RP [OPEN POST]

[ramshackle]

✔ sex/romance positive | m/f & m/m
✔ world-building/plot driven
✔ a n g s t
✔ slow burn
✔ slow/medium paced & backtag friendly

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INTRO #1 [HIS QUARTERS]

[ramshackle]

[Commander.

Three years, and the title still rings odd to his ears—the impostor's syndrome at its finest. It all happened so fast. Ferelden. Greenfell. Three months there, to help him level out, and just like that, he was promoted, out of nowhere, second-in-command to the Knight-Commander. Kirkwall. A land cursed with too much of not enough. He didn't question it right away, his mind still too muddled from marred visions. It was somewhat of a relief, if anything, to be trusted, a superior who seemingly shared his views, seriously enough to take him under her wing. Now, when he ponders the circumstances of his promotion, back when twisted rumors clung to his every step, he's not entirely sure why Meredith chose him, and as time passes, he's not entirely sure whether he chose wisely.

But wisdom isn’t what led him here.

Rumor had it that he'd slaughtered mages in a fit of rage, just before being sent to Greenfell. He doesn't blame gossipers; his heart, at times, had been dark enough to entertain such thoughts, and it still is, to an extent, however distorted the slander. He did kill mages. Abominations, no longer human, the same demons that have plagued his mind ever since, night and day, Uldred's depravities a wound that can't seem to heal. It's the part of the story that's always left out, the part that haunts him, and that pain, however grievous, is almost a luxury—he's alive, and none of his comrades can claim the same. But he doesn't bear many scars. He's cut open, bleeding still, and Meredith had to know, before she recruited him. Sometimes, he feels as though it's the only part of the story that she wanted to hear, and that is what led him here.

The truth, vulnerable in the wake of his choices, of his actions, and Cassandra saw in him all the things he’d forsaken, the hopes and aspirations of a boy grown crooked.

It’s hard, even now. He didn’t think himself worthy then, when she asked, when she insisted. How was he supposed to trust himself when he no longer knew who he was? It’s a question he came to mull over frequently, and he wavers still at times, whenever sleep eludes him and oh, it does.

Too often.

You give yourself too little credit, Cassandra tells him, and her voice usually deafens the worst of his doubts, if only for a moment. He isn’t entirely sure who he is yet, but he knows who he wants to be, the kind of man he always should have been. He tries. With her spirit and her convictions like a thousand swords by his side, he’s come a long way, and the Inquisition gives him the kind of purpose that’s inspired him since he was a boy. The greater good.

But victory demands sacrifices...

...and they aren’t always dealt in death.]