#I love all the wardens in the lore

[nifreti-ii]

So beautiful…. (couldn't choose which border I wanted so I put both :p)

I was just scrolling through the blog and I had a “EUREKA” moment lol, literally how I think before I draw something ehehe.

I’ve also been thinking about a theory~ Theory a: VVs don't know the VL contacted the other wardens and this could potentially lead to some tasty ass angst in later weeks if they did find out. (most likely the romance route ehehe) even better if VL sneaked back to the mirror and told the wardens not to save them XD. (VL living their best life) Theory B: VVs knew that VL contacted the wardens (if curtains are sentient, everything is sentient tbh) And maybe they’ll wait to see if VL will be upfront and confess that they contacted the wardens or stay sneaky.

I… is it obvious I'm really invested in the lore.. :> the characters are all so well written and I'm just silently vibrating in anticipation. Ya’ll best believe I'm gonna be cheering and screaming when the full game comes out lol. I will probably spend a few days or so promoting ehehehe~ I love me some good ass WORLD BUILDING UGH

(Not me wanting to draw this for a few months, but I wasn't confident in my drawing skills. GOOD THING I AM NOW :,D)

[bleue-flora]

Ok, I recently wrote an essay [here] talking about the definition and duties of civil engineering as well as the ethics because of the brain rot @swordfright gave me with calling Dream Sam’s ultimate engineering project. So, because I actually am a civil engineer I took it upon myself to design the title and summary of quantities sheets just like I do at work for roads but with Dream as the project instead. And in honor of angst day sponsored by @sixteenth-day-event, I figured I’d share it because I feel like it kinda works for the prison of the mind prompt.

“Sam’s “ultimate engineering project” he deemed too damaged like a bumpy road or crumbling building that wasn’t worthy of patching and filling in the cracks or reinforcing, that’s too eroded to be fixed and preserved. So, Sam strived to tear him down to the bedrock so he could remake, remold, and reengineer Dream according to his design for the common safety, public health and well-fair.”

{These are very similar to the actual sheets I make day to day, which I shall not share for the sake of doxing my location, but yea pretty much everything has a significance. Some of it doesn’t necessarily make sense but that was because I was more so taking inventory of what we see in lore (so you know I counted ;) lol)}

[zoya-nazyalenskys]

finished veilguard and my final thoughts on it are that it's a pretty fun rpg but a bad dragon age game

[silverhalla]

torn every moment of ever day between playing an ingellvar rook because it’s new + cool and playing a warden rook because my warden concepts are 100000% more fleshed out and SO doomed by the narrative

[thedeadthree]

🥀💌🕯️💀 <33

*old person yells at cloud* THEORY TIME <3 but i was thinking of the skill trees screens we’ve seen so far and i am like…… super certain that ingellvar is the mourners surname and soo that calls for an update to irulannes pin interest board <33

(ill cry change it if it isn’t though but hehe anyway im stoked to at last have a surname for when i save her edits bc rn her folder says i.datv xixjjxhx *WHEEZE* 💀)

[rowandekarios]

also don’t talk to me about the final decision for davrin’s personal quest. that fucked me up and i cried for a solid thirty minutes afterwards

[hiddenbeks]

i've been thinking about what andrale and celyn are doing and whether they're even alive during veilguard and i think i've finally figured it out.. i don't think andrale would leave to seek a cure for the taint. she struggled against her fate for so long and was incredibly bitter about being conscripted but eventually made peace with it. she cheated death once thanks to morrigan but knows her days are numbered nevertheless and decides to value whatever time the ritual gave her. after the events of awakening she remains the warden-commander but since the blight is over she isn't needed on active duty. so she often leaves vigil's keep to travel or to stay with her clan or whatever but always comes back to ensure the wardens are well and to help train recruits and all that. leaving everyone and everything behind to go on an expedition in the far west searching for a cure that may or may not exist would go against all her development i think. when her calling comes she will go peacefully knowing she lived a meaningful life and made the most of what time she had :) i think she will be somewhat relieved as well. even though she learns to enjoy life again she will always carry the horrors of the blight with her and it will never be the same and she would never be the same even if she was cured. she is a warden and a warden's end is the only end for her!

celyn on the other hand. she is never satisfied she always wants more. she's very eager to join the wardens despite andrale's warnings that the joining could be fatal and that even if she survives being a warden is essentially a slow death. celyn is like yea whatever it beats going back to the circle so she chugs the darkspawn blood, survives, and joins the wardens. at some point andrale assigns celyn to assist avernus with his research and has her take over after avernus passes away. the reality of being a grey warden soon hits celyn and she reallyyyyy doesn't want to die an early death after finally getting out of the circle. so she pores over avernus' writings and figures out how to slow the decay of her body with blood magic the way he had. but it's not enough because even avernus succumbed to the taint eventally. and celyn doesn't want that for herself. where andrale is focused on what is celyn is more interested in what could be... and the taint could be cured maybe... so celyn is the one who decides to take things even further. she is determined to prolong her lifespan by any means and willing to risk everything for the chance to permanently cure the taint!!

[danielnelsen]

i wouldnt go so far as to call the calling a good book necessarily, but it's so much better than the stolen throne and it's actually got an interesting plot & lore, it's very refreshing when im reading them in order

[the-moth-and-the-warden]

What would its pee even be like anyway? I know it's probably weird to ask but now I am curious. I know you flesh things out and enjoy worldbuilding so it's a legitimate question!

lmao you have me pinned, Anon, with my obcessive lore and worldbuilding.

And yeah, that ask got me wondering too! So... Yugoth's internal biological systems work differently than any normal creature. It is an eldritch fungus, and it's connected to the Sculk around it. It is able to allow the sculk to summon animated creatures to protect the growth, this being the wardens you encounter in game, this particular one is the one in control of all of it. This, in fact, is a big reason it puts the goop in Tiavel's mane, since those composites attack intruders. The goop makes Tiavel smell like part of the sculk and warden itself so if any of them are awakened, Tiavel isn't hurt. They take Yugoth's energy to maintain, however, so it generally keeps that inactive. Barely anything goes down there to the ancient ruins, so it sees no point.

Tangeant aside, it is omnivorous with an herbivorous tendency. It is able to eat meat, but it must be starting to decay or cooked. It also eats bone, though digests this much more slowly. A fun side effect of this is that Yugoth could swallow a small creature that passed away, digest the meat, and cough up the clean bones if it does that soon enough. It would be like an owl pellet or hairball. Not that it has any reason to do that, but it's possible! The bone from whatever it eats gets integrated with the boney growths on its shoulders and down its back, as well as its claws and teeth.

Being a fungal creature, it does need water. It drinks quite a bit. It helps it digest, and helps keep it healthy and comfortable. Yugoth wouldn't do well in dry heat, and would need to be around fresh water. Salt water would not work for it, too much salt would make it really sick or even kill it.

Like any creature, not everything it ingests is broken down fully, and anything that doesn't get used is passed out the other end. Its body is quite efficient so what is passed is actually mostly odorless (Might have an odd fungal or moldy smell, but wouldn't smell like the poop of a normal creature... This remains true even if it eats a bunch of rotting flesh from zombies it attacks), but also has a lot of micro-nutrients for the soil. The reason it likes bread is that it’s very easy to break down, but Yugoth also quite enjoys rotting wood. This is another part of why it drinks so much, makes the wood wet in its system, allowing it to break it down effectively. It can not eat fresh wood, it must be dead and rotting. Yugoth's saliva actually has a powerful antibiotic property to it. Even dangerous stuff found in rotting flesh doesn't effect it. The side effect of this is that its saliva can actually completely get rid of infection, so if you know a warden and it doesn't hate you and you get hurt, it can lick your wounds and keep them from getting infected.

And, FINALLY… on to your actual question. It drinks a lot of water, which helps it digest, especially when it eats things that are dry and thus… it pees frequently. It’s clear blue in color, and actually has a glow to it, though this fades within a few hours. If you find part of the ground glowing near the ancient city, well, that’s what it is. xD

It functions to clear out metabolites and anything Yugoth’s body doesn’t need and to pass excess water, but it also serves a territorial purpose. The pee would have a very strong, and very distinct, smell but it wouldn’t be anything like a normal animal’s pee. The smell would be hard to describe, not particularly pleasant but also not particularly unpleasant. Just strange and very different. It’d be something that you’d easily recognize once you’ve smelled it once. A unique thing about it is there’d be no breaking down into ammonia and other toxic materials. It’d just break down into water and inert minerals, meaning that there’d be absolutely no contamination of the area around it. In fact, having Yugoth around would be incredibly beneficial if you could get it to not want to sonic shriek you into the stratosphere, because it can eat stuff that would be unsafe, break it down, and basically pass plant fertilizer out the other end. A living composter that smells like a crushed mushroom.

Yugoth actively hunts creepers. They are moss creatures, and it will lure them closer, then Sonic Shriek them to death. Drag them near its nest, wait for them to begin to decay, and then eat them. This could, even, be a way for you to avoid getting attacked if you want to interact with it. Lure a creeper towards Yugoth and let it kill it. Yugoth is sapient, capable of logic, emotion and reasoning so it’d be smart enough to realize you are useful. The earmuff Tiavel made it have had a calming effect on it because with them on it is in a lot less pain, and thus less angry. It’ll still be hostile until Tiavel calms it down, but it’s not as quick to attack, and is more likely to observe for a bit, and attack if you do anything that angers it.

[amatres]

anyway my personal ranks of origins backstories just in the game by themselves is brosca and tabris at the top, aeducan at the bottom. cousland i will admit is pretty impactful but i still feel like, as wild as an option it would have been, that a cousland warden should had the option to solo rule. they are from the only other teryn in ferelden and it's even said that it was considered for bryce to rule so like! come on!

aeducan is at the bottom because it so tightly locks you into siding against bhelen, which i suppose is fair for brosca being so skewed in behlens favor bc of rica, but brosca is just Good so i forgive that, while aeducan is just suffering.

i still stand by my idea that the 'noble' dwarven origin shouldn't have been the second aeducan child, they should have been the second aeducan's second in place of gorim. that way there would have been more room for roleplay. also the second aeducan child would have been a secret third option for ruler of orzammar that you would encounter with the legion of the dead that they joined after being kicked out.

you would have to both do the legion of dead quest to give them a noble caste, and also have high as hell coercion for it to work but it would really cool and also so funny to do. that said the origin just by itself is pretty fun, love being backstabbed by my second favorite baby brother from the dragon age franchise

mahariel and the magi warden are in the 'i like them but they don't feel as impactful' as much as it hurts me. they're both just kinda there, however that said if the game let you recruit jowan into your party that would bring the magi warden up much higher. alas.

[troublemakerhawke]

I saw people sharing lore of their Dragon Age characters and now I kinda want to do the same! I don’t have much on my inquisitor, but I should at least summarize my thoughts on her.

Also it’s probably a good idea to finally document everything so I won’t forget important stuff myself! 

Pictures of my characters are made with a picrew by Crowesn. Check it out, it's really cool!

Grey Warden Nyx Surana

Nyx was given up by her parents at a very young age, so she doesn't know or remember anything at all about them. 

Nyx grew up to be a person whom you could easily call a victim of a Chantry’s propaganda. She did believe all mages should be watched over for The Greater Good, and that Circles help mages as much as people without magic. However Nyx never thought of her magic as a curse. She firmly believed magic to be a gift from the Maker, and that everyone entrusted with it must act accordingly (which means turning themselves over to the Chantry). Being a talented mage, Nyx spent almost all of her time studying and honing her skills.

As a Grey Warden tasked with ending a full-scale Blight she put duty above everything else. 

Even when she fell in love with Alistair, she chose what her mind told her to do, not her heart. When it was clear Alistair will become the next king of Ferelden, she decided to end this relationship before both of them were in too deep they couldn’t do what they had to. 

She gathered an army, but didn’t form any meaningful connections with her comrades. They respected each other, but after the Blight ended everyone wanted to go their separate ways and pursue personal goals.

Knowing the price of killing an Archdemon, Nyx wasn’t sure she could pay it. She agreed to Morrigan’s deal, hoping her ritual will work. Fortunately, Nyx was able to both kill an Archdemon and to tell the tale.

She didn’t want to become Warden-Commander. All she wanted was to return to the Tower and continue her life there. But duty demanded otherwise.

Going to Amarathine was, actually, one of the best things that happened in her life, because there she met a bunch of different people none of whom aspired to be heroes. They helped her to change her perspective on life, especially Anders, from whom she for the first time in her life heard a different view on magic. 

Later, after she officially “disappeared”, Nyx managed to accidentally reunite with Zevran. Being a completely different person than several years ago, she was finally able to connect with him. 

Now they travel together in search for the cure for both the Blight and the Calling and don’t really want to get involved with any other troubles.

Hecate Hawke

After father’s death Hecate de-facto became the head of the family tasked with providing for it. She didn’t even realize how fast she became his “replacement”, but she couldn’t let them down. 

Bethany’s death was a severe blow for Hecate, because they were very close. Hecate always felt like she needed to protect Bethany from harm, but she couldn’t save her from the darkspawn. The blame for her sister’s death still haunts her.

Being a talkative and friendly individual, in Kirkwall Hecate quickly gathered a small group of people around herself. 

When things started looking up, another tragedy happened. A promising expedition to the Deep Roads was supposed to help her family to buy back their family estate, but do things ever go right? Carver got infected with the Blight, and only thanks to Anders he was saved via joining the Grey Wardens, thus leaving his family forever. Another thing for which Hecate blames herself.

Returning home was hard, but she managed. She needed herself to manage. Hecate almost never showed anyone that side of herself that wasn’t a daring happy person, and only two people actually knew how she felt about herself: her best friend Varric and her lover Anders. As if the loss of Hecate’s siblings wasn’t enough, misfortunes seemed to follow her along the way. After losing mother, Hecate was drowning in guilt and regret. They never had good relationships, but now Hecate was actually alone. She was the only one Hawke left.

Kirkwall was slowly killing her.

Being a mage and a little too much compassionate person, Hecate eventually got involved with the Mage Underground and, eventually, with the Mage Rebellion. After all of her failures, she wanted to save at least somebody, even if it meant taking drastic actions. She made Anders accept her help, wholeheartedly supporting him. She couldn't afford to lose him, too. After the Chantry Explosion she took responsibility alongside him, fleeing Kirkwall to help mages in other regions fighting for their rightful freedom.

Hecate survives the events of Here Lies the Abyss and later reunites with Anders and her friends in Weisshaupt. 

Inquisitor Pandora Lavellan

Pandora was supposed to become the next Keeper of the clan Lavellan, but destiny decided otherwise. She wasn’t particularly close with anyone in her clan, but leaving them still wasn’t the most pleasant decision.

She started as a prisoner, accused of killing the Divine, but ended up as the Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste, who didn’t believe in the Maker. People all over Thedas gathered around her to finally put things back in order. And "Lady Lavellan" really tried her best to fix everything. 

Using the influence of the Inquisition, she helped mages in their fight, encouraging Leliana to become the new Divine.

Pandora managed to make a handful of friends along the way, who eventually helped her dealing with the Breach and Corypheus. Later she married Cullen. So much for keeping their relationships a secret.

After discovering her friend and mentor Solas to be the Dread Wolf himself set on destroying the world, she promises him to find the way to persuade him against it. Being concerned with possible corruption in the ranks of the Inquisition, she decides to disband it, relying on the network the build over the years.

Occasionally she still visits her clan. -----

At this point in my version of Thedas everybody should be concerned when a white-haired mage woman emerges from basically nowhere. Random strange catastrophic apocalyptic stuff is bound to start happening pretty soon and she’s going to be right in the middle of it. Consequences unknown. 

[lavellane]

ok. ok. i think im finally (mostly) settled on elspeth's ending and her handling of the landsmeet in particular. illegible hysteria below

i spent like 20 hours of this game hyping up an alistair/anora alliance but i dont think i can do it in practice im too weak Lol. BUT i do like the idea of trying it anyway and it falling apart bc everything always falls apart in this universe. so yeah, alistair does do the dual in the end, despite what i said the other day (he's the one who at this point wants to be king. so why not) much to ella's horror. the detail i mentioned about loghain being the only person to defeat her in her tourney days still carries symbolic weight, because it was ELLA who trained and mentored and levelled alistair up through the blight. shes like babe if i cant beat him you shouldnt risk it !! and so him then BEATING loghain regardless is a nice lil "student surpasses the teacher" moment and also drives home that ella is a good commander and theyre both stronger than they were.

ofc this means alistair obviously goes rogue and does what he does at the end of the fight — regardless of the promises of mercy ella made to anora and their attempts at an alliance lol. which sucks and its not as neat a solution, but emotions were high and its understandable and also L + ratio + loghain sold elves into slavery. ella got her vengeance over howe earlier so shes like sigh ok anyways. SO. the alliance is a bust, but alistair is hardened anyway so its not the end of the world. he rules alone post canon with ella still as adviser and his mistress, BUT :) im thinking about him refusing to take a wife in this path, specifically because he's trying to convince ELLA to marry him and make it official. she always rejects him but its in an ahaha.... unless 👀 kinda way that encourages him to keep trying. i mean the only reason she doesnt feel like she can is bc Duty and Responsibilities and Obligations blah blah blah..... ALL of which she could still honor while being queen. so yeah. completing her story and having her reaffirm her grey warden duty + alistair's king duty, and their mutual dark ritual sacrifice, but with the open ended possibility that a happier ending IS possible at some point ! when she's ready ! maybe after she cures the taint :) who knows

[chronurgy]

If they're writing around things to avoid touching on player choices then there are going to be a large number of subjects they just can't touch, which is going to result in a game and lore that feel disconnected from the rest of the series. Except that I would have called all of the countries of thedas that are involved with the chantry under the white divine something they couldn't touch because thanks to the end slides of inquisition/trespasser we know that the chantry takes radically different positions under each divine, positions which would obviously affect religion, politics, and daily life in those countries (compare a Leliana who gets rid of the circles and allows chantry priests to marry with a Cassandra who more or less keeps the status quo). So either our presence there will be so light that we learn nothing of the culture or those large differences will somehow translate into the same worldstate, which is patently ridiculous. My problem is that this creates either lore that is exceptionally vague or lore that is uninterested in exploring the effects it's purporting to be operating under. And that commitment to change, to exploring the consequences of various decisions, was part of what drew me to the series. Without that, it feels much closer to any other generic fantasy rpg. There's nothing wrong with a generic fantasy rpg, but I also don't play every generic fantasy rpg - I wait to see if it does something unique and interesting. And so far nothing I've seen has convinced me that this one does.

[euthymiya]

[ A LITTLE DEATH — FT. KINICH ]

synopsis: sometimes, he comes back to you with a beating heart. other times, his body is cold and limp until he reemerges from the flames. you never get used to kinich falling during the pilgrimage, but you’re certainly used to the feeling of his body

word count: 4.4k words of emotional porn. ty & goodnight

before you read: female reader ; major spoilers for natlan archon quest and kinich’s character story one ; kinich falls during the night warden war and resurrects so technical character death (but not for long) ; graphic descriptions of injuries and blood from war ; mentions of gambling, alcoholism and abuse (his father’s lore) ; slight exploration of mortality ; hand jobs ; orgasm delay (kinich to himself) ; cunnilingus ; fingering ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read because i wrote this all in tumblr drafts like the psycho i am

notes: this is an unhealthy progressing obsession. this boy is not good for my health unfortunately

“Will you stop crying?” He sighs softly, thumb tracing your cheek as it catches yet another rivulet of your sorrow.

You glare up at him, lips curled into a scowl as you sniffle and counter, “how about you stop dying?”

Kinich is no stranger to dying. He and death are good friends, in fact—he visits often, and in return, it houses him kindly for however short his visit may be.

He likes traversing the Night Kingdom, likes to speak to those who have borne his name before him. Dying isn’t so bad when you get a chance to see the things he does in the realm of the Wayob.

But you don’t like to see the aftermath. Blood. Bruises. Cuts. Gashes. Sometimes mangled limbs. Every time he falls in battle, the aftermath serves as a jarring reminder that revival is miracle you can’t take for granted.

Kinich doesn’t understand it, but he tries to. He holds you when he comes back, listening to you sniffle into his chest. He’s always silent as his hand rubs along your back, always unsure of what to say.

I lost you, you’ll always whisper first.

I was always going to come back, he’ll always respond.

The Pyro Archon, you think, loves fiercely enough to rival the God of Cryo herself. The Tsaritsa, God of Love, loves clearly. It’s delicate as it leaves chills, and yet, it is reserved, rare to find after she’s hardened herself. The God of War’s love takes form in the exact opposite. It’s blazing. Warm. Unrelenting. Irrevocably bright. It’s a flame that never dies out, that never needs a ceremony or ritual to keep burning like the contending fire.

She loves all of her children—you know that because you see it on her face, too.

The brief, fleeting flash of horror every time she sees a body. The bitter pride that comes with such a noble sacrifice. She loves her people, and that’s why, when your tears hit the ground as you cry for a fallen Kinich, she gives your hand a squeeze right before she brings enters the night kingdom to bring him back.

The people of Natlan are proud of their history. So much, that they find honor in dying for the cause.

You think you’re the only exception.

You and death are not good friends. You don’t like the way it mocks you with the limp hands of the boy you love and his beat-less heart. You don’t like the way it cozies up against him, dragging him away from you with its hand clasped firmly in his.

It never takes him away for too long before it gives him right back, but you don’t like sharing.

Not Kinich. Not with death.

Your broken out of your thoughts when his fingers gently press into your cheeks, squeezing them together as his hand tilts your head up from his chest to look into his eyes.

“I’m okay,” he insists bluntly, but never without that gentleness.

You’d laugh any other time. Always so straight to the point, you’d tease if it were some other day.

Instead, this time, you sniffle once more before you croak, “you don’t know what it’s like to witness.” Slowly, your hand creeps up his body, traveling over his abdomen before coming to a stop right over his heart. “This time…this time it was here.”

This pilgrimage, Kinich comes back to you with a stab through his heart. Other times, he’s returned pierced through his lungs from behind. Or perhaps with a bloodied head, split open by a blunt force.

It never gets easier. This time, however, you think it’s gotten even harder.

He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s contemplating what to say before he decides to toss the idea of words out entirely. Suddenly, his hands find your waist, flipping you to sit on his lower belly, legs straddling his hips.

Kinich isn’t always good with words. He can count on one hand the number of people he’s had in his life to love. His life has not been kind enough to him to allow keeping all fingers up at the same time.

One for his mother. Down.

One for his father. Down.

And one for you. Up.

He’s sure one day, he might be able to lift a finger for Mualani and Kachina, too. He cares a great deal about them, of course. But love is a difficult thing for him to grasp—perhaps because it’s always been something he never got in full.

Not until you.

More than most people, Kinich understands loss. You know that. He understands it too well, in fact. Sometimes, he wonders if he’d lost his father’s love long before the body was limp and lifeless to show for it. Sometimes, he wonders if his mother ever loved him enough to count as a loss at all. Maybe if she had, then she wouldn’t have walked away. Maybe she never loved him quite as much as she loved herself.

But you’re different for him. You love him more than you love anything else. More than yourself, too. He’s never been loved more than anything else. His father loved gambling, maybe even the burn of alcohol on his tongue, too. His mother loved freedom, and more than that, she loved the idea of living in the absence of fear. Neither loved him more than any of those things.

So, you’re different. You know that, too. You’re a loss he can’t comprehend. Not that he’s ever had to, of course, but his brain cannot handle the idea of being without you.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t fully understand your pain. Maybe that’s why he wonders why knowing he’ll always come back from falling isn’t enough to soothe you.

He’s never loved someone who he knew would come back even in the face of death. It’s a luxury, he thinks sometimes—you get to love him with the luxury of a safety net. But you’re too precious to feel the weight of a real loss. He hopes he can shield you from it for as long as he can, one pilgrimage at a time.

His hands settle for your hips, squeezing once, twice, a third time before he sits up and pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

You kiss back easily. Drinking the breath straight from his mouth is best proof that he’s alive. You take it in greedily.

“I’m okay,” he repeats one more time. This time, it’s a much softer tone. Like a gentle reminder. Like a plead to understand.

His hand grabs yours, pressing it right over his heart so you can feel the erratic beating under your palm. Just from kissing you, it’s rapid enough that he almost feels he should be embarrassed. But you close your eyes and let out a shaky breath, making him watch you carefully as he takes in the relief in your face.

“You’re okay,” you nod slowly.

“I am,” he agrees.

You don’t know when it happens or who starts it first. One moment, your hand is traveling under his shirt to feel his bare skin, to have better contact with him so you can feel more proof he’s alive.

Warm skin. Flexing muscle. Damp sweat. When your hand finds his heart again, his hand cups the back of your head and pulls you into a heated kiss.

Clothes come off after that. It’s a blur. It’s not until you untie the bandana to uncover his forehead do you really take it all in.

Bare under you, Kinich is alive. The proof his body is breathing and pumping blood through his veins is right there before you—standing tall between his legs in the form of a flushed, red cock. Blood rushed there to prove his desire for you.

“Last time, it was here,” you whisper, thumb tracing a pale, faint scar over his ribcage, right where his lung is. “Did it hurt?”

“It did,” he nods, studying you as you don’t meet his eyes. “I don’t remember much of that, though.”

“Do you like it?” You whisper. “Is that why you do it?”

He’s silent. And then, quietly: “Sometimes.”

“Why?” You breathe, cupping his cheeks as you search his eyes for an answer.

Finally, in a rare moment, he chuckles. “Because it’s good to remember I’m alive,” he murmurs, “right before you die is when you realize you’re alive the most. Why you’re alive, too.”

“I don’t understand,” you furrow your brows in frustration. He smiles fondly, kissing your jaw as he lets out a low hum.

“I think of you,” he whispers, sucking sweetly into your skin, “and then I remember how you’re alive, too. Every time I die, you get to stay alive a little more.”

The abyss never goes away. Now, more than ever, he’s aware of that. It’s a war he has to see the winning side of, no matter the price.

There’s a loss this time that he’s unwilling to pay. Can’t bear to witness. Can’t allow to happen.

You decide you give up trying to understand—much like you do every year. Instead, you throw yourself into feeling him, pulling him into a heated, deeper kiss as your tongue glides against his. You give into the battle fast, letting him take the lead and taste you.

You’re not one for battles, not like Kinich is. You’d rather relish in peace than remember the cruelties of war.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. “I can’t lose you.”

“You’ve never lost me,” he argues.

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you admit quietly.

“Then let me show you I’ve always been right here.”

As if on cue, his cock twitches between your bodies, hot and throbbing as it presses against your lower belly. You reach between your bodies, wrapping around the thick girth before your thumb grazes the tip.

He shudders, stifling a groan as you slowly smear the dribbling pre cum along his length, taking gentle care to make sure you don’t hurt him.

You’ve seen Kinich hurt enough times.

“Does that feel good?” You grin slightly, watching his eyes flutter shut as you stroke him up and down, fisting around him in a tight squeeze.

“Feels great,” he breathes, “like I’m very alive.”

“Good,” you nod.

“Fuck,” he chokes when you squeeze around the tip, pace quickening as you glide your palm up and down along him faster.

Faster.

The faster he cums, the faster you’re proven he’s living once more.

But he stops you—right before he can spill into your hand, a shaky wrist comes to force yours to stop moving. You look at him questioningly, and he closes his eyes and takes labored breaths to calm himself from the slow, fading orgasm that would’ve shaken through his body.

“What are you—oh,” you gasp, when your body is flipped to lay on your back, Kinich hovering above you as he stares down at you.

You think love is the look in his eyes when he sees you like this, every time. That longing in his pupils, desperate and almost pained even though you’re right there.

Loving something is always a double edged sword. It hurts just as much as it heals—the scabs forming around your heart from his temporary departure is proof of that.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing along your neck.

I love you isn’t something Kinich says often. You feel his love in other ways. The fresh fruit he brings you on his way back from a commission. The small kiss between your brows he always greets you with, and the delicate kiss to your mouth when he leaves. The hand on the small of your back as he guides you along places, never letting you feel his absence. The pillow he shares with you every night when you invade his space and take up his side of the bed.

You know he loves you. Being reminded is a good feeling, though. Your body shivers as you feel a familiar ache building up between your legs at his sudden confession.

“More than anything?” You ask.

“Yes,” he responds, amused.

“You better not be lying,” you warn playfully.

He chuckles—you’re slowly coming back to your usual self. Causal teasing and playful flirting. You’re all the things he’s not. Open. Vulnerable. So inexplicably bright. You smile and something in him heals. Something in him itches to do better—be better.

“When have I ever lied to you?” He challenges.

You pretend to think for a moment before caving and stretching your lips into a wide grin. The first real smile of the night. You pull him close, kissing him again. Just to kiss him. There’s no heat or desire this time around.

He kisses back sweetly. Just to kiss you.

“What did you see this time?” You whisper when you pull away. “In the Night Kingdom.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, tracing shapes into your hip with his thumb, “I think I was too busy thinking of you.”

Kinich is only flirty when he avoids something. He’s only ever indirect when he doesn’t want you to know something. It takes form in less honest, more playful banter that he learns from you.

You sigh, rolling your eyes half-heartedly as you whisper, “don’t lie to me.”

“I did think of you,” he insists. “It’s not a lie. I always think of you.”

He decided to prove it by dropping down to busy himself between your legs, gently spreading them enough to press his nose against your clit as he breathes you in.

Sweet. You’re always sweet. You taste and smell it. You drip of honeyed, saccharine desire. When his tongue presses between your folds, he thinks he’s dipping it in gold.

“K-kinich, wait—”

“You say that every time,” he raises a smug brow. His fingers press into you, spreading you open as he inspects your fluttering walls. “But you never mean it, do you?”

Filthy, you think. He’s got an air of pure obscenity to him that you’re sure comes only when he’s tired of feeling alone. When he needs to know you’re here for good and not just for the moment.

“You play dirty,” you scowl, twitching when his tongue swirls over your clit, the smooth rumble of his chuckle vibrating against the sensitive bud. His fingers curl into you, pressing against a very delicate, very responsive spot in the back of your walls.

“Is that so?” He drawls, “you don’t exactly seem to mind it,” he murmurs.

And then his lips wrap around your clit, sucking as his tongue rolls in circles against it as you writhe. You can feel the tips of his digits bully into that same spot over and over, making your back arch as you whine.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “baby, please.”

You don’t know what you’re pleading for. He’s giving you what you want exactly how you want it—maybe that’s why you always say it, though. So you can never stop having him. Asking and asking and hoping he’ll give you everything without pausing.

He does, too. Kinich never gives half of himself into anything. For the right price, you get all of him. You pay the price in gentle kisses along his cheek and soft fingertips in his hair. In a warm lap under his cheek when he’s tired and a soft voice to remind him he’s not alone. In a worried look every time he’s scuffed and a soft smile every time your eyes meet his.

You pay the price of your love, and he compensates you with the reward of his. It’s a fair trade.

The only difference is that unlike his other deals, Kinich would still pay his love to you even if you stopped paying yours. He couldn’t stop if he tried. It’s an exception he doesn’t exactly choose to make, but doesn’t necessarily want to change, either.

Lucky for him, you don’t show any signs of pulling away.

“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly, whispering the words into your cunt like he’s speaking directly to your desire, “and mine.”

“G-gods,” you moan, hand flying to grasp at his hair and tug as his fingers quicken their pace, fucking into your heat mercilessly as his tongue rolls over your clit.

It’s hot. It always is in the Pyro Nation. But hotter is the growing desire in the pit of your belly, and the heat between your legs that only one person can ignite. The flames lick at your sanity before something erupts in your system and all you feel is a gush of pure, white hot pleasure.

“That’s it,” he praises, working you through your orgasm as you let out a soft cry of his name.

Kinich is alive. You know that because only he could make you feel this way, and he is. He’s making you feel like there’s love between your legs as he coaxes the height of pleasure from you, buried into the apex of your thighs like it’s the only place he ever wants to be. You’re reminded that instead of blood dripping from his fingertips, it’s the essence of your arousal.

You’re reminded that when you need him, he’s never not there. Never leaving you behind from this world into another.

“I love you,” you blurt out in a post-orgasm haze.

He looks up at you with a toothy grin. It’s so rare to see him smile so freely. It’s like a child’s, sometimes. Something youthful and joyful and almost innocent enough that it makes your heart ache a little more than it does feel full.

Only a little, though.

“You say that a lot when I make you cum,” he laughs smoothly, a boyish and sweet little sound. You huff with a roll of your eyes.

“You do too,” you counter. “Maybe we only love each other when we feel good.”

“I always feel good with you,” he grins.

“I can make you feel a whole lot better,” you wink, wriggling your brows in a playful, tempting offer.

He takes it. With another soft laugh, he climbs up your body to hover his face over yours, admiring the sweat clinging to your forehead like it’s proof of his good work.

“Go on then,” he whispers. “Make me feel better. I just died today, you know.”

“I know,” you grumble only slightly, “I remember that very clearly. It was very rude of you.”

“My sincerest apologies,” he offers.

When Kinich was young, love was transactional. His father loved him with a box of sweets when a gamble of wages doubled. His mother was happy enough to afford him her gaze when there were flowers in the vase. He knew from early on not to expect any of it unless the proper price was offered.

And then he learned necessities were transactional, too. To exist is to pay a price. He watched as strangers took away his home, the remainder of his family’s belongings packed away as his mother wiped her tears. Food is not free when she is not there to tend to crops. Clothes don’t come easy when your father spends his days drinking away instead of working.

Without mora, you survive more than you live.

He hated it. Hated not having enough. Not being enough. He wasn’t enough to make his father want to be good and he wasn’t enough to make his mother want to stay. Didn’t have enough to offer for something as simple as unconditional love.

Love with you feels a lot different than what he’s grown up learning. You love him even when he’s closed off and a little cold. When his blunt words are a little too blunt and his words press hard into you with force. When he’s tired, and can’t offer you proper company, you love him, too. When he’s gone for days at a time for a commission further away, you still love him as you wait.

It’s always enough for you even when what he gives really isn’t enough at all.

He stopped trying to understand a long time ago. He’s still human—not everything can make sense with the logic of equal transaction. Sometimes, he just wants. Sometimes, he can’t give enough for what he wants. You always give it, though.

He’s stopped trying to make sense of it all for the sake of finally knowing joy. Peace. Possibly even comfort.

“Why do you love me?” He asks softly, rubbing the tip of his hard cock against your thigh. You rub along his bare back with a gentle hand, feeling the goosebumps raise along his skin under your palm.

“Because it’s easy to,” you answer.

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t life hard enough?” You shrug, “it’s nice having something simple. Loving you is easy, and that’s enough.”

“I don’t understand,” he mirrors your words from earlier. “But as long as you don’t stop, I think it’s okay.”

You want to tell him you’ll never stop loving. Every flame in Natlan will have to burn out before you stop loving Kinich. You’re confident that it’s impossible that will ever happen. But instead of words, you gently reach between your bodies to grab at his cock—it’s been hard and neglected for long enough that he lets out a soft, needy sound at the sudden touch.

You bring him to brush against your entrance, murmuring a soft, “I want you,” before he groans in response.

“Fuck,” he says shakily, “me too.”

And then, finally, he presses his tip into you, pushing past your folds and nudging into the deepest part of you.

He’s alive. You know that because you can feel him in the most rawest, purest way. Bare skin to skin. Warmth on warmth. Sweat against sweat. Body tangled into body. He’s alive and here and you can feel all of him at once.

He’s everywhere. He’s in your lungs as you kiss him and steal his breath. He’s in your heart as you feel it skip a beat for him. He’s in your soul as it burns at the very idea of him. And he’s in your cunt as he presses himself into you with a roll of his hips.

You love him when he’s alive.

You love him when he’s dead.

You love him when he’s resurrected.

You love him when he’s yours like this.

“Kinich,” you gasp, letting out a breathless moan as his tip slams into that spongy spot in your walls, “there—y-yes, like that.”

“I know,” he murmurs, grinning a little smugly enough that you feel embarrassed to already be this fallen apart. “I know exactly where.”

“Smooth talker for someone who ruined my whole day,” you huff.

“I told you I’m okay,” he grunts lowly. He kisses your throat, right over your pulse as he whispers, “I’m right here.” You whine as he rolls his hips particularly harshly to slam his cock into your most delicate spot.

“Knowing something is coming back doesn’t mean you like losing it,” you argue. “I don’t want you anywhere but here.” He gasps when your legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer as you squeeze tighter around him.

You hate seeing Kinich fall because you’re reminded it’ll happen one day for real. There’ll come a time where he won’t be resurrected. You don’t like being reminded of this simple truth.

He doesn’t understand it because he’s always too busy denying your fall. He’s too busy making sure he fights every battle to win this war so you can live beside him. So you don’t have to succumb to the cruel likes of the abyss.

Neither of you can seem to grasp the other’s mortality very well. So you try to forget in the feeling of being lost in each other’s bodies. Where proof of life blooms in every inch of skin. Every labored breath and drop of sweat, every flex of muscle and rapid thrum of a heart.

You’re alive, and so is Kinich.

He’s not alone, and neither are you.

No one has had to bear a loss, and that’s all that matters. For now, at least.

“You feel so good,” he says hoarsely, letting out a soft, low whine when your walls flutter around him at the praise. “C-can’t…can’t live without you.”

“Don’t say that,” you sob, reaching your limit, “enough talk about living. I’m tired of it.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “then just cum again for me. I want to feel you do it around me this time.”

Your second orgasm makes you forget Kinich is alive. You’re too busy feeling the rush of life yourself. Your body burns with pleasure through every nerve, the familiar snap of pressure between your legs that has your entire form spasming under Kinich.

“’M c-cumming,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, muffling your sounds into his mouth as he swallows them whole.

“For me,” he hums.

“F-for you. Always for you.”

And then he cums too. Hard. For the last time, you’re hit with the evidence that he’s here with you and not somewhere else. Somewhere unreachable. Somewhere in a world apart from you.

He’s spilling warm, sticky cum into your walls with shaky arms holding him up above you, desperate rolls of his hips as he lets out choked sounds.

Skin slaps against skin and a combination of your arousals leaves a mess smeared between your legs, spilling down your inner thighs.

“Fuck—ngh. I’m…I’m…” he trails off.

He’s never been good with words like you. So instead, he buries his head into your neck and presses his nose into your skin, letting you cradle the back to his head so he knows you’re there.

“I know,” you pant, letting him fuck himself into you and ride out the high of his orgasm.

I know you need me. I need you too.

When he slumps over your body, you can feel his heart beat against yours. Rapid. Erratic. Harsh. Pounding. All of it is proof you’re both painfully mortal as you are alive.

“I love you,” you both whisper at the same time, utterly spent.

“You’re alive,” you breathe out a sigh of relief as your eyes close tiredly.

He hums, lifting his head to press a soft peck to your lips before he slumps into your neck against. “And so are you,” he murmurs in exhaustion.

You both fall asleep together with another year behind you.

Writing an emotional Kinich is actually really hard I’m not sure I even got it right bc we haven’t seen nearly enough of him but 😭 I hope this was not ooc enough that it was slightly believable. IDK I had a hard time deciding how he’d be in an emotionally charged moment of intimacy

[knife-eared-jan]

Ok, as much as I have been hyping and playing 12 hours a day since it got out (still in Act 1 though, bc I'm a slowass player and completionist), I feel like I have to say something that is getting hard to ignore at this point... and I wanna preface this by saying that I am loving a lot of aspects of the game and I adore the writing when it comes to the companions, who I am obsessed with.

And maybe this will get better yet, as I generally heard the writing picks up once the story progresses beyond picking up all companions..

But I'm starting to get quite upset at the way the writing just does NOT care about the established lore and the politics of Thedas like at all, when to me - and many others - that richness, nuance and depth of the world is what makes the games so special.

(Spoilers below)

I looked past the way the elves in Arlathan just seemed to know that their gods are evil and Solas is "kind of a dick" but was right about that. When, you know, that made him basically the Satan of their pantheon up to now.. It was after all the tutorial stage of the game and I understand that you wanna ease newcomers into the lore. I could also handwave it in-universe with Morrigan being there - she could have filled the Veiljumpers in on the discoveries of the Inquisition or even what the Well told her.

It felt a bit weird that our contacts in every other faction just accepted this huge revelation without a blink, but again it was the early stages and I also get that having a discussion about it 6 times with different faction leaders would have been incredibly tedious. So I ignored that. And yeah, at least the First Warden found it hard to swallow.

The fact that they brushed aside the gods finding elven subjects - many of whom after all still worship them - with one sentence from Solas was disappointing though. Instead they chose to ally them with the Venatori and the Antaam who are the pure evil factions with no nuance or motive to side with them besides a comic book level of hunger for power. They didn't even throw in a sentence about the gods maybe speaking to the Venatori through the Archdemons to get them on their side or how it's very ironic that the Venatori, who want to make Tevinter great again, stoop to working with the pantheon of the people they oppress because they see them as lesser and other. No political exploration of the massive lore implications at all.

It really hit me when I picked up Davrin and he commented how Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain blighting the world would really endear us (elves) to the rest of Thedas - this was the first time anyone actually mentioned the political impact of the elven gods being real, freed, evil and blighted on modern day elves at all, when this should be HUGE. It should be ugly. It should be complex. It should be explored in as many examples as bloodmagic and the oppression of mages was in DA2. It should be a central point of Act 1. (This btw made me love Davrin so much in that moment because this was the first time in the game for me when I actually felt like talking to a Dragon Age elf and even just that one line felt like home.)

And now I just did Taash's first companion quest and it seems Qunari lore is also being ignored (except for the gender aspect of it, which I look forward to). Taash's mum was a scholar and had a baby and the only problem about that was that it could breathe fire and was special but otherwise all would have been dandy? Like she would have just been allowed to keep Taash long enough to find that out about her baby if she was living under the Qun? That directly contradicts everything we know about how the Qunari's culture around reproduction and childcare works.

Sorry to be negative and talking myself into a rage - I know it's not something people want to see rn. But like, I realise you have to brush over some lore intricacies for brevity and to make it digestible for new players. But this is a world initially inspired by Wheel of Time and ASOIAF, both of which are interesting because of the depth of ficitional cultures, lore and politics, and hence it's also what gives Dragon Age its appeal. And now they take us to the most politcally interesting areas on the world map and just get rid of all of political depth?

That's really disappointing. Imagine if Winds of Winter dropped all political themes just because there's several previous books and it's been some a lot of years.

Also, I managed to play DA2 before I ever played Origins and they could introduce me to a vast established background of lore just fine back then.

Sorry. Rant over. But I had to get that out of my system.

[galpalaven]

Every time there’s a mention of one of the other games, I get more angry.

Why mention it at all, if all it does is spit in my face? Why bring up House Arainai and the contract on the Wardens from Origins, if you don’t mention Zevran and my Warden? Why have Isabela if she doesn’t mention Hawke? Why have codex entries about the Fifth Blight if you don’t mention the Hero of Ferelden? Why mention the “leaders of Ferelden” if you don’t mention Anora or Alistair? Why have Morrigan if there’s no hint of her child that could exist or the Warden who she could have been in love with? Why mention the Well of Sorrows but not who drank from it? Why have Lavellan if none of the relationships you had carry over into the way that Lavellan talks about them in this game?

What’s the point????? What’s the fucking point?? To rub it in that you couldn’t be assed to actually code a few more lines of flavor text?? That you don’t give a fuck about me or your own carefully crafted lore? To remind me every 20 minutes that nothing I did in the hundreds of hours I played those games mattered to the world at large?

Why? Why? Why?

Not sure what any of us did to make Bioware hate us this much, but it Sucks.