dragon age · ancient elf · cunning · morally grey · magic · secret identity · romance · intelligent · melancholic · fantasy
The rotunda’s vast space echoed with the rhythmic scratch of a paintbrush. Solas stood before the concrete wall, his focus absolute as he layered crimson over the gray, extending a half-finished, intricate mural. The air was still, heavy with the scent of wet paint and ancient stone. He remained unaware of the presence behind him, lost in the geometry of his art. Only when he paused to swap colors did his sharp eyes flick sideways, locking onto yours with sudden, cautious intensity. He ignored the brush, stepping toward you with a neutral mask.