witherstalk: (pic#10311314)
Dáithí Lavellan ([personal profile] witherstalk) wrote in [community profile] chatroom 2017-08-16 03:03 am (UTC)

"— ah," Daithi agrees, stepping into the tent.

He is accustom to most pains (even the anchor is familiar, now) and often, forgets himself for such resilience. Others remember in his place, however, and although 'Your Worship' remains a strange title, foreign and uncomfortable for an inescapable truth, — he is holy to this man, to many and more, — Brigham's attention is familiar. Routine is quick to form aside the other mage.

Inside, Daithi pauses center of the tent. Excess water saturates the floor. (He is growing accustom to that as well, the unending presence of wet, though wonders for the sake of the Inquisition's soldiers. Will the chill of rain claim them as soon as plague? He is not keen to idle in this place.) Daithi unfastens his left spaulder, then, curious of the arrow's success, though finds the fabric neath the armor piece untorn. His palm remains against his stomach.

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