#dragon age inquisition

[kittyoperas]

Witch of the Wilds.

[bara-izu]

Inquisitor 🤝 Rook Adopting a spirit as their son

+ Bonus ones, more specific to Nefrin and Rion

[pocket-solas]

With a harsh movement, Elgar'nan parried Lavellan's blow and wrapped his long fingers about the slender column of her neck. He dragged her forward, his putrid breath sickly hot against her face as his cold eyes appraised her.

With a terrible cry, Solas unleashed a torrent of energy on the wouldbe god. Solas' magic hit him square in the chest, the force of the Dread Wolf's anger knocking the wind from Elgar'nan's lungs. He released Lavellan, her body falling and to the ground where she twisted and rolled to her feet.

Solas now stood between her and Elgar'nan. The latter's gaze narrowed in shrewd understanding.

"What a fascinatingly lovely creature, even for a mistake." The blighted god leered from her to Solas. "Tell me, Fen'harel, do you feel more akin to god or wolf when you have her on her knees?"

Solas replied in a tone of deadly calm, though his anger rippled off him in palpable waves. "You're going to die today, Elgar'nan. All memory of you will disappear. Eradicated and forgotten. I will see to it."

I am toying with making a chapter...where Lavellan and Solas fight together with Rook and co against Elgar'nan...cause that should have happened in game ngl

[necromosss]

yeah ykw i get why Felros & Solas hate each other now. ironically I kept jumping in Veilguard too (to get that GROUND STAB thing). Rogues man, rogues.

no honestly, I did this everytime just to waste some time and anger my companions out haha

[wetsocksinbed]

Solas being in the Fade in Inquisition: oh my goodness this is the Fade! I’ve never physically been here before! Look at it! It’s so beautiful! Inquisitor come and look at this!

Solas being in the Fade in Veilguard: WHEN I GET OUT OF THIS FUCKING PLACE

[aesthetic-queen-of-trash]

I'd HATE to live anywhere in Thedas. Every few years some fuck shit is going down.

[sweeetestcurse]

Scenery in Dragon Age: Inquisition 20/??

[andrastes-flaming-arse]

he couldn’t play the Game to save his life. it isn’t chess; it doesn’t compute.

The implications of the Inquisitor romancing Cullen is actually really funny if you think about it.

Like here is Orlais vying for gossip and scandal and lo and behold - a Fereldan man of no title or renown is apparently romantically involved with the Inquisitor and is the literal Commander of their army. That looks atrocious from the outside. What is he, some kind of upstart? I can only imagine the Orlesian court envisioning Cullen as this suave Casanova who is sleeping his way to the top and manipulating some of the most powerful people in Thedas to get where he is and when they meet him he’s literally just some guy.

“He’s using the Inquisitor to gain rank” and it’s a man that runs away from women and can’t flirt to save his life. Yeah that’s the master game player guys

[dilapidatedanchor]

From this

To THIS

We won chat

[angrykittybarbarian]

A list of things that bother me about Dragon Age: The Veilguard:

!Beware of spoilers if you want to go into this game blind!

Word of advice: I truly think that it is better however to play this game fully informed or else you are in for a big shock.

The dialogue feels artificial.

What do I mean by that? From what I have observed the dialogue between Rook and the companions is unnatural. This expresses itself in lack of emotional expression or too much of the same in an unfitting situation. But for the most part it's the first resulting in the companions never being truly mad at Rook nor expressing such feelings towards them whatsoever. Instrad the dialogue seems to function like a simplified explanation of things and events around you to make sure you understand properly and don't get fancy ideas like interpreting a situation through your own personal lense and take away an understanding the devs did not explicitely want you to have.

The game has strange priorities in terms of exposition.

The game has companions and NPCs either state the obvious in a slow and clear pronounciation or doesn't give necessary background info at all.

For instance it has the Veiljumpers state that Arlathan Forest is dangerous as multiple members of their organization are being carried away and injured, as if the player wouldn't conclude this fact by, I don't know, engaging with the game? At the same time it doesn't provide who these Veiljumpers are exactly and how they know of Solas and the true character of the Evanuris as these facts are not common knowledge among the people of Thedas.

Rook and Varric seem to have an established history but we never get to see how they met and what they did together. We don't get to build our relationship with Varric as Rook like we did as Hawke or the Inquisitor. We have to pretend it's magically there.

Which brings me to my next point: the game doesn't care for established lore and replaces it with a nonsensical version

Said Veiljumpers, including Bellara, consist almost entirely of dalish elves who have an extensive lore surrounding their pantheon, religious ohilosophies and principles. Their gods are the Evanuris, also called the creators. Elgar'nan is the Allfather in this pantheon while Ghilan'nain is the Mother of Halla in dalish tradition. This should have lead to conflict with Rook who is fighting these very gods. Instead the elves seem the accept the fact without second thought.

The same goes for Davrin who somehow identifies Ghilan'nain as the Mother of all Monsters while it remains unclear from where he takes his information.

On the flip side human Andrastianism doesn't seem to play a role at all. The game does not explore what rise of the elven gods means for the belief in The Maker. The human companions don't comment on it either and the templars have seemingly vanished.

The Antaam are waging an expansionist war without command from the Arishok now. Despite the Qun being a highly disciplined doctrine that values firmly set roles and chain of command above all else, the entire qunari military arm is somehow able to act without order and war amongst themselves.

But wait, there is a word for Qunari who behave like this already established. Tal Vashoth! So the game is basically claiming the entire qunari military went rogue.

The Antivan Crows, hitmen for hire, who buy kids from the slave market to raise them to be obedient killers and use trorture to reach this goal and are willing to kill said members if they go rogue or mess up a job, are the good guys now who protect Antiva's streets from harm.

Ferelden and Orlais got swallowed by the blight and whoever rules Orlais got assassinated by the Venatori anyway which renders the entire questline of Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts pointless.

And appearantly Morrigan slept around a lot now and Shaper Valta from the Decent dlc has become a statue in Kal Sharok?

The devs lied about previous choices not mattering

It becomes clear that the devs may have had a certain world state in mind when writing the story. This becomes clear when Harding talks about the Inquisition's spymaster being Charter but also mentioning Leliana. But we all know Leliana was the spymaster. So if the position fell to Charter there must have happened something that forced Leliana out of the position, like being named Divine for instance?

This impression is further cemented by the attitude of the First Warden towards the Inquisitor. It was stated that the First Warden had no high opinion of the Inquisitor. But why? They never met before. Could it be that the First Warden could be holding a grudge because of a specific decision made at Adamant, possibly the banishment of the wardens by the Inquisitor?

This is not even complete as I have not finished the game yet. But lord, this is a lot already in the beginning. At this point a miracle needs to happen to to render the points above meaningless but it isn't going to happen.

[humpi]

Feeling guilty for mistakes...? -> !!! spoilers for datv or just my thoughts: I haven't completed the game yet, but I've already recognized three of Solas' memories. And I'm just crying. I feel so bad! I'm so sorry that he had to go through all this. I still don't know what will happen to him at the end of datv…. I'm just terrified of the thought: what if he dies!? I do not know if this will happen. But these thoughts are already causing me physical pain...

[cryptidcrone]

foaming at the mouth over this absolute byzantine mess of a woman

thinking so so hard about vivienne's defensive reactions to dorian and cassandra trying (and failing) to comfort her over bastien's passing. chewing on it. thinking about her inability to talk about bastien, even to an inquisitor when the player tries to talk to her about him.

and then her banter with blackwall, who is one of the companions she has a mostly negative dynamic with, yet it is him and not dorian or cassandra that she responds kindly to.

blackwall doesn't dance around it or try to lessen the blow of bringing it up like dorian and cassandra do, and i think she appreciates that directness. she still doesn't open herself up to him, though. she is so,,, agh

[lillianmaydraws]

In the end

[abyssal-ilk]

thinking about a worldstate with vivienne as divine, the inquisitor as her right hand, and cole as her left. that is all.

[euniysu]

ah found my old old cullen/dorian wedding designs

i still like these, even if they are a mess.

[bookerwrites]

oh my god this is SO GOOD!

Fellchaser

Hi my sweets, I bring to you some freshly baked Solavellan yearning. Also posted on Ao3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕

This is how he remembers it, the first night Solas knew that he loved her. 

He cannot say with any certainty, after all these lonely years, what had happened directly before or directly after, cannot make out the finer details in the grand tapestry of things. But he knows by heart the shape of that hour, the way she had come to him after a victory, flushed with wine and the chill of the evening, her hair curling up in the damp autumn air.

*****

He declines, as he always does, their invitations for a celebratory drink, preferring the relative quiet and solitude of his own quarters.

For many hours, he can hear them– Bull and Sera and the rest– their cheerful noises bouncing off the castle walls like skipping stones. It annoys him for a time, disturbs his solitude, his study, until he hears (or thinks he hears) her voice among them. 

Solas can picture her then, in the tavern. Bright mind, bright eyes, bright laughter. Vibrant even in the dimness of the room. And there’s a flicker of a thought he can’t keep smothered– that he should’ve gone down there with her, despite his judgment. 

It makes no matter how he tries to keep his distance. She seeks him out, as she always does, as he knows she will. When he doesn’t stop her, he tells himself that it’s because she’s their Inquisitor. He tells himself she can go where she likes, that duty alone compels his counsel. 

He knows a lie when he hears one. 

He’s nearly talked himself into making an appearance when she shows up in his doorway, hazy and loose with the aura of drink, the tips of her ears and her cheeks turned rosy. 

He does nothing to discourage her entering. He says nothing to send her away. 

“Hello,” she says simply, when he sees her. Her head tilts against the frame, her gaze fond and unfocused.

“Hello.”

“You never joined us.” An accusation. Lightly leveled, lightly slurred. The syllables tumble in her mouth like stones in a river.

He wants to say, I could not bear you being so close and sweet and real. He wants to say, You are a distraction I cannot afford.  Instead he says, “I was preoccupied,” knowing that answer is insufficient.

She makes her way into the chamber, weaving an unsteady path to the table where he has laid out all his books, his quills, his ink. 

“With what?” she murmurs, curious even in her state.

Solas knows he should excuse himself, conjure a reason to stay at a distance. But he finds himself wanting to– what? Talk to her, tell her, keep her close?

“Translating a record,” he says at last. “Of ancient practices in Arlathan. Ritual offerings to the gods in exchange for their…favor.”

Solas stumbles on the last word, something bitter in its taste, and where she would normally probe him further she takes no notice. She’s busy poring over the largest book, its contents all in Elvhen, the ink and vellum faded by the centuries. “I can’t make out any of this,” she frowns. “Perhaps I’m worse off than I thought.” “Perhaps,” Solas huffs out a laugh. “Although the language has shifted with time. Some words may yet be familiar, if not–”

“Oh, here!” She gasps delightedly when she finds a phrase she knows, though she says the syllables slowly, as if they are new. “Sa-lath. One’s love, one’s only love. Something like that.” 

“In the modern parlance, yes. But here,” he says– and he leans over her to tap the page for emphasis– “Here it means something like ‘beloved.’ The words come together, see. Salath.”

It’s the wine he smells first, that rich, warm scent that floats from her up close, but there’s something different, something distinctive hiding beneath. He wants to taste it and find out, to slip his tongue into her mouth, and– 

“They would offer something beloved, then?”

Solas clears his throat.

“Or someone,” he nods, breathing deeply. “A high price for favor.”

She goes quiet for a moment, tracing the small shapes of the letters with her finger. Such a fine movement is made imprecise by the drink, but she repeats it as if she is carving it into her memory. “Salath,” she whispers, tasting the word. “Salath, ‘beloved.’ I will remember that.”

He very much doubts that she will, come morning. But it stirs something inside him all the same. Beloved, beloved.  

“What would you demand?” She says, sweeping the thought from his mind. “If you were a god.”

If, he thinks, that one word louder than all the rest. 

“I suppose it would depend what was being asked of me.”

“Your favor,” she tells him. “Your love.”

“Ah.” There’s a twist in his chest, like an arrow wrenched free, pain and relief all at once. “The heart of a god is not easily won. I would require yours in return.”

She laughs a little, as if he’s jesting. “That hardly seems equal. A mortal heart for a god’s?”

“Your heart,” Solas says, in a gentle correction. “For mine.” He does not kiss her, like he wants to. He does not stop her kissing him. 

The press of her mouth is a summer fruit, warm and sweet and bruising lightly beneath their wanting, their mutual hunger grown apparent. 

Only once has he kissed her before this. A dream, an impulse, he’d told himself then. A mistake that he wouldn’t repeat, no matter how tempting. 

So he’s grateful, now, that she’s been drinking, that she’s given him an out. He can call this her impulse, even as he takes more, tastes more. He can call this next part chivalry. He knows a lie when he hears one. 

“We can’t,” he says, when they come apart. “You are not yourself, and the hour is late. You should get some sleep.”

She’s disappointed, he thinks– and is it cruel to hope she is? To hope she still wants him as he wants her, even as he turns her away? 

Best not to dwell on it.  

“I will help you upstairs,” he tries again, and she brightens a little. “Can you manage the walk?”

There’s a part of him that wishes she’ll say no, give him an excuse to lift and carry her to her quarters, to feel the weight of her pressed against him. But she says, “Yes,” and, “I’m not so far gone,” and Solas breathes out another laugh. 

He knows a lie when he hears one.

All the same, he takes her hand in his, lets her lean on him as they make the long walk to her quarters, each step its own little feat. She stumbles more than once; more than once, he catches her gently. 

It is worth being gentle for her. 

In her room he removes her boots, knelt at the floor as if an altar. He hardly knows the last time he knelt, only knows that now he wants to.

When he rises she says, “Thank you,” and the following word may be his name, or another entirely. Solas tries to ignore it, tries to let the sound be lost in the lingering silence but he needs to know, as he always does, needs to be certain. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘thank you,’” she hums, laying back on the bed, and this time he leans in close to hear the rest. 

“Salath.” *****

The walk back to his quarters is longer, somehow. 

He thinks of her all the way, her hair in a dark spill across the pillows, the way she rolled the old sounds of his language around in her mouth. He thinks of her when he undresses, when he slips into his own bed, when he indulges in the fantasy of feeling her under and around him. Just this once, he thinks, as his hand begins to move beneath the covers, slow at first and then more desperate. Just this once won’t hurt, won’t hurt, won’t– 

Ah.  

He is in love, he knows it now, as he shudders and gasps out her name. How tragic it is, and how lovely. How foolish, how sweet. His love for her could level cities. It could grow flowers.

A mortal heart for a god’s. Beloved, beloved. 

He imagines what he would sacrifice for her, if he has to, when he has to. The answer surfaces in his mind like something dredged up from unfathomable depths, some unknown factor which demands to be accounted for, and which fills him with dread.

“I would give everything,” he says aloud, to himself, to no one. 

The words hang in the air like ghosts, the same lament in all their mouths.  Beloved, beloved. Tags by request (thank you, angels!): @meg-does-art, @lavellanart