#bellara × neve makes way more sense

[possessiveandobsessive]

🚨🔥 Hot Take Alert 🔥🚨

Neve and Bellara would've been a WAY better match than Neve and Lucanis.

Neve is so patient with Bellara's dreamy, scatterbrained tendencies. She never gets frustrated or irritated even when Bellara is rambling about things that no one except her really cares to know that much detail about. She calmly calls her attention back to the matter at hand and reminds her where she is. Neve knows how to focus Bellara without killing her spark. Exactly like Bellara said Cyrian did for her.

Neve is also very grounded. She knows what she believes and what she wants and isn't afraid to tell anyone. Bellara is the opposite. She's flighty, distractable, and doesn't seem sure of herself and what she's looking for. Outside of finding the Nadas Dirthalen, she's directionless mostly. Neve is the perfect grounding counterpart that Bellara is missing.

Neve is cynical and jaded, even if Minrathous doesn't fall to the dragon. And if it does, she's colder and hardened on top of that. She needs someone who carries light and love, not someone exactly like herself. Bellara is much lighter and freer. Yes, she's had tragedy strike, she's dealt with loss and pain, but it hasn't made her cold. It's made her more caring and empathetic. She can relate to and empathize with Neve's pain, without bringing more darkness and negativity into the mix.

Plus, they get along great as friends. Neve is Bellara's only real friend it seems from my own playthroughs. Emmerich is kind to Bellara but he's a mentor. The others aren't mean to her, but she seems awkward and unable to relate to most of them. Neve goes out of her way to make Bellara comfortable. She gives her a NICKNAME.

Now, to my thoughts on Lucanis and Neve.

I can understand why the writers made the decision to have them be a couple if they are both unromanced. They have many things in common, and their banter is good and natural. HOWEVER. I think they're too alike to make each other happy in the long term. They both have a more cynical, pessimistic mindset, and wear their pain as armor. They both struggle to be vulnerable and honest about the things that hurt, the things that matter. I feel like rather than encourage growth in each other, they hold each other back from change. Lucanis won't learn to trust anyone because NEVE doesn't. Neve won't learn to have any kind of optimism because LUCANIS doesn't. Yes, they have many things in common, and I think they could realistically be good friends. As romantic partners though? I feel that they could both have so much more character development and growth if they take different paths.

I also personally don't think Lucanis is likely to develop a romantic relationship with anyone in the Veilguard outside of Rook because he's so determined to be closed off and alone, but that's a whole other rant in and of itself. (Let me know if anyone is interested 😁)

[hyperions-light]

woAH I heard people are hating on Neve which is super cringe! Neve positivity time!!

I am in love with her because

1. She has an impeccable sense of fashion, she never misses, could make a paper bag look good

2. Docktown sucks so bad, like major Kirkwall vibes, and she loves it SO MUCH

3. If you give money to the people asking for it on the streets in Docktown, sometimes Neve will check in with them and make sure they have a place to stay it’s so sweet !!!

4. She cannot cook at all. Only eats fried fish. Boils her coffee. Zero domestic skills, completely perfect

5. She loves Bellara so much, she’s such a good friend ;-; She finds all her serials and helps her try to work out the mysteries! She gets her goat cheese! She comes to Cyrian’s funeral ;-;

6. If you wander around Docktown with her in your party you can stop and talk to her regular contacts and she will check in with them <3

7. She works alone because she’s scared that the people who try to help her will get hurt =(

8. She’s not afraid of Spite and she refuses to see Lucanis as a monster or treat him differently, even after he almost kills Illario.

9. She helps Taash figure out their gender stuff and she is so supportive and helpful <3

10. The WAY she talks to people who are hurting… like even though she’s so cynical, personally, she never tells people to give up on others, she’s never sarcastic or scathing when people are in pain. I took her on Taash’s final mission last time, and her voice ;-; She wanted to help so badly, but she couldn’t do anything. She reminded them that everyone was there for them. She loves SO much, so intensely.

11. She does not expect anyone to help her, and especially if you don’t save Minrathous she’s skeptical, but she’s so thankful for Rook’s help when they give it. She’s so fucking lonely, man! She thinks she has to do it all herself, because everyone else in the world and especially in Minrathous has shown her over and over that they don’t care about the people she loves, the people like HER. She’s not rich, she’s not famous or powerful or well-connected, she’s just using what she has to try and help people!

12. Manfred canonically doesn’t like nicknames, but he lets Neve call him ‘Fred

Neve Gallus, the woman you are <3

Edit: When I posted this someone immediately made some rude comment so here’s some more stuff to love about Neve Gallus!

13. She investigated the mystery of the candlehops and she was so serious about it! Just like the wisps in the Lighthouse!

14. When she was a kid she didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up and she HATED it lol

15. She got her best coat as a gift from a grateful client!

16. She keeps her tiny little apartment because they gave her a good deal on the rent and she doesn’t want to lose it

17. Halos keeps trying to give her fish for free but she insists on paying him <3

18. That joke she made to Lucanis about having an extra leg if he needed one lol

19. She misses the sound of the ocean, and sometimes when she wakes up in the Lighthouse she hears it for a moment

20. The way she explains everything so patiently to Taash about Tevinter and Docktown and the way status symbols work; the way she is always trying to use her skills to help the other members of the team!!

21. How she makes sure to check up on that kid whose father was doing demon summoning stuff and make sure that he’s alright ;-;

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

I really don’t understand the criticism that Veilguard doesn’t include enough open, devout Andrastianism. Like, it just perplexes me?

Unlike the first three games, which take place in Southern Thedas (the purview of the Orlesian Chantry, the Sunburst throne), Veilguard takes place almost entirely in Northern Thedas. And it’s clear the Chantry’s role there is very different than in the South.

In Southern Thedas, the Chantry is a power unto itself. The Southern Divine, holder of the Sunburst Throne, occupies a place of real significance and power. She has her own militarized forces (the Templar and Seeker Orders). She politically has to interface with the rulers of the various places in Southern Thedas (Orlais, Ferelden, the Free Marches, etc.), but is not formally associated with or dependent on them. The South is comparatively poorer than the North, and we see a majority of services (taking care of orphans, medical care, the Circles, and very significantly education) being taken care of by the Chantry without necessarily much assistance from the relevant countries.

The Southern Chantry is an ever present figure in Southern Thedas, even for those that aren’t devout. And that is reflected in those stories and the cultures we learn about there.

The Tevinter Imperium is not like that. And that’s not terribly surprising. First, the Imperium pre-dates Andrastianism. They have another, older religion that helped form some of their cultural touchpoints. The Imperium did adopt Andrastianism, but did so as a consolidation of empire (which tracks with the Imperium being, in no small part, a reflection of the real life Roman Empire). As such, the Chantry is folded into and subordinate to the Imperium’s government. The real power in Tevinter, and control over the incidents of daily life that we see the Southern Chantry involved in, is the Magisterium and the Archon.

The Imperial Divine doesn’t control the Templars, the Magisterium and Archon do. He doesn’t control the Circles/education. That’s the Magisterium and Archon again. He is, in practical terms, less powerful than Dorian. He can’t make any real change as the Imperial Divine, so he dons a mask and runs a vigilante group to free slaves and make change that way.

The Northern Chantry simply isn’t as omnipresent as the Southern Chantry in the areas it exists, and it competes with a preexisting cultural backbone in a way the Southern Chantry doesn’t (because it largely stamped that out, though some of the Avvar and Chasind are still around).

I think a lot of people are comparing the impact of Andrastianism in Veilguard to that in Inquisition, because it’s the most recent, and the criticism spawns from that. But that…doesn’t make sense. The Inquisitor is leading a religious organization, ultimately affiliated with the Southern Chantry itself and founded by the left and right hands of the former Divine. It claims its legitimacy from Andraste herself (even if the Inquisitor doesn’t believe a single bit of it). The people who join the Inquisition are all okay enough with Andrastianism to affiliate themselves openly with it (Solas aside, but of course he has other reasons), and many are devout.

The Veilguard are just…random people. Skilled, powerful, talented people, but not people with any real affiliation with any Chantry. Davrin and Bellara have complicated relationships with the Dalish religion they grew up with, for obvious reasons, but they weren’t raised in Andrastianism or an Andrastian culture. Neve, per her, “barely keeps the holidays.” Her relationship to Andrastianism seems closer to the average non-church-attending American who celebrates Christmas and Easter, but isn’t particularly Christian beyond that. Lucanis does seem open to belief in the Maker and Andraste, but is kind of ambivalent to it. More agnostic than anything else. Taash wasn’t raised Andrastian, their mom largely still embraces much of the Qun even if she left, and Rivain was always kind of religiously funky anyway. Only Emmrich and Harding are particularly Andrastian, and even then Emmrich is from Nevarra which although deeply Andrastian is unique. Harding is the only companion whose Andrastianism we’d recognize from the prior games.

So in a game set in a region where Andrastianism is culturally less of an influence, where the Chantry holds far less power, and that has companions that aren’t devout Andrastians…how is it a failure of the game that it isn’t brought up more. That makes sense. It’s consistent with the world building that came before it and the continued reveal of that world in game.

I don’t get it.

[antivancathedral]

I don't even know how to word this in a way that makes sense and I think in an overall world building sense this is a major case of "Man I think it depends" but I actually don't think Spite is a "demon".

Spirits and Demons are essentially the same, yes, and I think there's much to be said about this in in parallel to a healthy person vs a deeply traumatized person, but to quote Neve, "one is more likely to manipulate you, or kill you," etc etc.

A demon is a spirit whose purpose has been twisted. And I don't think Spite's purpose has been twisted much at all.

Determination's purpose is "accomplish my goal (whatever that may be)". Spite (the emotion)'s purpose is exactly the same, with the added benefit of "especially against the wishes of others".

I think the demonic version of Determination would be "Ruthlessness", not Spite.

Spite (the guy) is not wholly consumed by his purpose like other "demons" are. He doesn't pursue his goals at the expense of his companions. He has several other interests even if they seem a little silly (learning what tastes good, or even new forms of combat like fire). And he tells us his purpose several times...it's his promise with Lucanis! Escape, kill, and live! This goal is one of determination and it has not changed by his becoming Spite. The goal is not warped in any way even with his joining to Lucanis.

Bellara speculates as to why Spite doesn't just take Lucanis over or turn him into a nasty mound of flesh. I want to argue that this is because Spite is a named spirit, not a demon.

What's more spiteful than not allowing your captors to change you? What says fuck you to people who would use you as a tool than self-determination? What's more spiteful than being determined to be free, to fight who would enslave you, to live?

My working theory is that Spite is not a demon in the same sense as, say, Wisdom being corrupted into Pride, which twists a desire to guide, teach, or navigate situations with care into a desire to be right and unchallenged.

I think Spite is to Determination as Eulogy is to Compassion.

[felassan]

July 15th Game Informer article on BioWare's companion design philosophy in DA:TV - cliff notes:

DA:TV wasn't made with the intention of making a sequel or 'the same again as DA:I'. They wanted to do something different

The companions are key to everything in DA:TV; the special centerpiece, load-bearing pillars. The studio uses the phrase "DA is about characters, not causes"

These are the most fully realized, complex, fleshed out & complicated companions from BioWare yet (and DA's best). They have stories of their own, and roles both in and out of combat. They are authentic and relatable

For the first time in the series, BioWare feels that they have purposefully and intentionally created great companions. In previous entries, they sort of 'stumbled' onto great companions

Rook goes on a journey with the companions, rather than how it felt in previous games where the companions are more like going on an adventure with the PC

The companions have complicated problems. We will explore how they think and feel, and help them through their problems. They participate in the game's dark parts and optimistic parts

Corinne: "They feel like my dear friends, and I absolutely adore them"

Corinne quote: "We've really moved into a place where you can have the highest of highs, and it can be colorful, it can be optimistic, but also, you can have the lowest of lows where it gets gritty, it gets painful, it gets quite dark. But throughout it all, there is a sense of optimism. And it creates this delightful throughline throughout the game." 

When creating DA:TV one of BW's principles was that the world exists even when you/Rook isn't around, with ancient conflicts, grudges and more going on. Rook kind of comes in in the middle of some of these plots

John quote: "For example – the Grey Wardens are an interesting faction but by themselves, they don't tell a story, but there are characters within that faction that do. And the same thing with other characters in the story. They represent these factions, they show the face of the other parts of Thedas and of the storytelling we really want to do, which, again, shows Thedas as this large, diverse living world that has things going on when you're not there. [...] Where can Rook come into [the companions'] stories, and what interesting ways can those stories develop not just based on themselves but also based on Rook's presence within them?"

Companions are the faces of their factions. Some, like Bellara, are the faces for an entire area of the world

BW hopes that the companions' visual design challenges and excites cosplayers. Matt Rhodes: "The previous art director had the mindset we should make things easier for [cosplayers], which I think is a misunderstanding of cosplayers. We've seen the kind of challenges they're willing to take on, and so we've gone for, in some cases, a level of complexity and detail"

Tevinter is an oppressive, totalitarian regime that has slavery. "If you’re not a mage in Tevinter, you are lower than dirt for a lot of people". A damaging regime has taken over Minrathous

The Shadow Dragons are a rebel faction that fight back against this Tevinter mage-ocracy (so does Neve)

Neve believes that good exists in Tevinter. She's there for the common people, and believes in fighting oppression and tyranny. She represents the voice of the streets and the common people. BW "wanted to have a character that showed not just what is Tevinter at the top, but what is the average person who lives in Tevinter"

Detective Neve is also about finding clues and ways through problems that aren't as action-focused as some of the other companions

The writer Wesley of Game Informer thinks that DA:TV is sure to be "multiple dozens of hours long"

In combat, companions have their own autonomy and behaviors. They pick their own targets

As their plots progress, they learn how to use their abilities more competently in battle. "It feels like we're all in it together"

In battle, strategy, progression and a sense of teamwork comes into play as the party's leader, Rook. "It is a game about creating this organic sense of teamwork."

Vulnerabilities can be used synergistically

Bellara can slow time

Harding has devastating attacks with 'knock down' effects

Corinne quote: "Now, there are more explicit synergies as well. We very much have intentional combos where your companions can play off each other, you can queue up abilities between them, and each of those abilities will go off and have their effect. But it results in this massive detonation where you get enhanced effects, debuff the entire battlefield, all because of planning and teamwork. What makes it really cool is you can introduce Rook into that equation as well. One of my favorite things to do is upgrade some of Harding's abilities so she will automatically use some of these abilities that normally I'd have to instruct her to do. And she'll actually set my character up to execute that combo that, again, has that detonation effect." 

Outside combat, companions have their own concerns, fears and distractions

Companions have their own personal spaces. They each have their own room in the Lighthouse. These sanctuaries become reflections of who they are. "The more time you spend with them, as the game develops as you work through their arc, their room and their personalities will evolve and flourish and become more complete as they trust you more and you understand them better."

The companions also develop romantically, sometimes with each other. Corinne: "There are moments in the game where two of our companions fell in love with each other and I had to make some pretty challenging choices as it related to the quest we're on. And it broke my heart, it absolutely did"

Get to know and learn about the companions in the Lighthouse. "It endears them to you in a way that I honestly haven't experienced before."

There are joy-filled moments and heart-breaking moments in the game wrt the companions

[source]

[myrtlebranch1019]

Why Davrin is my favourite companion in DA:TV.

With characters like Neve and Emmrich in the game—both of whom are well-written and fall under my favorite character archetypes—it was surprising to find Davrin climbing into the number one spot on my list. For starters, I’ve never been particularly invested in the Grey Warden storyline outside of Origins and my Hero of Ferelden. I don’t typically gravitate toward Grey Warden romances either. All things considered, I would’ve expected Davrin to rank lower for me, certainly not first. But I always try to keep an open mind about characters, even if I’m not initially drawn to their subplots. Surprisingly, not only did Davrin become my favorite, but the Grey Wardens turned out to be the only faction whose writing I genuinely enjoyed.

Why Davrin stood out to me

Let’s start with what made me connect with Davrin specifically, because at the end of the day, preference is deeply subjective, and relatability is often a key factor. Nonetheless, I do feel Davrin's writing doesn’t get enough credit for how realistic his arc is. Everything we learn about his past points to him being the classic "small-town misfit" (in his case, a Dalish clan misfit) who wanted to break free of his bubble. Growing up, I had a similar mindset. I believed there had to be more to life than seeing the same faces, hearing the same perspectives, and following the same predetermined path.

In one conversation, Davrin mentions how his clan felt rejected by his decision to leave. That resonated with me, but what struck me more was the subtlety in how this rejection was portrayed. In my experience, the person who leaves often carries the weight of perceived rejection far longer than the community they leave behind, which typically moves on. This nuance was reflected in Davrin’s journey—how that sense of rejection motivated him to pursue his path without looking back. It’s a mix of choice and pride, and it’s telling that he only becomes eager to reconnect with his clan near the end of the game, after he’s accomplished what he wanted.

Then there’s the moment of failure that every person faces when they leave behind everything they know—when the unknown turns out to be far more brutal than anticipated. Davrin doesn’t shy away from this, admitting that he “got his ass kicked” and went broke. That particular conversation during his first personal quest hit close to home for me. As a Dalish elf, Davrin likely faced additional obstacles, such as the pervasive discrimination elves endure in this universe. His banter with Bellara (easily missed but incredibly insightful) sheds light on those early days of hardship: how he came to appreciate the things he’d once taken for granted, how he desperately sought purpose to make all his struggles worthwhile.

What I appreciated most was how realistic and difficult his journey felt. He didn’t simply leave his clan and immediately flourish; he had to mold himself into who he wanted to be, enduring setbacks and moments of doubt along the way. Leaving wasn’t painted as an objectively good or bad decision—it was a necessary step for his self-discovery. It also wasn’t framed as a critique of Dalish culture, which I found refreshing given BioWare’s frequent criticism of the Dalish. Davrin wasn’t used as a narrative tool to disparage their way of life; instead, his story highlights that he didn’t fit in and needed to explore a different path. Which is why he is the perfect character to decide the future of the Griffons, whether they will follow tradition or the road less travelled. (By the way, I felt the moment lost its impact when the final decision was left to Rook. I firmly believe that Davrin should have been the one to make the ultimate choice, with the outcome influenced by prior conversations.)

Additionally, while the stoic warrior archetype isn’t typically my cup of tea. (For example, while Blackwall is a complex and well-written character, I never really connected with him). With Davrin, I enjoyed that the stoicism is tempered by his snarky sense of humor, boldness, fiery passion and a softer, nurturing side that emerges in his relationship with Assan. Beneath these layers, there are moments in the game when his dialogue hints at deeper fears and vulnerabilities. His line about Wardens having an “expiration date” stood out to me, overall, the post-Weisshaupt conversation is a fascinating moment that deserves more attention. While the game resolves it quickly, there’s something poignant about how Davrin’s overwhelming need to belong and have a purpose makes him the quintessential "army dreamer." This aspect of his character—the drive to prove himself and tie his self-worth to a cause and subsequently an accomplishment is subtle and easy to miss beneath the more heroic motivation to protect others, but it’s still there.

For the Adventurous Misfits

I could write much more about Davrin (and probably will in future posts), but ultimately, he’s my favorite because he represents the adventurous misfits. He’s for the ones who leave their safety bubble only to get brutally punched in the face by life. For those who tie their self-worth to their achievements and set impossible standards for themselves. Anyone who tries to avoid caring, because they’re only capable of caring too much. And lastly, for those who despite everything, refuse to give up. Davrin’s journey is one of self-discovery, resilience, and growth, and it's a story that feels both deeply personal and universally relatable.

[utilitycaster]

The thing that I think gets me about Neve the most, and this is past the point where I personally am in the game, is that you can still romance her after you've chosen to prioritize Treviso (which you can't do for Lucanis if you do the reverse). The thing is, it makes sense. Neve judges you negatively for trusting her. There's a dialogue in the Shadow Dragons hideout where Tarquin (Shadow Dragons faction agent) gripes about The Viper (Shadow Dragons faction agent and leader) running background checks on him, before admitting he'd probably do the same. And the thing is, if you tell Tarquin that this seems reasonable he accepts it, but he seems irritated. Neve doesn't.

You meet Neve striking a pose, having frozen her assailants, needing none of your help. Neve does not, on the whole, ever seem to want your help until she begs you to save Minrathous. She approves of you taking her to interrupt the ritual, and seems to be entirely unbothered by the fact that it leaves her badly bruised - indeed, you have to actively choose to leave her behind later when you go looking for Bellara.

Neve loves Minrathous and Dock Town, which means she also hates them. She takes you there, if you do the companion quest, which you should. She invites you after Bellara fangirls out over some news pieces about her (Neve drily remarks they were hit pieces), to go pick up some leads and some serials Bellara wants. For all she's sarcastic, gruff, and even a little snide with Bellara (and with my playing of Rook, who is fairly direct and positive with the Veilguard companions) and doesn't believe a Tevinter serial would ever truly end happily if it were remotely realistic, she still wants to get those serials for her teammates. She's not here to make friends, though she's slowly doing so, but she also believes in working with your allies even when they're sunny and scatterbrained or bracingly positive and you're an exhausted, cynical detective.

Exhausted is I think the most salient point. Neve is fucking tired. She tells you she's lived in Dock Town her whole life, and she became a detective, taking on cases for people who weren't helped by the Templars (who, you learn in one of the core missions prior to your choice to save only one of Minrathous and Treviso, are corrupt all the way up to the top). After solving a missing person case successfully, with an implication that she freed a slave in the process, the Shadow Dragons recruited her, but she's been doing the same work she always done. And the Shadow Dragons, meanwhile, in addition to attempting, with limited success, to infiltrate the Magistrate and fight for abolitionism, also do a lot of work like Neve's: helping people on the street. Their basement is full of unhoused and hungry people with nowhere else to go.

Neve is tired because, I think, she doesn't really believe Minrathous will get much better in her lifetime. She tells you in her companion quest, as you eat street food on the docks, looking out into the ocean, that she treasures the small wins because that's what she gets. Whereas the Crows remember a free Treviso and fight for that, Neve, in particular, feels like she's just trying to keep things from getting worse, and maybe help a few people. She's cynical because dreaming big probably won't pan out and she knows it so she's not going to waste her time.

Her work is her life. Her gift is literally just more evidence. Harding, Lucanis, and Bellara all reminisce about friends and family, but Neve still hasn't yet. You get the sense that Rana, one of the few clean Templars with whom she works, is probably the person she'd put down as an emergency contact. She doesn't even really get along with Tarquin, though, to be fair, doesn't seem like anyone does. Her world is a network of people who are useful.

I'm going somewhere with this, and that's, unsurprisingly, to Critical Role Campaign 3, because after all that here's my thesis: Neve is what people want some of Bells Hells, but especially Ashton, to be.

I've seen defense of Ashton's abrasiveness because many leftists are abrasive people, and the thing is, that's not untrue, but they're abrasive because they're like Neve: they're doing endless difficult work with very little reward or thanks, and at most they get small wins.

What has Ashton done for their communities? The Nobodies and Krook House aren't feeding the hungry or fighting corruption; the former is a group of thieves with no particular cause and the latter a punk co-op house. What was Ashton doing for the people of Jrusar or Bassuras? I struggle to find anything tangible. There's a lot of talk and no action - punk aesthetics and a lot of talk about standing for the weak, but when do they actually do that? It's all very surface level, and so the defenses of Ashton must focus entirely on what and who they are (nb, disabled, punk, had a terrible childhood) and what they say but never, ever, what they do. It's posturing.

Neve? It's entirely what she does. She is, for what it's worth, disabled and queer (and played by a woman of color, though whether she's coded as such in-game probably requires an academic background in both the history of Thedas and the history of the real-world Black Sea region) but we don't know a damn thing about her childhood yet. We don't know if she's been hurt or heartbroken or abandoned until we, as Rook, have to decide whether to do that to her. And when we do? She takes her time (she's not back yet in my game) but in the end, she blames the actual root causes of the elven gods sending the dragon and blight, and the Venatori working with them and, as far as I know, gets back to work. As she always has.

[thevulturesquadron]

Huh, interesting that these pages/drawings show up in Bellara’s character section in the Art of DA, vs. Neve’s book in the final game. Maybe the team created the asset and used it in error. It would make way more sense for Bellara to have these sketches of Mythal.

Or, to merge the two, Bel does mention that she took notes for Neve while she was away so what if this was among them? Neve just kept the journal and continued working on it because it ended up meaning a lot to her.

[jainydoe]

Metastable; Chapter 1

When it started, he told himself it was something irrelevant - that squirming in his gut and need to straighten his vest, smooth his hair, feel if his face was really getting hot or it was a trick of the senses.

This whole thing was a bug to be squashed. A burnt dinner you ate anyway and hoped you forgot about in the morning. Her glances were an accident. She wasn’t taking an inventory of his features the way he did hers. Those weren’t the kind of words he should take seriously. Her comments on his jewels or his impressive use of language. Each time she’d look up at him through her lashes, ghost of a smile on her lips and a quick remark about his intellect, his looks, how very capable he was and what a brilliant idea it was to bring him along, she should kiss Bellara for being such a good scout - he really was such a dashing asset - he’d feel that voltage in his chest saying do it. 

Ask her to dinner. 

Buy her some jewelry. 

Tell her how dashing she’d look in Nevarran robes. 

With a Nevarran date. 

In his Nevarran sheets. 

Then, of course, reality would whack his thoughts away with a ruler and cruel grin. 

You published your first paper before she was a thought in her mommy’s belly. 

He quickly ushers her out of his quarters so he can grip the balcony railing and will himself to hold down his lunch. He reminds himself to ask Lucanis about how he keeps Spite at bay. He’ll be sure it comes across casual. Purely academic. That’s all he is, anyway. A brain for hire. Years of practice in the type of classical restraint that comes so naturally nowadays will work on the likes of Lucanis. It held up with the Dalish boy years ago, too. And that woman from Orlais. And the bartender from that place after that thing a while back. Maybe it’s because Rook can dismantle him so easily that terrifies him as much as it intoxicates. A girl with a puzzle she’s solving too fast, expectant eyes soon to be following. Was that all? 

He tells himself getting to know the rest of their quilt-together cohort will distract from the certain doom of Captain Rook, Daring Young Adventurer. Stronger. More capable. More dashing of an asset. Bellara is a fine way to achieve this. So many questions. So eager. So curious. Time flies when they dissect their studies. She reminds him of a younger version of himself, back before things got easier. He’s not here to make friends, exactly, and after meeting everyone, it’s not something he banks on succeeding in, but she’s a decent partner for lengthy discussion. The sun is on their shoulders one afternoon, papers scattered on a bench outside, and after they’ve exhausted themselves over rhetoric, he watches as Bellara’s eyes follow after their fearless leader. She sighs. 

“Isn’t Rook just so,” she trails off. 

“She is,” he answers. 

Yes, he sees himself in her. Curious and eager. Hungry. A dreamer, cursed. They don’t realize minutes go by in silence until Rook casts a glance their way, eyes darting between the two before a smile unlike one he’s seen before melts and simmers onto her expression. It’s hard. Acidic. The kind reserved for enemies before battle. It runs a shiver down his scalp and settles in his hands. They continue their discussion on summoning spirits and ignore each other’s shaken breath. 

The next morning, Rook doesn’t invite him on the mission and it’s an embarrassment. He’s become accustomed to their routine. Expectant. It’s a strange type of pride he holds close to the vest. He knows it’s because he’s older, wiser, more practiced than the rest of their crew. 

But isn’t that a bad thing, old man? 

He still hasn’t asked Lucanis about Spite. Damnit. Serves him right. He stands at the breakfast table, patting his mouth free of crumbs and making his way to change into his gear when Rook shouts, “Neve, Lucanis, we’re heading out to Tevinter.” 

He’s embarrassed by how fast he turns to stare. It’s embarrassing the way his mouth opens, as if to protest, before quickly shutting and his hands beginning to flex. 

It should be strange for you to come along, at all, reason whispers. You’re a brain for hire, remember? Sometimes, Rook doesn’t wanna carry the team all on her graceful shoulders. You should know. Dead Weight Walking. 

Even Neve looks confused, but steels her expression and nods. He sees the ways hers and Lucanis’ eyes meet, then depart, then meet again, cheeks growing redder by the second. They’ll make a handsome couple. An appropriate couple. He feels a boiling behind his eyes at how easy it must be for him. To just ask. To smile at Neve. To offer her sweets and them both understand it’s a prelude. When he gets back to his quarters, he rips open his desk drawer and rummages for the gold case of Rivaini cigarettes he’d managed to stave off for long enough he couldn’t remember. For someone so petrified of death, it was funny how instantly he itched for a smoke at times like this. He decides he won’t draw comparisons between the cigarettes and Rook. She’s not an addiction. She’s not death. She’s not something to hide in a drawer. He paces out his room, through the den, out onto the balcony to get some last few seconds of fresh air. As he closes his eyes, breeze kissing the back of his neck and hips leaned against the railing, his mind billows over to a girl - bloody, victorious, fire in her gaze as she looms over her latest triumph - and he feels himself get hard. It’s harder to ignore when he hears her laughter below. 

He looks down at the quad, quickly finding a rare smile on brave Davrin’s face, and next to him, a giggling Rook. They’re going inside to the library. Perhaps to her room. Maybe they’ll swap horror stories and he’ll show her just how those Grey Wardens keep warm in the wetlands. Before he can stop himself, he flicks the rest of his cigarette off the edge, it landing on Davrin’s shoulder. He’s quick enough to duck away before either can find his horrified expression looking down at them. Their continued laughter makes his mouth taste like ash. 

A week has gone by and he’s catching up on one of the books he brought from home, a story about two brothers and betrayal, when a low knock echoes through the room. Manfred is with Harding, this evening. He’s thankful for the companionship. He makes his way to the door, tying his robe and beginning a Thank You, Harding speech when those eyes stare up in mild amusement, minor challenge. “Do you always wear collared shirts to bed?” 

He stares for a moment before looking above her head, out into the darkness of the hall. “Common side-effect of working late.” They watch each other before she steps close and then closer, shoulder brushing his ribcage as she pushes her way into the room. 

“You have a real eye for design, you know. Everything is so very … clean.” She brushes her fingers along the staircase, the autopsy table, the fireplace, and he follows her trail, stalking like a wisp. “And it smells like something lovely. Flowers?” 

“Lilacs.” 

She hums in acknowledgement, turning to him. Her nose twitches as she inhales, gently leaning in. “You even smell like lilacs. It’s perfect in here. Pristine.” He can’t breathe. “I suppose that’s why you smoke outside then?” 

This must be what it feels like when your lungs collapse, he thinks. “I am, I am so very, very sorry, I had no idea young Davrin, or you, for that matter, were walking that way, I was simply falling into old habits and once I realized what happened, I was so mortified, I just had to, well, I just, I panicked, I suppose the point is I am so completely sorry and will be sure to send Davrin a plate of confections in the morning as an apology, I hope he wasn’t offended,” he hasn’t breathed in a while and decides to. She says nothing. Then laughs. Like the fact she’s found him funny should be a secret. She follows with a whisper. 

“Next time you want to smoke and be angry, send over an invitation.” 

He wants to ask how she knew he was angry, but she brushes past his arm and glides slowly to the door. Ghostly in her perfection. 

“Have a nice night, Emmrich.” 

He’s not sure if he does.

Things go back to their version of normal. He comes along on journeys, offering information and excellent healing charms. He kindly ignores the jabs her colleagues take, making it clear not only do they find him off putting, but they question Rook’s judgment. When she shuts them down, lovingly firm, eyes clear and shoulders squared, he wants to kiss her. Thank her for rescuing him. Bat his eyes and smile and sigh and grip her armor as she pins him to the side of a cave. It’s refreshing, being outside and flexing his magic. Proving his worth beyond a seminar. The sun agrees with him. The exercise agrees with him. For once, he’s not thinking about how slow he feels and how choking the future can be. He’s staring out at the coastline, the bustle of Minrathous buzzing behind him when a hand rests on his shoulder, her breath hot against his ear. “You were excellent today. How lucky am I?”

I. I. I. Not we. I. 

By the time he looks down, she’s gone, but she’s smiling at him over her shoulder, hair floating in the breeze and tan setting in on her skin. Her cheeks are flushed and the hair around her temples are sweaty. The slice of pie she had earlier has crusted into the corner of her mouth. A berry smudge that paints her lips in a suspended smirk. He realizes, in that moment, that things are much worse than he originally thought.

That evening, he writes a letter to his colleague at the college. 

Dear Simon,

I hope you’re well, blah blah blah, I’m doing this and that, etcetera, etcetera, how is so and so, whatever whatever, tea at our normal haunt? Hope to hear from you soon.

E

Simon wasn’t exactly a friend. There are a lot of not-exactly’s when you’re a professor as decorated and relaxed in his field as Emmrich was. But when there are plenty of pricks in the department and you find a fellow with enough self awareness to not keep his published works loudly present on his desk or laugh the hardest at the dean’s quarterly dinners, you keep in touch. 

“What’s shaking, Ricky,” he smiles, flat accent blaring. Fine, he responds, just fine. They share a pot of tea, trading rumors and stories about other faculty members before he feels comfortable enough bringing it up. 

“I know this isn’t something you probably want to discuss,” he starts, keeping his eyes trained on the tea leaves lurking at the bottom of his cup. Blueberry lavender. “And I understand if you want to change the subject entirely.” He holds his breath. “You and your wife.”

He doesn’t have to say anything more. Simon straightens, crossing his legs and leaning away from the table to stare at the rest of the establishment. It’s dim in lightning and warm, a kind separation from the chilling darkness outside. No one they know is here. That doesn’t make things better. “Is this why you wanted to meet? To question me about,”

He throws a hand over the table, splayed next to Simon’s cup. This is out of character. He hopes it conveys the urgency. “When did you know it was more than,” he looks around, “more than just you. Did she,” he’s sweating. Must be the fire. “Did she say something or, or do something to suggest,” he can’t finish his thought. 

Simon’s eyes widen for a moment before his shoulders lower, eyes quickly going to the fire before meeting Emmrich’s. He understands. “She held my hand. I’d told her about my daughter being sick and she was so. Sorry. But she wouldn’t stop staring at my mouth.” He tilts his head. “Of course, nothing happened until after she graduated. No matter what the others might tell you.” He leans in. “How old is she? Yours?” 

Emmrich thinks of rotting flesh, Assan dead, mutilated villages to wage war against the shocking thrill of hearing her described as his, however untrue the claim may be. 

“Young enough for it to not be real.” 

At that, Simon laughs. “Been there, old pal. Write me when it gets all too real, all too fast.”

He promises, should that unreality make itself real, he will. He’d throw a parade, too. And go skinny dipping in Hossberg. 

No one asks where he’s been when he returns to the Lighthouse. Instead, he arrives to a slice of pie on his desk, a note with a bit of blue thumbprint on the edge. 

Trust me, it’s delicious. 

-R

He doesn’t think twice before digging a finger into the center, ripping off his slice and slipping it into his mouth. It’s sweet. It’s tart. It’s a perfectly fine pie and he imagines blue thumbprints all over her body. A joke about how she's the only thing he'll get dirty over. He lets the slice melt on his tongue. 

“A little birdie told me someone likes you ,” Bellara sings to Davrin, feet kicking under the dinner table. Conversation swings their way, smiles all around and drinks spilling in favor of hearing Bellara’s hot new gossip. Rook is the only person not present. 

“Oh, yeah? What have you heard?” Bellara’s beaming behind her hand, leaning over the food to whisper in his ear. 

This table is a young man’s game. 

Emmrich prides himself on manners. No one would ever accuse him of impoliteness. Which is why he says to no one in particular that he’s excusing himself for the evening before pushing his chair out and beginning the walk back to his room. It’s more like a pre-jog. He’s only had half a dinner but that’s fine. There will be no wars won tomorrow. He wishes there were stars around here, instead of this blasted, perpetual summertime. He considers going home, where he could wallow and rot in peace. Before he can enter the library, tell Manfred to pack a bag and make sure to pack his robe, a flaming hot sizzle lands on his left shoulder. In surprise, he yelps, brushing it off and looking up to see who the hell would dare?

She would. She would dare. “Walking home all by yourself, handsome?”

He huffs, if just to make her feel the slightest bit bad. He knows it won’t work. “Lost my appetite, I’m afraid.” 

She beckons him up the stairs. “Good thing I’ve got just the thing to help.”

When he reaches the top, she’s lighting a new cigarette, passing it to him as she stares out onto the cul-de-sac they’ve begun to find familiar. “If these kill me, will you bring me back?”

He doesn’t want to let on how terrified the thought leaves him. Instead, he looks her in the eye, letting the end rest on his lower lip before sucking down a deep inhale, eyes stuck on hers. “You know, the likelihood is I go out before you, my dear. Should I decide against immortality.”

Her eyebrow quirks. He ignores that she’s staring at his mouth. “What do you think of our little stowaways?” 

“Perfectly qualified team of individuals. They’re certainly exciting.” 

She sighs. He starts wondering how he answered her wrong, but she cuts in. “One of these days, I’d appreciate if you told me what you really think. However,” she stops, looking at his nose, his tie, his chin, “... improper … you may think it be.”

He wants to kiss her. He’s going to kiss her. He’s going to drop his cigarette and light this place on fire and feel the flames licking their legs as he bites into her neck and dares everyone to admire just how accomplished he really is. 

She grabs the cigarette from his lips. He finds it’s his cue to answer. “I could do with less from Davrin, lately.” He’s shocked he’s said it. “I mean,”

“Wow, didn’t realize you really meant to burn him earlier.”

“I didn’t, I-”

“You got a problem?”

“No, I don’t, really, I don’t know why I-”

“It makes sense, really. He’s brave, and strong, and all the things that make a hero. ”

He schools his expression into the one reserved for faculty meetings and difficult students. It’s hard. It’s acidic. “I see you’ve taken an interest in a new companion. How charming. I’m sure you’re both," he considers his words, "well-suited for each other.”

Something shifts in her gaze. Off-kilter. On the back foot. She ceases to be the warrior he works with, the woman that torments him - instead, he sees a girl, fingers picked bloody and lip worked raw, suddenly unsure. He sees himself in her. Hungry and cursed. 

“I certainly have taken an interest, Emmrich.” Ever daring, she steps closer. Her hand brushing his against the rail, then curled against her chest, then to her lips and finally placing the bit of cigarette left between his lips. “A little birdie tells me you feel the same.” 

Later that night, when he’s ghosting his hand over her backside, watching his fireplace dance shadows on their legs, he asks Manfred for some stationary and ink. He has a surprising letter to write.  Ch. 2

[el-bellanaris]

The lack of treatment of Solas as a human being in Veilguard lowkey drives me wild. I didn't really think about it until after finishing the game but the Veilguard really just take over his house?? Rook is sleeping in his meditation room, the room he uses to spend time in the fade and where if you made certain choices is his place of connection to the Inquisitor. He does have a bed upstairs in his office but I personally see that room as his bedroom due to how accessible it is.

Regardless of the exact details, one of the first things we do is move our stuff in as Rook into his room. We're supposed to feel a sense of belonging to the Lighthouse as shown through how the companions will make their rooms into their own. Adding new decorations, turning an empty shell into a home. But how audacious of Rook, of us, to believe our cause so good and important that we can take some man's house because he is "bad."

And I understand the themes at play, Solas originally stole the Lighthouse from Elgar'nan and used it as his base for the rebels who fought against the Evanuris. So now it's time for a new generation to take on this mantle but there's a huge difference from taking a fort from a king who has a palace somewhere else and likely has multiple temples and places to live in then taking away the literal home of a man who has nowhere else.

Solas is a god in the thematic sense yes, he is powerful and revered by many out of fear but he is still a person. Becoming the self-declared heroes of the world does not grant one the freedom to literally rob a person of their house.

And now at the end of the game he's basically no longer welcome in his own home. Everyone in the Veilguard basically hates him and then squat in his house making it their home when they all have homes and just expect him to take it cos hes a "bad guy." I remember thinking how sweet it was that Neve started to think of the light house as her home, how she and other people would start to invite others over to have discussions showing how this is now where others know to reach them.

But the fact that none of them feel any remorse about it is crazy, especially coming from Neve, Bellara and a Dalish Rook. You have Neve who works with the Shadow Dragons, an organisation that is founded upon the beliefs of freeing slaves and wanting to work underground to help those who are being oppressed. And she takes the home of a man who has no where else to go? A man who has lost his entire world? The Dalish know about how the world has mistreated them and how much they've lost so why do they not feel any remorse for literally stealing someone's home.

I was also thinking about sad it is that my Inquisitor or generally any Inquisitor was never able to visit the Lighthouse in game but now all I can think about is how sad of an experience that would be for her. For my Inquisitor who loved Solas who has chased him down for years to stop him and is finally able to see into his heart, his mind more intimately through seeing where he lives and it's taken over by a group of people who hate him with such a passion that they barely see him as a person anymore. They all want to put him on trial for his crimes whilst sitting on their high horses inside of his house.

Back to my Inquisitor, she's been to Halamshiral, she knows the haunting feeling of walking through the halls of a place taken over by those who did not build it. She's walked the Emerald Groves and the Exalted Plains, she has seen the graves of her people overrun by humans who just desire power and war and want to burn the Elves from their history. To make the world think of them as savages to justify violence and destruction.

Now thinking about her walking through the halls of the Lighthouse that is so intrinsically Solas's and seeing it become the homes of other people would seem so gut wrenching. To hear them talk about his most wretched memories and dissect his thoughts just so they can figure out how everything is the way it is whilst also just taking everything from him. They're stripping him of his humanity for their own personal gain and it would seem so ignorant, so cruel. They take his table and remove his seat and then expect him to be live with it because they can blame the world's suffering on him.

We play as Rook, we are the hero of this story. The one who chose to step up and take down the last gods that remain in this world. But can we truly be good as Rook if we are just allowed to treat this guy like a stepping stone. To treat his entire life, the only things he can say he owns after a couple thousand years of his world decaying, as a means to an end with no remorse. How are we different from Solas who betrays Rook over and over when we just sleep in his bed, when we just steal from others to get to the "good" ending. Taking his Lighthouse was just an inconsiderate move not too dissimilar to how Solas will only consider his actions as a means to an end. But we're the good guys so it doesn't really matter right??

[thedorkurge]

Illario Dellamorte is my favorite Veilguard character.

And it's because he makes sense.

A fatal flaw in Veilguard is that every character is made to be super agreeable and nice, and it means that their origins hardly even matter in the story of the game. Bellara isn't impacted by the isolationist nature of the Dalish, Neve has no controversial opinions on magic, Lucanis isn't jaded by his training, etc. (these points can be debated, sure, but generally I think they hold true).

Even the villains are painfully one-dimensional. Cartoonishly evil cultists, necromancer who wants to conquer a city, darkspawn who wants to blight innocent creatures. There's little room for nuance or motivation, because there are simply too many bad guys to actually go in-depth with any of them, and the game can leave no room for interpretation, because it depends on you being 100% against them. So an easy black and white hero/villain dynamic is what they choose to go with.

And then there's Illario. Sure, on the surface it's a classic plot, jealousy making him turn on his family. But it makes sense. Because it actually feels like a product of his upbringing.

The crows are... Very different in this game. This point has already been discussed to death, but I think it's obvious that they changed them a lot to make them fit the narrative they needed for the faction mechanics. However, we know from the other games that growing up as a Crow is hell. Even if Illario wasn't subjected to the same treatment as other "recruits" (typically slaves and orphans), he still grew up in an incredibly cutthroat environment. Both Illario and Lucanis lost their parents to the power struggles between the houses when they were just kids, and were sent to live with a grandmother who trained them to be killers. The same grandmother who likely chose her position over her own children. Lucanis even describes her methods as "torture", which says a lot coming from the guy who was locked up in the Ossuary for a year. And he was the favored grandchild. Caterina clearly never hid her favoritism either. Illario learned from an early age that the only way to succeed, to be recognized, was to kill and rise through the ranks. And while it seems that his skill set (charming/manipulating people) is less valued than the flashy methods of "The Demon", it was an excellent skill to have when it comes to surviving within the crows.

The crows are known for infighting, Ivenci even points this out in the game. Anyone raised by the crows would know that the greatest battlefield is your own home, your own parties. They know that their allies are also their greatest enemy. They know that the other houses could be plotting behind your back, and that they will take advantage of any perceived weakness (such as leveraging familial love to force Caterina to give up the seat of First Talon).

So tell me, what makes more sense after being raised in a place like this? Becoming a kind and shy coffee addict who trusts and adores the other crows? Or becoming a jaded social climber who uses everything in their power to strengthen their own position? One who would turn on his family before they turn on him, allowing him to take the thing he has been taught to value above all else: The title of First Talon? One who thinks that family members are disposable, and that the only way to come out on top is to betray them before they betray you?

Illario was allowed to have that kind of nuance because you get the option to spare him, but I think the game would have benefitted from more characters like this. Characters whose backstories mattered, characters who weren't deliberately evil, but rather a product of their environment. It would have made everything feel more real, more grounded in the actual world building.

I wish we got more content with this bastard man, because he's (to me) the most interesting villain the companions have to face, and it seems a shame to reduce his storyline to "he was just jealous".

[trulycertain]

I did not expect to like Taash nearly as much as I did, though I'm aware "large and gruff" is my favourite character type. I really like the way that matter-of-factness applies to all the aspects of them: I loved them simply telling Bellara when she was down, "I want you to be happy", rather than couching it in platitudes. Also, I tend to have way more patience for prickliness in characters than a lot of fans I know, so my gauge is broken. They admit a lot of the closedoffness is awkwardness, fear and Qunari cultural norms. (Unlike in other series entries, Veilguard's characters mostly tell you their whole deal, which is refreshingly mature but means the whole cast are being disgustingly honest with each other. Taash is the nearest we get to the "Care about things, me, nooo" of Zev, Morrigan, Isabela, sometimes-Dorian or DAA Anders, but that's still less intentional obfuscation than not knowing them as well. Even so, I approve of the fact they're an onion and it takes a bit to peel them.)

Yes, they're abrasive when you first meet them. They've been shipped off to join the Veilguard against their will, they're most likely fresh from a debate with their overbearing, arguably emotionally abusive mother, and you come and interrupt them in the middle of a tricky mission while they try not to get you both killed.

They're shit to Emmrich at first, but they do work on it and try to find common ground with him, and admit their grumpiness came from fear. Also, he did keep asking about their mum with admiration - no wonder that was a sore spot. (An older scholar lecturing them, chastising them for their impulsivity and lack of respect for tradition... I adore Emmrich and think he's unequivocally the kindest guy in the cast, but after Taash's difficult experiences with their mother, it's no wonder they found that horribly familiar.) They get pissed-off with Neve because she's "better at" femininity, but they're ashamed, they admit why and take the olive branch she offers. They worry about getting Harding a good gift. They feed birds and worry about a stranded poet. They may ask about Crow myths, but they clearly respect and admire Lucanis' skills and tell him so. They make their mum dinner and try to level, to share, with her even though they're pissed-off and terrified.

Later in their dialogue, it becomes especially obvious that they're working really hard on being kind - they intend to be, they just misstep as they learn. Shathaan was... distant. The Lords looked after them but couched a lot of it in brusqueness, stabbing and humour. They have no idea what to do with kindness and being told they're just fine as they are (one of my favourite character tropes: see also Alistair, Sera, Isabela, Dorian). They think they're doomed to ruin everything they touch and while they loved the Lords, you get the sense they've never had this many close friends (other than maybe Isabela's mentorship and the poet they bonded with) and they're really glad of it. As said: I like that they love with as much bluntness.

Much like with Krem, I think some of the dialogue in Taash's story was clumsy, but other bits felt very true to friends I've had and my own relationship with femininity, and as said, I was surprised to realise I had grown very fond of them by halfway through. (Well-intentioned awkward social issue inclusion is nothing new for BioWare, and it's never just about terminology - people seem to write off Taash's whole personality without giving them a chance. I don't think they're any harder to like than Morrigan, Sera, Vivienne, Solas, or Davrin, all of whom have fans.) Their excitement about dragons and their awe about Crows are genuine and sweet. Also they make me cackle more than any other companion save maybe Lucanis. That'll buy you a lot of points with me.

[queenmuzz]

Five Stages of Grief: Chapter IV

Depression

Read it HERE on Ao3

It feels a bit strange, Emmrich thinks, to have so many people in his quarters.  Even before Tearstone, when there was light and hope and love in his life, very few people entered his study, save for when they needed his services.

He was fine with that, after all, he was used to solitude.  He was perfectly happy living his own life by himself with only Manfred as company

…And then Rook came along and changed everything.  It wasn’t just that she was a fellow Mourn Watcher, well versed in the ways of the dead.  It wasn’t just that she was kind, thoughtful, selfless, willing to befriend and aid anyone.  She held no judgments on the possessed assassin, she enjoyed listening to Bellara’s conversation on ancient elven artifacts despite not understanding any of it.  She somehow managed to endear herself to Taash, even with the latter’s obvious dislike of necromancy.   She was brave… oh so brave.  At Weisshaupt, when she had willingly placed herself in the line of danger to take down the archdemon.  At the Blackthorne Manor, where she shielded him from the monstrosity’s deadly aura. She could have had her pick of any of her companions, but she had  chosen him. Even now, he still does not know why she chose him.  But now… he would make himself worthy of her.

Manfred places the bar of pure raw lyrium upon the desk, the only being able to touch it without suffering from ill effect (He forbade even Harding to touch it, he couldn’t risk anyone else getting hurt).  

“Do you need help?” Neve asks, but he shakes his head.  He cannot afford to have any distractions.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and begins to channel the mana at his fingertips.  

Begin the infusion.

It’s like making a cake, measuring the magic in precise amounts, layering it as he folds the bar a specific number of times.  Creation Magic first, allowing it to shape the blade into its rough shape.  Entropy Magic, to modify its magical absorption.  A hint of Primal Magic to provide the ‘spark’.  And lots of Spirit Magic.  He’s thankful that his training had him specialize in it, as many other countries’ Circles shy away from it, confusing it with blood magic.  He sandwiches each type of magic between layers of lyrium, cross hatching so that every surface of the blade is equally suffused.  His focus must not waver, any mistake could render the blade useless, or even worse, cause a backlash that could kill him.  He feels drops of sweat drip down his brow as channels more Spirit Magic, infusing the blade with the fade itself.  

She would love to have seen this, she always loved the way his hands moved as he did a corpse whispering. Focus…

His mouth is dry, and he can hear Harding whisper, “Can you hear that?”

“Nope.” Taash’s voice.  “Hear what?”

“It sounds like a song… but a sad song”

“Perhaps it's the lyrium you hear,” Neve’s voice is soft, “you’re more sensitive to it than the rest of us.”

The blade needs more Entropy magic, to balance it out, and his fingers flick.  

Her eyes full of wonder and admiration as he showed her the depths of the Fade.

“Emmrich… that was… amazing! I wish I could see the world of magic as you do all the time”

FOCUS!

“Emmrich, are you alright?”  Lucanis’s voice is concerned, and he senses his approach.

“I’m-I’m fine.” He insists, as he begins the final infusions, a large amount of Spirit Magic flows from him. His entire body is trembling from the exertion.  This is taking more out of him than anything he’s ever done.  He keeps his eyes closed, but he can picture the green twinkling lights that always occur during these rituals.  

He sees her delight as she reaches for one light, holding it in the palm of her hand like it’s a snowflake.

Emmrich Volkarin, FOCUS!

The blade is almost finished, but is missing something.  He can’t put his finger on it.  There’s a presence the original blade had that he can’t replicate.  Still, he presses on, mixing a touch more Primal magic to help keep the lyrium malleable for the last adjustments.  No, that’s not it. “Something’s wrong, the song is changing… it’s getting angry”  

He can feel a strong pushback now, something that he attempts to ignore, pushing himself to his utter limits to channel every last bit of magic he has into the blade.  He cannot fail.  He MUST not fail.

“Emmrich!”

A blow of energy blasts him back, and he blacks out.

He comes to, as something is poured into his mouth, tasteless yet chalky.  He feels the grit settles between his teeth and he tries not to cough it up as it irritates his throat.

“Easy Emmrich…easy…” Lucanis’s voice is calm, yet tinged with worry. “Get me another Lyrium potion.”  He blinks as Manfred hands the assassin a flask, who uses his teeth to remove the cork, spitting it to the side, before bringing it to his lips.  “Drink.”  

He resists. He’s not a child.  He won’t be treated like one, but even the act of trying to push it away takes energy he realizes he doesn’t have. SMELLS LIKE ROCK AND BLOOD! He hears Spite with his ever so helpful commentary as he reluctantly allows the liquid to flow down his throat.  He blinks, trying to figure out how he ended up in this state.  It’s been decades since he’s drained his mana reserves to the point of exhaustion.  It takes a few moments to remember what he was doing that would take so much energy…

“The Blade!”

He tries to sit up, but that takes up so much of his energy, that if it wasn’t for Neve on his other side, supporting his shoulder, he’d probably collapse on the floor.  But his own condition doesn’t matter, what he needs to know is if the ritual was a success.

“It’s here…” Harding kneels down by his side, holding it reverently, like it’s being presented to an Orlesian Chevalier at his induction.  It looks exactly the same as the original, bright azure that contrasts with the lingering green sparks that linger in the air.  He takes it,  feeling its weight.  To an untrained eye, it’s like he’s holding the very same  blade Solas created untold ages ago.  The same shape, same weight, same texture..  But holding in his hands, using his dwindling reserves of magical energy, he peers deep within it, trying to sense if that amalgamation of magical energies has combined to create a sustaining deep well of power.

He senses…

“Shit. Is he gonna be okay?”

“Professor, are you alright?”

“Breathe, Emmrich…breathe”

“Mierda.  Don’t scare us like that, Emmrich.”

There’s something there, small, barely detectable. The ritual was a success…but a failure all the same.  The dagger will never be able to kill a God.  At best, it may be able to rip open the veil, once… and for only a brief moment.

 All his work… all those sleepless days and nights.  The research. the note taking.  The mathematical calculations. The countless cups of coffee.  The depletion of almost every scrap of magical energy in his body has resulted in…

A fancy Lyrium paperweight.

Where had he gone wrong?  Had he mixed the Lyrium too quickly?   Too much Entropy magic suppressing the flow?  Not enough Spirit energy? Had the original included some ancient ingredient that was unknown to mages nowadays?

 Had his momentary loss of concentration been the deciding factor?  

That last thought is what almost breaks him.  That he caused this all to fail.  He holds it against his chest, embracing it as if it was her as he takes shaky breaths.  He’s falling apart at the seams, that carefully maintained facade is beginning to show its cracks.  But even now, in front of the rest of the companions, he must remain strong.  So he shoves the self hatred, the anger, the sorrow down, its glass like shards ripping down his throat, before settling down into his stomach, along with the blood of an ancient wronged people.

“I- we… still have work to do.”  is all he can say.  He can’t bear to tell them that he’s failed them, that he’s failed her.

--------

The next week and a half is a blur to him.  He tries to start from scratch, to look for other ways to break the impenetrable prison she seems to be held in, but the books Manfred retrieves for him about pocket areas of the Fade are nearly unreadable.  He can’t seem to focus on anything, save for his failures.  The only straw he can grasp is that if he can find out where she is located, a place where the veil is very thin, he may be able to cut through to her with the almost worthless knife. But only once. So he must be certain that it’s the correct place. 

Lucanis brings him food that he makes a show of eating, if only to satisfy the man that he’s not wasting away.  Neve checks up on his progress, but as it's all under a guise of checking up on him specifically, so he resists the urge to snap at her.  Not that he has the energy to feel much emotion anymore.  Taash and Harding drag him out of his room for a walk, every other day, the latter asking about the nature of dreams, the former remaining silent, solid, and supportive as a tombstone. It helps, a little, the way they care for him, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it. 

He thinks back to the words the Dread Wolf said, although he never wants to hear that voice again

“The Rook had to be sacrificed so that the King would not be captive in a prison of regrets”

Perhaps he wasn’t speaking in metaphors.  Perhaps that prison, the one capable of containing a GOD, needed chains that were stronger than even the veil itself.  He knows how hard it is to escape regret, as he’s struggling against it right now…  The only way Solas was able to slip past its impenetrable walls was a bait and switch maneuver.  But Zea is not just some chess piece that can easily be taken off the board.  She must be fighting with all her might to find a way to get out.  So for her, he keeps researching, keeps studying, keeps himself running, both mentally and physically, as he searches for the way to reach her.

-----

He must have drifted off, he thinks.  Because he’s not in the Lighthouse anymore.  In fact, he’s never seen a place in the Fade like this.  The Fade is a strange place, with some areas covered in rapidly growing trees and flowers, others a cacophony of horns and trumpets as eternal wars are waged.  He’s seen libraries that contain every thought ever conceived, even a slimy bog where the world's fears congregate (He hates that one in particular, that’s where there is constantly falling masonry, and a tombstone with his name carved on it).

This place is bare rock, no vegetation, no spirits. It may have once been a thriving city, he thinks, as there are remnants of paved walkways and columns, but there’s a constant wind that howls like a wolf that has worn down most of the features.  He’s been told that the Necropolis was dreary and dark, but compared to this place, his home is a verdant flower garden. He’s never felt a place so lifeless, and never has he felt alone…

That’s probably what makes the figure in the distance stand out crisply against the grey horizon.  His pace picks up as he approaches it.  He’s still far off,  and  her back is turned to him but there’s no mistaking who it is.  He can see her greathammer slung on her back, her shield on her arm when she’s not fighting, but not certain that she’s safe.  There’s the way she stands, favouring her left leg just like she was at the end of the battle.  He’s now running towards her, but the ground is treacherous, and he stumbles over the rocky terrain more than once.  And now he can see that she’s not alone.  There’s a figure with her, shorter and stockier, at first he thinks it's a child, before realizing it’s a…. Dwarf?  That confuses him, as aside from Harding, he hasn’t heard of any dwarves entering the Fade.  

“ZEA!”  He screams, but the wind takes his words and blows them back in his face.  Still, he keeps running until he skids to a stop. In front of him is a crevasse so deep, and so wide that there’s no way he can cross it.  Countless stone hands reach out on both sides, as if they are trying to make the crevasse wider.

She’s so close, and yet so far.  If he yells her name out louder, she’ll hear him, she’ll turn around and see him, he can tell her how much he loves her, that he will stop at nothing to bring her back.  But the howling gales rip the words out of his throat and cast them into the abyss.  He hears a creak, and the once stable rock he’s standing on shifts, then slides into the darkness, leaving him to plummet along with it.

She never turns around.

----

He blinks his bleary eyes, and the side of his face feels cool.  There’s another creak, and then an embarrassed gasp.

“Oh professor, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up!”  He sits up, realizing he’s passed out at his desk, a stack of scrawled notes, the last trailing off into an illegible line.  There’s something on his shoulders, and he realizes Manfred must have placed his coat on him like a blanket.  It's small little things like this that keep him going. 

“It’s fine,” he admits truthfully, not wanting to go back into that hellish landscape of his dreams.  He forces a polite smile on his face, “What can I do for you?”  

“I wanted to go into Rook’s room…” she hesitates as she studies his face for any reaction.  He doesn’t really have the energy to do anything but remain passive.  “See if there was something in her room that could help us. But…” she kicks her feet, “I didn’t feel comfortable walking in someone else’s room uninvited, and since you were the one closest to her…”  

He slowly gets up, feeling his joints protest, and nods his head.  He’s been dreading this moment, but with Harding at his side, the pain might not feel so bad.

The room still smells like her.  There’s hints of her perfume that lingers in the air, of jasmine and tuberose that she only wore when she wasn’t intending to go out to battle.  Her blue cloak that shielded her from the bright sun lay hung over the chaise lounge, as if she had thrown it off after a long day of shopping in the market.   Even her pack, where she carried all of her necessities when they travel, is still here, leaning against that nonfunctional eluvian they found while out in Alathan and had stored in her room.  He can’t help but look at his reflection and notice how haggard he looks.  He’s lost weight, and if he felt he was too old for Rook on the night before the battle, he certainly looked twice as old now, with the bags under his eyes, and the sunken cheeks now covered by an ill maintained beard.  He looks closer to death than the corpses he’s attended all these years, or like one of those evil necromancers that play the villain in those ridiculous tales in the south.

“Oh… I found something!”  Harding picks up a carefully folded series of pages, set beside a stack of journals and romantic literature,  sealed with red wax, along with an envelope. He can’t make out the words, but he can see at a glance it’s Zea’s distinctive Nevveran writing, highly formalized with strict angles, no doubt from learning to read and write by studying tombstone engravings.  “It’s addressed to us, and this…” she holds out the envelope to him, “has your name on it.”  He doesn’t want to take it, doesn’t want to know it exists, because he knows exactly what the letter contains.  Hadn’t he been writing a letter that night before their argument?  Where he had prepared for things in case he did not return?  Of course, he had burnt that letter as soon as he had gotten back to the Lighthouse, as he did any of those types of letters.  But to have hers in his hand… that meant accepting something he could not bring himself to do.  Still, he forces himself to reach out and take it with trembling hands and study her handwriting, the wax seal whose impression looks so familiar… it takes him a few moments to realise its the impression of a skull, specifically of the brooch she once wore.

“Oh…” she gasps, and he can hear the grief in her voice as she comes to a realization at what she has om hands, “It’s a… will. She looks up at him, and even in the dim light of the aquarium, he can see her eyes are glassy with unshed tears.  “Should I open it?  I mean… she’s not dead… but she’s gone…oh, I don’t know what to do.”

“Open it, share it with the others,” he gently advises her, placing a hand of support on her shoulder, “when we get her back you can laugh at whatever confessions she made.”  

She looks at the letter he holds, “Are...you going to read yours?” 

No is what he wants to say.  He does not want to break that seal, to go down the first step of healing from the wound he has taken.  He’s afraid of what words she wrote down.  Perhaps she wrote them right after their argument, and she scribbled them out in anger, that the last words he had from her were words of hatred.

But instead, as he makes it back to his study, he slips a finger under the edge of the envelope, trying his best to damage the seal as little as possible.  He will accept whatever words she has given him, spoken in anger, or sadness, or love.  

My Dearest Emmrich:

I’m so sorry about that argu

Of course I would open my big fat mouth and

I know nothing I will say will take the pain away.  No apology, no self-deprecatory joke will bring relief.  I know this, I’ve seen it happen many times as loved ones interred their dead.  It is a wound that only time may close, and even then, there will be scars.

So instead of dwelling on how and why I am no longer with you, let me bequeath you this:  Who I was and what you mean to me.  You know the basics, of me being an infant foundling left on top of a pile of bones.  It was the bedrock of who I was. That from the very start, I was unwanted.  Unneeded. To be discarded when inconvenient.   When the magic talent I was certain would manifest eventually never came, I fell deeper into despair.  I would never be a proper necromancer.  At best I could be a weapon, a bulwark to protect the living and the dead.  And Maker, how I tried to find my place in the Mourn Watch, tried to earn the respect of my peers.  Only to be cast out when I could not even do that.  Yes, Varric and the others helped in their own ways, but I still felt like I was not worthy of anything.

And then, I met you.  You, a man of exquisite talents and grace.  A man who saw the world of the living and dead as I did,  a man of incredible empathy and intelligence.  You did not look down upon me, nor did you even pity.  Instead, your words were of admiration and respect.  You were like a mirror being shown to one who had never encountered one before.  You saw me as I could not even see myself.  That I was worthy of your love and affection.  And slowly, you chipped away at the self loathing that had accumulated, and made me realize the truth.  That I was not only worthy in your eyes, but in the eyes of everyone else.  The only regret  is that I had not met you sooner.  Perhaps if I had gone to the memorial gardens to enjoy the ambience more often instead of viewing it as another chore to tend the graves, we may have encountered each other, and had more precious moments to spend together.

When you stated your desire to become a lich, I would never stand in your way, as who was I to tell you otherwise?  But secretly, in my deepest thoughts, I desired you to remain mortal, not because I preferred flesh to bone, but because I knew that you would lose something essential to you.  When you gave up your dream to bring Manfred back, and I saw the delight and joy in your eyes, I loved you even more. There, I said it. I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Like I said, I cannot take the pain away, nor your fear of death, but I say one thing now:  That no matter how long it takes, I will remain on the threshold, waiting for your arrival. I can only pray that it gives you peace to know that we will find each other again.

Yours in eternity, Zea Ingellvar

He reads it.  Then he reads it again.  And again.  And again.  He reads it until a splash of water drips on it, and he quickly pushes the letter away, lest he damage her precious handwriting any more. He’s secretly thankful he’s at his desk because had he been standing, he would have collapsed to his knees.  There’s a sound in his throat that’s been begging to be released for the past few weeks, and he can’t hold back any longer, he lets the pain, the anguish, the fear, the torment of the better part of a month to be poured out in a torrent of sobs and tears.

His shoulders shake uncontrollably as cries, holding himself.  He has not felt like this since he was a child, curled up in a ball to protect his mother’s prized teapot from breakage.  But this time, he can't stop what he holds, his heart, from breaking.  She had every right to be angry, to be furious with how stupid he sounded that night, with his damn stupid fears.  Here he had been so concerned about what his eventual death would do to her, that he never even contemplated what would happen if their positions were switched.

And yet, instead of being upset, her last words to him were of love, compassion, and hope.  The only hatred she reserved was for herself.  That she had borne these undeserving  thoughts of self-loathing under a mantle of gentle smiles, humour, and empathy had never crossed his mind until this moment. She had deserved better than the man that had attempted to push her away because of his petty fears of his mortality.

He sobs dejectedly, letting every emotion drain out of him.  It’s a lance to a boil, draining the infection so the healing can attempt to begin.  It oddly gives him energy, now that he releases everything that has been damming up inside him. And after what feels like a good hour, he sits there, still weak, but oddly refreshed.  Like a sick man whose fever is broken and who is attempting to get out of bed.  His mind is clearer.  His Zea would not want him like this, he knows.  It would break her heart to know that he’s been wallowing in self hatred for all this time.

He picks up the letter and reads it one last time.  He’s already beginning to memorize some of the lines as his finger traces the geometric script.  

One word sticks out to him.  Regret.   

‘The only regret  is that I had not met you sooner’

Followed by: 

‘Perhaps if I had gone to the memorial gardens to enjoy the ambience more often…’

He thinks back to the gardens, on how they were the source of his greatest sorrow, his parents gravesite, and his greatest joy, his first kiss with her.  The veil is naturally very thin there, allowing spirits to pass to and from the fade as they please, and yet is peaceful enough that demons rarely show up.  His heartbeat races at the realization as he pulls out the dagger from the locked drawer where he placed it, safe, yet unable to mock him for his failure.  

Perhaps…

No, not perhaps.  He knows where to go now, what to do.  First thing tomorrow, when everyone else is asleep, he’ll go.  Alone.  He only has one shot at this, and there is also the possibility that the prison will require an exchange.  He cannot afford to have any other distractions.  He cannot afford to fail.

He folds the letter and places and the daggert in the drawer as his mind whirs at top speed.  After weeks of setbacks, dead ends, and more bad news from the outside world, a ray of light and hope shines.  He, and only he is the one who can shine it into the darkness. Whatever it takes.

[mothmangela]

Breakfast At The Lighthouse

A short writing exercise done during a quiet window at work. Lucanis provides the occupants of The Lighthouse with a rather extravagant breakfast. Rook (in this case, Dove Thorne, my OC; you can find out more about him in the Dove Thorne tag on my blog) muses on found family.

There were hot, flaky pastry parcels full of a rich beef gravy. Bread, thick with golden butter. Sunny slices of cheese, whorled with holes lay on a platter, alternating with the rosy pink slices of fine honey-roasted ham. Tiny tomatoes glistened like rubies, dotted amongst a salad of lambs’ lettuce. Everywhere Rook looked, his eyes settled on something new and undoubtedly delicious. Fat scones, still steaming, piled next to a pair of elegant pots filled with glossy raspberry jam and clotted cream so fatty and rich it was almost buttercup yellow. Muffins in patterned paper cases, some studded with fat blueberries, others with little pieces of fudge, dripping caramel sauce onto the platter. Dainty finger sandwiches - the white bread cut so thinly Rook had no doubt he could’ve read the morning paper through it had he been so inclined - with the scalloped frill of wafer-thin cucumber slices peeking from the edges. Dumpy little tartlets, some full of different varieties of jam, some with chocolate, others with caramel and full-bellied hazelnuts, sat close by, looking all the more delicious for their humble presentation.

“It’s a rough breakfast,” Neve commented sarcastically, as though they both weren’t painfully aware this was more food than either of them had ever seen in their lives. “But it’ll do.”

She punctuated the comment by popping a whole, miniature boiled egg in her mouth. A quail’s egg, Rook realised; he’d seen them in nests hidden under the hedgerows in the fields, but always thought they were too pitifully small to steal. But the rich will take for the sake of taking; whether it’ll sustain them or not. Not that Lucanis was that type of rich person, but he’d certainly been brought up on finer fare than the clan had ever been afforded. Rook hurriedly took a seat; Neve was eyeing the gooseberry jam tarts in such a way that Rook was seized by a sudden sense of urgency.

“Lucanis,” Rook began haltingly. “Are you aware that there are only eight of us for breakfast?”

“I was up anyway,” Lucanis shrugged, shuffling about in a monogrammed bed jacket. “And I wanted you to have options.”

“Maker, that’s a heck of a spread,” remarked Harding as she strolled into the room, her eyebrows in danger of disappearing into her cloud of (visibly unbrushed) auburn hair. She sat beside Rook and helped herself to a wodge of toast, heaping on butter so generously that it began to melt and run in keen rivulets down her wrist. “How’d you learn to cook like this? Didn’t you guys have servants for this kinda stuff?”

“I spent a lot of time getting under everybody’s feet in the kitchens as a boy though Caterina used to scold me for it when she caught me,” Lucanis said. “I wanted to try and make something for everybody… there’s fresh fruit for Taash, and Ferelden cheese for you, Harding… Bellara gave me some Dalish recipes… Just seemed like a good way to stay busy when I wasn’t sleeping. A good and helpful way to stay busy.”

“I certainly shan’t complain,” chimed Emmerich as he drew up a chair and began to pour himself and Rook a cup of tea from the big brass kettle. Unlike the rest of The Lighthouse residents, Rook and Emmerich were quite decidedly tea drinkers rather than coffee drinkers, though Emmerich took his with enough sugar cubes to treat a whole herd of Halla.

“Lots of vegetarian stuff,” Rook nodded, shoving a plate of tiny puff pastry slices filled with what looked like crumbled cheese and slices of pears toward Emmerich.

“With such a care toward presentation that one would be forgiven for assuming a Nevarran chef had plated them!” Emmerich agreed, heaping a selection of things onto his plate. Taash had entered the room in silence and immediately put the entire serving platter of croissants onto their own plate, with a modest bunch of grapes on the side.

“Glad to see you’re making sure your diet has all the relevant food groups Taash,” Davrin remarked through a mouthful of bacon. “Twelve croissants and seven grapes. Very balanced.”

“Food groups are vashedan,” Taash replied airily, with a blunt certainty that made their statement seem far more reasonable than it was in reality. “Just eat what you want to eat. Nobody tells me what I can and can’t eat. Who cares about food groups?”

“I mean, it’s a point,” Bellara said tentatively. “With Elgar’nan and Ghillan’nain and… everything… Maybe we should enjoy stuff like this where we can.”

“And that is the point,” Lucanis said sagely. “No matter what the world is doing, good food is a great comfort.”

“Very Antivan point of view, but I can’t say I’d argue with it,” Davrin conceded, tearing a bread roll into halves and tossing one at Assan, who snapped it out of the air into his beak with surprisingly dexterity for an animal that managed to step on every single individual rib when he tried to climb into bed beside any of the Lighthouse residents of an evening.

“Has he tried to make you drink those weird “effervescente” drinks with the white stuff in yet?” Neve asked. “He says they’re good for digestion. I think they taste like the bottom of a store cupboard.”

“To be fair Neve, you eat like a Minrathous street cat,” Rook teased. “Isn’t this all a bit fancy for you?”

“Like you didn’t pay over the odds for a pound of Halla butter because it reminded you of home last week,” Neve crowed in response, though she was quickly distracted by the discovery of some potted shrimp. Rook let the comment hang, happy to take the teasing; his cheeks ached from smiling, and that feeling had become foreign in the past few weeks. It was hard to smile when you spent a great deal of time wading through waist-high blighted water and trying not to step in corpses. There was a feeling of family at the Lighthouse that he hadn’t known even with the Wardens; it was like being back with the clan again, taking turns milking the Halla and baking bread in the ashes of the firepit. In a strange way, it felt like he was a shepherd again, watching over the people of the North the same way he had once so carefully guarded the Halla. He knew Davrin had shared that aspect of growing up Dalish, and made a mental note to ask him if he ever felt that same responsibility for the people they met on their adventures. Rook had felt it during his service with the Wardens, and he felt it again with every step he took with his new family toward that distant end goal of eliminating the blighted gods and restoring order; like he was guiding his flock through the dark, and protecting them from what lurked in the shadow beyond the light of his lantern. It was just that what inhabited the shadows now was significantly higher stakes than what usually menaced the Halla.

[hawke-ondary]

thinking about the dissociative sludge rook's brain must be the entire game. little 500 word scene under the cut, no explicit spoilers but some are implied

He’s standing behind Bellara and Emmrich. Lucanis is on his left, Taash and Harding somewhere behind him. Davrin is beside him, Assan somewhere around here, just waiting for Davrin’s call. Neve is talking to Lucanis- or, at him, probably. Rook isn’t sure, truthfully. He’s barely listening. He’s learned when to tune in, these past several weeks. Or he hopes he has. No one’s said he stares off into space for too long, though Harding’s said she’s heard him talking to himself at the Lighthouse. That tracks. Grief is weird. His eyes focus on what Bellara is doing, Emmrich hovering over her shoulder, the two of them talking magical jargon that goes over Rook’s head. He knows enough magic to not get possessed and make his kills flashy. He never needed to know more, and the Crows didn’t want to throw him off to the Circle back when he was a kid, so all of what they’re talking about- lyrium reserves and resonance chambers or whatever the fuck- just isn’t making sense to him. He watches Bellara’s hands work around the artifact anyway, feels along the edges of the magic she’s doing. Bel’s magic always feels bright, curious and sharp- not sharp like a dagger, but sharp like wit. Personable and malleable. “-ook!” His head jerks up, and Rook’s gaze finally refocuses on Bellara, who’s waving a hand in his face, “Oh! There you are!” she grins, “Lost you for a moment, there,” He chuckles nervously, “Ah, sorry about that. You guys got talking all your fancy words and you lost me,” “I do worry for the state of your magical education sometimes,” Emmrich mumbles, ever the professor, and Rook snickers, even if the amusement he feels is dull like every other emotion since the ritual. “Maybe you could do a placement test,” he jokes, and Emmrich visibly lights up at the idea, but then Taash’s elbow is on top of Rook’s head. “So what is this thing?” they ask, motioning towards the artifact Bellara stabilized. “Oh!” Bellara grins, “Interestingly, I think this one is from after the Veil went up- just the way it reacts to the Veil is all, far more receptive to the comparatively lower levels of magical input modern mages are capable of- though what it was for...” she frowns, “Not sure! But Irelin and Strife will be glad to know it’s not exploding!” Davrin snorts, “I think most people are glad it’s not exploding,” “That would be troublesome,” Lucanis mumbles. “... Magic is fucking weird,” is all Taash has to say to this, earning a snort from Neve and a fond little chuckle from Emmrich. “No denying that,” Rook mutters, trying to get his eyes to focus. They’re right, it is fucking weird, and has only gotten weirder the past several weeks. Maker, he wished shit would stop getting weird and sad and start making sense again. If it ever could.

[felassan]

New today on DA:TV from Game Informer:

"How Romance And Relationships Work In Dragon Age: The Veilguard by Wesley LeBlanc on Jul 08, 2024 at 02:00 PM Dragon Age: The Veilguard is a BioWare RPG, which means a lot of things, including the fact that the game will feature romance. Based on what I learned during a recent trip to BioWare's Edmonton office for the current Game Informer cover story, Veilguard will be the team's most romantic game yet. Relationship Level"

"Every companion in the game has a Relationship Level related to Rook, and the choices you make (and not even specifically about the companion, but in the world in general), what you say to companions, how you help or don't help them, and more all play into it. Every time you rank up a companion's Relationship Level, you unlock a skill point to spend specifically on that companion. Though companion skill trees pale in comparison to Rook's expansive tree, which features passive abilities, combat abilities, and more, as well as paths to three unique class specializations, there's still some customization here.  Each companion has access to five abilities, but you can only take three into combat. Thus, it's important to strategize which abilities to spend a skill point on and how those abilities can synergize with your current build on the battlefield. Though I couldn't confirm, Dragon Age series art director Matt Rhodes hints that companion issues, problems, and personal quests will play into this Relationship Level and how a companion interacts with Rook.  "[Bellara Lutara, for example] has her own story arc that runs parallel to and informs the story path you're on," Rhodes tells me while I watch game director Corinne Busche play through a linear, story-driven mission in Arlathan Forest where Rook is searching for Bellara. Busche adds that "relationships are key, not only romance but friendships. We wanted to lean into not just the relationships the characters have with you but the relationships they have with each other. It's a found family, and at the end of the day, they need to trust they all have each other's back." Romance"

"However, fret not, BioWare fans – romance is a key part of relationships in the game, Busche says, noting some of the romances will get quite spicy. However, not all of them will, as "each romance has a very different flavor," according to Busche. Some characters are straight to the point, while others are more awkward, having never been in a relationship before. "You learn who these characters are in how their romances unfold," she says. She likens romantic and platonic relationships to another way to "level up" your companions. It's not just experience and skill points that determine Rook's standing with companions, but diegetic conversations, too.  BioWare has already revealed that every companion in Veilguard is pansexual, notably different from the community-dubbed "playersexual" approach in some games, which sees NPCs adjust romantic and sexual interests based on the player rather than their own sense of sexuality. As pansexual companions, they are attracted to people of any gender (or regardless of gender). That's a critical distinction because, in Veilguard, your companions aren't just going to vie for your affection – they might take attraction to other companions in the titular Veilguard.  Giving one companion the cold shoulder might nudge them into the warm shoulder of someone else on the team. Busche says companions can form romances with each other, although I'm unable to confirm if that means locking Rook out of forming a romance with them.  I saw nothing resembling romance in my very early hours with the game. However, I did see the romantically inclined "emotional" response in Rook's dialogue choices at times, which led to my Rook flirting with ice mage and private detective companion Neve Gallus. Busche says this is the option to flirt and push platonic relationships into romantic territory, though Rook's flirtatious efforts aren't always reciprocated. But that's not to say you should ignore the other options – I saw dialogue choices resembling friendly, snarky, and direct, too, and I can see how these different flavors of dialogue likely mix and mingle into Rook's relationships with companions. It's still a mostly mysterious system to me, but as Veilguard is due out this fall, I don't have to wait too long to learn more and neither do you. For more about the game, including exclusive details, interviews, video features, and more, click the Dragon Age: The Veilguard hub button below."

[source]