#Ivun

[pixelrhys]

Redrew my older dnd character from 2018! His name is Ivun Ricotta and has a sentient trumpet named Gordon Ramsbrie.

He was a cheesemaker but decided to be a bard instead. He claims to be from Fantasy France and talks in an awful, fake accent.

2018 Version:

[rosella-writes]

for dadwc “ you’re not obligated to do this, you know." Virelan either gets some help and assistance and care shoved on her and grumbles about it, OR, for once, she's the one insisting on helping and gets to tell THEM to accept her help :')

Hmmmmm for u (and for @dadrunkwriting)

Rating: G Pairing: Virelan x Solas Warnings: major character death

~~~

The orange tree was in bloom. Tulin’s poisonous plants nodded full heads of flowers, and his roses were forming hips. And on Solas’s chest, her body wrung dry by the passage of time, Virelan lay dying. 

A few feet away, Tulin and his husband, Ivun, sat with their heads bent over a game of cards they had spread upon the grass. Beyond them, Kieran and Panasaam spoke earnestly with the Witch of the Wilds — Morrigan was hardly wrinkled, but her hair was a braided crown of pure white. The children ran and played and screeched just out of view, chased by a Felassan who remained young and vibrant and strong. 

Solas murmured a quiet remark about Morrigan against Virelan's scalp. In the past, Virelan may have responded with something cutting and dry. Now she merely hummed, with hardly enough volume to be heard. Solas stroked the long locs of her hair.

“Can you smell the orange blossoms, vhenan?”

She did not respond, but she did smile. Her breaths were slow, and Solas felt every heartbeat as he would grains of sand in an hourglass. 

“I thought I was ready,” he finally confessed in a whisper against her hair. A hot tear streaked down his cheek. 

The grip of her one hand tightened in his shirt. “You don’t have to come,” she laboriously told him.

“I am ready to die,” he said. “I was the moment I knew I would not be alone when I did. But I fear letting go.”

She nuzzled under his chin. Her breaths were quick and shallow. “Please.”

Solas looked around at their family. They knew this was near. Tulin had gathered them so that they would not miss a single one of their mother’s final moments. But now that it was time, he felt selfish — he wished to hold on, to extend this moment for fear of it ending. He did not wish to share. He wanted to sink his teeth into her last breath and swallow it whole. 

“Don’t tell them,” Virelan gasped. “Tulin will know. Stay with me.” 

He took her hand and gripped it tight. His skin was pale and thin as tissue paper — he had never felt the loss of his old power so keenly as he did now, on the cusp of this new journey. 

Virelan’s spirit felt as faint as the last few of her inhales — Solas counted them, feeling his own slow to match. He refused to sob them out. It would be a waste of what air he had left. 

He fixed his eyes upon her face. The carved, pale lines of Falon’Din’s vallaslin fell still as her lips parted around one final, sighing breath that did not even stir the petals of the blossom that had fallen to cover her lost eye.

When he allowed his spirit to follow hers, he did not close his eyes upon the end. There were none to close. There was merely her love entwined with his — an emotion older even than fear.

[sea-side-scribbles]

Solas wakes up in the strange new world of his own making and it terrifies him. Frail and confused, he has to learn everything from scratch again. The more he learns, the more the world looks like a nightmare.

When he joins the Inquisition, he figures he's still not strong enough to withstand everything this world throws at him.

In the end, he made too many promises and he can't keep them all. But who said the Din'anshiral would be easy?

_____________________________________________

Part 1 | Chapter 1- ? | Right after uthenera, Solas is found by a Dalish clan. This goes well until it doesn't. (Basically my excuse for world building and hilarious misunderstandings.)

Chapter 4

With the gift in his hand, Solas lay in silence for a while, dozing but never reaching the beyond. He noticed that when he stayed still, he could hear quiet noises from outside, muffled conversations and people walking by. It was far from what he usually sensed, but better than nothing. He knew the slaves wouldn't suddenly attack him here. For the first time, he felt a sense of safety. As long as he wasn't strong enough for whatever they needed, he would stay here and the fact somewhat comforted him. They didn't force him to get out. But they didn't mind when he peeked outside, either.

Solas opened his eyes, spontaneously making a decision. He wanted to take a look again and be careful this time. Avoid any blinding lights. Slowly, he moved his limbs. They felt immensely heavy and he had to suck in a breath for lifting one arm alone. Like this, he crawled out of his bed and towards the exit. He noticed only now that the sunlight came in from there and it felt warm on his skin.

Panting, he leaned against the carpet wall to gaze upon his surroundings once more. So far, there were no surprises. He saw the campfire in the distance where a group of people gathered. Some walked by, carrying things he couldn't make out. He only realized that his cave sat at the edge of the glade. All the other vehicles stood further away from him. Also, that was when he realized that what he called “cave” must've been another one of those vehicles. What else would it be?

He was about to finish the thought when the smell of vallaslin suddenly took over his senses. By instinct, he crawled away from it, back into the cave, but he didn't get far until a man appeared in front of him. “Oh, good day, arani, I thought I heard something”, came the friendly words, then he furrowed his brows. “Are you okay?” Solas noticed that he was acting suspiciously. “Er, yes, I...”, he stuttered. “I just wanted to take in the view...” He recalled that he had the best chances in acting oblivious and confused, as he actually was.

The man looked surprised. “You wanna go out and take a walk?” “I would like to, but...” He slowly lifted a hand to test and looked at his palm. He could barely feel it. His whole body was numb and as much as he wished to, he was afraid he'd only make a fool out of himself trying to walk. “Oh, right...You know what will fix you up? Just wait a second...” Solas watched the man vanish again, wondering if he'd rather hide. Then the moment was over and he suddenly held a mug of white liquid in his hands.

“Halla milk and honey with a pinch of cinnamon”, the man described with a smirk. “There's nothing better in the morning, trust me.” Solas was already overwhelmed by the heat that spread in his fingers and up his arms and the sweet scent that overlapped the vallaslin's. He didn't doubt for a second that this would make him stronger. For a while, he only dived into the taste and let the heat warm him from inside. “It's good”, he finally said. The man smiled. “I thought so. Ivun will be glad to hear it, too. She was adamant about saving some for you, in case you wake up.” “Who's Ivun?” “One of our cooks and a very resolute one.” Solas furrowed his brows, pondering again.

These slaves didn't seem to have any other plan with him than to feed him. He wondered if he could get any useful information out of this man. So far, he noticed that he wore different clothes than the others and he had a staff on his back. A sign of leadership? The tip of the staff made a spot behind Solas' left ear tickle. Did it possibly control the area? Create this prison? The vallaslin told him the man was younger than Halven, but a leader wasn't chosen by age, yet by devotion. Focusing on the staff made him dizzy, so he drew his attention away from it. After all, he didn't have to risk another breakdown.

“You are very kind”, Solas began and carefully eyed the man. An amulet hung around his neck with a strange symbol on it. Perhaps a rune. With all this, he figured he should be very cautious around him. “Who are you?” “Oh”, the man looked as if he only noticed something now. “My name is Temalas. I'm here to guard your aravel. I look out for spirits and stray magic...” He slowed down, unsure what the elf would know about such things. Solas, however, had already stumbled over a different word. “Aravel?” It had occurred to him before, that the slaves used Elvhen terms for certain things, including their names. Why, he didn't know. It could be a test but he doubted it now. He regretted his outburst, but Temalas looked rather glad to help.

“It's the Elvhen word for landship. We travel in these across the world, like our ancestors did.” Solas blinked, dumbfounded. He looked up to the sky, but to his utter shock, it was just as empty as the rest of this prison. Temalas didn't notice his horror. ”They are all over the camp. Look.” Proudly, he gestured towards the glade, where more of these sorry excuses sat between the trees. What Solas had called “vehicles” - and that was still all they were. He saw people climb in and out of them, as if they lived in them. It was like a cruel joke, comparing this to the majestic travelling ships he knew. Did these slaves even know what a real aravel was? What did he mean by “ancestors”? Other slaves?

Anger spread in him. The wish to lock their “gods” into these wagons and keep them in there forever. He suddenly chuckled by the thought that he hadn't been creative enough punishing the evanuris. “What's so funny?” Temalas looked downright offended. Startled by his tone, Solas sobered up quickly. “Nothing, I am sorry...” Indeed, he scolded himself for laughing at their suffering. His weak body had no manners. However, this place was a mocking of everything the Elvhen people fought for. He had to end this. Determined, he closed his eyes – but nothing happened. Instead, he had to gasp for air again. The emptiness around him almost swallowed him whole. He had to stop trying...

A moment later, he saw Temalas looking down at him. “Hello? Arani? Can you hear me?” “I...hear you...”, Solas muttered, blinking. “What happened?” “You passed out. Did you see that light again?” Solas pressed his eyes shut, pondering. “No”, he eventually answered. “Perhaps...sitting up wasn't such a good idea...” “Really? Creators, be careful with yourself! You scared me!” Solas grimaced. The word “creators”, said with such faith, was downright disgusting. They shouldn't pray to them. They shouldn't be branded. It was all wrong.

He needed to know the truth. Recalling that the Healer hadn't been suspicious yet, he decided to use his pretended amnesia to his advantage again to ask an otherwise strange question. “Your creators...”, he said, hiding his disgust behind an expression of curiosity, “Halven mentioned them, too. Who are they?” Also, Temalas didn't appear to mind. His face lit up. “He told me you might want to know more about them. It's a rather long story, I don't know if it's the right time now...” “I feel fine!”, Solas answered more harshly than intended. Quickly, he softened again. “I mean...I'm sorry. I am alright. Please, tell me more.” Temalas wondered why the elf was so eager about it. But on the other hand, hearing for the first time in his life that he had his own people and culture must be fascinating. And it made this easer.

“Alright, just let me get you more milk so you'll make it through it all...” He took the mug, honestly worried about straining the elf too much. After all, he had a history of passing out in conversations. Shortly after, Solas had another serving of hot, sweet milk to his disposal and he didn't mind. Temalas sat next to him, legs crossed and solemnly began to tell his story. To Solas' growing horror, it was the old tale of lies he had already heard in so many different ways.

The sun touched the earth and thus created Elgar'nan – not even the People, no, exclusively stinky, old Elgar'nan, the great All-Father of the People he despised. Solas drowned a bitter laugh in milk and continued to listen politely. When finally Mythal emerged from the ocean, he found it amusing that even Temalas let it look like the only good thing that had happened to the world so far, after an eternity of darkness and despair. What a tale! What glory lay in Elgar'nan!

Solas remembered that in the very first days of the new age, Mythal had used to tease Elgar'nan about this. And he had even laughed. They all had laughed more back then.

He dipped his head. No matter how much he called upon the comforting heat of his drink, he couldn't help the tears welling in his eyes. Soon, they rolled down his cheeks. Temalas stopped. Embarrassed, Solas put the mug down to wiped his face, but the damage was done. “Are you okay?”, Temalas' voice was husk. “Did I say something wrong?” Solas could only stutter: “I...I'm...fine...Just continue...What happened to the sun?”

Temalas was shocked now. He thought that this story alone stirred the elf. He wept because the land suffered from the sun's jealousy and Elgar'nan's revenge. He felt for this story like a child would and it moved Temalas deeply. Their new lethal'lin was really innocent and he must've suffered so much.

He went on with the story and Solas slowly recovered. He only had so much tears left for long forgotten days. Sadly, no Mythal would ever emerge from his tears. They were useless.

As the tale went on, Solas noticed that Temalas left a lot of the old details out and focused on other things. Frustrated, he pressed his eyes shut. When would this stop? The evanuris had crafted those tales since the beginning, always altering them for their current needs. Now, they had cut another huge part off from history and surely, those who remembered would not be spared.

Temalas then continued with Falon'Din and Dirthamen and some curious story about a deer and ravens. It appeared that spirits were cut out of the tale as well. Solas had to keep himself from shaking his head when Temalas mentioned the great love the “brothers” were supposed to feel for each other.

Then came Andruil and Ghilan'nain and Solas almost smirked, wondering what Sylaise and June would say about the newcomers and toys being mentioned before them. He had to suffer through all the praise for Andruil's hunting skills and Ghilan'nains eagerness in ratting out misbehaving underlings before the story went to good old Sylaise and June and he had to sigh deeply at their so-called wisdom and cleverness.

Temalas however, was moved by the elf's reactions, thinking he never had such an excited listener before. And he competed with the da'lens at holidays. He was sorry when he had to tell him about the Dread Wolf.

Solas felt a cold shiver run down his spine when he heard the name. He stared at Temalas, who moved on to this point without pause. Tensely, he listened to the new tale of his greatest sins. They still called him a liar, a trickster. He almost cried again. This wasn't how this story should go.

His heart sank even more when he heard about “the forgotten ones.” Temalas hardly knew anything about them except that they brought malevolence to the world. That was all that remained of their legacy. And if Temalas knew more, he certainly wouldn't admit it.

Solas furrowed his brows when he heard that Fen'Harel locked both the forgotten ones and the creators in their separate realms, and thus they couldn't reach the world any longer. Temalas said the gods would return one day, but he didn't sound certain about it. But was he? And who branded them then?

“That was a lot to take in, right?”, Temalas joyfully ended, glad that his listener made it through all of it. “I have questions”, Solas promptly said. “When your creators are gone, who are your leaders now?” “Well, we still follow the old traditions, collect the wisdom of our ancestors and keep them safe for the following generations until the creators return.” Solas wondered how this was an answer to his question. “So they still guide you?” “We believe we are still connected to our creators though the vallaslin. Keeper Avishalan sometimes hears Sylaise whisper to her. Although we can never be certain what is our gods' will and what is the Dread Wolf's work. We must always be careful to not be deceived.”

Solas eyed him carefully. He really didn't seem to know who he was. “But who commands you? Your Keeper?” Temalas gave him a mysterious smile. “We don't have leaders like masters. Keeper Avishalan is more like an advisor. Most of our decisions are made by mutual consent. Nobody commands us.” Solas stared at the staff. “A...and you are...?” “I'm the Keepers first apprentice, next to Leaman who is the second apprentice. Believe it or not, I'll be a Keeper one day.” “And...what does a Keeper do?” “They keep our traditions, collect and share old wisdom, safe the clan from demons and protect it from the Dread Wolf”, Temalas listed happily. Solas felt even more uncomfortable now. He had been right to be cautious around this man. But still, he couldn't see the full picture.

“So...you and your people...You live here and provide for yourself?” And when Temalas nodded, he went on: “Who's branding your faces then?” “This is another of the Keeper's duties. Every elf who reaches adulthood is allowed to wear their own vallaslin. Each symbol honours a certain god. Mine is dedicated to Dirthamen.” “The god of knowledge and secrets”, Solas blurted out. “How fitting!” Temalas missed his sarcastic tone. “I see you're learning fast. I wonder what your choice would be?” Solas' expression froze. There it was. The catch. They would brand him, make him a slave. Make him obey the ominous whispers from the beyond.

“I didn't mean to scare you like that....”, Temalas backtracked at Solas' look. “Do...our gods scare you?” Solas backtracked as well. “It's just a lot to take in...As you said...” When the tension faded, his eyes grew heavy. Temalas noticed that the elf reached the end of his tether. “Right...If you like to rest now, it's fine...”

Solas pondered some more, with his eyes closed. Before Temalas could leave him alone, he asked: “Do you have more of that milk?” The First's wide smile confirmed.

Notes:

Ivun: “filled with life” lethal'lin: “blood kin”, “clan mate” Leaman: “glittering water”

[theroseempress]

Guys look it's a thing I wrooooote!

here is an excerpt tidbit for you;

'Nerium’s first thought was; Ah, that’s what the clicking was, and his second; this boy looks like someone took him out of a fairy-tale.

....

His third thought was less words and more a general feeling of mixed bemusement and curiosity.'

[teiranlavellan]

Guilt

From @love-in-nature:  “For @dadrunkwriting, trying to walk on ice pretty please, Solavellan if you'd be so kind <3″

Thank you for the prompt!! It got a little long, but it was definitely fun.  I’m also not 100% sure what Teiran and Solas look like as a couple (I’m not at that part yet in my own mind).  So thank you for giving me a chance to write them that way.   :) 

Teiran threw her coat on the snow-covered log behind her and placed the parcel of animal fat next to it.  The young Dalish elf quickly replaced her bow across her back and leaned her deer-hide quiver against her coat with anticipation.  She was nearly bouncing on her toes, making the snow crunch as it slid against her boats, as she extracted a single arrow and knelt down.  She unwrapped the small parcel and dipped both sides of the point of her arrow in the fatty substance.  As she stood upright, she eased the bow off her back with one hand, the movement practiced and fluid.

Notching the arrow, she scanned the forest around her: the dark, wet wood contrasted with the blank snow banks and blended where the snow mixed with earth.  Her eyes flicked between tree trunks, she had come to the edge of the frozen lake where there would be space between her targets, it would be bad if the branches of another tree were to come in contact with her arrow as it flew.  Teiran strode towards the line of trees, leaving about 75 yards between the archer and her self-appointed target.  The unoffending tree waited patiently for her attack as she looked around to reassure herself that she was alone.

Satisfied, Teiran stared at her palm as she held it aloft. An apple-sized flame burst into existence and hovered above the skin of her palm.  Teiran smiled affectionately at it before bringing it into contact with the tip of her arrow, igniting it.  The archer serenely smothered the conjured flame as she closed her hand and reached for the bow’s string.

Teiran took aim as she brought her right hand to rest along her jaw with the string digging into the pads of her fingers. Her left hand wrapped around the bow’s limb felt the heat from the animal fat burning as she moved it ever so slightly to the right.  Then she released her tenuous grip on the bowstring and was rewarded for her focus with the sight of the flame streaking through the air before lodging into the tree she had intended to strike.  The flame died on the damp wood.

Teiran skipped back over to her quiver and repeated her preparations, still looking carefully around before using magic and spending more time than necessary lighting the arrow.  Teiran ground her teeth as she felt her anger over the all-important “magic only when required” rule that governed her life surge through her body.  “It isn’t fair.” She thought fiercely as she engaged her bow, pulling it back until her hand met her unmarked face.  With a sullen huff, she hastily released her second flaming arrow, which missed the tree trunk completely and whistled out of sight.

“Great.  Just great.”  Teiran rolled her eyes as she dropped her bow on the ground and briskly stomped over to the tree line, following the arrow’s flight path to the lake beyond.  The elf scanned the icy expanse, easily locating her arrow about 30 yards from the bank where she stood.  Teiran glared at the arrow as she stretched out onto the frozen water, avoiding the thinner sheet that covered the shallow water near the edge.

She launched herself as far as she could onto the lake, letting her feet slide under her, completely focused on keeping her balance.  When she could direct her gaze somewhere besides her feet, Teiran realized she had slid farther to the left than she had intended, but was only a handful of yards from her goal.  Emboldened as only a young adult could be, Teiran began to walk on the ice.  Halfway through her second stride, she slipped, landing on her elbow and shoulder.

“Ah!” Teiran yelped.  The elf was curled into a ball on the frozen lake as she frantically conducted an internal inventory, “Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Owwwwww!”  The Dalish elf lay there panting in pain for a few minutes more before heaving herself onto her hands and knees.  The arrow stared back mockingly at her only a couple of feet away.  She growled at it as she crawled to it, the ice burning against her bare palms and soaking through her pants to chill her knees.

Teiran forced her frosted fingers to bend around the arrow as she heaved it out of the ice; apparently the fire had allowed it to lodge itself into the surface of the frozen water.  Triumphant, she laughed defiantly at the arrow and observed the small dent it had made in the lake.

“Teiran!  Mythal grant me strength, what are you doing out there?!”  Ivun’s agitated voice reached her from the tree line near the lake.

The adolescent ground her teeth as she muttered under her breath, “Dread Wolf take me, what is he doing here?”  Then she turned to face him as she sat up on her knees, sitting back on her ankles, “Getting my arrow.  What does it look like I’m doing?” she shouted back sarcastically.  Even from on the lake, she could see him frown at her as he crossed his arms and watched her with silent disapproval.  

Teiran slowly got to her feet and shuffled her way back to the edge, determined not to slip and gripping her arrow.  Pleased that she was nearing the shallower water without loosing her balance, she chanced a glance up at her older brother.  His reddish-blonde hair and tan complexion making him seem very out of place amongst the snow and dark green of the trees.  However, Teiran knew that his tan was in actuality very light for him, simply the result of being a hunter, spending hours in the reflective snow stalking prey in the winter light.  She stared belligerently at the Master of Clan Lavellan, “I’m fine by the way. You don’t have to check on me like I’m a child.  I know what I’m doing.”

Ivun stared impassively back at her, his Sylaisean vallaslin uncreased. Teiran sighed dramatically and turned to judging the distance between the ground and the solid water under her feet. She threw herself forward, but her jump lacked power due to the slippery surface she was launching from and she landed short.  Her boots were instantly soaked with glacial wetness as her feet broke through.  

Teiran flailed and began to fall backwards when a vice-like grip wrapped around her arm, sending her careening through the air in the opposite direction she had been falling.  Ivun dragged Teiran onto solid ground, a lecture on his lips,  “Now, look at you!  All this trouble for an arrow.  Why couldn’t you just let it go?  You have a whole quiver full!”

Teiran pulled out of his grip and spun, “So I got a little wet!  So what!” she bellowed as she replaced her hard-won arrow into her quiver and searched for her bow.  Her anger abated for a moment as she realized it was not on the ground where she had left it.  However her feelings rekindled when she discovered her bow carefully placed on her coat, no doubt Ivun’s doing.  Teiran began her march back to camp, pulling her coat, bow and quiver around her as she went.  The rash motion reminding her of her bruised shoulder as it pinched.

“You better hope your toes doesn’t freeze together before you can make it back!” Ivun called to her as she disappeared.

Teiran sighed as she dispersed the spirits who had taken to reenacting her memory. She sat with her arms around her knees in the Fade, guilt and embarrassment crushing her into a tight ball.

“Hi.” Teiran whispered softly into her knees without looking up at the tall elf standing beside her.

“We were all young once, Teiran.  I am certain he has forgiven you.”  Solas comforted as he sat next to her.

“I know.  I just made things so much harder for him than they had to be.”  Teiran sighed.

“He is not here to cause you pain.” Solas reasoned, uncertain of the underlying cause of her guilt.

Teiran laughed once bitterly, “No.  He’s here to take me back.  He wants me to be Keeper and be his sister.”

It was Solas’ turn to feel guilty as he experienced an irrational stab of discomfort at the idea.

Teiran gestured angrily into the empty swirls of green mist that was characteristic of the Fade, “And I’m going to have to disappoint him.  I’m going to be selfish and make things harder for him again.”

“You are not going to abandon your responsibilities here, Inquisitor.”  Solas stated objectively, both elves already knowing the truth of his assessment.

“Abandoning my responsibilities as his sister.  Solas, I’m all he has left now.  And I . . . I can’t.  I can’t force myself to do it.  Or even consider it seriously.”  She smiled grimly,  “But I know I should.” Teiran admitted sadly, but resolutely.

“You are the only one who can heal the Veil.  He will understand your decision.”  Solas replied, running his hand along her arm soothingly.  Although his guilt still pulled at him, he found he was relieved to actually hear her say that she was not returning to her Dalish clan.

“I know he will understand.”  She blew her breath out in a loud gush.  “And I am sure the guilt I will feel over his understanding will haunt me for many years.” Teiran grabbed his hand as it passed her elbow and brought it to her lips, kissing his knuckles lightly.

[haberoyun]

The Legend of Heroes: Trails of Cold Steel IV‘ün PS4 için Kuzey Amerika ve Avrupa’da 27 Ekim’de yayınlanacağı duyuruldu. Switch ve PC için çıkış tarihiyse 2021.

[carreportyjb]

여기 맛나네~ 일본 온 것 같음. 미사와 선술집 <IVUN>. 강추~!!!... ________°|°_____👀_______○_○______👀______^.^___________ #이자카야 #일본정통음식 #일본식 #일본가정식 #선술집 #IVUN # 슈크림 #일식맛집 #종로맛집 #carreport #car #차스타크램 #카스타그램 #셀스타그램 #selfie #ootd #일상 #소통 #공유 #맞팔 #환영 #l4l #happy #food #foodstagram

[pixelrhys]

All Connor and then BOOM, Ivun.

[yourdragonageocs]

Ah! Look at them all! And the screenshots look so professional! Great job!

Clan Lavellan, part 1. Leilani Soran Lavellan, Eolasen Lavellan, Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan, Telahn Lavellan, Ivun Lavellan, Ghilanna Soran Lavellan, Aenea Lavellan, Mitha Lavellan, Borean Lavellan, Halen Lavellan. @lyrium-lovesong, here are some of my OCs from clan Lavellan. Please, check my tag for more elves and info about them. DAO. Lady Leikny Aeducan (tag).

[rosella-writes]

RO RO RO RO today I come with a line from a poem: "of course you’ll / die but not yet, you’ll outlive / even my distortions of you" (Margaret Atwood) for Virelan x Solas (and maybe Tulin??? 🥺) Happy writing :D

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH OKAY oh dang for @dadrunkwriting

A host of characters here who may or may not decide to be canon. I didn't have space for Pan or Elnora or a few of the others I've dreamed up but here's entirely too many of the others. Rated G.

~~~

Tulin's memories of their early days became dimmer and dimmer as time trudged on. Their sky morphed from blue to iridescent shades he had only seen within the Crossroads, and soon he couldn't remember how plain the sunrises and sunsets had once been.

He also could barely remember that his mother had once had short black hair.

She wore it now in long white locs, tied back from her face, which was now creased from more smiles than frowns. She told him her father had once worn his hair the same way, and she'd hoped to have peace enough to grow it unbroken. She said Tulin looked like him.

His father's hair nearly matched hers — long and kept in a braid down his back, but still streaked with the odd strand of red in its swathes of white. He'd taken longer to wrinkle, too, but he bore crow's feet deeply imprinted in the corners of his eyes. The sun had not made him brown — instead, he was dark with freckles.

"I wish I could find the memories," he said once, braiding his own daughter's hair. "The old ones, when it was just Mamae and I."

Tulin's father smiled. "Skyhold has them, I know. I visit them often, to see what I could not then. Here, allow me." And he took the strands of hair from Tulin's fingers so Tulin could accept a plate of food from his husband's outstretched hands.

"Hahren," little Elera whined, wriggling closer to her grandfather, "you're pulling. Da doesn't pull."

"Ir abelas, da'len," Tulin's father apologised. He leaned close to kiss Elera on the top of her head, his thin fingers brushing the shells of her round ears, then quickly plaited her loose black curls.

Tulin almost didn't taste the soup or rice on their way down, so focused was he on the idea of finding these old memories of his. His husband pressed briefly to his side, showing his companionship and understanding even as he engaged Tulin's mother in conversation. Ivun and Virelan always had been fond of one another.

"We could go together," Tulin's father finally said. Elera sprang to her feet and ran off, screeching her glee with her braid streaming behind her, and Solas watched her go with a fond smile on his face. "As we used to."

"But what if they're not as I remember?"

Solas's eyes reflected the fire at the center of their camp when they met his. "Do you remember them now? Or do you search for them because you do not?"

Tulin sighed. "I have only distortions. I'm worried..."

He glanced towards his mother, who leaned slightly against Ivun's side as she laughed. She'd once seemed so invincible — now, in her brightly dyed clothes and bare feet, she was thin, bowing slightly under the weight of much time.

When he looked back at his father, Solas's eyes slid from Virelan to him again. The soft smile remained, but sadder now.

"And so do the memories distort," he said gently. "But that does not make them any less true. Seeing them may help you remember more of that truth, or you may only come away with a memory of that memory. Both are worthy. Both will live on, far longer than either of us."

Heat welled up in Tulin's eyes, despite his every effort to fight it back. He swallowed, gazing at his father through the shaky lens of his tears. "I don't want them to be all I have of you."

His father leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees and hands clasped before him, and stared into the fire. His braid swung forward over his shoulder. He did not speak for some time, and when he did, it was slowly, carefully.

"Such was the price I paid, when I chose to grow old with her. She did not wish to live forever, not as you could choose to." He glanced up at Tulin, brow furrowed. "Tell me, would you go on, living and living, and leave Ivun behind?"

Tulin looked at his husband — his laughing husband, his loving husband, his human husband — and shook his head. "I can't imagine it."

"A choice." Solas laughed then, and it was not unkind, or even very loud. "There is no choice but love, and to love is to allow the distortion of time. Now —" and he clapped his hands on his knees and rose to his feet, then extended one of those hands to help Tulin up — "shall we find those memories together?"

Tulin blinked, and felt his tears fall. Rather than trust his voice not to shake, he answered his father only by taking his hand.

[annyeonghao]

Thikin Ba Yu

1.

a toNeid flua Roun ma Rum bifoyu Keim 

exKyuz dames Meidi Yuzyuli Dazn Reini

Sathan Carifo Nia Machi La Kerizona 

Ma Az Don She Ti zba bo thei Po

2.

noAlon Lakyu Ajas Thouchu Wa ku la  Naft Kiki Gala

BichauSaka SouyuEn aIdaHo

sinShu thinKadon Lavyu Wajas ThouchuA kyu dasWa

ai KishuGala FailaJe’ la Dongi T fLai Thou am Lain Daewn

3. 2:05

Ye Sof Cors

Arimemba Hakla foge, Ha yu fil

Yunoyu Ma Firs Ta, A Nu Fil

Ivun Nevo Gilou Nalima So Nali,

Ma Spiri Kipl Lai

Wil Go Danes Ro tsele ts-m kn la Blaken Wai

[primordialsquid]

Ivun, paladin of Iona’s Sacrament 

Ivun is a commission for @the-angel-of-irony for a roll20 game that will be streaming on Twitch.

Ivun is a half-elf vengeance paladin serving a goddess of death called Iona, who guides souls to the afterlife and protects the body from undeath. Ivun has recently taken up his recently departed grandfather’s mission, a moment he had trained his whole life for.

The order of Iona’s sacrament is dedicated to upholding the proper rites of burial and smiting undead wherever they find them. Their motto is ‘Death, Balance, Life’ and their symbol is a black winged lantern on a gold coin. 

[teiranlavellan]

Extremely Random OC Questions

If you would like to do your own: Here

1. Would your OC ever accessorize with a cape?

Yes!  Teiran Lavellan loves capes, even the poncho-like ones.  Utility over fashion. . .Josephine, Leliana, Varric and Vivienne are often called upon to consult before Lavellan meets nobles and Skyhold guests.

2. If they were to encounter a bear, what would they do?

So, when traveling to the Hinterlands: Teiran likes to stick very close to Iron Bull, Cassandra and Blackwall.  Then from that relative safety cast spells at the offending bear.  Although, prior to that she would have tried very hard to avoid provoking it.  She dislikes killing anything.

3. Your OC has the chance to either grab pepper spray, a baseball bat, a knife or a shoe, which one would they grab?

Inquisitor Lavellan always has a knife concealed on her person.  She uses it when enemies get too close to the mage.  (this is prior to her Knight Enchanter skills).

4. It’s a sunny day outside, what is their reaction?

“Is it hot?”  Teiran asks, shading her eyes and judging the temperature.  If it is below 80 degrees she’ll venture out for fun, hiking to a waterfall to swim or ride her halla to see something she’s heard/read about or collect lilacs.

5. Have they ever swam with sharks before?

“Sharks?”  Teiran asks, puzzled.  She turns to Solas with the question.  The day is spent asking every companion if they have heard of sharks.  Josephine is prevailed upon to write letters to foreign scholars.

6. Oh no, your oc is hungry and no money, what do they do?

Time to take to the woods and hunt.  Teiran has this skill being Dalish, she just would prefer not to use it.  If Ivun is near, he would take care of her.

7. If they had the chance to kill someone without being caught, would they? If so, who would it be?

If she’s killing someone, it is because they are trying to kill her and she has failed to dissuade them from it.

8. What gif describes their life?

9. What would their username be on tumblr?

theinquisitor (she takes her role very seriously)

10. What is their 3rd favourite colour?

Brown.  Reminds her of trees, aravals, home.

11. Can they do the splits?

*Sera snickers behind her at the idea*  Teiran huffs, “No.  Probably not.”

12.  Do they know which way east is?

Yep.  Dalish skills born and bred to it.

13. Have they ever been kicked in the knee caps before?

No, she’s fairly good at dodging attacks.

14. If they had the chance to go in a hot air balloon, would they?

Teiran looks up at how high that would mean then back at the small basket attached to a balloon.  “I’ll pass thanks.”

15. Would they stop to look at pretty flowers?

*Cassandra, Teiran and Solas deep in conversation about their next move*

Teiran: “Yes, we should do that and--oh look at the pretty flowers!”

She walks over to the flowers and insists they look.  Conversation will resume shortly after they have appreciated the beauty.

16. They have acquired a lion, a peanut butter sandwich and a purple rock, what is their next move?

Teiran pets the lion with one hand and eats the peanut butter sandwhich with the other.  She studies the purple rock before handing it around to the group, each in turn expressing their opinions.  The purple rock seems non-magical and is given to Sera who seems to become fond of it and has stolen it from Blackwall’s hands.  Teiran then begins training the lion to heel, fetch, guard and attack.  She has gained a tasty sandwich and a companion.  The lion follows her around Skyhold and Thedas, terrorizing her enemies and protecting her allies beside her.

17. They see a magical wand, do they touch it?

Teiran would be all over that.  A wand?  Not a huge staff that I have to lug around Thedas, YES PLEASE!

18. If a skeleton talked to them, would they be scared?

Teiran looks around for Dorian, her necromancer, while replying, “That would depend entirely upon what the skeleton said.”

[teiranlavellan]

OC List:

Teiran Lavellan, Ivun Lavellan or Karissa Travisan

OC Questions

After seeing a lot of the same questions in OC asks, thought I’d write a few of my own lol. Send an emoji and and for which OC:

🩸 - Does your OC believe in blood being thicker than water? (meaning family relationships and loyalties are the most important)

✂️ - What kind of thing would have your OC cut someone out of their life? How likely are they to let someone back in?

🎭 - Does your OC show different sides of themselves to different people?

🩺 - Does your OC accept help easily? Are they willing to admit when they need help?

💡 - How does your OC enact plans? Do they plan down to the smallest details, or do the wing it?

🌋 - What’s your OCs temper like? Are they a slow boil, or an instant explosion?

⏰ - What is your OC like at timekeeping? Are they punctual, or always running late?

🎁 - What kind of gift-giver are they? Do they give thoughtful gifts? Expensive gifts? Practical gifts?

📎 - How organised is your OC? Do they keep on top of responsibilities, or leave things to the last minute?

🧸 - On a scale of 1 - 10, how ‘soft’ is your OC? 1 being the edgiest of edges and 10 being a literal teddy bear that cries at everything? (Bonus questions, where on the scale would your OC place themselves, and where would they like to be on the scale?)

💬 - Is your OC much of a talker? Do they only speak when spoken to? (Or not even then?) Do they ever talk over others?

🌅 - What is your OCs favourite time of day? Are they a morning person or a night owl?

🥦 - Does your OC eat healthily or live off junk food?

🍹 - Does your OC drink? If so, what’s their drink of choice?

🍺 - What kind of drunk are they? (e.g. talkative, sleepy, flirty etc.)

[teknodiot]

Diablo IV’ün Yeni Geliştirici Güncellemesi Yayınlandı https://teknodiot.com/diablo-ivun-yeni-gelistirici-guncellemesi-yayinlandi

[pixelrhys]

Goretober Day 6 - Horns

Not really gore, just one of my d&d characters. He’s a tiefling who claims to be french and comes from fantasy France but he’s a liar.