#I don’t think that post can be used against Veilguard | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seeker-ophelia · 3 months ago

Text

The Blight: A Prison Break

Hey, take my hand, and let me take you on the Vir of my Feral Brain

Heads up Seekers, this is a long one.

Solas & The-Veil-Super-Max vs. Mythal, the Big Bad

**No Veilguard Spoilers Past the Released Trailer Media

The Veil separates the world of spirits & magic from the physical world, but that is a byproduct of its existence, not its purpose.

Creating the Veil also created “The Quickening.” If Elvhen are born with The Veil, they are separated from the magic that makes them, cursing them with a shorter lifespan.

But The Veils purpose is to be the jail that the Evanuris (and the blight?) are in;

The fade-separation-part is an annoying side-effect.

And You Say: But OP, in Trespasser, Solas SAYS:

I will save the elven people, even if it means this world must die. [That’s a big IF to throw in there buddy, do you mean you don’t know?]

Why does this world have to die for the elves to return?

A good question, but not one I will answer [Bah, humbug. Coward BioWare]

… and though I owed you an explanation, I will not give you tools to use against me. [So you’re saying there’s a chance? There ARE tools to be used?]

The return of my people means the end of yours. [What if, I don’t believe you?]

Solas says, that there are ways to stop him. But.

We know, entirely separate from Solas, that The Veil is breaking. It is thinning, without anyone’s intervention, slowly over time.

In Ghillys Grove/Dead Hand, rocks are floating. Companions say, all over the place, “ThE vEiL iS tHiN HeRe.”

The veil is coming down, REGARDLESS.

(Maybe not so fast, but it is coming down. It was not built to last forever.)

*Sidebar about Solas’ ancient Elvhen Artifacts, do they maintain the veil like he says? (It will be harder for tears to form here) Or do they do something else? If you note their locations, they’re all in places where elvhen had palaces/ruins/stuff (except for the Wastes, where they’re located amongst Dwarven shit, coincidence, I think not, but that’s Whole-Other-Post-Number-2)

*They are spheres (like Titan foci?) with something like Bismuth growing out of them?

*Solas made the veil. I think the artifacts are his. And I think they do keep The Veil up.

*Because the veil cannot just Come Down™, that would be disastrous.

*It needs to be Taken Down™. Very different.

Which leads us right back to…

The return of my people means the end of yours.

Let’s Remember this Dialogue

Cole: Is there a way to save more spirits, Solas?

Solas: Not until the Veil is healed. The rifts draw spirits through, and the shock makes demons of them.

Cole: Pushing through makes you be yourself. You can hold onto the you. Being pulled through means you don’t have enough you. You become what batters you, bruises your being.

Solas: Yes, exactly. Deliberately crossing the Veil requires that a spirit form will, personality. That concept of self gives a spirit the chance to maintain its nature. Wrenched into this world unwillingly by the rifts, spirits suffer the same fate as my friend.

Cole: Then we will help them.

If you are not paying attention, the game wants you to think that the fade is full of demons, chock full of them. If The Veil comes down, demons will swallow the earth. But, that’s not actually the case. Most of the things there are spirits, they only turn to demons when they get pulled through the veil unwillingly. Let’s hold onto that thought.

Solas wants the Evanuris in prison (I am unsure if he knows that there’s only two of them left). He needs them in prison. But he doesn’t want The Veil.

WHY is having No-Veil inherently dangerous to humans/Dalish if there are mostly spirits?

I don’t think it is.

I think he means the end of the Dalish, meaning the end of the Shemlen version of the Dalish. Immortal elves can exist again after The Veil is gone.

So the Dalish will “Die” (people are always dying) but Immortality will come back.

What does Solas say again? (In the fade with Rook):

Your actions have set events in motion, and I would not have your ignorance on my conscience.

The Evanuris. Blah blah blah…

When I rebelled, they drew on the horrific magic of the blight, corrupting all they saw until I trapped them.

Thanks to you though, I am now trapped, and the blighted “elvhen gods” walk free.

Hang on a tidily minute there pardner.

Solas locked them up because they killed Mythal, not because of anything to do with the blight.

From Trespasser:

Inky: You said that the elven gods went too far. What did they do that made you move against them?

Solas: They killed Mythal (Chuckles). A crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment…. And in their lust for power, they killed her.

But he Also Says:

Had I not created the Veil, the Evanuris would have destroyed the entire world.

OhKayy.

So… Now we’re retconning Why Solas’ Imprisoned The Evanuris…

OR…

Andruil brought the Blight back from the Abyss, and Ghilly made/weaponized it. I’m guessing The Evanuris were going to/already were, unleashing it on Thedas? But, why? That doesn’t make any sense. Mythal stood up to them, and so they killed her?

Kamikazeing the world doesn’t sound like a smart business strategy. It does not sound in line with The Evanuris’ Mission Statement.

This art from pinacoladamatata has been confirmed cannon by BioWare – this is the face the Evanuris’ Business Manager makes when he sees them making Bad Business Decisions ™

No, its fucking is not, get your head out of your ass.

Fucking GODS. The GODS YOUS GUYS

These guys wanted power. There were 7 of them, ffs. You’re telling me they all went bat shit and wanted to blight the world? To what end? What’s their Modus Operandi? This is not adding up for me.

The Evanuris used blood magic. [IMO, Ghilly created Qunari specifically to have stronger powered blood for her magic rituals. She created a whole race, to die. *What is my purpose*You Pass Butter*Oh My God* Little mix of dragon and elf and poof, Qunari Baby. But Im not getting into that, that’s not the point of this post]

And you’re telling me ALL 7 OF THEM, after they’ve: slain Ancient Dragons, won battle against the Forgotten Ones, Became Kings, Sundered Titans, Became Gods, created races for blood magic rituals, were just like, yeah let’s blight the world? Like for fun, its Tuesday and Im Bored.

Sorry, whut? No. This is not adding up. This does not make any sense to me.

So… What does make sense?

The Blight IS Bad.

Okay. How?

If Ghilly made the blight and we know that the Evanuris have used the Blight (source, Solas), lets assume they can actually control it; its not a virus or an uncontrollable bacteria, the Evanuris can control it (somehow), otherwise they risk wiping out their own amassed power.

Okay.

And Solas didn’t want them killing more people (he was already freeing their slaves), and decided to lock them up.

Okay.

But before this, Mythal did something to make them mad, and they killed her?

Okay.

But she didn’t actually die.

We know she didn’t die…

How do we know she didn’t die?

Because we saw her Blue/OGB/Navi-Wisp leave Flemeth and transfer to Solas.

And where else have we seen that before?

We see it when Kieran gives up Urthemiel to Flemythal.

Who’s Urthemiel?

Urthemiel, the Old God Dragon of Beauty, aka one of the Evanuris (Sylaise or June probably).

Urthemiel was an archdemon, a blighted-dragon, and (like Corypheus), when it was killed, the Blue/OGB/Navi-Soul got transferred into (supposed to be a Warden who would then die, taking the spirit with them, but actually its) Kieran. Who then gives it to Flemythal.

Who has THE SAME KIND OF Blue/OGB/Navi-Wisp…

BECAUSE SHE WAS BLIGHTED.

Abelas: The dread wolf had nothing to do with her murder. She was slain, if a god truly can be, betrayed by those who destroyed this temple. But the Vir’Abelasan remains, as do we. That is something.

She did not “die,” she got INFECTED WITH THE BLIGHT, and then slain, and then her Blue-Dragon-Navi-Soul moved on to another vessel.

Let’s Re-state What We KNOW

There used to be 7 Old Gods/Archdemons in the Deep Roads

There have been 5 Blights

There have been 5 Archdemons slain

There used to be 7 Evanuris in The Solas-Super-Max-Veil-Prison

Now there are 2

(TBF we don’t know for 100% Evanuris = Old Gods, but we essentially assume they are)

Let’s move into speculation territory:

How did they get out?

Well, we’ve seen Ghilly and Elgar’dad’s physical forms.

Now, I am not a zoologist, but those:

DO NOT look like dragons.

Remember:

Trespasser Solas: “They killed Mythal (chuckles), a crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment.”

So, lets assume, that The Evanuris “killed” Mythal by infecting her with the Blight.

I think, when Solas locked the Evanuris away, he put The Blight in there with them. Not just an eternity in prison, but an eternity of torment.

What he (probably) didn’t figure, is the Blight-Body-Snatcher-Problem.

We KNOW, a creature infected with The Blight can pass their soul onto another creature infected with the Blight (Corypheus).

We KNOW, that if blood is spilled during a ritual to contact the Priso, that the blood-spiller can contact people in the prison (Golly, that sounds familiar, hey?)

Solas: Deliberately crossing the Veil requires that a spirit form will, personality. That concept of self gives a spirit the chance to maintain its nature.

“My kind has ever been driven to seek out the Old Gods. This is out nature. When we findone, a Blight begins.”

I hypothesize, the Evanuris killed (Slept? Separated from?) their physical bodies to allow their Blue Souls to re-infect an Archdemon, that was grown, supplied by an Architect, or other strange creatures we don’t know about in the deep roads. Not as nice, or as powerful a body as their Elvhen Forms, but better than being in prison.

And that is how The Blight acted as a prison break for the Evanuris.

Which brings me to the question, what happened to the other Evanuris’ Blue-Dragon-Navi-Souls once they were slain (as archdemons) and moved into Wardens (who then promptly died)?

Watch this: Dragon Age: Origins Death of the Warden in 1080p

(Its actually kinda badass)

This is the moment the Warden (No Dark Ritual Performed) stabs Archdemon #5 in the head (Photo brightened).

(This is not the moment the Archdemon dies)

THIS is the moment the archdemon dies:

[Hmm… looks like an Andruil Shaft of Light to Kill a Titan, hey?]

There is then a Giant Explosion:

We see the Wardens Body only after the fact on a funeral stone. We do not know exactly what happened to them. But Alistair, who was standing right beside them, is fine.

In my mind, the blue mist (1st picture) is the Blue-Soul Transferring, and then the explosion is the Blue-Soul actually dying, meaning it doesn’t get transferred onto another blighted creature.

BUT.

It is important to note, that in a world where the Dark Ritual was performed, where the OGB goes into Kieran, the cutscene is NOT DIFFERENT IN ANY WAY. It is THE EXACT SAME SCENE. Same pillar of light, same blue ring, same explosion. But some how THIS:

(This is a separate screenshot image from a separate video, different outcomes).

Gets turned into THIS:

SO IM GOING TO WiLdLy SpEcULaTe

That if a GIANT FUCKING RING OF EXPLODING BLUE LIGHT can be sucked into Morrigan’s Magic-Fucking-Uterus, it can be wrangled in other ways as well (… or at the very least, into another uterus).

OK. This Dark Ritual thing. Sounds like, mega weird. Powerful, strange, old magic.

Let’s refresh:

Dragon Age: Origins - Dark Ritual with Loghain and Romanced Morrigan

I offer a way out, a way out for all the Grey Wardens that there need be no sacrifice, a ritual, performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night. It is old magic, before the circle of magi was created. Some might call it blood magic, (Solas: I abhor the use of blood magic) but that is but a name. there is far more to fear in this world than names. [Nothing is without a cost] Perhaps, but that cost might not be so unbearable, especially if there is much to be gained. All I ask is you listen to what I have to offer. What I propose is this, lay with me here tonight, and from our joining, a child will be conceived. The child will bear the taint, and when the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process. Think about what I offer you: the chance to avoid death. Or better yet, the chance to slay the archdemon and live as a hero. No Grey Warden has ever done this. In return I conceive a child, one who will be born with the soul of an Old God. After this is done, you allow me to walk away, and you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish. [Is this why you’ve been so friendly with me] It’s… why I was sent with you by my mother.

Wait. WHAAAAAAAAT. You mean FLEMYTHAL KNOWS ABOUT THE RITUAL??? SHES THE ONE WHO TAUGHT IT TO MORRIGAN?

It’s… why I was sent with you by my mother. Its why she saved your life to begin with. Caring for you… was not part of the plan. But I cannot let what I feel interfere with what I must do. This is important to me. The fact that it may save your life makes me all the more determined to see it done. Please do not… cloud the issue. If you feel anything for me, then accept that it will make what we must do… that much easier.

So. Flemeth (Mythal), Knows How to entrap Archdemon (Evanuris) Souls (Blue-Navi’s), which are The Same People who killed Blighted her.

But… What is she DOING with them? Why aren’t they turning on her? Where are their vessels?

WHERE ARE THEY.

(Enter my lover Yavana).

Yavana is an infamous Antivan Witch of the Wilds known as the "Beast of the Tellari swamps".

Yvana Quotes:

"The blood of dragons is the blood of the world."

(to Alistair) Your heart beats with the old blood, as well. Where do you think it comes from? It sings of a time when dragons ruled the skies. A time before the Veil, before the mysteries were forgotten. Can you hear it?"

Alistair: "You and Morrigan and Flemeth...all you do is manipulate and lie."

Yavana: "That is our craft, but not our purpose. Mankind destroys without understanding, yet I preserve."

Yavana, my girl. Girlboss. What are you preserving sweetie?

Some Very-Simplified-Backstory: Marric, Alistair’s dad, was saved by Flemeth once upon a time, and was supposed to go to Yavana after his kids were grown.

Why, you ask? Well:

Now I don’t know about you, but there’s only one task I can think of that a Woman needs a Man for, and its not Knitting.

But Marric never showed. So Flemeth had to improvise, sending Morrigan…

It’s… why I was sent with you by my mother.

Now I think,

Mythal is the big bad.

Because who told Morrigan to get Urthemiel?

Flemythal.

Who’s to say she didn’t plant Yavana in Northen Thedas to collect other Dragon-Souls?

I have no proof, but I would not bet against it.

Let’s Refresh Ourselves on the History of the Blights, Shall we?

[You do not need to read all of this, I have summarized it in the image below]

A Quick, Shallow Dive Into The Blights (A Historical Record):

{[ (Some Of) The following information is only mentioned in Dragon Age Tabletop. Certain portions of this media may no longer reflect currently established lore.]}

The First Blight

The First Blight began in -395 Ancient (800 TE) and lasted nearly two centuries, the longest Blight in history.

In the course of the First Blight, Dumat was slain multiple times, to no avail - he would always return. Some people saw it as proof of his divine power. The Grey Wardens, thanks to the taint in their blood, could feel the Archdemon die and rise again, as its spirit would go on to possess the nearest tainted creature. They eventually realized that their connection to the Blight might make it possible to kill Dumat for good.

Eventually, Grey Warden scholars proposed that if Dumat were slain by a Grey Warden, due to the Wardens' subtle ties to the darkspawn, his spirit would rush into the body of the Warden that had killed it. Unlike the darkspawn, a Warden's body already has a soul, and the resulting paradox would destroy both Warden and Archdemon.

Records do not say who exactly gave up his soul to destroy Dumat, for many Wardens struggled against him, and the Archdemon's very death throes slew seven or more of them.

Archdemon Slayer: Unknown

Location: The Silent Plains are a desolate area on the southern borders of the Tevinter Imperium, with Nevarra laying further south and the Free Marches to the south-east.

The Second Blight

The Second Blight began in the Anderfels with the corruption of Zazikel, the Old God of Freedom[1] or the Dragon of Chaos, in 1:05 Divine, and lasted 90 years.[2] Both sides suffered heavy losses, but Zazikel was finally slain by the Grey Warden Corin.

Archdemon Slayer: Corin.

Location: Starkhaven is an independent and prominent city-state of the Free Marches that lies on the banks of the Minanter River.

The Third Blight

The Third Blight began when Toth, the Old God of Fire, awoke in 3:10 Towers, and the darkspawn erupted in the central lands of Thedas in greater numbers than ever before.[1]

In 3:25, the combined armies of the Grey Wardens, Tevinter and Orlais met in Hunter Fell and destroyed Toth in one of the bloodiest battles in history.

Archdemon Slayer: Unknown.

Location: Hunter Fell is a city in Nevarra. It is located along the northern shore of the Minanter river, west of Nevarra City.

The Fourth Blight

The Fourth Blight began when the Archdemon Andoral arose in 5:12 Exalted and darkspawn surfaced in the northeast and northwestern regions of Thedas. With only three Wardens left, Garahel flew his griffon into Ayesleigh narrowly avoiding the archers and the Archdemon's attacks before finally driving his blade into a wound at the base of the Archdemon's neck made by the rabid griffons, killing the beast at last.

Archdemon Slayer: Garahel.

Location: Ayesleigh is a city in western Rivain.

The Fifth Blight

(AKA Dragon Age: Origins)

The Fifth Blight occurred in 9:30 Dragon in the nation of Ferelden. The Blight's origins began with the tainting of the Old God Urthemiel during a botched experiment by the Architect to awaken it. In 9:31,[25] the darkspawn horde, led by Urthemiel himself, reached Denerim and attacked before the reinforcements from Redcliffe could arrive.

A small team led by the Warden assaulted the fortress and, despite the efforts of the darkspawn garrison to protect it, Urthemiel was slain. The Fifth Blight had ended before most of Thedas knew it had begun.

Archdemon Slayer: The Hero of Ferelden

Location: Denerim, Ferelden

Remember,

Mythal is the Big Bad.

[Please be advised that this is wild conjecture with little to no evidence to back it up]

Let’s say, that Yavana (or Flemeth or Yavana-predecessor) was around for all previous blights; the Archemon Deaths are all in Northern Thedas. She went around to all the blight-battles where the archdemon was slain, and somehow recovered their Blue-Dragon-Navi-Soul.

And is housing them (protecting them?). In Dragons? In Orbs? In something else? Maybe they’re bound to an Item, maybe they’re possessing a Body.

Now you might be thinking, OP, how are the Archdemon-Dragon-Bodies getting there? How can the Evanuris control the Blight? How did the blight escape Solas’ Veil-Super-Max? You’re making a lot of wild jumps and leaps.

And I am.

But I bid you read this.

Let me Summarize:

If your Inquisitor drinks from Mythal’s Well of Sorrows, they hear a bunch of weird, garbled audio. One of those “unintelligible whispers,” is “Mythal speaks the calling.”

What’s the Calling again?

All Grey Wardens who do not fall in battle eventually fall to something known as the Calling, a magic that preys upon our own connection to the Blight and the darkspawn. Rather than such foul magic eventually leading to my death, I have determined to find a way to negate this Calling and save all Wardens from its effects.” ―Hero of Ferelden

The Calling is how the Evanuris control the Blight.

And Mythal is the one who speaks it.

Mythal orchestrated the downfall of her peers, who were gathering power and threatening her own rule, and stole their power (Dragon-Souls) for herself. Solas was a scapegoat the whole time.

Do you agree with me? Do you disagree? Did I get something in the lore wrong? Let me know, lets talk about it! (Please, no Veilguard spoilers, TYSM).

We Will Find Out If Im Right in... 38 hours and 13 minutes.

Dareth Shiral, Dirthalen.

#dragon age #NO Vilguard Spoilers #datv #dragon age veilguard #Dragon Age Inquisition #dragon age the veilguard #da4 #Mythal #Solas #The Blight #The Evanuris #Yavana #Great Dragons #Homemade Lore #Lore Dragon #Dirthalen #Seekers of Truth #Lore Hunter

16 notes · View notes

a-gay-bloodmage · 15 days ago

Text

"Against the Kitchen Floor" and Omri de Riva

At the urging of @queenofangrymoths, I have decided to post my song analysis of Will Wood's "Against the Kitchen Floor" as listened to through the lens of Omri de Riva, my dwarven Crow Rook.

His relationship with Neve, Scheherazade de Riva (QoAM's Rook), his mother, Lucanis, Viago, and himself, all come together to form a perfectly wonderful mush of self-loathing.

Hope you enjoy!

Trigger warnings for: discussions of suicidal ideation, past sexual assault as a minor, minor self-harm, child abuse, and general murder and violence.

Omri de Riva “Against the Kitchen Floor” Analysis

I don’t owe you my heart And I don’t owe you my body But you should know that I’m sorry For being careless with you

Omri tries, very hard, to see himself as a person. But it doesn’t really work. Usually, he sees himself as a thing to be given up for Contracts. The concept of I don’t owe you my heart / body is something that he tries to tell himself, but the sentiment usually rings pretty hollow. Leaving the Crows and being a part of the Veilguard is a massive culture shift for him. Being on “equal” grounds with people is strange. Neve, especially, isn’t his master. He doesn’t owe her his heart and body. Despite this, he still feels responsibility for potentially damaging her. It isn’t his place to be in a relationship with her, as he thinks it will only end in disaster. Despite that, he still went for it. He, as I said in “Fledgling,” kind of operates generally on the idea of a Crow takes what he can get.

Lord knows I owe you more Than I’m pretty sure I ever could give anybody But I can’t pin down what normal people want from foreign objects Bottom shelf erotic products like me

Neve, along with Varric and Harding, essentially freed him from slavery, and they don’t even know it. He has no idea how to make it up to them, if that’s even possible. Especially without admitting to his status within the Crows as a slave, a fact that he does find shameful. He has no idea how to express this gratitude to “normal people” like Neve. Neve being a Shadow Dragon, a liberator of slaves from Tevinter, only further complicates things. The concept of being a bottom shelf erotic product is both a dig at his own self-worth and his height. He is an object to be used for the pleasure and satisfaction of others, and he’s literally so low, physically, that most people don’t even see him amongst the dirt of the floor.

So, I could hold your hand, but keep you at arm’s length Or hang me from a branch too high to climb and shake Less rare than scarce, less diamond than rough Unlikely to be more than just the coal you fail to crush, and

He does really want a relationship with Neve, but he can’t allow himself to really pull her tight to him in any way other than physically. And, even then, it’s only when they’re alone. He sees their relationship as mutually physical, but romantically one-sided. He fully assumes that she’ll end up with Lucanis. And why wouldn’t she? He’s more attractive than Omri is, higher-ranking, and human.

The idea of hang me from a branch too high to climb and shake is a reference to suicide for him, since he’s absolutely passively suicidal. While he won’t go out of his way to kill himself, he won’t consciously try too hard to stop his death from happening. Just put him somewhere to rot and nobody will ever come and get him. He’s felt this way for as long as he can remember.

The idea of being less rare than scarce is interesting, because he is rare. He’s not only a dwarf, a race with a very low population, but he’s a dwarven Crow. Those aren’t common. However, he’s also a casteless dwarf and a slave. He’s not a diamond, he’s just the dirt around it, and no amount of molding or pressure will ever turn him into something beautiful. His entire life, people have attempted to crush him, and yet he’s still alive but not any prettier. He doesn’t know why.

I swear, I’m really trying Get it together, [Omri], know and do better It just don’t come natural to me to think that you’d want me for mе I swear, I’m really trying Oh, I’m sorry, I promise, I’m doing my best I just haven’t learned how to be human as you are yet

Especially after meeting Sherry—when he was twenty-four and she was twelve—he really does want to be a good person. The problem is that he doesn’t think he’s capable of it. He was too broken by his path to becoming an assassin. He bought into the Crow propaganda, into Viago’s grooming, until Sherry shook him out of it by the virtue of just being an innocent little girl. He thinks that being non-human is a stain against him. He’ll never fit into society, which he sees as a significant hurdle to not only being accepted as good, but accepting himself as good.

I still don’t know who you are I only know that I’m still lonely That morbid sort where even company can’t cure me And the more you reassure, the less I trust

Omri feels like he can never truly know another person. Not entirely. Especially not Neve. She’s too… above him. She’s too reserved, too smart. And it’s isolating. He assumes that Neve is able to connect far better with someone like Lucanis, someone who shares something closer to her social status. Omri has this deep-seeded sense of loneliness that will never go away. He’s never had a friend, he was only treated truly kindly once before meeting Sherry. And the more people reassure him that they like him, the less he trusts it. After all, Viago told Omri that he cared for him, that Omri was his First. And that was all just a lie to keep him wrapped around Viago’s finger.

But still you gave me your heart I only gave you my body Honestly thought nobody’d want it, let alone notice it’s gone And so I left it home, but now, now, now, now

Omri, as Neve starts potentially falling for him, feels deeply guilty. He doesn’t think she deserves to be in a relationship with an empty husk of a man, someone who isn’t capable of, in his mind, actually loving someone back. He can give her his body, sure, but that’s always been the case for the last twenty years of his life. He’s never seen himself as desirable, so thinking that Neve desires him, genuinely, and isn’t just using him as an outlet frightens him.

I keep a locket with a picture on the back of my head Oh, monkey-wrench my side view mirrors, ghost my friends I’ve lived more lives than enough, I haven’t died quite as much But I’m not a real person, just the shit you can’t make up, and

Omri is constantly watching over his shoulder. He’s paranoid that the Crows will come back to get him. He has to cut off all contact with people to keep them safe. Sherry is, potentially, only alive because he’s not around her any more, after all. He does think he’s lived more lives than enough, yet hasn’t died enough. He’s lived through being homeless as an infant, basically homeless in Kirkwall, being a groomed slave, being a slave that was aware of that grooming, being, essentially, a mourning father after the loss of Sherry, and then being Rook. He, somehow, has lived through all of this. He doesn’t think he should have. Again, he barely sees himself as a person, and the idea that he’s just the shit you can’t make up makes sense for someone constantly being berated for his “unbelievably stupid decisions” by Viago.

I swear, I’m really trying I’m just as exposed if I take off my clothes When we make the closest thing to love that I’m capable of And I don’t know why you would care But I’m really trying Oh, I’m sorry, I promise, I’m doing my best I just haven’t learned how to be human as you are yet

He truly doesn’t think he’s capable of making love due to his awful sexual history. He doesn’t know what consensual sex looks or feels like. Making love is something that should be reserved for the people who are capable of having people fall in love with them and then returning that love. He doesn’t think that’s him. Again, he thinks being non-human is a stain against him.

Did I really have any of that gravity? Maybe you’re quicksand Because I really couldn’t tell How deep my footprints went The vertex of my redemption arc The searching on that virgin heart I’m catatonic in your arms Crying, “How did I cause so much harm?”

He thinks that, by “leading Neve on,” he’s irreparably damaged her. By sleeping with her and playing into this romance, he’s tread all over her heart when he didn’t ever mean to leave a footprint. The idea of him having a virgin heart is mostly sarcastic, as he thinks that his old infatuation with Viago as a teenager has forever stained him, making him incapable of having that redemption arc. The use of catatonic, specifically, makes sense for Omri. He doesn’t cry. Instead, he just feels dead and hollow and full of regret for hurting the people he never meant to hurt. He really is a Crow. All he knows is how to harm people.

I’m down, pounding my head against the kitchen floor Apologizing for my life and ever entering yours Don’t say “I’m sorry, but this can’t go on” I know you’ve got scars of your own But hide my knives before you go I’ll either live or die alone

The idea of pounding my head against the kitchen floor checks for him. He’s far more inclined to enact physical violence on himself when he’s upset, as that’s simply what he’s used to. He was not only hit by his masters in the Crows, but by his mother when he was young. Apologizing for my life makes perfect sense, as he’s always been trained from birth to see himself as a curse upon others. His gender literally caused his former noble of a mother to be thrown out of Orzammar. Neve’s romance involves her not wanting to commit because she’s afraid of intimacy, and Omri almost resents that she is the one to voice it when, in his mind, she’s a million times more capable of being in love than he is. He knows there’s something that’s causing her to hold back, but he doesn’t know what. He knows for a fact, however, that he’ll try to keep her as long as he can, even if that means hiding [his] knives, aka, the reality of what it means for him to be a Crow.

I swear, I will die trying I’m still in the process, but I’m making progress I promise, I honestly wanna prove improvement’s possible I swear, I’m so fucking sorry I’m not a good person, I’m barely a person at all But someday I’ll be perfect, and I’ll make up for it all

Omri is very, very willing to throw his life away for the sake of those he cares about. It’s not a large number of people, but it’s deeply significant to him. He wants, so badly, to be a good person, but he doesn’t think it’s possible. I’m not a good person, I’m barely a person at all is what would go through his head every time Sherry tried to insist that he’s good. He never believed it. It’s sunk in so deeply that, even if every member of the Veilguard thinks that he’s good, it’s not enough. Maybe, one day, but… not yet. But maybe, once he’s good, it will make up for the fact that he’s a filthy murderer.

And write a fucking song about it ‘Cause it has to be all about [Omri’s] fucking drama Goddamn it! Sorry Fuck, I’m sorry

Omri, after thinking about all of this, just… hates himself for it. He’s survived by making himself the center of attention in order to distract from what he’s really doing. Playing the part of an opera-loving clown to hide his intellect and planning. And yet, despite this tactic literally keeping him alive, whenever it comes to bringing attention to himself for a non-murderous reason, he feels completely undeserving of that spotlight and attention. Especially if it brings sympathy along with it. He doesn’t deserve to be regarded as a person, and his problems are not worthy of being taken seriously. He feels selfish.

9 notes · View notes

himluv · 8 months ago

Text

DA: The Veilguard Predictions/Theories, pt. 3

Okay, last one, I promise. And this one is, uhhhhhh, real strong on the tinfoil. Bear with me.

Read part 1 here :)

Read part 2 here :)

3. DA:D’s Real Big Bad™

Okay, this is probably my most outrageous and unsubstantiated theory - but it’s also the one I’m most excited for. Buckle up, kids, because I think The Architect is back!

So, when Bioware released the Dragon Age Day 2023 Thedas Calls trailer, Mark Darrah mentioned in the corresponding blog post that there was more to the trailer than just location reveals, “for those who listen closely.” Well, lemme tell you, I listened real close over and over again until something struck me.

“All the world will soon share the peace and comfort of my reign.”

That voice… I know that voice, don't I?

“I do not seek to rule my brethren. I only seek to release them from their chains.”

The Architect told the Warden in Dragon Age: Awakening that it intended to use Grey Warden blood to return self-awareness and “freedom” to the Darkspawn, freeing them from their tethers to the Archdemons.

But this was not The Architect’s first plan. No, its first plan was much, much worse. In The Calling, Maric, Duncan, Fiona and the other Grey Warden’s meet The Architect in the Deep Roads and learn that its plan is to spread the Blight over all of Thedas, thus ensuring a “lasting peace”. Nevermind that two-thirds of the population wouldn’t survive the process. **stares in solavellan**

A “lasting peace.”

“The peace and comfort of my reign.”

Now, sure, The Architect has stated that it doesn’t want to rule over its brethren, but that was in 9:31 Dragon. It’s been working on this plan since at least 9:10 Dragon (when The Calling takes place) and Dreadwolf is likely to take place somewhere around 9:52 Dragon. The Architect has had 40 years to scheme and experiment and come to the bitter realization that – if there is to be peace – it may have to rule after all.

And I’m sure Corypheus’s rise and fall did not go unnoticed by The Architect. With Solas’s machinations putting a ticking clock on Thedas’s existence, perhaps The Architect feels the pressure to end the Blights once and for all, and bring its corrupted brand of “peace” to Thedas.

When you need to spread the Darkspawn taint in record time, what do you do? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe awaken two Archdemons simultaneously and unleash them upon the world? (as a treat?) After all, there can be no more Blights once all the Old Gods have been corrupted…

Which would directly pit The Architect against Solas AND the protagonists of DA:D. And, basically everyone, because no one wants a double Blight and/or to suffer a continent-wide Darkspawn plague.

So, yeah. That’s my super-duper tin-foil hat theory for Dreadwolf (now The Veilguard). Obviously, I could be completely wrong about everything. There’s so much lore in Dragon Age, and yet so little of that lore is unequivocally proven true. It’s all in-world texts that can be – and frequently are – wrong. So, even with exhaustive research and codex mining, there’s ALWAYS a chance that some fundamental piece of “evidence” turns out to just be… incorrect.

In my opinion, that’s part of what makes this series so. effing. compelling. The whole world feels like an excavation, one where every interaction holds the potential for yet another clue. So, even if I am wrong, I can’t wait to learn the truth.

#dragon age #da4 meta #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #the architect #the magisters sidereal #dragon age: the calling #dragon age: awakening

31 notes · View notes

thebawdybaldurian · 2 months ago

Text

Rookcanis Posting: Wanksgiving!

Happy holidays to those who celebrate or who just need a sexy assassin to take over cooking duties. This is a little snippet of when my Rook and Lucanis return to the Lighthouse from Treviso after first meeting. It features a double helping of sex dreams and masturbation! I’ll be post a special “Stuffing” scene tomorrow, that will be set later in their relationship.

Content and Warnings: oral sex, PIV sex, sexual dreams, demonic lust, allusions to somnophilia/unconscious masturbation over a sleeping person, crude humor, masturbation, obsession, scent kink.

Contains a brief mention of a major late game spoiler of Dragon Age The Veilguard.

Maene finished giving Lucanis a tour of the Lighthouse after they returned from Treviso, ending up in the dining hall last. “We’re a little short on beds at the moment, but if you find an empty room that you like, the Caretaker can bring you a cot,” Mae said, brushing some dust off a pantry shelf to keep her restless hands occupied. Her stomach still fluttered when she was around Lucanis and if her hands weren’t busy, she found herself mindlessly rubbing them across her skin, longing for his touch.

“This will be fine,” Lucanis looked around, seeing no other exits and sturdy, defensible walls.

“What do you mean?” Mae asked. “You…you want to sleep in the pantry?”

“I sleep hot…and it’s nice and cool in here. Only one way in or out. No worry of someone sneaking up on me in my sleep,” he replied, looking over some of the wisp-eaten food stuffs.

“Do you…expect someone to sneak up on you in your sleep?” She asked.

“Just being pragmatic. If I let my security lapse one time…who’s to say I won’t do it again in a more dangerous environment?”

“Fair enough…I could never be an assassin,” Mae mused. “I’ve fallen asleep in the middle of crowded library with my coin purse hanging off my belt. Not to mention my poor dexterity with a blade…I failed my cadaver test twice because my hands were shaking so much.”

“Maybe you could kill them with kindness?” Lucanis smiled, still grateful for the kind words of remembrance she’d recited for his grandmother.

“If only,” Mae sighed, her face suddenly feeling hot. Being in such close quarters with him was making her anxious. “Does it get any easier?…Killing people? I’m just so used to doing the opposite. ”

“Somewhat,” he replied softly, her deep-blue doe eyes making his own stomach anxious. “Why don’t you leave the killing to me if you can?”

“Probably a good idea,” she nodded, leaving them in awkward silence for a moment.

“Kiss her!” Spite interjected, Mae standing close enough to Lucanis that he need only grab ahold of her waist to pull her in. “Push her against that stack of stale grain and stick your tongue down her throat! Let me taste her! Look at that beautiful mouth of hers.”

Lucanis make a slight growl in his throat, though just the thought of kissing her made his spine bristle. “Is Spite at it again?” Mae asked, taking a step back from Lucanis.

“He’s barely shut up since we left the Ossuary,” Lucanis replied as Spite mimed trying to kiss her, his spectral tongue disappearing against her mouth. “Do you have a spell that can make him mute?”

“I’d have to go into the Fade and apply some sort of arcane muzzle.”

“Mmmmm…sounds kinky,” Spite grinned, pecking his lips loudly around her and making her shiver.

“I might let you risk it…just for a moment’s peace,” Lucanis sighed.

“At least spite can be a powerful motivator,” Mae tried to offer some sort solace. “Not the worst kind of demon to be possessed by.”

“Ahhhh, I think that she likes us!” Spite replied excitedly. “Ask her if she’s ever been veil-split!”

“No,” Lucanis groaned. “What does that even mean?”

“Ask her!” Spite urged again.

“No!” Lucanis stamped his foot, looking away from Mae in embarrassment.

“Do…you two want to be alone?” Mae tried not to grin.

“Coward!” Spite taunted.

“Fine, if I ask her, will you shut up for a few hours?” Lucanis hissed, walking away from Mae.

“Yes,” Spite lied.

“Ask me what?” Mae wondered.

“Have you ever heard of…veil-splitting?” Lucanis asked hesitantly.

Mae knitted her brow, knowing a great deal about the Fade and the Veil, but never having come across the term in any of her studies. “I can’t say that I have,” she replied.

“It’s when you fuck the physical body here and the spiritual body in the Fade…it’s supposed to be amazing!” Spite revealed.

“Ughhhh,” Lucanis groaned, shaking his head in disgust. “I’ll let you get back to…not dealing with my problem,” he looked away from her. “I am sure you have better things to do.”

“Oh…okay. If you need anything, just ask the Caretaker…or me,” she let out a disappointed sigh. She wanted to keep talking to him, but he didn’t seem like he wanted company anymore.

She left him alone in the pantry, heading to see the Caretaker about bringing him a cot. Lucanis did his best to ignore Spite, looking through the dusty crates and barrels for anything salvageable. “So you don’t think she’d want to try it?” Spite asked.

“No, probably not!” Lucanis snarled. “She would be unconscious when she was in the Fade, you pig.”

“It would be consensual…mostly,” Spite assured. “I’d be the go between…but she’d go between us.”

“If you don’t stop talking, I am going to stab myself in the eye,” Lucanis growled, sitting down on a barrel with a heavy thump.

“Fine, fine,” Spite relented. “But if you don’t try her…I will…the first chance that I get.”

“No one is ‘trying’ her. Leave. Her. Alone.”

“Awfully touchy about her if you claim to have no interest,” Spite teased, thankfully retreating from Lucanis’ psyche for a moment. He settled in as best he could, the room feeling like one of his luxurious homes after a year in the Ossuary.

The Lighthouse pantry was bereft of coffee, much to his chagrin. His regular bean seller had been out while they were in the city and he’d expected the Lighthouse to at least have something. He tried mixing up some of the black tea he found, but it seemed to have to opposite effect he intended. He tried to keep himself awake by reading, but must have dozed off at some point. He sunk into a dreamless sleep for a bit, unaware that Spite was now puppeting his body. He sleepwalked out of the pantry, sniffing the air for the scent of death magic, mixed with a hint of chamomile and smoky incense.

Lucanis eventually began to dream, finding himself back in something that resembled the Ossuary. He felt a sudden pang of hopelessness, thinking that his rescue had been a dream instead. He slumped in the back of his cell, closing his eyes as frustration pained across his brow. It was soon soothed by slight coolness, like a kiss upon his forehead. He opened his eyes, seeing Maene kneeling above him. “Hi,” she said softly, in the same shy voice that made him melt inside.

“Mae,” he smiled, his stomach fluttering with hope now.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you already rescue me?”

“I did, but Zara found us and recaptured you. I was able to get away and attack her. It was a fight to the death and I won eventually…but not before she tore most of my clothes off,” Mae replied coquettishly.

“Oh?” Lucanis blushed, suddenly noticing Mae was dressed only in her small clothes. They were dark green and lacy, a contrast to her pale skin. “Here,” he went to remove his jacket for her to cover herself with, before realizing he was still in the threadbare prison clothes he’d lived in before his escape.

He removed his shirt instead, handing it to her and leaving himself bare chested.

“Most men would try to get me into less clothing,” she laughed, slipping the shirt over her head.

“I’m not most men,” he replied, trying to avoid looking into the pools of deep blue that sat between her adorable nose.

“You certainly aren’t,” she replied, grabbing his chin and making him look at her.

She leaned in and gave him a soft kiss, opening her mouth slightly to give him his first taste of coffee in over a year, spiked with the slightest bit of honey. He wanted more, kissing her deeper and pulling her close. Each swirl of her tongue sent a wave of heat down his spine. He only pulled away when it felt like he could barely breathe. “Mae,” he let out a heavy sigh, staring up into her Crow-blue eyes.

“Lucanis,” she replied breathily, slipping his shirt back over her head. “I want you…”

“Columbina,” he cooed, pulling her in for another kiss before trailing his mouth down to her breast, pulling away her bodice.

Her areola and nipples were the most delicate shade of pink, darkening slightly as he kissed and sucked on them. He pushed her backwards and down onto the floor, kissing down her stomach and slowly sliding her panties down. He let out an excited groan when he saw the dewed, pink delta between her thighs, kissing it immediately. She tasted like sweet cream, delicate and perfect for his tongue to lap up. She moaned loudly, gripping the nape of his hair in her fingers. “Oh…Lucanis…please!” She cried out, her thighs shivering against his ears.

“Tell me what you want, little dove…anything,” he breathed hot against her sex, looking up at her in supplication.

“Fuck me!” She moaned, pulling him up between her legs.

They worked in tandem to get his pants down, before he slid gently inside her. They shared a loud gasp together, their bodies perfectly connected. He’d never felt anything so pleasurable in his entire life, thrusting slowly but deeply into her. His heart began to pound, thudding loudly in his chest with rhythmic precision. It thumped faster as his hips quickened, suddenly impatient to feel that ultimate end with her. ‘Thump, thump, thump,’ was all he heard as her sweet moans faded. The warmth of her slick canal began to fade as well, but he still heard that thump, getting faster and more urgent. The sensation became hot and dry, the bit of friction making his lip curl in discomfort.

He suddenly realized that he wasn’t making love to Mae, he was standing over her, pumping his cock swiftly in his hand, the thump of it rapping off the table behind the chaise that she slept on. He wasn’t in the Ossuary, but the room that she’d mentioned she stayed in. The wall in front of him was encased in glass, a sea of strange creatures floating beyond it. Mae was asleep on her back, her jet black hair braided down her shoulder. She was half-covered by a blanket, the top of her bodice peeking out. It wasn’t lacy or dark green like the chaise, just a solemn gray that he imagined a death mage would wear. She slept peacefully, her head cradled on one of her arms. The dappled light of the aquarium window made her pale skin almost glow. She looked so beautiful to gaze upon, but Lucanis pulled his hand away from himself in disgust. “Spite!” He growled as soon as he had left the room, his fists balled tightly, his cock stowed angrily in his trousers.

“We needed to relax! Get out a year of urges!” Spite protested Lucanis’ anger. “She didn’t even know we were there.”

“What if she had woken up? What if…someone had seen me go in there? They’d think I’m some filthy pervert…pleasuring myself watching her sleep!”

“I didn’t pull those desires from nowhere…filthy pervert,” Spite teased. “You want her too. You are just too scared to admit it…you…you…virgin!”

“You will be lucky if I ever sleep again after this stunt,” Lucanis snarled, stalking out of the library back towards the dining hall.

He prowled into the pantry, looking to quell his frustration by preparing breakfast for everyone. They would need to refresh the entire pantry if he was going to keep the team well-fed, but they had some basic supplies he could made due with using the few spices and special flavorings he’d brought with him. He gathered up some eggs and potatoes and began to peel them, getting a fire started as well. He cut the potatoes up and got them frying with a healthy pat of butter, seasoning them appropriately. He pulverized some large chunks of fruit, straining out the pulp and slicing some smaller pieces to eat whole. He scrambled the eggs in another pan, seasoning them as well and topping them with some fresh grated Antivan druffalo cheese. He was in no mood to eat at the moment, so he covered the food with some cloches that would keep them warm.

His unwanted erection had remained steadfast, rubbing against his trousers as he cooked. He retreated back to the pantry, shutting and barring the door so he could strip down to his undershirt and shorts to start an exercise routine. He practiced fighting drills, did push ups, dangled from the curing beams doing pull ups, and ran in place. No amount of exertion seemed to satisfy his cock. “This is your doing, isn’t it?” Lucanis huffed, doing a final round of sit ups. Each time he pulled himself up off the floor, Spite was smirking at him.

“I told you we needed to relax…it’s been a year…longer than a year…when was the last time you touched yourself? It’s not healthy to keep it all stored up in your sack.”

“None of your business,” Lucanis lowered his back down to the floor. “And how would you know what’s healthy for a mortal?”

“Desire Demons are everywhere in the Fade, you can’t walk five steps without finding one trying to tempt a mortal in ways you can’t even imagine!”

“I don’t want to imagine it!” Lucanis sat up one final time, wiping his brow. “Did they ever tempt you? Can demons be tempted by other demons?”

“There’s not much fun in that,” Spite paced the pantry, clearly as restless as Lucanis was. “Perhaps when I was bored…I liked annoying them.”

“And annoying me as well, apparently,” Lucanis sighed, springing to his feet and adjusting his cock in his shorts.

“I bet Mae isn’t boring,” Spite mused, continuing to pace. “She smells like she would be into freaky stuff.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Lucanis started his cool down, doing some deep stretching. “I’ve heard those Mortalitasi can be quite uptight.”

“Not her,” Spite argued. “She’s in the Mourn Watch. I’ve heard some spirits call it the Moan Watch. They like to get nasty with spirits and skeletons. They know all kinds of kinky sex magic…they reconnect dead lovers and watch them slime each other.”

“You’re lying,” Lucanis crinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“Maybe,” Spite grinned wickedly. “Or maybe I know the scent of a woman who likes getting slimed by spirits herself. In every hole. Even the tight one.”

Lucanis growled in frustration, his cock and balls throbbing with need. “Is this what you want?” He pulled his shorts down in anger, his erection bouncing up like a spring. He ran his hand down his shaft roughly, ignoring the pre-cum on his tip.

“Could do with a little slime to make things slick,” Spite pouted, despite knowing he had won this battle.

“Stop saying ‘slime’!” Lucanis shouted, muttering a few Antivan curses under his breath.

“Fine…ectoplasm,” Spite smirked. “Spirits like it wet.”

Lucanis threw up his hands, kicking his shorts off. He eyed the shelves carefully, guessing that there was nothing else lubricating that hadn’t gone rancid, aside from the expensive, divine virgin cooking oil he’d brought with him. He uncorked the top with a grimace, gritting his teeth at the waste as he poured a small amount in his palm. “Don’t forget the tight hole,” Spite chimed in as Lucanis slicked his hand down his shaft with a quiet moan. “I know you like it played with too. Maybe you and Mae can play with each others’ while I watch?”

“Shut up and let me do it my way!” Lucanis growled, bringing his palm back up his shaft and pulsing it just under his head. He let out a satisfied grunt, sliding his fist back down slowly, with a little more pressure. “Mmmmm…fuck,” he swore quietly, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation.

It had been more than a year, since just before he’d accepted the contract on Calivan that had gotten him into this whole mess. Relationships were difficult for a Crow, especially the supposed favorite and grandson of the First Talon. Any would-be lover within the group might just be jostling for a better position or looking for special treatment. Normal citizens would be wary of ending up on the tip of a jealous rival’s dagger. His adult life had been filled with work and the occasional crush, but nothing ever came of it. Sex was nothing but a fantasy to him or a story to read at night when he was feeling particularly restless. How could someone know him enough to allow himself to be vulnerable? His hand was good enough when he needed it and he had an expensive, ridged sleeve that he used before big jobs to get the jitters out. He’d used it before the Ossuary job, fucking it hard before jumping on a boat. It was designed to expand and contract slightly, supposedly just like a woman’s pulsing cunt. Would Mae feel as good as in his dream or was the Fade just making up the knowledge that he lacked?

He began stroking himself faster, letting his hips move along with his hand. “Mae…” he huffed longingly, trying to recall his dream. He’d told Spite she was probably boring in bed, just trying to get the demon off his back. Lucanis wouldn’t care either way, he wanted something more from her. He wanted the gentle warmth of her hand, offering a prayer for his grandmother. He wanted the exuberant giggle when she accidentally won a game of dice after misunderstanding the rules and wagers down in the casino. He wanted the compassion of a woman who argued with Neve about bringing some of the Treviso street cats to live with them in the Lighthouse, despite the felines eyeing her feathered companion for dinner. She’d managed to tame a rook, could she tame a Crow next?

He panted loudly, almost certain he could smell that slightly smoky, spiced scent that clung to her skin. He guessed it was some kind of ritual incense that they used in Nevarra and it made his head swim. Spite smelled it too, poking his head through the pantry door to see Mae awake and walking towards the dining table. He was tempted to cause some sort of disturbance, so Mae might discover what Lucanis was doing in the pantry. He decided against it, as smitten with Mae as Lucanis was. She’d called spite a powerful motivator, not him specifically, but she seemed to at least understand his existence. His physical attraction was partially tied to Lucanis’ preferences, a shapely backside and well-proportioned breasts. There was also something otherworldly about her, perhaps because she was a Dreamer and spirit medium. There was scant halo of magic around her at all times, invisible to mortal eyes, but Spite could see it. It was like a beacon to him and he’d wanted her instantly.

He watched her eat for a moment, his only hunger in life for frustration and annoyance. She let out happy moans as she ate, seemingly pleased with the food. He thought about lying to Lucanis that she hated his cooking, snickering to himself as Mae went in for seconds. He heard his bodily companion nearing climax, Lucanis’ huffs getting sharper and his hand more desperate. Perhaps he could give Lucanis a cramp and ruin it right at the end? Lucanis erupted before Spite could summon the energy to try anything, letting out a series of low moans and coating the wall with thick layer of human ectoplasm. “Now…was that so hard?” Spite smirked.

“Shut up!” Lucanis panted, trying not to give Spite the satisfaction of seeing him smile. It had felt good, especially when he imagined himself with Mae.

“Hopefully she didn’t hear you,” Spite taunted. “She’s just outside.”

“What?” Lucanis looked at him with surprise.

“Mae. She’s choking down some of your food, looking rather disgusted by the flavors. Or maybe because she heard you moaning her name.”

“Fuck!” Lucanis hissed, reaching down for his pants. “You better not be lying to me,” he added, hurriedly getting dressed.

“I think I heard her throw up in her mouth a little.”

“Go slime yourself!” Lucanis shoved past Spite’s incorporeal form, running a hand through his hair and straightening his clothes before opening the pantry door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fortunate for Maene, Lucanis had awoken and fled from her room before she had drifted into her own reverie. They tended to be quite vivid and expressive as a Dreamer and she often talked and moved in her sleep. She was back home in Nevarra City, in the quaint little apartment she kept near the Necropolis. She awoke to the smell of fresh food being cooked, the scent beckoning her like a spectral finger leading her by the nose. Lucanis stood near the small stove, stirring something slowly. He was naked aside from an apron, his back and legs tanned and toned from his rigorous training schedule. “Lucanis?” She blushed deeply.

“Did you rest well, little ghost?” He asked, turning around with a smile. His apron had ‘Kiss the cook….or else’ embroidered on the front, underneath a knife stabbing menacingly into a juicy tomato.

“I think so,” she smoothed her hair down, hoping she didn’t look too much of a mess this early in the morning. “What are you doing here?”

“You invited me to stay and see Nevarra, remember?” He replied, dipping a spoon in whatever he was cooking. “Here…come taste this,” he offered the spoon to her.

He slipped it past her lips gently, smiling when she let out an approving moan. “Mmmmm, that’s fantastic,” she smacked her lips loudly. “What is it?”

“Triple egg porridge,” he replied, putting just a pinch of salt into the bubbling pot. “My grandmother’s secret recipe.”

“Your grandmother cooks? First Talon of the Antivan Crows?” Mae grinned.

“Who do you think taught me?” He replied, peeking at something in the oven below. The warm rush of heat made her chemise flutter as much as her stomach was. “She wasn’t always First Talon…and an assassin must be well-trained and well-nourished.”

“I’m glad to hear you eat more than pastries and coffee,” she teased, touching his well-toned arm softly.

“I have to keep up my stamina…for you,” he replied in a seductive tone, brushing a strand of her messy hair out of her face.

She thought perhaps he might kiss her, but he turned his attention back to the oven, shifting the heat over so that whatever was baking inside wouldn’t burn. “The bread is almost done and there is sliced fruit prepared in the icebox,” he added, looking back at her. It was an intense and hungry look, like he was craving something other than food.

“You are spoiling me,” she blushed deeply, his gaze making her hot all over.

“It is well within my rights,” he purred, stepping closer to her. “You stopped Solas’ ritual…saved the world from disaster…came to my rescue…became a Exalted Watcher…”

“I did?” Her voice brightened, the tense burden of her mistake suddenly easing from the back of her skull.

“You did,” he replied, putting his hands on either side of her hips. “You were incredible…you are incredible…”

He finally kissed her, his lips soft and delicate and his beard tickling her chin slightly. He parted her mouth gently with his tongue, making a movement so slow and precise that her knees nearly gave out. He pressed her against the kitchen table, lifting her hips so her backside rested atop it. “Lucanis…” she moaned when his lips finally pulled away.

“Yes, mi luna?” He asked, still looking at her with that hungry gaze. His fingers were slowly pulling up her chemise, just cresting it past her trembling knees. His apron was now tented in the front, teasing her with what was underneath.

“What about the food…I…don’t want it to get cold…?” she let out a heavy breath, her mouth hanging open with its own hunger.

“We’ll keep it well warm in here,” he replied, pulling her chemise past her thighs and letting one of his hands reach between her legs.

“Uhhhuh,” she gasped, his mouth finding hers again.

He kissed her deeply, the flavor of that sweet, custard-like porridge on his tongue. She melted against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling desperately at his apron strings. It fell to the floor in a whisper, revealing a sparse dusting of dark hair across his chest and stomach. He might have been called a horse instead of a crow, for the dagger he had between his legs. It was thick and glistening with pre-cum, wobbling against her as she pulled him closer. “Um,” she glanced shyly at it, biting deeply into her lip. “I’ve never had…anything that big…before…and from a mortal…”

“I will go slow, little dove,” he cooed, slipping her chemise over her head so they were both naked.

His hand had remained between her legs, tickling gently along her lips, making them more slick with each stroke. He kissed down her neck, his beard brushing her shoulder as he found the spot that made her squeal lowly. He chuckled and wrapped his lips around it, sucking it gently as she dug her fingers into his back. “Oh…Lucanis,” she whimpered, his own fingers spreading and penetrating her quivering entrance. “Please.”

He kept sucking on her neck, fingering her softly and using his other hand to tease the tip of his cock against her clit. “Please, I want it to be you,” she begged again, her legs shaking with anticipation. His fingers slipped out, quickly followed by the wider spread of his head, guiding himself just past her opening. She cried out loudly, her eyes rolling back as he thrust a little deeper. He moved slowly against her, each circle of his hips pushing a little further in until she found herself completely stuffed like after a Wintersend dinner. “Ohhhhh!” She groaned deeply, clinging tightly to him as her body swayed with ecstasy.

She’d never been fucked by a mortal before, only enjoying the company of spirits until now. But she wanted him to be her first, to feel his warmth inside of her. She lost all thought and reason, drooling against his mouth when it met hers again. Their lips sucked loudly together, adding a discordant melody to the wet rhythm of their hips. Sweat began to bead off their bodies and join together, the kitchen now blazing hot. Mae might have found herself parched, but Lucanis’ mouth gave her all the moisture she needed. She came loudly into it, her sharp whimper quieted against his tongue. It was as close to death as she had ever come and it was absolutely exquisite. She panted against his shoulder as he continued to fuck her, each loud suck of her cunt making him moan softly. She gasped for air, now desperately thirsty and trying to find his mouth in the lingering darkness of her climax. She blinked her eyes open, searching for him, only to realize she wasn’t in Nevarra. She was in the Lighthouse, in the Fade, in reality.

Her mouth was dry, likely still a little dehydrated from her bout of sea sickness days before. Her heart was racing and one of her hands was pressed tightly between her legs. Her fingers and small clothes were sticky, the wet cloth clinging against her throbbing vulva. She let out a disappointed groan, remembering the mess she had caused. The world was in chaos because of her and here she was fantasizing about some perfect new life. She closed her eyes tightly, wanting to return to that dream. She’d felt happy and loved, everything she had ever wanted in life. She didn’t feel like a failure, like someone who had been abandoned at birth, and raised by spirits and Mortalitasi that couldn’t offer her the affection she so desperately craved. She needed peace and relief, even just for a moment.

She shifted her hips slightly, allowing her to roll them gently against her fingers. She bit deeply into her lip, the pressure of her hand offering a bit of comfort. “Mmmhhhhh,” she grunted softly, letting her fingers pull her small clothes to the side. She let out a dry gasp as she slipped two of them inside her, no where near the perfect sensation in her dream, but good enough for now. She was terribly thirsty, but could get up for a drink after she finished. “Corvio,” she whispered quietly, unable to bring herself to utter Lucanis’ name, embarrassed by her sudden desire for him. She’d heard the term uttered by a sex worker as they walked through Treviso, as the woman was trying her best to seduce some other Antivan Crow who was leaned close to her.

She could only guess the meaning, but it felt like a fitting nickname to put upon her lust. The city had been a bevy of attractive faces, all of them still finely dressed and groomed despite the Antaam occupation. She could’ve chosen any of them to fantasize on, but something about Lucanis reached deep inside her, beyond lust. She yearned for something like the unspoken passion between Teia and Viago, the gentle touches and affectionate looks they shared even when they were discussing business. Lucanis had a natural grace, despite his slightly awkward demeanor due to Spite. He sheathed his daggers with an unconscious flourish. He moved through the crowded streets like a dance. The elegance of his kills stirred something macabre in her. They didn’t suffer unless he wanted them to, offering them a swift and painless death. The Venatori that had grabbed her in the Ossuary had tried to apologize for it, his mouth hanging open after Lucanis had pulled him off her with a quick thrust of his dagger. The assassin had paused just for a moment to check on her, his eyes meeting hers as the Venatori slid off his blade with a loud groan.

What did he even think of her? He was the ‘mage-killer’ after all. He seemed slightly off-put at her being Mortalitasi, perhaps more-so than the others. Yet he’d squeezed her hand when she’d spoken some parting rites for his grandmother and she’d seen him staring at her when she’d gone to do the same. Was he interested in her or was she just reading too much into things? She couldn’t help but let her thoughts linger on his face as she writhed against her fingers. His lips curled into a slight smirk when he smiled and he crinkled his prominent nose when he heard something he didn’t like. His dark eyes were bright and expressive despite his exhaustion. And then there was the demon that kept him awake, Spite.

The sheer will he must possess to resist being taken over completely amazed her. It was likely that determination that had drawn Spite to Lucanis in the first place, the drive to outdo, to be the best. And why didn’t his presence bother her like most demons did? Was he somehow different? Did she desire the demon as much as the man? If spirits could be swayed by their hosts to exhibit stronger emotions, to shift more into a demonic form, could a demon be swayed to soften their emotions and become more like a spirit? Could they have an equilibrium? She’d experienced passion with other spirits, even aside from Vorgoth, so it would be nothing new to her, aside from having a mortal alongside him. She could summon Vorgorth right now and be filled in a way she desired. But she kept her other hand gripped tightly against the chaise, moving her hips more urgently against the other.

It was again that affection that she craved more than anything, that only mortals could offer her. Even a Spirit of Compassion’s comfort could not compare to a gentle hand across her back or the soft nuzzle of warm breath as someone whispered in her ear. She whimpered quietly as the chaise creaked from her determined hips, thinking about the subtle brush of Lucanis’ fingers as he’d reached to hold her hair back when she was sick over the side of the boat. They were long and slender like hers. Would they feel the same inside her as her own? She squeezed her muscles tightly against them as she reached climax, letting out a panting whine as her entire body tensed and then was released into a moment of dark ecstasy. “Oh…mmmmmhhh…fuck,” she gasped, swallowing all the saliva that had filled her mouth thinking about him. It soothed her dry throat for the moment and she lay slack on the chaise as she caught her breath.

“Hmmmmmm…” she let out a heavy sigh, the light of the aquarium glistening off the threads of arousal that clung to her fingers when she pulled them out of herself.

She was satisfied but lonely, hugging her arms around herself for a moment before she climbed off the chaise. She shifted her panties back into place, her thighs squishing as she padded over to the small wardrobe to put something on so she could grab something to drink. The Veiljumpers had given her a few items of clothing, since most of her things had likely been tossed out from the room she, Varric, and Harding had rented in Minrathous. She thought about stopping in to ask Varric for advice, the protagonists of his books all smooth as silk when it came to flirting.

She decided not to bother him while he was still recovering and while she was still squishing like pudding with every step. “Damn it,” she sighed as she reached for the empty pitcher next to the wardrobe, hoping she could wash up in the basin before venturing out in search of a drink. She slipped her panties down instead, dabbing herself with the dry parts of the fabric before stashing them somewhere until she could wash them. She pulled on the suede coat she’d been given, long enough to cover her nakedness, but easy to slip off once she could have a proper wash. She smoothed her messy hair down and tied it into a bun before putting on a pair of Dalish slippers. They kept the bottom of her feet warm at least, her toes wiggling against the cold stone floor as she left her room. Bellara was awake already, her nose buried in one of the many books lining the library shelves. “Morning,” she said without looking up. “Or…afternoon…it’s still so hard to tell here.”

“Let’s just call it morning when everyone wakes up, I suppose,” Maene replied, seeing Bellara rubbing her eyes as she continued to read. “That is if everyone does actually get some sleep once in a while.”

“Ahhh, I know,” she yawned loudly, covering her mouth with her hand. “There’s just so much to do…so much to research.”

“Which you will forget if you are exhausted,” Maene clicked her tongue, hoping to convince the elf to get some rest.

“I promise I’ll sleep after finishing this chapter…or section…”

“Alright, just don’t make me dose you with a sleeping potion and put you in the infirmary next to Varric.”

Bellara finally looked up at her with a sad smile, wondering if her manner of grief was a Mourn Watch thing or not. Bellara hadn’t met Varric, much to her own disappointment, but she could certainly understand not wanting to let him go. “I think Lucanis made breakfast,” she tried to sound uplifting. “I’ve just been snacking on these Dalish cookies.” There was a small pouch of dry-looking disks on the table next to her, sprinkled with some sort of nut.

“Hopefully there is something to drink too,” Maene swallowed hard, her throat feeling like sandpaper.

She walked across the courtyard, the tepid air of the Fade somehow both fresh and dank at the same time. Harding was out on one of the rickety walkways, tossing stones into the void and practicing moving them when they bounced off the barrier that protected the Lighthouse from the rest of the Fade. “I think I am getting the hang of this, Rook!” She waved, her lapse of concentration sending one of the rocks clattering against the building. “Shit!”

“Keep at it!” Maene waved with a laugh.

She continued on towards the dining hall, curious if and what Lucanis had made for breakfast. She squeezed her thighs together as she recalled her dream and the sweet taste of both the porridge and his mouth. She let out a deep breath as she pushed open the door, expecting to find him awake inside. The hall was empty, though the table had several covered dishes scattered atop it. There were seasoned potatoes in one dish, with another holding scrambled eggs with some sort of pungent cheese on top. She passed those over for now, lifting up the last lid to find a platter of cut fruit. She popped one of the juicy chunks into her mouth, letting out a quiet moan as the liquid soothed her throat.

She didn’t see any of the barrels of fresh spring water they’d brought back from Treviso and guessed they were still in the pantry. She walked towards the door, stopping when she heard muffled breathing coming from inside. Her own breath caught in her throat, wondering if he was simply working out again or doing something a little more exciting. She felt her cunt twitch, a chill shuddering up her spine at the thought of it. “Blighted Gods, Mae…get your mind out of the gutter,” she shook off the shiver, her stiffened nipples rubbing against the supple suede of her coat.

She let out a longing sigh and turned back towards the table, finally noticing that he had set out a pitcher of something to drink. She settled into a chair, furtively slipping one of the cloth napkins under her backside to keep from staining her new coat with arousal. She dug into her plate, reaching for seconds as she swallowed mouthfuls of cold-pressed juice, a sweet melange of all the fruits that had been cut up. The flavors were unfamiliar and a little spicy for her bland Nevarran palate, but she found herself eating until she was absolutely stuffed. She let out a low groan when she could swallow no more, her belly bloating against her tightly buttoned coat. Lucanis emerged from the pantry as she was contemplating undoing a few of the buttons, his brow beaded in sweat and his breath a little raspy. “Mae,” he huffed, almost sounding surprised to see her. “I thought you were still asleep…er…I assumed that you were.”

“I woke up early,” she shifted, his flushed skin and the scent of his exertion making her restless. “I was very…thirsty…you know…from being ill, probably…this was very good, by the way. Is this traditional Antivan cuisine? The spices, I mean…I’ve had eggs and potatoes before,” she began to ramble nervously to keep her mind off the undershirt that clung to his body.

“I suppose so,” he flashed that curled smile that made her ball her fists tightly in her lap with lust. “It’s just how it was always prepared for me when I was younger…so I make it that way now.”

“Where does an assassin learn to cook?” She asked, trying to hide a squeak as he reached over her for the pitcher of juice. His spicy musk filled her nostrils, and she felt an ooze of honey creep down her perineum and onto the napkin underneath her.

“My grandmother taught me,” he replied, pouring himself a glass and taking several long gulps, his chest undulating as he let out a relieved sigh. “She raised me after my parents were killed. She said a ‘malnourished assassin was a dead assassin.’”

“Oh…I’m so sorry,” Maene frowned, tempted to reach out to offer him a consoling touch, but knowing that the intent would be tainted by her lust.

“It was long ago,” he furrowed his brow, plating up some food for himself. “I hardly remember them anymore.”

“But still good memories, I hope?” She unclenched her fists and rested them on her belly, her lust turning to loneliness once again.

“Yes,” he murmured taking a slow bite of food, his grief long since past, but unresolved. It would be the same for his grandmother, diving into his contract for killing the gods to alleviate his sorrow. “What about your family? Are they still in Nevarra?”

“I don’t…have any…that I know of…at least…blood relatives. I was found abandoned in the Necropolis as an infant. I don’t know if my parents were killed or they just didn’t want me…”

“How could they not want you?” He said with a little too much yearning, shifting his gaze down to his plate. “I mean…you’re a very talented mage…and…tall…” He couldn’t think of any other word right now besides beautiful.

“I suppose it’s useful for…reaching high shelves,” she chewed her lip.

“There’s actually something in the pantry that you could grab for me later,” he tried to joke, glancing at her with a smile.

“Sure thing,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear like she always did when she was flustered.

He wanted to buy her something to hold it back with, knowing that a strand of hair in the eyes could be a liability in a fight. It’s why he kept the top of his hair short. It might also be his unconscious desire to start courting her, as silly as it sounded given the state of the world and the danger of Spite. “Do you think we could get a wagon through the Eluvians?” He asked, a list of staples and dried goods already started in the pantry. “Most of the food in the larder is of suspect quality, not to mention how or if it ages and spoils in this strange place. Hauling everything by hand will become tiresome.”

“Perhaps a small one,” she mused, wondering if the three-egg porridge in her dream was a real thing that the Fade had manifested through his own thoughts to hers. It had been accurate about his grandmother teaching him to cook. “Or maybe Bellara can think up some sort of arcane sled to transport things through.”

“Once we get it figured out, we can head back to Treviso and stock up on things.”

“Sounds good…I don’t want my god-killer getting malnourished,” she blushed, quickly wishing she hadn’t implied sole ownership over him.

“Haaa! She’s claimed us,” Spite chimed in, sniffing loudly around her. “I can almost smell her desire…musk…mmmmm…yes…” He got on his hands and knees, smelling the back of her chair like a dog.

“Stop it!” Lucanis snapped, kicking towards the incorporeal form and hitting her chair leg instead. “Sorry,” he looked at Mae sheepishly. “He’s being a nuisance again.”

“Living up to his name, I suppose,” she gave him a look of understanding. “Perhaps I could…speak with him? Negotiate some benefit for him so he would lay off you?”

“Yes!” Spite bellowed as Lucanis shook his head.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Lucanis glared, seemingly at nothing.

“I want to talk to her! Let me talk to her!” Spite shouted, nearly drowning out Mae’s response.

“I promise it would be safe,” she replied.

“No,” Lucanis insisted, feeling the bite of Spite’s wrath bloody his nose after his refusal.

“Lucanis!” Mae gasped, reaching out to grab a napkin to staunch the blood.

“It’s fine…I’m fine,” he gently grabbed her hands so she wouldn’t fuss over him. “He did this is the Ossuary as well when he didn’t get his way.”

“It’s not fine,” she insisted, handing him the napkin so he could clean himself up. “He shouldn’t be able to hurt you.”

“I’ve had worse from weaker foes,” Lucanis grumbled.

“Still…he needs to learn…boundaries…I have experience communing with spirits…and I know how to protect myself from possession…in case he felt the urge to…jump bodies.”

“Ohhhh would that I could, my sweet Mae,” Spite reached out to touch her, his spectral hand only disappearing into her. “The things I could do with that body…”

“I don’t think he could, even if he wanted to,” Lucanis continued to glare at the demon as Spite continued to uselessly paw at her. “He’s stuck with me.”

“You could still likely come to some sort of accord,” she shivered, feeling a chill throughout her body. “Demons and spirits have their own desires…perhaps just revenge for what Zara did to you both?”

“She’s right about that,” Spite nodded, finally settling down a little. “I want revenge…and I want you to fuck Mae, so I can feel it too.”

“I’ll…think about it,” Lucanis answered them both, his loins already tingling for her.

#lucanis x rook #lucanis dellamorte #femme rook #spite dragon age

17 notes · View notes

avvidstarion · 3 months ago

Text

Ok here are my veilguard thoughts in no particular order like half a day after finishing the game:

Choosing not to acknowledge previous games really made this game suffer in ways I think could have been completely avoided!!! Isabela and Dorian could have been way more flushed out, the inquisitor could have mattered way more, things of that nature. So much wonderful warden content and yet no substantial mention of the hof!!

Crows were fuckin busted to the point of being unrecognizable. Many posts have been made about this. “I’m founding a house that’ll take in orphans!” Bitch the crows buy orphans off the street. “The crows fight for antiva!” The crows fight for the highest bidder.

Speaking of— why did this game completely refuse to acknowledge anything bad about the setting????? Crows are great now actually! We’re only briefly going to mention slavery in tevinter! There is not geopolitical conflict here!

I think it’s a larger trend in this game where it just really didn’t want any meanness in the world??? You aren’t allowed to be mean. All your companions get along pretty much right away and any conflict is easily fixed off screen.

Really hated the set personality for rook. Why even give us the illusion of choice with the dialogue options?? Hawke also was a pretty set character compared to the warden but the dialogue options really shaped the way the voice actors delivered lines!! And the lines were all different! With rook I sometimes even questioned why a serious option was given the serious label. Let me be grumpy and stoic!!

Similarly (at least with the wardens) there was no way to be anything but enthusiastic for your faction??? Let my warden be conscripted against their will!!

I will say though. I did enjoy everything to do with the wardens. Weisshaupt did not disappoint. Antoine and evka were great!!! And I got a lot of special dialogue/references to being a warden

Another thing I really liked was the combat!!!! So much fun. I have an hour or so in a different play through with a different class and I think it’s cool how different the classes are, combat wise

Characters!!!!! Loved all of their personalities but I think some of their quests were lacking. Some of them seemed very shallow. But like just from a personality standpoint I think this is like my second favorite cast of characters so far

I did enjoy that my choices had impacts on the characters’ combat abilities! I chose Treviso over Minrathous and neve’s healing abilities were locked and her attacks were heightened. SO cool!!! I just wish there were more opportunities to do that!!

Romance was…fine. I want more scenes with the LIs. Taash’s was a little lackluster but I am curious to see if that will be the case with others. Not the best but I don’t think any worse than the romances in inquisition

I liked a lot of the lore! Liked all of the titan lore. Loved that the elves were originally spirits. But I do think generally weekes cares about lore only in terms of how they can make it about solas. Same with the previous games.

Morrigan did not need to be here and I’m mad that they retconned the well of sorrows

Inquisitor should have had a larger role (though I am SO glad that they weren’t the protag). The fact that they didn’t even ask what class the inquisitor is was….frightening. The fact that the inquisitor was completely uninvolved in the solas showdown (unless you solavellaned) was bonkers. I really don’t understand why they were here

Varric. The twist was so obvious. Literally the first scene in the infirmary I figured it out— Harding came in and spoke to rook but didn’t acknowledge varric and I was like “oh he’s dead isn’t he. He isn’t really here only we can see him”. I think he was not in this game enough to warrant his death being so emotional. I am so unconvinced by his and Rook’s bond, it was too much tell and not enough show. I think it relied too much on nostalgia/the player already liking varric. And the fact that not even the inquisitor or Isabela comment????? They were really invested in this twist but just didn’t pull it off imo. Also the fact that varric barely talks about hawke is so annoying and makes me mad. You cannot divorce his character from hawke like this, hawke is so much of his motivation. I know it’s been ten years but like compare his character in inquisition to now re: the significance of hawke in his life. So weird. His last word should have been hawke. If hawke was alive they should have showed up like “wtf why did you let him die”. Whatever

LOVE THAT THEY ACTUALLY KILLED A COMPANION!!!! And the fact that they kill Assan too if it’s davrin was SO EVIL but like in a good way!!!!! It does make me wonder though— outside of romance, will harding’s death have the same impact?? Like with davrin you lose TWO companions

Neve/bellara should have died too im mad they pulled that punch

Did they ever explain why davrin didn’t die to the archdemon

Solas did not have enough presence in the narrative imo. Hes in our head he should be haunting us!!! We should have had more dream sequences with him/more of his memories. I also found the whole bait and switch with the fake dagger to be really dumb??? “Hey while you were knocked out we made this exact replica of the dagger offscreen and solas will never be able to tell the difference”??

Overall I have very mixed feelings about the game. I’m doing at least one more playthrough because right now I feel like I just can’t make sense of my feelings for it. I by no means loved it but I’m not sure if I hated it as much as I hate inquisition???

#veilguard spoilers #like no seriously crazy veilguard spoilers #this is all very messy and jumbled #will be making a separate post about my thoughts on the companions and their quests and whatnot

0 notes

heavymetalmuppet · 4 months ago

Text

sycamore girl || chapter 6: warriors

THE TZEDAKAH CHALLENGE: every time i post a chapter, if you have $5 or more to spare, donate it to life for gaza, a campaign by the municipality of gaza to restore the city’s infrastructure. leave a comment with how much you donate for me to tally! ONLY 1 DAY LEFT FOR THE LIFE FOR GAZA CAMPAIGN. LET'S MAKE IT COUNT! once life for gaza concludes, the tzedakah challenge will continue with another fundraiser to send aid to palestinians amid the ongoing genocide.

sooo i am just gonna get as much out before veilguard as i can but i finally now have a few chapters lined up so expect a lot more in the coming days. take the chance with lots of new chapters to donate too! ;)

word count: 2406 < prev || chapter masterlist || next (coming soon)

also available on ao3

—

Vivienne’s voice rang clear through the general chaos of the training ground: “Faster now. Start.”

Adahlee kept her breaths full and deep, an anchor as she, once again, slowly formed a ball of energy in her palms. She pulled the magic through the Veil gently, letting it fill and swirl like tendrils of wind between her hands, expanding and shrinking it.

“Stop.”

Adahlee brought her palms together, letting the magic swirl back behind the Veil once more, leaving her hands empty.

“Good—but faster. Start.”

And again. Adahlee filled her lungs as she expanded her hands, now trying to pull the energy in an oblong shape. She narrowed her eyes in concentration, feeling out the balance between flow and control.

“Stop.”

The shape was bigger, but Adahlee collapsed it quicker, directing it to whisk away between her fingers.

“Better.” Vivienne was a stern tutor, much like Solas, but far from unkind. She studied Adahlee. “Interesting creative flair; and it looked quite measured. Did the magic try to push outside your boundaries at all?”

Adahlee shook her head. “It doesn’t go wild if you just sort of… move with it. I think… I think control is less about power over the magic—” She made an open-handed gesture of her palm coming down— “and more about…” Her hand swayed gracefully instead. “Being with it. So you’re one. If you treat it like something to be caged, of course it’ll try to burst out. Where else would it have to go?” She frowned, and shook her head again. “That’s why I knew it was only a matter of time, before, when I was told to just… hide it.”

Vivienne nodded slowly. “Quite right. You have strong intuition, darling—a good skill to have, in an art like ours. Keep nurturing it.”

She was skilled. Adahlee’s expression brightened. “Thank you!”

Vivienne smiled softly. “Control is essential when working with a conduit like a staff. You are a quick learner indeed—in no small part because of your will to apply yourself. I’m confident in your ability to adapt to your staff, even so early in your training.” Vivienne took up her own, a graceful stave of swirling Serault infused glass, from where it was leaned against a wall of rock. “Come, let’s practice.”

Adahlee grabbed her own staff from where it rested next to Vivienne’s. “I’ll do right by you, Mir Thamadahl,” she murmured.

“Pardon?”

Oh. “Um…” Adahlee looked sheepishly off to the side, nervously wringing her hands around the haft. “Many mages name their staves, don’t they? Or… do they?”

Vivienne chuckled a little—amused, but not mocking. Adahlee peeked back up at her to see her smiling kindly. “Some do. What have you named yours, darling?”

“... Mir Thamadahl. It’s Elvish. It means ‘my branch.’ My name means ‘tree,’ and Solas said a staff is an extension of yourself,” she shyly tumbled out the explanation, “so… um… yeah. That’s not stupid, is it?”

“Hardly. Chin up.”

Adahlee stood straighter, summing up the will to hold herself up. Satisfied, Vivienne continued: “A name like that puts respect on the tools you use to further your magic—and thus, that respect falls back onto you, your skill, and your beingness.” As she said this, Adahlee thought Vivienne a figure to admire: a powerful, dignified enchanter. She was unapologetic in the space she took up. “That is not ‘stupid,’ and anyone who might claim such is a fool.”

Was Adahlee allowed to declare such respect for herself? Whose permission would you need? She could sum up no answer to that. Besides, she had already declared it without much thought, hadn’t she? Perhaps—perhaps self-respect could be as easy as breathing. And if it was hard to learn, well… she was a quick learner.

Finally, Adahlee nodded. “I understand, Vivienne. I… I do have another concern, though.”

“Yes? I’m here to help you, my dear.”

Adahlee shifted nervously from foot to foot. She took in Mir Thamadahl, the natural points where the magic wanted to come out. “I’m… I’m scared to hurt people. I know I need to defend myself, I just…”

“It is more than a need,” Vivienne asserted. Adahlee glanced back to her; her eyes were hard and focused. “It is your right. You have a right to your life. Come, stand next to me, and follow my lead.”

Adahlee stood side-by-side with Vivienne. She took up a stance with her staff; Adahlee copied her, just being with Mir Thamadahl and its magic, finding a rhythm with it as they transitioned to the next stance.

“Know this: no one has permission to hurt you. Anyone who would act as though they do, deserves however you bite back.” Vivienne twirled her staff slowly around her, so that Adahlee could follow, but still ended the position with the head of it decisively pointed forward. Move with it. Adahlee faced where she pointed her staff. “And make them feel your teeth, my dear.”

Perhaps this, too, was self-respect. They went through another motion, flowing like the magic, to end with the sharp end of their staves angled in the air. An extension of the self. “Make them feel your teeth,” she agreed.

—

The main problem with the Storm Coast, Adahlee decided—darkspawn and cultists aside—is that it was simply too wet. The constant rain soaked everyone and everything to the bone, making it near impossible just to start a damn campfire. Adahlee, at least, got a practical magic lesson out of it; under Vivienne’s careful instruction, she learned how to conjure and control a flame hot enough to still burn through damp firewood. She’d trusted Adahlee to tend to it until dinner; I won’t let you down! Adahlee had promised brightly.

“Impressive,” Bull complimented from the side. “You’ve got good form, for a new mage.”

Adahlee tilted her head, curious. “You would know?”

“Fought a lot of Vints, in my time. Got me wise to how mages do their thing.”

“Oh. That makes sense. And thanks!” She added quickly, not wanting to seem rude. She gestured to the fire. “Wanna sit? I could use the company.”

“Sure, thanks.” Bull plonked down opposite to her. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m alright. Just…” Adahlee made a face, and shook out her half-damp curls, gone frizzy in the moisture. “Soggy.”

Bull laughed at that, a rumbly sound that Adahlee could now say from experience sounded like a bear. “Yeah, no kidding. Darkspawn didn’t shake you up?”

Adahlee pursed her lips, considering. She had never seen darkspawn before, until arriving at the Coast. They reminded her a bit of her nightmares, all sickened deadness and teeth, and their unearthly screeches weren’t unlike those of demons. But she’d kept well back from them with Sera, and they still fell to Mir Thamadahl. “They’re scary,” she decided, “but… I don’t know. Demons are easier to face than people—I’m starting to think darkspawn are, too. Their blood worries me more than anything.”

“You’ve got more guts than most, then.”

She blinked. “You think?”

Bull offered her a wry, friendly smile. “You know anyone else who complained more about the rain after their first encounter with darkspawn?”

“I… I guess not.” She chuckled, a bit bashful. “Varric does tell me I should give myself more credit.”

“From what you’ve survived? Yeah, I’d agree with him.” Bull sat forward. “Listen—it’s my job to protect you out here, but that means more than just standing between you and darkspawn. World’s a fucking mess, and you’re young to be thrown in the middle of it. If you’re ever scared, lonely, hurt, whatever—if you need anything—I’ve got you, and so do my boys. So don’t be afraid to come to any one of us. Okay?”

Bull was honest; she could tell. A smile slowly spread across Adahlee’s face. “Okay. Thanks, Bull—I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He relaxed again, leaning back on one hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem like the nervous sort. Didn’t think you’d take so well to having someone like me around.”

“Sorry,” Adahlee murmured shyly, glancing away.

“What are you apologizing for?”

There was a quiet pause. Adahlee glanced back up; by the look on Bull’s face, his question wasn’t rhetorical. He wasn’t demanding, either—just asking. And waiting patiently.

Adahlee thought on it. “For… being… nervous?” She said it like every word revealed the most nonsense train of thought she’d ever had. It was the only answer she could find, but it just made her more confused than anything.

Bull’s smile was kind. “No need to be sorry for that, right? You’ve just got feelings. So does everyone else.”

“... Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.” She puffed out a sheepish laugh. “Anyway… what do you mean, ‘someone like you?’”

He counted on his fingers: “Giant, ax-wielding, likes hitting things…”

“But you’re on my side.” Adahlee smiled, and shrugged. “You’re scary to the right people, and nice to the right people, too. You care about your Chargers. You’re a forthright spy, which means you must be very good at your job—but you haven’t lied to me. You haven’t given me reason to be nervous.”

Bull offered her another wry smile. “You know I haven’t lied to you?”

“I can tell.” Adahlee playfully blew a raspberry at him. “And you know I know.”

Bull laughed again, and Adahlee giggled with him. The fire danced and sizzled around raindrops, casting wavering shadows over them both. “You’re observant.”

Adahlee was about to second guess him, but remembered what Varric said. “... I guess,” she relented. “So are you.”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug, as if to say, yeah, it’s whatever. “You would make a good spy.”

She hummed, considering. “I think I would be too typical. Most people might expect someone like me—it would take some cleverness to expect someone like you.” She studied him from across the fire, and grinned. “And you play into that, huh?”

Bull made the rumbly bear chuckle. “You would make a really good spy.”

Adahlee breathed another breath of magic into the fire, helping it burn just so. She smiled into it. “I think I like where I am now. I’ve had quite enough of mind games, if I’ll be honest with you.” She turned the smile up to him. “And it’s your honesty that I like, too.”

He returned the smile. “Good thing I intended to stay honest, then.”

—

“Maker, look at it,” Blackwall breathed. He stared up at the Breach, and Adahlee found herself staring too, swinging her feet idly from where she sat atop a crate. The clanging of the smithy seemed to fade in the background, as she watched how the clouds gently swirled, and her mind wandered. Still as it was, and though it hung above them every day, Adahlee had to admit—the Breach was still a sight to behold.

“So much easier to ignore when it’s far away,” Blackwall murmured. Then, he looked to Adahlee. “And to actually walk out of it, to be that close…”

Adahlee briefly closed her eyes, remembering the taste of soot and the sting of scratches on her cheek. When she opened them again, Blackwall's brows were furrowed in concern.

She offered him a small, somewhat tired smile. “I didn’t know what was going on, in the moment. Just that I had to run,” she recalled softly. “I almost couldn’t believe what they told me when I woke up. If I hadn’t been saved by Inquisition soldiers, I don’t know what would've happened.”

“Inquisition soldiers?” Blackwall echoed. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

Adahlee couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Andraste?” She guessed.

Blackwall snorted at her reaction. “You don’t believe so?”

“There was a woman—or a light, a spirit, maybe—she guided me out of the Fade. But I don’t know who she was, and I doubt it was Andraste.” Adahlee made a look of distaste. “I don’t believe in the Maker, anyway. That’s partly why some elves have been calling me a different name.”

“What was it again?”

“Tisulan. The Healer. We have this concept in our cultures—tisun’olam, repair of the world. It’s a call to personal responsibility, to do our part as denizens of the world to make it better, whatever shape that may take. My old hahren said I’m healing the world in a very literal sense.” She laughed softly. “I heal the Veil.”

“I rather like that. And it’s certainly a more practical name, than slapping Andraste on it.” Blackwall chuckled.

Adahlee grinned. “You get it.”

Blackwall’s mustache twitched up, amused. Then he leaned against the stone fence, a far off look in his eyes. “In the end, titles are just titles; what people call you is secondary. It’s what you do, and how you do it, that’s important.”

“Exactly. That’s tisun’olam.” Hesitant but playful, she teased gently: “You’ve got your head on pretty right, for a human.”

Blackwall laughed genuinely at that. “I try to be—right, that is. At least I get it some of the time.” He smiled, almost rueful. Then, he looked more present again. “Just one question, then. How do you think you fit in with all this?”

Adahlee tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Blackwall seemed to mull over his words. “Well… you've been thrown into quite a situation,” he elaborated. “Where do you want to go, from your present place on? Any idea what you'll do with the cards you've been dealt?”

“You know, those are really good questions,” she murmured, miring over her answers. “I guess I haven’t thought much about it. I feel like everything has been about surviving, so far. Trying to figure all of this out. Not just the Breach, and my mark, but…” Adahlee trailed off. She shook her head, and swung her feet again, contemplative. “The future seems so uncertain. Though… I think I know what I'd like from it.”

“And what’s that?” Blackwall asked, curious.

Adahlee looked up at him with a smile so small, but soft. “I want to be happy. I want to be at peace. I want to help others find their peace, too. I choose to be in the Inquisition, because I think that’s how I can best do tisun’olam.”

The corners of Blackwall’s eyes crinkled as he returned the smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Adahlee giggled. “And you’re here to do your part too, right?” She imitated his gruff voice: “Save the fucking world, if pressed?”

Blackwall laughed again, full and loud from his belly. “Maker, is that what I sound like?”

#let adahlee say fuck #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #sycamore girl #adahlee #writing

1 note · View note