Am I the only one who wanted a quest where your Inquisitor was kidnapped
by the Venatori/Red Templars and your LI and some party members come to
rescue you? Because I would have loved that! Especially when you
reunite, your LI hugs you.
Dragon boyfriend got a ton of anon votes! But @jasura requested a dragon love first, so this request goes out to you! I think I can’t possibly keep getting better, but each new monster brings out something special. Keep requests coming guys!
You wake up, groaning as you lift yourself. Your head is throbbing and your vision is blurry for a few moments. The room comes into focus and you stare out across a cavern filled with gold and jewels and treasures beyond measure. Your breath catches in your throat and you remember what happened before you fell unconscious.
A dragon had attacked the castle, you were charged with protecting the princess and making sure she made it to the catacombs of the castle. But in her typical fashion, the princess refused and insisted she stay in her room with all her finery. She screamed and kicked, punching you several times when you told her that her chambers were not safe. She told you the catacombs were filthy and unfit for her, but you were more than welcome to go into the catacombs and stay, considering you were just a walking corpse to her anyways.
She made it to her room, locking you out and yelling insults at you until the ceiling caved in. After that you’re unsure what happened, you don’t know the fate of the castle or the princess but part of you is certain she was crushed to death. Then again, you were almost certain you were crushed as well. Instead, you find yourself placed in the center of the dragon’s hoard.
Context: We had set up a small homebrew while we were out camping for the night. Our task was to capture a dragon priest for interrogating. Along the way, we ran into a couple rat nests.
DM: You manage to break down the door.
Me: I’m going to grab a handful of rats off our female hill dwarf as we leave.
DM: Okay, you grab some rats in each hand and you guys head through. However, since you all made that noise with the rats and fire, two dragon priests and six kobolds have now prepared an ambush.
Male hill dwarf fighter: I roll for intimidation. *rolls a total of 22*
DM: All right, so these guys see an angry dwarf come barreling in with bits of his beard on fire and swinging around a great axe. These guys look about ready to shit theirselves, and one kobold up and runs. They were supposed to have advantage against you guys, but the tables have been flipped. You guys get advantage.
Male hill dwarf fighter: I go for the first kobold I see with my axe. *goes on to cleave it in half*
Me: I throw the rats in my hand at another kobold.
DM: Okay, so you throw these little buggers at the closest kobold to you, some of them a bit on fire, and they just start tearing into him, ripping chunks out of him. So, yeah, he’s dead.
Elf cleric (ooc): You’re the rat god!
Me (ooc): I AM THE RAT GUARDIAN! GUARDIAN OF THE RATS!
The words rumble into her ear as she lies nestled against his chest, half-draped over him. Either he’ll say more or he won’t; she knows him well enough by now to know that, so she tucks an arm under her chin and waits. In the grey-white of morn, the lines of his profile are bold and sharp, the lyrium filigreed into his skin stark against it, but the diffuse light that filters through the rain-battered panes does little to clear the clouds that linger in his gaze.
The last time he remembered something of his past he left her—but now his hand is steady on the small of her back, as is the ebb and flow of his breathing, the even flutter of his heartbeat under her palm, where it lies splayed on his chest.
For a long time it’s all she hears over the pitter-patter of the rain, padding the velvety silence and muffling the Hightown bustle outside his window. The quiet of his mansion is unsettling after the constant activity of her own estate: the rattle of Sandal’s enchantment apparatus, Bodahn’s Veil-rending snores, the clatter of Orana’s cooking or the pounding of her carpet beater, the dog barking at shadows, a visitor come to say hello or request the Champion’s help. So whenever Fenris lets her spend the night at the old mansion? Hawke startles at its every squeak and creak despite herself—yet there’s something to be said for the hush of mornings spent like this one, in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets.
“She had green eyes, and red hair like Varania. Not a mage, though, at least not that I can tell from what little I remember. She taught me how to hold a sword. Her hands smelled of cinnamon,” he adds in an undertone.