Hopping on the bandwagon and writing out my Inquisitor's adventures. Deviates from the story line and adds on background to Lavellan; first time writing fanfiction for Dragon Age, so bear with me!
"Lady herald."
"Madame Lavellan."
"Your holiness."
The titles were strange, foreign, and spoken with a strange amount of respect to the Dalish elf that walked slowly down the gravel paths of Haven. The words seemed to fly in one delicately pointed ear and out the other, the elf's mind too muddled with other thoughts to really register that these people, these shems, were staring at her with a mixture of respect and awe.
Minutes- no, seconds!- ago, she had been haggled into helping these damn humans seal what could only be described as giant tears in the sky that seemed to weep demons and other nasty things.
Not exactly the most pleasant type of encounter, and yet it had become painfully apparent that she was snared in this mess, thanks to the jagged luminescent mark on her left palm. The source of her current predicament.
Cinna vaguely wondered if cutting off her left arm was a viable option.
Judging by the dozens of eyes that watched her every move, she supposed it wasn't.
Despite the fact that she was an elf, despite the fact that she had no clue what was going on, despite the fact that no matter how much she racked her mind she could remember nothing, and despite the fact that she had just met these shems and felt absolutely no obligation to help them, she was now trapped in what had hastily been declared as the revived Inquisition.
Fantastic.
Cinna had to force herself not to stomp as she went back to the rather dilapidated 'house' that she had woken up in. Even though she wandered around Haven prior to that woman- what was her name? Cass... Ah, Cassandra- decided to whip out a surprisingly large, ancient book to declare the Inquisition up and running, the only other elves she had encountered had very clearly been servants. Servants, or bald apostates.
Quite frankly, she would rather associate herself with the servants than Solas. It was quite clear that the mage elf shunned her heritage, and so she had refrained from attempting any more conversations with him to avoid even more conflict within this tiny hell hole.
Kicking the door to the cottage open, Cinna entered, the unfamiliar feeling of solid walls surrounding her, pushing in on her, made her feel uneasy, but it wasn't nearly as bad as how uncomfortable she felt under the scrutiny of so many Haven villagers, refugees, soldiers, and whatever else had been dragged to this tiny little village.
She collapsed on the makeshift bed, burying her face in the thin pillow.
Sweet Mythal, just what had she gotten in to?
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