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Devious Bloodmage

Last Login:
January 17th, 2022

Gender: Male

Age: 36
Country: United States

Signup Date:
January 30, 2013



01/14/2022 07:16 PM 

Barfed. 1x1 w/Raid
Current mood:  accomplished

Barfed. 1x1 w/Raid


Video: “Madness"
By: Muse


Tempest had decided that it was best that he left without facing Raid. At least for now, there could be some distance between them…and from aggravated scratching in his brain reminded him, it was best to listen to it. He knew of what Vince feared; it was the same worry when Tempest had met a certain Rivainian woman. The demon didn’t have much to worry on it though. It was true that Tempest pushed Raid away numerous of times, and over the same reason. He could not allow her to be too close to him, if he wanted her protected from himself. Tempest was cursed, dangerous and the demon had the potential in making him become unpredictable. He swore to it already, and aimed to keep his word.

But she would remain in his thoughts for a while, and probably even longer for when he went off into battle to vent. Clearly, when Vince needed an outlet—and something that he and Tempest could equally relate on doing—violence was the answer. He needed a war. He needed to either send his men back to the Isles, or drag them into the battle that he was about head straight into.

He was debating on this when suddenly a stream of an odorous liquid spewed down from the sky. It landed directly onto him; soaking his leather jacket. The smell was foul and rotten, seeping into every loose crevice of his clothing from the high end, towards the back of his collar and down his neck. Oh, how he shuddered and writhed from the chill and the stench! A man nearby saw the sight and his comment was almost as shocked and disgusted as Tempest felt.

“Bloody Hell!” He yelped and looked at his arms sloshing to the sides as he looked at the coat. “This…This is pureblooded wyvern leather! Straight from the Vimmark Mountains of Chateau Haine! Do you know how many of those I had to kill to have this coat made, you---?!”

He looked above himself towards the window of the tavern and found Raid looking down on him with her illness still pale due to a possible hangover. His annoyance melted away and was replaced soon with guilt. It wasn’t her fault that she was sick. It wasn’t her fault that she even had a hang-over. Anyone in her condition would have drank as much as she did.

“—Heh… I guess this makes us even, does it?” He asked while the venom in his tone evaporated. Looking away in shame, he lowered is arms and cringed from the “squish” sound that his sleeves made. “Listen, last night… I was a horse’s ass… Anything Vince has done to hurt you or scare you, I take full responsibility. And I also apologize for how I left. Had I, later, thought that it mattered to say anything, or done something different, I would have but… Well, I can’t change what’s been done—what I've done.”

He paused and looked down to his boots then. “I suppose now, I will go look for the nearest bath and figure out how to wash this off. I'm needed at the front lines for the fight against the Free Marches' King, so… You know… That’s where I'll be. Just so you'll know. But I promise I’ll be back.”

He had to add that promise in there, to reassure her. Judging from the way she reacted when Raid first saw him in the tavern, Tempest was sure he nearly gave her a heart attack….or caused a possible stroke. He rarely ever showed his face again around others after they had seen him fake his death – and in truth, that was not something easily done or done often. So, he didn’t know how she would cope or react to him. Though, from now on, he would be sure not to strain the health of those he cared about. Even considering the thought that he had people that he “cared about" was an uneasy revelation in itself. He didn’t have friends. He had chess pieces. Though, when it came to Raid, he was not sure what to do with her or where to even place her. She already declared herself as family, and Tempest accepted this. But a family—a real family was not something he was used to. Tempest was a loner, a wanderer and he was plenty of things that if Raid found out, she would have felt ashamed and disowned him.

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all

01/12/2022 09:07 PM 

Current mood:  angsty



Video: “The Unforgiven"
By: Metallica (Remastered)


Tempest looked to the crowd of people gathered at the High Square before the Circle and the Gallows. It was the same location where Knight Commander Meredith began the Circle's Annulment, and where Hawke fought both her and First Enchanter Orsino. Of course, it had to be here where they would execute him. The golden slave statues were torn down but the stillness and feeling of oppression still hung in the air. Meredith was gone—her statue stashed somewhere in the Circle's basement to study until forgotten as s relic.

In their places was a recently built hanging stage. There was a small table stained with blood and a stained bucket that was used for catching the heads in. The table had gears and a lever for some reason, making it into a reclining tablet of some kind. To the far side adjacent from this was a statue of Andraste with her hands holding out a wide oil basin. Her flames were said to never go out. In reality, it was because the members of the Chantry would secretly light the basin and care for the flame any time it started to go out. From the four corners of the execution stage, were four horses as well.

This was going to be a long one. Tempest could feel it in his bones. He heard the Knight Commander sentencing him over his deeds involving bloodmagic and murder. The bloodmage was tied up and being dragged across the stone floor of the city. Some of the peasants threw rotten food and him and glass bottles at the horse’s feet to ensure that when the horse quickly walked over them, that the horse dragged Tempest over the broken glass as well. He gritted his teeth and attempted to roll away from it but the glass was too small and too sharp to escape any of it. As the broken glass cut into him, heaps of rancid pieces of half decomposing food would mix with the dirt of the stone floor and seep into his freshly cut openly cut wounds.

Two of the City Guards unhooked Tempest from the horse, once the beast reached the steps. He didn’t fight or struggle when they moved him around like dead weight. They took him to the table mechanism and strapped him into it by using the metal fastening devices that rested high underneath the arm pits and another that stayed at his waist. All they while, they loosened the clothes so that the fastenings would attach better to the skin. Tempest’s shirt was cut open from the collar all the way through to the shirt’s end. The magical restraining cuffs remained around his wrists, preventing his abilities from ever spontaneously reacting to what was to be done to him. His arms were forced above his head and placed into more leather fastenings that were connected to ropes for the first two horses to pull. His legs were put in much of the same.

There was no way of getting out of this now. No turning back. The magic canceling bracers would have made sure of that. He would have needed the templar who had first put them on to remove them in order for him to perform any magic again. That alone made this body useless.

He looked to the executioner to try and see past his hood, but there was not a likely chance that Tempest would have gotten that chance. Rather instead, the only thing that the executioner freely displayed were the instruments of pain to which he was going to inflict on the bloodmage. Tempest looked towards them all and then he looked nervously at the fire that burned in Andraste’s basin. He swallowed; trying to force down the lump that wanted to rise in his throat.

“This can end quickly. All you have to do is reveal your true form.” The Knight Commander bargained upon the stage. “Prove to us the abomination that lurks within you and you will receive Andraste’s Mercy.”

Tempest glanced towards the Knight Commander when he spoke and closed his eyes for the moment. He wasn’t really listening. The only thing he could do for now was to hope for rain. At the very least, if it rained, then his body parts would not be “cleansed” by the holy fire.

The Knight Commander frowned when he had not received any desirable response. The people below were beginning to grow restless for either proof, blood or both. Some started to chant “Cursed” and “Off his head” in their restless waiting. So, the Knight Commander walked towards the edge of the platform and then pointed to the executioner with his first order.

“Stretch him!”

The execution signaled the men with their horses to begin by sounding a horn that was used for fox hunting. The riders took to the signal and clapped their reigns against their saddles. The horses neighed and started to pull until the slight obstacle of what held them back became apparent.

Tempest felt his arms and legs being stretched slowly to their limits. He could hear some of the cheers and boos that mixed in together; sinking into the hollows of his ears. Gritting his teeth from the strain, his spine straightened as he attempted to keep his limbs pulled back towards his core. Still, no matter how he was fighting it, he could not withstand against the pull of each horse that he was faced with. The riders were beginning to dig their heels into the sides of their horses by then; shouting orders for the beasts to move faster—pull harder.

“It can be a quick and painless mercy.” The Knight Commander told him over the shouts and chants of the people. “Show us the demon under your skin.”

The empty stare that Tempest gave him was a struggle in itself not to have turned more sinister. If he had only known the type of perversions from pain that he was stirring right then – but then, the torturer would know soon enough. How, the bloodmage wanted to just laugh at him or curse his name but he was also tired. If he dared to open his mouth even once, Tempest knew that he would end up hollering. His pride would not allow it. Not yet.

Then the Knight Commander noticed the slight bulge increasing underneath their prisoner’s trousers. With a noticeable grimace. “Ah. I see… You’re one of those sickos, are you?”

Crap. He found out… Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed if Tempest actually did drink something to dull his senses before all this. But he needed his mind coherent; otherwise he would surely die. There would not be any loophole for him to exploit.

The Knight Commander stepped aside and motioned for the Executioner to begin. He wasn’t getting anywhere so far and the citizens below were getting restless for blood. The Executioner went straight to work. He was silent and diligent. Using the hooked blade, he tore down the rags that Tempest wore and pushed the filthy folds of fabric to the side.

Tempest felt something sharp and sudden down past his groin. It was sharper than the brisk air that greeted every warm crevice within the dirty clothes that he wore. It wasn’t cold there, but a white hot pain searing through him as flesh felt being torn and ripped from his body. He at first thought that he was getting branded with a hot iron; but Tempest was so very wrong. As he looked down towards the Executioner, he saw the man raising into the air a fist full of matted clumps of red flesh. Blinking past the tears of pain, Tempest saw his own genitals bloodied and wiggling with each triumphant shake in the Executioner's hands, as though he acquired the very horns from a dragon!

“Behold! The very source of this abomination’s foul nature!” The Knight Commander announced and pointed at the clumps of dismembered flesh. He then pointed to the fire while the peasants cheered on. “ Fear not, wretched soul! For every part of you that is marked with sin shall be cleansed in Andraste’s Holy Flames!”

The Executioner tossed the castrated genitals into the fire and Tempest’s eyes widened from the dreaded horror. His jaw clenched shut, unable to scream even now, but the heart-wrenching sight couldn’t keep his body from shaking. Maybe it was because of the blood loss, putting him at the edge of possibly going into shock, or maybe it was the old subconscious wariness that he had with fire – or maybe it was the thought of being sacrificed to a woman that he never prayed to and a god he had little faith in. No matter of what it was, his pain had only seemed to intensify the fear in his eyes.

The clouds were roaring ever since then. In a clasp of thunder, rain poured down heavily and dense. Sheets of rainwater stretched out from the four corners of Kirkwall. Andraste’s fires were quickly put out and unable to have been relit for the rest of the execution, --because the basin was already beginning to fill with water. Tempest threw back his head flat against the table that he was strapped in and struggled greatly with the desire to simply laugh. It was certainly better late than never, but he felt that if he voiced anything it would guarantee him begging or praying to a foreign god or maybe even to Vince. No. Tempest would not allow that – he could not allow that.

‘You’re already dead if you do not escape from this immediately.’ Vince’s voice rang loud and angry from his head.

The pulling of the horses seemed to slow their pace a little, but the riders would not give them rest. Tempest could hear his bones popping just as much as he felt them being slowly pulled from their joint sockets. Skin was tearing; peeling away while the cold rain battered down like hard daggers made of ice. Each droplet pounded into the torn sores and drummed a cadence on the rest of his body.

“Do not think that your soul will be damned for eternity over a little rain. Your soul shall be cleansed!” The Knight Commander announced to him as to promise that in some way the bloodmage’s remains would still be burned after his death. “But you can spare your miserable time left as the filth that you are, by revealing the true face of your devil!”

The Executioner stabbed his hook down into Tempest’s chest. He tore down at the folds of his flesh and started to cut and tear as hard and deep as his hooked blade would allow him. Tempest felt his core being ripped through. Unfortunately, his instinct to fight off the intrusion could do nothing in this situation. The bloodmage held his breath and choked on his pain that wanted to rise from his throat and spill out. He could feel the hot searing blade ripping into him and pulling out things that by the pound. His eyes were blurry from exhaustion and agony as he watched his guts being threaded out like yarn and carried over to Andraste’s cold and drenched basin.

His eyelids blinked past tears and past the rainwater as Tempest attempted to press his head back to avoid the sight. But he could not tear his eyes away. Even if it looked as if he would have went into shock, the Execution would have reached over to slap his face to keep him stirred awake.

His limbs couldn’t take much more of the pulling. The flesh that was splitting apart bled out even faster. He had already lost so much blood that his body was paler than a ghost’s wisp. The crowd’s chanting had begun to die down as they watched Tempest convulse and bleed out. He coughed and blood seemed to burst from his mouth and pour down his chin. The rain helped in masking just how much blood was lost by then due to thinning it out. Still, there was no shouting. No screams. Nothing to satisfy the bloodlust chants. There was just this odd choking silence from the prisoner, and that made the entire setting even more eerie. It was as if the Executioner was torturing a mute. But Tempest was in pain; it was written all over his quietly convulsing body language.

“It can all end swiftly.” The Knight Commander more gently while the Executioner went for removing the organs next. Tempest gasped and choked on more of his blood as it continued to pour from him. “Just cry out to her. Show her your sin. Andraste knows you. And Andraste loves you. As she loves all sinners, but she cannot purify you quickly without your admittance.”

Chanting slowly grow quiet. After a while, it was uncertain as to what they were actually witnessing. Was it truly the execution of an abomination? Was he possibly innocent? Was this punishment truly fitting his sins? From the current sight of the man, and given that he had not revealed the mark of any demon, it was beginning to seem unclear. He wouldn’t even plead for his life; like any normal “guilty” person would have done…

One woman draped in an olive shawl clutched at it from over her chin and stretched her hands out to plead.

“Mercy!” She begged the Knight Commander and the Executioner both. “Mercy!”

This became the new chant, which rose up a new uproar amongst the crowd. For in some cases, it was hard to tell just what kind of ‘mercy’ that some of the peasants were calling for: be it to give a swift beheading or for the torture to stop.

Then, after a sickening pop, one following after another, Tempest felt the excruciating pivoting moment to where his arms and his legs were finally pulled out from their sockets. His eyes clenched shut and he hollered a guttural wail so loud that it rivaled the thunder that quickly attempted to mute him. People screamed from the front row, as the bloodmage’s blood and sinew splattered wildly across them. The horses had finally stopped while their riders looked back over their shoulders to see that their deed was finally done.

Of course it was.

The reality remained harsh and brutal. While the rain poured down in heavy sheets, Tempest’s bloodied torso glowed with the red crimson aura that marked him clearly as a bloodmage. He still had kept the demon away --so far; despite the frantic scratching and shouting in his mind. Despite all sweet persuasion, torture and pleading.

Not yet. Not yet! His pride would not allow it just quite yet!

But the bloodmage cried and wailed with pain so strong that his head thrashed from side to side until his hollering transformed into a deeply seeded anger. When the thunder had stopped, he was snarling and quiet again. Breathing fast, blood foamed at his mouth like a rabid beast. His eyes carried dark pools of a blackened abyss within them and flames of hatred narrowing at the Knight Commander. His skin started to peel and flake off almost like clay.

‘You’re going to die. You’re going to die! You’re going TO DIE!’ Vince clawed and scratched in his mind.

‘Do you not understand this? You’re bleeding out! You fool! You’re going to f***ing die! Just like your mother swore to you… And for what? For pride? For that useless insane twat and her sins? Her killings were nothing but a crying tantrum! You’re killing us over a woman’s bloody f***ing tantrum! Must I do every goddamn thing then? Let me in! Let me in damn it! Before you become worm food and pissed ashes!’

The Knight Commander saw this rage being aimed at him and he looked towards the conflicted crowd. His arms raised as he tried to draw in their attention once more. “The abomination would like to speak!”

The crowd began to quiet down, with only the sound of the rain left to echo around them. It took Tempest a moment, in between struggling with Vince trying to finally take over. Vince would surely force Tempest to claim anything just to have this final stage done. Considering the alternatives and loopholes available, Vince would take getting his head chopped off over bleeding out to death. However, Tempest didn’t want Vince to reveal himself. If there was anything that was going to be said, then Tempest demanded the right to say it. It was still his own body, as it should have always been.

With his eyes closed, the bloodmage lifted his head up slightly away from the blood-stained table. He took in more air, as much as his lungs could hold and tilted his chin up towards the sky so that his head would have been pushed as far back as possible against the execution table.

After the thunder rolled and quieted down, Tempest had let everything out; the anger, the pain, the sorrow, the fear and the regret all into one word.


Yes. Freedom. Not freedom from the shackles nor freedom for mages to live without oppression. But freedom from himself; away from his demon and away from the poisonous mentally-disgusting mess that he was turned into. He could escape it, not even if there was cure and certainly not even in death. Still, the heavens would hear his anger.

Finally, he relaxed . He would have smiled at his little victory against Vince this time around, but Tempest didn’t have the strength to even do that. The thunder rolled in an uproar and lightning struck down around the execution table. It was enough to spook the horses, and throw off two of their riders. All that Tempest could do now was breathe. He could feel the rest of his face peeling and melting away. His skin turned into the consistency of dried paint getting reheated and began to fall off.

It was his “devil face” that the Knight Commander had wanted him to show so much. Ultimately, there was no stopping Vince from reaching the surface. However, Tempest had made such an awkward execution for himself that revealing himself to even be an abomination arose conflicts and separate judgements. For all the crowd knew, he could have just spoke a suicide spell, and this would be the ending result. Though, more importantly, his words were no begging or pleading to the Maker or Andraste! Tempest rarely apologized and he defied this forceful witch trial under the guise of an act of justice. He would never surrender himself in such a way and the Knight Commander finally understood it.

Disappointed, the Knight Commander only saw one option at this point and it was for the man to bleed out. But if he did that, it would only stir greater conflict; for he already saw people arguing amongst themselves and protesting for different judgements all at the same time. Half of the people wanted the bloodmage spared while the other half wanted him “cleansed,” and of course there were the very few who just wanted him dead. He looked to the Executioner and gave the signal with a nod.

The Executioner stepped back from his previous work. He carried the last remains to Andraste’s basin and then walked to the execution table, where he picked up a large greatsword.

Bloodied, with eyes black as the darkest night lit with flames and the horrifying sight of his skin red and burned from his scalp down to his neck like disfigured victim who had already bathed in fire once before; the bloodmage relaxed his head tiredly and stared at the Executioner’s weapon with great relief. Unlike his father, Tempest would not allow any fear to consume him from the final strike. He turned then and looked towards the crowd, seeing which ones had shown pity and those who still cursed him.

Everyone knew of his fate and there was nothing good to see from this. If anyone had hoped that he had some miraculous escape thought out, they would be disappointed as well. For Tempest didn’t have one. Not necessarily. He had to legitimately go through with the entire brutal execution. Tempest couldn’t escape or being comfort nor would he entertain or beg. All he could attempt was to force a smile to greet his possible end. But he looked evil and blasphemous carrying the smile of a corpse. He closed his eyes as a winded breath passed his cracked burned lips...

…and then…


The Executioner brought his greatsword across the bloodied table swiftly. Tempest’s head rolled off and into the basket; caught by a young dwarf who catered the basket around until the Knight Commander plucked the head up and showed it to the people. The crowd remained quiet until lightening struck the execution platform. The first few strikes caused the people to scream and fires started to spread.

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all

01/12/2022 07:07 PM 

Venting in Memories
Current mood:  amorous

Venting in Memories


Video: “Here Comes the Rain Again"
By: Eurythmics (Cover Hypnogaja)


Tempest stood at the stage of the bar, waiting for the rabble to quiet down a little so that he could scope out the potential patrons who were most likely to tip the largest. He already had the barmaid enchanted to pass around the hat to collect his gold. Now, it was simply a matter of performing. There was no true need to do it other than possibly—maybe—for coin. Though other than that, all he would have been doing was exposing himself. But Tempest had a habit of living more on the dangerous side; daring danger to naturally come to him.

When he sang, there was a sense of emotion that became stolen into his song. By far, Tempest was no siren of the arts but he was a kin of the spotlight and flare. The minstrel played for him when he sang Tempest captured the audience with his smoldering eyes and the emotion that he carried in his voice. For there were many things about the Pirate Captain that may have been a charade but his emotion was surely something that was true and split upon his surface. Mages were meant to learn in controlling their emotions in order to use their magic. Tempest was one of those abominations that could channel his feelings into any task and it would turn into an art. It was natural to him because in his bloodline, he was meant to be a Magister.

The men took notice with a raised ale. The women swooned to him and all the while, Tempest remained lost in the past with his song. He thought of when his body was torn apart and torturer’s dagger carving deep into his stomach to pull out his intestines. He thought of the hangman’s sword coming down across his neck and that blessed rain that poured down over his remains and doused the holy fire. It was such a sweet and painful experience that shook him to the core.

~~And he did it all for Her.~~

Though she didn’t hold his heart or break it. Tempest was the one who broke hers and she haunted him because of this. She was one of the rare ones who he inadvertently drove to an insanity and Tempest needed to pay for this crime. He did believe in balances and exchanges. He was a bloodmage, and so by living the rule-of-thumb, he had to believe. Though, now that he survived this test of endurance and paid his penance, Tempest was ready for his clean slate.

Shadows played on the walls and stretched towards the ceiling like lost souls in longing to chase one another. The bloodmage stood alone in a crowd and poured his worn heart out to those who could look but dare not touch. For he was far too fiendish and too far lost in within his own vices and curses. Yet, they paid for his company and they paid for his entertainment. They would surely pay for ever coming too close to him and he was not likely to allow it.

It wouldn’t be long before the song would end. Tempest drained his emotion into his words to the point that it ached. He did not want another drop of it to return and swallow him whole from the inside out. So, when it was time to pay the minstrel, his attention readily turned to the women who swooned to be near him to hear that voice and praise his flare. At least for a short while Tempest would be noticed and praised and loved. Even if these things were fleeting, he could capture the moments and live within them. He could feed the scratching of his mind and calm the demon lurking and howling to fuel his undying cravings. It would be quiet and calm in his mind tonight while the tavern would be filled with untamed pleasures.

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all

01/10/2022 06:17 PM 

Another NSFW Questionnaire
Current mood:  accomplished

More NSFW Questions


Video: “Built for Pain"
By: Esterly (BADASS with Lyrics)


01.) Is there any one of your friends that you would ever consider having sex with?
"Aye, and knowing my charm, its bound to happen at least once.”

02.) Sex in the morning, afternoon or night?
"Aye." He pauses and raises a confused eyebrow. “What? I choose all three.”

03.) What side of the bed do you sleep on?
Tempest shrugs and grins. “Whichever side I’m tied to, I guess…? I’m not picky.”

04.) Have you ever taken your clothes off for money?
“Please. I’d do it for free!” He scoffs and braces one hand to his hip. “But out of curiosity, just how much are we talking here?”

05.) Have you ever had sex in the shower or the bath?
“I get the feeling I will be saying ‘yes’ a lot tonight.” He laughs and shrugs. “But it is true. Nothing like getting squeaky clean!”

06.) Do you watch/read pornography?
“Nevermind. This is actually my first ‘no,’ surprisingly…” He pondered with wide eyes. “It’s not that I do not enjoy it…It’s … well… It depends on the circumstance, actually. If I am not promised sex afterwards, then by default, I would just be torturing myself. Why ogle at what I can’t plow? …--Nor am I able to achieve any self-gratification from that; so…. I guess this is a toss-up then. Vince and I have the same issue with the Fade and Desire Demons. If its not real, then what is the point?”

07.) Do you want someone aggressive or passive in bed?
“Half the time, I don’t care, as long as she’s in the bed!” He shrugs. “In most cases, I’m an easy switch…with one or two exceptions to the rule. I know there are some lovely ladies wanting to straddle a saddle till a man can’t walk. I’m willing to rise to that challenge.”

08.) Do you love/like anyone on your phone?
“The bloody hell---?”

Future Self: “I don’t think none of them equal up to this questionnaire’s expectations.”

09.) Would you choose love or money?
“I…” He struggles a bit and shakes his head. “—Can’t choose! You’re talking to a man possessed by a Greed Demon, here…! Both! I choose both! Can I choose both?—I choose both.”

10.) Your top three favorite kinks in bed?
“Just the top three? Why is it always such a small number—” The bloodmage mumbles and laughs. “Alright… Pain, Bondage, and Oral. The easy basic trio.”

11.) Has anyone ever gone beyond your personal line of respect sexually?
"Once… And I am so glad for it. There was a contract involved and it helped to establish just what crossed certain boundaries, in the end.” He grins and waves his hands away. “Oh, I’m not telling ‘what’ it was, exactly. You can fill in the blanks there yourself.”

12.) Where is the most romantic place you have ever had sex?
“On my ship, of course.” He blinks and grins once more. “As much as I boast about hating to sail…what I mean, specifically is that I hate to sail without a partner. Having a lass I can stow away for months on end with no disruptions, willing to let me plow her through wave after wave as the ship pulls gravity from the both of us and promising to hit that sweet spot and beyond every time…? I'd say that’s pretty romantic… Of course, she has to get her sea legs worthy, first.”

13.) Where is the weirdest place you have ever had sex?
“Oh, there was this one time, at band camp—” Tempest snickers and finally reaches for a mug of rum to drink. “—But I don’t think this really qualifies because the final ‘deed’ was never actually done. This young lass and I were making out under a tree, and I was trying to show off a little by bracing my hand against the trunk and acting tough. The whole situation was awkward, because I was an awkward kid. Anyway, the tree had this huge bee hive that landed right at our feet and the bees chased us all the way through huge poison ivy shrubs and to the larder at the camp. We jumped in this large pickle barrel and hid in the brine until the bees finally gave up. Now, when dealing with a Demon of Greed, it’s difficult to stop pursuing what was earlier initiated. Long story short, we were covered in bee stings, poison ivy and the pickles got extra salty.”

14.) Have you ever been caught having sex?
"...Aye, plenty of times. Most of the time it’s by a husband or a boyfriend that’s out to kill me. Sometimes its a girlfriend who is curious to join. Those usually are my favorite. “

15.) Ever been to a bar just to get sex?
“Isn’t that the reason taverns exist?”

16.) Have you ever kissed or had sex with someone of the same sex?
“No. A very hard no, actually. Although, I have been around one or two males who I am sure have fantasized about me…” He ponders and shrugs. “Unfortunately for them, its just not for me.”

17.) Had sex in a movie theater?
“You mean like in—or during—a play?” Tempest scoffs. “Aye. The drama Instructor wouldn’t give me the lead part unless I went down on her a couple times…. Aye, she was also a member of the Venatori, just in case you wondered. I never really left the Cult's eyes until after my banishment from home.”

18.) Had sex in a bathroom?
“Aye. It was usually with the drama Instructor… Filthy lass, but looking back on it, probably my best work.”

19.) Have you ever had sex at work?
“Define work…” He grins and holds his hands up. “I've done plenty in my trade and sometimes sex is a requirement.”

20.) Bought something from an adult store?
"I haven’t come across anything like that yet….”

Future Self: “I got the Prince Albert piercing and found a collection of vibrating piercings to use. Probably the best damn addition I ever had for myself. The ladies seem to enjoy it most of the time too.”

21.) Does anyone have naughty pics of you or are you on film?
“Surprisingly, no.” He laughs in a guffaw. “And I bet they wish otherwise!”

22.) Do you think oral sex constitutes as a form of intercourse?
“Not initially. Oral is more of a form of foreplay and a method of instilling power over another. At least, that’s how I feel about it.” Tempest glanced away took a long swig from his rum.

“The Venatory would do this to me quite often. It was their belief to suppress and control the demon that they forced into me. So, I was often bound, molested and beaten until I learned to enjoy it as much as the demon seemed to. I would have received oral pleasure by some masked lass for hours and denied the orgasms until I said or had done something specific that would in principle please the cult. So, oral is just a display of power to me, and as long as I am promised a good ending, I have no problem with giving or receiving by now.”

23.) What’s your favorite sexual position?
“Uh, any. Nearly all.” He laughs. “You'd learn more by simply asking what positions I don't do.”

24.) Have you ever had sex with more than one person at a time?
"Is this really a question?” Tempest laughs and takes another drink of rum. “Aye; sometimes that is even a requirement. Sometimes, my stamina is just too much for one woman to handle---and, yes, I have had complaints of that in the past….If one would really call them complaints…”

25.) What was your high school sex fantasy?
“There were plenty of sexual fantasies that I had back at the Academy. It was an Academy, after all.” Tempest pressed a finger to his chin and pondered. “I guess the one that seemed to stand out the most was nursing. I yearned for that specific attention and that skin-to-skin feeling a babe received when pressed to their mother’s breasts. It was a ‘safe’ feeling and it provided numerous accommodations from an unconditional affection to nourishment. Plus, I was usually f***ing women who were older than me. Breasts remain to be a huge part of my life.”

26.) Where have you always wanted to have sex, but are scared to?
“Oh, I am not sure if such a place exists...”

27.) What’s your most memorable sexual experience and why?
“I have to say it was the first time that I made love. It was different than sex. There were similar actions involved but each behavior had more meaning. It was not an act of control or a ritual for a means to an end or to stop the demon inside from clawing at my brain. It was safe, endearing and it truly meant something at the time. As they say, you never really forget your first time and I consider that among my firsts.”

28.) Have you ever been hit on by someone who was too old?
He shakes his head. “No such thing, when flirting with me.”

29.) Do you like getting hickeys?
“Oh, aye. You would find that there is a lot that I don’t say ‘no' to. I do like the aspect of being marked and marking others, in most cases. But if it’s going to be done, it may as well be a bit more permanent and with teeth.”

30.) Would you ever skinny dip?
“Have done it plenty already. I tend to call them river baths. As an apostate of sorts, those happen quite often.”

31.) Do you have a safe word? If so, what is it?
“Tranquil.” He answered and rolled his eyes some before taking another drink. “And if you have ever seen a Tranquil, you’ll know why that’s my safe word. But its rarely ever used…”

32.) Have you ever had sex with beings of a monster race or non-human?
Tempest pauses and flinches a little. “Non-human? If you mean like dwarven women, elves, avaaran giants and qunari, then the answer is yes. I do not have a particular preference in this. Its just that some are a reminder of home.

As for ‘monstrous’…? ...Aye… Though, they were always humanoid female types, and all mostly sound of their mind and bodies. Two thirds of them actually wanted to kill me within the process. Others? A short time after the action. It’s like …f***ing an enraged vampire that’s out for blood. You have to be on your toes.”

Takes a long drink afterwards and points then. “Not that its always something that I make of a sound decision to do so, mind you! If the demon in my head is in the mood and feels it can take on a certain --- beastly humanoid female --- then it usually happens even without my consent. So, aye! I’ve plowed through harpies, sirens. Even a hagraven or two…And it’s not pretty or something that I'm proud of, half of the time… But it does get the blood rushing.”

33.) Are you dominate or submissive?
“I think I answered this in a round-about way earlier.” Tempest pondered and shrugged. “I probably am more dominate than submissive simply because I tend outlast partners… But I tend to welcome both roles, in most cases. I believe if you cannot take what you dish out in sex, then you’re not enjoying time with a lover. You’re just enjoying time with a victim.”

34.) Have you ever broken anything during sex?
“Beds. Tables. Doors… I've been hurled out of a window once… She tossed me out and jumped right back on.” He grins. “As I said before, I can take it.”

35.) What about voyeurism?
“Have I ever been in it or took part? …Aye to both. Again, this is another establishment of power --- letting the world know just what you have claimed or what has claimed you." He shrugs and takes a drink. “This is also not a requirement, but it sure can be fun.”
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all

10/30/2021 06:33 PM 

Breaking the Habit
Current mood:  accomplished

Breaking the Habit


Video: “Breaking the Habit
By: Linkin Park (Original) Jonathan Young (Cover)


Tempest stood in front of a mirror at a brothel. He looked at his reflection while adjusting his pins and buttons on his tailored silk robes that were issued to him from the Asariel Academy. The young teenager had not been home in three days. Surely the guards of the house had been searching the streets, frantically looking for the Imperial Noblemen’s next heir for the Caedmon-Celestine bloodline. He was the only one within the family who had the highest potential and therefore the marked Messiah of their little hidden cult. If not that, then at the very least, he could have sired the next most powerful one in line. It was all the more reason he left home and went into hiding.

He remembered when he was younger, as a child, of the pressure he had to become what his mother prophesized before him. Back then, when he could not grasp a spell fast enough he would have been beaten and sent to his room to practice on his own. So, the learning process was always slow and filled with bruises. If he had shown even the slightest disinterest to learn, young Tempest would have been faced with his father and that riding crop that was used on the horses. However, the abuse had not halted at only with any lack in motivation. As a child, Tempest had grown accustomed to be chained down in the hidden room of his family’s basement. He was used to the feeling of the chains and shackles around his wrists and ankles. The routine practice of being subjected to cuttings, bloodletting, molestation and even forms of sacrificial rape were nothing new. His father only participated in the more brutal acts, while the molestations and rape were usually from other masked individuals of the cult. But his father was there and the empty look in his eyes had always been the most painful to the young boy.

In those years, all he ever wanted was the approval of a proud father. It was not just because he yearned for the platonic affection but also because he feared his father when he was disappointed or angry. When those emotions resonated so heavily in his father, there was nowhere to hide from him nor was there any begging or pleading that would calm his wrath. So, Tempest had to learn and he had to want to learn anything that his family taught him.

His darkest childhood memory went as far back since he was eight years old. He was in his room that was filled with the typical posters, trinkets and toys of a child noble of his age and social status. However, he was not playing with any of his toys or doing any of the usual studying that he should have been doing for his classes. There was something more important to him at the moment and it was arguably more important to his family as well.

Tempest sat on the floor of his room with a seed in front of him and a dagger to his right. His hand was outstretched over the seed as he stared at it. The small beads of sweat were formed from his brow between his heavy concentration and frustration. No matter how long or how hard that he tried to focus on the seed, it would not sprout with any vines or roots. He could not force the seed to grow with his magic, like he had done routinely before this. Something was wrong and distracting him from his concentration but he could not pinpoint it.

The cause could have been anything really: the pressure from what was expected of him, the treatment he was enduring while being “molded” into the Messiah everyone around him admired from behind masks and ritual blade or any peer pressure that followed with any of it. The fact remained to avoid getting assaulted or to win over the admiration that he wanted, Tempest would have to successfully reenact the spell of Earth and Creation. Ironically, what he wanted were the very same things that suppressed his ability. It was maddening. It just would not sprout. Nothing would sprout.

All that the young child could see in his mind, was that look in his father’s eyes. That empty look, as if his own son had been invisible to him while the hands of strangers carved into the boy's chest and legs. He could feel them marking him and touching him in any way that amused themselves or felt that they could control him. The stress of it was just too much. Frantic, and getting lost within his worries, Tempest reached for the blade at his side and started to cut his arm. One slash down with the next, the child’s left arm was gaining fresh new wounds over and alongside old scars and previous scabbing. Even still, he continued to cut into his own flesh as self punishment and self control. The feeling of pain was the only thing that he felt capable of having any control over. His adrenaline had been so high due to his emotional state that he didn’t feel most of the cuts. They came faster and deeper while blood pooled around him. It did not take long until a tendon was struck and the shock was one thing that Tempest did feel. The sensation of lightening pricked and tingled all the way down his arm. His dagger dropped to the floor then and the young child fell to his side just to curl up into a ball.

He didn’t remember when he was blinded by so many heavy tears or when his arms started shaking, but they were in that moment…

It was a memory that Tempest carried with himself to this day; which was an important day. It was a day that his mother did not want him to roam freely, but she and her guards would have to find him first. This day was a special day that would mark Tempest for the rest of his life.

Once he finished getting dressed, he turned to the door and closed it upon his exit. His eyes shifted carefully down the hallway, looking past the patrons loitering near the doors they paid for the previous evening. His eyes searched past the gambling tables and the bar. There were no signs of the guards from his home anywhere. Still, he remained cautious as he went to the bar and paid for a bottle of ale to take with him once he left the building. From there, he left the tavern and made his way to the city’s square.

Minrathous was known for its public displays from street criers and protests to capital punishments and theater. Today felt like it was going to provide a little bit of both from the latter. The crowd looked eager today. There was not much to really excite the public or to help them feel better about themselves and today they were perceived far better than any noble or magic user.

Tempest could feel the pompous behavior around him from those of the lesser class. Walking past each person then was like walking through a thick vat of slow sludge. Those who noticed who he was made room for him to pass; of course, but it was not as if he was making himself publically known. He was just trying to move to the front of the line. Meanwhile, the large crowd had looked to where the city guards and local templars were guiding a man down the city’s main square. The pathway had been clear for him all the way to the chopping block. Surely, it had not been a pathway of pride because with each step, the man in shackles received spits and curses. Even while food was being thrown at his father and he endured curses and insults, Tempest looked onward and watched as the man was taken to the center stage.

The Knight Commander announced the reasons for having Rosco DeCanster-Celestine before them this day. The Magister was accused of actively using bloodmagic to converse with demons, making deals with demons and subjecting himself –body and soul—to the evils that the “True Divine” have always fought against for the protection and prosperity of the Empire. For these reasons, he was trialed as a traitor to the realm and found guilty of these actions on all counts. The man who carried such blame exposed on his shoulders still remained emotionless. He seemed practically dead inside already. It was disappointing for Tempest, because all his life he had seen that cold dead stare; only this time it was focused more towards the floor.

The guards struggled to put the Magister to his knees while the templars began the Chant of Light and recited the words of Andraste; although these were not words nearly as spoken in worship but more as a warning to all Magisters and Mages. It was a reminder to them that with their freedom came with a responsibility and to misuse their gift (once that it was judged as misuse under a trial in the name of the High Archon) would mean zero toleration. However, Tevinter and its people would sooner turn to death sentences than tranquility. It hardly seemed like a fate that Rosco seemed willing or prepared to accept.

“Come on! Get on with it!” People were shouting and throwing rotten tomatoes up on the platform. “You brainless waste of air!” “Magistrate Garbage!” “Cursed!” It was everything that Tempest believed that his father deserved and yet it still had not been enough for him. The treatment was still too light in his opinion. After all, suffering that he endured, Tempest did not want to settle for just this.

“Forgive me for what I must do, My Lord.” The executioner requested from underneath his heavy hood and mask. “But you must stick your neck out for me. Otherwise, I am not able to make a clean cut.”

The Magister was staring down at the wooden stump that was stained with old blood. He gulped with a rising fear in knowing that his head was going to roll over it soon enough. It left a cold shudder to course down his spine. Had he the ability, he would have surrendered himself to a full possession of the demon that lurked within him in order to escape. He would have surrendered the rest of his mind and soul to it just to survive in some twisted form. However, there was no turning from his fate now. He was being forced to accept it…

And all of this stalling was making Tempest grow impatient.

The young mage pushed past the last few people who stood in his way and lurched forward. Grabbing Rosco’s shoulders, Tempest pulled his father downward by using his own weight. Rosco hollered in fear and shook his head back and forth with pleading. He knew the blade would soon follow to crash down upon his neck and separate his head from his body. Looking up, Rosco had finally seen Tempest’s eyes in return and it was this time the young teenager whose eyes were cold and staring down empty into the eyes of fear and desperation.

“My son.” Rosco muttered and after a brief moment, his eyes closed and his expression turned more calm.

The strike came quickly but Tempest had not even flinched when his father’s head rolled right into his chest. He caught the severed head in his arms; turning it around so that he saw the final expression of death from his father’s face. It felt like a fitting end to the one who brought Tempest so much frustration, terror and abuse. There were many that he wanted dead, but this was surely a good start. He dropped the head down into the basket and looked back at his arms and clothes. The blood from his father had soaked him quickly. He had not even realized or cared that the stench of that crimson mark had even splattered onto his face. He turned to find that the common folk were beginning to once more disperse in order to return back to their daily tasks. For them, it was just another day once more.

For Tempest, it was only the beginning and his statement was made clear to his mother, who he finally spotted from the far back of the separating crowd. She stood alongside her templars for protection throughout this entire execution –and for good reason; just to keep from getting pulled onto the stage possibly as well. Their eyes met and the tension remained into the air until Tempest reached up to his cheek and idly smudged the blood against three of his fingers. Turning, without a word then, he left his mother and her company for them to bury her husband’s body. What punishment his mother would give him for disappearing as he had been, will just have to wait until after all the necessary arrangements for Rosco DeCanster-Celestine’s burial have been made.
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all

10/30/2021 06:09 PM 

Let the Monster Rise!
Current mood:  accomplished

Let the Monster Rise!


Video: “Let the Monster Rise"
By: Repo! The Generic Opera


Thalia’s nightmare began with seeing an arrow shooting through the tent she was in and landing in the neck of her escort. The Frenchman fell with his jaw slacked and the crumbling of his armor loudly clanked from metal upon metal once his heavy stature fell to the wet ground. Thalia screamed as she hugged her small doll close to her chest. The young child at only twelve years old, cold not fathom the amount of terror that surrounded her now. She never should have left the nunnery but she desperately wanted to return back to the French Court, back alongside Princess Mary and the Duke of Burgandy’s illegitimate son, Caleb of York. She had argued with her father that she was safer there with them than at the nunnery, now she was not so certain if the trip to get there was worth it.

The woods were scary at night. Monsters howled among the predatory animals and both were on the hunt to consume flesh. Thalia carried the sweet scent of innocence and naivety from everywhere she roamed. She was soft, frightened and an easy meal. The things that lurked behind the shadows at night would know of it too. They could smell her and their mouths watered for just a drop of her blood.

It did not take them long to close in on the tent, shaking the fabric and piercing their knives and claws into it. Thalia was screaming and plugging her ears with both hands. Her eyes squinted shut, that in some small hope to believe if she could not see them then they were not there. Thalia prayed to the God of the nunnery for protection. The fear had dropped her down to her knees as she continued to pray and scream for help. Her begging, crying and praying seemed just loud enough inside of her own head then. She pressed her hands tighter upon her ears and continued between sniffling. Thalia came to find that her own voice was helping to block out the sounds of fighting, howling and snarling.

After a while, something wet splattered across her dress and the sensation of being possibly touched to see large blood stains across the front of her dress. To her horror, her eyes widened more when she looked across from her and just at a few inches, her sights took in the fallen wolf in front of her. The wild beast was covered in matted blood and strapped with deer antlers tied to its back. Vines were protruding out from his guts and ribs; pinning the animal back into the ground. His blood had spread just as much as Thalia’s own guard’s did, and it stained her satin shoes and cotton dress.

That was when He came – her protector. The tall man in black obsidian armor. His hair was as dark as the shadows and eyes that were so blue, not even the clearest oceans could match them. He came to her, passing the dead carcasses in only a few strong strides. When he reached out for her, Thalia screamed more and inched away from his touch; only to find that his grip was unrelenting. After being shaken, the young girl’s eyes seemed to focus once more and she stopped struggling. The man pulled her hands away from her fears, and the first few words that Thalia clearly heard were her name. Her small chest was rising and falling far too fast, even from a child so young. She looked back at the dead wolf once more and then to the man in front of her. He seemed to relax when Thalia became more self-aware. Releasing her soon afterwards, the man was in the process of checking her over vaguely for any injuries. However, she was quick to move away from him and return her attention back to the dead guard who stood by her side with his very life.

The man looked down from her rejection and swallowed it. Such from her had been one of many recently, even when he came to her aid. The problem had usually been because he came with a cost that the young girl did not like. He looked over his shoulder towards her after a moment and watched in some small spiteful jealousy with how she still tried to see life in the dead body of someone she barely knew while bypassing him completely. Thalia knew of him longer than the current bodyguard of the day…

“I told you to stay at the nunnery.” He warned and stared heatedly at her. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I wanted to go back to the palace.” She replied in a small voice.

“The palace is not safe.” The man spoke with patience as though he had to gather the will to still have it.

“You cannot protect me, Tempest!” Thalia blurted out and threw her small hands up in the air.

“I protect you just fine.” The bloodmage remarked and turned to face her. “…It’s everyone else I don’t give a damn about.”

“And this? Is this the price every time you show up?” Thalia questioned and pointed to the fallen guard with the arrow in his neck.

His steel blue eyes looked towards the dead guard and his shoulders rolled back with agitation. “You’re the only person who is important to me…and it would be easier on us both if you would just return to the nunnery and do as you’re told.”

“You killed him!” She hollered back at him while tears started to swell in her eyes.

“No… You killed him.” Tempest retorted and stepped towards her. “You killed him by running out into the woods, like an empty-headed thrall; knowing that he would follow and do all that he could to protect you. I only used his blood, child, but the arrow in that man's neck is not mine.”

Thalia’s eyes widened once she realized that the man was coming for her. She quickly turned away and the child ran out of the tent. “Stay away from me!”

“Thalia!” Tempest hollered his warning but he could not reach her in time.

When the young girl ran outside, she saw just what was ‘bought’ with the sacrifice of her guard’s dying blood. The handful of savaged looking men and women were collapsed on top of one another. Their wounds looked deep from some unknown weapon. Their faces were twisted in horror and their skin was as pale as the moon. The ground was uneven with roots that had moved enough to practically till the soil. Some people near the tent were impaled and choked from vines and roots as well. The ground was soaked in sinew and torn flesh so much the crimson stains almost looked black. Body parts were lain strewn about carelessly and even still, there was more. The child saw all of the death and quickly felt her first urge to vomit. The strong –almost metal—smell of blood was so strong that she could not take it.

She almost had not seen the one young teenaged boy that was still alive. He was certainly six to eight years older than Thalia but still considered a couple years younger than Tempest—when going by appearances. Tied by vines and pinned to the ground in the T-Position of the burning cross, the boy was struggling to get free. His body was already drenched in the blood and chunks of the torn flesh from his friends and family. He hollered more when he saw Tempest coming from the tent later.

“What did you do…?” Thalia paled at all the death around her and tried to gather the strength to abstain from the nausea building inside of her.

She turned back to Tempest and started to push him. Her anger thrashed at him. Small fists beat into his chest and attempted to push him down but the task was far too difficult for a girl so young and so inexperienced with fighting. It was like moving a mountain in comparison. The taller man just stared down at her with an empty expression; for he could not show remorse for what he had done. He had no remorse at all for these deaths. Reaching down, he took the girl’s wrists into his hands and held her anger back.

“I did what needed to be done. Would you have rather those filthy maggots sacrifice you to their pathetic god?” He questioned her with a raising snarl in his voice. “They came here to kill you! Don’t you understand? Do you think I would have allowed that to happen? These mindless drones are better off as worm food. Fertilizer left to rot in the sun for their ungrateful deity.”

He paused for a moment and looked towards the hollering male. Reaching down, he picked up a discarded dagger and handed it to the young child. “So, you will complete the act of your own vengeance.”

Thalia stepped back and looked at the dagger being presented to her. Her blue eyes widened with the realization that Tempest was actually expecting her to take a human life! As young as she was, she could hardly even handle the dead that was currently around them! Thalia was still very young. She couldn’t kill someone and certainly not someone in cold blood; no matter of the circumstances. But the look in Tempest’s eyes appeared somewhat eager, urgently giddy even, for her to have made the attempt.

“I… can’t.” She muttered.

Tempest could see her small body tremble and her cowardice over took the young and traumatized youth. He tilted his head; confused with this complete rebellion against him. He left the last kill for her and Thalia acted as though she had no appreciation for his gift. He knew and understood that she was raised differently than him; that but he believed that they could still bond over her first take on exact revenge. He was surprised that she didn’t even want to do that.

“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?” The bloodmage asked as he was completely baffled by this notion. His blue hues narrowed at her in confusion. “I had my first kill at least three years younger than you, and you are of my blood.”

“I’m not a killer like you!” She aimed the dagger at Tempest instead.

Taking a step closer towards her, Tempest had not hesitated or dodged away from the blade that now marked him more of a monster than the ones who were actually the sinners that plotted to take the young girl’s life. This was angering him slowly and he pointed towards the bound captive as he addressed Thalia once more.

“Even if it were these cult worshiping savages that attempted to take your life just minutes ago?” He questioned her and scowled. “You think he or his fellow cultists would give you any mercy? Do you think if you had begged enough they would spare you? He is the monster here. I have put him on a silver platter for you. Kill him and be done with it!”

Thalia shook her head and threw the dagger down to the ground. Turning away, she sneered at him as she marched off. “The only monster I see here is you. I wouldn’t have even been out here if you hadn’t taken me away from the nunnery… I’m going back to Princess Mary and Caleb – my friends!”

It was official: even his own daughter hated him. Tempest was hoping to at least find something for them to both bond over by now. True, he was never cut out for raising children. Considering his own childhood—as violent as it was—and soon thrown into a harrowing war with the unsavory events that followed afterwards; it may have shaped him into the man he was today as a highly skilled vagrant but certainly not a father figure. Even so, he did the best that he could. Tempest protected her and he made efforts in reaching out to her to get close. Even so, so turned away from him as she grew older…

And now this Princess Mary and Caleb seem to have filled the void that Thalia needed.

The bloodmage didn’t say anything after then. He merely just watched as the little girl turned him down more than enough times than for him to have considered it as a mistake of some sort. Tempest turned back to the last remaining captive and summoned for his vines to do his bidding instead. For even if She would reject his offerings and moments to bond with him, it still would not spare this young man from trying to harm his daughter.

Vines rose high and stabbed the boy into his legs and torso. Under Tempest’s commands, the entanglement loosened around his prey, allowing him to run—if he could manage. Another vine crept up and lurched forward to gauge out the young man’s left eye. Snaking it’s way through his skull, it popped out his right eye and slithered down to wrap around the young man’s neck. Filled with vines and roots that soon began to burst outward from his stomach, the young man collapsed to the ground in agonizing pain. His guts spilled out around him as his body went into shock. Bleeding to death was his only purpose now.

“Caleb and Mary is it…?” Tempest pondered while the blood soaked into the ground at his boots.
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all

06/15/2021 09:38 PM 

Mutiny Aftermath
Current mood:  accomplished

Mutiny Aftermath


Video: “Used to the Darkness”
By: Des Rocs


Chained down to the floor of the boat, Tempest paced back and forth. He didn’t anticipate the consequences to such actions that came. Sure, the elf-lass had a bit of fire to her personality but he did not believe she would have been so bold as to challenge him in front of his crew. His biggest problem had always been women. He was either too trusting around them or he was unable to control himself around them. Regardless, women would be the death of him before any darkspawn tainted blood, blight or any templar. This one she-elf did a firm number on him. She was impatient, hot-headed and lacked finesse to any expression of her temperament.

Why had he brought her on board his ship, again? --- Oh. Right. Tits. Its usually tits that get him into such trouble. Well, to be fair, it was more like tits and money this time. Two of his worst vices…

He agreed to take her on board his ship to reach the harbor of Orlais. It would have been faster than walking, from where they were. Tempest could only predict that she wanted revenge on some fat Orlesian noble who probably ruined her elven chastity or some other weird elven purity that elves had. He didn’t think to really ask questions when a large coin purse was waved beside a pair of plump and tightly fastened breasts. That was his first mistake. His second mistake was assuming that she would sit back and allow him to “replenish” his supplies. Nope! This elven woman had morals and they were morals against piracy. Tempest didn’t think she understood how life on a pirate ship worked: there were supplies that needed to be replenished and a revenue that needed to be met each month. For some pirates, this was a longer time period to keep track with, but one thing that Tempest refused to do on his own ship was to starve or incite the risk of mutiny. That meant there was always a ship to plunder – especially if there was on that came to them by fate.

Or by rumor… The Krisselex was starting to become a feared ship in the Amaranthine Ocean. There was some pride to that and Tempest welcomed the challenge of other ships when they came by. Nothing --- No one --- could destroy his glorious vessel. Except from an act that happened from the inside.

No. He did not foresee the elven lass raising a scabbard to him and declaring a challenge against him, in front of all his men after a successful plunder. It was truly laughable to him… and to his men. Tempest was in a good mood; though, and accepted it. What better way to canonize new crew members and to have some entertainment than to ‘dance’ with a pretty young thing with blades in her hands! He thought he could keep his guard up and control the demon within him securely. He didn’t realize that the elven woman was some sort of acrobat with the skills of an Antivan Crow! Their little sparing match proved to be longer than most fights Tempest had with regular Chevaliers. Then, in one movement, she almost seemed to have disappeared from him, flipped over his head and in a spin she had managed to land her sword directly in his back.

Naturally, this maneuver brought him to a stand-still. However, it was not the thought of death or necessarily, even the pain that caused him to freeze. He got off on pain, and as far as death was concerned, Tempest didn’t fear it. He was just rather disappointed of all the set-backs he would be having to go through at this point. This was because his tale-tell aura of being a bloodmage was suddenly discovered from right in front of his entire crew! The demon that was within him felt the instant sting that threatened his host’s life and it was like an aphrodisiac for the creature; calling to it in order to resurface. For Tempest, the struggle was simply in keeping the demon from emerging. He didn’t have to even turn around to sense the fear that struck his crew ---and even the young elf behind him. He reached behind his back stiffly and moved to remove the blade. Since he could not grab the handle, it sliced into his palm as well. Eventually, he did manage to toss the cursed thing to the main deck at his feet and exhaling a shiver of pleasure from the given pain. As he turned, his aura surrounded him in a thick black smoke and leaving his skin and eyes glowing red.

“You’ll have to do much harder than that.” He teased her and looked towards his men with eyes of a demon threatening to surface. The whispers of ‘bloodmage’ were already forming on their lips, and Tempest felt his shoulders sag a little in some defeat. “Very well… A deal is a deal. Welcome your new Captain, gents. Pray she doesn’t lead you into starvation and poverty.”

He stretched out his wrists towards the elf in a limp surrender while feeling his skin making quick work to stitch his torn flesh back together. That was how he was captured and that was how he ended up in the jail cell of his own ship, by his own crew. If only his mother would have seen him now, the bitch would have been laughing herself to death. There was some comfort to that thought. The mere satisfaction to the notion kept himself from going insane while being denied of every mortal pleasure one’s mind could conjure up, when being chained down. He could not even remember how long he had been strung up and forgotten there but it had been long enough that Tempest acknowledged just how starved he was for his usual cravings.

The sound of the door opened and Tempest’s eyes lurked along the floor towards the heels he heard clicking across the wooden surface. He knew sooner or later she would return to him. They were lost at sea. It would have been ignorant to throw away the only person who knew how to sail a ship properly. She needed him and he knew that she was aware of it; which had been the only reason why he surrendered in the first place.

“Let me guess… You’ve gotten us lost.” The dry chuckle from his throat gave away just how parched he was, but certainly not ashamed of himself enough to mock her.

The sound of trapped liquid in a bottle quickly announced to the bloodmage to raise his head and look to the elven woman in front of him. Like the addict starved for his addictions as he was, his eyes fixed more hungrily on the wine bottle. He drank in the sight nearly as much as he drank in the sight of her and his gaze turned dark.

Tempest was not truly starved of his basic needs. The elven woman was not that cruel to him. However, it was the curse of sailing that truly starved the demon within him and Tempest was greatly affected by this. He needed the physical touch of intimacy or wine or song … or gold in large quantities. He needed to hoard something in order to feel complete in some manner…and afterwards, he was never fully satisfied with what he obtained. Being locked in a dungeon denied him far more than what kept him comfortable. So, without a word spoken first, she did manage to grasp his undivided attention.

“I thought we could have a truce.” She taunted him in her victory and looked back to the wine bottle as casually as one so smug could. “But if you don’t want…”

He growled and moved as far as the chains on the floor allowed. Each metal ringlet pulled tightly when he reached the bars. His eyes studied her smugness and he matched it with a light scoff. Tempest felt that she wished to play with her new prey and since he had nothing left to really entertain himself with, he would play.

“If you wanted a truce, you would not have crushed me under your heel." He retorted and his eyes fell in wanting towards the leather fastenings around her chest. “What do you really want?”

“Bloodmagic. I want you to teach it to me.” She answered quite promptly and such a pride that silence started to fill the room.

In all honesty, Tempest was not certain that he heard her correctly. She wished to learn some of the most darkest and cursed arts that magic could offer? It was not exactly practical, even if he was to assume that she could apply herself to the gift. In fact, it was downright laughable! He could not even contain himself from the thought and looked away as his shoulders shook from such laughter.

“You must be out of your mind…!” He exclaimed and raised his hands outwardly despite having them pulled back at the wrists. “You think a few drops of alcohol is going to persuade me? I think I’ll take my chances here to sit and rot… It would be more interesting to wait and see which of those grubby louts up there judge you over the pair of tits you have.”

Angered, she reached back and smashed the bottle of wine against the bars. The glass shattered and drew Tempest to a smug pause even still. It was depressing to see such good liquor go to waste but her point was made pretty clear. If he was going to deny the gift then it did not need to exist. He understood but still… it was just sad alcohol abuse; a true waste indeed.

“If it comes to that, I’ll kill them.” She declared firmly.

“What? One by one?” Tempest flinched and shook his head. “There was a reason I was the Captain, lass. I kept them happy. I kept them fed. I didn’t need bloodmagic to tend to their savagery and I knew how to navigate these waters. What talents do you have to satisfy them other than your tits?”

He paused, leering close to her from behind the bars, breathing in her scent and momentarily closing his eyes. She had such a sweet and calming aroma. It was quite the opposite to her fiery nature. All women had a particular fragrance and each one seemed more alluring to him when he developed such a hunger for them. There was no mistake in the way he coyly salivated over her; in fact, and it was no surprise. She was the only woman for … miles across the ocean…

“…That’s why you want to learn, isn’t it? You feel your rank slipping from them.” He taunted her and looked back into her eyes. “You give me far too little credit… But you would be lucky if you end up stuck here with me.”

“Bloodmagic.” She demanded bluntly once more and reached down in a blinded grasp towards his groin. He breathed in sharply from the touch and felt that slender hand fumble in her exploration. “Teach. Me. Bloodmagic.”

Another noted weakness.

Tempest had difficulties when it came to such a protest in women. How could he refuse, when the demon in his mind clawed and screamed from within just to break those chains. It was not as if he could not free himself. He truly did want to see how long it would take before the scallywags above him began to mutiny again. But when being teased in such a way, the only image left fluttering to his mind was to have this elf thrown down to the floor and ravaged until the demon within would stop trying to overpower him. She had him – and quite literally in her palm.

Tilting his chin slightly in an almost absent minded reaction to her teeth nibbling along his jawline, he attempted to calm his breathing and focus once more. “…One spell.”

“One?” She hissed and recoiled quickly as though insulted instantly.

“The spells I know are powerful. Influential. First, we need to test if you are even capable to handle them.” He rationalized and looked back towards her. “One spell… And if you’re smart, you’ll allow me to navigate us back to shore.”

Her hand stilled around his region of increased heat. She glanced towards the floor in thought and then patted her touch gently against him once more. “…That seems fair… But you will do it behind this cell—”

“I wasn’t finished.” Tempest’s hoarse voice interrupted quickly and his arms tugged forward in a tightly strangled motion. “The ship is still mine. You can play Captain all you like till then but when we hit land, I want her back.”

“I enjoy this frustration in you.” She mused flirtatiously, taking in a bold reaction to his nearly submissive behavior. “I have no need for the ship. Just your …talents…”

“Then by all means… apply yours first.” He said and dew his eyes more towards her bottom lip and then to a close once their lips met. From there, he learned quickly just how she liked to have been kissed and to what limit of roughness she felt willing to treat him with. None of this mattered much to him but Tempest knew well of what was expected. If only to amuse himself for the rest of the trip across the sea, Tempest was willing to remain under such terms.
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all

05/03/2021 11:53 PM 

Another NSFW Questionnaire
Current mood:  accomplished

—   Another NSFW Questionnaire

Tie me, Bite me: Name a Kink.
I’ll take both! Tying and biting; I’m not shy about it either.

That’s Naughty: Name something that you would want to try in bed, but won’t.
I pretty much do anything I want if and when the notion comes to me. It can vary depending upon the partner involved, but I do tend to adapt, to an extent.

That’s Nice: Name something that you want to try in bed and will.
Did you have something in mind? As I said; pretty much anything…

Self Torture: What do you like to masturbate to?
Well, this is going to sound a bit …different…probably, but I cannot really achieve that grand release on my own. You know, that final note to the symphony. Aye, sadly true. You could say I have been broken to a point where I find no enjoyment from the act other than driving myself into a fever…and only the fever… So, that initial action is a waste of time to me. But to ask me what I fancy; well, that covers just about any woman with breasts, a tight snatch and knows how to talk.

Wine and Dine: Is it important to have a nice prelude before having relations?
Not necessarily; although it is tantalizing to flirt a bit. Plus, that gives me the opportunity to show off and to sometimes discover just how far I can take things. In short; not important but I don’t mind it.

Sweet Kisses: Are you a good kisser?
Of course I am! I am the best at everything I do. Just ask around!

Tasty: Chocolate? Whipped cream? Do you use food with sex?
Aye. …Aye; that too! It really depends on what is available most of the time, though. For instance, I’m not going to have a perfectly wet lass waiting on her ass while I insist to rush off to the larder or drink cabinet to cover her in some yet unknown treat. That is just asking for a certain someone to rethink the idea entirely. My main sail doesn’t have the time for indecisiveness. Once the wind catches, it is up for the voyage, as they say.

Two’s a crowd and three’s a party!: Have you ever participated in a threesome? Any more than three? Would you be interested in inviting more people?
Oh, aye, mate. More than three before; definitely, and the more the merrier! Think of who you’re interviewing here! That’s like asking to choose between having one cookie and a whole batch! I’m never one to turn down a cookie…

Swinger: Ever traded partners before?
I’m not one really willing to simply share and let go of someone just to give them to someone else. However, I have stolen a few women from other men. I tend to be greedy like that… But then, if there is a ‘relationship’ involved between myself and some lass – and by some miraculous reason that she would rather be with another person – I am not one to stop her from doing whatever she wants.

Blowjob: Swallow or Spit? What do you prefer?
Um… No? How about No. I can easily state that I have never ‘licked a lamp post’ and I have no reason or wish to do so in the future. Just not my forte, mate.
But if you are asking on which I prefer done to me, that answer is just as simple. I have no preference. Really I don’t. Just so long as its done...

p0rn Collection: Do you watch p0rn? Do you make your own p0rn?
I am a huge fan of voyeurism and performing! There is a sense of power to me in that. So, I have no complaints with either one. Though, as for having a secret stash of sorts – with my line of usual habits, there really is no need.

Vibrator: Use any toys? Have a favorite?
I use whatever my partner feels comfortable with experiencing, if she’s into that sort of thing. I get the most of my enjoyment from her reaction depending upon the mood that it is being set. But there is a favorite, I confess, that involves a whip – and I can have that used on me or to use on her. Again, this all depends on what is currently going on and I have a natural habit of following my instincts.

Tempo: Sweet and slow or hard and fast?
Yes! This is also varied... I truly am not picky just so long as I am not to be teased for too long. For the most part, it can depend on what my partner wishes.

Secret Lover: Describe someone you lust after. No names!
Since I see lust differently from love, I can confidently say that I have no specific preference to that also. The world is my buffet!

Washing Machine: Ever do it in a weird place before?
What place would you consider to be weird? I had stated once before in one of these that I could get it up in just about anywhere. Inside, outside, uptown, downtown and all around. Name a spot; I’ve probably stained my name there in one form or the other.

Sheets: Are silk sheets sexy?
This is where I get a little picky. I tend to f*** … a lot… and that leads to the term ‘soaked sheets.’ Therefore, you would understand that wet silk is an unpleasant feeling for me! It sticks to the skin, traps in too much heat during f***ing and then traps in too much cold when everything is done. If I had the choice, I would use thinly woven cotton and towels…depending on what is being introduced for the evening…or morning…or mid-day….Whatever the time is…

When it comes to foreplay, I’m not a huge fan of being teased with silk either—although I still will remain responsive. Chances are, I probably will ‘always’ remain responsive… Because of my unique upbringing, I prefer leather. I prefer metal and restraints.

Now, a woman can wear silk and that’s fine. Most likely, I would rip it off eventually anyway. No--I do not care about how much money was spent on it so do not wag that finger at me! One way or the other, lass, that silk is coming off.

Thong Song: Do you like sexy lingerie?
On women? Hell yes! On me? Hell no… With the way those things are made, they'd be riding up something fierce! Don’t picture me in it either, you perv…

Flavor: What’s your orientation?
Well, this was certainly out of order… Get ready for the shocker, because I am straight as a compass needle pointing North! There is no lean from that whatsoever. Does this make me homophobic? Doubtful. Maybe? I don’t know. I just happen to know what I like …and I like titties with no extra packages. Honestly, I would not even know what to do with such a surprise if I was presented with one anyway and that would just bring disappointment for the both of us. …And, no, that is not an invitation—just an explanation.

Turn On: Name a turn on.
Bondage, voyeurism, S&M, masochists, Satanists, rope, whips, biting, cutting, whipping, food, being a switch, using a switch, having a switch involved as a threeway, fourway, fiveway—number of ways, spitroasts, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, missionary, hair pulling, filthy talk, rough sex, soft sex, fast sex, slow sex, tame sex, experimental se----

Oh. You said name one… Well, take your pick!

Turn Off: Name a turn off.
Younger age gaps. I don’t mind if the woman is older than me for that just means she knows more of what she is doing. However, any lass five years younger than me, or below the legal limit, may as well remain at home. Stay off the streets, you whippersnappers!

Frequency: How many times do you have relations in a week?
This varies too. It really depends on what location I am in and whether or not I am in the middle of a mission. When being single, I could always stop at a brothel for a quick wank, but if I am stuck on a ship and out at sea then a dry-spell naturally occurs…
I hate dry-spells.

Heart and Soul: Is love important when you have sex?
I think you’d know my answer to that by now.

Good Morning: Do you partake in morning sex?
Is this an invitation? …Most of the time and if I have the time. Then again, if I end up in a bed that belongs to the wife of some Duke, I probably would already be out the window in my small clothes.

French Maid: Do you roleplay in bed?
It happens sometimes… I often mention that I am into bondage and restraints.

Mood: How do you create the mood? Favorite atmosphere?
I have no specific favorites in this. As I said, my greatest enjoyment is the reaction in my partner. I am an entertainer; a performer of sorts. I need the attention, whether this comes from one single person or a whole stage of people. The setting and mood are less important than achieving the act and reaching that final note.

Takeout: Do you and your partner “eat out” often?
Do you mean from each other or with others, …or do you mean just having sex in a public place?
When being with a partner, I can confidently say that she may have to keep me back with a blunt weapon. Its not an expectancy as much to receive this obsessive tenacity in return. I just happen to enjoy sex a great deal. What’s not to enjoy about it, really? But if I am in a relationship and that relationship demands that I remain a monogamist…
I mean, let’s face it—with my kind of personality and history that is like demanding the Tevinter Imperium to surrender all political control over to the
White Spire!
…Or to ask a bloodmage to become an Andrastian Chanter…

Point is: I would want that outlet of sex. I would ‘need’ that outlet of sex. Sex is important to me. If I can’t have it, I turn to drinking and if it’s very heavy drinking, then it’s the only time that I do not like myself. So, sufficed to say, I would not be able to keep my hands off the woman long enough for us to remain out in public or with others that very long either… Unless, she is into that as much as I would be.

Trouser Snake: Does size matter? Is it big?
I knew this was coming eventually. Would you truly care to measure? I’m told different things but all are compliments...

Meow: Shaved or natural?
I’m fine with either just so long as its mostly clean. Don’t turn your judging eye on me to that either! I am pretty certain that plenty of women don’t want to be in contact of a funky sack…
Although, I will say that I do appreciate certain tastes. I also appreciate any artistry in any detailed shaved ones and/or piercings. But not one is truly more beautiful to me than the other – because all mature women are beautiful to me.

Gossip: Do you sleep and tell?
Of course I do! I am proud of most of my experiences... Which tale would you like to hear?

First Time: Who was your first time with?
My first time. Of course… I am assuming that you mean, my first full experience and not the first blowjob I received…or something along those lines. Those tend to be different stories.
My first time was with a dark haired Rivainian. She was a pirate captain and she took to sailing long before I had even set foot on a boat. In fact, she introduced me to the salty sea spray and the wind to my sails. It was all a devilish seduction, mind you – because I grew to understand sailing better in my later years and I learned that I do not truly favor it as much as I thought I would. What I ultimately enjoyed from it was freedom and that was what she offered me.

A freedom away from obligations and restrictions.

Unfortunately, there is not much to really say on this one. She was more experienced and she saw sex as something to be liberating and celebrated. At the time, I was much of a greenhorn and I was trained into having a completely opposite view of hers. For me, sex was to be used as a tool and it was meant to be controlled for a specific purpose.
I tried to be stern with her but she was a wild flirt and difficult for a shy lad to handle. Where I had only the ‘reach’ she toppled me with ‘flexibility’ and she had the confidence to wear me down. When I became smitten she became distant. It was a growing experience.

Keep it down!: Are you loud when you make love?
Not really. I probably talk more if I’m really into it but I wouldn’t be hollering to the heavens. That has a bit to do with my training, actually. I used to have been whipped when I was ‘too loud,’ and that in turn increased my pain tolerance as well. So, I was sort of …taught… to remain a certain volume.
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all

09/11/2020 05:38 PM 

Post About Lyrium
Current mood:  blah


Others have already said this, but I want to reiterate, mages do not need lyrium to perform magic. They use it to enhance their natural capabilities.

[lyrium potions are] used to aid in the casting of especially taxing spells, for a short time granting a mage far greater power than he normally wields.

Lyrium is also used by mages to enter the Fade fully aware.

When mixed into liquid and ingested, lyrium allows mages to enter the Fade when fully aware, unlike all others who reach it only when dreaming.

Mages can even use lyrium to contact sleeping people from far way. It's also used in the Harrowing, or other rituals to "seek enlightenment".

Lyrium is an integral part of a ritual that allows mages to separate spirit from the body and enter the Fade voluntarily. This has traditionally been used to contact those asleep and far away, or as part of a quest to seek enlightment.

Lyrium is also used to replenish mana quickly.

When used properly, the mana within lyrium can replenish a mage's power more quickly than through natural means.

It can be used cast spells that would be beyond a mage's ability without the use of lyrium or blood magic.

Lyrium can also aid in powerful spells and rituals. It is the only known way a typical mage can achieve power otherwise reserved for blood magic or dangerous pacts with demons.

Lyrium is addictive to anyone that uses it, not just Templars, and the addiction gets worse over time.

Regardless of its state, lyrium is addictive. The more one uses lyrium, the more one wants to use it, and always in greater quantities.

Mages do suffer side effects from excessive lyrium use.

Though mages, of course, consume it in a diluted form to bolster their abilities, this is not recommended. Overindulgence in lyrium can have disastrous consequences, particularly in more concentrated amounts.

The excessive consumption of lyrium by ancient magisters even led to physical mutation. Look at Corypheus for example. He doesn't even look wholly human anymore.

Lyrium has its costs, however. Prolonged use becomes addictive, the cravings unbearable... The magister lords of the Tevinter Imperium were widely reputed to have been so affected by their years of lyrium use that they could not be recognized by their own kin, nor even as creatures that had once been human.

Mages can also suffer from something called "mana imbalance", which can cause symptoms such as dizziness and hearing voices. Anything that increases a mage's capacity for magic, including lyrium, can have damaging effects on the body. Vivienne talks about it if the Inquisitor drinks from the Well.

Inquisitor: I've been dizzy for hours, and every now and then I still hear voices.

Vivienne: You may be experiencing mana imbalance. For mages, anything that increases your capacity for magic, such as lyrium, has a damaging effect on the body.

Edit: As /u/Ostrololo mentioned, having the PC/companions never become addicted to lyrium is just a matter of gameplay and lore segregation. The writers did consider making lyrium addiction a mechanic in the game, but it was ultimately scrapped. It was too costly to implement in a meaningful way.

The implementation we had was that, if the addiction developed, the use of lyrium had diminishing returns. You needed more and got less. The problem we encountered, as you point out, is that mages pretty much needed to drink lyrium potions. Addiction was practically guaranteed. So there needed to be some method of dealing with the addiction without rendering it pointless, and ideally some kind of story implication...

...and you can see why it suddenly became costly. If we could come up with some other implementation that was meaningful, I'd like to see return in the future -- it was something templar characters were meant to face as well as mages, after all.


TL;DR Mages don't need lyrium, but it makes them more powerful. Lyrium is addictive to both mages and Templars.

06/30/2020 12:46 PM 

Sweetest Perfection of Home NSFW
Current mood:  accomplished

Sweetest Perfection of Home

It was a surprise to see how her home would have been: a quaint little cottage off to the middle of nowhere. It was nothing to how Tempest would have pictured it. For some reason, he did not expect the cottage to have appeared so… rustic…for a daughter of the High Archon with the expensive taste of Orlesian’s fashion sense. Then again, that could have just been the numerous speeches he had from other people – reprimanding him from every time someone had seen Tempest stare at Leliana for a little too long, or that he has followed her around a little too closely. Even when he and Leliana had tried to keep their affairs private, there was always a sense that other people knew—and they knew that he was the lowest scum of the earth. Queen Leliana – No. --- Empress Leliana could so much better than him. Everyone knew it.

The forest was thick with trees and the sounds of a bubbling stream had been nearby somewhere. It was quiet here. There was no one to bother the Queen of Kirkwall with mundane complaints or some noble seeking a potential peace treaty in the hopes that the Icon’s army wouldn’t trample over his-or-her lands. The inner peace sunk deep into the soul and reached into the ground so firmly that Tempest almost started to believe that he was growing roots as well. He wondered just how long had Leliana had such a place to escape to – and how often did she flee to it…

Before the sun would claim him and burn his skin past the shade of the heavy pine trees, Tempest moved forward and stepped up to the porch. He took a quick notice of the hardwood that was packed together with mortar and nails. It appeared to have been carved by hand and it was noted as much because of how some of the logs were split uneven and a few were loose from not being secured flush against the support beams underneath. Repairs needed to have been made here but they were minor. Surely, Tempest had seen worse craftsmanship in his day: shacks that were put together with clay and driftwood, even. However, this was by far not bad at all. The support beams were about as evenly placed as possible to the judgement of the naked eye, and it was only a few weak spots that needed tending to.

Tempest had started to think about that and of what steps that were usually taken in order for that to be been fixed, whenever the front door had opened. Leliana stood in the doorway to greet him. He noticed right from the start that Leliana was dressed in a different style of clothing. Gone, had went the royal outfits that her advisors and handmaidens donned her with. The ‘Leliana’ that he was use to seeing began to show her true self through her own more comfortable attire and he smiled to see her reflection shine through her personality. She was always bright and charismatic – it was hard to believe that this had been the same woman who lost herself in a fit of grief at one point and tried to take her own life. Tempest didn’t understand it then, just as much as he didn’t understand it now; but none of it mattered just so long as she could still keep that bright and beautiful smile.

“Well? Don’t just stand there. Come in! Come in!” Leliana cheered and reached out to guide Tempest inside by the metal hook of his hand.

Now, Tempest had no real excuse to have just disappeared. He was dragged inside and he looked at the walls of the cottage that were built around them. The feeling was suddenly confining to him, but only because in the back of his mind there had lurked the certainty of him staying here – in this place, with Leliana. Yes. They talked about it in between the time that Thalia had been born and since her suffering from post traumatic stress which caused an end result of Tempest having to make her his Thrall. Then, they talked about it again some time afterwards – after her anger of his actions had calmed down. He only did it to save her but –no. Actually, that was incorrect. Tempest made her his Thrall because he was being just as selfish as she was, and the bloodmage refused her to give her life up to the Maker – or Limbo – or whatever/whoever religious entity that would claim her soul. She was his and he made it so.

However… There was a difference in between making the declaration – and even taking the first few steps – than to follow through with commitment to the previous actions…

“Well?” She finally asked him when the silence had continued to settle between them. “What do you think?”

Tempest wasn’t certain of his own opinion past the encroaching claustrophobic feeling that churned inside of him. He felt guilty for even feeling this way, but it was hardly something that he could brush off. His jaw remained a bit slacked when he looked towards the silk Orlesian curtains that decorated the windows, the space of the livingroom that opened up and outward to the stone campfire that was used for a makeshift stove as well as a heating unit for the cottage itself, and the fire place that remained almost as a centerpiece to connect both rooms. To him, it felt smaller than it actually was but this could have been just because he was realizing just how very serious that Leliana was about him moving in with her. Here.

“You like it!” Leliana beamed at his continued silence while he slowly looked around the cottage. Then as quickly as her proud smile and shown, it suddenly dropped with a strong frown. “—You don’t like it. Tempest--?”

“This… You built all of this yourself?” He questioned her and looked towards one of the counters in the kitchen.

On the wooden surface of the counter, there was a small photo frame that had a painted picture of Leliana happy with Anders and her son Baelfire, from when he was an infant. It was supposed to have been a family portrait of sorts, but it was smaller than most grand paintings that Tempest would have normally expected in a home. Still, he found himself gravitating towards the picture and his right hand stretched outward to reach for it. Meanwhile, Leliana still watched him with bright eyes full of hope but her frown had shown worry even still. There was not much she could do or decide upon until he had given his opinion to her little hide-away-from-home, anyway.

“Uh—yeah. Well, yes and no.” She explained with watchful eyes to follow him. “I found this place abandoned and tried to fix it up a little. Of course, it could still use some work—”

Picking up the smaller picture frame, Tempest had turned slightly and looked down at the family. A loving mother, an honest husband and an innocent child. It was the sort of family bond that Tempest never had – in any sense – in his own childhood; and the sight was foreign to him. Curiosity and envy centered in his gaze then and he drew quiet again.

“And tomorrow? You are going to start living here.” Leliana proclaimed with pride and marched towards him.

The statement caused Tempest to even jolt a little and his eyes snapped back at her in surprise. It was as if he had been hearing of this declaration for the first time; as if they had never had those long talks and agreements about him possibly moving in with her from the beginning to before even coming to this place.

“What?” He questioned and his grip on the picture frame loosened when Leliana tugged it out of his hands.

She turned momentarily to place the picture frame face down on the counter and moved back to standing before him. “So long as you like it… You do like it here, don’t you?”

“I…” Tempest frowned as his eyes looked back towards the picture frame – knowing why she had turned it face down, but the ‘cause’ had not produced her desired effect because Tempest had still the image imprinting his memory. So, he looked down in defeat. “…I mean…. What are we doing here, lass? What about Anders?”

Leliana looked at him confused then and in a wonder from where this uncertainty had suddenly been coming. “—Anders? The Cabinet are convinced that I betrayed him; I can’t go back—”

“So, you still have feelings for him.” Tempest concluded and his blue eyes stared her down for the moment.

It was a reaction that still had caught Leliana a bit off guard. This spoken unnerving was the first hint that Tempest might have ever been bothered by her relationship with Anders. He had never left any hints of jealousy before but this had just seemed easier for such a blame. But there were so many other reasons to why Tempest’s second doubts were returning, and her being the Icon’s supposed ‘wife’ was hardly the normal excuse that he would have used. For now, it was just the easiest, and Tempest’s eyes had dropped slightly more to the floor.

“I don’t care about what he – or anyone else – thinks. You know that.” He said, while feeling his right hand slowly turn into a fist.

“But let’s stop fooling ourselves for a moment, lass…. I never was comfortable in making promises I couldn’t keep – and even if I somehow had become one of the strongest Magisters in all of Tevinter, I still can’t give you all things you deserve. By the Blight’s Blood, I desperately wish that I could…! But I’m a pirate, lass…and a smuggler of unsavory trade, and a bloodmage-abomination. I am possessed and a terror. Everywhere I go, I am walking target to somebody for one reason or another--and that will only be more trouble to you.”

“Everyone in Kirkwall all want my head already. I don’t think Anders can protect me forever from that.” Leliana blinked for a moment, staring at him and then forced somewhat of a smile. “—So, you see, I’m no stranger to danger—”

“Don’t you get it--?” He demanded as his left arm flew practically off from his control and landed straight down into the picture frame. Tempest was stuck there; surprising her –scaring her a little and the action cursed his future quickly. “I mean, look at me! I am a threat even to you!”

Even in that moment –to some degree—he had tried to hint at what truth about himself had been. After all—it was obvious. Tempest was a one-handed abomination that had a tendency to become unpredictable and ultimately a doomed and dangerous individual – no one that she should have ever been close to. It wasn’t just enough that he did not have his left hand to even wear the symbol of matrimony with her, but was also enlightened from knowing his destiny. He didn’t have the heart to tell her of the visions he had known of himself. He could not tell her that he was rot away right in front of her very eyes; and Tempest had only been more convinced of that than anything else. Vince was still a problem for him – and the demon could also still turn against Leliana and attack her even before he became the walking corpse he had seen of himself in visions. She at least was aware of Vince—always had been—and the demon was an easier thing to place blame on than his true worry. But he had done more than simply presented to Leliana a harsh reality to swallow, because this action was a clear sign to have pushed her away.

“You’re not happy—” Leliana had guessed as much out loud and her eyes started to fill with tears. “—You don’t like it here.”

Tempest winced at his own flaw and saw what pain that he had caused. He frowned, pinched the bridge of his nose at first and then attempted to reach her. “F***… I didn’t say that, lass.”

“I just thought that…” Leliana started to turn away and started to leave behind some distance between them. “…I don’t know what I thought—It was stupid to think of this; I’m sorry—”

“Damn it--! Woman—!” Tempest cursed and jerked at his left arm that continued to hold him back, due to the hook-for-a-hand piercing into the wooden cabinet after his outburst. His frantic stretch towards her gave his efforts hope, and he managed to grasp her arm. Quickly, the cursed bloodmage tugged her back against himself. His expression remained stern from the frustration of how he had been stuck there, to his struggle in order to have kept the woman from running from him. He heard her gasp as he snaked his right arm around her waist to prepare in case she might have tried to struggle against him still.

“Tempest--?” She questioned in a slightly frozen state; but she could feel how warm his body was against her and that heat radiated off from him like a beacon to hone in on her and pierce its way through.

“…just stop talking…” Tempest muttered and stared down from over her shoulder towards the quick rising and fall of her chest.

After a moment, he turned her and braced her against the cabinet. She squeaked a little and sniffled in between her tears then – tears that she quickly had reached up to rub away; had he not stopped her for the moment. As if studying them for the first time as well, Tempest had collected those few tears on the fingers of his right hand and then curved his palm more against her cheek. Their eyes had met and as intimidating as Tempest might have appeared in that moment to her, he still had only seemed to relax a little with more tenderness than moments before this. The ‘monster’ was ‘meek’ and gentle. Their eyes soon had both fluttered to a close to some understanding as Tempest kissed her, and when their lips had met his actions remained slow and sensual.

Leliana felt a sob bubble up from her throat and she started to slightly push him away. Muttering his name again, she attempted to seek explanations. “Mm-m-Tempest—”

“I said stop talking.” He warned between baited breath, reached to hold her close while his waist pressed more against the cabinet behind her. He grinded against her slightly and trailed his mouth down along her neck. The marking that he left on her skin between lightly nibbling and kissing should have been enough to remind her of his ownership of her but also his apology for making her cry.

“Tempest, if you don’t like it here, just—ah!” Leliana gasped and her head was tugged slightly back by Tempest pulling her hair.

She could hear his muffled growl of annoyance—and even feel the punishment of his bite into her neck, which proved to have been a lot more firm and forceful than the previous nips of his teeth. It wasn’t really that much of a punishment though—because it felt good – and because there was reassurance in having Tempest this close to her. He was rarely ever one to be difficult to with words. Tempest was usually suave and calm-collected in expressing himself. So when it proved that this time, his actions spoke far louder than his ability to speak, Leliana knew then that something was wrong. She just didn’t know how to confront him of it and eventually when times such as these occurred, she would get swept up in his passion and lust that continued overwhelm her in the constant turmoil of a ‘storm’ that was essentially Him.

They made love on the against the kitchen counter—as well as upon it—several times. It was not only because of the spur of the moment spiraling out of control for the both of them; but also because Tempest was a bit embarrassed to truly admit that his hooked hand was stuck in the cracked wood of the cabinet’s surface. After the day’s hours melted away into the night sky, Leliana remained naked underneath Tempest—who had eventually lost his pants to the floor and climbed onto the kitchen cabinet with her. Still stuck he remained embedded deep within her, tugged at his left arm and kept his right hand propped up for balance. Leliana moaned against him from each movement then but her eyes eventually opened up to look up at him.

“Are you…” She started to speak between the pleasure she was given. “…intending to keep this up all night too?”

“Depends… Maybe…” He grinned down at her in between each powerful dip into the wet warmth that awaited him. “I figured…if I jostle my left arm enough,…my hook would be free….Might have to…be a bit faster.”

“What?” Leliana blinked but soon her eyes closed and her head tilted back as Tempest continued. Her mind could barely register what he meant. He was ravishing her like a demon hungry over his continued feast of desire and again her thoughts could hardly even think of a response. “That’s… not…”

After a short while of pounding into her and pulling at his arm to get free, Tempest could feel the wedge around his trapped hook becoming loose while in contrast, Leliana’s thighs around his waist were inescapable. Her moans were getting louder and shameless to fill the cottage—because there was no worry of being discovered here. No guilt to be accused with or judged. Here had been a sense of safety and freedom – where no one and nothing else had mattered but the two of them.

“Almost, lass…” His breath was a raspy chuckle, drowned in a pleasured groan until finally the hook had been plucked away.

Leliana’s ecstasy had coursed down her spine and she pulled up at Tempest simultaneously to jerk him down on top of here – where he remained like a cover and a promise that he would not bolt away from her. Tempest responded as naturally as anyone would when carried in the joined climatic moment. He kissed her with passion and had no ability to stall his own pleasure from her anymore. Moaning soft and low with the shown approval, his release flowed through her and fill until she had been stuffed full of that remaining piece he intentionally left behind. From there, the two rested and cuddled because both partner had been too exhausted to move.

“You’re not going to leave me.” Leliana made the statement as a matter of fact, while she twirled her fingers into the bloodmage’s hair.

Tempest was soothed from the gentle petting and he sighed against her collarbone from his hunched position—like an imp incubus that momentarily had his satisfaction. “Well... its certainly difficult to move about at the moment…”

The silence settled between them bliss until at last, Leliana spoke in trying again. “…Move in with me.”

Tempest’s eyes blinked open and his relaxed state had practically tensed above her again. It was clear she would not let this topic go – a stubborn woman. Too stubborn! Slowly, he turned his head to look up at her then as he tried to think of an appropriate response to give.

“We’ll bring Thalia here and you can move in with me.” Leliana restated as though the decision had been made and it was made final.

“You would leave your son behind?” Tempest questioned her with a dismay shown for her. He shook his head then to the suggestion, because he knew that such a choice would have been difficult for her. She was not like any Tevinter Mothers he knew, after all.

“Baelfire is Anders’ pride and joy –as much as he is mine—which is why I can’t take him from Anders too. That would crush him.” Leliana spoke with a forced display of confidence; even when it faltered slightly. She reached up and caressed Tempest’s cheek then smiled up at him. “But Thalia is yours and mine. We know it, and Anders knows it. I can’t keep Baelfire from Anders just as I can’t keep Thalia from you. So, we’ll get Thalia and live here. Maybe when things calm down in Kirkwall, I’ll be able to see Baelfire again too.”

Tempest grew silent from watching over her again. He studied that show of hope and tenacity in the woman that he fell in love with. He didn’t know how he could keep her when he was plagued with premonitions, but Tempest was certain to try and discover a way. After all, she was the only happiness he had found to cling to when the shadows grew too dark. His childhood had been a disaster and his life that followed it was a chaotic madness. It left Tempest desiring for a sense of peace in something – somehow. Everyone else had that chance to find levity at some point in their lives. Why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t he be truly happy—even if it may be for a short while? Had he not deserved it by now?

“Tempest?” Leliana blinked at him when she found that he was staring at her – no – staring actually through her for the moment. He was lost in his own head again, and she sensed it this time. Reaching to tighten her old around him again, her arms wrapped around his shoulders tugged him downward.

“Hey!” The bloodmage suddenly laughed from quick disturbance of gravity pulling him downward. He reached for balance again and propped himself back up quickly to hover over her.

“I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer… You promise me that you’re not going to leave me, damn it.” Leliana demanded him as her expression had turned slightly more into a pout.

Tempest smiled to her and gave a boastful wink. “I’ll do one better. I promise to do everything possible so that we will always be together.”

This seemed to have pleased her and Leliana smiled brightly to guide Tempest back down into her arms more gently. Tempest welcomed the love and acceptance that Leliana had always given him unconditionally. Home. It was an odd thing to accept for one filled with as much wanderlust such as him…but for now…

For now, he was home.


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