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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText



◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ — Of course he thought this was Thedas! The alternative was simply beyond belief. He refused to start down that road, questioning this and that and these and those. Vexation leapt across his brow, tugging at the eyes’ corners and prodding at his jowls. Damn that elf and his mind games. 

Dorian set his jaw and promptly tossed his head to the left. If Solas wished to ignore him, then two could play at that game.

But Solas persisted and Dorian recalcitrant attitude began to waver.

With hesitation in his voice, he murmured a soft,  ❝ No, I haven’t.

       ❝ Have you one? A Servant, with a capital S, I mean.  

He hid a wince. Had he a more delicate means of phrasing it, Dorian would have done so. Solas was rather stingy if and when his being of Tevinter came to the forefront of their discussions.

Dorian needn’t have worried. As tasteless as the terms might be, Solas understands the need for consistency in discussing this world and its eccentricities.

“I’ve been summoned to this world as a ‘Caster-class’ Servant.” He could go into great detail about how his magic has been amplified, how he must obey his Master’s Command Seals, how there’s eons worth of lore surrounding this mythical Holy Grail, but Solas chooses to remain succinct until prompted. “All you need take from that is that I’ve been entrusted with the safety of a young woman named Ann Takamaki. Should you happen upon her, I hope you’ll behave?”

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText

In an open field, away from the hustle and bustle of Utopia, an elvhen mage treads through the tall grass. He steps upon the rocks and the grit and the bed of the earth with bare feet. It’s better this way, to make contact with the planet’s surface, rather than allow a flimsy layer of cloth to get in the way.

The mage spies a warrior practicing his technique and he himself pauses at a respectable distance.

“Well met.”

He bows to the young swordsman, noting the aura of magic about him - it reverberates unlike any signature he’s encountered on Thedas, but he can tell that it is magic nonetheless. As such, he is intrigued. This may yet be an alliance worth forming.

“Have you begun preparations?” For the war, he means.


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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText

“How are we to go to war for one another if we’ve reason to hide our strengths and our weaknesses from each other? We’ve yet to see what our common enemy is capable of.”

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText

Seeing as how we’ve new apps coming in and an event on the horizon, please like this post for a starter. I’ll cap at 3 for now.

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


 Cagliostro had gone missing. That was a certainty by now, but one that Robin didn’t want to accept so breezily. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was somehow her own fault, if she had somehow neglected her Servant. She had mentioned something about not expecting much from Robin, so perhaps she had left in search of a stronger Master?

 In her eyes, that was not acceptable; not that she’d been left, but that she wasn’t good enough to lead someone into battle despite all her experience.

 Her plan, in order to get stronger for the next time round, was to train against others that had waged war in this world. Only then could she truly understand how a Master and Servant worked together in unison, and only then could she see what she would have to do next time. She had managed to convince someone to try sparring against her, despite being alone. She knew the risks of fighting as a Master, considering that Servants were tremendously strong, but she saw no alternative to her situation.

 To be the pillar of fate for any and every ally to lean on, she needed to rise to this world’s standards, whether her body could keep up or not.

 “Are you ready?” she asked, trails of electricity pouring from her Thoron tome and coursing up her arm. “I want you to hold nothing back.”

Half a dozen glyphs dotted the field surrounding them, each ward alight with a virescent glow - they were old elvhen spells, barriers meant to focus the direction of magical energy. If they held here as well as they did in Thedas, then neither of them need fear any spectators wandering into the midst of their battlegrounds.

Solas raises his staff, the utmost branches glimmering with frost. His eyes snap towards the electrical charges pulsing from the other mage’s palm. Wasteful.

“Understood. Don’t hesitate to tell me, however, when you’re at your limit.”

And so he aims his staff at her, bolts of pure ice flitting through the air. They trail after her like comets, hellbent on striking a living target. 

Whatever she means to throw at him, he’ll retaliate twofold: A wall of ice to counter her spells, a mine that explodes into jagged spires of crystal, or ever more bolts of mana.

After all, it would be an insult to restrain himself.

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ — Familiarity breeds contempt. Or so the proverb went.

Perhaps that was why he saw so little of Solas during their time in the Inquisition. To find him here of all places, however… Maker, what were the odds of that?

Dorian coiled his arm before his waist and allowed himself a deep dramatic bow; he winked as he rose and asked, ❝ Is this your doing, Solas? This bizarre fever dream. ❞ Lest the stingy elf required clarification, he made a sweeping gesture towards the city backdrop behind them.

         Surely you could have chosen something a little less… pedestrian. Where are all the mage towers? The statues of me? 


He never expected to run into a familiar face. Not here. Not now.

His mind has been rather preoccupied with providing for Ann amidst the blackouts spreading across the city. 

It takes him a moment longer than usual to school his surprise into his veneer of calm. Solas bites back a sigh.

Now why would Dorian think he’s responsible for any of this–?

“You’re not convinced that this is our reality now, that Thedas is no more?”

He glances at the coffee sitting beside him. Without hesitation, he flags down a waiter and requests a second cup. Solas pats the seat beside him and waits for the glib attitude to subside.

“You must be a Master. I’ve heard talk that Servants are endowed with more knowledge. Why that is, I’m not sure. It places you at a distinct disadvantage, why, you’re forced to rely upon them.” He waits a moment, to see if Dorian is able to keep up. “Have you met yours?”

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


She didn’t think it would be the case, but she wouldn’t have been at peace until she looked for herself. Plant life from far and wide, many places and eras filtered down to one; she had known somewhere like it before. She knew it was folly before she tried, for how could a building like this house something many times its own size? Seeing an archtree here was a fool’s hope. 

Yet here she stood, put out by the fact that there was no archtrees after all, even one would have been fine… At least the shroud of invisibility masking her hid the dejected pout on her face. 

Not that this museum hadn’t been fascinating in its own right, many interesting things to see, as well as people… She stood in her invisibility a short distance away from such a person, one who looked incredibly at peace. He did not smell human, that much was obvious to her instantly, though what he was, she could not say. After looking over his form, her hand subconsciously reached up under her hair, fingers tracing one of her own pointed ears.

“Hello.” Bad manners it may be, she chose not to become visible, letting only her soft voice carry out. “I mean you no harm, and I do apologise if I have disturbed you.” She hesitated, wondering for a moment if her next question would be too forward for a stranger.

“You are a sorcerer, yes? The mana flows is so natural I almost did not notice.”

The air feels different. Something grand stirs and catches his attention; he feels a prickle against the back of his neck. Instinct demands that he seek out the sudden disruption but years of experience quell the primal need to know. Whatever dangers lurk amongst the shadows, he is well-equipped to deal with them.

So he does not act, not before he hears a gentle voice call out to him. Still, he does not turn to greet it. Rather, he is amused by the stranger’s apology - so demure are they. Solas allows his eyes to close as he imagines the being the voice must belong to: Lithe, graceful, not unlike a spirit.

Ah, one can dream.

The voice asks him a question and he turns, then, allowing but half of his face to show as his gaze drifts languidly towards the corner of his eye. There is something elegant about the way he cants his head forward in acknowledgment, delicate yet precise.

“Indeed, I am a mage,” he tells the air. Curiosity tugs at the corners of his upturned lips. “And what manner of being are you that you feel you must hide yourself from a mortal?”

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoAnswer
✖ ♠

Tell us about your worst defeat!

Once, there was a warrior, who rallied behind the cause known as freedom. This warrior was tired of watching his own people slaughter one another. So he took up arms and he vowed to change the world. But in doing so, he destroyed their very way of life.

In wanting to exact vengeance, he became no better than the rest.

Do you remember your first kill?

“No. I see no point in glorifying something so wretched.”

Never mind how thoroughly stained with blood his hands are; he would never be able to see the first layer.

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


☮ Do you like to fight? Why or why not?

✈ Do you prefer fighting in the air or on ground? The sea?

☠ What kind of death do you expect on the battlefield?

☯ Have you ever fought a war for your country?

✌ Tell us about your best victory!

✖ Tell us about your worst defeat!

☢ Do you have any magical/super/mutant/etc. powers?

☤ How decent of a healer are you? Can you heal on the fly?

♫ Tell us your battle theme!

★ Did you have a mentor or an idol you looked up while training to become a great warrior?

✞ Do you believe in revenge? Exacting it on others? Others coming for you?

♛ Any enemies or rivals to speak of?

◔ What kind of fighting style do you have?

☭ Your favourite kind of weapon?

☫ Do you like to play with your opponents or finish them off neatly and quickly?

ø Does death of your comrades in arms ever bother you?

♠ Do you remember your first kill?

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


The hands clasped behind his back tighten into a death grip, though the curious, thoughtful expression remains untouched. He’s too obvious, then. Too easy to read. Granted, this stranger is no fool, he knew that already, but it’s something he’ll have to be more careful about. There’s no telling when it will be used against him. But it does tell him a few things about the mage’s thoughtful manner, and those last few words…

So the man has had personal experience with arrogance being his downfall. It’s something he can empathize with, to a minor degree, though he’s never allowed it to go beyond minor things. The man might have learned his lesson, but Norman knows that natural tendencies can’t always be helped. It could prove useful to know that.

“It can,” he agrees, thoughtfully. “Experience doesn’t mean much compared to determination and…necessity, if you will. If someone needs to accomplish something, they’ll make a way, no matter who or what stands in their path. That shouldn’t be discounted for mere lack of experience, no matter how illogical it may seem.” A soft smile forms on his face. It’s not himself that he’s thinking of. “I’ll be the first to admit rationality isn’t the best answer to everything. Believing in the impossible or the unlikely can be much more rewarding.”

The impossible, such as Fade-less creatures rising up from the ashes to stake their claim - his lips twisted in self-deprecation as he mused over his stranded cause. Now that their worlds had collided and he was here, not there, he had no right to dream of a past life. But still, he yearned.

Solas righted his wry grin into a picturesque visage of patience and compassion. Fate had went right for his legs and cut him down to size. He would accept this consequence and he would remember his folly, in honor of all that he had lost.

“What’s impossible is for us to have met. Yet here we are.” He bowed. “Caster. Or if you need differentiate me from the other Servants, ‘Evanuris’ will do.”

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText

Sunlight, sweet and warm, pours through the ceiling’s glass panes, illuminating the gardens with a gentle air of nostalgia: The mage wanders through the exhibit, perusing the placards that stand in the soil. Every flower has a purpose, whether it be ceremonial or a mere food source for a unique species. They’re arranged, of course, in matters of compatibility as well as aesthetic. Around every corner, there is an alcove with a stone bench, a place for visitors to sit and admire. 

He finds himself a place between the Alpinea zerumbet, the light galangal. According to its placard, the leaves are used in tea and contain hypotensive, diuretic, and antiulcerogenic properties. The plant has culinary uses as well, namely for zongzi or mochi. He files those tidbits away, then allows himself to close his eyes and meditate.

If he were to fall asleep here, what spirits would he meet, were this not a man-made world?


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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


@rebellaveram   //   galo love meeeeeeee

     ❛   i worked really hard to get those fragments, but…   ❜   her voice trails off in a somewhat-rare moment of hesitation, expression scrunched as worry begins to plague her. for someone so happy-go-lucky and casual as ann, one might even think this to be a surprising scene—but even she can be plagued by anxieties of the future for critical considerations. in the heat of the moment, ann’s eagerness to collect the fragments takes over. but now, in the aftermath, she should be thrilled with the rewards. instead, she’s turning to her servant with a distressed visage, hands clenched with widened eyes.   ❛   solas, i don’t even know how to run a business! what should i do…? i can’t just not take it, right?   ❜

His first instinct is to assure her that ‘no, there’s no need for us to claim a business’, but that’s a lie. His actual first instinct was to laugh and allow Ann the opportunity to sort through this mess on her own; she’d learn a lot more that way than from relying upon him. But he is feeling merciful and places a light hand upon her shoulder.

“Seeing as how you’re currently employed at the museum, perhaps it would be best if I ran the business in your place. You’re content at your current position, no?”

It’s good for her to be among people, odd as they are; it forces Ann to remain on her toes, a notion he’s all too familiar with.

Solas takes the congratulatory note from her hands and turns the card over, wondering if there’s anything more to it than what’s presented at face value. He senses no magic from it. How strange.

As he holds out the card for her to claim, he adds, “A bookstore requires little upkeep beyond cataloguing the inventory. I’ll be fine on my own.”

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


The reply prompts his smile to widen almost imperceptibly; whether at the good-natured jesting in the man’s tone or the promise of mystery in it, he couldn’t say. Perhaps both. He’s doubtful, but more than willing to listen, eyes keen as the man turns over his palm, and for an instant Norman expects some parlor trick, some rabbit out of a hat, card-telling “magic” that even he could do (though it felt off, certainly, with the stranger’s persona).

The air writhes to life in a swirl of fire, a spontaneous combustion that ignites from nothing and hovers, cradled with perfect control. He can’t help but take a step back, the astonishment too immense to hide. He’s seen magic – or magecraft, as it were – already in his time here, but it still takes him off-guard, still leaves him slack-jawed, and does so with a certain quiet spectacle that mere stonecarving lacked. It was fire, after all.

He recovers admirably, repressing the tension that had seized him and nodding. “This is your art, then.” A statement, not a question. In a more joking tone, he adds, “You do seem rather fond of painting as well, though, so I won’t rule that out…” His hands clasp behind his back again, head tilted thoughtfully. “What do you see as my art, then? In your unique perspective.” He is curious, genuinely enough, but the answer itself is secondary. The way that the mage thinks is of much greater interest.

The orb of flame collapses as its wielder folds his hand closed. Solas’ ears twitch.

He laughs, hearty and genuine. Children are simply too merciful.

But it is true that he views his magic as a craft more than a weapon or a tool. It can and has moved mountains - warped the very fabric of reality. In the hands of a master, anything is possible.

The mage clasps his hands behind himself and peers down at the boy. Contemplates.

“Stratagem,” is the first word that comes to mind. His lips curl upwards ever so slightly. “If I may, you give off the impression that you see the world in terms of a grand design. There is no such thing as coincidence, only instances that lead into others, never mind how far apart the two points may be. I think there’s beauty in that, seeking reason and wanting to make sense of our lives.” His smile wanes, the mischief yielding empathy. “I’d take my words with a grain of salt, however. Sometimes experience will make you arrogant. Sloppy.”

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


      Her wand twists as she speaks, her fingers flipping it between them in a gesture borne of practice– though the exact reason why might be surprising, given what most intend wands for. As he speaks, she nods to show she’s listening, a slow, calculated motion, never breaking the careful straightening of her spine.

          “In my world the spirits either haunt those they choose to or disappear entirely. A good portion of the time, they tend to rise as the undead; it is almost like a… pest problem. You understand then, why harnessing their power would be difficult as a widespread method of power.” She does not mention that it is one of her innate talents, choosing to let her brow furrow slightly. “It was…” Forced, more than anything, though in the end it amounted t the same, “taught to me, yes.” 

          Her wand stills, then its tip alights in a sparking aurora, flashing a multitude of colors much like her eyes.  


          “Though it cannot be mastered without… considerable sacrifice.” 

He wonders, for a moment, if what she speaks of is not unlike entering a contract with a demon. He hesitates to ask, of course, given the sensitive nature of ‘sacrifice’. Instead, he nods in solemn acknowledgement and leaves the matter be. Let sleeping dogs lie.

Rather than have the conversation focus on her and her ‘majyyk’, he picks up where he left off: “Our spirits are less fickle. They embody virtues. Show a spirit that you are worthy of its power and it will render aid,” - he pauses - “Offend it, and may the gods have mercy upon you.”

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


The stranger, with his odd baldness and unusually shaped ears, might have frightened most of Norman’s siblings at a glance, but there’s something nearly as placid and calming about him as Mr. Bob Ross had been. It’s an atmosphere that simultaneously soothes the boy and raises a few flags of uncertainty. The whole interaction is out of the blue and, while he’s seen evidence of genuine kindness from strangers, he still struggles to trust that it’s real.

Still…what an interesting fellow. Strange, intelligent, and too difficult to read for Norman’s liking.


“Not a bad time, exactly. I don’t have anywhere to be urgently, and there’s always something new to stop and appreciate like this.” He gestures to the screen, briefly, and then clasps his hands behind his back. “If everyone is an artist, someone ought to stop and appreciate their art. Though, if I may say, that’s a rather…artistic statement to make. Unscientific, if you will.”

“It’s not surprising, then, that I don’t consider myself a man of science,” he answers, playful in his chiding. He can respect the various fields, of course, trying to quantify the ways of the universe. On a smaller scale, patterns do emerge. But he has seen so much, lived for so long, that he knows better than to try and seek out concrete answers where they won’t exist. “A mage sees the world differently.” He turns his palm over and calls forth the mana that courses through his body; it mingles with the ambient energies that permeate the air and combusts into an orb of flame.

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


      It’s not something she’s familiar with, what he says– though that’s not surprising. ‘Magic’ is a frivolous concept in her world, and the distinction between it and Majyyk is something that has been made abundantly clear to her. However, the fact that he’s surprised to have been able to use his power here makes her consider where her own comes from. And what it might mean for this place overall.  

          “I was unclear,” she murmurs, and it is as close to an apology as she has ever gotten, though her tone is still as flat as it has been. Her head inclines, and she inches closer, lower, claw still tapping rhythmically at her wand. 


          “The nature of your power– this… ‘fade’– it is unusual to me. My own clockwork majyyks come from what is and what always will be. Is the Fade a source of some kind?” Her own majyyks are difficult to explain without a few roundabout explanations of her own so, should he choose to indulge her queries, she will at least be paying strict attention. 

Oh? His polite smile brightens with tempered curiosity. The hands clasped about his staff slide against the knotted wood, feeling for the familiar grooves. She’s piqued his interest.

“The Fade is where spirits reside. Our mortal realm is connected to it, separated only by the Veil. Those with the potential to manipulate the energies from the Fade, they are known as mages. Not every man has the means to control mana, nor nature itself. But those who do, practice.” Mirth gleams in his eyes. “Is your ‘majyyk’ innate or learned?”

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText

While he makes it no habit to seek out conversational partners, he’s not the sort to ignore those around him: He allows his gaze to flicker over his shoulder, confirming the presence he thought he felt. He smiles at her, an unspoken invitation to join him beneath the oak tree, and glances back towards the city streets just beyond the edge of his favorite spot in the park. People mill about, struggling to figure out where exactly it is they belong. A couple walks slower than the rest of the fish-like crowd, more focused on holding onto one another than trying to get to their destination. Indeed, the journey is half the experience.

“One moment, I can’t fathom how mankind has survived this long, with the way they stumble about in the dark. But then I see that spark of sheer tenacity and it gives me hope.”

He gestures towards the couple, one lady sweeping the other off her feet, managing their way over a puddle that’s formed from the rain. It’s not hard to imagine her partner’s limbs knocking into some hapless passerby but the two seem to get along just fine– only to double back as if they’ve left something at the bakery. The two gasp and giggle and laugh at themselves for their clumsy forgetfulness. He sighs, but not with distress.


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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


Televisions. They’re an impressive feat of technology, and while he knew of them, Norman had never actually seen one in person. The one he beheld now drew his attention as he passed by, an image of a man smiling at him from the screen, painting a calming landscape. He’d never seen someone paint like that, either – his baby siblings weren’t exactly professionals, heartfelt as their art was.

But while the man was clearly more practiced as he put the finishing touches on his painting, the calm lack of concern and sheer enjoyment evident in his methods reminded Norman of his little siblings’ art, with the same innocence and happiness. It…sort of amazed him. Was this why people were so obsessed with televisions? They could allow one to view such scenes at will? And – who was this, anyway?

So absorbed in his brief observations, he found himself rather suddenly face to face with someone who had been watching the display. Norman had been ready to move behind him when the stranger moved. His surprised expression faded as the man spoke. “I’m afraid I haven’t. I didn’t catch much of the –” What was it called, on television? “– uh, program, but he certainly seemed gifted. Though I’m not much of an artist personally, to comment on skill.” Mama had loved his childhood masterpieces, and at the time, that was all that had mattered.

With kindness in his eyes, he looks to the rolling credits on screen, then glances back down at the young boy. “Everyone is in an artist, never mind what medium they paint with.” Some use rhyme and verse, others ink, and then you’ve those who create art with their own bodies in motion. He is inclined, of course, to encourage the child’s artistic pursuits, even if that encouragement need take the form of planting the first seed.

Before the many wars and the tears and the bloodshed, he would paint. In his art, he could etch upon the wall what wouldn’t take to his soul. He remembered in murals, pondered in still-lifes, and admired in portraits. Now, after watching that quaint program, he wants very much to make up for the years spent destroying - rather than giving life.

“Have I caught you at a bad time?”

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rebellaveram-blog·3 years agoText


⌛ || @rebellaveram​

      “How unusual…” 

          She recognizes magic and how it is disparate from majyyks, but this is something different from the ‘magic’ that passes in this realm. Vibrantly glowing eyes throb in dull tides of color, shifting along with the sliding of her gaze from their surroundings to him. The motion is slow, ponderous, horns seeming to weigh the swiveling of her head a bit too far in one direction, and she raises a hand and plucks a wand from seemingly thin air, its unnerving whiteness stark against the gray of her fingers, the ebony lacquering her claws. 

          “What is it, exactly? Your majyyks– no, magics… they are nothing like what I’m familiar with.” 

Her countenance reminds him of a spirit, otherworldly yet wise in her own aspect; he bows to her in polite greeting, humored by her inquiry. Many have expressed an interest in his magic - most often those who have no mages in their lands - but it is evident that this woman is more curious about his technique than his existence itself.

He prefers it this way.

“As a mage, I draw upon the energies from the Fade. In this world, there must be a similar medium, else I wouldn’t have access to my spells,” - he demonstrates by calling a wisp of flame into existence, a flickering orb which hovers in his upturned palm - “I’m not quite sure I fully understood your question, however, what needs clarification?”

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