#are there even ferelden necromancers??

[punkrockgrantaire]

Not to be like “wish this had more narrative weight” about the wish-it-had-more-narrative-weight game but imagine if Dorian being an actual necromancer was at all mentioned or explored

[breadedsinner]

Mark of the Red Death

A sebhawke Necromancer AU for @persephoneggsy. Happy birthday!

-

“Do you know what the most powerful force in the universe is?” Hawke’s mentor once asked her. She shook her head in uncertainty. “Love,” he said. She still did not understand, at the time.

*

By the time Hawke entered the castle, blood had become part of the walls, oozing from the cracks. Red handprints smeared across the castle walls, crisscrossing over one another until they became a single beast, clawing for release that never came. Banners and carpets torn, tossed in every direction. A few abandoned weapons were strewn about. Anyone could see this was a struggle, brutal and very recent, but to someone like Hawke, a mage so in touch with death, standing in the middle of it was like being in the belly of an animal, and feeling it die all around her. The clangs of steel still echoed in the halls, shadows of victims running to an escape they would never reach danced in the shadows. Their final heartbeats still hung in the air.

As foul as it was, the gore was not especially notable for Hawke. Every known nation in Thedas worshipped death in some way or another, and mages such as her were its disciples. Of course, some feared what she could do, some outright reviled, and yet she found herself highly sought after. Everything from mixing potions to communing with the dead; if it involved magic, Hawke could do it. It was the only way a simple Ferelden farmgirl could ever mingle with Tevinter Magisters and Orlesian Chevaliers. It was the only reason she was here, in this gutted Starkhaven palace.

It was not the blood that disturbed her this day, but whose blood it belonged to.

She proceeded down another hall, torn carpet under his feet, sunlight refracted through broken glass. As the chamber door appeared, she hurried, an anxious lump in her throat. She knew what she would find, but still hoped it was not so.

She threw the chamber door open and found her student, Dorian, standing over caskets. He loomed over her, she being a petite woman, but he looked upon her with reverence. He was of high Tevinter lineage, but even with all his expensive education, his own dabbles in Necromancy never came to more than raising a few long-dead corpses to stumble for a few moments. There was a reason his former mentor sent him to her.

As she walked, she looked at all the caskets, lined up in a row. Some of them were very small. All of them were closed, though Dorian was peeking inside the one at the far end.

“Is that him?” she said, her usually blunt voice cracked.

“Yes,” he said with remorse. "He is the only one in decent condition."

Dorian open the casket and they both studied the person inside. A young man--could not have been much older than either of them--lay still, with eyes closed. They could see the bronze sheen of his skin still leaving his body, the luster of his slicked brown hair coming undone. Plush lips formed a faint, serene smile, but the color was fading by the moment, cracks forming.

Hawke ran a finger along the slope of the prince’s slender cheekbone. "This is him, the youngest of the three Starkhaven princes. Did you examine the body? What did you find?”

“I did,” said Dorian, his voice solemn but with a tinge of eagerness, wanting to perform well for his renowned mentor. “He was lucky, in a way. Got an arrow in the chest while trying to lead others to a secret exit. He was so close, too. Another second and he might have made it."

Her finger ghost down the outline of his face, lingered on his chin, then she made a fist. A purple light, wafting and warbling the air, illuminated her fingernails and surged through her skin.

"You're going to bring him back?" said Dorian, trying to suppress to excitement in his voice.

"For a moment," said Hawke, her icy blue eyes turning like frosted amethyst. "long enough to ask him what happened here."

Hawke opened her palm and pressed it against the prince's chest. Purple light washed over her body and passed through him, as though she were transfusing her own energy into him. Dorian tensed, looking for color to return to the corpse, betraying his logical mind, knowing that's not how Necromancy worked. At least not any form that he or any journeyman mage was aware of, though there were tales of spells that could keep resurrected corpses near perfectly alive again, at a great cost to both caster and corpse. But not even an esteemed sorceress like Hawke could perform such a feat.

Hawke pushed harder, a bead of sweat against her pale brow. Her fingers clenched against the prince's blood-stained tunic when his eyes popped open. Dorian and the prince gasped at the same time, both shocked at the spell's success.

“Ah…” the prince’s cloudy blue eyes looked about; his body twitched as if waking from a long slumber. When his eyes cleared and found focus, they immediately locked onto Hawke, a wide, elated smile followed. “Marian!” he cried; his arms opened for her.

“You know the Prince of Starkhaven?” asked Dorian.

“He courted me briefly,” Hawke said, voice casual and flat.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, Marian,” the prince’s voice was deep and sorrowful, his eyes pouring over Hawke. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m sorry, Sebastian, but there’s no time,” said Hawke, still steady. “Do you know what happened?”

His smile immediately faded. “I … I do.”

“If we’re going to get any justice for you and your family, you need to tell me everything you know. And hurry, I can’t keep up the spell forever.”

“Those … people who stormed the castle. They had no flag, but I heard their whispers, as I tried to escape. Lady Johane Harimann hired them. If you search them, I’m sure you will find further proof.”

“That’s a good start. Walk me through your last hours.”

The prince only seemed to move his upper body, his hands clearly aching to reach for Hawke. His eyes still foggy with death, yet they almost glimmered at the sight of her, like stars glittering through clouds of night.

As he finished, Hawke placed her hand over his. The purple light around her slowly dimmed, she sighed, and the prince began to fall back.

"Dorian," said Hawke, the last of her magic faded. "Start examining the mercenary bodies. Take account of all that are in decent shape."

"Are you going to 'interview' them, too?"

"I might, though I'll need to restrain them first. But let's see what we can find on them, first."

"Very well," he took a few steps out the chamber. "And... for what's it's worth, I'm sorry about..."

"Please go, Dorian," she said, her words blunt as stone. "I need to think."

"Of course," and he hurried out.

Hawke sighed as she heard the door clack, and the footsteps faded. She tried to collect herself with deep, slow breaths. She had walked battlefields and massacres, bloody accidents and cruel forces of nature. The sight of blood stirred no emotion after a time, yet the smell of death, the force that hung like heavy fog, still became overwhelming if she lingered too long. All the worse, that it was someone she knew. Someone she loved.

One more steadying breath. She has already made her decision when she first heard the news, and she was never one to go back on a decision once she made it.

She brought her hand to the prince's chest again, this time with a crackling red light. When she touched his skin, he shuddered and buzzed, like streaks of lightning consuming his heart. Blood rose in his face, spreading color throughout. Crackles of red light crisscrossed against the arrow wound; it did not heal to become normal skin again, but the blood and the gash were gone, replaced with a jagged crimson patch. A memory of death.

He groaned, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Marian sighed in relief but was immediately stricken by a sharp pain in her chest; the magic taking its due, boiling a patch of her skin, parallel to the prince’s.

"Marian," he said softly, less a jolting rise, and more a gentle awakening, as if stirred slowly late in the morning by a lover's touch.

"Oh, my sweet Sebastian," she said, her voice cracking. "I never should have left your side. If only I had..."

"Shh, it's all right, my love," he leaned into her palm and kissed the inside. "I know you'll make this right."

"I will," she said, and she leaned into the casket to kiss him. She felt the magic as it worked, re-threading muscles, erasing the cracks. A healthy dark olive hue poured over his face, spilling into his neck, then his chest. If anything, his kiss was even more tender than she remembered. “Listen, dearest one. I can’t bring anyone else back. I have given half my life to fuel yours. You feel pain, I feel pain. You die, I die.”

“I always wanted for us to share in everything,” he said, his voice as slow and sweet as honey, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

"I'll make sure everyone even remotely responsible pays dearly for what happened here. We shall wreak this vengeance together, and I will never leave your side again."

The prince looked upon her with clear, piercing blue eyes. "Never."

*

Hawke did not understand her mentor’s words about love in her youth. Even now, she was not certain if it was meant to be encouragement or warning. But on this day, she chose her own meaning for it.

[magebutts]

I did take notes on the full Q+A because I'm a little freak but I'll simply post some of my favs: (this got really long so under a cut)

there will be a "mysterious entity that assists you" with crafting? (to which the entire chat began screaming "ENCHANTMENT" which seems likely tbh. perhaps we will finally learn the nature of Sandal lmao). It seems like DA:I's version of crafting might be done and instead we'll be given just customization + modifications, but that is entirely my own speculation from subtext + what was and wasn't said

Bellara is a mage

implied that gender + pronoun selection will be separate from each other !!!

when asked about seeing locations that have been sort of veiled in mystery/never seen before, devs said "we're not completely filling out the map; there are new things we can be hinting at and drip-feeding you" so while we will be learning more about the world, there's still even more to uncover we've never seen before possibly

dialogue wheel seems like it will be a mix of previous versions of it; there will be tones, emotions, or more neutral choices. "We want players to understand as much as possible what it is that they're picking."

when asked about Davrin + Bellara's vallaslin, devs said there are a lot of new options for the face markings especially with the new regions. "Each area has its own visual language for that. ... We've customized them, they're a bit more specific to [the character's] personality." I believe that was from Matt Rhodes

just confirmed that the Inquisitor DOES physically appear in game and the customization for them in CC is not just for their choices.

When asked if blood magic will be a class included; "Rook has some pretty good reason to avoid blood magic, they don’t want to be interested in that. ... There is a necromancer class, there is an elemental one, there is a combat mage kind of one” (im guessing the veil being bad and demons and darkspawn being a problem is probably one of the reasons for no blood magic but again im speculating)

Assan is confirmed a very good boy. When asked if we can we pet Assan: “Yes you can. Not even just petting the griffon, I’ve actually hugged the griffon”

Will we get a dog? “Mabari are not very big in Northern Thedas. No, you will not get a mabari sadly”

Someone asked about Barkspawn's fate/current status. "Barkspawn is safely gnawing on a bone next to a fireplace somewhere in Ferelden. 'But John it’s been so long!' Mabari live exactly as long as you need them to."

character creator will get a preview closer to launch, they're working on a roadmap currently

“each lineage, depending on the lineage + bg you choose will have unique callouts” “your experience as a dwarf in the mournwatch will be different to a human or an elf ...giving them each their own little flavor how they fit into that faction as a whole”

Rook’s last name is defined based on their faction, first name generator is available in the game if you want to use it.

“companions will take some time away” if you piss them off, but they’ll always be willing to come back to help save Thedas. “they will show up… unless…” ............ can we kill companions???

Who was left in the fade doesn’t show up here/it's not one of the decisions you will be asked to input. “That’s not to say it will never be important in the future, but not in this game” …. More DA games ???? DA5?

[sunbentsky-archived]

Hi hello 🤠 I have a solid chunk of my new muse list figured out, but I'm on the fence about a couple of muses, some old that didn't see much interaction and some brand new. Here's the provisory list, with the last two groups being the ones I'm uncertain about. So, please help a fella decide and vote on this poll with which muses you'd like to see. You can select as many as you like, but I'll go with the top choices. Thank you!! 🧡

NOT GOING ANYWHERE EVEN IF I WANTED THEM TO:

Saskia - canon, the witcher

Letho - canon, the witcher

Oles - oc, the witcher

Villen - canon, the witcher

Bogdan - oc, red dead redemption / western

Ecaterina - oc, red dead redemption / western

HAVEN'T DONE A LOT WITH THEM BUT THEY'RE AROUND:

Myr - semi-canon, the witcher

Raymond - oc, fandomless / western

Ursule - oc, fallout: new vegas

Fred - oc, the outer worlds

Legion - canon, mass effect

IDK IF I SHOULD BRING THEM BACK:

Kaska Tomicka - oc, the witcher | dwarf, artist, fabric dyer, painter, art and literary forger

Mercer - oc, fandomless | hacker, DYI bio enthusiast, biopunk, organ harvester

Sidney - oc, fandomless | salvage diver, pirate, fence, con artist, ordinary thief, the soul of a magpie

Felix Millstone - canon, the outer worlds | dockhand, rebel without a cause, big-time dreamer, sportsball fan

Jolly Shepard - oc, mass effect | lieutenant-commander, spectre, butcher of torfan, savior of the fuckin' galaxy, overworked, dead woman walking

Nika Kader - oc, dragon age | dwarf, ex-general of orzammar's army, ex-queen consort to king endrin aeducan, mother of prince bhelen aeducan, would-be usurper, grey warden, warden-commander of ferelden

Rory Amell - oc, dragon age | human but barely so, blood mage, necromancer, goth, mortalitasi, arch-mistress of the mourn watch, sometimes the hero of ferelden

NEW FACES / POTENTIAL ADDITIONS:

Mike Haywood - oc, far cry 5 | musician and composer, member of project at eden's gate, devoted to faith, angel "herder" and "mc" (he's in charge of the music which controls faith's angels), almost an angel himself

Maddie Kouvatsou - oc, far cry 5 | singer and bass player, repentant sinner (allegedly), ex-member of project at eden's gate, one of the young women who took on the mantle of "faith seed" before rachel jessop, deemed unfit for the role

Sinclair Stoyanov - oc, far cry 5 | prizefighter, boxer, animal liberation front activist,  mama's boy, eden's gate brawler, not a chosen, not a vip, just some guy, although he'd appreciate the promotion, ironically, vegan

Will Douglas - oc, fandomless | zoologist (herpetologist), gator wrangler, wildlife rehabilitator, guitar player, rowdy cowboy without a horse

Arthur Morgan - canon, red dead redemption | you know him, we all know him

[gehayi]

25, 39, 62 from the DA asks? c:

25) Favorite DA:I place?

The Emerald Graves. The Graves are green and beautiful, mostly unspoiled by red lyrium, and not filled with broken or burning houses. The area also has a number of side quests that are long and complex but easy to overlook, such as the Chateau d'Onterre haunted house mystery (which is a great example of environmental storytelling) or the Knights' Tomb (which, regrettably, can only be completed after you attend Empress Celene's anxiety-inducing party) allows you to fight undead, learn about Dalish history, and right an ancient wrong by giving the Dalish access to their peoples' tomb again. (You can also give the Chantry access, but why would you want to? Fuck the Chantry.) And there are hidden quests around every corner. I haven't found all of them, even now.

The Hissing Wastes come in second due to the lost thaig of Kal Repartha ("a place where we may meet in peace") and the Tomb of the Paragon Fairel.

39) Creepiest moment in-game?

That first glimpse of Hawke's mother Leandra, after the necromancer serial killer has...operated on her. Answered in a LOT more detail here.

62) A character you think deserves more fan love?

It's a tossup between Carver Hawke, Sera, and Shale.

They're deadpan snarkers who aren't afraid to complain about the player characters' bad ideas. They're all fiercely protective of the people they care about while being very bad at expressing how they feel. All of them are suffering from multiple traumas while trying to hide that they were traumatized at all.

All three endured the Fifth Blight: Carver fought at Ostagar, fled Lothering with his family, and lost his twin sister to a darkspawn (an ogre); Shale fought by the side of the Hero of Ferelden to end the Fifth Blight; and Sera, as a child, lived through the Battle of Denerim, when the darkspawn invaded the city. Their stories are ones of loss--loss of home, loss of family, loss of safety, loss of self-esteem, loss of memories, loss of identity.

They're good people. Flawed, but good.

[nightmarist]

Extended, informal list of OCs for worldbuilding projects & fandom.

Name, Species, Occupation, Pronoun, Age. A little bit about the overall story each section, a couple with brief descriptions.

I really gotta start drawing more of my blorbos lmao

Dragon Age —

Warden Manivhen, Circle Mage Elf, Shapeshifter, Blood Mage, She/Her. 23.

Fawlren Hawke, Spirit Healer Mage. He/Him, 37.

Darren Hawke, Two-Handed Reaver. He/Him. 34.

Amalia Hawke, Daggers Shadow Rogue, She/Her, 28.

Dirthadin, (Sketch) Dalish Elf Necromancer, He/Him. 43.

Aribas, Tal-Vashoth Spear-thrower, Inquisitor. She/Her. 32.

Saarkadan, Tal-Vashoth Assassin. He/Him. 32.

Kasakos, Tal-Vashoth Saarebas Rift Mage, Herald. He/Him. 27.

Camille de la Rouge, Orlesean Elf Mage-Rogue. He/Him. 38.

Philomené, Orlesean Assassin. She/Her. Why would you ask a lady her age *stabs you*

Ser Tadgh Conchobhar, Ferelden Knight-Commander. He/Him. 57.

Nuvenal, Circle Mage Elf, Grand Cleric. He/Him. 51.

Dungeons & Dragons —

Nymé, drow Wild Sorcerer. Harlequin Pirate by trade. NG. He/Him, 32.

Whisper, pink Tiefling. Grave Domain Cleric. LE. She/Her, 28.

Mantra, red Tiefling. Whisper’s Brother. Redemption Paladin. LG. He/Him, 30.

Vazven, drow wizard/rogue. Troll campaigns only. CE, He/Him, 22.

Lots of NPCs.......

Old Soil from the Grave (Original) —

A vaquero who can see ghosts uses bounty hunting as a ruse to give peace to the dead. A pair of faith-bound vampire brothers have noticed serial killings in a most gruesome manner, and conscript the cowboy to help them solve the horrors.

Jacob Carlson, necromancer "witchblood" cowboy. He/Him, 53.

Franscesco Flores, vampire priest, sin-eater. He/Him, 231.

Esteban Ruiz Flores, vampire holy knight. He/Him. 132.

Médice. masked doctor. They/Them. Unknown age.

Insulated Insect (Original) —

A pair of aliens land on a new planet in a binary star system when their ship was thrown by the gravity. They met their end quickly, being torn apart and used as scrap to frankenstein new beings into the Hive. One of these beings was not fully integrated into the Hive, and exiled himself, floating through space until landing on Earth. Torn between two worlds where neither he can belong, he learns his best to be himself. However, the Hive still yearns for More.

Thomas Ivanov, alien. He/She. 2 years old (adult).

Gustav Ivanov, human. He/Him, 27 years old.

Maria Dahlgard, human. She/Her, 87 years old.

Ramón Luis, human. He/Him, 64 years old.

X08, alien and Thomas’ twin. It/Its. 2 years old (adult).

The Mother, alien “queen”, It/She. Eternal. Always.

The Hive, the singular mind of the aliens, It/They. Eternal. Always.

The Ichor, a parasite that created the hive. It/They. Eternal. Always.

Necromantic (Original) —

A priest of old seeks to resurrect long-dead gods even if it costs the world. He befriends adventurers in hopes of using them as vessels for his plan, cultivating a cruel betrayal in process. Meanwhile, a blight called god-sickness infects the lands, the very same one that killed the old gods.

Main —

Sigurd Helvega. necromancer priest. He/Him, 1-2 thousand years old.

Razvra Zhiat, elf mercenary from Stillas. He/Him, 34.

Eloise Acier, kingdsguard soldier from Stillas. She/Her, 67.

Asa Oad, elf huntress in training from Brislat, She/Her, 28.

Alimah Gan, mercenary from Dauthas, She/Her, 23.

Leivina Matrinagi, temple guardswoman from Himagri

Supporting —

Phairen Yugwai, king of mires. He/Him. 143.

Tuong Anthan, arcanist and chancellor of mires. He/They, 122.

Aiden Sullibahn, king of the shining plains. He/Him, unknown age.

Morain, exiled twin of Aiden. He/Him, unknown age.

Mishala, empress of everdawn. She/Her, unknown age.

Lorrain, prince of everdawn. He/Him, unknown age, but a child.

Adham, former emperor of everdawn. He/Him, unknown age.

Nasir Rah, royal advisor of everdawn. Any pronouns. too old to count.

*Unknown ages are nowhere near as old as Sigurd. Maybe between 300-500.

Minor Roles but Major Haunts —

Galdramadur, dragon god of magic, fire, and passion.

Morthara, raven god of death, cycles, and medicine.

Ranmaya, fish god of water, storms, and fertility.

Demaodi, elk god of plants, agriculture, and home.

Karamir, scorpion god of wealth, survival, and law.

Ghost of a Ghost (Original) —

Very, very unpolished story idea. Young man enticed by a new experimental military branch created to include earth-born non-humans, meta humans, and aliens offers to pay for expenses, gets conscripted and becomes a super-weapon with a cybernetic black box that can sense his thoughts and warns him or mutes him if he has “thought crimes” against the branch or government. It will explode if attempted removal without upper clearance. When he dies, the black box is recovered and he is cloned, though usually the final 5-30 minutes are tampered with or deleted. Even and especially when he kills himself.

Vigil Song. Regretful super soldier. He/Him. 23.

Archive 01. Vigil’s personal rogue library AI. She/Her. 6 months.

Veronika. Hacktivist, anarchist, tech-genius. She/Her, 43.

Cringy/Self Indulgent DC —

Re-El, aka Rei Luther, aka Supernova. Future clone of Superman and Luther decades after Superboy. Black hair, blue eyes, but thin and frail, heart palpitations that prevent him from full access to his powers. He/Him. 23.

Alex Luther (Jr.). "Twin" to Rei. Red hair, blue eyes, muscular and super strength, but subdued abilities. He/Him. 23.

Trojan. Experimental genome creation to guard Re-El and Alex. White hair, red eyes, muscular. Super-healing, and apparent immortality. 23.

Abraxas. "Twin" to Trojan. Thin and sinewy. 23.

Aron, aka Spiderlily. Attempted clone of Nora Fries (without Victor's knowledge) by Ivy and Luther, but Luther had other plans. Aron is part plant, and she can stretch parts of her body and transform herself into plant material. She/Her. 28.

Shining Nikki —

Vita Tres aka 333, Fresh & Cool styles, Ruin Island, Biomedical engineer. He/Him. 33.

Eva Nomaly aka Eve, aka 343, Sexy, Sweet, & Fresh styles, Ruin Island. Environmental conservationist. She/Her.

[jakesocdump]

Kavara Adaar is a Tal-Vashoth, a Qunari who has rejected the Qun and never even lived in Qunari lands. As part of the Valo-kas mercenary company, she has earned a living by her own wits and strength, ignoring the fearful looks she received from those around her.

She romanced Sera

She specialised as a Necromancer

She aided the Templars at Therinfal Redoubt, and conscripted them into the Inquisition

She allowed the assassination of Empress Celene, leading to Gaspard becoming Emperor of Orlais

The Grey Wardens were banished from Ferelden and Orlais

Hawke was left in the Fade to fight the Nightmare

After becoming enemies with the guardians of Mythal's temple, she drank from the Well of Sorrows

Vivienne was made Divine

She circulated the story that Inquisitor Ameridan was human

She preserved the Inquisition as a peacekeeping force, swearing to stop Solas at all costs.

[niofo]

going back to my da2 idris hawke run, and how i was thinking abt idris being quite a different character when living as an apostate in ferelden compared to ostwick circle mage, but now i have this au idea: idris being snatched by the templars and taken to the gallows early on, and carver being left to do all the canon hawke stuff. with an additional pressure, bcos you know it's just a matter of time before idris pisses meredith off enough to be made tranquil, even with leandra raising all hell about it to dumar. idris would try to use his experience as an apostate to teach other mages how to live outside the circle when they eventually make a run of it, and would help with the mage underground, but also he just wouldn't be able to stop himself from poking the templars, and we know how templars react to being poked. also, he's an apostate and a necromancer, it's a miracle that they didn't kill him on the spot. (i assume that they threatened killing carver, leandra, gamlen and the dog if he didn't surrender).

[hrafnsnest]

The Raven's Nest : RPC Character Hub

This blog is a hub blog converted from @littlereyofmoonlight. Rey's previous posts are here for access and posterity. It currently houses three characters on side-blogs. You can read more about them all and my rules at my carrd.

I sometimes post here ooc with updates that affect all three, so it's worth following me here as well as my characters. However, I'll only consider you 'mutual' with characters you follow.

@LITTLEREYOFMOONLIGHT vir'reynth: githyanki cleric and companion oc for baldur's gate 3 baldurs gate 3 only

gentle-hearted, moontouched, vir'reynth - rey for short - fell through the astral plane and landed in the cup of selune's hands. from then on, she was istik, and free from the creche that would have preferred to see her dead than be herself - fierce, whole-hearted, and free to be the scorned do-gooder, the benevolent burden, she who hides in shadows and bursts forth like a nova.

@WOLFSBARBAREN breina: independent oc, originally dragon age hero of ferelden baldurs gate 3, dragon age: origins, the elder scrolls: skyrim, d&d: eberron

quick as a whip, crude-mouthed with a crooked smile, the willing shield and gleeful blade, breina rivlin once danced with dragons and fell away laughing. though she hides her grief behind drink and boisterious antics, she is a fiercely loyal friend, an incorrigable flirt, as rough as a split knuckle and burdened with a heart of gold. and she has four dogs - four of them!

@DODSTALLENE tore; independent necromancer oc, originally dragon priest of skyrim the elder scrolls: skyrim, dragon age: inquisition

trust a necromancer to cheat death. trust a necromancer to keep reviving what should have died long ago. trust a necromancer, above all, to do anything to keep what's useful from shuffling off the mortal coil. even and especially when death is the best thing for it. tore, like a corpse that won't stop getting up, won't let a pesky detail like the passage of time to keep him from dominating the world.

Which one?

If you want sweet and devoted, go with Rey. If you want tough and spicy, go with Breina. If you want to be made wose, go with Tore.

[amatres]

got tagged by @demandthedoodles, thank you! I only filled out Surana for now because I think way too hard and also little on these sort of things and I couldn't do this for all three of my mage girls off the top of my head lol.

I switched between stuff that's her favorites and what represents her because I wasn't quite sure what I was doing :') still I hope it makes sense lol.

putting it under the cut because it's... too long

Unusual OC Associations: Surana Edition

Seasoning: Tragically as someone who grew up in the tower, which definitely doesn't feed the mages more than easy to mass produce food, lived in the middle of Ferelden, and never left Ferelden before she died, she doesn't know anything about spices and probably doesn't have that great a tolerance for them. One more crime the Chantry has done unto Thedas; deny mages knowledge of seasonings.

Weather: Rain and Snow. She never got to interact with it in the tower, so she took every chance to savor it, much to the occasional set back to the group. Especially loved thunder storms, and had to be held back at least once from cast her own lightning during one.

Colour: She likes anything not blue. I associate her a lot with the color yellow.

Sky: She likes watching the sky change at sunset or sunrise, again because she never really got to see it so clearly without having to strain her neck to look up at the windows.

Magic power: Out of the magic she can cast, her favorite is probably shapeshifting. It's old magic, she gets to be sneaky, gives her more freedom to escape from situations, and also she got to spend a lot of time with Morrigan to learn it.

House plant: Herbs for her potions. Don't get me wrong, she's happy to see nature, plants just aren't something that hold her attention much.

Weapon: A dagger, because it's easy to hide, and Zevran and Leliana were nice enough to teach her how to fight with them before she got her Arcane Warrior specialization. Always good to be able to defend yourself without magic when you encounter a Templar.

Subject: History in a broad sense, she doesn't find much interest in war, but studying cultural and religious history is interesting to her. She was very excited to find the Temple of Sacred Ashes, sorry Sten, she totally dragged you guys there just because she wanted to see it, not to heal Arl Eamon. Entropy Magic and Spirit Magic, she's the origins version of a necromancer and she enjoyed studying it. Poisons, and was very excited at Zevran's offer to describe the effects of poisons to her.

Social media: Surana, even in a modern setting, has the inner peace granted only to those who never have a social media account.

Make-up product: Face cleanser and moisturizer, if that counts lol.

Candy: She never got to try them, but I imagine she would have loved any numerous types of candies from Orlais Leliana would have given her.

Fear: Being confined with no way out.

Ice cube shape: Crushed.

Method of long distance travel: Flying as a bird.

Art style: Baroque and Rococo. She can't escape the chantry church aesthetic, but she would have had fun with the elaborate styles of Orlais with Leliana had she lived to see it.

Mythological creature: Very standard option but a ghost, both because her grief haunts her until it leads to her own death, and also because her death haunts many different characters after she is gone.

Piece of stationery: The little journal she was given shortly after being conscripted by Duncan. She wrote down much of her experience and thoughts during the Fifth Blight there, and Leliana kept it after Surana passed away.

3 emojis: 💀💍🔮

Celestial body: Sagittarius, for the zodiac symbolism. They're known for being curious and crave freedom, which suits her well.

[glowing-blue-feathermage]

I have found the perfect prompt can I get some Anders & Jos interacting with “Can I braid your hair?” :D

This is set in my OC-verse! Allie (Alendra) is Hawke’s niece (Beth’s daughter), raised by Hawke and the Kirkwall crew for Reasons. (more details in the fic when I finish it). She has been in hiding with Anders, Fenris and Solona Amell at Vigil’s keep. Hawke and Jos (my Inquisitor) have been lovers for around a year when Hawke finally trusts Jos enough to introduce him to everyone. This is set just after THIS prompt fill.  For @dadrunkwriting !

Had Jos not been bracketed between the Champion of Kirkwall and the Hero of Ferelden, he might have run. Demons, darkspawn magisters, dragons…these were things he understood. Things he knew what to do with. 

Children were not. Even magic ones. 

Hawke’s niece was six years old, still didn’t know that Hawke wasn’t her real father, and had been trained by a possessed spirit healer and a blood mage. She was interesting, yes, but Jos had no idea how to talk to her. 

“You look a little green,” Anders murmured from his place beside Amell. 

They were seated in the Vigil’s courtyard, Jos cross-legged in the grass beneath a tree. He found castles, even when they belonged to him, to be oppressive stone prisons, and he spent as much time out of doors as he could.

Hawke chuckled and Jos swatted him. “What is her affinity?” he asked, eyes on the girl as she paced the horse Jos had gifted her, protected in the circle of the lyrium-branded elf’s arms.

“Blood magic, primarily,” Solona said. 

Three pairs of eyes turned to her at the same time. She held up both hands and smirked, blue eyes glittering. 

“Just kidding,” she said. 

Anders’ answering laugh was more of a wheeze. He looked nervous, something Hawke hadn’t convinced him to let go of in Jos’s presence. Jos didn’t blame him. 

“Ice, thus far,” Anders supplied. “That was what manifested first. But um…there are some other things.” He shifted uncomfortably.

Jos raised an eyebrow. “And those are?” 

Solona hummed. “Things like…a dead mouse in the kitchen cupboard scurrying away. Expired flies suddenly taking wing.” She shrugged, seeming much less concerned than Anders. 

Jos glanced at Hawke, who simply looked…fond. 

“A necromancer, then,” Jos mused. “That is…highly unusual without extensive training. Is there one here?”

Anders shook his head. 

“Fascinating,” Jos mumbled, cocking his head and looking at the child anew. 

Her elven guardian had dismounted and was helping her from the saddle. She was grinning, her freckled cheeks rosy from the sun, listening to something Fenris was saying to her and nodding. Finally, as the elf began to lead the horse toward the stable, the girl bounded across the yard toward them. 

Jos immediately tensed, leaning back as though the inch or so of further distance between them could assuage his discomfort. This time, Hawke swatted him.

Grinding his teeth, Jos forced himself to smile as the child joined them beneath the tree. She threw herself into Hawke’s arms, eliciting a surprised huff. Jos’s smile turned into a smirk. 

A moment of silence stretched as the girl regarded Jos with wide eyes that same Amell blue as Hawke and his cousin.

Anders came to Jos’s rescue. “Do you want to show the Inquisitor something you’ve learned?”

She grinned and nodded, though she didn’t speak. Anders had told him she was quiet by nature. 

Curiously, she began to look around them–at the ground, running her fingers over the grass and feathering it out, leaning out of Hawke’s arms as she inspected their surroundings. Jos guessed, further fascinated, that she was looking for something dead. 

She finally looked at Anders, her expression miffed. “I don’t see anyth–” she began, but Anders interrupted. 

“What about summoning a wisp?” he suggested. 

“That’s easy,” she said, sounding bored, which Jos found immediately endearing. 

She held a hand aloft before her and Jos felt the tug of the Fade, followed a scant second later by a blue, nebulous wisp. She turned those blue eyes on him again and grinned, twitching her hand and sending the wisp across the space between them. 

Impulsively, Jos caught it, then tossed it back. Before she could reach for it again, it burst apart, becoming a shower of butterflies. She laughed, clearly delighted, and Jos felt his cheeks warm slightly. 

“Thought you said you weren’t good with kids,” Hawke needled, leaning in with a grin. 

Jos ignored him. “What else would you like to show me?” he asked her, itching to comb the courtyard with her for something she could revive. Surely there was an earthworm or a bug in need of a second chance.

She chewed on her bottom lip, looking thoughtful. Her gaze flicked to Jos. The grin returned. “I can braid your hair,” she announced. “Anders and Miss Solona let me do theirs.”

Jos felt the blood drain out of his face. He opened his mouth to object in some way, but Anders chimed in.

“Say please,” he suggested, wearing a slyly amused smirk not so different from Fenris's. 

“Please?” Allie asked, sliding off Hawke’s lap and shuffling toward Jos on her knees.

“I…” he began, having to clear his throat. “As you wish,” he finally managed tersely. “But…do not disrupt it overmuch.”

Solona snickered. 

“He’s terribly vain about his hair,” Hawke elaborated in a stage-whisper. Jos glared at him. 

“I’ll be careful,” she said. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

Suppressing a sigh, Jos scooted forward to make room for the child, who planted herself behind him. Her small fingers began sorting out plaits and weaving them together. 

If only Corypheus could see him now

[wild-houseplant]

Have Warden, Will Travel-- Chapter 8

Well! Nothing to show for WIP Wednesday for how many weeks running? I can’t keep count-- a few, I’m sure, but here’s another chapter of HWWT which hopefully will make up for it. No content warnings that I can think of. Hope you bunch are doing ok and drinking your fluids! :D :D :D Link to the chapter here, otherwise here’s the chapter, most of which is under the cut (another long one!). As always, I have language and cultural notes on the AO3 chapter so do consider looking there if that sort of bizzo interests you!

“So who do you think is behind all this, then, Morrigan?” Alistair asked over his shoulder.

To Zevran’s right, the Warden gave a tiny sigh.

“Why do you ask me,” the witch snapped, “when there are two mages here?”

“Oh, come on. Isn’t it obvious? Rhodri’s spent the last twelve years in the Circle, while you’ve been out and about your whole life.”

“And you suppose all mages in Ferelden outside of that pestilential cage you call a Circle know each other?”

Alistair shrugged. “Your mother’s the Witch of the Wilds. That must have attracted a certain type of… well…–”

“I would be very careful about the next words I chose were I you,” Morrigan cut across him icily. “Especially if you believe I keep company with someone who has an army of undead.”

Zevran stifled a snort as Alistair gulped. 

“You know what? Never mind.”

Rhodri hummed pensively. Zevran looked up at her; she was squinting and counting on her fingers. One, two… she shook her head. Three– slight pause… she shook her head again, smiling into the bargain. She gave a rather satisfied-sounding sigh and dropped her hands back down.

“Erm… Rhod?” Alistair broached uneasily from behind. “I don’t suppose you’d know… anyone?”

She shook her head. “I did wonder for a moment, but it turns out I don’t know many necromancers, even distantly. Most mages hate it because it has too much abstract mathematics, and necromancy has a bad reputation anyway. The ones I do know wouldn’t do something like this.”

The Templar’s eyes widened a little. “Oh. Right. Well, that's… good to know."

Silence fell, and the party descended the hill. The mid-morning sun, and the heat that would have offset the chill in the air, was shrouded behind a dense layer of wretched Fereldan cloud that Zevran cursed all the way down to the stretch by the Redcliffe windmill. 

From further down the hill, Bann Teagan shouted out to the Wardens and waved. He jogged– that pace was enough to turn the man red– uphill and Rhodri guided the party to him until they met in front of the windmill. 

“Bann Teagan, good morning again.” She inclined her head politely. “I have gathered some of my party and we intend to enter the castle now to examine the source of the undead.”

The Bann nodded, panting noisily. 

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, I– I’d planned to enter the castle myself. I can help you there.” He pointed at the windmill behind him. “Inside the windmill is a secret passage into the castle that only my family knows about. I have a– Maker’s breath!”

Zevran had already turned before the man’s index finger could finish crudely extending (again), and caught sight of a frazzled noblewoman running toward them all, accompanied by a handful of guards mired in various degrees of exhaustion.

“Teagan!” she hitched her skirts up and bolted the last way until she was close enough to touch the man. “Thank the Maker you’re alive!”

The Bann pressed a hand to his heart. “Isolde, are you all right? What’s happening?”

The woman named Isolde shook her head. “I do not have time to explain. I slipped out of the castle as soon as the battle was over, and I have to return now. You must come back with me, Teagan!” She glanced over at the rest of the party and then pointedly added, “Alone.” 

Rhodri clapped her hands delightedly and strode over to them. “Oh, this is most convenient! We were about to go into the castle as well to investigate. Shall we venture forth together?”

The noblewoman's eyes narrowed as they drifted over to the Magewarden.

"Who is this, Teagan?" Her voice was soft and dangerous, and in the absence of an immediate reply from the Bann, a noise of confusion issued from Rhodri.

"Wh-? Oh. Oh!" She gave a loud, jovial laugh. "There is no need to be jealous, Madam! Rest assured, I'm not trying to steal your husband." She smiled warmly and gestured at the astonished man in question. "Bann Teagan here is old enough to be my father!"

Zevran turned just in time to see Alistair clap a hand over his mouth, and a hushed silence fell over the group. The woman stared like Rhodri had slapped her-- or, and it struck Zevran as the more likely case, like she was going to slap the Warden.

"Teagan is not my 'usband!" she hissed. 

Zevran bit his lip as Rhodri’s face fell into a pensive frown. 

"Oh," she said blankly. "Really? My apologies, I thought because you were standing so close to him, but you must just be good friends or– well, never mind-- agh!” 

The Warden stumbled back, clutching a freshly-smacked left cheek and sporting eyes like saucers.

“Maker’s tits,” she exclaimed at the party, “she just hit me! Did you see that?” Rhodri gaped at the woman, who had slipped out of the Bann's grasp and appeared to be moving in for a second go until Alistair darted over and put himself in front of her.

“Don’t you remember me, Lady Isolde?” Alistair said urgently. His enormous body made it impossible to see the woman’s expression, but the contemptuous tone to her reply said quite enough.

“You?” she spat. “Alistair? Of all the… why are you here?”

Rhodri–carefully- moved Alistair to the side and stepped forward. "Madam, I ask you to mind your tone when addressing my party," she barked warningly.

The Templar looked at her with a pleading weariness. 

"Rhod," he murmured to her. "Just… let me handle this one, all right?”

The Warden’s face softened. She nodded once, firmly. “Of course. I’ll be here if you change your mind. Please go ahead.”

Rhodri went behind him and resumed her place beside Zevran, not speaking again while the Templar carried out short, quick talks with Isolde and the Bann. 

Zevran caught mentions of yet more monsters (were they related to Lady Isolde?), and someone by the name of Connor who had supposedly gone mad but was, according to this woman, absolutely not responsible for the goings-on in the castle or its jurisdiction. What an unhappy coincidence.

When they separated with a nod, the Bann approached the Warden and held out a ring to her. It looked remarkably similar to the trinkets the Antivan newly-rich bought by the fistful– in this case, like someone had welded a sovereign onto a wedding band. Perhaps the finery targeting that uncouth demographic was all the Fereldan nobles could afford.

“Here, Grey Warden,” Teagan said. "This ring will unlock the secret tunnel into the castle. I must go with Isolde.”

Well, at least it had a use. It certainly wasn't cut out for a career as an ornament.

"Not to be rude," Rhodri began, cautiously sidestepping away from the noblewoman as she spoke, "but safety is in numbers. Surely it would be better if we travelled together."

"Connor does not do well with new company at present," Isolde sniffed. "We should keep our numbers small where we can. You will be safe enough entering via the windmill."

The Warden waved a hand. "I'm not worried for us, Madam. My party is highly proficient and ready for anything. Unless you and the Bann are secretly mages, however, you do not appear well equipped to deal with unrest."

The noblewoman's fists clenched. Alistair waved– or rather, flailed his hands– to get their attention.

"They'll be fine," he said to Rhodri quickly. "Let's just get out of here and we'll meet them inside."

The Warden sighed. "This really seems very unwise, amicus, but you know them best. If you're sure, I will take us through the windmill."

He nodded fervently. "I'm very sure. Lead on."

§

“Well,” the Warden said slowly, peering around the dingy, dripping tunnel. “This is certainly… an interesting place.”

Zevran kept his mouth firmly shut. Especially as the party passed a cluster of cobwebs forming a silken lean-to against a broken crate. Could the troublemaking entity summon an army of spiders if it ran out of corpses? Surely it was better to let the nobility deal with insect woes on their own, especially when insects were so often filled with nasty fluids that stained brand new gloves. Like Zevran’s spiffing leather additions, for example, boasting simple but wonderfully neat stitching, and lined with a toasty wool blend. 

And, Rhodri had assured him as she paid Mr. Bodahn, acquired at a substantial discount.

Zevran ignored the glaring fact that he had nearly died from both laughter and shock at the mention of the original price.

In the tunnel, though, where the paid-for gloves were and Bodahn's exorbitant prices were not, Alistair hummed low under his breath. “It’s been a while since anyone’s had to use it. I only came here once, myself, back when I was small.”

“A pity you had not simply stayed down here,” Morrigan said off-handedly. “There was a dank, isolated spot a short way back that would have suited you very well.”

“Ugh,” Alistair groaned. “I’d pay good money to stuff you into that little gap and leave you there. Or in the prison cells up ahead… mmm, actually, if there’s a spare cell, I might just–”

“You think I would not imprison you first–”

“If it’s all the same to you both,” Rhodri walked backwards, fixing them with a playfully pointed smile, “I’d rather we kept the cells free for any offenders we find. Assuming we don’t kill them in self-defence first, anyway.”

The matter settled– or rather, put on hold with a series of glares and eyerolls between the squabblers, Zevran looked to the front again. They had almost reached the end of the tunnel, and if his ears didn’t deceive him, there was life in the room ahead. His flesh creeped; the sound of footsteps indicated it was people in motion, and the unnatural shamble-lurch gait was unique to the horde of undead from last night.

That explained the foetid stench, too. It was, at least, cooler underground than it was up on the surface, but nothing stayed pristine at this temperature for long. Or even halfway bearable, if the smell was anything to go by.

He chuckled weakly. “More of those creatures ahead, I think. This place is full of them, no?”

Rhodri spun back around, staff at the ready, and strode ahead of Zevran.

“Stay behind me, please. Carefully does it… Formator, but it smells like the morning after a Nevarran house party in here.” From behind her, he could see the Warden waving a hand in front of her face. “This place would do well with a little soap and water, or at least some incense. My stars!” 

They opened the door into the first room, and the stink in its fullness would have made the mabari weep. Even Alistair, whose body odour rivalled that of Jeppe’s, had started to gag.

The sight wasn't much better, come to that. The corridor was a boulevard of prison cells, and square in the middle were some ten or more of the revolting corpses, who had become very aware of the intrusion. The polluted air filled with cries and whistling as flaps of grey skin whipped (and occasionally blew away entirely!) in the breeze that their veerings made. 

Toward them, no less.

It was quick, at least. Between the five of them, the beasts were down to one within a minute flat. The last one lingered up in the front of the room, and by the sounds of it, it was giving the occupant of the farthest jail cell quite the fright. Suddenly the crying made much more sense.

A lightning bolt– Zevran wasn't sure which of the mages had summoned it– killed the beast dead, and he, being lightest on his feet, made it to the prisoner first.

Haggard as the fellow was, he couldn’t have been much older than twenty, wearing what Zevran recognised to be apprentice mage robes. Filthy ones, caked in dirt, blood, and given the lack facilities in the cell, substances that Zevran didn’t care to identify. 

“Dorian Ishal Pavus,” Rhodri’s voice rang down the hall behind him as she approached the cell, and a stream of Tevene followed which he knew to contain the words ‘arse’ and ‘head’ and sounded rather threatening.

The relief on the man’s face evaporated. He gasped like he had taken a knife to the chest, watching at the newly-arrived Warden with an open mouth. 

"By all that is holy, Rhodri! I can't believe it! And--and you've--" His gleamless blue eyes didn't stop widening until the whites showed on all sides. "Maker, you're huge! Taller than me, now! And your shoulders... how--?"

The Warden looked every bit the disdainful noble, her shoulders back and head high as she looked down at him with unconcealed contempt. She held herself so stiffly Zevran could have sworn he heard the scrape of bone on bone as she twisted her head to look his way. 

"Looks like I owe you a story, Zev," she muttered to him. The nervous urge to laugh was there, but Zevran couldn't force so much as a smile. He flicked his eyebrows and nodded; she turned back to the captive. "Explain yourself, and the magically-summoned undead.”

"I didn't do it," he pleaded. "You have to believe me, Rhodri! I would never--"

She shook her head and held up a hand. "I'm not obliged to believe anything you say, Jowan. It's on you to give a compelling argument, and I would advise you to make this one truthful." 

"I'm not behind any of this, I swear," he gasped. "I was hired by Teyrn Loghain to poison the Arl, and that's why he is sick, but I never started this! I was already imprisoned when all this began." 

Zevran bit down on his lips. Some drama at last! It was all he could do to keep an 'ooh' from escaping him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhodri squint exasperatedly, and a furious noise from Alistair drew his gaze back a little further.

"Listen," Jowan entreated quickly, "I think I know what's causing this." He seemed to take Rhodri's lack of an interruption as an invitation to push on:

"When Teyrn Loghain hired me, I was sent to the Arlessa under the guise of being a tutor for her son, Connor. He started showing… signs,” (he said the word so meaningfully his head bobbed a little) “and she wanted a mage to teach him how to keep it all quiet.”

Alistair let out a string of disbelieving noises. “Connor’s a mage?” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe it!”

“She was terrified the Circle was going to take him away-- and they would have, of course. But Arl Eamon had no idea at the time, and she thought this way he’d never find out.” Jowan sighed and shook his head. “I hadn’t taught Connor much, but it’s possible he did something to tear down the Veil and let spirits and demons get into the castle. They probably killed and possessed all these poor servants.”

"These are servants?" Rhodri closed her eyes and shook her head. “Venhedis. I thought they were already dead. That poor child has been killing people he knows. Ae-ae-ae, Jowan…"

Zevran felt distinctly ill at ease as he cast an eye over one of the greying, rotten corpses by his feet. Its tattered clothing, with the dark red sash and darkwood buttons, resembled the garb he had seen Loghain's housekeepers in. Without thinking, he shuffled away from it and knocked into Rhodri, who had still been conversing with the prisoner. 

He froze, still half-bent as Rhodri turned sharply in his direction. Her harsh expression melted away, and she gently put her hands on his shoulders.

“Easy there,” she murmured, righting him with the carefulness one might have afforded a toddler. “Are you all right?”

Zevran ignored the strange pleasure of being regarded completely differently to Jowan and gave her a debonair smile. “Indeed I am. Forgive me, my Warden, I was not watching where I was moving.”

Though Rhodri did not smile back, she gave his shoulder a small pat before turning back to Jowan. Zevran caught the prisoner looking at him in bewilderment, and he feigned nonchalance.

“The Arl is a decent man,” Jowan continued after a moment. “But Teyrn Loghain told me he was a threat to Ferelden, and, well, I had no reason to doubt him. You know they don't tell us about anything that goes on out here in the Circle! And he promised me if I went ahead and poisoned him that he’d arrange for me to go back to the Circle, no questions asked. I never saw any sign that Arl Eamon was a danger, but I poisoned him anyway.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m such a fool.”

Rhodri heaved a sigh and folded her arms. Zevran knew that sympathetic look she sported now, having seen it in so many Crow recruits before it was either beaten out of them or they died of it. A quick glance at Jowan revealed that he had seen it, too.

“Listen, I never meant for it to end like this,” he entreated. “I swear. Let me help you fix this.”

Morrigan, who had been quiet for the entire exchange, surprised everyone when she spoke up. 

“I say this boy could still be of use to us, Warden. But if not, then let him go.” She shrugged. “Why keep him prisoner here?”

“I think I could at least help, if not completely fix things,” Jowan said quickly, while Rhodri's silence permitted it.

Alistair rested a hand on the Warden’s shoulder.

“He’s your friend, Rhod," he murmured, "you know him best. Even if he is a blood mage, this is an unusual situation…”

"Jowan is not my friend," Rhodri answered, not unkindly (though Jowan winced in the background anyway). "But thank you Alistair, your opinion is noted." 

The Warden turned to face Zevran. 

She spoke gently, “What do you think, then, Zev?” 

“Oh.” He chuckled uneasily. “I’m afraid my opinion will not help you much. I am no expert in such matters.”

“You don’t have to be,” she replied. “You’re a member of the team. Your opinion counts equally.” 

It took some effort for Zevran to contain his surprise, but with the aid of another chuckle, he stayed on track. 

“As you like. Perhaps we need not be too hasty to kill him yet.” He glanced at Jowan, who was staring at him intently. “If he truly meant us harm, I imagine he would have done something by now.”

She nodded to the party and turned back to Jowan.

"This area is safe for now," she said. "You’ll stay here until we’ve cleared out the rest of the castle. You may be able to assist later."

Jowan nodded miserably. “Then I’ll wait. If you need anything… well, you know where to find me.”

The Warden had already turned away, and as the man's face started to crumple, secondhand embarrassment forced Zevran to look away as well. 

They were halfway to the door, weapons at the ready, when Jowan called out again.

"Rhodri, one more thing. Please."

She looked over her shoulder. "Speak, then."

The pitiful man gripped the iron bars with his fingers. "What became of Lily? Did they hurt her?"

Zevran had already stepped away from the Warden before he'd fully noted the shift in the air. He ignored the disappointment blooming sick-cold through his guts as she spun around, nostrils flaring and hard eyes fixed on the cell she’d left behind. 

The pang of sympathy for the rest of the party, though, he allowed to remain. The bloody fools stood there– right in front of her– like effigies, watching her inquisitively and being the perfect targets for the assault that would shift them out of her path. 

Zevran smiled to himself with a grim sort of satisfaction as he reclaimed his knife from between the man’s ribs. Since he had forced himself to stop fighting against the Crows and accept his lot, the voice in his head that screamed distractingly loudly on kill assignments had grown quieter. He couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing. 

A good thing at this moment, perhaps. The other recruit he had been paired off with, a spring-loaded bundle of elbows with the worst timing known to man, was no help. The rooftop jump ended up with her landing on a pile of crates, knocking herself unconscious and alerting the mark and anyone near the alley. And, of course, only awakening now, after Zevran had done all the work covering for her, cornering the mark, and neutralising him. 

Teacher Giuliana’s voice from behind had Zevran standing upright and turning to watch her with a smooth grin. She was apt to reward a good kill, and this had been his best so far, especially given the circumstances. His thoughts drifted to a cask of wine, perhaps even a few silvers for supplies to mend his boots.

Zevran didn’t move out of her way as she strode over with that snarl on her face. Why would he? She always strode, always frowned, always punished when someone did the job wrong. His partner was in for it, no question about it, but not him.

She was still like that by the time she got to Zevran, and he had barely finished inclining his head to her when her hard, scarworn hand belted him hard enough to send him sideways. 

He peeled his back off the cobblestones and rubbed his cheek. The shock stung more than the pain of the blow itself, and the anger that he hadn’t expected it stung even worse than that.

Zevran forced looseness in his muscles on the party’s behalf, a part of him wishing even Alistair would take the hint and relax before the fist– or spell– came. He watched the hand of Rhodri’s he could see, scanning for the first twitch of motion.

… No?

Nothing at all?

Rhodri’s face softened briefly as she redirected her gaze from Jowan to the listless blockade in front of her. Her hand hung unused at her side.

Zevran allowed himself one single moment to enjoy the relief when the Warden quietly, calmly said, “Excuse me, please. I need to pass through.”

Oh, they got out of the way fast enough at that, but what entitlement! Not even Jowan was shrinking away! No hands brought up to protect themselves, no flinching. Built from head to toe with the expectation that she wouldn’t harm a hair on their heads.

He realised his jaw hung slightly agape behind his sealed lips, and replaced it.

The Warden stood in front of the prisoner with a curled lip and a good half a hand’s height on him. 

“Well, Jowan,” she said silkily. “You did trick the poor Chantry sister into helping you destroy your phylactery. And then, upon being caught in the act by the First Enchanter, the Knight-Commander and several Templars, you proceeded to use the blood magic you swore you'd never dabbled in to crush everyone to the ground.”

Her nose wrinkled in a snarl. “You selfish brute! What do you think has become of her after your behaviour? I hope you were lying to me when you said she has a weak constitution, because if she isn’t in Aeonar, she is undoubtedly dead!”

Jowan’s eyes, which had been looking watery for the entire confrontation, had now advanced to pouring. He clapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders crashing down into a mighty, heaving sob when Rhodri’s loud ‘AH-AH!’ and insistent finger-snapping brought it all to a halt.

“Don’t you weep,” she growled. “Don’t you dare weep. You swore to me, in front of her, that you loved her. That she was the one you’d marry and escape with to live… ugh…” she waved her hand dismissively, “some magic-free, bucolic fucking wet dream in the arse-end of the country. 

“But when it came time to prove your devotion to her, or at least take responsibility for your actions, you left her– and others you had tricked into helping you,” she added in a clenchjawed hiss, “to die like dogs! You have no right to cry for her. No right to think of her. Nothing.” 

Rhodri tipped her chin forward and spat at his feet. “Disgratia. You shame me.”

Zevran was moving, somehow, back out of the way as the Warden turned on her heel and left the tear-streaked prisoner. To their credit, Alistair and Morrigan were far quicker at clearing a path this time. Not swift enough to avoid the wrath of the Crows, but standards were evidently lower on the outside.

Given the evidence of the last few minutes, it would likely have been perfectly all right to depart the room walking beside Rhodri. Optimal, even: the Warden liked sameness, and sameness was Zevran on her left.

At the same time, though, it made sense not to seek opportunities to be made into a punching bag, which could happen at the hands– or fists, rather– of even the most unlikely candidates. Perhaps that was why she had equipped him with healing potions galore. 

When the indecision felt worse than choosing one way or the other, Zevran strode after her until he was walking at her side– with an extra step’s distance between them. The other two– one smirking and the other wide-eyed– trailed after them without a word.

§

“I hope Redcliffe Castle isn’t usually this full of such nasty things,” Rhodri remarked as they made short work of yet another drove of enraged corpses. 

“I will certainly be leery of any invitations I receive from this establishment in the future,” Zevran quipped. 

Rhodri’s jovial laugh quickly turned to a loud yelp as she opened one of the doors off to the side and a blood-curdling scream came out. She recoiled violently enough to stagger a few steps, clutching her ears and grimacing like she was being flayed alive.

“Enough,” she shouted, voice climbing with each syllable. “Enough-ENOUGH-ENOUGH!”

The source of the noise– a young human woman who, it seemed, was hiding in the room– fell silent immediately.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” she begged. Already cowering, she sank to her knees as Zevran and the other companions stood peering over Rhodri’s shoulder in intrigue. 

Rhodri peeled her shaking hands off her ears and held one up. “Calm yourself, Ser, we're not going to hurt you,” she said weakly.

“I’m s-sorry,” she stammered wildly. “I-I’m just so scared! There are monsters everywhere!” 

Rhodri nodded. “Well, you’re safe here with us. We are two Grey Wardens," she indicated herself and Alistair, "and our fellow party members are also most formidable.”

The woman let out a shuddering sigh and let Rhodri pull her to her feet. “Thank you. I'm Valena, the Arlessa's maid. Is she all right? Where is everyone?”

The companions’ eyebrows raised collectively at the mention of her name.

“Valena? Ah! The blacksmith’s daughter!”

Her eyes widened. “You know my father?”

Rhodri beamed and nodded. “This is very convenient. I promised him I’d find you! He’ll be so pleased to know you’re all right. We've cleared out everything up to this point, so you can safely escape through the dungeons. The Arlessa is in the castle, and we will speak to her directly, but for now you need to get to safety. She can come and find you when all this is over.”

Valena nodded quickly. Gasping her thanks, she bolted away down the corridor. The companions (sans Morrigan) shared a satisfied nod as they proceeded into the hall.

Zevran wasn’t sure where his eyes should stay when he was greeted with the sight of Bann Teagan gyrating and handwaving like a jubilant drunk in front of a small, surly-looking boy. Lady Isolde was standing behind the child, blanched and visibly trembling even from a distance. 

When the child caught sight of them, Teagan’s body went limp and he dropped to the floor, awake but lying still.

Rhodri raised an eyebrow, looking nowhere near as perturbed as Zevran felt.

“I… see,” she said slowly. “So we've been re-murdering your staff while Bann Teagan thrills you both with a dance number.”

The child looked less than impressed. “Are these our visitors, Mother? The ones you told me about?” His voice was harsh and menacing, and not at all natural for a person of his age or stature.

Isolde flinched a little. “Y-yes, Connor.”

Connor? Oh, dear.

“What are they, Mother?" he hissed. "I can’t see them well enough!”

“They are humans, Connor,” she replied softly. "Like you and me." She glanced at Zevran and added, "And an elf. We have them here in the castle as well.”

The boy gave a high, cruel laugh and clapped his hands. 

“Oh, I remember elves,” he crowed, “I had their ears cut off and fed to the dogs. The dogs chewed for hours! Shall I send it to the kennels, Mother?”

Zevran had heard similar threats before, but it was the first time he had been sure it would have occurred (and at the command of a child, no less), had the party not actually culled the poor, necrosed beasts on the way upstairs. 

He almost jumped as Rhodri turned around and forced him behind her with one hand. Her four fingers wrapped tightly around his arm, and were all that kept him from stumbling altogether.

"Nobody and nothing will put a finger on him," the Warden barked the pronoun forcefully, "or any other member of my party, demon."

She reclaimed her hand, and a throb preceded the blood pumping back into the rest of his arm.

“Please stay behind me, Zev,” she murmured to him. Easily done; it hadn’t occurred to him to do anything but stand there, resisting the urge to check his ears were still attached.

At that moment, the child’s head snapped back as though he had just been struck across the face. Isolde ran to him, and he watched up at her fearfully. 

“Mother?” he gasped. “W-what’s happening? Where am I?”

Isolde snatched the child into an embrace and looked pleadingly at Rhodri. “Grey Warden, I know how this must look, but he is not responsible for his actions!”

Zevran heard Rhodri tsk loudly.

“Wonders never cease,” she snapped. “A young child who is possessed by a demon is not responsible for his actions. Were you a town crier before you became the Arlessa?” 

She shook her head, not addressing Zevran and Morrigan’s snorts of laughter or the reproachful “Rhodri!” from Alistair. 

“How long have you been keeping this a secret, Lady Isolde?" the Warden demanded. "Your castle staff are dead twice over because of your negligence! The only survivor we found was your maid, Valena, hiding in a broom cupboard!”

“Connor didn’t mean to do all this,” Isolde insisted tearfully. “It-it was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon! He started it! He summoned the demon! Connor was only trying to help his father!”

As Rhodri scoffed, the boy, newly enraged, growled and shoved his mother away. The assembly of guards in the room about-turned in synchrony, as if responding to an unspoken order, and made for the party, leading to a high-pressured scuffle that ended quickly when Rhodri and Morrigan both cast a spell that sent the guards to the floor in a deep, paralytic slumber and Zevran and Alistair finished them off. 

Zevran looked around, frowning. “Where did the boy go?” 

“He is hiding in his room,” Isolde said quietly. “He is afraid.”

Alistair went over to Teagan. “This is a dire situation. The demon possessing Connor could easily lay waste to all of Redcliffe if we don’t take action right now.”

Isolde let out a cry. “You’re going to kill my boy?”

He sighed heavily. “I don’t see any way around it, Lady Isolde. He’s an abomination, and a dangerous one at that.”

“I would be inclined to disagree,” Morrigan spoke up now. She smirked as all eyes went onto her.

“There is a way, but it will not be to your liking.” She shrugged with one hand. “The prisoner is a blood mage, is he not? He would have the means to send someone–” she gave Rhodri a meaningful look– “into the Fade to kill the demon and free the boy.

“Such magic has a high price, however. The caster would require a significant amount of blood to carry the spell through.” Morrigan turned to Isolde and ran her eyes up and down the woman. “By my estimate, one adult human would suffice.”

“Then let Jowan do it,” Bann Teagan said firmly. “His punishment was coming. Let the spilled blood have a use, for once.”

“The prisoner will be casting the spell,” the witch retorted, rolling her eyes. “How do you suppose he will keep the volunteer in the Fade once dead?”

As the Bann scowled, Isolde spoke up again. 

“Then use my blood,” she said resolutely. “There is no question. Kill me and save Connor.”

“No, wait.” The Warden slowly raised a hand.

Morrigan’s lip curled. “Warden, if the woman is willing to die–”

“She need not.” Rhodri retrieved two flasks of lyrium from her satchel and held them up. “This is almost enough on its own to enter the Fade. I’m not sure how much blood would be needed when supplemented with this, but surely not enough to seriously harm anyone.”

She waved to get the Bann’s attention. “Have someone fetch Jowan, if you please.”

Teagan waved a hand at one of the guards, who disappeared and returned several minutes later with a subdued Jowan. In the relatively bright room, his cheeks looked even more sunken than they had in their encounter downstairs, and his huge eyes floated in their sockets.

“Rhodri? Did you get me out of here?” Jowan asked as the guard shoved him toward her. The forcefulness made him stumble a little, and Rhodri reached out and steadied him with the tips of her fingers. 

"I did," she replied curtly. "Your chance has come to put some of this right. I need to enter the Fade, and you’re going to help me get there.”

Without another word, she turned to Zevran. He snapped-to.

“Bellissimo?” He smiled and nodded attentively.

“Zevran, if you would be so kind, please take Bann Teagan and Lady Isolde out to the terrace for a walk in the fresh air and wait for someone to come and bring you back inside,” she requested, gesturing at the pair he was to escort.

“Why? What will you do?” Isolde asked, half hysterical, half suspicious.

Rhodri raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I will be doing what needs to be done to enter the Fade and kill the demon possessing your son,” she said shortly. “It will be a confronting scene and the less likely we are to be interrupted by emotional outbursts from spectators, the better our chances are of succeeding. Please leave and let us do our work.”

Isolde looked displeased, especially by the term ‘emotional outbursts,’ but made no motion to object. After a moment’s silence, she nodded gingerly.

“Very well,” she relented. “Please do what you can.”

“I will, Madam,” Rhodri replied with a nod. She looked over at Zevran. “I know the dogs are dead, but if you have any concerns for safety, amicus, come back indoors. Just… keep them away from this room unless it’s an emergency. I doubt this will take more than half an hour.”

He nodded smoothly, and couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of irritation as his curiosity built. Repellent as blood magic sounded, there was an undeniable intrigue to it. No doubt there was quite a spectacle to witness if he had to keep people away from it.

“Certainly,” he said with a smile, turning to Teagan and Isolde. “Shall we, my Lord and Lady?” He gestured at the huge doors.

The nobles shared an uneasy look. 

“Y-yes, I suppose so,” Teagan accepted, offering his arm to Isolde and leading her out of the room.

Zevran turned back and saw Rhodri give him a wan but appreciative smile.

His eyes drifted down to the lyrium flasks in her hand, and the words came out before he could stop them.

“You… are sure you do not need anything, my Grey Warden?” He opened a small purse hanging off his hip and started digging into it. “Perhaps you might take some of the healing poultices in case the lyrium–”

He paused as a long, thin hand came into his periphery and hovered near his. He looked up and saw the Warden watching him with a rather firm smile.

“Thank you, Zev, but those are yours. And as I said before, my lyrium affliction is not for you to worry about. I mentioned it at the time to fully assure you that my staff was safe to touch. Nothing more.”

It was hard to know if ‘not for him to worry about’ was one of those embarrassing attempts at martyrdom to avoid inconveniencing others, or if it was simply a polite way of saying it was none of Zevran’s damned business. For the interim, it felt wise to at least presume the latter.

He nodded with the tiniest flourish. “Of course. Do please excuse my presumption, my Grey Warden. I shall wait for your signal to return, then.”

She nodded back; the finality to her smile had ebbed now. “See you in a little while,” she said with a wave.

“Count on it, my Grey Warden.” He waved back, sauntered out behind the nobles, and closed the door behind him.

§

A part of Zevran wondered how anyone could stand to be rich when it meant they had to suffer the company of people like the Lady Isolde. A handful of minutes strolling around the grounds revealed her, and Bann Teagan to a lesser extent, to be a vapid pair, fixated on the counterintuitive social mores that allowed them to blend in among the rarefied few in their echelon. 

But really, what a thought. How anyone could stand to be rich? Truly? The clever majority of Zevran scoffed at his own ponderings, all too readily recalling the life of deprivation that had been his only weeks prior. 

He was forgetting it already, it seemed, if this was the line of thinking he had. Oh, that wasn’t good. Weak Crow, fed fat on a salary and gentle touches. What would he do when they found him again? Use his tears to clean the festering wounds after a month or two in the oubliette? Or would he simply pine away in there before the first day’s end, his soft little heart crushed to bits because nobody had made him tea that morning?

He swallowed hard, shaking his head to unstick the thoughts, and turned his focus to the outside world. Teagan and Isolde were neck-deep in conversation-- or perhaps it was an argument; it was hard to tell with these Fereldans at times. 

“We will not have any choice now, Isolde,” Teagan said wearily. “If Connor even survives--"

"Do not say that, Teagan!" 

The Bann held his hands up in a peacemaking gesture. "Very well. But he will still need to go to the Circle. It will not be so awful as you think, I am sure." He quickly turned to Zevran. 

"You… ah…" Teagan whiffled a hand in that way people did when they were trying to summon information out of thin air. Zevran chuckled inwardly. 

"Zevran, my Lord," he supplied helpfully. 

"Yes– Zevran," the nobleman butchered the pronunciation with his flat vowels and flaccid tongue, but Zevran overlooked it almost reflexively. One could expect nothing better from these cultureless people. "You travel with the Magewarden, do you not?"

"I do indeed."

"Perhaps you would tell us a little of what you know about her life at the Circle? It is not often we hear things from the side of the people living there."

Zevran nodded, a reflex built on decades of never saying no to a master, and he fished around for some snippets of information to feed these people. Ideally the truth, if he could manage it, but he hadn’t known Rhodri for long, and it seemed things could be rather… hostile in there for children at the best of times. 

"My Grey Warden is a mysterious one, but what I know I will gladly share. While she was there, the mages would ease into their early starts with a cup of sweet tea." 

The beginnings of tentative ease appeared in their faces; he pressed on. "They walked the halls in soft, warm robes" (hardly a lie given how sweaty the Warden could get) "and devoted themselves to study." He raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I do not suppose they were coddled or blessed with a light workload, but the clever children did well enough for themselves. I take it Connor is a bright boy?”

Isolde and Teagan both nodded fervently.

“Oh, very much so,” Isolde near-exclaimed. Of course she did; all the nobles with an inch of fondness for their children were convinced these little people were nothing short of prodigious. 

Zevran smiled in spite of himself. “Then I imagine your son will cope very well."

The way Isolde and Teagan hung off his words was remarkably gratifying. It was very comfortable, if foreign, to have such an effect on human nobles, and with any luck, being in their good books might keep him out of the firing line should anything go wrong. 

After a moment's silence, Isolde nodded. "Mmm. Perhaps, then."

The untalkativeness they slipped back into was comfortable enough, with Zevran being called on occasionally to answer questions about the situation in the castle. Though the answers undoubtedly troubled Teagan and Isolde, they seemed reassured by his calm, easy reminders of the attending members’ excellent qualifications.  

Some time later– how long precisely was a mystery– a guard appeared and ushered them back into the castle. Or at least she would have, had Isolde not scrambled inside ahead of her. Teagan gave Zevran an embarrassed look that Zevran returned with an untroubled smile. 

"Perhaps we should follow her, no?" he suggested, motioning to fall into a jog. Teagan nodded vigorously, seeming pleased Zevran had said it, and they hurried in after her. 

In the hall, Rhodri and Alistair stood patting the back of the boy, who looked rattled but remarkably whole, and certainly not any more demonic than most children his age. Morrigan had her back turned to the whole scene, fiddling away with some of the trinkets she had tied to her staff, and Jowan stood off to one side with one tattered sleeve rolled up, nursing the exposed arm with his other hand. The only sign anything untoward might have happened were two sprays of congealed blood on the floor, one in deep red and the other almost black. Beside the latter of these lay the two lyrium flasks, and as the sound of the Warden coughing drew his attention, he caught a little of the same dark blood sitting in the corner of her mouth. Zevran decided then and there, as per Rhodri’s own request, to put it out of his mind. Why his stomach continued to plummet despite this verdict was beyond him, but before he could redouble his efforts to distract himself, Isolde let out a nerve-peeling shriek and ran over to her son. 

It was almost funny, the way both Wardens caught sight of this stampeding woman and immediately fled from the boy’s side to give her a comically wide berth. Maker’s breath, she was a short, dainty Orlesian, not a bear. Her ancestors were the people who cried exhaustion when their arms tired from flogging their servants, and no doubt half her energy had been spent on the one slap she delivered to the Magewarden earlier.

Rhodri ended up orbiting out and around until she was standing beside Zevran. Accompanying her was a curious smell; more odour than fragrance, and metallic enough that it settled on his tongue. Lightning-struck earth, iron, and singed flesh, if he had to pin it down to something in particular. 

He glanced at the Warden’s face; her mouth had been wiped clean. He shelved all thoughts of lyrium and its related afflictions as best he could and breathed through his mouth.

“How was it for you, Zev?” she asked after a moment. Her voice had a soft rasp to it. “Were you safe out there? No trouble?”

Zevran gave her a broad, smooth smile. “Not a hint of a problem, my dear Grey Warden. I was the very picture of the charming host, and our charges were kept entertained for many a minute.”

“Hah. And here I was getting ready to apologise for giving you the worst job.” She gave him a skewed grin and shifted her weight from foot to foot like a duck.

He chuckled softly. "It made for an interesting change from my daily tasks with the Crows. Far easier work, too. I am in no hurry to complain."

“Mmm, I can imagine. Well, hopefully they’ll let us go now. There’s nothing more to do, and I’d trample the First Enchanter for a bath.” The Warden paused and added, “Not really, of course. Just a figure of speech, you understand.”

Surprising as it was to be notified of such a thing, it seemed less so given the person who had issued it. Zevran nodded. “Naturally, my dear Grey Warden.”

She looked relieved (she often looked that way when he made it clear he had understood her), and had opened her mouth to say something else when Bann Teagan spoke up again. 

And of course, in keeping with the insatiable need nobles had for ordering people around, he had barely gotten his thanks out before putting the Warden on the spot with another request: to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes (surely that was a myth?) and take a pinch of said ashes in a last-ditch attempt to drag the Arl back from death’s door. ‘Nothing more to do,’ indeed.

Morrigan rolled her eyes so hard at the Bann’s entreaty that it was almost audible, and Alistair was hardly looking very confident about the whole thing either. 

Rhodri, however, gave a shrug and nodded. 

“We can keep an eye out for an urn as we travel through the country to rally troops to fight the Darkspawn, certainly. I don’t suppose you could give us any more information on where we might find it, or what it looks like?” She tapped her thigh. “I hate to put too fine a point on it, but urns are everywhere, especially now.”

The Bann proceeded, once he had gotten hold of a pen and paper, to write out the contact details for one Brother Genitivi, based in Denerim, whom Teagan guaranteed would have plenty of insights (never a good term when discussing a concrete need) on where the mysterious urn might be.

With their next moves made clear, they were almost ready to leave, until--

"Bann Teagan." Rhodri glanced at Jowan and then to the nobleman.

"Warden?"

"I am invoking the Right of Conscription against Jowan."

"What?" Alistair gaped at her.

Rhodri looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "He’s a blood mage, Alistair," she replied flatly. "Grey Wardens need non-Warden blood mages for certain tasks, and if they can’t find one, they will often take a regular mage and make them practice it against their will." She pursed her lips. "My uncle was one such victim. Jowan, however, has already chosen his path. He will be of use to us."

Mmm. She sounded harsh, but was there a shred of sentimentality there underneath it all? Or was he wrong, and she was being purely practical? Zevran kept his eyes on Rhodri, scanning her for some indication of what he suspected underpinned all this. 

"I-I see," Teagan said with a stiff nod. "There is nothing I can say to that, but I do not imagine my brother will be pleased to be deprived of the chance to deal his punishment."

A wide-eyed Jowan turned to the Warden and began walking over to her. "Am I going with you, Rhodri?" he asked softly, hopefully almost.

Rhodri looked around sharply at him, and he immediately scuttled back again. 

"No. You will remain here for now. You aren't going anywhere without speaking to Arl Eamon first."

She abruptly turned away from him again and faced the Bann. "We may have need of his skills at any time, and at very short notice. Please do not kill him, torture him, or deprive him." 

Teagan's astonished look grew disapproving; apparently there was a limit to his upper-crust politeness, and no doubt the nature of the request itself was an unwelcome one. 

Rhodri held up her hands in a calming gesture. "He need not be pampered, but he must be at his best. I would ask that you look past your anger for now, and if you are not motivated by the treaties to comply, recall that we helped you when we need not have, and are about to do so again.” She gave him a pointed look. “It would be very well received if you did not make our task any harder than it already is." 

With an inclination of the head, her attention went back to Jowan. She eyed him gravely. "This is your second chance. Don't even think of breaking my trust again."

"N-no, I promise--" he began to stutter, but Rhodri held up a hand to silence him, shaking her head. 

"Your promises mean nothing now. Prove it." 

Without another word, she beckoned to the party. As Zevran and the others followed her out, he caught a glimpse of weariness on her face that shuttered into that familiar harshness as he drew up beside her. 

Was it better to pity her, or simply be pleased that her attachment to the mage swayed her? That weakness was likely the only thing that had stayed her hand when Zevran had tried to kill her himself. No, if ever there was a time to withhold the scorn usually due such things, it was now.

The party left.

AO3 link if needed: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35465686/chapters/102278355

[zevzevarainai]

do you have ocs? i'd love to hear about them!!

i have so many ocs i cant hold them all

currently the ones i am fixated on (because the pandemic made me regress) are literally revamped versions of my ocs when i was like, 9, based on toys i had... but that's information you gotta beg me for

The more Relatable ocs I have include the ones from video games with character creation. Some of them have tags on my blog. I will focus on the big ones and leave the others in the dust. just like my sketchbook.

Dragon Age: (if youve never played da i apologize)

my hero of ferelden Opal Tabris who i have had since early high school and if you couldn't tell from my url, she loves zevran. seems cold on the outside but is super caring and kind on the inside

my blue hawke Jade Hawke she loves fenris... i dont have any da2 gifs of her bc i dont have in on pc

and then I have multiple inquisitors i actually care about my most fleshed out is Bade Lavellan who was originally created for Dorian back in 2014 but has then evolved into being in love with my friend's da oc, Mahonan, an angry and traumatized dalish elf. I like their dynamic better because in summary, Bade is kind to everyone and puts others before himself even though the world is constantly dragging him through the dirt. They balance each other out. He also doesnt think hes fit to be a leader but tries because he thinks he has to. I also REALLY care about his best friendship with Sera they both help each other be better people

Next up is Athera Lavellan, aka necromancer barbie. She's a Dalish mage who cares about her people before all else and feels like she's betraying her clan by being inquisitor, but she knows she can do good in the inquisition. She LOVES Blackwall they are very codependent on each other and like grossly in love

I also have Amber Trevelyan which i usually dont like playing humans if I have another choice but I decided to make a backstory for her to make her more interesting. Her noble family disowned her when her magic was discovered so she found family in the circle (but shes not necessarily pro-circle. she hates templars and her eye scar is from a templar). Vivienne is her new mom and she's in love with Sera

Mass Effect:  I only have one and it’s Evangeline Shepard she’s a paragon because i cant be mean she loves Thane and hates Earth because of her Tragic Backstory

Stardew Valley:

This is Jude i love him he’s nice and gay and could probably be a lumberjack if he put on plaid. he likes nerdy junk and is stoked when he learns magic is real. he quickly becomes close with sebastian and wants to experience the magic with him :’’’)     (im not very good at art but the only other picture i have is his little in-game pixels)

I also have another farmer named Lorna. I dont have a good picture of her but she’s a goofball and has a big ol’ crush on Penny

Fallout:

I like your courier so I’ll put mine here too! Her name is Rapunzel. Why? I don’t know. That’s just what I put in the character creator all those years ago. Maybe after getting shot in the head since she had memory loss she forgot her name but remembered liking the fairy tale? your guess is as good as mine. Bisexual disaster. Would be dead if it wasn’t for boone&arcade and her high speech skill.  She acts bubbly and sarcastic which she is but its partly bc shes using it to hide the fact that she doesnt think of herself as anything more than a “deadbeat mailman” and thinks she has no place having such influence over new vegas and the mojave. She has a big school girl crush on Boone which may or may not be unrequited but she’s like his best friend and instead she sees herself as clingy and annoying and an inconvenience.

I do not have a good picture of her I apologize but shes basically just like blonde with green eyes

[numbaoneflaya]

Can I get a list of all ur ocs?

Well anon youve done it, you made me make a list of all my major OCS in one place. I hope your happy with yourself. Under the cut for obvious reasons, may link in my blog desc later.

Modern/BTD verse!!

Jilly- Ferret beastkin little creature, was recently turned into a werewolf by vincent as well so she's running around on full moons in a wereferret wolf hybrid creature form. Chaotic and friendly and wants to be everyone's bestie. She has the most energy in the world and is very kind hearted. Banned from most Claires for stealing and from one Home Depot for climbing the shelves. Prone to living life with rose colored glasses on and seeing the best in everything/everything even when there's nothing there. Socialization is a must for her and is why being basemented/kidnapped broke her psych so quickly and developed severe stockholm. Sometimes overly talkative/enthusiastic and can scare people off. Even if she sees someone shes decided shes friends with be noticeably 'evil', will convince herself it must be for some reason/her fault and ignore it.

Ciggy- Undead punk still learning to harness his powers to interact with the world as a ghost. Was sacrificed by a cult he joined for free concert tickets and to get laid. Likes to cause problems on purpose both pre and prior death and he's not above possessing someone once he learns how to. Was called Rooster in high school before he dropped out because he's loud, obnoxious and always screaming. And also has bright red dyed hair. Looking 4 ways to become less ghosty bcs he wants to be able to help raise his infant daughter, whom he died before he could meet. Bit annoying and in your face, likes poking at bruises, his or others. Kind of a sad heart seeking attention through volume and persistence.

Mike: Vampire loser! Sells drugs and lives at raves. Was turned when she was attacked by a coked out vampire (whom she supplied the product to) and has major scarring on her face and chest. Needs a somewhat constant influx of blood so shell sometimes take victims back to her place and chain them up, slowly draining them over time. Feels bad (ish) about it tho so it is possible to survive her if you are nice and or interesting enough. Kind of desperate for a friend and for love. Is a stalker. If she likes you enough/finds you interesting, she might just appear in your house one night and start rummaging through your fridge like nothing is wrong and youve been besties for years. Its best to indulge her and be friendly, otherwise she could turn violent quickly if her feelings are hurt.

Kilaine- Regular human woman, but fucked up. Born and raised by an elite waspy society she had an interest in the human body and pain tolerance since she was young. Quickly learned that these traits were socially unacceptable in most professions, so she became a doctor. The only family she cared about was her younger sister who she lost in a car accident, where they were flipped over and trapped inside while it was afire. While her sister burned up in front of her Kilaine only lost her left arm and had major burns on her body. This tipped her descent into sadism and she is now madly obsessed with bringing her sister back no matter the cost. Rude and offstandish, clinical.

Dragon age verse!

Thurwen- My main Hero of Ferelden with a bad temper and a heart of gold. City elf from the Denerim Alienage, 18 at the start of origins. She's a reaver warrior with a lot of pent up rage which sometimes scares others when she lets it out in battle. Over the years she's grown less moody as she's had to take the role of Commander. Crude sense of humor and violent impulses, very sensitive to the plights of others and tries often to help. Never seen crying in public but only cries to herself at night- major martyr and hanged man complex.

Caz- My circle mage elf inquisitor who was an apostate before the conclave. Blood magic, but make it sneaky. Wary of strangers and new faces, always dealing with the impulse to flee/find a high vantage point. Endless curiosity about the unknown/ the forbidden/ naughty, was supposed to be made tranquil for it but she escaped. Kind of a little creature as well, lived on her own for a while as an apostate in the woods, filed her teeth down to sharp ends to make herself look more intimidating (shes 5 ft tall) and less cute (her elf ears are huge and expressive, which shes embarrassed about)

Dag and Thagna- Carta twins! Professional lyrium smugglers since birth pretty much. Raised casteless in dust town and had to work their way up the chain of command by themselves. Dag is the brother, Thagna the sister. Their father traded them to the carta for drinking money and their mom died in childbirth so they have somewhat of a codependent relationship. Both charismatic and calculating, friendly and agreeable but won't hesitate to put a dagger in your back. Hard to pin down morally or physically, squirrelly bastards.

Reila: Dalish elf who works for the inquisition/ is the inquisitor in some aus. She has an extreme fixation on elvhen history and rebuilding what they have lost. Not a people person, prefers solitude. Takes some time to warm up to shemhlen as she has a hard history with them. Good friends with Caz, who recruited her in the first place. Doesn't understand very many social cues and finds societal expectations limiting and frustrating. Fondness for halla and hooved animals, which she finds graceful.

Elder scrolls verse!

Valkya: Near seven foot nord woman whos over a thousand years old by the events of skyrim. Tall and buff, two handed warrior and compulsive hero there to bask in the spotlight save the day. She was killed at the start of the events of Elder scrolls online and had her soul ripped out and sent to coldharbor and she's just been a pain in the ass about it since then. Her body can physically die and will not regrow pieces. Her soul however will escape and teleport to the nearest source of power where her body will regrow from an aetherial plasm until its whole again. Loud and brash, friendly and jovial. Actually pretty keen especially after centuries of life but prefers to play dumb as it makes people underestimate her. Plus, she really does enjoy mud wrestling and drinking contests and acting generally like a rambunctious frat boy. Ha developed a bit of a substance problem and a problem with acting out, as after being alive so long she would turn to anything to dull the ache inside of her that never goes away.

Espira- My Dragonborn! Redguard from Hammerfell who was briefly in the Ash’abah due to killing undead while protecting her parents water farm as a child. Ran away from them after years and went to Cyrodille, then to Skyrim and was caught crossing the border. Reserved, kind and soft spoken, she's a sword and shield warrior who's committed herself to doing good in the world by helping others. Dislikes killing and anything messy but believes it is often necessary in order to protect the weak. She blacksmiths often to save money on the upkeep of her own equipment, and takes up metal jewelry working as a hobby with the excess material. Prone to trusting others too much and giving too many second chances, as shes always looking for ways to make even the most hardened criminal a second look at life.

Riley- Espiras little brother who she locked in the wardrobe during the event of the water farm attack. In preventing him from doing violence against the undead she kept him from being conscripted into the Ash’abah. He's way more chaotic than his sister, and suffers from a case of little sibling syndrome in which he will often pester/poke at people just to get a rise out of them. Still kind hearted as his sister, he tries to hide it because he believes that the world is a cruel place and the cruel survive. Despite that belief he is often still unable to force himself to be cruel/careless, only making a show of it so that others leave him alone and don't see that he's very sensitive and emotional. Deaf in one ear due to a magic mishap in his youth, he trained and enchanted his most beloved rats to live for years and sit on his shoulder, alerting him to noises he would not otherwise notice.

Felria: Evil vamp :/ chaotic evil dunmer necromancer. Small and devilish and likes dead bodies too much. Manipulative and cunning, she loves acting. She's a trained assassin for the dark brotherhood and is the speaker. Likes dressing up for missions and wearing disguises like its all a play. Loves toying with people more than she loves killing them, will act in ways that cause as much trauma as possible for other people just for fun and she finds the reactions interesting. Considers herself too far removed from most people's perception of morality and of her so it's hard for her to trust someone or see them as worthy of knowing her. Finds the psychology of grief and fear to be interesting and wants to study them first hand. The hero of kvatch.

Herren: Fifty something year old rat woman looking for something to keep her going. Ran away from her wealthy family in her youth when they wanted her to take charge of the household, instead became an infamous jewel thief and swashbuckler. Spent most of her life traveling and stealing and double dealing. She's smarmy and sarcastic, a serial romancer of the highest caliber. Bit of a show off and a hedonist, always looking for the next good party or new product to snort. Her family died off due to the hard times she wasn't there for and she keeps looking for bigger and bigger heists to fill her appetite as she's chronically bored and lonely, though wont accept intimacy and will scoff at it out of the belief she doesn't deserve it. Irresponsible and selfish, lonely and terrified of any sort of commitment. Fun to party with though!

[dacompanionreactions]

Hi! Could you do dai companions react to a dalish inquisitor who speaks very little english?

Cassandra is incredibly frustrated at first. Considering how their first meeting was her accusing them of killing the Divine and being met with a silent panicked stare... to her, that screamed guilty. When she takes Lavellan to see the breach for the first time, she’s surprised to hear a soft, “No,” and then a torrent of elvish words. Cassandra takes in the pointed ears, the tattooed face, and it hits her. She feels like a fool and sends for a translator right away. Later, she will apologise to Lavellan and offer to teach them the common tongue. If anyone dares to take advantage and badmouth them in Cassandra’s presence, they’ll face the unbridled wrath of the Seeker.

Solas dislikes all things Dalish, but one thing he cannot dispute is how Clan Lavellan haven’t lost the beauty of elven language. He becomes strangely attached to Lavellan, more than would be wise, because they are a reminder of what once was, minus the vallaslin of course. So far, every elf Solas has met speaks the common tongue so he finds it refreshing to speak to speak in Elvish for once. He does offer to teach them the common tongue, but the two can often be found conversing in Elvish. No one dares to berate Lavellan in his presence; the first and last noble who tried had nightmares for weeks.

Varric pities them at first. He has experienced firsthand Cassandra’s short temper so he has an inkling of how Lavellan is feeling after their first encounter. The language barrier makes joking with them a little more difficult, but as Lavellan starts learning, their conversations are hilarious. They can often be seen tossing banter back and forth. After they become close friends, Varric works with a translator to write Elvish versions of his books for Lavellan to read on their off-days, even if they’ve mastered the common tongue. Sneering nobles don’t hang around due to the threat of Bianca.

Dorian finds it rather endearing and impressive. By the time they meet, Lavellan knows enough of the common tongue to hold a strong conversation, but they’ve been known to slip back into it around particularly annoying nobles. It reminds him of himself and how he’ll speak Modern Tevene if pressed. If Dorian has a good relationship with Lavellan, he’ll find it cute how they occasionally get idioms wrong. “It’s the cat that swallowed the canary, not the pigeon,” he says without skipping a beat, but his tone is kind. The necromancer is scary when pissed off as the nobles learn when a terror spell finds them.

Sera is slightly disappointed at first. “Great, an elfy elf.” After they bond, she sees how some of the nobles mock Lavellan for their broken speaking and pranks them mercilessly. Word has it that their breeches can be found in the markets of Val Royeaux for ten sovereigns. Sera offers to teach Lavellan more of the common tongue, starting off with words like “shite” and “arse”. They can be found giggling on a rooftop as Sera teaches them to speak like a sailor. Badmouthers get arrows, simple as pie.

Blackwall is a little awkward. When he met Lavellan, he was expecting them to be a human, not an elf. However he is patient with them and doesn’t mind if they stumble over idioms and phrases. Blackwall won’t take mockery from anyone, so he doesn’t hesitate to shut down the snickering nobles, pointing out how though their Orlesian may be excellent, their mastery of the common tongue is substandard at best.

Cole doesn’t understand why everyone makes such a big fuss. Due to his spirit mind he hears Lavellan’s thoughts in the common tongue even if they are in Elvish. Solas has to explain to him why the language barrier can complicate matters. The Orlesian nobles disgruntle Cole because their words hurt Lavellan. “Don’t pay any mind to them. I don’t understand why they care so much about your language, but your happiness matters more.”

Iron Bull knows how they feel. His first language was Qunlat, and though he mastered the common tongue at a much younger age, it wasn’t an easy task. Bull wants Lavellan to feel more at home. He immediately turns to Dalish and Skinner, the former being able to provide some help. She teaches Bull what she knows, which isn’t much mind you, but it’s enough to entice a laugh and appreciative gesture from Lavellan.

Vivienne sees it as a slight problem since it won’t help with appearances or negotiations. She makes it a personal challenge to teach Lavellan the common tongue and Orlesian. That’d wipe the smug nobles’ grins right off their faces. However she is patient with them, never showing frustration or cruelty. If the comments and whispering start to get to the Inquisitor, she’s the first one to shut them down. An Iron Lady she may be, but Vivienne has a heart of gold.

Cullen is awkward since he mistook Lavellan’s silence for them disliking him, which wasn’t the case at all. When he’s informed of the language barrier, he relaxes a little and offers to teach Lavellan more of the common tongue. He’s a very patient teacher, and being a true Ferelden at heart, the first word Cullen teaches them is ‘mabari’. Anyone who dares mock Lavellan faces the fury of Cullen Stanton Rutherford.

Leliana is instantly reminded of a small campsite many years ago, singing an Elvish song to the Hero of Ferelden. Her knowledge of Elvish is limited, but it’s enough to get a conversation going. Leliana will take it upon herself to teach Lavellan the common tongue. If the trauma from Haven gets too much to bear, she will sing to them. If anyone is foolish enough to comment upon Lavellan’s speech, they’ll disappear. No one knows how or where to except for Leliana.

Josephine wants to be accommodating as possible towards Lavellan, so she learns as much Elvish as possible in the short time before meeting them. When Josie greets them with “Andaran atish’an,” the shocked but grateful look is worth the hours spent studying. She will try to teach them the common tongue, but if her duties as ambassador leave her with no time, Josie will hire a tutor. She will curtly remind the Orlesian nobles of what Lavellan has done for Thedas, in sweet but firm tones.

[nerd-elf]

WIP Wednesday

I have a DAI fic on ao3. It's a world where Trevelyan is a templar, though he falls in love with Dorian. At the same time, a dailish researcher throws Solas's plans into chaos.

This the beginning of one of the chapters:

“Herald of Andraste! Face me!!!!”

Connor Trevelyan saw the huge Avvar lifting a hammer, even bigger than himself, above his head, and prepared his shield.

“Well, I guess diplomacy is definitely not an option.” He shrugged, and glanced at Dorian with a smirk.

The mage scoffed, preparing his staff. “You think these barbarians even know about the concept of negotiation???”

He saw Solas casting barriers on them, and conjured his horror spell.

Connor raised his eyebrows, his grin going wider when he blocked an arrow, his voice louder as he rushed towards the Avvar. “You also called me a barbarian.”

He smiled at the warrior, and while the enemy archer ran terrified because of his spell, Connor exploited the opening to cut her throat with his sword.

“What a romantic date.” The thought crossed the mage’s mind, and he chuckled softly, realizing he would have never pictured being in the ass of Ferelden, fighting beside a templar, and a Free Marcher, that had caught his interest.

It had been a week since they kissed in that tavern between Skyhold and Radcliffe, and both of them kept exchanging looks and flirting, but not much more than that.

Dorian enjoyed the game of seduction, but sometimes the Inquisitor would stare at him with something more than just lust.

They seemed to be developing a real connection, and Dorian feared the Inquisitor had been serious when he talked about feelings.

Putting those thoughts away to focus on the fight, the Tevinter’s sarcastic tone never wavered, his lips curling in a smile as he spoke.

“Now now, no need to be sensitive. Your scarce knowledge of hygiene is nothing compared to those brutes.”

Connor tried to catch his breath to speak while facing another warrior, his expression a mix of fierceness and amusement.

“Was that a compliment?” He yelled, in order to be heard in the middle of the fight.

“Not in a million years!” Dorian yelled back, smirking at him, casting a barrier around the Inquisitor just before he got hit, blocking the damage entirely.

Then, with a twist of his staff and body, accompanied by a slight snarl, Dorian caused the Avvar warrior to explode, right in front of the templar.

Connor didn’t manage to step back before the blood and guts showered his body, so he just cleaned his face with the back of his glove, grimacing at Dorian, disgusted. “Really???”

“Apologies, my Lord.” The necromancer snickered, dramatically bowing to the man, and thought with himself that somehow, even covered with dirt and blood, that man still looked incredibly attractive.