#da writing reference
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Thedosian Calendars and Holidays
Thedas has twelve 30-day months and five holidays, or annums. which start at the beginning of the month. Their day lengths are contradictory if not unclear as one instance mentions 24-hour days while all the clocks we've seen in Orlais work in 8-hour increments. Though it should be noted that clocks are dwarven in invention and manufacturing according to lore.
While the Chantry calendar shares some similarities to the Gregorian calendar, due to the placement and functions the holidays in regards to what they mean to the common people; it falls more in line with some versions of medieval calendars, though not entirely. For the common folk in Thedas these universal holidays mark the change of the seasons: letting them know what weather to expect, when harvests must be finished, when to plant, and other seasonal work and activities.
Additionally, it is important to know that Thedas appears to be in the southern hemisphere. It is never explicitly stated in lore or by any of the devs, but the context clues of things such as Tevinter being to the "north" and Orlais and Ferelden making up "southern Thedas" are the most prominent pieces of evidence. Though I will note that sometimes the devs/writers have gotten this mixed up and have referenced things like "birds flown south for the winter".
Thedosian Calendars - General
Of all calendars in Thedas, we know only of three: Chantry, Elven, and Tevinter. For other prominent cultures, we know nothing about the Avvar, Chasind, Dwarven, and Qunari calendars. They are not mentioned in lore, but are likely systems they would have.
Thedas, in its entirety, has converted to the Chantry calendar after the Second Blight. It became the universal calendar, and it's season marking holidays became the five universal holidays - though this doesn't mean they are the only holidays in Thedas. It is also unclear as of now whether the sharing of names and holidays are all the Tevinter and Chantry calendars share. We do not know if that extends to format, twelve 30-day months, or other factors.
The elven calendar fell into disuse after the fall of Arlathan when Tevinter outlawed its uses and enslaved the elven people. Now, not much is known about how the ancient elves of Arlathan kept track of the passing of time. Only a few notable events have lasted through the centuries to be recorded by modern scholars.
While the Tevinter Imperium did follow the Orlesian Chantry Calendar at some in their history, after the schisms between the two Andrastian cults they chose to return to their original calendar that dated back to the foundation of the Imperium. It is from this calendar that the Chantry took inspiration. It is suggested that elves had some influence on the creation of the Tevinter calendar (though this is only mentioned in the Traveler's Guide in the Origins Collector's Edition Game Guide). The Tevinter calendar is where the high names of the months come from.
The Orlesian Chantry calendar adopted several things from the Tevinter calendar, including the adoption of some holidays dedicated to the worship of the Old Gods that overlapped with their own holidays, and in turn gave them new meaning. Additionally, it is the Tevinter calendar that we inherited the high names and from the Chantry calendar the low names of the months.
Months and Days of the Week
Months
Each month has two names:
a high name - used by scholars and courts
a low name - used primarily by common folk
Most codex and dates shown in Dragon Age use the low name even when it is written in the voice of a scholar or noble, so I have listed them below in Low/High name format.
Wintermarch / Verimensis
Guardian / Pluitanis
Drakonis / Nubulis
Cloudreach / Eluviesta
Bloomingtide / Molioris
Justinian / Ferventis
Solace / Solis
August / Matrinalis
Kingsway / Parvulis
Harvestmere / Frumentum
Firstfall / Umbralis
Haring / Cassus
If the Chantry calendar and by extension Tevinter calendar were to follow the same solar equivalent dates as the real world, the months would land as follows in accordance to the southern hemisphere:
Spring/Vernal Equinox: September 21-23 -> Guardian / Pluitanis 1st
Summer Solstice: December 21-23 -> Bloomingtide / Molioris 1st
Autumnal/Fall Equinox: March 21-23 -> August / Matrinalis 1st
Winter Solstice: June 21-23 -> Firstfall / Umbralis 1st
My only note about this is that Tevinter seems to be predominately a tropical climate that begins to encroach closer to the equator. In the real world, this would usually result in them using a lunar (or lunar-solar) calendar as their seasonal changes would be relatively minimal. Solar calendars are more typical in temperate regions as there are more seasonal changes and they're impacted more by the the decrease/increase of sunlight.
That said, Tevinter seems to follow a more solar calendar that made it an easy port for the rest of Thedas. The likely reason for this might have simply been to keep things simple, as it would make it a little easier to track.
Days
As stated before, the length of a day seems to be 24-hours, though the clocks seem to work in 8 hour increments. Additionally, from what we can tell, Thedas has the same days of the week that we do. Except, there has yet to be any mention of Monday or Wednesday.
Tuesday
Thursday
Friday
Saturday
Sunday
Holidays, Celebrations, Ceremonies, and Festivals
It is noted that there are more holidays in the world than the ones listed in universal holidays. The following holidays/festivals/feasts listed are predominately human and surface, there isn't much on Orzammar and their holidays or celebrations nor the Dalish.
Universal Holidays
These are the holidays implemented by the Orlesian Chantry. These are the holidays called annums. With the exception of First Day, they typically mark the changes of the seasons. All of them fall at the beginning of the month.
With that in mind, based on how they line up with the solstices and equinox they seem to be roughly floating holidays that may range from the 1st to 3rd of the month.
Something to note though, is that the holidays were once mentioned to fall outside of any month. Which would align them more towards the special days you would see in a lunar calendar or some forms of historical calendars. However, this arrangement of the holidays hasn't been mentioned since the (Collector's Edition Prima Guide for Dragon Age Origins in the Traveler's Guide).
First Day, celebrated on the first day of Wintermarch / Verimensis
A traditional start of the year that involves the practice of visiting neighbors and family as well as gathering in town to commemorate the year past.
In remote areas this holiday was once the annual check to ensure everyone was alive.
In some areas, such as Serault in Orlais, it is customary to eat chicken on First Day.
Wintersend, celebrated at the beginning of Guardian / Pluitanis
(Potential Spring / Vernal Equinox)
Previously called "Urthalis" and dedicated to the Old God of Beauty, Urthemiel.
Currently a holiday that is the celebration of the Maker.
It stands for the end of winter in many areas.
In the Tevinter, coincides with tourneys and contests at the Proving Grounds in Minrathous.
In the south, the holiday became the day for trade and theater.
In some areas, it is also the day for arranging marriages.
Some places, like Orlais, hold Wintersend Balls during the season.
Summerday, celebrated at the beginning of Bloomingtide / Molioris
(Summer Solstice)
Previously called "Andoralis" it was a holiday dedicated to the Old God of Unity, Andoral.
Universally celebrated as the beginning of Summer.
For Andrastians, there is the practice where children ready to come of age don white tunics and gowns before joining a procession that crosses the settlement to the local Chantry. They are then taught the responsibilities of adulthood.
In Orlais, this is a particularly holy holiday.
In some places, this festival is described as particularly showy. To where it would be considered an appropriate level of extravagance to welcome a monarch or ruler.
All Souls Day, celebrated at the beginning of August / Matrinalis.
(Potential Autumnal / Fall Equinox)
Previously it was called "Funalis" and was a holiday dedicated to the Old God of Silence, Dumat.
The Chantry uses the holiday to commemorate the death of Andraste, they will light public fires and put on plays that depict her death.
This holiday is also spent in other areas as a day in remembrance of the dead.
In the northern areas of Thedas, people will dress as spirits and parade through the streets after midnight.
Satinalia, celebrated at the beginning of Firstfall / Umbralis
(Winter Solstice)
This holiday was originally dedicated to the Old God of Chaos, Zazikel. It now is more attributed to the second moon of Thedas, Satina.
Customary celebration includes wearing masks, naming the town fool as ruler for a day, and wild celebrations. In more pious areas, it is simply a large feast and the giving of gifts.
Antiva celebrates this for a week or more, followed by a week of fasting.
Feastday is part of the Satinalia celebration, incorporating the gifts and pranks practices of the holiday. It is unclear if this term is just for Ferelden.
Ferelden celebrates by serving a specific dish, Fluffy Mackerel Pudding, during the holiday.
Regional Holidays, Events, and Festivals
Allsmeet (Rivain)
An event that happens twice a year where the village seers travel to Dairsmuid to meet in council, gorge trade agreements, and pledge loyalty to the Rivaini queen publicly. These are also times where people will attempt to settle old feuds, but there are feasts, gift-giving ceremonies, musical contests, and other such activities. It lasts a few days.
Andraste's Day
An undefined holiday. One for Andrastians but unclear if it is universal to all Andrastian cults, regional to those following the Orlesian Chantry, or regional to Ferelden.
It is a holiday in which family will come to visit.
Anniversary of Archon Hessarian's Death (Tevinter)
A religious holiday, usually accompanied by an additional feast day for Visitations.
Visitations is a feast celebration of Andraste appearing in the dreams of mages when she crossed into the fade. Celebrated in Tevinter.
Arlathvhen (Dalish)
Its name means "for love of the people".
A celebration of the old ways while lore keepers exchange stories and knowledge, but the gathered Dalish also recount and discuss the sad lessons of the destruction of Arlathan and the Dales.
Barnack Festival (Orzammar)
An undefined festival mentioned by Oghren.
Celebratory Proving (Orzammar)
A type of proving held to celebrate an event.
Victors of these provings are rewarded with ceremonial items.
Commission Day (Orzammar)
A celebration for when one receives their military placement, or commission.
Unclear if this celebration is for all nobility of families of import or if it is restricted to the royal family.
Commission Proving (Orzammar)
A proving done during the commission celebration. It is in honor of an individual gaining a leadership position.
It is not clear if this proving and celebration is just for the royal family.
Coronation of the Divine (Chantry)
It is mentioned that when the first Divine was chosen, the festivities lasted a full year.
It is unclear if such celebrations happen every year in honor of the first Divine.
If it were an annual holiday, it is unclear if it would be only an Orlesian Chantry event or if it is also something that was celebrated in the Tevinter Imperium. Though considering the relationships between the two sects, it is possible that they adopted it in the Imperium but in celebration of their first Divine.
If chosen as Divine, Cassandra mentions that "They would love to bury me in ceremony for my coronation". Suggesting that there is at least some level of grandness that extends past a straight forward ceremony for crowning the Divine.
Drinking Festival (General)
Undefined if this is an Antivan specific festival, a universal one, or a joke. It is mentioned by Zevran.
Memorial Proving (Orzammar)
A type of proving done during celebration and honor of an individual receiving their military role.
Groundbreaking Festival (Universal)
Held much like events in real life, where they celebrate a building - such as a fort, castle, ect. - being built.
Grand Tourney (Free Marches/Nevarra)
A yearly event described as part circus, part tournament, and part festival. It allows contests, feats of strength, food, performers, and merriment. It travels around the Free Marches, and occasionally outside of it.
It is an event that many are aware of and Orlesian nobles are particularly inclined and encouraged by their families to participate in.
According to the Dragon Age Tabletop RPG (ttrpg), Orzammar sent warrior representatives to the Grand Tourney one year. It is unknown if they continued to do so or if this is held up in current lore.
Harvest Festival (Universal)
Undefined, but mentioned that Honnleath celebrates such an event.
Vinter, a Ferelden town mentioned in the ttrpg, celebrates the year's harvest and bounty in an annual event that lasts for several days. This is a major event of merriment and trade, but also open to the Dalish as well.
Hunt Ball (Nevarra)
Balls held in the winter, a lingering custom from when Nevarra used to have annual dragon hunts.
Memorial Proving (Orzammar)
A type of proving done to honor the memory of a dwarf of high stature.
Naming Day (Universal)
Separate from birthdays, there is little information on these parties outside that they occur.
Mentioned by both dwarves in Orzammar as well as found in a box of invitations on the surface.
Solstice Celebrations (Universal)
Avvar have alters dedicated to their favored hold-dieties, they house sacred relic that aligns with the rising sun on the Winter Solstice.
Honnleath celebrates the winter solstice.
Undefined as to which, but stated that the Chantry hold them, at one point for six consecutive years in Cumberland. This seems to be separate from the four holidays that mark the change of the seasons.
In some areas they celebrate the solstices with dinner parties. Aveline throws one. It isn't clear if this is simply a Fereldan practice or universal.
Summer Festival (Orlais)
A general festival that differs by region.
Celene mentions how youths participate in tests of skill though in heavily padded tunics and blunted blades.
Winterfest (Unknown)
An undescribed event/holiday mentioned by Dorian. He says he was "hoping for a lively Winterfest gift."
Possibly a regional holiday in Tevinter.
Feasts
Feast of Ascension (Orlais)
Undefined if it is a common celebration, nor what exactly the purpose is.
Feast of Urthemiel (Tevinter, Ancient)
A feast that spanned a total of twelve days, it was the grandest celebration of the year during its time. Celebrated at the height of the Imperium when they worshiped the Old Gods.
Unclear if this feast was part of the Urthalis (now known as Wintersend).
Hivernal Feast (Orlais)
Originating in the highlands of Orlais during the early days of the nation. Groups would go out and hunt Hivernals, on a successful hunt they would return and feast before salting the dragon meat and using the rest for potions, armor, and other supplies to help them last the winter. It is a feast still celebrated in some areas of Orlais.
Noble Feast (Orzammar)
A feast had during a celebration, typically one honoring an individual for their military accomplishments or a service done for Orzammar.
Also used to honor the mercy and/or martial skill of a commander.
General Ceremonies
Uthenera Ceremony (Arlathan)
Where an elder's long life and all their contributions to the elven people was celebrated before they moved on to the next step of waking slumber.
Harvest Ball (General)
A ball held during the harvest season.
Unclear how common or well spread these balls are, but they are mentioned as occurring in places such as Ostwick.
Wedding Ceremony (General)
Can be especially lavish for rulers, nobility, or people of import.
Typically overseen by Chantry Mothers in southern Thedas.
Unnamed Holidays, Ceremonies, Feasts, and Festivals
A religious holiday in the Imperium with a ceremony to mark the day a spell is cast to renew the Eternal Flame that is lit and continuously burns in every chantry in the Imperium.
A holiday in the Imperium that celebrates the death of Joyous II, Orlesian Chantry Divine. It is unclear if this holiday is still celebrated.
At Adamant Fortress the residents would have a celebration which included a feast on the day of the first snow fall. Traditions include the residents putting up wreaths, dancing, and other events.
There is a festival that includes a turkey. But there is little information outside of the line mentioning "festival turkey".
In some Dalish clans, there is a special ceremony for when a Keeper anoints a mage as their first.
Miscellaneous and Trivia
There is a practice of giving gifts on the solstice mentioned by Luka.
People have both a Wintersend gift list as well as Satinalia gift list. It is unclear if the Wintersend gift list is a regional/cultural specific practice, a universal one, or if it was simply confused with Satinalia.
Birthdays while separate from Name days are both celebrated universally.
The Qun does not have holidays or annual festivals. They will have celebrations but usually in response to a death in service to the Qun by an individual who did a great deed. They have a celebration that allows for unabashed revelry; this includes drinking, public chanting, and even meditations are abandoned.
The term "holiday", "on holiday", and "family holiday" are used by those in Thedas as opposed to vacation or the like.
Fluffy Mackerel Pudding, while a Fereldan traditional dish, is a recipe from the 1974 Weight Watchers.
Sources:
BioWare Blog
Weight Watchers: Fluffy Mackerel Pudding
Dragon Age Origins
Dragon Age 2
Dragon Age Inquisition
Dragon Age Inquisition Multiplayer
Dragon Age The Last Court
Dragon Age Tabletop
Dragon Age Tabletop Blood in Ferelden
Dragon Age Origins Official Prima Guide
Dragon Age Masked Empire
Dragon Age Asunder
Dragon Age Tevinter Nights
World of Thedas Vol 1
World of Thedas Vol 2
Origins
Codex: Archdemon
Codex: Feast Day Fish
A Note from the Honnleath Village Council
Dragon Age 2
Codex: Chest of Unanswered Invitations
Codex: Notes on the Avvar Sky Cult
Codex: Thedas Calendar
Inquisition
Codex: Mad Emperor Reville
War Table Mission: A Favor Returned
War Table Mission: Rescue the Spy
The Last Court
Your Bailiff is Attacked
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#dragon age#da worldbuilding#dragon age meta#writing reference#da writing reference#writing reference: calendar#writing reference: holidays#reference: holidays#reference: calendar#world building wednesday#long post#my meta#chantry#orzammar#dalish#ferelden#orlais#antiva
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you look forward to your car rides with rick.
you love your group too but sometimes a long car ride helps you unwind and recharge when your social battery is low and you just need to stare out the window at some grassy hills. besides, most days rick let you choose the soundtrack for your drive so you could DJ.
the only cds you'd had when you met up with the group were your signed cds that you couldn't part with: your parents' favorite foreigner album and taylor swift's sophomore album. after playing those albums front to back and hearing "double vision" one too many times enough to nearly ruin the song for you - and rick too probably - you set out to find some new tunes. you and daryl came back from a record store with a crate of old cds - it was a shame that you couldn't preserve the records but you had yet to run into a working record player that was worth your time. nonetheless, you found fleetwood mac albums, soft rock compilations, and music to mellow your trips.
you were itching to see him today. you’d been preoccupied mass producing buckwheat cereal and it was never a good time with him. you lavished the opportunity to spend time alone with the perpetually preoccupied rick grimes.
rick is waiting for you when you climb into the car. hickory curls frame his face which is sunburnt from all the time spent outside finishing up the harvest.
“hey,” you greet, pulling the car shut and shifting into your seat.
“hey there.” the sheriff farmer replies gruffly, hands already tensed and gripping the steering wheel.
you don’t need to ask what’s wrong because you already know: carl.
you love the boy but he wasn’t playing the part of the pacifist farm boy rick wanted him to. you don’t blame either of them. rick was right to rein carl in after he fired on that boy from woodbury as he surrendered.
that shook you up a bit too, but you remembered that carl was young and after weeks of planting, it won’t hurt to let the boy kill a walker or two on fence duty. there’s at least no reason for rick to give him shit about it.
rick’s so pent up though. it could be not just carl but the young infant going through the four month sleep regression.
settling judith for the night seemed to be a never ending battle, every battle a losing battle. you’d managed to take the little girl off of rick’s hands so he could sleep but she rarely went down for you either anymore. the baby that was once happy to fall asleep in your arms before bed was now fighting bedtime with everything she had.
your leader was saddled with stress. you can see it in the white of his knuckles against the steering wheel and how he doesn’t say anything before starting the car and pulling out of the prison, the gate being pulled behind your car by glenn and daryl.
almost forgetting to put in the new cd in your lap, your eyes are glued to the steering wheel. navigating whatever you have with rick is treacherous when just the sight of his taut hands has your breath picking up.
the two of you had no opportunity to get away lately. it’s not like you’re going to pester rick or jump him in the fields.
you’d already heard a, “later, sweetheart” earlier this week and it made you want to curl up into a ball.
waving the cd so rick can see, you ask if he likes the eagles. he shrugs. not much of a response.
“i’m gonna pop this in,” you inform him and lean over slightly to eject the cd currently residing in the media console - one of daryl’s buffalo springfield cds - to slide in an eagles’ greatest hits album.
he doesn’t pay much attention, just keeps his attention on the road and his knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel.
the sound of a guitar transitions you into the first song, which you think is aptly named. “take it easy” is exactly what rick should do but the song doesn’t seem to lighten his mood.
you two sit in silence. this isn’t unusual for you guys. sometimes you go quiet on parts of the drive.
rick breaks the silence.
“you like older stuff?”
i like older, rugged, handsome ex-cops with hands that can-
“i like all kinds of stuff.”
the older man laughs. “just wouldn’t have pegged you for an eagles girl.”
“it’s dad rock. don’t you like it?” you ask, catching his blue eyed gaze.
he slouches his shoulders. “they’re not bad. i would’ve liked if you put on that fleetwood mac cd a bit more.”
you grin. “i’ll remember to put their greatest hits cd on next.”
what you should be doing is reaching back to grab the cd booklet from the backseat but you’re fixated on rick. he’s driving, hyper focused on being aware of his surroundings again so he doesn’t notice the path your eyes take from his hands on the wheel to his pants. he doesn’t see your eyes cloud with thoughts of you two.
“pull over.”
“what?” rick questions, shooting you a skeptical look. “why?”
“i really have to go number one.”
he scoffs. “that’s why you wanna stop?” he shakes his head at you. you’re always asking him to stop on the side of the road for you to pee or find a dilapidated bathroom to go in. “next time, you gotta go before we leave.”
you nod, working overtime to conceal the early signs of victory on your lips. rick heeds your request and pulls into a rest stop parking lot, telling you to make it quick.
“be right back!” you chirp and use the bushes behind a gazebo to maintain your angle - and actually empty your bladder.
then you’re hopping back into the car and pressing the passenger side button to lock all of the doors. your hand stops rick’s when he goes to start the car, using the other to unbuckle his seatbelt. you’re in his lap by the time you’ve gotten his seat reclined by pushing down the lever.
the dark haired man is chiding your name. “what are you doin’?”
“helping you relax.”
“we gotta get on with our run.”
“i think you having fun is a bit more important.” you argue as you undo his belt. “why don’t you just relax?” you smile at him while you turn up the music slightly.
the sheriff rasps your name. “we have to stay vigilant.”
you send him a look that his him straining in his baby blue boxers. “rick, the doors are locked. we’ll hear a walker if they come up and we can drive away. just trust me and relax.”
it’s hard to argue when you’re tugging down his waistband, hands finding him and fondling him until the only sounds coming out of his mouth are pants.
opening up nice and wide, you slip him into your mouth. you smile when your tongue on the side of his length is met with a breathy moan.
one of rick’s hands are on the back of the center console and the other is pressed against the driver’s side door. between you wandering up and down his shaft with your tongue, he feels cornered. even more so when you take the opportunity to guide his hands to your hair.
it takes a few minutes but rick is no longer preoccupied with scanning the perimeter or heavy under the worry you could always sense under his skin, distracted by the curve of your ass. just leaning with his head back, basking in the soft rock playing and the woman so keen on relieving the pressure that weighed down on his reddened shoulders.
“such a good girl,” he’s gasping.
you move faster. suction your lips a little tighter. you haven’t been fooling around with rick for long but one thing is true without a doubt for him; he’s long and thick. you still haven’t mastered what must be some kind of witchcraft to fit all of him down your throat without gagging, but rick doesn’t care. as long as his dick in your mouth, he’s not complaining. especially not when you look up at him with his cock halfway down your throat.
success bubbles in your core and even with rick stuffed down your throat, you’re beaming. you’ve managed to get him to sit back and take a moment to enjoy himself - to enjoy you.
but you realize that your work is far from done when your favorite farmer cums down your throat, relishing the moment despite his still rock solid cock. he pulls your mouth off of him after you swallow, seemingly relishing the sight of you, lips in a pout in his lap.
“it’s your turn,” rick growls before fervidly dragging you to the backseat to pin your hips down and return the favor.
#rick grimes#rick grimes x reader#rick grimes imagine#twd imagine#twd smut#rick grimes smut#the walking dead#reader insert#still getting the hang of writing smut#not beta read#established relationship#ricky dicky doo da grimes#rick x reader#grimesgirll#blowy#prison era#mild taylor swift reference
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#no one can stop me from (only where it makes sense & would be safe irl ofc) weaving a few sneaky DA plant stuff references into#or straightup writing about/analyzing DA stuff in my coursework on medicinal plants and plants in culture/thru time!!! hhh#( • ̀ω•́ )✧#me and my basket full of 'weeds' are like#aah#i see you are a man of culture as well#mj and the world#gpoy#dragon age#bioware#video games
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Chapter 19
(blowing a lil party horn and firing confetti poppers) YIPPEEEE
SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY
Some pre-chapter notes:
sorry to the ishimondo fans
this is the one with an execution!!!
@digitaldollsworld my bestie my lord my homie <333
Content warning tags: descriptions of injury and mild gore, character death, canon-typical violence, guns
< previous - from start - next >
“NO!”
Owada’s shout is loud enough to startle Byakuya out of the slight torpor he had fallen into, too busy trying to fend off the migraine that was threatening to make him sick. He jerks, eyes blinking open to see Owada leaning in Ishimaru’s direction, his entire frame tense and trembling with restraint.
“It’s okay, Taka, you don’t have to say it,” He’s babbling, talking in a rush. His complexion is blanched, with fear or desperation, maybe both. “It’s okay, okay? I’ll tell them. It’s fine.”
“You really should let him-” Kirigiri starts to say, but Owada shakes his head vigorously, his hair bounces side-to-side.
“No, I’m not gonna make him cover for me any longer. I’m not gonna make him- make him lie for me.” He cuts Kirigiri off, before drawing himself up tall. “I did it. Okay? I killed him. I killed Chihiro.”
“Mondo-” Makoto starts to say, but Owada barrels through him like a steam train. His voice has the same, strained quality of a whisper, but it feels shockingly loud at the same time, the only thing audible in the entire room.
“It was - I know I was calm. Earlier. When Chihiro told me everything. And - I really was supportive. I was happy for him, so happy for him, you saw me Makoto, that was all real. But-” He pauses to take a sharp breath, and Byakuya wonders if he looks as insane as he sounds, leaning over the edge of the railing, like a seasick man over the edge of a rocking ship. Spewing words like he’s trying to empty his stomach of them. “I was thinking about it after, and I just. I just got so fucking mad, I mean - we all have secrets, and mine is - I know it’s probably not the worst one here, but it’s something I’ve been holding on to for so long, and he was just. Flaunting it around? Like it was something to be proud of?” He snorts a laugh, ugly and demeaning. “If it was that easy, then what the hell have I been doing all this time?”
His voice breaks, and for a moment his shoulders slump. But he regains his composure just as quickly, drawing himself back up with a shuddering breath. “I.. on the way back to the trophy room, I couldn’t stop feeling angry. It was like I couldn’t see anything else but red, I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. And when I got back I saw - I saw Taka, injured, and Chihiro standing over him -” He swallows. “It’s not an excuse. I know Chihiro would’ve never hurt him, never hurt anyone - but I was so angry and he was there, and there was a trophy on the floor, with blood on the corner, so I just…”
No one says a word. The implication of what he had done hangs over them all, like a fog - like a body, Byakuya thinks. Fukawa hadn’t been able to pin Chihiro as high up as Syo, but it feels like the boy was watching over them. A ghost listening silently from the rafters.
“...Then, tell us. If you did kill Chihiro, how did you do it?” Kirigiri asks at last, and Owada makes a sound crossed between a sob and a groan.
“I - I just sort of blanked out, when it happened. When I came to, he was there, and - I didn’t know what to do.” He lifts his face, and Byakuya can make out the shine of tears, the gray pallor of his skin. “So I took Taka to the nurse’s room first. And bandaged him up. And then I grabbed supplies to clean up the scene - that’s where I got a sheet to wrap Chihiro up in, and the gauze pads to soak up the blood.” He’s slowed down now. The words come tiredly, laboriously. “And then I…I was just thinking about cleaning up the room at first. That was all I could do, so I just did it. I wasn’t thinking about my survival or anything, or the fact that I might end up getting killed by this fucking bear - I just. I was planning on confessing to it all, but I didn’t want the place where he died to be so…so messed up.”
“Oh, Mondo…” Hagakure breathes quietly, grievingly. Owada’s head twitches, but he presses on.
“I went to check up on Taka, and when I came back, the body - Chihiro - he was gone. Sheet and all.” He laughs again, another twisted sound. “I thought, maybe it was all a dream? Maybe I was going crazy and Chihiro wasn’t dead, and all that blood was from Taka’s injury? I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to think. But I went back to what I was doing, and then a little later, the announcement went off. And you all know what happened after that.”
The room is silent for a long moment. No one says a word, and Byakuya can only just make out the sound of breathing, the only indication of life. And, a slight, quiet rattling; Ishimaru was trembling slightly, but still not uttering a sound.
In the silence, all Byakuya can feel is a storming, pitch-dark rage; rage for Chihiro, killed over something so pointless and without warning, rage at Fukawa for framing him, and rage at Owada for hiding it all. For losing control of himself in the first place. “So afterwards, Fukawa went downstairs and found the body. If we consider the sheet around Chihiro’s corpse and the scene cleaned of blood, that also helps explain how she was able to hold off Syo for so long.” He says, disgustedly. “But, the bloodied gauze in the library. I’m assuming that you were the one who put it there? Whatever happened to confessing?”
“I was! …I was, planning to confess to all of it. But then I saw Chihiro’s body, and - and as everyone was talking about Syo, I saw you holding the file and the blood, and I thought… I thought I had a chance. I mean, you were right there, and…I knew that Makoto wouldn’t have been able to back you up. I stuffed the gauze through the gap between the library door hinges while everyone was investigating.” Owada looks up for the first time, and Byakuya can’t see what look he’s wearing. And he feels glad for that; he doesn’t want to see whatever simpering face Owada has, pleading for forgiveness, miserable and sullen. “I know it was wrong, but all the pieces just seemed to fit together so perfectly, and the more time that went on, the more believable it seemed, and- I’m sorry. I really am.”
And Byakuya wants to scream.
What use is your worthless apology, he wants to rage. It wouldn’t resolve anything - in the end, he had still been accused, and humiliated, and now utterly disgraced. He was still blind and disabled. Chihiro was still dead. “All this, because you couldn’t decide if you wanted to live or die? Did you never consider if you deserved to?” He hisses, and Owada actually flinches back.
“I know I don’t. I’m sorry.” He repeats quietly, and he sounds so hollow and drained that Byakuya finds it hard to maintain his anger, all the heat and passion dissipating in an instant like smoke. It leaves him feeling empty, bewildered, and so, so tired.
“...Well. It seems that it’s time to vote, no?” Celeste claps her hands lightly, a smile in her voice. “Monokuma, won’t you please?”
“Since you asked so politely…I was still enjoying this dee-light-ful soap drama, but for my precious student, I will oblige!” Monokuma bounces up to its feet, one arm raised high in preparation to call the vote. “Everyone-”
“Wait.” Kirigiri interrupts. She hasn’t looked away from Owada once, her pale face turned towards him this entire time like a hawk. “Something’s not right.”
“Wha- what do you mean?” Hagakure asks. “It’s pretty cut and clear by now, right?”
“It’s suspicious. Why put in so much effort trying to pin the crime on Byakuya, and then confess so suddenly now?” Kirigiri rebuts. “And we still haven’t heard Taka’s testimony.”
“Man…come on, Kiri. Just look at him. I don’t think he’s in any shape to talk.” Hagakure shakes his head. “And - I think we shouldn’t push this on any longer than it needs to be.”
“Our lives are on the line. I don’t want to move on until we’re entirely sure.”
“He’s already confessed, though…isn’t this enough?” Yamada lets out a long-suffering sigh. “And, I can’t see any indication of anyone else who might’ve done it.”
“No, but Kyoko has a point,” Asahina interjects. “We almost got tricked once already into thinking it was Byakuya, right? We should be careful.”
“Yes. We should err on the side of caution,” Ogami agrees. “I can’t see the harm in having Taka speak, and…I cannot trust Mondo’s confession entirely. No matter how logical it seems.”
“He can’t,” Owada cuts in, that desperate tinge on his voice again. “I keep telling you guys- can’t you just leave him alone? Please?” He hangs his head low. “I know - I’ve done bad by you guys, I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, but please, just…he’s been through a lot. Can’t you cut him a break?”
“Erm…Can you kids make up your mind?” Monokuma is still standing, balanced precariously on the tips of its toes with one arm still straining upwards. “My stitches are ‘bout to pop, you know!!”
During this whole time, Makoto was silent. Thinking again, Byakuya recognized, as he usually does with his chin tucked under a curled finger, his foot tapping a quiet rhythm against the floor.
“Okay, then. Taka doesn’t have to talk.” He says slowly. “But in that case - Taka, can you please take off your bandage? So we can see the wound?”
“The wound-?” Owada sputters, taken aback by the sudden request. “Wha- Makoto, what are you…?”
“Something about the whole story has been bothering me. Mondo, I know that you, uh…sometimes, you react kinda strongly, I guess, to stuff that makes you mad, but you’re also really caring. I find it hard to believe that you’d twist up on Chihiro like that so fast.” Makoto drops his hand to a fist at his side, clenched tight. “If the trophy really did hit Taka as bad as you said - where he got hit by the edge of it - then the wound should also be really bad, right?” He turns back to Ishimaru. “Taka, please. You don’t need to say anything, but- please, just show us.”
“No way, he doesn’t need to-” But Owada stops suddenly, slack-jawed as he stares.
Watching as Ishimaru slowly unwinds the stained, white strips wrapped around his head with shaky hands.
—
“As I thought,” Kyoko says, as the last bandage falls away. “There’s nothing there to constitute that amount of blood on that bandage, is there?”
And it’s true. The pile of linen that now litter the floor around Taka’s feet is stained and spotted through with blood, but there’s no sign of an injury anywhere on his head. There’s not even a bump, or a bruise.
Makoto swallows thickly, before he continues. “Taka, you never hit your head at all, did you?” And Taka flinches, face somehow blanching paler. “You’re the one that killed Chihiro.”
“No, he didn’t, it was me-!” Mondo throws out an arm in Taka’s direction, as if trying to shield him from the accusations. “I keep telling you - I was the one who did it, I killed Chihiro-”
“No you didn’t. You were covering for him.” This was the worst. Mondo - he was violent at the worst of times, but ultimately kind, and extremely loyal - and right now, Makoto was going to kill his best friend.
“Are you stupid or something? Makoto, hey-” There’s a strange grin twitching on the corner of Mondo’s mouth, like this was some joke he could laugh off. “I’m telling you - how many times do I have to tell you? It was me.”
“It wasn’t-”
“It was!”
It goes on like this for a while. Everyone else is silent - or, it feels like they’re silent. Makoto can’t really hear them, not over the rush in his own head, or Mondo’s desperate, hysteric words, denying the accusation, insulting Makoto and everyone else, cursing, pleading, screaming. It’s the same as when Leon was condemned, when all he could do at the end of it was wail, ‘stupid, stupid, stupid!’ until Makoto pointed out the toolkit, the undeniable proof that it had to be him. Or, when it was Byakuya-
And he stumbles a bit, his rebuttal stuttering as he falters. He remembers the look on Byakuya’s face as he asked about his handbook, with the knowledge that he couldn’t bring it out himself. Not without revealing it to Monokuma. And therefore forcing him to admit it by his own words, the one thing he wanted to conceal from everyone else in the room. The betrayal, the hatred - just thinking about him made Makoto want to disappear.
But there’d been no other choice. Kyoko told him as much when they were investigating; ‘There’s a likelihood that you will have to reveal his secret during the trial,’ she had said, as they inspected the still-damp floorboards of the trophy room. ‘It may be the only way to clear his name.’
He’ll hate me for it, Makoto had protested, and she had just shrugged and turned back to inspecting the trophies, one of which had small dots of blood at the corner of its marble base.
‘Would you rather live being hated or die knowing you could have prevented it? He’ll get over it if he wants to survive.’
Easy for her to say, he thinks, as Mondo screams something at him, an barb so ugly it made him feel equal parts furious and sick with guilt, because Mondo would probably never say such a thing otherwise if it weren’t for this. She’s never had to do this before.
“Dammit, show me the proof! If he did do it, what’s the proof!” Mondo shouts, accompanied by a loud bang as he slams his hands against the railing. “You don’t have any goddamn proof, you little shit! So don’t just stand there and say shit you don’t know!���
“That’s enough.”
For a moment, it’s hard to place who said that. The words were spoken so quietly, after all, and so raspy it was hard to discern whose voice it was. But Byakuya cocks his head, and turns to look in Taka’s direction with a frown.
Taka is still as still as ever, but one hand rests on the bannister, and he’s leaning forward. “That’s enough, Mondo,” He says again, louder, before coughing into his elbow, clearing his throat. “Please…just stop.”
Mondo looks like he was slapped across the face, mouth agape in shock. “Wh-what are you saying?” He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a sob than anything. “Taka - bro, it’s okay, you fell and hit your head-”
“Mondo. That’s enough,” He repeats. His eyes are hollow; Makoto finds it hard to look him in the face. “I killed Chihiro.”
Kyoko is the only one who speaks up to ask: “How?”
Taka talks slowly, haltingly, as if trying to dredge the memories up. “It - it was after Mondo left with Chihiro and Makoto. To the cafeteria. I was still cleaning, alone - when I’m alone, I think. About things, my family outside the school, if they’re alive, my secret, my grandfather - and then Chihiro came back. Alone.” He sways slightly, steadied only by his hand, white-knuckled against the wood. “And - as he was talking - I was still thinking - and -”
He pauses, taking slow, deep breaths. No one says a word. Makoto’s not sure if he’s even breathing.
“It just - it wasn’t fair. Him, confessing it - it was so easy, for him. He was so happy about it. My grandfather - if you knew, you would hate me. That’s how it’s always been, everyone who’s ever known about it, hated me. But he was so happy, and he -” He takes another deep, shuddering breath. “It was an accident. I - I just pushed him, I didn’t think I pushed him hard, but he hit the shelf. And, the trophy…”
It’s not hard to figure out what happened afterward. Makoto can practically imagine it, though he doesn’t want to; Chihiro going up to Taka, and Taka, too caught up in his own trauma, backing away, combatting his own fury and dread. And Chihiro, walking up closer to check on him, only to get shoved bodily backwards, into the trophy shelf, and then-
Mondo is shaking his head, tears falling silently down his face - muttering ‘no’ under his breath, over and over, like a mantra. Taka turns to him, a sad sort of smile tugging at his mouth.
“Thank you, Mondo. For trying,” And he sounds so genuine and so incredibly sad. “But - I can’t let my family be disgraced anymore. I can’t let anyone die for my sake.”
“No, no, no,” Mondo repeats, and despite his size, he shakes like a leaf. “No, don’t, don’t, Taka,” And his voice breaks. “Don’t- Please don’t, I won’t be able to take it, I can’t take it, Taka- not again-”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, don’t you dare fucking apologize-! Just-” He breaks down fully now, and turns away, one hand raised to his eyes.
“Forgive me,” Celeste interrupts, still wearing her indecipherable smile, unnatural red eyes narrowed slightly as she addresses Taka. “But I recall you were the first to suggest sharing secrets the night Monokuma revealed the motive, no?”
Taka recoils slightly at that, bowing his head. “I…I was. I thought - I could be prepared. If it’s the right thing to do, I could do it. But-” he turns away, his brows twisted into a scowl. “I…”
“Enough.” Kyoko sighs. “There’s no point in making pointless allegations. We have our explanation. There’s nothing left to say.”
And she casts Makoto a look, which Makoto interprets immediately, and he sighs.
—
As Makoto explains, it started when he and Chihiro were walking around the first floor, planning to find and talk to everyone Chihiro had yet to disclose his secret to.
After they had spoken to Owada, Chihiro went to talk with Ishimaru alone - Ishimaru, who was so rule-abiding and careful that no one would assume him to be of any danger - and that was how he died. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, and completely by accident.
Owada was the one who found the body, and to protect his friend, who was reeling from shock, he concocted a story as he wrapped the corpse in a cloth and mopped up the blood. To claim that he killed Chihiro, that Taka was merely injured, and therefore protect his friend from harm.
It was during this time that Fukawa was in the library, making her own confession, before Byakuya’s swift rejection sent her fleeing. As she went down the first floor, she saw the body, and with the cord that was tangled around her ankle, she strung it up outside the library door in a poor likeness of Syo’s handiwork. In some twisted display of vengeance, or a demand for attention, or something; and when it was done, overwhelmed by the blood and exhausted by her own perseverance, she took the sheet to the bathroom with her and collapsed, where Kirigiri found her moments later.
Byakuya listens to him explain it through a fog, feeling distant from it all. As if he was merely observing it from behind a broken, filthy screen, the sounds tinny and the visuals shot. He watches as Owada clings to Ishimaru, screaming for mercy at Monokuma’s feet. He watches as Ishimaru is dragged ruthlessly away anyway, behind the steel doors of the execution chamber.
He watches the execution, from behind a glass window. Ishimaru standing in a gleaming white car, the sunroof pulled down, driving through a street lined with the black-and-white shapes of more Monokumas, cheering indistinctly as confetti rains around him. The Monokuma in the seat next to him is holding a sign, lifting his arm to make him wave, poking his cheek to make him smile.
There’s a loud crack, and Ishimaru seems to stumble, a bloom of blood on the shoulder of his white uniform. But he doesn’t fall; he must be held up by some kind of mechanism or another, because a moment later he’s upright again, still being forced to wave, to smile, even as the cheering turns to jeers and he starts being pelted with what looks like rotten fruit, the dark red shapes of tomatoes smashing against his head. Another gunshot, and this time it’s his leg, a large, dark spot in his thigh. Another, in his stomach, and he seems to cough a little, blood trickling from his mouth.
There must be a microphone or something pinned to Ishimaru’s collar, because Byakuya can hear his breathing, harsh and labored, pitched with fear. The whimpering he can’t quite suppress, the jumps in his throat as he tries to swallow. And, the quiet whisper, barely audible behind the shouting, the gunshots, the noise of it all -
‘I’m sorry-
The final shot is a thunderous noise accompanied by a sudden, gaping pit between his eyes. He slumps, and the scene stills at last; the crowd stops yelling, the car freezes in its tracks. The lights go off, plunging Ishimaru’s lonely form into darkness.
And through it all, Owada never stopped screaming once.
Byakuya tears his eyes away, holding onto the railing of the stand to keep from falling as he steps down. It’s a similar scene as the aftermath of the last trial, everyone either comforting each other or wallowing in their own grief, and Monokuma giggling over them.
“Oh, oh, oh! That was good! Not even ol’ John could’ve done it better!” It sings, dancing between them. “I got a little antsy earlier when you called for the vote the first time, but you all pulled through with fly-ing colors!! Amazing performance! Especially that last confession, I was so moved!” It cackles, twirling and landing right next to Owada, who was on his knees, hands plastered against the window as if praying. “Such a lovely display of friendship at the end there, or was it really friendship? Whatever the case, the bond between men sure is something! I don’t think I’ve ever seen - whoops!”
Owada had grabbed him, and now rises with the bear dangling between his hands. His arms are trembling like Monokuma’s the heaviest thing he’s ever held.
“You,” He hisses, and his voice is wet and choked through. “If it wasn’t for you- if it wasn’t for you-!”
“Puhu, do you ree-ally want to do this, Mister Owada? Didn’t you learn your lesson on the first day of school?” Monokuma swings its feet in the air. “I’d hate to punish you after that amazing show-”
“I don’t care.” He spits. As Byakuya draws closer, he can hear the quiet splat of fat tears, striking the floor. “I don’t care, you killed him- I should tear you to pieces right now-”
And he stops, as Byakuya places a hand on his elbow. “Put it down.”
He’s sure that the face Owada is giving him is positively murderous. “Why should I,” he snarls, and his words are still thick with grief. “The fucker-”
“Even if you break this one, another one will take his place. And there’s probably countless replacements.” Byakuya sighs. What was he doing? He wasn’t sure himself. “What are you planning to accomplish? Other than a very messy suicide?”
“You bastard-” He drops Monokuma, who lands with a squeak, and grabs Byakuya instead, hoisting him by the collar. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What does it matter to you if I die?” His last words sound less like a threat and more like a genuine question.
Instead of immediately replying, Byakuya casts a glance over his shoulder. Only a few people were watching them, the rest too preoccupied by their own misery. “...Take a look. There’s only so many of us left.” Byakuya looks back to Mondo, and even through the haze, he can see his face is pinched into a look of anguish. ”Did you hear what his last words were? Because I did.”
The grip on his shirt slackens, and his feet meet stable ground again. He pushes Owada’s limp hands away. “I don’t care if you want to die. But take responsibility at least.” He glares at him, his kneeling form. “We can’t leave until everyone’s on the elevator, so stand up and walk.”
There’s a part of him that wants to berate Owada - to tell him that Ishimaru likely never wanted his help in the first place, that all he accomplished was unnecessary strife - but such a thing doesn’t sit right with him. That would be the actions of someone petty and sore, a pathetic loser who couldn’t let it go; and right now, all Byakuya wants to do is sleep.
He steps onto the elevator. Celeste is already there, poised as ever, as is Yamada, who is mumbling unhappily to himself. Kirigiri and Makoto join them shortly after.
Makoto balks slightly when he sees Byakuya, tripping at the threshold with a yelp. But he straightens up quickly, glances around, and slowly, hesitantly, walks to Byakuya’s side. “Um…”
“Be silent.” He snaps. Makoto recoils instantly. “Do not speak to me. The deal is null.”
“Byakuya-”
He turns away, focusing on the metal grates of the elevator walls. The wires are bent into some kind of honeycomb pattern, though it’s not like Byakuya could make out exactly what.
He half-expects Makoto to say something more, but the elevator ride up is silent and still.
< previous - from start - next >
#thpff#thpff chapters#byakuya togami#danganronpa fanfiction#my beta reader called me sick for including that microphone in the execution but to be fair i think monokuma did that. for 'accessibility'#hiii roman btw!! <33#this chap was soooo fun to write tbh i loved writing the execution...sorry to the fans#the execution was based of the original unused execution concepts btw!#idk what it was called originally but in my head im calling it 'motorcade in the plaza' (jfk reference)#also whoah shit an on-time upload? amazing#im so proud of myself honestly bc im also laid up in bed rn with awful awful chest and tummy pains#im ok btw its da flu + cold + weird ribcage etc etc#i might not update for a while after this i gotta focus on some irl stuff...will do my best to return soon tho!!!
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Hi i love tommy innit ur art of him is super cuteee <3 autism legend
THANK YOU BESTIE I LOVE autism I am ALWAYS fighting for autism autism should ALWAYS be WINNING!!!!!!!
((ALSO PLEASE REBLOG MY POSTS /NOT MAD /BUT STILL SRS /LIKE GENTLY REMINDING YOU AND ALSO BEGGING WITH BIG TEARS IN MY SAD WET AUTISTIC EYES))
#tommy's og art wow#asks#blinks at you#also did u notice i am a factive?#bc i usually refer to myself and draw myself in da first person#but i also draw drawings where it's specifically my source so like ur not wrong!!#like yes it is tommyinnit#but i am curious :0 /gen /lh#also this post was secretly training you because i write things in tags sometimes if ur seeing this IT WORKED#if i have commentary in tags tho it'll be visible in the preview. so if all the tags read normally there probably isn't any#(like before u click read moar)#also i drew this. on my phone#instead if my computer like normal#meows and falls over
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Honestly I always mostly just think of the [looks at notes] 3 managers Harry was friends with when thinking of what he lost but considering he's that old and has been jumping between franchises so much and also the fact Every Fucking Phoney (save for 3) got scrapped by the time we meet him; how much as this man lost? How many people he cared about has he seen die gruesome deaths again and again? Has he managed to find time to process this to grieve or has he just desensitized himself to the situation entirely? I wonder if some vague memory or reaction from how he dealt w this while in the war is how he keeps it at bay. Though it's rich of me to take his formality at face value when he has shown to not be a stranger to strong emotional reactions. Much to think about!
#luly talks#dsaf#harry Fitzgerald#dsaf harry#the last comment refers to him mentioning having mental breakdowns while on the clock ⌚ when you say you're having one in da bathroom#i dont recall the exact quote#also that. uh. tje review. funny for once im referencing that in an air of pity and not judgement#shakes head wags finger still not forgiving him for whatever he said there Not Cool man#but uh. yeah like#really think of him as the veteran stereotype just fully scheduled day to keep the demons at bay#also bc his job Forces him into this position which like#he . is one of the best phone guys for that reason#he accepted his role as a sort of machine even if reluctantly (''i think this is partially what lincoln fought for'')#yes sorry for remembering thr most oddly specific lines from this game they're running gags w my ex that's why#usually.#but like in that big post i wrote along that other person analyzing harry he is just. such a soldier#THAT'S AN INSULT. BTW.#queueing this for 12:08 pm#but writing it at 12:40 am#I'm on a roll tonite. but hit post limit ☹️
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Central Country textposts but it's mostly oz because he's just that memeable
#i love old man ozzie so much because he went for world domination at first and then noticed halfway that being an evil wizard looking#to conquer the world kinda sucks so he gave up and then found his true life passion of being a Stay-At-Home Single Dad™️#Sometimes you find your thing later in life and for ozzie that took almost 2000 years and an attempt at ruling the world and das oke <3#Maybe i'll do more textposts for other countries too sometime when i am not procrastinating on exams#Mahoyaku#mahoutsukai no yakusoku#arthur granvelle#cain knightley#riquet ortiz#oz mahoyaku#old man ozzie needs to steal the royal family's last name because 1) he raised arthur he has every right to#2) i don't wanna write “oz mahoyaku” everytime i refer to him#3) it would be the funniest power move against the royal family. Who's gonna stop the world's most powerful wizard? No one
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Hey first I want to say that I really like your in depth posts on Dragon Age! Can I ask if you have any information and/or insights on the Jainen Circle from Legends? And do you think it's canon?
Everything That Happens Involving the Jainen Circle of Magi:
The First Enchanter is Jendrik whenever DAL is set (it's canonically sometime after the start of the 5th blight, but imo it's more specifically set somewhere from 9:34-9:37).
Sometime before you arrive in Jainen, the Circle is overrun by demons.
The leader of the local dragon cultists, Deymour, sends his lieutenant, Guillen, to kill Jendrik. If you head too far into Jainen without going to the Circle, Jendrik will die, otherwise you save him. If you save him, he's too wounded to help you so he just...leaves, I guess. He doesn't get any dialogue or a sprite or anything.
When you fight through the Circle, you fight both templars and mages (who are fighting together). I don't think you fight any demons until the very end, which has one desire demon as a boss.
The source of the demon(s) is Deymour who, as part of the overarching plot of DAL, is hosting a shard of a pride demon's soul in him. It's not explicitly stated that he summoned the demon(s), but his whole pride demon thing and also his general involvement (asking Guillen to kill Jendrik) is a pretty good indicator.
No matter the outcome, none of this is ever mentioned again.
Is the Jainen Circle Canon?
Nothing from DAL is canon.
That said, most of the game can be stretched to fit into canon (even Eiton being 'born Tranquil', fight me), and the Jainen Circle isn't any less realistic than anything else in DAL. Honestly, the main potential conflicts with canon are probably:
The times when we've been told how many circles there are (either 14 or 15; it's not even consistent). There are more than that listed on the wiki, even without including Jainen. However, quite a few of those Circles only have references from hundreds of years ago and may not exist anymore, so even 14 is enough to include Jainen as one of them.
Kinloch Hold is generally discussed in canon as THE Circle in Ferelden, replacing Denerim's Circle in 3:87. Maybe Jainen's just smaller or too remote or something, idk.
#dragon age#dragon age legends#dragon age meta#dragon age lore#da#dal#i feel like i may be the most qualified person in existence to talk about dal with the hours ive put into deconstructing the code#i have a 125 page document mapping the full plot (not in a way that would be particularly useful to anyone else tho sorry)#(but i WILL gladly talk about literally anything to do with it because oh boy do i know TOO MUCH about this game)#personal#was literally thinking a few hrs ago about writing a post about dwarves and golems and lyrium and magic resistance and souls........#with heavy references to dal because of what happens in orzammar#(yes my copy of the game crashes before orzammar but the code still exists and i have Read It)#like there's a new paragon called beirus who figured out caridin's research and is making golems out of darkspawn#VERY interesting stuff. wish i could actually play it lmao. i wanna see the sprites for the golems when they're fighting#also ftr there are werewolf golems and they're called grinders. mhm
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Adult nonfiction
Memoir by a British gay, trans man
Discusses navigating gay culture and dating as a trans man, healthcare, queer history, transphobia, and trans joy
#it's organized a bit like an essay collection#the ones on swimming and reproductive healthcare were my favorites#he's quite young to write a memoir so i'm curious if he'll write more#will keep an eye out for that#oh there was one thing that bothered mee#this needed better copyediting because at one point das kapital is referred to as marx's 'first novel'#someone should have caught that haha#hary nicholas#a trans man walks into a gay bar#books#2023 reads#lulu speaks#nonfiction#lulu reads a gay man walks into a trans bar
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Happy Friday Mel!! How about something for Cassandra/m!Trevelyan + "Cutting their hair for them." from the wordless ways to say i love you?
I spent ages working on this prompt fill only to re-read the prompt and go, "Oh... well... no one actually gets their hair cut" but you'll see why at the end and I still have to say I'm really proud of this piece and I think it was at least in the spirit of this prompt. Which I very much enjoyed receiving, thank you! It was a fantastic excuse to write some post-whump fluff.
Consider this a much later sequel to this prompt fill. Will I ever write the larger fic? I have no idea.
For @dadrunkwriting
Word Count: 2,304
Quinn Trevelyan makes an irritable sound as Cassandra wrings warm water out of a fresh cloth. He isn't looking at her, instead staring out one of the room's large windows. His brow is furrowed and his jaw is set in a profile that is as handsome as it is unhappy.
He's not cross with her. She'd know it if he was. He is upset with himself and Cassandra's reassurances that there is nothing wrong with resting, that the road to recovery from an illness as severe as his is long and slow. But Quinn is tired of his bed, of his room, of the ragged and unkempt beard creeping across his face, and hair that hasn't been properly washed in weeks.
His stern expression softens when Cassandra begins to dab the cloth against his neck and shoulder, but only reluctantly. He doesn't complain - not to her, at least - but she knows he wants to.
"This is only until you get your strength back," she says, as she has said to him every time she does something for him that she knows he would rather do himself.
"It is back. It is just... short-lived."
"Perhaps we should keep that a secret," she replies with a quiet smile.
Quinn turns to look at her, confused for a moment before he narrows his eyes at her. "My lady, that is hardly what I meant."
"It was a joke, my love."
"You need to work on those."
"I thought it was funny," Cassandra replies, taking one of Quinn's hands in her own to hold out his arm for her.
He complies, intertwining his fingers with her own without a sound. He gives a little squeeze likely to insist upon how he is better, he is fine, and he doesn't need to have someone bathe him like this. But it does not have the effect he hopes for.
The Inquisitor has always been a lean man, but his prolonged illness has made him lose an unhealthy amount of weight. It will be a while before he gets it all back, particularly as his appetite is still only slowly returning in stages - the half-drunk cup of tea long grown cold that sits by the bedside is proof of this. With his limb extended as it is, she can see the atrophied muscles that shift as he does. His skin still has an unhealthy pallor to it, and the bruises and markings from all the initial attempts by the surgeon to purge the illness that circulated in his blood are still visible.
She has to remind herself that it is behind them. He is better now, mending, on the slow road to recovery. There is some colour returned to his cheeks, and while his eyes are bruised and sunken, a spark shines within in a brightness that is unmatched. When she looks at him, he smiles and she can see the familiar lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes. The man she loves perseveres.
But it is hard not to look at him and think about all the days and nights spent keeping vigil - of holding a hand that was clammy and weak and did not always squeeze back, of listening to fevered mutterings that became increasingly incomprehensible, of a man who at the worst of it looked so small and fragile and as helpless as she felt.
She pushes down these thoughts as she works. With one arm done, she moves on to the next before telling him to pull back the blanket and turn onto his side for her. He does so, without complaint at first, but as Cassandra tends to his back and tries not to notice how sharply his shoulder blades press against his skin, Quinn seems unable to help himself.
"You could make this a bit more exciting."
"I would not want you to feel inadequate with your short-lived strength."
Quinn gives her a look over his shoulder that tells her he very much regrets his earlier choice of words.
He continues to grumble to himself even as he turns back away from her. It sounds like it is for show more than anything else, but he then jumps suddenly when she dips down towards his lower back.
"Cassandra, I must insist you let me do the rest myself!"
"It isn't anything I haven't already seen."
"That's not the point." He pulls away from her, sitting back up in his bed, and holding the covers tightly over himself. The stern look from earlier is back on his face but this time it's directed at her. "I don't see why I can't just go and have a proper bath!"
Cassandra raises an eyebrow at him skeptically and pushes her chair back a little ways from his bedside. She gestures nearby to the ladder leading up to the little loft built into the room where Quinn had decided to have a private bathing area set up. The ladder is the only way up or down. She knows it is a simple climb under most circumstances, but Quinn is not under most circumstances right now.
"I can help you up or down a staircase. I cannot help you with a ladder. You can make it up there on your own? And back down when you've finished?"
Quinn's jaw is set defiantly. When he is in this way, Cassandra thinks this must be what it is like to deal with a child. In this instance, it is a very tall and bearded child who throws off the blankets and jumps to his feet in a flourish of naked glory.
Much to Cassandra's prediction and concern, Quinn almost immediately swoons and she is up on her feet to catch and steady him before he completely collapses to the floor. He's dead weight in her arms, looking dazed and dizzy for a moment before his expression slowly clears. He has not quite blacked out after all, but it was close.
"That was very foolish of you," she says, coaxing him gently into a sitting position on the edge of his bed.
There is a defeated slouch to Quinn's shoulders that make him look even smaller and thinner than he is. He can't meet her eyes - or he won't meet her eyes - and sighs, completely dejected.
"Can't I at least be saved this one indignity?" he asks.
Cassandra frowns though it is not an unkind expression. She hates to see him like this just as much as he does, if not more. The Quinn Trevelyan she knows and loves is tall and sure-footed, flamboyant and energetic, an absolute terror and menace. She can see how his current limitations weigh on him, how uncomfortable he is with being forced to admit and show any sort of vulnerability.
"Alright," she says, gently this time. "I will leave you to finish while I get fresh water. And we can then do something about your hair."
"Thank you," he says. And she knows that he means it.
She takes her time climbing the ladder into the loft and fetching things for his hair. She knows where everything is kept - she's used the Inquisitor's special dwarven-constructed bath enough times to know which soap is kept where - but she chooses to allow Quinn a moment alone in order for the storm cloud threatening his mood to pass.
When she returns, Quinn has left his bed again although this time he appears to have taken more care and settled himself in her vacated chair. He's retrieved a small mirror and seems singularly focused on his appearance. Every now and then a hand reaches out to comb strands of hair out of his eyes. A deep frown is etched in his face that seems to linger even as he looks up at her approaching footsteps.
"I look terrible. Why did no one tell me I look terrible?"
Cassandra does not think he looks terrible at all. He looks tired, he looks thinner than usual, and considering his lack of modesty she thinks he looks rather cold. But she knows these are not what Quinn is complaining about. She isn't certain if the growth on his face can truly be called a proper beard, but his moustache and chin have gotten considerably thicker and longer. It is uneven in places and while there isn't much more than patchy-looking growth on most of his cheeks, what she can only describe as scruff has spread along his jaw. It is in her opinion somehow both adorable and rugged.
"You just need a good wash," Cassandra says, setting the basin and jug on a nearby table. "And perhaps a comb through it."
"I must protest, Lady Seeker," he says, though he takes the basin when she offers it to him and bows his head over it obediently. "You know I'm very particular about my hair."
"Do you not trust me? Shall I instead ask Sera to see to you? She cuts her own hair as well."
Quinn's protest is immediate, his head snapping up to glower at her. You wouldn't dare, he says wordlessly as he stares at her. Cassandra simply rolls her eyes and pushes his head back down so that she can begin.
She uses the water sparingly at first - just enough to wet his hair before beginning to lather soap into it. Quinn's strict particularities about his grooming rituals mean that every bottle of soap and oil and lotion is clearly labeled. Even so, he mumbles the names of products to her and what they should smell like lest she grab one in the wrong order. But eventually, the tension in his shoulders seems to dissipate and he simply sits with his head bowed, cradling the catch basin in his arms, soothed by the feeling of Cassandra's fingers working through his hair. She thinks she even hears the softest of sighs or a happy little sound of contentment.
The scent of cloves and rosemary mixed into Quinn's soap soon fills the air. It is crisp and refreshing, the first thing to finally overtake the smell of sickness that still clung to him. It's a cleaner and brighter sort of herbal scent that is sharp and alive. Cassandra is much more fond of it than the bitter smell of nightshade from the tea he'd been fed, or the earthy smell of Vivienne's tonics and the surgeon's leeches.
She works the soap evenly through his hair, being careful to keep it out of his eyes and from dribbling down the back of his neck as much as possible. Once she is satisfied with her work, she gently pours the pitcher of warm water over his head, continuing to run her fingers through his hair to gently rinse away the lather.
"You see?" she teases once she's finished, reaching for a nearby towel to gently dry his hair. "You've survived. I haven't drowned you."
Quinn chuckles for the first time, a sound she admits that she has missed from him and one that never ceases to cause her heart to flutter. "May I sit up now, my lady? Or do you wish for me to remain bent over for you a while longer?"
Cassandra makes a dismissive sound at the back of her throat and gives his head a bit of a rougher rub than she should for a moment before draping the towel around his shoulders. He can't see it but she is smiling. "The world will be pleased to hear your cheek has not suffered nor your tongue lost any of its boldness."
Quinn grins as he sits up and looks at her, an impish expression on his face. Cassandra rolls her eyes at him - more for show than for anything else - before setting down the pitcher and picking up a nearby comb in order to tend further to his hair.
"Do you know which side to part it on?" he asks suddenly, almost as if he can't help himself.
"Are you going to ask me next if I know what colour your eyes are?"
Quinn frowns slightly, realizing his misstep and hastily offers a sheepish apology. For a moment, Cassandra is tempted to comb back his hair and part it on the wrong side anyway - either to tease him further or to make a point - but decides against it. He wouldn't look right anyway.
"There is still the matter of my face," he says as she struggles with a lock of hair on his forehead that seems determined to misbehave.
"The Inquisitor has decided to trust me now? I've proven my worth by washing his hair?"
Quinn smiles, but it is a soft and almost subdued look with none of his earlier cheek. "Perhaps I realize that I enjoy this. Sitting here with you. The two of us."
Oh.
His earnesty is unexpected but not at all unwanted. Quinn is normally so flippant with his words, a man of smiles and humor and action that so very rarely seems capable of expressing himself from the heart. Of course she knows he enjoys her company but it is something else entirely to hear it said to her like he does now.
She smiles back at him in turn, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear before gently taking his face in her hands. He leans into her touch, saying nothing but looking at her with eyes that seem so expressive that he doesn't need to say anything at all. She knows what he means. And she is glad for it.
"Perhaps..." she says slowly, brushing her thumbs across cheeks dotted with long-faded freckles and the barest hints of scruff at the edges. "Perhaps you can live with this for one more day?"
"This time, I think I will survive," Quinn replies with a breathless little laugh.
#da drunk writing circle#dadwc#cassandra pentaghast#cassandra x inquisitor#inquisitor trevelyan#m!trevelyan#sick fic#oc: quinn trevelyan#melis writes stuff#i did an unhealthy amount of research for things that only appear in the background#such as the nightshade tea and vivienne's tonics and the leeches for bloodletting#also did you know that apparently cloves were often used in medieval hair treatments as the smell drives lice away?#you can also probably tell that i started writing this almost immediately after finishing a certain amc show and i am not sorry#that's a visual reference only a handful of you will understand
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home (the long way round)
ao3 fanfic fundraiser
She gets the first train she can.
She’ll miss two lectures and a seminar and ticket prices are a nightmare and the train station is cramped and there’s a stitch in her side from running and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because soon she moving, the world outside the window is a blur, and old stone towers and high street shops give way to green fields and doll-sized houses and then finally, finally, her town is called over the loudspeakers.
Two words, four syllables, the surest way to her heart.
‘Little Kilton’
When the train stops a kind old man asks her if she’s alright. Her heart seizes for a moment, panic gripping her, and then she realises it’s just because she’s crying.
‘Running’ isn’t the right word to describe how she moves. Nor is sprinting. Pip is tearing through the town’s streets like a storm, Hurricane Pip, pavement melting beneath her trainers. Every step is a blessing and she thanks it a hundred times over, thank you for letting me come back, she says. Gravel crunches beneath her feet, she stumbles on uneven kerbs. ‘I missed you’ she says to them. ‘I missed you I missed you I missed you.’
She never wondered where she would go first. During those long, lonely months at Cambridge, Pip worried she would forget how to get there, but now, she feels the route deep in her bones, no, her heart, pointed like a compass and guiding her back to that precious, perfect, maddening house. Mum’s car is in the drive-the same car she drove Pip to school and drama club and dentist appointments in. Pip stops by the car, just for a second, puts her hand against the passenger door. Her handprint rests against the paint and where once that would’ve terrified her, she now sobs, because her hand is on her mum’s car. She holds it out in front of her, inspects it in the afternoon light. Steady. Bloodless.
“Pip?”
Her heart stops at her name, head snaps up. She blinks once, twice, pinches herself to make sure it’s real and yes-that’s her mum standing on the doorstep, a bulging rubbish bag in her hand to match her bulging eyes. Her mouth hangs open, and she blinks just as Pip did because maybe she can’t believe that her daughter, who had become a ghost, is now here in the flesh, beside her car.
“Pip?”
“Mum!” The cry erupts from her throat, so loud and so elated that a flock of birds flee a nearby tree. Pip moves again, tearing across the drive and then she’s crushing her arms around her mum and they’re falling, falling, and the floor catches them. As her mum’s arms come around her-startled and confused but so, so warm-Pip’s head finds her shoulder and she bites back tears because she will not ruin her mum’s blouse.
(Too late)
“Mum!” she cries again. “I missed you so much!”
“I…” Mum begins. She stiffens, involuntarily, and then relaxes. “I missed you too, darling.”
Pip can feel it in her hands-the almost two years of Pip pulling away from them, the missed calls and blunt texts, a brief appearance at Josh’s birthday before she ran away again, noncommittal shrugs when asked when she’d be back. It was to keep them all safe, and it broke their hearts.
She’ll explain. Not really, but she’ll do what she does best; create, fabricate, lie. Build an alibi. She’ll make it better.
“What on Earth is going on out here?” Pip’s heart skips a beat, fresh air fills her lungs.
“Dad!”
Pip releases her mum, her arms are empty for the briefest of moments, and then they’re around her Dad’s shoulders, she’s breathing in his aftershave. In her run over to him, she saw the faint grey hair at his temples, and another sob wrecks through her. She lost so much time with them. She’s here to earn it all back, but she still lost so much.
“Well,” her dad ways in her ear, the same light and jovial tone that helped Pip sleep, listening to his voice messages alone in her room. “This is a surprise, pickle.”
Pickle. She laughs against his shoulder and wants him to say it again, a hundred times more, a million, until it’s the only word she knows. She wants to stay this way forever, wrapped up in her parents’ embrace, and then the stairs creak and-
“Josh!” Detangling herself from her dad she rushes over and tackles Josh to the floor. He’s tall now-as tall as her-and it makes her want to scream and cry and hold him until her arms go numb. There’s a tremor in Josh’s voice when he says her name, in his hands when they wrap around her. Her Josh, her brother, thought she didn’t care about him, when she loves him more than anything in this world.
“How come you’re crying, Pippo?” he asks her. She chokes then, a half-laugh, half-sob.
“I could ask you the same,” comes her reply.
She finds the Ward sisters next. Cara answers the door before she even knocks, her eyes wide. For a few seconds they’re silent, just looking at each other; no words are fit for such an occasion. Then Pip jumps on her and hugs her and Cara is murmuring her name, muffled against her jumper. They must look a sight; sunk to their knees in Cara’s doorway, but why would they care?
Eventually, they move to Cara’s room. Naomi finds them, a delighted scream emerges from her throat and the three of them cram onto Cara’s bed. They talk for hours and hours, about university and Cara’s girlfriend and the cafe and new albums and new tv shows. They talk, they laugh, Naomi fishes ice cream out of the freezer. Pip’s face is red and her stomach hurts and she feels like-no, she is-the luckiest girl in the world.
She runs into Nat and Jamie in the cafe. There’s no need for words, not with them. The pull one another into a haphazard hug, Jamie claps her on the shoulder, and Nat orders coffee.
They argue for twenty minutes about who’s paying, then Connor appears, rolls his eyes and swipes his card. There’s a tear in them too.
Andie is first; Pip rests a little pink bouquet against her headstone. Pip’s breath catches in her throat. It’s quieter out here; no screams, no sobs, no barrelling into her loved ones’ arms. It’s just her and Andie; two girls who couldn’t have been more different until they couldn’t have been more similar. Good girls, bad choices, some would say. Bad girls, good reasons, others might say. Turns out they live somewhere in between.
“You were okay. In the end,” Pip tells her. “And Becca will be okay. I promise.” Pip toes the ground, her hands stuffed in her pocket. The scene is somber as can be, yet there’s a small smile cutting across Pip’s face. “I hope you don’t see your dad ever again. But if you do… give him hell, Andie Bell.”
The wind picks up, dances through her hair. And somehow, Pip feels Andie will oblige.
Sal is next. Salil Singh, who loved the wrong girl at the wrong place at the wrong time. A heavy melancholy settles over Pip as she squats beside his grave, her chest constricting as she reads it. He gets a bouquet too, little white roses, as well as a postcard from the Cambridge gift shop. It’s a picture of the library, in all of its splendour. Perhaps in another life, he shows her around it, final year and first year. He would have loved it there.
“You deserved better,” she tells Sal. It’s the single truest thing about this whole web. Sal was killed and made into a killer, everything good about him scrubbed away like chalk. Justice was served but it will never really be made right.
Pip rests her fingers against the headstone. It’s cool beneath her skin.
“Rest in peace, Sal Singh,” she whispers. Then, in an even smaller voice, “Thanks for looking after Ravi for me.”
Wind rustles her hair again, gentler this time, and Pip gives a teary smile.
And now she’s here. Once again, she is standing at the Singh’s front door, with a Tupperwere box in her hand. What can she say; she was raised right. There are lines she will cross in a heartbeat, but she will not show up at her boyfriend’s house empty-handed.
Nisha answers the door, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her. Pip is welcomed in as if it’s her own house. Ravi is at work so she chats with his parents. She never found out what Ravi told them, but from the way Mohan pats her shoulder and Nisha gives her tea, Pip wonders if he said anything. If Pip Fitz-Amobi stayed in this house, put here by white lies and steadfast hope.
“Why don’t you go wait in his room, love?” Mohan asks. “It’ll give him a nice surprise. He misses you something awful when he comes back from Cambridge.”
Ah. So that’s what he told them. Well played, Singh.
His mum directs her to his room and Pip waits, surrounded by bits and pieces of her Ravi. Once the door is closed, she looks through all of them, greedy for details. She studies the photos on his wall, eyes moving to his eyes to his hair to his jaw. She thumbs through his books, runs her fingers across crease marks, tenderly strokes the Post-It reminders stuck to his desk. She will uncover every detail, nothing is too unimportant. She studies him like a scholar would a classic novel.
(Or… perhaps… like a detective studies a case)
The handle turns when she’s looking through his wardrobe, hoodie sleeves brushing her head. Pip jumps out of it, gasp stuck in her throat. Her heart beats, beats, beats, drags each second out to an hour. As the door opens, Pip feels the hair on the back of her neck rise, feels an electric tingle in her fingers because-
He’s here. Ravi Singh is here, standing in his bedroom, the afternoon sun casting a gold halo around him. He’s here, just as lovely as the day she left, lovelier. Taller, maybe. Hair is longer, matching the photos.
For one long, terrifying second, he doesn’t say anything. Pip felt sure then, surer than ever, that this was a dream, and she was about to wake up in Cambridge. Day 698.
“Sarge,” Ravi breathes. His eyes glimmer then, and Pip sees the tears running down his face. “Hi.”
Ravi takes one tentative step, then another. Then he’s the one crushing her. He pulls her so close, like he can bond the two of them together, and he is crying, and she is crying, and she feels like she’s flying until she realises Ravi has picked her up. Her trainers dangle above the carpet, her fingers curl into his hair.
He’s sobbing, tears rocking his shoulders and wrecking his chest. Pip hushes him softly, gentle whispers of ‘it’s okay, it’s okay’. He whispers back, “I missed you, you’re here, I missed you”, so broken and so hurt that Pip hates herself for doing this to him. She did it to save him and it nearly killed them both.
“I’m sorry,” she tells him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“Just kiss me, Sarge,” he asks. His eyes are bright, his lashes spoked, his cheeks flushed. She holds them in her hands, feels the warmth seep into her skin. His breath, hot on her cheek. “Just kiss me. Please.”
How can she say no?
#a good girl's guide to murder#agggtm fanfic#pipravi fanfic#pip fitz amobi#ravi singh#josh amobi#cara ward#naomi ward#nat da silva#and yes that is a doctor who reference as the title thanks for noticing#fifteen hours between finishing agad and writing fic#@ myself you're trash
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Bestiary of Thedas
From bird to insect, fish to land animal. Every creature mentioned in Dragon Age, blighted and non-blighted, spirits and demon, created and possessed creatures alike are listed along with their breeds, subspecies, or variations.
If you want a more specific list, check out the post for Real World Animals in Thedas
Updated: 2023/11
Amphibian
Frog
Salamander
Toad
Horned Toad
Poison Toad
Birds
Albatross
Black-capped Songbird
Bluebird
Budgerigar
Bunting
Buzzard
Canary
Crow
Dove
Duck
Mallard Duck
Eagle
Falcon
Finch
Goose
Grouse
Gull
Hawk
Kingfisher
Lark
Magpie
Merlin
Mockingbird
Nightingale
Owl
Parakeet
Parrot
Partridge
Peafowl
Pheasant
Pigeon
Ptarmigan
Quail
Raven
Robin
Rock Darter - Native to the Anderfels, an insect eating bird.
Seagull
Simir - A bird hunted in Tevinter for the magical properties in their feathers.
Sparrow
Swan
Swift
Turkey
Vulture
Bald-necked Vulture
Fish and Marine Creatures
Blind Tetrava
Bluefin
Carp
Cetus
Cod
Eel
Lamprey Eel
Jellyfish
Krone
Mackerel
Octopus
Raytooth
River Herring
Shark
Squid
Giant Squid
Trout
Whale
Bony Whale-Shark
Pilot Whale
Whitebait
Crustaceans and Shellfish
Clam
Crab
Giant Swamp Crab
Crayfish
Cuttlefish
Lobster
Mussel
Oyster
Prawns
Shrimp
Insects
Bee
Bumblebee
Honeybee
Beetle
Cave Beetle
Death Watch Beetle
Dung Beetle
Glow Worm
Roof Beetle
Wood-burrowing Beetle
Butterfly
Cricket
Dragonfly
Firefly
Flea
Fly
Blue Flies
Giant Spider
Giant Poisonous Spider
Giant Spiderling
Poison Spider
Gnat
Hornet
Ladybug
Leeches
Locust
Maggot
Scorpion
Silkworms
Slugs
Snail
Spider
Wasp
Worm
Earthworm
Poison Worm
Tapeworm
Mammals
Badger
Honey Badger
Bat
Giant Bats
Bear
Black Bear
Brown Bear
Cavern Bear
Great Bear
Large Bear
Boar
Bogfisher
Bronto
Cat
Cattle
Bull
Cow
Ox
Qalab
Chicken
Cockerel
Cretahl
Dathrasi
Deer
Red Deer
Stag
Dog
Coursing Hound
Ferelden Shepard
Hunting Dog
Mabari
Pug
Rat Terrier
Sheepdog
Wild Dog
Wofun Hound
Donkey
Druffalo
Elephant
Elk
Ermine
Fennec
Ferret
Fox
Gazelle
Ghast
Giant
Goat
Ayesleigh gulabi goats
Mountain Goat
Griffon
Gurn
Halla
Hamster
Hare
Hart
Bercilian Sure-Foot
Greater Frostback Elk
Pride of Arlathan
Red Hart
Royal Sixteen
Tirashan Swiftwind
White Hart
Wild Hart
Horse
Amaranthine Charger
Anderfel
Anderfel Courser
Asaarash
Avvar Mixed Draft
Dalish All-Bred
Fereldan Forder
Free Marches Ranger
Frostback Mountain Horse
Green Dales Feral
Imperial Warmblood
Inquisition Barded Charger
Oath-Bound Steed
Orlesian Courser
Taslin Strider
Hyena
Jackal
Jackrabbit
Lion
Great Lion
Red Lion
Lynx
Marmot
Marten
Mole
Monkey
Moose
Mountain Lion
Mouse
Chip Mouse
Mule
Nug
Nuggalope
Avvar War Nug
Battle Nug
Greater Nuggalope
Greater Mountain Nuggalope
Gwaren Land-Hammer
Knuckled Thunderer
Tiddles Majoris
Otter
Pig
Rabbit
Raccoon
Ram
August Ram
Rat
Giant Rat
Sheep
Snoufleur
Spotted Cat
Spotted Hunting Cat
Squirrel
Tiger
Tusket
Voles
Weasel
Wolf
Black Wolf
Crag Wolf
Great Wolf
Wolverine
Reptiles
Adder
Death Adder
Basilisks
Cobra
Crocodile
Deepstalker
Deepstalker Matriarch - largest deepstalker
Deepstalker Leader - always male, second largest deepstalker
Deepstalker Runner
Dracolisk
Abyssal Hang-Tooth
Basking Longma
Blue River Bane
Desert Lightning
Hunter Shade Dracolisk
Mountain Dracolisk
Primal-Trained Longma
Sharp-Tail
Dragon
Abyssal High Dragon
Fereldan Frostback
Gamordan
Stormrider
Greater Minstral
Guardian of Mythal
Highland Ravager
Hivernal
Hunterhorn Shrikes
Kaltenzahn
Northern Hunter
Sandy Howler
Stonejaw
Vinsomer
Dragonling
Drake
Great Dragon
Guardian Serpent
Gurgut
Lurker
Phoenix
Quillback
Sand Stalker - a small vermin-like creature similar to deepstalkers
Sand Stalker Spitter
Sand Stalker Leader - larger than common sand stalkers
Varghest
Viper
Wyvern
Snowy Wyvern
Created Creatures
Golem
Varterral
Blighted Creatures
Bereskarn
Blight Owl
Blight Wolf
Blighted Werewolf
Bloodcrow
Corrupted Spider
Corrupted Spider Queen
Darkspawn
Archdemon
Broodmothers
Children
Emissary
Genlock
Hurlock
Ogre
Shriek
Darkspawn Magisters (Named and known)
The Architect
Corypheus
Dragon Thrall
Ghoul
Created Creatures
Golem
Varterral
Demons and Spirits
Spirits
Choice
Command
Compassion
Faith
Hope
Justice
Knowledge
Perseverance
Valor
Wisdom
Memory
Wisp
Wraith
Demons
Desire
Despair
Envy
Fear
Hunger
Pride
Rage
Remorse
Shade
Sloth
Terror
Vengeance
Possessed/Magical Creatures
Abomination
Arcane Horror
Ash Wraith
Corpse
Devouring Corpse
Devouring Skeleton
Enraged Corpse
Fanged Skeleton
Shambling Corpse
Shambling Skeleton
Skeleton
Skeleton Archer
Skeleton Mage
Walking Corpse
Dryads
Harvester
Revenant
Rock Wraith
Ancient Rock Wraith
Sylvans
Vampire
Werewolf
Wood Nymphs
Undefined
Glowing Slime
Firesprite
Wandering Hills
Sources
Dragon Age Origins + DLCs
Dragon Age Awakening
Dragon Age 2 + DLC
Dragon Age Inquisition + DLC
Dragon Age Inquisition Multiplayer
Dragon Age: Last Court
Dragon Age: Official Cookbook: Tastes of Thedas
Dragon Age Tabletop Core Rulebook
Dragon Age Tabletop Blood of Ferelden
World of Thedas Vol 1
World of Thedas Vol 2
Dragon Age: Asunder
Dragon Age: Masked Empire
Dragon Age: Last Flight
Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights
Short Story: The Riddle of Truth
Short Story: Varric
Dragon Age Origins
Armor: Clamshell Armor
Armor: Dalish Gloves
Codex: The Bow of the Golden Sun
Codex: Bronto
Codex: Deepstalker
Codex: The Frostback Mountains
Codex: Meditations and Odes to Bees
Codex: Nug
Codex: Rat
Codex: The Vaterral
Item: Fox's Pendant
Item: Golden Mirror
Item: Lamb Bone
Item: Micah/s Lucky Deer Foot
Item: Ox Bone
Item: Rat Poison
Item: Uncrushable Pigeon
Weapon: Cat Lady's Hobble-Stick
Dragon Age 2
Armor: Rat-Nibbled Gloves
Codex: Broken Dowsing Rods - No Refunds
Codex: Carta Bronto
Codex: Pride and Rider
Junk: Stuffed Parrot
Quest: Redblossom Special
Weapon: The Tiger's Tail
Last Court
The Acerbic Dowager
The Applewoods
The Arrival of the Divine
The Boastful Neighbor
The Cheery Baron
Choose your quarry
The Dowager Steps Forward
Enlightenment
Glass
Glassblowers' Anger
Graffiti
A Life of Toil
A Meeting with the Outlaw
A Plea for Sanctuary
River Herring
The Sealed Chantry
A Swift Stream
Sylvian Raid
An Unofficial Meeting
The Well-Read Pig-Farmer
You have cornered the bear
You have the hind in view
Dragon Age Inquisition Items and Codex
Codex: August Ram
Codex: Andruil's Messenger
Codex: Bear (Inquisition)
Codex: Constellation Tenebrium
Codex: Correspondence Interruptus
Codex: Crate of the Live Death Watch Beetles
Codex: Cretahl
Codex: Dirthamen: Keeper of Secrets
Codex: The Folly of General Not-Shertan
Codex: Ghilan'nain: Mother of the Halla
Codex: Hard in Hightown Chapter 15
Codex: A Horsemaster's Notes on Mounts
Codex: The Hunt of the Fell Wolf
Codex: Journal of Gurd Harofsen
Codex: The Lion of Orlais
Codex: Moldy Journal
Codex: A Nutty Affair
Codex: On Avvar Cuisine
Codex: The Perendale War
Codex: Ram
Codex: Scout Lace Harding
Codex: Surviving the Western Approach
Landmark: Crestwood: The Guide of Falon'Din
Note: Charred Note
Note: Sera's Cabinet of Wonder Whose it Was
Valuable: Carved Cricket Charm
Valuable: Cut Crystal Lion
Valuable: Eagle Feather Charm
Valuable: Falcon Crest
Valuable: Glass Fox
Valuable: Golden Ladybug Charm
Valuable: Grouse Feather Charm
Valuable: Raven Totem
Valuable: Silver Dragonfly Charm
Valuable: Vulture Feather Charm
Valuable: Wooden Mabari Figurine
Wartable Mission: A Present for Bianca
Wartable Mission: Smash
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#dragon age#fauns of thedas#da ttrpg#lore reference#writing reference#da writing reference#da worldbuilding#dragon age reference#fauna fridays#long post#creature: birds#creature: insect#creature: spider#creature: fish#creature: horse#creature: dragon#creature: hart#creature: nug
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“some [seekers] could use [their abilities] to interrogate”
torture? you mean torture? hey cass did you maybe mean torture?
#should clarify that when cassandra references seekers ‘abilities’ she is referencing the ability to boil lyrium in mages/templars veins.#did not catch that on other playthroughs#i love when chantry members just. openly admit to torturing people. i mean dude.#rambles#da#dai#cassandra critical#<< not really critical of her exactly. this is mainly a writing thing frankly#but just to be safe#chantry#seekers#cassandra
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dan mora really will draw the most Images and then ALSO goof off. he has the range
#thanks mark for writing this issue specifically for me shoutout to my best friend kim-da#also the 344 clinton street apartment 3D shoutout :')#tuesday spoilers#and all the lil references...allstar mwah#i am VERY catered to
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ok my goal for the year. is read the dragon age books For The Lore even tho i found gaiders writing in the stolen throne really fucking boring. and then replay all the games (after modding them bc modding games is one of my greatest joys it turns out)
#and then write fic#dragon age#ive been eyeing the calling for a month. ill get through it i swear#i might take notes as i go... my own da references#i need go read world of thedas one and two as well#to read*#i was gonna say#but by the time im done da4 might be out and consuming my life and occupying my every waking thought
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I never thought I’d write a singable English version of Merkwürdig. My writing partner and I have quite literally been putting it off for 5 years. But now we’ve finally done it. Here’s what we wrote!
Gardener: Day by day goes by
The master’s gone away
Alone, once more
Robert: Yes, he’s left his lovely new young bride
To roam the halls alone
Again, once more
Mrs. Rutherford:
I saw her just last night
She ran away
A lamb who’s caught a fright
Women: And on that night
He drove the car
So quick
Men: But why?
He just left his wife alone
All by herself
Cook: What could have gone awry?
What could have led to such a big mistake?
Mrs. Rutherford: Why did he bring her back to Manderley?
Frith: His grief’s left him in such a dire state
Robert: She’s simply much too shy
I fear that he will notice far too late
Ensemble: We all can see that she’s not right for him
It’s clear
Since the day that she arrived
He’s off his head
Mrs. Rutherford: I heard she met his grandmother yesterday
Robert: And from the very first glance
She didn’t stand a chance
Men: That’s what was said
Why she fled
Robert: And when she came
Back here…
Gardener: She locked herself
Inside her room
Once more
Frith: I heard her crying
“Help me face the night”
Cook: I wonder why
He left her
here like this
All: She’s just not quite
How we thought
she would have been
#rebecca das musical#merkwürdig#kunze approved english demo#we really deviated from the german lyrics for this one#my writing partner wanted to make this song less of an ‘ich roast’ and more of a ‘why is maxim being so maxim’#his words not mine#so that’s what we did#there’s still SOME ich roasting#but the servants really pity her more than anything else#my god i’m so glad we were able to add in the bit about the visit to maxim’s senile grandmother#the reference to ‘hilf mir durch die nacht’ though#poor ich is going through it#someone stop me from adding more tags
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