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She pulled off her Nightengale mask to get a better look at it, reading the message a few times in case she’d missed something, something hidden between the neat letters. But no, nothing there but a death sentence. Or attempt, anyway. Didn’t say all that much for the Brotherhood, if a thief could out kill them.

Nadreshiel rolled the assassin’s note between her bloody fingers as she contemplated. The Guild was secure and everyone getting too fat and lazy to squeeze out of the sewer’s passages. The Guild was secure, but apparently she wasn’t - targeted by assassins in addition to tenacious guards and rival thieves. The bargain she’d made with Nocturnal was still a decent one and she could almost feel the weight of it, like it was some other piece of armor or some heavy loot in her pocket. But the other Princes… Other bargains…

She crumbled the note into a tiny ball, then swallowed it for some reason she couldn’t fathom herself. From it hatched a nebulous plan as it dawned with the growing strength of the sun rising, which is was, warming the Rift and gilding the leaves that moved around her.

( Read more... )

Current Mood: crappy

The storm blew the snow with such ferocity that the trees disappeared into the white and Farkas could smell only their damp furs and cold breaths, the scent of the fugitive they’d been tracking was lost in the wind and ice.

In front of him Ilessa tramped heavily through the snow banks. She was using her battered shield the block the freezing gusts, but the determination in her steps was wavering. When she stopped and shouted over the wind’s howling that they were going to make camp, Farkas wasn’t surprised, just pointed to where he’d caught sight of a rocky overhang in the brush. It wasn’t much shelter, but he’d survived worse nights. He caught a glimpse of her face, harsh and resolute, through the swirling snow and figured she’d weather it too, even if she was from Cyrodiil.

Farkas broke off dry branches from the trees they passed and when they finally ducked into the cavern, Ilessa yanked free the hanging moss. They put their backs to the cold stone and piled their wood and kindling at the cavern’s mouth. Farkas was rustling through his armor to find flint when Ilessa pulled off one of her gloves. “Here,” she said, and fire blast from her hand. “Magic’s good for something.”

"Not bad."

"I know that and basic healing," she said a she shoved her hand back into her glove. She added a defensive comment, like she was raising her shield, "Useful out in the field."

Vilkas probably would have had something to say to that, but Farkas was glad for the fire. It was something else she could do, something that none of the other Companions did as far as he knew. And it was another thing he liked about her.

She pulled off her hood and shook the snow out of her hair. It was as dark as a wolf’s pelt, and Farkas had something to say about that, about how he liked the color or it, the thickness, how it fell around her face, and how it and all of her smelled of blood and steel, of pine and clover honey. And he liked the way she wielded her axe and the strength in her heavy footsteps. And it annoyed his brother but Farkas liked the way she stepped up when Kodlak wanted help. He couldn’t say that though, or any of it without messing it up, so instead he said with a grin, “Don’t worry - I won’t tell Vilkas.”

Ilessa chuckled and shook her head. “He knows. And wasn’t impressed.”

"He is, even if he doesn’t say it. I am too."

The smile she gave him was a rare one and warmed him up more than the fire.

Current Mood: full

Blue Sky & River
Working on: Boss battle
Word for this chapter: 1277

I am so behind this year; November was unexpectedly busy for me. I think I can do this, though.

Current Mood: anxious
Current Music: howl >> florence and the machine

The first time Anders pulls the tie out of his hair and runs his hands through it, Varric watches Hawke fall in love. Or maybe there was a spell in his quick hand movements, what did a dwarf know about the methods of mages? (He liked the alliteration of that, methods of mages, and tucked it away for later use. Maybe he’d even add a couple of other words, string the repetition out a little more.)

So, there is Hawke, staring with all the attention of his animal namesake. (Varric considered making a joke about if Leandra had married into the Nugs, decided against it - it was too low brow.) Staring until Carver elbows him and the two brothers turned away together, Carver frowning and Tristan grinning again. He bends down to sling his arm over Varric’s shoulder and says, “Nothing like a walk on the beach, eh, Varric?”

"If you consider the Wounded Coast a beach, then sure."

"Damn good idea you had, taking this job." Hawke says and glances over his shoulder. Anders has pulled his hair back up but Hawke still has mesmerized look in his eyes.

It would make for an interesting story. Who doesn’t love a tale of forbidden romance, of danger and strife? The book practically wrote itself. Not a book, Varric corrects himself. A serial. Draw it out, more opportunity for readership. He grins back up and says with an easy shrug, “Stick with me, Hawke. We’ll write this adventure together.”

Carver snorts and Anders appears over Hawke’s shoulder, asking what adventure? and had anyone seen the path recently? and Varric figures that between them and the pirate and the two elves, he’ll have enough material to work with for years to come.

Current Music: i'm not calling you a liar >> florence and the machine

Hope everyone has good night!

I'm doing it again this year! I can't believe it's November already. Damn.

This year's novel is going to be a DnD campaign set in Yukon?the Old West, to summarize it in a sentence. Really like my characters this time and am excited to give it a go.

Current Mood: hopeful

Title: Heister
Fandom: Dragon Age 2
Rating: PG14ish for nongraphic sex
Warnings: Nope
Author's note: Charade is left alone when her mother dies. With the last coins from her mother sewn into her skirts, Charade goes after the illusive Keroshek, the gem that her father wasted his fortune on finding. Intended to be a response to the Women of Dragon Age Fandom Challenge, but missed the deadline.

Hesiter @ AO3

Current Mood: apathetic

Current Mood: good

I've moved most of my fandom activity over to Tumblr. Not there's much of it, however.

Current Music: crazy little called love >> queen

The Gabled Window
Working on: The end!
Word for this chapter: 2514

Yeah, I got this.

Congrats to people who've already won!

Current Mood: accomplished

The Gabled Window
Working on: Uncovering the big baddie's plot.
Word for this chapter: 54

So I'm about 5k behind schedule. I'm a little disappointed in myself, but life's been shitty recently and you do what you can. The positive thing about this nano attempt is that it's been more cohesive than the previous years', so maybe I'm finally getting a hang of this here plotting business.

Current Mood: shitty

Getting ready for hurricane Sandy here. We've already got wind and rain, but nothing too bad at the moment. But hey! Day off from work!

Had a good weekend and Columbus day. The Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour was remastered and re-released, and a theater nearby was doing a screening, so The Dude, The Dude's folks, and I went to witness the monstrosity in all its glory. It was better than I remember! Even entertaining!

Charade became a courier before she could read. She excelled at it - not because a child couldn't have secrets, but because she couldn't be coerced into divulging them. Mara had always called her a stubborn child, a superlative her mother had always said like a compliment and not a criticism. Charade was stubborn and was good at dodging, at denying, and at flat-out lying. By the time she was twelve she had a reputation in the darkness of Val Royeaux's back alleys. L'ombre, they called her. Shadow.

Charade kept secrets, hoarding them like the nobles did gold. And she didn't need one of the ornate masks that the upperclass wore to hide her face. Hardly anyone noticed a thin, street-dusty girl anyway, and with her quickness they didn't have to see more than a flicker of cloth before she turned a corner.

As she learned to decipher the thin loops and swirls of the written word, she sometimes opened letters. Only the poorly sealed ones, those she could close up again without the recipient knowing. it didn't take long for her to realize that were really only three types of letters: I love you, I hate you, I'll kill you. Variations, of course, or funny combinations. She liked to imagine what happened after they were read, if the words ever came true. After dropping off a particularly amusing one, Charade bought an only somewhat bruised apple from her earnings and sat on a nearby staircase and decided that she'd never be mad over anyone like that. Never ever.

Letters didn't get delivered directly to the target, but to sympathetic butlers and maids in on the conspiracy. Charade never entered through the front doors, and instead slipped into kitchens or cellars like the servants. As she grew older, she spent more time with the kitchen girls and serving boys, flirting for gifts of wine and pastries with cream so light it seemed to float off the dough. She brought these gains back to her mother, who never asked where or how.

Current Music: carrion >> fiona apple

Her dark robes puddled around her legs as she sat on the floor of her room, trying to meditate. Nadia had been working on clearing her mind for what felt like hours, attempting to ignore the clicks and whirls of the engine and the clank of boots across metal floors, but when someone knocked on her door, she gave up completely. It wasn't an excuse to stop, she told herself as she rose to her feet, it was simply being polite. Her knees cracked as she moved and she banished an angry word from the tip of her tongue before she started cursing.

When Nadia opened the door Felix Iresso, the soldier her master had plucked from the icy tundra of Hoth, grinned down at her. He was in his armor still, the white of Republic soldiers with orange stars on his shoulders. "Hey. I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"No, not at all," she assured him hurriedly. They hadn't spoken much, but she was pleased to see him and not Tharan Cedrex. "I was just... thinking."

"Probably have a lot to think about," he said mildly. "Congratulations on it. Your dad would be proud. So what do I call you? Jedi Nadia? Master Grell?"

Nadia waved her hands to dismiss the titles. "Neither. I'm just a padawan, not a Jedi yet. And definitely not a Master. Just Nadia is fine. Um. What should I call you? You were a Lieutenant, right?"

"Still am." He rubbed the back of his neck and Nadia could feel - through the Force like a real Jedi! - a wave of affection as he thought about his unit. At that moment she felt a closeness to him; she understood the confusing jumble of conflicting emotions that were created upon Master Sade's acceptance. There was no way to cut through the ties to one's old life, and even with all that a position on the Defender could offer, anxiety and regret still bound her. Nadia studied him with new interest and he grinned again under her inspection. This smile was more sheepish and made him look more like a big brother than a commanding officer. "But you're not one of my boys; you don't have to call me LT."

Nadia had heard Tharan and Zenith refer to him as Iresso, but Master Sade used his given name. Neither seemed right to Nadia, one too distant and one too close, so instead she echoed, "LT. I like it. Can I call you that? Is that ok?"

"Sure. Now, I came down to tell you that food's ready. You hungry?"

"I'll come up," she answered and followed him up the stairs.

"Good excuse as any to put off training, huh?" he said over his shoulder at him. She ducked her head and mumbled something into her robes and he chuckled. "Don't worry - I won't tell your master on you."

"Thanks, LT." This time when he smiled at her, Nadia smiled back.

Current Mood: hot

Alessandra/Sapphire

Spring
It's not quite dawn and when Sapphire climbs up and out of the guild's cemetery entrance the sky above her head is the same murky color as the water in the Ragged Flagon. The secret door grinds to a close behind her and she kicks her boot against the fake tomb to clean it. After those two movements the graveyard is silent - she listens, a thief's habit - and slides around the graves.

There's a crunch to her left and Sapphire whirls with a blade in each hand. Her target lowers the bread from her mouth and swallows loud in the still air. "Looks like I'm not the only early riser," the woman says with a low laugh.

A plan flits lightning fast through her brain: sprint forward, slice the woman's throat, and stuff the corpse in the Rataway before the guard's patrol. Another unexplained death, something for the Jarl to titter over, but nothing more. But Sapphire hesitates, and she never hesitates and she hates that she is now, and the woman speaks again, voice still soft, "The affairs of the living are no concern of mine."

The lack of fear - the lack of caring about it at all surprises Sapphire. The woman, perched on a grave like she's part of the stone, stares as Sapphire spins her knives and tucks them away. "The gravedigger," Sapphire says. She recognizes Arkay's priest, now that sun is beginning to flicker through the mist. Everyone in Riften knows of Alessandra, or knows as much as they're able. Arkay keeps the dead and His priests as close as dead as possible. Sapphire convinces herself that there's no risk in letting Alessandra see the passageway. "Who would you tell, anyway? The skeletons you sleep with?"

"No one keeps secrets quite like the dead," the priest acknowledges. She finishes her bread and brushes the crumbs from her robe. The dawn is bright enough now that when she looks up, Sapphire can see the glint of her eyes, the lines of her mouth. "I'd give you blessings, but it doesn't look like you really need them. If you ever do, you know where to find me."

When the priest turns away, Sapphire pulls a knife out again. A flick of her wrist and it'd be in Alessandra's back. But she keeps it in her hand, the metal cool against her palm, and watch priest's robes sway as she walks back to the temple. Sapphire almost follows - what does she have to do today, anyway? Something for Brynjolf, something for Maven, nothing important - but then she hears the scruff of boots on gravel.

The guard who turns the corner and walks into the cemetery doesn't see anything but graves and grass.

I really want to get back into writing. Since last years NaNo novel, I haven't done much of anything other than Dragon Age and SWTOR drabbles. I've been reading a lot more, and listening to writing and fantasy/scifi-themed podcasts, and I'm itching to get back into the habit.

It was a combination of Star Wars, terrible Star Wars novels, and damn fine fantasy novels. Star Wars inspires me, bad novels encourage me (I can totally do as well as these!), and good novels give me a goal to reach toward. And also the podcasts, too, since they make me want to be part of a community like that.

Need to: finish draft two of SQ, start draft one of T, fucking finially finish draft 12080234980 of P. Can it be done? Eh, no.

In preparation, I made another damn blog, this time over at wordpress. See, that is going to be my professional blog! Cuz I'm a Real Writer (tm) now or something! Sure! Let's go with that and not the real reason, which is I'm addicted to making blogs. I have this one, which was my main for a while; these posts get split and sent to LJ: stories go to one journal there and real life stuff to the other; my tumblr, where I've been spending basically all my time; and now this wordpress one. I've had so many others that died pathetically and alone.

I've been so busy lately; haven't had any quality internet time at all. I found a job! Only temporarily: I'm doing contract work at the National Archives until the end of September. It's not perfect, but it's money coming in.

So my days are full now, and nights are busy with the gym and - starting tonight - drawing classes. I heard about a good deal for continuing ed courses and The Dude and I dediced that we needed to stop talking about doing it and finally get off our asses and broaded our horizons. Both of us were interested in art as kids and would love to pick it back up. Stoked about that. Hope it goes well.

Haven't had much time for SWTOR, but am super excited for the expansion/patch coming out. New planet holy shit. With two 50s and two 30s - and 4 level 10s - I'm awash in ready-and-willing characters. Woot.

Things I want to do: write reviews of the podcasts I've been listening to, write reviews of the Star Wars books with an emphasis on reading as a feminist, finish the Dragon Age alphabet challenge for Charade, ten thousand other things.

Current Mood: accomplished

15. Your favorite “Bro”
VARRIC

( The rest of the questions )

I need to stop making alts.

In my headcanon, my SWTOR characters cross paths and form relationships with each other: Agent Asjary was at the same Academy with Quinn and competed with him to be the star pupil which resulted in some glorious hate sex; when they run into each other, she needles him unrelentlessly about being a Sith's lap dog and he mocks her low military rank. Warrior Kezmir hates that someone else has touched her property and is convinced that Vector is just a Quinn fill-in. Vector likes everyone.

Bounty Hunter Torv went to the Academy too, but got booted out early do to discipline issues. He has a crush on every boy - Lohkin, Vector, Quinn, Revel... - and has a habit of running into Trooper Ethrens, who keeps trying to get him to defect to the Republic so they can get married. Ethrens' older sister is a smuggler who does a lot of unsavory deals with the Empire; Cirawel had business with Asjary once, not realizing Az was an Imp spy. Not that Cirawel would have cared. She had a drunken fling with Kaliyo that left some scars and knows of Mako, but she's secretly glad that she doesn't have to work with either of them since they'd both upstage her. She's slowly becoming more loyal to the Republic under the influence of her crew.

Jedi Consular Sade keeps getting tangled in diplomatic issues that Vector is somehow always a part of, and she's convinced that Asjary is an assassin sent to destroy her/the Council. Az doesn't give a shit about Sade, though she has a passing interest in what Iresso has locked up in his head. They crash into each other as they're both escaping from some prison or something, and Sade's like, "you'll never get me, imperial" and Az is like, "brb loling forever."

Kezmir's run into Sade, too, and wants to crush her bones into a fine paste and spread it on crackers. Which is how she feels about most people, though, so Sade doesn't take it personally. Kezmir also wants to destroy Sade's padawan, but mostly out of jealousy because she doesn't have her own apprentice yet.

Current Mood: amused
Current Music: hot fuzz

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the bathroom window

the silver spoon

getting back into skyrim

skyrim lols

nano 2013

still writing da2 fanfic

Happy Halloween!

NaNo!

Hesiter - DA2

Happy Valentine's day!

tumblr is my religion

almost done with nano!

nano 12

(no subject)

oh the beatles

Charade - C is for Courier

nadia grell and felix iresso

Vernorexia, part 1

other blabbles

still alive

DA meme

swtor tumblr shit

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