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ell-vellan · 1 year

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(art by @thegoblinwitchqueen !!)

Lathlen Ghilassan Mahariel

An overview of my Mahariel and his "elfy" worldstate.

Born with a chip on his shoulder, prickly, quietly cunning, and snarky but with carefully-chosen timing, Lathlen is fiercely loyal to elves with a healthy distrust (bordering on pure, vengeful hatred) of humans.

He was named Lathlen ("child of love") in honor of his parents' memory. He chooses Andruil's vallaslin and dedicates himself to the Vir Tanadhal, espousing their ideals as his main worldview. Even still, he has few friends in the clan and has a difficult time forming bonds, instead spending most of his time alone in the woods perfecting his skill with a bow until he can take incredibly difficult shots with confidence. For this skill, he earns the second name Ghilassan, "guiding arrow." He answers to both, likes neither, and prefers going by Mahariel.

Mahariel gives people one chance to prove themselves, and one chance only. He accepts leaving the clan to live among humans as something he must do, and considers it an acceptable sacrifice to prevent more of his people falling to the Blight. If anyone had to leave, it might as well be him -- orphaned as he was, and with Tamlen dead or gone, it was best for everyone that it be him, than someone with a family.

When Tamlen was infected by the Blight, he and Lathlen were in the earliest stages of a relationship. They would flirt and tease when out alone on hunting trips, and had snuck a few clandestine kisses when the timing felt right, but neither had so much as acknowledged what was growing between them. It wasn't serious yet, as Mahariel likes to take his time, and doesn't jump into anything with both feet. He regrets not telling Tamlen how much he cares for him while he still had the chance.

Once he leaves with Duncan for Ostagar, his motto becomes "what choice is most advantageous for me, personally, that won't also bring the wrath of humans down on me or my people in retaliation?" His goal becomes "stay alive, and whenever possible, twist the situation to my advantage." He lets people think he is stoic and quiet, but he's always scheming and probably muttering something biting and sarcastic under his breath.

He initially views the humans in his party with a resigned opinion of "whoever I can use to help me stay alive", carefully cultivating allies by saying the right things and not pissing people off -- but if push came to shove, he would not hesitate to leave them in the dirt should they stop furthering his goals.

He privately thinks Morrigan is funny, if too arrogant for a human in matters of magic, in which he feels the Dalish are superior. He eventually comes to view Alistair as something of a brother, and though he frequently eyerolls the man's attempt at humor in the beginning, he eventually does realize it's his way of coping with Ostagar. Once he realizes the man is a bastard prince, he pities him; though they both never had parents, at least Mahariel was raised with love.

He becomes determined to convince Alistair to accept his role as king, as he would rather someone he knows become the leader of the humans of Ferelden. He thinks perhaps his camaraderie with Mahariel will make him sympathetic to elves - or at least, make him hesitate before purging alienages. Expecting, as always, that humans will always be humans, and even the most trusted among them can one day turn on you.

Betrayed (unsurprisingly) by humans at Ostagar, and with a bounty on his head, he sees it as only practical that the first and last person he can trust immediately afterward is Alistair, who is too ridiculous a man to plot to betray him and the only one with inborn ideals that would engender loyalty to a Dalish elf. Like it or not, they're part of a brotherhood of Wardens now. And seeing as they share common enemies, it only makes sense to stay at Alistair's side.

He initially plans to use the people around him to ultimately gain status and then revenge (you don't get to wrong him and get away with it) but comes to like a few of his party against his will. Leliana he thinks is ridiculous and a bit nutty, but as a fellow archer he has to respect her skill at killing and tricking people. Wynn he only brings along to keep him alive, but gains a slight amount of respect (or perhaps curiosity) for her when she reveals she's an abomination. He doesn't understand Sten at all, nor does he try; but the man knows how to kill and Mahariel appreciates his dry humor. They part ways on good terms after the battle for Denerim, and rarely but regularly keep in contact even when Sten becomes the Arishok.

Shale is similar: an indestructible golem who is unintentionally hilarious? Worth getting on its good side, certainly. Oghren he quietly detests, but figures another body between him and darkspawn won't hurt.

Zevran, he's immediately attracted to. He didn't see Zevran's attempt to kill him as serious -- he had an inkling that Zevran was much more skilled than he let on, and too easily surrendered. He's intrigued and curious by this, and welcomes the company of another elf - especially one so good at killing.

A beautiful and dangerous elf who's witty and charming? Mahariel is pretty certain he's won the assassin's interest but like with most things, he angles and analyzes and takes things slow. He joins Zevran in a threesome with Isabela, but mostly because Zevran likes her, Isabela is funny, and he's game to try anything once.

He kills Loghain without mercy; the man betrayed him, and traitors deserve death. He unites the Dalish and the werewolves, stops the purge of the Circle because mostly because he hates templars, and used the ashes to heal Eamon's son -- again, all choices made more with cold calculations of recruiting as many against the darkspawn as possible and winning people to his side. He knows he will be viewed as a monolith of the Dalish and so restrains his more vengeful instincts among the humans, trying to gain allies and esteem amongst the nobility to spare his people retaliation for his actions.

The dwarven king he may as well have blindly thrown a dart to choose the successor - he cares little, and writes them off as unimportant in larger the scheme of things. As soon as they leave the Deep Roads, Mahariel immediately forgets the king's name.

He hardens Alistair and convinced him to take the throne alone by leaning on their bond they have built as brothers, the only Wardens in Ferelden who knows the truth - "You're the only human I trust on that throne" - and so Alistair does it reluctantly. Mahariel knows he doesn't want to, and won't enjoy the crown; but he also doesn't really care. He could think of many worse fates than being rich and powerful.

He takes Morrigan up on her offer because no way is he dying for these people, not when his plans are finally coming together and he sees his exit plan with Zevran - sleeping with a woman is a small sacrifice to make, and he wishes her well with her very interesting plan, whatever it may be, as long as it doesn't come back to bit him in the ass.

He lives out his days with Zevran, following him to Antiva and helping take down the Crows from the inside. Lathlen introduces him to some of the northern clans of Dalish, helping him reclaim a little of his lost heritage. He eventually eschews his duty to the Wardens entirely -- he's given enough to them. He saved the world once; it can fend for itself now, for all he cares.

#my ocs #lathlen mahariel #this is rambly and not in order but i'll fix it later lol

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greypetrel · 1 year

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Hello 🦭✨ Essential 4 - Life 6 - Party 1 for Alyra?

Oh well, good evening! 🦈✨

I already replies to the moral alignment, but I decided to expand it a little for funsies. And also some rambles about the Dalish. She's a mom friend, but the kind of mom who'll throw a shoe at you to teach you manner.

Tis the prompt list

ESSENTIALS.

4. What is their moral alignment?

She's the one I find hardest to define in a DnD alignment. My better guess is True Neutral: she acts for a greater good, Laws doesn't count much for her and she's not over changing her mind on something. She doesn't have a strict moral code, has seen how good Laws are ("Yes we could give lands to the Dalish as a boon... But will give the ones most hit by the Blight". It's legal? Yes. It's fair? Absolutely not.) and has zero problems utilising them to bring more balance, more than actively destroy them. Could be a little for the "End justifies the means", she just tends to not waste people because she comes from a background where people are a limited and precious resource, losing a hunter today may mean no food for everyone tomorrow.

LIFE.

6. Which aspects of the culture they were born into holds the most significance for them?

She may have the tattoos dedicated to Sylaise, but she was a hunter, and follows the Vir Tanadhal, the Way of the Three Trees. She likes it and more than honouring the gods to the book, she thrives in the philosophy.

Strike true and do not waver | Bend but never break | We're stronger together

She may not be very vocal about it, nor she is observant in a canonical way. Religion for her is personal, she doesn't feel the need for rites, it's just a way to guide her steps and find meaning and guidance, totally private. Culturally, outside religion, what she kept the most dear is the sense of community of the Dalish: a lone elf would not survive long, but the group? She chose Sylaise out of this: protect and provide, care for the group and the home, and together we'll survive winter. it's something she will feel the lack of amongst humans who tend to be more individualistic and private, and will try to recreate with her groups.

In Denerim, she's at the Palace for work or if Alistair specifically tells her so. If she's not needed, she's in the Alienage helping out however she can. She can be very frugal, most of her coffers are redirected. She split/threatened to split from the Wardens of Weisshaupt because they tried to split the group she formed during Awakening. Her Wardens are her clan, now, she's responsible for them and she will fight. She'll try to instate this sense of community, everyone working together and fuck ranks, at Vigil's Keep at least. Little by little and with mixed results. It's a work in progress.

PARTY.

1. Who does their preferred party consist of?

Alistair, Morrigan, Zevran/Wynne.

Wynne when the mission is particularly dangerous and she feels a more powerful healer is needed, but as they progress and their relationship becomes more and more sour... Zev, come in, we're having fu- no, for the love of Mythal why are you bringing along some tools to open lockets which you can't use? I'll take care of that.

(Basically it's her and Zevran eating pop corns and drinking homemade spritz made with whatever was available enjoying Alistair and Morrigan bickering.)

#oc ask game #dragon age character questions #alyra mahariel #warden mahariel #“Do you think we can make this spritz you speak about with Oghren's reserve of alcoholics?” “Well my Warden we can try."

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heniareth · 1 year

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DA:I Codex - 5. a note/letter found in your OC’s pocket for Marelas Lavellan 👀🍓

This. This is a good one. Let's convince Cole to steal the letter, see what we get, eh?

A well-kept but evidently often-read letter; the folds of the paper have softened and cracked. The paper itself is of foreign quality, not at all like the writing material that can be found at Skyhold. The handwriting is small and apparent gibberish. A well-versed and patient code-breaker could decode the following message:

Da'len,

A private letter was called for. No doubt this Inquisition reads everything you receive. You are, as far as I understand, at war; a rock caught in the midst of swirling change, trying to part and direct the current.

I am reminded—and no doubt you have been as well—of the day your father first brought you before me. Remember how he, upon me asked why you would make a good Keeper, only said this: "His name is Marelas; that is all you need to know." You know well, da'len, what I thought of his attitude, and I still think it. But you have become a good Keeper. This and the extraordinary circumstances that have brought you to be heralded as an envoy of the shemlens' prophet bring me back to the certainty in your father's voice that day.

How are you, da'len? It cannot be a comfortable position you are in, I can see it even from so far away. Let me extend to you a comfort, small though it may be: know that if you wish it, you can always return. You know how; and we will be happy to deal with this Inquisition, should they come looking for you. They might not be the only answer for the wound in the sky. You can judge this better than I. Should you choose to stay, however, realize that you have been placed where no other of the People has stood before: at the head of the shemlen power. I would not be afraid to wield it. Cautious, yes; but you have always been good at that, haven't you?

Da'len, I have taught you to be a Keeper, not a commander of armies. And yet, Ghilan'nain'enaste, it seems this is what the shemlen want you to be. War is an ugly business; walk the path you choose, da'len. Do not let anyone make this choice for you. Take it and grow with it, let it lead you where it will, but keep the reins in your hand. This is the best advice I can offer you, and it is a delicate balance you will have to strike. I am proud of who you are. When we see each other again, you will be changed, and very much so. I pray that it is a strengthening change. You chose the Vir Atish'an over the Vir Tanadhal, but hold fast to this one's second principle: bend, but do not break. Stronger men than you have been sundered by the powers you will contend with. I have faith in you, and yet I fear. I wish... Nevermind what I wish. Make your choice (I know you would rather not). Either way, you will do the People proud.

Elgar'nan lend you his strength, Mythal shield you, Ghilan'nain guide you, Sylaise be where you rest at night, Dirthamen show you the hidden path, Falon'Din watch over you, and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent.

Dareth shiral, da'len

Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan

PS: And don't start living in your head! Being among shemlen is no excuse. Make friends, do whatever stupid things you young ones do. Steal some sweets from time to time. I am keeping appearances up in your absence and making some of Gwillen’s pastries disappear from time to time. It is good to keep the ancient traditions alive. We miss and love you, da’len.

Some notes:

Marelas comes from mare, command and las, grant or give. So his name means "grant command" or "give commands", whichever interpretation you prefer. Marelas's father is a very proud man whose life didn't live up to his expectations, so he wanted to live through his kids. He also has a weird things about names, their meanings and identity, so he had his kid's name, went "yup, my son will assume a position of power" and lept at the first chance to make this idea of his becone true (which was when Marelas came into his magic). He got his wish in the end, but at the time Keeper Deshanna took one look at the shy eight-year-old standing next to this arrogant man and sent both Marelas and his father home until Marelas had grown some more and maybe taken a decision or two for himself. Marelas's father wasn't pleased, but he wasn't a bad man nor blind, and realized that he might've gone a tad but too far. When Marelas became the Keeper's First, it was out of his own love for history and magic and the decision was his.

And yes, Keeper Deshanna encouraged Marelas to act out sometimes to help him balance his personality. He's under doctor's orders to steal cookies.

(In case anyone's curious, here's the ask game)

#marelas lavellan #codex ask game #dai #dragon age #inquisitor lavellan

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dragon-age-codex-entries · 6 months

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Codex entry: Vir Tanadhal: The Way of Three Trees

"Be swift and silent."

—Vir Assan: The Way of the Arrow

"As the sapling bends, so must you."

—Vir Bor'assan: The Way of the Bow

"Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness."

—Vir Adahlen: The Way of the Wood

#dragon age #codex entry #letters and notes #elves #dalish elves

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blightbear · 1 year

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1 and 7 essentials for everyone 3 dai specific Mori'na 1 da2 specific Faye 4 dao specific ashari

1. What is their name, and how old are they? Does their name or birthday hold any significance?

I'm going to do both their in game age (beginning and end) and their current age (as of right after tresspasser, I'm unsure of what year Dreadwolf is taking place but I do know it's many years later)

Ashari Tabris: 19 - 20 - 33 Faye Hawke: 24 - 31 - 38 (presuming they survived the fade rip) Mori'na Lavellan: 27 - 30 (the baby of the group)

I'm still working on specific birthdates and birthcharts so come back to me on the importance of their birthdays lol

For names, Faye and Mori'na hold significance ( ashari was born from a generator sorry girl ). One of the meanings of Faye is loyalty and faith, and through their journey you get to see both those factors get shaken in one way or another.

Mori'na came from me trying to find a name for about 30min before thinking of using the word for forest in Japanese. But also looking into it further, I think it's a good resemblance of the Dalish hunters' code, Vir Tanadhal, the Way of Three Trees (the kanji for Mori looks like three trees. Genius play by me). The 'na comes from their mother's name, Eirla'na. I like to think it's a thing passed down to the first born on her mother's side (mo is the older twin but shh don't let bohean catch you saying that)

DAI Specific: 3. How do they feel about bearing the Anchor? For what did they declare the Inquisition stood for?

It was definitely a pain for Mori'na, both physically and emotionally, one that she's carried and will carry until the day she dies. It was a symbol born of elven magic and a mistake, used to further the humans' political agenda, elves getting left behind yet again. Mori'na hated it, but she tried to use it to uplift her peoples' voices and plight the best she could, despite being knocked down for it constantly.

The time that the Inquisition was alive, Mori'na did declare it a place and hope for all, but the main goal was stopping Corypheus. She always made it clear an elf was leading them. She knows what happens when you let an organization born out of fear run for too long, no matter how well meaning in the beginning. She was elated to disband the group when it came down to it (not just because she wanted a nap, but that did play a part)

A quote I associate with Mo sometimes is "You save everyone, but who saves you?" She really was trying, trying to save everything, knowing the anchor was a burden that could be used for good. She tried, but lost herself along the way. Disbanding the Inquisition was also a way of Mo trying to reclaim what little sliver was left of themselves.

DA2 Specific: 1. Is your Hawke diplomatic/helpful, humorous/charming, aggressive/direct, or some mix of the three?

Faye is a mix of all three! In the beginning, they are more on the blue/purple leaning with some red thrown in ocassionally depending on the person they are conversing with. They like being helpful but they will demand coin as a contingent. They have to eat and support their family, whatelse are they going to do? They know they have to speak the room's language.

Towards the end of Act II and going through Act III, Faye becomes more red/purple, with very few instances of being blue. Only their friends get the nice Faye, the rest of the world gets the irriated and weary Faye. Still using humor as a coping mechanism. They're tired of being the middle man of the "both sides" of a conflict, they become more grounded in their convictions and refuses to budge. In their mind, after trying to keep things together for so long, they've decided fuck it. Fuck the templars, fuck the chantry, fuck this city. Kirkwall has taken everything from them, why do they have to give anything back at this point? Let it burn.

DA:O Specific: 4. How bad are their nightmares as a Warden? What do they think of the Calling?

Absolutely unbearable, painful. Ashari constantly wakes up with a migraine after those nightmares, but hell to letting it show. She knows she has to lead these random people, she can't let anyone see any vurnability. It's all tactical in her mind, but tactical with a no bullshit attitude. It's a mere inconveniance, not a brick wall.

That's how she phrases it in her mind though. Alistair notices the pinch of the bridge, the look in the eyes, the dark circles. He experienced it, of course he was going to be the only one to understand, to offer some relief.

As for the Calling, in the beginning it's invigorating. Ashari treats alot of the year of the Blight as a suicide mission, so she thinks she's not afraid of death. Spoiler alert, she is. Of course, knowing her fate offers some levity at first. Fighting a war at too young an age, it warps your view on a lot of things. Fight the Blight, defeat the archdemon, have a few years to work on relations between the city and the alienage, fuck off and go die in the Deep Roads. Simple. Straight to point, her path is laid out. Relief.

As time goes on however, she starts fearing it. Fearing her all too certain death. Die in obscurity, letting the darkspawn win. She can't let that happen. She's already made so many friends, so many connections. Her family is still there. She can't bear to part from that. So of course she's going to set out on finding a cure. She won't be taken by the madness.

#ask game #thank you!!#this took awhile but that's the way of things #ashari tabris #faye hawke #mori'na lavellan

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champion-of-thedas · 1 year

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Fanfiction Updates

This is entirely here to keep myself accountable! I’ll keep editing this post and updating it with how my writing is progressing.

Vir Tanadhal: Outline is almost finished for story overall.

> Vir Assan: Chapters and codices edited to chapter six

>Vir Bor’assan: On hold until editing is caught up

The Queen and Her Heir: Indefinite hiatus, but not abandoned.

Eating Alone: Chapter 13 in progress; story outline is finished

Winds of Time (title for now): Now planned to be three parts; first part story beats completely outlined; second and third parts in progress; first five chapters outlined; first chapter complete

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patheticnugbaby · 7 years

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Hunting Ground I

I decided I wanted to do a multi-chapter Halamshiral fic and boy did I pick a lot of fucking work. I wanted to go more in depth over how my particular inquisitor (Adahla Lavellan) felt at the Winter Palace. Later chapters will probably have Solavellan fluff but this one’s mostly just about Adahla learning the rules of a new hunting ground.

After the introductions Adahla felt exceedingly flustered, her hands were sweating under the thin gray gloves, only softly diffusing the harsh, green glow from her left hand. She had never felt quite so obviously marked by it until now, predatory eyes glancing surreptitiously at her from behind gilt masks. She took great care to hold herself firmly, with a straight spine and her shoulders back, taking slow breaths through her chest.

She was careful in the way that she walked, trying to project the easy grace of a confident woman. Dimly, she heard whispers, ‘Dalish barbarian’ ‘knife-ear’ ‘pretender’, each one slowly mounting in her chest, like the pressure of an ever rising firestorm.

She took a soft breath and hardened that hot rage. As she walked back out to the vestibule she gathered the strength of it around her like armor, out of the corner of her eye she caught the tiniest nod of approval from Josephine. She allowed herself a soft smile, let the expression tug at her lips with the slyness of a fox.

“Inquisitor, a word?” Leliana approached her, gently taking her arm and leading her towards the top of the stairs, “May I say first that you did very well, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you, Sister,” She replied, gently patting Leliana’s hand.

“You are most welcome,” Leliana paused, leaning to take a glass from a passing server, “I should tell you that in the absence of Madame de Fer the empress has seen fit to employ a new court enchanter. We knew each other some time ago, she is ruthless and has seemingly charmed the entire court, as if by magic,”

“I will keep that in mind,” She answered smoothly, trying very hard not to show how much the idea shook her, “could you excuse me, Sister?”

“Of course, my lady Inquisitor,” Leliana let go of her arm, seeming to disappear almost immediately.

“Right,” She whispered to herself and sauntered through the next hall, the Hall of Heroes, she thought they called it.

As she passed she caught the smallest whispers, her ears flicked and she stopped, just out of sight behind a statue.

“-commotion in the upper levels.”

“The one off the garden? Statuette?”

They stopped speaking. She heard the sound of hurried footsteps retreating down the stairs. Adahla sighed and closed her eyes.

“Andruil, blood and force, I pray to you. Ma lasa ghilan, ma las Vir Tanadhal: Vir Assan, Vir Bor’assan, Vir Adahlen. Ma lasa ghilan, ar dar’misu.” She did not say the words aloud, only mouthed them.

She knew the gods no longer heard her but the muttered prayer, one she had whispered before every hunt not so long ago, settled some of the wild, nervous fluttering in her chest. She may be bound and trussed tightly in layers upon layers of shemlen clothing but she was still a hunter. This was not the forest, yet it was not so different from it. Instead of trees, there were gaudy pillars and statues, her prey did not hide in the brush or the grass, but rather behind glittering masks and lacy fans.

She was not a hunter who came back empty handed.

Adahla set off with a greater purpose than she had felt in months. To anyone watching she wouldn’t even look like quite the same woman that came into the palace. She suddenly stalked the ornate halls like she owned them, more akin to a red lion than an out-of-place dalish.

“Inquisitor,” Solas greeted her as she strode into the next room, “you have adjusted well.”

“Thank you, Solas,” She paused, tilting her head, “How do you find Halamshiral?”

“I adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events,” He admitted, leaning on the statue next to him, “the nobles don’t know what to make of me, though the servants are happy enough to refill my glass.”

“Seems you’ve drunk enough already,” She teased, glancing down at his half-full glass, “how many will that make when you finish it?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t been counting. Besides,” He gave her a wolfish grin, “I am entirely too sober for this.”

She chuckled, “Will you save me a dance?”

“I can only imagine the scandal of the Inquisitor dancing with an elven servant,”

“Before the night is done I intend to shock them with greater concerns than my choice of dance partners,” She felt a fox’s grin slip onto her face, Solas slightly lifted his glass.

“Good hunting,”

She sauntered further down the hall, she caught snatches of useful conversation. Things she would relay to Leliana at a later date, assuming her illustrious spymaster hadn’t already heard. She turned, nearly running into an agitated Orelesian man.

“Where is Phillipe? Leaving me to deal with Gaspard’s vitriol!”

“That’s awfully rude of him to leave you here with all the work,” She managed to hide their near collision with a gentle, reassuring touch on the shoulder.

“Exactly! Leaving me to relay Gaspard’s death threats to the Council while he rolls some elven maid!” He huffed, then patted her hand, “My sincerest apologies, Inquisitor, I did not mean to shout.”

“You’re quite alright, Ser,” She smiled gently, “It sounds like you have a busy night, especially being down on help.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor, you are too kind. I really must be going,”

“Of course,” She demurred, allowing him to pass her before she made her way to the balcony.

The greenery was lovely, in a well-groomed Orelesian sort of way. She very much preferred the wilder growths of the forest to well-trimmed lawns and hedges. Abandoned in the lawn, something glinted in the moonlight. She chanced a quick look around, satisfied that she was alone, she hopped over the banister and snatched it up.

Clara — kitchen staff — entered servants' wing by main stair 1:30

Vernon — undergardener — entered servants' wing from hall 2:45

Sophie — chamber maid — entered servants' wing from hall 3:22

Marius — footman — entered servants' wing by main stair 3:45

Briala, we need immediate support down there. Something's gone wrong.

How curious. She tucked it into the pockets of her silver cloak and quickly slid back over the banister, smoothing her dress before re-entering the room. She picked a small cake from a tray, nibbling on it at she pressed through the door to the guest gardens. People milled around, chatting, drinking, eating. At least, if you didn’t look any closer that’s what they were doing.

A few clandestine letters exchanged hands, rumors were placed and exchanged, sabotages planned, deaths requested. These people weren’t the prey she was seeking, though the interesting pieces of gossip she heard were hoarded and saved for later. She tried not to flick her ears too much, as much as she wanted to hear everything. After a little searching, she found a door up to the next level.

She hurried up, upon arriving finding it deserted save a few smears of blood on the marble. She kneeled, careful not to get any stains on the silvered embroidery on the hem of her dress. At the end of a long hour of arguments, Leliana and Vivienne had decided on black, white, and silver, not unlike the clothes she wore to greet ‘important’ guests at Skyhold.

She shook her head, removing one of her gloves to touch the blood with her fingertips, wet, but cold. Recent. Adahla licked it from her fingertips. Elven.

Something akin to a thrill ran up her spine and she smiled a hunter’s smile. She stood, gathering her skirts to lift them above her ankles as she stepped over the smeared blood. It led to the library but she wanted to check outside first.

She did not want to walk out of the library only to be ambushed by another hunter. Along the opposite side, laying on the banister were two things, a tiny halla statuette, and a love letter.

She pocketed both and stood there for a time, listening.

The soft din of the people on the lower levels, the steady hum of the Anchor she rarely noticed anymore. Glasses clinked and people laughed. The silver sound of a coin being flipped through the air.

Unsuspecting jackals below her. Scavengers more than predators, scrabbling with each other for scraps of power and reputation. They were not hunters the way she was.

She retreated back the way she came, spying a door. Other halla statues were placed in little alcoves around the doorframe. One such alcove was empty. Adahla smiled and pressed the little statue she had into the empty space.

Silver-blue circles of light sprang from the door. Her ears flicked at she detected the sound of stone grinding on stone as the door swung open.

A tiny room, cluttered with books and papers and chests, lit by one solitary veilfire candle. She shut the door behind her, flipping through the papers on the desk, her eyes reflecting the pale blue-green light.

She found nothing on the desk and started going through the papers that seemed to have been thrown to the floor. Someone didn’t like these letters. She grinned when she found the one she was looking for.

Celene,

We can discuss this like adults, can't we? We both know the weapon at Briala's disposal could not only turn the tide of our war but every war. The empire must control it; I do not believe you disagree. She is now a greater threat to Orlais than anything else. If you and I work together, we can wrest control away from her. Do not deceive yourself that she will be open to negotiation or diplomacy. You know her better than anyone—you know that's impossible.

Gaspard

“A weapon to turn the tide of every war?” She mused, pocketing the letter, “You might just be after my own heart, Briala.”

She stood and pressed her ear to the door. She heard nothing and pulled it open.

The upper balcony was deserted, as it had been when she left it. She stalked to the large double doors leading to the library, being sure that the heels of her shoes didn’t click on the marble. The doors swung open silently and she swept inside. Adahla was suddenly assaulted with the scent of parchment, ink, and old leather with the gentle mustiness of dust.

She ran her hands along the books on the shelves, gently pressing her fingers between them to see if she could find any hidden letters or documents. She pressed one particular book, its title faded beyond recognition and heard a soft click. Her ears perked up, then flicked backward at the sound of doors opening. Pride swelled in her chest as she slid into the secret room. A veilfire torch lit the room, illuminating the one letter left out on the desk.

Lady M,

I need you at my side tonight. The unpleasantness in the royal wing has convinced me there is no safety within the palace. I do not expect my cousin to employ magic, but I would hardly be surprised if he provoked another infestation; since my court enchanter is not here to assist me, I must rely entirely upon you. There is no one else I can trust.

Celene

“Lady M’s on good terms with her majesty,” She said aloud, ears pricking at the sudden whoosh of wind.

“She is confident and sure. She knows more than Vivienne ever did.”

“Good evening, Cole,” She smiled, turning to look at him, the veilfire lit his pale face eerily like he was a ghost.

“This place has no good evenings. Just blood.”

“Co-” Her ears flicked when she heard the tolling of a bell, “Fenedhis!”

“They will like you better if you wait until the second bell. Making an entrance, clad in black and white and silver. Starry nights on snow-covered mountains.”

She smiled and gently clasped his hands, “Try not to get overwhelmed here, Cole. I do not know if you can help them.”

“I tried but they kept getting angry with me. They’ve forgotten now.”

Adahla gave his hands a reassuring squeeze before she breezed past him. Her heels clicked unabashedly on the marble as she closed the doors behind her and slunk down the stairs. As she passed through the gardens no one seemed to note her long absence. She smiled to herself as she swept back into the palace, greeted by the warmth of a fire and the scent of alcohol and sweets.

She detected a few whispers, ‘A dalish?’ ‘One of those barefoot vagabonds?’, Adahla let herself shrug them off. She was Dalish and she was proud. She was proud of the pale vallaslin over her left eye, her ears that flicked and turned to hear better, her eyes that saw more in the dark than any shem’s would. She sauntered back through the vestibule, her head stretched to open the door when she heard the soft sound of human shoes trying to be quiet on the marble.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Adahla turned to face the voice, coming down the stairs, “The leader of the new Inquisition, fabled herald of the faith.” A pale woman, dark hair piled on her head wearing an extravagant red gown, “Delivered from the grasp of the fade by the hand of Blessed Andraste herself.” The woman said it like it was a joke, yellow eyes glinting at her, “What could bring such an exalted creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do you even know?”

Adahla settled back on her feet, giving the woman a coy smile, “We may never know, My Lady. Courtly intrigues and all that.”

“Such intrigues obscure much, but not all,” The woman paused and briefly bowed her head, “I am Morrigan. Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane.”

Morrigan walked by her, not waiting for Adahla to follow but seeming to expect her to. She did, after a moment, as though she wasn’t sure about her just yet.

“You... Have been very busy this evening, hunting in every dark corner of the palace,”

“I am a hunter, Lady Morrigan. This is not the forest but it is a forest,” She replied, smiling at the other woman’s chuckle.

“So it is. Perhaps the two of us hunt the same prey, Inquisitor?”

“I hope so, M’lady,” Adahla bowed her head a little, “I would be honored to share my hunt with you.”

“Vir Adahlen, Inquisitor,”

She carefully schooled her face to not show any surprise, “Together we are stronger than the one,”

“Indeed,” Morrigan began walking again, seeming to lead her around the stairwell, “Recently I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these halls. An agent of Tevinter.” She stopped and turned to Adahla, pulling something from her sleeve, “So I offer you this, Inquisitor: A key, found on the Tevinter’s body. Where it leads, I cannot say. Yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can.”

“I may find the time to try a door or two,” She smiled and bowed her head, “Ma serannas,”

Morrigan chuckled, taking her arm and leading her back towards the door the ballroom, the second bell sounded, “Proceed with caution, Inquisitor. Enemies abound, and not all of them allied with Tevinter,” She paused her hand on the door and gave Adahla a sidelong glance, “What happens next, will be most exciting.”

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daicamgirl · 5 years

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"Be swift and silent."

Vir Assan: The Way of the Arrow

"As the sapling bends, so must you."

Vir Bor'assan: The Way of the Bow

"Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness."

Vir Adahlen: The Way of the Wood

#dragon age #inquisition #dai #flycam #Cradle of Sulevin #Vir Tanadhal: The Way of Three Trees #hidden gems in this game

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m-m-m-myysurana · 3 years

Text

WIP Wednesday

Ok I got tagged by @blarrghe like at least 2 weeks ago to share a wip. (I’m sorryy!) I am notoriously bad at this sort of thing. So anyway it is actually Wednesday for me now and look who has a WIP to share!!

This is a snippet which will, in some form or another, make it into my long fic, A Cage We Share eventually. But it insisted on being written right now ty! Kept me up last night until it was out on the page. First rough draft of course so be kind ;)

Neria and Zev spend an evening in the Dalish camp after resolving the conflict between the Werewolves and the elves.

A Night to Remember, (1500 words)

It was like no performance he’d ever seen. The singer was not dressed in any elaborate costume, nor did he even hold himself above the others, instead he sat close to the fire and sang into it. There were no instruments backing him up, though he did not seem to need it, his voice rang out clear and strong. Some sang or hummed along softly, harmonies and echoed lines fading in and out around them. From the cadence and verse, it seemed to be a story. Zevran recognised the name of one of the elven gods, though he could not pick out enough words to make sense of it. Neria’s eyes sparkled in the firelight as she listened with rapt attention.

“What does it mean?” he whispered.

Neria looked over and smiled softly before leaning in to whisper next to his ear, “It's the Charge of Andruil. My father used to sing it. I don’t know that I’ll be able to translate it with much grace, but I can try.”

Zevran nodded, and she settled closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He kept very still, as if any sudden movement might scare her off. He felt more than heard her low words as she echoed the song. Her translation was spoken, not sung, but her voice was no less beautiful for lack of a melody.

“Remember my teachings, Remember the Vir Tanadhal: The Way of Three Trees That I have given you.

“Vir Assan: the Way of the Arrow Be swift and silent; Strike true, do not waver And let not your prey suffer. That is my Way.

“Vir Bor'assan: the Way of the Bow As the sapling bends, so must you. In yielding, find resilience; In pliancy, find strength. That is my Way.”

More voices joined in, and soon it seemed the entire camp was reciting the verse. Not every voice was as strong or beautiful as the first, but together in harmony it did not matter. As the sound filled his ears, an emotion he could not name expanded in his chest, swelling until he felt it might burst right out of him.

“Vir Adahlen: the Way of the Wood Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness. Respect the sacrifice of my children Know that your passing shall nourish them in turn. That is my Way.

“I am Sister of the Moon, Mother of Hares, Lady of the Hunt: Andruil. Remember the Ways of the Hunter And I shall be with you.” *

When the man finished, and Neria had echoed the last line, there was no polite applause or bows taken as Zevran had expected. A moment's silence passed, in which Zevran felt sure everyone would hear how wildly his heart beat. Then a drum was struck behind him, and he startled, whirling round to face it. The man pounded the drum a few more times, then began a rhythm that had many quickly cheering and standing. Neria stayed where she was on the log they were sitting on, so he remained with her. She twisted around and watched, delighted, as more of them joined in, bringing out more drums, tambourines, bells and fiddles, something that looked like a lute but wasn’t quite, and instruments he had no names for. Others joined in with the voices, not singing any particular lyrics he could pick out, just adding to the ever changing melodies with their voices. People started dancing, forming circles around the fire, and soon the camp was thrumming with the music so that even his heart seemed to beat to the rhythm.

Neria swayed her head from side to side, eyes gleaming as she clapped along. Zevran stood, grinning as he held his hand out toward her.

“Shall we?”

“Oh, but I haven’t danced in years!”

“Shocking! I think it's time we remedied that, don’t you?”

Neria laughed and let him help her up. He had not even had time to release her hand before a woman had his arm and was pulling them both along toward the dancing. With little ceremony, she broke a space between two dancers who, once they realised what was happening, very happily made space for the three of them. The dancer’s movements didn’t cease once as they attempted to join the circle, and the ensuing chaos created much laughter. The woman wrapped Zevran’s arm around her shoulders and wrapped her own around the woman beside her. A taller man wrapped his arm around Neria’s shoulders and Zevran shifted his arm under her arm and around her waist.

Zevran had danced before, many times, though it had been nothing like this. Most dances in his country were made for two people, even in groups the dancers were in pairs. And of course most of the ones he had learnt had a focus on romance and seduction. These movements were made not in any effort to appear graceful or attractive, and indeed he was neither of those things right now. He stumbled over his feet many times as he attempted to copy the steps. They seemed to constantly shift and change, he would only just begin to pick up on one set of movements before they had moved on to another. Neria laughed, stumbling nearly as much as he did. She, however, seemed to pay no attention to what her feet were doing, instead her eyes were up and her head thrown back, as if she were simply feeling the music.

It took him a while to realise the voice closest to him was hers. He had never heard her sing before, her voice was low and soothing and sweet like honey. Something glimmered on her face, reflecting the dancing light of the fire. Tears? Once he noticed he could not tear his eyes away. This was the happiest he had ever seen her, and yet she was crying. It confused him, but he did not dare interrupt.

Soon the circle broke apart, though the dancing did not cease. He and Neria were separated, and he was guided through a sort of weaving dance. Each person he passed linked arms with him and spun before sending him off to the next person. This continued until he was quite dizzy, laughing as hair flew out of his braids.

Then suddenly it was Neria who was swinging with him. He knew the next part meant he had to let go, but he didn’t want to. So he held on, using their momentum to throw them out and away from the fire. Neria screamed with laughter as they whirled, spinning wildly until they were some distance from the other dancers.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing her closer as he slowed them down. When they’d finally stopped, Neria’s grin was wide and open, and both of them breathed heavily. Their noses nearly touched, and couldn’t help but remember the last time they were so close. Heat flushed through him unexpectedly, and something sparked in her eyes, a look he recognised from that night. They were out in the open, the whole clan could see them if they looked the right way, but he couldn’t care less. He dared to lean into her lips and was delighted when she responded with far more enthusiasm than he’d expected. There was a loud whoop followed by whistling and laughter, but Zevran did not want to pull away to see if it was aimed at them.

The kiss was clumsy, all teeth and breathless laughter, but in that moment he wouldn’t have had it any other way. She pushed her hands into his mess of hair, destroying what remained of his braids, and he tugged at her waist until their bodies were flush against one another. Her foot caught on something, and she stumbled, falling against his chest. He was still so dizzy that they both went over. He caught himself before they hit the ground, and managed to lower them down, almost gently. Neria lay on his chest, wide eyed for a moment, but then she burst into a fit of laughter, rolling off of him and onto the damp leaves. He couldn’t help but join in.

After some time their laughter faded as they focused simply on breathing again. Neria looked up at the sky, and Zevran followed her gaze. Framed by the clearing in the tall trees, clouds had parted to reveal a glimpse of the night sky. For a second he was taken back to the time he’d spent stargazing with Talisen and Rinna, out on the roof of their tiny, crumbling apartment. Those nights were always accompanied with so much cheap wine that his memories of them were hazy and faded. This night he hoped to keep clearly in his mind for as long as he lived.

“Thank you.” Neria whispered the words so quietly, he wasn’t sure he was meant to hear them at all.

He turned his head to look at her, watching her breath rise and fall as she stared up at the stars. A soft smile tugged on her lips, and her lashes came to rest on her cheeks as she closed her eyes, more peaceful than he had ever expected to see her.

No, he would not let this memory fade.

*The song was adapted slightly from this codex entry about Andruil.

You can read about the beginning of Neria and Zev’s relationship here! <3

#wipwednesday #zevran arainai #ZevWarden #zevran x warden #Neria Surana #Neria and Zev #my writing #rough draft #Dalish Clan #dalish music

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heniareth · 2 years

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🌳🌺oc ask game for ilanlas!

Question 🌺 has been answered for Ilanlas here in this other post

Off to question ��!

🌳 What is your OC’s favourite way to relax after a stressful day? Do they have a favourite book to curl up with? A hobby? Or do they have a nice bubble bath and have an early night to bed?

He likes to just sit still and observing things as they happen around him. It's not exactly meditation, but it is very grounding. He might watch birds build a nest, waves lap against the shores of a lake, the wind flitter through the leaves, whatever is happening where he's currently sitting

What he sees depends very much on where he is at the moment. Ferelden is big, and clan Sabrae might even leave it from time to time? He especially likes the Brecilian Forest because it feels like something that is theirs and there's always something happening there, and the Frostback Mountains, because tall

The important thing here is not only the watching, however. The listening is just as important. Sometimes, when he's very tired, that's all he does: sit very still with his eyes closed and just let the world go on around him

Praying is a big thing for him as well. He uses short, one-sentence exhortations whenever he feels the need to, such as when he's letting loose an arrow, is caught in the middle of battle, preparing a meal or skinning a prey, having to navigate the countryside, when he's exasperated, homesick, etc. These phrases remind him that the Creators, even if they're trapped in the Fade, still exist at the very least (small disclaimer here bc I don't actually know a lot of lore about the Creators or the Dalish)

That said, he does feel special attachment to Elgar'nan, since he chose the vallaslin that designate him (and Ashalle has them as well). As the god of vengeance, Elgar'nan takes on an even greater importance for him after Tamlen's death; Ilanlas basically takes up an oath if vengeance against the darkspawn after this. Becoming a Grey Warden is, after that decision, a very good path forwards. But I'm digressing

One thing he definitely does to find down and finish the day is go over the day's events with the Vir Tanadhal and the person of Elgar'nan in mind. The Vir Tanadhal is his guide and vengeance his quest. Assessing where he is with regards to both puts him at ease; the Vir Tanadhal for one is central to his identity as a Dalish hunter. As for considering his quest, he likes feeling like he's making progress on something, or, if that's not the case, if he feels like he's taking steps back instead, having a plan gives him a sense of purpose and direction. It makes him feel more solid, if that makes sense

While he does like to keep to himself to relax, he also joins his companions when they are sitting around the campfire. Community is important to him, even when most of the people available are a bunch of shems (although they're nice enough, he concedes).

He's more of a listener than a talker most of the time, except when the conversation evolves into a debate. He enjoys verbal sparring as much as the physical equivalent, if the opponents are worth their salt. Talking about hypotheticals, "should"s and "could"s takes his mind off things going on in real life

(When Surana joins the group, there are So Many conversations about magic, the Creators, and their differing worldviews. Ilanlas isn't interested in educating, but Surana has studied a lot of Circle-sanctioned readings about the Dalish and some things are just plain wrong. Ilanlas can't stand that and sets out to correct them with the same zeal he uses to fight darkspawn. It's possible that Surana riles him up on purpose)

Finally, although he really doesn't like sharing it, Ilanlas likes to do woodworking. It keeps his hands occupied and provides a creative counterbalance to the hunting and the killing. He mostly gathers bits of wood with interesting shapes and follows it, bringing the sculpture hiding within the piece to life. Sometimes it's animals, people or little objects. Other times the shapes ask for a more abstract interpretation. Some few pieces of wood don't even get to feel his knife, because he feels like there's nothing more he could add to them

Sometimes he also paints them. He roughly knows which minerals and plants give which pigments, and he grinds them up and mixes them himself. He definitely knows how to make varnish and uses it to protect his carvings from the elements

His creations usually end up guarding the campsite after they've left. There's no point in weighing himself down, and Ilanlas likes the idea that maybe another Dalish elf might pass through the area and find this unexpected trace of their people. He only keeps or gifts very very few select pieces, often created with the express purpose to keep or give away

And this is what Ilanlas does after a long day of hunting darkspawn and listening to Morrigan and Alistair's bickering. Thank you very much for this question!! I had a lot of fun answering it XD XD

These questions come from this ask game

#ilanlas mahariel #warden mahariel #dao #dragon age #my ocs #ask game #for fun #long post

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