#extravagantliar

[hoboblaidd]

yes we’ve all heard you talking about solas fighting dirty, knife and orb. How did he get back into shape after the big ol nap, did he have to recharge his magic a certain way, did he find relearning anything difficult?

cue the Rocky montage but with a very, very old man.

Whatever ~magic~ keeps their muscles from completely atrophying and their bodies from being one giant ulcer while they sleep for thousands of years aside, when Solas finally woke up he was weak as hell. Like 'walk for five minutes and then sit down' weak. It took him that whole year before Inquisition just to reach the 'twunk' status (pal's word for DAI solas, not mine).

Regaining muscle was both helped and hurt by the modern world. He was incredibly physically active, just because to get anywhere, he had to do a shit ton of walking, and to bring anything, he had to carry it. That helped a lot with endurance. To use magic (see more below), he needed a foci like a staff. He used that for upper body training, and while it was awkward, it helped. So he was constantly moving, lifting, and carrying things which helped to build muscle, albeit a leaner muscle.

The downside is that the nutrition situation sucked. He didn't have money until he found where to steal some (knowing him, he probably had a small cache squirreled away somewhere, but it was ancient currency). He had to eat what he could find, pilfer, or have gifted by nice people. Most of that cheaper and easier to obtain food would be more grains and vegetables than hearty protein. And even when he started to accumulate some coin, he was limited where he could go to eat because he's an elf. So it's tavern stew, bread, and potatoes. The calories were helpful, but it's not a well-rounded diet suited for bulking up after a prolonged period of incapacitation.

The magic was the absolute worst part. Nothing worked like it should, and he had to relearn everything. Magic used to be like breathing for him. With the Veil in place, it was like gasping for breath under water. He used the orb as a foci in the past for bigger things, but here, he needed a staff just to cast the most basic magic. And none of his spells worked the same way - he had to draw from the Veil instead of the Fade directly. He had to be more deliberate with everything. There was none of the elegance of magic we see him use in Veilguard. It felt like he was physically pulling something across the Veil to manifest in the physical world.

It's like how the kids today have 'new math' from those of us who learned it in the stone age. The fundamentals are the same, but the method for getting there was completely different.

It's the most terrifyingly 'human' he's ever felt - stuck in a body that was too heavy, unable to really call on the Fade except in dreams, and able to rely on little more than his wits.

[orxna]

Elisa has given me a serrated knife and I have so many options.

[weptfreedom]

does the idea of justice and morality align for emithas, or does emithas have a point where he will do anything for his loved ones?

I've said before he was raised with the ideal of doing no harm, by people new to physical existence, who became that way through coercion and refused to continue to take part in war.

To go from that into an existence in which most of what he did was harmful without a choice in the matter, well...it changed him. How could it not? How could he hold onto that ideal in such an environment?

Taking on the identity of the Varghest gave him some means of striking back: little, spiteful moments of inconvenience for the tyrants who'd uprooted his life and salted the bare earth.

And the rebellion? to borrow Tas' phrase, it was not civil. It was not bloodless. It was not gentle. They were up against primordial beings of immense, reality-shaping power (Rook's ability to stand against Elgar'nan was the result of a perfect storm scenario, any deviation from that would have meant their failure. I said what I said 🤷) far beyond any of them.

All that to say, ideals are great, but Emithas' lived reality made holding onto them a pipe dream.

does he have a point where he will do anything for his loved ones?

He reaches that point, or as far as he's ever gone, in one endgame scenario. He is desperate. He has tried to reason with Mythal. He has fought her. Neither convinced her. Now, in a highly fraught moment, he bargains, he keeps his word. He uses what's left of her as the anchor that maintains the veil, and it is not done (solely) in order to spare Solas that same fate.

In that moment, Emithas is vengeful.

[extravagantrook]

(extravagantliar)

Part of him sees himself twenty some odd years ago, somehow that is a fright and a comfort all in the same breath. Somehow he's outside of Kirkwall, even though it is days away and he is pretty sure he hasn't been Viscount in ages. There is the need to roll his eyes - yet he doesn't not yet, he's saving that flourish for something greater, something that he must write home over, something he must write all of them over. "Kid." It's firm in a way that reminds him of Aveline from ages ago, of himself, of Bartand, of Anders, and he shakes it all aside, as the excitement overshadows anything he musters. Then there is that groan, the implicit one, met with a hand running down his face, "How - Where did you find a Ferelden Forder..." A Kirkwall variant, meaning it was out of his select circle, meaning it was even more dubious - at best. "No." The answer is and will always be, "No."

"But what if--" They know its a losing battle before the battle has even begun. Hell, there wasn't even a fight, so could it be called a battle? Did he wear white underthings today? He may have to use them to wave their flag of defeat. Well, if they don't soil them from the potentially disapproving groan their favorite dwarf is giving them. Doesn't stop them from flashing a brilliant grin and patting the lovely, most definitely stolen, horse at their side.

"Okay, so I know you have this thing with horses." It's more than a thing, they know. They've seen what happens between Varric and horses. It's worse than Hard in Hightown Three -- typos and crapshitbull characterization aside. Still, when innocents cry for help (or in this case knicker at them all cute like when they unhitch them from a Venatori sympathizers wagon and nudge said wagon down a steep hill) how can they turn a blind eye? Well -- there needs to be a better turn of phrase. "But I think we should keep her. Where would she go? She's--" There's a pause, the patting stops as Asha suddenly stoops to look under their new steed's barrel. "yeah, she -- She's a peach!"

[mercysought]

that thread with Karen makes me want to cry skells and just sit and stare at the wall a lil bit just so you know.

this is about this thread

I feel vindicated that you at least feel a percentile of the pain you, nik and tepid subjected me to two or three days ago :)

[thanatologie]

@extravagantliar - Are there different rights that the necropolis will follow if someone is of a different faith or there were other contextual conditions in which the bones needed to be sequestered ( lyrium )? How does Em feel about that, or is it simply part of his job that he takes seriously? Are there quandaries he has between faith, life and possible death? 

so…i'm gonna put forth what is possibly a controversial opinion here, so bear with me, but i'm gonna go ahead and say that for all that cassandra thinks nevarra is weird (despite being nevarran) and the necropolis is weird (despite, you know, her heavy familial connection to all of it), she's probably just as weird to them as they are to her.  i say this because lbr, cassandra leans heavily into her faith, and while i know nevarra is, on paper, heavily andrastian considering the whole…andraste was captured here! footnote in the travel brochures, i also think - especially where it concerns the mortalitasi and especially the mourn watch - it's largely performative so they're left alone to do their own thing.  

i say this because not once - not a single time, not in any dialogue i have personally found - has emmrich volkarin ever mentioned the maker or andraste in a religious sense and when the whole bit about the golden city came to light in solas's memories not once did he even seem the slightest bit surprised and instead is entirely more excited about the discovery of it all.  it's almost like religion just…doesn't factor into things for him, and you know what.  i don't think it does.  i don't think he's remotely religious in any sense.  this would make me, like.  two for two on atheistic / agnostic characters and i'm getting real tired of finding parallels between emmrich and tony, let me tell you.

anyway, this is something i've been simmering on because while, yes, the soul exists and he knows that (corpse whisperer and all that), i don't think there's any religious component to anything at all for him.  his religion is the ritual and the repetition and the discovery.  science.  his religion is the comfortable predictable unpredictability of science, is what i'm saying.

feels good to clear the air on that one, tbh.

so…when it comes to other belief systems and how they handle things like death / burial / mourning, like.  we actually know how the mourn watch especially treats that!  mostly thanks to the mourn watch being like…weirdly them about things, tbh.  (god, they're so fucking weird, guys, they are so, so weird.)  like first and foremost, emmrich goes out of his way to ask a (non-romanced) rook how they'd like their body to be handled after death.

and-  i just wanna take a sideswerve here to address the elephant in the room:  yes, you and i and a grey warden rook absolutely know they'll get hit with the calling and die in the deep roads.  we know this.  emmrich at this point does not.  emmrich's firsthand knowledge of the grey wardens at this point are the statues in nevarra city of them and their griffons, what little bit he's learned from davrin, and what he saw at weisshaupt, which was a fucking slaughterhouse and he was scared out of his fucking mind (why do you think he's babbling so many questions, babes, he's trying to focus on anything but the carnage around him, which he was not ready for and did not expect to be a part of).  he wouldn't have known about the calling.  he wouldn't have known about the ultimate fate of the wardens.  he lives in a cloistered echo chamber, his exposure to the outside world has been very, very limited up until the point he joins the veilguard.  he doesn't have access to the information we, the player, do.  stomps foot tired of the lololol that's so stupid commentary he doesn't know.

this man is gonna walk away from this whole thing with so much ptsd-

anyway, depending on the response he gives various answers but like.  it's a thing, right, he's already thinking ahead and getting that information together just in case it is left to him to handle rook's body if they die, and he wants to make sure he handles it the way they wish.  in fact, he honestly probably weirded the whole damn team out by asking them all the same question, because it's his moral imperative to see to their bodies after death if they're all in this together, and (especially in the case of rook not being mourn watch - and even they are he's the senior watcher) it'll fall to him to make sure it's done to their wishes, no matter what their wishes are.  as weird as it is, this is a professional kindness he's offering them.  this is literally part of his actual job and he's extremely serious about doing his fucking job.

and it's not like they're not knowledgeable about other cultures and their death practices, because he comments on them literally all the fucking time in his dialogue, because death is his obsession and his special interest.  he mentions the avvar.  he (i fully believe purposely to prove a point - it's a classic dad move honestly) incorrectly assumes the point of ancient qunari funerary vessels to taash (mostly to get them to correct him as to prove the point they know more than they give themselves credit for).  he doesn't understand - on a deeply personal level, why other cultures burn their dead, but he knows they do it, and even if he doesn't agree with it if that was someone's wish for their body, i'm pretty sure he'd fucking do it, as sick as it makes him to do so.

and even the watcher that's overseeing the room bodies of fallen allies are being kept in before the final battle points out that they'll be handled when things are over in the manner of where they're from.  which means if you're from a place that burns your dead, the mourn watch will no doubt erect a pyre and burn the dead.  they have their own beliefs, yes, but they respect the beliefs of other cultures and carry out those beliefs to the best of their ability.

unless you're an intruder in the necropolis, apparently, which.  fair.  that's their ultimate playground and you run the risk of your skeleton being used to sweep sand for eternity if you break in.

with the rest of it…like.  i mean that's his whole thing, right.  torn between life and accepting death, trying to find that get out of death free card with lichdom.  so…secondary unpopular opinion time:  not downplaying his actual thanaphobia at all - it's there, it's real, and it definitely stems from the unresolved trauma of his parents' deaths, he literally says he never dealt with it and it shows - the ultimate problem with emmrich is that he's been so afraid of dying he's never bothered to actually live.  like…he's locked into his little routine before we, the player, go scoop him out of his comfort zone and the enabling of the mourn watch, because routine is safe.  he's not living, not really, but he's falling into that trap of everything just so will keep the bad things away.  he hasn't left nevarra in years.  while that wouldn't be so unusual because necromancers pretty much mostly stay there (no doubt for safety reasons) this is a guy who wants to see what the world has to offer and is so wrapped up in his fear he's hesitated his whole damn life to go out and do it.

like every time he talks about this - wishing he'd traveled, wishing he'd gotten married, etc - to harding it's like he's already lost his chance.  and in his mind, no doubt, he has!  like he's, what, in his early 50s, but the way he talks you'd think he has one foot in the nursing home already despite - as a mage - what could be several more decades of life ahead of him.  like he doesn't still have time to travel (which harding points out he's literally doing right that very second), or to get married, or to have a family (which i'd argue he already does in manfred but that is neither here nor there - point is he's still fully capable of having children and watching them grow to adulthood even without timey wimey mage shit thrown in).

so, long story short, i think the problem here isn't necessarily emmrich's fear of death - lots of people have that fear, in the way he does, and maybe they don't get over it completely but you learn to cope with it, right, make peace with it, and i think he can, too, given the right encouragement and push - it's in reality, emmrich is afraid of living.  and i think that - the regret that he's hesitated on so many steps life can take, having given up so much of what he wants as a daydream - is what's holding him back, making him hesitate when it comes to lichdom.  he hasn't lived, and he knows it, and i think he ultimately regrets that and thinks it's too late to start now (even if it's not).  it's like i've said before:  it's not just manfred that blossoms and grows once the pair of them leave the necropolis, emmrich has the opportunity to find the sort of life he's always wanted, too, if he wants to and he realizes it.

[extravagantwit]

@extravagantliar asked:

Is there a moment that I missed that you regret? Did I look past something? 

"Something you missed?" There's a flash of teeth as mirth seems to warm cold cheeks, pulling his face up in a way it hasn't in a while. "That's a good question." Varric is full of good questions. Bad questions too, but in a good way. So it isn't a bother, not as a familiar staff rattles as he sets it aside, the serrated blade scraping hard against the cool ground. The bloody foci on the staff throbs like a heartbeat, lending unfortunate color to drab surroundings, but he pays it no mind. Not as he wipes imaginary dust away from some ruined pillar before settling into a seat next to the dwarf.

"Well, there was that one time with the Wardens--" He rambles to fill the quiet, as if the quiet was unbearable. Which it was. With them, the quiet was never good. The quiet enveloped all the points of precipice that both knew that there was no return from, for good or for bad. The silence was the inbetween of the words they say and the words they meant. He craves the noise, the hubbub of Low Town and the Hanged Man, and the lack of peace marking every breathing moment of his day. He'd take that again over--

"But Carver probably told you that, didn't he? You two chat a lot for people who can't stand each other." He nudges Varric with his bare elbow, his skin ashy and cracked from a lack of care. It's been a tough few daysmonthsyears for him-- for them. Still, he's laughing to fill the quiet, barking a sound at the silence to make it back up. His hands twitch, antsy and flexing, quietly wishing Cookie was by his side. She would have been all up in Varric's business too, demanding his perfect behind the ear scratches as she drooled and licked at him, just like the girls did to him at the Blooming Rose. The nostalgia sticks to his teeth like pitch and he probs at it, summoning a tooth ache in the process. A physical tether of the memories he can't afford to lose.

"How about the time…" He's looking at his hands as he tells this story, flexing fingers against the armor he hasn't removed in quite some time. The gauntlet is almost an extension of himself, the claws of his other forms permanently overlaid on his human shape. His bare fingers aren't much better -- the pinking of his palms blackened with burns and magic, the nails steeped dark with blood. If he looks too long at himself he reminds himself of the statue back in Kirkwall -- so he doesn't. He looks at Varric instead.

He looks into hazel eyes, picking apart their colors. Here, where so little color likes to settle, they're mostly grey. The memories paint in all the other hues though -- the flashes of orange in the face of burning Hightown, the murky blue-grey as Varric held Bartrend's body, the mournful green-brown as Varric held him as he cried. All swirled together the colors blend into better things, like the stupid grin he would shoot at him after doing a trick shot, or the brilliant surprise when they managed to diffuse the proverbial bomb yet again. He favors the honey-brown of bad ale and quieter nights, tucked away upstairs in the Hanged Man, holding each other like the shit-show wasn't driving them to the brink and back. And that was then-- before all this; before now.

Bare fingers, as terrible as they may be, run along a memorable jaw. He likes the beard, but he misses the stubble. He misses the easy way Varric would roll his shoulders back and start spouting off his bullshit with a wink. He touches scars, the new angle of his nose from yet another break, and down. Following the path of a skin canvas to the newest scar, throbbing with energy and regret, even in this quiet place. He can feel the flinch as he touches, rippling through the body next to him and the air around them, conjuring the memories of the wounds origin. Of an elf, a rook, a dagger, and gods. He closes his eyes, letting it wash over him, letting it settle in his bones as yet another weight. Another burden for him to shoulder-- but he didn't. He hadn't.

He had the letters, the wax seals now disfigured with how many times they had been open and shut on his journey. He had the gaps of time between letters, where the ache of absence threatened to abscess, but he kept the infection at bay. Like many things -- he was good at keeping it at arm's length, just close enough to hurt him, but not put him down for the count. They were both good at that -- usually.

Until they met each other.

"Don't sell yourself short -- you need what little height you got." He grins, teeth jagged like a predator, and the heartbeat of his foci making his bloodied mark flash brighter in the dimness. The mark along his face that makes him impossible to miss, if he could have been missed in the first place. "You didn't miss anything." He knows that will get him a crooked look, something between a smile and scorn, and it makes the weight sink deeper. Like Varric in water, almost.

"Nothing I can't tell you about later." Clawed fingers are scraping along the ruins of a ritual site, collecting his staff, and he's standing. Standing tall, but not proud. Not as he cracks his neck and tugs his beard back into its iconic shape. "Because there will be a later." It's a promise, said without their hands entwined, or without a glass broken between them. "You gotta hold onto that." He's looking out, watching the slice of fade around them morph away from the ritual site and to something more homely. To a bedroom of sorts, with a bed too big for just one dwarf, and a desk too small all at the same time.

He stands aside the bed, looking down at a man whose body was trying to die, but his spirit would not. He touches the stab wound again, watching as real color invades the dimness and passes through the veil, bleeding reality into the world beyond it. Varric is both looking at him and not, with eyes shut before him, but open beside him. "This must be hell for you." Again, the jagged smile, as he looks over at the dreaming apparition next to him. The same apparition that had been the bell that had tolled and summoned the dragon closer, pressing its weight against the barrier between them. "Aren't you glad you got sucked up into the Fade so many times now? Gave you some practice before dreaming." The apparition may swat at him, but he can watch the body twitch-- can see a smile tug at tired lips. The dragon presses harder against the barrier, ignoring the war biting at its flanks, and he presses against the Veil; pressing a kiss to a dreaming, furrowed brow.

"I'll tell you about everything you missed when I'm back. I promise."

[orxna]

I will hurt myself - 🫴

Send 🫴 to place a hand beneath my muse's chin and tilt their head to look at yours || Accepting || @extravagantliar

History doesn't repeat, but it rhymes. Orana thinks that her life isn't so illustrious enough to be considered history. There's no mention of her fierce war with the mice in Fenris' larder, or her unwon battle with Hawke's laundry in any of Varric's books. Not very interesting, not very notable. So, she concludes, things do repeat in her life. It isn't a rhyming couplet, similar but different enough to seem clever. No, it's the chorus of a song, the bit that everyone knows and sings along to even when the verses get fuzzy.

Her Papa dies and Hawke finds her, the woman takes her in and Orana does her best to work hard so Hawke doesn't regret it. At some point though, things slow and she thinks she's almost okay. Then suddenly, on a day that should be fine she is very much not okay. She huddles in the kitchen, squished carefully out of the way between the counters and the dish tub. He has such quiet feet for such a sturdy man, she doesn't even notice Varric's entered the room until a gloved hand enters her peripheral.

"Hey there, kiddo," He's quiet, like he's talking to a spooked kitten and not a teenage elf. Orana can't help her flinch when his fingers brush the side of her face but all he's doing is brushing the hair out of the way. Trying to get a better look at her as his eyes scan her up and down--For any sign of injury she realizes, relaxing every so slightly, "You need some help down there?"

It's years later when her Mama dies and Varric finds her, in another kitchen much larger this time. Skyhold is drafty in the way that is so different than all of the manses she has lived in in her life. The only place that ever seems to truly warm up is the kitchen with it's ever glowing cook fires. She thought coming here would stop the shivering but the elven woman shakes and breathes like a mabari is sitting on her chest.

Quiet, always so quiet when he isn't being purposely boisterous and the center of attention. It's because he's a rogue, she's learned over the years--and because he likes a dramatic entrance but that's the storyteller in him. Orana can appreciate that, subito forte after a long rest is a pleasing dynamic, one that always makes her think of Hawke--

"Hey there, Melody," She doesn't flinch as he carefully brushes the tears away. Her hands come up to grasp at his arm, practically curling around it. He's a good enough sport to kneel down with her even though she can hear his knees creak. His free arm wraps around her shoulder and pulls her in tight, "Come here, I've got you."

There's not kitchen now, so perhaps this time it is a rhyme, or a simile Varric would know. Not that he is awake to be asked, or that Orana has said very much since being brought here at all. The only person she knows well enough rests on a bed covered in bandages that smell like royal elfroot and copper. Orana jumps at every noise she can't see the cause of and constantly searches the room for creatures that could be spying.

She thinks she's gone a little mad, because when it's especially quiet she can still hear Ghilan'nain. Which doesn't make sense of course because the woman is finally finally gone. It's the only reason she could come here at all, without the risk of bringing a goddess upon everyone's heads. Rook is also gone, and Solas now lurks about somewhere with the Shadow Dragons. He tried to speak to her once, Orana had said nothing and only stared hard at the slant of his nose because she didn't want to see what emotion his eyes held.

Otherwise, she has been glued to Varric's bedside. Assisting the healer when she can, fetching water and broth and gently feeding Varric when he's not quite awake but compliant enough to keep it down. Ghilan'nain had called herself Orana's--Sulhan'harel's Mamae near the end. Now she is dead and Varric wheezes in his sleep while Orana sits vigil. She's dozing, when a callused hand slides under her chin and tilts her head so that her loose hair falls out of her face. When she properly wakes from her nap she finds lucid brown eyes staring attentively at the blood writing now carved into her skin.

"Hey there," His voice creaks like his knees, but Orana has never heard anything sound so beautiful in her entire life, "Looks like we've both got some new stories to catch up on."

[weptfreedom]

What is Emithas's position on what to do with the information with the chanty that we learn about through regrets and what Em has found out through the years - I... I mean the class wants to know ( if you have written about this I am dumb )

Ultimately, Emithas is against spreading the revelation of elvhen origin. If he'd known what that specific mural contained, he'd...he's not sure, and neither am I. It remains that he was not taking breaks from his work to sit down and gossip, and was thus unaware til it was too late.

While Corypheus isn't the most reliable narrator, and there's an argument to be made that this is rooted entirely in racism (I don't think it is, not entirely), he does claim that the use of elves in The Infamous Ritual was necessary due to their nature. There is also Elgar'nan abducting a clan to use in strengthening Lusacan, though here, again, this could have purely political motivations. Anyway.

He certainly doesn't like the Chantry (either of them) as a political entity and wouldn't weep to see it weakened, but he has also seen firsthand what people with power can do to others seen as lesser, experienced it himself. He has children. He has grandchildren. He would keep them safe, both from bigotry and from being used the way he was used.

There is no right answer, and it is out of his hands, anyway.

[fearindulgence]

Callout, @extravagantliar is crying because I’m finally going back to the land of Tea and Rain and they waved me off at the TSA check like a little old lady waving their husband off to war.

[extravagantrook]

ky i swear

[mercysought]

What is the idea of grief to the Priestess? Does it change and evolve over their years? If so, is there a focus on why? If not, why does grief seem so obscured for her?

unprompted asks my beloved . @extravagantliar

I think that grief, as someone that once lived in a world where no one really died in the same sense as the modern world does is slightly different but honestly it will likely resonate the same way.

The way I see it each time you change names in ancient elvhenan it has to feel almost like a death in itself right? Death to the life you've lived so far, the person that recognised that name and the sound like your own? And if you are to give up your name for a cause or a God, it is in itself another sort of death. The death of the self to be fully enveloped or to represent something for someone else. It is normal to grieve and even in the military branch of Falon'din (the God of Death and Fortune) she would be very familiar with the practices that surround death, the preparations of departure and of comfort the living that remain. Sure, that was not her main goal or focus, but she was aware of it. There is not a single priest of Falon'din that wouldn't.

There is also the concept of Uthnera and how long that sleep can be. The people you meet after are no longer the same, they have lived through experiences that you slept through. Tthere is the literal death of the body, while the spirit would be released (and walked into the Beyond by Falon'din, the Shepherd and Guide of Souls) and so, technically, never die per se. They just change.

It is, after all, a comfort. The priestess has at some point seen people go through the worst day of their lives multiple times over (either because she caused it or because she was there to provide comfort)

It might be just a limitation of my english but it's hard, for me, to disconnect grief with the concept of fate (and Fado) and so, also, sacrifice. The priestess carries the pain of all the loss that she has seen through the years because it is the only way that she knows how to carry and make them keep living in a world that no longer preserves those souls. In a world where there is no Guide to keep the memories and spirits safe, only memory is safe and she remembers everything. It is different in the single aspect that the priestess until a certain point in Inquisition fully believes she is the last one of her kind and with that comes the responsability of carrying not only her grief but also the memory of what was.

And the loss that the modern elves, the modern world, knows as their reality. Even if they don't know what they have lost, the same way that I cannot grieve the memory and loss of my great great grandfather, I know that there were people that lived then and that felt their loss. In a way, that feeling still lives in me, I just don't know how to name it.

It really isn't something that changes, she carries with her even the names of those she has hated. Those are the ones that if she finds that are still alive that do the most damage because they actively prevent her from healing. Grief can be part of your identity, it can inform who you are and how you see the world, but it shouldn't be all consuming. To carry that weight for so long you just sacrifice so much even when you already have so little.

If the priestess was to the mythologised in the modern day I'm pretty sure she would just be deeply tied to these concepts. Especially sacrifice. There is the literal type of the blood and flesh for the protection of others and herself but also the sacrifice of her own life you know?

[idolbound]

we’ve talked about how Meredith was de facto viscount during her last years which essentially made Kirkwall a military state by default, does Meredith have any qualms with this takeover or was it part of the goal? Or was this simply something that happened in her tenure and through her complicated choices?

@extravagantliar | unprompted.

So, I went ahead and let this one percolate for a bit.

I have no doubt that enforcing martial law with the backing of the Templar Order was a collaborative idea Meredith shared with Grand Cleric Elthina, using the templar forces to enact and maintain it until a suitable replacement Viscount could be found. I argue that this is true as that it is not the first time they’ve had a direct hand in Kirkwall’s politics, nor is it the first time the Templar Order has been used to enforce those decisions.

The main example is from when Meredith was Knight-Captain. During Viscount Threnhold Perrin’s reign, the Templar Order had a strong influence as the largest armed force in Kirkwall at the time. However, Meredith’s predecessor, Knight-Commander Guylian, believed the templars’ domain was solely in the Gallows, and chose to remain political neutral (even though that force could have easily challenged the Viscount for power). However, Viscount Perrin opted to close passage for Orlesian ships through the Waking Sea via Kirkwall, which obviously caused disruptions in trade and other economic dependencies for Orlais. Under pressure from Divine Beatrix III, Knight-Commander Guylian then commanded the templars to force Viscount Perrin to reopen the passage to Orlesian ships. In retaliation, the Viscount hired mercenaries to storm the Gallows; they captured Guylian and publicly hung him. Enraged by this, Meredith as Knight-Captain was able to lead her best templars to march on the Viscount’s estate, determined to exact terrible justice. The City Guard captain tried to protest he knew nothing of the mercenary plot, and asserted that the Viscount had acted unlawfully, and thus, arrested Perrin himself. Perrin’s land and titles were stripped from him and he was thrown into his own dungeon. It was this course of action that allowed Elthina to appoint Meredith officially as the new Knight-Commander and it was Meredith’s “strong suggestion” to put Marlowe Dumar as the new Viscount.

Now, this choice is important here to consider. Rather than hold an election, he was chosen and placed on the throne by Elthina at Meredith’s suggestion and appointment. It is clear that even then, as the new Knight-Commander, Meredith held considerable political power. From the same World of Thedas vol. 2 entry, she was always “there, looking over his shoulder”, and made it quite clear that she was always watching; he wore the crown at “her sufferance.” As a man of only moderate wealth and little influence, she knew she could control him, and there was little he or anyone else could do about – and this was exemplified when Meredith threatened him at his crowning. She presented him with a “carved ivory box”, which made him turn white as a sheet when he opened it. A different entry says that within it, was Perrin’s bloody signet ring; on the inner lid, in her handwriting, was written, “His fate need not be yours.”  This threat made it clear that Dumar could never openly or strongly defy the templars or else he would end up imprisoned like his predecessor. Through his reign, “Meredith’s grip on Kirkwall grew even tighter and Dumar’s failure to act absolutely contributed to the events that led to the mage rebellion.”

So, Elthina and Meredith had a direct hand in choosing Dumar specifically as a spineless puppet on the throne, kept in line by their influence, as aligned with both the Chantry and Meredith’s own personal political wants; Val Royeaux clearly wanted to avoid a repeat incident with regards to the passage of trade and ships, and Meredith herself wanted to have political influence from the very moment she became Knight-Commander, in the interests of the Templar Order and maintaining power and control over the mages.

After the qunari attack, with Hawke defeating the Arishok, it is quite clear that Meredith is both disappointed and angry that she did not get there first, to do it herself and earn the title of Champion – another way she could earn political influence with the people, who could view her not just as Knight-Commander, but as a hero, a knight in shining armour. This would’ve earned her more popularity, by seeing her in action directly to save the people not just from magic, but from other threats too. Hawke becomes more than just an up-and-coming pain in the ass, but a political player now on the metaphorical chessboard of Kirkwall’s politics.

So, begin Act III.

There are 3 years between naming Hawke as Champion, and the opening scene in the market courtyard. In these 3 years, we know that enacting Martial Law was the first prerogative to re-establishing some control after the qunari attack, as the wider population would have found out about Viscount Dumar’s death. I think it is likely that again, Meredith would have made a strong suggestion, to which Elthina agreed and made it official, with the backing of the Templars to support it (as I am also certain, they would have outinfluenced and outnumbered the City Guard and Captain Aveline). For the first little while – I would say between 3-6 months – this was accepted by the people as satisfactory, as clean up and rebuilding efforts would have been made, along with burning or burying the victims of the attack, and so on. Selecting a new political leader would not have necessarily been the immediate concern; many likely would’ve assumed there would be an election process among the nobility to find Dumar’s replacement.

And at first, keeping the peace and protecting the city was seen as a noble necessity; but, as the months carried on, it was made quite clear that Elthina, Meredith, and the Templars had no intent on selecting a leader anytime soon. With control over Kirkwall, Meredith had even more free reign to do as necessary – again, with the intention of having as much power and control as she could over the Circle mages and to capture or eliminate apostates (particularly, stopping maleficarum/blood magic from occurring). However, being in this role, as someone who is always hungry for obtaining more power and influence explicitly for the control over magic, I think she sees stepping into the role of de facto Viscount as something almost natural at this point; in an unofficial capacity with the backing of her own armed force, it gives her the decision-making power unlike any other, allowing her not just to rule and roam the Gallows, but the entire city. It becomes almost a logical step to remain in power in this way to ensure the safety of her city and home without some of the constraints or responsibilities that the Viscount would have in running the city-state, and I believe Elthina would also agree with it, as it would put the Chantry’s interests at the forefront, as well.

Now, of course, we know that in this time period, Meredith somehow heard or found out about the potential of an idol that could grant her even more power. How ever she got in touch with Bartrand and made a deal with a great amount of coin “for his prize”, we may never know, but we do know she had the idol fashioned and forged into a great sword and acquired it in this three-year period. Obviously, the madness brought on by the proximity to the idol is not instantaneous but occurs over a gradual period of time; it’s why at the start of Act III, we begin to see Meredith acting a little differently – she’s more accusatory, more blatant, and less in control of herself, as evidenced enough in the market courtyard dispute. She immediately wants to have Orsino clapped in irons and made an example of and does not hide how she feels about the First Enchanter. It is safe to say that, leading up to this scene, Meredith’s paranoia has ramped up in the time between acts, to the point that the general population starts to notice how she has changed. (And at this point, I am certain Meredith is beginning to have the auditory and visual hallucinations, particularly when she is alone or trying to sleep at night, but not fully yet affecting her perception of reality). However, the change to her paranoia and otherwise, does affect her decision-making ability and the ability to be logical and rational.

Obviously, we know that Grand Cleric Elthina is the only person who has a direct leash to control Meredith (as made quite clear with the very demeaning "Now go back to the Gallows, like a good girl" in public, to which Meredith begrudgingly listens and retreats). While Elthina does not appear to “take sides”, she does use her power to try and maintain the peace without overtly doing anything. In turn, this allows Meredith to continue with Martial Law and as de facto Viscount, with only a few constraints. This is why Elthina remains a powerful influence, as the only one truly able to keep Meredith in check (which of course, disappears when she is killed in the Chantry explosion, and allows Meredith to invoke the Right of Annulment, regardless of it being Anders’ doing, to give in to the demand of the people for justice and “retribution”; it is quite clear Meredith had wanted to do so for a long time, but had been told no by Val Royeaux years prior; without anyone to hold her back, she went ahead). However, during Act III is when her control starts slipping through her fingers, seeing “blood magic in every corner”, and having the idol’s influence start to affect her perceptions of reality as well as her ability to understand things rationally and logically.

That said, however, if she had been able to be de facto Viscount long enough, I think she would have continued the role, forgoing election processes, until she was certain that Kirkwall was made safe from magic and mages, and ruled as rigorously and righteously as she rules the Circle with harsh law and strict rules, all in the name of keeping people safe. By no means was it was not necessarily her plan all along, but through the choices and the world around her, became necessary in her mind. Because throughout her tenure, she has tried and tried to keep everything running smoothly and safely, and still finds that there are apostates on the run, maleficarum using blood magic, and the number of abominations and demons never truly lessens. She is always driven by the desire for power and control to stop this, and almost becomes desperate to acquire what she needs to see it through. Ultimately, her goal is not to run Kirkwall as a politician, but given the circumstances, she sees it as a logical step forward to give her what she needs to achieve her goals as a Templar – to contain, control, and keep mages within the Circle, to keep people safe from them and to keep mages safe from themselves.  

But with all things in this story, Meredith’s good intentions paved the road to hell, for herself and for everyone around her. It is always justified in her mind to do as she needs to, in order to uphold her oath as a Templar and her pledge to her late sister’s life, but, being part of the Chantry as an institution has led her astray from her original intent, always hungry for more and more power and control. Becoming the de facto leader in the chaos was still never enough.

[martyrmarked]

𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐑𝐈 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘𝐀𝐍-𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐘: 𝐏𝐑𝐄-𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 (w/ @extravagantliar)

[avrorean]

of all the choices nanna has had to make is there one that sticks with her? Why does it? Is it a good memory and choice that backs up her morals or is it a time that she felt that she was facing something impossible no matter the answer? is there something that keeps her rooted in making her morally right choice?

I had to really think hard about this one and how to narrow it down. When everything is as raw and new as it is to someone like Nanna, who has next to no life experience before she’s conscripted for the Wardens, it feels like everything sticks to her. But thinking on it, I think out of all her choices, it’s actually the political ones that linger with Nanna the most because those are the ones that have had the longest reaching and most daunting consequences. 

Nanna went from a position of having no power or influence at all to someone with way too much influence, topping it all off with often being the only problem solver in the building.

So I’m gonna cheat and give you two examples:

Orzammar was her hard and fast crash course into politics as a whole. That was their second stop on this big hunt of theirs to find Grey Warden allies, so you can imagine the whiplash of being slammed head first into a dwarven succession crisis after leaving a magical forest with Dalish and Werewolves. She had started off as basically an errand girl at first, but she hadn’t minded so much; that seems simpler than trying to negotiate a centuries old magical blood feud, right(we long for the days of the magical blood feud)? Harrowmont seemed kind and wanted to help his people. He reminds her of Irving. Choosing him to support, if she had to support anybody, seemed like the easy choice. 

The problem with being an errand girl being sent all over the city, however, is that you have to actually see and talk to people. Little people. Nobles. Criminals, smiths, and the Casteless. Dagna, who knows if she follows her dream to study magic, she’s effectively dead to her family. Zerlinda, who had the ultimatum of leaving her baby to die in the Deep Roads or never go home again, because his father was Casteless. Old Nadezda who can’t even work the lowest jobs in Dust Town because the guards were allowed to break her legs and intentionally leave them irreparable. She sees firsthand who Harrowmont actually considers his people, and what traditions he wants to uphold. And she finally hears something other than the familicide, and what it is people hate Bhelen for wanting to do. And at the last second, with the crown Caridin gave her in hand, she named Bhelen as ‘Caridin’s chosen king’.

In learning the depth of the situation too late, in taking too long to stand by her principles, she betrays Harrowmont. As a result? House Harrowmont is completely obliterated. The last members are still being hunted down by those loyal to Bhelen well into DA2. This is a consequence she has to carry with her - Bhelen might have been a better pick in her mind, but an entire family line is dead because she took a complex situation completely at face value.

Then we come to Amaranthine. Nanna’s no longer just talking down people in a position of power, she is in the position of power. And in one of the cases where she has to sit in judgement, she has to deal with Ser Temmerly the Ox. 

Now, the arling is fraught at the moment - Nanna has been scrambling with the turf war between factions of talking darkspawn and having to untangle the mired web of political bullshit Howe left in his wake. And it’s left a lot of bullshit; double dealings, underhanded promises, stolen land, trade deals with slavers and smugglers that give them legal access to land routes - so much so that attempting to untangle it at all has a coup burgeoning on her doorstep, and the Ox is just the latest hammer in the hands behind the scenes. 

Temmerly is a bully and a thug. He’s your The Mountain That Rides. He kills and brutalizes where he wants and where he thinks he needs because he knows the people holding his leash has given him slack to run amuck. And he has very obviously killed Ser Tamra, who was Nanna’s only real ally in the arling outside of the Keep and was going to get her more information on the conspirators that have been amassing since she took hold of the arling. And before, when she was just on the run, what do you do when you’ve all but caught someone in the act of brutal murder? Well, kill them back, obviously.

Except now there’s suddenly a peasant revolt, and the ‘lofty’ call for Temmerly’s execution is suddenly on the list of grievances.

And to be clear, the problem isn’t necessarily that she killed Temmerly. It’s that there wasn’t sufficient legal proof that Temmerly was involved in Tamra’s death and brutalization, even if it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that he and his boys did it. And now the nobility who are part of the conspiracy are able to spin that Nanna’s quick to execute, regardless of how much active good she’s been doing otherwise or how many other people she’s given light sentences. It’s a fresh arrow in their quiver of her enemies' propaganda, and Nanna can’t just leave and outrun it this time like she did with Loghain.  

I wouldn’t say they’re good memories so much as sombering ones. They’re reminders of the weight her word actually carries and exactly how far reaching the consequences can be. She has to think twice as hard for every possible outcome for being both a warden and an arl. And it sucks.

[orxna]

“You know their coffee is dreadful,” Orana informs him as her fingers carefully slide over the gash in his jacket. She’s finally gotten it clean which means mending is the next step so a proper assessment needs to be made, “And I have liberati papers now. They aren’t real mind you but Ser Tarquin says they’ll hold up to most scrutiny since Danarius isn’t alive to dispute them.”

It’s how most of her afternoons go, she brings Varric up to date with whatever he’s missed most recently. Trivial things, because she’s certain that Lady Maevaris keeps him up to date on more tactical information when she sits with him in the morning. She tells him that Maevaris suggested finding her a mabari pup after she mentioned how she missed Old Loup. That she would pay for it if Orana stopped calling her Lady, since they’re family and all. Orana asks his opinions on names, because she has to be sure it has a good name before she even considers saying yes. She almost says it will make waiting for him a little less lonely but that feels like an omen she doesn’t quite want to give words to.

So she tilts the topic, the Shadow Dragons like her idea for a school for liberati, even if they acknowledge the difficulties of setting one up in an official capacity. One of the shadow dragons suggests a sort of night class, perhaps disguised as prayer groups near the chantry. Orana is working on a curriculum, all the things she wished someone had taught her sooner when she was first freed.

So it goes, Orana spends nearly two weeks keeping him appraised on whatever rumors and gossip she overhears—because Varric is a horrible gossip so she hopes it might make him feel better. All while clever fingers slowly mend his coat to a more than serviceable state. It’s not quite good as new, the lining is still stained and the patch only as seamless as she can make it without access to the original leather. It’s a good color match though, hardly visible from a distance.

A bit like Varric, when she lingers in the doorway she can almost pretend he’s only sleeping. It’s when she’s sitting next to him, her small hand dwarfed by his larger ones that she can see the sickly pallor of his skin that brings out the worst of his features. Creases that look jovial while he’s awake twisted when he sometimes thrashes in his sleep. His frown lines carved deeper than his smile lines, Orana very much hates it.

She smooths them over when she can, talking helps even if she has no idea if he actually understands it or if the familiar voice is just soothing. She bets that Hawke’s voice would wake him right up, but she doesn’t remember it well enough to try an imitation.

So she waits, Orana is good at waiting.

@extravagantliar