made with tapestry


Bran Stark, Prince of Winterfell

“Stark!” they called as Bran trotted past, rising to their feet. “Winterfell! Winterfell!” 

He was old enough to know that it was not truly him they shouted for— it was the harvest they cheered, it was Robb and his victories, it was his lord father and his grandfather and all the Starks going back eight thousand years. Still, it made him swell with pride. For so long as it took him to ride the length of that hall he forgot that he was broken.

my room is kinda cool

Made of Scars

“10th: Describe your character using sensual, positive language. Consider the description akin to the description of a harlequin romance hero/heroine, or other romantic language used to describe a person.”

The history of a person is made in the tapestry of their skin, and he was no different. A weaved network of scars told the tale of dark times and survived horrors. Each trailing line fought to tell its own tale among the myriad of screaming voices that created the song of his existence. No song was louder then the glimmer of magics buried in his skin. A mirage of shimming colors skating in the complex lines of a barbaric culture.

Stretched like the canvas of a troubled artist struggling to show his vision there was no part left untouched from damage save for pale slopes of his face. Like the cap of a distant mountain, unmarred and unchanging the edges jagged yet beaten by the erosion of a life less easy. Set in the filigree hands in the roof of his being were a pair of Amethyst nebulas.

Crowned in the night sky of jet black strands that flowed like rivers. They cascaded down to cling to his neck and shoulders building the picture frame of his face that at times held a chiding smile, and at others a fragile line of contemplation.

The Sentinel was still a youth among his people, still a child that had not seen the world, not learned of its lessons. Yet he told another tale, one of a man who has seen the grandeur of the universe, felt the ravages of wars, and even more was made of the scars he endured.

Headcanon that the Fereldens send one of Barkspawn’s descendents to Skyhold because how can the Inquisitor not have a mabari, omg, every hero has a mabari, even Andraste.  Especially Andraste.  Something has gone terribly wrong here.

Can the world will be saved without mabari involvement?  Nonsense! 

Josephine nearly has a panic attack when the mabari imprints on a good Ferelden like Sera or Cullen instead of going for the Inquisitor.  But thankfully, the people of Ferelden are more than happy to ignore this.

Have you heard about the Inquisitor’s mabari???  Look someone made a tapestry of them riding a dragon into battle against Corypheus.  Good old mabari.  She couldn’t have done it without him.