#also drinking darkspawn blood...nice

[readwritejayy]

Dinner Date

(Read on AO3 here)

“Darling, is something wrong?” Emmrich was gazing at her with that sweet, worried look. “You don’t have to drink the wine if you don’t wish.”

“No, no it isn’t that,” Rook said, waving her hand. “I just…I didn’t know this was a date.”

Words: 1,103

Notes: throwing my hat in the ring of “writing fanfic for something that isn’t even out yet”. yes i’m also smitten by the gentleman necromancer and his skeleton companion.

Yes, obviously she felt bad for misunderstanding his request. In Rook’s defense, Emmrich had asked if he could “steal her away” for a night when the team wasn’t running left and right dealing with world-ending problems. And given Emmrich’s propensity for speaking so “proper” (which was evidently rubbing off on her a bit), that could have meant any number of things!

No it couldn’t.

Unfortunately she realized that too late, which was why Rook was currently seated in the kitchen of the Lighthouse in a full suit of armor, while Emmrich was dressed in a handsome white button-up, vest, and trousers. His usual coat was missing, but Rook wasn’t about to complain about seeing more of his slender yet poised form.

When she walked into the kitchen, expecting a quick conversation or something to do with Manfred, she was startled to find the kitchen had been transformed. The lamps were dimmed, the counters were lined with candles meticulously lit and arranged, and the little table now had a vase with a single embrium flower.

Emmrich stood beside one of the chairs, wringing his gloved hands together. When she had started to explain her attire, Emmrich just wore that lovesick smile on his face.

“Yes, you do look every bit as magnificent as you do when you’re wielding that axe and cleaving through darkspawn,” he’d sighed.

So Rook took her seat (after Emmrich had pulled out her chair for her, of course). Manfred walked over from his place in the corner. He wore a bow tie around his bony neck. As he walked, the two wine bottles nestled in his pelvic bone clinked together.

He pulled the two bottles out and waved them enticingly, tilting his head.

“Yes Manfred, thank you,” Emmrich replied. “White wine for myself, and a red for the lady?”

Rook shrugged and gave an apologetic look. “I’m not much of a wine drinker myself.”

“Then you could give it a try tonight,” he suggested. While he spoke, Manfred filled the glass Emmrich held, then the glass in front of Rook. “A nice red is a great place to start, but you’re welcome to a sip from my glass as well.”

The conversation flowed as easily as it always did in Emmrich’s presence. She hardly noticed when Manfred brought out their dinners—a pasta dish Rook was certain she wouldn’t be able to pronounce but would probably sound delightful coming from Emmrich’s lips.

It was lovely. And Rook couldn’t help but feel like she’d somehow tricked Emmrich into thinking she was the kind of person that was “wined and dined”. Yes she’d made a mistake in showing up in full armor, but even if she hadn’t misunderstood, it wasn’t like she had anything fancier to wear. The alternative was the casual clothes she wore under her armor with blood and sweat stains that still didn’t come out.

“Darling, is something wrong?” Emmrich was gazing at her with that sweet, worried look. “You don’t have to drink the wine if you don’t wish.”

“No, no it isn’t that,” Rook said, waving her hand. “I just…I didn’t know this was a date.”

His brow raised. Emmrich set down his fork and wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin.

“My dear, I deeply apologize for the misunderstanding,” he explained. “I should have been more clear. You must think me a horrible cad. I can walk you back if you’d like to go…or perhaps you wouldn’t like that—“

“No I didn’t mean…that isn’t what I…” Rook sighed. She rubbed her face with her hands; everything she said always came out sounding boorish next to Emmrich. With a clumsy hand, she gestured to her attire. “I was trying to explain, that’s why I showed up in full armor. I mean, not that I have anything better.”

“Ah.” Emmrich visibly relaxed and resumed eating. “You hardly need to explain yourself to me. I certainly wasn’t going to complain.”

“But you went to all this work! You lit all these candles, you decorated, you made dinner—“

Bones rattled angrily in a dark corner of the kitchen.

“Ah, sorry,” Emmrich said, holding up a hand. “Manfred made the dinner. I ran out of time while I was lighting all the candles. And…I’m not the best cook, though it shames me to admit.”

A breath of laughter escaped her lips.

“You put in a lot of effort,” she continued. “And I haven’t had that before. And I showed up in the same rusty armor I wear for days at a time. And I don’t know how to show you that I’m entirely out of my element but I really appreciate all of this.”

Rook drew in a long breath after her ramble.

“And I like you. A lot.”

Emmrich’s face lit up, his expression rivaling his excitement when they stumbled onto the ruins of a catacomb weeks prior.

“I admit I’m happy to simply be graced with your company. Perhaps I also…quite enjoy the sight of you in that armor,” he said. “But if I could dare ask for more, I’d rather like to walk you to home.”

After dinner, he did just that; he took her hand on his arm and walked her the whole fifteen feet to the door of her room. They stood in front of the closed door silently for a few moments. Rook shuffled from foot to foot.

“You know, you could come in if you like,” she offered. Then she made a face. “I guess coffee is back in the kitchen…I don’t know, it seemed like the thing people say after a date.”

Emmrich chuckled. “I’m afraid I have to decline; it would be improper after a first date.”

“Even if a lady offers? You’re nothing if not a gentleman,” Rook replied, grinning. “Very well. Could I at least give you a kiss?”

Before he could reply, Rook leaned over and pressed a kiss to Emmrich’s cheek. His face visibly flushed.

From the doorway of the kitchen came the sound of bones knocking together as Manfred clapped happily.

“Manfred, please,” Emmrich groaned. He turned his focus back to Rook, taking her hand and kissing her bruised knuckles. “Good night, my dear.”

She watched Emmrich walk away, Manfred ambling on behind him. She still wasn’t sure how she’d caught the attention of the handsome necromancer, nor how she’d managed to hold his attention long enough to convince him she had something worthwhile to give in return. But if he still liked her after tonight, she certainly wouldn’t argue.

She’d just…double check next time he invited her to dinner.

[circetalia]

It's done! I played around and wrote my Grey warden! Illario fic! Or at least the beginning, when he became blighted and was conscripted.

You can read it here on Ao3!

You can also read it under the cut!

Words: 2k

Right of Conscription

The cell was damp and dingy–a stark contrast to the other buildings around and in Treviso that were normally adorned with vibrant decorations and warmth. The window provided a nice, clear view of the city, that is it would’ve if the city weren’t blighted. It instead showed the clear view of the blight spreading, the dark orange sky polluting the city, and the sick, wounded, and Crows’ fight against the darkspawn. Blight tendrils reached up towards the sky along many buildings in the distance, alongside the canals, and among the building the cell was nestled in, creeping inside via the windows, cracks and crevices.

The moans of the infected could be heard from all around, the guards showing no sympathy for them. Prisoners, as they were, weren’t allowed to even have a chance to fight the blight. Some of them were killed the moment the blight showed up in them, others were toyed with and left to suffer until they were either about to turn or turned.  The ones who lived long enough without catching the blight either chanced the water or outright didn’t drink at all. Death by dehydration was better than being blighted, after all. Less painful and faster than the blight most of the time.

Illario sat upon the poor cot the prison was supplied with, hands against his head. It was hard to think with all the cries around him, even if outside people seemed to be celebrating.

‘Celebrating?’ He thought. The blight was everywhere, in his city, and they were celebrating? That could only mean one thing: the Gods, everything, was dealt with. That they had all won. He slightly turned his head to glare out the window–to see what was going on. The cacophony of noise was only getting stronger, and with his situation it was only making his head ache worse.

People were dancing, laughing, and cheering out in the markets. He didn’t have a full view of it, but enough to see the slight celebration that was going on. His eyes wandered back down to the ground. If he had been successful in his plan, he wouldn’t be here. But then again, people wouldn’t be celebrating the way they were. Instead the city would’ve been overrun by Venatori, and Antaam most likely. It was only a guess if the Antaam would’ve been dealt with or not if he succeeded, but most likely the forces would’ve combined. Maybe Treviso would’ve become like Minrathous, or what he heard of it at least. Blocked off from the rest of Thedas, a testing ground for what the Gods’ plan was.

He sat there in his cell listening to the coughs and moans of the sick and infected. A stark contrast from the cheers and yells from outside. Death only awaited them inside. The coward that couldn’t even bring it quick and smoothly. He reminisced on the night he was brought there, what he had rambled off to Viago as they neared the cell.

‘Death would’ve been preferable,’ he said as the Fifth Talon dragged him along. ‘The blight’ll catch all of us anyways. Locking me up is more cruel than death in these conditions. He’s a coward.’ Viago just grunted in disgust as he dragged the wounded man along. 

‘Turns out the demon does have a heart.’ Illario remarked as he was thrown into the cell. He didn’t say much afterwards. There was no point.

The sound of the guard angrily yelling at another prisoner broke him free from his mind. Another one turning, another one dead. The sound of the blade was quick, the gurgles of the prisoner as they choked on their own blood disgusted him.

‘That’s going to happen to me, isn’t it?’ he thought. Death would’ve been a mercy to this. He didn’t even think the prisoner was blighted, just the guard was on a power trip and proving a point that he could do whatever he wanted if he so much as chose to. Illario just quietly sighed and leaned back against the wall. It was all he could do, sit there and stare at a wall or stare at the blight. It was pointless to fight back.

The guard made his way towards each cell, a singular piece of bread in one hand and water in the other. Almost every prisoner had given up, took it without question. But Illario? Something about the cheers outside flipped a switch in him.

When the guard came to his cell, he accepted the bread and refused the water.

“It’s water.” The guard sneered at him. “Drink up.”

“It’s blighted.” Illario remarked back. The guard didn’t move. Instead he smirked.

“If it’s blighted, you’ll turn. Then we can dispatch of you. But if it’s not, then it's the Makers’ will, no? Drink it, the blight will catch you anyways.” The guard thrusted the cup into Illario’s hand, turning on his heel and going towards the next cell. He didn’t think the guard was a pious man, however the statement proved Illario wrong otherwise. Either that or it was just a manipulation tactic. 

He looked down at the cup in his hand as he questioned what to do. On one hand, he could chance it and end up fine, beating the dehydration he had been fighting against for the past week. On the other hand, he would become blighted. A slow, painful death was what he had in mind for that, since the guard seemed to like to toy with everyone who was blighted recently. He looked back out the window–at the blighted sky– and sighed. If his cousin wasn’t going to give him the mercy of death, he might as well do so.

He could taste the blight in the water as he drank it, his face contorting in a sad disgust as he swallowed. He threw the bread slice out the window, knowing that it would only take a few days for the infection to start showing. Why eat when you’re already knocking at Deaths’ door?

───────────────

Days or weeks passed, Illario didn’t know. He stopped counting after a while, he wasn’t getting out anytime soon and it just made the time go longer. He had been suppressing coughs that wouldn’t stop coming, a sign that the blight had taken hold. The guards started avoiding his cell too, another clear sign he had become infected. And just like he thought, he wasn’t killed the moment it had started showing. He didn’t know what he looked like, how the blight had twisted him. Even the simplest of vanities was impossible to do in the cell. His hair had become a twisted mess, no longer in his updo he usually does, his clothes dirtied and tattered. The blight surely made him look ten times worse.

The celebrations died down and now people were out and about fighting the blight, but he had stopped paying attention. Instead he lay on his cot just staring up at the ceiling. In the time it took for the blight in the water to take hold, the blight had creeped into his cell–twisting and turning its way up the walls and across the ceiling. It was oddly beautiful, in a way. If only for the fact it was one of the only things he had seen growing in the past year. Like twisted, black vines, just without the leaves.

His eyes closed as another violent coughing fit came about, blood coming out of his mouth and onto his hand and splattering on the floor. The guard on duty glared in disgust at the sight, and got up to yell at him when the door to the prison opened. Illario didn’t see who came in, but he could tell from their voices it wasn’t the prison warden.

Instead, it was a female and male’s voice. They talked to the guard at the door for a while, yet he couldn’t hear what they were talking about. After what seemed like ages, the guard finally came up into the middle of the room.

“Alright, it’s your lucky day! The Grey Wardens have come to help fight the blight, and they’re willing to take any blighted prisoners with them.” His voice boomed as he gave the announcement. Illario’s head jerked up as he squinted out of his cell. It was just like the stories he heard growing up. Warden’s saving people who caught the blight, taking in anyone for a path of redemption. He slowly sat up as he clutched his side in pain.

He noticed there were two Wardens next to the guard. A tattooed dwarven woman and a scarred elf man. The elf was smiling and looking at the dwarven women as she spoke.

“The Warden’s take in anyone, prisoners or no. With the fall of Weisshaupt, the Wardens are stretched thin. While the Final Blight has passed and we won’t be needing as many Wardens as we had in the past, we still need to bring up our ranks. So we’re enabling our right to conscript,” the dwarven woman explained. “However, given the situation Treviso is in, we won’t be taking everyone in this prison. We’re taking only the blighted and infected ones, the people we can save.” As she finished, the elven man brought out a vile and a chalice. He poured the vial into the chalice–a thick, red liquid coming out. Illario had killed enough to know what it was: blood. He also knew the Grey Wardens kept a lot of secrets, and if having to drink blood was the way to join, then they were more cult-like then he had thought.

Two prisoners went before him, and he heard the slight thuds of their bodies hit the ground shortly after they had taken the chalice from the pair. He didn’t know what to expect. Maybe they were squeamish, or maybe the vial was a poison instead. When the pair reached him, they handed him the chalice the same as they did the previous prisoners.

“Drink this,” the dwarven woman said. “It’s the blood of darkspawn, plus a little of an Archedemons’ blood as well.”

“If you survive, you’ll accompany us once we have the rest partake in the ritual as well.” The elven man chimed in.

“If I survive?” Illario’s eyes widened. The elven man chuckled softly, trying to settle the mood.

“Ah, yes, well, the Joining can kill you. If you aren’t resistant enough. But it’s still a better death than succumbing to the blight, non?”

That’s what this was, a mercy killing. Two ways out, either way, but one offered a quicker death than the blight. He hesitated while grabbing the chalice, sighed and then took a sip. What followed was indescribable. The most searing headache, terrible nightmares and visions, and the want to claw one's own eyes out.

When he came back to from the visions, his head still pounding, the pair had two other prisoners’ next to them. The elven man noticed as Illario slowly got up, slightly swaying as he grabbed the wall for support.

“You survived!” He exclaimed as the guard unlocked Illario’s cell door. The elven man rushed in to help him gain his balance, leading him to the group.

“You’re officially a Warden now. Only three survived–including yourself–but that’s normal. Unfortunately. Not everyone is cut out for and can handle the ritual.” He pointed enthusiastically at the group as the dwarf cleared her throat. 

“I believe introductions are to be in order. My name is Evka Ivo, and this here is my husband, Antoine Ivo.”

He introduced himself to the pair. The other two prisoner’s mumbled their names, Illario didn’t pay attention. He wasn’t interested in making friends with them. But he recognized the Wardens after hearing their names. They were the ones who worked with the Veilguard and against the blight. He heard some of the Crows mention them, as well. If they were the ones conscripting him, then he might have an even better chance at redemption than he thought.

[floralprintsharks]

Prompt 33, bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go, for dragon age? ❤️

"Ah, I miss our dear Wynne and her impressive bo—"

"Don't. Say it."

Alistair has no capacity for Zevran's jokes right now. Every single muscle in his body is hurting and his blood is humming with the awareness of at least a dozen Darkspawn in the area close by.

Zevran's ability to make light of situations is something that Alistair might be able to admire if Zevran wasn't also bleeding out of various wounds.

Having Wynne here would make all of this so much easier and way less dangerous.

"It would do you good to think of something nice in a dark situation like this, my dear Alistair", Zevran says and doesn't bat an eye when Alistair goes to wash one of the deep cuts between his ribs. Zevran's pain tolerance is a frightening thing to behold.

The sweat on his forehead and his unusually pale skin tells a different story, of course.

He wishes he didn't drink his last healing potion an hour ago. While Zevran's pain tolerance might be very impressive, Alistair knows that he's the one who can take the heaviest hits. He should have taken the brunt of this.

"Yet again you're not following my advice. You look as if you're thinking of funerals and Mabari excrements", Zevran says and manages a smirk.

"I'll start thinking about nice things once you stop bleeding out", Alistair mumbles, pressing a bandage on one of the wounds and tying it as tightly as possible to stop the bleeding. Then he moves onto the next.

Three Darkspawn down the tunnel behind them.

He hopes Nerian is safe. Usually Alistair wouldn't mind if Morrigan's head got ripped off by an ogre, but maybe not while they're already in such dire circumstances.

"Is that worry I detect, my friend?"

For some reason Alistair wishes that Zevran wouldn't keep calling him that.

"I don't want Nerian to look at me with a disapproving frown when I let you die", Alistair lies, rummaging around in his pack to see if he has any elfroot left to disinfect some of the nastier cuts on Zevran's thigh.

Since they headed into the Deep Roads Alistair didn't exactly have time to examine his feelings for—well. Neither Nerian nor Zevran. Instead of taking some quiet time to contemplate his attraction towards not one but two men, Alistair is zoned into the constant humming of the Darkspawn blood flowing through his veins.

He could really use a good night of sleep under the stars without nightmares of the Archdemon.

"Ah yes. Your fellow Grey Warden has a fierce aura of disapproval about him whenever something displeases him. I can see how that would strike fear into your heart", Zevran says and watches Alistair's every move as he does his best to clean the wound with water and elfroot.

Alistair glances up at Zevran's pale, sweaty face and swallows.

"So. I noticed you—uh. Stopped. With the. With the flirting", Alistair finally says. This is absolutely the worst time to address this, but Alistair could do with a little distraction from the horrors and maybe Zevran feels the same.

Zevran chuckles weakly and Alistair is concerned about the way his eyelids droop.

"I am nothing if not respectful", Zevran says, making Alistair snort. "And since I noticed that you fancy our dear leader I have graciously decided to take a step back."

Five Darkspawn fifteen meters ahead.

The air smells like dust and blood.

"You don't have to", he finally mumbles, his ears burning with shame and the blood rushing into their tips.

There's a beat of silence while Alistair starts bandaging Zevran's hand. He's very aware of every callus and the way they're almost holding hands like this, with Alistair cradling the bleeding palm in one hand while cleaning the wound with the other one.

This is ridiculous. He has to concentrate.

For a breathless moment Alistair is scared that Zevran went unconscious, but when he glances up he registers that Zevran studies his face, his expression unusually serious and below all the strain there's a hint of curiosity that makes Alistair's cheeks burn and his heart hammer in his rib cage.

"Well, aren't you full of surprises", Zevran says with a lopsided smile. Alistair fumbles with the final bandage as he tries to sort the Darkspawn awareness from the rushing of blood he feels while he feels Zevran's eyes on him.

He only realizes too late that the bandage is already done and he's still holding on to Zevran's hand. Alistair takes a deep breath before hastily letting go and turning away from Zevran to grab his shield.

"Stay there", he orders and in one fluid motion beheads a Darkspawn turning the corner.

No one is going to die today. Not on his watch.

feel free to send me one of these <3

[xxnutcrusherxx]

OC tag game

Tagged by @dearest-and-nearest :)

I've decided to practice the lore of one of my few Dragon Age OCs. I made her in Inquisition here, but she just generally exists in the world. Part of my lame wish fulfilment to continue the story from Awakening. ヾ(•ω•`)o

General:

Name: Aderyn

Alias: Little Bird (by a darkspawn friend)

Gender: Female (was raised as a boy by her first clan cuz she was ambiguous-looking intersex. Her second family did not care, so she switched in her teens and ended up over-compensating with femininity a little).

Age: Early thirties

Spoken Language: Uh, whatever the regular language is, plus Welsh from her family. Welsh elves. Welves. She would love to learn dwarvish in the future also.

Sexual Orientation: Not picky but not normal

Occupation: Her clan's presumed leader-to-be initially, though that was due to favouritism from the leader rather than truly being second in command. Her roles were gardening, diplomacy with other races, midwifery, any other sort of assistance with what was needed.

Favourite:

Colours: Gold and turquoise

Entertainment/Pastime: Hawking! The clan's gyrfalcon is very attached to her. She enjoys fishing too. Tries to do arts n crafts, and though she's not very talented, she's patient and good at teaching.

Food: Carbs, cheese boards, and apple pie. She made herself quite sick after entering the outside world and over-indulging

Drink: Getting sloshed on some dumb elven booze presumably

Have They:

Passed university: Her education was based on her future leadership plus diplomacy, which became very useful later on despite her apathy towards it.

Had sex: Infrequent and somewhat painful kind-of sex with The Architect. Masturbation champion.

Had sex in public: Hey man, the darkspawn don't care. Well, they laugh, but.

Gotten tattoos?: The regular vallaslin - I gave her the one that looked the least shit (and that emphasised her Adam's apple), which is apparently that of the crafts and furniture god. Right on?

Gotten piercings: Not sure. She might get some later.

Gotten scarred: Her arm was dissected and then regrown by the taint after becoming a ghoul, so there's a clear warzone where her old skin stops and her new skin begins. The rest of her body shows slight signs of infection. Soon she might not be able to leave the underground.

Had a broken heart: From mourning a potential future.

Are They:

A cuddler: SO much. She was raised among a clan of people who slept in a big pile and thought of clothing as optional, so she becomes bereft without affection and physical contact. The darkspawn are a bit too pointy.

Scared easily: I feel like she sort of lives in a state of simmering anxiety, so actual fear might be nice stress relief for her.

Jealous easily: Not much. She'd be more confused than anything - she has never wanted for love.

Trustworthy: Not if she's not close to you, not about the bigger things. While she cares about other people in a detached sort of way, she doesn't have the energy to lead.

Family:

Siblings/Parents: She has no blood relations that I know of, but she refers to the leader of her clan as her uncle, and other members that she is close to as her cousins or siblings. Her original clan is best left forgotten.

Husband: She eventually wrests The Architect into a marriage with her, with her clan and his entourage as their somewhat awkward witnesses. It makes her happy even if the whole thing baffles him somewhat. There is no fighting between the elves and the darkspawn so she considers that a win.

Children: She'd always wanted to have children, but suspected she was unable to bear them. She would have been correct even if she had chosen a different partner. She ends up adopting a placid darkspawn newborn (who grows up in a month or so, but imprints on her thoroughly) and a dwarf child that was abandoned outside of Orzammar.

[teine-mallaichte]

3 or 17 for the Rook story time prompts?

Gone for 3 - "a time Rook got really drunk" because I thought that could be amusing.

So this is set just after Storm 'Rook' Hawke joins Varric and Harding on their search for Solas. So before Veilguard starts.

Rook story time prompts

Storm had never really thought of himself as the type to drink himself into oblivion, but here he was, his head spinning, his body heavy, and his mind... a swirling mess of nonsense.

It was supposed to be one drink. Just one, maybe two. The first had practically been shoved into his hand by Varric, the ones after that... Maybe they were in him.

Somewhere between Varric’s endless tales of his past escapades and Harding’s knowing looks, Storm had slipped too far. And now, the only thing keeping him upright seemed to be sheer stubbornness, and maybe a little too much pride to let his 'uncle' see him fail at holding his liquor.

The crowd had grown around their table, the inn buzzing with the warmth of shared drinks and laughter. A few adventurous souls had leaned in, eager to hear the next chapter of Varric’s stories. Storm tried to laugh along, but his mind kept flicking back to the small knot in his stomach, the one that tugged at him every time he thought about Aunt Bethany’s earlier disappointment. Sure, he’d disobeyed orders, but if he hadn’t, that village would’ve been overrun by darkspawn. He’d saved lives, and that should’ve mattered more than rules.

Not that the Wardens had seen it that way.

He sighed, dragging his attention back to the present. Varric was gesturing wildly, the small crowd around their table hanging on his every word. Storm tried to follow along, but the knot of guilt in his stomach tightened. He reached for his drink—wait, when did it get empty?

Varric had smoothed things over. Storm wasn't sure how. The dwarf just had a knack for that sort of thing. And now here Storm was, heading to Tevinter to track down an elven god.

Yeah... weird day.

Was he still a Warden? Could you leave the Wardens? No... Of course not. The taint was literally in his blood. But then, his dad had left the Wardens, hadn’t he? Storm’s thoughts were slipping, tangling into a mess.

Varric was still talking about dragons and a pit full of bones? Storm wasn’t really listening anymore. Nothing seemed important when you were drunk, but simultaneously, everything was important. Everything had weight. And yet everything was… kind of… hilarious.

He wasn't sure how he got from there, pretending to listen to Varrics stories, to here - trying to impress a random group of travelers by hurling tiny bursts of lightning into the air.

The spark, that was accidental—a wayward flicker of energy while he was talking that sent a table of mugs rattling. The second one? More controlled. More purposeful.

But the third and forth? Well the entire table was looking at him like he was about to set the place on fire. Not that Storm noticed. He was too busy grinning like he was the star of a show that no one was watching.

And that’s when Varric decided it was time to step in.

“All right, kid, time to call it a night before you fry someone’s eyebrows off,” He slid next to Storm, one hand resting casually on his back to steady him.

"I could fry eyebrows," Storm slurred, lifting his hand like he might summon more sparks, “But I won’t. ‘Cause I’m nice.”

“Of course you are,” Varric said, his tone dry, as he bit back a laugh. “But you’re also too tall for me to carry, so... bedtime.”

At that, Storm let out a laugh, swaying slightly before stumbling forward, nearly tripping over his own feet. “I was taller than you when I was twelve,” he declared, his grin wide.

Varric chuckled softly. “Yeah, I remember you pointing that out at the time,” he quipped, guiding the mage towards the stairs, ready to catch him if things went south. After all, the Hawke family had a history of attracting chaos.

But then, Storm paused mid-step and looked over his shoulder at Varric. “You’re wise,” he mumbled, almost tripping again but catching himself just in time. “Small. But wise... Like a nug!"

Varric froze for a moment, before breaking into a full laugh, his voice loud enough to draw a few curious glances. “A nug?” he said, barely able to contain himself. “Alright, kid, I see you inherited Blondies alcohol tolerance - not your mothers.” He gave Storm a gentle shove toward the stairs, guiding him along with more care now, "The Hawke 'lack of common sense' hasn't skipped you though."

“Hey,” Storm said, stumbling forward and catching himself on the bannister. “I have lots of sense. Common sense. That’s why I’m going to bed… eventually.”

“Now,” Varric corrected.

The mage waved a hand vaguely in front of him, grinning like a fool as he stumbled along. Mumbling about something nonsensical, Varric wasn't listening, too busy trying to manoeuver the kid up the staircase.

Eventually they reached the top of the stairs. “Time for bed,” Varric repeated, his tone a mix of affection and amusement. Gently guiding Storm toward his room, as the young Hawke tried to stumble off in the wrong direction.

“Alright, Rook,” Varric muttered as he managed to get the correct door open, “No more magic light shows. I’ve got enough of a headache keeping you out of trouble sober”

Storm grinned lazily as he stumbled into the room. “I wasn’t doin’ a light show,” he muttered, collapsing onto the bed with all the grace of a falling sack of potatoes.

The drawf sighed, shaking his head as he stood in the doorway, looking at the sprawled figure on the bed. Storm’s legs were still hanging off the side, his boots half on, half off. He gave a muffled groan, lifting one hand in a half-hearted wave. “Night, nug…”

Varric sighed, shutting the door behind him. “Hawkes,” he muttered to himself as he headed back downstairs. “Chaos. Every one of them.”

[moontheoretist]

I recreated my Warden from DAO in BG3. But now I noticed that I made a mistake and didn't remove "history" from her skills. As if lady luck was in my favor, she seems to be failing history rolls that would throw me out of the immersion that I'm playing someone who fakes being Faerunian xD I picked spells for her that are the most similar to DAO starting spells. It's hard to find the exact equivalents but I did it.

I chose a wizard because of the Circle and then at level 2 Necromancer because my Warden Amell is an entropy mage and Necromancy has the most spells related to siphoning life energy and stuff like that (also I wanted to try it). Now only to figure out Arcane Warrior / Battlemage.

I used some mods to give her nice and unique nighty night clothes.

Of course I had to dye them in the typical Grey Warden's colors.

I picked up Shadowheart and funnily we managed to enter the Crypt from the beach, so we went at the crypt first, robbed the sarcophagus, fought the skeletons etc. We just didn't tackle the full robbers party, because when I tried we died. So I accepted that killing 2 was enough and left the crypt and got a funny deception quote xD

"You have awoken me from my slumber - now I crave your blood!"

I faked being the big bad sleeping in the crypt and they run away xD

Then I recruited Lae'zel and Gale. We went to full rest and learned what the fuck is ceremorphosis. Then we went to sniff around the crashed Nautiloid. Astarion tried to kill me (very Zevran of him) and I headbutted him, because why not. I'm a Grey Warden Commander dammit, no elfy rogue will scare me (again). Then we recruited the guy, fought the goblins at the Grove. I used the first merchant as a fake reason why I could equip modded armor in the Warden's colors:

(This is a face of someone who hates being woken up at night).

I asked Astarion who the fuck he is, he said he is a mere Magistrate and then we had to long rest, because I wasted all my spells on goblins and bugbear to save that one Tiefling with the soul coin and look at that, Astarion went for the neck exposing himself right away, because his cutscene is connected to full rest and we had to full rest. If we only had a half-rest he would first go to hunt alone. But anyway, he wanted to drink my blood and I said "Are you mad?" because I play a person who has taint in their blood, so it's dangerous even for an undead to drink it. Who knows what could have happened!? Anyway, thanks to the fact that we have found several copies of the Curse of the Vampyr books in the crypt that contained basic information, we faked knowing what a vampire is, and as of now nobody suspects a thing. Safe!

Astarion went away unhappy none the wiser that he just dodged a possible "turning into a Darkspawn" bullet. Then in the morning we had a conversation where we acted as if being a vampire was totally fine, and I didn't just call him mad for wanting to drink my blood.

I was looking out for you, you will thank me someday.

BTW apparently I can't change +5 to history, because it's fixed:

Edit: There is a Battlemage mod in the mod manager! Yippe!

[castor-redd]

(Plunking away at the Rook Codex prompts to shake off the writing rust. Hope the formatting sticks; my text editor doesn't play nice with Tumblr, it seems...)

Rook Codex #15: The Wetlands Checklist

A large sheet of paper has been taped to the bookshelf in the Lighthouse’s library. Rook’s cursive adorns it in large, looping letters, many of which have been drawn over for emphasis. And underlined. And underlined some more.

Team, The Hossberg Wetlands is a miserable place. It makes Dock Town look like the Cantori Diamond (sorry Neve). It’s cold — enough for snow, but not enough to freeze the fetid swamp water, so your boots will always be soggy and half-frozen. The mud reeks, and clings to everything; you’ll be washing it off yourself for weeks to come. And the blight… There is not an inch of the wetlands that has not been tainted. If I could order you all to stay at the Lighthouse while Davrin and I trekked out there, I would. But I know none of you would listen to me on that. So instead, I order you all to please just follow this packing list. - Clean water. DO NOT DRINK THE WATER IN THE WETLANDS. DO NOT CLEAN YOUR WOUNDS WITH IT. DO NOT MAKE FOOD OR POTIONS OR POULTICES WITH IT. Assume it’s all blighted.* (scribbled underneath, in small, cramped letters is an addendum: You can bring whatever non-alcoholic drink you wish. But bring water too!) - Rations. DO NOT EAT FOOD FROM THE WETLANDS. Assume it’s all blighted.* - Warming balms. I’ve stocked a bunch in the infirmary. You can’t count on fire in the wetlands. - Flint and steel. Yes I know I just said you can’t count on fire in the wetlands, but better to be prepared in case you can. And no, you can’t swap this out for a tinderbox, because your tinderbox is going to be too soggy to do anything. - Oil, for helping to light fires. - Scraps of cloth to tie around your mouth and nose; there will be plenty of Darkspawn, and plenty of Darkspawn blood flying around. Cover your face as much as possible. If blood gets on the cloth, burn it and replace it before the next fight. - Long sleeves, pants, gloves or mittens, scarves, hats, coats, etc. — keep your skin as covered as possible. Both to ward against the cold, and against the blight. - Extra clothing, for when you inevitably fall in the swamp. - At least one extra pair of boots. The more waterproof, the better. As many socks as you can fit in your pack. You will get frostbite if you walk around with frozen, wet feet. * I know at least one of you (Taash) will point out that the people in Lavendel are drinking the water and eating the food, and not dropping dead from the blight. And that’s true — they’re not dropping dead. Yet. Don’t take any chances, I beg of you. BRING ONLY WHAT YOU NEED. Emmrich, that means no books; Lucanis, that means no coffee. Etc. etc. Space for that sort of stuff is better dedicated to what you need, like food and water (no, coffee doesn’t count!) and extra clothing. (Also Emmrich, I’ll be honest, if you fall in the swamp with all your books strapped to your back, I’m pretty sure you’ll drown before we can pull you out.)

(Another paper has been tacked to the end, letters scrawled in a hasty hand, but still bearing the signature grace of Rook’s penmanship.)

Fine, you can bring coffee or tea or hot chocolate or whatever. Just bring water too.

A collection of smaller papers have been stuck to the larger one, forming a chain of responses penned by different hands.

Good list, Rook. Right out of the Warden training manual. —Davrin There’s a Grey Warden training manual? Would either of you happen to have a copy I could borrow, or better yet, add to my library? Literature on the Grey Wardens is so scarce. —Emmrich Figure of speech, Emmrich. Though, there are some manuals, but they’re chained to tables at the Weisshaupt library. A secret order has to keep its secrets, and all that. —Rook A shame, but understandable. —Emmrich

Makes Dock Town look like the Diamond? Well, now I have to see it. —Neve Do you, though? Do you really? —Rook

I bet I could fish Emmrich out. I’m strong. —Taash Could you stave off the hypothermia and frostbite that would follow? What about the blight? Every body of water in the wetlands is tainted — even if you can’t see it, the blight is always there, lurking below the surface. —Rook That’s your job. I just said I could fish him out. —Taash Fret not Rook, my books will remain here. I wouldn’t want to run the risk of damaging them with the damp anyway. —Emmrich

What if I make the coffee beforehand, and put it in my water skin? —Lucanis You have a problem. …But fine. Just leave the beans and the whatever-press at the Lighthouse, please. —Rook Lucanis, can you make coffee for me too? Since you’ve banned me from making it myself and all. —Neve Orlesian press, Rook. And certainly, Neve. Perhaps we could make an exception this once, and you could brew a few cups too — I’m sure that concoction would be an effective weapon against the Darkspawn. —Lucanis Please, no. —Rook If Lucanis can bring coffee, can I bring hot chocolate? I’ll make it beforehand too. I bet having something warm to drink out there would be really nice! —Lace Can I have some too? —Taash Of course! —Lace Oh, I can make tea! I know Emmrich would want some. Would anyone else? —Bellara I would like some, thank you. —Davrin If we could all take this just a little more seriously, that would be great. Thanks. —Rook What if I make the coffee beforehand, and put it in my water skin? —Lucanis You have a problem. …But fine. Just leave the beans and the whatever-press at the Lighthouse, please. —Rook Lucanis, can you make coffee for me too? Since you’ve banned me from making it myself and all. —Neve Orlesian press, Rook. And certainly, Neve. Perhaps we could make an exception this once, and you could brew a few cups too — I’m sure that concoction would be an effective weapon against the Darkspawn. —Lucanis Please, no. —Rook If Lucanis can bring coffee, can I bring hot chocolate? I’ll make it beforehand too. I bet having something warm to drink out there would be really nice! —Lace Can I have some too? —Taash Of course! —Lace Oh, I can make tea! I know Emmrich would want some. Would anyone else? —Bellara I would like some, thank you. —Davrin If we could all take this just a little more seriously, that would be great. Thanks. —Rook

One lone note — with fresher ink and brighter parchment — has been tacked atop the rest.

Holy shit. The Anderfels suck. —Taash

[annoyed-galaxy]

Fictober 2024 ~ 10

"is this normal?"

Fanfiction - DAO:A I've been thinking a lot about Awakening Anders and how he and my Warden would have been really close friends as both of them are mages from the Circle of Fereldan. Despite being the Hero of Fereldan, Feril's mage status appears to be erased in most of the tales about her and some people still hate her because she's a mage. So I feel like the two of them would bond a lot on mage freedom and all that. So I just wanted to write something about the first interactions Feril and Anders might have had when he was recruited. I like to headcanon that she taught him what she knows as a spirit healer since that was her other specialization in the game. Can also be found on Ao3

Being a Grey Warden was freeing in its own way. He no longer had to worry about the templars and he was free to use his magic whenever. The only thing he didn’t like was the Deep Road part of it all. 

Anders traveled in the middle of their group, looking at the impressive dwarven architecture all around them. He had to admit, the dwarves were pretty talented, being able to do all this without magic. 

Leading the group was Warden-Commander Feril Surana, the legendary Hero of Fereldan and former Circle mage. She inspired Anders so much. She was a legend and she was a mage. Although Feril claimed to not like using her magic, she always did in combat, using magic to make her stronger and faster. Not to mention how powerful her healing was. 

Feril was both arcane warrior and spirit healer and her skills were mythical. Watching Feril fight in battle had truly been an amazing experience. It was no wonder how she was able to defeat the Archdemon and stop the Fifth Blight. He was honored to serve under her. Not to mention she did literally save him from the templars by Conscripting him. It might have also helped that she and the King of Fereldan, Alistair Theirin, were a couple, so of course King Alistair allowed her free reign to conscript whoever she wanted. 

That had been almost two weeks ago when Anders had taken his Joining. A green Grey Warden and now he was experiencing all that being a Warden had to offer. 

By his sides were Nathaniel Howe, the son of a disgraced arl that Feril had killed during the reign of Loghain, and Oghren, drunken dwarf who had traveled with Feril before. It was an odd merry band of people who followed the tiniest elf Anders had ever seen, but Anders enjoyed it. It was nice to be able to walk freely without worrying the templars were going to find him any second. Being a Grey Warden meant immunity and Maker, did he love it. 

Suddenly, Feril raised a hand, motioning for them to stop as her pointed ears flicked about. That’s when Anders felt it in his bones: a chilling whisper that traveled up his spine. He shuddered. 

“What was that?” Nathaniel asked, also shuddering. 

“Darkspawn,” Feril replied, her accent heavy and thick on the word. 

Anders felt something poking his mind and he gave in to it. He could feel…things nearby. It was like he was part of them, knowing their location and how many. Was this why they had to drink darkspawn blood? To be able to know where the creatures were? 

“Well let’s get to kicking some ass!” Oghren roared, taking out his war axe. 

Feril shook her head. “There’s too many for the four of us we—“ A loud roar cut Feril off and a moment later came the crashing sound of a wall collapsing. Or rather, the wall was busted as an ogre charged through it. Anders’s blood went cold as he saw the mighty beast. He fumbled with his staff and gulped hard. 

“Maker’s breath! What is that thing?!” Nathaniel cried out. 

Oghren let out a maniac laugh. “An ogre!” Then the dwarf started charging towards the large beast. 

“Oghren, wait you bastard!” Feril called out, but the dwarf ignored her. She groaned and unsheathed her sword and dagger. She looked back at Nathaniel. “Give us some support,” she pointed to the ogre. She looked towards Anders. “You, focus on the little ones.” She pointed towards the hurlocks and genlocks that were now flooding in after the ogre and into the corridor. “Use big group spells and wipe them out.” 

Nathaniel and Anders nodded, thankful to be ranged so that they could stay behind. Feril crossed her blades together and whispered an incantation and slashed them across one another, igniting the blades with flame. Then she put a hand on her chest and a dim corona formed around her. She sped off into the fray with inhuman speed. 

Anders and Nathaniel followed their orders, firing arrows and flinging fireballs into the growing horde of darkspawn. Anders felt another piercing chill down his spine as he sensed a darkspawn getting closer to him and Nathaniel. It was on the other side of the wall. 

“Look out!” he warned Nathaniel, just as soon as the wall exploded with another ogre charging through. Nathaniel jumped out of the way, dodging the falling debris barely. Anders, unfortunately, was not so swift. A large piece of rock collided into his chest knocking him down.

His vision blurred and he saw the ogre roar, spit flinging off of its teeth. Then it looked down at him with beady eyes filled with nothing but hate and rage. Anders tried to scramble to his feet, but the dull pain in his chest was too much. He cried out as the ogre’s meaty hand wrapped around him and pulled him. 

“Anders!” Nathaniel screamed, spinning around and launching some arrows into the ogre. The beast seemed unfazed and began to squeeze. Panic soared throughout Anders’s body and he tried kicking and punching the hand slowly squeezing him to death. Tears filled his eyes. Was this really how his short life of freedom was going to end?

He felt his bones begin to snap and he screamed an ear piercing scream that echoed off the walls of the Deep Roads. 

This was the end.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Feril felt the singe of her magic light up inside her as she hastened herself, throwing herself into the gray. Her flaming blades showered embers across the battlefield as she cut through the darkspawn on her way to Oghren and the battling ogre. The dwarf was handling his own quite well, hacking at the ogre’s heels, but Oghren was too confident. Ogres could sometimes be unpredictable. Feril knew this well. They were large and cumbersome, but they could also be quick and sneaky when you least expected it. 

There blood and gore all over her as she carved her path. Her magic barrier surrounding her dulled any small cuts and scrapes that managed to land on her. Arrows bounced off the magical ward. And even for the weapons that managed to make it through, they were stopped by her armor and the owner of said weapon quickly decapitated. 

She finally made it to the ogre, not hesitating for a moment. She ran and willed the air around her to gather. Oghren let out another battle roar upon her approach and braced himself for this. They had done this multiple times before, a very useful tactic. Feril jumped, landing with one foot on Oghren’s shoulder and then pushing with both her leg and magic into the air. Oghren also shrugged his shoulder up, giving her an extra boost. 

She flew across the air, wind soaring through her hair until she landed on the ogre’s back. She caught herself with her sword embedded in its flesh. It roared and tried to swat her off, but she was too small for its arms to reach back and grab her. She willed fire into her blade, burning the ogre’s flesh before pulling it out and using the force to launch herself up. Despite wearing heavy armor, Feril’s magic allowed the bulky set to not weigh anything one her allowing her to move nimbly like any other elven rogue would. 

She had the might of a warrior, agility of a rogue, and the magic of mages. 

She was an unstoppable force, worthy of her title as the Hero of Fereldan. 

She swung her blade around the ogre’s neck and with her own roar, forced the blade deep into its throat. Her eyes lit with flame as she willed another burst of fire into her blade, making it burn and burn until the fire escaped the ogre’s eyes and mouth, searing its insides and causing it to fall. Feril pulled her blade out and backflipped off the ogre’s face and landed gracefully on the ground just as the great beast fell back with a loud thud! 

She swung back around and dealt with the remaining darkspawn. Her blood ran cold when she heard another loud crash and looked up to see that another ogre had crashed into the corridor behind them. She heard the faint scream of Nathaniel saying something, but then she saw the ogre reach down and grab someone. 

The scream that spilled from Anders’s mouth pierced Feril’s ears as she watched the ogre squeeze him. 

King Cailan’s body flashed in her eyes, the royal majesty snapped in half by an ogre during the battle at Ostagar. 

Fury filled her and the wind around her picked up. She ignored the rest of the darkspawn, knowing Oghren could handle these grunts, as she flew past them all, riding the speed of the wind she commanded. In a flash, Feril used her magic to burst her once more and then angled her blades. She spun like a saw and sliced through the ogre’s hand that had grabbed Anders. The mage and severed hand fell to the ground and neither moved. 

Feril went blind with fury, snarling at the ogre as she launched herself at its face. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Anders’s eyes fluttered open and suddenly his body was bursting with pain. However, the pain was slowly receding as a coolness filled his insides. He was resting against someone’s legs and as his vision slowly recovered, the white blur that he saw in front of him cleared into the whitening hair of Feril. 

Her face was covered with blood, but her elven eyes were so soft and calm. There was a gentle blue hue cast on her face from the spell she was casting that shone in her eyes. She was so beautiful his heart ached. 

Then he saw where her hands were and noticed they were on his chest and the source of the coolness in his body was coming from there. He could feel his insides shifting, bone snapping back together, internal bleeding sealed up. Even the soreness around his sides and front and back started to ease away with the soothing cold. 

“Is this…normal?” he managed to wheeze out, his voice barely audible. 

Feril looked up at him and smiled the most gorgeous smile he had ever seen. “For Grey Wardens? Yeah.” Her ears flicked up to emphasize her smile. 

He allowed his head to fall back and then realized the person who’s lap he was laying against. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Nathaniel asked, holding Anders’s head up a little. 

Feril nodded. “If it were anyone else but me healing him, then no. I’ve had a lot of practice healing in my journeys and I’ve seen worse than this.” 

Anders let out a laugh, but it sounded like a simple release of air. “I didn’t know you were so powerful with healing.” 

Feril shrugged. “I don’t use that much magic when fighting, preferring to use it to compliment my swordplay. So I have lots of reserves left for stuff like this. Or even during battle. Since you went through a severe injury, it had to wait until after the fight.” 

Anders looked around and saw all the corpses lying on the ground. “Did we win?”

“No, we actually lost and are in the afterlife,” Feril snarked, but with a humorous glint to her eyes. She finished her healing and pulled her hands away, the blue glow on her face dissipating. “You guys did well for newbies,” she said to Nathaniel and Anders as she stood up. She offered her hand and Anders took it. Her hand was still cold from the soothing healing spell she had cast. 

Nathaniel stood up behind Anders and smiled. “Other than the giant ogre almost killing Anders, I think I agree with that statement!” 

Anders smiled down at Feril. “Thank you for saving my life,” he said giving a slight bow of his head. 

Feril waved it off. “What kind of Commander would I be if I let my companions die on my watch? Besides, you’re a friend Anders. We mages gotta look out for each other,” she said as she nudged his arm. She turned to the rest of the group, clapping her hands. “Alright, let’s head out of here. Time to eat some grub and get some nice sleep.” 

The men nodded and followed the elf. Oghren stumbled behind, the fury of battle slowly fading away and his drunken stupor returning. 

Maybe being a Grey Warden wasn’t so bad after all. At least not with Feril Surana leading. 

[honestlyitsjustsam]

G5# vibes from you dude

Kaksksksksk tbh i do be sitting at the back to daydream about Jacob 😔

[thessalian]

Molly!Warden vs The Basement

Nathaniel: All right, fine, I am now a Warden. What would you have of me?

Molly!Warden: Really, a tour of the basement.

Nathaniel: ...wut.

Molly!Warden: Apparently the darkspawn came out of your basement. So we need to go have a look. I mean, that’s an infestation we could probably do without.

Nathaniel: It’s not as if we could get a cat to solve the problem...

Ser Pounce-a-Lot: Meow!

Anders: ...want!

Nathaniel: What did I just say?

Molly!Warden: You said we couldn’t get a cat specifically to chase darkspawn. You never said we couldn’t just get a cat in general.

Nathaniel: So this ... learning to cope. When does that kick in, exactly?

Molly!Warden: If I remember right, sometime around your first ogre kill.

Nathaniel: ...fuck.

(Later...)

Molly!Warden: So what’s down here, anyway?

Nathaniel: Some cells, some storage rooms, an old Avvar tomb--

Molly!Warden: You have an ancient tomb in your basement?

Nathaniel: We never throw anything away?

Molly!Warden: Well, I guess “waste not, want not” is a thing...

(In the basement...)

Nathaniel: So why were those people attacking us?

Molly!Warden: Dude, where were you during the Blight? You get exposed to darkspawn blood to any degree, you ... I mean, okay, you die eventually, but some of them don’t die right away and they get kinda strong and super-murdery.

Nathaniel: And this Joining makes us immune?

Molly!Warden: Oh. Sod. Um. Okay, warning I wish I’d had before I was like six months in. What you drank was darkspawn blood.

Anders, Nathaniel: ...WUT.

Oghren: Not surprised, somehow.

Molly!Warden: But it’s not just darkspawn blood! There’s some magic shit ... lyrium... alittlebitofarchdemonblood...

Anders, Nathaniel: WUT.

Oghren: Is that why it was so spicy?

Molly!Warden: Probably now shut up. So, that all gives you the stuff like being able to sense darkspawn and not dying all crazy and super-murdery straight away. Except ... that starts kind of wearing off in about thirty years and then you kind of have to go down to the Deep Roads to do your last act of service by killing as many darkspawn as possible and going down fighting instead of dying all raving and insane.

Anders: So ‘freedom’ comes with a deadline. Emphasis on ‘dead’.

Molly!Warden: It always does. And no, we couldn’t tell you before you drank it for the same reason we couldn’t tell you it could have killed you to drink it in the first place - because Big Deep Warden Secret, and I’d have had to kill you and I’d really rather not do that! It was hard enough watching Duncan kill Jory!

Nathaniel: So my grandfather probably went that way. The ... dying to the Joining, I mean.

Molly!Warden: Sorry. Happens to the good ones sometimes. Daveth was my kind of person and I miss him even now. And Mhairi was nice, if a little too easily scandalised. Anyway ... want a new bow?

Nathaniel: Well ... old bow. My grandfather’s.

Molly!Warden: Okay, why were you guys storing your grandfather’s bow in an ancient Avvar crypt, which you just happen to have in your basement and is also coincidentally full of undead? I mean, I get keeping weapons out of reach of children but that’s a bit excessive!

Nathaniel: As I believe we have established, my father was a freak.

Oghren: Did we tell you how close his bedroom was to the dungeons?

Nathaniel: No one ever wants to think about their parents getting intimate, Oghren.

Anders, Oghren, Molly!Warden: *staaaaaaaaaaare*

(Later:)

Molly!Warden: (writing) “Dear Alistair - thanks again for the Keep, and the town, and the lands. Just a few issues. Like, on top of the old Avvar crypt that spits undead at us every so often, there’s a massive path to the Deep Roads in the basement, which is where we’re getting our infestation of darkspawn. So I’m waiting for them to clear rubble so I can go murder some things and find a better way to seal that shit off. Also, you remember that thing during the Blight where everyone was wanting us to do them favours? Well, that. Again. Some more. So I did that. Left me with a fair bit of gold, and some grateful nobility ... which is good, because some woman came to me at this shindig we were having - yeah, I was at another shindig, you can stop laughing now - and told me that someone wanted to assassinate me. Which ... y’know, I admit I started laughing at that too; many have tried and they were all better than these overbred fuck-knuckles. Now I have to make big decisions for a whole bunch of people and it was easier doing that at bladepoint. But I guess that’s still on the table. Now I have to go into town to dig up a bunch of information about a missing Warden and some hole in the ground that might be spitting darkspawn and some mess about trade routes and any other mess the populace wants to fling at me. Wish you were here - and not only because we lost Mhairi and Oghren still refuses to use a damn shield. Oh, and apparently I might be able to get some information about the would-be assassins (no, not Nathaniel) from - wait for it - the Dark Wolf. Yeah, I know, I was confused too. I’ll let you know how that went when I next find time to write. Which, y’know, I should probably try to do regularly because with talking darkspawn and a casteless dwarf hobnobbing with human nobility, things are taking a turn for the weird and probably wouldn’t do to worry you. I’m new to this 'princess consort’ thing but I bet there’s something in the handbook about that. Love and other indoor sports, Molly.”

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Reading Lessons

for @14daysdalovers, Fenris x Female Hawke, “blushing.” Rated T.

He wants something else to read. There’s only so much Brother Genitivi one can take before the diatribes gets rather dull. She can’t blame him and was about to suggest an adventure volume or something else equally inconspicuous, perhaps Hard in Hightown. However, he strolls to the bookshelves of his own accord and finds it. That. 

“What’s this?” he asks, the large volume in his ungloved hands

“Uh, nothing.”

He narrows his eyes, her tone indicating otherwise as he thumbs through the well-worn pages. “The Highlander? What’s a Highlander?” 

He sits across from her, the book still in his hand. Not too long ago Hawke stuck red papers in the book to note her favorite parts so she wouldn’t have to search for them. She praises his ability to decipher the title, but she doesn’t answer his question.

“What is it Hawke?” he asks again. 

She answers. “A Fereldan Highlander. You know, someone who lives in the highlands....”

“Why are there so many markers in this book?” 

He thumbs through it and she rises, snatching the book from his hands and pressing it close to her chest. “Hawke?” he asks. “Why are you blushing?” 

She turns away from him. “I’m not blushing!”

“Yes you are.” 

Despite their similar heights she can feel him loom over her. “It’s...just a book I like a lot,” she says,  glancing at the familiar cover. The author’s name, J. Lockhart is in gold print--bless them wherever they are. The illustration on it too is also a homey sight, one of a man clad in furs with his ginger hair long and sweeping as he holds a woman in a red dress. Arthur’s furs and Helena’s dress always ended up on their dining room table or in some nook in their home in Lothering, though Hawke couldn’t take it with her as the darkspawn swept through the town. In fact, when she finally had a bit of money from Athenril that didn’t go toward her debt, she indulged in a new copy, the one she had with her, the one she read late at night while ignoring Gamlen snoring in the other room. The one Fenris found.

He comes to face her as she presses the book closer to her chest. "Well,” he says with a hint of a smile. “Nothing makes you blush easily.”

She knows a few things that do. “Well...”

“It’s alright. We all have our vices.”

She will not call this a vice. Smut, she says, is a valid form of art. It is not a vice.

“Romance then,” Fenris says. ‘Fine. Not a vice.”

She peers at him, blinking. A smile is still plastered on his face. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t a vice.” 

“It’s not. But Varric doesn’t like these books. Says they’re too much focus on the romance rather than--”

“There’s more? Well I suppose we should get started....”

They’ve made it this far, so they sit on the love seat and he opens the book to read. However, he doesn’t start from the beginning, much to Hawke’s chagrin. It’s really quite endearing how Helena meets Arthur Dayne the Highlander, but Fenris has decided to skip ahead to the first marker in the book. 

“He captured her lips in his...”he reads, brows furrowed in concentration. “...and Helena’s body...”

“Alighted,” Rhine says when he gets stuck. “It means come alive.”

“You didn’t even have to look. Do you have this memorized?” 

“No,” she lies, though her blushing tells a different tale, she’s sure. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Believe what you like. Read on.” 

“Perhaps we could skip ahead to something different--”

“Fenris....”

“I mean...perhaps it’ll give us some ideas.”

Her mouth drops. Once before did she mention it, them in his mansion, after he mentioned it first. You and I don’t always agree, but... He didn’t continue and yet she knew what laced in that but. She was careful not to press the matter, careful to let him come to her. 

And now...

“Perhaps we could read on.” she says, thinking maybe Arthur will give him ideas. “Page 200. That’s their first time.” 

“First time for what?” 

"Is that a serious question?” 

“No.”

The book hides his smile. He begins well enough, but then he doesn’t continue and she can’t tell if he’s stumbled on a word or if he’s reading silently. She’s afraid she’ll have to pronounce growing erection for him when his eyes widen. Closing the book, he looks at her with a dull surprise.

She can guess why, covering her reddening cheeks. “Well?” 

“Well...”

He’s going to say it’s terrible and awful and make fun of her. Instead, he surprises her by saying, “you surprise me.” 

Noe. That is curious. “How?”

“You don’t seem the type to fawn over things like this sort of thing. Romance, you know. Or...” He picks up the book again, reading from it. “Eyes that glimmer with hope and love, for she loves him and he loves her...”

Inwardly, she swoons. He said that, in his voice like leather and honey. “A certain type has to like romances?” she asks, hoping she hides her ogling.

“Well, no,” he says, “but you called the Knight Captain a ‘sack of metal in a skirt,’ and you certainly drink a lot at the Hanged Man--”

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“You’re carrying on an act.” 

She sighs. She’s more than capable of knowing her own faults. She doesn’t need him to bring them up. “I’m supposed to be helping you tonight, Fenris,” she says. 

“You are. I’ve learned more about you tonight than I have in a while.” He stretches, and she notices how his leg is touching hers. “I like to learn about you. Did you know your nose gets red too when you blush? And just think. Some people don’t even know you do blush Hawke. You--”

“Rhine.”

“What?” 

She smirks, further pressing her leg to his. “I don’t like to always be called Hawke. Call me Rhine. At least when we’re alone. I have to keep up appearances.” 

“What does the Highlander call Helena? ‘Sweetling, isn’t it?” He flips through the book. “Ah. Yes. I’d think you’d want to be called that.”

“Well...” As she feels her cheeks warm in her palms again, she’s certain she’s blushed so much tonight that all the blood in her body has gone straight to her cheeks. “It would be nice.”

He says he’ll save it for another night, when she needs it most. He settles on “Rhine,” but it’s the sweetest thing she’s heard in a long while, right along with his bold reading of Ser Arthur Dayne and Helena’s first and second times, with limited help from Rhine at that. She’s proud of him, and she thinks he’s also proud of her. 

Finally, Fenris sets the book down on the loveseat, the tale inevitably too unbelievable for him. “No,” he says, “That’s is. There’s no way that she can conceivably--”

Rhine laughs. “Oh. I believe it.”

“Of course you would.” 

“With you...” She grins, inching closer, her hand on his thigh. “I could go for much longer.”

Now he’s the one that blushes.

[greenteabtch]

hello again friend! for any oc of your choosing bc i'm desperate to know about them all: rashvine, blood lotus, arbor blessing, and embrium if you would like to! (i'm thirsty for knowledge)

AHi!!!! It’s always great to hear from you Isa!

Alright I’m gonna answer for Solana because she hasn’t gotten a drawing recently and she’s a fun and angy gal haha

Blood Lotus:

Total. Lightweight. I headcanon Solana as asian (spec korean), so she gets the entire asian glow going in less than one drink. I mean .07% alcohol content and she’s out. However, she’s also extremely competitive and stubborn, and she doesn’t care for Oghren being gross. The result? A drinking contest every time the group finds a tavern, ending with Solana drooling over Alistair’s shoulder as he takes her away before liver poisoning can set in. She first found this out at unofficial wine night at Kinloch hold, where some rogue mages would use Sweeny’s lack of... mind... to hold an optional study group on the Applications of Tonics and Thermoneuclaic Acid Reflux Performance in the Solutions of... ok are the templars bored now? Good, bring out the wine. The whole night Anders had to shovel bread down her throat and hold back her hair as she puked out the tower window. Nothing’s changed.

Rashvine:

 OKAY So hear me out. Solana absolutely can’t stand Jowan, but not in the way that she wants terrible things to happen to him. Just in the way that he annoys her like a little sibling. And of course, she did what she could to save him from tranquility, because you know what she hates way more than Jowan? The chantry, templars, and all of that good stuff that resulted in her getting snatched away from her parents and crammed in a prison for weird men in suits of armor to ogle her and prevent her from living the life she always dreamed of.

Embrium: Solana can’t recall many nice things people have done for her over the course of her life. It’s been a mess really. But one person she will ALWAYS be grateful to is Duncan. For taking a chance on the woman with an attitude, who definitely would’ve been made tranquil or worse, who made fun of him despite his ability to get her out of that prison tower. Who saw through that hard tough disgusting shell to the beating heart in the center of it all and made her a warden. She pours one out every time she thinks of him, because without him, she would be nothing.

Arbor Blessing:

Finally, T_T. Solana’s dream happy ending would be if she and Ali got to escape the spotlight of saving Ferelden, and continue their lives as grey wardens. They could command a fortress together, work together, live together, and eventually retire to some house in a city, where they’d raise cute ass kids and never think about bastard templars or stupid darkspawn again. All she wants to do is think about what to eat for dinner, wonder who can fit the most marshmallows in their mouth, and take up painting or something. I don’t know. Normal people things. Normal lives, for normal people. Of course, you and I know that normal and grey warden don’t really go hand in hand.

Thank you for your ask Isa!! I kind of went wild with it but I hope you enjoy reading about the gal. Have a great night! <3

[the-halo-of-my-memory]

Tell Me You Love Me Anyway (rough draft - tease)

A/n: This probably has a billion errors but I feel like posting it anyway. This is only a tiny bit of what I have in mind. I could use as much feedback as possible for this. 

---- [Act 1] ----

Maker, did Anders miss being drunk. 

Justice hasn’t let him sway under the influence since their union. He sees it as a waste of time and senses. 

But to lose one's senses was such a beautiful and intoxicated mess to be a part of. 

Can you stop speaking nonsense?

It’s not nonsense, it’s passion.

It is a waste of time. 

Anders chuckles, nearly spilling his useless drink in the process. 

“What’s so funny, mage?” 

It’s Fenris. He held a drink also, now flirting with drunkenness that will soon take him fully. 

The two have only met not too long ago through a mutual friend, one Garrett Hawke. Anders liked Hawke enough. He was a fellow mage and Fereldan refugee who suffered loss before reaching Kirkwall. He came to his clinic a month ago asking for maps to the Deep Roads. 

It sounded so ridiculous. People who went to the Deep Roads voluntarily must have a death wish. To want to walk in a place full of darkspawn and deepstalkers. A place with rocky terrain and putrid wet air. It was dark and in some places you could hardly see your own hand in front of your place. He could light a torch but it wasn’t worth accidentally burning someone. 

He never wants to go there again. Especially not without Pounce. 

Things changed though. For a favor, he asked for a favor himself. 

Karl……..

He did love him…….and to see him like that……...made tranquil…….

It broke more than just his heart, it shattered his entire being. 

Oh Karl…..

Back in the Circle, the two had agreed between kisses in a quiet nook away from prying eyes, that if either of them became tranquil, they would not want to live like that. There was no known cure. It was either be made a thoughtless pet of the Templars and the Chantry or death. 

It wasn’t actually a plan that would happen. He didn’t think this would be an actual choice that he would make. 

Oh maker, Karl…….

It has been a month since he had to kill him. He still feels the blood on his hands, the sound of his last breath, and how empty he felt when he fell upon the floor. 

He still yearns to get a letter from him…..anything from him. 

Despite everything, he had Hawke to thank. At least Karl has peace now. He can have the maps and himself for the expedition if needed. 

Though he resented it at the time, he was glad he went to have drinks with Hawke the night after. Hearing his and Aveline’s story of loss before reaching Kirkwall brought him back from the pain. 

Hawke had asked him to join him on another night like that.

“But you know, in much better spirits,” he said with a hand on the back of his neck. He swore he saw him turn a shade red underneath that smile and beard.

And here he is now. 

He sat at a table with Fenris, Isabela, Varric, and Merrill. The women were giggling and whispering, Merrill turning pink and covering her mouth while Isabella said something too low for him to decipher. The men were talking about one of Varric’s tales. 

“No, dwarf. I have never read any of your stories.” 

“Have you ever thought about it?” 

“No.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Varric, I can’t read.” 

Well, that’s news…….

Wait, where’s Hawke? He was here just a second ago. 

Anders spots him at the bar. Talking with someone, a human woman. 

He’s never seen her before. She was short, maybe the same height as Merrill. She had deep warm mahogany skin, short dark curly hair, and wore a shirt opened at the neck and chest tucked into the tightest pair of trousers he’s ever seen. 

Sweet Andraste, what an arse!

They speak for a short moment before they each grab a drink and walk over to wear the rest of them sat. 

“Maker, Hawke!” Isabella yells, “How did you find this fine lady? Tell me, are you seeing anyone. Do you have a sister?” 

Hawke’s friend laughs loud and boisterous, covering her mouth half way before she sits herself down. 

“I’m not interested, I'm afraid. If I have a sister, I wouldn’t know. But I know some ladies who would love to give some company to a humorous and attractive lady such as yourself.” 

“You’ll have to tell me all about them, kitten.” 

She sat next to Anders and Hawke sat on the other side of her. 

Now closer to him, he gets a good look at her. 

Fine lady indeed. She had deep dark wide eyes like the night’s sky. Lips pursed as she took sips on her drink. Lots of skin covered down her naked neck and chest, teasing the swell of her breasts where her shirt is undone by the laces. She had small hands with gentle fingers tapping on the drink and the table. She wore no makeup and no jewelry.

Not that she needed them. 

“Friends!” Hawke stood up, hitting and shaking the table on the way. “I want you to meet my friend, Valentine. Val, these are my friends. This is Varric, and that’s Merrill and that’s-” He introduces everyone by name and they all exchange words and greetings. When Anders’ was introduced, he said “hello there.” She replies with only one word. 

“Pleasure.” 

*******

I have no idea where I am. 

It’s green all over. The grass is green and long and being blown by the wind. And the sky is blue and cloudless.

It’s not cold. But it was cold? There were clouds and snow and cold. And now…..not anymore. 

I don’t understand. I was in the car with Jackson. Where is he? 

I remember something. When we were driving…...I saw lights. Like headlights and then…….

Am I dead? Is this a dream? Am I in a coma? I don’t understand at all. 

My suitcase is here. It has my stuff still in it. Didn’t expect that old vintage thing to hold up. My clothes are there, but it’s too warm for them. I’m wearing the only pair of shoes I brought. My notebook was also there, and I’m writing in it right now. 

I don’t know what to do. 

*******

The next time he meets Hawke’s friend is when they get ready for the Deep Roads expedition. 

They were all together meeting with Bertrand in Hightown. He had to give credit to Hawke for making a colorful group of friends. He sees her near him, dressed in leather armor and carrying a long thin sword in a scabbard by her side. 

Her eyes catch his and she waves a hello to him. He waves back. 

Hawke and the dwarven brothers are discussing something when someone cries out. 

It was from a woman with tied back greying hair, running towards the group with a worrisome look in her exhausted eyes. 

“Excuse me, but I need to talk to my children”

Oh, that must be Hawke’s mother. He’s only heard nice things about her whenever Hawke opens up about his family. 

He sees him and Carver walk over to the lady and he’s too far to overhear. 

Some sort of disagreement starts and Carver is yelling and Hawke and their mother try to subdue him. There’s a lot of head shaking and hand waving. At last, Carver appears to accept whatever was that was said. Hawke walks away and his brother and mother stay where they stood. 

Hawke walks over to his groups of friends looking lost in thought. A moment passes and then with both hands he waves over the group to come over. 

“What happened?” Merrill asks. 

“Nothing,” Hawke sighs. “Mother just wanted Carver to stay. He…..eventually agreed.” 

“Now what?” Fenris crosses his arms, a knot between brows form. 

“We have to decide who I am bringing on this expedition.” Hawke sighs once more. He takes in a good look at his companions and bobs his head side to side as if he’s rolling die to choose who he’ll bring. 

“Alright! Besides Varric, I shall bring Anders and Valentine. Do you two agree?” 

Fuck no. 

“Of course, Hawke,” Anders instead says. It was inevitable. 

“Sure,” Valentine nods with a small smile upon her lips. 

“The rest of you can go about your business. We’ll be gone for a while in the meantime.” 

Some murmurs of “alright,” “be careful,” and “see you soon,” were heard before the others left their separate ways. 

Anders watches Hawke go back to the dwarven brothers, no doubt to wrap up a few things before they head out. 

“So you were a grey warden, correct?” It was Valentine. 

“Yes, I was.” She really was quite short. She was a whole head short of him, couldn’t look like she could put her head on his shoulder if she wanted. 

“That’s a lifelong joining, isn’t it? I imagine they’re not happy having you…..displaced.” 

That got a chuckle out of him. 

“Yes, you could say that.” 

“That’s too bad,” she kicks a pebble with the tip of her boot, her eyes looking into the sky and nowhere in particular. “I’m sure they’re doing fine without you. You have more important things like spelunking with us losers in demon infested caves.” 

That got him to laugh out loud. 

“Well when you put it like that, I’m even more grateful I left the wardens.” 

When she laughs, she laughs with her being. She bends forward with her arms wrapped around her abdomen as if she was a tree swaying in the wind. 

She’s kinda cute, isn’t she? 

I do not see what this has to do with the task at hand. 

Relax. It’s just an observation. 

*******

I am in a country called Ferelden. I have never heard of this place before. Is that old English or whatever the fuck? I don’t know, my head hurts and I’m tired from all the travel. 

It took me days by foot, but I eventually reached a small village called Draycott. I asked around for a place to stay and work. And luckily I did. Their innkeeper/pub owner was looking for someone to help clean and keep order in their establishment. He seemed like enough of a nice guy to trust for now. Everything is ancient. There is no electricity or indoor plumbing. Everyone uses candles, gets water from the well, and shits in a pot. I’m afraid to ask why that is. 

I am currently writing in my journal in a room of my own by candle light in the late evening. I’m even using a quill and ink. It’s much harder than I thought. Hope I can read this later. 

This place is so much more strange than I first thought. 

This country and land is certainly beautiful. I believe it's either mid to late spring to early fall. Grass is long, the hills roll, mountains are tall, and the trees high. 

But then I noticed the plant and wildlife. I have never seen these herbs or flowers or whatever the hell they are. They look like something out of a story book. And the animals. I’ve seen wolves and bears from a distance. Luckily, I haven't bothered them enough to attack me. 

But then I noticed a crow. It had such a large beak with ruffled feathers and splashes of red? 

And spiders. The most gigantic ones I have ever seen. They look like the size of horses! What the fuck??

I must’ve been hallucinating. I should get some rest. The people here like to wake at daybreak. 

Farmers are insane. 

*******

They have been in the deep roads for a few days. 

It’s as claustrophobic and dark and all things awful as Anders last remembers. 

He wished the warden commander was here. She must be so warm and cozy now being the queen of Ferelden. 

And Pounce. His little mews and purrs was what really kept him going. 

Well, that and screwing around with Nathaniel was also fun. He had the best expressions. 

The company he has now however wasn't too bad. They certainly made an entertaining crowd. 

“Garrett, if you had to choose, would you rather eat your shirt or your trousers?” 

The echoes of Hawke’s belly laugh lasts almost a minute as they trek along. He had to hold on to his staff to keep himself upright. It was quite contagious and made himself, Varric, and Valentine laugh along with him. 

“Maker Val, I knew I wouldn’t regret bringing you. I think I would eat my shirt. My shirt in particular today looks rather tasty.” 

“I swear no one wants to eat their pants, it’s always the shirt.” 

“Who the hell wants to eat their pants?” Varric raises a brow. 

“I don't know, but I’m waiting for someone to tell me.” 

Without daylight, it’s impossible to tell when it's dawn or near dusk. After crossing corridors and making quick work of darkspawn that lurked, they all agreed to make camp and rest. 

Spare food and drink are brought out, bringing out better spirits for the exhausted party. Bottles of wine and flasks of water. Wrapped packs of dried fruit, meat, and nuts. 

Words start spilling and conversations follow. 

It never ceases to amaze Anders how well Hawke carries himself in social situations. He held a poise like a noble yet spoke like a child raised by pirates. Held confidence in his chest and said things like “Anders, can you help me get my hand out of this jar?” 

 He was like an affectionate pet. 

“Val,” Hawke said. He sat next to Varric while Anders and Valentine sat opposite them. “Did you know that our friend Anders runs a clinic in Darktown?”

Valentine laughs.

“That’s very all of a sudden, Garrett. That would make you a healer, yes?” She looks at Anders now. 

“That’s right,” he smiles back for politeness. “I just try to help the sick as much as I can.” 

“That’s incredibly thoughtful of you. You must make decent coin as well.” 

“Oh, I don’t charge.” Valentine nearly spits out as she drinks from a water flask. 

“You don't?” Her eyes wide and brows raised. “That’s insane. How do you get by?” 

“I get by by getting by. Also being dragged around by Hawke helps.” 

“And you are incredibly welcomed!” Hawke laughs, so does Varric, Valentine, and Anders. 

The group would soon pack their things and move on. 

*******

NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE GIANT SPIDERS ARE REAL I HATE WHERE EVER THE FUCK I AM AT 

ANYWAYS....

Life in the village is peaceful. I can’t complain.

Yeah sure, the food could be better and I have to shit in a pot but overall, I like it. 

Not shaving is a big plus for me.

I’ve made the mistake of asking too many questions. Some of the things I don't know are common knowledge, causing people to look at me weird. Someone even asked if I had brain damage. 

And then I realized having amnesia is a great excuse. Everyone now believes I have suffered such an injury. That’s my life now. 

The innkeeper offered me a position to keep his rooms cleaned and naturally, I accepted. He also asked me to watch and possibly teach his young daughter to read and write along with watching her.

She is the dearest thing I’ve seen in a long time.

Her name is Wenona. She is nearly four years of age, has light brown hair that is always braided, has a freckled face, and wears homemade dresses. 

She is mute. I have never heard her talk or make any noise. Her father says she’s only shy, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she was on the spectrum. She is nice nonetheless and gestures when she wants something like food. I speak to her with simple words but not any different than to the others i have spoken here in the village. She understands me just fine. 

We have so far spent days outdoors, picking herbs and flowers and laying in the grass and staring at the clouds. Indoors I help her learn how to write, have tea parties, and cook and bake . I read to her every night before bed and sometimes I sing to her. 

I’ve also realized that this girl has no friends. I’ve seen a few other children here, but they never go up to here to talk or play. I asked her myself and she nodded. I told her that she was my friend and the look in her eyes…..

Learning about the world through her is an amazing experience too. 

They have a religion here called Andrastanism. It sounds similar to Christianity, but instead of God, they have a maker and instead of a son, the maker has a bride named Andraste. I’ve read their biblical stories to Wenona. 

I still have so much to learn. 

****

[bigfan-fanfic]

2 and 11. :3

2.  A letter written by your OC’s family member

Dad Father,

Mother says I must call you Father, even though I told her you said to say Dad. Is that another word from your world? I like hearing about your world. You should come to Skyhold and and tell the Inquisitor.

The Inquisitor is very nice; I made friends with him, and we play chess and we play Archdemon and Warden when Mother isn’t looking to say I need to do my studies. Tash doesn’t like dragons much, so I get to be the Archdemon first every time! 

I miss you very much. Mother does too, but she tries to hide it. Are you coming back soon? Mother says I should not pester you. We also have adopted a cat. She is black all over. I wanted to wait until you got back to name her, but she needs a name NOW. Do you have any ideas?

(A drawing of a black kitten pawing at the viewer follows)

I wish you were here. Mother never makes me study when you’re around. I miss you too. And your hugs. I think Mother does too. She hugs me more when you aren’t here. I like it, but I like having you here too. Please be safe.

Love,

Your Son,

Kieran

- From Kieran Walker to his father Morgan Walker while the latter checks in with Fereldan Warden-Commander Reyn Caron about the cure for the Taint after the events of “Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts” 

11. your OC’s description of their game’s events

“I would rap the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song if I was creative enough to come up with lyrics for it, but I’m not. I crash landed here in Thedas after finishing up my courses, which makes this basically the longest summer vacation in history. 

“To sum things up, I landed in a witch’s hut (said witch being my future mother-in-law, but more on that later) and let them know I was from another world, not Thedas, which went over better than you’d expect. We went around with two Wardens, Alistair and Aster, and slowly built up a rag-tag bunch of allies. We were trying to end the Blight by killing the Archdemon, but to do that, we needed allies, yadda yadda yadda. You know the story. We visited the Dalish, the Circle, Redcliffe, and we kicked ass at the Landsmeet.

“I had to make Alistair the King, which I still feel bad about, but sometimes we can’t do what we want, we do what we have to. And after that, Morrigan, who I had fallen head over heels in love with, told me about the Dark Ritual. Take it from me, ‘saving the world’ sex is just not as fun as other kinds. I had to drink a darkspawn’s blood - yes, it tastes terrible - and upon luckily surviving, I became a Grey Warden... but not, you know, officially. So now I help search for the cure, but anyway-

“I killed the Archdemon and ran off with Morrigan. So... that’s my story.”

[nekithamajere]

OC Interview Meme: Jace Surana

 I was tagged by: @space-vashoth

I tag: Whoever wants to do this

1. What is your name? Jace Surana

2. What is your real name?

Jacen Salvor. The Chantry changed my name to create a new lineage and make it harder for me to contact any existing family. I didn’t know this until recently though.

3. Do you know why you’re called that?

No. I don’t,

4. Are you single or taken? Oh sweet Maker am I taken. Leliana and I are married.

5. Do you have any abilities or powers? Well I am a mage, so yes. Mostly in elemental magic, though ice is where most of my finesse lay. Also area of effect spells. I’m what they call a ‘crafty bastard’.

6. Stop being a Mary Sue.

A Mary Sue? What is that? Is there something I’m not understanding?

7. What is your eye colour?

Unusual, though I suppose it could be because of my elven blood or my magic. A pale, pale blue...but with more *blue* to it. It’s hard to describe. 

8. How about hair colour?

Blood red, though I’m afraid it’s greying out already. People used to think I dyed it but no, it’s my natural colour.

9. Have you any family members?

I have Leliana. And a mother I know about now, I suppose. And my sisters, Ira and Kallian. I adopted Ira as my sister when we were children, and we adopted Kallian shortly after we Joined.

10. Oh? And how about pets?

Maker you have no idea. Right now I am host to a litter of kittens and a litter of Mabari pups. Thankfully all the kittens have homes, and pups have managed to chose people already.  I’m keeping one kitten. Her name is Max. She’s a brown tabby and she’s a little shit and I love her.

I also have my Mabari. Duncan. I haven’t used him for war yet. Mostly he serves as a service dog as well as a nursemaid to the pups and kittens. He’s the one who found the litters after all.

11. Oh that’s cool, tell me about something you don’t like.

You mean I need to narrow it down to just one thing? The Deep Roads are shit, darkspawn are shit, and nobility are shit. It’s just...eugh. Also spiders creep me out. And broodmothers....You know what, no, if I keep going we won’t move onto the next question.

12. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing?

Sweet Maker yet. I love caring for the animals Duncan and I have rescued. I love the fact I’m giving these animals a chance they wouldn’t otherwise have. It’s stressful but rewarding. 

I also love reading and collecting books. It’s comforting. 

13. Ever hurt anyone before?

Yes.

14. Ever...killed anyone before?

Obviously.

15. What kind of animal are you?

Maker I don’t know. I’m not a shapeshifter like Ira. Um...if I had to pick an animal I’d like to be one of the little spoiled lapdogs in Orlais. I think I’d benefit from the pampering.

16. Name your worst habits.

Probably me not listening to people I guess? Or, I listen but I don’t give that impression. I tend to think I know what’s best, even when maybe I don’t. That’s another thing and it’s related.

17. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Duncan...the person.I didn’t know him as long as I would have. Hmm...Right now I think I admire Marcus and Meraan the most. Maybe Muriel and Isabelle as well.

18. Gay, straight, bisexual?

Biromantic asexual, not that that’s any of your business.

19. Do you go to school?

No. I suppose you could call the Circle a school, so I’ve gone to one technically. 

20.  Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day?

Technically I already have for both. I’ve married Leliana, and I’ve recently heard the child I had with Morrigan has survived. Part of me wants more children, but with the risk involved with Leliana and my jobs, as well as my poor health...I wouldn’t want to do that. If I even could have another biological child.

I think we would adopt, but again with our situation, I’d say no. I’m happy to keep rescuing animals honestly.

21. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls?

Probably. I mean I am a Hero of Ferelden.

22. What are you most afraid of?

...disappointing people who look up to me. Wasting away on a sickbed.

23. What do you usually wear?

Shirt and pants, then usually my Warden robes overtop. If it’s cold I wear more layers. It’s dependent on the chill.

24. Do you love someone?

Leliana, obviously.

25. When was the last time you wet yourself?

When I was a toddler? Probably? What kind of question is this?

26.Well it’s not over yet!

Obviously, otherwise I would have left by now. 

27. What class are you? (High, middle, or low class)

Uhmmmm....I think I’ve been part of all of them? In terms of sheer wealth I’m high class now, I think. I donate heavily, and I’m helping pay for a lot of things with the Inquisition.

28. How many friends do you have?

Too many to list them all.

29. What are your thoughts on pie?

I’m not often a huge fan of dessert pies, but I love savoury pies. I really like this steak pie they serve in Orzammar.

30. Favourite drink?

Hm...Tea, I think. Just a nice, Orlesian tea. Or cider. Apple cider is nice.

31. What’s your favourite place?

I like Valance. It’s where Leliana and I got married. There’s a lovely spot on the coast right near there that’s fantastic. 

32. Are you interested in someone?

Leliana? 

33.  What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy?

Not answering this.

34.  Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

I’ve swam in both. Ocean was better.

35.  What’s your type?

Smart, kind, funny. I like stories too, which is convenient. 

36. Any fetishes?

Again, what kind of question is this? No next one.

37.  Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive?

Really? No. Next question.

38. Camping or indoors?

Indoors. With my books, and where it’s warm.

39. Do you want the interview to end?

If you’re going to keep asking me sexual questions, yes.

40. Now it’s over!

Oh good.

[paragonrobits]

Lady Adaar and her stabby elf friend Mahaenon have a talk about how weird it is that Solas actually goes by the elven word for Pride.

Also on Ao3 and FFnet!

Haven was a nice enough place to call home. Perhaps not for long, as had mused the inner circle of the fledgling Inquisition's agents; the eight of them, forming the very core of the reborn organization's most powerful and skilled agents, all clustering around the Herald of Andraste. When you were a qunari surrounded by, mostly, humans and ones that might have a ax to grind against anyone with horns and metallic-colored skin, you were grateful for company that was going to protect you from them.

Particularly when you were an apostate. The word meant little but, somehow, Herah Adaar suspected, the so-called authorities of the Chantry would find some way to accuse her of horrible crimes because she was qunari and a mage at the same time.

She quite liked the situation here. She enjoyed the company; the Trevelyan twins were good-natured company, much more down to earth than human nobility could honestly be expected to be, and they were from the Free Marches, same as her. Her husband was along for the ride - if 'husband' was really the same for a long-term breeding pair arranged by them, just for the sake of expanding their families, but they got along well enough and considered the other a great friend - and Kaaras was always a sucker for the notion of protecting the weak, and the small. The dwarven Cadash cousins were reckless rouges, but good ones; she liked them, and she trusted them with her life... if not her sovereigns. And the elves...

Dammit she was pretty sure she was mostly in love there. At least, she didn't want to see them or their clan hurt worse than they already had been.

Guess I'm a sucker for being a hero, too, Adaar thought, as she peacefully drank in the bar Sister Leliana had set up in Haven.

Sitting beside her, and somehow managing to make simple posture do the job of daring the world to try something just because he was Dalish surrounded by humans, Mahanon slugged his drink back, and if the extremely strong rum did more than make his throat tickle, there wasn't the slightest sign of it. A few dwarves - possibly ex-Carta, the Inquisition had been courting their ranks and a lot of them thought that honorary clan status granted by some very tricky political maneuvering through the Inquisition with Orzammar was worth the risk - muttered in astonishment, as did the humans in the tavern and even a couple of the Vashoth that were trickling into the ranks.

Adaar contemplated trying to best him in a drinking contest. She thought better of it; she was big for a qunari, the horned giants of Par Vollen, and elves were small and frailer than humans. He was nearly half her size, but he could just drink and drink without the slightest hint of inebriation. She wondered where he was putting it all. Thinking of how Sera could eat so much without gaining an ounce, Herah supposed that elves had to have a truly wicked metabolism.

Adaar glanced around hopefully. "Damn. Doesn't look like the others are coming around."

Mahanon shook his head, his facial tattoos so pale that they nearly shone against his dark skin. The tree design of Mythal and her chosen role wasn't too different from the vibrant vitaar war paint she wore, even now. "Nah. Doesn't look like it." He shrugged mildly. "Still. I suppose I wasn't really expecting them to."

"Where'd they get of too, then?"

He gave her a vaguely smug, knowing look. "And how do you know that I know, eh?"

Adaar chuckled. "Because you know where everyone is, all the time. Come on." She laid a heavy hand on the table; not her good hand either. She did her best to keep the hand that had been... marked, hidden from view. It still tingled, almost hurt now, and the flashes of green and raw magical energy tended to upset people. And the Mark was on her good hand. It was a bother.

He noticed her doing that, and his face fell as he saw her grunt with the effort of not showing the pain.

Mahanon liked messing with people, and he had a body count higher than the entire Valo-Kas company ('shems that deserved it', he reassured them with a wild grin, and since there were so many humans that deserved swords in the face, his new friends had nodded... including the Trevelyans, who had something of an inside view of the nastiness of human evil), but he didn't like seeing anyone get hurt, either. The two were probably connected; see a shem making someone miserable, kill the shem, end of hurting. He did not have a particularly fraught internal view.

So for once, he dropped the games and came straight out about it. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Should have told you the others couldn't show." He spoke at length, then. "The Cadash cousins are off some kind of reunion with the golem that helped stop the last Blight."

"Wait. The golem that was with the Hero of Ferelden!?"

"Yep. Same one!"

"The self-aware talking golem? The one that's kind of a jerk?"

"Yep, that one. Seems that this... Shale... is an ancestor of theirs. An old-time Cadash warrior, back when she was a dwarf." Mahanon proposed a theory. "My guess would be that... uh, might be trying to figure out how to make other golems self-aware too."

"Huh. That would be interesting. Imagine all the stuff they've have to talk about."

"I figure it'd mostly be dead boring. Golems mostly just toil and smash darkspawn. Might get repetitive." Mahanon changed the subject. "Now, the humans... honestly I'm not totally sure what they're doing. Not specifics. Way I understand it, Josie thought they'd make dab hands at talking with a delegation of Templars that used to serve at the Ostwick Circle. Something like that. Diplomatic garbage." He refrained from saying shem bullshit but you could, as it wear, hear what he wasn't saying. He had too much grudge with humans to just let go of it - too much pain, too much bad blood, too much suffering and things just getting worse and worse by human hands for thousands of years - but he liked the Trevelyans to be cruel.

"What about your sister?" Adaar asked. "I think I saw her earlier today."

"...Oh yeah. I bet you did." Mahanon growled. "Bet my clan-sister is off chatting with Solas," He gave a dismissive snort.

Adaar rumbled. "And Kaaras is off teaching Sera how to do proper stitching. He's found himself a good one to mother." She took a long drink. Something about Mahanon's tone was bothering her. "Solas... huh. You don't like him?"

"Mm. Complicated, Vashoth." Mahanon stared into his drink, like he was trying to see some kind of portent. "I want to like him. He makes it real easy to like him.. unless you get him talking shit about the Dalish." He sneered, but genteelly. "If I wanted to hear someone be a snob about my people, I'd waste my time with... well, honestly, anyone except you and the others. But its worse, coming from an elf."

Adaar nodded gloomily. "Like when a 'real' qunari says anything about Vashoth like me."

"Yeah. You get it." Mahanon shook his head.

"Listen," Adaar said. "I like Solas, but sometimes it's like listening to my grouchy grandpa complaining about the good old days. It's kind of depressing."

Mahanon grinned. He looked thoughtful. "Thought your family was too young generation to have grandparents."

"Okay, fine, fair enough, but there's an old dwarf that hangs out at the farm and complains to mama and papa and all my dozen littler siblings about how much he liked it when he still lived in Orzammar. He's like a grandpa. I guess." Adaar raised a hand. "One of these days I want to introduce Varric to him. Just for the snark."

"Please let me be there, I want to hear all the sarcasm." Mahanon chuckled. "...Solas. Solas. Even the name is weird. Who takes a name like that when you're trying not to creep out the shems?"

Adaar gave him a look. "Come again?"

"Solas." Mahanon grunted. "Come on, friend. I know you've been trying to learn my people's languages. His name doesn't sound weird to you?"

"No? Should it?"

"Huh. Must not have seen it, I suppose. Look." Mahanon gestured vaguely, a sign that he wasn't as together as he liked to pretend. "Solas, it... ah, it translates somewhat into a few words in the common tongue. Hard to convey it. Arrogance, overwhelming ambition... ah." He snapped his fingers, happy at working it out. "Pride is a good analogue. Solas basically means pride."

"Wait. Our elvish apostate - besides your sister, I mean - is literally named pride?"

"Yup." Mahanon gulped down another mugful of rum. "That doesn't seem strange to you?"

"I dunno. It's only a name." Adaar waved a hand with the slightly fussy, extremely precise movements of a mage still knew to the particulars of being a Knight-Enchanter. "Look at my folks. Named ourselves Adaar. I know Bull probably translated it to you as 'weapon', but it specifically refers to those giant things the followers of the Qun use. Big, loud, make a lot of fire? Those things." She grunted. "Doesn't mean much, does it now?"

"You're named after big things that shoot fire," Mahanon said slowly, giving her a wry grin. Adaar sniffed, aware that she was so big, even among the Qunari, that sitting down Mahanon did not even come up completely to her elbow. Standing upright, he wouldn't be much higher than her gut. "You're big. And you like the magic that makes things burny and explodey."

"I'm the exception that proves the rule?"

He laughed at that. "I'm just saying that, if that is his real name, that's very unusual for him to claim so." Mahanon looked thoughtful. "Granted. Shems don't speak my language well too often - Josie does her best, bless her - so he'd be justified in figuring no one would notice. But he still uses it around elves. Dalish and otherwise. You'd think if he was trying to be harmless, what with being an apostate surrounded by grumpy ex-templars with big shiny swords, he'd be trying to present himself less ominously."

Adaar sighed. "In my experience, a lot of humans refuse to take elves seriously at all. Sorry. They're little shitheads that way."

Mahanon nodded sagely. "I find that a couple swords in the face usually sets them straight. I mean. Typically they're dead but it gets the point across." he wiggled a finger. "So, if my sister wants to get her hands all over him, good for her. I like seeing her not get all gloomy and vengeful against the shems for once. But I'm just real suspicious of anyone that goes around calling themselves pride incarnate. It's weird."

Adaar took a drink. A Vashoth who cheerfully followed the religion of Andraste, even if her overall opinion of the Chantry was 'watch it burn with a big smile', she was hardly one to criticize being unusual by local standards. "I don't think anyone here is really normal. This Inquisition thing is weird."

"On that, my big horny friend, we are agreed."

"Please don't call me that in mixed company. It gives the wrong impression."

"Well. Now I feel obligated to do so in really mixed company, for maximum effect. You've gone and challenged me, falon!"