#and raised by avvar

[milkybishop]

drew a suuuper quick ref of kasaanda for artfight, using some iron bull pic, all that really matters is she's taller than the iron bull

[beastofmoss]

I'm thinking of my atheist Adaar mage who took one look at Josephine and decided that: yeah, she's my type.

[bunkoos-mole-enthusiast]

Weekly Jungkook Fanfic Recs

Some fine JK fics for your reading pleasure. 🔞 Please show your appreciation to all the wonderful authors :)

Lone Blue Egg: Jungkook is a simple man. He goes to work, he hangs out with friends, he worries about finding a mate to take home for his hometown breeding season. Maybe he spends a little more money on cam girls than is fiscally responsible but he has niche tastes. Maybe he feels a bit adrift, but he's a young penguin hybrid, supposedly in his prime, far from his crèche. https://archiveofourown.org/works/35424625/chapters/88299640 A Sea Of Indigo: Pitbull Hybrid Jungkook has finally been freed from the fighting rings, and now finds himself at Marigold Sanctuary & Transition Estate, a place for healing and self-discovery for rescued hybrids. It's stupid, dumb, cheesy, and hell-bent on helping Jungkook "heal" and "find himself" and "decide the course of his life." And right at the center of it is Y/N, a nurse who's got everyone bamboozled that she's like some awesome person. She's not that great. Jungkook hates it here. https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881670/chapters/62890984 Sugar Fairy: Bunny Hybrid Jungkook is at that age... he needs a mate, and it's making life miserable for everyone in the family. The obvious solution is to bring home a girl. The obvious problem is that while it's love at first sight for Pippa when he walks into the adoption tent, Jungkook is far more into the sexy cat to her right. Will there ever be peace in the family again? https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882588/chapters/62893486 The Lowlander: Out of the frying pan and into the fire: Marguerite is already used to life as a barely-tolerated outcast, being the elven daughter of an Orlesian noble, but after her travel party is attacked, she goes from one hostage situation to the next. Sure, her new "man" is brave and handsome and one of the best warriors in the Hold, but he's also hard-headed, impatient, and expects her to be the perfect Avvar woman. She refuses. She will not lose herself in this place. Anyway, she only has to endure him until she can figure out how to make her escape, or face an even worse evil at the end of a month... https://archiveofourown.org/works/27747925/chapters/67919119 Meadow: Despite being arranged two decades ago, the start of Bronwen and Jungkook's marriage is a difficult one. Misunderstanding, resentment, and a struggle to control unfamiliar instincts threaten to mire them both in a miserable, unhealthy situation. Before they can even begin to reconcile their new intertwined fate, though, Bronwen begins to suspect there's something else holding them back: a lie that threatens everything she's been raised to believe. https://archiveofourown.org/works/27241096/chapters/66545848 Tell Me What Changed: Alex and Jungkook have been best friends since childhood --actual best friends. She is NOT in love with him, for real, and wishes people would stop assuming that. Why does no one question if he's in love with her? Huh? But it might have to do with his successful fuckboy status, while Alex is very much... not that. Which is fine and doesn't matter! Until Jimin's impending wedding leaves her eager for a date and willing to put herself out there, and Jungkook can't believe what happens next. https://archiveofourown.org/works/38661003/chapters/96652572 Amended: Getting into a bar fight is the least surprising part of Isabella's return home. She sure doesn't expect to run into her childhood friend turned high school enemy, now not just surprisingly a law-abiding citizen but a police officer. Things seem to be going great for him, but Isabella is struggling with more than a bar fight. A single mom with a sick grandmother, an alcoholic mother, an abusive ex, and a short fuse herself, matters are not helped that Jungkook seems to be everywhere. All the time. Especially every time Isabella messes up. Can she really believe him when he says he just wants to help? https://archiveofourown.org/works/27238486/chapters/66539191 Wintervale: Jungkook proves his allegiance to the throne of your kingdom. Fantasy au. https://fantasybangtan.tumblr.com/post/189763429007/wintervale-jjk

[mrs-gauche]

If the Spirit!Solas theory happens to be true—and I’m confident it is—then it really gives you a new level of respect for how much restraint this guy has.

I’m talking specifically about his interactions with Dorian. The part where Dorian is trying to convince Solas that enslaving spirits is cool and neat and not wrong because ‘spirits aren’t people.’

Imagine having the strength of character to listen to someone tell you to your face that you are not a person and therefore undeserving of the most basic civil rights without immediately decking them in the face.

Solas puts up with tool much, man.

Oh yeah, definitely! 😂 (As much as I feel for Dorian just trying to find some common ground...) I guess that one line in Tevinter Nights does a great job of putting Solas' attitude on this matter in a nutshell.

[…] roared not in anger, but with quiet contempt. "From this moment, should you ever bind a spirit, then your life is mine."

Keep in mind, Solas has witnessed spirits suffering from the consequences of creating the Veil for at least a thousand years at this point, if only from the Fade. When he's saying "It hurts. It always does." to the Inquisitor after returning to Skyhold and Wisdom's death, he's referring to the countless times he had to watch his friends being drawn to the waking world, either forced, or to see them “wish to join the living”, only to be twisted, bound, corrupted, killed, you name it.

"How small the pain of one man seems when weighed against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples."

Much like a lot of his banter with Sera taunting him about his grief for the past, at this point, Solas is so old and has witnessed so much history, so much pain, that Dorian's remarks couldn't possibly evoke any real anger from him. It's so insignificant compared to what he has seen. There's a reason why Weekes keeps emphasizing how friggin tired Solas truly is. This is after all the general perception of spirits in present Thedas, aside from a few cultures like the Avvar. He can't blame Dorian for Tevinter raising him to think of spirits as nothing more than "amorphous constructs", just like he can't blame the Dalish for the knowledge lost to time. Similarly to any other argument he has with the other companions, Solas' frustration/resentment is almost never aimed at them personally, but rather at the current state of the world that shaped their perspective. (As is also evident in how his banter always ends up with them eventually coming to terms and grow a mutual/respectful relationship. The only exception being a low approval Inquisitor and Iron Bull if he chose the Qun over the Chargers… In that case, the hostility was definitely personal. 😂)

(That being said, I'm SO hoping for any kind of serious emotional outbreak from Solas in DA4, since there's still like a thousand year old trauma that needs to be addressed. lol)

But yeah, I think, going by his actions in Tevinter Nights, Tevinter is definitely not ready for what's probably coming for them in DA4, now that Solas is actually able to change things. 👀 And isn't it interesting how he will now be facing the Imperium, which was essentially built on the ruins of the empire he brought down/the same slavery based system he once rebelled against, so history kinda repeats itself? lol

I think it's also very telling how Solas will immediately counter Dorian's comments on the treatment of spirits in Tevinter by directly comparing it to slavery.

Dorian: "There's no harm putting them to constructive use, and most mages back home treat them well." Solas: "And any that show any magical talent are freed, are they not?" Dorian: "What? Spirits don't have magical talent." Solas: "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were talking about your slaves."

But the beautiful irony in this, as I've talked about in this post, is how this draws a direct parallel to how Solas, in return, doesn't recognize the people of the waking world as real either, at least not until after the Inquisitor considers Wisdom a living being worth saving. This and his admission to the Inquisitor after he returns to Skyhold is imo the turning point in his character development. Imo, this is what leads him to say "Not at first. You showed me that I was wrong." in his high approval ending in Trespasser.

And this is also why I think that the theory of Solas intending to save the spirits first and foremost would make for such an interesting story actually.

The waking world doesn't view spirits as real people. Just like Solas can't accept the people of the waking world as real. So, what will happen if he tears down the Veil, and the Fade and the waking world become one again? The Inquisitor was potentially willing to save Wisdom despite it having already turned into a Pride demon. And in doing so, the Inquisitor unintentionally put up a mirror in front of Solas' face and basically went "If I can see them as real people worth saving, why can't you?".

And if the spirit origin theory is true, then it could make for a fascinating inner conflict. Solas, living in both the waking world and the Fade, having been a spirit and a corporeal person, is now facing the question of who "his people" actually are. Where does he belong? After all, his biggest fear remains to "die alone".

While this was said in more of a joking manner, Weekes' words from 2016 really put it into perspective here. Solas sees himself in that old fisherman he saw in the Fade. He is "the one who lived". So, I picture it like this… Solas is left alone in the Fade after the creation of the Veil. Spirits are now his only company for the next thousand years. Whether or not those spirits were the remaining souls of the elves he tried to save, we don't know, but regardless, I truly believe they are his people. But he is not a spirit. At least, not anymore.

Cole: "You don't need to envy me, Solas. You can find happiness in your own way." Solas: "I apologize for disturbing you, Cole. I am not a spirit and sometimes it hard to remember such simple truths." Cole: "They are not gone so long as you remember them." Solas: "I know." Cole: "But you could let them go." Solas: "I know that as well." Cole: "You didn't do it to be right. You did it to save them." Inquisitor: "Solas, what is Cole talking about?" Solas: "A mistake. One of many by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything."

In this banter, Cole reveals to us that Solas' mind immediately goes from "It's hard for me to accept I'm not a spirit" to "the people that were lost when Solas created the Veil". To me, this pretty much confirms that the people of Elvhenan and spirits are connected, if not one and the same. It's assumed that the Evanuris mined the Titans to somehow create bodies for spirits to inhabit, and that Mythal gave Solas a body against his will. There's also the theory about the creation of the Veil having caused the separation of body and spirit.

You know, I've written so much about this in previous posts and I don't want to sound like a broken record, but if we consider all those little clues and look at all of his dialogue in that context, it just makes so much sense to me, that what he wants to do is primarily to save the spirits/destroy the barrier for them to enter the waking world without their purpose getting corrupted. There's also still the matter of the Blights and red lyrium otherwise probably consuming the entire world. 😅 I think that's what he's referring to when saying "What I am doing will save this world" in Tevinter Nights.

And remember, "Dread Wolf" is still literally an anagram for "World" and "Fade". 😂 Both worlds colliding is quite literally in his title. lol Whatever the six eyed high dragon sized Dread Wolf actually is, as far as we know, he only seems to exist within the Fade, but how exactly is he connected to Solas and what will happen to him if he tears down the Veil (which btw is also definitely gonna happen… I mean, besides the fact that the Veil is getting weaker regardless of Solas' actions)? ANYWAY.

Sorry for rambling so much (and I feel like my English is a little rusty, too 😖), but I haven't talked about this stuff in a while and the lack of news is killing me. 😂 But your message gave me something to think about again, so thank you! :)

[honeysunai]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔

Cullen Rutherford x Lavellan reader

During the two years after Corypheus' defeat, Lavellan had to leave for months on end to seek her allies to keep the Inquisition afloat. Amidst the diplomatic endeavors, a letter from Cullen finds its way to her. author’s note: I'm writing this because I absolutely love Dragon Age. It's one of my favorite game franchises and I adore Cullen. Tumblr needs more Cullen. This is probably my favourite one shot I wrote ever. wordcount: 1,3k

The days are getting frustrating.

She has been working day in and day out to keep peace between her allies to bring them to compromises over the Inquisition. She was after all, in title still, the Inquisitor. Her unwavering commitment led her to bend rules and relinquish much, driven by an unshakeable determination. A lingering sense of unease gnawed at her, as if some malevolent force lurked in the shadows, ready to exploit any moment of vulnerability. The Avvar tribes from Frostback Basin were the least helpful and indulgent in her needs. She needed their written support in the continuation of the Inquisition and be part of the protectors of the realm and with such a generous and honorable offer she was humbled.

Humbled by bitter words and disapprovals beyond measures. After two days of diplomatic quarrels and revisiting the pros and cons of their alliances they still hadn't made up their mind.

She sat at a desk made of bones and dark wood with her head in her hands. She had to come to the realization that soon it would be the end. No one believed the Inquisition useful any longer, no one believed her to be of use no more. No matter how hard she'd work to keep the fires of hope burning, it was now a mere flicker as she reminisce the past.

She missed the old days, the action, the adventure with her friends. She missed Bull and his teasing; her reading times with Cassandra when the world wasn't burning; her chess games with Dorian, her endless training with Blackwall; her drinking friend, Sera and Josephine and her stupid dancing lessons that she'd grown to love. Amidst the nostalgia, a pang of longing hit her for the one she left behind months ago to pursue her quest: her beloved, Cullen.

Closing her eyes, she let the scenes unfold in her mind's eye—the tentative glances exchanged in Haven, the warmth of their shared laughter amidst the chaos of the Inquisition's formation, and the quiet moments stolen in the tranquility of Skyhold. But one memory she'd always cherish was the day he'd invited her for a game of chess, a game Dorian has taught her and he was a very severe teacher.

The flickering candlelight bathed the room in a warm, golden glow as Lavellan and Cullen sat across from each other, an ornate chessboard laid out between them. The air hummed with anticipation, the only sound the subtle clink of chess pieces being moved.

Lavellan's fingers danced gracefully over the carved ivory pieces, her eyes alight with a strategic fervor that belied her calm demeanor. "Your move, Commander," she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Cullen raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. "I must admit, Inquisitor, I wasn't expecting such a challenge."

She grinned, capturing a pawn with a swift move. "Well, Commander, it seems elves aren't just skilled with a bow. We have a few tricks up our sleeves when it comes to chess as well."

Cullen chuckled, a warmth spreading across his face. "I'll remember to never underestimate you."

The game unfolded with a balletic precision, each move a careful dance of intellect and banter. Cullen, initially taken aback by the unexpected prowess of his opponent, watched in awe as Lavellan executed her strategies flawlessly.

As the tension mounted, Lavellan leaned back, studying the board with a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Your move, Commander. Don't tell me you're surrendering already."

Cullen's gaze met hers, a mock-serious expression on his face. "Never, Inquisitor. I just enjoy keeping you on your toes."

With a triumphant smile, Lavellan declared checkmate. Cullen's surprise was evident, his eyes widening in genuine admiration. "Well played," he conceded, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Lavellan leaned in, a sly grin playing on her lips. "A game well fought, Commander. Perhaps you'll catch me off guard next time."

Cullen leaned back, a subtle twinkle in his eye as he crossed his arms. "One can only hope, Inquisitor. Surprises can be quite... captivating, after all."

The victory wasn't just in the game but in the shared laughter that followed, a playful banter that hinted at the deeper connection blossoming between them. She couldn't help but smile at the memory of that victorious chess match—the strategic moves, the playful banter, and the spark of flirtation that hinted at the beginning of something more profound between them.

They've been through the hells and back and their love was stronger than it ever was, but this didn't mean she didn't miss him any less. He was on her mind every night and every morning, wishing he'd be there next to her. He would comfort her and make her laugh to ease the frustration that plagued her.

"What would you do, Cullen?" She'd muttered under her breath while pinching the bridge of her nose.

A knock on the door of her cabin echoed and she rushed to opened the door hoping to receive positive news of the clan chiefs, but was met with a messenger from Skyhold.

"Inquisitor, a letter for you." The man offered her the folded parchment with the sigil of Kirkwall molded in the red wax that held the paper from revealing the words written inside. She thanked the man and returned to her desk with her eyes glued on the wax seal. The Inquisitor's heart raced as she carefully unfolded the parchment, a mix of anticipation and longing swirling within her chest.

"My Dearest Vhenan,

I find myself surrounded by the quiet shadows of Skyhold, the empty halls echoing with the absence of your laughter. In these moments, I am acutely aware of the words I struggle to say, the gestures I fumble, and the emotions that elude my grasp. So, in the silence that separates us, I turn to this parchment, attempting to weave the sentiments I cannot articulate in person.

The future of the Inquisition has scattered us like leaves in the wind, and each step away from you feels like a stumble in the dark. It is in these quiet spaces, where your presence is most keenly missed, that I realize the depth of what we shared. You, my love, are the melody in the chaos, the anchor in the storm, and the warmth in the cold solitude.

I am not gifted with eloquence when it comes to matters of the heart, and my attempts at grand gestures often fall short. Yet, in the silent chambers of my thoughts, you are ever present, a constant hum in the background of my consciousness. Your courage, your kindness, and the way your eyes light up with passion have become the compass guiding my way.

As we find ourselves on separate paths, know that you are the sun on my horizon, the spark that refuses to be extinguished. I miss you more than words can convey, and with each passing day, the ache of your absence grows. Every quiet moment serves as a reminder of your touch, and every fleeting memory stirs a longing within me.

In these lines, I attempt to bridge the distance that stretches between us, to convey what my stumbling words fail to express. Until the day our paths cross again, carry with you the truth that you are missed, loved, and cherished beyond measure. The ink on this parchment may be a poor substitute for the warmth of my embrace, but it carries the essence of a heart that beats for you.

Yours, always and with all that I am,

Cullen" With each word, she felt the weight of Cullen's emotions, the sincerity of his struggles to express what lay in the depths of his heart. A tender smile curved her lips as the ink on the page painted a vivid picture of his love.

Her fingers traced the lines of the letter, as if seeking a tangible connection to the man who had become her anchor in the chaos of Thedas. The sincerity of his words resonated within her, echoing the sentiments she had sensed but had not dared to voice aloud.

As she reached the end of the letter, a gentle warmth enveloped her, like a soft embrace that bridged the physical distance between them. Tears welled in her eyes, not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming realization that she was deeply, wholly loved. In that solitary moment, she felt an unspoken bond, a connection that transcended the miles that now lay between them. With a soft sigh, she whispered, "I'll be with you soon, vhenan," as if the wind could carry her words across the continent.

[sleepymarmot]

Oh wow, it took me a reread of the dialogue to realize why Ameridan and Telana's shrine was to Ghilan'nain specifically:

Ameridan: I prepare now for my final battle against this dragon of the Avvar. All is in place. I offer thanks to Ghilan'nain, Halla-Mother, and to Andraste, Maker-Bride. As you were raised up from mortal men to stand with our Creators, our Makers, so raise me up now to defend this world.

Andraste was an ordinary person who was raised by the Maker to stay at his side. Ghilan'nain was an ordinary person who was raised by the Creators to be their equal.

Ameridan places Andraste and Ghilan'nain in the same category. By extension, this comparison also implies that the Maker is placed on the same level as the Creators, not above them.

Furthermore, Ameridan compares himself to Andraste and Ghilan'nain, asking to be raised up above the level of the ordinary person like they were.

Also note that we have two different records of Ghilan'nain's myth: a modern one and an ancient. In the modern myth, told by Keeper Gisharel, Ghilan'nain is turned into a white halla by her patron, Andruil. In a far older and likely forgotten story found in the Temple of Mythal, Andruil approaches Ghilan'nain and tells her the gods will share their power with her if she complies with their request. Ameridan's description of Ghilan'nain is closer to the ancient story — perhaps it was still well-known in his time.

This is the only time Ameridan mentions the Maker. However, he has another line where he mentions Andraste only:

Ameridan: The passage of years can be delayed, but not ignored. I will soon join Telana at Andraste's side.

He describes dying as joining Andraste, not joining the Maker. Is this just an expression, or does it say something about his beliefs? Would be interesting to compare this to similar euphemisms used by the modern Andrastians.

[ode-of-odr-archive]

@kaaras-adaar​ continued from here

Raserei nodded. It was something he thought about as well. This was grand, even not being the core of it all like Kaaras, he was still on this whirlwind adventure to save the world. How does one come down after that? How does one relearn to relax and breathe like a normal person? How was the world going to move forward? It was a lot in truth. 

And all this had got him thinking that he really didn’t belong anywhere. Not truly. Sure with Valor being part of him, the Avvar were a good choice and they did raise him. He was as deep into their customs as the next of his kin. But that’s the thing wasn’t it? They weren’t his kin. He was a marveled at outsider. Adopted. Not that being adopted in should matter...but because he looked so different it was hard to say he ever felt like he belonged somewhere. 

With this? It didn’t matter he fit in because he could swing a big weapon and take out demons. This worked...for now. But it would end, then what? It scared him to think he could never he happy with calm and quiet now. That he and Valor would be chasing the next thrill until it kills them both. 

“I have been thinking about that too...a lot. While my tribe clearly accepted me, and put me upon a pedal stool for my looks, I don’t really fit in, ja? And look around, I really don’t fit in with the Lowlanders! But because of this chaos, this need to fix something bigger than a border, or whatever vain issue we mortals have, I fit in, because it does not matter. Being away from the Hold for so long now has made realize how much of an outsider I always feel despite...” he trailed off as he almost outed Valor. 

“I worry I will live a restless life now.” 

[vacantvisage]

I need to draw my other Vashoth OC and I kinda want to make an Avvar. Maybe even an Orlesean. Til then here’re my DA OC WIPs all together.

Kasakos, a Saarebas Mage Inqui

Aribas, a Tal Vashoth OC

Dirthadin, my Dalish Necromancer OC, my beloved

Slowly getting everyone’s stories straight:

Kasakos was sent to the Conclave to spy, but ended up with the mark. Aribas and Saarkadan, a javelin thrower and a rogue assassin, went looking for Kasakos after hearing of his survival. The rest of their mercenary Tal-Vashoth group otherwise wanted little to do with the explosion, preferring staying alive and out of conflict. Aribas, Saarkadan, and Kasakos respect the decision, but the Inquisition still contracts them for small things.

Despite his gargantuan height, knotted regrown horns, and gnarled scars on his hands and face, Kadakos is very soft spoken and keeps to himself. Due to the traumatic brutalities he’s faced from the Qun, he is more naturally inclined to follow than to lead, and is not well acquainted with the common tongue.

Aribas respects his freedom even if she’s wary of magic, and is here to make the hard decisions for the Inquisition, which is also helpful to Kasakos and his aversion to such positions. She is blunt and straightforward. She named herself Aribas after becoming Inquisitor, as a purposeful bastardization of the Ari-Triumvirate of the Qun.

Saarkadan is just happy to kill and preferably prevent demons from flooding the world. Despite a deep aversion to magic, he wants to protect Kasakos. Saarkadan feeling like he should be allowed to leave the Qun means logically he should extend the same courtesy to Kasakos, even if magic seems terrifying to him. He is aware of how deeply embedded the Qun is in him that makes him knee jerk react to things like magic and wants to try and deprogram himself as much as possible.

Dirthadin is a former Keeper. He left his clan with a severely underprepared First and Second to instead pursue knowledge of spirits and archaeology. He learned the Nevarran art of necromancy, but prefers to use it to make spirits remember the echoes of long dead Dalish. He’s not averse to raising corpses, however, but prefers thinking outside the boundaries of magic.

He ends up joining the Inquisition as an agent to help collect knowledge, study artifacts, and find Astrariums when possible. He’s not a very good fighter, even with magic, but he’s quick on his feet and serves as an excellent scout with his keen eye. One of the best to contract when you need crafting materials or need to find lost treasure.

[lairofdragonagelore]

Crestwood: Flooded Caves

The village of Crestwood was hit hard by the darkspawn during the Fifth Blight. Many refugees from the south tried to find shelter in Crestwood, however some of them were carrying the blight disease and were infecting others. The diseased were moved to the caves beneath the town. When the invading darkspawn arrived and surrounded most of the valley, Mayor Gregory Dedrick decided to open the dam and flood the village, killing the darkspawn, and any remaining villagers inside, to save the lives of everyone else.

[This is part of the series “Playing DA like an archaeologist”]

Once the zone has been drained, we have access to the Old Crestwood; several  statues of the Dwarf with long limbs surround the village. This is a very curious detail, specially if we think that below this city there are dwarven ruins. In previous posts I had concluded that these statues were pointers or markers. Maybe in this case they are pointing that this area is where a dwarven ruin entrance exists. Now, one also wonders why don’t they show the typical statue of the generic paragon holding a hammer over his head. These probably were the markers done by the Avvar or alamarri. Or maybe these are a group of dwarves related to the Avvar and independent of Orzammar’s. We need to remember that both groups [Avvar or alamarri] had deep relationships with the dwarves to the point to produce offspring, something we never saw dorectly in DA games. Only in tales of the past Dwarves and humans mix.

We can find the old house of the Mayor where we discover that the one who flooded the town was him in order to prevent the spread of the Blight.

In a falling apart house we find a Spirit of Command who wants us to kill a rage demon. For that, we need to access to the lower caves of the village.

To complete this task, we head to a gate we find in a corner of the village that sends us down into the deep caves. Here it’s where we can see bodies and remnants of what happened ten years ago: people who had taken refuge in these caves died when the water raised.

Walking further, we discover that this underground contains Dwarven ruins.

At the end of the exploration, we find the rage demon, probably fed by all the rage that this flood caused in the victims ten years ago. This place where we fight the demon has columns decorated with  dwarven sarcophagus lids.

In particular, and one of the most surprising elements I found in Crestwood, is this pair of strange sculptures that we only saw in two other places: in DA2 in the Primeval Thaig [check Primeval Thaig and Red Lyrium ], and then in the Descend, in a chamber where they are accompanied with Claws of Dumat.

This place seemed to be important, since it is decorated in this fashion. It’s even present in the book of Art of Inquisition [with the presence of a head in between the columns that we never saw before.

If one is careless, they can be mistakes for Claws of Dumat, but they are not. They share the same style than the claws: they are Tevinter, with a bird-like or dragon-like shape to it. In my opinion, they look like a Tevinter translation of the elven representation of the Dragon Myhtal statue.

Later on, I found a plaque close to this place, in a locked room, that seemed to imply this was a route that connected Aeducan Thaig with Gundaar Thaig [another famous Thaig, and one of the first in falling under the darkspawn threat]

This place, aside from those strange Tevinter-like statues, is filled with elements of Dwarven art: chairs, banners, table, rugs, statues, elven-tree-like statue in Dwarvish style, etc.

At the background of this chamber, we find the standard dwarven sarcophagus, the usual dwarven table, and an elven artefact.

When the breach in the lake is closed, the whole region looks much better and brighter [I know, I should have done the exploration using the daylight. My bad].

As something curious to notice in this game:  they say that the rifts alter animals, but the only one we have seen mad were black wolves. And not only it’s a behavioural detail, it’s in their glowing green eyes. Their eyes glow as if they were coloured with Fade. They don’t have a pupil but a black crack, same as Corypheus has in the final battle. 

We know in the quest of Hinterlands: Wolf Hollow how sensitives wolves are to the presence of the breach and demons. Maybe it’s just a narrative concept to emphasise Solas’ story.

In the ruin where we found the Ferelden Wyvern statues, the dragon finally shows up.

And of course, as it could not be missed in Ferelden regions: there is always some isolated remnant of Avvar art. So far I explored, this is the only one in Crestwood. So Avvars existed in this region [which makes a lot of sense with the tale of Tyrdda Bright-Axe [her clan lived here or nearby before heading to the mountains]]

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore ]

[call-2-arms]

@wolf-at-worlds-end​ || cont 

At first that Avvar looked at her with a confused look; like she was mad. It took him by surprise that someone, not an Avvar even knew that; then to boot it felt out of left field.

But the look quickly fled, to be replaced with his deep rumbling laughter.

"Ja, it sounds weird when a Lowlander says it, probably because your assumption is in your tone. No offense. But ja, we do. It is a bit more complicated than that. I will simply say if she does not want to be taken she won't be, and if the first warning of this is not heeded the suitor will meet their fate in the next attempt."

Raserei shrugged, "It is different than how it is done down here, I know. Here it is flowers and poetry, and they are...nice. I see the appeal, I cannot read well...but once long ago someone read some to me, ja? Love poetry and it felt empty. Men compare women to flowers a lot, I guess that is nice, but flowers are picked, plucked, and trampled underfoot. Admired for their youth and tossed aside when they wither. Hardly seems like something a woman of worth should be compared to!"

Cassandra’s brow raised. She did not mean to look at him the way she knew she was. The horror on her sharp features was not schooled at all. She supposed she was no master manipulator--always too brash and too honest. At times, that got her into trouble, and she did not wish to offend the Inquisitor. But the idea of someone intruding upon one’s home and stealing someone was positively monstrous.

The Seeker attempted to understand that this was some Avvar custom. She even tried to see the romantic side of it. Certainly different to flowers and poetry (which she loved the idea of). She supposed... if she tried, she could see the romance in someone muscular coming in and proving their strength by sweeping them from their bed and carrying them out the front door. 

“Then these women have a say in this?” she asked. Raserei said that they would not be taken if they didn’t wish to be. So that meant there was consent, and that surely these people were not strangers to each other. They had courted, they had befriended, there was some kind of a relationship between them, if she was correct. 

“I know I am not the common woman, but do these women not sleep with weapons near by? Are your people not asking to be attacked when they intrude?” Cassandra knew the first thing she’d be grabbing would be her sword, and it may strike this so called suitor. 

She was surprised by his comment of the flowers, and that they did, indeed, wither eventually. That was insightful of the qunari man. 

[liza011]

It's Friday! For DADWC, Merrill/Hawke, sacrifice?

12. Sacrifice (Merrill/f!Hawke)

RATING: T

For @dadrunkwriting.

@biblioteknician Happy Friday.

---

"Alison?" Merrill didn't wait for her to answer before she entered the bedroom. "I'm sorry for what happened."

Hawke looked up at her, face stricken with tears. "Thank you." Even when Merrill sat down next to her on the bed, she still felt empty. "Everyone's gone. Dad, Bethany, Carver, mom. I feel lost."

"I know. I'm here, and you still have your friends. You'll get through this. It'll hurt less with time."

Alison knew she was right, but couldn't manage a smile. "I hope so." She paused. "Can you stay the night? I don't want to be alone."

"Of course." Merrill wrapped her arms around Hawke, her next words quiet. "I love you."

"I love you too. I'm glad you're here."

...

She walked the winding paths of the Fade until she reached an open plain, tundra. Looking around she saw no spirits, no animal, nothing. But she felt something, a presence, looming at the edge of her perception, stretching like shadows when the sun set on the horizon.

"Who enters my domain?"

The voice covered her like a warm blanket. "A wanderer," she answered.

A speck of red appeared in the sky above. It quickly became larger.

She realized it was a dragon, but didn't feel the need to run. They landed in front of her.

"You are lost," they said.

"I am."

"My name is Sacrifice."

Alison raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to offer me up to the Fade?"

"No. I give a piece of myself to the living, so they may benefit from me," they explained. "I do not get many visitors, so there is much of me left. I could give you some of my happiness. You need it."

"No, keep it."

"You do not think you're worthy," Sacrifice sighed.

"I also don't want to see you in pain," Alison added.

"I wouldn't be. As I said, there is much of me left, and you will only need a little bit to heal."

"No, I'll get better on my own, it will just take time."

The dragon lowered their head and gently nudged her. "You're a bit like me," they chuckled. "May I call you a friend?"

It made her smile. "You may." She reached out and ran her hand over their scales, surprised to feel that they were warm. "I like your form." She showed her the red dragon tattoo on her upper arm. "Did you pick it because of me?"

"No. I am always this," Sacrifice laughed. "But I am pleased that you approve of it." They lay down. "Sit with me. I shall enjoy your company."

Alison rested her back against the dragon's neck. "Will you disappear one day if you've given enough of yourself?" she asked, the thought saddening her.

"I'm not sure. The Avvar sometimes give back pieces of me."

"I see."

"Will you come back to visit?" Sacrifice wanted to know.

"I will."

"That's nice." For a moment they were quiet. "We could trade shapes if you wanted. The white haired woman wouldn't teach you, but I could."

"I would only be able to use that knowledge here, though, wouldn't I?"

They shook their head. "Outside as well."

"Would this mean you'd be sacrificing a piece of yourself?"

"Not if you give me your shape in return. We would both be able to use either at will. I could even come visit you."

"Would you look exactly like me?"

Again, they shook their head. "No."

"Deal. Let's do it."

The tundra around them turned into blackened soil. She felt Sacrifice's consciousness enter hers. It made her head hurt.

"Thank you, for letting me in."

Alison screamed as her whole body felt like it was being burned. She grew heavier, larger, her skin changed.

Abruptly, the pain stopped and when her eyes adjusted everything was sharper. She looked down. A person with short, red hair waved at her. Sacrifice.

"I need a human name," they chuckled.

"We could nickname you Safi," she suggested.

"Sounds good!" Safi took a step forward, or tried to. They fell over and started laughing. "Feels funny."

Alison grinned. "You'll get used to it." She stretched her wings, carefully testing how she could move them. "I'm actually worried I'll fall out of the sky if I try to fly."

Safi picked themself up from the ground. "You show me how to walk, I'll show you how to fly, ok?"

"Yes." She changed back and offered them a hand.

They were a quick learner and after a few minutes, Safi was running and jumping.

"Looks great," Alison complimented them. "Nobody would know you're a spirit."

They came over again and hugged her. "Thank you! Now let's turn you into a proper dragon." They took her face in their hands and leaned close. Their amber eyes intensely focused on Alison. "You're going to love it!"

She smiled as they stepped back and took their original form again. She followed suit and mirrored their movements. "I'm not as pretty a color as you are," she noted.

"You like the mountains, that's why you're gray," Safi let her know. "You can blend in with the rocks and nobody will bother you."

She attempted to jump and glide, like they had shown her, but tripped over her front legs. "Too many limbs," she laughed.

"Push off with your hind legs, don't try to get a running start."

Again, she tried and this time, it worked.

"Now flap your wings," they instructed.

She did. The angle was wrong. She crashed into the ground. "That could take a while."

"You'll get there," Safi said.

Eventually she did. It had taken most of the night and she could feel she'd wake very soon. "I'll be returning in a bit."

"Can I follow you?"

"If it doesn't harm you, sure."

"I'll be fine."

...

Merrill was still asleep next to her. She sat up. Something moved to her left, startled her.

"You made it!" Alison said, slightly breathless.

Safi was standing in the corner of the room, smiling. "I did!"

She got up. "Do you want to try some food while you're here?"

They nodded, excited. "Yes!"

Together they went to the kitchen and Alison proceeded to make breakfast for the three of them.

"What's your favorite?" Safi asked, pointing at the bowl of fruit.

"The dates," she answered. "They're really sweet."

"And this?"

"That's tea, and it's also my favorite."

The floor boards creaked and Merrill stood in the doorway, staring. "Hawke, who are you talking to? And why are there three plates? Will Varric be joining us?"

[lifetimeoftired]

My dear, I’ve been going through everyone who reblogged the ask game and see that you’ve answered everything in the tags. But would you perhaps do us the honor of making a proper post with all your answers? They deserve to be in more than just the tags <3

This gives me the same emotions as that one time my manager caught me drawing devil horns and a tale on a portrait of a co-worker none of us liked, told me that I should be better than this and when I blurted out 'do you wanna finish the tail?' he went 'yes :)' and finished drawing the tail. Which is to say; embarrassed at being caught but blindingly delighted to oblige the situation.

Also I'm going to go even more in-depth with permission granted.

The characters are as follows:

Warden-Commander Zaion'Jyn of Clan Dantalyse. Hero of Ferelden(/the Fifth Blight), Arl of Amaranthine, The Dark Wolf (his alter ego on the streets when he needs to cause problems on purpose illegally), Storm Wolf (to the Avvar clans), The Magi of Broken Chains (to the tiventer slavers, freed slaves, and the Fog warriors), Chosen of Mythal (to the dalish)

Champion Sadria Hawke. Scion of house Amell. Princess of Starkhaven. The Dark Marcher. Darling of Fool's Gold.

Inquisitor Thalla. (Formerly) Lady in Waiting to Comtesse de Bayard. Hunter to Clan Lavellan. Herald of Andraste. Lady of Bows.

your Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor's opinion on Orlais?

Zaion despises Orlsias. Their mistreatment of his people, being the birth place of the chantry, the Grand Game and all the self serving nobility while they sit in the house his people built- their sins are so highly stacked against them. In his ongoing grudge match with human civilization, the only country he hates more is Tiventer.

Sadria has that innate disdain of Orlsias that's ingrained in all Fereldeners.

Thalla actually was born and raised in Orlsias. Her grandparents were from the same alienage that Celene burned down, so her feelings on her country of birth can be described, at best, 'Complicated to Hatred'.

2. are they skilled in The Grand Game?

Zaion is a skilled manipulator and a trickster to his core. He's pretty damn good at the Game. However when he does bother to compete, he hates the person he becomes and mostly uses it as a way to kill nobles in his way or to leverage better deals for Amaranthine or Ferelden.

Sadria? Fuck no. Despite being a good lair, she's shit with people.

Thalla could be if she wasn't desperately trying to stop being in politics.

3. opinion on blood magic?

Zaion: There's three kinds of blood mages; The Stupid, the Desperate, and the Arrogant. Of them, the last one is the most annoying to deal with.

Sadria: I wouldn't care of they would stop blowing up my city :(

Thalla: bad evil bad!! Let's not!!!

4. attitude towards Andrastianism? / 5. attitude towards the Chantry / 6. attitude towards the Qun?

All a resounding disgust to exhausted groaning.

Although, Zaion doesn't judge people for their faith, he even finds parts of the Qun admirable. His main issue with organized religion is how it must mistreat it's own people in order to stay in power. Sadria just doesn't want to deal with religious fanaticism and Thalla just wants to be left alone.

7. if they had to choose one person most important to them, who would that be?

Zaion's most important person is absolutely Alistair- until he learns of both his own son (who's my Rook at this moment in time, subject to change depending on how the game goes) and Alistair's son Kieran. Both boys become his biggest priority with full support from Alistair.

Despite not caring for fanatacism, Sadria fell in love with Sebastian and he subsequently became her most important person. Especially after they got married.

Thalla is an odd case because she rarely gets close to people at all. Shockingly enough however, during the events of Inquisition, she was closest to Cole, nearly adopting the boy as her own (much as he actually freaked her out at first). But he's the only person who can get past her walls and helps her open up to others and her helping him learning how to talk to people is what really broke her out of her shell. After the events, she spent a lot of time with Alistair and eventually the two fell in love and she married him (they met when she fell out of a tree and knocked him out on accident :3)

8. who do they hate the most, and do they have an arch-nemesis?

Zaion: Loghain- he'll never forgive him but he's dead at least. Currently he also considers Solas an enemy because that fucker is trying to undo all his hard work saving this stupid fucking world and not today satan wolf!!

Sadria: Quentin, the mage that killed her mom.

Thalla: Celene. Leaving Briala in charge of Gaspard was the most satisfying thing she's ever done

9. what is their love language? 

Zaion: Sure he's a hero and does a lot for everyone anyway, but he'll pay close attention and goes the extra mile for the people he cares about. He'll also be more inclined to let go of some of his paranoia and tight control around them.

Sadria: Hiding so much of herself beyond a laugh and a quick retort, if you actually get to see that vulnerable side and hear her sincere feelings, that means she likes you.

Thalla: As someone who spends most of her time actively trying to avoid being noticed or being roped into problems, if she slows down and actually hears you out and tries to help- even if it's just a simple comforting word- you're her friend.

10. are they good horse riders?

Zaion / Thalla: Yes

Sadria: Would prefer not to. She can, but her own feet are safer.

11. what are their religious beliefs, if any?

Zaion: Fully believes in the elven gods and hopes they're still waiting for their people. (A faith that's getting shakier after all that BS Solas said, but he's holding out hope)

Sadria: Andrastian but doesn't consider herself particularly faithful. She prays when she needs it, but by this point she sends up a quick 'thanks asshole' when something else goes wrong.

Thalla: Atheist by this point because even if there was a god they sound like selfish dickbags and she wants no part of their nonsense. She does however follow the Dalish Way of Three Trees as best she can, and held The Way of Shadow deep in her heart in case she ever got the chance to pay back Celene.

12. attitude towards Mabari?

Zaion / Sadria: Undying love and affection. They would die and kill for their dog.

Thalla: Hasn't been around mabari much but isn't a fan of dogs after a shitty noble refused to stop his dogs from harassing her back in Orlsias.

13. their thoughts on the Grey Warden order?

Zaion: He had respect for the Order previously due to hearing tales of the Wardens growing up, but as a bitter adult he's a little more realistic on the nature of people themselves. Still, after becoming a Warden he has the utmost faith in and loyalty to the mission. He may no longer be a Warden (complicated events in my canon led to him taking the power of the Well himself), but he still holds his former comrades in arms in high regard.

Sadria / Thalla: Believed in the wardens as heroes and got a little crushed when they were forced to confront they were only people. Sadria was especially hurt when Bethany turned on her, becoming so bitter when she was forced to join the Wardens. Thalla was beginning to trust in Blackwall, and the sheer mind-numbingly horror show that was Adamant has lost faith that there's any real good in any institution- including the Inquisition.

14. who are they closest to from their family?

Zaion: All of his blood family died years ago and of his chosen family he remains closest to Alistair. Though after he meets his son, the two form a fast and rather close bond.

Sadria: Was closest to Bethany but, well, she's mad at her now after joining the wardens. After joining the inquisition though, she meets her cousin Amell and the two have been getting to know each other.

Thalla: Her grandparents, and her parents who were visiting them, died in the fire and she struggles with getting close to anyone now. Even in the inquisition.

15. preferred weapon of choice?

#15: Zaion: Duel wields two blades; the Calenhad blade and Starfang, in tandem with his battle magic as befitting Dirth'ena Enasalin. A True Arcane warrior.

Sadria: Bow and arrow. For a short bow, she uses The Houndmaster's Short Bow. If she needs a more powerful long ranged weapon, she uses The Hawke's Key- but she rarely needs it.

Thalla: Also an archer, she predominantly used the Superior Dalish Hunting bow, but after finding the bane of red crossing she thought it fitting.

16. do they get sentimental about their weapons or armour?

Zaion is very sentimental about the warden armor- in his canon he made the iconic blue and grey to confront Loghain at the landsmeet. Just petty enough to outsmart and out dress him at his supposed moment of triumph (he also helped the others find stylish outfits, plent of unused concept art that was pretty lit is what he used for their outfits because like hell was he going to be the only well dressed one here). Even better that it's become the official warden outfits in the years since. As for the blades, he's unbearably attached to them. Even if he goes without the armor, he can never let Calenhad out of his sight after Alistair trusted him enough to hold Cailan's sword and wield it with respect. Starfang is of course a one of kind, made for his hands alone. He takes that very seriously.

Sadria has a complicated relationship with the champion armor. To her, it is a source of pride. She saved the city and protected her home, rescued her loved ones and earned the respect of the Arishok to the point he would willingly fight her one on one out of that respect. It is also her burden. A symbol of her failures and that legends never live up to reality... As for The Houndmaster and the Key, the first she wields for the memory of Tallis- a love that burned so bright yet so brief and will always remain her biggest what-if. The latter in her father's name. For his burdens and how she understands him now better than she ever did when he was alive.

Thalla was by far the most reluctant to don her armor. Her? A herald to a religion she hates for people that want her dead in a world with plenty of other people far more willing to bear this burden? She was basically dragged kicking and screaming into it. Yet, by the time she's finally able to leave the armor behind, there's a strange sorrow to it. The respect she had as a world leader will be gone, her friends will part ways, and she must stop an ancient evil without those who put their faith in her. It's harder than she wants to admit to put it all away- but she must and take the relief of it's weight as it comes. As for her bow, upon learning the story of Red Crossing, elves and humans, a love story, and the tragedy of intolerance, it feels heavy. It feels like it belongs in her hands.

17. what were they like as a child?

Zaion: Happy go lucky, a pure kind of innocence to even his most silly and rebellious actions as a teen. A smile like the sun and compassionate to a fault. Most wouldn't recognize him as the same person honestly.

Sadria: A much more serious child, though she always had a wild streak in her. She took the importance of caring for her family with a smile, but it was with the seriousness only a child can give with their first responsibility.

Thalla: A much more curious child. Always trying to learn more and sticking her nose into places it didn't belong.

18. do they have any irrational fears?

No. All their fears are completely justified after the events of the games. Though Zaion's claustrophobia is definitely on the more extreme side.

19. are they afraid of death?

Not anymore.

20. where would they like to be buried?

Zaion: Would love nothing more than to be buried in the family crypt with his old clan. Unfortunately, due to his decision to get involved in the outside world, he's made himself a bit of an outcast in his clan. He's allowed to visit, but it's clear it's not his home anymore and he's no longer privy to their rituals. Instead, he'll take being buried in the Amaranthine woods where he's made a home.

Sadria: Wants to be buried next to her husband, Sebastian.

Thalla: Hopes to be able to be buried in traditional Dalish fashion. Somewhere in the woods with a tree growing atop her.

21. what is their biggest regret?

Zaion: He has so many, but it will be not getting to watch his son grow up.

Sadria: Not spending more time with her family when she had the chance.

Thalla: Not going with her parents to visit her grandparents on that fateful day.

22. have they ever been to Tevinter?

Zaion: A few times. He likes to free slaves and kill magisters to vent his frustrations and for a little adventure when he's been couped up in Amaranthine too long.

Sadria / Thalla: Never and are happy enough not to. (Though Thalla will grudgingly go to stop Solas in the new game I'd assume)

23. do they have, or want to have, children?

Zaion: Would love nothing more than to be a father, but he's never had time for a real relationship. He has his whole Thing with Zevran, but he refuses to call it romantic due to trauma and as such. He has a bad habit of picking up strays batman-style. Meeting his bio son was a bit healing for him really.

Sadria: She's nervous about the idea, unsure if she'd make a good mother, but she's open to the idea. Especially since, being married to a noble house she'll be expected to.

Thalla: No kids and no current plans on getting any.

24. what languages can they speak?

Zaion: Speaks Common, Elvish, several dialects of the Avvar language, Tivene, Qunlat, Orlsian, and Antivan. Common, Elvish and the Avvar were learned prior to becoming the arl of Amaranthine and the rest he's picked up for trade route reasons, excluding Tivene. Which he learned to speak to the slaves and so he could mock magisters while freeing them.

Sadria: Common, some broken single dialect of the Avvar clans.

Thalla: Fluently speaks both Common and Orlsian (though she's done a good job of hiding her accent). Knows some Elvish after years of living with the Dalish.

25. what did they plan for their life to look like before the events of the game happened?

Zaion: His main goal in life was becoming what was known as a 'Lore Hunter' like his family before him. His clan is extremely isolationist, only occasionally trading with the Avvar clans nearby, so they do not bring attention to themselves by getting involved. With the except of their Lore Hunters; Well trained individuals who leave the clan to seek out lost knowledge on the People and return with it for preservation and study. Eventually to get weary of the dangers of the world and return to settle down and get married with kids.

Sadria: She was content being nothing more than a simple game hunter for Lothering and looking out for her family. Maybe get some kisses here and there from cute folks around.

Thalla: Her original plan in life was following her parents footsteps and working as a servant in waiting to the noble family her parents worked for. After their deaths and the horrifying realization that their lives were fodder, a game, and there would be no justice in Orlsias for the loss of her family. she fled and found her way to a traveling clan. Learning the ways of the Hunter she was at peace to pretend her past life never existed.

26. do they get a happy ending?

THEY MIGHT IF THEDAS WOULD STOP BLOWING ITSELF UP (Merril Voice:) BY THE DREAD W O L F

[spainkitty]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Chapter 7: I am the one

“I can’t help you, Surana,” Varric said. Lanil winced at how kind and pitying he sounded. “He’s a fugitive, they both are. They left Kirkwall and I cut all contact, and their safety was only one reason why. We separated on... complicated terms.”

Lanil’s hands spasmed around the edges of the book and felt her heart drop to her toes. One more family connection severed. Why was she so upset about it? It’s not like the connection had existed for the past ten years. She hadn’t lost anything. A large hand cupped hers, engulfing her hand completely. Lanil looked up to meet Varric’s warm amber gaze. His eyes were nearly the same shade as Anders’, and it made her mouth twist painfully.

“I can promise you that Hawke is at his side, wherever he is. She’d have to be dead to leave him, and the whole world would know if someone like Hawke died.” He smirked. “That’s what I tell myself so I can sleep at night.”

Lanil’s eyes darted over his face, reading the sincerity behind his self-deprecating little joke, and slowly nodded. She glanced down again, inhaling and exhaling shakily.

“All right. That can… that can be enough for now.” She cleared her throat awkwardly and straightened her shoulders. “Was I interrupting something? When I came up, you two were talking rather intently.”

“Yes and no,” Varric said. Lanil frowned.

“The Commander was talking about a hostage situation with me and my boys,” Bull explained. Lanil grimaced. She had just stopped thinking about him, damn it. “We’ve done a few, mostly got the hostages out not too worse for wear, but in this case, it’ll be a bit trickier.” The Iron Bull looked upward with a pensive little frown. “There’s a chance they’ll kill every hostage the moment they realize we don’t have what they want.”

“I would prefer knowing details instead of vague outlines,” Lanil said impatiently.

Varric chuckled. “Some Avvar chieftain in the Fallow Mire wants to duel the Herald of Andraste, according to Scout Harding. He’s been attacking camps and taking Inquisition soldiers and bellowing to everyone who has half an ear a mile away that if the Herald wants them back, she can come get them.”

“Why?” Lanil asked incredulously.

“Something about gods and chips on shoulders, who knows, Shortie,” Varric said, sighing.

Lanil did a double-take and glared down at him. “Shortie? You’re shorter than me.”

Varric smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t make you any less short, does it, Shortie?”

Lanil glared harder.

“Maybe we can figure out how to sneak up on this guy, do a smash and grab. If we hit hard and fast enough, we might minimize the casualties,” the Iron Bull mused, tapping on the pommel of his large, two-handed axe that was braced against the side of his boot. Lanil was pretty sure she could fit both her feet inside that boot at the same time. It’d be a tight fit, but it was probably possible. “I could come up with a better idea once I see where they’re held.”

“We could just wait for the Herald. I’m sure she could deal with this chucklefuck in a snap,” Varric pointed out. Lanil snorted out loud and mentally catalogued that insult for later.

“How much of moron is this guy?” Lanil asked as a half-formed idea began to slip into her mind.

“Would give a rock a run for its money, that’s the impression I got from Curly’s glowing summary of Harding’s report,” Varric said. The Iron Bull nodded in agreement with a chuckle.

“So… what does the Avvar actually know about the Herald?” Lanil said. “That she’s a woman? A qunari? Does he know if she’s a mage or a templar or wicked with a set of daggers? Does he know what she looks like or even her name?”

“We can’t know for sure, but I doubt he knows much more than woman qunari,” Varric said, eyebrow rising as he began to cotton on to her idea. The Iron Bull grinned widely.

“You thinking what I’m thinking, mage?” Bull asked.

Lanil raised an eyebrow. Then, pointed to herself. “Woman.” She pointed at the Iron Bull. “Qunari.”

“You can’t be serious.” Varric swiped a hand down his face, but couldn’t quite wipe off the smirk.

“He’s dumb as a box of rocks and wants a fight with a woman and a qunari. We’ll just suggest the stories got things a bit mixed up.”

“And if he demands you prove yourself by closing a rift, you know, the thing Adaar is infamous for?” Varric asked.

“I’ll tell him to go fuck himself,” Lanil answered with a shrug. The Iron Bull guffawed and slapped Lanil’s back. She grunted and stumbled forward, but returned his laughter with a wry grin of her own.

[dragon-age-codex-entries]

Codex entry: The Frostback Mountains

“Even mountains had a heart, once. When the world was young, Korth the Mountain-Father kept his throne at the peak of Belenas, the mountain that lies at the center of the world, from which he could see all the corners of earth and sky. And he saw strong men become weak, brave men grow cowardly, and wise men turn foolish for love.

Korth devised a plan that he might never be betrayed by his own heart, by taking it out and hiding it where no soul would ever dare search for it. He sealed it inside a golden cask, buried it in the earth, and raised around it the fiercest mountains the world had ever seen, the Frostbacks, to guard it.

But without his heart, the Mountain-Father grew cruel. His chest was filled with bitter mountain winds that shrieked and howled like lost souls. Food lost its flavor, music had no sweetness, and he lost all joy in deeds of valor. He sent avalanches and earthquakes to torment the tribes of men. Gods and men rose against him, calling him a tyrant, but with no heart, Korth could not be slain. Soon there were no heroes left, either among men or gods, who would dare challenge Korth.

The Lady of the Skies sent the best of her children—the swiftest, the cleverest, and strongest fliers—to scour the mountains for the missing heart, and for a year and a day they searched. But sparrow and raven, vulture and eagle, swift and albatross returned to her with nothing.

Then the ptarmigan spoke up, and offered to find the god-chief's heart. The other birds laughed, for the ptarmigan is a tiny bird, too humble to soar, which spends half its time hopping along the ground. The Lady would not give the little creature her blessing, for the mountains were too fierce even for eagles, but the ptarmigan set out anyway.

The little bird traveled deep into the Frostbacks. When she could not fly, she crawled. She hugged the ground and weathered the worst mountain winds, and so made her lonely way to the valley where the heart beat. With all the god's terrible deeds, the heart was far too heavy for the tiny bird to carry, so she rolled it, little by little, out of the valley and down a cliff, and when the golden cask struck the earth, it shattered. The heart was full almost to bursting, and the pain of it roused the mountain god to come see what had happened.

When Korth neared his heart, it leapt back into his chest and he was whole again. Then Hakkon Wintersbreath bound Korth's chest with three bands of iron and three bands of ice, so it could never again escape. And all the remaining gods named the ptarmigan honored above even the loftiest eagles.

—"The Ptarmigan: An Avvar Tale," from Ferelden: Folklore and History, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar”

[malefilus]

I really want to see like more people from different backgrounds for the main character preferrably but also even a companion. People who actually stick to and adhere to their cultural beliefs rather than slowly either have nothing really except for one or two pieces of dialogue here and there to remind us (looking at pretty much all nonhuman inquisitor) and someone who isn't just gonna be Andrastian. I'd also like the ability to just be straight up awful again. The warden could be awful and make the meanest decisions but we kind of lost that in the last two. Imagine if we just got like: 1. Tirashan elf main character. What little we know about the Tirashan elves is that they're far more violent than other Dalish. Their vallaslin is stated to be nothing but 'blood red' and any who enter their area rarely get out alive. Imagine someone who came from that type of upbringing and was pretty much shoved into a position of 'save the world'. I also just have a theory that they probably didn't fully worship the elven gods but perhaps worshipped more the forgotten ones. 2. Give us someone who was raised by the Avvar and is an Avvar. Let us go in as someone who sticks to that belief and upbringing throughout all of it. The dialogue and interactions you can get out of that dynamic alone would be amazing. Plus the fashion would be top tier to me. 3. What about a Qunari who is from Par Vollen and still abides by the Qun. Maybe someone who was sent on a similar mission like Sten was in DA:O to simply answer a question. Watching them be put out of their normal day to day into something else would be interesting. And giving the character player the dialogue and options to either stick to it or change slowly. 4. What about a Fog Warrior? That'd be rad. Especially if you throw in a lot of help for your cause from Tevinter and Qunari; both groups fog warriors actively fight against. 5. Give me the ability to have been or be an Antivan Crow. We get to pick up little stuff in Origins to play pretend at it, sure. But I mean like give me more. 6. What about another city elf or even a Tevinter escaped slave? Those would both be an interesting twist to present

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

A bit early b/c my wednesdays are tabletop day so I have to do lots of prep.  Tagging @kirkwalls-dumbest and @oxygenforthewicked because i can

Here is Nathaniel Howe making friends against his will for the next chapter of the fic.

...

A servant was tipping one last heavy basin of water into the cauldron, which was already steaming.

On the left side, behind the old, tattered curtains, a few soldiers were already talking and scrubbing, filling the air of the cavernous stone room with idle chatter.  Anders was there, but not bathing.  He seemed to be a bit confused from the expression on his face as he stared at the pot over the massive open fireplace.  Nathaniel gave him a curious look, picking a battered wooden tub opposite where everyone else was to drop off his pack.

“Problem?”

Anders spun to face him, giving an awkward laugh.  “No!  I was just…so you, what, have to fill the tub yourself?”

“If you really want to, I suppose.  Generally, though, one pitcher to scrub up, one pitcher to rinse off,” Nathaniel said, a bit confused.  “Have you never had a bath before?”

“Well, yes, but generally it involves…a tub full of water.  That you sit in.  I assume that if I went and sat in that pot, I’d end up being served for dinner.”

“Those of us without magic actually have to labor for a full bath, and that is generally not a luxury a soldier would rate,” Nathaniel said, going to pick up a battered pitcher and a watertight wooden bucket from the pile of such vessels left by the cauldron.  He shoved the bucket at Anders.  “If you want to sit in a tub full of water…you’re going to have to fill it yourself.  Or we’ll be having mage stew for dinner, I suppose.”

He dunked his pitcher into the cauldron, filling it up.

“Beg pardon, was that a joke?”

“No,” Nathaniel said, deadpan, and headed for his chosen tub.  “This is the best you’ll get.  No bath houses in Ferelden anymore.”

Anders being Anders, he latched onto that immediately.  “Anymore?”

Nathaniel sighed, setting down the pitcher and yanking the old curtain closed.  Why did he even bother speaking?  Leave the slightest crack, and the mage would wriggle right in there.  “They used to be common before the occupation.  Avvar style bathhouses.  Steam baths, followed by a cold rinse.  But then the Chantry started calling them ‘uncivilized’, among other things, and so they fell out of fashion.”

“That seems a shame.”

“It was an excuse.  One more way for the Orlesians to destroy Ferelden culture.”  He pulled his shirt over his head, noting how direly it needed to be washed.  With a sigh, he tossed it into the tub, dumping the pitcher of water over it.  Might as well deal with the laundry as well, since he had an extra set of clothes.  

“You said before that Fereldens are trying to reclaim their culture.”

“Yes.  But this is a pious country, and the old bath houses were notorious for licentious behavior and prostitution.  So, the Chantry maintains the line.”

“And here I was looking forward to this bath…”  Anders sighed heavily.  “Now I’m just thinking of what might have been.”

Pushing the curtain open, he headed back to the cauldron to grab another pitcher.  Anders was still standing there with the bucket.  Nathaniel glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.  “If you’re uncomfortable you can tell the Commander.”

“Oh, no.  I grew up in the Circle.  I’ve seen more naked men than you’d believe,” Anders said, with a particularly wry tilt to his smile.  “Just considering how desperate I am for an actual bath.  Plus, the water still looks a bit tepid.  I don’t feel clean unless I look like a boiled lobster.”

“Suit yourself,” Nathaniel said simply, and went to scrub his clothes and wash up.

He had peace for a little while, cleaning and squeezing out his clothes, and then setting to work scrubbing himself down at long last.  He let down his hair and started there, working his way down until he was tingling from scalp to toes, feeling clean and a little bit raw in a way that made him feel at last like he’d washed the last few weeks from his skin.

Nathaniel hadn’t felt this clean since Kirkwall.

Once Anders had finally finished filling his tub, the quiet was finally and unfortunately broken.  “You know, Nathaniel, you’re just like me.”

He stifled a sigh, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice.  “Am I, now?”

“Yes, I was just thinking of it earlier.  Everyone hates your family for something terrible they did, even though you weren't involved!”

Less than pleased by the reminder, he picked up the empty pitcher.  “I hope you have a point, Anders.”  Shaking his head, he headed through the thin curtain.  The water in the central cauldron was indeed warmer now.  Hopefully he wouldn’t scald his skin off when he rinsed.

There were more soldiers bathing now, but they moved in and out at a fairly good clip– no one really bothered with an actual bath here, it seemed.

Well, except for Anders, who was trying and failing.  

“It's like you're a mage! If there were more Howes, they'd lock all of you up in a tower to protect everyone else.”

He dunked in the pitcher.  “A thrilling analogy.”  On his way back, he caught a brief glimpse of Anders crammed up in his tub in a rather uncomfortable-looking attempt at a seated bath, knees practically under his chin from having to cram himself in.  It distracted him from musing over his incredibly inaccurate comparison.  “You look like a wading bird I once saw outside of Markham.”

“Oh, that’s hurtful!” Anders said with a laugh, trying to shift and failing.  “I was born with these knobby knees, but on the other hand, that facial hair is a choice.”

“If you get stuck in there, I’m leaving you.”