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Hi there, I just read your rewriting the Qunari meta and it reminded me of a question I had in my head about them and I'd love to hear your opinion on it. Do you think calling the Qun, as it exists in canon, a religion is accurate? If not what could it be classified as? A culture? A belief system but not a religion? A governing system? A combination of some of these things? I'm not sure myself. Also thanks for all the stuff you've written about the games, it's really interesting and well thought out!
That's a tough question!
For one, I think there's a huge amount of overlap between religion, culture, belief system, and governing system. I mean, a culture is essentially the beliefs, values, symbols, language, and artifacts of a group of people. So the overlap between culture and beliefs should be apparent, and values and beliefs certainly play a role in how a group governs.
Secondly, something like religion is somewhat ambiguous in definition. While I think lots of people think of religion as simple as "worshiping a god or god or the supernatural" there's a lot more to it than that and tends to include a set of beliefs (not necessarily about, or just about a god/the divine) and practices. I personally like Encylopedia Britannica's definition of "human beings’ relation to that which they regard as holy, sacred, absolute, spiritual, divine, or worthy of especial reverence." So I definitely believe that there is an argument to be made for the Qun counting as a religion.
I think commonly I've seen the Qun thought of as a philosophy, which isn't wrong, the Qun certainly is a system of thought, but again philosophy I would argue is similarly connected to culture, religion, and governance.
Personally, I see it as a religion. I think people might not consider it one because its seen as lacking any sort of god or gods, but I don't have the same feeling. The Qun to me seems to have a lot of spiritual involvement. Koslun, the founder of the Qun, is often spoken about in a way that reminds me of how one might write about the word of god or a prophet and feels to be written in much the way one might write religious texts (I mean, the Tome of Koslun is in fact, a sacred text):
The Soul Canto
A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"
The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story.
A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea.
The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.
The sea drowns its feet with every tide.
The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back.
The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again.
The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.
Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against.
The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea,
And is whittled away with each wave.
It protests the setting sun, and its face is burned looking upon it. It does not know itself.
Stubbornly, it resists wisdom and is transformed.
If you love purpose, fall into the tide. Let it carry you.
Do not fear the dark. The sun and the stars will return to guide you.
You have seen the greatest kings build monuments to their glory
Only to have them crumble and fade.
How much greater is the world than their glory?
The purpose of the world renews itself with each season. Each change only marks
A part of the greater whole.
The sea and the sky themselves:
Nothing special. Only pieces.
This feels very much like a religious text, in my opinion.
And also, religion absolutely can influence if not outright be the basis of government and social rules. (Speaking from a personal note, as a Muslim, there's plenty of passages in the Quran talking about how to handle legal/social issues and instructions on how society should function.)
So I suppose, TL:DR, I see the Qun as a religion, which also serves as basis for Qunari culture and governance.
I hade some more rambling paragraphs just more about my feelings about how the Qunari are written, but I feel like I've made that clear already and I don't want to go off on a tangent lmao.
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For the prompts, Anders/Fenris C1 being dared to have sex by someone else.
Hey, thank you so much for the prompt!!
(If you want me to write you a dragon age ficlet tonight, send me a prompt from here!)
@dadrunkwriting
Pairing: Fenders
Characters: Fenris, Anders
Tags: modern AU, college AU, no magic, random frat boys, what happens when the boys aren’t chaperoned for thirty seconds, I’m sorry I’m British what even are american universities, smoking
Rating: Mature
“I think you two should fuck. I dare you.” Jackson has had too much to drink. Everyone has had too much to drink, but Kirkwall U’s champion hockey player has really, really had too much. His fair skin is red and blotched with alcohol, he’s sweating a little, and his pupils are dilated. Anders and Fenris level him with matching unimpressed glares. The rest of the team lolls against the couches, plastic cups gripped loosely in sweating palms.
Anders gets to his feet. Music is thumping through the walls of the house loudly enough to shiver through the carpet, and he’s been too hot for a while anyway. He’d kill for a breath of fresh air, and a cigarette to boot. The hockey captain getting weird was as good an excuse as any. “Not that I haven’t always wanted a sneak peek into the kinky corners of your mind, Jackson, but I haven’t. Ciao.”
He leaves the loose ring of hockey players without a backwards glance, and finds himself wondering briefly why the hell he’d stayed at all without Kristoff. Anders weaves through the crowd without thinking much of anything, feeling the alcohol in his body slosh warmly through his blood and leaving his head dizzy with its sudden absence. He breathes, and tastes body odour and tequila. By the time he gets to the wide balcony doors he’s nearly gasping for fresh air - and the chlorinated stink of the swimming pool soaked in muffled music is like a brief taste of heaven.
Anders slips his hand into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of tobacco and rolling himself a cigarette before fumbling for his lighter. His fingers hit the bottom of his jeans’ cotton pocket and he curses, tucking the cigarette behind his ear, and briefly weighing the value of going back inside or bumming a light off a stranger. His fingers tap against his leg as he thinks about it, full now of nervous energy.
He hates being alone at these things, and Isabela had dragged off Marian to ‘celebrate her victory’ about two hours ago. Kristoff was...somewhere, and Anders would be more worried about him if he wasn’t sure the man was damn near indestructable. He was probably off being dragged into something stupid by Nate.
The wind rushes over the trees in a great whispering hush, and the soft splash of people in the pool plays cymbal crashes under the low murmur of conversation. Anders really, really wants a cigarette.
“Need a light?”
Fenris’ voice is as low, rough, and unreasonably attractive as it ever is. Anders barely resists the childish urge to groan out loud, and turns to see Fenris standing quietly, a lighter held up in the air between them like a white flag. Reluctantly, Anders drags the bitter protesting teenager inside himself back under control, and forces himself to give Fenris a polite smile, snatching the lighter out of his hand before he can think better of it.
“Thanks.”
Fenris nods, and hums softly, his own cigarette held loosely between his fingers. He takes a drag whilst Anders burns his thumb on the lighter and finally, finally gets the little flickering flame between his fingers to catch his cigarette with a scratching snap. Anders breathes in, lets warm smoke fill his lungs, and feels himself relax. He shuts his eyes, and huffs out a cloud of tobacco with a contented sigh. Fenris chuckles, softly.
“I owe you.” He gestures with one long elegant hand at the open doors. “I’d been searching for an excuse to depart that miserable little gathering for forty five minutes.”
Anders raises an eyebrow at him. He certainly hadn’t consciously been thinking of an out for Fenris when he’d left. “You’re welcome?” He lifts his voice in question, and tries not to think about the tattoos on Fenris’ throat. The corner of Fenris’ mouth pulls into a small smile that Anders desperately wants to read as fond.
“I said I’d come check on you.” Fenris explains. Around them, fairy lights drip down the side of the house, woven haphazardly into the trellis nailed to the bricks. Anders thinks of Jackson’s ‘dare’. His mouth twists.
“They probably think we’re out here engaging in a liberal dose of PDA.”
Fenris shrugs. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and dark jeans, with a thin silver bracelet Hawke had bought for him years ago. He’s the most handsome man Anders has ever seen. It’s maddening. “I confess that what they think we might be doing matters little to me.”
Anders huffs and takes another drag, savouring the thick bitter taste of tobacco on his tongue. “You say that, you’re not the one who’ll be touted as your latest conquest.” He wrinkles his nose. “Honestly, you sleep with one hockey player and suddenly everyone says you have a thing for them.”
Again, there’s that glimmer of a faint, fond smile at the corner of Fenris’ lips. Anders blinks, and it’s gone. The pool is so bright under the stars it almost glows, rocking like a little ocean between the tiles. “I don’t labour under the impression that you’d sleep with me because I’m a hockey player.”
“That implies you think you know why I would.” The words trip from his tongue before Anders has the chance to think better of them. This was why he shouldn’t attend these events unaccompanied. If Kristoff was here, he’d take this moment to pilot them both back inside to the kitchen, and they’d find some nachos, and he’d listen whilst Anders had a small breakdown about what he just said and what Kristoff thought Fenris thought of it, and Kristoff wouldn’t know but it’d help to talk about it anyway.
Instead, Anders finds himself frozen as Fenris meets and holds his gaze, sucking on his cigarette before he lets go in a thick cloud of smoke. Suddenly, the music and the party seem very far away. Fenris says, a little roughly, “I think you like me because you think I’m kind.”
Distantly, Anders knows he’s blushing. With an effort, he wets his lips, and forces himself to speak, trying for humour and ending up somewhere around embarassingly intrigued. “I’m not in the habit of fucking every good samaritan I meet.”
Fenris hums, but there’s a flash of laughter and something like daring in his eyes as he taps his cigarette. Anders watches the ash fall, still burning orange, onto the tiles. He smokes his cigarette.
“You think I’m intelligent.” Fenris says, softly.
Anders really, really wants a drink. He looks quickly around the pool, where other students stand in bright colours and neon like a flock of tropical birds. He turns back to Fenris, standing in the shade of one of the garden walls, looking calm and confident and more collected than Anders has ever been. Anders forces a chuckle and tucks his hand into his jean pocket before his fingers start tapping again. “Yeah, Fenris, I have a brain. And I also know what your grades are.”
Fenris finishes his cigarette, and stubs it into an ashtray on a nearby table before stepping closer. Anders imagines he can feel his body heat and knows they aren’t standing close enough together for that to possibly be true. It’s hard to tell out here, where the electric lights of the house blaze into the darkness and fade quickly, but Anders thinks Fenris is blushing.
Fenris says, quietly, “You think I am attractive.”
Anders looks away, and swallows, and tries to ignore the furious pounding of his heart and the flush burning up the back of his neck. “Again, I have eyes.” He stabs his cigarette butt into the ashtray with more ferocity than is strictly necessary, and freezes when Fenris very, very gently tucks his hair behind his ear.
Fenris is shorter than Anders, but it’s always been hard for Anders to think of him as small - and not only because he’s pretty sure the other man could benchpress him. There’s something about Fenris, and the careful way with which he speaks and acts, which demands the same kind of dedicated attention in return. Fenris’ other hand moves to tangle gently with Anders’ fingers. Anders stops breathing.
Fenris looks at him, “I think you know that in the end, despite our best efforts, you and I are very much alike.”
Anders lets out the breath he’d been holding and it feels like he’s coming up for air. The wind rushes through the trees, and above them, where they’re not hidden by the blaze of artificial light, the stars glimmer in a blue summer sky. “Careful. I might get the wrong idea.”
Fenris’ hand tightens, just a little, around Anders’. There’s something earnest and unguarded in his green eyes that Anders thinks he’s never seen before. When Fenris speaks, his voice is a little uneven, and as he moves the lights of the house brush over his dark skin, and Anders catches the depth of his blush as it spreads over his cheeks. “I am hoping that you will get the right one.”
Anders grins a little, nervous and shaky, and squeezes Fenris’ hand back. “Well, you know me. I’m always a bit slow on the uptake.”
Then he catches the side of Fenris’ face in his free hand, and bends down, and kisses him. He tastes like tequila and cigarettes. Around them twists the warm embrace of a gentle summer breeze.
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You know what else should've been in tiny living? Fuckin bunkbeds and ladders. Not an original opinion, but I'm still mad. That pack would've been perfect for those things.
you’re right BUT. we’re getting ladders in a free update coming up so i’m ok with how that played out.
#things added to the base game that you've already paid for? good in my book#beck rambles#ask#sneakyneighboururchin#ts4
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A collection of mini portrait commissions I did what feels like ages ago: Part II
1-5. @lorienlady
6-10. @sneakyneighboururchin
Thank you again!
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Hi friends!
My friends and I have been playing Dungeons and Dragons together for about 8 months and we decided to podcast our entire adventure! It’s a 5e homebrew: I play an elf sorcerer, @sneakyneighboururchin is our paladin and @aflindidit is our DM, as well as a couple more friends! It would mean the world if you were to check it out and give us a follow!
We’re uploading fortnightly (every two weeks) on a Monday; episodes are usually around 45 mins so perfect for a lunch break, right? (apologies for the quiet audio, quality increases throughout the series :D)
So yeah, check us out! :D You can find links to all our social pages on our website: https://www.dunedinanddragons.co.uk/
#dungeons and dragons#5th edition#5e#homebrew#campaign#podcast#it will be really fun I swear#come along for the mad ride
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'Can't you see how fucked up this is?' For the writing prompt. Kinda screams Fenders, I bet you can do some shit with that.
YEEEEEES THANK YOU! You, you know how I think
(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)
@dadrunkwriting
Pairing: Fenders
Characters: Fenris, Anders, Marian Hawke, Carver, Bethany, Varric, Isabela
Tags: modern au, mages deserve rights but they don’t have them yet, bigoted violence, police violence - not literally but i was worried it’d be triggering so tagging just in case
Rating: Mature
“Perhaps if she had decided to follow the clear legal guidelines around curfew for mages then -”
“Maker tell me you’re not serious.” Anders raises his voice as he speaks over Fenris. “Can’t you see how fucked up this is? Look at her! She’s a kid, Fenris. He beat the shit out of her. That’s not what templars are supposed to do.”
Fenris looks away from the mage, then, curling his fingers at his sides. The truth is he has no idea what to do. When Hawke had called and invited him out for a walk and a few beers with some friends, picking up random teenage apostates in back-alleys hadn’t been what he’d been envisioning. It was bad enough when he’d turned up at the Hawkes’ house only to have the door answered by Anders, of all people, in a ponytail and a baby pink t-shirt that read MAGE RIGHTS, looking far more handsome than he had any right to. It had only gotten worse from there.
Admittedly, the evening had picked up a little at first. It was a pleasant night, with warm, fair weather, a clear blue sky and a light breeze. Isabela and Varric had been playing their usual game of one-upmanship, whilst Marian occasionally chipped in with commentary. Even Carver had started to engage with it, and Anders had been occupied with Bethany, which meant he wasn’t talking Fenris’ ear off about mage suffrage.
But then there’d been shouting, and Marian had of course insisted they run towards the commotion, which was a direct contradiction of every instinct that had kept Fenris alive long enough to escape Tevinter. But the only thing apparently capable of overriding his desire to obey said instincts was Marian Hawke, so he’d followed her, and then he’d watched in a detached kind of horror as she, Carver and Isabela had pulled a templar officer away from a teenage girl and knocked him unconscious.
Anders had immediately fallen to his knees beside the girl and begun to check her over. He’d announced that they could move her, and Carver had exchanged a look with Bethany before gently lifting the girl off the ground and into his arms.
Which brought them to the present, in the Hawkes’ family home, with an unconscious, starved looking teenager on the sofa, and Anders looking like he’s about three seconds away from introducing his fist to Fenris’ face.
In the kitchen, Hawke and the others are having a low conversation as Hawke fiddles with her phone. Carver is drinking a can of beer he’d taken from the fridge. Leaning against the counter beside him, Isabela does the same.
Which leaves Fenris alone with Anders in the living room. Above them, the electric bulb of the light buzzes quietly. Outside, on the streets of Kirkwall, there’s the distant sound of sirens. Fenris tries, very hard, to stay calm. He doesn’t look at the chlld on the sofa. “I do not know what you want me to say.”
Anders laughs, then, bitterly, and tosses his head. “What do I want you to say? I don’t know Fenris. Maybe you could try, just try, exercising even the smallest bit of compassion for anyone other than yourself. Maybe, for once, you could stop being such a selfish bigoted asshole and -”
“It was supposed to be better here!” Fenris roars, and shrinks in the sudden silence, sound drowned out by the roaring of blood in his ears. Anders is staring at him, mouth open, still mid-tirade. Fenris looks away - which is a mistake, because his gaze lands on the girl, and her black eye and split lip and bruised knuckles, and the soft fat of youth around her cheeks and chin.
Fenris tries to swallow down the broken glass tangle of grief and horror and anger and confusion in his chest. He doesn’t succeed. His eyes burn, and he blinks away the tears, feeling them run tickling down his cheeks and chin. When he speaks, he does so roughly, and his throat is thick and aching. “It was supposed to be better here. I wanted it to be better.” He stops, and swallows, and forces himself to continue even when his voice cracks.
“I just wanted to be safe. For once, finally, somewhere. But I never am. I never am!” Fenris can feel his tattoos pulling on his skin as they begin to burn.
Anders steps forward across the carpet, one long slender hand raised and curled, reaching out to him. “Fenris -”
Fenris shakes his head, blind with tears, and stumbles back and away from him. Anders stops immediately. In the kitchen, Fenris can feel Marian looking at him. He feels so exposed. He scrubs the back of his hand across his eyes and tries to breathe, forcing his body back under his control. The lyrium in his skin burns. When he can breathe again, evenly, Fenris forces himself to look up and meet Anders’ eyes. The other man is looking at him with an unreadable expression. Fenris tries not to be afraid of him. “You’re right. This is wrong. But I do not know what to do if that is true.”
He feels the weight of his confession hanging in the air between them, and Anders expression softens, suddenly. But Fenris does not get to hear what he would have said, because it is at that point that Marian comes up to him, lightly touching his shoulder. “Oh, Fenris. You don’t have to do it alone.” Fenris looks at her, and her bright blue eyes are beautiful and kind. He feels a little of the tension easing from his shoulders.
Then Marian turns to Anders, and tiptoes to put her arms around his neck. Anders folds around her like he’s falling apart, shutting his eyes as long strands of red gold hair come loose from his ponytail and fall around his face. Fenris looks away. Marian says, quietly, “Neither of you do.”
Outside, traffic roars distantly up and down the streets of Kirkwall. Varric walks over from the kitchen, and presses a cold can of beer into Fenris’ hand. Fenris takes it gratefully, relishing the way the cool metal feels against the burning lyrium in his aching skin. Varric gives him a nod, and Fenris can feel the assessment the dwarf gives him with his bright, clever eyes. By way of answer, Fenris cracks open the beer, taking a long drink. It’s cold and bitter on his tongue, and it fizzes in his stomach as he swallows. Varric seems to take that as good enough, because he looks at Hawke and Anders.
“If you two are quite finished trying to kill each other, we need to decide what to do about the kid.”
Fenris drinks more of his beer. Bethany, Carver and Isabela step out of the kitchen. Over the sofa, the clock ticks loudly. On it, the mage girl sleeps.
Anders sets his shoulders and lifts his chin, meeting Fenris’ eyes. “I know a woman. Selby. She’s been getting mages out over the border, sending them to Rivain.” Varric grunts.
“That could work. Hawke?”
Marian shrugs, and looks worriedly at the child on their sofa. “I don’t think we have a better option.”
All of them turn to Fenris. Fenris finishes his beer, and crushes the can in his hand. He looks at Anders, when he speaks. “Lead the way. I’ll follow.”
#is this? anything? i hope you like it! thank you so much for the prompt i hope you like what i did with it!#dadwc#sneakyneighboururchin#da2#fenders#fenris#anders
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