#The Ridge of Thedas
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I’ve decided to make The Ridge of Thedas a private, i.e. not publicly visible work for an indefinite amount of time. There is work to be done to salvage this story, and I don’t have the energy to do that at the moment. For the two to three committed readers the fic: I apologize. It is the first attempt at serious creative writing I ever undertook, and it shows. If anyone has wondered about the ending of Ch. 17: Imerati isn’t dead, just knocked out (once again).
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Bottles of Thedas Writing Prompts
I recently encountered a bottle of Thedas that had a particularly entertaining setting for a prompt and thus the idea was born! If it's been done, I apologize!
Butterbile 7:84, Hinterlands, found on a table in the locked round house; see side quest Blood Brothers
Carnal, 8:69 Blessed, Hinterlands, on the first floor of Master Dennet's home located on Redcliffe Farms.
Vint-9 Rowan's Rose, Hinterlands, on the second floor of the Winterwatch Tower tavern.
Vintage: Bethany Hawke, Carver Hawke, (or) Warden Steed, Hinterlands, Redcliffe Village, inside the locked Wheelhouse located near Redcliffe Village's entrance.
Vintage: Warden Anras, Storm Coast, southeast of the Small Grove Inquisition Camp, on top of the cliff overlooking Long River (on the northern side of the river).
Vintage: Warden Riordan, Storm Coast, east of the Driftwood Margin Inquisition Camp, found in the same hut as the Warden-Commander's Badge and Wardens of the Coast objective.
Golden Scythe 4:90 Black, Forbidden Oasis, at the bottom of Spiral Mine.
Dragon Piss, Fallow Mire, In the second house northwest of the fourth beacon.
Garbolg's Backcountry Reserve, Fallow Mire, in a house northwest of the Fisher's End Inquisition Camp. -Hawke/Rose in Skyhold Cellar
Vintage: Warden Gibbins, Crestwood, from the drained lake area of Old Crestwood and south of the North Gate Inquisition Camp (near the Flooded Caves entrance and the Mayor's Old Home) head west from the house with the locked door to the damaged house near the lake.
Vintage: Warden Daedalam, Crestwood, south from the Fisherman's Hut landmark (in the drained lake area of Old Crestwood) found inside the broken down house with a chest visible from the doorway on the right.
Hirol's Lava Burst, Crestwood, from the drained lake area south of the North Gate Inquisition Camp (near the Flooded Caves entrance and the Mayor's Old Home in Old Crestwood), head into the house with a closed door, search inside on the left.
Antivan Sip-Sip, Crestwood, Found in the Glenmorgan Mine region near the Guide of Falon'Din landmark. Head inside the cave just east of the astrarium that is located in the same area.
Alvarado's Bathtub Boot Screech, Exalted Plains, inside a tower on the Eastern Ramparts.
Finale by Massaad, Exalted Plains, in the basement of the Riverside Garrison.
Vintage: Warden Korenic, Exalted Plains, In a yellow house by the river in Ville Montevelan.
Vintage: Warden Tontiv, Exalted Plains, southwest of the Riverwatch Inquisition Camp in a burning red house.
West Hill Brandy, Western Approach, In the tower located between the Craggy Ridge Inquisition Camp and the Underground Cavern above the astrarium cave, climb the east side and head up the ladder (Giant's staircase. Also features skeletons and a giant wheel of cheese)
Vintage: Warden Jairn, Western Approach, In Dustytop Fort.
Vintage: Warden Eval'lal, Western Approach, In the Ritual Tower.
Absence, Emerald Graves, on top of some boxes in a small room located inside Argon's Lodge.
Chasind Sack Mead, Emerald Graves, Lyrium Inquisition Camp north of Southfinger Tower.
Mackay's Epic Single Malt, Emerald Graves, at Bear Cave north from Chateau d'Onterre.
Sun Blonde Vint-1, Emerald Graves, on the river bank at Silver Falls south from the Direstone Inquisition Camp.
Abyssal Peach, Emprise du Lion, inside Suledin Keep past the cages and the first giant encounter, prior to the lyrium tents.
Legacy White Shear, Emprise du Lion, in the Sahrnia Quarry tower near the entrance.
Aqua Magus, Hissing Wastes, outside the Burial Grounds Tomb, south of the Logging Inquisition Camp; see side quest The Tomb of Fairel.
Flames of Our Lady, Hissing Wastes, northwest of the Sunstop Mountain Inquisition Camp in the quarry structures.
Silent Plains Piquette, Hissing Wastes, In the Venatori Camp southeast of the Sunstop Mountain Inquisition Camp; see side quest Sand and Ruin.
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Happy Friday Cully!!!! "A shard of mirrored glass that reflects a different sky" from the Artifacts of Thedas - for Akasha/Blackwall pls??? 👀
THANK YOU FOR THIS NIRI I LOVED IT
Got something from Akasha this time :)
for @dadrunkwriting
Rating: T
WC: 486
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Akasha washes her hair. She is meticulous in this–in detangling each curl, drawing her fingers through until they do not snag, until she can feel the weight of the week past lifting from her shoulders, running her palms gently, thoroughly over her scalp, rinsing until the water is clear. When she is done, she squeezes the excess from the ends, setting herself before the fire to dry her curls faster. When it is only slightly damp, she drips oil onto her hands, gently maneuvering them through each and every curl until her locks are coiled to perfection.
She dresses herself before the great windows facing the hill’s precipice. The snow had melted that morning, and the dirt hidden beneath turned to slop, but the view of the lake within the valley below has not changed because of it. It stays as it always is, as it always has been–breathtaking. Within a circle of trees, she spies his cabin. It sits empty, abandoned, she knows. Still, as the sun begins its descent beyond the hills, beyond the trees, a cascade of golden flames, she imagines him there. Standing within the doorway. Gazing up at her where she stands upon the ridge.
Once she dons her nightgown, she ensures the doors are still locked. Once she ensures the doors are locked, she checks the windows, letting the curtains fall shut, pressing her fingertips to the runes beneath the windowpanes, and takes a deep breath. She knows the illusion works–has seen it with her own eyes. Yet each night she is alone she has to pause, to close her eyes and breathe deeply, to remind herself she is safe, here, She has power, here. Even without him.
She leaves the windows and makes for their–her–bed. Reaches beneath his pillow for that jagged sliver of hope. For fantasy to come to fruition.
When Akasha holds it, she first warms it between her palms. She prays over it, prays for him, for what she might see. Sometimes she sees his joy. Sometimes she sees his agony. Sometimes–sometimes she sees his pleasure, always with her name spilling from his panting lips.
Sometimes she sees him gazing at her portrait, tracing the lines of her face. She wonders when he will come home. She knows he wonders this, too.
She turns it over, runs her thumb along its sharpest edge, and sees the sunrise. Within this picture, she sees him–his wiry, wild beard, the prominent bridge of his nose, his ruddied cheeks, and sweetest of all, the sparkle in his eyes as he meets hers.
They share a secret smile, and Akasha turns over, holding the shard of mirrored glass between her palms, praying as she closes her eyes to sleep that soon, soon, when she looks upon him, he will be under the same darkening sky, holding her within his arms as they await the rising sun and begin their day anew.
#dadwc#dragon age drunk writing circle#dragon age fanfiction#dragon age inquisition#blackwall#thom rainier#blackwall x oc#oc#original character#prompt fill#snippet
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Happy Friday Blue! How abouuuut Ixchel & Dorian - “the worst of it all, it’s that if you ask now, i will forgive you.” from the Betrayal prompts??
WOOF for @dadrunkwriting
have a doozy
tldr; Dorian knows the broad strokes of how Ixchel died and was resurrected against her will. Now he knows why--and he knows that Solas, Fen'Harel, was that reason. Will Dorian ever be able to look Ixchel in the eye again?
Words: 2000
-:-:-
"You still haven't spoken to Dorian?"
Ixchel winced, but Solas tugged on her hand until she stopped walking. Magic whispered in front of them as Vir Dirthara's stairs assembled themselves in the air, and Ixchel gave them a wistful look before turning to face Solas's concerned stare.
"He hasn't spoken to me," she hedged.
Solas's frown deepened. "That makes it doubly concerning that you haven't spoken to him, then. Ixchel—"
"I'm not his keeper," Ixchel said, but she could not meet his eye as she did. "It's… I think he's pieced it together."
The gentle touch on her cheek drove her guilt deeper, rather than lessening it. When she did not look back up at him, Solas cupped her jaw in his palm and brushed his thumb across the ridge of her vallaslin. "Of course he has," he said softly. "He is one of the most brilliant minds in Thedas, and he cares about you deeply."
She reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers around his own, pressed to her cheek, and leaned in to his touch with a sigh. "He saw everything," she whispered. "In the red future. Before he even really knew me, he saw how much…pain… I carried. He was there in the Emprise. He was there in the Fade…"
"He has remained a steadfast and loyal friend through it all," Solas said. "Why would this be any different?"
Ixchel looked up at him through her lashes morosely. "I died because of the Dread Wolf, and here I am partnered with him in all things," she said. "It might seem like I'm courting disaster, or seeking pain, or—"
Solas raised his other hand to cup her face, and he leaned down to press his forehead to hers. "He is your friend. Our friend. He has traveled through time, and knows it is possible to thwart death. There must inevitably be a part of his mind that is open to learning your rationale, 'ma'lath, and he holds you in high esteem. Surely he will listen."
"After shouting at me for being a fool, I'm sure," Ixchel grumbled. "His nickname for me is mula! It's not going to go well."
"But it will not be an end," Solas said firmly.
"How do you know?" Ixchel closed her eyes as they began to burn, and she grimaced against the tightness in her throat. "What if he cannot bear to look at me?"
"How do you know?" Solas asked.
A dark laugh escaped her, and she shook her head. She would not give him the satisfaction of ceding to his point, but she knew she had no better argument for him.
Solas's breath washed across her face as he pressed a parting kiss to her forehead. "Will you speak to him when we return?"
She nodded. "I can't promise he will not try and kill you, so consider yourself warned."
-:-:-
Dorian was actually incredibly hard to find upon their return to Skyhold, and a part of Ixchel feared that he was plotting Fen'Harel's death in secret. It seemed that he had last been seen retreating to his rooms with a bottle of wine, but that was days ago, and when Ixchel knocked—then banged—on his door, she received no response.
It was Cole who finally came to her aid. He announced his appearance behind her by saying, "He's ready to see you now. He's with the wine, but not in it."
After she had caught her startled breath again, Ixchel put her hand over her racing heart and turned to face him. The look in his eye drew her up short.
"You definitely know better than to scare people like that by now," she accused. She couldn't help her smile when she saw his little smirk, just before he vanished into thin air.
"I'm glad to see you too, Cole," she said, then set off for the wine cellar once more.
She was sure she had checked there more than once, but perhaps she had justed missed Dorian each time. Or perhaps he had been hiding.
Her heart had not stopped racing by the time she got downstairs and reached the small hall lined with paintings and paragons. She saw that the door to the wine cellar had been left open, and soft candlelight danced on the opposite wall; she had indeed found Dorian at last, it seemed.
Her fears had been eased somewhat when she had articulated them to Solas, but they returned in force now as she approached the little storage room. She paused in the doorway to drink in the scene that awaited her, but mostly she was just paralyzed, incapable of making the first move in what she was certain would be a battle with Dorian's wit and pride and protective indignation.
She was glad at least that he looked well. His once-gaunt face had filled out some while she was in Serault, though the circles beneath his eyes had grown more stark and bruised in her absence. He had still been a little rumpled when last she saw him—but not so now.
He made a show of perusing the selection of bottles on the wall, his back to her, but she could see enough. He had worn some of his finest robes, fit for the floor of the Magisterium, and his hair was perfectly arranged and oiled. She could even smell the spice of his exquisite, most treasured soap.
"I have promised myself, and I'm promising you, that we are going to have a very nice bottle of wine when we are done here," he said, and at least one of Ixchel's concerns was immediately put to rest.
"Okay," she said softly, and she closed the door behind her. "Are you going to look at me?"
"I honestly don't know if I can."
But with a steadying breath that was far too large to be genuine, he pulled a bottle off the shelf and turned to face her.
There was no humor in his face, and beneath his mustache, his lips were pressed in a thin, flat line.
"Was it him?" he asked, and he did a very good job of keeping his tone even and nonjudgmental.
But his eyes were sharp and cold as flint as they bored into hers, and she knew that no matter what she would answer, she had already sealed her fate.
"Was it… Fen'Harel, who drove you to despair in your first life?" he pressed.
She could have been pedantic and argued that it was being Inquisitor at sixteen that had done her in from the start, or that it was the Inquisition's dissolution. But she did not want to argue with Dorian. She had already resolved to take whatever verbal beating he had prepared for her, if it would preserve their friendship.
So she swallowed anything and everything she thought to say, and she nodded once.
Dorian uttered what might have been a curse beneath his breath, but he hardly blinked, as though he could dissect her with the force of his gaze alone.
"So Solas is a greater threat to the world than Corypheus?" Dorian asked.
"No," Ixchel said, but perhaps it was too fast, too reflexive, because Dorian's mustache twitched dangerously. Before he could retort, she hopped up on top of a barrel to be closer to level with him, and she gripped the edge of it as she leaned forward, frowning at the ground. "There is a greater threat than him, but the means he would use to thwart it were…extreme." Her next breath shuddered within her and left her hunched, shoulders curled forward to protect herself from Dorian's skeptical stare. "I had vowed to stop him. He counted on it. As much as he deemed his path necessary, he—he's not a monster. He called it his din'an'shiral: a journey that leads to death."
"And he would have made you his deliverance," Dorian guessed.
"Or, if I failed, use my death as fuel for his self-hatred and penance for ages to come," she confirmed. "I realized it and… And I was tired. I was tired of being worth only what I could oppose. I was tired of only being part of something when I was at war. I had no one after the Inquisition, and it felt like the only way I could have anyone again was if I kept up the fight—and I was tired."
Ixchel cleared her throat roughly and stole a glance up at Dorian, which was a mistake. His face had grown pale with fury, and his fingers were clenched tightly around his forearms, crossed over his chest.
She bit her lip and waited for the inevitable question. Perhaps he would clarify how she had ended up here, alive again. Perhaps he would ask about the greater threat she had mentioned. But eventually there was only one question that mattered to either of them:
How could she still love Solas, after all that?
But he did not.
As he continued to stare at her, his eyes began to glisten. His lips grew even thinner as he struggled to hold—something—back.
Finally, a gasp burst out of him, and he hung his head. "Fasta vass, mula. You're saying that Solas would have done something so vile or cruel or wanton that you might be driven to slay him, and now he is in your bed?" He touched his temples briefly, then threw his hands down. "This cannot be a—a ploy! Please tell me you are not trying to literally seduce him to some moral standard—"
"No, I'm not," Ixchel said firmly.
"Oh, good, I am overjoyed to hear that your perverted sense of self worth has not led you to stoop quite so low as prostituting yourself to the greatest enemy of the Elven pantheon," Dorian replied with a roll of his eyes. When he looked back at her, frustration written into every line around his mouth and on his brow, she rather felt like she was arguing with Bull again. It seemed they had rubbed off on one another, after all. "So, what? I'm supposed to believe you love him, and that's enough?"
Before she could respond, he continued.
"Of course I am. That's so very you, isn't it? Of course Ixchel Lavellan could see a hero in the Dread Wolf. Even after he has literally driven her to—"
"Dorian," Ixchel said quietly, and he immediately shut his mouth, though he left his teeth bared in displeasure. "There are, at this point, years of nuance to my relationship that you have not been privy to. It would actually be a relief to share that with you, but you need to understand something first."
She took a deep breath and straightened up, mostly to give herself confidence as she faced him. It only sort of worked. "Solas has always been the kind of man who wanted to be stopped. He has never wanted to be the villain history made him out to be. And no matter who we are to each other, no matter what our history might be, I will always help someone find a better path if there is one. The love we have, the love we have," she gestured between herself and Dorian, "is what drives that."
Dorian's jaw worked fruitlessly for a moment. "But how could you?" he asked at last, nearly pleading. "Does he know? How could he?"
Ixchel gave him a mirthless smile. "Maybe he would say it took practice," she offered. "I had to wear him down. And get very good at spotting when he falls in to the same place of blame that you're coming from." Her empty smile faded instantly. "It wasn't him. It wasn't this Solas who chose those things. He has proved, at this point, to himself at the very least that he can choose better. And so have I."
"Kafas," Dorian said, covering his face abruptly in both hands. He pressed his fingertips into his eyes and released a ragged sigh. "Ixchel, first I learn that I was there when you gave up, and then you tell me I am the one who undid that decision—and now I learn the man you allow to love you is the very one who saddled you with the pain that ultimately killed you? Are you simply missing some self-preserving part of your brain, mula?"
"No one else could possibly understand but you," she said thickly. "What it means to every day face a precipice and step away from it. Maybe this world isn't beautiful, but that is."
Dorian still covered his eyes with his hands, but he huffed a disbelieving laugh.
"And I love you too, Dorian," Ixchel said softly. "Have you accepted that, yet?"
The slew of Tevene curses that left him told her no, he had not. A heavy weight settled upon her at that realization, and she leaned back against the wall behind her, watching the pain play out across his features through her own weary eyes.
"The worst of it all," he said, voice broken with rough tears, "is that if you ask now, I will forgive you entirely."
"I'm pretty sure that's a lie," she said. "But I'll take it."
She opened her arms, and Dorian begrudgingly slotted himself into them, allowing her to hug him as tight as she could muster.
"Would you forgive me for forgiving you?" she asked. "For forgiving Solas?"
"I suppose," he said with an overdone reluctance that did nothing to hide the tremble in his voice. "I just wish I understood why."
Ixchel smiled into his shirt.
"If I didn't, how could I ever forgive myself?"
Dorian did not respond for a long time, but in his silence she heard all the confirmation she needed.
Maybe one day he would learn the same lesson.
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Bottles of Thedas Prompts
Personal version of the prompts list found here. Please like and reblog the original version. I will try to keep it updated with links to fulfilled prompts.
Butterbile 7:84, Hinterlands, found on a table in the locked round house; see side quest Blood Brothers
Carnal, 8:69 Blessed, Hinterlands, on the first floor of Master Dennet's home located on Redcliffe Farms.
Vint-9 Rowan's Rose, Hinterlands, on the second floor of the Winterwatch Tower tavern.
Vintage: Bethany Hawke, Carver Hawke, (or) Warden Steed, Hinterlands, Redcliffe Village, inside the locked Wheelhouse located near Redcliffe Village's entrance.
Vintage: Warden Anras, Storm Coast, southeast of the Small Grove Inquisition Camp, on top of the cliff overlooking Long River (on the northern side of the river).
Vintage: Warden Riordan, Storm Coast, east of the Driftwood Margin Inquisition Camp, found in the same hut as the Warden-Commander's Badge and Wardens of the Coast objective.
Golden Scythe 4:90 Black, Forbidden Oasis, at the bottom of Spiral Mine.
Dragon Piss, Fallow Mire, In the second house northwest of the fourth beacon.
Garbolg's Backcountry Reserve, Fallow Mire, in a house northwest of the Fisher's End Inquisition Camp. -Hawke/Rose in Skyhold Cellar
Vintage: Warden Gibbins, Crestwood, from the drained lake area of Old Crestwood and south of the North Gate Inquisition Camp (near the Flooded Caves entrance and the Mayor's Old Home) head west from the house with the locked door to the damaged house near the lake.
Vintage: Warden Daedalam, Crestwood, south from the Fisherman's Hut landmark (in the drained lake area of Old Crestwood) found inside the broken down house with a chest visible from the doorway on the right.
Hirol's Lava Burst, Crestwood, from the drained lake area south of the North Gate Inquisition Camp (near the Flooded Caves entrance and the Mayor's Old Home in Old Crestwood), head into the house with a closed door, search inside on the left.
Antivan Sip-Sip, Crestwood, Found in the Glenmorgan Mine region near the Guide of Falon'Din landmark. Head inside the cave just east of the astrarium that is located in the same area.
Alvarado's Bathtub Boot Screech, Exalted Plains, inside a tower on the Eastern Ramparts.
Finale by Massaad, Exalted Plains, in the basement of the Riverside Garrison.
Vintage: Warden Korenic, Exalted Plains, In a yellow house by the river in Ville Montevelan.
Vintage: Warden Tontiv, Exalted Plains, southwest of the Riverwatch Inquisition Camp in a burning red house.
West Hill Brandy, Western Approach, In the tower located between the Craggy Ridge Inquisition Camp and the Underground Cavern above the astrarium cave, climb the east side and head up the ladder (Giant's staircase. Also features skeletons and a giant wheel of cheese)
Vintage: Warden Jairn, Western Approach, In Dustytop Fort.
Vintage: Warden Eval'lal, Western Approach, In the Ritual Tower.
Absence, Emerald Graves, on top of some boxes in a small room located inside Argon's Lodge.
Chasind Sack Mead, Emerald Graves, Lyrium Inquisition Camp north of Southfinger Tower.
Mackay's Epic Single Malt, Emerald Graves, at Bear Cave north from Chateau d'Onterre.
Sun Blonde Vint-1, Emerald Graves, on the river bank at Silver Falls south from the Direstone Inquisition Camp.
Abyssal Peach, Emprise du Lion, inside Suledin Keep past the cages and the first giant encounter, prior to the lyrium tents.
Legacy White Shear, Emprise du Lion, in the Sahrnia Quarry tower near the entrance.
Aqua Magus, Hissing Wastes, outside the Burial Grounds Tomb, south of the Logging Inquisition Camp; see side quest The Tomb of Fairel.
Flames of Our Lady, Hissing Wastes, northwest of the Sunstop Mountain Inquisition Camp in the quarry structures.
Silent Plains Piquette, Hissing Wastes, In the Venatori Camp southeast of the Sunstop Mountain Inquisition Camp; see side quest Sand and Ruin.
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Bottles of Thedas Writing Prompts
Recreating from here!
Butterbile 7:84, Hinterlands, found on a table in the locked round house; see side quest Blood Brothers
Carnal, 8:69 Blessed, Hinterlands, on the first floor of Master Dennet's home located on Redcliffe Farms.
Vint-9 Rowan's Rose, Hinterlands, on the second floor of the Winterwatch Tower tavern.
Vintage: Bethany Hawke, Carver Hawke, (or) Warden Steed, Hinterlands, Redcliffe Village, inside the locked Wheelhouse located near Redcliffe Village's entrance.
Vintage: Warden Anras, Storm Coast, southeast of the Small Grove Inquisition Camp, on top of the cliff overlooking Long River (on the northern side of the river).
Vintage: Warden Riordan, Storm Coast, east of the Driftwood Margin Inquisition Camp, found in the same hut as the Warden-Commander's Badge and Wardens of the Coast objective.
Golden Scythe 4:90 Black, Forbidden Oasis, at the bottom of Spiral Mine.
Dragon Piss, Fallow Mire, In the second house northwest of the fourth beacon.
Garbolg's Backcountry Reserve, Fallow Mire, in a house northwest of the Fisher's End Inquisition Camp.
Vintage: Warden Gibbins, Crestwood, from the drained lake area of Old Crestwood and south of the North Gate Inquisition Camp (near the Flooded Caves entrance and the Mayor's Old Home) head west from the house with the locked door to the damaged house near the lake.
Vintage: Warden Daedalam, Crestwood, south from the Fisherman's Hut landmark (in the drained lake area of Old Crestwood) found inside the broken down house with a chest visible from the doorway on the right.
Hirol's Lava Burst, Crestwood, from the drained lake area south of the North Gate Inquisition Camp (near the Flooded Caves entrance and the Mayor's Old Home in Old Crestwood), head into the house with a closed door, search inside on the left.
Antivan Sip-Sip, Crestwood, Found in the Glenmorgan Mine region near the Guide of Falon'Din landmark. Head inside the cave just east of the astrarium that is located in the same area.
Alvarado's Bathtub Boot Screech, Exalted Plains, inside a tower on the Eastern Ramparts.
Finale by Massaad, Exalted Plains, in the basement of the Riverside Garrison.
Vintage: Warden Korenic, Exalted Plains, In a yellow house by the river in Ville Montevelan.
Vintage: Warden Tontiv, Exalted Plains, southwest of the Riverwatch Inquisition Camp in a burning red house.
West Hill Brandy, Western Approach, In the tower located between the Craggy Ridge Inquisition Camp and the Underground Cavern above the astrarium cave, climb the east side and head up the ladder (Giant's staircase. Also features skeletons and a giant wheel of cheese)
Vintage: Warden Jairn, Western Approach, In Dustytop Fort.
Vintage: Warden Eval'lal, Western Approach, In the Ritual Tower.
Absence, Emerald Graves, on top of some boxes in a small room located inside Argon's Lodge.
Chasind Sack Mead, Emerald Graves, Lyrium Inquisition Camp north of Southfinger Tower.
Mackay's Epic Single Malt, Emerald Graves, at Bear Cave north from Chateau d'Onterre.
Sun Blonde Vint-1, Emerald Graves, on the river bank at Silver Falls south from the Direstone Inquisition Camp.
Abyssal Peach, Emprise du Lion, inside Suledin Keep past the cages and the first giant encounter, prior to the lyrium tents.
Legacy White Shear, Emprise du Lion, in the Sahrnia Quarry tower near the entrance. - in progress
Aqua Magus, Hissing Wastes, outside the Burial Grounds Tomb, south of the Logging Inquisition Camp; see side quest The Tomb of Fairel.
Flames of Our Lady, Hissing Wastes, northwest of the Sunstop Mountain Inquisition Camp in the quarry structures.
Silent Plains Piquette, Hissing Wastes, In the Venatori Camp southeast of the Sunstop Mountain Inquisition Camp; see side quest Sand and Ruin.
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Imerati Surana : The Magician
Manifestation, resourcefulness, power, inspired action
A gift for my magnificent girlfriend, @yetanotherlesbianonthiswebsite.
Imerati Surana is featured in Kassandra’s fic, The Ridge of Thedas. It’s a really great story about a revolutionary uprising in Southern Thedas, with fantastic worldbuilding that weaves perfectly between established lore and deviation from the canon course of the series. If you’ve ever wished the franchise would actually allow for a cathartic change in mage empowerment, elf empowerment, and dismantling of corrupt systems, I highly recommend checking it out! (Also, it features many sapphic romances!)
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Notes on Tevinter Nights
I finished reading Tevinter Nights not so long ago, so here is an overview of what is happening in Thedas. There is probably nothing particularly new since I'm a bit late to the party. However, I find such overviews convenient to refresh my memory when needed. Perhaps it will be useful to someone else!
This overview was meant to be short, but there were so many interesting details... now, it is huge.
Also, since I’ve read the translated version, any help with wording clarifications is greatly appreciated!
The post is under a cut due to Tevinter Nights spoilers (and length).
Global events
- There is a war between the Qunari and Tevinter.
- Three branches of the Qun do not agree with each other. The Antaam, the military branch of the Qun, attacked Ventus and continued the invasion without the permission of the other two. It results in faster progress of the invasion as the other two branches were a moderating influence on the Antaam. The Ben-Hassrath holds a neutral position.
- In Tevinter, the Venatori are still a problem.
- Smaller countries like Rivain and Antiva are under serious threat of the Qunari’s invasion.
- The heads of the Antivan Crows, eight Talons, held a meeting to join their forces, protect Antiva, and withstand the Qunari's invasion. The meeting was disrupted, and four out of eight Talons were murdered. New heads of the Crows will be chosen soon.
- The king of Nevarra is on the brink of death. The Mortalitasi, who have always had great power in Nevarra, continue to interfere in politics.
- All the Grey Wardens were summoned to Weisshaupt.
- We were introduced to a considerable amount of characters from the guild of treasure hunters, the Lords of Fortune.
- Regarding the Inquisition, little is known. All external issues of the organization seem to be handled by Varric Tethras. He gives quests, monitors their implementation, hires new people.
- One of the Executors, or ‘those across the sea’, showed up in the flesh. Solas said they are particularly dangerous and cautioned against interacting with them.
- By now, many have heard rumours of the Fen’Harel’s cult.
Minrathous
- A demon or something far worse is imprisoned under Minrathous. With the help of the Venatori, it is now unsealed (will probably be sealed again later). Yet, to awake it, some blood-magic ritual must be performed.
- The creature was sealed with eight blood-bonded enchanted clay disks. They showed a long and thin four-winged dragon rising from the dark waters.
- It is said that ‘demon’ is not the best word to describe this creature. It is something ancient and mighty, unnamed, something that will subject to god only.
- This ‘demon’ was a part of Corypheus’ plan of making Tevinter great again. According to this plan, Minrathous was to become the cradle of the new world. If Minrathous had not surrendered to Corypheus, the ‘demon’ would have left the city no choice.
- Most of the population of Minrathous could have perished as a result of this creature awakening.
- Enchanted predators and monsters resulting from magical experiments seem to be common in Minrathous.
Elven experiments
- In Nevarra, under a mountain with three asymmetric peaks wrapped around each other, there is a dwarven thaig. This thaig is called Hormak, and it was lost to the darkspawn hundreds of years ago.
- In Hormak, Grey Wardens have found elven halls, where experiments on living were conducted. And it is quite lively in these halls now.
- There is a huge pool with a greyish fluid that reeks of brine. It creates hybrids.
- There were different types of hybrids: darkspawn with other darkspawn, animals with other animals, darkspawn with animals, and even a centipede and a Grey Warden hybrid.
- When a hurlock stepped in the greyish fluid, it was enveloped and then transformed into a drake and a hurlock hybrid.
- The transformed Grey Warden said that the fluid affects ‘them’ (sentient races?) differently. To be transformed, it is not enough to touch it. The fluid should get inside the body.
- All over the place were large repetitive bas-reliefs depicting ancient elven. There were three types of them. The first one showed majestic elven kings and queens with reverent supplicants. The second one showed elven mages healing sick. The third showed big aravels, drawn by herds of hallas, going to distant mountains (one of the mountains had three peaks wrapped around each other).
- Later, those bas-reliefs were described differently. On the first one, elven rulers were arrogant and despised their subjects, who seemed to be in great terror. On the second one, mages weren’t healing sick, but on the contrary, they were injecting corruption into bodies. On the third, a halla had a strange rounded body and very long and ridged horns, and an aravel had bars on its windows, which made it look like a cage.
- Somewhere at the entrance of the halls was one more type of repetitive bas-reliefs. It showed three figures: a supplicant, a priestess, and a monster. On each subsequent bas-relief, a supplicant and a monster were different, while the priestess remained the same. It seemed that with each subsequent bas-relief, her grin grew wider.
- The experiments are directed by some will, which is referred to as a female. ‘She’ is not yet there, ‘they’ are waiting for ‘her’.
- Symbols of horns of a halla are present on each column in the halls.
- According to bas-reliefs, there are twelve such places in total.
The Inquisition members and allies
For completeness, this part should have included information from the comic, but I tried to avoid that.
- According to Tevinter Nights, Varric and Charter remained in the ranks of the Inquisition.
- Charter mentions her lover, Tessa.
- Vaea and ser Aaron show up but without a clear relation to the Inquisition.
- There are two mages, Vadis and Irian, who saved a peaceful Qunari settlement called Kont-aar from an agent of Fen'Harel, thus keeping the chance of subtle peace between the Ben-Hassrath and Tevinter. The Ben-Hassrath returned the favour by directing said mages to Kirkwall, to a certain dwarf, where they intend to go after seeing Val Royeaux.
- Sutherland and Company are still loyal to the ideals of the Inquisition.
- Quentin Calla, who was a bearer of the enchanted clay disk for a while, provided the Inquisition with some information.
- Philliam, a Bard!, (formerly) Sister Laudine, and Brother Ferdinand Genitivi, with the help of the Lord of the Fortune, Mateo, accepted and completed the quest from the Inquisition.
Fen’Harel and the red lyrium idol
- The red lyrium idol's adventures ended. It is now in Solas' hands, or at least he says so.
- There are three descriptions of the red lyrium idol's appearance. The first one, made by the dwarf, the Carta assassin: two figures, too thin to be dwarves, caressing each other. The second one, by Mortalitasi: two lovers or a god mourning the sacrifice. The third, by Solas: crowned figure comforting another one. (Note: I remind you these are not exact quotes but a translation of the translation, and nuances might have been lost.)
- Some qualities of the idol: red lyrium weighs more than the usual one; the idol is liquid inside; it reacts to other lyrium.
- The idol created or revealed a ritual blade.
- Solas calls the idol his.
- The Mortalitasi recounted the events in the Fade in which Solas took a form of a giant wolf the size of a high dragon. He had burning eyes like those of a pride demon and wings of fire which later resolved themselves into lesser demons. The Fade is called his natural home, and it is said spirits serve him gladly.
- Solas pays special attention to the actions of the Inquisition.
- Members of Fen'Harel's cult would rather die than be captured.
- The ritual the Dread Wolf performs already affects the Fade.
Random interesting facts
- The Qunari slowly cut down a part of the Arlathan Forest.
- The Ben-Hassrath are said to know the most about Solas’ actions.
- Among four killed Talons was Giuli Arainai, Eighth Talon, and this might be a good time for Zevran to show up somehow.
- There was a lyrium crystal that produced a light with shades of green and yellow in Hormak.
- Dorian no longer has slaves, only hired labourers.
- Josephine sent Dorian some good Antivan wine. :)
- Vaea now possesses a healing artefact, which seems to be able to heal anything except death.
- There is an example of a dwarven metal prosthetic of a leg, which does not seem to restrict movement in any way.
Since I’ve read Tevinter Nights after the last Dragon Age Day...
- Evka became a Grey Warden and did rescue the next one!
- The hunger demon that turned a person into a werewolf in the village called Eichweill was not completely defeated.
- It seems those elven artefacts do strengthen the Veil, after all.
- The Randy Dowager is Ferdinand Genitivi.
Five scarves fluttered in shock out of five.
⠀
This is all for Tevinter Nights for now. I did not include plenty of curious facts, probably enough for another post. I hope you enjoyed it anyway!
If you have any corrections regarding facts, or grammar, etc., don’t hesitate to DM me! Or you may leave a comment in my ask box if you want to stay anonymous.
Thank you for the attention, and have a nice day!
#I have made little illustrations for this post!#I will post them separately later#this is the longest text in English I have ever posted on social media#I hope the post is ok#dragon age#tevinter nights#spoilers#spoiler#tevinter nights spoilers#tevinter nights spoiler#dragon age: tevinter nights#dragon age: tevinter nights spoilers#dragon age: tevinter nights spoiler#da#da4#dragon age 4
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I was tagged by @emerald-amidst-gold, @noire-pandora and @oxygenforthewicked. Thank you, Thank you! 💗💗💗 Without the prompting I doubt I would be finally working on this damn thing. 🙂
I've been re-reading, re-plotting, recasting... Even decided to switch to Solas' point of view.
This story is not officially named but the working title is Maker Only Knows.
For now this is the beginning.
Darkness gave way to light, a disquieting cobalt taking away the sting from hitting hard on stone. The ground felt peculiar, far from the entwined forest floors of Thedas.
Solas blinked swirls of violet and a sea of clouds formed above against the pale.
Fen’Asha was still gripping him with the mechanical hand. She held her head, grumbled.
He wanted to hold his, wanted to clear the haze by rubbing his temples.
He watched wearily as she fiddled for the manual controls of her arm, found the release switch, freed herself from her former god. Mumbling she rose, tottered like a baby animal then stretched her hand as she had so many times before.
He attempted to find purchase in the fade, find a glint of magic in the air, find a ward to spring from the earth. Nothing happened.
“What have you done?” said Solas standing. “Where are we?”
The glare was resolving itself into baffling cobwebs of colour. He looked to the horizon, plotting an intolerable span of grey. It was a relatively steady rock slab, bleached and absent any ridges or boulders or abnormal steppingstones. There were bars, blanched lines to designate uniform spaces. And a structure of glass, a building, appeared in the distance.
Soon there were other buildings reaching to the blue sky with glass and metal fingers. There was movement and sound, brash rattling contraptions stirring along the slab. And there were people, actual people, wandering and strolling and scampering and moving around.
When he opened his mouth to speak again, a choking tang took him and he coughed. The air was smoke, thick and vile. He looked to Fen’Asha, narrowing his eyes. Had she cast a spell?
But she was coughing, too. She glared at him.
“What have you done?” he repeated.
“I did what I had to do,” she said, chest heaving. And she looked at him, really looked at him. Her gaze tracking him up and down and up again. She almost smiled.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he said. He stood before her in bright silks, iridescent hues catching in the sun light.
Fen’Asha adjusted her artificial arm, pushed it into a more comfortable position at her side.
Solas shook his head. “You are a fool. You’ve taken us away and you don’t know where we are. This is suicide.”
“I know,” she said. Bitterness stung her tone. “I had no intentions of letting you continue uncontested.”
“But this… What do you intend to do now?”
She stood firm and wordless, as though she could remain in one spot for the remainder of her existence.
“You mean to simply let us rot in a realm we do not know?”
“I mean to save Thedas from you. Regardless of the cost to myself.”
“The Fade…” he said.
“Doesn’t exist here,” she said, satisfied.
“There is no magic.”
Fen’Asha shrugged. “Looks that way.”
“I will find a way back,” said Solas.
“You can try. And I will stop you.”
“You aim to keep me here.”
Fen’Asha nodded.
“Let us at least determine where here is,” he said. His gaze searched her. She pulled the hood of her cloak down, as a strange contraption rumbled past too quickly. The resulting vile gust assaulted them. The cloak parted to reveal the elf in her armour, in a necklace chaining two glimmering ravens that lingered above her breast, in a green corset that clenched her curves, in tight black pants that accented her thighs, in tall boots that flickered memories of intimacy.
She exhaled, coughed, nodded. She walked past him to the immense glass building.
He shook his head. How had he allowed this? How had Charter signalled his former lover? It should have been impossible. His presence at The Tea House's clandestine meeting had been a surprise. He was certain of Charter’s sincere astonishment and fright. Yet the impossible had occurred. He had left the Inquisition's spy shaken. Exhaustion, sadness and regret had been threatening to seep in and he had overcome. But beyond the soundproof curtain Fen'Asha had stood waiting for him.
His astonishment was his undoing, for unlike him she did not hesitate in casting her spell. She had seized him, her mechanical fingers gripping his forearm. The raven amulet glowed in her hand when she said the magic words. “Dirthamen enansal shiral.”
Dirthamen.
What secret world was this?
Solas sighed. He followed the Inquisitor, staring at the looming structure and the people and contraptions and limitless blue.
He didn’t know what to expect, but there was acquaintance in the heavens that offered soft comfort. The sky seemed familiar and the people were familiar. He could move, talk. And she hadn’t killed him upon arrival. It was better than he could have hoped.
I tag @rosella-writes, @little-lightning-lavellan, @darethshirl @the-dreadful-canine and @wickedwitchofthewilds. No pressure of course! 😘
#wip wednesday#dragon age#solavellan#solas#fen'asha lavellan#fanfiction wip#1000generations posts#maker only knows
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okay please give me the Leli though 😁 I know its there
It's a work in progress but we are GETTING there:
“There is no person in all of Thedas who should feel shame for their mere existence,” Leliana tells her earnestly, thumb brushing over the harsh ridge of Solona’s cheek. Naively, she had thought it might cut her skin. Instead, Leliana finds herself wishing to do it again, just to elicit that endearing wide eyed look from the woman again.
Solona stutters for several moments before she looks away. “Maybe,” she says vaguely, not meeting Leliana’s eyes still. Suddenly she grabs Leliana’s hand, clutching it to her chest. “Will you teach me? Some of these other canticles?” she begs.
we're about...halfway through this fic and it's possibly one of my favourites but god is it difficult.
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@gyedie sent: [forehead touch] // amari & bull !!!
After this rag-tag Inquisition really settles in at Skyhold, The Iron Bull's days become a seemingly endless cycle of familiar entertainments. Drinking with his Chargers, plotting at the Wartable (or in hidden recesses unseen), and adventuring into the wilds of Thedas. It's a lifestyle that suits the former Ben-Hassrath well, regardless of the purpose, and Bull is grateful for the distraction it provides from contemplating his future as Tal-Vashoth.
Evenso, there are the quiet moments in between. Pockets of stillness and contentment, when the Iron Bull knows true peace (something more than he ever expected for himself). It’s Amari’s doing, of course. Her resilient presence among the Chargers centers him, the surety with which she touches him a reminder that there is honor yet residing in Bull’s bones. A purpose, as great (and as small) as holding Amari in his embrace.
He holds the Lavellan now, arms like iron bands keeping her secure in his lap, reclining together in the massive armchair in their quarters. The Iron Bull rests his brow ridge against Amari’s forehead, counting the rhythm of her breathing, cataloguing any tell-tale hitch. He waits, with infinite patience, for the words he can feel trapped in his Kadan’s chest to find their way past her lips.
#gyedie#thread: gyedie02#Fandom: Dragon Age#c: The Iron Bull#Iron Bull: threads#Iron Bull :: verse :: Elf on a Shelf#ic
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Grey Warden Imerati Surana || Meet me on the Battlefield by SVRCINA
Imerati’s story stands in between the tragedy of her being freed from a mental and physical prison into a world of intense war and the comedy of her being the biggest gay mess in Thedas. I finally found a song that reflects that, in my reading at least.
Origins has like, three actual cutscenes and the rest is cleverly hidden movies, so... a bit of clunkiness here and there. Origins doesn’t have the most robust of animations as well but it’s still enough for a decent GMV.
SO MANY MODS were used to make this remotely possible. To honor their creators, I’ll try to list every single one I can remember:
Hair Tweaks and Additions, Anora's Makeover, Dalishious Origins Morphs, Admiral's Coat Warden Retexture, AH00B Hairs, Miikocc Hairs, True Colours REDUX, Nora and Nadine Hairs, and Bright Tattoo Tints by @dalishious.
Admiral's Coat by @sapphim.
SJC's Skins by SammyJC.
LRS Leliana Romance Scenes by cmessaz and luna1124.
Admiral’s Coat Retexture Retexture, Cutscene Tweaks, Imerati Speech, and Imerati Coronation, as well as the Sapphia, Neimena, Briala, and Théroigne headmorphs and NPC replacements by me.
If anyone wants to make mods and needs custom cutscenes, I think I’ve gotten the hang of it now, DM me.
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Ch. 5 of Wolves Without Teeth is now up!
Beginning | Update | Rating: 18+
Fic Summary:
Voices born of tragedy are always the loudest, and the blast that destroyed the Conclave at Haven birthed thousands. The only survivor --a seemingly insignificant Dalish elf-- proclaims innocence despite the blood staining their hands. They make a lofty promise to the world, an oaken branch planted for every lost life, and justice for all those affected by the newly created rift in the heavens. Nothing will stop them from leading all of Thedas back into the light, even on wings of death.
Chapter Summary:
With Calliope mostly healed from the fight with the Pride demon, they think all will be well only to find out that their Mark has changed more than just their mindset, which comes at the worst possible time. But somehow they manage to meet with the advisors without too many ill effects.
V.
It’s still days before Calliope is able to slip from their bed and manage to dredge up enough energy to put their armor on. Artemaeus is on his earlier rounds, though it won’t be long before he walks in. Solas has already done his rounds, he mostly comes by at night when he thinks Calliope is asleep. Not one word is ever uttered between the two of them and he seems content for that to continue, confusing as that is to Calliope. The whispers pick at that concept -- perhaps he is avoiding them somehow. Did they upset him that badly on the trail to the Temple? His behavior is puzzling to say the least. Solas appears to be protective of them --as if he knows them but they can’t ever place him-- but when they try to catch his attention, his interest vanishes.
They hum to themself as they slip on their tattered cloak, too deep in thought to notice the scurrying in the shadows of their quarters. Not until the sticky, wetness of something latching onto their wrist catches their attention. Pinpricks of terror make their hair stand on end and Calliope freezes, not daring to test the strength of whatever wrapped itself about them. Their heartbeat roars in their ears as they hazard a glance down, everything else forgotten but this. Though there is nothing to suggest anything ever touched them. Not a blemish, not even residue from what certainly was a slimy creature. When they push back the long sleeve of their tunic, there is nothing. Just their bare arm and--
What is that?
Ridges of their pale flesh seem to be jutting up slightly, creating a sort of ripple texture along the inside of their wrist. Welts the size of small coins dot along the back of their hand and palm, irritated and discolored. That terror turns into an icy panic as Calliope checks over the rest of their left hand, thrown from the need to stay frozen in place. A mirror was provided some time in the last several days so they could properly braid their hair back --something they had asked for to retain some form of control while regaining the use of their hand-- and they scramble over to it in a frenzy. There’s more than just the welts and ridges in their flesh; when they look into the glass their eyes are no longer a pale blue, they are a sickly, red rimmed green. Like the Breach. That damned thing that scars the sky and taunts them, speaks to them in their nightmares.
That sticky sensation returns, creeping up the back of their neck while they raise their left arm up to the mirror. In horror they watch as three of the innumerable welts slowly peel back the skin on heir hand, revealing demonic eyes that look back at them intelligently. Almost in a question. Throughout, the whispers have been silent; no buzz at the edges of their hearing. Now they rise to a scream that echoes and bounces off the inside of their skull. All nonsense, or perhaps every language on the material plane. Calliope does not know. Only that they feel the rush of being swallowed up by it, entirely consumed by whatever has trapped them here in this moment. Something that they can only later describe as other or eldrtich.
Minutes or seconds tick by --even hours, for all they can tell-- before the door opens and startles Calliope back from the mirror. They don’t register who enters, glancing wildly at the figure and then back into the glass. Yet the eyes are no longer there. The sickly green of their own irises are however, as are the ridges and welts. Confusion replaces Calliope’s anxiety while they stare and try hard to comprehend what the hell just happened.
“Ser Lavellan?”
Again, Calliope looks to the ill timed guest. There’s a face they recognize; chest length red hair that falls from beneath a deep purple hood, chainmail clinks on the outside of her robes. Leliana. It’s just Leliana.
“I-- yes? Apologies, I think I must have spooked myself,” they murmur, still distracted but not enough to ignore her presence.
“Do you need a healer? That arm doesn’t look good.”
Self conscious, Calliope slips the thick woolen sleeve back over their arm and they shake their head numbly, “No. I--will speak to someone later about it. There’s no pain. It--seems that the Mark has made changes without my permission.”
There’s a long, heavy silence between the two of them. It’s obvious Leliana is at a loss for words and Calliope is too in shock to say much, not even as they move towards the door. Stiff and unsure of themself. Perhaps Solas or Artemaeus will know more. For now they need to not think of it and are grateful that the whispers fade to a soft white noise.
“I came to see if you wanted to meet with the others in the Chantry. Do you think you can manage that?” Leliana asks, stepping to the side briefly for Calliope.
“I will try. That is all I can do.”
At least the cold is a welcome distraction this time around. Soothes rather than stabs them, though Calliope is sure that will change if they spend too long outside. The sun is high and bright in the pale blue green sky, the rift sealed but still puffed and raw --like an infected wound. They merely glance at it before narrowing their eyes back down at the muddy ground, careful not to sink too deep into the muck. Suddenly they are very thankful for the boots they were encouraged to take with them. Nice and soft on the inside, perfect to combat the freezing temperatures; wrapped with some cords that jingle with wooden and bone charms. A bit of home to carry with them. The sound comforts Calliope while they follow Leliana off to the large building just beyond the trail.
It’s a short walk, just a few minutes up a long dirt path that winds around a fire pit and various tents. Calliope prepares themself for another round of vitriol, unable to forget the guard who threw that rock. But nothing comes. In fact the people that do gather whisper amongst themselves in awe, or perhaps even reverence. Though that unsettles Calliope as much --if not more-- than the hate spewed days before. Why the change in tone?
One of the group is another familiar face -- Varric. Laughter lines crease his cheeks as he watches Calliope approach; how he can be so jovial they’re not entirely sure. But it is a comfort to see, and even makes their mouth twitch into a small smile. Or a semblance of one. He doesn’t stop with the others and in fact begins walking in line with two of them; Leliana gives him a nod of recognition as he does so. It quickly crosses Calliope’s mind that he’s wearing a coat that seems much too large for him -- the puffs of dense wool obscures much of his face, and the blocky shape of the leather makes his movements stiff. A complete wonder how he can even walk in it.
“Spin a story that convinced them?” he asks with a wink.
“I think so. They found my tales of a nug tripping me and slaying a dragon in the process very compelling,” they respond tiredly, “I managed to slip in a bit about your gorgeous chest hair as well.”
Varric laughter is a deep, resounding bellow that brightens Calliope’s smile by a fraction. Though they note a slight change when he fully looks them over, his unobscured eyes taking in the changes from when they last saw each other.
“Kid, are you feeling alright?”
“That seems to be the question of the day,” Calliope sighs. Their breath comes in clouds before them, “The Mark has made changes. I wish I could say I knew what was happening, but for now I think I’ll be fine.”
“You should let Chuckles know, if he hasn’t found out already.”
That gives them pause, it’s a good suggestion and begs the question--does he? Why has he not alerted anyone if he does?
A frown spreads across Calliope’s face and they give a short nod, “I’ll let him know after the meeting. Though I’m not sure what can be done about it.”
“Who knows, but for all his oddness he’s pretty good at keeping it in check.”
Another comment that makes them think too hard. What does Solas know? If the Mark and the Voice are connected, he should know of that but has never said a word about them. Did he...know this would happen as well? Calliope swallows hard and pushes those thoughts out of their mind, thankful that the large doors of the Chantry have finally come into full view. It’s harder to worry about hypotheticals when something so big is looming over you.
“I’ll keep you posted, how does that sound?” Calliope asks, glancing his way.
“Yeah, sure. Long as you take care of yourself, kid, that’s all that matters.”
His voice is too soft when he responds, as if a great sadness has settled in his bones-- but Calliope doesn’t draw attention to it. Not yet. Instead they try on a bigger smile for him and gesture to his much too large coat. Throngs of people start to gather around them but Calliope is too busy with Varric, the others --and their growing anxiety-- can wait. He’s been nothing but kind to them.
“If you promise to find a better coat then I promise to do as you ask. How about that?”
Another bellowing laugh escapes Varric, so much so there’s a jingle from the golden ringed necklace that rests on his chest. Warmth floods Calliope when they hear that, their anxiety melts away for the moment. Though they can’t help but notice the large group around them in their periphery, ever whispering, looking.
“Does it really look that bad?”
“Oh yes, it makes you look like a walking box,” Leliana interjects with a smirk. Calliope startles when she speaks, having forgotten she was there. She’s always so quiet.
Calliope’s smile widens at her response, however, “Someone had to have given it to him as a joke, right?”
“I think it was a gift from Cassandra, so something like that.”
“Ah, that would explain it.”
“Alright, alright! I’m sure there’s a tailor around here somewhere. You two do your important meeting and I’ll fix this disaster of a coat,” Varric snorts, rolling his eyes with affection. A welcome sight as the throng stares and Calliope’s anxiety spikes to another unimaginable height. Both Leliana and Varric take notice quickly; the one ushering Calliope into the warmer, darker Chantry, while the other bustles through the crowd, breaking some of it up.
Inside the old, creaking building there’s a sort of calm you only find among places of worship. Though it doesn’t feel nearly as ancient of a peace as Calliope is used to. It makes their chest ache, thinking back to the sprawling temple to Falon’Din that sat deep within the Graves. How much that single ruin felt like home. Here in the torchlight, hundreds of miles from their home, Calliope brushes their fingers along the stone walls of the Chantry and wishes to be back in that flooded sanctuary, surrounded by statues of their gods that have stood against the test of time.
The once rich but faded golds and reds of Andrastian tapestries feel familiar but foreign at the same time. Moldy furniture and dusty books surround them, old stained glass still shining brightly in the mid morning sun. Casting rays of colors all across the muddy floor. Their mother once spoke of these places, how they brought her comfort when the world was at its worst. Not because of the religion itself, but how gentle it was in those moments where no one noticed her and she could slip off without alerting anyone. There is a remnant of that here while Leliana and Calliope slowly walk across to another pair of large, ornate doors. Symbols of the religion embossed into the dark wood, a sunburst set into the seam where you would pull them open. Familiar but still foreign. They feel like they shouldn’t be here, even in the momentary peace.
That nasally voice from days before pierces right through the calm the moment the doors swing open and Calliope can’t help but make a face of disgust. This man again? Another shemlen who thinks he knows what is right and what is wrong, Creators forbid you tell him otherwise. Chancellor Roderick stands in his white, gold, and crimson red robes to the side of a large wooden table covered in maps, and what looks like small figurines. Curious, Calliope focuses on what that could possibly mean before looking around to the others flanking the Chantry man. All humans, it seems. Another man and two women, one of which is Cassandra.
The other man has curly blonde hair, in a slicked back style that interests Calliope --they wonder briefly how he can keep it so neat and tidy in this weather. His armor bears the many sunbursts that can be found through the building, a mix of gold and cold steel. Rich red fabric and dark furs hang around his tall, muscular form. Though his complexion and under eye bags speak of illness, sunken cheeks and a listless gaze. Perhaps he has the Blight?
“...Roderick, save your breath,” the man murmurs, catching Calliope staring as they enter the room.
“Why is the prisoner continuously not restrained?”
Roderick does not waste any time on saving his breath.
“I’m afraid chains would not do you any good, Chancellor. Has Cassandra not told you I practice magic? I could simply look at you and you’d be a crispy husk,” Calliope rolls their eyes, eliciting a snort from both the new man and the aforementioned Seeker. Though the latter seems to think that much funnier than the ill human.
“Andaran atish’an, Ser Lavellan,” another voice cuts through the Chancellors rebuttal.
This time it’s the new woman, dressed in swatches of golden fabric lined with thick, lightly colored and patterned furs. Necklaces hang from her soft, tan neck and glint just as her brilliant smile does. Long, dark hair frames her face in perfectly set curls that are then braided to be kept out of her eyes. Honestly, she seems much too warm and gentle to be in this situation at all, but that is exactly why Calliope assumes she is. Never underestimate the sweet ones.
They smile back at her when greeted in elven, and bow their head respectively, “Pleased to meet you, even under these circumstances.”
There is a sound of derision from Roderick that has both Calliope and Cassandra looking his way with annoyance, the former feeling a coil of anger build in their chest.
“What, do I offend you?” Calliope asks, raising a pale eyebrow at him.
“These circumstances are of your own doing, of course you have offended me! The Divine is dead and here you stand, still alive.”
“Shocking as it may seem, Chancellor, I did not kill your Divine. In fact I have been exonerated of all charges. Cassandra told me as much several days ago as I was recovering. While I don’t remember what made her change her mind, I’m inclined to think it was compelling evidence.”
This time there’s another amused snort from the ill man and he looks up at Calliope, dark eyes sparkling a bit in the lamp light.
“Careful, you keep prodding him and he might explode.”
Roderick once again opens his mouth, but quickly shuts it when Cassandra steps in with a scowl his way and a glance at Calliope. There is a brief moment where her expression turns from irritation to concern when she makes note of the change of Calliope’s eye color, which does make them wonder if they should wander about with their eyes shut from now on.
“I believe we have some introductions to get out of the way,” the Seeker says, shaking the worry off expertly, “You know Sister Leliana, our Spymaster.”
Leliana bows her head at the mention, smiling just a touch for Calliope who manages one in return. It’s the least they can do after her friendliness towards them.
“Our Ambassador, Josephine Montilyet. She is an expert in keeping the peace,” Cassandra gestures to the woman full of warmth, and then finally at the ill seeming man, “This is Commander Cullen Rutherford, you would have met him at the Temple but we know how that went.”
“I was nearly decapitated, apparently. Which I’m sure Roderick would have been pleased by,” they scoff, glancing away from Cassandra to watch the priest. He does nothing but stare right back, wrinkling his nose.
“We are lucky you weren’t, otherwise we would not be able to do what we’re doing now,” Cassandra responds, cutting in before Roderick can get a word out.
Something about that comment unsettles Calliope, makes them seriously consider the Seeker. She had said something about wanting them to stay, that there was danger following them possibly and they didn’t have anything on the Mark yet. Yet this doesn’t seem to be what she’s talking about.
“I’m assuming we found something when we closed the Breach? What are we doing now?”
A heavy silence descends upon the room like a thick blanket, extinguishing all sound so much so that the whispers come in loud bursts and Calliope’s pointed ears flutter uncomfortably. They wait for someone to say something, anything at all; nerves standing on end.
“We saw a vision in the middle of a field of red lyrium that was at the center of the Temple,” Leliana finally speaks, looking from Cassandra to Calliope with a sharp gaze, “Someone or something was there doing a ritual, said that the Divine was meant as a sacrifice. Then you came out of the shadows to ask what was going on. That was when the Rift broke open.”
A chill runs down Calliope’s spine, that familiar build up of anxious energy. Their eyes dart to the candles flickering just beyond the table, and one of them forms a tall pillar of fire before simmering back down again. No one seems to notice, not even Roderick who is barely paying attention to anything at all.
“That’s good to know but that doesn’t answer my question. What are we doing now?” Calliope repeats, their gaze hardening. The whispers buzz in anticipation, shadows dancing in their peripheral vision. Once again there’s silence but it’s short lived.
“The Divine created a writ in case her plan failed to restore peace between the mages and the templars,” Cassandra responds quietly, and taps a book on the table with a gloved hand. It is thick and old, filled with secrets Calliope assumes.
“What does that mean?” they ask, shifting their weight nervously.
“We are going to rebuild a group called the Inquisition, to find the Divine’s killer and end the conflict that led to her death. We could also use it to clean up after what happened with the Breach,” the Commander answers for her, and Calliope raises an eyebrow at those gathered around the table.
“It must be invoked by both of the Divine’s Hands, and will be with or without Chantry approval,” Cassandra says, shooting a withering glance at Roderick who sighs.
“You know how I feel about this Seeker-”
“And I don’t care. This is the only way, you know that!”
“We need to find a replacement for the Divine and quickly! None of this Inquisition nonsense will help us now.”
The room descends into arguments and raised voices as everyone attempts to speak over the priest, who in turn raises his whine of a voice to disgustingly new levels. Anxiety and rage make the air thick, too hard to breathe, too hard to move in. From their spot at the other side of the space, Calliope watches that candle flicker once, twice, three times before it erupts into a roaring fire. All of their despair and nervousness centered on one singular wick that burns so brightly it lights up the entire room, banishing the shadows back to where they came. It’s certainly one way to get everyone’s attention.
Their arguments dwindle into nothing as they scramble to get away from the fire just as it starts to fizzle out and become a smoking ember. Consumed, wax and all, by Calliope’s magical presence. Embarrassment washes over them at the sight but they manage to hold it together while each pair of eyes comes back to settle on them. Calliope finally breaks the silence, that slimy sensation threading through their skin as they say in almost a snarl, pointedly at Roderick --who had decided to argue.
“Create your Inquisition, we replace the Divine and find her Killer. Maybe get answers about what the fuck happened to my hand. Does that sound good?”
There’s only a beat of silence before Roderick mumbles what could be a ‘yes’, easing Calliope’s volatile mood but not that horrific feeling of otherness wrapped around their wrist.
“We--should get you in touch with a proper Enchanter, I think,” Cullen comments in shock. A blurting out of words, really.
“There are mages here I can learn from, if it will soothe your fears, Commander Rutherford.”
“Perhaps we should take a recess? Cool down before we talk about our next steps.”
It’s Josephine who speaks, light and airy. Unperturbed on the outside by what just happened but the tremble in her hands as she grips her important parchments says otherwise. Calliope doesn’t blame her.
There’s a note of tiredness and defeat to their tone when they speak again, “I will get my magic under control, it’s been harder since the Mark. I’m sorry for scaring anyone. A recess would be good.”
#solavellan#dragon age#dai#pavellan#calliope lavellan#eventual pavellan at least LOL#mal writes#wolves without teeth
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-41- Authority
Part of Ma Emma Lath, collection of Blackwall/Ellana ficlets on AO3.
Link to all chapters on Tumblr here.
Metal slicing through skin still echoed in her ears.
Ellana had been out on the balcony ever since returning to her quarters, but the sound kept cutting through the meditative peace she’d been trying to conjure for herself. Instead she found herself staring out at the dimming light and fading mountains. Her thoughts returning to the man she’d executed just a few hours before.
Erimond was not the first she killed by far, but the first where it felt more official, by her own decree, and by sword instead of magic. She had avoided issuing such punishment for so long. She’d looked for some sign of remorse from him. Some reason that could make it easier to pass a lighter sentence. But he’d given her none, even to his last breath declaring that glory would await him. And for what he’d done, decimating an order, the world nearly cast in perpetual darkness as demons roamed the land, losing Hawke in the Fade…her judgment was clear.
“Ana?”
Ellana turned to see Blackwall at the door, his figure framed by the light coming from inside. She hadn’t even realized he’d come up for the night.
“I’ll be in in a bit, vhenan,” she replied. Despite the chill in the air, she was still too restless to go to bed.
Instead of turning back inside, Blackwall stepped out onto the balcony beside her. Ellana couldn’t help lean into him, glad for his company.
“Are you thinking about today?”
Even though she couldn’t see his face, Ellana easily picked up the concern in his voice. “I’m fine.”
An arm slipped around her waist, squeezing it gently. “That bastard got no less than he deserved.”
“I don’t regret the decision,” she replied, certainty pulsing within her. “It was the right one.”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
Her hands clinched the balcony edge, unable to ignore the weight inside of her. “On my word, a man died today. Even though I carried it out myself…” The sight of Erimond’s lifeless body flashed before her. “The authority I have terrifies me sometimes.”
She could predict what Blackwall would say before he even uttered a word. “There’s no one I trust with it more.”
“So far.” Ellana inhaled a puff of air, a slight burn in her lungs from the cold, and exhaled it just as quickly. “I’ve already decided the fate of the mages and templars, the Grey Wardens. Creators knows what’ll happen with Orlais.”
It wasn’t that she doubted her abilities. Ever since her magic manifested as a child, Ellana had to gain confidence and understanding in what she was capable of. But her actions were so much larger now, their impact on at least half of Thedas instead of just her clan. The scope was still dizzying to think about at times.
His hands reached for hers, uncurling them from their tight grip on the balcony.
“You’ll decide how you always do. Thoughtfully, with conviction.” He raised one of her hands to plant a kiss on its back. Ellana now wished both of them weren’t wearing gloves so she could feel his lips against her skin. “And you’re not alone in this, remember?”
She shot him a grateful smile. “I know.”
Ellana never took that knowledge for granted. Yes, the decisions were ultimately hers to make and the consequences hers to bear, but the support of her advisers, their companions, him, made it easier to handle.
However their time in the Fade had churned up doubts, on top of reconciling with her newly reclaimed memories of the day everything changed.
“It’s just…” She sighed, turning back to the mountains ahead, their ridges and peaks barely visible. “I just keep thinking about the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It could have been anyone that came upon the Divine. If that guard hadn’t spotted me, if I hadn’t tried to lose him…”
She recalled her efforts to blend in with the mages, despite the clear clan markings on her face. But then when she’d tried to break off, so she could view the proceedings from afar to decrease chances of anyone realizing she didn’t belong there, she spotted that guard eying her.
So Ellana moved, losing herself in the winding corridors. Thinking herself safe when she heard a woman’s cry for help. On instinct, she’d run to the door, shocked by what she saw, taking in what she now knew as Corypheus and the corrupted Wardens holding the Divine captive for their ritual, not having the faintest idea of what was going on then. And the only thing Ellana could think to do was grab the mysterious orb rolling towards her.
Her hands fell from his. “You’re disappointed, aren’t you? About my mark not being from Andraste?”
It hadn’t a shock, in fact it’d been a relief, to know that it was by her choice rather than being marked as special by some deity. But she had also seen the momentary disappointment in Varric’s eyes, Josephine’s. And even though Blackwall had danced around it, she knew he’d believed too. It’s partly why she’d decided not to announce it to the rest of the world. People couldn’t afford to lose what hope and comfort they had.
“A bit,” Blackwall finally admitted softly before cupping her face, his touch just as light. “But you’re still inspiring. Holy mark or not.”
Her breath caught, touched by the strength of his sincerity. That meant everything, more than she could possibly say, the faith he continued to have in her. The steady and -now she could say with certainty- loving presence he was at her side.
Rather than trying to find the words, she reached up to convey her thanks with a kiss, falling into his arms. Ellana then rested her head against his chest, content on just being held, listening to the sound of his gentle breathing above her.
Speaking of inspiring… “I saw you in the training yard this morning. Had quite the gathering going.”
“Did you? Would have put on more of a show if I’d known you were watching,” he replied, one of his hands sliding to her hip.
Ellana gave a small laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Just in passing, vhenan.” She toyed with the hair at his nape. “They seemed to hang on your every word.”
“Apparently my speech at Adamant’s making the rounds. Everyone wants to learn from the man who talked the Wardens down.”
“It’s well deserved.” It was clear watching him, and the help he provided her, that he had a knack for teaching people. A natural leader. Little wonder he convinced the non-mage Wardens to doubt Erimond.
Ellana hadn’t questioned it, when Blackwall made clear he was coming back to Skyhold instead of rejoining the Wardens, but she had to know for certain, that he carried no regrets.
“You’re still sure, about not following Alistair and the other Wardens to Weisshaupt? You could easily lead them, help them rebuild.”
Even in the dark, she could see his gaze dart away from hers. Before she had time to ponder on that, he answered, “Alistair will do just fine leading them. My place is here.” His eyes came back to her. “I gave my sword to the Inquisition, to you. I’m not leaving that.”
His voice had become rough, catching on the last word, as if he couldn’t bear the thought. She understood the feeling, all too well. As much as Ellana accepted the vow Blackwall still had to the Wardens, that they could summon him if he was needed…the truth was she was glad. Glad he hadn’t offered to lead them back at Adamant, glad he was still staying with the Inquisition.
Glad her vhenan wasn’t leaving her yet.
Their time was already short enough depending on when he started hearing the real Calling. Ellana intended to make the most of every moment she had with him.
She made to resume her position against his chest again, but then caught his stifled yawn. “Tired?”
Ellana half-expected him to deny it, but instead he nodded. “Probably should go in.” He pressed a kiss to her head. “You staying out here?”
She still wasn’t tired, but curling up with him for the night now sounded more appealing than continuing to get lost in her thoughts.
“No, I’ll come in too.”
Taking his hand in hers, they both went back into her warm and bright quarters, closing the balcony door firmly shut behind them.
#Ellana Lavellan#Blackwall/Thom Rainier#Blackwall x Inquisitor#Blackwall x Lavellan#Lady Eglantine Fanfiction
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‘Till Death Do Us Part, My Dear
Hi! I got really interested in the dynamorph AU thanks to @the-flying-beetle! The AU was made by @lulzyrobot, and I decided to take a shot at it with @the-flying-beetle‘s Piers and their championsona Theda’s humanity lost forms~ You can find more details on Theda and Piers here~
You can find a masterpost of the AU here on @lulzyrobot‘s blog! (They also answer a buncha questions, they’re p dope.)
WARNING!
THIS WRITING HAS A LOT OF BLOOD AND GORE IN IT. IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THAT, PLEASE DO NOT READ.
TW Tags: Blood and Gore, gory transformation, blood, bones breaking, insanity, mindless thralls, friend on friend attacking, graphic violence, near death.
Since the effects of the Dynamorph, everyone had to adjust their reality. With the body, instincts and characteristics of Pokemon, they realized that life was far more… tenuous. Precious. Dangerous. The gym leaders were fairly okay, since they were only morphed with one Pokemon, but… There were drawbacks.
Pokemon were instinctual. Pokemon were possessive. Pokemon were dangerous. It was even more clear in this moment as Raihan watched the body of Piers slowly break itself, lying over the near lifeless body of Theda. He could hear the gut wrenching cracks of Piers’s skull as his nose elongated into that of a badger’s snout, the teeth growing exponentially. Blood splattered across the grass as his claws forced themselves out more, the crimson eerily running down the ivory appendages. His eyes were deep red, with only the pupil remaining now, the spikes of his hair merging with the spikes splintering from his spine. He was crying over Theda’s body before. He was now laughing. And that laughing had become a hyena howl.
It was already an issue that they had to deal with some of the wild trainers in the wild area. But now, one of the more powerful gym leaders had just lost humanity. Raihan took a step back, hearing the rushing of blood in his ears as the eyes of his previous friend locked onto his. But this wasn’t his friend anymore. This was a beast. It was evident in the bloody smile, and the immediate attack.
Raihan’s dynamorph with Flygon had upped his mobility, but Piers was fast. Far faster than before. And he wasn’t afraid to use dirty tactics. A false feint of his lead Raihan to feel the full force of his Throat Chop right to the back, leaving multiple gashes from sharpened claws along Raihan’s back. Raihan didn’t even have enough time to properly breath, and all he could do was block from the intense Shadow Claw sent his way.
This was bad, this was really really bad. If he attacked Piers, that would one, hurt him, and two, probably make him lose his mind even more. Raihan dodged out of the way of another Throat Chop, and one that was definitely aimed to kill. All the while, tears streamed from Pier’s eyes, but the maniacal laughter mixed with the howls and yips of a hyena still remained. Raihan didn’t know Piers could smile like that. Raihan didn’t know that humans could smile that wide. Though, he figured that this man wasn’t human anymore.
He had no choice.
With the tail Raihan had inherited from Flygon, he sent a swift Dragon Tail at Piers, knocking him away for a hot second. Piers skidded, growling, yipping, snarling at Raihan. With gritted teeth, he prepared the next attack. But he was taken off guard by the blood that was now pouring out of Pier’s chest. It made him hesitate. If it weren’t for Flygon’s quick thinking, the Shadow Claw that Piers targeted towards Raihan’s jugular would have killed him. But he dodged right in time, with only a gash in his shoulder to tell the tale.
“Piers! Snap out of it man!” Raihan spun around, jumping up and using the very limited wing power he had to bring his leg down on Pier’s head. He still hadn’t properly figured out how to fly yet. Piers yowled in pain, but didn’t take any time to retaliate. Something about this new form was different. He was dealing more damage, stronger, faster and more agile. He leaped up at Raihan, who intercepted with an Earth Power from beneath. This sent Piers sprawling to the side, next to Theda. As Raihan was drifting down, he called for Rotom, who spun around him, waiting for his command.
“Send word to the strike force! I need back up! Piers has gone awol! I repeat, I need backup!” Rotom got out of the way just in time to see a purple fireball whizzing in his direction, which he dropped himself just in time to miss. He watched as now there was a different, more problematic circumstance he had to deal with. “Shit…” he spat through gritted teeth.
A side effect that he didn’t think of when attacking Piers was the fact that Theda was still there, and alive. Barely, but they were there. They let forth a blood curdling scream, and Raihan watched in horror as from under their abdomen, two extra pairs of arms, burst through. Their blood splattered across the grass next to Piers, dripping down their porcelain-like skin. But now, it was see through, and Raihan could see a bright purple glowing ball in their chest. The arms were thin, black and charred to all hell, with purple flames licking up and lighting fire to some of their previous clothing. Some of the black striped on their face became jagged as a crack ran through, the blood mixing with the intense purple flame from underneath. Their laugh, which was once so nice to listen to, was now amplified by the seemingly thousands of voices underlying it. The air got chilly, but Raihan was pretty sure that the chill down his spine was not the weather. It was watching some of his closest and strongest friends become monsters. This wasn’t his champion anymore, nor was Piers one of the strongest gym leaders.
Theda sent a Shadow Ball in his direction, but Raihan was used to it being slower. It hit him square in the chest, right were Piers’s Throat Chop from earlier hit him, and his breath left him as he felt the cold draining of his soul leaving his body for a second. This just went from bad to worse. He could feel the wounds he got from Piers start to wear on him, the pain starting to replace the intense adrenaline. And as he watched, Piers was starting to stand back up, a mix of both whimpering and laughing leaving him as he did.
Raihan had never felt true fear before, but this? This brought it home. No longer were they holding back. Whatever power limiters they had in their brains were gone, broken. So, as Piers was stumbling and struggling to stand, Raihan let his instincts wash over him. He ran. He knew damn well that if he kept this up by himself, he wouldn’t live to see another day. And just because Theda’s typing didn’t effect him, didn’t mean that the two of them together weren’t a terrifying combo. Theda doing long range and Piers at short range? He didn’t want to risk it. He needed help.
He started running back to Motostoke, followed by what was surely the husks of people he loved. He was sure he was going to hear the howling, insane yips of Piers and Theda’s thousand voice chuckle in his nightmares for a very long time. He could barely see through his tears, but he pushed through. Luckily, over the ridge he saw a bunch of dark clad figures and the familiar fire of Leon’s tail. Soon enough, he was past the border of the strike force, and fell. He quickly turned over, crawling as far away he could. He could still watch, though, as Theda and Piers hung back, the taunting yowls of Piers meeting his ears through the wind. The two of them prowled, walking back and forth along the ride, before starting to pull back. Not without a loud hyena howl and another blood curdling scream, however.
Raihan felt exhaustion wash over him, and in a second, he was out. When he came to, he was in a bed, bandaged, bloodied, beaten. His eyes still closed, he let out a groan, which caught the attention of some people in the room. To everyone else, Raihan had gotten out a very intense emergency surgery a couple of hours ago, and no one was sure if he was going to live. Between the mix of Piers’s claws and Theda’s ghostly fire, he was on the brink of death. And as soon as he got his thoughts back, he burst into tears, not caring that all of the gym leaders, except for the two he failed to save, were in the room.
As the other gym leaders comforted Raihan, Leon sat in the corner, pondering the next action. He wanted to do all he could to save them, he really did. But it would be difficult. Even if the option was to put them out of their misery, even that would be a challenge. One one hand, you had Piers, who was suddenly a lot more powerful, able to leave deep gashes, and got a whole lot faster. He was renowned as the seventh gym leader, but because of that dark typing of his, he wasn’t afraid to play dirty. He wasn’t afraid to take risks now, either. He alone would be a tough one to face.
On the other hand was Theda, who rose up through the ranks and easily took the title of Champion away from him like it was nothing. They were strong, fast-witted, and the ghost typing made them even deadlier. They could now snipe from long distances, with the same speed and accuracy as someone who morphed with an Inteleon. That, and both of them were smart. Too smart. Leon had seen many a wild trainer recklessly attack the line of strike force that he had with him, but these two prowled. They accessed. They wanted to get Raihan, but knew they were outmatched. Mix that with Piers’s heightened sense of smell and even a sneak attack would be hard to pull off.
Leon sighed, resting his heads in his hands, taking a sideways look at Marnie. He would have to keep an eye on her. She was distraught, but holding it together. For now. At best, they got the two of them back and tried to figure out if they could revert their forms. At worst, Marnie went awol. And that would start a train reaction. Marnie to Gloria. Gloria to Hop. Hop… to Leon. Leon to Raihan. So on and so forth. It would slowly but surely take what they knew and rip whatever tiny bit they had left to pieces.
But would that really be a bad thing? If Leon got to be with his family, just without his humanity… it wouldn’t be that bad, would it? He shook himself of the thought. Whatever the case, he could already feel the lack of sleep that he was going to get tonight, staying up and planning as much as possible. He needed to get them back. That wasn’t a question. The question was instead how. And how long could they all last?
Leon sighed, stood, and went to go grab a coffee.
#Piers#gym leader piers#pokemon piers#dynamorph au#dynamorph piers#dynamorph#piers swsh#piers angst#pokemon#pokemon fic#pokemon angst#pokemon angst fic#pokemon swsh#pokemon sword and shield#pokemon sword and shield piers#pokemon swsh imagines#pokemon swsh fic#pokemon swsh angst fic#pokemon swsh dynamorph#the-flying-beetle#lulzyrobot#tw blood#tw gore#tw bones breaking#tw near death#tw violence#tw attacking friends#tw graphic violence#tw graphic blood#tw graphic gore
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Is the Qunari “rage” like, an actual thing? Do they feel more intense feeling than the other peoples of Thedas? Or is it just another baseless form of bigotry in Thedas?
Solas states the Qun is the only thing keeping them from going crazy. Savagery only held in place by ridged structure.
Not the first thing he’d be wrong about, but the dialogue treats this stereotype as commonly held belief. I just can’t tell if it’s in lore prejudice only with no basis in fact.
Sten was an extremely disciplined professional. He’s perfectly capable of following orders he disagrees with. His banter paints him as stoic and measured. Even if he turns against The Warden, the decision is just that, a decision . He has only one real lapse of judgment in the game. Otherwise he might be the most rational of the party. But then again, that slip was killing a bunch on innocent people with his bare hands so…? 
The Arishok in DA2, whatever else can be said for him, is a model of self control. The dude is being baited for years in a foreign land he desperately wants to leave. Even when he attacked it , it wasn’t a berserk sort of thing. Oh he was pissed, but he had the presence of mind to lead his people and offer most of Kirkwall a chance to surrender.
And then we talk to Iron Bull. At first, Bull seems to think there is something inherent to  Vashoth that make them predisposed to violent acts. He is fully aware Tal-Vashoth can exist in more or less the same way as others, he just considered them to be the exception. (this might be a misunderstanding of Bull on my part)
I get the impression that maybe the Qunari themselves might like to push this view. Hulking warriors who show calm and reasonable judgment. Logical, fair and disciplined. unless you push them too far. IMO that’s an effective image in a carrot and stick kind of way.
Writing a who people as prone to blackout rage feels very gross, but I’m not sure that’s what’s happening. Any thoughts?
Thanks for the thoughtful blog!
I have the same impression. I do not at all think that the qunari as a race are more inclined to violence and rage than anyone else. I think that due to the fact that outside the Qun they are faced with very few options for living, because of that very racist myth, they are often forced into harsh resorts to survive. And then that perpetuates the racist myth. And on the other side, you have the Qun using the myth to dissuade people from leaving it, in fear that they will inherently and naturally become monsters. That’s canon:
“Detainee shown drawings of dead tamassrans and children, told these were drawings of people in Seheron killed by Tal-Vashoth. Detainee told all Tal-Vashoth do this, and if detainee wishes to be Tal-Vashoth, he must go to education centre and kill tamassrans now. Detainee became visibly upset.”
—Codex entry: Ben-Hassrath Reeducators
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