#best ladies of Thedas

[rairolin]

Every day is a Dragon Age Origins day in this life of mine 🖤_:(´ཀ`」 ∠):_

[hotvintagepoll]

Theda Bara (Salome)—She is so beautiful but in a way which is so... Bug-like? I truly cannot think of any word which better encapsulates her big round eyes, expressive eyebrows, gestures, fashion choices, and overall vibe than 'scrungly' does. There is something wild - nay, feral- about her. We all know the original goth girl didn't get what she deserved in the ladies tournament, so please let her shine here. She is indisputably the scrungliest gal of the bunch.

Raj Kapoor (Neel Kamal, Andaz, Anari)—I take it, 'scrungly little guy' means some pathetic little meow meow who you cannot help but think of as cute and root for until the end. Raj Kapoor has the RANGE. While he is certainly hot and certainly famous in India, the noobs on Tumblr definitely haven't heard of him which, i guess, fits the requirement of the participant being relatively obscure. And while he can play dashing heros and all with remarkable skill, I would argue his best work is when he plays a silly little guy who is hopelessly in love with Nargis.

This is round 3 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Theda Bara:

Raj Kapoor:

Even the vegetable lady calls him scrungly in this one:

Do you want to see a man traipsing in a bucket hat? He almost steps on a bug and then scoops the bug up and saves it! He traipses down the street, joining hands and dancing with children! I realize I'm just listing things he does while singing Kisi Ki Muskurahaton Pe Ho Nisar from Anari, but it's truly one of the scrungliest performances I've ever seen.

This very bisexual scene from Andaz:

Listen, this guy plays a con man in Shree 420 OF COURSE HE'S SCRUNGLY IN IT. And holy shit, have you seen him play a man in love (especially with Nargis)?? He's so pathetic I love him. And he ain't white so obviously not popular with the Tumblrinas so fits your criteria... I hope?

Listen, people can google him and may rightly so say he is hot vintage-guy material. And yes that is correct - he was a hearthrob and popular with ladies all over BUT if you have seen Awaara or Shree 420 you will know him as the lovely scrungly little Charlie-Chapin-tramp-character-inspo vagabond, with his little stick-and-bundle. Listen, if you are looking at Raj Kapoor's 'vagabond' character making his intro in the video below and you don't immediately think 'scrungly' you must have your eyes closed.

[queenmuzz]

Ballrooms and Bloodlines: Chapter I

A steamy story set post Veilguard

Read HERE on Ao3

It’s not what she’s used to.  She’s used to wearing rugged leather, chain mail, her shield and greathammer.  Not tonight.  She wields and wears neither.  She’s used to having her hair in a rough, practical ponytail. Not tonight.

She’s used to going barefaced, no need for accentuation of features that get obscured by dirt and grime. Not tonight. 

She’s used to wearing minimal jewelry, and aside from one item, is for battle scenarios, with enchantments for necrotic damage, or defense against demons. Not tonight.

Tonight, she is draped in bangles, rings, necklaces, all generously borrowed from her Ingellvar ‘ancestors’.  As much as she finds it distasteful to loot from their crypts, she knows that the long extinct noble family is more than happy to lend their grave gold to the hero that bears their name.

Tonight, Myrna gently brushes the eye shadow on her eyelids, blending the shades together, before tutting at her to remain still as she applies eyeliner.  How women and men are able to point a sharpened implement straight at their eyes without flinching is beyond her.  Still, there are few people she would trust more than Myrna to do such an intimate and delicate thing.

Tonight, Vorgoth rumbles contentedly as it braids her silver hair, working on what will probably be one a set of twenty or more separate tiny braids, all entwining together , resembling a string of pearls adorning her head.

Tonight she is wearing a full length dress made of the finest Nevarran velvet dark green, almost black, with the accents of lilac in the bodice.  The amount of times she’s worn a formal dress in her lifetime can be counted on a skeleton’s hand. With two fingers removed.

Each of these times, they had been an ill fitting dress, borrowed by an old watcher, several seasons out of fashion and she’d removed them at the first opportunity she had.  This one is the latest in Nevarran fashion, fitted perfectly to her stature, and hugs every curve.  And for once, this dress is not borrowed, it is her very own to keep.  

For tonight, she is no longer Watcher Ingellvar, disgraced Cryptguard.

She is Lady Ingellvar, Slayer of Gods.

Well, that’s the name on the ball invitation.

A ball given in HER honour.

It still surprises her that she, a foundling with no name, is the star attraction at this gala.  Although, at this point, she ought to know better.  She has spent the past three years walking the length and breadth of Thedas, traveled to the Fade, fought battles that only take place in legends.  And come face to face with the most dangerous entities that have ever existed.  That people wish to celebrate their champion, especially when she comes from their own soil.

Of course, she would be the first to say that she wasn’t alone.  That she had the best of the best at her side.  People with far more experience than her at practically everything.  All she happens to have is the skill to bring said people together.  Somehow that makes her something Varric called her all the way back, a ‘Leader.’  A person that people can look up to.

“IT IS FINISHED.” Vorgoth rumbles with apparent satisfaction as it floats back a bit, and Mryna gives a final brush of blush.

She sees herself in the mirror, almost completely unrecognizable. She shimmers in green, gold, and silver

“Are you ready?” Myrna asks, doing her best to keep her voice settled “They are waiting for you.”

“HE IS WAITING.” Vorgoth adds.

She nods, swallowing all her doubts as she makes her way to the door, followed by the two people she is the closest she’s had to parents.

The double doors open revealing a figure.  He stands there, looking resplendent in his formal Mourn Watcher garb, glittering epaulettes on his deep green and burgundy uniform.  He looks the definition of dignified. Aside from the waves of anxiety that he’s exuding, the way he quickly hides his hands behind his back, trying to look stately, but not quite quick enough to hide the way they tremble. She sees his eyes widen as he takes her in, the sharp intake of breath, the way he wets his lips, and her heart thumps painfully.  Even if the worst should come to  pass and she makes a complete fool of herself, seeing him looking at her with such adoration will have made it all worth it.

He straightens his back, takes one hand from behind his back, now still and under control, and takes her hand.  He bows low, and kisses it. Ever the gentleman.

“You look… he struggles to find the right word, glances at the two people behind her,  “stunning, my dear.”  It’s not the word he’s looking for, and she knows it.  Whatever word he wanted to use is not for a gentleman to say, especially in front of a lady’s parents.

“Shall we?” He offers her his arm and she hooks hers with his as the four of them make their way to the hustle and bustle of the ballroom.

-----

It seems that the entire Mourn Watch has shown up, as well as the cream of the Nevarran nobility.  There’s even a few Tevinter nobles, several Antivans, even a very out of his depth Orlesian, who keeps nervously looking at the undead servants offering hor'dourves  on golden platters.  The only conspicuous absence is King Markus, but no doubt he’s far too busy to attend. 

Besides, there’s more than enough people to make up for one reclusive Royal.  There’s elderly men who are wheeled about by their skeletal servants, enjoying one of their last social events before they too will join their ancestors in the crypts.  There’s a gaggle of small children, most of them utterly entranced and entertained by the magic show Manfred is performing for them.  She idly muses on how well he works with children, his happy hisses as the children cheer as he juggles fireballs.  He only pauses his show to wave at them when he notices them.

But a good chunk of the party goers are young, attractive, and most importantly, unmarried men and women, all circling her like vultures.  She involuntarily moves closer to Emmrich, who notices her discomfort and squeezes her arm reassuringly.

“May I have the honour of having the first dance?”

If she had her way, she would have ALL her dances with him, she muses as they dance, his one hand chastely at her waist, the other entwined in hers, guiding her around the ballroom floor, as the band played a traditional Nevarran waltz.  (Sadly one of the few things that the undead couldn’t do was wind instruments).  He’s delicate with her, his touch barely noticable as they move to and fro with the other dancers.  It feels so out of place, almost a regression to when he first started courting her.  Fade knows that he has been much LESS gentle with her lately, not that she’s been complaining.  But she knows she must appear… ‘Available’.  In high society, you can make so many more connection if you have the potential for a marriage alliance.  It feels dirty, leading all these people on, having no intention of even considering a union with any of their relatives, but that's how the upper crust works.  It's not unique to Nevarra, sadly. 

“You dance so well,” he murmurs in the shell of ear, causing a shiver of pleasure to run down her spine, driving away the shame at her deception.

“Well, I had a good teacher,” she tells him, “an incredibly patient and kind teacher,” and she can see a flush appear in his cheeks.  This is not idle flattery, as she has spent the last few weeks having her feet being taught to follow a set pattern, instead of reacting on the fly.  It was a hard thing to learn, until he had come up with the idea to treat it like a battle, that when her his left foot moves forward, her right foot should move backwards and to the left.  There’s a fine line between offense and defense, and she learns to recognize the signs when the roles should reverse. 

“It didn’t hurt that he is incredibly handsome as well,” and she senses, much to her satisfaction, a tiny little hitch in his step, and his blush deepens.

The song draws to an end, and he gracefully leads her off the floor.  She’s aware that a silent crowd follows her, all eager for a sample of her attention.

“My dearest, as much as I would love to keep you to myself for the entire night, they are here for you.  It’s time…” 

She stiffens, as this is the one thing she had feared about this event.  It is one thing to command a fire breathing Adari, a possessed assassin, a Tevinter detective, a magical dwarf, a Warden who has killed an archdemon and lived, a savant in ancient elvish technology, (and an incredibly charming necromancer) to kill Gods.  It’s quite another to be the star attraction in a ballroom, where everyone wants her attention, even for a brief second.

Still, she swallows her fear, pastes a polite smile on her face, and goes to greet her followers.

She starts out easy, picking out a tall lanky teenage boy  who seems awed by her mere presence as her next dance.  He stumbles over his words as he tries to play the gentleman and take the lead on the ballroom, before she gently smiles at him, and lets him relinquish control,  and then leads him across the ballroom, round and round again.  He attempts to talk to her, stammering out questions about her adventures.  It’s adorable how he’s transfixed by her, not love precisely, but she knows he will go to his grave, many, MANY, years later (she hopes) with this moment etched into his bones.

By the time the song ends The poor boy is as red as the tomato sauce Lucanis canned for her as a gift before they last parted company.  She places a chaste kiss on his cheek, and he practically flees the room, overwhelmed by his feelings.  

The next dance is elderly matriarch, who starts out deceptively easy to dance with. That is, until the woman reveals she has several sons of marriageable age.

“My eldest, Edwin, runs a tailoring business!  He’s high in demand by both the living and the dead, you MUST come see his work the next time you’re out…”

“That sounds nice”

“And there’s my boy Lothar.  Shame he couldn’t make it, busy supplying masonry to Minrathous rebuilding efforts.  He also hosts the best soirées!

“Lovely”

“And my youngest, Cyril!  He’s part of your Mourn Watch!  No doubt you’ve been acquainted with him.  He’s such a gentleman! You two would definitely get along!”

“I’m… sure we would.”

The song is mercifully shorter than the previous one, and she’s thankful she can disentangle herself before the woman starts arranging invitations for her to visit her manor when her sons are in town.

She takes a quick break from dancing, sipping a drink, making small talk with guests, thanking them for coming, all while she makes her way slowly towards Emmrich, who is in a conversation with Vorgoth.  She needs to get to him before the next song starts, she needs to take her on the ballroom once more.

He sees her approach, and she loves the way his eyes light up, the way he apologises to the entity that he really must be going, and makes his way towards her.  They’re about to embrace…

“Lady Zea Ingellvar!”

An iron voice rings out, sharp and demanding, but coated in a thin layer of gold plate, to make it sound palatable and pretty.  Emmrich’s brows furrow as he looks towards the intruder, and she follows his gaze.

It’s a young man, around her age, his wavy rose gold hair perfectly combed.  He wears the Mourn Watch uniform, but unlike Emmrich’s, it’s garishly decorated in an assortment of medals, relics, and other gold flimflammery from long dead relatives.  Whoever dressed him seems to think quantity is more important than quality.  Still, he has a presence that cannot be ignored.

“I don’t think we’ve been acquainted,” he holds out his hand, palm up, and she places her hand in his as he gives his a kiss.  It’s not gentle, like Emmrich’s, it’s more possessive, as if he’s entitled to her hand, “Lord Heinrich Karppinen, heir to the Duchy of Cumberland.”  She can’t help but wince at his emphasis on his title, like he clings to it like grave gold.  “May I have the next dance?”

She can’t help but see Emmrich stiffen and bite his lip out of the corner of her eye, but he makes no move to voice his disapproval.  She weighs her options.  To spurn a ducal heir, even casually and with good reason, is not something that is done lightly. Strangely, she’s intrigued by this challenge.  Perhaps she could humour him, allow him to think he has a chance to receive her grace.   

She gives a quick glance at Emmrich, nodding curtly, and he backs up, accepting her decision, despite not liking it at all.   She allows the young man to escort her to the ballroom floor, proud of his latest ‘catch’, and not afraid to show his accomplishment off.

“You’ve become quite the talk of Nevarra, Lady Ingellvar,” Lord Karppinen says as he smoothly guides her across the floor.  “It’s been quite a few years since we had one of our people reach such a renowned status.”

“Yes, it’s strange to be compared to Cassandra Pentaghast, even if it’s a high honour.”  She does not feel worthy enough to be associated with that woman that Varric liked to talk about, who wrote romance novels specifically for her enjoyment.

The name seems to irritate the young man, as he does his best to suppress a grimace.  “Pentaghast!” He says, the P sounding like he wants to spit out a wad of mucus.  “She was the Right Hand of the Divine, Founder of the New Inquisition, and what does she do with that power?  Goes off and marries a Dwarf.  A DWARF!  Doesn’t even protest when the Inquisitor disbands her organization.  All that power… gone…. And she ruins her family name.”

Insulting Lady Cassandra, a risky move. Zea thinks.  She already doesn’t like the man, but out of necessity, she pastes a smile on her face as they continue their dance.

“You, on the other hand, have single-handedly  accomplished so much more than her.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, I didn’t do it alone.”  She honestly argues, “I had many friends and allies. I had one of the best Antivan Crows, a brave Grey Warden, (it’s still hard to keep her emotions in check whenever she thinks of Davrin), and of course” She takes a glance at the gentleman across the room and her heart seizes as she sees him watching her, “the eminent Professor Emmrich Volkarin.”

That name brings out a face of  outright disgust.

“Volkarin…  a man who doesn’t know his station in life, deems himself as far too important to be bound by it.  Plays at being a noble, despite being nothing but a commoner.  In fact worse… a butcher’s son .”  It’s the way he says those last few words, the way his voice drips with disdain, as if Emmrich’s father was vermin that repulses.  She frowns, and she catches Emmrich’s face from across the ballroom, seeing how concerned he looks.  He must know something is going on.  But she tries to remain diplomatic.

“Honestly, I find that to be very noble, to take on such a lowly profession to support your family.  To suffer the social stigma, to bear it willingly for the ones you love, is there not honour in that?”  It is the truth.  She has never had the pleasure of meeting Rupert Volkarin in life, but she knows that he must have been a good man, someone his son emulates to this very day.

Lord Karppinen scoffs,  “You are very naive to think like that, Lady Ingellvar.”

“I am not,” she argues back.  “Don’t forget, I am an orphan.  A foundling.  I claim no title nor lineage.  I am no better than that butcher you disparage.”  From the corner of her eye, she sees Emmrich now acting agitated, with Myrna placing a supportive hand on his arm.  The situation is getting out of control, and Emmrich may do something he will regret if he sees that she is being upset by this arrogant noble.

“You are much different.” He responds, his voice now returning back to its honeyed state.  An attempt to ingratiate himself to her.  “You are a founder, a once in an Age person who has the potential to start their own dynasty.  But…” his voice dips deeper, “In order for a dynasty to take root, it must also be grafted with other trees, not with the weeds that wither and die miserable short lives.  It would be beneficial to join roots those with the pedigree of us nobility.   We are the ones who have fought dragons, after all.”  He’s trying to woo her, to bring her glory and accomplishments over to his household.  But he has no idea how much it has backfired on him.

There it is …she sees it now, his weakness.  In a battleground this is the moment that she would find the chink in their armour, a flaw in their fighting technique.  Nobles and their everlasting love for dragon hunting.  A butcher who carves up meat to feed starving bellies may be considered sacrilegious, but a noble’s taste for killing majestic creatures merely to decorate their halls with is apparently considered virtuous.

“Are you?” she asks sweetly, a true smile now creeping into her face.  “Tell me, Lord Karppinen, how many dragons have you killed?”  

The man sputters… looks shocked that she would ask such a question, but she continues.  “How many generations has it been since a Karppinen has slain a dragon?  Your father?  Your Grandsire?  Your Great Grandsire?”

“This hardly matters…” he protests, but she has him with his back against the wall.  Now her warrior mind tells her to put her shield away, and bring out the metaphorical greathammer.

“Because Emmrich Volkarin has personally helped me hunt…” she makes an exaggerated act of calculation, “One… two… three��� four… five?  Possibly more, since one of the archdemons had multiple heads… but he has taken down AT LEAST five dragons.  Who is the more noble now?”

He loses his sense of speech and she grins, as she is now the one to lead him across the ballroom floor.  Emmerich seems to have calmed down, reading the situation as not as dire as he thought, but there is a perplexed look on his face.

“Emmrich Volkarin has helped me personally dispatch not only those dragons, but also two ancient elvish gods.  He has broken into one of the most secure prisons ever created, and,” she thinks back to the conversation between Emmrich and Solas in Minrathous on that dark final day,  “he has earned the respect of the Dread Wolf himself.”

At any other time, she might feel sorry for the man, the way he splutters and stammers, but today, she feels no mercy.  In fact, she feels like she ought to pay him back for his slander of her beloved.  She pulls him in for the kill, and whispers in his ear.

“Let me tell you a secret, my little ducal prince,  you might think you wish to claim me as your own, but I carry the child of the wisest man in all of Thedas in my womb.”

He stiffens, and their dance comes to a complete halt, causing a disturbance as other dancers have to make last minute swerves to avoid crashing into them.  

Lord Karppinen has gone a deadly shade of pale, or green, but perhaps the veilfire lighting is to blame as he releases her immediatly, as if she is infected with the Blight.  His lips are moving, but no sound comes out.  He looks like one of those freshly caught fish she had seen in Docktown, gasping and suffocating in an environment it did not belong in.  Except this time, she feels no sorrow, no sympathy.  

And with that, without a word, he turns around and storms away from her…

And goes straight for Emmrich.

Oh. Crap.

[daitranscripts]

The Hinterlands Area Introduction

Inquisition Scout Harding

The Hinterlands Masterpost

The PC approaches an Inquisition scout once they reach the Hinterlands. Harding: The Herald of Andraste! I’ve heard the stories. Everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach.

Origin dependent dialogue:

Harding (human non-mage PC): It’s an honor to meet you, my [lord/lady].

Harding (human mage PC): Everyone’s a little nervous around mages right now, but you’ll get no back talk here. That’s a promise.

Harding (Dalish PC): It’s odd for a Dalish elf to care what happens to anyone else, but you’ll get no back talk here. That’s a promise.

Harding (Qunari PC): They might not know much about the Qunari, but you’ll get no backtalk from anyone here. That’s a promise.

Harding (dwarf PC): It’s good to see another dwarf in the Inquisition. There aren’t many of us around.

Harding: Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I—all of us here—we’ll do whatever we can to help.

Varric: Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?

Harding: I can’t say I have. Why?

Varric: You’d be Harding in… oh, never mind.

Cassandra: (Disgusted noise.)

Dialogue options:

General: Pleased to meet you. [1]

General: You heard stories about me? [2]

General: What’s the word out here? [3]

1 - General: Pleased to meet you. PC: It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Harding: We should get to business. The situation’s pretty dire. [4]

2 - General: You heard stories about me? PC: I’m starting to worry about these “stories” that everyone’s heard. Harding: Oh. There’s nothing to worry about. They only say you’re the last great hope for Thedas. PC: Oh. Wonderful. Harding: The Hinterlands are as good a place as any to start fixing things. [4]

3 - General: What’s the word out here? PC: What’s the situation out here in the Hinterlands? [4]

4 - Scene continues.

Harding: We came to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horsemaster. I grew up here, and people always said that Dennet’s herd were the strongest and fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage-templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he’s even still alive. Mother Giselle’s at the crossroads helping refugees and the wounded. Our latest reports say that the war’s spread there too. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won’t be able to hold out very long. You best get going. No time to lose.

[amaryllis-sagitta]

We saw Regret of a god, now time for his Grief

In the gameplay reveal, Neve tells us that Solas's hideout in Minrathous is placed under the statue of Our Lady of Sorrows. While in modern Thedas that title belongs to Andraste, the original Lady of Grief and Sorrow was Mythal. According to the Dalish origin myth, she emerged from the Earth's tears when Elgar'nan cast the Sun down into the Abyss, and living creatures all died in the sunless world.

The reveals so far already tell us something about Solas's hideout in Minrathous: we supposedly descend down a complex filled with murals that will tell us more of the story. In today's Game Informer cover, we learn that the location will feel like "going back in time", also reflecting how Tevinter colonized and regurgitated the ancient Elvhenan in the twilight of its days, rising on its ruins. But it also reflects Solas's apparent fixation on the past, which to me is a symptom of a reparative drive in a process of deeply complicated grief. Solas places himself outside the reality that could thrive, no matter how close to feeling at home he gets -- one more hint that he seems to operate from an understanding of turning back the time.

According to The Lighthouse's depiction in the Game Informer cover, the devs highlight Solas's loneliness through a description of a "massive table" that is only set for one. But there's no utility in having something like this if it didn't use to be full. Solas uses it in this specific way to torture himself.

Another location, that doesn't even pretend not to be Skyhold 2.0, echoes the theme of a place that had a purpose and a thriving community but went completely abandoned due to catastrophic events that Solas incited. Once again, he lends his former place to a new team as he continues to dance in the dyad between self-imposed isolation and rebuilding something that he still holds an attachment to. He lends people his old places to restore them to life, and there's an interesting dance in this initiative: in a roundabout way, he might hope to to feel alive again as the place fills with life. At the same time, a part of him seems to insist that he should forever grieve and remain lifeless on the inside.

The Inquisition almost convinced him that he can sit at the table while others are there, not just to reminisce about the void left after what's gone. But when he used the Inquisition for his own goals, he kind of undermined the very idea of restoring a community and locked himself out of it. This time, it appears he will have less agency within the physical world, and my fear is that he will separate himself from the community even further, since Rook and he have reasons not to begin on the best of terms. His conflict with Rook isn't based on merely underestimating someone, as it was the case with Corypheus. Rook and Varric have actively interrupted him, and he has people to blame, even if the is fully responsible for the lack of communication about his plans.

Another thing that caught my attention when looking at the theme of grief in the reveals is how they keep hinting at Solas as some strange symbolic heir to both Mythal's and Elgar'nan, as if suspended between the two possibilities that these gods embody. Wisdom and Pride this and that, his monstrous form in Tevinter Nights is the dragon-wolf with fiery wings that are actually made up of spirits of Justice/Vengeance (the Mortalitasi in the story demonizes them, naturally, but the boundary between these two polarities is not as clear in nature). Fen'Harel portrays himself as a deliverer of a reckoning for the mortals' foolish transgression -- Nemesis against hubris, which would be closer to Elgar'nan's symbolic complex, or to a darker facet of Mythal expressed by Flemythal in DAI. It seems that long ago, he took it upon himself to replace the missing arbiter among the gods, and to bring the Evanuris to justice for Mythal's murder. Now, in a way, he is left as the only arbiter to his own deeds. Who else will judge him for taking the Veil down and the chaos that ensues (other than his own attachment to selected mortals that he might have developed throughout DAI)?

There's certainly a theme of a vicious cycle between destructive envy ("if I can't have something, why should anyone"), retribution, righteous fury, and further misery that is to be explored somewhere in between Elgar'nan, Mythal's possible return in yet another incarnation, and Solas being placed in between. When he developed the Veil, was he tempted to punish them more severely than it was necessary? How much is really necessary? Is it possible that he's unconsciously punishing the world he inadvertently created -- the pinnacle of his complicated grief -- with destruction that is absolutely superfluous and a result of his deflected self-hatred rather than fair judgment? Will he be able to apply compassion in his wisdom (hello, Cole)?

[brekkie-e]

Listen, I get that a lot of people's dislike of white-haired Lavellan's comes from over exposure, which is valid and happens to the best of us. But most of the time, when I see posts about folks not liking them, the frustration centers around them being this unearthly ethereal white-haired barbie doll. And I'm sure that is also common.

But as someone who loves my dinky white haired Lavellan, and also feels like she's one of my most human characters, I want to ramble about all the ways she is not just a beautiful barbie doll power fantasy. Because my nerd is pretty. She IS. But she also has the puffiest under eyes you ever saw. Depending on the day, there may be dark circles. There isn't a cream on the market that can make this lady look properly rested. When you combine that with the near constant sunburn on her nose turning it red, she has the air of someone that is in a permanent state of allergy season.

Going from the top down, she also has a tooth gap. And while we are here, they are pretty darn crooked. Thedas doesn't have orthodontists. I wouldn't say she has horrible teeth. But she has perfectly human imperfect teeth that make for a memorable smile for all the wrong (right) reasons.

Her left ear is missing a big chunk out of it from being hit by an arrow. It gives her the same lightly ragged look of a stray cat.

She has moles. The one on her chin grows a long and shockingly white hair out of it. She pulls it out. If it's because she's insecure about it or because picking at it is a nervous tick, she doesn't even know at this point because she's done it for so many years.

The hair on her arms is very fine and white. It is also very, very fuzzy. The kind of peach fuzz that catches the light and makes itself known. It didn't bother her when she lived with her clan because she has a lot of siblings, and they all have it. But someone casually remarks on it during her time with the Inquisition, maybe in jest saying her arms look more like a dwarf's than an elf's. Suddenly, she wears sleeves a lot more often.

I am pretty attached to the bean pole frame Lavellan gets in Inquisition because it's hard to headcanon out for me when it's constantly there on screen. That being said, her legs have some hefty cellulite going on in the back of those thighs. Her flat little ass is dimpled. There are stretch marks on the insides of her thighs, and on her butt. She thinks that's unfair given her complete and utter lack of curves. Knees? Knobby. Her shins always have bruises on them from bumping into something or another.

Various other things I think about and am fond of for her. Her sword hand is calloused. It's often dry and cracked, with hang nails like a construction worker. She tries to take care of it, but how do you out self-care the kind of wear and tear constant travel and fighting does to a person.

Her eyebrows are so pale and thin that it doesn't even look like she has them half the time. Her scalp can get sunburns where her hair parts. She gets a pimple in the same spot like clockwork every time her period comes around. She has one toe that's just inexplicably uglier than the rest.

And she's still pretty. She's still little miss doomed by the narrative.

Secretly, I didn't really have a point to this post beyond wanting to talk about my character's endearing imperfections. But I'll try to wrap this up with something coherent. You can use the stereotypical "pretty" color palette and still create a deeply human character. You can also use a unique color palette and still end up with a design or attitude that gives off "this character's sweat smells like roses and peonys."

I'm not saying that white-haired Lavellan's don't come with the baggage of over-exposure or the weight of heavy handed white savior energy. I'm not saying they can't be done badly. I am just sad thinking there are other folks out there that see all the "stereotypical Lavellan" posts, and also feel a knee-jerk impulse to redesign a beloved oc to be more like-able. At the end of the day, oc's are for their creator. Nobody is going to like your oc more than you. So make one that speaks to you.

And hey. Maybe you are guilty of making your oc's perfect pretty Barbie dolls. Nothing wrong with a pretty lady (or man but that's not really the point of the post.) But speaking for myself, I fall a little in love with every oc someone gives a perfectly normal "defect" to. So next time you find yourself making a hot girl... mix it up a bit and consider giving her toe hair. You might be surprised by how much that detail sticks with you.

[velnat004]

Go wild, list things about Roman's background and his favourite things

okayyy lets go!! -he's born to a human noble father (octavian trevelyan) and a valshoth qunari mother ("anais" trevelyan)

-a handful of the bann's siblings grew to dislike the bann's wife over the years, resulting in them to pick a more "fresh" looking woman for the bann -anais was picked specifically for the bann by one of his sisters during one of her visits to the ostwick circle -the bann and lady trevelyan (viktoria trevelyan) were already starting to have issues about their relationship and when anais arrived to the estate, octavian was more than happy to bed the qunari lady instead -anais' background was not questioned too much as she did not have any vitaars nor seemed to speak qunlat, and they were certain that just like any other non-human races in thedas, she was going to give birth to a human child -when roman was born though, the first signs of his qunari lineage begun showing as he was born with pale grey skin, making the midwife to think he was stillborn at the first sight -as the years would pass, roman started to grow horns -which was something his relatives didn't expect or want, blaming anais for "poisoning" roman's blood like that for years on end -in 9:21, a decade after roman was born, anais was publicly executed after she was found mauling one of her sisters-in-law to death. -weeks after his mother's death, roman's magic surfaced and was sent to the circle of ostwick -lady trevelyan and the bann would bring him home every weekend so he wouldn't feel isolated from his siblings -anais's death did not mean the end of her in-laws' petty behaviour, as they directed their hatred towards anais to roman instead -and thus, a tug of war between the bann's siblings and his inner family, as roman's half siblings and stepmother would do their best to keep him away from the bann's siblings' petty schemes. as u can see i was pretty inspired by magnificent century lmao there's more lore of him but i dont think i can do it justice with just few sentences here so im working on a fic that goes through roman's backstory chapter by chapter :3

[songofamazon]

the high priestess, justice, the sun :)

The High Priestess: Which does Rook obey more: their head or their heart?

Vel is absolutely a heart-driven lady. It's gotten her in trouble before (Trusting Solas?? Rescuing her team at the loss of an invaluable map and getting kicked out of the Veil Jumpers??), but that has never stopped her from trusting her heart again. And when it comes to a sweet Antivan Crow who keeps telling her that loving him is a bad idea and yet giving her all sorts of presents and sweet treats, she certainly keeps trusting her heart on this one. (More sweet treats, presents, and awkward flirting for him!) She is absolutely not sorry, Lucanis.

Justice: How does Rook feel about the circumstances that led to them leaving their faction? What does returning feel like?

Vel feels pretty hurt for being sent away from the Veil Jumpers for failing to get a map when she instead chose to save her teammates' lives. To her, people are most important. She loves people. Her drive to recover lost histories and artifacts come from a love of the Dalish and broader Elven people, as well as specific people, like her father and her cousin Elanna Lavellan. She hides her hurt and feelings of unfairness behind anger at Strife (who she still loves, despite it all) and pride at being asked by Varric to be his second for the operation to stop Solas. Mostly, she tries not to think about it. Meeting Strife again so soon after messing up stopping Solas and releasing the Gods stings. She hides her pain behind swagger and urgency for their current mission. Throughout the events of Veilguard, she reconnects with individual members of the Veil Jumpers, becomes best friends with Bellara, and slowly earns back respect from Strife and other leaders. She begins to feel like a Veil Jumper again, and going back to their camp always feels like coming home. However, she still holds sour feelings that Strife never apologized for functionally kicking her out for saving lives instead of an object. That said, she loves that Strife and Emmerich are dating at the end. Her two favorite older gentlemen mentors are together, and that is wonderful.

The Sun: What is Rook passionate about? How do they fuel that passion?

Vel is passionate about her people. That originates from loving her family and Clan Aldwir, expands to the Dalish, the Veil Jumpers, the Elves as a whole, and eventually, the people of Thedas. She wants the best for her people, whatever the definition is at the moment, and she follows her heart to determine what "the best" means at that time. Being her clan's Keeper's Second (her dad is the keeper, but there is an older clan member as First), she knew her role to be to learn and preserve knowledge about the Elves, as well as how to lead her people in their home at the outskirts of Arlathan Forest. Between her role as Keeper's Second and the later revelations about the Elvhen from her cousin Elanna, after the events of the Inquisition, she developed a deep and driving need to uncover and clarify more secrets of the Elves' history, especially in places where they seemed to misremembered their past. This, and her drive to prove herself vis a vis her cousin, drove her to join the Veil Jumpers. She loves learning about history and magic of all kinds, but especially where Elves are involved. This led to an immediate and fast friendship with Bellara. They had heard of each other within the Veil Jumpers, but stopping the Evanuris was the first time the two got to work together. She spent a lot of time with Bellara, and sometimes with Davrin added, trying to make sense of their history and religious faith.

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, April 14, 2024

My posts

Honestly, I spent much of the week coping with storm migraines. You can tell, because I was reblogging a lot from under a cold compress rather than doing anything useful with life. 

Reblogs of interest

The Hot Vintage Lady Polls are rough out there, y’all. Round three started closing yesterday (see what’s still open here), and as of this writing, we have lost Bette Davis, Alla Nazimova, Theda Bara, Myrna Loy, Barbra Streisand, Fay Wray, Lucille Ball, Ginger Rogers, and Olivia de Havilland--and it looks like Catherine Deneuve, Clara Bow, Lana Turner, and Mary Pickford are on their way out. Meanwhile, I learned about a ton of actresses I’d never heard of before, only to shriek when Sharmila Tagore, Nadira, and Waheeda Rehman lost this round. (Edwige, I will never forget you.) 

Let me remind you (and me sometimes, too): Not everyone has the same taste or childhood attachments or cinema experiences as you. And everybody in this bracket loses. Everybody but one. 

(I can tell I’m not cut out for brawling because I’m like, “I will be very sad to see Norma Shearer go, but Hazel Scott seems nice!”)

--

���Actually, Mr. Musk, I am an attorney. Do you know that?” Here’s the highlights of Mark Bankston, the man who brought down Alex Jones, coping with Elon Musk and Elon Musk’s Lawyer, who is not even licensed in Texas, for 100 pages of deposition. 

Hozier Watch 2024: “Too Sweet” has now charted higher in the UK than “Take Me to Church,” and it’s getting real close on the US charts. This is a song that didn’t even make last year’s album. I am endlessly fascinated. 

Happy Leland Melvin Day!

Happy Neil Banging Out the Tunes Day!

“Posting endless DNIs because we can’t (or don’t know we can) make spaces just for the people we do want to interact with” actually makes a lot of sense in this centralized social media hellscape. 

There is a 20k mg weed gummy and nobody needs that. “Forget meeting the Hat Man this is what turns you into the Hat Man. This is worse than that torture drug that makes you experience 600 billion years in a second. This is the secret to honest to god shifting.” 

One of the best uses of the Kate Beaton Poe comic I’ve ever seen

“Americanisms that tell you to check on your American” (they are all correct)

“Tuxedo Mask is the first example of being ‘Kenough’”

Just this once, I will allow this AI rendition of a “traditional Polish family” and their traditional Polish woodchuck. 

I am absolutely not saying there is anything wrong with being into tentacles; I’m just saying that Pyramid Head doesn’t even have them and thus is a pretty tame choice to complain about. 

Little Guy, a game

A cursèd chair called “Oops!”

Sparrow Tarot: Honestly, this is one of my favorite takes on the Hanged Man.

This dog is a biscuit and she is precious

Video

One of the things that’s so great about this Ilia Malinin free-skate program is, he makes it look so effortless that I would have never figured out on my own, without Tumblr’s commentary, that there’s a couple moves in here that no one in the world can do but him. Like, the very first jump and the announcers start screaming. 

A journey from fearing moths to raising them

A dude puts on a dress For the Meme and then discovers that he loves it (and then he styles it as a full outfit and it looks SO GOOD)

Watching this cat ride around on a roomba on a sped-up surveillance camera is self-care.

So is this (although it’s a bit strobe-y)

Bat type: hi doggy

Was the jello for the tuna salad lamb supposed to be lime?

The sacred texts

Holy Shit, Two Cakes

The origin of “Me, an intellectual”

#AllMyLifeIHadToFight

Personal tag of the week

Designer Roberto Cavalli, who passed away this week at age 83. I reblogged several fashion posts--I hadn’t even realized myself that he had designed Beyoncé’s famous yellow dress in Lemonade.

[jainydoe]

rook questionnaire

tagged by the wonderful, magnificent, the amazing @emmg truth be told I also don't care about my rook but hopefully showing mine will make you show me yours

this is claudia

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? nevarra!

2: What is your character's alignment? uhhhh is true neutral an answer? I think she's the type to follow rules until they don't suit her

3: Race and subclass? rogue elf

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? excellent question, maybe either at like a museum in Orlais that they're casing or a casino? very danny ocean

5: What emotion did they usually pick? mm I think when chatting with companions they'll make jokes, but with strangers just the neutral polite option - very rarely gruff

6: What companion are you platonically close with? neve and bellara, mainly because my first rook was close to davrin and lucanis

7: Romantically close with? emmrich obviously cmon

8: Who are they suspicious of? solas and that dude who introduced harding to that lady? you follow?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? oh yeah, she's a nevarran darling, just too slippery sometimes

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments? never considered it. maybe piano?

11: Weapon of choice? ooh I think she's more comfortable as a ranger but happy to go melee when it comes to that

12: What is their orientation? mm I would say straight but comfortable messing around with whoever joins in

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? ooh. I think my first rook enjoyed it but claudia doesn't really care

14: What hobbies does your Rook have? probably going to ballets, painting, playing cards, I imagine dancing is what made her such a talented rogue

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? ooh I think she probably has the same reservations about Taash originally that emmrich has but they find common ground. I think she's also like cordial with antoine and evka but is very happy to leave the wetlands

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? the fat crocodile things in the wetlands - only good thing there

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? I think it suits her devil-may-care attitude but she's a creature who enjoys her comforts. if she has a lighthouse to return to she's fine

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? probably hustling idiots with the help of spirits or shacked up with some artist

19: How do you think they'll meet their end? woof, maybe an old enemy come to pay their debts? poisoned tea type shit? but also maybe she'll just fall off a cliff who knows

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him? don't know yet!

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability? ooh probably the charged up shield break, or that spin move flurry of knives

22: What languages is your character fluent in? ok yeah here we go, definitely antivan, common of course, elvish, orlesian, and I think she studied tevene as like an extra curricular in youth

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis? smoke and take a bubble bath

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife? I think she's agnostic but wants to believe, giving her nevarran upbringing

25: What specialization best represents your Rook? not sure how to answer this?

26: What animal best represents your Rook? ooh. maybe like a persian street cat. something you know once belonged somewhere but now is a creature of the night to be feared

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? I think she was a high-level thief

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? I think she's the "leader" but doesn't care if someone feels passionately about specific aspects. that being said, she's never worked in a team before but knows jobs can go awry when there's a fucked chain of command so she always makes sure plans are clear, even if they're not plans she came up with

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? probably the crows. just suits her skillset

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook? she's ultimately kind. I find her amiable and lovely

this was fun I didn't know all this random stuff about my rook thanks for tagging me emm. I actually do wanna know about yours but will also tag @farore05 @caffeinatedmunchkin and @eavangeek because you're all writers I really love the work of and would love to get to know better!!!

[hotvintagepoll]

Theda Bara— She is so beautiful but in a way which is so... Bug-like? I truly cannot think of any word which better encapsulates her big round eyes, expressive eyebrows, gestures, fashion choices, and overall vibe than 'scrungly' does. There is something wild - nay, feral- about her. We all know the original goth girl didn't get what she deserved in the ladies tournament, so please let her shine here. She is indisputably the scrungliest gal of the bunch.

Esma Cannon (A Canterbury Tale, The Spy in Black, Carry On Cabby, Carry On Cruising)—Whether she’s playing a tiny birdlike spinster with an inappropriate crush or the loyal and determined best friend of the leading lady, she screws up her face and chirrups brightly. The scrungliest little woman in British cinema.

This is round 2 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Esma Cannon:

Theda Bara:

[profoundfics]

Tertiary Opinions I/V

Unorthodox Introductions - V: Injurious Activities

Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex

Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)

(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)

-- --

The Rivaini climate was far hotter than Emmrich had been expecting and he fully understood Rook’s grouse on the subject over breakfast. Before him were a number of flora specimens to appraise but after the unexpected encounter with the Antaam, Emmrich had little energy for anything other than taking the well earned break while they waited for their newest recruit. Rook had taken off her breastplate, a thin sheen of sweat glossing her face, leant over a boulder, stretching her back.

Harding was the only one who looked remotely comfortable.

He supposed that the Inquisition’s former lead scout was experienced in dealing with harsh climates on either end of the scale. Not that the glorious weather beating down on them could be called harsh. Just hot. Hotter than Nevarra.

‘Had you ever left Nevarra before you joined us, Professor?’ Harding asked, handing him a waterskin.

He took it gratefully, ignoring the use of his academic title. He’d decided the better way to encourage the team’s acceptance was to allow them all to call him what they felt comfortable with.

‘I’ve rarely left the Necropolis,’ he explained, ‘but I have been to Orlais. That was decades ago, however, and not far over the border. Not enough to notice the difference in any case.’

‘I wouldn’t let an Orlesian hear you say that,’ Harding chuckled.

‘I’ve not been to Orlais,’ Rook mused, turning her head to look at them. ‘Why haven’t we been to Orlais, Harding?’

‘Because Solas had already left by the time we bumped into you,’ said Harding, taking back the waterskien. ‘Besides, Empress Celene was pretty pissed with us on the way out, so best not to go back and poke that dragon.’

‘I know you keep saying you don’t, but you really do know everyone,’ said Rook. ‘The Empress of Orlais,’ she started, holding a finger up, ‘the King and Queen of Ferelden, Magister Pavus, the White Divine, the Inquisitor, Lady Morrigan.’

‘Bar for Ellana, Cassandra and Dorian, I don’t know them, know them,’ countered Harding, ‘and besides I’ve never actually met the Empress, that was all Varric.’

‘Figures,’ said Rook, before she turned her attention to Emmrich. ‘See, she likes to play it down, but Harding had mingled with the high and mighty of Southern Thedas. Closest I’ve got was an arranged betrothal to the fourth son, of the fourth son of the forty-third irgend etwas Baron Van Markham,’ Rook lamented. ‘As a senior necromancer, Emmrich, you must have met some of the great and good of Nevarra? Or at least embalmed them.’

‘Rook,’ he admonished, but his thoughts snagged on the small tidbit of information she had just revealed. Harding’s lack of response was also telling.

‘Ignore her,’ laughed Harding. ‘She likes to tease her friends.’

‘Bit rich coming from Miss ‘anything-you-talk-about-beginning-with-N-makes-you-sound-fancy’,’ Rook bickered back.

Harding shook her head, but there was little doubt as to the fondness the pair felt for each other. Rook had turned her face back to the sun, and drawn one leg up so her knee was close to her chest, holding it in place as she stretched the muscles there.

‘You know, I can’t tell if she actually expects you to answer that or not,’ Harding mused after a moment. ‘Is it normal for members of the Mourn Watch to be interested in who each other embalms? What is embalming?’

Emmrich felt a surge of sympathy for the dwarf. Her eyes were so curious but their last conversation around the practices of the Mourn Watch and the dead had not gone well. Rook was now holding her other leg to her chest, while turning her head away from them both, but he could easily imagine her biting down on her lip as she suppressed laughter.

‘Some Watchers like to gossip about the new inhabitants of the Necropolis,’ Emmrich eventually replied, mustering all the dignity his position afforded him. ‘But it isn’t encouraged. As for embalmment, it is one of the many practices we use to care for our dead.’

Harding gave a nervous chuckle, holding up her hand to indicate she didn’t want to know more but Emmrich’s attention was back on Rook. She was facing the sun again. Tension had clustered around her lips and eyes, her skin paler than it had been moments earlier. Sweat had beaded above her brow.

‘I thought you said you hadn’t been hit,’ Emmrich said, his tone more accusing than he intended, moving towards Rook to examine her more closely.

Rook opened her eyes, and gingerly pushed herself off the boulder. His words had prompted Harding to look concerned then began digging through her pack.

‘I wasn’t,’ she said, pressing her hand to her ribs, wincing slightly. ‘I twisted badly getting out of Taash’s way. She was charging in my direction, and for a moment, I thought she was Antaam. When I realised, well,’ she shrugged, wincing even more, bending over slightly. ‘I didn’t think she’d want a face full of my shield.’

‘Hardly the best way to make a good impression on our new associate,’ Emmrich agreed as Harding fished out a healing potion.

‘Last one of this batch,’ she said, offering it to Rook.

The Reaper took it gratefully, unstoppering it and gulping it down, holding back a grimace at the flavour. A bit of colour returned to her cheeks and she smiled at Harding as she handed back the empty flask. Emmrich watched her for a moment, realisation dawning; Rook could have healed herself on the battlefield. Alongside their renowned understanding of hexspells and wardweaves, Reapers could draw on the life forces of their enemies, weakening them while converting that power into a personal source of healing. She hadn’t done it. He remembered her telling him that the others forgot she was a Necromancer. He felt a strange, softness curl around him for their leader. That she would rather allow her team to see her as normal, or at least non threatening, than use magic to heal herself was quite remarkable, if foolish. She quirked her lips up in a gentle expression as if she understood the direction of his thoughts.

Heavy footsteps heralded the return of Taash, a bag carelessly slung over her shoulder. Rook schooled her expression to one of welcome.

‘Ready?’ She asked, bending down to pick up her chest piece and shield, wincing even more as she moved.

Emmrich beat her to it, picking up the heavy breast plate and leather strap attached to her shield. ‘Allow me.’

Her eyebrows flicked as he shouldered her shield. ‘Be my guest.’

--//-*-\\--

It had been years since Emmrich had last pulled Hubers Fundamentals of Healing from a bookcase. It was considered first year reading due to its broad look at anatomy, how to mix basic healing potions and simple spells for rejuvenation. He’d not had a need of it for years because he had not found himself facing a living patient since his twenties. However, he couldn’t just stitch the damage together in the same way he would a cadaver. Living tissue needed a different sort of care.

He would need to establish which of the muscles Rook had damaged although based on where she had been pressing her hand and the slight change in her gait, Emmrich would have diagnosed it as the latissimus dorsi being strained. At worst, the serratus posterior. Either way, Harding’s potion would hardly be enough to stave off the pain for long. Nor was it capable of the accelerated healing needed to get Rook back on her feet.

Beside him, Manfred ground the herbs Emmrich had instructed him to work with while the reagent simmered under a low flame. Glancing in the mortar, Manfred was close to finished so he put the book aside and pulled a small bottle from one of the many drawers under the desk. He held it to the light, a slightly viscous liquid curled towards the stopper. He wrapped his hand around it to warm the bottle then after a moment unscrewed it to extract a couple of drops to add to the reagent. With his gloved hand, he picked up the bottle at its neck and swirled it until it took on a pink hue with a swirl of smoke.

‘The herbs, Manfred,’ he instructed as he placed a funnel in the bottle neck.

He tipped the mixture in, swirling it again, channeling some magic with a twist of his fingers until the mixture glowed a silvery grey akin to Rook’s eyes. Emmrich placed it back on the stand to heat it back through while dismissing Manfred. His assistant had found his own fascination with the Lighthouse, and so long as he stuck to the main building, Emmrich allowed him to explore when he had no need of him.

When the mixture reached a bubble Emmrich began to tidy away, placing his books back and using cleansing spells to clean his equipment. A faint pop alerted him to the potion being ready. With additional care, he decanted the contents through a straining cloth, carefully mixing more healing evocation as the liquid dripped through into the new container.

While it was a potion best drunk warm, he paused for a moment to scrub his fingers and nails clean so it could cool enough to be drinkable.

He’d never visited Rook’s rooms before but he hadn’t failed to notice the corridor was next to his own. The rest of the Lighthouse was quiet. While Taash had taken the room beside the other side of the staircase, Harding had taken it upon herself to introduce the Qunari to the rest of the team in the kitchen. Not that Emmrich particularly cared if anyone saw him go to Rook’s rooms; she certainly visited him often enough.

She was expecting him, having suggested she rest while he produced this potion so he took the liberty of knocking then pushing the door open without waiting for a reply stepping into a cool, low lit room. She was led across her couch on her stomach, head cushioned by her folded arms with a breathing pattern that suggested she could be close to sleep. He stepped in and closed the door, eyes wandering over her domain, becoming captivated by the aquarium.

Occupying what should have been the outside wall, it seemed to stretch on, impossible but for the fact they were in the Fade. The Lighthouse was truly a marvel.

‘Pretty amazing, isn’t it,’ said Rook, alerting him to the fact that he had managed to cross the room without thought. ‘I don’t know how it works - if it’s projected or like Harding’s planets, and sort of semi there.’

Emmrich turned, her eyes looked silvery in the swirlingblue light of her room.

‘I made you that tonic,’ he said, holding it up because he needed to remember why he was there. ‘If I could examine your back as well? A healing spell should help it along nicely.’

Rook blinked, still for a moment then nodded her head. He placed her tonic on the table close to her head then knelt beside her.

‘I’ll have to lift your shirt,’ he said, hand hovering over the hem.

She responded with a small wiggle, freeing an arm to lift her shirt, revealing her back all the way up to the midpoint. Unlike her hands, and her face, Rook’s back was marred with a raised lightning flower scar. Dark skin rose in ridges from a point of origin hidden by her trousers and continued under the hem of her raised shirt in the direction of her right shoulder. Emmrich’s fingers flexed involuntarily. Then he placed his bare hand down close to her spine where there was evidence of bruising. He pressed down with his thumb to feel the lines of muscle below her skin. Rook blew out a soft, painen whimper. He flattened his hand across the injury, attempting to ignore the way his fingers fit between each of her ribs. Trying to ignore how warm her skin was. How soft, despite the ridges of scaring. He focused on channeling a silent healing spell through himself into her. Calling on Spirits of Faith and Compassion to lend him, and by extension, her, their aid. The magic spread from his fingers in a warm blue glow. Tension drained from Rook’s body and the next soft breath contained a note of relief. A soft smile lifted on her face.

‘You should still take the tonic,’ he told her, lifting his hand away and sliding her shirt back into place, trying to move at a normal pace caught between wanting to linger in the moment and escaping it. ‘How did you get that scarring?’

Rook rolled over, turning enough to reach the tonic and knocked it back. ‘Pride demon,’ she said, ‘when we were trying to get to Solas’ ritual.’

She returned to her stomach as he got to his feet. Still fighting the urge to gaze at her, Emmrich turned his attention to the aquarium, grateful at having somewhere else to look. But he could still feel her gaze on him as if some inexplicable thread of the Fade connected them; the residual energy of the healing spell.

‘You want to study it, don’t you?’ She asked, yawning as she spoke. ‘Be my guest.’

He turned to answer her, but her eyes were closed, breathing even and he wondered if he had dreamt her words. Emmrich watched her for a moment, the trust she had just extended to him swirling a warm rush in his chest. He wondered what it would be to explore the expanse of her back; tracing the scars with his fingertips; following delicate ridges of her spine with his lips and mapping the valleys between her ribs where his fingers had effortlessly rested moments before. Would she sigh in contentment under his ministrations? Or something else entirely. Something needy?

He was too old for such things. Now anyway. And he had a path forged that could not afford to include an unexpected dalliance. Particularly if that dalliance still had potential ties to a former intended. Rook had not elaborated on the outcome of her betrothal, although the lack of a ring indicated it had not resulted in marriage. Not yet, at least.

And still, he could not keep his eyes off her.

Emmrich closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with a steadying breath, reminding himself of how close he was to the end of his life’s work. His grand finale in touching distance. When he opened them again, his eyes landed on a patchwork blanket that he couldn’t entirely be certain was there before. After shaking it out, he draped it over her, his last sight of her snuggling into folds of fabric with another soft smile on her lips.

--

Author Notes:

Translations -

irgend etwas - Something or other (also, anything)

From the earliest stirrings of canon about Nevarra, the indication was that this was a Germanic coded culture, and as I was writing the segment where I added this, I felt it would work quiet well if Rook actually did drop into Nevarran, in the same way Lucanis drops into Antivan. Luckily, English is a Germanic Language as well, and the flow of the sentence ended up being better for using German in this context.

-- --

A note on Reaper's being able to heal themselves - in-game, at lvl 20 you get 'Spirit Storm', the Reaper ultimate ability that applies 'Siphon' to enemies, which converts their damage into healing. Rook not using the spell at this point in the fic is a little nod to the fact that I'm rarely at lvl 20 when I hit this point in the game, but it's also playing to the theme wherein Rook has admitted that the rest of the team seem to forget she's a Necromancer, and in this chapter, it becomes ragingly apparent to Emmrich that she has not been using her most powerful magics in front of the team because it would scare them. Within the DA universe, Necromancy is a strange one, because it's one-part spirit mage, one-part blood mage and one-part death mage, and shake until combined. From my PoV, 'Spirit Storm' and anything else that using siphoning effects is the proper terrifying Necromancy that Thedosians should be afraid of, not Emmrich raising corpses and channeling the spirits.

[thebookworm0001]

Overheard in the Rotunda - Banter update

A prompt from @roseategales "solas and leliana (and perhaps inquisitor) talking about orlesian bards?"

Summary: Solas and Leliana discuss Bards and the Inquisition.

Link: AO3

Solas: Before you traveled with the Hero of Ferelden, you were a Bard, were you not?

Leliana: It was why Most Holy made me her Left Hand. She needed someone who could do the things she could not, and whom she could trust. 

(cont. under cut)

Solas: Of course. It would not do for the divine to be seen with blood on her hands, after all. 

Leliana: And you have no blood of your own you wish to be clean of?

Leliana: The Most Holy is a symbol of peace. To see her strained would be to tell all the people of Thedas that their hopes of a better world are impossible. That not even the Maker’s Chosen can escape violence in the end.

Solas: And yet your Andraste waged war. And was made a martyr for her efforts. It would seem to me that those chosen by the Divine are by their very nature doomed to violence.

Leliana: Is a peasant working the field served by that knowledge? When met with an injustice of stolen chickens or ruined crop, is it better that he look to a better or baser nature?

Leliana: The Divine does what she must to keep the peace across all Thedas. If a subtle knife slipped between the ribs of a nagging lay sister is what prevents the common people of Ferelden or Orlais from taking up arms against their neighbors at every imagined slight, then I shall be glad to have served as that implement. 

Solas: You had great faith in Justinia’s cause.

Leliana: You disapprove.

Solas: No. It was not a judgment, merely an observation. 

Solas: The means of those whom we admire are so rarely as righteous as we wish them to be.

Solas: I hope your Divine was worthy of your trust.

--

Solas: A question, Lady Nightingale: Why not engage Bards in the service of the Inquisition? 

Lelaina: You think I do not? I shall have to complement my agents on their subtly, then.  

Solas: I am certain you have employed those with Bardic skills, many of the best even. But their talents are best used to intimidate nobility by their possibility.

Solas: Bards are consummate performers. Skilled in the arts of entertainment and murder and feared perhaps even more than the Crows of Antiva. Their ability to woo, inspire, and dishearten is the stuff of legends. 

Solas: Why levee such a force only against the Orlesians? A less obscure employment may be of use.

Leliana: An interesting opinion for an apostate to hold, Messere Solas.

Solas: Even wandering apostates know of a Bard’s reputation. And the opinion of the masses holds more sway than any ruler would dare admit. Would it not benefit the Inquisitor for her to be seen commanding such a force?

Solas: Would Ferelden’s peasantry not be captivated by the romanticism? Nevera’s leaders not made curious by the development? Antiva’s assassins compelled to consider the new power in its borders?

Solas: You say that the Divine is a symbol, is not the Inquisitor also? As precarious as her position is, should we not press every advantage to command those attentions? 

Leliana: An interesting proposal. 

Leliana: I shall consider it.

--

Solas: Your agent betrayed you, yet you did not neutralize them? From the rumors, I had assumed you would not let such a slight go unanswered. Why allow such a vulnerability to remain.

Leliana: The Inquisitor stayed my hand.

Solas: Ah. The Inquisitor is a merciful woman. It is an admirable trait. But for what must be done, I worry that perhaps she hands out forgiveness too easily.

Leliana: Perhaps. I have wondered as much myself. Our enemies will not pause because we stay our hand.

Leliana: But perhaps she may yet prove that a better way is possible.

[operative-arrow]

"So this one time, somewhere around 20-something years ago, in Orzammar. A lady was down on her luck. Mining caste, fairly respected. But she fell prey to one of the Thaig's oldest stories. She fell in love with some casteless asshole.

At least she thought it was love. He was playing the caste lottery. Wanted a daughter. She had a baby. But according to Orzammar, the baby was a boy. Which meant that he was casteless like the father. Not mining caste like the mother. Useless to the duster who just wanted to go up a few spots in life.

So he disappears. Probably gets offed by carta or something. Maybe he gets eaten by spiders or darkspawn trying to loot an old Thaig somewhere. Not important.

The mom gets thrown out. How dare she embarrass her House by getting trapped with a worthless child like that, right? Worthless to the dad, a shame to the family. Only person in all of Thedas who gave a shit about this runt was the mom. 'Throw it in the Deep Roads and come home.' That was her dad's demand. He thought he loved her and that was the best advice he could give her. The kid wasn't even a person, according to Orzammar. But the mom loved the baby and refused. So she found herself down with the dusters the father wanted to escape. Begging for any little bit that might come her way.

But then- and I shit you not, in walks a Grey Warden. Not just ANY Grey Warden, either. He was an exiled Aeducan! You might have heard of him. Kind of a big deal. I don't know how he got involved at all, but he actually managed to convince the grandpa to let her come home with the baby. Said they'd figure something out.

So the mom is grateful to the Warden Aeducan. Says 'Oh thank you, when my son is old enough I will send him to you!' Like a... Knight in their service sorta thing. This kid's whole life is already set for them, practically before they can even make their first baby noises.

But they figured if they couldn't find the Hero, joining the Wardens like them might be the closest thing to honoring the pledge. So they marched all the way to the Anderfels to join. The coolest thing of all?

So this kid has kind of a shitty childhood in ol' Orzammar, but eventually they're 16 and that's close enough for anyone who cares. So they get sent out of the Thaig to find Warden Aeducan, the Hero of Fereldan. And the world has been kind of messed up. So they had a really hard time actually ... doing that. For a couple years. Eventually though, it became clear the Hero had kind of... Disappeared.

I was that baby!-

What do you mean it was 'obvious'? You're full of shit Recruit Ga- Yes, Warden Thorne. No, Warden Thorne.

*long sigh*

'Your Warden Recruits have better things to do than fight each other. Focus on the Darkspawn. Focus on the task ahead of us, and joining the Order.'

Yes, Warden Thorne."

-(then) Recruit Rhyo

[defira85]

I'm looking forward to finding out to what extent Solas can be interacted with by other characters in Veilguard or if it's just lucky old Rook getting haunted

Because I desperately want to write a fic once the game is out where Corinne gets word of what's happened and the Veilguard team looking up from breakfast when a rift opens and out steps the Lady of Skyvale herself, the Spirit of Thedas, just casually stepping into their hidden Lighthouse like it's no big thing

And trailing behind her are 4 young girls of varying ages under ten, bouncing excitedly, and she walks straight over to Solas' cage and sits in front of it and is like "so. Hi best friend. I've got people for you to meet - this is my eldest, she's very excited to finally meet her godfather, very disappointed that you didn't make an effort to meet her before now :/ this is my second, I was pregnant with her when you stole my arm, I was really worried the overload of magic would hurt her but she seems okay, but it would have really helped to have had my BEST FRIEND :[ there to help me recover and also to make sure the baby was safe. And these are my twins, they're both Dreamers, it would have been REALLY FUCKING HELPFUL if their GODFATHER could have been FUCKING AVAILABLE to help because Solas. Solas. Do you know what it's like trying to deal with toddlers who are Dreamers. Solas. You can't get away from me Solas, stop pressing yourself up against the back wall and SAY HELLO TO YOUR GODDAMN GODDAUGHTERS-"

Harding is the only one brave enough to actually try and pull her away from the cage

[daitranscripts]

Josephine Conversation

Post-game

Josephine Masterpost Related Quest: Doom Upon All the World

Choice dependent dialogue:

Leliana Divine [1]

Cassandra Divine [2]

Vivienne Divine [3]

1 - Leliana Divine Josephine: Leliana knows the Game. She’ll move the Chantry forward while quelling the fears of the faithful. And I only feel pity for those who might try to depose our former spymaster by force.

Dialogue options:

General: Does she need our help? [4]

General: Who’d make the attempt? [5]

General: I don’t. [6]

4 - General: Does she need our help? PC: Should the Inquisition offer Leliana its protection? Josephine: It’d be more imposition than useful. Or misinterpreted as a struggle for power. It’s best Leliana arrange things herself. [7] ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ 5 - General: Who’d make the attempt? PC: Is anyone stupid enough to send assassins after her? Josephine: Any initial opposition will be subtle, but I doubt it will last. [7] ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ 6 - General: I don’t. PC: Dealing with one dean Divine was difficult enough. Josephine: We shouldn’t overly worry ourselves, Inquisitor. [7]

7 - Scene continues.

Josephine: After so much warring, even the most seasoned players of the Game yearn for change. Sister Leliana will bring about interesting times. Scene ends.

2 - Cassandra Divine: Josephine: So Lady Pentaghast will take the Sunburst Throne. Cassandra will guide the Chantry back to what she considers its roots, curbing its worst excesses. She will be an unusually forthright Divine, however.

Dialogue options:

General: She’ll do what’s right. [8]

General: This’ll be fun to watch. [9]

General: We need action. [10]

8 - General: She’ll do what’s right. PC: Cassandra wants what’s best for the people and the Chantry. Josephine: There have been Divines far less suited to the position, and few can deny the conviction of her faith. [11] ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ 9 - General: This’ll be fun to watch. PC: I can’t wait to see how Cassandra takes to leadership. Josephine: I’ve no doubt she will lead, Inquisitor. [11] ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ 10 - General: We need action. PC: The Chantry needs a leader who can crack the whip like she can. Josephine: There have been Divines far less suited to the position, and few can deny the conviction of her faith. [11]

11 - Scene continues.

Josephine: I wish her well. She has no easy task ahead. Scene ends.

3 - Vivienne Divine: Josephine: Elevating the first enchanter to the throne of the Divine was a bold decision. If she can quell unrest, Lady Vivienne will hold more power than any mage in southern Thedas. May I pass on an observation?

Dialogue options:

General: Always. [12]

General: That is why you’re here. [13]

General: I can handle Vivienne. [14]

12 - General: Always. PC: Please do. [15] ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ 13 - General: That is why you’re here. PC: It’d be foolish not to listen to my ambassador. Josephine: May that serve you well. [15] ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ 14 - General: I can handle Vivienne. PC: Our new Divine remembers the Inquisition it a force to be reckoned with. Josephine: Indeed she does. [15]

15 - Scene continues.

Josephine (high approval with Vivienne): I realize you and Madame Vivienne had become friendly, Inquisitor. But I wonder how she’ll reshape the Chantry. You may recall her views are somewhat… conservative, on these matters.

Josephine (low approval with Vivienne): Despite your clashes with Lady Vivienne, it is obvious that she respects you. Do not mistake that to mean she fears you.

Josephine (neutral approval with Vivienne): It would be judicious to remind her that she acquired the mantle of Most Holt through service to the Inquisition. Gratitude in Val Royeaux only extends so far. Scene ends.

—

Post-game greetings

Romanced:

Josephine: It’s so good to see you.

Josephine: Hello my darling.

Josephine: A fine day, isn’t it?

General:

Josephine: Well met.

Josephine: Hello, again.

Josephine: A fine day, isn’t it?