protestant Andrastianism. is this anything?

Heaven’s Rim session summary 4, which I have put off almost a full week because I was so head full afterwards I could not think and am only now recovering

We open in initiative again, but not in battle. Shrimp has just killed the ankheg with an eldritch blast + get stuck in combo, but they get the feeling that not all is right, so they continue exploring

They were correct! Two more ankhegs lurk in the campsite here, which they dispatch promptly (and luckily manage to avoid fighting at the same time).

After that, they play a little hot-and-cold with a sense of impending bad luck and discover, in the crumbling fireplace of a torn down cabin, buried beneath the ashes, a string of thirteen tiny stick figures, dipped in (now dried) drake’s blood, with lightning bolts etched into them. They do some checks and realize that

1) these were placed here intentionally, and hidden in a way that they wouldn’t be found

2) these are religious in nature but not from a humanoid religion

3) the purpose of these is to draw bad luck to a place and those who reside nearby

4) which is probably why these ankhegs are chilling despite being migratory hunters instead of ambush predators

What do they do? Well, they need to destroy them, so Shrimp grabs the string of figures, runs off, and uses his alchemical burst to explode with cold damage and flash freeze the sticks so they explode into splinters. Immediately everyone feels better and the last ankheg (waiting underneath the floorboards of the intact cabin) tunnels away into the forest.

They explore said cabin and find Tibor Wester, administrator of the logging camp, who has been barricaded in one room for three days without food or water. They interrogate him as to what happened (when the ankhegs attacked, he ran away and hid while the loggers fought back and died), Adva exploded at him for abandoning the people he was supposedly friends with, Chantry is like “hey, what the fuck is wrong with you, this dude has just been through A Trauma,” and they have, mm, religious differences of opinion. Or differences of religious opinion. Not sure which is the more accurate phrasing here.

Mason gets Tibor’s signature so that if he dies on the way back to town they can still get paid, since they need that to prove they brought the supplies to him.

The party decides to spend a night here at the logger camp before swinging by Falcon’s hunting lodge tomorrow and hopefully leaving Tibor with him so they can go check on Big Al over at Butterskull Ranch (their other quest).

You know what long rest means—watch schedule time. We end up doing Mason on first watch, Nim on second and third, Shrimp on watch 1.5 (the last hour of Mason’s 2 hour watch and the first hour of Nim’s 4 hour watch), and Adva and Chantry together on fourth watch.

I truly, absolutely, sincerely cannot do justice to this long rest / watch rp scene. I wish that it was preserved in amber so that I could experience it over and over again.

First is Mason, who does some breathing exercises to combat anxiety while doing absolutely no mental exercises to combat anxiety.

Then Shrimp joins her, and Mason asks some burning questions about goblin culture and anatomy, which leads to the revelation that, on a natural 2 minus two for a zero medicine check, Shrimp doesn’t know what bones are. Let alone if she has any.

Mason’s attempts to explain what bones are are… not successful. In case you’re wondering where the title for that musical piece “I have teeth in the shape of my limbs” came from.

Mason has to go to bed. Mason has more questions than she did before she talked to Shrimp.

Next is Shrimp and Nim! Shrimp and Nim of “bury your feelings where the sun can’t touch them until something new grows over them” fame! They discuss bones (still unclear on whether Shrimp has bones or not after this), Shrimp asks Nim whether they miss their husband (answer: inconclusive with an “I liked him, so I suppose I must?”), and then they talk about emotions. I will paraphrase the interaction.

Nim says, “hey shrimp, I noticed you have a lot of emotions!”

Shrimp says, “boy, do I!”

Nim says, “why don’t you just not have them anymore? it seems like they bother you.”

Shrimp says, “hey, bestie. what?”

Nim says, “why don’t you just like stop experiencing your emotions of they’re so much?”

Shrimp says, “I cannot do that! Can you do that?”

Nim says, “yes?”

Shrimp says, “wow! okay!”

Shrimp goes to bed

Nim spends the next three hours thinking about this

FOURTH WATCH!!

Adva and Chantry are on watch together, after their earlier difference of opinion. They decide to talk it out—a win for healthy working relationships!! Adva explains that she knows that people don’t take her star-based religion seriously, but it’s still not okay to use it against her. Chantry explains that he didn’t mean to do that, and asks her to tell him more about her religion so that he doesn’t accidentally do that again. Adva happily does so, doing a palm reading. Chantry also talks a bit about his life. He mentions that he has a wife, and Adva tells him not to abandon her, both of them accidentally standing on one of each others’ emotional landmines again. Adva is crying, talking first to Chantry and then herself about how people aren’t supposed to abandon each other, that “he” (different person than Chantry) wasn’t supposed to abandon her. Chantry is talking about religion in an attempt to comfort her, making a reference to stars and candles and how he navigates by the stars as a Sailor—Adva says wait. You’re a Sailor? He says yeah? She says do you know Aalin? He does!

Aalin has heterochromia, one blue eye and one brown, like Adva but with the positions switched. He became a Sailor, but he still visited her (not something you’re supposed to do when you become a Sailor, Chantry knows—you’re supposed to leave your old life behind) until a little while ago, when he dropped out of contact completely. Chantry doesn’t know a lot about Aalin, but he can ask some Sailor contacts—the ones who still like him—back in the Port what they know.

Morning comes, everybody wakes up and breaks camp, and Mason decides to ask Adva if Shrimp has bones. Adva makes a check. Adva doesn’t actually know if Shrimp has bones! Adva asks the stars (casts Augury) and receives the answer “Weal and Woe”. Hey what the fuck does THAT mean? I’ll never tell! Every single person in the party proceeds to make checks to see if they know if goblins have bones.

Nobody passes.

[🪀] what was your muse’s childhood like? how did their upbringing affect them? (for Sahren)

Oh wow, this will be a lengthy one, still one of my favorite questions for him, so thank you! I'm going to write this with a lot of detail so even people who haven't played can understand, as the lore is very extensive and convoluted and it is some chunky sections of that lore that shapes his upbringing and his entire personality. Also a fair amount of it takes up heavy content, so check the tags before reading to make sure you are comfortable reading. Sahren grew up in Dalish culture, essentially nomadic clans that live away from human settlements because of major cultural disagreements. Most of Thedas believes that mages should be locked away because of their power, and their ability to reach their minds across the Veil when they sleep makes them susceptible to being influenced or possessed by the denizens of the Fade. The entire world and all of it's cultures have some degree of fear of mages. Dwarves don't have them, but Qunari essentially enslave their mages, the Tevinter Imperium is run by mages that are too power hungry, and humans trap theirs in tower colleges. Dalish clans don't like interacting with humans for a multitude of reasons, but the main reasons are: Dalish clans consider mages to be a risk but also necessary to lead the clan as Keeper, the clan's diplomat, the leader, and the mage healer of the clan. They are the only group besides the Imperium to give mages freedom. But because they wander Thedas with no homeland, they have to avoid humans for long periods or else risk situations where humans under the Chantry deem them to be blasphemous to the Maker and try to convert them or kill them. The Tevinter Imperium still has a slave trade, and elves make up an overwhelming majority. The Dalish in the long forgotten past used to rule all of Thedas as a magical utopia with an advanced culture of people that never died and all were mages, but for mysterious reasons the humans came along, and the Dalish believe that the fall of this nation made them lose their immortal lifespans to become mortal, and then enslaved, which caused them to lose most of the knowledge of Arlathan. (The name of their nation) Different clans take different approaches to humans, but most are wary of them. Sahren's clan had bad experiences with the Tevinter Imperium because they lived much farther north, closer to the border with Tevinter. There were skirmishes with his clan twice in his life, and both he ended up losing a loved one, to. His mother was his clan's Keeper, Thalia, and his father Athras the head ranger. It was expected when Sahren was born that he'd become her First when he developed magic, and eventually succeed her. When he was four, she gave him a large book in which he would write all of his knowledge, but he passed the age where he would develop magic without so much as creating a spark. That same day came a kid his age that Sahren grew to love dearly, came into the clan after his own was destroyed. Feladara, with auburn hair and honey gold eyes. Feladara ended up developing magic instead. Sahren really tried not to be bitter. His mother let him study longer, even though only the keepers could really study all of the lore they had. But then tragedy happened- Some bandits came along while Thalia was out with just Sahren and Feladara at 10, gathering herbs with her. She convinced Feladara to run back to camp just as she heard them nearby, but Sahren refused to go.They tried to demand that Thalia tell them where the clan was camped, but she calmly tried to diffuse the situation and convince them to go elsewhere. They call Thalia a knife ear, so Sahren runs up and kicks one of them in the shin, and ends up becoming a hostage. His mother had a different opinion than the normal views on the denizens of the Fade, because she actually understood their nature, and was friends with a Spirit of Loyalty. So she fuses with the spirit and together they fight off the bandits, killing all of them to defend her clan and her child. When she does, she goes to hug Sahren, and because she secretly taught Sahren the ways of the spirits, he isn’t afraid. But then Feladara comes back with Sahren’s father, Athras. A more superstitious person than his wife, he immediately assumed she was a typical abomination, and thought she was going to kill Sahren, so he struck her through the heart from the back with an arrow.  Sahren never forgave him for that. After her death, Athras more aggressively tried to make Sahren learn how to be an archer instead, going down his path instead of his mother’s. A retired Keeper from another clan became the new Keeper for Clan Lavellan, and Feladara became her First.  So Sahren would skip his lessons to hang out in the Keeper’s aravel with Feladara, learning whatever Feladara was learning. The new Keeper enabled it for some time, but eventually Sahren’s father found out where he was going and forbade him from entering the Keeper’s aravel, grounding him to staying in camp for a week. It was then he noticed all the stares, and the whispers. “Abomination’s child”, “he’s going to end up like her even without magic”. None of the other kids wanted to hang out with him, and Feladara was too busy with lessons. He quickly found that the rest of the clan didn’t like him, and that ended up souring his opinion of most of them. It made him a really angry teenager- When the week ended, Sahren took to hiding in the woods outside the camp instead of sleeping in camp. He refused to bunk with anyone, instead sleeping in the trees. It led to quite a few falls at first, but then it became impossible to knock him out of a tree.  Feladara found him first, and then they began to hang out together at night, talking for hours about nothing and everything- magical theories and theories about the stories that remained of the Creators, the Forgotten Ones, and the Dread Wolf. In return, Sahren teaches Feladara how to use daggers. (The elven pantheon) Sahren picked up a lot of words from these exchanges that belonged to the old language of Arlathan. He laces them in Common often, like “Ma serannas” as thanks, “Ir abelas” as I’m sorry. Learning the meaning of family names: Feladara’s simply was the old name for the herbs they gather the most (elfroot), his own name meant “One who commands respect”. His father’s meant “Half in shadow”. He picks up many more words and names during the events of the game, and when he drinks from the Well of Sorrows ( Vir’abelasan ) he sometimes speaks completely in the old language because of the voices of the elven scholars who placed their knowledge in the Well. (There’s a person who created an entire lexicon on the language to fill in the gaps that the actual games left, I reference this and the game all the time) They end up falling in love over time. Eventually, when they both turn 18 and receive their vallaslin (tattoos on their faces, right of passage for Dalish elves. It means “blood writing”) Sahren and Feladara end up confessing their love to one another and marrying each other privately in the Dalish way, by exchanging hand crafted gifts and then tying each other’s wrists together with a ribbon. When Sahren told his father, there was an uproar. Sahren assumed it was because his father was homophobic, but in reality, Athras didn’t want him to marry a mage after what happened to his wife, worried the situation would repeat itself. About a year or so later, tragedy strikes yet again. This time, slavers attack the clan because they got too close to the Tevinter border for too long. Athras gives himself up to them after some fighting so they leave the rest of the clan alone. Sahren comes to the clan, smelling blood and ash. Feladara convinces him to save his father, but in the fighting when they catch up, Feladara dies in Sahren’s arms. Sahren becomes incredibly distant and unapproachable, always sleeping alone on the outskirts of camp whether he’s hunting or not, and begins to drink alcohol often to numb his feelings. The worst part: he gets drunk in trees and high places. He never falls from the trees, though- he considers them places of safety, away from other people who see how bitter he is and avoid him anyway. Over the course of the game he gradually mellows out, makes friends, drinks less. But the game just gives him the worst luck based on his choices, and the backstory I wrote myself for him gives him reason for those choices. So he’s surprisingly open about spirits, interested in learning new lore about his own culture from Solas, even becoming friends with him, and with nearly everyone else, even Cassandra and Cullen, who are very Andrastian in their faith.

He goes from being blamed for the explosion to being praised as the Herald of Andraste, sent by the Maker Himself to save Thedas. The worst part is, he doesn’t even believe in the Maker and hates the Andrastian faith, but no matter how often he forces himself into a Dalish figure and acts deliberately blasphemous while denying that he is the Herald people still praise him as Inquisitor and later on, ask him who should lead the Chantry. He absolutely loathes the role, and the way people look at him because of it. His inner circle is full of interesting, loyal people of all races and walks of life, and somehow, despite his prickly nature he ends up befriending them all, while successfully saving the world for a time. I’m going to cut this short before it turns into an entire biography, haha!

Character Profile

NAME: Ghilina Lavellan

NICKNAME: Ghili (Gill-lee)

AGE: 30 at start of Inquisition

SPECIES: Elf

GENDER: Female

ORIENTATION: Sapiosexual

INTERESTS, HOBBIES, PASTIMES: Ghilina's prowess with magic classifies her strongly as a Mage. Even so, she holds an interest in rogue talents and skills. Because of this, you will often find Ghilina at the end of the day venting frustrations of the day with every arrow loosed from her bow.

Ghilina also has creative interests, such as self expression through dance (think modern and lyrical meets ballet) and music. She cannot play an instrument to save her life, in fact many musicians go out of their way to keep their instruments from her reach. However, Ghilina does enjoy singing elven folk songs and lullabies to an audience of none. 

SPECIALIZATION: Rift Mage. Ghilina always had an interest and fascination with the Fade and the spirits that swelled there ever since she was young. When that fascination came to light among members of her clan, they feared for her safety and sternly discouraged her interest. They told tales of demons masquerading as friendly spirits in the hopes of encouraging her to agree to possession. The normalized superstition and fear pressures Ghilina into agreeing to stifle any interest in the Fade she had. She had all but forgotten her fascination when she met Solas, who rekindled it anew. That fascination gave way to her study of Fade magic with the help of her trainer and Solas.

BODY TYPE:  Lithe, willowy spoon (pear) shaped figure. 

EYES: Icy blue

HAIR: Long, wavy, raven-black hair

SKIN:  Fair, milky white

HEIGHT:  167 cm (5'6")

COMPANIONS: Cassandra and Blackwall have saved Ghilina's hide more times than she would care to count. Whether it be from a surprise flank attack, or a charging shield wielder. Thank goodness for her Fadestep ability. 

Dorian quickly became Ghilina's closest friend within the Inquisition. She trusts him implicitly, and as such he often accompanies her outside Skyhold. Iron Bull also tends to accompany them, as Ghilina enjoys his company and unique yet unimposing views. 

Varric she enjoys around for his stories and his wit, while Cole she enjoys to have around for the insights he offers and the swift knife in the dark that protects her from harm. 

The only companions that typically remain at Skyhold, with the exception of extenuating circumstances, are Vivienne and Sera. Vivienne is enjoyable when she is discussing nobility scandals, etiquette, and fashion. However, Ghilina has found on more than one occasion Vivienne's very conservative views on Mage rights and the Chantry have been at odds with her more progressive ones. 

For a similar reason, Sera tends to stay within the confines of Skyhold, terrorizing the nobility, due to her rather offensive and unapologetic views of elves and elven culture. 

COLOURS: White, Lavender, Black

SMELLS: The wet earth after a fresh rain, lilacs, cedar

FRUITS: She loves the sweet tart of Rivaini peaches, and the spiced baked apples of Antiva. Strawberries grown in Fereldan's Hinterlands are also very sweet and juicy.

DRINKS: Not much of a drinker at all. Sometimes socially. 

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: If there is anything that doesn't taste strongly of alcohol, or has a sweet taste to it, Ghilina will drink it on the off chance she decides to do so.

SMOKES: Not applicable.

BAD HABITS: biting her lip when thinking, strumming her fingers when waiting impatiently, and fidgeting with or picking at whatever is in her hands of she is nervous or anxious.

GOOD HABITS: proper hygiene maintenance, up early each morning, goes for a morning walk along the ramparts (greets the soldiers along the way), and mostly keeps a healthy diet.

What do they say about themselves?

Eyes blue and piercing like the frigid bite of a plunge into a frozen lake peered back at you from beneath long, dark lashes; a rather thick tome cradled in her lap. Those twin pools of winter made your heart thud inside your chest. You wondered, momentarily, if this was how the canary feels before a cat.

All around were shelves of musty tomes waiting to be read, their fading gilded titles illuminated in the dancing torchlight. Tomes with tattered spines lay stacked unevenly amidst scattered parchment upon a time-worn table at her side.

Her eyes closed, brow knotted as a frustrated sigh passed her bow-shaped lips. The tome in her lap slammed shut with an echoing thud before it was gingerly rested upon the table's surface beside her. 

The simple white gown she donned complimented her lithe figure, glistening in the torchlight with her movements. Silk, perhaps? Her hands gripped the armrest edges as she leaned into her high-backed chair. A leg gracefully swept beneath the other until they rested askew, interwoven at the ankles with one another.

Her eyes met yours then, and not only did she meet your gaze, she held it there. Pinned. And as your heart continued to thrum in your chest, you realized then that this woman who was lovely yet appeared so frail, was in fact a spider sitting patiently upon her web. Never to be underestimated. Though she may be beautiful, she was equally as deadly. Only a fool would overlook such knowledge. 

As you debated internally with yourself whether to feel awed or intimidated, her gaze lowered from yours to the floor before she spoke, "What I have to say of myself may no longer apply. The young Dalish woman I was before, the woman who stumbled out of a rift, she became who I am for a role she didn't ask for." 

Her voice was soft and sad as her fingertips thoughtlessly touched the bare flesh of her cheek. But when she looked up at you, hand fallen away, she was beaming, "Though looking back, if I could never go back to who I was before, I believe I could make peace with that."

Smile still playing upon her lips, she picked up her book from the table and opened it to the page she had last left it. 

So this was a post I found while browsing the tags on @honeypeabrain 's blog. It looked like fun and I could think of many on this side of Solavellan Hell who would enjoy this. So...

Tagging || @waterwhisp-rivergoblin @wayward-lavellan @modernagesomniari @dreamerlavellan @dreadwollf @calwyne @my-solavellan-hell @sopml @solaspls @riazures @river-goddess-sionann @lavellanpls @wepepe-draws @ar-lath-ma-vhenan

And anyone else who wants to participate. No pressure if you don't. If you have done this before, please disregard. If you don't want to be tagged, let me know.

White Nights, Chapter 3: The Broadsheet

A year after Trespasser, Lavellan takes a new lover to a quiet inn in Val Royeaux. She steps out to the balcony for a quick smoke under the stars, looks over to the balcony adjacent to hers--and who is there but the Dread Wolf himself, slightly disguised, with a glass of wine? Despite themselves they talk, and do not stop talking.

“Entertain me,” Solas says. “What ending will Master Tethras write for us? Because I do not know how to leave this gracefully. Though I suppose any ending is better than the last one, when I left with your arm.” Chapter 3, The Broadsheet: Lavellan leaves, and Solas wanders. He goes to a barber shop, he is accosted by a drunk young man, and settles down to read at the Cafe Vhenadahl--where all roads in Val Royeaux lead.

Read on AO3 here. Click for Chapter One and Chapter Two.

She leaves and he lays down on the pier listening to the tide til he can breathe again. He should not have come here, but how often he thinks that, how often he regrets. The city will wake soon, and she will leave, and he will have only a miracle to marvel over--that they were contemporaries, born three millennia apart, that what was once an encampment of wattle-and-daub turned into plaster islands. What a miracle, that these vast blinking buildings witnessed the two of them talk. He pulls himself up and crosses his legs, forcing himself to stare out to the horizon and ignore the city at his back. It does no good to mythologize. Val Royeaux has grown. It has witnessed many great loves. She had met her husband here, Solas knows. He cannot pretend he has marked this landscape for her, and he cedes that his interpretation of this place is now totally shaped by her. He may have been here first, of course, catching a glimpse at those rather fetid quicklings, but she has made this world hers.

Solas thinks, I live in a world of her intervention. His lips quirk into a rueful smile: is a pun bad if there is no one else to hear it? Don’t think about what she would think. Invention, intervention:  he sees is, shapes it in his image, and she intervenes. The black sky begins to purple, and the horizon becomes distinguishable. Solas stands up and stretches his weary back. He is growing old by everyone’s standards. He strokes his beard thoughtfully. Truly he should not have underestimated their ability for recall. He always assumed he was little more than a pair of pointed ears to the Inquisition, and that if he softened his strongest features, he could pass unnoticed. Arrogant, foolish, he sighs. It had been fun while it lasted. He needs to get a shave, and barbershops have always been wonderful places to measure the pulse of a place. He does like to wax dramatic about battlefields and the like, but he loves the little clinging wisps who bite, curious, into a memory of a vain man regretting his weak chin, or a woman laughing as she is presented with a balding head. He touches his hairline self-consciously. He is aging, by everyone’s standards. Perhaps he should shave it again too. The things of the body distract from the unsolvable misery of the mind. He turns back into the Val Royeaux alienage, thinking about dying. The world has been in decay: true, but what is living but a slow death? It is moronic, cheap philosophy, an excuse for despair. He has met a woman he would rather not live without, and so, chose a quicker death. Mythal’s justice will see that his sacrifice has meaning. Solas passes by a shrine built into a recess in the wall and pauses, curious to see whom it commemorates. The All-Mother as the dragon stands, wings outstretched, flanked by two halla rampant. All three stone figurines are garlanded with flowers. Mythal wears a necklace of what the humans call Andraste’s Grace. Ghilan’nain wears embrium. In the plaster framing the shrine, someone scratched a snarling wolf, directed towards the docks and the alienage exit. Solas sours. He ripped the world asunder so the people may be free. He thought he had banished the remnants of the false gods to the Beyond, locked in the eluvians of Arlathan. He had thought wrong. All that remained of Elvhenan were its most egregious acts: the brand of the vallaslin and the haughty silence of their gods. And he is not even allowed within, he who had shaken them to freedom in the first place. But isn’t freedom a sin? His agents tell him of the horror and disgust they felt, when they found that the vallaslin was a slave mark--that that was what their revered ancestors had decided to preserve. Some petty lordling kept marking his serfs, even as their cities fell out of the sky, and that was all that remained--the need to brand ownership on each other. Solas clenches his fists, the usual rage stirring his skin too taut. He ripped away what had made them them. Brutality was his only legacy. As soon as he fell into uthenera, the People fell upon each other--and to Tevinter, and to the Chantry, and to the Blight. He mutters to himself, “Banal nadas,” and walks away from the shrine. Nothing is inevitable. The Void is inevitable. Small comfort, in times with little comfort: but he must endure. Solas walks through the quiet shuttered streets, pulling his cloak around him. He huffs. He does not enjoy journeying through the night anyway, not as he had as a youth. He likes to sleep, not only because his body only seems set and under his own agency when he returns to the Fade, but because each day takes so much from him. He is not so lost as he had been with the Inquisition, he tells himself, but of course he does not know where he is in these spiralling streets, he does not know where he has left his heart, he does not know when he will return to that hotel. He had not left anything he needs, he could keep moving. He cannot afford the risk of seeing her again, but of course he must, because he finds himself tracing her footsteps. This had been her home. She had lived here for her most formative year, learned that Orlesian drawl from quietly serving in the kitchens of the Val Royeaux nobility, met the father of her children and galvanized her whole life. Solas puts a hand over his face, grimacing. She is dying, she will die anyway. When he raised the Veil, he took away her right to life. His beard feels greasy, like costume make-up. He catches sight of himself distorted in a puddle and sighs. He had always been minimalist in his appearance, besides his dress armor, which is admittedly ridiculous. Mythal had commissioned that for him, and he had loved her for it, because it was exactly the sort of camp he adores. He looks at the gray in his hair and his beard and smiles ruefully. He has grown too old for that flamboyance, perhaps, though he will always love a dramatic costume. But this is who he is now: a tired man, running sick in middle age, wearing muted but well-tailored robes. His head itches and he wrinkles his nose. It was popular both in Elvhenan and this strange new world for men to shave their heads; back then, it had made him anonymous. But now he is too tall, and Lavellan always told him his swagger is unmistakable. He once heard Iron Bull giggle to Dorian that he shakes his ass while he walks, which well--it is amusing that Iron Bull was looking. Solas resolves suddenly to shave his head and beard. There is no point in keeping the hair if he is still recognizable with it--yet another useless vanity, like how well-fitting his tunic and leggings are. Luckily, the barbershops of Val Royeaux are still open. They are part of the social fabric of the city and the alienage, and he stops at the first one he finds. The occupants glance at him curiously: a man reading a cheaply-printed broadsheet that he recognizes as Lavellan’s own paper, a barber carefully cutting a woman’s hair, and a half-undressed harlequin, who has taken off their cowl but not their greasepaint. Solas smiles slightly. He does enjoy what has become of Val Royeaux. The barber is talking politics, as one does. He looks up briefly to flick Solas with his eyes to the next chair. Solas sits in the chair and makes himself comfortable. He watches and listens. “Mythal knows Briala won’t be able to keep Gaspard in check for much longer,” the barber says. The woman, his customer, grunts. “Particularly with the Inquisition troops discharged. Mind, I don’t mind having those boys back in the Dales, especially since they know how to be led by an elf. Pious, sure, but not hateful. But what will they do when the guards come? What shem turns against their own kind?” “The Divine did,” the man with the broadsheet says. He folds it in half, ink on his fingers. “She restored Shartan.” The woman snorts. She sits up in her chair and pushes the barber’s hand away. Turning to him, she says, “Lovely. So we can go into the Chantry and sing Shartan’s canticle in Orlesian now, and if you want your daughter can join and spread the Maker’s light.” “Not my daughter,” the man says, amused. “She’s going to Manon’s school, and the Keeper’s college after that.” “Then you see my point,” she says. “The emptiness of the gesture. We’re allowed to worship in their spaces. What about our own? I’d believe it if she had them all singing Shartan in Dalish Tevene.” “Do you even know Dalish Tevene?” the barber snorts. “Not even those Fen’Harel types speak that.” Solas watches silently. The man with the broadsheet asks, “Which types? Fen’Harel’s Teeth or those...agents of the god? Because I’ve met Imladris Ashallin, and heard her sing it in the original--her Mahanon wrote the music, remember him?” “The god’s people.” The barber waves the scissors at him. “That cult that keeps prophesying a new Elvhenan. I’ll take the Freemen of the Dales over that nugshit. Who cares what we were two thousand years ago? If Briala doesn’t do something soon, we’re all fucked. You remember what they did to Halamshiral. I’m telling you, if you start seeing guards at the gates again--it’s time to run.” Solas crosses his legs and holds his head up. “Where?” he asks. “Where will you go if the guards block the gates? Where will you go if the fight comes your way?” The barber says, “You want a trim or a shave? Looking a little greasy, lethallin.” The harlequin suddenly gets up and heads to the back. The woman in her chair sighs and stands. She pats the back of her bobbed hair, and swings her head side to side. “Good job,” she says. “Loved the talk. Now, I’m going to head to the Vhenadahl and see if the revelry’s stopped. By now, they’ll be playing the ballads, and you know how I like to be sad.” She pays. Solas recognizes the flash of coin as a new mint. It has a Dalish mask etched onto it. He knows they are popular in the alienages across the Chantry’s remit. He knows few use them outside what passes as elvhenan. The barber says, “So. Shave? Haircut? Both?” “Both,” Solas says. “As you said yourself--I have seen better days.” He leaves the shop a few coins lighter and a copy of the broadsheet under his arm. Dawn is breaking. The wind is cool against his scraped skin. He wanders towards the center of the district, picking out narrow side streets, pondering what he has heard. The elves of Val Royeaux remember the pogroms, what the Inquisitor had called the Harrowing of Halamshiral, and he knows the emperor’s men hunt Dalish for sport when the Marquise is otherwise detained. He has had plenty of Dalish come his way, seeking justice otherwise denied to them, and though he has no plans for war with Orlais once Tevinter and the Qun are finished throttling each other, perhaps he should coach his recruits to change their approach. Religiosity certainly works amongst the slaves of Tevinter and the disenchanted of Ferelden. In Orlais, they need something more ecumenical. He has never been fond of cults, but has allowed his lieutenants to adapt to their condition as they deem fit. It is clear he must instill some sort of discipline, because this reputation has gotten well out of hand. He would rather they call them terrorists than cultists. Elvhenan will return, not from the devotion of the People, but their sheer bloody-mindedness. Dawn creeps rosy-fingered through the blue as best it could. Solas’ leg aches, a very ancient injury, and he stops to stretch. He glances worriedly upwards, anticipating rain, and then someone flings himself over his leg. Solas grabs him by the collar and steadies him onto his feet. “Ma serannas, hahren,” the young man says. “I am very drunk.” Solas is amused despite himself. “I can smell that,” he says. The boy smells very strongly of aniseed, and his collar is stained. He is carelessly good-looking, in a way that makes Solas envy his lost youth. It has been a very long time since those white nights spent carousing through Arlathan, between endless campaigns and before the last war. The drunk young man stares at him blearily. “The bald,” he says. “It suits you.” Solas laughs. “Yes,” he says. He nudges him gently forward, but the man slopes and grabs at him unsteadily. Solas instinctively takes him by his wrists. The young man licks his lips. Solas very quickly releases him, but does not back away. He does not want to give him a reason  to step closer. “You have eyes like a pride demon,” the young man says. “Do you want to get a drink?” Orlesians: Solas cannot stop himself from groaning aloud. Besides the hidden truth that Solas is at least three millennia his senior, he looks at least twice his age. Solas himself had always fished around the young, when he was a wild youth. “No,” he says. “Please sober up.” “Now you really do sound like my father,” the young man says. Solas says, “Have you ever met a man called Dorian Pavus? I do truly think you would enjoy each other.” “Ugh,” the young man says. “I am done with dread Tevenes with flighty hearts. I will--fling my emotions to the dungheap,” he demonstrates, pressing both hands to his chest and flinging them out, “and then seek passion only for passion’s sake. No intimacy, no late-night confessions, no building plans.” Solas is intrigued despite himself. Mythal would call it his insatiable appetite for gossip; Solas prefers to think it is his generous love for people, in all their forms. The drunk young man sees his interest. “Yes, for he wanted to go into business, in my own father’s house! As if my father would ever condone the match.” He feels like he has stepped into the prologue of some wonderfully silly Orlesian opera: a prodigal son, a forbidden love, and an angry father. Solas asks, “What sort of business?” The boy smiles. “Mask-making, of course. For the elves of Orlais.  To celebrate the dawn of the restoration of our natural nobility. I could make one for you, though you have such an interesting face, it’d be a shame to mask it.” He laughs, staggering back a bit. “Love and profit! What am I saying? My father would love the opportunity. True artisans, we could become. Who cares that he’s Tevene, and at least three-quarters shem? He loves me, and I might love him!” It is almost a tragedy that this boy met his “dread Tevene” rather than Master Pavus, though Solas knows he is quite happy with his occasional rendezvous with the Iron Bull. He empathizes with the boy: he has loved many people, but that has not made them partners. Love does not necessarily make a relationship steady enough to commit. He hesitates, Lavellan as always a step away from his mind. She would be utterly amused by this scene. He wishes he could tell her. She looked like she needs to laugh. “Da’len,” Solas says, “it would be better if you do than if you do not. Take what happiness you can, while this world still lasts.” “Fenhedis,” the young man says, “you’re not one of those Fen’Harel cultists, are you?” He waves a hand dismissively at him, as uniquely Orlesian as any courtier Solas spotted at court. “Go off to your reckoning, lethallin, I’ve got my life to live.” Solas says, “I truly hope you do,” and walks away. The morning has come upon him, thin and cool. Solas is irritated from lack of sleep and, he must admit, the blow to the ego this night has been. What had he expected? Lavellan always surprises him, leaving wrong-footed and reaching for excuses like he has never had before. The elves of Val Royeaux view him with disdain, and brand him a hypocrite. He has not amassed a cult. He has always avoided the worship, even when Mythal would force him to perform, and it has been a long time since he has been bound by the vallaslin. He touches his face, comfortingly smooth. Removing the brands left little scarring. What remains are his own mistakes. He has bungled the whole approach, but at least he has learned a lesson: though flamboyant and cynical like the People always were, the elves of Val Royeaux do not trust any lost promise, not like the Dalish of the Dirth, or the elves of ravaged Halamshiral. They may be doubtful of Briala, but they trust in her, even as they prepare to flee when she fails. Solas sighs. He wonders how so many have heard of his agents so quickly, and how their reputation has been so quickly established. He glances at the broadsheet he took from the barbershop. Perhaps this cheap printed pamphlet will answer his questions--and he has always enjoyed an excuse to analyze how Lavellan’s mind works. He ambles to the Vhenadahl and finds himself a table at a near-by cafe. Val Royeaux is renowned for its cafe culture, and its alienage is no exception. The waiter insists on bringing him a milky cup of java, some drink the Qunari popularized, after their expansion into Seheron, and a fresh croissant. He folds the paper and begins to read the editorial, written by the woman he unabashedly still loves: “The Dread Wolf does not lie but omits the truth. I should know. I slept with him.” He snorts. He continues to read, sipping gingerly at the cup, “We know the truth that our gods were slavers and our markings the mark of our ancestors’ slavery. But, my people, we are not our ancestors. The Dalish wear the vallaslin with Pride,” the missprint catches his eye, “because we know it is the mark of those that survived. Though he does not understand it, he has let the children of his fallen empire survive more wholly than they could have under any reformation of ancient Elvhenan. Because the people, the ordinary laboring people, who fought for their freedom to begin with, outlasted those that had bound them to their will. Shartan rose, and in constant mien’harellin the People have followed. We know that though we are occupied, we have never been truly conquered. For we are the Elvhen, and never do we submit.” Solas places the broadsheet down onto the table and slams his hand over it, angry now. He stares unseeingly at the piazza, barely registering the flowering Vhenadahl reaching taller than even the alienage walls. The slow arrow has struck, and he is the monster. Felassan clearly got around more than he assumed. Felassan knew Briala, and Briala knows Lavellan. He had never supposed them such good friends, but of course they must be strategizing together. Briala wants her Elvhenan firmly in Orlais, and Lavellan--Lavellan always has the world to save. But he does, too. She must have written it, because she folded a compliment into it. He looks at his hands and sees the ink has smeared onto them. Sighing, he dips a cloth napkin into his water and washes his hands and face. At least the croissant is fresh. At least this city is beautiful. At least she is his contemporary. The wind takes up, and he closes his eyes and breathes in the taste of the sea and petrichor. When he opens them, the rain has begun, and he draws into himself to keep warm. Solas wraps a hand around the cup and takes a sip. It is bitter, but it makes him feel better. The rain dots the flowers held in pots delineating the cafe grounds; he brushes a drop off a pansy. It is good to be alive. He does not deserve it, but it is good. The rain whispers the early morning, and Solas leans back in his chair and revels in it. He has the cafe almost entirely to himself, and the waiter approaches his table to watch others scurry from the Vhenadahl and their stoops and their balconies. Shutters close and other shutters reopen. A woman with bobbed hair glances out from one window. Solas recognizes her, she does not see him, and after surveying the piazza, she closes the window firmly. He smiles: such life, all beyond him! He supposes she found her revelry. A human man and an elvhen woman dart into the cafe. They are clearly together, but they do not touch. The man reaches for her hand when they settle at a table, her back to Solas, but he sees the woman pull the way. “What do you want?” Lavellan says. “I didn’t mean for this to turn to such shit.” Solas quietly leaves his table and pays his bill at the bar wordlessly. He leaves, knowing it would not matter if he hides his face--she has his walk memorized. He glances at their table .She is reaching for Anders’ hand now, and as he goes she looks up. His eyes meet hers but she looks away.

ZevWarden Week 2020 Prompt Day 1 : Eye of the beholder

Identity || Admiration @zevraholics

Also on AO3

It’s refreshing to see fluid grace of a warrior, when he makes a noise on purpose and Alistair leaps from his spot, book forgotten, hand reflexively closing on the sword leaning on table beside armchair. He suspected the king had grown soft when all the fighting ended, the battles changing from physical to intellectual games.

“Show yourself!”

He lets out a chuckle, stepping out of shadows, heavy curtain falling behind him with soft thud.

“Ah, it’s you.” Alistair’s shoulders relax slightly, and though he watches him warily, his sword lowers. “Here to stick poisoned knife into someone? Just so you know, I won’t go down without fight.” The hand on sword’s handle grips it a bit tighter before his fingers uncurl to deceptively lazy hold. Easy to change with right speed and momentum.

Zevran’s eyebrow goes up. “It’s private visit. Besides,” he grins, spreading his arms with palms open, “I’m out of Crows’ business, I don’t kill kings anymore. Unless, you have someone in mind, I could try to find a spot in my schedule. I’d even give you a discount.” He winks, glancing around the room. Alistair rolls his eyes and puts the sword on the table in reachable distance. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“And what is the point of your visit, if not assassination attempt?” 

Sharp golden eyes narrow slightly. “Had many so far? Fresh lines are always so fragile and easy to uproot, many would leap for a chance.” Zevran drawls lightly, watching Alistair shift and trying to keep neutral face. He has to work on that more if he wants to be successful.

“All my tips for upping the security not used. You tempt fate, my friend.” Zevran tuts.

“Are you my friend, Zevran?”

“Oh, I hope so. After all, saving the world from horrible monsters brings people together, or so I’ve heard.”

Alistair snorts, his unfriendly composure falling. “I guess,” he murmurs and rubs the back of his neck, looking down for a moment and Zevran uses it to look him up and down properly, noticing how very nicely shirt stretches over his chest. He hums softly in his throat. Still in shape it seems. Alistair shoots him a look, “Not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but why are you here? And how did you even get here? It’s second floor.” 

Zevran shrugs, undoing clasps of his cloak, draping it over the back of second armchair and casually sitting down.

“On my way to Keep. I’ve been in the area, thought I’ll see how king is faring. And wanted to test attention of your guards. It was this or pose as a servant and I wasn’t exactly in mood to dress up. You should think about replacing them, by the way.” He glances up at Alistair, still standing and gestures for the armchair he sat before. “In king’s palace not a mouse should be able to pass and here you can carry entire sheep and no one would bat an eye.” Zevran leans back, making himself comfortable. “Or I’m just that good.” He purrs and Alistair shakes his head, going for heavy wooden cabinet and sitting down with two goblets and bottle of wine. 

“It’s good to see your manners didn’t stay in woods, dear Alistair.” Zevran teases, watching him closely. “Did you offer the same courtesy to Vergil last you’ve seen him?”

He stiffens immediately, grip on his goblet making his knuckles whiten. “He ordered city to burn.”

“And did you talk about it with him? Surely there was a reason to do so.”

“Because he’s always about reason and logic.” Alistair snaps through gritted teeth. Rich brown eyes squint at him, “You really don’t know anything?”

“Only bits and pieces.” The wine in his goblet swirls with flick of his wrist close to spilling, but not a drop leaves it. “It’s hard to keep regular correspondence when one tries to avoid being tracked down. Besides, he’s careful with what he says in his letters.”

“There was a hearing.” 

Zevran tilts his head, keeping quiet.

Alistair takes a long gulp of his wine, putting down the goblet with more force than necessary and reaching for the bottle. “Few of my advisors were there as well to hear Arl’s reasoning of taking down entire city, when it was his duty to protect it. As well as break important trade route,” he stresses the words, grimacing when the wine almost sloshes out of his goblet, “crippling one of Ferelden’s most crucial ports for years to come.” He stares into the goblet before he brings it to his lips, sipping it more carefully. Zevran drinks as well, keeping his gaze on Alistair when their eyes meet. “There were voices to strip the arling from him before he even came to the hearing.”

“Did you have a hand in it too?” 

“With how many rumors and conspiracy theories spreading about him and Wardens? I wanted to.” Alistair huffs, “I wanted to take it away and let him see consequences of his actions. Show him he’s not always right and he’s able to fuck up.” He nearly growls and drinks again.

Zevran leans forward, both of his elbows digging on his thighs as he staples his fingers. “But you didn’t.” He watches Alistair closely, noticing the slight slump on lines of his shoulders.

“I didn’t, even if I really wanted to.” The bitterness carries in his voice. “I shouldn’t hold grudges as a king, should I. Even for backstabbing brothers in arms.” 

“I think backstabbing is important part of any friendships.” Zevran smiles briefly. “Why didn’t you do it then?”

Alistair sighs, “Amaranthine is a mess and he’s sitting right there. It’s his mess and he should sort it out. And Order needs its own land.” He’s silent for a moment, brows furrowed. Short beard rasps under his hand when he rubs at his jaw. “He brought Howe with him, apparently made him Warden. We talked a bit,” slight smile plays on his lips, “Nathaniel’s nowhere as his father, it seems.” 

“So I’ve heard. Have you talked with Vergil as well?”

Alistair’s jaw works upon hearing his name. “Commander Surana hasn’t requested for an audience.” He says flatly, fingers drumming on low table. 

“You haven’t talked at all for over a year? Somehow it’s hard to believe.” 

“Official correspondence sorts most of what we have to talk about.” Zevran hums at the curt tone and decides to let it go, for now. He leans back again.

“What was this hearing about then?”

“Questioning reports, considering petitions, some petty power plays and looking down at the one you’re talking with. The usual.” 

Zevran rests his cheek on his fist. “I suppose it didn’t go so bad, as I haven’t heard about Warden Commander enjoying hospitality of Drakon again.”

Alistair scoffs. “Don’t be absurd, I wouldn’t put him in dungeon and risk another bloodbath. I have a reputation to keep and he’d only embarrass me more. Maker only knows who’d come after me then.” Corners of his lips twitch as he fights down a smile, gaze wary and Zevran nods. 

“Wise decision, my friend. As much as I like you it’d be a real shame if I’d have to choose.” He says and Alistair shudders like he’d been doused with cold water.

“See, you’re saying you’re out of business, but that glint in your eye says otherwise. Assassins.”

Zevran’s smile has too much teeth to be called entirely friendly.

“You don’t have to worry though. No one put him behind bars, no one touched him in any way. I think most of them were secretly intimidated by how calm he was when they hurled accusations at him. He had answer to almost every question. Brought full reports not only on Wardens’ past actions about darkspawn activity, but few important documents about situation in Amaranthine before he razed it down to the ground. It seems few decisive nobles did the city good,” the sarcasm nearly drips on the words, “some not so openly working with smugglers, most evading taxes or taking money from crown for investments that didn’t happen or were mysteriously postponed.” There’s a reluctant regard in Alistair’s tone. “Of course there are voices saying those documents are false and these voices are loud, I tell you.”

“The lady doth protest too much.”

“Exactly.” Alistair sighs and slowly swallows a mouthful of wine.

“You wanted to see him on his knees, no?” Alistair coughs at the sudden question and narrows his eyes at him. Zevran’s smile stays playful but sharpens with his next words, “To punish prideful man like him and see how he reacts, knowing he’s dependent on you.”

“He had to answer for what he did. Crown contemplates helping with rebuild, but won’t give money just because someone asks.”

“Oh? But you watched others pick at him without remorse because they could. What you did was to humiliate him for your own satisfaction.”

“He traded honor for murderer in his ranks.” Alistair spits, though Zevran sees it doesn’t carry the same fire it did a year ago.

Zevran tsks, “That’s talk you should have with him after sharing few bottles of good vintage, I think. And how honorable is your own court, I wonder? Vergil’s elven mage in power, Chantry can’t touch him because he’s Warden and one of saviors of this country, but it’ll always be a struggle for him to stay that way. And they’ll keep biting at him from every angle, with or without your help. Including few failed assassinations attempt.”

“Someone wanted to kill him? Who?” 

Zevran rolls his shoulders to shake off the tension creeping up his nape. “My guess is as good as yours, but I’m sure it’s nobles who disagreed with Arl’s politics on their turf. It got handled, pretty well, I’ve been told. One of his Wardens tried to kill him before he was conscripted.”

Alistair almost chokes on his own spit, “And he got him through joining?” Disbelief paints his words, as he looks Zevran up and down. “It’s a pattern, I swear. Does he sleep with him as well?”

He barks a laugh and Alistair smiles at his own joke too. “I hope I’d have been told if he’s doing so. Wouldn’t mind bit of fun with fellow professional.” Zevran waggles his brows meaningfully and Alistair shakes his head with small smirk, “You’re impossible.”

“Well, you already know him, I believe. It’s Howe.”

His eyes widen, “Nathaniel?! Really?” Alistair’s silent for a moment, “He seemed silent, serious… intense eyes though. Completely different from you.”

“Your flavour of a man?” Zevran snickers at baffled expression on Alistair’s face.

“I have a wife, you know.” He says flatly, though a bit of blush darkens his cheeks. 

“How is it going with your wife then? I can give you few tips for performance in-”

Alistair interrupts him, purposely raising his voice, “Oh no, we are not talking about any performance, not now, not ever.”

Zevran sighs, hand going to his chest in mock display of hurt. “You wound me my friend, I only want to be helpful in case your wife finds you lacking-”

“Shut up Zevran.” The tips of Alistair’s ears are a wonderful shade of red and he can’t help but chuckle at his expression. Alistair busies himself with drinking rest of his wine, “Not a word.” He points at him and Zevran rolls his lips with murmured “Fereldens”.

“Thank the Maker Vergil’s far from being such prude.”

“I have no idea what you see in him,” Alistair quips in between sips.

Zevran’s eyes lock with his. “Oh I think you do, after all he’s marvellous to look at. And this thing he does with his fingers when he uses magic to-”

“I’ve heard enough of you two during Blight, thanks. I really don’t need to hear it again.”

“Have you?” His smile is impish, eyes narrowed playfully. “But I could swear there was always some spell in motion preventing others from hearing… though you’ve got templar training, no? I guess it’d be easy to dispel if you’d wanted to spy on us.”

He watches how Alistair’s throat works when he swallows. “I’ve never dispelled a thing he casted and definitely not on purpose of spying you two having… your time alone. Can we drop it now, I have no idea how you’ve even come to this idea.”

“Easily, if you do it right.” He laughs when Alistair’s mouth thins.

“I should kick you out for making fun of king.”

“I think you miss people joking with you. Being so serious all the time, how do you manage that?”

Alistair groans, rubbing his face, “Barely. But it amuses me greatly knowing he has as much paperwork as I do.”

“Hmm yes. Remember our little meeting during last fight? You probably haven’t seen it, but he was very glad to see you there. King out in the field, fighting monsters that plague his people. Equal to his soldiers. Inspiring.” 

“I couldn’t exactly stay and take a nap in palace when Denerim was overrun with darkspawn. Too much noise.”

“Outside or in your head?” Zevran asks and tilts his head to the side when Alistair’s gaze sharpens.

“He told you about it?”

“Didn’t have to. I’ve noticed both of you had this particular scowl just before darkspawn would spring at us. Nearing end of battles the look was almost permanent on Vergil’s face.”

Alistair bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. “All of it feels like yesterday.” He mumbles and they stay quiet for rest of the bottle.

“You could stay here for a night, you know.” Alistair says, standing up and stretching after they finished their drinks. The shirt rides up a bit and it’s a fine sight for someone who can appreciate one’s body.

“Are you ready to risk being seen with man walking out from your bedroom in the morning? And so early in your reign, bold, Alistair. Just imagine the scandal.” He gets up as well, working out few kinks before he tries himself with walls again. Alistair scoffs at his words, more amused than offended and Zevran suspects alcohol helped him relax.

“I’ll stay in Pearl. It’s a wonder how half of city was raided by darkspawns and brothel stayed in one piece. It’s a sign, don’t you think my friend?” He winks. 

“For what, investment? Can’t see it going well.”

“At least it’s steady source of income.” Zevran puts on his cloak, securing the hood over his head and pulling on mask covering half of his face. “By the way, wine wasn’t poisoned.” 

Alistair isn’t surprised, scratching at his nose. “Yeah I’ve noticed. No burning tongue or sudden choking. Just some sour fermented grapes.” He makes a face, “Still prefer good ale better.”

Zevran’s smile is pleased, even if hidden behind dark thin fabric. “I see you took my advice to heart with sampling poisons. Good.”

“Yours have run out some time ago. Leliana sent fresh set. I checked if it’s from her, don’t worry.” He adds hurriedly when Zevran’s eyes narrow. 

“I guess she has her ways too.” He strides towards window, gracefully hopping onto windowsill, crouching on it. Zevran turns to Alistair, seeing how he came closer to peer out of the window. “See you soon, my friend. Maybe even in different company.” 

Alistair crosses his arms and rocks on his heels, “Maybe.” He lengthens the word and Zevran laughs quietly under his breath as he opens the window, glancing around for threats.

“Fereldens. Stubborn as their dogs.”

Faint offended “Hey!” behind him makes his smile stretch. Then he notices a spot he’s been looking for, free falling a bit and gripping it in time to avoid flattening himself on cobblestone. It’s a quick way after that and he’s out of premises faster than it took him to get in. Alistair really should do something about guards, he thinks, walking through Denerim's streets, shadows easily swallowing him up as they belong to him.

i want to Enable so 3, 28, 29, and 30 for skylar/lucio and also kendra/bull AND ALSO caedan/morrigan.

Skylar/Lucio

3. Most common argument?

Lucio: “Tell Salsa to stop eating my shirts!” Skylar: “Fuck off I have.”

28. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

A real-er answer is that Skylar reads, or spends time with the pets. He likes going out and about cities to learn the people and culture. Lucio’s solution to his “don’t wanna be alone” disease (incurable) is to just be around Skylar at all times.

29. One headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

Do you want spoilers or not, Rey?

After [redacted] whenever Skylar gets sick Lucio’s in a state of “want to help but huge phobia of any and all illnesses now”. Skylar’s the type of person who wants to sleep bad health off; he’s fine with Lucio going anywhere else because he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing Lucio get sick again.

30. One headcanon about this OTP that mends it

There is no mending it there’s only these two trying to love one another within their new boundaries and me crying about it.

Kendra/Bull

3. Most common argument?

They don’t have recurring ones between them, but Bull pulls Kendra away from a fight about once per day. Wait, no, I lied I wasn’t thinking about Kendra’s solo worldstate.

Bull: “So we’re gonna kill Solas, right?” Kendra: “We’re trying the other thing first.” Bull: “Why?” Kendra: “It’s not that simple.” Bull: “Yes it is!”

That disagreement gets continued so long after the wrap-up that Skylar knows it.

28. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Bull spends time with his Chargers or takes the odd mercenary job here and there. During the Inquisition his band would get sent on tasks. Afterwards, he spent time exploring the cliffs of Ostwick.

Kendra mixes poisons and practices knife-throwing, or writes letters and makes trade deals. She liked strolling the grounds at Skyhold and in Ostwick likes walking the beach. Horseback riding is a staple of her day.

29. One headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

Oh boy you ready for Kendra’s deepest, darkest secret Rey? So, during Trespasser, when the Qunari nearly invaded? When the Viddasala tried to get Bull to rejoin the Qun? There was a moment shorter than a second where she expected him to agree. At the time she pushes it down, then pushes it down further, and keeps pushing until it erupts on its own.

Even better is this only happens in her solo worldstate. Her paranoia’s been at max for the entire game and on top of that she’s dealing with the mental, physical, and emotional trauma of the Mark nearly killing her and losing her hand.

30. One headcanon about this OTP that mends it

Bull finds out. Kendra doesn’t come right out and say it, but at one point she snaps and enough comes out that Bull gets it. His response is, “Yeah that’s your paranoid as hell brain being smart?”

Basically it’s the support Kendra gets from him and the famelyan that helps this one. Especially Darrell, with whom a rough conversation of "Talk to someone.” / “To whomst.” / “To me.” takes place and he becomes his sister’s quasi-therapist so she can vent to someone she trusts.

Caedan/Morrigan

Just say you want to romance Caedan and go.

3. Most common argument?

If Caedan gets it into his head he wants to argue a point there is no getting him to stop. It doesn’t matter if he knows he’s wrong; he’s finally in a place he can talk back without Chantry-enforced consequences and he’s going to take full advantage.

They both have issues with conflict due to their upbringings. For both of them it can manifest as either aversion or heightening, and they’ve each stepped over the line a few times with some minor offense. (That being said they are extremely aware of what triggers the other and avoid stepping on those landmines at all costs.)

As for what they argue the most over: interpretations and castings of spells.

28. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Caedan’s canonically a stay at home dad and I love that for him. On top of caring for (and eventually teaching) Kieran, he does his own experiments in magic. Usually blood magic. He loves experimenting with blood magic.

Morrigan likes making things. Generally they come in the shape of small crafts she puts around their home as protective charms, to look pretty, or just because she can. Sometimes they come in the shape of enchanted objects like a snow-globe with infinitely falling snow, or a fireplace that acts like modern day heating.

29. One headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

Caedan very, very nearly didn’t do the dark ritual when Morrigan presented it to him. Logically he knew Morrigan had her own reasons for being there (she certainly wasn’t helping them kill the archdemon out of the goodness of her heart) but it hit hard that this was the reason she had. In the moment, he saw it as a type of betrayal. Because of Alistair (and the other three in the multi protags worldstate) he recognized this was something bigger than him and his feelings on the matter so he agreed to it.

After Morrigan left Caedan was a complete wreck. This was the point in his life when his alcoholic tendencies were at the worst risk of taking over. A large part of it was due to the trauma of growing up in the Circle where people had disappeared on him before and he either never learned what happened to them or they came back Tranquil. Caedan trained himself not to think about it when people vanished from his life and it took a lot of time for the others to convince him it was okay for him to even miss her. Oh, and he tracked time and kept the emotions ring so he knew roughly when their kid was born.

30. One headcanon about this OTP that mends it

I mean they’re together in the end so it works out fine but fuck, you two really had to do this to me on the way there?

I have no excuse. I wanted to write crackfic so I wrote crackfic. It’s not good, but it made me laugh and that’s what I needed so I thought I’d share. Short & sweet.

---

Everybody Has to Start Somewhere

As told by Philliam! The Bard

It is said that when times are darkest, a hero will appear to save the day. They arrive on a pure white horse with flaming sword held aloft, cape billowing in the wind--preferably in slow motion to get the full effect--as they ride to the rescue of whatever malicious malcontent has dared to menace the masses. The variously sized bosoms of maidens and other, lesser known species of virgin may heave at the very mention of the hero’s name, stars filling their eyes as they dream of the moment when they will meet and fate will take its romantic course. Nobles and merchants may vie for the chance to encounter the hero, hoping to bask and benefit in their glory. These are the tales where word spreads far and wide of their magnificence and might, and where capes never tangle, swords never rust, and bears...well, there are no bears. Not in these kinds of tales, at least.

This, however, is not that sort of tale.

Nor is this a tale about a stalwart young woman who, with a face of determination, grabs her grandmother’s rusty sword from the wall and rides out on the family nag to kill the flock of darkspawn endangering her village and thusly find her way into the storied ranks of the Grey Wardens. Indeed, it isn’t even yet the tale of the servant who escapes a life of cruelty to find their fame in the shadowy cabal of the Antivan Crows, mixing contracts with conscience as they silently shape the future of Thedas by deciding who among the powerful shall live and who shall die. One might even expect it to be the tale of a clever young man who takes the pittance of an inheritance and builds it up through wit and charm into a merchant empire spanning Thedas from the tip of Rivain to the highest reaches of the Anderfels--with maybe even a corner shop or two in the Imperium.

But no. This is the tale of Harold.

His saga began like so many do, with a catastrophe such as the world had never known. In his case, it was kicked off vigorously and with an overabundance of enthusiasm when a large green explosion ripped open the sky, an explosion so monumental that it shook Thedas to its very foundation. Rifts burst into existence across the lands, demons fell from the sky, Templars and mages fought each other with no respite for--Oh, wait. They were doing that already.

All right, never mind that. The point is that these were dire times indeed. The Divine and all her retinue perished in the flames of oblivion, along with the most sacred site for the Chantry, the Temple which had cradled the ass and ashes of the most Holy Andraste for Ages upon Ages, and in the wake of the cataclysm chaos reigned. Who had done such a dastardly deed? Would the world ever be able to recover? And who would step forth to lead us into a bright new world of tomorrow?

The answer, unfortunately, was Harold.

Harold ended up at the Conclave by sheer accident--an accident which involved a nug, a golden-fleeced ram, two bears, a bucking bronto, and an entire squad of surly Fereldan farmers who wanted nothing more than to get Harold out of the beds of their sons and daughters as quickly as possible. He stumbled upon Haven because it was the end of the road to which he'd been driven, and he stayed because large amounts of people usually meant large amounts of food. One more man amidst the crowd didn’t really draw a lot of attention, so, nugwich in hand, he explored the vaunted ruins. It was a simple way to ignore more pressing questions, like what he was going to do with his life and whether or not his father would ever forgive him for the incident involving the Revered mother, the Knight-Lieutenant, and fifteen lace whips of despair.

Don’t ask. You really don’t want to know.

At any rate, after the world exploded, Harold woke up in chains, head pounding with the pain of a thousand hangovers. It was, in his own words, a ‘harsh vibe, bro’ , and it didn’t improve for some time. Accused of murder, paraded in chains for all to see, and forced to take up arms for the first time since he’d been kicked out of Templar school for herding all five hundred of Farmer Mukawk’s brontos into the armory, Harold’s future looked bleak indeed.

And then he encountered his first rift, which I shall relay using his exact words from when I spoke to him on the matter for this very saga:

And it was, like, all green and glowy shit like, whoa, and I was like, dude what is that? And then the dwarf--Varric, my man, my bro, my main dude--yelled at me about some demon or something. Totally harshing my vibe, you know? He didn’t get it back then, but we cool now, no worries. But oh yeah, then the glowy green thing made a noise like *krchow* and *bzzzt* and *zzzap* and I realized that, bro, this was a real problem, ya know? And then the bald dude--Solasbro, my Fade dude--grabbed my hand and pointed it at the green glowy thing and then it was like the sweetest ride ever! Just all this tingly shit going up my spine and out my hand and I was like, whoa, and then it kinda exploded a little and I was all like, whoa, and then there was like a burst of green light that was just completely whoa and then it was gone. So amazing, bro. Man, I had such a boner. Too bad Cass hadn’t gotten that stick out of her ass yet, though let’s be real I'd let her hit me any time. And not just with a stick, ifyouknowwhatImeanandIthinkyoudo.

All verbatim, yes. Also the hand gestures. And the facial expressions. And the--Look, let’s move on.

While Harold’s... unique command of language is literally incredible, he at least managed to persevere through to the Temple, where he met the man who would henceforth be known to the Inquisition as Cullenbro. From there, with some heroic difficulty, he dispatched the Pride Demon by serving as a very effective distraction. After all, running around a demon in circles while telling it to Just stop with the zapping already, my dude! would probably distract even the best of us.

Singed but undeterred, Harold went on to acquire his first proper title: the Herald of Andraste. It would be the first of only two, but would become the most iconic: Harold, the Herald of Andraste, whose tale will be told in this, the greatest work of Philliam! The Bard:

The Saga of the Himbo Herald!

why vivienne compared to leliana or cassandra?

this got long.

it’s a big fuck you to the whole concept of the chantry in general. a mage in the seat of southern thedas’ seat of power? oh my god they aren’t any better than tevinter after all! funny about that, orlais. 

vivienne has been a part of ‘the game’ for so long, she’s like actually willing to use it to her advantage, whereas leliana has struck out on it several times and cassandra just doesn’t want to do it. celene could’ve honestly learned from vivienne if she wasn’t so enamoured by “weird dalish artifacts” and hiring morrigan lmao

yeah the last two were the left and right hand of justinia, but like... leliana was dipping in and out of kirkwall to see if they needed to send an exalted march at one point and was keeping an eye on things from a distance (and even varric says shes good at her job because she’s not emotionally involved), cassandra got her place bc dragons (remember that animated film? lmao what the fuck was that) and the whole seeker concept is just. they know how to reverse tranquility.

guess who gets access to secret official records? a mage. guess who would probably use that information in likely a more controlled environment because magic, instead of trial and error and fucking around with spirits? a mage who is fully aware of the attraction to spirits and demons that her magic has.

yes you can soften leliana again. i recognise that. i have a lot of grievances with leliana being bioware’s widdle baby angel (much like liara), but her hardened as divine is fucking baller and makes sense for her development. softening her was just such a weird concept to me so whatever idk man she doesn’t wanna take chances but does? leliana still hardened takes no chances in orlais.

leliana is literally so detached though as well and she doesn’t get what being a mage is actually like. and cassandra honestly hates magic up until like either you romance her or “wow you’re the only mage i know who is okay” part comes up. i mean she has more of a reason to not like them, i know, her entire backstory is literally shaped around politics and magic. i read the books, i watched the movie.

rivain’s circle was so successful because it remained open and accessible to literally anyone. including family members. it got marched on because the chantry didn’t fucking like that apparently. vivienne would know this. same with how she knows how the marchers work with their circles. she knows how the orlesian circles work.

bioware wants you to hate vivienne so much and they try to play it off as not pure racism on their behalf but they literally dress vivenne up as maleficent and then like hint the entire way through that she hates you and will betray you but if she gets mad at you? you know what she does? she cleans your room for you. gives you life advice, understands if you betray her in regards to the love of her life, and moves tf on. like. she also does like other forms and styles of magic and education. she is wary of people (solas) who take to the fade lightly, because that is what she has been taught. she has opinions on the dalish (as does literally everyone), and y’know what she is wrong. but she’s also not. i think people also need to remember that bioware retconned the fuck out of everything in dai and that her dialogue reflects those changes? so like naturally her first fucking conversation is highlighting that retcon.

it can also be a reflection of what she has been told about the dalish by circles like you have to also remember that no matter what, everything in the game hates dalish elves.

vivienne is prioritising education. look, fiona gets royally fucked over left right and centre and we get it. she doesn’t fit into anything more. she’s not warden enough. she’s not mage enough. she was grand enchanter, she also technically was part of the reason the mage-templar war kicked off (not anders, contrary to popular belief). fiona wants to do things at her own pace without the chantry breathing down their necks because we know how horrific the templars are in the circles (i mean. kirkwall??? alone???). vivienne leashes the templars under her control. cassandra ends up effectively prioritising them still, especially if you rebuild the seekers, and leliana just chops off a whole movement. people still hold grievances towards mages, no matter if the entire south of thedas came out with “ok only a small margin are bad like 1% but the 99% are honestly good people”. protection, controlled protection, is something.

especially to tackle something so deeply rooted into the south of thedas religion. she fucking recognises that it is the worst time to be a mage and that everyone else’s decisions have fucked up the majority’s livelihoods.

vivienne wants to give mages political power and advantage which isnt legally possible even when she was elected to work beside celene. she wants them to be more prominent in the societies they live in.

accessibility. the game doesn’t phrase it that way at all. vivienne doesnt remember her parents. like literally so many people in game comment how trevelyan was lucky/rich enough to be visited by family at ostwick. vivienne didn’t get that luxury at ostwick circle.

lyrium control. literally the biggest fucking market in the entire game that we only ever hear bits about, primarily in tevinter, but orzammar is right there hello.

she actually?? doesn’t trust?? templars?? idk where people came up with that. hello she grew up in the circles.

the game fucking sabotages her okay. bioware wants you to hate her So Damn Much. they want you to completely distrust her because she is a better introduction into orlesian society than what leliana could dream of being. even josephine gets it. orlais is the seat of power in the south and the game was based in ferelden. leliana’s approach would work in ferelden because they literally left everything up to a bunch of barely 20 year old fugitives in the end. orlais is disgustingly french and not in the ‘we are good at revolutions and leave guillotines around when we wanna make a point’ kind of french either. it’s all the worst parts. vivienne knows that.

GROWING PAINS - Chapter 1/6

DESCRIPTION: Change. Growth. Hard truths. As the Inquisition’s Lady Herald, El’lana must step-up and help establish the orders’ influence. Many lessons are learnt and life-altering decisions are made.

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 4

The month of Firstfall has come around once again in Ferelden and the locals of the Hinterlands are lucky enough not to experience the full-blown, snowy winters of those back in Haven. Nevertheless, the massive expanse of rocky hillside still experiences the icy chilled winds from the Frostback mountains, reminding the locals that no corner of Ferelden can ever truly escape the country’s infamous winter temperatures.

With Liliana’s scouts guiding their path, the trek to the Hinterlands was easy enough to accomplish. Lana, Cassandra, Varric and Solas were able to get to their destination with relative ease and good speed.

During the day, the conversations between the companions were sparse and polite. Each one trying to save their energy for the long journey they had to make each day by foot. By nightfall, they would quietly share their  rations over a small inconspicuous fire, so as to not get any unwanted attention, and then head straight for their tents to get a good night’s rest for an early rise.

And even though nobody wanted to stay up in the freezing night’s sky and talk, neither one of them quite knew what to say to the other in any way. With the diverse range of cultural, religious and somewhat mysterious differences between the unusual party, neither one of them quite knew how to break the conversational barrier in the first place.

Therefore, all they could focus on was the one thing they all have in common - to seal the Breach in the sky. And so it is this reason, and this reason only, that Lana the inexperienced Dalish, Cassandra the devout Andrastian, Varric the charming rogue and Solas the esoteric mage, have come together to seek out the potential help of Mother Giselle. A Revered Mother of the Chantry who has insisted on staying in the Hinterlands to help the refugees caught in the middle of the mage-templar war.

Lana and her companions eventually reach the top of a wide, flat outlier of ground just below the rocky plateau of Lake Luthias. They then catch a glimpse of an Inquisition tent nestled amongst the trees and the group simultaneously release a sigh of relief as they realise they have finally reached the Upper Lake Camp.

Lana finds herself admiring the inconspicuous camp, and feels its location is perfectly situated. As she catches her breath, Lana starts looking around the snuggled campsite and decides to take in her surroundings;

On the left, against the embankment of the plateau are massive boulders running all the way along the side and into the distant forest. To Lana’s pleasant surprise, she notices a small waterfall running into a large, shallow, crystal clear pond with lush green lily pads, and spindleweed scattered all along the water’s edge. However, on the right and several paces away from camp, lies a death-defying edge that overlooks almost all of the northern Hinterlands.

Having lived all her life amongst nature as well as helping the Keeper decide on a new place for when her clan needed to move, Lana finds herself impressed by such a good location for a camp. She even feels somewhat proud of this young, virtuous organisation spreading their influence so quickly and putting their words into action. Which isn’t something Lana is accustomed to, being Dalish.

As proud as she is to be Dalish, Lana knows that the only thing her people have ever truly accomplished is to merely talk about the past and preserve their magic. There has never been an expectation to actually do anything to improve their lives. Just simply ensure they do not forget.

And while she may wholeheartedly agree that preserving the little knowledge her people have left to remember is excruciatingly important, she has nevertheless always itched to do more than just talk and preserve the past.

Suddenly a young, plain dwarf with soft freckles to match her auburn hair, and striking green eyes, walks towards Lana and her companions cheerfully, “Lady Cassandra, I’m glad to see you’ve all made it. Welcome to the Upper Lake Camp. I’m Scout Harding.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you Scout Harding,” greets Cassandra as she extends a polite bow to the dwarf. “Is it the war we’re hearing down below?”

“I’m afraid so. The mage-templar war has spread far. We believe the templar’s strong hold is just west of here, near the river. They’ve probably found a good flat area to build camp somewhere upstream which is tucked away and off the main road. The mages have been sighted directly north. I’m assuming they’ve found one of the caves nearby.”

“Maker, you seem to know alot about this area.” quips Varric with an impressed chuckle.

“I grew up here,” explains Scout Harding proudly. “As a kid I would always go exploring and I haven’t quite stopped since.”

“Well then,” adds Cassandra with a sincere sigh of relief.  “I can see why Liliana has put you in charge of these scouts. It's a pleasure to have you on board. Let me introduce the rest of the team,” and turns to face each companion as she calls out their name, “This is Solas. A mage who has proven not only to be helpful, but cooperative since the day the Breach came into the sky. This is Varric Tethras. He’s…” Cassandra pauses as she tries her best to find polite words to describe the man who has only made her life hard and strenuous. “A rogue. He’s excellent with his bow.”

“Her name is Bianca,” adds Varric defensively. “And she’s more than just a bow. Don’t mind Cassandra miss Harding, we just have a bit of history. Don’t we, Seeker?”

Cassandra groans and rolls her eyes before moving on, “And this, is mistress Lavellan. The Herald of Andraste.”

“It is an honour to meet you, Herald,” remarks Scout Harding with a respectful bow as Lana steps slightly closer to the front of the party. “I heard rumours that the Herald was an elf, but I didn’t quite believe it. Until now, of course.”

Lana’s cheeks flash to a soft pink, “Oh?”

“Please, don’t get me wrong!” cries Scout Harding apologetically. “I’m not saying that it's a bad thing. I’m just saying you’re a bit of a surprise.”

Lana releases a soft smile and laughs, “Trust me. I’m more surprised than anyone.”

Suddenly a scout approaches the party in a hurry, “Lady Cassandra, there is a letter here for you.”

Cassandra tales the letter from the young scout. “Thank you,”  and turns back around to regard her party. “Excuse me, please. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Of course,” adds Scout Harding and turns to Lana with her piercing green eyes. “In the meantime, you should know that the mage-templar war is very close by. We’ve already had a few strays from both sides try to infiltrate this camp but luckily we’ve managed to hold them off.”

Lana slowly turns around to see if Scout Harding is actually talking to her. She may have the mark on her hand, which will help close rifts, but she is in no way shape or form able to handle the responsibility of making decisions regarding the Inquisition. She’s just the Dalish elf. Isn’t she?

“How eh…” mumbles Lana eventually as she clears her throat. “Bad is the fighting?”

Was that the right question?

“It’s pretty bad,” answers Scout Harding with a heavy heart. “The valley below is where most of the fighting happens, and sometimes all the way through the night. A lot of people have had to leave their homes because of it. Everything is destroyed.”

Listening to Scout Harding’s story makes Lana’s heart ache as she imagines what she would be feeling if this was happening in the Free Marches, “I’m sorry this is happening to your home, Scout Harding. This must be really hard for you.”

“Thank you for saying that,” murmurs Harding with a sincere smile. “And yes, it isn’t easy seeing this place desecrated with such violence. Forcing hundreds of innocent people to leave the homes they’ve had for generations. Luckily, we’ve got the Inquisition though, right? Hopefully we’re going to set things right again.”

“Yes,” murmurs Lana with a gentle smile. “I hope we can.”

“Would you mind following me, Lady Herald?” asks Scott Harding. “I can show you the lay of the land before you head down there tomorrow.”

“Of course. Lead the way.”

Once Scout Harding turns around and heads towards the forest, Lana quickly spins on her heel to regard Solas and Varric behind her. With wide, panicked tricken eyes, Lana suggestively begs them to come along with her. The two men turn to each other and share a quick smirk amongst themselves at Lana’s reluctance to take lead, and proceed to follow along at a respectable distance. Remaining close enough to hear what Scott Harding has to say, but not too close that Harding would be addressing all three of them at once.

One way or another, Lana is going to have to realise that with her mark and divine title bestowed upon her, people will look to her not only for hope but for guidance, too. Whether she likes it or not.

Now several paces in the thickets of the forest, Harding, Lana, Varric and Solas eventually reach a clearing that looks out onto the Hinterlands below. The setting sun illuminating the sky with bright pink and orange hues.

“Do you see that hill in the east?” begins Scout Harding. “Just beyond it you’ll find Mother Giselle in a tiny village. The village is tucked away, so you shouldn’t come across any fighting,” Harding pauses and looks up at Lana with concern. “But you never know, so keep your staff close.”

“How do we get to the village from here?”

“Well, you have two ways from here but I would suggest the second; leave camp the same way you entered but stick east. You’ll pass Calenhad’s Foothold on your left which will then lead you all the way down a path that will head north, and at the end of that path will be the village. It won’t take you long to get there and this way you can avoid entering that valley below us.”

Lana looks out to the valley and hears the faint cries of dying men and the smell of burning wood, “Thank you, Scout Harding,” mumbles Lana eventually. “You’ve been really helpful.”

“You’re welcome,” remarks Harding as she offers a sincere, respectful bow. “I’m going to head back to camp. We already have a tent ready and waiting for you and your party as well as a warm meal by the fire. It’s one of my mother’s actually - the recipe - you’ll love it I’m sure.” and turns to leave, disappearing into the trees behind them.

Varric and Solas notice Lana continue staring out onto the valley below and decide to give her some space, and turn back to unpack.

As Lana glazes out, she can see small flashes of magic light up the almost dark valley below. If she didn’t know any better, she could have mistaken them for small fireworks being used in some kind of celebration. Perhaps for a wedding or—

“Herald?”

But it wasn’t a wedding or some other abrotary celebration the people commune over here in the South. The undeniable sound of battle and cries of dying men and women are just far too hard to ignore. Templars killing mages and mages killing templars.

No. Not killing . Murder. It’s simply cold, blooded murder.

“Herald, I believe there was more Scout Harding told you?”

Cassandra walks up to Lana’s side and notices her distressed and distractive gaze over the horizon, and realises that Lana is in no mind to talk strategies. The true horror and panic in young Lana’s large, lavender eyes is impossible to ignore, and Cassandra finds herself sympathising over the naive, inexperienced elf.

Cassandra takes in a large breath before exhaling, looks out towards the horizon, and changes the subject to the real matter at hand, “I have found that war usually does not determine who is right - but only who is left,” murmurs Cassandra as she solemnly turns back to regard Lana and pauses. “You haven’t killed anyone before… have you?”

“Is it that obvious?” murmurs Lana as she finally breaks her gaze and looks down towards her bare feet wrapped in leather.

“Not unless you have seen that look upon your face many times before,” admits Cassandra with furrowed brows. “I had months of training before I killed someone for the first time. When I was still a Seeker, I saw many of my fellow brothers and sisters go through the same vigorous training as I did. They were always so confident in the confines of our Order’s walls, but when the day came for them to put their training to use, they all had the same look in their eyes that you do now.”

“And... did they do it?” murmurs Lana still looking towards the ground. “When it came down to it?”

“They did. The months of training takes over your need to run in the other direction. You almost feel as if you have no control over your own body anymore, and you are simply doing what you have been trained to do many times before. Strike down your enemy or die trying. It was as simple as that.”

Lana looks up at Cassandra with fearful eyes for only a moment before turning her gaze back down, “I don’t think… I don’t think I can do it... if it comes down to it. I can’t take another person’s life,” and pauses for a significant amount of time before looking fiercely back at Cassandra with her voice trembling. “I won’t. I won’t do it.”

Cassandra drops her head as she releases a loud, heavy sigh, “Then you would rather be the one who dies? Instead of the person trying to kill you in return?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“I understand that life as a Dalish has provided you some kind shelter, and I can see that your Keeper took great care in ensuring your clans safely, but you are no longer within the confines of your clan, Herald. Those mages or templars will not hesitate to kill anyone they deem a threat.”

“I know. It’s just…they’re people. Their lives matter. And I don’t want to be the one responsible for taking their life,” Lana turns to meet Cassandra’s subtly surprised expression, “Oh I know, because I’m Dalish and an elf I’m supposed to think we are above everyone else in Thedas, right? Well, I wasn’t raised to think like that. The Keeper always taught me to respect all living creatures in this world. From the worms in the earth to the birds in the sky. You humans or dwarves may not believe in my gods, and yes we have a messy history, but that doesn’t mean you don’t matter. We all matter.”

Cassandra drops her head and sighs, “While I appreciate the sentiment, Herald,” and points her finger to the valley down below. “But that won’t stop them from trying to kill you. Not everyone can afford the luxury of sticking to their morals in times of war.”

The two women break eye contact and gaze back out towards the horizon once again. The sun is almost completely set and the stars are beginning to shine peacefully above, completely undisturbed by the chaos down below.

With the posture of an experienced soldier, but with a heavy heart, Cassandra turns back to regard Lana carefully, “You are the Herald of Andraste, and only you can seal the rifts. You simply cannot die. You are far too valuable to allow yourself to be killed over your morals - however virtuous they may be,” and before walking away completely, she turns back around to meet Lana’s gaze and sternly murmurs. “If you will not kill another to save your own life, then do it to save the thousands of innocent people across Thedas who rely on you. Do it for them.”

As Lana watches Cassandra disappear into the night, she turns back around towards the horizon and notices how quiet it has suddenly fallen. There are no more flashes of magic or cries of dying templars or apostates. Just deafening silence.

Which could only mean one thing - everyone who was fighting is either dead or dying from their wounds in the cold, winter night. Praying to whomever they believe in to offer them a peaceful passage to a better afterlife, and swearing curses on those responsible for their demise.

The dying people haunt Lana’s mind as she imagines them now lying alone, choking on their own blood without a single loved one by their side. Their final resting place being a battlefield that is littered with who knows how many grotesquely cut down or burnt corpses.

Did they have a lover? Children? Parents? Surely not all of them are vicious monsters everyone claims them to be?

Lana takes a deep breath and decides to head back to camp before it gets too dark. The sound of Harding’s mother’s meal is exactly what she needs right now, and could use some conversation over a warm fire to distract her mind over tomorrow.

As Lana reaches camp, she notices the number of soldiers and scouts helping the Inquisition, and if it came to it, would perhaps even sacrifice their lives for it. They have all chosen to help close the Breach and restore order by leaving their loved ones behind. Everyone in this camp is willing to sacrifice themselves to ensure the safety of Thedas. How could Lana not do the same?

They do not have a mark on their hand to close rifts, and yet here they are. They aren’t called the Herald of Andraste, and yet here they are. For all she knows, Lana also might not be the only one here who hasn’t killed before, and yet... here they are.

Realising the extent of choices and sacrifices made by the very people surrounding her, she begins to feel less remorse over the deaths of the people down in the valley who are only spreading more chaos. Suddenly, her empathy towards their deaths begins to fade ever so slowly as she imagines the destruction they have left in their paths.

Are these not the same people who burnt down and slaughtered innocents in pursuit of their cause to seek justice? Are these not the same people who attacked innocent farmers, merchants and children who did absolutely nothing to justify the defilement of their land and home? And are these not the same people who left hundreds of others destitute and turned into refugees?

Lana’s heart and stomach begin to turn over the conflicting nature of war - who is right and who is wrong? And that is when Cassandra’s wise, and truthful words return to Lana’s mind:

War does not determine who is right - only who is left.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 

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Halla & Wolf Series

I’ve seen you blogging a lot of Dragon Age (and a lot of other ppl I follow too, honestly) and I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about it. It seems pretty cool!

oh ya sure!! oh boy this is gonna be a lot lmao,, but,, Dragon Age is an RPG by Bioware–they also made Mass Effect and Knights of the Old Republic, in case you’ve heard of those–and the DA series are easily some of my favorite video games. They go super in depth with lots of lore and there’s tons of world building,, I’m embarrassed by the number of fantasy Elvin words I know and I can tell you way too much about the history of fake countries cause that’s where I’m at lmao,, 

To try and summarize: the first game is called Dragon Age: Origins, and the focus is very much on fleshing out and playing through a backstory that you handcraft for your PC. You can be everything from an elf trying to reclaim their lost history, to a privileged human of the ruling nobility, a sheltered mage that’s locked away from the rest of the world for “their own good,” a dwarf just trying to survive whose always been a fighter at heart–skilled enough to champion a tournament, and so on. I played the City Elf origin and it just about killed me. 

The appeal here is you can start with various different branching paths and backstories, all of which culminate in your character becoming a Grey Warden. Essentially, DA has these monstrous sort of demonic creatures called darkspawn and usually they’re very disorganized and attack at random. But sometimes there’s a more powerful demon that can connect to them and control them as a kind of hive mind; they become a more organized army force, and spread a “Blight” and its taint wherever they go–it causes sickness and a long suffering death, makes the land completely uninhabitable, lots of bad shit. There’s only been four Blights before Origins, so they’re pretty rare, usually centuries apart. 

In the event of a Blight, the only thing that can stop the lead demon and its army is a Grey Warden. They’re a,, supposedly “neutral” party in political affairs; they’re meant to be an outside force from other armies and they aren’t divided by nations or anything, if you’re a Warden, you’re a Warden everywhere. So they’re also kinda above the law. Wardens can requisition land and resources, forcibly recruit condemned criminals and high ranking nobles alike–“anything to stop the Blight.” They’re elite warriors, and the only ones who can actually sense the darkspawn. That’s because they’re already tainted by them. You drink some darkspawn blood,, probably you die, but maybe you don’t,, and if you survive,, congrats!! You’re in the Wardens. Forever. You can run, but they’ll probably find you. There’s really no running from the fact that the taint will get you eventually in a few decades though. In Origins you end up being one of the only two surviving Wardens left to defend the country of Ferelden during the Fifth Blight–you have to travel the country, gather allies, try to prove you’re not a war criminal, save the whole world, and don’t forget to pet your dog :’) 

Dragon Age 2 is a lot simpler to talk about with all that context out of the way–you’re Hawke, a Ferelden refugee fleeing from the Fifth Blight. The Warden saves the world and everyone throws a big party just as you’re getting settled in your new city. Kirkwall is…a lot,, real creepy place. Maybe it’s that it used to be the center of the Imperium’s slave trade and is still called “The City of Chains.” Maybe it’s all the centuries of blood magic and death that’s seeped into the walls. Maybe it’s those architecture plans you find for the city that point out it’s been built in the shape of one big magical glyph. But there’s something weird there and the whole place is incredibly unsettling. Way more demons crammed into one city than most of the country combined, templars ready to turn on every mage in sight, there’s a lot happening in that one little place. 

I always say that other Dragon Age games are more about the player, but DA2 is really about your party members. It’s your companions’ stories–Hawke is sort of this unsuspecting bystander that just gets dragged under by all the city’s malevolent machinations. And ultimately–accidentally, so very unfortunately–they wind up at the very epicenter of it all. Maybe it’s about Hawke, a snide, sarcastic refugee just trying to provide for their family and take care of their friends. But it’s probably more so the story of a quintessential Byronic antihero tortured by his past and sparking a war for mage freedom, or a charming pirate captain in search of her mysterious lost treasure and who knows more about the city’s supposed “invaders” than she lets on. Or the silver-tongue dwarf with a love of telling stories, and a penchant for extravagant lies–the narrator of it all, and entirely unreliable. 

At its core, DA2 is about mages and templars. The mages typically being locked away in towers known as Circles because they’re seen as “too powerful, a danger to themselves and others,” etc. They’re guarded by knights that work for the dominant religious order known as Templars. Only the Templars frequently harass and systematically abuse the mages in their charge instead of “protecting” them. Ultimately, it’s also about betrayal and redemption, how far someone can go before they’re beyond redemption, etc. 

DA2 always hits this very melancholic note that neither of the other games quite reach. I think it’s because Origins and Inquisition are very grandiose in scope and scale,, you’re a chosen hero,, you’re saving the world,, the player is incredibly empowered. But in DA2, it really does feel like you have no power. Like you’re just trying to scrape by and look out for the people you care about. Like everything keeps going wrong no matter how hard you try to help, like you’re a failure to your family and somehow lost your friends. DA2 is confined to a single city and so much smaller in scope and scale, but the little glimpses of intimacy that you do get from that unique experience really hits you in the end.

Lastly, there’s Inquisition. You can choose your player’s race like in Origins, but you don’t really get to play out your backstory or anything, you’re just kinda thrown right into it. Inquisition is very go big, so everything is big–lots of exploration, lots of questing, LOTS OF DRAGONS,, THIS GAME IS IMPORTANT SOLELY FOR THE 13.5 DRAGONS YOU GET AS OPPOSED TO THE 1-2 IN EVERY OTHER DRAGON AGE GAME,, SERIOUSLY LACKING ON THE DRAGON PART THERE HONESTLY IT’S KINDA FALSE ADVERTISING,, but yeah I’d say DAI is the most like an open world sort of deal,, very classic high fantasy like Origins (though not so brutal or grisly like Origins), very You are the Chosen Savior stuff,, big departure from Hawke running round the sewers 

DAI builds directly off the previous games and decisions players made in them, but it’s also actually very easy to jump right into with no info on prior games. I’d say it’s also the most user friendly, and it’s probably better for new players to start with it to see how they like the world. Combat and mechanics in Origins can be very tedious, and parts of it just haven’t aged well. DA2 is easier mechanically, but much more punishing and harsh with its consequences. DAI is very forgiving by comparison, and you won’t accidentally get party members killed for the calls you make. And while DAI is very lore heavy, I think it’s the perfect place for newcomers to kind of run around and try to explore the living breathing world crafted from that world. 

The essential plot is that you’re following on the heels of the Mage Templar War, and rogue members from the Chantry (church basically) are looking to upstart the Inquisition again, a huge military organization that waged holy wars back in the day. You end up accidentally being in charge of everything because, and I quote, “You killed everyone who was in charge.” Oh yeah, there’s also demons tearing open rifts from their world into yours and you’ve been blessed/cursed with a magic mark on your hand that makes you the Only One who can close those rifts and save the world. Build your army, get drunk with your friends after slaying dragons, dance with your partner after usurping the empress at her own ball, try not to get torn to pieces by the magic in your own hand, get good at reading tarot cards, and maybe don’t romance the Elven God of Trickery on your first (heartbreaking) play through,, 

Lastly, there’s actually a fair amount of queer characters in DA, which is pretty cool. And a lot of them are romanceable partners for your character, so you can definitely play a queer PC. So,, off the top of my head–Bi characters (and romance options): Leliana and Zevran [Origins], Fenris, Anders, Isabella, Merrill [DA2], and Josephine [Inquisition]. There’s also Iron Bull, and he’s a pan character who’s romanceable in Inqusition. Dorian is gay and romanceable, and Sera is a romanceable lesbian, both also from Inquisition. Krem is a trans man and Maevaris is a trans woman, the former is a side character (and best friend of Iron Bull) in Inquisition, while the latter only appears in supplementary sources like comics, but she does get mentioned from time to time in Inquisition as Dorian’s close friend. Oh! Also--Solas and Josephine’s routes in Inquisition don’t culminate in a sex scene, so lots of people headcanon them as asexual. And you can also swing Dorian’s romance so it doesn’t have a sex scene if you wanna romance him but kinda play an ace Inquisitor, which is cool! Sorry for the long rant lmao but uhhh, I hope this helps?? :’)

Red Sky in the Morning - Chapter 13 - On Your Beam Ends

See notes at end of Chapter.

'on your beam ends' means hard up; in rough shape; in a bad situation.

---

I’m dead. I must be dead.

Kiaya was face down on the cold stone, her right arm pinned beneath her at a very unhealthy angle. Her head felt too large and the back of her eyelids swam with coloured dots as she tried to collect her thoughts. The last thing she could remember was slamming into the broken wood covering the dark hole in the ground she had run towards. Her mind was muddled and she wasn’t thinking clearly when she finally decided to roll over.

As she moved, she felt the bones in her arm grate against each other sharply. Pain flared in her chest, and her head hurt so much she could hear a loud ringing. A small scream tore from her lips as she settled onto her back.

Dead is good.

—-

“Kiaya, it’s time to get up.”

“Mmm. Five more minutes Gram…”

Kiaya woke up abruptly to the feeling of water hitting her face, memories still vivid from her dreams. She groaned. “Shite, Grams. You have been dead for thirty years and you’re still waking me up.” Her voice was weak and raspy, and suddenly she felt parched. She lapped at the water, opening her mouth wide to catch as many drops as she could.

Suddenly, Kiaya realized she could see. The snow-filled opening above her was glowing with a blue light, filling the cave she was in with a deep twilight. She had to have been unconscious for a while; the sun must be up, its light barely making it through the snow-choked hole.

The cave was half man-made and half natural, and Kiaya could see a black opening in the wall to her right. Other than that and the hole in the ceiling, there was no way out. Moving her head hadn’t hurt too much, so she sat up, or tried to at least. Dizziness made her vision swim, and her right arm was on fire. The sleeve of her leather armour was extremely tight and she couldn’t feel or move her fingers. Her chest and side hurt, but breathing were easier, and her left arm and both legs were sore but functional. Kiaya spared a moment to thank her lucky stars her knees had survived. Gingerly, Kiaya probed the right side of her face and head, feeling the lump there, and the puffiness of her temple and brow. She shuddered at the stickiness in her hair and pulled her hand away.

“Well, this is fantastic.” Her voice echoed around her. “Give me one good reason not to lay down and go to sleep?” Her mind flooded with images of Cullen. Cullen trying to speak to her and fumbling adorably. Cullen’s eyes crinkling when he smiled. Cullen half-naked while changing out of wet clothes.

“That’s cheating.”

She continued to think of him as she mechanically started doing what she had to in order to stand up. Casting magic with a head injury was dangerous, but it had to be done if she was going to survive. She managed to manoeuvre her arm inside her duster, doing up the buttons to trap it across her chest. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best she could do, and it was useless anyway. The healing spell had fused the bones enough to stop them from moving. It felt like ages before Kiaya managed to slide and crawl her to the nearest wall and haul herself to her feet.

Her head throbbed as the world pitched and rolled around her. “Shite, this is worse than on deck in a squall, or while drunk. Or both.” She started humming a sea shanty as she stumbled forward, aiming for the opening in the wall that she hoped would lead to a way out, trying to move with the heaving of the ground.

—-

The first morning after the attack was overcast and rainy. Cullen and every able-bodied person who could be spared had returned to Haven, with the goal of recovering enough supplies for the survivors. Most of the town was buried under snow and debris, and it had taken hours to locate and dig out the Inquisition stores. Cullen stood on a rise of snow, his head almost on a level with the eaves of the chantry roof, surveying the damage before him. His eyes were continually drawn to the last place he had seen Kiaya. The remains of the trebuchet poked out of the snow, a reminder of how the battle had ended.

“It’s hard, isn’t it, Commander? Making decisions.”

Cullen would have jumped at the sound of Bull’s voice if he wasn’t so bone tired. “What do you mean?” Cullen’s tone sounded sharp to his own ears, but he wasn’t in the mood for cryptic conversation.

Bull’s face was sombre as he looked out across the snow. “Your heart says to start digging her out, but your head knows how dangerous that would be and how vain a hope that is to risk the lives of others.”

Cullen frowned. “It’s not making the decision that is hard. It’s living with it afterwards.”

Bull laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Truer words, Commander.”

—-

Time had little meaning as Kiaya shuffled forward, her feet moving automatically as she dreamed. The mark sparked just enough light to prevent walking into things, but otherwise, she didn’t have to think. She didn’t know where she was or which way to go. It came down to either continuing to move or freezing to death.

Still, it was inexcusable for her to walk so blindly into the middle of a group of wraiths and demons. She was halfway across the cavern before she even noticed. Unarmed, injured and exhausted, Kiaya froze like a trapped fennec. Her mind flooded with panic, and she could only watch as the wraiths gathered their power to attack her. As numerous balls of fade power raced towards her, she threw up her marked hand and screamed.

---

Kiaya sobbed as she gagged and choked on bile and blood. She couldn’t stop shaking. She lay there in the dark until, slowly, she raised her left hand to stare at the mark. It had opened a rift. It had saved her life, but it had fucking opened a rift. Fear of the mark swallowed her, and she cried. Her energy was quickly spent, her tears freezing to her cheeks. It was getting colder.

“Why can’t I just die?”

You have seen the future if you die. You know what happens.

Corypheus was still out there, and Kiaya didn’t doubt his word when he said he intended to tear down the world. That insane monster would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. But there she lay on the ground, with possibly the only key to stopping him buried under the skin of her hand, filled with fear and shame for wanting to give up.

As a fresh wave of tears froze to her face, Kiaya pictured each and every friend she had found with the Inquisition: all the people she had grown to care about, more than she had been willing to admit to herself, and the belief they would be crushed if she didn’t keep going. Kiaya could clearly see Cullen twisted by the red lyrium infecting him, rage and hate on his face.

“No. That won’t happen. I won’t let it. Not ever.” She once again found the strength to climb to her feet and started to move towards what she hoped was the way out. Every step helped to erase the image of the tortured Cullen with a warmer one, with amber eyes as he looked at her.

---

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

She had found the surface, her self-pity and the inspiration that had followed it driving her forward quickly and, with absolute luck, she had found a way out. But as Kiaya stood at the mouth of the cave, free of the dark underground, she was met by howling winds, and snow was the only thing she could see for some distance. She didn’t feel very lucky.

“‘Maybe you will find a way,’ he says. ‘Come back,’ he says,” Kiaya was feeling manic and very sleepy, and that scared her. “Well? How many fucking ways do I have to find? Haven’t I done enough? What the fuck do you want from me?!”

She began stomping and kicking her feet, just like the tantrums she threw as a child until the pins and needles signalled the return of feeling in her toes. It also helped release frustration. “I hate the fucking cold and snow. I take back every nice thing I said about it.” Kiaya inhaled as deeply as the pain in her ribs and arm would allow before screaming her frustration into the wind. She cast a spell to warm herself, the magic feeling sluggish, and it took more effort then it should. She sighed and stepped out into the snow.

---

It had stormed all night and most of the next day, petering out just before nightfall. It may be spring in the rest of the world, but in the Frostback mountains, winter ruled. They had been lucky and managed to recover enough supplies to protect the survivors. Every tent they had found that could give shelter against the storm was a blessing.

But the waiting had been driving Cullen to distraction. He needed to be doing something. He wanted to search for Kiaya, however vain the hope of finding her might be. In all likelihood, she was buried under the snow back in Haven. But Cullen couldn’t let go of the feeling that that wasn’t true.

He, Cassandra, and a couple of scouts had set out the moment visibility was clear enough. The storm had left behind knee-deep snow, with drifts twice that high, and the pace forward was painfully slow. Neither he nor Cassandra had spoken of why they were searching; Cullen’s hope that they could find Kiaya felt desperate, and it was something he couldn’t voice yet. From the look in Cass’s eyes, Cullen guessed that she felt something similar.

It was almost full dark when they reached the end of the valley the Inquisition had taken shelter in and Cassandra called a halt.

“Commander, we should turn back. It's getting too dark to properly search.”

Cullen glowered at the darkness in front of him. He could feel the frustrated scowl on his face. “Not yet.”

“We are no good to anyone if we walk off a cliff in the dark.” Cullen could hear the matching frustration in Cass’s voice, and he fleetingly hoped that it was more at the situation then at him.

Cullen forced himself to be calm. His friend didn’t deserve grief from him as well. “Very well. We will turn back.”

The Seekers face was grim as she nodded and began to trudge back down the path, the scouts already moving ahead. Cullen couldn’t turn away from the darkness beyond the stone cliffs. He had agreed that it was sensible to return to camp, but his heart and feet were reluctant to obey. He sighed and had started to turn when movement in the darkness caught his eye. He froze, emotions racing through him as he watched Kiaya stumble into view.

“Kiaya,” he gasped not loud enough for anyone to hear.

He started to run. “There! It’s her!”

“Thank the Maker.” Behind him, he heard Cassandra’s shout, but his eyes stayed glued on the woman in front of him as Kiaya collapsed into the snow.

—-

Kiaya’s mind had left reality far behind. She had lost feeling in her legs long ago. The pain in her side and head were the only ‘warmth’ she felt. Her body simply continued moving forward out of habit and sheer stubbornness.

Her mind was busy in a much warmer and happier place. Daydreams and fantasies had taken over keeping her warm. Her ability to cast had ended some time ago, the fade slipping away from her like smoke or freezing solid like a stone when she reached for it. So she was drowning in whisky eyes and the golden heat of her thoughts.

Her cocoon of dreams was shattered when a wolf howled close by, a flood of fear freezing her in her tracks. At some point the storm had ended, but it had left behind snow deep enough to stop her from falling over. The night was clear, and she could see stars overhead, the moons giving enough light for her eyes to make out shapes and shadows in the dark. Her eyes were not focusing properly, though, and her head felt strange: dreamlike but not, and the pull of the Fade was getting stronger. She became aware of the rest of her body when she started to shiver violently. I have to move again.

She forced her shaky legs to lift, but they felt leaden as she tried to force them through the snow. As she crested the ridge, her attention was caught by lights on the horizon, and her steps faltered as she tried to focus her eyes.

The effort made her head pound, and blackness started to creep into her vision before she recognized the campfires in the distance. She sobbed, equal parts relief and desperation. It was still so far away.

Movement in the moonlight, much closer, caught her attention, and Kiaya was no longer sure if she was actually awake or if she was still dreaming. Cullen was there, just steps away. As he started to run toward her, calling her name, the blackness rushed in and she fell into the snow.

—-

Cullen dropped to his knees in the snow next to her. Maker, where is her arm? His hands froze as he reached for her, suddenly unsure if he wanted to know.

Cassandra landed on Kiaya’s other side, and having no such hesitation, rolled the prone woman over.

“Thank the Maker.” Cassandra echoed the words in Cullen’s head as they realized they could see Kiaya’s arm pinned across her front under her coat.

“Run back to camp. Tell them we found her and to ready the healers. Go! Now!” As Cassandra barked at the scouts and they took off, Cullen pulled his gloves from his hands to brush the snow from Kiaya’s face. Her skin was frozen, burning his fingers.

“Is she dead?” Now that it was just the two of them, Cass’s fear was plain in her voice and on her face.

“No,” Cullen could feel her breath on his fingers only slightly warmer than the air around them. “But she feels like ice.” Cullen tenderly continued removing snow, but his stomach dropped when he uncovered the bruising on her face and dried blood in her hair. His questing fingers found the welt and the open wound on her head.

“Her arm’s broken, and maybe some ribs too.” Cassandra’s searching hands causing a moan to escape from Kiaya’s lips and Cullen’s heart clenched. “And she is too cold. We need to get her back fast.”

He fitted one of his gloves over Kiaya’s exposed hand before picking her up as gently as he could. Even so, it was impossible not to jostle her a little, and every whimper was a knife in Cullen’s chest.

Cassandra led the way, but Cullen was concentrating on his feet, trying to gauge the footing, so it was a shock when Kiaya moved in his arms, nuzzling her face into his neck and shoulder. Her skin burned where it touched him, but that didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around her more firmly, tilting his head to rest on hers and trying to give her as much heat as he could.

“Kiaya?” His voice was pitched low. “Can you hear me?” He felt air blow against his skin, but if she had spoken it was too low for Cullen’s ears to catch. He felt her press her cold lips against his racing pulse, and he could feel the vibration of words he couldn’t hear.

Suddenly, her body went limp, and his heart froze in his chest.

“Kiaya!?” Cullen shifted his shoulder to try and look at her face. Her face was slack, the whites of her eyes were visible under half-closed lids.

He tightened his arms around her and tucked her head back under his chin. He didn’t stop to check her breathing before breaking into a run.

---

I got discouraged with the lack of response on my chapters but I have come to the realization that numbers don’t matter. Just having it out there makes me feel proud and that is what is important. So I am getting caught up.  If my story has caught your interest, and you can’t wait for my posts (I don’t want to bombard folks with them.) you can find the up to date chapters on my AO3 page.

I would love any comments, like and reblogs and talking dragon age.

Dragon Age: Inquisition character alignments

Cassandra Pentaghast: Neutral Good

-I do nothing that is not worth doing with all my heart.

-One day, they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right. 

-The Circle of Magi has its place, but needs reform. Let the mages govern themselves, with our help. Let the templars stand not as the jailors of mages, but as protectors of the innocent. We must be vigilant, but we must also be compassionate to all peoples of Thedas, human or no. (...) If we are to spread the Maker's word across the world, we must do so with open hearts and open hands.(...)That is what I would change.

Varric Tethras: True Neutral (barely missing Neutral Good)

-To be honest with you, she’s just a better spymaster. The truly great ones can keep their distance. They don’t get attached to their people. Me, I always wind up babysitting my informants and worrying about their families. We’re in better hands with her.

-(If it was that bad, why did you stay? Cassandra said you were free to go.) I like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this… Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky. Even I can’t walk away and just leave that to sort itself out.

-Heroes are everywhere. I've seen that. But a hole in the sky? That's beyond heroes. We're going to need a miracle.

-(You knew where Hawke was all along!) You’re damned right I did!

-You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the temple, s/he'd be dead too. You people have done enough to her/him.

Vivienne de Fer: Lawful Evil

- The Divine must set the example for all Thedas. She must seem to be the embodiment of the Maker to the faithful. She needs the authority of the Maker and the charisma of Andraste.

-I never worry, darling. A leash can be pulled from either end.

-Your failing-- among many-- is that you presume I desire approval. Power does not require that I be "liked.”

-Act first and teach them to fear us.

The Iron Bull: Lawful Neutral (Slides towards True Neutral if Tal-Vashoth)

-Dragons are the embodiment of raw power. But it's all uncontrolled, savage... So they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild. Order out of chaos.

-It's like being a block of stone with a sculptor working on you. One day, the last of the crap gets knocked off, and you can see your real shape, what you're supposed to be.

-My people don't pick leaders from the strongest, or the smartest, or even the most talented. We pick the ones willing to make the hard decisions... and live with the consequences.

Sera: Chaotic Good

-Someone little always hates someone big. And unless you don't eat, sleep, or piss, you're never far from someone little.

-Bad things should happen to bad people. We find someone not so bad, maybe he’ll end up not so dead. 

-Watch out, yeah? The hole in the sky didn't start their war. Stupid people did that.

-Blah, blah, blah! Obey me! Arrow in my face!

Dorian Pavus: True Neutral 

-In the south you have alienages, slums both human and elven. The desperate have no way out. Back home, a poor man can sell himself. As a slave he can have a position of respect, comfort, and could even support a family. Some slaves are treated poorly it's true, but do you honestly think inescapable poverty is better?

-If I truly believed my homeland was beyond all hope, I wouldn't miss it so much.

-Living a lie... it festers inside you, like poison. You have to fight for what's in your heart.

-I'm here to set things right. Also? To look dashing. That part's less difficult.

Solas: True Neutral

-Sometimes to achieve the world one desires, one must take regrettable measures.

-War breeds fear. Fear breeds a desire for simplicity. Good and evil. Right or wrong. Chains of command.

-One moment, I see heroic Grey Wardens lighting the fire and a power-mad villain sneering as he lets King Cailan fall. The next, I see an army overwhelmed and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause.

Blackwall: Neutral Good (During Inquisition)

-“You are who you choose to follow.” Someone told me that once. Took me years to understand what he meant.

-At the heart of it, all a Warden is, is a promise. To protect others... even at the cost of your own life. 

-(What can one Grey Warden do?) "Save the fucking world if pressed.

Cole: Neutral Good

-It is dangerous when too many men in the same armor think they're right. 

-It doesn't matter that they won't remember me. What matters is I helped. 

-(What of Magister Erimond? Do you sense a secret pain in him?) No. Erimond is an asshole.  

Leliana: Neutral Good (if unhardened), True Neutral (if hardened)

The Chantry has committed many injustices. If we're going to change it, why not change the whole thing?

I've known mages. Some of them were better people than me. And yet I'm free and they're not. It's not right.

No one is without worth. Whoever you are, whatever your mistakes, you are loved. Unconditionally.

Josephine: Neutral Good

- We face a dark time, Your Grace. Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem.

-(I can only imagine the bloodshed if it escalates further.) I’m afraid history holds many examples of what will happen if it does.

-But it was such a waste, Inquisitor! When I took of his mask I knew him. We’d attended parties together. If I’d stopped to reason, if I’d used my voice instead of scuffling like a common thug...

Cullen Rutherford: Neutral Good (even more so if kept off of Lyrium. Lawful Good if he takes Lyrium)

-The templars should have restored order, but red lyrium had driven Knight-Commander Meredith mad. She threatened to kill Kirkwall’s Champion, turned on her own men. I’m not sure how far she would have gone. Too far.

-(Why did you join the Order?) I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need.

-(I doubt the Commander believes there’s anything worthy left in me.) You’re not wrong. But you served something greater than yourself once. Perhaps you can be made to remember that.

-Shouldn’t they be arguing over who’s going to become Divine?

Morrigan: True Neutral

-No son of mine would be raised in a marsh, bereft of contact with the outside world. His future will be difficult enough without my adding to his burden.

-The magic of old must be preserved. No matter how feared.

-What I fear, what all should fear, is not that Corypheus believes he can succeed; ‘tis that he actually may.

-Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it does not understand; elves, dragons, magic...the list is endless. We must stem the tide, or be left with nothing more than the mundane. This I know to be true.

Corypheus: Neutral Evil 

Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus. You will kneel.

-I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this Blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty.

The Nightmare: Chaotic Evil

The Divine: It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror.

-Are you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget. Just like you help other people. We're so very much alike, you and I. 

Cole: No.

-You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fear is me.

im writing an all-origins-survive dragon age fix it and here are the character bios!!

Damian Cousland- a sword-shield warrior who falls for Zevran. He doesn't understand a lot of what the others have gone through (Zev's experience as a slave, Adrian's poor experiences with humans, Kit's distaste for stupid shems, Miri and Lyanna's experience with templars, Naya's instinctive self-devaluing, Alistair's experience in the Chantry and his child abuse) but he still makes an effort to understand and learns a lot over the course of the story. He's very flustered by Zevran at first but makes a concerted effort to help him when things get rough. Post-DAO, he and Zevran go and take out the Crows and wear cool matching outfits doing it (it's mostly for Zevran's dramatic flair, because Damian would never do that on his own, but for the love of his life? of course). They settle down in Antiva, though they take a brief trip to the Free Marches to see the Amells and give them news of their second cousin. They help save baby Crows and adopt them. (Currently they have three kids, all Crow escapees.)

Adrian Tabris- a dual wielding rogue who finds himself in love with Alistair. He was named for his mother Adaia, and Cyrion often finds himself looking at his son and wanting to weep because he can see his mother in him. Adrian was sexually assaulted by humans when he was around fourteen. When he saw what was going to happen to Shianni, he leapt to her defense, wanting to save someone in the way he wasn't able to. He & Alistair love each other very much. Others would be upset to be only the King's consort, but Adrian is delighted that he can help the alienage with Alistair. He and Anora do most of the ruling, and they respect each other quite a bit- after all, Adrian is the one who introduced her to Shianni :) 

Kitranelle Mahariel- an archery-based rogue, Kit found herself falling for the mysterious Morrigan who also grew up away from humans and therefore has a more disdainful view of them. She has the vallaslin of Elgar'nan, and received it right before Tamlen died :( She used to be in a polyamorous relationship with Tamlen and Merrill that fell apart when Tamlen was taken, and she swore not to leave her heart unguarded again. She told herself that her relationship with Morrigan was just flirting, just kissing, just sex, until... it wasn't. Kit has quite a bit of trauma regarding humans, who took her father and killed her mother, and she's not prone to trust. The only one she ever particularly liked was Duncan, and he wasn't that kind at first either. She becomes a lot more open to humans during the Blight, and she's especially close to Lyanna. She did the Dark Ritual with Morrigan. Post-DAO, she tracks down Morrigan with the help of a hunter from the Brecilian forest (Ariane) and a circle mage friend of Lyanna and Miri's (Finn) and escapes with Morrigan and Kieran, who she spends the next decade raising alongside her wife.

Lyanna Amell- a Mage (obviously) focused on the entropic school and the Spirit school. She's been in love with Miri Surana since she was old enough to understand the concept. Their relationship is modeled a little bit off Steve/Bucky (aka the 'hoe don't do it' meme) and Lyanna is Bucky in this scenario, constantly apologizing for Miri being loud and quicktempered and just. All that. She wasn't aware that Cullen had a crush on Miri, because she didn't WANT to believe, because she didn't know Cullen had a crush on both of them. (Cullen likes Lyanna because she's a Good Mage, and she's so Kind and Sweet and he thinks she would actually like him back (lol she's a lesbian so no). His... infatuation with Miri is much more "i'm going to break her" and it's pretty obvious when you're looking for it.) She was best friends with Jowan, and Miri was best friends with Anders. She has a bad back from a punishment she received as a child when she hadn't learned how to be Quiet like a good mage (that incident is part of what led her to become really focused on being Good Enough). It never healed right, and she needs poultices to get through the day during the Fifth Blight with all the combat. Post-DAO, she becomes the Warden-Commanders of Amaranthine alongside Naya Brosca and Miri Surana. Post-DAA, she and Miri get married and run from the Chantry, sending Velanna and Sigrun letters as they go.

Miri Surana- a mage focused on the Primal school and the Creation school. She was stolen from the Dalish as a child, and the templars found her when she was playing with ink and with paint marks on her face in the shape of vallaslin (she wanted to have the marks of June because her parts were both craftspeople). She’s always wondered whether she’d be able to get them done someday, after learning of how they found her, and she decided to glamour vallaslin on her face (she wouldn't make it permanent because she was afraid she’d get it wrong and then she’d be rejected if she ever met a Dalish) in honor of her heritage. She couldn’t do it in public because she’d get punished for it, but she did it TONS in private. Anders was her best friend (they fooled around once, but Miri told him she was a lesbian immediately after and Anders was like am I that bad? lol) Speaking of punishment, Miri got punished for a LOT, because she never shut up. She has a broken ankle that healed wrong and so she needs her staff to walk sometimes. She was sexually assaulted by a templar and at one point entered an ill-advised poorly-conceived relationship with Cullen under the wraps before ending it when he got Weird and he's been murder-lusting after her ever since. Lyanna did not know about this, she just thought Miri was having sex with a templar. It's ... fucked up. She became one of the Warden-Commanders of Amaranthine with Lyanna (who, by the way, is the love of her life and that which grounds her.)

Naya Brosca: a casteless dwarf, dual wielding rogue, who ended up working for the Carta. She did it for her sister and her mother. Naya copes for her low self-esteem using humor, and her life really sucks. She has a complicated relationship with the Stone as a religion and hates the Ancestors. She fell for Leliana, who introduced her to Andrastianism, which broadened Naya's faith- Naya still believes in the Stone, but she also believes in the Maker. Her mother is a drunk and Naya was verbally and physically abused as a child. She tried her best to protect Rica, who in turn protected Naya from becoming a noble-hunter, which was her worst nightmare. Naya is a dual-wielding rogue but mostly she focuses on lock-picking and theft, because hey, gotta survive, amiright boys? She and Vyrim have a rivalry going on because Vyrim is an Heir, stone-blessed, and Naya is a Casteless, and they originally have it out for one another. Eventually they learn to trust each other, but there's always some level of apprehension between them because of their upbringings. Naya becomes a Warden-Commander post-Blight.

Vyrim Aeducan- greatsword-wielding warrior, the middle child of Endrin Aeducan, a very schmoozy kind of person, who got the Assembly in their pocket but never anticipated Bhelen's betrayal. They loved their brother Trian but were closer to Bhelen and believed him when he said "oh yeah, he'll kill you (and me, too)" because they grew up trying to protect their brother. That.... backfired. Vyrim is the oldest of the group at around forty, so they don't get into a relationship with anyone because UH excuse you, you're all BABIES compared to them. They have the dwarf tattoo that has dots around the eyes? i love it. They are prejudiced against the Casteless but learn Not to be after confronted with the reality of what happens against Casteless in Orzammar. They returned to the Grey Wardens and stayed there... for a time.

Those are my DAO ocs! i love them!

Red-Warden’s OCs: Champion of Kirkwall

Worldstate 1:  Akono Hawke the “Chaotic Chill Champion of Kirkwall”

Basics: anarchy and wit and chill. Jack-of-all-trades mage (knows one basic spell from each school of magic) but specializes in Ice magic. Is also a skilled Spirit Healer. Magic manifested at age 11 when he made it snow indoors on a very hot summer’s day to keep the twins cool. Varric’s nickname for him: “Frost”. Gay/Grey-sexual. Fenris Romance.

Physical: age 25-32 (DA2) and 36 (Inquisition), 6′4, tall, strong well-muscled build, very muscular arms, colorless/silver eyes, black hair in thick cornrow braids, brown skin tone, black well-trimmed beard, dark purple face tattoos, handsome. Modern AU he is half white/half African-American coded with Nigerian ancestry. 

Psychological: Purple Hawke (almost exclusively, except a few Blue moments with Leandra and Carver). Chill, funny in a dry way, introverted, shy, impressively patient, brilliant visionary and planner, prefers not to lead directly but pull strings from the shadows or behind a mask. There’s a million ideas always running through his head but he focuses these many ideas, narrowing down those that are illogical and discardable. His intelligence propels him in everything he does, shaping his values, shifting his actions. Akono is passionate about equal rights and overthrowing oppressive establishments- but still maintains a healthy sense of humor and ease. Painfully empathetic but hides it; Devout Andrastian but anti-chantry. Chaotic Good

Decisions: Carver became a Grey Warden, Dueled the Arishok (was not Basalit-an), Sided with Templars publicly most of Acts 1 and 2 (lets mages escape when Templars weren’t involved) to gain their trust (his plan was to get Meredith alone somewhere to assassinate her). Did not help Anders place bomb in chantry. In the end, sided with Orsino/Mages. Killed Anders by his request (to become a martyr the mage rebellion could idolize). Privately agreed with Anders, but publicly will deny it. Survives Adamant (Loghain left in the Fade).

Relationships: Full/high Friendships with everyone (including Carver) except  Merrill, closest with Isabela and Varric. He looks out for her as if she were his little sister but she doesn’t forgive him for not giving her the tool to fix the Eluvian (full Rivalry). Considers Aveline Vallen and Sebastian Vael family, but has few other close friendships due to his shyness and preference for privacy. Main party: Act 1- [Carver, Isabela, Varric] Act 2/3 - [Fenris, Isabela, Varric]

After Kirkwall: Stays for a little while to help rebuild Kirkwall, but leaves a few months after, using his gold to buy Isabela a new ship. Leaves his mabari “Tor” to Aveline. Brings Fenris with him and the three become pirate liberators on the seas, hunting down slaver ships and freeing the slaves (while adding gold and ships to their fleet). Does this for years up till Inquisition while accumulating wealth to hire mercenaries. Is planning to lead the last slave rebellion of Tevinter and overthrow the Archon. Will seek aid from Inquisitor Adaar. Writes to Warden Carver regularly (they’re very close).

Links: Aesthetic Tag // Pinterest Board //

Worldstate 2: Henley Hawke the “Red Queen of Starkhaven”

Basics: tired eyes and sharp edges and spite. Arcane/Earth focused Mage (Specialization: Blood Mage). Has great difficulty learning any kind of creation/healing spells. Magic manifested late at age 16 when she caused a small earthquake while in a very bad mood after being slighted by a nobleman bachelor. Varric’s nickname for her: “Queen of Hearts”, formerly “Queen of My Heart.” (”Queenie” for short). Biromantic/Asexual. Sebastian Rivalmance.

Physical: age 25-32 (DA2) and 36 (Inquisition), 5′10, tall and slender, gray eyes, shoulder length burgundy red hair (secret: exact color is maintained with magic) styled into loose curls daily, pale skin, dark smoky eye make-up to hide dark raccoon eyes from lack of sleep. Suffers from anemia, chronic insomnia, and night-terrors since childhood. Resting bitch face but is strikingly lovely anyways. Modern AU she is Irish coded. Faceclaim: Elizabeth Gillies

Psychological: Red Hawke (almost exclusively, except a rare Purple remark at Varric). Difficult to faze but stubborn. Vain, selfish, paranoid, antisocial, but well-educated and can hold stimulating conversation on a wide variety of subjects. Is often mean for the sake of getting people’s reactions; full of blunt criticism. Too straight-forward to ever lie or be sarcastic. Exceptional memory for names of people and places, important events. Can mingle with mobility effortlessly. Easily bribed, considers every deal with demon but rarely actually accepts. Very motivated by the goal of an easy, luxurious life and more than willing to marry money to achieve this goal. Is unbothered by any killing she does to get her way but does not actively enjoy it. Neutral Evil 

Decisions: Carver became a Templar, Refused to duel the Arishok and instead team battled (was not Basalit-an), Sided with Templars most of Acts 1 and 2 so they wouldn’t bother her. Helped Anders place bomb in chantry. In the end, sided with Orsino/Mages after flipping a coin (she didn’t care for either side and would have picked Templars if Meredith had paid). Approved of Anders but executed him to keep Sebastian. Survives Adamant (Alistair left in the Fade).

Relationships: Full Rivalry with everyone (including Carver) except for Varric Tethras (full Friendship). Generally, she is awful, and Varric is the only real friend she’s had in her life and she is begrudgingly in love with him through the 3 years between Acts 1 and 2. After he betrays her in the Fade, she begins to pursue Sebastian out of desire to become Queen of Starkhaven. Over the years, she comes to tolerate and eventually love him. She is loyal to Aveline though they dislike each other (like sisters with a love-hate relationship). Oddly attached to her elf servant Oranna, she considers her “hers” and is very protective possessive.  Main party: Act 1- [Carver, Varric, Anders] Act 2- [Aveline, Sebastian, Anders] Act 3 - [Aveline, Sebastian, Varric].

After Kirkwall: Leaves to Starkhaven with Sebastian most immediately after defeating Meredith. Gives her mabari “BC” (”Better Carver”) to Merrill. Brings her servant Orana with her as she is the only one she trusts to serve her loyally. Becomes Arcane Advisor to the Prince of Starkhaven and eventually his fiancé then wife. Becomes known as “the Red Queen”.

Links: Aesthetic Tag // Pinterest Board // 5-Gif Summary

Worldstate 3: Claira Hawke the "Bluebird"

Basics: conversation and anxiety and adaptation; Alyss Amell’s cousin. Short-bow Rogue (Specialization: Shadow). Varric’s nickname for her: “Bluebird”. Bisexual. Anders Romance (after Fenris Rivlamance). 

Physical: age 25-32 (DA2) and 36 (Inquisition), 5′5, average build on the softer side due to eating carbs and sweets constantly, toned legs maintained by daily running and stretching; wide hazel eyes with under-eye bags, dark brown hair down to mid-back kept in a messy bun on top of her head, fair skin tone, freckles, red lipstick, wears a red-hooded cape.  Faceclaim: Lydia Graham

Psychological: Blue Hawke (60% Blue, 40% Red); devoted but dynamic, brave but panics easily, smart but naive, easily excited but easily depressed; friendly but with a savage temper, values peace, foul-mouth though tries to control it. Doesn’t really know who she is but does her best. Devout Andrastian but kinda slutty (in just her time in Kirkwall she sleeps with: Athenril, Fenarel, Fenris, Isabela, Templar Hugh, Cyril de Montfort, Anders, a tal-vashoth, and propositioned Seneschel Bran but he turned her down); uses hookups and casual sex as a coping mechanism for stress, also may have commitment issues. Modern AU she is English coded and has diagnosed Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Panic Disorder. Neutral Good

Decisions: Bethany died in the Deep Roads, Dueled the Arishok (was Basalit-an), Vocally and actively sided with mages all Acts 1 and 2, Emotionally manipulated into helping romanced Anders place bomb in chantry. Sided with Orsino/Mages. Spared Anders and tells him to “just go”. Survives Adamant (Stroud left in the Fade).

Relationships: Full Friendships everyone except for Fenris (full Rivalry) due to bringing him everywhere while being very vocal and helpful to the “freedom for mages!” cause. Gets along well with everyone due to intense desire to please and be liked but has few close friends (Aveline and Merrill). Main party: Act 1- [Fenris, Bethany, Merrill] Act 2/3 - [Fenris, Merrill, Anders]

After Kirkwall: Flees Kirkwall with Anders immediately and though she’s broken up with him out of anger for the lives lost (disapproved) in the Kirkwall Chantry, she comes to forgive him eventually but they do split up and go their seperate ways. A couple months later she realizes she is pregnant and sends a distress raven to her friends. Aveline is busy in Kirkwall holding off Sebastian’s invasion, and Varric is already captured by Cassandra, but Merrill, Fenris, Isabela come and help keep her safe through her pregnancy. They eventually part ways again about a year or so later, except for her best friend Merrill who stays by her side. They eventually become romantically involved, raising Claira’s son Silas together.

Links: Aesthetic Tag // Pinterest Board // 5-Gif Summary

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Check out my Heroes of Ferelden!

MIRIYA - SISTERS "When was the last time all three of us got together like this?" Miriya asked, slipping into the seat at the table. Truth be told, she didn't so much 'slip in' as 'hop up', since the seats were all human-sized. Extremely resilient seats too; though scaled for humans, each one had to be able to support a full grown Norn or Charr without breaking. Someone out there must be making a killing on specialized chairs she thought idly as she plopped into the seat and flashed a grin at the other person at the table. "Fairly long time, I think." Her sister Sonnya replied, sipping her lager. She looked every part the responsible older sister; the uncomplicated and efficient hair style, the simple tunic she wore in place of her heavy Guardian armor, the fact she wore very little in the way of makeup. Were she to stand by her sister, Sonnya would 'tower' over her by a full three inches, making her the big sister in more than just title. Far too often in their collective pasts, she'd been forced to regulate arguments and fights between her younger siblings. "Last time I saw you directly was during the war with Mordremoth, when we were all playing at Jungle Fighter." Miriya nodded while indicating to the waiter her drink order. She too, had forgone the usual combat gear for something simple; a strangely bright sundress quite at odds with her profession. Sonnya thought to ask her about it but declined after a moment's thought. "I nearly forgot about that. Between dodging poison vines and defending Tarir, my krewe and I were fairly occupied." She glanced at the empty spot at the table and raised an eyebrow. "So...is she going to be here?"

Sonnya nodded, grimacing slightly. "She said she'd be here. Probably got waylaid. While she's out though, we...need to talk." Immediately all of Miriya's alarms went off. Her ears snapped up, curling away from her face and twitching with concern and worry. Oh no...don't tell me she's heard about Kaleb. Please don't let this be the Talk about Interspecies Relations... "Uh.. talk about what?" "Tenna." The sourness in the older sister's tone caught her by surprise. "I suppose you haven't heard the rumors floating out of Rata Sum?" Well, there IS that pile of notices and orders sitting back on my desk in the Chantry of Secrets... Swear I'll get to that some day. Miriya took a sip from the drink that had arrived, using the edge of the stein to hide her pursed lips.  "What kinds of rumors are we talking? Did she... get involved with the Inquest or something?" Sonnya shook her head slowly. "No...not that bad. And yet, it's worse. Since the war with the Jungle Dragon, I've been getting observer reports coming in from Vigil weaponeers. About an Asura with the Danae name who's apparently gone off the bend." The necromancer sister couldn't help but laugh. "Well, I know Tenna's a bit of a firebrand and a wild thinker, but I wouldn't call her insane..." Her sister, the Guardian, just traced a fingertip around the rim of her mug. "...She hasn't slowed down, hasn't stopped, hasn't slept in who knows how long. Peacemaker security reports tell me she hasn't even returned to her dorms since the war began, and now that it's over she still hasn't come back." Miriya's laughter and smile slowly faded. "That's...ungood. I'm all for studying till it hurts, but even I sleep when I need to." Lately I've been preferring to, since I've got a nice warm human to snuggle up to--STOP IT! She cut her own thought off before it resulted in a blush that her very observant sister would have noticed. "Say...when did you start keeping tabs on her? You're not Whispers, so the spying game seems kinda weird." Her sister chuckled hollowly. "I have two sisters I think the world of. I also have two sisters who, given the right time and place, might accidentally do something to end that world. One of them is a necromancer of some repute who apparently delved so deep into the Entropic Cog of the Alchemy that some say she's already died and come back." The subsequent 'meep' from her dreadlock-headed sibling made her quirk a smile. "The other is an engineer with an absolute fascination with energy manipulation and explosives development, who's already tabled half a dozen designs for new explosion-based weapons so exotic that all five nations have unilaterally put them under lock and seal. Even the Council of Elders in Rata Sum wanted nothing to do with them." Miriya's jaw dropped. It took something massive to get the Council to lock it down; most of the time they'd steal the idea and claim it as their own, adding tweaks and modifications to seem like they'd improved it. For them to blacklist something meant it was so dangerous they couldn't risk it getting out. "You're serious? By the Cogs... Huh, I wonder if the notice for those is in my pile of mail.." "What?" "Nothing.  Just making a mental note..." "Yeah. Sure." Sonnya sipped her beer, knowing full-well that the Order of Whispers spy agency would have had detailed notes on all of that. If the Vigil could get a hold of details like that, it was progeny's play for the Whispers. Chances were pretty good that the information the Vigil got was FROM the Whispers! "Well, when she gets here we can talk to her about it." "Talk to me about what?" A perky voice chimed in, before a charcoal-skinned Asura popped up beside them, surprising them both. She hopped into her own seat, brushing one of her ponytails out her eyes before smiling at her sisters. "Sorry I'm late. I got...distracted." Tenna giggled as if she had told a joke, giving both sisters a chance to see how bedraggled she really was. Her normally straight hair, the color of bordeaux and tied into a pair of pony tails framing her face, with a third one on the back of her head holding her long hair off her body, seemed a bit...askew. The ponytail bindings weren't as tight, so hair had gotten loose and springing away from her typically immaculate hairstyle. Both of them could see soot in her hair and in places on her face, like her jawline or at the edge of her hairline. Overall, she looked messy, and perhaps just a little unhinged? They couldn't see her mouth, since she had her hand up to cover her face slightly, resting her elbow on the table to do so. But..something else seemed off. Her eyes... Miriya tried not to gasp in horror. They look so... Words failed her. Tenna's eyes, normally a bright golden orange, were both fairly sunken in her face, surrounded by tired, dark, I-haven't-slept-in-ages bags. The color was also muted; where her eyes used to shine like a solar reactor, the Asura looking back at Miriya had glassy, empty eyes that twitched from one sister to the other almost nervously. There was still the same wild humor, the twinkle of the practical joker she was in those eyes, but by their very sunkenness, the tone of that humor was changed. "Tenna..." Miriya began awkwardly, giving her younger sister a strained smile. The Danae sisters, though physically similar in some respects, had enough differences that it made them hard to believe they were blood sisters. "It's so good to see you. I trust you've been keeping out of trouble?" Of the three sisters, Sonnya was the oldest and the tallest. All three sisters shared the same facial markings, that of a trio of diamonds across their foreheads, but Sonnya's skin tone was almost a human-pink, rather than the shades of grey most Asura sported. Her hair was a plain orange-red, her eyes a strong, deep blue. Being the oldest sister, she'd grown up the responsible one, keeping her bickering siblings under control. As an adult she'd joined the Vigil rather than any of the Colleges, her disdain for study manifest. That didn't stop her from improving designs that came her way, but she was no wild inventor, and the Vigil needed steadfast soldiers, not starry-eyed dreamers. Miriya on the on other hand, was the middle sibling and out of the group, surprisingly the shortest. Where her older sister favored a more broad, tall frame, toned by battle and hard training, she herself was slim and small, a waif by Asuran standards. It ground her gears that she was the smallest of the trio, no matter that she was older than Tenna; some fluke of genetics had given her the petite frame she was born with. Sharp emerald eyes gazed out upon the world. Where her older sister favored a simple, asymmetric hairstyle, she had hers pulled and shaped into short, fingerlength dreadlocks, held back by her utilitarian headband. Her skin was remarkably pale for an asura, which she prided since she clearly felt it suited her profession as a Necromancer (extraordinaire, if you believed her). The black sheep of the group was Tenna. Last of the Danae, she had her older sister's height, but the middle sister's build. Tall and lanky, she had grown up being known as a gangly progeny and prone to accidents. Another genetic quirk had set off recessive genes in Tenna; instead of being pale or pink like her older siblings, Tenna was had a darker, almost sooty aspect to her skin. Her markings were inverted color, compared to the others; where they had dark marks on pale skin, hers were pale marks on dark skin. Were it not for her sleep-deprived bags under her eyes, she would have had bright, gold-orange eyes. There was a joke that persisted for years that Tenna had been able to see in the dark thanks to her unrealistically bright, shiny eyes. Tenna smiled behind her hand and signalled the waiter for something. Whatever the hand gesture was, the waiter flinched and then frowned, before nodding and departing to get it. The engineer waited till the drink was placed before her before answering her sister. "As much as able, not as much as I could." She replied vaguely, uncorking the glass bottle and pouring a fair bit of deep red liquid into her glass. It wasn't thick liquor; the ice in the glass barely stained with the ruby red of the liquid. "Been on the road lately, exploring, getting research materials..." "And developing a taste for Charr-style Blood whiskey, I see. " Sonnya pointed out disapprovingly, sipping her own beer. "You DO know what makes it 'blood' whiskey, right?" Tenna merely giggled, and took a sip. Still, she had her hand over her mouth, though she gave her lips a bit of a rub against her fingers. "It's a very interesting recipe. I've gotten quite accustomed to it." Her necromancer sister just watched her, before shrugging and drinking some of her own. She preferred wine, personally. In fact, she'd been drinking a bit more of it since... She cut the thought off before the blush started again. Damn, I really gotta control myself. At this rate it won't be secret anymore, will it? "Sis tells me you've been working on some new weapons or something? Explosives and such?" Miriya ventured, trying to divert the conversation to safer ground for them all. "Anything you can tell us? Or are you under one of those Council seals?" Tenna finally let her hand drop from her mouth, apparently satisfied with whatever she'd done until that moment. She took a long, bracing sip of the whiskey, wincing at its sharpness, before answering. "Nah. The actual diagrams and technology IS under seal, but I can still tell you about it. Not like you're gonna be able to build it from a bare description anyway." Both sisters looked at each other, and then at Tenna, blinking. They both expected to be told 'Classified' and then the conversation to move along. They leaned forward, almost conspiratorily. "So?..." Tenna shrugged, still grinning toothily. "Been working on a few projects. Small-scale application, Pact-fleet application, and a few private projects just for my entertainment, of course." She looked down at her drink. "Made a new grenade type, for starters. High density explosive based off Tonn's ship-cracker, melded with a fragmentation core, and laced with specially designed high-temp resistant spikes. Not using much of the explosive, but it's so powerful a few milligrams are equal to a standard grenade payload." "That's... wait. If you made it a frag grenade, then why add those 'high temp resistant spikes' or whatever?" Miriya puzzled, frowning. "Seems kinda redundant." Sonnya nodded. "Indeed. Wouldn't the frag core be sufficient to cause damage?" The dark-haired engineer nodded, trying to keep from giggling again. "Oh it would...but the spikes are for increased damage, burn damage, and morale-breaking. After the grenade goes off, in addition to the regular shrapnel, those spikes are thrown out. They're razor sharp, intensely heated by the blast but not deformed by it, and best of all, they richochet off hard surfaces." Her eyes flicked up and over to each of them, judging their reactions. She couldn't help but giggle as they made the connection. "All that razor-sharp spike storm, in a confined space, bouncing around like the goo-ball from an elixir gun... The pa-ting-ting-TANG of bouncing metal, all searching for something...meaty...to bury itself in. Burning hot to boot, so it practically cooks the flesh when it skewers it..." "By the Eternal Alchemy..." Miriya breathed. She'd seen Dhangalor's grenades in action before, shredding Orrian monstrosities and Mordrem plant abominations. Her own sister's devices made those pale. "That's just...heinous. I can definitely see the morale-shattering effect of it." Sonnya nodded mutely. She'd heard of the design, as it had crossed her desk before. Tonn's recipe was a state secret, but the Charr had been salivating at getting their hands on it. It was sealed by the council, but in time, those grenades might make it to the hands of those who could use them. "Heh... Also work great in a pinch for meal time." Tenna went on, almost distractedly. "Just toss into a room with a food animal and when the explosions are over, you got some nice cooked meat, pre-skewered for ease of eating." "Okay, that's just gross." Her older sister frowned, crossing her arms. "Especially if the creature wasn't killed in the blast. Then you gotta deal with it afterward." Tenna just shrugged mildly, as if it didn't bother her at all. "Secondary designs are for artillery shells, bombs, grenade launchers, that kind of thing. Simple fair." She continued. "Another project that got kiboshed by the Council was for an orbital energy weapon delivery platform. I don't think they liked the idea of someone putting nigh-untouchable magitek weapons in geosynch orbit." Sonnya eyed her sister suspiciously. "Where did you come up with THAT idea, pray tell?" Her engineer sister shrugged. "Files from the Scarlet Briar archives. Studies of the wreckage of the Breachmaker in all three forms it had." She smiled brightly. "That sylvari was in a class all her own. She was really onto something with ethertech, and that big slag-off ethercannon she tested in the Shiverpeaks. Got an idea what she'd intended it for, but that's MY secret." "In any case, while I was studying it, I was also trying to see...how shall I put this? I wanted to see how high a sentient-made device could go." Tenna giggled, licking her lips. "I used Tonn's explosive formula, of course, but with my own mixes. Made a nice long-burning, fuel source. Impractical for anything other than in engines or rockets. Which is what I did. I launched rockets with varying degrees of fuel, studded with sensors and golemites, and just...aimed at the sky." "Well, that still sounds more acceptable than the grenade." Miriya pointed out, nodding. Experimentation was all part of Dynamics. While her sister was a Synergetics College alumni, Miriya herself was Dynamics. The two fields often overlapped; the crazed experiments for-the-sake-of-experimenting Dynamics got passed over or incorporated into Synergetic scientists projects aimed at integrating new and exotic things into the fabric of society and knowledge. They took all experiments, failure or not, and added them to the warp and weave of the Asuran knowledge pool, often figuring out solutions the original scientists didn't see. "And what can you tell us of the upper atmosphere then?" "That the breathable part ends at about one hundred kilometers above sea level, for starters." Tenna looked at both sisters, and their gawping faces. "Oh yeah, that's right... neither of you knew. Did you think the atmosphere just kept going out and out, until it reached the stars?" Sonnya frowned, before nodding. "Well, just doing the math in my head for gas density versus gravity, that would make sense. If the atmosphere just kept going, gravity would cause it to naturally condense more and more on the surface, until it was unbearable, unlivable. Possibly even dangerous. We're talking tons per square inch here." Her dark haired sister nodded. "Yep. I mean, there's still SOME atmo up there; it doesn't just end like a forcefield. But it does trail off rather abruptly. Everything beyond that, from what I can tell from recovered probes, says there's only trace gases. The golemites that survived reentry...the ones that still could think, anyway, reported being unable to move around the rocket pod due to a lack of gravity. Around the fifth trial rocket I had to put magnets on the feet and hands, and bind the free-floating limbs with wire just so they wouldn't fall apart up there! I almost reverted back to using a design like those stupid old Novan golems, where all the bits are attached by machine." She stuck her tongue out, making a lemon-eating face. Archaic technology... "So what did you learn?" Sonnya asked, nibbling a corn chip from the appetizer that had appeared on the table. She hadn't asked for it, and was pretty sure no one had ordered it, but there it was anyway. Tenna smirked, removing a vial from her pocket and emptying its contents into her whiskey, before she stirred it with one long nailed finger. "That the council hates the idea of orbitally-launched, geosynchronous weapons systems. At least, ones that weren't under their control. Didn't stop the Inquest though. Those shit-eaters tried three times to either sink or commandeer my satellite with ones of their own based off what they could see of my design." She sighed, shaking her head. "The original rocket probes weren't meant to do much but measure stuff. But then I sent up my prototype beam cannon satellite, and I guess they got word of it. A shame for them that those golemites I sent up in the actual satellite were the most heavily armed ones I could get. And it's not like the satellite is undefended itself." Miriya quirked an eyebrow, noting the vial but saying nothing. "You mean you went paranoid and turned it into more than a study satellite didn't you." "Got it in one!" Tenna pointed at her sister, grinning, before taking a slug of her drink, wincing at the burn. " In addition to the sensor packages and the golemites in it, which are specially modified with weapons I made, the satellite package itself is studded with direct-fire energy weapons, retractable turrets, and then there's also the mega particle cannon I installed on it. Kinda the point of it really." Sonnya was stunned. "What could possibly be the point of THAT?! To burn a section of the planet to ash?" Tenna nodded brightly, her loose ponytail bobbing. "Exactly! I envisioned a network of them in orbit, placed all over the planet! Imagine being able to cut off dragon minions from their attack routes, carve the landscape into what you need, or better yet, just BURN the bastards out?" "By the Alchemy, that's just nuts." Miriya shook her head. "I mean, the Dragons are a threat, but you've heard the reports coming out of Rata Novus, and the instabilities everywhere; killing them isn't an option anymore. Maybe it never was, but we couldn't stop Zhaitan without completely annihilating him, and that bitch Scarlet left us no choice when she woke Mordremoth early. If we'd had time to build up our militaries and train them for jungle assaults, we could have approached him while he slept and fire-bombed everything." She sipped her drink, thinking. "Now we have to deal with the planet trying to break up underneath us, and rampant magic." "Well, whatever. Like I care." Tenna shrugged flippantly. "The Council, the human royalty, and the Charr Imperator, while they saw the benefits, worried the network would fall into less-than-admirable hands, and so quashed the idea immediately. Permanently forbid me from seeking funding for the network. So I was left with just my test satellite, and it's non-city-smashing laser." "They didn't take that one away?" "Not a chance. I bonded the control system to my own genetic structure, magic wavelength run through a cipher, voice control... and several other systems." She replied. "That satellite is mine; it's keyed to wipe out anything that approaches it that doesn't have my specific okay, which means coming from my labs with ALL my signatures on it. Its use is connected to me in a way I won't go into, but no one other than me can use it." She began to giggle again. "I can hit anyone I see from orbit with a pinpoint high energy strike born of the very energy of our world. And there's nothing anyone can do to stop it." "They could kill you. Let it just drift in space." Sonnya offered sardonically. She pointed a finger-gun at her youngest sibling and closed an eye, sighting over an invisible iron sight. "No control, no weapon." Tenna smiled broadly, eyes closed in utter confidence, so very much like when they were younger. The cute redhead goofball from the past was suddenly before her older sister. "They could try. I've made it MUCH harder to kill me. And I don't think they'd like the consequences of killing me. It'd be...detrimental." She tilted her head to the side, oddly, still smiling. That smile, as playful as it was, was definitely giving Sonnya the creeps. It wasn't healthy. "How so?" The goofball grin shifted into something much less innocent; Tenna's eyes were hooded with something less wholesome than mere mischief. "If I die suddenly, the satellite goes on automatic. I've embedded scanners and sensors in my armor, and in my own body, thanks to a very capable sylvari surgeon. That satellite is recieving a constant datafeed from me. It doesn't matter if I don't see my killer; one of my sensors will. And then a moment later, the killer will be obliterated by a terawatt laser. The system is as heuristic as I can make it; all vectors included. If an Inquest shithead kills me, the laser starts with them, and then proceeds to work its way through the database of Inquest labs and fortresses, before taking down individual targets with a powered down version of the laser. Less collateral damage that way." She sipped her drink again, and this time Miriya noticed her eyes seemed to shimmer or glow brighter afterward. The bags under her eyes seemed to recede, and she looked slightly more refreshed. Whatever she'd slipped into her drink, it was reviving her? Miriya could feel something, on the edge of thought, the edge of reality; there was something familiar.... An energy of some kind, a violation of Death itself. It was minor right now, but with each second it was gaining resolution. She sat there confused as Tenna continued to blather about her weapons. "You're talking about potential mass murder from a weapon no one else can reach, Tenna. " Sonnya scolded, her concern rising with each moment. "Don't you think that's a little excessive?" Tenna shrugged mildly, still drinking her whiskey. "Not really. Vexa built her lab in Flame Legion territory to contain and continue her genetic experiments. Calx hid his lab behind a gateway system in the heart of a mountain. Oola hid hers in the jungle to keep people from her Necro-golem research (interesting concept, I'd have you). Our people have a history of hiding our best research and gear and all that behind layers of defenses and automatic weaponry. Mine is just orbitally based, and VERY vengeful." She started to laugh, rocking in her seat and slapping a palm against the table top. "I'm just following everyone else!" While she laughed, Miriya and Sonnya passed a look between each other. Had their sister officially lost her mind? It was true Asuran paranoia was well known, and the best researchers and inventors had sequestred themselves away from others for the sake of hiding their research until they were ready to reveal it...but... Tenna's laughter finally started to fade, and she brushed a tear from her eye before draining her drink. With a triumphant slam, she signalled for a fresh drink from the bar. "'Nother one! I'm still seeing straight!" There it was again; when Tenna drained the drink, that odd sensation, that whisper Miriya was hearing in the back of her mind got louder. Much louder. It was seemingly focused on Tenna. She stared at her sister as she cracked another vial into her new drink, stirring it with a finger. Miriya glanced at Sonnya, and noticed she too seemed suddenly wary. Was she feeling something?

Unbeknownst to Miriya, she was right; Sonnya felt something disturbing as well. As a Guardian, she was trained to notice changes, both magically and physically in the area around her. It was part of Guardian training to master any battlefield, which meant that if the battlefield suddenly started to change, you studied and adapted to it. Foreign weapon making fighting hard? Adjust. Alien magic warping your opponent or the landscape or something? Identify, adjust, eliminate. Purge the unclean with holy fire based from the diamond hard sureity of your own soul. The stronger your faith was, the more you could undo the damage someone had done.

All too often, Sonnya's mere prescence on the Vigil battlefield had sent Orrian monstrosities reeling. The flames of her devotion to the cause manifested ghostly blue fire across her entire body, and, combined with the channelling crystals and specialized sigils she had personally installed in every piece of her gear, she could vent those flames as a physical weapon; no ally would ever be harmed, but anyone that stood in her path would burn. In a private, self-indulgant moment, she had once confessed she called it the Exterminatus. Sitting there, staring at her youngest sibling as she drank a drink corrupted with...something... she could feel that distortion to the Right Order growing. What had Tenna gotten into?!

It was Miriya who suddenly recognized the unfamiliar-yet-familiar distortion. Her face paled as she realized just what it was, but... how had Tenna gotten her hands on it?!

"Tenna..." She asked tenatively. "What...is that you mixed into your drink?" Tenna paused her stirring, but didn't look at her sister at all. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. A small, knowing smile crossed her lips. "Oh, it's just... something. Something very interesting." She replied, feigning evasiveness.

"How so?" Sonnya added, her voice hard. It was less a question than a demand. Big sister needed to be big sister.

"It was quite interesting actually. Several months ago, a plasma sample was sent to the Dynamics labs. It was bounced around the labs, with no one making progress since there was little detail on its origins. All data had been put under lock and key. Or deliberately omitted." She sat back, smiling wistfully. "So there I was, in the Synergetics labs, struggling to deal with stress, lack of sleep, requests for translations from the Priory, an upcoming presentation for an invention I hadn't created yet... and this vial gets passed to me by a coworker who was seeing a girl in Dynamics." Her smile twisted slightly. It seemed slightly more toothy than before. "Well, I did my own analysis and discovered that there was something very wrong with the sample. There was an active blood-borne viral parasite component latched onto every single red blood cell, even the white cells. I did an analysis of the T cells, and discovered that the viral component was bypassing the normal immune responses by literally being slightly out of phase; every time a leukocyte started to draw a bead on one and try to kill it, the virus's membrane coating would shift chaotically until it no longer matched up. Very tenacious." "So the immune system couldn't touch it, and yet it wasn't killing cells. This virus, if you could call it that, was making subtle, random changes to the DNA of its target. Some of the changes were fairly regular, which means whoever the poor bastard is, they're gonna start seeing some teratological changes the longer they're infected." Tenna shook her head. "I don't know precisely what that'll entail, but it won't kill them. Oh no...definitely not." "You see, the virus was also actively repairing telomeres. It wasn't reversing telomere damage that had happened prior to infection, but no new telomeres were being lost." She glanced at her sisters. "The subject of that virus was no longer going to age. Whatever age they were infected at, they might age two for every ten now. The virus isn't perfect, but it's damned good at its job." Miriya's mind was racing; she was right. She knew who the sample came from...and where they'd got the virus. Oh alchemy...is that why? Is that why things are starting to change? "What...what else do you know about it?" Tenna looked over at her suspiciously, and then smirked knowingly. "Oh... not much. Just that it tries to improve its host while following some unknown guideline. I got markers for enhanced strength, muscle-changes increasing reaction muscle, a marker for eyesight change, but I don't know what... things like that. Enhanced healing and regeneration, since it co-opts the ATP production and triples it. I imagine that if the infection continues uncontested that there might come a time when the 'victim', if you can call it that, might be able to lose a limb and regrow it in a matter of minutes, at the cost of personal stored energy. Lose an arm and regrow it in three minutes, but need to eat like an Arctodus shortly after. You'd be RAVENOUS." She started to giggle. There was something unhealthy about that giggle. It was too deep, too personal. Like there was something about the pun that was so very, very funny that only she'd get the joke. "Ravenous... which the virus takes into account in a very, very interesting way." Tenna toyed with the vial in her fingers, watching the leftover fluid rolling around the glass. "It depletes iron something fierce. More when there's injury. The need for iron, for....hemoglobin... will be an almost unstoppable thirst. The subject will be able to surpress it the same way you surpress being hungry...but at some point, they WILL give in to the Thirst." She dipped a finger into the vial and brought out a golden droplet on her finger, before delicately licking it off her fingertip. "Keep the virus happy, it keeps you happy. And makes you better as a gift." There was an almost audible snap as both sisters came to the same realization. "No... you didn't....?" "That's obscene! You didn't seriously test it on..." All Tenna could do was smile.  A wide, toothy smile. In fact, it was perhaps too toothy. Asura were known for their sharp teeth, but Tenna's seemed just a little bit TOO sharp. Miriya stared at her sister in horror. It was true. She had been right; somehow, Kaleb's infected blood sample, his blood infected by whatever made that bitch Maeva into a fleshreaving monster, had made it to Tenna's desk. And she'd gone and... "Oh unclench, you two." Tenna giggled. "I stabilized the virus easily. The reason why it was so unstable was because it was laced with a Torment energy. Once that was stripped away, I used my sciences and skill with magical manipulation to reprogram it to what I wanted. Enhanced healing, stamina, strength, etc." Almost as an afterthought, she added "I couldn't remove the Thirst aspect though. Every attempt destroyed the virus. It's too deeply built into its structure to remove entirely." Both older sisters shifted slightly away from their sibling. She'd deliberately infected herself with a viral component just....because? Sonnya shook her head in disappointment. "I'm not one to use another culture's euphamisms, Tenna, but, By the Six, what in the hell have you done to yourself?" Tenna's eyes shrouded, their sullen orange glowing a vibrant gold. "Made. Myself. Better. And if you can't handle that, then this is where we draw the lines. There are those who accept me, accept the changes I've made. They don't judge me like you two." She glared at Miriya. "You, the Twice-dead. The Deathshroud addict. The Scourge of the wastes. You with your minions cobbled together with the expended life-essence of countless things, imbued with intelligence from beyond the grave. You who hides a romance with a HUMAN." She hissed the word, as if it were a curse. " You would dare judge ME? " Her gaze snapped over to her oldest sister. "Or you. The stoic one. The consumate soldier and blessed older sister. The 'responsible' one. The one hiding an even deeper secret than a love of a bookah. You would judge me? How dare you." Sonnya twitched like she'd been slapped. "Both of you left me in Rata Sum. I ended up joining the Priory because I didn't know anything about the outer world, because you LEFT ME THERE." She clenched her fists. "I didn't have the virus back then, but when I returned to work on that paper, it was there waiting for me. Like a gift. A boon in the disguise of a curse. I no longer needed to fear being weak and helpless compared to my powerful sisters." She glared at them both. "One of you has incredible magic powers, and the other has strength born of nothing but FAITH of all things. I had none of that. I had my inventions, my tools, and my ideas. But that virus..." she sighed tiredly. "I was so tired of being stressed out. Of wondering if I'd be accidentally killed in a lab accident, or an Inquest raid. Of the distant worry of being annihilated by Dragons  or their minions. Or a mad human god or two. Do you have any idea how afraid I was?" Her grip on the vial was tightening, the glass creaking in her grasp. "There was no way out for me. But then I found the virus, purified it, rectified it... And now I know there's nothing that can stop me. Me or my allies." For a long, painful moment there was dead silence. Neither older sister knew what to say. Miriya tried to reach out to her, but Tenna shook off her hand. Sonnya just crossed her arms, slouching, and stared into her drink, contemplating how badly things had gotten screwed up. "...I've left the Priory. Told them I was on sabbatical. Same thing for the Dynamics college." Tenna whispered. She squeezed the vial again; this time a faint crick of cracking glass could be heard from her palm. "I don't think I'll be going back. The only place I need to be is with my allies...with my friends. If I need protecting, they'll protect me. And they know they can count on me to protect them in turn." "You...found a krewe." "No...not a krewe. A team. Strangers. Odd ones like me, who don't fit in." Her voice was sad, even as her grip tightened. This time there was a noticable snap, and shards of glass dribbled out of her hand, followed by a thin streamer of blood. As calm as she looked at that moment, she'd crushed the vial and cut her palm. What unsettled Miriya and Sonnya though, was the fact that Tenna had shown utterly no reaction to it. She hadn't flinched, blinked, or even changed expression. It was like she hadn't felt it, even though she was looking at her hand. Slowly, delicately, she opened her hand, letting the larger chunks fall to the table, before plucking individual shards out of her palm and fingers. At no point did she show a sign of pain. In fact, she was almost smilingly with wonder. when she was done, she held her hand up for them to see. "....Cuts are already healing. In another minute, they'll be fully healed." "That fast..." Miriya breathed, visibly watching the wounds seal. She'd only seen that kind of healing through the use of magic or various concoctions. Seeing it from just someone's body was amazing. "...pain reduction, endorphine release. Rapid healing and regeneration." Tenna flexed her fingers, still bloody. Idly she brought her hand to her mouth and began to lick the blood away, leaving a smear on her cheeks and jaw as she dragged her hand across her mouth. "Mmm...waste-not-want-not. Might have to get a Dolyak burger later. Like I said, there's a trade off..." "Tenna, I..."  Sonnya began, but a male voice from the door interrupted her. "Tenna. Are you ready?" Sillouetted in the door were three figures and an animal. The first was a human, male, with slicked back sandy-blonde hair. A pair of glasses adorned a face marked with a very prominent mark over his right eye. At first glance it looked like he'd been punched or scratched, but a closer inspection revealled it as a very elaborate and foreign symbol of some kind. He had blue eyes, but it must have been a trick of the lighting; the eye that the symbol/bruise was centered on had some kind of glow or reflection in its pupil, visible for a second before fading. Miriya had to do a double-take when she realized what he was wearing. There were minor differences in details, like the gloves were clearly Elonian gauntlets, but he seemed to be wearing a heavily modified suit of Aetherblade Magitech armor. It had been a while since she’d seen that kind of gear, but it was unmistakable with the furnace-like power core at his neck and the spiked shoulder guard who’s glow spoke of hidden magitech.   Certainly, suits of that kind had been salvaged from the Breachmaker after it went down, but usually ruined or in pieces. His seemed...tailor-made. Could he have been an Aetherblade? She wondered. There were no records of crew to be salvaged, and all the other sky pirates had either been captured and forced into servitude to pay off their crimes, or had escaped deep into the Mists with their airships, presumably to other Scarlet Briar bases as-yet undiscovered. The second was a dark rose-tinted sylvari with collapsable twinswords at her hips. Though the lines of her face were delicate and could be considered beautiful, the hard expression on her face told of a severe personality. Contrasting that severity, her hair was like soft fern fronds or jade plant, smooth and curling. She looked uneasily at the sisters, almost disapprovingly, her expression revealling a mark on her jaw that seemed to be a scar of some kind, curving down along her jawline. As they watched, her natural sylvari glow, pale green, illuminated that scar. It would have been unnoticable were it not for the glow. Behind them, twice as big as any of them and armored in the most brutal armor any of them had ever seen was a Charr dam. Long white hair hung down from her tawny head, her helmet latched to a belt loop. Her armor, contrary to standard Legion colors, was an unassuming gunmetal grey, trimmed by the darkest black and a bright, warning yellow. In places, if one looked carefully, you could see chevroned 'warning' markers emblazoned along her plate. One grand shoulderpad held an embossed Dreadnought helm symbol, shining in silver. The last figure was a very large, confused looking striped cat near the human. It looked around the bar, panting, before making a murph noise and nuzzling the gloved hand of the human. "Cyrus. Yeah, I'm ready. " She looked around the table reluctantly, before leaving it. "... I think I'm done here." The human ranger nodded stiffly, and glanced at the other sisters. "Are these your...." "Yeah. Miriya of the Whispers, and Sonnya of the Vigil." He nodded to both of them, face neutral, though his eyes caught both of theirs and stared straight through them. "A pleasure to meet you." Tenna paused as she neared Cyrus, and turned to her sisters. "Girls... these are my allies. Cyrus Sigismund, a Ranger, and his cat Dangles... Moryggan Deraleth of the Dawn, a Mesmer." There was a sniff of distaste from the Mesmer, who turned and left the doorway. "And the big one is Verula Faithbreaker, of the Iron Legion, daughter of Perturaba Forgebreaker." Verula just grunted, not saying anything. She turned to look at something outside, and Sonnya could immediately see that the axe on her hip wasn't any normal axe. For one, it had eyes and horns. Three eyes, actually. And it was breathing through a horrifyingly tooth-filled maw. What in the Alchemy is THAT?! She wondered, unable to take her eyes off the living violation strapped to the Charr's hip. Sonnya eyed them, pursing her lips. "So... you know what our sister has...done?" Cyrus nodded slowly. "We don't care. It's not a concern to any of us." "Even if she wants to...." He shrugged. "She brought up the subject. It doesn't matter to Moryggan at all, doesn't concern Verula, and I personally just don't care. What happens happens." "Huh. I see." Cyrus seemed to consider something before looking straight at Sonnya. "...if it will make you relax, you should know that we all take care of each other. When one steps out of line, the others will be there to make sure they step back." Another shrug. "It's how we work. Our balance." "Balance." He nodded, and turned away. "Let's go. We still have to book accomodations for the night." Tenna smiled brightly up at him. "Already done! I booked one of the larger rooms; Normally meant for noble families and their entourage. It'll have a LOT of beds." He smiled back, the stoic demeanor shedding for a moment in a tired smile. "That's great. I hate divvying up bed assignments on the spot." The Charr made a disrespectful snort. "Yeah. Especially when you snore like you do." "You snore louder than me, woman." He retorted, smirking, before they all walked away. Miriya and Sonnya could hear a few more ripostes and some laughter, but it faded quickly. The two sisters stared into their drinks, contemplating everything their little sister had told them. Miriya made a decision and downed the remainder of hers before pushing away from the table. "... I have to go. I have...business in Rata Sum in the morning. I've been expecting some test results back on something...anomalous." Sonnya too, drained her stein, wiping a bit of foam away from her lips. "As do I. Not in Rata Sum though. I have inquiries to make through my contacts. Perhaps I'll look up our sister's companions?..." She cast a raised eyebrow to her necromantic sibling. The necromancer sighed and nodded. "I'll check with my...sources. If I find anything, don't be surprised if you suddenly find a file in your archives that wasn't there a minute ago." She smirked. "Of course, I disavow any knowledge of it, should it turn out to be after-action reports and spy reports from redacted sources known by the Whispers." "I'll be sure to accidentally spill my coffee on it, and then trip on the way past the fireplace." Sonnya replied, leaving her seat and tossing some coin on the table for all their drinks, including Tenna's. "After I read it of course. Might I suggest double-copying the redacted version so that I can't do something silly like remove the black bars covering things like names and such?" "Sounds like a good idea for security." Miriya nodded, smirking. "But since I have NO idea what papers you speak of, and I am merely a humble Pact agent, I'm afraid it's just falling on deaf ears..." "Oh yes, pardon my blathering." Sonnya chuckled and headed outside, giving her sister a final over-the-shoulder wave. "I look forward to finding out who and what our sister's friends truly are."