Now That I Have A Lightbox I Can Take Updated Photos Of Archibald Asparagus Saint Sebastian

Now that I have a Lightbox I can take updated photos of Archibald Asparagus Saint Sebastian

So, I had a thought . What if ‘May the Dread Wolf take you’ used to be a blessing? Fen'Harel was the breaker of chains and the freer of slaves, after all. He sought to over throw the ones who would set themselves up as gods.   Why would a people living in fear not wish him to steal them away? “It inspired fear in my enemies and hope in my allies.” It sounds to me as though there were plenty of people who would have taken sincere oaths by the name of Fen'Harel. The name inspired hope in those who followed him, it stands to reason that they would have prayed, whether he wanted to be viewed as a god or not. What if ‘May the Dread Wolf take you’ used to be a sort of quietly desperate prayer that he would come to their aid? Something akin to ‘God go with you’. Imagine how much it must have disturbed him when the quiet pleas for help gradually turned in to cries of anger, of rage and fear. It was no longer a prayer asking for his help but a slap to his face with every utterance. Another reminder of just how badly he had failed. Is it really any wonder, then, that he has so little respect for the Dalish when they turned something that was, if not entirely pleasant, at least something to be proud of into an insult to his very nature and everything he tried to accomplish? Because it used to be “May the Dread Wolf take you” with an unspoken ‘And keep you safe.’ And now.. its not…

@fade-walking

The skeleton is also miraculously still perfectly articulated.

imagine a skeleton. obviously this is already blowing your mind. now imagine he had a gun

The End and The Beginning

Chapter 2: The Beginning

Ghilara breathed in deep, letting the air fill her lungs. It was an indulgence, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. The drying grasses, the scent of the fresh wind off the snowpeaks, and the faint tingle of embarium at the back of her throat; these things meant home. They meant the place where her mamae had taught her to cook hearth cakes, where she had stolen her first kiss, where she had learned to shoot. As the memories washed over her, she waited for the inevitable pang, the punch to the stomach that always came when she thought of such things, when her mind told her body that those things were gone, never to be regained. But all she felt was the gentle but constant weight of grief and sentimentality settling over her shoulders.

Blurb:

“After every war, someone has to clean up. Things won’t straighten themselves up, after all. Someone has to push the rubble to the side of the road, so the corpse-filled wagons can pass.” -Wislawa Szymborska

Lavellan has nothing left to loose when she arrives to stop Solas’ ritual. But in that moment she finds an opportunity for them both to live. Faking both their deaths, she flees with a near dead Solas to a small cottage in the middle of nowhere. But a return to peace is not as easy as she thought it would be. With Solas on the verge of death and her friends mourning her death, she has thrown everything at this one chance. And even if Solas wakes, they cannot go back to how things were. They have to move forwards.

Read from the start here

Hope you enjoy the first proper chapter of this fic! I've got a fun ride planned for y'all :D

Ar lasa mala revas. You are free, Solas

you change.... everything