someone larger than herself, and now no longer fitted properly. She stopped and stared as she emerged into the open. A hole in the sky. A hole to- Cassandra was speaking, saying something about the world of demons, and Trevelyan felt a pang of something that may have been indignation, just another inexplicable thought and emotion to go with all the rest. It wasn’t just demons that resided in the Fade, yet when she tried to concentrate on how she knew that, she turned a blank. She’d heard something from the sisters, probably.

She had sisters, didn’t she? But it wasn’t those sisters that she would hear something like that from. How could one word be two things at once? Relatives and priests. That scarcely made sense.

The hole thrummed with energy, and a bolt of pain slammed into her hand. She cried out, the first sound she’d made since awaking. What- what was- that wasn’t right, that wasn’t how feelings worked. She grasped at her hand, a green mark pulsing, twisting, writhing, sending that agony all the way up her arm.

There was concern from Cassandra, but something else too, a sense of emotion that was both concealed and yet plain as day.

Crisis. Catastrophe. She is responsible. She is our only…

Hope.


LoL Thread, PRESEASON edition: MORE DOTS MORE DOTS
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LoL Thread, PRESEASON edition: MORE DOTS MORE DOTS
Namira
Feb 6 2014, 04:30 PM
Finally I have made it to Silver III.

Which was where I placed in season 3 with the same record that netted me Bronze II this time around.

Basically what I'm saying is that Riot makes me cry. ;_;


Matchmaking is really weird. I am matched with people who are silver/gold now but were previously gold and plat. Every one of my games is at least 1/3 gold. Which is... neat I guess but kinda blows when a previously-plat draven ruins your team.
Nearly one year ago.

How far I've come.

(Regularly getting matched with Season 4 diamonds, I'm in Plat V promos, gaining 30+ lp per win)

A Wild Beard Appears; A Pathfinder Experience
RIP most hated villain so far.

LoL Thread, PRESEASON edition: MORE DOTS MORE DOTS
It's team builder so it doesn't matter quite as much but-

GET PUNCHED.

Spoiler: click to toggle

LoL Thread, PRESEASON edition: MORE DOTS MORE DOTS
Quote Vayne: 'I love support mains. You guys are so nice.'

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