Datober - Tumblr Posts

Seen a few of these prompt lists and I wanted to give it a go myself! Aimed for a range of prompts that will work for both artists and writers, and for all sorts of OCs as well as the Warden, Hawke, and the Inquisitor.

If you use, give me a tag! I'd love to see what you create.

Prompts listed under the cut 💚

Week 1: Origins

1. Family 2. Allegiances 3. Faith 4. Memories 5. Home

Week 2: Legacies

6. Inquisitor 7. Champion 8. Hero 9. Agent 10. Friendship 11. Beloved 12. Youth

Week 3: Travels

13. Fade 14. Sea 15. Palace 16. Blight 17. Mountains 18. Crossroads 19. Deep Roads

Week 4: Endings

20. Epilogue 21. Archdemon 22. Remains 23. Loss 24. Griffon 25. Battle 26. Remembrance

Week 5: Ghosts

27. Well 28. Abyss 29. Ostagar 30. Eluvian 31. Veil

Summary: The Guardian brings up memories that Tabris prefers to keep buried.

~~~~~

for @elfroot-and-laurels' datober prompt, days 4 & 5: memories & home!

“Before you go, there is something I must ask. I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past—your suffering, and the suffering of others. By the time you reached Shianni, she was broken, brutalized. You were too late.”

Vestele’s blood turns to ice.

The world around her evaporates in an instant. Nothing is real again. Her legs disintegrate, her arms dissolve, everything from her stomach to crown melts away until she’s floating; a simple, weightless form, a mirror image of the figure standing before her. It stares motionless, unwavering, yet the grief in its eyes is unmistakable. Tangible.

“Yet she has never answered for the sorrow she has caused you. Tell me, pilgrim: did you fail Shianni? Or were you denied justice?”

No!

“W-what?” The sound of her own voice—hoarse and timid and barely audible—startles her as she races to take control of what leaves her mouth. It is a useless struggle. “How…how do you know…?”

The entity examines her carefully, almost reluctantly. “Your path is laid out before me and plain to see—in the lines of your face and the scars on your heart.”

In an instant, she senses the others behind her. She remembers the ones that have accompanied her to this place, this sacred temple that is violating her right before their eyes.

“You assumed full responsibility for what happened, but the humans retaliated against your home even so.” She sees what it is now: pity.

He’s going to say it! DON’T LET HIM SAY IT!

Her heart is far away but she knows it is about to burst from her chest. She is drowning in silence as she feels it reach into the farthest fragments of her mind, the parts where her most revolting thoughts are kept locked deep within. She watches the apparition’s lips unleash her venom into the space between them.

“You wonder if accepting the arl’s offer would have been the right decision, if she deserved—"

NO!

“STOP!”

She crashes back down.

FOOL. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

“She didn’t—” Her voice chokes on a sob.

PATHETIC.

Vestele slams a hand over her mouth, but it’s too late. Everything is real again. Everything hurts. “She didn’t—doesn’t know how it h-hurt…”

YOU FAILED.

She drops her hand, as if it burns straight through the thick gloves. Her eyes squeeze shut; her jaw clenches tight until the muscles scream and she swears she could hear her teeth crack.

DO. NOT. CRY.

With a sharp intake of breath, she digs her nails into her palms, furrows her brows, then looks up at the spirit. It’s difficult to see him through the haze. A river spills in relentless waves as she speaks, voice now firm and level even when her lip quivers and breath catches. “I w-wasn’t strong enough to protect my home. I failed them all.”

The spirit nods. “Thank you. That is all I wished to know.”

The waves continue, unobstructed. Relief floods through her in an instant and is immediately replaced by shame.

Why would you indulge this creature? Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?

As her head bows, eyes falling on the stone by her feet, an intense tremble runs through her entire body. Only the noises of her quick gasps fill the room, lungs pleading desperately for air; the silence around her is suffocating.

You are WEAK. They will never respect you now.

To her right, she notices someone approach. A slight heaviness hovers above her shoulder, but it disappears before she can determine what it is. A soft whisper tells her, “You are too hard on yourself. You did the best you could.”

Blood rushes through her cheeks. He is mocking her. A bitter allusion to his confrontation just days ago.

“I’m doing the best I can, Alistair.”

"Really? It doesn't seem like it would be that hard to do better."

No.

He is not mocking—he is offering compassion in her moment of vulnerability.

She doesn’t want to believe that someone like him exists. Someone that has followed her for months, has endured the worst of her rage and hatred, yet continues to stand by her side. He chooses to show her grace and kindness as she tries to be better.

But she has caused pain to him and so many others. She does not deserve such compassion. They do not deserve her scorn. The shame is unbearable. She flinches away from Alistair’s presence, unable to take her eyes off the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him shift his stance, but remains next to her.

Vestele finds herself thankful for that. She listens to the specter move through her company, burrowing through their doubts, fears, regrets, failures. This is too much. It is wrong. She should not hear these things. They should not have heard hers. The suffering of her companions being brought to light by this creature claws and crawls inside her. Her mind is shifting, making space to welcome their torment as well.

But before she can put an end to it, he is finished. “The way is open. Good luck, and may you find what you seek.” Then the spirit fades into nothing.

No one moves. The silence lingers for what feels like hours. It’s too much, too heavy. Her eyes are sore, her head is throbbing.

You’ve said too much. Don’t let them speak. Just get moving.

She clears her throat. “Let’s go,” Vestele says, then pulls on her helmet and marches through the archway to face the next test without waiting to see who follows.