[ ooc notes: - for any DA castmates, I'm playing Finel as unromanced and more than happy to have any DAI companions not recognize him as Inquisitor, so approach him (or not) however you wish! No pressure either way. - I write in prose, but feel free to use whatever format you prefer. - Finel is m/m for shipping/smut, as a heads up! He's very open for casual encounters but is currently a bit touch-starved due to Reasons. ]
arrival/prologue |
He had only meant to rest for an hour or two - as much as several of his companions had pushed for immediately returning to the Eluvian to continue pursuing the threat, Finel had begged for a short time to recover from the first journey. There was the risk that the longer they stayed in the palace, the more likely the collected representatives would grow impatient and call for a resumption of the summit to determine the fate of the Inquisition.
That alone made him feel very tired. Finel still hadn't untangled his own feelings enough to know what his preferred outcome would be, let alone sit there and listen to nobles debate what the Inquisition had actually done for them. The discovery of this new plot had been a welcome distraction, and would have been just one more problem to solve if not for the Anchor's sudden, violent destabilization. Even now, he could feel the power in his palm wavering in a way he'd never remembered before.
He'd only meant to close his eyes for a little while. Yet when he opened them, a strange, entirely different world awaited. After a not insignificant amount of time spent in panicked confusion, he finally came to understand that this place was Other. Elsewhere. In-between. This was a different world, a different timeline. Something entirely separate from where he had been gathered.
There's an irony to the idea of being called here by yet another alleged God. He hadn't even begun to wrestle with the hidden mosaics about Fen'Harel and the Evanuris they had discovered only some hours ago. Finel felt a familiar skepticism towards this new being Pheme as he did the entities of his own heritage.
God or not, this is his current reality, and he is both surprised and somewhat ashamed that the feeling that comes with the acceptance of this reality is...relief. Though the Anchor still tingles and shines softly on his palm, there is a weightlessness that comes with a realization that there is no summit, no Qunari plot to finish uncovering, no Inquisition relying on him to solve the problems of the world.
It is...freeing.
welcome drinks |
Finel has long grown used to a world more inhabited by humans than elves, with its rich, occasionally over-wrought decor and palatial settings. He allows his assigned attendant, a youthful individual with androgynous features and dark brown hair pulled into a low ponytail, to select an outfit for the event, pleasantly surprised at its aesthetics. It's not quite the right fashion, they tell him, but should still suit. His hair he binds up into a braided bun, some tendrils falling elegantly about his face.
The party is almost too reminiscent of the Winter Palace, but noticeably and pleasantly absent obscene whispers about his Dalishness, if indeed any here even knew what a Dalish elf is. He can be any other guest. The inclusion of exotic plant life, as well, felt a far cry from the echoing, empty marble. It heartened him even more, to be among even unfamiliar greenery.
The drink of the evening seemed determined to match the verdant splendor; Finel felt warmed from the first sip, feeling even more of his previous cares and worries slip away. The Anchor still sent intermittent, familiar pangs of pain up through his arm, but even with its increased frequency, he had long grown accustomed to them.
When someone asks him to dance, he smiles, somewhat apologetic, but eager. "If you're all right with the fact that I don't know any of the steps, I'd love to."
the greenhouse effect |
Where there might have been a wave of panic at realizing the door is gone once he stepped through, the effects of the drink from earlier have carried him past it - all of this is new and thrilling in a way he couldn't remember viewing the world. Rarely had he had enough time to appreciate the beauty of a place in Thedas for what it was before danger took over.
Finel explores without much care, either on his own or pulling a new companion along by the hand. The heat of the greenhouse has him loosening the buttons from around his collar, until eventually he removes the outer layer entirely, leaving him in a sleeveless tunic.
After following the lofty giggles and bobbing lantern of dryads, he pauses for a moment to catch his breath, hand clenching as another wave of pain courses through his arm, but the smile on his face doesn't falter.
"Ah...I think perhaps we are lost."
skinny dipping | (ooc: m/m for potential flirting/smut)
Finel was born in the winter, and always preferred the snow to the heat. Which is to say, the hot humidity of the greenhouse has him wilting a bit. The sight of a pool is more than welcome, and bolstered by the adventurous tonic, he begins to strip down without much care of anyone else possibly present. The clothes he leaves in a neat pile, and anyone possibly close enough to be watching or notice may realize that his slender frame bares several scars, including one thin slice that starts just below his left shoulder and extends in a long diagonal across his chest, ending near his right hip. A puncture wound adorns the same shoulder, a burn scar licks up along his right calf. Some smaller ones are harder to see at a distance.
He slips into the water, humming with pleasure at the cool temperature. Just beneath the surface, his palm glows faintly. A memory conjures briefly, and is gone again. The atmosphere here - a nighttime pool, lit softly by mysterious plants, and the sounds of distant merrymaking, feels like the most relaxing thing he could ever remember.
Finel finds a rock at the edge of the pool and drapes himself lazily over it, just observing others, perhaps hoping to catch the eye of someone handsome to join him.
gives you butterflies | (m/m only)
Having reluctantly realized that he cannot stay in the pool all evening, Finel eventually dresses and resumes his wanderings, looking for the exit. After a few minutes, the Anchor's twinges of pain are becoming more and more frequent, the glow brighter. Whether it's the pain or the effects of the drink wearing off, fear and worry begin to claw at him once again. The last time he felt this, the excess power that discharged from his hand was violent enough to throw him backwards. He needed to find an exit, or at least a place with fewer people around - there's no telling how large of a blast it will be this time.
Finel stumbles along the path, the pain a continuous throb. He doesn't realize he'd passed through a veritable swarm of butterflies until he feels the kiss of their wings against his face and ears, their softness a strange contrast to the dagger-like pain in his arm.
Suddenly, the pain and the pressure take over - but instead of an outward blast, the magic seems to reverse course and instead push itself into his body. Every nerve seems to alight in white-hot pain, making him cry out sharply as his knees buckle beneath him. Finel collapses to the ground, curling against subsequent convulsions that eventually pass after a few moments.
Perhaps you see him as he goes down, or perhaps you find him a few minutes later, sitting on the ground, back to a tree, catching his breath.
"Sorry," he says, smiling weakly. "Could you help me?"
wildcard | Open to any other ideas / prompts! DM me or feel free to just start one~
Finel Lavellan | Dragon Age
- for any DA castmates, I'm playing Finel as unromanced and more than happy to have any DAI companions not recognize him as Inquisitor, so approach him (or not) however you wish! No pressure either way.
- I write in prose, but feel free to use whatever format you prefer.
- Finel is m/m for shipping/smut, as a heads up! He's very open for casual encounters but is currently a bit touch-starved due to Reasons. ]
arrival/prologue |
He had only meant to rest for an hour or two - as much as several of his companions had pushed for immediately returning to the Eluvian to continue pursuing the threat, Finel had begged for a short time to recover from the first journey. There was the risk that the longer they stayed in the palace, the more likely the collected representatives would grow impatient and call for a resumption of the summit to determine the fate of the Inquisition.
That alone made him feel very tired. Finel still hadn't untangled his own feelings enough to know what his preferred outcome would be, let alone sit there and listen to nobles debate what the Inquisition had actually done for them. The discovery of this new plot had been a welcome distraction, and would have been just one more problem to solve if not for the Anchor's sudden, violent destabilization. Even now, he could feel the power in his palm wavering in a way he'd never remembered before.
He'd only meant to close his eyes for a little while. Yet when he opened them, a strange, entirely different world awaited. After a not insignificant amount of time spent in panicked confusion, he finally came to understand that this place was Other. Elsewhere. In-between. This was a different world, a different timeline. Something entirely separate from where he had been gathered.
There's an irony to the idea of being called here by yet another alleged God. He hadn't even begun to wrestle with the hidden mosaics about Fen'Harel and the Evanuris they had discovered only some hours ago. Finel felt a familiar skepticism towards this new being Pheme as he did the entities of his own heritage.
God or not, this is his current reality, and he is both surprised and somewhat ashamed that the feeling that comes with the acceptance of this reality is...relief. Though the Anchor still tingles and shines softly on his palm, there is a weightlessness that comes with a realization that there is no summit, no Qunari plot to finish uncovering, no Inquisition relying on him to solve the problems of the world.
It is...freeing.
welcome drinks |
Finel has long grown used to a world more inhabited by humans than elves, with its rich, occasionally over-wrought decor and palatial settings. He allows his assigned attendant, a youthful individual with androgynous features and dark brown hair pulled into a low ponytail, to select an outfit for the event, pleasantly surprised at its aesthetics. It's not quite the right fashion, they tell him, but should still suit. His hair he binds up into a braided bun, some tendrils falling elegantly about his face.
The party is almost too reminiscent of the Winter Palace, but noticeably and pleasantly absent obscene whispers about his Dalishness, if indeed any here even knew what a Dalish elf is. He can be any other guest. The inclusion of exotic plant life, as well, felt a far cry from the echoing, empty marble. It heartened him even more, to be among even unfamiliar greenery.
The drink of the evening seemed determined to match the verdant splendor; Finel felt warmed from the first sip, feeling even more of his previous cares and worries slip away. The Anchor still sent intermittent, familiar pangs of pain up through his arm, but even with its increased frequency, he had long grown accustomed to them.
When someone asks him to dance, he smiles, somewhat apologetic, but eager. "If you're all right with the fact that I don't know any of the steps, I'd love to."
the greenhouse effect |
Where there might have been a wave of panic at realizing the door is gone once he stepped through, the effects of the drink from earlier have carried him past it - all of this is new and thrilling in a way he couldn't remember viewing the world. Rarely had he had enough time to appreciate the beauty of a place in Thedas for what it was before danger took over.
Finel explores without much care, either on his own or pulling a new companion along by the hand. The heat of the greenhouse has him loosening the buttons from around his collar, until eventually he removes the outer layer entirely, leaving him in a sleeveless tunic.
After following the lofty giggles and bobbing lantern of dryads, he pauses for a moment to catch his breath, hand clenching as another wave of pain courses through his arm, but the smile on his face doesn't falter.
"Ah...I think perhaps we are lost."
skinny dipping | (ooc: m/m for potential flirting/smut)
Finel was born in the winter, and always preferred the snow to the heat. Which is to say, the hot humidity of the greenhouse has him wilting a bit. The sight of a pool is more than welcome, and bolstered by the adventurous tonic, he begins to strip down without much care of anyone else possibly present. The clothes he leaves in a neat pile, and anyone possibly close enough to be watching or notice may realize that his slender frame bares several scars, including one thin slice that starts just below his left shoulder and extends in a long diagonal across his chest, ending near his right hip. A puncture wound adorns the same shoulder, a burn scar licks up along his right calf. Some smaller ones are harder to see at a distance.
He slips into the water, humming with pleasure at the cool temperature. Just beneath the surface, his palm glows faintly. A memory conjures briefly, and is gone again. The atmosphere here - a nighttime pool, lit softly by mysterious plants, and the sounds of distant merrymaking, feels like the most relaxing thing he could ever remember.
Finel finds a rock at the edge of the pool and drapes himself lazily over it, just observing others, perhaps hoping to catch the eye of someone handsome to join him.
gives you butterflies | (m/m only)
Having reluctantly realized that he cannot stay in the pool all evening, Finel eventually dresses and resumes his wanderings, looking for the exit. After a few minutes, the Anchor's twinges of pain are becoming more and more frequent, the glow brighter. Whether it's the pain or the effects of the drink wearing off, fear and worry begin to claw at him once again. The last time he felt this, the excess power that discharged from his hand was violent enough to throw him backwards. He needed to find an exit, or at least a place with fewer people around - there's no telling how large of a blast it will be this time.
Finel stumbles along the path, the pain a continuous throb. He doesn't realize he'd passed through a veritable swarm of butterflies until he feels the kiss of their wings against his face and ears, their softness a strange contrast to the dagger-like pain in his arm.
Suddenly, the pain and the pressure take over - but instead of an outward blast, the magic seems to reverse course and instead push itself into his body. Every nerve seems to alight in white-hot pain, making him cry out sharply as his knees buckle beneath him. Finel collapses to the ground, curling against subsequent convulsions that eventually pass after a few moments.
Perhaps you see him as he goes down, or perhaps you find him a few minutes later, sitting on the ground, back to a tree, catching his breath.
"Sorry," he says, smiling weakly. "Could you help me?"
wildcard |
Open to any other ideas / prompts! DM me or feel free to just start one~